Thief's covenant

“It is,” Claude agreed. “That's why de Laurent had to die.”

Widdershins actually smiled, though it was a smile that could have frozen saltwater. “So it looks like an attack on the Church and the gods of the Pact from outside. I kill the archbishop, my god and I come after you, and you kill us in ‘self-defense' while everyone else in the Church is looking for an enemy that doesn't exist. By the time anyone knows otherwise, Cevora's got his influx of power, and it's not worth the trouble to try to boot his faith out of the Pact.”

This time, Claude actually applauded. “I expect Cevora to be potent enough that the others cannot take action against him-but otherwise, correct again! I never did give you proper credit, I'm afraid.”

“You,” Widdershins told him pointedly, “are insane. Stark-raving. Six heifers short of a herd.”

“So say all who cannot see. I'd hoped to offer Cevora the power of the sacrifice years ago, but of course, you spoiled that by escaping.”

“So sorry to inconvenience you.”

“Indeed. But you're here now, and-”

“No, I didn't mean then. I meant now. Sorry to inconvenience you, but I'm not Olgun's last worshipper. Killing me gains you squat.”

For the first time, Claude seemed shaken. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Claude, what happened to giving me due credit?” The man scowled, but still he listened. “It's been a couple of years,” Widdershins reminded him, as though hammering home a simple concept to an even simpler child. “Do you really think I've kept Olgun a secret from everyone?” She paused thoughtfully, as though mentally tallying sums. “There's at least, oh, eight or ten of us now. After seeing the boons he grants me, how could they not believe?” It was her turn to shrug, doing her best to ignore Olgun's startled bleat. “Not a large following, even compared to his old one, but quite large enough to royally muck up your little plan, yes?”

The Apostle went rigid, and then laughed aloud. “Oh, Adrienne, you had me going for a moment there. But-”

“I'm quite serious, Claude. And either way, can you afford to risk it?”

The scowl returned, tenfold. “I could just let my pet kill you. Cevora would know instantly that you lied, as he fed on Olgun's essence.”

“And if I'm not lying, I'd be dead, and you'd have no way of finding the others.” Widdershins smiled.

Claude drummed his fingers on a nearby chair. “Are you offering to lead us to them, Adrienne?”

She shrugged. “This has always been about survival. You go after them, not me, I renounce Olgun, like Alexandre did, and everyone's happy. Maybe I can even help you in running the Delacroix businesses-for a percentage, of course.”

Please, Olgun…please understand…. Trust me….

“Agreed!” Claude said instantly, holding forth his hand.

Widdershins took it, and for a moment they stared into one another's eyes. Both of them were lying, and both of them knew it. Claude only needed to know how much of what she'd told him was a lie.

“I'm looking forward to it, Claude.” She gestured toward the northwest. “If you leave the market heading that way, you go about seven blocks, make a-”

She stopped at his sudden laughter. “Oh, I don't think so, Adrienne. I'm not remotely that stupid. You'll lead us to your former brethren. Personally.”

Ah, well. It'd been worth a shot.

“Of course,” she told him. “Whichever.”

“And you'll be leaving Alexandre's rapier here, as well.”

Widdershins just shrugged, struggling to keep all emotion from her face. “It's a ways across town; I hope you're all in the mood for a walk.”

The Apostle craned his neck, wrapping his heavy cloak around him to fend off the late-night chill. He watched for a long moment, scowling at the peeling walls and missing shingles.

“A pawnbroker's, Adrienne?” he asked skeptically.

“Why not? The company's not doing well, so they've plenty of extra room for rent. It's as good a shrine as any.”

“Oh, please.” Jean Luc stepped forward, giving the demon a wide berth. “This is the Finders' Guild, sir.”

“Is it indeed?” he asked, turning to Widdershins.

She shrugged and offered up a nervous smile. “Well, where else would I be sharing my faith, if not here?”

This was it. If Jean Luc knew too much about the guild's practices, about its faith, she was dead.

A long minute passed before the Apostle nodded, and Jean Luc said nothing more. Widdershins all but quivered in relief.

“Very well,” he said. “Are there any guards?”

“One outside,” she admitted, her voice reluctant. “Dressed as a vagabond. Not sure how many might be inside. It varies based on who's got what assignments.”

Claude made a calm, collected gesture, as though ordering a servant to fetch him a drink. The demon darted from the alleyway, elongating to its full height as it moved. Widdershins could only hunch her shoulders, her stomach twisting in knots, and try to ignore the abbreviated shriek, and the horrible tearing, snapping, splashing sounds to follow.

Holding her breath against the sudden stench of blood and human waste, Widdershins stepped through the front doors as though she had every right to be there, setting foot, for the second time in two nights, in the very heart of the Finders' Guild.

On they came, first in ones and twos, then larger bands. With rapiers and crossbows, then with flintlocks from behind heavy doors and ad hoc barricades, the thieves of Davillon fought to defend their home.

And they failed. The hall grew thick with smoke; the walls gleamed with blood. Weapons careened from the creature's hide, flesh tore beneath its talons, bones broke betwixt its jaws, and those who followed behind slipped and slid in the rising gore.

Even the beast of Cevora wasn't fast enough to slay them all, however. For every corpse it left in its wake, three or four of the Finders' Guild fled through passages twisted enough to confuse even a god's emissary.

Widdershins forced herself to watch, flinching but refusing to look away as rapier, claw, and blood flew. And when she saw that the hideous beast was not invulnerable, that the occasional blade bit through its hide, the occasional ball left its mark, her spirits dared, ever so slightly, to rise.

So they continued through twisting halls and sliding doors, ever deeper into the catacombs, and the inhuman thing cavorted along beside them, now ahead, now behind, an anxious child at carnival eager to rend more unsuspecting souls limb from limb.

Until, mere steps from her goal, Claude reached out a hand to stop her. “I think that's enough, Adrienne,” he said darkly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“We've already slain a great many thieves, sent a great many more fleeing in terror. And not once have I seen, or has my pet sensed, the sorts of abilities we know you possess. I don't think anyone here shares your beliefs after all.”

“Oh? Then how do you explain-?” and she was off, bolting so abruptly that even the demon was caught briefly by surprise. Hair flying out behind her, she ran as though the hounds of hell were at her heels, for indeed one of them was. She knew full well, as her pounding feet echoed off the stone walls, that she couldn't keep ahead for long, but maybe for just long enough…

When the fiend appeared from around the corner, Claude's fastest men just steps behind, they stared in puzzlement at what they found. Their quarry had vanished through another sliding door, hiding somewhere in the peculiar room beyond. They peeked inside, stared at the towering shape across the chamber.