And one of the voices was Aaron’s.
I recognized it even before I was able to pick out words. Two male voices, the first one Aaron’s, the other rougher and unfamiliar to me—I surmised that was Dorak. The former seemed to embark on a speech as I crept closer, but I only came within range to understand him at the tail end of it.
“. . . when I arrive in Chiavora,” Aaron said. “I’ll write to you then.”
My heart lurched painfully. All this time I’d spent worrying about him, and he was planning a trip to the Continent?
Then someone else answered him. Not Dorak: a woman, much crisper and colder than I’d ever heard her. “I’m well aware that you believe yourself to be smarter than everyone else in the room—but I am not so much of a fool that I’m going to send you off to Chiavora with absolutely nothing in return.”
“And I’m not so much of a fool as to tell you where it is when you have me tied to a chair.”
The entire situation reconfigured itself in my mind, back to something even worse than my original image. Aaron wasn’t preparing for a holiday; he was bargaining for his freedom—with, I suspected, the missing ending of the epic.
He went on talking. “I have a healthy respect for your intelligence, Mrs. Kefford, and even more respect for your wealth and influence. If I try to dis appear in Chiavora without upholding my end of the bargain, you’ll have me hunted down. I’ve never been out of Scirland; I’m nothing like capable of a vanishing act. The only way I get out of this safely is if I get beyond your immediate reach, then tell you where I put it.”
“And never return to Scirland,” she said.
His response, when it came, was almost too quiet for me to hear. “There isn’t much left for me here now.”
Mrs. Kefford gave a mocking laugh. “Poor dear. What did you think would happen? That a few years down the road you would ‘discover’ another text that gives the epic a different ending? That you would publish it, restore your tarnished reputation, and win back her heart?”
Silence. I was straining so hard to hear what came next that the creak from behind me nearly made me jump out of my skin—and then the cold tip of a gun barrel pressed against the back of my neck and I shrieked.
I wish I had kept my head. One of the things my jujutsu instructor taught me was that it’s a mistake to put your gun right up against somebody’s back; you make it too easy for them to twist away and grab your arm before you can make up your mind to fire. But Dorak took me by surprise, and my instinct was to lurch forward, out of reach—but not, of course, out of range. I wound up facing him, and there was just enough light to see him gesture with the gun, the motion too small for me to take advantage of it. “Move,” he said.
Toward the river doors, and the other two. I went, shaking from head to toe. Grandmama has been kidnapped, captured, or held hostage more times than I can count, but it has never happened to me before. Then I came onto the open planks where lighters unload their cargo, and there were Mrs. Kefford and Aaron Mornett.
When he saw me he jerked furiously against the ropes holding him, but it did no good. There was blood on one ear and the side of his head where someone had struck him, and he looked haggard. “I got your message,” I said unsteadily.
“God damn it, Audrey,” he snarled, “you weren’t supposed to come here like this!”
“You know me better than that,” I said, keeping my gaze on Dorak and Mrs. Kefford. The former was expressionless and the latter looked like she was watching a rather tedious comedy. “Common sense has never been my strong suit.”
It was ridiculous to banter like that, but it helped me settle my nerves. Dorak hadn’t shot me yet, and while that wasn’t much, right then I was grateful for every shred of good fortune I could snatch. How long would it have taken Constable Corran to get back to the police station, and then to reach Fibula Street? Had Kudshayn heard my shriek? I almost hoped not; if he came charging in, we might all wind up like Hallman.
But if I could buy time, the cavalry might yet arrive. So I transferred my attention to Mrs. Kefford and said, “I’m surprised to see you getting your hands dirty like this.”
“I will do nothing of the sort,” she said, and nodded toward Dorak. “That is what he is for. Aaron and I have just reached an agreement, as you no doubt overheard; he will trade his precious tablets for his life. But you, my dear . . . you present a more difficult problem.”
“Don’t I always.”
Aaron made a strangled sound. “Audrey—”
“Hush, dear,” Mrs. Kefford said to him. “You have only one bargaining chip, and you have already used it. Unless you would like to trade it for her life instead?”
“Bollocks,” I said before he could respond. “That wouldn’t work and we all know it. Let me walk out of here, and I’ll be off to the police like a shot.”
Her lip curled. “If you’re trying to persuade me not to kill you, that’s not a very good way of doing it.”
I clamped my mouth shut, fumbling for something better to say. For all her cold manner, I had a feeling Mrs. Kefford was posturing—playing the role of criminal mastermind. A politician’s wife is used to manipulating people, not murdering them. She kept casting sideways glances at Dorak’s gun, as if it made her uneasy. I doubted she’d been there when Hallman was shot.
That suspicion grew stronger when she said, “No, if I’m to keep you silent, I need some kind of leverage. Something I can destroy at any time if you cross me.” She cocked her head to one side, finger tapping theatrically against her cheek. “I wonder, which would exert greater force over you? These tablets and their silly tale? Or the man before you?”
She genuinely believed I still cared for him. And in a way, I did—because I heard Kudshayn’s voice in my head, as if he were standing there with us. Whatever they may say is not more important to me than your life.
The tablets were not more important than anyone’s life. I would give them up for Aaron Mornett, not because I loved him, but because he didn’t deserve to die.
Wasn’t that precisely the lie he had tried to sell with his forgery? That the Draconeans sacrificed human beings for their god. I would not sacrifice him, or anyone, for the Light of the World—nor for the nameless god of knowledge and history, to whom I have dedicated all my effort.
Self-sacrifice is a different matter. But I wasn’t about to offer myself up, not least because I didn’t trust Mrs. Kefford to bargain as fairly as the Crown of the Abyss.
Then a shadow eclipsed the moonlight coming through the river doors.
Draconeans cannot properly fly, but they can glide moderately well, if they start from a high place and curl their legs in tight. The roof of the warehouse gave Kudshayn enough altitude to soar out over the river and then bank toward us, can noning through the open doors like a dragon. Dorak whirled to meet this new threat and fired—I shrieked again—and then Kudshayn hit him, all eighty-odd kilograms of scale and wing and claw, and the two of them tumbled across the planks into the nearest stack of crates with enough force to break human bones.
Mrs. Kefford couldn’t possibly have known Kudshayn was coming, but she wasted no time. She hiked up her skirts and bolted for the door—or tried to. I slammed into her, and this time I did remember my jujutsu. I just didn’t remember how close we were to the edge of the water.