Eli frowned, confused. “Watcher?”
“The duke’s watcher sees everything,” the crate said, trembling. “We’re not allowed to talk to wizards, but you’re the nicest, brightest wizard we’ve ever seen, so please, leave. We don’t want you to get caught.”
Eli was about to ask another question when a sharp crack from the highest crate on the stack interrupted him.
“Watcher!” the crates cried in unison. “It’s coming! Say nothing! Ignore the wizard!”
“Get out of here!” Eli’s crate whispered frantically.
“What’s coming?” Eli whispered frantically, running his hands over the dusty wood. “What do you mean ‘watcher’?”
But the crates had shut themselves down again, and in the silence, Eli heard a low sound.
“What is going on?” Josef said again, more urgently this time.
“Shh!” Eli hushed him, hunkering down among the crates.
Josef gave him a cutting look, and then he heard it too.
It sounded like a strong wind rushing between the buildings, only it didn’t rush. The roaring sound lingered, moving up the river slowly, patiently, and in a manner that was wholly disconnected with the entire idea of wind. It hit the wooden walls of the warehouse like a wave, rattling anything that wasn’t nailed down, whistling as it tore through the high windows. Then it was gone, moving methodically down the line of dock houses, leaving only the terrified silence of traumatized crates in its wake.
Eli glanced at Josef and the two of them crept back to the center of the storehouse. Nico was there waiting for them, though Eli hadn’t seen her come in. She was simply there, and she didn’t look happy about it.
“Something just came by,” she whispered once they were close.
“So we heard,” Eli said. “Did you catch what it was?”
Nico shook her head. “I want to say it was a wind, but I’ve never felt a wind like that.”
Eli bit his lip thoughtfully, but Josef looked like his mind had just been made up.
“So,” he said, “we’ve walked into a trap full of terrified spirits and winds that aren’t winds. Is that enough to convince you this job is going to be more trouble than it’s worth?”
“One day.” Eli faced Josef, holding up one finger. “Give me one day to scout the situation. Tomorrow night, we’ll make the hit or leave. Either way, it’ll be done.” He looked up at the high windows. “There’s something going on here. First, the line in the rain; now this. Surely you’re as curious as I am about what’s going on here?”
“Of course I’m curious,” Josef said. “But I don’t let my curiosity get me stuck in situations I can’t get out of. That’s the difference between you and me.”
“Come now,” Eli said. “I’ve never been in a situation I couldn’t get out of.”
Josef gave him a look. “There’s a first time for everything.”
Eli chuckled. “Well, if we’re going to be compressing three days of prep into one, let’s get things rolling. But first, I’m going to secure our position.”
“How do you mean to do that?” Josef said. “You just said the spirits wouldn’t talk to you.”
“For this, they don’t have to,” Eli said, walking back over to the crates.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice soft and sweet. “I appreciate the warning earlier, and I have one more favor to ask you.”
The crates rattled uncomfortably, and Eli put up his hands.
“It’s nothing big. In fact, you were probably going to do it anyway. All I want is for you to go to sleep. Just ignore me, forget I’m here, and I swear I won’t do anything wizardly to wake you up.”
The crates rattled at this, confused, and a splintering voice from the back cried, “How can we sleep? You’re a wizard. Now that we’re awake, it’s not like we can just not notice you.”
Eli sat down cross-legged in front of them. “Just try,” he said softly.
The crates creaked uncertainly, but Eli didn’t move. He simply sat on the floor, his eyes closed, his face calm, as the warehouse grew darker and darker. Presently, the nervous noises from the crates grew quieter, and then stopped altogether. The warehouse fell as silent as any old, forgotten place.
Quiet as a cat, Eli stood up and walked away from the crates and over to the little corner by the door where Nico and Josef were huddled around a tiny lamp, quietly eating the food Josef had brought.
“We good?” Josef said, tossing Eli a round loaf of bread.
“We’re good,” Eli answered, flopping down beside them.
“So,” Josef said. “I know I’ll regret asking, but what did you do?”
“I put them back to sleep,” Eli said tiredly. “Small, normal spirits are almost always asleep unless a wizard wakes them up. Of course, the problem here is that, once a wizard wakes up a spirit, it’s hard for them to go back to sleep if the wizard’s still there. It’s like trying to go to sleep when someone’s in the room waving a lantern around. I simply quieted my presence. Think of it as throwing a blanket over the lantern. The lantern’s still there, but it’s not such a bother. It’s an old trick I learned back in my thieving apprentice days, actually. It’s not always good to be noticeable when you’re trying to be a thief. So long as I don’t do anything wizardly or otherwise make a scene, I should seem almost normal to any watching spirits.”
“Great,” Josef said, “a plan that depends on you not making a scene.”
“I just wish I knew what was going on,” Eli said, ignoring him. “The only thing that can get spirits that riled up is a wizard stepping on them, but there’s no Enslavement I can feel. I don’t think I’d miss it if there was one. It’s not a subtle thing.”
“So it’s a mystery,” Josef said, leaning back against the wall with the Heart propped against his shoulder. “Let the Spiritualists deal with it. Spiritual mysteries are what they’re there for, when they’re not bothering us.”
“How can you be so blase?” Eli said around a large mouthful of bread. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”
“Sure,” Josef said. “But wanting to know is a terrible reason to do anything. It only causes trouble, and not the good kind either, the stupid, time-wasting kind. Just let it go. We’re on a deadline, remember?”
“How could I forget?” Eli grumbled, lying back.
They sat in silence for a while before Nico leaned forward and blew out the lamp. Lying there, in the dark, Eli meant to think more about the crates and the wind and all the other strange things. He needed to think about them because, despite Josef’s cracks about curiosity, the first rule of thievery was never go into a job if you didn’t understand the territory. This was a dangerous game, with more uncontrollable factors than he was comfortable with. But, despite his best intentions, the weeks of hard travel pulled at his body, and he was asleep as soon as the light went out.
High overhead, the windows rattled in the dark as the strange wind passed by again.
• • •
The night air above Gaol was still. Far off on the horizon, lightning flashed from distant storms. Even so, no rain-heavy wind swept the fields of Gaol and the clouds did not cross the duchy border. They knew better.
Down in the streets, however, a wind moved slowly. It sent the tall oil lamps flickering, disturbing the steady pools of light they shed on the paved streets. It dipped into alleys, under barrels, and through attics. It roared as it went, a cruel, howling sound, and never strayed from its path, moving with almost painful slowness until it had made a full circuit of the town. Only then did the wind pick up speed. It turned and rose, flitting over the rooftops and toward the center of town where the duke’s citadel crouched on its jutting rise, every bit as sullen and formidable as the posters made it out to be.
The strange wind circled the base of the fortress once and then turned and climbed the glum wall to the top, the only part of the gloomy structure that varied from the blocky architecture. Here, crowning the top of the citadel, was a series of interlocking towers. They were short and hard to see from the ground, but being on top of the citadel they provided a breathtaking view of the city and the countryside around it. At the center of the fortress, nestled between the towers, was a small courtyard garden filled with small, neat plants, all carefully arranged into beds by color and size. It was here the wind stopped, spiraling down and slowing to an almost stagnant crawl before the man who sat on a reed chair at the center of the garden going over a stack of black-bound ledgers by the light of a steady lamp.
The wind hovered a moment, hesitantly, but the man didn’t look up from his ledger until he had finished the row. Only then, when each figure had been noted in his short, meticulous handwriting, did Duke Edward look up at
