After several minutes of hacking from downstairs, there were grunts. The silent thief returned, carrying the unconscious scarred man on his shoulder. Behind him came the pimpled man, who eyed Skate with hateful intensity. He whispered something to the tongueless thief, who shook his head emphatically. Skate guessed what the topic of conversation was.
“Listen to your partner. You’re outnumbered. There’s four of us and only two of you. And you don’t have any magic,” Skate said, speaking the words of the fireplace to make it turn blue once more. The pimpled man’s frown deepened, but he looked away. He scooped up his fallen comrade.
As the thieves crossed the house’s threshold, the pimpled man looked back and said, “This ain’t over. Not by a long shot.”
Skate said nothing, but Ungor managed a hideous growling croak in response.
When they were gone, Skate shut the door and looked around. “He’s not gonna be happy,” she muttered, looking at the mess and thinking of what must be an even greater catastrophe downstairs. Still, his soul tether was safe. She pulled the statuette out of her pocket. Maybe the soul tether. “Probably,” she corrected herself aloud. It wasn’t safe to stay here. The pimpled man was right; once Kite got back to the Ink with word of her betrayal, they’d converge on the house ready for an all-out war, searching for the statuette and for her.
“We need to go,” Skate told everyone, putting the statuette back safely.
Petre swirled into view. “Yes, I was afraid you’d say that. They won’t just cut and run, will they?”
“Not a chance. I caught them by surprise, but they’ll be ready when they get back. We gotta leave.”
“To escape vengeance.”
“To find Mr. Belamy,” she said, nodding toward the door. “We’re not safe with just us, but if he knows we’re in trouble, we should be fine.” She looked at Ungor, who was looking very content nestled in the corner. His fist-sized eyes blinked lazily. “I’d like him along, but I don’t think he’ll fit through the door.”
“You can put him back to sleep. Say ‘Koimao Ungor,’ and he’ll revert to his trinket form.”
Skate spoke the words, and Ungor became something less than solid. With one more belching croak, it shifted back into the figurine that could fit on a shelf. She scooped it up, placed Petre in her pocket, and went into the street. Rattle clicked and bounced behind.
Chapter 26
In which a spy is sent skyward, a confession is made, and stomach fires are deliberated.
Skate was something of a spectacle as she made her way through the streets. She knew it was nothing to do with her and everything to do with the thing that was flapping along behind her, with spider-like legs clicking loudly in the cold mid-morning air. The streets had been partially cleared in the night, so commerce was back in full swing, with wagons and carts being slowed interminably by scads of pedestrians off to buy and sell and trade and visit and gossip, all desperate for the end of winter.
Rattle—or, rather, the spectacle that Rattle provided—gave the benefit of creating a comfortable berth around Skate. Those who gawked did not wish to get too close, and those who weren’t gawking found themselves swept up in the tide of shifting movement. Even the Keepers would look up from their endless struggle against the snow to mark Rattle’s passing, discussing amongst themselves if any of their number had ever seen such a thing, only to reach the inevitable conclusion that no, they had not. The attention, while uncomfortable, made Skate’s trip to the Baron’s district much less of an exercise in drudgery, despite the frigid conditions and distance.
The crowds thinned a bit as they got closer to the area of town dominated by the Baron’s mansion and influence. Clothing became finer, more decorative. The stares became more disapproving. And, worryingly, Skate and Rattle had managed to attract the attention of a passing patrol of the Guard.
Skate picked up her pace. The patrolmen were not running: apparently, they did not want to alarm any of the pedestrians by appearing to rush. She cut through an alley to save time.
The biggest issue at the moment, of course, was that she did not know where exactly Belamy was, and finding him was going to be difficult with the Guard taking such an interest in Rattle’s sudden and bizarre appearance.
Once they were safely nuzzled between the two random buildings, Skate turned to Rattle. “Can you hide or something? You stick out like a sore thumb. The last thing I need is the Guard following me and asking a bunch of questions about you, what we’re doing here, or who I am.”
Rattle clicked once and pointed a leg upward.
“You want to just float above us until we need you? That’ll work. Hey, you can even get a better view of the place to try to find Mr. Belamy easier.”
It clicked again.
“Great. Go away, then, and I’ll try to outrun the Guard. I’ll yell if I need you.”
A third and final click, and it had gone, straight into the half-cloudy sky.
Skate shot out of the alleyway and doubled back the direction she’d been coming from, hopefully throwing the Guard off her trail. The people on this street had not seen Rattle, and her appearance was close enough to theirs to prevent any particular interest.
Skate wandered the streets, looking for a crowd of people, or a stage. It occurred to her that it was entirely possible Tillby’s troupe was not planning to perform in the street, but was preparing to give its most important performance in some hall or other indoor accommodation. That would make the search more difficult and time-consuming. Even here in the Baron’s district, the Ink had influence and several contacts who could make life difficult for her.
While she was ruminating on these difficulties and strolling down the road with the other pedestrians, Skate became aware of a persistent hissing. She turned and saw Twitch trying to get her attention from an alleyway, attempting not to be seen in his conspicuous rags amongst the finery of the Baron’s dwellers. Spotting her eyes on him, he waved her over, rather frantically. Skate made sure she was not being followed or marked by anyone before making her way over to the boy.
Twitch looked much the same as ever, though there was a tiredness to his eyes that was not usually there. His shock of wiry blond hair drifted fitfully in the light winter wind. He did not smile at her approach, but looked worried.
“What—what are you doing here?” he asked, pulling her conspiratorially into the alley with him. “It’s not—not safe.”
“What are you talking about?” Did they already get news that I’m trying to leave the Ink behind? Why would it spread that fast? Skate wrung her hands but disguised the act by blowing into them as a warming technique. “What’s dangerous?”
“We’ve been called in to deal—deal with a lich. It’s your lich, the old wizard. The Bosses think they’ve got—got something the old man can’t do without, and they’re going to try to force him into helping the—the Ink, whether he wants to or not. He’s supposed to be looking for the p-people that put on that great show we got to see.” His eyes lit up in wonder at the mention of the show and its performers. Skate didn’t like the effect; he looked like a person turned into a grotesque mask of enjoyment, a wooden mockery of happiness. “I think they might be trying to s-s-stop the performance, too. I’m not really clear on all the det-details. I just know that when we get the signal, we’re supposed to come running to wherever the b-b-brawl is and do our part to help out.”