“People see the plumage, not the bird.”
The implication of his words struck him like adwarf’s fist and stopped him midstride.
Vishni grinned. “Having visions of fairy wings, arewe? Big, gaudy wings? Maybe a nice bright shade of orange, sincethat’s the only color you don’t seem to be wearing.”
“Don’t even think about it!”
“Why not? By your own reasoning, wings would distractpeople and keep them from looking at my face.”
“A full-scale invasion of flying monkeys would beinsufficient to that purpose,” he said. “Now, for the love of athousand tiny gods, pull up your hood.”
The girl blinked. A small, pleased smile curved herlips as she arranged the folds of her shawl around her face.
They left the square and headed in silence down TwinGate Way, a broad street lined with shops and ending in a pair ofhigh, gated arches. Both gates stood open, and several uniformedguards monitored the flow of traffic into the walled district.
The sprawling complex known as Rhendish Manor crownedSevrin’s tallest hill. The hill itself had come to be calledCrystal Mountain, not because of any mineral deposits it mightcontain, but to reflect the particular obsession of its arcanelord.
Beyond the right-hand gate a long road wound uphillpast the workshops of artisans who crafted bits and pieces for theadept’s creations. A short line of carts and carriages awaitedinspection. Crafters came and went on foot. People bound directlyfor the manor, however, gathered at the left gate to ride the Mule,a wonder of ropes and pulleys and clockwork machinery that liftedpassenger carriages up over the steep rock of the mountain’s northwall.
Fox steered Vishni toward the queue awaiting theMule.She shaded her eyes with one small hand and fixed a doubtfulgaze on the mountain summit and the carriages swaying in the highwind.
“I don’t like this.”
A short huff of laughter escaped him. “Fear ofheights, Vishni? Completely understandable. It’s not as if youcould
“No one flies far in a cage.” They edged closer tothe left gate. “And only a fool willingly steps into one.”
“Stop fussing. We’re not riding the Mule.”
He tipped his head toward the other gate. Her gazefollowed the gesture. Her eyes widened at the sight of theblack-bearded official who stood with one booted foot on a cart’swheel spoke, scowling down at a bill of lading.
“Is that-”
“The hero of ‘How Gompson Wed the Gorgon?’ The manwhose bride you locked in a root cellar because switching bridesmade for a better story? That’s him.”
“
“Thanks to your illusions.”
“So? Every story requires a twist or two,” she saidas they shuffled a step closer to the gate. “Everyone assumes truelove will win the day. A good storyteller subverts expectations. Ifyou ask me, it’s more satisfying to see a trickster paid in his owncoin.”
Fox nodded as he scanned the bustling scene.
“I could create a diversion,” Vishni said.
His gaze snapped back to her. “Yes, because thatworked out so well last time.”
She pouted and folded her arms. “It’s not my faultDelgar got himself captured.”
Actually, it was, but Fox saw no profit in pointingthis out. More to the point, a diversion of another sort demandedhis full attention.
A pair of barefoot urchins clambered up themountain’s steep rocky face, sure-footed as mountain goats. Theyclimbed to a jutting outcrop of rocks that came within a few feetof the Mule’s lower rope. One of the boys shuffled carefully to theedge of the rock.
Someone noticed and raised a hand to point. A murmurran through the crowd, and people fell back from the gate to get abetter look.
A Mule carriage swept downward toward the boy’sperch. It would clear the rock with little room to spare.
The woman behind Fox gasped like a blacksmith’sbellows.
“Too low,” she moaned. “Flatten him, it will, like acartwheel over a toad.”
Other people were coming to the same conclusions.From somewhere in the crowd, a woman screamed at the boy to getdown. Two of the guards tried to climb up after him, only to beshouted down by their captain.
“Get ready,” Fox murmured.
When the carriage was a few feet away from him, thelad leaped and caught the rope. He whooped and kicked as he rode itdown, the carriage following at a safe and steady distancebehind.
The boy let go of the rope and dropped onto the thickstraw thatching of a small shop that stood under the Mule’s ropesand just outside the walls. He rolled down, landed on his feet, andbounced off into a run.
For several moments, chaos reigned.
A stout woman rushed out of the shop in a cloud ofdust and straw, yelling at the boy as she brushed thatching fromher shoulders and hair. Three dogs darted after the boy, whovaulted over a flatbed cart loaded with wooden chicken crates. Oneof the crates tumbled to the street and broke apart. A dozen or sopanicked hens scattered. Two cart ponies shied and reared, tippingover the cart and its cargo of apples.
The crowd was evenly divided between those whohurriedly distanced themselves from the disturbance and those whorushed forward to take advantage of it. Children scrambled forapples. A few boys started an impromptu battle, pelting each otherand anyone within range with bruised fruit. One of the dogs gave uppursuit of the urchin in favor of chasing chickens. The merchantsnatched up his hen and held it high overhead while the dog leapedand snapped at its prey.
Fox and Vishni slipped through the gate, unnoticed,and fell in behind a group of grumbling artisans.
They ducked into a narrow walkway between two stoneworkshops. Fox stooped and slid a pair of silver pennies into acrevice. The boys who’d staged the disturbance could collect theirpay at their leisure.
“Not bad,” Vishni said. “But just imagine how muchmore interesting that could have been with an illusion or two.”
“No illusions,” he said firmly.
The girl propped her hands on her narrow hips. “Thenwhy, exactly, am I here?”
Fox’s stern expression wavered. “We might need you tocast an illusion. But only as a last resort.”
She rolled her eyes and started down the walk. Foxcaught her arm.
“I’ll meet you at the waulking bowl.”
Vishni’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Trying to getrid of me?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I’m going to theherbalist to get a restorative for Delgar. He might not need it,but if he does, it will save us the trouble of carrying himout.”
“I’ll meet you at the waulking bowl,” Vishni saidflatly. She spun on her heel and took off the way they’d come.
Fox smirked and continued down the walk. To Vishni,“herbalist” was another way of saying “green witch.” Her kind hadreason to avoid humans who meddled with plants and potions.Hestopped on the way to buy a pair of ducks, dressed and plucked andready for the pot. The herbalist lived on what her garden provided.It seldom occurred to her to eat anything else, and as far as Foxknew, he was the only one who bothered to remind her.
The door to the herbalist’s shop stood open, but Foxhad another, safer way in. He slipped into the shadows beside thecooper’s shop, where stood a courtyard paved with large, flatstones.
He slid a barrel aside as quietly as possible toreveal a stone twice the width of his shoulders. He removed twosmall, rounded rocks wedged under either edge of the stone andstepped onto one side. The rock spun on a hidden central hinge anddropped him into a low tunnel.
After securing the stone door from below, he creptthrough the tunnel. A short incline led to a door fashioned of thinwood covered by an even thinner layer of stone. He cracked it openand checked the room for occupants. Moving quickly, he pushedthrough and swung the door back into place. The facade blendedseamlessly with the
