False Covenant

glance over his shoulder so often he'd probably break his neck, or the burning need to break into a mad sprint for the door.

He did neither, of course-by the Shrouded God and the rest of the Hallowed Pact, he'd walked calmly into the Guard station, he'd bloody well walk calmly out of it! — but it was a near thing.

The occasional suspicious glance cast his way by passing constables actually helped calm him down, rather than wind up him any further. It wasn't as if the bulk of them knew his face, and even if some did recognize him, well, he wasn't currently wanted for anything. (Not because he hadn't done anything, of course.) All they knew was that here was a colorfully dressed character wandering the halls, and while that wasn't exactly normal, neither was it automatically cause for alarm. He certainly wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of seeing how nervous the place made him.

Of course, he realized glumly, they might just assume that he was an aristocrat come to bail his daughter, or some other young relative, out of trouble. I, he grumbled to himself, am really not enamored of this whole aging thing.

Robin-who could indeed have been his daughter, if only just-marched a few steps ahead of him, and kept whatever thoughts she might have had entirely to herself. Her pace, however, was stiff enough that Renard had no doubt she was just as troubled as he, if presumably for other reasons.

Gods, even when he had gotten away from here, there was so much to do! He'd picked up readily enough on Widdershins's hint that she had more to tell him, things she couldn't say in front of the major. (And the thief couldn't repress a scowl at the thought of Julien Bouniard, especially the thought of Bouniard alone with Widdershins.) He'd certainly have no trouble arranging a meeting with the Shrouded Lord-and he wondered if Widdershins would ever puzzle out that particular secret, because if anyone ever did, he knew, it'd be her-but he wanted a couple of days to look into this “Iruoch” matter himself before said meeting. Plus, there was all the usual night-to- night business of the Finders' Guild to deal with, and the mess with Simon Beaupre, and then there was… Bloody hell, it's a wonder I have time to take a piss! If this had been anyone but Widdershins, I never would have taken the time to-

They had, by this time, passed by the desk sergeant on duty as well as the sentries nearest the entrance, and Robin was pushing open the heavy door to reveal the lowering skies of late afternoon beyond. As she did so, she turned, and Renard couldn't help but note the sour expression she directed not at him but past him, back down the hallway from which they'd come.

And he wondered. I know why I'm so damn irritated at Bouniard. I'm honest enough to admit to jealousy. But what the hell has she got to be so grumpy about?

But since he would never be so uncouth as to ask, and since she'd already darted out into the street before he could have done so even if he'd wanted to, his curiosity remained unsated.

For roughly 150 years-or maybe a little less time, but Widdershins wouldn't have sworn to it-the thief and the Guardsman just watched each other. Or rather, near each other, neither quite willing to maintain eye contact for more than a heartbeat or so.

“Uh,” Widdershins finally said.

“Yes?” Bouniard straightened in his chair, practically at attention.

“You, um, you saw the scene? Where Iruoch killed those people?”

“Not me, personally, but some constables scoured it.” He offered no objection to her use of the name Iruoch- less because he'd begun to believe, she assumed, than because, well, he had no better name to offer.

“I don't suppose you found my sword?” she asked, her voice small and miserable.

“Your…” He shook his head. “I didn't hear reports of any weapons found. Someone must have taken them before our people arrived. I'm sorry.”

“If it was Squirrel,” Widdershins muttered darkly, “I'll kill him. Then I'm going to find a healer, revive him, and kill him again.”

“I didn't hear you,” Julien said blandly. “I'm sure you just said that you were going to find him and ask him, politely, if he had your blade.”

“Yeah. That, too.”

Another few decades passed….

“Widdershins, about last week?”

She blinked. What was he talking ab-Oh. That.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said sweetly.

“Uh-huh. The Ducarte estate?”

“Oh. That.”

“You're stealing again,” he accused her.

“What's the matter, Bouniard? You afraid of having someone out there you can't catch? I'm too challenging for you, maybe?”

“I'm serious. I can't…That is, I don't want…”

“Don't want what?”

Julien shrugged, looking away.

What could she tell him? That the Flippant Witch wouldn't survive without some “outside income”? That it was all she was good at? That she was bored? Somehow, she was pretty sure that none of those would fly.

And why am I bothering to explain myself?!

“Look, Julien. I promise you won't catch me doing anything illegal.” It was an old joke between them, but this time, he didn't seem amused.

“I'm serious, Widdershins,” he said again.

“You know, I think I almost picked up on that the first time you told me.”

“But you obviously aren't.”

“Well, no. Wouldn't want you accusing me of stealing your mood, would we?”

More glaring, more silence. A silence that broke as Julien scooted his chair back with a low scuffing across the carpet and began to pace.

“You shut up,” Widdershins breathed. Olgun, who hadn't actually been about to say anything at all, continued not doing so.

“Uh, Julien?”

He halted his pacing, his back toward her. “What?”

“Um, given that I've been out for a day, and that you're probably keeping a pretty close watch on what's happening in Davillon…”

“Hmm?”

“I was wondering if, well, if you knew who's throwing the next high-society ball or dinner party. And when.”

Oh, yeah, this was exactly the right time to ask him that, Widdershins! Graceful as a three-hoofed pig on a stack of turtles, you are.

He was facing her again, though his expression couldn't have been any more astonished if he'd just discovered that she'd been smuggling a street mime in her cleavage.

“Have you utterly lost your mind?!” The major was too dignified to actually shriek, but only just.

“Uh, maybe? What are my options?”

“I should have arrested you last week! Maybe you'd actually learn something from a few months in gaol!”

“What makes you think I'd have let you hold me that long? You couldn't manage it last time!”

Widdershins couldn't help but laugh as Julien's hand, seemingly of its own accord, dropped down to clutch at the keys on his belt-the keys that she'd used to escape the last time she'd been incarcerated.

Then, deciding that goading him any further was probably neither the wisest nor the most productive course