False Covenant

of action, she said, “Look, I'm not looking to rob anyone. I told you, I want to find out more about what's going on in the city, as well as about some problems of my own. Nobody gossips like aristocrats, and nobody has more ears throughout Davillon. That's why I want to go; not to steal anything.”

“And I should believe that why, exactly?”

“When have I ever lied to-”

“Do you really,” he growled at her, “want to finish that sentence?”

“Ah, no. No, I don't think I do. Julien…” She sighed and finally, steadily met his gaze with her own. “Whatever else I might do, whatever tricks I might pull, I'd never make you complicit in something you wouldn't approve of. I swear it.”

His face froze an instant longer and then cracked and softened. “I believe you. Which may say less about your honesty and more about my fracturing sanity, but there we are. The Marquise de Lamarr is throwing a soiree of some sort tomorrow evening-she's asked for a few of the Guard to bolster her own security-but that's probably too soon. Next week, the Baron-”

“No, tomorrow should work.” Widdershins swung her feet off the mattress, wincing but refusing to retreat before the pain. “Are my shoes around here?”

“Widdershins…”

“Because I'm pretty sure I had shoes when I got in. I really don't go out without 'em all that often….”

“Widdershins, lie down. You're hurt. Give it a few days!”

“I heal fast, Julien. We've been through this.”

“Not that fast, you don't!”

And it was actually true. Widdershins's shoulder and chest burned, aching far more than she would have expected. Was Olgun's power less effective against such an unnatural wound? Maybe so-but she was doing better than anybody else would have been, even if she wasn't exactly her full self.

And she sure wasn't about to spend another night in Julien's office! In its own way, and for its own reasons, the thought scared her as much as Iruoch himself.

“I'll be fine, Julien. And I'm going.”

He stood before her, arms crossed. “And if I put men at all the exits, with orders not to let you leave?”

“How many windows does this building have?” she asked smugly. “I'm pretty sure you can't spare that many guards.”

“Guards on the office door, then.”

“Sure. Just as soon as you explain to them that you've had me stashed in here for a day or so. That'll go over real well.”

“I could arrest you,” he insisted, but she knew from the slump of his shoulders that he was starting to surrender. “I can hold you for a while before we have to start worrying about charges and trials and all that.”

Widdershins smiled, stood-with only a single wince of pain-and, unconscious of what she was about to do until she was doing it, ran the tips of her fingers across his cheek. “But you wouldn't do that to me, right?”

“No,” he admitted. It came out somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. “I wouldn't. Just…Be careful, Shins.”

“I'm always careful.” Widdershins stretched up on her toes and planted a kiss right at the corner of Julien's mouth-not on the lips, no, but not quite on the cheek, either. And then, before either of them could react to what had just happened, she was out the door and gone.

Without, it's worth pointing out, her shoes.

Julien was still standing in that precise spot, staring at the empty mattress and trying to remember how to form a cogent thought, when his door shook with a familiar, military cadence.

“Uh…” He shook himself, wishing briefly he had a snifter of brandy available, or at least a bucket of ice water in which to dunk his head. “Enter!”

Paschal pushed the door open, saluted (with the wrong hand, but given his injured arm, that was acceptable), and then looked with some bemusement at the mattress.

When it became clear that nobody would be answering his unasked question, he spoke. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I thought you should know…”

“Yes, Constable?”

“The thief we discussed last week? Widdershins?”

Demas, does this whole damn city revolve around her?! “What of her?”

“We've orders to arrest her on sight, sir.”

Julien blinked rapidly enough that Paschal could probably feel the breeze. “Why? What's she accused of?”

“Not entirely sure, sir. The request came from the bishop's office.”

“What?!”

“Apparently, due to her rumored involvement in the death of Archbishop de Laurent-”

“She was trying to save the man!”

“So I've read in the reports, sir. Nevertheless, given the unnatural events surrounding that tragedy, and given her proximity to what's happening now, they want her brought in until they can determine for themselves whether she's responsible or otherwise involved.”

“And we're taking instructions on how to uphold the law from clergymen now, are we?”

The constable's look was more than enough to convey the various meanings that he couldn't, as Julien's subordinate, actually come out and utter.

“Yes, yes, you're right. Well, I can assure you that I have no notion of where Widdershins is at this point in time.” As opposed to what would have happened if you'd shown up five minutes ago. Widdershins, your luck is incredible! “But I will, of course, keep a lookout and do as we've been ordered.”

“I had no doubt of that, sir.” Paschal frowned behind his goatee. “Major, I'm sorry to be the one to put you in this position. I know that you're friends with the woman.” If there was just the tiniest hesitation before the constable pronounced “friends,” well, both men chose to ignore it.

“Bah. It's not as though you gave the order. Better to hear it from you, anyway.” Julien took a single step toward the door, then paused. “You do understand, of course, that given all the troubles facing Davillon just now, any hunt for a street thief-however genuine our efforts may be-cannot possibly take priority over other concerns.”

“I'm quite sure,” Paschal said with an almost straight face, “that nobody could argue that.”

Julien nodded once, brusquely, and stepped out into the corridors, his actively not-grinning friend close on his heels.

Not at all unlike his namesake, Squirrel crouched in the branches of a large tree that sprouted alongside the partially paved lane. Between the thickening darkness and the lush foliage of late spring, he was utterly invisible to passersby. (Or he would have been, had there been any.)

But while the world might have been oblivious to him, he was not at all oblivious to the world-much as he might wish he were. While the smell of the leaves and the fading aromas of Davillon's busy days might have overpowered the distant smell of peppermint, nothing-not even the hands he clasped desperately over his ears- could drown out the sounds emerging from the shop across the way.

“Ooh! Are we playing hide-and-seek? How high am I supposed to count?”

“Help me! Get away from me! Get away!”

“Well, that's no good. How are you supposed to hide from me if you're screaming like that? You really have no idea how to play this game, do you?”

“Help me! Somebody, please! Help…Oh, gods!”

“You're making me cross, now. Here.” Squirrel winced at the horrid, wet ripping sound, followed by a gurgle only vaguely recognizable as a human voice. “There! Won't be screaming without one of those, will you? Now we can play!”

The gurgle sputtered once, then faded.

“Oh. Huh. You're all so fragile.” The shop's old walls and shuttered windows kept Squirrel from seeing so much as a single gesture of what was happening inside, but he was certain the gaunt