He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “I count good.”
“Sorry. It’s just—”
“You weren’t expecting so many?”
“An understatement.”
“I doubt we’ll get any more. The deacons are furiously searching for their missing members. You probably should stay here a few more sun jumps.”
“There’s too much to do.”
“Like figuring out if Yates told the Water Prince about the torques?”
“How do you know Yates had a torque?”
Jayden reached into his bag. “Rendor told me when he gave me this.” He pulled the broken platinum necklace from it.
“From what Yates said and the fact the prince wasn’t wearing one, I don’t believe he’s shared his knowledge about the torques.”
“Ah, the captain might not be as loyal as we thought.” Jayden fiddled with the torque as his gaze grew distant. “Perhaps we could recruit him.”
“We can’t. Yates is very loyal…to Yates.”
“That could still be beneficial. At a crucial moment, he might decide to save his own skin instead of the prince’s.”
“We can hope.” They shared a grin.
“Tell me what led to you getting stabbed by Yates.”
She filled him in on the professor’s ambush and the prince’s offer. “An exchange—me for Hanif and Kaveri.”
“He’s bluffing. He won’t harm the monks,” he said.
“Not yet. But I fear if he gets desperate he will.” And she couldn’t allow that to happen.
Jayden was quiet a moment. Then he said, “Since we’re stuck here another sun jump, I’m going to visit my commune and get some sleep. You probably should rest as well or Zhek won’t be happy.” He headed for the door.
“When is Zhek ever happy?” she asked in frustration.
He paused and glanced back. “After a successful birth. He’s all smiles.”
It was hard to imagine. And she wasn’t going to have a baby just to witness it. Anyway, it wasn’t like she had to worry about that as Rendor…well, she’d no idea if she’d ever see him again, much less do…that. Besides, there was something that men did to prevent pregnancy. Would Rendor know? Argh, why was she thinking about this? About him? She needed to focus on the heaping mound of problems the Invisible Sword still needed to solve. And she wasn’t going to solve them lying here all sun jump.
Moving was difficult, but she managed to get upright without falling over. Putting her weight on her injured leg ignited a fire behind her thigh. She ignored it and took a few lurching steps. Shyla worked the stiffness from her limbs but was unable to walk without a considerable limp. She needed—a cane!
She hobbled from her room and aimed for one of the tables in the large common room. Only a few people milled about. Most were either out or asleep. She spotted a familiar figure.
“Ilan,” she called.
The boy skidded to a stop and came over. “Do you want to buy some rats?”
Did she? Their water supply was safe for now. “Not yet. But I need a cane. Do you know if there’s one I can use?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll be right back.” He dashed off.
While she waited, she spotted Zhek carrying a tray of food into her room. This was going to hurt more than the stab wound. Sure enough, Zhek stormed out. He glanced around, found her, and strode over. She braced for the lecture and wasn’t disappointed. At least he brought the food with him. Except she remembered that he had no qualms about putting his sleeping medicine into a patient’s food.
At the end of his tirade he said, “Well? What do you have to say?”
“Can you please give me more of that red water for the pain?”
Zhek sputtered. When Ilan arrived with a cane, it was too much for the healer. He pressed his lips together and left. Guess that was a no to the pain relief.
Ilan knew better than to ask about Zhek. Instead, he handed her the cane. Made of blue alabaster, a lightweight but strong stone, it hooked at the end to form a handle. There were small ridges on the underside that helped her get a better grip. A leather plug covered the bottom of the cane to reduce noise.
“Twist the handle and pull,” Ilan said.
She did as instructed and revealed a surprise. A thin blade about thirty centimeters long slid out. “Oooh. I like this.”
“Thought so.” He beamed.
Slightly hunched over, Shyla walked with her cane. It took her a few angles to find a rhythm and she still wasn’t smooth or very fast. But that didn’t matter as her ungainly gait matched her disguise of an older woman. She’d covered her hair and half of her face with her wrap. The best part was that the cane kept most of her weight off her injured leg.
Ilan accompanied her, playing the role of a dutiful grandson. She’d argued with Orla that she was just going on a reconnaissance mission, but the woman had insisted that, with the deacons searching Zirdai, Shyla needed backup.
“But he’s only ten circuits old,” she’d said. “I don’t want him to get caught or hurt.” She’d feel awful if that happened. His rats would miss him.
“He’s eleven and the boy’s better equipped at avoiding a deacon than you are right now,” Orla had said. “Take him or you can’t go.”
And here they were. Shyla found it interesting and a little sad that most people ignored her. Instead, they nodded to Ilan with approval. Not that she was complaining—going unnoticed was her goal. They descended to level seventy-one where blending in became harder to do. The quality of their clothing didn’t match that of the people who lived in the seventies. Though not nearly as wealthy as those living below level eighty, they still had extra coin to purchase finer fabrics that were custom tailored.
Avoiding guards was also challenging as teams of them patrolled these tunnels and the presence of the costly trol lanterns hindered them. The bright light of the trols chased away the shadows. Shyla preferred the druks with their weak purple glow.
They took a circuitous route to the chapel, keeping a lookout for both guards and deacons. Not many people traveled in this part of the city. Shyla wondered if it was due to the chapel nearby—out of sight equaling out of mind—or if it was due to the warmer air and strange odor. It had a hot metallic tang and left a bad taste in her mouth. People living underground learned a long time ago that pockets of foul air or unusual hot or cold spots were signs of toxic gases. And if they had collected in one place, there was a good chance they might ignite in a powerful explosion. This scent, though, reminded her of the foundries in the upper levels.
Finding a location to watch the chapel without being seen was difficult. They ended up in a tight corner, but it had a clear view of the main entrance. Too bad it was guarded by six Arch Deacons. If that didn’t tip her off that something big was going on inside the chapel, she needed to find a new profession.
As a mental exercise, she considered how she’d attack the chapel. The well-armed men wore torques, rendering her magic useless. The Invisible Swords could fight one-on-one and take their torques like Rendor had done to Yates, but she had no idea exactly how many deacons were inside. If this chapel had another entrance like the one on level fifty-two, she could send her people in that way to try for a surprise. Again, how many would she need? She wished for a way to neutralize the deacons without fighting. A vision of striking them on the head with a statue of Tamburah flashed. Not a terrible idea, except she’d have to get close.