Thief's covenant

but the young woman nodded slowly, accepting whatever silent response she'd received.

“All right,” she said a moment later. “That explains a lot of what's happened to me-not least of which is my attempt to rob you, which has to qualify as ‘stupid' if anything I've done ever has. But it doesn't get us any nearer to figuring out what's going on, or who's trying to kill you.”

“You seem awfully convinced it's not your thieves' guild,” de Laurent noted, stroking his chin. “Are you so certain?”

“I was there, William. I told you, I saw no evidence of ritual in their chapel. More to the point, they didn't have the first clue what I was talking about when I accused them of sending that thing after me.”

“These are thieves, Adrienne. I'm sure lying is something at which they're more than a little proficient.”

“I'm a thief, William,” she retorted. “Telling when thieves lie is something at which I'm more than a little proficient.”

“I see.”

“Besides, why would they want to kill you? That would draw exactly the sort of attention that the guild usually bends over backward-and bends other people over backward-to avoid.”

“Maybe.” The old man leaned slightly forward, as though suddenly intent on memorizing the patterns of swirls and whorls in the polished wood of his desk. His fingers idly traced the designs, over and over.

Widdershins remained patient for almost a full minute. “You,” she blurted out finally, “are trying to work up the nerve to tell me something.”

De Laurent smiled sheepishly. “It's not that I don't trust you at this point, especially given what you've confided in me. It's just that this is a Church matter, not one I can discuss lightly with anyone.” He paused again, considering.

“I'm not in Davillon to determine whether it's time to appoint a new bishop, and which of the various candidates I should recommend. Oh, I'll do that while I'm here-it's well past time anyway. But that's an excuse, nothing more.”

“Then why-?”

“There are ways other than worship,” de Laurent told her, apparently changing the topic, “for a god to draw power, though none as long-lasting or as steady. That's why people offer tribute, or sacrifice animals, and why some of the more vicious cults still practice human sacrifice, for all that the Hallowed Pact forbids such travesties. An item, or a life, dedicated to a god brings that god power.”

“I'm sure that's very interesting, but-”

“Recently, the pure of faith in the High Church have felt something, Adrienne. We've received dreams, visions, omens. There is, at the risk of sounding terribly melodramatic, a dark power growing in Davillon, and I can assure you it's not because someone's been successfully proselytizing. And I'm now all but certain that it is this power that spawned the inhuman minion hunting you, and sent it to destroy Olgun's cult two years ago. I've come to learn what it is, and if possible, to deal with it.” He frowned. “And yet, beneath its darkness, there's an almost familiar-”

He clamped his teeth together as his guest bolted upright, head cocked as though listening to a voice he couldn't hear-which, no doubt, she was. In a flash, she was standing beside the window, back pressed firmly against the wall. Taking a quick breath, the thief made ready to sneak a peek, but first she needed a favor.

“Olgun,” she whispered, “it's kind of dark out there.”

It was more than just a request for help. It was her way of saying she'd already forgiven him for anything he'd done, deliberately or not, her way of saying, “Things are the same as they always were.”

And Olgun replied, a torrent of relief and more than a little joy coloring the rush of power she felt as the air took on its characteristic charge.

Widdershins crouched before the window. With only the top of her head exposed, she rapidly scanned the ground. Her vision, sensitive as a cat's thanks to Olgun's efforts, ranged over topiary and stone-cobbled path, over bushes, around trees.

There!

Advancing up the walk, in what would have been full view if there had been a sun in the night sky, came a column of City Guards led by Julien Bouniard. They moved at a brisk march, hands on hilts, and Widdershins had no doubt at all why they were here.

Had Alexandre betrayed her after all? Had he allowed her to stay just to stall her while he yelled for the Guard? Panic tried to force its way up her throat like a bad meal, and she swallowed hard to keep it down.

No. No, that wasn't him. If he'd planned to turn her in, he'd have done so, confidently and openly. But however they knew, they were here now. Time later for asking questions.

“A problem?” de Laurent suggested from behind her.

“Major Bouniard and a whole mess of constables. Which I guess, yeah, is a problem.”

“They may not be here for you at all.”

Widdershins smirked. “You break any laws lately, William?”

“Stay,” the archbishop all but begged. “I'll speak for you, Adrienne. Maybe I can help you reclaim your life.”

She stared, and for a moment, she almost agreed. But, “No. No, I can't risk it. Maybe later.

“And William? Thank you.” She reached out, rested a hand fondly on his arm.

Just like that, she was gone, scampering down the outside walls and vanishing into the trees, well out of sight of the constables on the path. Pieces of habit and wimple fell away, revealing her ubiquitous black, as she vanished into the night.

And all the archbishop could think to say, wrapped up as he was in worry for Widdershins's safety, was, “At least she opened the window this time.”

“Claude!”

The servant halted, his feet on two different steps, and allowed his lord and master to catch up to him on the stair. “What is it, sir?” he asked blandly.

“There are Guardsmen on the premises, Claude!” His voice lowered into a conspiratorial hush. “How could they have found out so swiftly that she was here?”

“I couldn't say, sir. But we'd best check on her and His Eminence, don't you think?”

They darted up the stairs, trying to keep themselves to a brisk walk, rather than the headlong charge that would alert the other servants that something was amiss. They had perhaps a minute before the Guardsmen reached the door, maybe two or three more before the soldiers talked their way past the doormen and made it upstairs. Teeth grinding in impatience, Alexandre flitted down the hall, Claude on his heels. They swept past the hanging paintings and the various idols of Cevora until finally they reached the men assigned to watch the archbishop's door and burst as one into the room. Eyes alert for danger, the two men-at-arms followed them inside.

De Laurent turned away from the open window. “Missed her by just an instant, I'm afraid. But I don't believe she'll have any trouble eluding the soldiers outside.”

“Delighted to hear it,” said Claude, even as Alexandre broke into a relieved grin.

And then, before the archbishop's horrified eyes, the servant turned and sank a long-bladed dirk into the aristocrat's gut. Alexandre's eyes grew wide and he clutched at the blade, hands fluttering like wounded birds, before he toppled to the floor.

Claude grinned a horrid grin, and a second blade appeared in his fist even as Alexandre's men converged on him….

William de Laurent knelt over the bloodied guard, lips moving in heartfelt prayer for the man's departed soul. He felt the blood soaking into his cassock, the ugly warmth on his knee, but he would not rise until he was done.

“I'm impressed, Your Eminence,” Claude told him. “You're handling this with remarkable aplomb.”

“No more impressed than I,” the archbishop retorted as his prayer wound to a close. “Your god must be sneaky indeed, to have hidden the stain on your soul from me. You know that what you've set in motion is a