“Watch your tongue, boy! The first time I’ll take for ignorance, but charge my brother or Father Angelo again and I’ll put you down for blasphemy.”
“Then what is this place?” asked Leonhardt, the glint of oiled manacles catching her eye.
“A faster way onto the water. The clerics used it decades ago when there were still pagan raids. Had to catch the bastards before they vanished back to their damned island.”
Jael glanced again toward the wall. “And the chains?”
“Inquisition,” was all Thomas said.
Ogdon remained doubtful. “Does that boat and those cuffs look decades old to you?”
Thomas squinted, peering through the dark beyond the reach of his lantern. “All I can see are shadows and trespassers. You’re both coming with me to talk with your captain. Then we’ll sort this out during daylight hours.”
“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” a new voice sprung from the dark.
“Alphonse,” the stout elder started, “I thought you said you were keeping watch over Angelo. How did you find us? I swore I closed the door—and where is your light?”
“Oh, there was no need for that,” he said, cloaked in the curve of the fork leading from the trapdoor in the storeroom. Then he entered the cove, the speed and surefootedness of his approach causing Ogdon to notice that Thomas’s weapon hung harmlessly from his waist—that Alphonse’s mace was already engaged, its velvet head breaking bloodless the stout elder’s crown, his body crumbling suddenly, his brow and mouth gone flaccid. It was a soft sound, drown out by the cracking glass as the lantern struck the ground. Yet its yellow flame lingered, flickering as Elder Alphonse loomed over his brother to ensure that he was dead. His head twisted to face the squires. He said to them, pale and smiling, “That’s one problem solved. I hope that I don’t have many more. Such is hard labor for a man so old. Why don’t you two help me clean up this mess?”
His voice echoed, as did the lapping of black waves and Jael’s sharp, shallow breaths. Neither squire answered. The elder pouted, said, “Must I spell it out? Strange. When Thomas came blubbering about you, I assumed you must be at least half-clever. Did you discover this all by luck? Or perhaps you’re only playing the dunce—yes, that’s it. I knew I was right about you.” He passed over his brother’s corpse so that the broken lantern burned gold behind him, casting him in shadow the length of the cove. “What say you, squire? May we come to an accord?”
“No chance in Hell,” Jael spat. “The Cross is going to purge men like you from the church. You’ll be the second caught.”
“What did you have in mind?” asked Ogdon, watching Leonhardt tense out of the corner of his eye.
The elder smiled. “Oh, it’s your desire, truly. You could both die here, and of course your companions would have to follow, though it wouldn’t do for a whole house of honoured guests to disappear under the Father’s hospitality. But if it’s just one girl, why I dare say that Thomas could play our scapegoat. We’ll send the city out looking for him and an abducted squire. We even have a witness. You saw him run off with the girl gagged and bound.”
I was right. Angelo must be involved…and who else?
“You’ll have to kill us,” Jael replied. “Ogdon wouldn’t betray me. And besides, I already told—”
“What do I get out of it?” Ogdon cut in. That sent Leonhardt shivering. With her injuries, Sylvertre doubted she could run, yet still he had to swallow his nerves. “What do I get if I agree to your scheme?”
“Aside from living? Avarice is a sin, you know,” Alphonse chuckled at his own joke. “What is it that you want?”
I want to know who you’re selling to, who’s pulling your strings. But the squire couldn’t think of a phrasing of his questions that wouldn’t soon as spoken give him away. He blamed Jael for this; every few seconds she would shift, her breathing would change, and her limbs would stiffen so that, without conscious attention, Ogdon’s eyes would pull sideways, and he’d jerk them back onto the threat ahead of him.
The elder noticed, and at the same time, so did Jael notice the elder’s distraction. In that moment, she ducked low and burst forward faster than Sylvertre suspected she could—but slower than Alphonse’s arm. The velvet mace caught her abdomen, and she plunged to her knees, one sharp scream and a thousand shallow, agonized breaths.
“Chain her,” Ogdon said, yet the elder only observed, his face a curious shadow. So the squire repeated himself, “Put her in the manacles before she tries to run again.” Still, the man ignored his command. Sylvertre stepped closer, deep into the murder’s shadow. “You asked me what I want, and I want her. It’s not like you’re planning to sell her, are you?”
A great, bright grin shone amidst the pitch. “Sell her? Oh, no, the bishop would be against it. Wouldn’t be worth the return; she’s too old, and just looking at her, I think a boy would do better.” He reached down and filled his fist with her hair, faced away from Ogdon as he hauled Jael to her feet and toward the manacles. “She’s all yours, squire, though I beseech you, make it quick. Take too long and you’ll be missed by your captain. We don’t want to arm him with too many questions—and you, hold still!” he grunted, shoving Jael’s face against the rock wall while he hung his mace from his belt. He’d needed both hands to restrain a snapping, clawing Leonhardt.
“She’s a fighter, isn’t she?” Ogdon asked, the soft din of drawing his sword from its scabbard drowned out by the lapping waves. He thrust the point into the elder’s back, heard the blood spatter from his lips, then the body collapsed and would’ve taken Sylvertre with it had
