storm, not the floor of a corridor. In other words, the lad was drunk, very drunk. He almost ran straight into Paleface when the killer dashed out into the corridor with a throwing star in his hand.
“Idiot!” Paleface barked with a contemptuous scowl, pushing the other man away.
The man collapsed onto the floor.
“Th-thank you!”
“There, you see, Rolio, nobody was eavesdropping,” Paleface’s dice partner told him.
“S’right, wasn’ lissening, no, not me. Honess! I’ve got lost!”
“Shut up!”
Paleface looked round the corridor with an expression of fury, turning the throwing star over in his hands, and then reluctantly tucked the weapon away behind his belt.
“Come on, Bedbug. And you, O’Lack, get off to bed!”
“Th-thank you.”
Paleface slammed the door angrily, leaving the drunk on the carpet. I could see that Rolio’s nerves were beginning to play him false. That’s what an uncompleted Commission will do for you!
I slipped out of my hiding place and set off. The drunk was trying to get up off the floor and he took no notice of me at all. If I’d started doing a shaman’s dance around him, singing and beating on a tambourine, I still don’t think he would have understood what was going on.
The corridor came to an end, and I walked out onto that unforgettable balcony round the reception hall. It looked empty and cold now, without the music, the servants darting about, and the nobles all dressed up in silk. There weren’t even any guards at the door. No candles, no torches, no lanterns. Darkness and peace, just pale squares of light on the floor from the windows. The moon had come out from behind the clouds and was peeping in through the tall arched windows.
The carpet came to an end: The floor on the balcony and in the next corridor was marble. Fortunately, it was the normal kind of stone, dark red with light veins, and not the Isilian pain-in-the-you-know-where, on which every step sets off a hundred alarm bells.
I could feel that tickling in my stomach and the call of the Key again.
There were widely spaced lanterns burning in the corridor with the portraits, and the shadows were roaming across the walls, playing hide-and-seek with each other. Balistan Pargaid’s forebears gazed out at me from the portraits, and somehow I failed to spot any friendly amusement in their eyes. Strange as it may seem, the men in the pictures stared at me with positively menacing expressions.
For a moment I was overcome with superstitious fear—I remembered a story that For had told me in my distant childhood, about men in pictures coming to life and killing a thief.
What nonsense! Superstitious nonsense, that’s all! I cast a quick glance at Suovik Pargaid and turned away. Sagot! Whoever the artist was that painted that portrait, the son of a bitch was certainly talented. I wouldn’t be surprised if Suovik tumbled out of the picture, straight onto the floor.
“I’m here! Here I am! The bonds are calling!” the Key sang to me.
There was no guard outside the door of the count’s bedroom. Yet another strange thing. Usually highborn individuals put a couple of guards outside their bedroom to defend their troubled sleep. So who was it I’d brought the sleeping spell for, then?
I took out my lock picks, put one in the keyhole, turned— It wasn’t locked. The door was closed, but it wasn’t locked!
I pushed it open, expecting to see anything at all in the bedroom, up to and including Balistan Pargaid’s dead body with its throat torn out (I had a sudden vision of the body of Archduke Patin and the Messenger, who had just dispatched the king’s cousin into the darkness). But no, there was no one at all in the bedroom. A huge bed standing against the wall took up most of the space. By the window there was a small table, with a lighted candle and massive casket standing on it.
The count was fond of ogre handiwork, and this item was no exception. It was made out of the same dark metal as the bracelet that we had presented to Balistan Pargaid. It was covered with half-erased runes, images of some wild creatures—animals or something worse than that. But right now it wasn’t the chest that was important —it was what was inside it. The Key was calling, and I took a step toward it, as if I was hypnotized.
“I’m here! Quickly! Take me! The bonds are calling!”
The sound of steps in the corridor shattered the spell. Someone was coming this way, and I hadn’t even closed the door behind me!
There was nowhere in the room to hide, and there were bars on the windows.… The bed! I took my crossbow out from behind my back and dived under the bed, hoping that the person walking along the corridor would go straight past the room and take no notice of the open door.
My hiding place was a bit cramped, but I could see the entire room (or rather, the entire floor). There was no dust, so I wasn’t afraid of sneezing at the wrong moment.
A woman wearing red shoes walked into the room. She stopped beside the low table with the casket, and the scent of ripe strawberries struck my nostrils.
Lafresa!
There were more steps in the corridor, and a few moments later a pair of tall, soft boots came into the room. Red shoes and tall, soft boots—that was all I could see from my hiding place.
“Is it time?”
I recognized the count’s voice.
“Yes, the stars are favorable. How does it open?”
Milord walked across to the table, there was a musical chiming sound and then several rapid clicks.
“There you are, Lady Iena.”
“Don’t call me lady.”
“What would you prefer?”
“Madam. Or Lafresa. That is what the Master calls me.”
“Oh!” the count gasped sympathetically.
“Save me! Quickly! They’re taking me! Save me!” The howling of the Key exploded inside my head, and for a moment everything went completely black.
There was nothing I could do, not even if I had a hundred crossbows! I didn’t believe an ordinary crossbow bolt would cause Lafresa any harm at all. All I could do was wait and pray to the gods.
“Step back, I have to concentrate.”
Lafresa started singing in a language that I didn’t know, and again the calls of the Key started ringing in my ears. The feet in the red shoes tapped out a strange, fascinating rhythm that wove itself into Lafresa’s quiet song and drifted in a leaden-heavy spell around the room, which was frozen in anticipation.
“Save me! I don’t want to go! Our bonds are strong!”
The pain in my ears was unbearable. I pressed my hands against my temples, but it didn’t help.
Lafresa’s song grew louder and louder, her words wove together into a magical music that chimed and thundered above my head. I could feel the bonds with which Miralissa had tied me to the Key breaking, feel it with my entire body. It was as if someone was smashing my fingers with a hammer.
“Our bonds are strong!” I whispered reassuringly, like someone under a spell.
“Strong!” I heard a voice say with a sigh of relief.
The pain receded a little, but Lafresa only had to raise her voice, and my fingers started aching again, and it felt as if someone had poured liquid lead in my ears.
“Our bonds are strong,” I whispered again.
“Count! I need blood, I’m not getting anywhere!” Lafresa barked between her wails.
Searing fire spilled onto my fingers, but I knew what to do. They couldn’t break the bonds while I was there. The Key was not alive, but it was still a rational being—and it was on my side:
