21st Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
The Rose, Suderham, The Pomarj
Beryl shrieked in surprise and pulled back, dropping what was now a yellow chapeau onto the bed.
When she looked back at "Lord Andrew" however, her expression turned to one of horror.
Zantac wasn't feeling so good himself all of a sudden.
"Umm," he stammered. "Er…"
The wizard tried to yank himself up to a sitting position. This simple task was made considerably more difficult by the fact that his trousers were currently bunched up around his ankles. He eventually managed it after several attempts, just in time to see Beryl's face lose the last trace of any color it might have had left. As the prostitute began to clumsily try to draw her white gown back over herself, Zantac could see her eyes begin to fill with tears.
Beryl glanced up towards the ceiling and then towards the door before looking back at Zantac. She seemed to be trying to speak, but nothing came out.
"Um," Zantac continued, pasting one of his Guild's horrific attempts at a smile onto his face. "I did mention I'm also a wizard, right?"
The woman shook her head, but it wasn't in response to Zantac's weak jest. She was pleading.
"Please, sir. Why are you doing this to me? I am loyal to Madam Fujori, and to the Nine! I would never-"
She broke off, crying.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!
The mage concentrated on getting his clothes back on only so Beryl couldn't see he was fighting for control. He could hear her tearful protestations of innocence, and each one slid right into his heart and whirled around in there, cutting and slashing.
She thinks I'm some kind of spy, and how am I supposed to deny it? I'm here on a mission against the Slave Lords, after all. This wasn't supposed to happen, though. I can't put any innocents at risk against their will.
Zantac looked up again. Beryl's pink eyes seemed larger than ever behind their tears.
The magic-user closed his eyes again and turned away. He couldn't bear this, and he didn't even know why. He'd just met this woman, and she was only a prostitute! Even if she was a slave as well, there were undoubtedly hundreds of slaves in Suderham alone.
This wasn't fair. Zantac couldn't save everybody! He couldn't-
But the wizard's body was in motion even as his mind was still whirling around in confusion and despair. He reached over to take Beryl's hand in his- but she pulled away from him.
And looking back on it, Zantac thought it may have been that very gesture which made him do and say what he did. Staring down at his own empty hand which had frightened this woman so, the Willip wizard made up his mind.
He was tired. Tired of being Zelhile and Lord Andrew; tired of lies and deceit. Let Unru the illusionist have them. Zantac knew what he was going to do.
He was going to betray his friends after all. In the name of truth.
"Listen to me, Beryl," he began, his voice rushed because he knew he couldn't stop it now. "Just listen to me- that's all I ask. My name is Zantac, and I am a wizard, but I am not a spy for the Nine. In fact, I am here on a mission against them-"
"No!" She recoiled further. "You- you're trying to trick me! You're trying to paint me as disloyal, but I'm not! I'm-"
"Beryl!"
She stopped at the command in his voice.
"Think, Beryl," Zantac continued. "Don't you go outside at all? Haven't you heard the criers or seen the posters? The enemies of the Slave Lords and of the Earth Dragon? You must have heard about me and my friends!"
Beryl, who had stood up at the far side of the bed, stared at Zantac for what him seemed like forever while she thought.
And then she slowly sat down again, but as far away from him as she could.
"And what if you're not?" she eventually asked, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "What if you're an inquisitor, posing as this 'Zantac' to draw me out? You have to be! Why else would you come here in disguise? A real traitor wouldn't risk his life and go through all this trouble just to- just to- lay with a whore."
She finished up by wiping her eyes and staring at him challengingly.
Zantac looked back at her, and an incongruous thought flashed through the wizard's mind.
Damn, this woman is smart! How am I supposed to answer that?
He took several deep breaths and slowly raised his hand in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. The mage made sure to keep his eyes on hers.
"First of all, Beryl," he began again. "You are not a whore-"
"I am," she snapped back, growing more defiant. "I'm a whore and a slave, but I'm not-"
"You are a slave?"
Zantac couldn't help interrupting her.
She scowled at him. "You know that I am. "
"No, Beryl- I didn't." He kept his voice low. "I'm not from here. I told you that."
She crossed her arms and jutted her lip at him. "Prove it."
"Prove it?" Zantac repeated. He looked down at his body- he noticed his coat was buttoned up wrong- and then back at Beryl. "Look at me! Don't I match the description of the man the authorities call Zantac?"
She waved a dismissing hand at him. "You're a wizard- you said so yourself."
"Yeah, but I'm a lousy one!" he pleaded. "That hat is the only way I was able to disguise myself! Would a real spy be so foolish as to let his cover be penetrated so carelessly? I can't work up an illusion to save my life, Beryl- ask my Guildmaster!"
"Lamonsten?" she asked casually.
Zantac shook his head. "No. His name is Zelhile, and he's back where I come from- Furyondy."
Beryl stared at him again, and for just a moment, her confidence in her position fell.
"The Kingdom of Furyondy?"
He nodded. "Yes, Beryl. I and my friends have been tasked by King Belvor himself with destroying the Slave Lords. We've followed their trail from Highport to Markessa's stockade in the hills and now right here to the Aerie! If you are one of the slaves whose lives have been shattered by these people, then you must know…"
Zantac stood up, took one more deep breath and threw away his last vestiges of caution.
"The Nine must die, Beryl- and I will be part of the band that kills them."
Beryl stood up again. She did not take her eyes off Zantac.
"I am damned," she said slowly. "Either you are a spy for Ajakstu and will report to him that I am sympathetic to Zantac and his fellow traitors, or- if you are who you say, I will be denounced as disloyal after you are captured, and share your fate in the dungeons."
Her voice grew angrier, and louder and louder.
"Why have you done this to me? I've never done anything to you! You've ruined my life, damn you! Why-"
"Arrest me!" Zantac shouted back.
There was silence.
Beryl glanced towards the door and Zantac could not help but do likewise, wondering if their shouting had been overheard.
He still didn't know what in the Nine Hells he was doing.
Or why.
"Go on, Beryl," the mage repeated, softly now. He pointed at the door. "I'll remain here, and I won't resist when they come for me. Go to Madam Fujori and tell her you've unmasked the fugitive Zantac. If I'm not who I say I am, you'll have passed the loyalty test. And if I am, you'll be- you'll be a hero. Go on. Turn me in."
Beryl looked at Zantac, and he gazed right back at her.
The wizard couldn't tell what she might be thinking or feeling.
Right now, he couldn't even answer that question about himself.
Which is why he was so ashamed when a tear abruptly ran down his cheek.
Zantac didn't bother to wipe it away, however. He just kept looking at Beryl. Only when she glanced down did he follow the prostitute's eyes and saw that she was looking at the candle.
It was almost out.
Beryl kept her eyes on the candle as she arranged her gown as best she could around herself and sat back down on the bed. Zantac could hear the feathers inside the mattress rearranging themselves under her weight. He could hear Beryl exhale as she breathed.
It was a soft whispery sound- and he suddenly realized he loved it.
A puff of black smoke announced the end of the candle.
"I can't help you, Zantac," Beryl said softly, her pink eyes again threatening to cloud up with tears. "What I told you was the truth. I have never acted against the Nine and have no means to do so even if I would."
Zantac smiled.
The Willip wizard sat down on the bed again. Beryl trembled, but this time did not pull away as Zantac took her hand in his.
"No harm will come to you, Beryl. I swear it."
He looked up at her face again.
And the odd thing; the really odd thing was, that he felt closer to her now than he had earlier, when they both had been wrestling around on this very bed.
He wondered if she felt the same way. He didn't know, but she made no move to draw her hand away.
"Why did you come to the Rose?" Beryl asked suddenly, her pink eyes searching his face.
"I will answer that question Beryl but answer me one first. How long have you been a slave here?"
Beryl bit her lip, exposing her front teeth. She withdrew her hand again from Zantac's and looked away, but her voice was still firm when she responded. "I was captured a little over two years ago."
She started as Zantac abruptly stood up again, but the wizard placated her with his answer.
"Beryl," he explained, "we- that is, my friends and I- have been led to this brothel by certain people whom we suspect may be sympathetic to our aims. I accept that you have never plotted against the Nine, but what of your fellow servers?"
She smiled cynically at the euphemism.
"No," she replied, shaking her head. "None that have ever spoken as such to me."
"Any regular clients then? The Madam herself?" Zantac asked, desperation pushing his tone higher.
Beryl looked at him almost pityingly as she shook her head. "I'm sorry Zantac, but I don't know of anyone who is plotting against the Nine."
The Willip wizard began to pace back and forth in front of the door.
Think, Zantac- think, dammit! There has to be something here! There has to be-
Suddenly he remembered Tojo's words from their first night in town.
"What about The Nine themselves?" he asked, whirling about to face Beryl again. "Do any of the Slave Lords frequent this place? Their lieutenants?"
She shook her head again. "No. Never."
Zantac let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and sat back down on the bed. The wizard stared glumly at his hands folded in his lap.
Nothing. There's nothing. We were misled, or maybe we read the clues wrong. Either way, it's all been a waste of time. And maybe worse, if this woman decides to-
"Well now, wait a moment. That's not exactly true."
Zantac whipped his head around so fast he strained a muscle in his neck. Rubbing at it with one hand, he stared at Beryl, who wasn't looking at him. The prostitute's nose was wrinkled up as she fought hard to remember something.
Her pink eyes combined with that expression made Beryl look so much like a cute little rabbit that moment that Zantac couldn't help but chuckle. Fortunately, by the time her eyes were back on the mage, he'd recomposed himself.
"The Slave Lords have never come here," she reiterated, "but they did leave here once."
Zantac blinked.
"I'm sorry; come again?"
Beryl gave a half-smile and scooted a little closer on the bed.
"It was several weeks ago," she began. "The day of the rebellion."
"Rebellion?" Zantac's eyes widened. "I hadn't heard anything about a rebellion!"
Beryl eyed him curiously. "I'm surprised. Obviously it was before you arrived, but it was the talk of the town for quite some time. Well, let's see. There was a young wizard named Yeeton. He was apprenticed out to Ajakstu at Drachen Keep, and he-"
"Ah!" Zantac interrupted. "That, I've heard of! He was chased down and killed at the White Knight, right? I didn't realize there had been others, though."
Beryl arched an eyebrow at him.
"May I continue my story, please?"
Her voice was hard, but the woman's eyes were smiling, and she was fighting hard to keep her lips from turning up.
I never knew I liked pink so much, the magic-user thought to himself as he took two gold pieces from his belt pouch and tossed them on the sheet between them. "Here. Just so the Madam doesn't get suspicious."
Beryl smiled back, but suddenly her hand flew to her mouth and then she lunged at him.
Zantac flung himself backwards in surprise, but he had been sitting a little too close to the edge of the bed, and with a yelp of surprise the wizard tumbled to the floor.
"Ow! My butt!"
"I'm sorry!" came Beryl's voice from somewhere above him. "I'm just lighting another candle! Madam Fujori is very strict about our times! That'll, uh, be another two gold, by the way."
Zantac reappeared by the side of the bed, wincing from the pain in his rear as he eased himself back down on it. "Here," he said as he tossed two more coins at her with a wry grin. "Just don't hurt me anymore, okay?"
She really did have the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen.
"Well," Beryl continued. "Yeeton was the revolt's leader- or so some people say- but he wasn't the only one. Apparently, once he'd been stationed at Drachen Keep, he subverted a number of the Nine's officers and men in a plan to overthrow and murder the Slave Lords. For what reason, I'm not sure. I assume Yeeton wanted to rule Suderham himself."
"Obviously, he didn't succeed."
"No," she acknowledged. "From what I heard later, there was a great battle at the keep and Yeeton's fellow conspirators were slain. He himself escaped, but he was pursued throughout the city and, well, you know the rest."
Zantac frowned. "But how does this tie in with what you were talking about?"
Beryl waved him down. "I'm getting to that. That afternoon- and it was about the time of the battle at Drachen Keep, although we didn't know that until later- there was a sudden commotion outside in the hallway here. All of us rushed outside, and we saw them. The Slave Lords."
"All of them?"
"I'm not certain," she admitted. "I don't think Nerelas was with them, and I'm pretty sure the black elf wasn't; I think I'd have remembered seeing something that extraordinary. But they came barreling down the hallway, knocking aside everyone in their path. I'm lucky my door is one of the closest to the entrance, so I had time to jump back; a number of girls got bruised up pretty badly. And then," Beryl shrugged, "they ran out of the Rose, and we never got an explanation. As I say, it was only later that we found out about the rebellion."
Zantac turned this all over in his head. "Did you see exactly where they came from?"
Beryl nodded. "The room at the far end of this hall. The door is locked all the time. Supposedly it's reserved for the private use of The Nine, but as I say, they've never used it."
"And you're certain they couldn't have come in earlier without your knowledge?"
She gave Zantac a look that reminded him of Talass.
"How much noise do you think I make in here? Remember, we're required to keep our doors open at all times during business hours so potential customers can check us out beforehand. No, there's no chance they came in through the front door."
Zantac stood up, looking at the door.
"I think I need to take a look at that room."
"That door is always locked," Beryl's voice reminded him from behind.
"You forget- I'm a wizard."
"Yeah, but a lousy one."
He turned around in astonishment.
Beryl was smiling at him.
I don't care what else happens, Zantac suddenly thought as he let his own smile return.
I am going to save this woman.Then he realized that he was still Zantac and not Lord Andrew.
"Umm," he mumbled, tentatively holding out his hand. "May I have my hat back, please?"
She laughed and tossed it to him.
Zantac put the chapeau back on. His hair turned black and straight. His brown eyes became steel grey as all his fat hardened to muscle. In a moment he was an Oeridian nobleman again.
Beryl's smile vanished.
"Is this it, then?" she asked, looking down at the bed. "You've learned all you can from me, and so…"
Her voice drained away, taking with it every trace of happiness that had resided on her face.
In response, Zantac dug around in his bet pouch, extracted his last two gold coins and tossed them onto the sheets. He saw her eyes flicker to them, but she didn't look up or make any move to take the coins.
"No, Beryl- this isn't the end. It's only the beginning."
He took one more deep breath.
"I'll be right back. Keep a candle burning for me."
The mage quickly opened the door and stepped back out into the hallway before he could see whether or not that comment had reassured her.
He knew he'd never be able to face her again if it hadn't.
Lord Andrew strode quickly down the hallway. Every sound seemed to reverberate in his brain.
His footfalls on the stone beneath him.
The wizard was at the end of the corridor now, but the doors on both sides of the hallway were closed.
Zantac hesitated a moment before he heard more sounds. These came from behind one of the doors.
Moans of ecstasy. A man's; real. A woman's; feigned.
This place sure fills up fast, he thought.
A moment's further observation revealed that the other door's sign read only Private.
Despite what Beryl had said however, there was no lock on it.
Zantac frowned and was preparing to cast when he heard one more sound.
Footsteps coming up behind him. Fast.
The Willip wizard whirled around, his hand outstretched and an attack spell already in mind.
"Whoa there!" Unru hissed, grabbing Lord Andrew's arm. "Watch where you point that thing!"
Zantac scowled at the illusionist as he pulled his arm free. "Do you always sneak up on your friends like that?"
"I didn't think calling out down a hallway filled with open doors would have been the most brilliant of tactics, Lord Dunderhead." Without waiting for a response, the illusionist's brown eyes studied the door and then turned to rest again upon the nobleman.
"I take it you found out the same thing I did."
"This Slave Lord-disgorging door?"
Unru nodded. "My little Patrice was quite the chatterbox once she got talking. Too bad most of it was rubbish." He shook his head ruefully. "Pity; such a beautiful body welded to a mouth that large."
This declaration bothered Zantac, but he tried to keep the irritation out of his own voice when he responded. "I guess I got lucky both ways, then. I was about to detect here. Can you do it?"
Unru raised an eyebrow at Andrew, taking in his disheveled coat. The illusionist's smirk instantly set the mage's teeth to grinding, but then he had turned to the door and cast his cantrip. His fellow wizard waited patiently for Unru to absorb the information he was receiving.
"Hmm; a faint abjuration," the illusionist murmured.
A moment more, and he glanced over at his ally with a smug smile. "Wizard lock, all right."
Zantac hesitated for a moment, and then grabbed the door handle and pushed it. He knew the door wouldn't open- and it didn't- but there was a faint sound on the other side; as if something was propped up against the back of the door.
"It's not just wizard locked. This door is barred from the inside, too."
Zantac bit his lip as he took one more glance back down the corridor to make sure it was still sounds of passion, real or not, continued from behind the opposite door.
Unru squinted at that door's sign and his smirk deepened. "This, uh, 'Kolene' must be awfully good at 5 gold per candle." The Yation mage then returned his attention to their current subject "You realize, oh most lawful Lord, that this sign says Private."
"Lucky that just happens to be my first name," Zantac said with a straight face.
"All right then, Lord Private Andrew," Unru inquired with a clear note of condescension in his voice. "What do we do now?"
Doing his best Tojo impersonation, Zantac raised both eyebrows at his fellow magic-user.
"Why, we do what any wizard would do. We knock."
Andrew incanted. From behind the door came the sound of something hitting the floor.
Unru, his detect still active, regarded the door again. "You've suppressed it, all right. Gives us about ten minutes, assuming your knock is as good as mine."
Zantac ignored that. "No other auras?"
"No, but there could still be a dozen mundane traps set to go off when we enter."
"Good point," Zantac conceded. "You go first."
Unru stared at Andrew for a moment. "How very mercenary of you, my Lord. What would Aslan say?"
"What would Sir Dorbin say?"
"I don't know. Let's teleport back to the Brass Dragon and ask him, shall we?"
"Better idea. Open the damn door or I'll make sure you'll never have cause to visit a whorehouse again."
Unru narrowed his eyes at his fellow mage, but Zantac matched his glare.
He just didn't feel like bantering anymore, and their time was running out.
The illusionist abruptly shrugged. "No need to get all pouty about it."
He grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.
No traps or guardians greeted them- at least, none that they could detect- but there was an assault, if only upon their nostrils.
"I think they've overdone that potpourri," Unru grimaced, waving his hand in front of his nose as he moved into an unoccupied copy of Beryl's room.
Lord Andrew, right behind him, tried his best to breathe through his mouth while replacing the wooden crossbar that kept the door shut. "And yet I can still smell that chamber pot! Do all of The Nine use this room as their private toilet?"
Unru answered his question by disappearing into the tiny alcove by the far end of the room, and returning a moment later carrying a clean chamber pot in his hand. "Not likely. This thing's never been used."
"That doesn't surprise me," Zantac grunted as he swept a finger along the surface of the end table and eyed the thick coating of dust it picked up. "This room hasn't seen much use."
"And yet it stinks like low tide at Otyugh Beach."
"True," Andrew admitted while looking about him. Despite the better judgment of his nose, he sniffed around again, trying to determine the source of the wretched aroma.
Suddenly, he frowned and glanced down.
"Unru," he said. "I think it's coming from underneath the bed."
The Willip wizard moved to the opposite side of the bed from where Unru was standing and pointed downwards. "We'll check underneath it- both of us at the same time."
The illusionist however, merely crossed his arms and grinned wickedly at his ally again. "Still afraid of monsters under the bed, are we?"
Zantac sighed. Now I know how Aslan feels. I'm surprised he hasn't flattened Unru by now- and Argo too, for that matter. "You're a funny man, Unru," he muttered tiredly.
"Damned straight I am."
"On your knees, funny man."
Unru made a face but went down even as Zantac did.
"You know, that's what Patrice kept telling me…"
There was nothing under the bed, although the smell was definitely stronger down here.
Unru smiled and waved from the far side, but Zantac was already reaching underneath, sweeping around with his arm, searching for something- for anything.
And he found it.
Andrew's fingers abruptly closed upon a metallic loop of some kind. He quickly realized it was a handle, set flush with the floor. His sudden change in expression was caught by his fellow wizard, who now peered curiously at him underneath the bed.
"Unru," Zantac said. "I think there's a trap door here."
The bed was heavier than it looked- the frame was made of a very dense wood- but after a few grunts of exertion, the two wizards were soon staring at the square outline of a trap door directly underneath where the bed had been.
"Well, well," Unru looked up at Zantac and smiled again. "Lord Private wins the prize."
Andrew peered back at him, ignoring the comment. "Is your detect still going?"
Unru looked affronted. "It hasn't even been three minutes!" he exclaimed. "Who do you think I am- Thorimund?"
"He'd be cracking fewer jokes, that's for sure. Any auras on or underneath that?"
Unru concentrated. "Not a one."
Zantac didn't even bother asking Unru this time. He reached down and with a jerk, pulled the door open.
The stench hit them full bore, forcing both mages back a step.
I should have guessed, Zantac thought.
It was dark below, but the sounds of water were unmistakable. Metallic rungs were set into one of the sides of the vertical column that was underneath the trap door.
Both mages regarded each other. Unru was the first to speak.
"Sewer system."
Lord Andrew nodded. "Runs all the way from underneath Drachen Keep, I'll bet. That's what Thellent was trying to tell Cygnus- the Slave Lords always have multiple emergency exits available."
Unru arched an eyebrow. "Think they might expect someone wandering in through the Out door?"
"Maybe not," Zantac theorized. "First off, there were no wards present here aside from one wizard lock. For all their paranoia, I think The Nine might have gotten a little careless from being isolated in this little mountain town with no serious challenges to their rule. I know Elrohir's plan is to use Aslan to scout ahead and hopefully enable us to ambush and take out the Slave Lords one at a time. Well, this might be our ticket to doing just that."
"Zantac."
Lord Andrew glanced back over at Unru, but there was no smile, smirk or levity in the illusionist's tanned face at all now. Unru chewed his lip as he bent down and slowly closed the trap door.
"Listen, Zantac. I know you're no battle virgin, but I've been at this longer than you have. Combat, especially against fellow mages, is a dicey thing."
Unru looked up at Zantac again.
"That- that battle we had at the Brass Dragon against Nodyath's 'Outlaws'. They were stronger than we were. Despite our outnumbering them two to one, we lost. Not only the battle-"
Unru ran his open hand down his face as if he could wipe away the memory.
"– but two of our own as well. Do you understand what I'm saying, Zantac? This could be that same situation all over again! Potentially even worse- I'm sure The Nine have hundreds of guards, cohorts and what-have-you stationed there with them. Attacking your enemy on his own ground is usually a bad business. If we're not able to surprise them and they regroup-"
"You don't have to worry, Unru." Zantac said quietly.
The illusionist peered at him. One eyebrow cocked.
"Aslan brought you, Sitdale, Sir Menn, Wainold and his men here so you could aid us in discovering how to get to the Slave Lords, not battle them. You've done your job. You can all go home now."
There was a brief silence, broken only when Unru gave Zantac a sad little smile and responded.
"No, Lord Private Parts; we can't, and you know it. They're all back there; armed, armored and ready to shine themselves up. When we get back and tell them what we've found, do you think Elrohir is going to call the whole thing off just so Aslan can spend two days teleporting six of us home?"
Unru pointed at the crossbar keeping the door closed. "We won't be able to replace that when we leave. Do you really think your friends will be willing to spend two more days here without their presence, and all your plans, being uncovered?" He shook his head ruefully. "No, Zantac; we're in this for the long haul, and I think we all knew that from the start." Unru took a deep breath and seemed to stare out into space. "I know Wayne did."
The mention of the druid jolted Zantac back to the sober reality of their situation. "I don't suppose there's any chance he's still alive?" he asked, looking at Unru only from the corner of his vision now.
The illusionist sighed. "I used to be naive enough to think something like that might be possible..."
The trace of that sad grin returned. "Then I turned eight."
There was another small silence. Eventually Andrew spoke up again, jabbing his thumb towards the door. "That lock will have resumed by the time we get back here, and I don't have any more knocks in my head- don't start," Zantac pointed a stern finger just as a grinning Unru was about to retort. "Do you have any memorized yourself?"
The Yatian mage shook his head. "No, but Thorimund has one."
Zantac nodded and took a deep breath, although he instantly regretted it.
"All right, then. We attack tonight. Let's get going- we've got a lot of people to kill."
Unru strode briskly back down the corridor, but Zantac maintained a slow, measure pace behind. When the illusionist reached the T-intersection, he turned and glanced back at the Willip wizard.
"Go on ahead. I'll catch up in a minute."
Unru frowned, but more customers were coming in now. At least half a dozen men and woman were entering and fanning out along all three corridors. Unru gave a Make it quick glare and vanished through the red curtain.
Zantac moved on. The corridor wasn't particularly narrow, but he still had to skirt along one wall as two well-dressed men arrogantly strode side-by-side down its length.
Lord Andrew repressed a brief shudder as he recognized one of the men as Davis, but the aristocrat passed right by him with little more than a sneer.
Beryl's door was closed. Zantac suddenly couldn't remember if he had closed it when he'd left or not.
If he hadn't, and it was closed now, that meant…
Zantac put out a hand against the wall to steady himself.
He couldn't hear anything behind the door and had to fight off the urge to press his ear against the door. If Davis or anyone else were to see that, it might raise questions Andrew didn't want raised right now.
The wizard took one more deep breath and pushed the door open.
Only Beryl was inside, although she let out a brief cry of surprise at the magic-user's unexpected entrance.
Lord Andrew winced. "I'm sorry, Beryl! I'd forgotten if I'd left the door open or not, and…"
His voice trailed off. Beryl, still sitting upon the bed, merely turned towards the end table. Zantac followed her gaze.
The candle still burned.
Andrew smiled with relief- or maybe, gratitude- and sat down on the bed himself.
"I don't have much time, Beryl, so hear me. There's a trap door in that room that leads down to the sewers. We think the Slave Lords used it as a secret passage that day you spoke of, probably fleeing from the keep until they could regroup and assess the situation. I'm leaving now, but in less than an hour I'm going to be back with my entire band. You won't see us- we'll be invisible- but we're going to use that passage and attempt to surprise and take out the Slave Lords one at a time."
Beryl, who had been listening with a slight frown on her face throughout all this, now shook her head.
"It's a fool's errand. No one can defeat The Nine."
Zantac held up a cautioning finger. "I hope they really do think that. Their overconfidence will be our best weapon."
He could see the prostitute's form start to tremble. "Even if- even if you do succeed, what happens then?"
Zantac blinked.
In over five days of planning and discussion, that topic had never once been raised.
We really need this woman on our team. She's got the common sense we lack. Maybe I could teach her magic-
Lord Andrew thought hard. "Well," he said slowly," in the best-case scenario, we'd be able to arrange a peaceful transfer of power. Most likely back to the nobility who held it before The Nine rose to power. If not…"
He trailed off, frowning. Things might get ugly. One glance at Beryl told him she was already thinking the same thing.
The nobleman chewed his lip. "I'm not sure, Beryl. It's possible there may be anarchy before order reasserts itself. I want you to be prepared, Beryl, so here's what I want you to do-"
He reached for her hand as he said this, but she pulled it away again.
Now it was Andrew who started to tremble, until Beryl, staring down at the sheets between them, muttered, "I- I can't look at you like that, Zantac. Not when I know…"
She made a weak gesture with her hands, and then fell silent.
"Beryl."
That was Zantac's voice. The slave quickly looked up.
Zantac held his hat of disguise in one hand. The other was still held out to her.
"Better?"
She smiled and took his hand in hers. "Much."
"Gather whatever possessions you can together," Zantac instructed. "Be prepared to leave at a moment's notice- you'll have to use your own judgment for that."
Beryl started to tremble again. Zantac could feel the fear coursing through her veins.
"What will I do?" she asked plaintively. "I hate this life, but at least here I can survive."
"Do you want to be free, and go back to your home?"
"More than anything," she nodded, tears filling her eyes at the very thought.
Zantac nodded. "Then don't worry. I'll find you, Beryl. I'll find you and make sure you get out of Suderham forever. I promise you that- okay?"
She gaze into his eyes, then wiped her eyes clear and sniffled. "Okay," she whispered.
The two looked at each for a long moment, and then Zantac slowly leaned forward.
Beryl held up a hand. "Wait."
The wizard stopped, the confusion and disappointment both clearly visible on his face.
Both of them vanished when he saw the prostitute blow out the candle and then turn back to him.
She smiled softly. "This one is from me."
And for Zantac, that one kiss, unlike any that came before, tasted like nothing so much as freedom.
He felt unfettered; unbound- and it brought the best tingling he'd ever had coursing throughout his entire body.
The kiss lasted so long, Zantac's first thought upon ending it was that Unru was probably all the way back to their hideout by now.
"I've got to get going," he stammered, sheer ecstasy making it hard to get back to his feet. When he finally managed it, he headed towards the door, preparing to put the yellow chapeau back on his head.
He suddenly stopped. Feeling Beryl's eyes on his back, he turned around.
Those pink eyes were filled with fear again.
But for the first time, the fear wasn't for herself.
"Zantac," she pleaded. "The Slave Lords are-"
"The Slave Lords," he interrupted her, "are history."