False Covenant

“Evrard.”

“And have you a family name?” she asked after a moment of silence.

His smile widened, and he chuckled softly, as if at some private joke-or, perhaps, a memory of earlier that day. “I do,” he told her.

And just like that he was gone, vanished once more into the Davillon night.

CHAPTER FOUR

For several minutes-actually, rather longer than several minutes, if truth be told-Widdershins stood on the sad Ragway street and just glared at her destination. Her hands were clenched into pale fists, her hair plastered to the side of her face by the gentle but constant rain, and she really wanted nothing more than to turn around and go home.

“No, of course I'm not going to,” she answered Olgun's concerned query. “They want me to talk to them, I talk to them. I'm not that stupid.” And then, before even the god could possibly reply, “Shut up.”

Olgun responded with wounded innocence-a feeling not quite capable of hiding his amused self-satisfaction-and allowed Widdershins to return to her brooding.

The building across from her was a decrepit, dirty eyesore of a structure. Ostensibly, it was home to a rundown business specializing in pawnbrokering, caravan insurance, and similar endeavors, and was always on the verge of shutting down. At this point, though, Widdershins wondered why they even bothered maintaining the front, since pretty much everyone in Davillon-or everyone involved in either the law- enforcement or law-breaking communities, anyway-knew what the place was really for.

She herself had only been back a few times in the last half year or so, partly because she hadn't been stealing much-she really had tried to run the Flippant Witch as Genevieve would have wanted her to, no matter how unsuccessful (and, to be blunt, bored) she was at it-but primarily because a rather disturbing number of her fellow guild members were pretty eager to see her dead.

It had been here, six months ago, that Widdershins had come in a last-ditch effort to escape the clutches of a demon (yes, a real one), and the religious fanatic who had summoned it. She'd succeeded in doing so, thwarting their schemes in the process, but the creature had slaughtered over a dozen members of the Finders' Guild before it fell. The Shrouded Lord, leader of the Finders, had decreed that Widdershins's actions had actually saved the city and the guild from something far worse, and the guild's priests had backed him. As such, Widdershins's standing in the Finders' Guild was officially just fine, and she should be perfectly safe. Unofficially, not everyone in the ranks was so forgiving.

“Well, fine!” she announced abruptly, startling not only Olgun, but a small mockingbird that had landed for a brief rest on a windowsill nearby. “I'm supposed to be here, yes? So if they want trouble, well, they're welcome to it!”

As announcements go, it probably wasn't the most reassuring she could have made, seeing as how she could literally feel the sudden doubt radiating from her divine companion. But by that point, having made up her mind, she was already marching across the street. Chin held high, she pounded heavily on the door.

“Appointment with the taskmaster,” she announced as a concealed panel in the door slid aside, allowing the sentry within to get a good look at her.

“Hey!” She didn't recognize the voice, but then, it wasn't as though she could possibly know everyone in the guild. “Aren't you the one who-?”

“Yes! Yes, I am. And I don't want to hear it. I'm sorry about whatever happened to you, or at you, or near you, but it wasn't my fault. The Shrouded Lord said so and the priests said so, so get over it!” By the end of the brief but heartfelt tirade, she was actually panting.

“I…Uh…I was just gonna say, you have serious guts coming here. I don't know if I could do it if I were you, even if I was summoned. I'm impressed.”

“Oh.” Widdershins felt her face grow warm even in the chilling rain. What was that, three times today someone's made me blush? What in the name of Banin's overcoat is wrong with me?! The fact that she could feel Olgun laughing at her certainly wasn't helping matters any. “Uh, thank you?”

“You're welcome.”

Silence, save for the faint patter of the rain. Then, “Um, can I come in now?”

“Oh, sure.” A loud clatter as several bolts drew back, a single, louder thump as the bar (a relatively new addition) was removed, and the heavy portal swung inward.

The hall beyond was largely as she remembered it, save for certain portions of the walls that had been more recently repainted-hiding bloodstains, for the most part. The door guard, a young man with a scraggly beard and so many acne scars that he looked as though he'd been shot with a miniature blunderbuss, might not have held any animosity toward Widdershins, but the same couldn't be said for a number of the others. As she made her way through the winding, twisting hallways beneath the pawnbroker's-the halls that were the true headquarters of the Finders' Guild-she couldn't help but note that one of every three or four faces went sour at her approach. A few frowned unhappily, but most of them twisted in angry scowls, baring teeth or mouthing profanity-laden threats. A few hands even dropped toward daggers or flintlocks, but invariably the fact that the Shrouded Lord had forbidden any retaliation was sufficient to prevent the potential violence from turning into actual violence.

Widdershins, for her own part, marched through the halls as though she were thinking of buying the place (but found it too drab and distasteful to seriously consider), ignored Olgun's worried chatter as best she could, and struggled not to quiver or look over her shoulder every time she turned her back on the angriest of those hostile faces. She briefly considered trying to find her old mentor Renard, if only for the comfort of a friendly face down here, but she decided, reluctantly, that she couldn't really spare the time such a hunt might require.

Ostensibly, she should make a point of stopping by the shrine before proceeding to her appointment. The Shrouded God-patron of the Finders' Guild, member of the Hallowed Pact, and the inspiration for the Shrouded Lord's own title-was not a demanding deity, but the guild still had customs and rituals its members were supposed to follow. The idol itself-mostly stone but with a hood of thick fabric hiding its features, because anyone other than the priests or the Shrouded Lord who looked upon that face was subject to an awful curse-stood in a thick-walled, carpeted chamber at the very heart of the guild's labyrinthine headquarters. Convenient to most of the organization's offices, it would have been a matter of minutes for Widdershins to swing by and offer a few prayers; and Olgun, since he knew full well that she didn't mean a word of them, certainly wouldn't have objected.

Widdershins, however, went nowhere near the heavy metal doors providing ingress to that shrine; shuddered, in fact, when she passed them by, and smelled the faint traces of incense from beyond. Lots of memories lurked within the shadows there, and not a one of them pleasant.

Instead, she moved straight for a door in one of the passages adjacent to said shrine. The wood had scarcely ceased vibrating from her first knock when a voice called, “Get the fuck in here!”

“Well,” she said to Olgun as she pushed the door open, “at least he's in a good mood, yes?”

Laremy Privott-or “Remy” to most Finders-had been taskmaster (that is, lieutenant to the Shrouded Lord) since the dismissal of Lisette Suvagne late the previous year. Imposingly tall and broad-shouldered, bald as a stressed tortoise from the neck up but hairy as a northman everywhere else, he looked very much like someone had simply shaved an ape's head. (Though this was not, it should be noted, a comparison that anyone actually made aloud when Remy himself was in the room.)

Today he was clad in heavy trousers, which helped to minimize said simian comparisons, and a white tunic, which might have done so if individual hairs hadn't been protruding through holes in the weave.

He also, Widdershins couldn't help but note, wasn't alone in the chamber.

“Taskmaster,” she greeted him with a bob of her head. And then, turning to his other guest, “Hey, Squirrel.