The Earth Cave, Twenty-five Years Ago
They found Cid farther on with a handful of soldiers, each holding a torch or a lantern. The cave broadened out to a wide room here: truly a room, for the floor was polished, smooth, and level, though Redden couldn't see the distant walls in the dark. Ahead of them, unseen creatures scuttled, growling, visible only as an occasional flash of eyes, but none attacked them now. Redden worried that they were rallying their forces for another charge.
Cid stood over what looked like a square pedestal, chipped at the corners. The hilt of a sword stuck out of the top, its jeweled pommel gleaming by the flickering torchlight. It looked new, bright, as if it should be hanging above the mantle in Lord Westen's study, a ceremonial blade to be worn on feast days. It didn't look like a sword that had been moldering away in a cave for uncounted years. "What in Titan's name is this doing here?" Redden asked.
"That's what I was hoping to ask you," said Cid. "Do you sense anything from it? Is it evil?"
Redden closed his eyes and concentrated on the aether. He found nothing unusual around the sword. Delving deeper, he felt nothing unusual within the sword. Despite its flawless appearance, he couldn't find anything about it to distinguish it from an ordinary blade. "It's… it's fine. Just a sword."
"It's not going to curse me if I draw it?" Cid asked.
"I don't think so," said Redden.
"Good enough for me." Cid smirked, closed his hand around the hilt, and tugged. There was a moment's resistance, but then the blade came free with a clear, ringing "snick". It seemed to glow, magnifying and throwing back the lantern light. There was a shriek from the creatures in the darkness just on the edge of sight, followed by the sounds of their scrabbling as they fled.
"What did you do?" came the voice of Bram behind them.
Cid stood with the sword in his hand, face guilty. "I'm sorry, Father. Was it wrong?"
"No!" said Bram wonderingly. "On the contrary! It would seem that you've cleared the way!" He stepped forward on shaky legs. When he grasped Redden's shoulder in a companionable gesture, Redden tried to ignore how heavily the old man leaned on him. "Just there, Cid," he said, pointing. "Create a perimeter for us. Your brother and I have a ritual to perform."
Melmond Manor, Present Day
She could feel Jack. The emotions he usually kept squirrelled away deep inside were right on the surface tonight, and foremost among them was shame: a heartbreaking, agonizing shame so sharp that Lena hadn't been surprised to see him stagger as he hurried away, leaving her behind in his need to flee.
She followed, still carrying the plate she'd been holding, falling into step beside Kane as the gap between them and Jack widened. "Why would he do that?" Kane asked, and she could feel that beneath his concern for his friend, he was angry. "What was he thinking?"
"I wish I knew."
They were nearly to the door when Ruby reached them. She stood close as she said, "Don't leave with them. It's not proper. You'll only cause more comment."
"We don't care about that," Kane said sharply.
"Kane," Lena said, for she could feel that Ruby was worried for her and spoke out of kindness. She touched Kane lightly on the arm, trying to soothe his own worries through the contact. "I'll be alright. Go on."
He looked between her and the door, uncertain, then sighed and hastened after the mage.
"We need only wait a few minutes," Ruby said, guiding Lena by the elbow back toward the couch where they had been sitting together before. The other couch was vacant.
"Did the Hornwoods leave?" Lena asked.
"Yes, shortly after…" Ruby trailed off.
"After they saw?" Lena finished.
Ruby nodded.
They sat in silence, Ruby's embarrassment glowing like a candle in a dark room. It seemed more prominent as other guests began to leave, taking their emotions with them. Less distracted now, Lena became aware of her own hunger. She hadn't eaten anything yet. She looked down at the plate in her lap - mostly full, for Jack had eaten like a mouse - and willed herself to eat a few bites. She hadn't eaten much when, nibbling an olive from between her fingers, she thought of Jack, the feel of his lips grazing those same fingers as he ate what she offered him. She sat frozen for a moment with her hand to her mouth, feeling herself blush, until a maid came up to her and said, "Can I take your plate, miss?" Lena nodded, no longer hungry.
Not much later, she walked with Ruby through the halls of the manor, upstairs toward the rooms where she and the boys would be staying. She felt empty, as empty as the echoing halls, now that the party guests were gone and their feelings were no longer pressing in around her. She could still feel traces of them, like a layer of grease left in a pan, a thick film that fogged her view of the world, but that world seemed smaller and easier to bear in the absence of other people. She felt guilty over it. She loved people - as a white mage, it was her duty to love people - but she had always found them easier to love in small numbers.
As they walked, Ruby said, "I'm so sorry, Miss Lena."
"What for?" Lena asked.
"For all of it! For Nicole, and Victor - especially Victor! - and…" She sighed. "And for me, too. I didn't react well when you said you were a servant. But that shouldn't matter, should it? You and I had such fun today, didn't we?"
"We did." Lena smiled, trying to put the girl at ease.
"I'm sorry for the rest of it, too," said Ruby, frowning. "I don't care what people were saying about your young man. It was very brave of him to show his face like that! If he's half as gallant as his father, he's quite a catch, no matter how he looks." She hesitated, her curiosity warring with her guilt so that Lena knew what she would ask next. "How… how did it happen?"
Lena shook her head. "I don't know the details. I only know he was very young. He lost his mother in that fire. He still has nightmares about it."
"That poor boy!" Ruby said. Lena could feel her sincerity. "Oh, that poor boy."
They reached the third floor, passing a pair of guards who stood watch on the stairs. Lena could feel Kane inside one of the rooms nearby, still angry about something, but Ruby walked on, stopping in front of a door at the end of the hall. "Father said you'd be staying here," she said. "Kane and Jack are just there. I'm not sure where he's put Lord Carmine, but I can find out for you."
"Thank you," Lena said. "Truly, thank you. I'm sure you're not accustomed to… to servants and bastards imposing on your hospitality. You've been very kind."
Ruby smiled. "I'll see you in the morning."
The room was small and spare, holding only a bed and a side table with hardly any space left. Her bag was on the bed, fetched from the ship at some point during the afternoon. She sat on the narrow mattress, pulling the bag into her lap as she dug into it, wondering which of the crew had packed it for her and if they would have remembered her comb. She found everything except her white robe. Either the crewman in question had been especially astute, or Lord Redden's instructions had specifically forbade its inclusion.
She suspected the latter, because beneath the green servant's dress she'd worn in Elfheim, she found the book Aryon had given her before she left there. An astute crewman would surely have known to leave that behind. It was written in Leifenish, so she knew most people wouldn't realize it was a white magic tome, not unless they recognized an aether diagram at first glance. Still, she'd rather not leave it lying around.
She looked up at the sound of footsteps outside, noticing, as she did so, the bell that hung beside the door. A servant's room, she thought, imagining Lord Leiden having a laugh about sticking her in servants' quarters after all. She felt Lord Redden approaching and called out, "Come in," just as his first knock landed.
He stuck his head in, looking briefly about the space before he spoke to her. "Small enough?"
She shrugged. "It'll do."
"Well, don't get too comfortable. You're sleeping in Jack's room," he said.
She gaped at him, her mouth working as she tried, unsuccessfully, to formulate a response.
Redden blanched, his eyes widening. "I meant Jack will share with Kane. For Bahamut's sake, what do you take me for?" He turned and walked down the hall toward the room where she had sensed Kane before. She shouldered her pack and scurried after him.
He was just opening the door when Lena reached it. Inside, she found a much larger room than the one she had been given: the bed alone was easily as large as that had been. Jack sat upon it, but stood when he saw her. He moved sluggishly. He was covered again, but what she could see of his face was pale; the party had obviously taken a toll on him.
Kane stood by the window, looking out, but he turned to face them. He and Jack both had stripped off the stifling jackets they'd worn to the party, and Kane was left with a white shirt, short sleeves that left his crossed arms mostly bare.
"Hello," Lena said, feeling suddenly awkward, unsure of what to say.
"Sit," said Redden. "We need to talk."
"I'd say we do," said Kane. He glared at his father. He sounded normal, but Lena could feel his mind roiling, even from the doorway. "Which room was yours? Was it this one? Or the one next door?"
Redden held his son's unwavering gaze. "This one," he said, his tone cold, as though he were confessing to a crime.
Jack blinked. "You lived here? Here at the manor?"
Redden nodded. "For nearly ten years. From the time I was twelve until I was twenty-one."
Jack blew out a breath, sitting on the bed again.
The simple act only seemed to anger Kane further. "Figured it out, have you? Well, you were quicker about it than I was. I had to hear it from Lord Leiden."
"Hear what? I don't understand," Lena said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. She looked from father to son, the air between them crackling with emotion, like a storm before lightning strikes. She turned to Jack, an anchor of logic in a troubled sea.
"He's from a noble family," Jack said. "No wonder the registrar recognized the name."
"What?" Lena said, looking to Lord Redden. She knew, because Kane had told her, that the Carmine family was not a noble one, that the title Redden held was his alone and would never be passed to Kane. It was why Cornelians knew him as "Lord Redden" instead of "Lord Carmine". Yet the Leidens had been calling him Lord Carmine all day. Lena had chalked it up to cultural differences - they seemed to prefer surnames here in Melmond when addressing each other formally - but now she suspected she had got it wrong. "Why wouldn't you tell us something like that? If you're Melmond nobility-"
"Because he isn't," Kane growled.
Lena's breath caught at the force of his rage, all of it directed at the man beside her. She shifted her pack around, holding it front of her like a shield.
For Redden, the words were like a slap. His own anger bubbled beneath a thin layer of civility; he was breathing hard with the effort to contain it. To Lena, he said, "The Carmines are one of Melmond's oldest families. My father is lord of the West Hills. But I renounced my claim to the title."
"And you never told me," Kane said, raising his voice.
"What good would that have done?" Redden said, just as loudly. "It doesn't change anything."
"I wouldn't have had to hear it from your enemies!" Kane shouted. Lena squeaked in alarm.
"Calm down," Jack said from his place on the bed.
Kane snapped, "How can I? I've just learned that both my father and grandfather are lords while I'm nothing in two countries."
"And you're better off!" barked Redden, loudly enough that Lena squeaked again and stepped away from him. Kane seemed stunned as well, whether at the content of the words or at their delivery Lena couldn't be sure. Redden ran a hand over his face, as though he were trying to wipe his weariness away. When he continued, his voice was quieter. "Would you let me speak for five minutes?"
Kane threw up his hands in a "go ahead" gesture and turned back to the window.
Redden breathed deep. There was a chair at a desk against the wall, and he flopped into it, as though the wind had gone out of his sails. Lena crossed the room to sit beside Jack on the huge bed as Redden began to speak, addressing her and Jack directly. "I wish to the gods you'd stayed on the ship. The truth is you're in more danger than you know. And I'm sorry."
"Because we're mages?" Lena said.
"We heard what people are saying," Jack said. "You don't have to worry about-"
"No," said Redden. "Because you came here with me. I abandoned these people when they needed me; they've never forgiven me for it." He leaned forward, hanging his head, squeezing his eyes shut, and Lena felt guilt from him sharp as a bee sting on her heart. "Melmond is dying. The high families know it. I'm not just talking about the Rot. Economically, politically… it's steps away from complete anarchy."
Kane scoffed. Over his shoulder, he said, "That's going a bit far, isn't it? It looked well enough as we passed through it this afternoon. Right, Jack?"
Jack shrugged, and Lena had a sense that he was uncomfortable to be placed in the middle of their disagreement, but before he could say anything, Redden guffawed bitterly. "You think you know Melmond? A little stroll down Farplane Avenue and a light lunch in the Blue Quarter and suddenly you're an expert?" He shook his head. "You haven't seen the lower town. You haven't seen the poverty in the outer farms. Melmond's broken. It's been in a steady decline since Leifen fell."
"That long?" asked Jack.
Redden nodded. "This place has never been anything more than a waystation between the Aldean Sea and the rest of the world. A crossroads. We've no exports to speak of, nothing to offer. In centuries past, we've done well enough for ourselves, but when the Rot seized us the first time, we almost didn't recover. Now that the ships are few and far between..." He trailed off, seeming overwhelmed.
Lena noticed his words: "We," he'd said. "Us." He still loves this place. Loved it as much as he blamed himself for its demise. He looked and felt so sad that Lena's first instinct was to go to him and hug him tight, but she knew Redden wasn't the hugging sort. "You didn't abandon anyone," she said, fidgeting with the effort to remain where she was. "You're not responsible for the Rot."
She stilled when Jack reached down, grabbing her hand where it rested on the bed between them and giving it a gentle squeeze. To Redden, he said, "Is it something to do with your being the reincarnated son of a god? Leiden called you a Son of Titan, unless I misunderstood?" She felt the humor in the question, his sweet attempt to lighten the tension in the room. It was clear from the arch of his eyebrows that he didn't believe a word of it.
To Lena's surprise - and Jack's as well; she felt that much - Redden said, "That's… that's part of it."
"You're a god, too?" Kane bellowed, turning to face him. "Bahamut's balls! This just keeps getting better!"
"No, damn it! If I were, we wouldn't be in this situation!" Redden snapped. He sighed, more annoyed than angry at the turn of the conversation. "I don't know how much you know about the Founders' Prophecy…?"
"I know it," said Jack.
Lena shook her head. "I only know the story."
"And I barely know that. Another useless Leifenish legend," Kane said, turning back to the window.
Lena knew he was still listening; she felt his attentiveness despite his affected nonchalance. Redden, though, seemed disappointed in his son's apparent disinterest. He went on, speaking primarily to Lena. "The short version, then. The prophecy is very specific on some points: it calls for twin sons of noble birth, born of Melmond's oldest families during the season of storms and under the sign of the ox. When Cid and I came along, we met most of those conditions."
"Most?" said Jack.
"Twin sons of Melmond's oldest families. 'Families', plural. But Cid and I were only descended from nobility on one side. My father married his favorite whore, and only because the white mages told him she carried twin sons. Another month and my brother and I would have been bastard-born."
"He tried to manipulate the prophecy?" said Jack.
"I'd say he succeeded," Redden said, shaking his head. "There are meant to be signs when the founders return: 'in the earth and in the aether,' the prophecy says. Despite our mother's heritage, father put out word that the signs had come, that the prophecy had been fulfilled, and the people of the West Hills swore it was true."
Lena tried to read the emotions behind his story. "You mean... they lied for him?"
"They lied for him," Redden said, hanging his head again. "You have to understand, the West Hills are a wasteland. The mines played out more than a century ago. Now, it's nothing but goats and goatherds on hills too rocky to farm. My father... he's like a king to those people: a good lord, but a terrible man. Has to be the center of attention. He's good to his people, but only because they adore him for it. He'll sink to any low to better his own position. He's a weasel: ruthless, manipulative."
She knew, though she couldn't see it, that Kane was making a face, while Jack struggled to keep his own expressionless. She gave his hand a squeeze, knowing exactly what he must be thinking: Ruthless and manipulative. Who do we know like that?
"How long?" Jack said, clearing his throat. "How long did people believe him?"
"Twenty-one years. Until Cid died. We had a chance to stop the Rot, and we failed. In the end, it took a whole Cornelian platoon and a dozen white mages to finish the job. By then, Melmond couldn't even scrape together ten capable men to go with them."
So much pain, Lena thought. "It's not your fault," she said. "Twenty-one? You were scarcely older than us! A pair of boys to do the work of an army? It's ridiculous, prophecy or no prophecy!"
"We're prophesied to save the world," Kane pointed out, feeling distinctly unsympathetic as he continued to stand by the window.
Lena glared at him briefly before she spoke to his father again. "You didn't abandon Melmond, Redden!"
"I did," Redden said without looking up. "There was nothing left for me here, Lena. When the Cornelians left, I left with them. That was when Cascius made me a council lord. I was tasked with negotiating terms for Melmond's annexation."
That made Kane turn around. "The negotiations… failed?"
Redden smiled mirthlessly. "Technically, they're still underway."
Jack made a sound, half sigh and half groan, as Kane bit back an oath. Their surprise mirrored Lena's. Not only had Redden cast off a Melmond title for a Cornelian one but he had spent the better part of two decades trying to bring his homeland under Cornelian rule. It all made sense now: the suspicion she'd been feeling from Leiden throughout the day, the way half of the guards viewed Redden with mistrust and the other half with hope. "So that's why Leiden thinks you've been sent to spy on him," she said.
"Yes," said Redden. "And because of that, he'll be spying on all of you in turn."
Kane cursed again. "Bahamut! Why didn't I know any of this? Why didn't you tell us before we got here? Damn it, father! Do you think I would have talked these two off the ship if I'd known?"
"Your bumbling is the only thing saving them from further scrutiny!" Redden snapped, sitting up straight as though the argument was bringing him back to life. "You could hardly have made them more of a social embarrassment if you'd worked at it. A bastard - my bastard, for Titan's sake! - in a scandalous relationship with his own servant? Anyone seen as having an interest in Jack's affairs now risks their own reputation! And Lena…" He stopped, wearily scrubbing his hands over his face. "At least no one is going to suspect someone like that of being a white mage."
Lena felt her face go hot. Jack pulled his hand from hers; Lena keenly felt the absence of it, just as she felt the fresh absence of emotion from the mage, the tiny wisps she'd been feeling from him cut off in an instant like a wall had come down between them. She had the sudden worry that he would never touch her again. "No one implied it was that sort of relationship!" she said, lamely.
"No one had to. That's how people view bastards here. I'm sorry. If I wasn't supposed to be his father, no one would look twice at him."
Lena looked at Jack, but he wouldn't look back at her. He kept his gaze focused on Lord Redden.
"It just keeps coming back around to you, doesn't it?" said Kane, his voice harsh and loud in that silent space. "We wouldn't be here if not for you."
"Mind your tone," said Redden, eyes narrowing.
"Yes, my lord," Kane said, turning back toward the window.
Redden stood.
Emotions swirled through the room so forcefully that Lena gasped. They felt betrayed, both of them, by each other. "Kane," she started to say, sure that if she could only vocalize what she felt from the two of them, there would be no need for the argument she saw cresting like a wave on the horizon.
Redden raised a hand to silence her. He faced Kane, and Lena knew he would never back down from his own son. "Whatever you have to say, son, spit it out."
"You were nobility!" Kane said. "It was yours! All of it!" He stood toe to toe with his father now, his face inches from Lord Redden's, his voice growing louder with every word. He was shouting as he said, "Everything I ever wanted! Everything I've tried to achieve! You had it, and you threw it away!"
"Because it wasn't worth keeping!" Redden shouted back. "Not here! Not this place! Don't you understand? Melmond is cursed!"
"Only because you fled to Cornelia when you should have been saving it!"
He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Lena felt it, and she cringed in sympathy as he took a step back.
From Redden, Lena expected anger. She knew Kane expected it too: she could feel his muscles tensing, bracing himself for whatever punishment his father might mete out. The anger never came. There was pity, and disappointment, and a pain that Redden felt all the more keenly because it was wrapped so tightly in his love for his son. That pain shown in his eyes as he said, "I knew Leiden would try to turn you against me. I didn't think he'd be able to do it so easily."
He turned, striding toward the door as Kane said, "Father!"
"Try not to cause more trouble while I'm gone," Redden said without turning back, his voice perhaps more husky than usual.
"Gone?" said Lena. "Where are you going?"
"I'm leaving for the cave in the morning."
"Still?" said Kane. His lip quivered, though his voice remained angry. "But I thought… with everything that happened today…"
"That cave's the only reason we're here," said Redden, pulling the door open.
He nearly walked right into Harvey, who stood in the hall with a broad grin on his face, hand raised to knock. "Oh, good! You were in here! I thought you might be! Father was looking for you. He says you need to go over the preparations for tomorrow."
"I was just on my way there," Redden said.
"Wait!" Lena called, for it occurred to her just then that none of them had thought to ask Redden about the cave. "Lord Redden!"
"We'll talk more when I return," he said, and then he was gone.
Harvey stood in the doorway, head craned back as he watched Lord Redden leave. When the older man's footsteps faded away into the distance, Harvey's smile broadened. He slipped into the room with the three of them, closing the door behind him and heading straight for the chair Lord Redden had been sitting in before. "Good evening, friends!" he said, seeming oblivious to the charge in the air that the recent tension had left behind, a sensation that Lena felt down to her bones.
Kane had angled himself toward the window again, and Lena could feel that he was still fighting against the threatening tears, clinging to his anger as an alternative.
Jack must have sensed it somehow, for he spoke up, quiet and stiffly formal. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"
"Why, the revels, of course! We talked about them this afternoon, you remember? And you three said you'd never been, so I thought, well, after that disastrous party of father's this evening, wouldn't it be grand if I showed you all a good time?"
More people, more crowds. Lena shuddered, but managed a polite smile as she tried to think of a way out of accepting the invitation without being rude. The silence stretched on as neither Jack nor Kane made any sort of reply. "That's very kind of you," she said, still searching furiously for some way to decline.
"I'm surprised your lord father would grant us permission to leave the house," said Jack.
"Ha!" said Harvey. "Oh, that would be surprising! This late at night? No, he would never do that. That's why I haven't asked him. We're meant to sneak off, do you see? That's half the fun!"
And that, Lena thought to herself, was the perfect excuse. "I don't think-" she started to say.
"I'm in," said Kane.
"Excellent!" Harvey said, clapping his hands together. "You'll love it! It's unlike any party you've ever seen! I guarantee it! And you, master Jack? Will you be coming as well?"
"No," Jack said. "And I think I can safely say the same for Lena. I believe we've done enough sneaking about for one day."
Lena nodded agreement.
"Jack! Come on!" Kane huffed.
"No," Jack repeated, more firmly. "You can hardly think our father would approve."
"I'm beyond caring what he thinks about any of this," Kane muttered. "Fine. Stay, then. But I'm going."
"Alright!" Harvey said, laughing. "Are you sure I can't talk you two around?"
"Quite," said Jack.
Harvey shrugged, his mood entirely unaffected by Jack's stern refusal. He sprang to his feet, all lithe grace and bundled energy, and dropped a hand on Kane's shoulder, guiding him toward the door. "Well, I wouldn't wait up! We might be some time. Cheerio!"
Lena watched the door close behind them, and then she was alone. Jack was still there of course, but she might as well have been alone for all she felt from him. "Should we… should we go after him?" she asked. "Shouldn't we have tried harder to stop him?"
Jack looked at her again for the first time since their conversation with Lord Redden had taken that most awkward turn, a sideways look, as though he were afraid to turn and face her. "Do you think it would have helped?"
"Probably not," she said. He chuckled, but she sensed no humor from him. If she closed her eyes, it would be like he wasn't there at all. "How are you feeling?" His color had yet to return to normal and she worried for him, but given that he'd shut himself off, her only option was to ask him outright.
His hand rested on the bed between them once more; she reached for it but he pulled it away, using it to rub the back of his neck. He seemed to be looking at the corner now rather than at her. "Fine," he said. "I'm sorry about before. At the party."
A trace of his shame crept back into her sense of him, too strong, perhaps, for him to contain. "You don't need to apologize!" she said quickly, turning on the bed to face him properly.
There was a thump as her bag tumbled to the floor, startling them both. Jack looked down at it, then up at her, really looked at her now, with that confused crease between his brows that he got sometimes. "Are you going somewhere as well, my lady?"
"Oh!" she said, gathering it up again. "No! In fact, I'm to sleep in here. Did Redden not tell you?"
Jack made that noise again, the one he'd made in Leiden's office earlier in the afternoon. "H-here?"
Lena sighed, realizing too late the implications of that statement. "No, I suppose he didn't tell you then. He said you'd share a room with Kane."
Jack pinched his eyes shut, nodding. He pushed to his feet, heading toward the door that connected to the next room. She thought he might go through it without another word, but he stopped in the open doorway. Turning back to her, he bowed and said, "Sleep well, my lady."
The door closed quietly behind him, leaving her as alone as she felt.
Harvey reminded Kane of nothing so much as an excitable hound. He all but bounded down the hall, signalling with a finger to his lips that Kane should keep quiet as they drew closer to the staircase. The blond lordling pulled a small ring of keys from his pocket and set about trying to find the match for a locked door near the top of the stairs. Kane waited until they'd entered the empty room - another guest room, unused, its furniture covered in thick drop cloths - before he broke the silence. "I take it those guards are still downstairs. So how do we get out of the manor?"
"The rooms on this side of the house open onto a balcony. We can climb down from there. You're not uncomfortable with heights, are you?"
Kane laughed, thinking of the time he'd spent climbing the ship's rigging along with Cole and Felder, wondering if the manor's third floor was any higher than the crow's nest. "Hardly," he said.
"Oh, good!" Harvey said, laughing as he crossed to a set of heavy curtains that he pushed aside to reveal the wide terrace doors with their panes of etched glass. He flipped a bolt, opened the doors to night air that seemed not much improved from the heat of the day. "I suppose it's a good thing Miss Mateus opted not to go with us, eh?"
Kane's mind conjured up an image of Lena harping at him from the top of a tree while he fought against wolves at the bottom. "No, she climbs pretty well, actually. It's more Jack you would have had to worry about."
"Gods, as tall as he is, it wouldn't be much of a drop for him." Harvey strode across the balcony to the railing. Kane followed, looking over and down. It seemed not far at all in the dark, with only a few lights shining out of various windows along the front of the house and more beyond the city gates, visible as a shadowy outline away ahead of them, as though it had been drawn on the horizon in black ink by a steady hand. Harvey thumped Kane's arm and pointed, bringing his attention to one of the pillars that dominated the front of the house, the one farthest from the lavishly carved front entrance: their way down.
"Do you know," Harvey said, getting a leg over the railing with what looked to Kane like practiced ease. "That isn't how I expected things to go back there. If anything, I would have thought you'd be against our outing and Jack would be all for it."
"Why would you think that?" Kane asked, following at a slower pace.
"Well, you know, you being a law-abiding guardsman and him being… him. Not your typical bastard, is he?"
"No. Typical has never been the word for Jack," Kane said, trying not to sound strained as the descent presented more difficulty than he anticipated: the fluting on the column provided good gripping points, but the column itself turned out to be rather wider for it than was comfortable.
They completed the climb in silence, Kane gratefully jumping the last few feet to the ground and rubbing his aching forearms. He could see, farther on, guards posted by the broad front steps, more in the shadows of the covered porch, others walking a path around the edge of the grassy lawn dotted with fireflies. Aside from a lone tree on the edge of a fenced training yard, the lawn stretched unblemished from the house to a slope of wild grass some ways off. The road to Melmond ran straight through it, with no cover in sight. "Won't the guards stop us?" Kane asked. "There's no way they won't see us."
"Don't worry about them," said Harvey. "I know all the guards who work the house. As long as Gabriel's not with them, I can usually talk them around."
A figure stepped out from behind the pillar they'd climbed down. Kane recognized the shadow as Sergeant Quincey even before he spoke. "And what was your plan if I was with them?"
Harvey groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead. "Gabriel! How long have you been waiting there?"
The sergeant was without the uniform jacket again, standing in the same shirt he'd been wearing when Kane had first seen him that afternoon, but it did nothing to detract from his air of authority. "Since my brothers left. Though if you'd given it another ten minutes, I might have given up on you." He hopped the porch railing and walked over to them, looking back at the pillar and up to the third floor balcony. "I suppose it's too much to expect you to climb back the way you came. Shall I go and tell Lord Leiden you've run away after all?"
"I'm not running," Kane said.
"Of course you aren't, but you can hardly expect him to allow you to sneak off to see the revels, given the circumstances."
Harvey gasped. "How did you know that's where we were going?"
Quincey rolled his eyes. "Because you do it every year. Come on. Back to the house."
"No! We have to go, Gabriel! Kane's never seen the revels! Can't you let us pass just this once?"
"My orders come directly from your father," the sergeant said, heading toward the front steps as though confident Harvey and Kane would follow.
Harvey hurried to head him off, both hands held up to stop him. "But, Gabriel, you owe me! Remember how I helped you find that ship last month? You said that shipment was a matter of life and death! You said you owed me!"
Quincey stopped, crossing his arms. He looked back at Kane with the same expression on his face that Kane might make if he stepped in something questionable, then turned to Harvey again. Harvey's wide, excited grin remained unchanged. The sergeant threw his hands in the air, defeated. "Fine! But I'm going with you, and I'm choosing the bar. And this makes us even, Harvey."
"Absolutely!" Harvey said, holding out a hand to shake on it, then bounding off toward the road, saying "Let's go!"
Quincey grumbled under his breath as he followed, giving Kane a push to move him along. "Don't make me regret this more than I already do," he muttered.
Kane nodded, somewhat regretting the turn of events himself.
That regret didn't hold up against Harvey's good mood. The young noble rambled animatedly as they headed toward the city, and it was impossible not to laugh at his outlandish anecdotes, many of which involved the sergeant in one way or another.
"So I take it you've known each other a long time?" Kane asked, though he had suspected as much based on their interactions at the party.
"Oh, sure," Harvey said. "Since we were, what? Five years old?" He looked to Quincey, who nodded. Kane caught a hint of a smile on the sergeant's face, and that was enough to make him reevaluate his opinion of the man. Not because Harvey considered him a friend - for Kane was beginning to suspect Harvey befriended everyone - but because Quincey clearly valued that friendship. A man who would disobey an order from his lord to repay a favor for a friend couldn't be as bad as all that.
Harvey went on, "This one time, when we were boys, I visited the Quincey estates in the Reach. So there's Gabriel and I, out in the ditches, catching crawfish, and-"
Quincey punched Harvey sharply in the arm. "I've told you not to tell the crawfish story. It's embarrassing."
"But that's what makes it so entertaining!" Harvey said, laughing.
Quincey snorted, motioning toward the city's west gate just ahead of them. The sounds of celebration mingled with the night crickets and the peeping of frogs. "Plenty of entertainment coming up."
He was right. When they reached the gate, Kane walked into a Melmond unlike the one he'd passed through that afternoon. Despite the lateness of the hour, there were people everywhere, many in masks, some in bright costumes. It seemed every corner boasted a musician or two, and the revelers danced with wild abandon, lit by the lights of strings of colored lanterns. Vendors roamed between them, selling food and drink, and the smells of roasted meat and dark beer permeated the air.
Harvey and the sergeant dodged through the crowd easily, but Kane bumped into as many as he missed, distracted by the sights and sounds and smells. "Excuse me," he said as he jostled a street drummer who couldn't possibly have heard him over the booming rhythm he hammered out with his palms. Kane wasn't overconcerned about it as the drummer didn't miss a beat.
"Try to keep up," Quincey said, shouting to be heard over the music.
They turned onto a less busy street, all glittering shopfronts and gleaming stone steps that seemed familiar. "I think I was here earlier today," Kane said.
"Yes, as it happens, you were," said Quincey.
"Aw, not Farplane Avenue!" Harvey whined. "Gabriel, there's only one bar on Farplane Avenue!"
"I'm well aware. That's where we're going."
"No!" Harvey moaned. "Not the Chocobo! Gabriel! The food there is awful! Let's go somewhere else!"
"You could go home," Quincey said, shrugging as he led them toward the large building at the end of the street.
Harvey groaned piteously, but followed.
Kane knew what a chocobo was - Lord Orin had once shown them to him in a painting of his homeland in the northern desert, where the huge birds roamed freely in great herds - but the fat, white bird on the sign above the door to the sprawling tavern looked more like a feathered pear than the proud beasts Orin had wistfully described. The tavern boasted huge windows across its front, and through them Kane could see by the bright lights of scores of candles and two massive chandeliers that the party from the streets continued within.
He bumped another person as they approached the tavern door. Looking down to apologize, he found his vision filled by a feathered mask and a tumble of dark, wavy hair. The woman braced her hands on his chest and kissed him, tall enough for it without so much as raising atiptoe. "Good fortune to you, sir!" she said brightly, pressing a flower into his unresisting hands from the basket she carried on her arm. Before Kane could react, she'd moved on, kissing Harvey next, who enthusiastically returned the gesture. She left him with a flower as well before dancing away, her vivid purple dress soon lost in the colorful crowd.
"Does that happen often?" Kane asked.
"If you're lucky," Harvey said with a wink.
"Are you coming or not?" Quincey grumbled, holding the tavern door open for them. Kane noticed the sergeant had no flower of his own.
The bar was full, but they were fortunate enough to find a table along the front wall just as its other occupants were leaving. Kane sat, looking about the vast, open space, trying to take it all in. Unlike the squat taverns he was used to in Cornelia, this one was two stories, the front room huge and airy, with massive wooden beams across the high ceiling. A small, raised stage was situated at the back, and a band played there, guitar and flute and fiddle, beneath the somewhat confused gaze of the stuffed bear's head mounted on the wall behind them. A staircase behind the bar led into that wall, as did a few doors between the stairway and the stage, including the door to the kitchens where a score of pretty serving girls moved like bees around a hive.
Harvey flagged down one of the serving girls, ordered drinks, then watched her backside as she headed to the bar. "Well, what do you think?" he said to Kane just as the band began a fresh tune, one that Kane had heard before but which was apparently popular here in Melmond, for the tavern crowd let out a throaty cheer at the opening strains, many raising their mugs. The guitarist sang of "stepping out" with a beautiful lady, and as if the lyrics were an invitation, a pair of young women climbed atop a table, legs flashing almost indecently as they danced. "Ha! Look at him, Gabriel! He's speechless!"
"What?" said Kane, suddenly glad Lena hadn't tagged along. "No, it's just… I was picturing something more like the Midsummer festivals in Cornelia."
Quincey made a pfft noise as the girl returned with their drinks. "I've heard how you Cornelians do it. A bunch of parties in the high houses is hardly a festival! You need the common people for that."
"The common people celebrate too, just not to this extent." Kane sipped the drink, sweet and spicy with a head of foam, and immediately felt it: a warm, fuzzy sensation that tingled down to his fingertips. "What is this?" he said.
"Fruit juice with rum in it. Mostly rum… a few other things," said Harvey. "It's traditional."
Strong stuff, Kane thought. He'd have to pace himself with this one or he'd end up drunk. But then he thought, Would it matter? In Cornelia, guards were held to certain standards when they were in public, and he had always been mindful of his father's reputation. But I'm not a guard here. And, he thought wryly, his father had already ruined his own reputation by forsaking his title and running away. Kane shrugged, and took another drink.
Quincey waved to someone near the bar. Kane turned and saw that it was a pair of guardsmen in black uniform jackets similar to the one Quincey had worn earlier but for steely gray trim at cuffs and collar and two rows of gray buttons down the front.
"Friends of yours?" Kane asked as the guards weaved through the crowd toward them.
"Just paying my respects," said the sergeant.
"Those aren't regular guard corps," said Harvey. "See the uniform? They're Avenue Inspectors. Vince's men. It's a different division."
"Vince?" Kane said. "You mean master Pollendina? The secretary?"
"Lord Pollendina," Quincey corrected.
"Oh? Sorry, he didn't mention that when he introduced himself this evening."
Quincey shrugged. "Not surprising. Just don't get it wrong in front of these two." He turned in his chair to address the guards when they arrived. "Gentlemen."
"Sergeant Quincey," the older one said, a man of perhaps thirty with a friendly smile. He offered his hand to the sergeant and then to Harvey. "And my lord Leiden. Pleasure to see you."
"Edmund, wasn't it?" Harvey said, smiling in return.
The inspector nodded. "How's your sister? We haven't seen her at the prayer meetings lately."
"Sunny as ever. Father won't have her near the cathedral after the night plague, you know, but she and Vince talk theology sometimes," said Harvey.
"You could do with a bit of theology yourself, to hear Lord Pollendina tell it," said the inspector, smirking.
Harvey laughed. "What has he been telling you about me?"
"Inspector Lamontagne," Quincey interrupted. "I just wanted to warn you: Victor's in town."
The inspector and his partner, a younger man with a vacant expression, both laughed at that. The inspector said, "Yes, we know. He was here this afternoon. Bought a round for everybody. And three for himself."
Quincey cringed. "That explains it."
"I'd say!" said Harvey. "I thought he seemed the worse for wear at the party! Got a head start on us, eh? Say, shall I buy you a round, inspectors? Or are you on duty?"
"Well, perhaps a shot of something, it being a holiday," said Edmund. Harvey led the two guards toward the bar, speaking amicably all the while.
Quincey brooded into his cup, so clearly annoyed that Kane actually felt bad for him. "So I take it your brother's performance earlier was nothing new?" he asked.
The sergeant nodded. "He thinks he holds his liquor better than he does."
"He wasn't all that bad," Kane said.
Quincey shook his head. "You missed the worst of it. He said some things to your brother's girl, things that don't bear repeating."
"What?" Kane said, surprised; Lena had said nothing about Victor after the party. Not that I gave her a chance, he thought.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," said the sergeant. "Whatever you're thinking of doing to him, Logan's already done. For my part, I'll apologize to her when next I see her. Her and your brother both."
Kane nodded, raising his mug to drink. He suddenly pictured Jack and Lena making the same disappointed face Quincey was making now; he took only a small sip and set the mug down again. It wasn't his father alone he would embarrass if he behaved poorly here, but his friends as well. Real friends, he thought, remembering how much he enjoyed visiting the market with them that morning. He had thought he had lots of friends before, his comrades in the Cornelian guards, but he realized now that those were just people he got along with.
Minutes passed. Quincey watched the bar, and when Kane looked over his shoulder, he saw Harvey there, still chatting with the inspectors. Other people had joined them, so that Harvey was surrounded by a rapt audience as he told one of his stories. Kane suspected, if he asked, Harvey would say every one of them was a friend. He likewise suspected he could guess how many friends the sergeant would claim.
Uncomfortable with the lack of conversation, Kane tried to think of something to say and settled on, "So Avenue Inspectors? What's that about?"
Quincey frowned. "Lord Pollendina put them together after the white mages died. Guardhouse here on Farplane Avenue. Every man of them is handpicked by Pollendina himself. I don't know what the criteria are, but I don't qualify."
"Maybe it's brains?" Kane said, a knee-jerk response, the sort of thing he would have quipped to Jack, perhaps because he'd been thinking of the mage.
The sergeant chuckled, taking the joke. "You'd think." He nodded toward the two inspectors with Harvey. "Lamontagne's a clever man, but his partner? Renfield there couldn't find the bread in a bakery."
Kane grinned, but then the conversation fizzled. The sergeant sipped his drink, watching the musicians and constantly checking on Harvey at the bar. Kane admired the girls dancing on the table across the room - not the same girls who'd been there earlier; they seemed to be taking it in turns - and admired as well the fiddler, who was herself a pretty young woman, brown as a nut with white-blonde hair cut close to her jawline.
He felt a tug at his belt, and his hand reflexively clamped down on the skinny wrist of a would-be thief whose hand was halfway out of his pocket already. He turned and found himself face to face with a familiar pair of brown eyes above a sullen frown. "Shipman?"
Thad gave him such a scornful look. "You just lost me two gil, you know. Orin and I had a bet going."
The boy jerked his head toward the far side of the stage. Kane looked and saw the old monk at a table in the corner. Orin waved, his eyes twinkling. Kane turned back to Thad. "What bet?"
Shipman rolled his eyes. "I figured I could get your money away from you. Orin said I couldn't unless you were drunk."
Kane threw Orin a sharp glare. The old man shrugged.
Quincey chuckled. "You know this street rat?"
"Yeah, I know him. We…" Kane stopped, wondering how much he should say in front of the sergeant. He wasn't sure he could trust Quincey with the extent of the truth. "We arrived here on the same ship."
"Hmm," Quincey said, nodding toward where Kane's hand still gripped the boy's wrist. "Not much of a thief then, I take it?"
Shipman wriggled free and, reaching into his pocket, his face equal parts triumph and resentment, tossed something over to the sergeant. "Good enough for that."
Quincey caught the item out of the air - a wallet - and when he focused on it, his eyes widened in recognition. His face became a thunderhead as he patted his pockets and, apparently, found them empty. "By all the gods!" he snarled.
Kane sighed. "Shipman, allow me to introduce Sergeant Quincey of the Melmond guard corps."
He had a moment's satisfaction seeing Shipman's face go pale, and was near certain Quincey was only egging him on when he bruskly said, "I'm going to need to see your identification papers, young man."
"My master has them!" Shipman said quickly, pointing to the corner where Orin sat clapping along to the music, smiling peacefully. "I wasn't stealing for real! It was only a joke!"
Quincey glared, but Kane saw his mouth twitch with the effort to keep a straight face.
"Please don't arrest me! I swear I-" Shipman whined, but the rest of it was drowned out by applause as the musicians finished their song. One of the serving girls held a tray of drinks up to the stage and the band sat themselves on the edge of it to drink them, taking a break.
In the reduced noise, Kane very clearly heard Harvey's voice, mid-story. "And we'd never seen a pregnant crawfish before, so Gabriel, he says, 'Let's find a bucket and we'll-'"
"Aw, hell," Quincey muttered, pushing back from the table and rushing toward the bar.
Shipman's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "He… he was joking?"
"Good thing for you," Kane said, grabbing the boy's arm and pulling him into the empty chair beside him. "What are you doing here?"
Shipman looked side to side, as if checking that no one was listening, then leaned closer, speaking in a rush. "We followed a man here! Patch Bayard, a pirate, only he's not a pirate now. He's a navy captain. He was smuggling healing potions into town and he brought them here."
"Healing potions? What would a navy captain even do with healing potions?"
Shipman shrugged. "I don't know, but those men you were talking to are in on it."
"What? The men I came here with? Are you sure?"
"No, not them, dummy! The guards! The uniformed guards, I mean. Maybe Sergeant Cranky is part of it too. I don't know. But I know it's something to do with white magic. It's true they don't have any white mages here. I heard Bayard say so. And Orin said he heard the same from someone else."
"My own source for this information is, at best, dubious," Orin said softly as he pulled out a chair beside Shipman. "There is someone capable of white magic left in Melmond, though they may not be Oath-bound."
"Nice of you to join us," Kane said.
"Sarcasm does not become you, young master Carmine." The old man angled his chair to face the empty stage, as if he had come over for no other reason than that the view was much better from this spot. "Is your father with you? I must speak with him most urgently."
"No," Kane said, taking another gulp of the heady drink to hide his grimace.
"See?" said Shipman, pointing to Kane's face. "They're fighting again. I told you if they were together all day they'd be fighting again. Pay up!"
"Ah, but you lost a bet to me as well, yes? We are even."
Kane sputtered. "Is this all you two ever talk about? How many bets have you made on me?"
The monk bowed his head in an apologetic nod. "Surveillance work is most tedious, young master Carmine. We must take our entertainments where we can. I noticed you were impressed with the fiddler, for example."
Kane felt the color rising in his cheeks.
Orin waved his hand as though shooing a fly. "It is no matter. You must take a message to your father for me."
"What message?"
"Tell him to ready the ship and sail at his earliest convenience. I regret that I will not be able to join him. You must take young master Shipman with you."
"What?" said Kane at the same time as Shipman.
"Why do I have to go?" the boy whined. "Why aren't you coming?"
"It is not safe for you here, young master Shipman. There are enemies most strange in this city. I will face them, but Lord Redden must be warned."
Kane snorted a laugh. "The Brotherhood? Trust me, he knows. We had a little a run-in with Lord Leiden this afternoon. He told us they were here."
"And did this Lord Leiden go so far as to divulge that these dark mages were utilizing white spells?"
Kane paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. He set it down again. "No. No, he didn't mention that."
"Is that bad?" said Shipman.
"Very." Kane looked down at the table, mentally reviewing every white spell his father had ever explained to him, and wondered how deadly a dark mage might be with those advantages: Vanish, Protect, other spells beyond a red mage's skill. "Leiden thought they were taking white mages. I guess he was right…"
"But you surely know they take black mages as well," said Orin.
"I've heard rumors," said Kane. He knew in Cornelia a few older black mages still tottered about Black Hall and spent their days studying dusty tomes, but he had never met a young black mage, not until he met Jack. Some said the ban kept the mages away, but others wondered why no black mage children had turned up. Black mages had been on the decline for generations, but surely a few had been born in Cornelia over the last twenty years. It was not a thing discussed in polite company: although it was true that magic ran in families, it was not unheard of for a child with no magical heritage to discover a natural affinity for it, and no one liked to admit that their own children or grandchildren might one day declare they could see the aether. If anyone wondered what became of such children, they kept it to themselves.
Orin nodded. "I can testify that those rumors are true. It is why you must take young master Shipman with you. He requires the protection of a powerful mage."
"I don't know how much protection Jack will be. He and I are a bit distracted at the moment," Kane said, frowning.
The monk arched an eyebrow. "I was referring to your father."
"I'm not going anywhere!" Shipman protested. "I don't need protecting! I want to stay with you!"
"No one's going anywhere," said Kane. "That's just it. We can't run off to the ship and set sail, Orin. Leiden has some kind of hold on father. We're stuck at the manor, under guard, until father gives Leiden what he wants."
Orin's eyes widened. "Under guard? At Melmond Manor?"
Kane sighed. "It's a long story. And unless you plan on being held there yourself, I would suggest we avoid each other." He heard Harvey's laughter and he turned in his chair. Harvey was seated at a bar stool, still talking with the two inspectors, Lamontagne and Renfield, while Quincey grimaced between them. Movement at the top of the stairs caught Kane's eye, a man coming down, his manner friendly as he spoke to an unseen figure up above.
Shipman tugged Kane's sleeve. "That's Bayard, the smuggler."
The man was dressed in a sleeveless shirt that showed sun-dark skin and a sailor's muscular arms. He carried a large hat, while on his head he wore a bandana. He smiled, seemingly in a good mood, and looked almost respectable; Kane would never have taken him for a smuggler if Shipman hadn't described him so. He called to the two inspectors as he descended, followed by whoever he had been speaking to, and when Kane got a good look at the second man, he stared.
"He's the guy in charge," Thad said. "I think he lives upstairs."
"That doesn't make sense..." Kane muttered.
"Do you know this person, young master Carmine?" said Orin.
"That's Vince Pollendina, secretary of Melmond," Kane said. Stepping around the bartender, the secretary came out from behind the bar, greeted Harvey with a smile and a handshake, said a few words to Quincey and the inspectors. "Why would someone like him need to smuggle healing potions?"
His speculations were cut short by a commotion from the kitchens, loud enough that the musicians who had just begun to play again stopped abruptly. An older woman in a spattered apron ran out, the cook perhaps, and when she saw the secretary coming down the stairs behind the bar, she darted straight for him. She spoke frantically, though Kane couldn't hear what she said.
Pollendina gestured, and the two inspectors followed the woman back the way she came. Quincey seemed poised to go with them, but he hesitated, looking back at Kane. Harvey shook his head, springing to his feet. He seemed to admonish the sergeant as he pushed him back toward their table, and Kane caught the end of it when they arrived. "You're not on duty! Let the inspectors handle it! It's their street, after all!" He smiled at Kane and said, "We should go, before he gets himself involved in the case."
"How can I when I'm meant to be watching you idiots?" Quincey grumbled.
Kane rolled his eyes, for he suspected if it was Harvey alone, the sergeant would have abandoned him to join the investigation without a second thought. "What was that about?" he asked.
Harvey shrugged. "Some dead man in the alley behind the tavern. One of the serving girls found him."
"You needn't be so casual about it!" Quincey snapped.
"Oh, please!" said Harvey. "You deal with this sort of thing every week!"
"In the lower town! Not here!"
Harvey rolled his eyes. "Well, whoever he was, I doubt he was a victim of the dark mages. Likely a drunk, or a duel gone wrong. You know how the merchants around here like their duels."
"Dark mages?" said Thad. Kane tried to kick him under the table, but missed. "What do you know about dark mages?"
Harvey laughed. "Gabriel's been hunting them for months. You're unlikely to find anyone in Melmond who knows more about them." He looked from Thad to Orin and smiled. "Forgive me! I haven't introduced myself!"
"You are the young lord Leiden," Orin said. "We have met, though you won't have remembered me. I have the honor of being friends with Lord Redden."
Kane winced. He could see the suspicion in Sergeant Quincey's face. Kane had already told him Orin and Shipman had arrived in Melmond on the same ship as himself; it wouldn't be difficult to piece together that the most likely place Orin could have met Harvey before was in the Cornelian court three years ago. There would be no pretending that Orin's acquaintance with either himself or his father was a recent or casual one. What was the old man thinking? Kane stood and said, "We should go."
"Yes," said Harvey. "Seems proper etiquette to wrap up the festivities after someone's died, wouldn't you say?"
"We'll talk later," Kane said to Orin. He turned for the door, but as he did he saw Inspector Renfield weaving through the crowded tables toward them.
The Avenue Inspector headed straight for Quincey. "It's one of yours," he said.
Quincey went still, and Kane immediately understood what the inspector meant: a dark mage. Quincey met Kane's eye, a searching look, as if to say, Are you in? Kane nodded.
"I'll just chat with Vince awhile, shall I?" Harvey said, sighing as he wandered toward the bar.
Kane and Quincey followed Renfield toward the kitchen and through it to the service entrance in the back. In the alley, they found Lamontagne crouched over the body of a man in black mage robes.
"Does he have the mark?" Quincey said.
The inspector held up something silver and glinting. "Amulet in his pocket."
Quincey muttered a phrase that sounded very like one of Jack's Leifenish curses and knelt down. Lamontagne straightened, stepping back beside Renfield to give him room. Quincey turned the dead man's face for a better look. "How does a man dressed like this get so far into the city without causing alarm?"
"I believe I can be of assistance," said Orin from the doorway as Shipman peeked out from behind him.
Renfield said, "Sir, this is a matter for the guards. Please go back inside."
"No," said Quincey. "Wait. Do you know something about this?"
The monk nodded. "I killed him myself."
The three Melmond guards turned as one to stare at him. Kane froze. Shipman's wide eyes darted from Orin to the guards and back again. Orin stood patiently, face blank.
Lamontagne cleared his throat. "Could I see your identification papers, sir?"
"That will not be necessary. I am Orin Tantal, third council lord of Cornelia. I remand myself and my apprentice to Lord Leiden's custody."
Kane groaned.
Author's Note: 4/7/17 - There really is a crawfish story. I've mentioned I lived in Louisiana for a time, and as I lived there, I ate many crawfish (as one does). They are indeed tasty, but I never could get over the fact that we were eating what are, where I come from, those giant water bugs that come out after it rains. Children catch them in the ditches, along with frogs and turtles. And while I did grow up eating many, many frogs' legs, we did not eat crawfish, no more than we would eat, say, a spider. I mean, that's just weird.
So, once upon time, when we were children and the spring rains had come, me and my brothers were out in the ditches catching crawfish, when we found one that was lumpier than the others. We looked closely and realized what we were seeing were baby crawfish INSIDE of the lumps; the lumps were actually eggs! A pregnant crawfish!
And we'd never seen a pregnant crawfish before, so my older brother said, "Let's get a bucket, and we'll see what happens after they're born!" We took this request to our mother, who agreed that this would indeed be an educational experience. The only bucket she had, though, was square and shallow, plastic, about the size of a shoe box. Within a few days, it was full of tiny, skittering, adorable baby crawfish. We were enthralled! We spent a whole day just watching them swim around and eat the crumbs we gave them.
But in short order, the cat found the bucket. No, she did not eat the crawfish. She did not upend the bucket. She watched those tiny skittering crawfish swimming around, and, as enthralled as we children had been, she stuck her little paw in the water and chased those baby crawfish one by one, batting at each of them until they died in a systematic crawfish genocide.
We came home from school that day to find her still at it, and only 3 baby crawfish left alive. My older brother and I were disappointed, but our baby brother, six years my junior, was devastated. He insisted, and we agreed, in order to shut him up, that we bury them with all honors, and have a moment of silence for each of the fallen. Picture us, out in the mud, in the ditches, in our Sunday clothes, holding this funeral for thirty baby crawfish, how we were at it for more than an hour, how baby brother would scream when older brother or I tried to hurry it along.
Now picture our mother's reaction when we came back inside in our soiled and muddy clothes. And that, my friends, is the crawfish story.