party. Relic was limping more than usual; his whole body was wracked with tremors. Infidel was holding his arm, supporting him.
Lord Tower sighed. “Since we aren’t under attack right now, maybe Greatshadow didn’t notice this incident. Perhaps the worst that has come from this is that our supplies are scattered halfway back to the sea. We’re going to lose the rest of the day gathering them.” He looked at Menagerie. “I need more than just Reeker on the job. You’ll all help recover the gear.”
Menagerie nodded. “We’re on it. I can work the treetops as a monkey.”
Tower turned to Father Ver. “While Zetetic’s stunt has cost us time, it’s also proof that he has skills no one else brings to the mission. Help him get cleaned up and stitch his wounds.”
Father Ver’s left eye began to twitch. He looked as if he was about to explode, but he said, softly, “As you wish.”
Lord Tower looked down at the Deceiver, who had managed to sit up. The beaten man probed his bloodied mouth with his fingers, wincing as he pulled out a broken molar. The knight said, “Before you fell into heresy, you earned renown as a scholar. Some priests tell me you were the smartest man they’d ever met. How can you be dumb enough to pull a stunt like this? Even if you’d escaped with the book, you would not be free. Should ten days pass without word from me, the monks will initiate the X sanction. You understand the consequences?”
The Deceiver nodded. His wet voice whistled as he said, “I undershtand the damned conshequencesh.”
Tower turned back to the others. “Let’s get busy. Goons, gather gear. Blade, I need you to… to…” His voice trailed off as he looked around the clearing. He turned to Father Ver and asked, “Where are Blade and the Whisper?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I can follow their scent,” said Menagerie, shifting into the form of a wolf. His voice was a yelping growl as he said, “I’ll take the War Doll for back up, assuming it can act independently. It’s the only one with a chance to keep up with me.”
“Agreed,” said Relic, his voice still weak.
“There’s no need for a search party. Blade won’t run forever,” said Father Ver. He didn’t sound apologetic for having caused the problem. “Once he trips, or runs into something, he’ll return to his senses.”
“Given Blade’s agility, he might run a long time,” said Lord Tower, as he rose into the sky. “With the thickness of this canopy, I’ll never spot him from the air. Menagerie’s plan is a sensible one. I’ll help gather gear while they’re gone.”
Stay with me, Blood-Ghost, thought Relic. I dare not look into the Deceiver’s mind again. You must watch him with complete vigilance.
The Deceiver didn’t look as if he was going start mischief anytime soon. Father Ver knelt before him, examining the man’s torn face. Zetetic was oddly passive as the priest reached out to touch a gash on his upper lip. “This will require stitches,” Ver said. “It will hurt.”
Menagerie sniffed the ground, then bounded up the trail at breakneck speed with Infidel at his heels. Or rather, his paws. I looked at Relic and said, “I go where she goes.” I spun around before he could answer and surrendered myself to the tug of the knife in her boot sheath. My ghostly feet lifted from the ground and I flew after them far more swiftly than I could have run.
A mile up the trail, the wolf slowed to sniff the ground next to a shallow stream. The vegetation here thickened again due to the presence of the water, and I searched the dense foliage in vain for any sign of Blade. Infidel caught up a few seconds later, panting heavily. Even with her strength, running a mile uphill in the furnace- like heat was no easy task.
“I thought you might like a chance to talk,” said Menagerie in his wolf-yips. “It’s got to be killing you keeping quiet around those assholes.”
“It’s not all that tough,” Infidel said. “It’s not like I’m eager to chat with any of them.”
“I find Father Ver moderately entertaining,” said Menagerie, pausing to take a few laps from the stream. “Have you noticed that he and the Deceiver seem to have exactly the same power? They both say things that aren’t true and make them come true.”
“Actually,” said Infidel, “the Deceiver’s power is less creepy. He says things that change himself. The Truthspeaker says things to change others.”
“Creepy or not, I could have laughed my ass off when Reeker had to hold his tongue. I went into the wrong line of business with blood magic. I’d trade all my tattoos for the ability to shut Reeker up whenever I wanted to.”
“I thought you guys were friends,” said Infidel.
The wolf shrugged. “I’m not in a career where it pays to have friends. The people I grow close to have a depressing tendency to die. Reeker and No-Face are my companions chiefly because they’ve proven themselves as survivors.”
Infidel pressed her lips tightly together and swallowed hard.
“You okay?” asked Menagerie.
“Just thinking about Stagger,” said Infidel. “He’d still be alive if he hadn’t been my friend.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” said Menagerie.
“Can’t I?” said Infidel with a feeble grin. “I’d trade Greatshadow’s treasure for the chance to go back and do things differently. Sometimes, I forget that he’s gone, and feel like I’m going to look back over my shoulder and find him standing there, giving me a reassuring smile.”
“I’m here!” I shouted, waving my arms. “I’m here!”
“You’ll always have his memory, at least.”
“Maybe I don’t want the memories,” she said. “Because, when I do turn around, and see that he’s not there, it feels like hands grab my heart and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze.”
She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, drawing a long, slow, breath.
“It helps some, pretending to be a machine,” she said. “To think there’s only a mechanical pump in my chest, not a heart. I’d pay any price for a head full of gears instead of memories.”
Menagerie sat down, scratching behind his ear with a paw. He took a moment to let Infidel compose herself before he said, “I know it’s trite, but time does make the pain go away.”
Infidel shook her head. “When I think about the Black Swan in her cobwebbed wedding dress, I wonder if that’s true.”
“You’ve never lost anyone close to you before?”
“Stagger’s the only one who ever got close,” she said. “My mother died when I was thirteen. I was told I should mourn her, but I didn’t really feel anything. I was raised by servants; my mother was just this pretty china doll who decorated my father’s palace. She barely ever spoke to me. I can’t remember the sound of her voice.”
“My mother was my world,” said Menagerie.
“Was? She passed away?”
“She’s still alive. I just don’t see her.”
“But you used to be close?”
Menagerie looked up and down the trail, as if making sure no one else was listening. Finally, he said, “My mother was a prostitute, sold by her parents to a brothel when she was eleven. She was fourteen when she gave birth to me, and I was swiftly followed by two baby sisters. She gave us the best life she could; stashing away a few coins here and there in the hope that she might one day purchase her freedom and raise us in a better home. From the age I first understood what was going on, I dreamed of having enough money to make her dream come true. I joined a street gang when I was seven and began shoplifting and picking pockets. I committed my first murder at age nine. Got involved in blood magic not long after; by age thirteen, I was running my own gang, and earned enough to send my sisters off to a boarding school. By the time I was sixteen I bought my mother’s
