The Spirit Rebellion: The Legend of Eli Monpress: Book 2

square to say, this certainly was not it. “You,” he said slowly, “are Miranda Lyonette?”

“Yes,” Eli said, looking extremely put upon.

The guard looked at the guard next to him. “Isn’t Miranda a girl’s name?”

“How dare you, sir!” Eli cried. “I’ll have you know it is an old family name. Honestly, am I to be constantly hounded by the ignorance of others? A girl’s name, really.”

The absolute scorn in his voice did the trick, and the guard’s face went scarlet. “Forgive me, sir. I meant no offense. It’s just, well, do you have proof of your identity?”

“Proof?” Eli rolled his eyes dramatically. “You insult my name and then ask for proof? Honestly, do I look like I have time for this idiotic song and dance?”

“Anything will do,” the guard said. “Some sort of identification from the Court, or-”

“You know anyone beside Spiritualists who wear rings like these?” Eli held up both his hands, letting his gaudy glass rings catch the sun. “What do you want, a writ signed by Banage himself?”

“That would be good, actually,” the guard said as politely as possible. “I really can’t let you in without papers of some-”

Eli went positively livid. “You dare, sir! I just made the two-day trip from Zarin to Gaol in under four hours. Do you think I had the time to wait for those Court bureaucrats to give me papers? When you’re chasing Monpress, time is of the utmost importance! Already, the trail is getting colder, and for every second you waste I lose hours in the hunt for the thief. If you won’t let me in, then I will make sure your duke knows exactly who is responsible for letting his thief get away!” Eli looked about. “Where is your duke anyway? Bring him here at once!”

The guard blanched. “You see, the duke is terribly busy, and without proper identification, I’m afraid I can’t-”

“Afraid?” Eli’s eyes narrowed. “You’d best be afraid, doorman! Somewhere in that brick of a citadel is a spirit who saw how Monpress did what he did. Even now, that spirit is falling asleep. If it falls asleep entirely it will likely forget what it saw, and if that happens-” Eli paused for a deep, shuddering breath. “You don’t even want to know what I’ll do, but one thing is certain.” His eyes narrowed, pinning the guard captain with a killing glare. “Should that happen, I will make sure everyone, from Zarin’s highest seats of power to the Duke of Gaol himself, knows that you were the reason why.”

The guard bowed, his face pale and sweating. “Apologies, Spiritualist Lyonette; I never doubted you were who you claimed to be. But I’m afraid I still can’t give you access to the treasury without permission from the duke. If you could wait just a-”

“I will not!” Eli said with a flippant wave of his ringed fingers. “Powers, man, you’ve already been robbed blind! What are you afraid I’m going to do in there, steal your dust? Just show me and my assistants to the scene of the crime and I can get to work finding your thief, which I’m sure will make your duke much happier than you interrupting him with stupid requests.”

The guard was sweating profusely now, and Eli took his chance for the final push. “Listen very carefully,” he said slowly, twitching his spirit just a fraction so that the gaudy rings on his fingers glittered with malice. “If I lose the trail because of your delays, you will wish you’d never heard of Spiritualists. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Master Spiritualist,” the guard said, waving his men toward the doors. “Right this way.”

The pack of guards opened one of the great iron doors, and Eli, Nico, and Josef followed the guard captain into the citadel.

In the sky overhead, the wind that had been circling since Eli first stepped out into the square changed direction, blowing up the stone wall to the top of the citadel and through the window of one of the stubby towers at its crown. The tower was all one room, large and circular, with a long table at its center. A cluster of men stood around it, all dressed in the same drab uniform. Most of them looked like dressed-up farmers taken from their fields and thrust into uniforms, which was what they were. They were the conscript leaders, and they all wore the same quiet, obedient expression as they watched the head of the table where Duke Edward was pointing out markers on the city map carved into the table’s smooth, wooden top.

The duke was in the middle of laying out details about how he wanted the perimeter handled, but he stopped midsentence as the wind blew by.

“Is this about Hern again?” Edward said.

“Not this time,” the wind answered, blowing in circles above the farmer-generals. “Someone claiming to be a Spiritualist just bullied your idiot door guard into letting him and his assistants into the citadel.”

The duke scowled. “A Spiritualist? One of Hern’s cronies?”

“No,” the wind spun. “I don’t think it’s really a Spiritualist, either. Didn’t even look like a wizard to me. It was a yellow-haired man, said his name was Miranda Lyonette.”

The duke’s eyes widened. “Miranda?” He pursed his lips. “Considering Hern just sent word that he is escorting Miss Lyonette to the citadel as we speak, I find that hard to believe.” He scratched his beard. “Whoever it is, I’ll investigate myself. We can’t afford another contingency at this point. The situation is bollixed enough as it is. Speaking of which, any news from the spy?”

“Not yet,” the wind whispered. “I’ll go check again.”

“Thank you, Othril,” the duke said. “I trust you’ll notify me if anything else odd happens.”

“Of course, my lord,” the wind huffed.

Edward waved his hand and the wind flew off back to his patrol, shooting out over the citadel’s edge. When he was gone, Duke Edward turned back to his officers, all of whom had waited patiently through what seemed to them to be a one-sided and nonsensical conversation.

“Gentlemen,” the duke said. “It seems we have a rat in our cupboard. Those of you already assigned positions, please take your soldiers to their places. The rest of you, come with me.” He swept past the table and toward the door. “We have an intruder to catch.”

The officers saluted and went their separate ways, calling for their seconds to rally the conscripts as they trundled down the rickety stairs into the citadel proper.

The inside of the fortress of Gaol was not what Eli had expected. As soon as the guard led them through the iron doors, he’d looked eagerly for narrow halls, high ceilings, archer decks, thief catches, all the wonderful things highlighted on the poster. But the hall they entered was low and perfectly ordinary. Little hallways branched off of it leading to barracks, small offices, meeting rooms, and equipment caches. The walls were of uninspiring thickness, the architecture unremarkable, and there was only one portcullis, not five, as the poster had boasted. In short, it was a normal citadel built on a conservative plan, and perhaps a bit on the cheap.

Eli was supremely disappointed.

“This is the great citadel of Gaol?” he said, gazing around in disgust. “Where are the six-foot walls? The multitiered locks? Where are the booby traps? The poster promised traps in every room!”

The guardsman’s hairy face turned a bit red. “Well,” he mumbled, “that’s just advertising. Those posters of the duke’s were just a precaution. Tell the thieves how impossible it is and they just give up, right? Far cheaper than actually building some supercitadel. Anyway, I’d say it worked. We’ve had no trouble from thieves since word got around about how secure the fortress was.”

“No trouble until last night,” Josef pointed out.

“Well, that’s Monpress,” the guard huffed. “He hardly counts. Don’t worry, though; the duke’ll catch him, Sir Spiritualist, make no mistake.”

“Oh, certainly,” Eli said with disgust, eyeing the hallway, which had now widened out into a large common room. “How did the duke know it was Monpress, anyway?”

“Well,” the guard said, “who else could it be?”

“Who else, indeed?” Eli said, smiling, while Josef rolled his eyes.

The officer led them out of the common room through a flimsy doorway and into a hallway even smaller and drabber than the ones before it. Eli glowered at the man’s back. So far, the “thief-proof citadel of Gaol” was a monstrous waste of time. If not for the Fenzetti, and if he wasn’t so curious about someone impersonating him, Eli would have called the whole thing off the moment they passed the unlocked weapon cabinets. Only when they were almost to the center of the citadel did Eli finally spot something promising. Their guide had led them around a corner and into a small hallway set back from the main thoroughfare. Unlike the others, this hall was long and