The Consuls of the Vicariate (11 page)

B
rice sat quietly in his room, the lock Caleb had given him in hand. The decorations, the inlays, and the mechanism all captivated Brice unlike anything—or anyone, for that matter—he had ever encountered. Each time he slipped the probe into the keyhole, he closed his eyes and envisioned the little world within, the blocks, levers, and shafts. Opening the lock and claiming victory over its intricacies would be proof that he could open any door or chest which barred their progress.

He was beyond frustration, but he remembered the feeling well. In Reven’s Landing, Brice had had run-ins with many looms that had given him fits, and he had been tempered like steel to be patient and resolved when machinery malfunctioned. The lock he held, though, was not in need of repair. In fact, his goal was to make the lock work against its purpose and give up that which it protected.

“Still playing with that?” Caleb asked.

Brice blinked. With his attention fixed on the lock, he hadn’t noticed Caleb enter the room. “Trying to figure it out.”

“It’ll have to wait. It’s time for the meeting.”

“Already?” Brice turned to see only darkness through the window. “Sorry, I hadn’t noticed the time passing.”

“Quite all right. Made any progress?” Caleb opened the door and led the way into the street.

“A little. Halfway to getting it open, I should think.”

Caleb smiled. “Then you’re close to the surprise.”

“Surprise? What surprise?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?” Caleb chuckled. “You’ll get there. For now, keep your mind on the task at hand.”

Brice nodded. “Where do you want me once we get there?”

“There’s a well in the courtyard. You shouldn’t have a problem hearing us from there.” He passed Brice a mug. “Lie behind it with this in hand and hide yourself from view of either of the walkways leading to the tower. If anyone happens upon you, act like a drunkard and make your escape.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” Caleb displayed a dagger at his hip.

“I hope you’re good with it.”

“I am.”

Brice likened the sight of the bell tower to the lighthouses of Sorbia and Cael’Bril. The stone structure seemed old compared to the rest of the city, but the well-kept lawn indicated that the building had not lost its utility over the years.

Caleb stopped at the intersection of two roads opposite the courtyard. “You go. We can’t be seen together.”

Brice nodded, then hoisted the mug in the air. Once he reached the iron gate of the courtyard, he swaggered across the lawn and belted out a tavern tune with a drunken slant. Having taken a winding, indirect path to the well, he collapsed next to it and closed his eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard footsteps on the cobbled path. Not long after that, he heard another set of steps.

“Who are you?”

Brice recognized Forane’s voice.

“Caleb. I’m all that’s left of us. Lester’s dead.”

“And who is that?” Forane asked. “Why do you speak in such a familiar way, young man? As if I should know this Lester of whom you speak?”

“Don’t toy with me, madam. You think Lester could’ve accomplished the task on his own?”

“Maybe, and maybe not.” She held a long pause. “If you were involved with Lester, how much did I pay him?”

“Pay him?” Caleb asked sharply. “You mean to tell me that bastard was paid? He told us it was for the good of the order!”

If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve believed that one
, Brice mused, trying to keep his mouth from bending into a smile.

“Keep your voice down, fool,” Forane whispered. “You would see us discovered?”

“I apologize, madam, but I hate being used. Good thing he’s dead, or I would’ve killed him myself.”

“How did he die, exactly?”

“He went alone—against my advice, I might add—to take care of… our friend. He crawled back to our spot with a slash in his belly. It would seem the vicar has better protection than we thought.”

Forane, seemingly without any regard for Lester’s death, continued, “Matters are further complicated. The man has returned to the consulship, and we are in peril of losing control.”

“Surely not, madam, for you are—”

“Don’t. I have no time for flattery or games, young man.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Nothing as of yet. I have something else in mind to take care of him. If we are unsuccessful, I will contact you again—here, two nights hence.”

“Might I ask what you intend to do?”

“It’s none of your concern. Worry only for yourself. Should we succeed tomorrow night, I shall pay you the other half of the money owed to Lester. If not, it will be up to you to earn it.”

Brice heard the flap of a cloak, then footsteps growing distant. He peeked over the stone wall of the well to see Caleb exiting the courtyard. He waited until he thought it was safe to leave, then walked back to the Shimmering Dawn.

Forane’s plotting deep and wide
.
We must warn them somehow
. Reaching the last street before the headquarters, Brice took one last look around to see if he’d been followed, then he entered the building and heard Caleb relaying the essential details of his conversation with Forane to Piers.

“She didn’t say where or how?” Piers asked.

Caleb shrugged. “No, she wouldn’t reveal it. I can only assume it will be wherever Vicar Jurgen is tomorrow night.”

“We should expect any possibility.” Piers ran his fingers through his hair. “With Lester’s failure, they could have anything in mind and may have little regard for subtlety or stealth.”

Caleb folded his arms. “How do you think they will come for him?”

“When dealing with the theocracy, there are a number of possibilities. Anything, Caleb. Anything at all.”

“Should we shadow Jurgen?” Brice asked. “You know, to keep an eye on him?”

“No, impossible,” Piers said. “Forane has seen Caleb’s face, and she would likely see you two in the district. If they were to attack, you two couldn’t be seen helping Jurgen. No, we must contact Laedron and Marac; his safety will be theirs to handle.”

Brice took a seat across from Piers. “And I thought breaking into houses was dangerous.”

“We’re not out of the fire yet, not by any means.” Piers took a quill and scrawled a message on a piece of parchment. “I shall prepare a missive for our friends. Brice, you will take it to them.”

“Where?”

Piers rolled the scroll, wrapped it with a red ribbon, and dripped some wax for a seal. “To the militia headquarters. The red brick building near the Ancient Quarter.”

“That’s what that was?” Brice took the missive. “Right. I’ll be back.”

“Good. Hurry back, but you must make sure you aren’t followed. The stakes are high in this game. The same goes for you, Caleb. I shall devise how we will handle the vicar.”

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Chapter Eight →

An Army in the Holy Land

A
fter waking and dressing, Valyrie found Jurgen seated at the dining table.

“Good morning,” Jurgen said, turning to her when she came into the kitchen. “I thought you’d never wake.”

She rubbed her eyes. “You jest, Vicar. I’ve risen well before the rest of Azura.”

“Come, have some of this. I fetched it from the mid-market just before dawn.”

She thought fondly of the mid-market, a series of stands just outside the gate of the Ancient Quarter where one could acquire the freshest produce and dairy if the buyer came early enough. “Smells wonderful.”

“One of my favorite recipes,” Jurgen said, then put the plate before an empty seat and offered her the chair. “Apple bellies.”

“What’s an apple belly?”

“A dash of cinnamon and sugar, a spoonful of butter, all wrapped up in sweet dough and twisted at the end. Oh, and the slices of peeled apple at the center, I can’t forget to mention those.”

“But why the name?”

Jurgen smiled, lifting his pastry by the twists at either end. “See how it dips low, like the belly of a pig?”

Nodding, she took a bite and savored the rich flavors. The taste reminded her of the apple cobblers she’d enjoyed on numerous occasions at the inn, but more buttery.