throat. “Nice to meet you.”
Likewise. Mr. Prestley holds you in high regard. I trust my appearance will not cause you discomfort.
“Not at all. I’m glad to have a sorcerer along.” I’d nearly used the term wand-waver. In the Army, I’d seen similar slips of the tongue turn fatal more than once.
Stitches, still smiling, pulled her cowl down over her face.
Your association with the Corpsemaster is rare, finder. I understand you have been inside her home. Can you remember what you saw there?
“Bodies. Some were dusty, like they’d been standing in place for a long time.” I thought back, wondering if my new friend Stitches could pluck thoughts out of my head as easily as she put words in it. “No living staff that I saw. Old furniture. Big plain doors. The Corpsemaster didn’t decorate to impress.”
Were you able to pass freely over thresholds? Did you see any evidence of protective magics?
I shrugged. “Bodies opened the doors for me, once I was inside. I don’t remember entering or leaving. I don’t recall any glowing objects, any walls of fire, any lakes of scorpions, if that’s what you mean.”
The hood bobbed in a nod.
My experience was similar.
“You’ve been in the old spook’s—that is, the Corpsemaster’s home?”
The hood turned to Evis. Evis nodded after a moment and reached into a pocket. When he withdrew his hand, Stitches held up her own as well.
Each held an old iron key. Each key was twin to the one in my pocket.
It seems we have this in common, said Stitches. A hint of bemusement touched her words. If we survive this night, it will be because we were all—at one time or another—invited to return.
“She always this cheerful, Evis?”
“You ever met a cheerful sorcerer?” Evis put his key away. “But she’s right. The Corpsemaster didn’t just hand out her house keys willy-nilly. Why’d she give you yours, Markhat?”
I figure there’s a time and a place to keep secrets, and neither of them is when you’re seated across from a sorceress who can probably not only read your mind but yank it out and poke holes in it if she so desires.
“It was right before the bunch from Prince hit Rannit. My key unlocks a secret room. She said I could use it to find safety if Rannit fell. You?”
“Got mine years ago when the House first got cozy with her. She said it would unlock an armory. I was only to use it if Avalante was backed into a corner.”
Mine unlocks the front door. I was instructed to use it only in times of mortal peril.
I bit back a presumptuous comment. Evis saw and gave me the faintest of nods. He’d come to the same conclusion.
The Corpsemaster’s keys were perhaps not the altruistic gifts we’d thought. Or maybe they were, but only as an aside—the old witch had meant for us to come charging to her rescue, if she were to be injured and gone to ground.
Such cynics you both are. Nevertheless, I must concur.
“Doesn’t change a thing,” said Evis. “We still need to know.”
I snorted. “You might. I don’t. Good thing I enjoy your fancy cigars so much, Mr. Prestley. Else I might be tempted to remember pressing engagements elsewhere.”
An idle threat, Mr. Markhat. You would no more abandon your friend than you would sprout wings and fly. Which may well be your undoing.
“What’s your excuse?”
My only reply was a welcome silence in my head.
A match scratched and flared. Evis pulled at his Lowland Sweet until the end of the cigar glowed red. Then he offered one to me.
We smoked without conversation as the carriage rattled through the night, all the way to Portend Street and the tall black lampposts that mark the beginning of Cauldron Town.
We pulled to the curb in a convenient cleft of shadows. Stitches left Evis and me in the cab while she crept around it, muttering and splashing strange lights on the wheels. Evis and the driver exchanged a few soft whispers, and Stitches climbed back inside and we were off.
It is
Likewise. Mr. Prestley holds you in high regard. I trust my appearance will not cause you discomfort.
“Not at all. I’m glad to have a sorcerer along.” I’d nearly used the term wand-waver. In the Army, I’d seen similar slips of the tongue turn fatal more than once.
Stitches, still smiling, pulled her cowl down over her face.
Your association with the Corpsemaster is rare, finder. I understand you have been inside her home. Can you remember what you saw there?
“Bodies. Some were dusty, like they’d been standing in place for a long time.” I thought back, wondering if my new friend Stitches could pluck thoughts out of my head as easily as she put words in it. “No living staff that I saw. Old furniture. Big plain doors. The Corpsemaster didn’t decorate to impress.”
Were you able to pass freely over thresholds? Did you see any evidence of protective magics?
I shrugged. “Bodies opened the doors for me, once I was inside. I don’t remember entering or leaving. I don’t recall any glowing objects, any walls of fire, any lakes of scorpions, if that’s what you mean.”
The hood bobbed in a nod.
My experience was similar.
“You’ve been in the old spook’s—that is, the Corpsemaster’s home?”
The hood turned to Evis. Evis nodded after a moment and reached into a pocket. When he withdrew his hand, Stitches held up her own as well.
Each held an old iron key. Each key was twin to the one in my pocket.
It seems we have this in common, said Stitches. A hint of bemusement touched her words. If we survive this night, it will be because we were all—at one time or another—invited to return.
“She always this cheerful, Evis?”
“You ever met a cheerful sorcerer?” Evis put his key away. “But she’s right. The Corpsemaster didn’t just hand out her house keys willy-nilly. Why’d she give you yours, Markhat?”
I figure there’s a time and a place to keep secrets, and neither of them is when you’re seated across from a sorceress who can probably not only read your mind but yank it out and poke holes in it if she so desires.
“It was right before the bunch from Prince hit Rannit. My key unlocks a secret room. She said I could use it to find safety if Rannit fell. You?”
“Got mine years ago when the House first got cozy with her. She said it would unlock an armory. I was only to use it if Avalante was backed into a corner.”
Mine unlocks the front door. I was instructed to use it only in times of mortal peril.
I bit back a presumptuous comment. Evis saw and gave me the faintest of nods. He’d come to the same conclusion.
The Corpsemaster’s keys were perhaps not the altruistic gifts we’d thought. Or maybe they were, but only as an aside—the old witch had meant for us to come charging to her rescue, if she were to be injured and gone to ground.
Such cynics you both are. Nevertheless, I must concur.
“Doesn’t change a thing,” said Evis. “We still need to know.”
I snorted. “You might. I don’t. Good thing I enjoy your fancy cigars so much, Mr. Prestley. Else I might be tempted to remember pressing engagements elsewhere.”
An idle threat, Mr. Markhat. You would no more abandon your friend than you would sprout wings and fly. Which may well be your undoing.
“What’s your excuse?”
My only reply was a welcome silence in my head.
A match scratched and flared. Evis pulled at his Lowland Sweet until the end of the cigar glowed red. Then he offered one to me.
We smoked without conversation as the carriage rattled through the night, all the way to Portend Street and the tall black lampposts that mark the beginning of Cauldron Town.
We pulled to the curb in a convenient cleft of shadows. Stitches left Evis and me in the cab while she crept around it, muttering and splashing strange lights on the wheels. Evis and the driver exchanged a few soft whispers, and Stitches climbed back inside and we were off.
It is
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