into a black hole that went into the Hill. I ran inside screaming to my nursemaid. Of course, everyone thought I was being fanciful. I came to believe it was all just fancy, too . . . but . . . I’m not so certain now.”
He stared down at the deserted garden, bare and winter-gray.
“Can you find out, Piskel?” Syrus asked the sylph. “How were you able to get out, anyway?”
Piskel made gestures as if he’d moved an entire mountain just to escape.
Syrus rolled his eyes. “Look, never mind. Just . . . go scout around and see if you can find something that looks like a door, will you?”
Bayne pushed the window up and Piskel fluttered out. Syrus watched him go, a tiny light flickering through the afternoon gloom.
There was a banging at the door. Lucy Virulen’s voice sawed through the wood.
Bayne sighed. “You’d better hide in the trunk. And try to sleep. It may be a long night.”
Syrus did as he was bid, though he chafed with impatience to be doing something. He heard the door shut and Bayne’s voice warring with Lucy’s until he drifted back off to sleep.
Syrus woke to the sound of the trunk thumping open again. A candle shone in his eyes, momentarily blinding him. He sat up, stretching his sore neck and cramped limbs.
“What time is it?” he asked, as he climbed from the trunk. He hoped after tonight there were better sleeping accommodations. And then he shivered just a little, thinking that if tonight didn’t go well, he might end up nothing more than a pile of salt on the desert floor.
“Nearly dawn,” Bayne said. He handed Syrus a greasy packet of cold sausages and crumbling crumpets. “All I could steal from the kitchens,” he said.
Syrus nodded his thanks and scarfed the food down, saving a few crumbs for Piskel.
“Come. I think Piskel’s found the door. Everyone’s asleep, but I’ve no doubt they’ve got nullwards set here and there.”
Piskel swam into view, pointing toward the garden and grinning. He was obviously proud of himself. He took the crumbs Syrus offered him with a tiny bow.
Bayne was deciding between two coils of rope as Syrus dusted his hands on his trousers. He already had a pistol and sword. “What does one take to a prison break? I’ve rope, weapons, and . . . these.” He held up rusty bolt cutters almost sheepishly. “Will we need these to cut chains?”
Piskel giggled between his fingers.
“We’ll probably need a neverkey or some other kind of nulling device,” Syrus said. “Hopefully, Vespa can help us with anything more than that once we free her.”
Bayne nodded and patted a pack next to the trunk. “I have those already.” He decided on the rope and threw it in.
“And a few pebbles in case there are illusion mines.”
“Illusion mines?” Bayne swallowed.
“Yes. The Lowtown Refinery has them. I don’t see why the Imperial Refinery wouldn’t,” Syrus said.
“We’ll get pebbles in the garden.”
“Then, let’s go,” Syrus said.
Bayne blew out the candle and led the way out of the room and onto the landing. Piskel ducked up Syrus’s sleeve so as not to give them away with his light. One creaking step at a time they went down the stairs. Syrus saw shadows of palms at the corner of the staircase. The handrail was satiny-smooth under his fingers.
They sneaked past an ancient grandfather clock and the cigar smoke–laced doorway of what must have been Bayne’s father’s study. At last, they were through the kitchens and Bayne was letting them out into the garden.
Syrus scooped up some gravel as they went. Piskel crawled out from under his sleeve and led them down through the boxwood border toward the thorn-tangled slope of the Hill.
The sylph disappeared among the wicked spines for a few minutes. When he emerged, he motioned them forward.
Bayne used his sword to hack through the thorns, but it was rather ineffective and Bayne muttered about dulling the blade.
When the vague outline of a door was visible, Piskel pointed them toward the keyhole.
“Let us pray this isn’t warded such that the Empress knows when her fortress has been breached,” Bayne said, as he slid the neverkey inside.
The door swung open with the faint scent of the Refinery and ordure. They stepped into the tunnel, and the door scraped shut of its own accord. They listened to the sound echo down the corridor for a long while. Bayne waited to kindle the magic flame in his palm until they were well inside and nothing seemed to have been alerted to their presence.
Syrus tried tossing a pebble down the long expanse, but it triggered no mines. He sighed in relief.
The tunnel wound around until it came to an odd, corkscrewlike chamber. They had to step over delicate stone sills and around edges of stone that reminded Syrus of a giant snail shell. They were about to step through to the other side when they heard something that was not the drip of water or the crunch of their own feet on stone. It sounded like coins dropping. Or armored feet trying unsuccessfully to creep toward them.
Syrus eyed Bayne’s sword. It was the obvious choice. If the pistol was fired now, it could bring the entire fortress down on them. They needed more time. “You do know how to use that thing, right?” he whispered, even as he remembered the day at Rackham’s when Bayne had fought off the rookery leaders.
Bayne snorted at him. “Of course.” He unsheathed it slowly and blew the flame up into the air so that it danced above them. Bayne pinned Syrus with his gaze. “Stay here,” he said.
Bayne slid around the odd folds of rock.
“Halt! You will come with me to the Empress,” the Guard croaked.
Syrus poked his head around in time to see Bayne engage the Guard’s pike. He feinted toward the wall, forcing the Guard to swing at him. Syrus watched in admiration as Bayne ducked the Guard’s next cut; the force of the blow stuck the pike straight in the wall. Bayne spun close enough that the Guard had to release the pike or else be rendered nearly defenseless.
Bayne rained blows around the Guard’s head and shoulders, but they bounced off with green sparks. Obviously, the Guard was protected by some kind of field. Syrus didn’t know how long it would take to break through, or if the Guard would soon call his fellows to help deal with this troublesome human.
And then the Guard clapped his hands on the sword blade.
Bayne twisted this way and that, unable to swing the sword free of the Guard’s grasp. They struggled like that for several seconds until Syrus heard a fatal ringing snap. Bayne tried punching at the Guard’s shielded face, but got sizzling knuckles for his pains.
Bayne came away with the hilt. He cast it aside and, before the Guard could grab him, dropped and swept his armored legs out from under him. Overbalanced, the Guard fell heavily to the floor.
Syrus watched in amazement. He’d only ever seen some of his Tinker uncles fight like this hand-to-hand. Where had a spoiled lordling learned such tactics?
Then, all other resources exhausted, Bayne took the already loaded pistol out of his belt, cocked the hammer, and fired.
The explosion thundered down the tunnel with a burst of feathers.
“Should have done that to begin with,” Bayne said. He removed the cap from his powder bag with his teeth and reloaded the pistol with powder, patch, and another silver ball. “Best hurry now. They know we’re coming.”
Syrus followed him.
Bayne tore the Guard’s pike from the wall with a grunt. He kicked the useless sword blade aside. “That was my favorite sword, too,” he muttered.
“Why didn’t you make a sword of magic like you did at Rackham’s?” Syrus asked.
“I’m trying to save as much magic as I can until we reach the main chamber,” Bayne said. “Pity that we no longer have the element of surprise as our ally. Come on.”
They raced down the tunnel, trying to get out of it before more Guards came. All they could do now was move forward.
