Killers, Traitors, & Runaways Read online

  “What’s all this?” she whispered to herself as she put the cigarette away. For years, the old doors had been a barrier to a world long dead. Their splinters now snapped beneath her boots, and for the first time she met sights previously stolen through broken glass and tarnished curtains. She was tempted to call out, see if anyone was home, but a feeling that this place had become small overtook her.

  She waited, for a time. All was quiet in the early morning.

  At first she considered returning outside for that smoke, expecting Flynn to once more spy her. Then, a glimmer of memory, a treasure long hidden away—something that might have survived the years of plunder. The Bagwell and den Vier children had often played together when the young servants had the time, and from a simple hiding place she had seen something secret. The matron of the house had thought herself alone; it was not something even her eldest child was yet privy to.

  Might still be there, she considered. Won’t know till I look.

  A hall in the main entry led through the ballroom and then into a nook that had once hosted countless intimate breakfasts. A bedroom had crashed down through it, and Shea briefly considered going around. With some careful footing, she negotiated the rubble, and soon neared the powder room through whose door she had witnessed that pivotal moment.

  The library, Shea remembered, plunged from the second floor into the first, but one bookshelf appeared to occupy less space than the walls allowed. As a child, it had seemed a passing mystery, until a question had been answered that she had never known to ask. As a grown woman, she had a new appreciation for the circular carvings protruding from the wall, and she twisted each until she found one that gave way. It was stiff, and each rotation demanded considerable force, but an adjacent panel slid steadily open until its forgotten compartment was revealed.

  “All still here,” she said in hushed disbelief. A stack of old documents and family jewels, too numerous to carry. She paged through the papers, took the ones she knew to be of special value, along with the den Vier family ring.

  Her fluttering heart eased. Before she could find the knob once more and conceal her theft, a voice startled her hand away.

  “Soldier.”

  He blocked the corridor to the great hall, silhouetted in shadow. Then a band of sunlight broke through a window behind Shea, betraying his ghostly skin and violet eyes, rounded and unlike any she’d ever seen. Rather than his appearance, it was his swords that left her truly uneasy, though they remained sheathed.

  “What … what you want, prat?” she stumbled to ask. Got as much a right to be here as him, she figured.

  “Are you an assassin?” he replied, drawing the sword from behind his lower back.

  Months at war had left Shea nervous, and her heart raced at the blade’s first gleam. Instinctively, she drew one of the pistols holstered on her right and fired. The swordsman knew what was coming and flung himself aside, evading an otherwise fatal shot that instead tore his right arm in a gush of blood. Though he clutched his injury, his grip on his weapon remained firm, and Shea knew then that more than angering him, the noise would awaken the entire house. As he charged, she dropped her pistol and dashed into the powder room, kicking the door shut behind her.

  It was a momentary barrier, struck open as easily as closed, but it allowed her to cross to a corridor bridging the ballroom and the great hall, before turning left to circle back the way she’d come. She was not confident she could outrun her pursuer and sought to avoid open spaces, but slowed to snatch the remaining papers from the open compartment—there were secrets that she could not risk his knowing— before she took off back through the ruined nook, counting on the rubble to slow him down.

  Her tactic bought only seconds, and she bypassed the ballroom in favor of the kitchen, praying she wasn’t about to find herself cornered. His pounding steps seemed inches behind her, and she vaulted over the counter to cross into the dining room, hearing him momentarily collide with the west wall before pushing off it, still hot on her tail. She quickly rounded left again, and was surprised to find the hearth fires burning.

  As quickly as Shea hurled a chair at him, he cut through it, but it allowed her time to leap over a girl on the couch, who was startled awake by all the commotion as Shea flung the papers into the flames. Her attacker scrambled in pursuit as she raced down the hall to the sitting room and momentarily considered vaulting through the window before remembering the iron bars. Another left returned her to the main entrance and salvation.

  “Your escape ceases here!” her pursuer bellowed, ramming his shoulder into her. Shea spun and collided with the stairs, bruising her ribs; she struggled to breathe as she found her feet again. Her right hand reached for her cutlass and unsheathed it to parry; she’d have died then if not for the injury to her attacker’s right arm.

  “I cannot let you leave, knowing what harm you may cause.”

  “That I might cause?!” she echoed in disbelief. “You attacked me, twat!”

  Shea retaliated with full force, but her blade chipped with every deflected strike, and she knew she was only delaying death. At the first opening, she ducked past him, only to be caught by her coattails and promptly dragged back-first onto the opposing staircase. He closed in to finish her, and Shea crossed her arms over her face, certain she was about to die. As he raised his black sword, a shot rang out, but it was unlike other firearms she knew. A smoking hole had appeared in the floor behind them, and someone at the top of the stairs spoke.

  “That shall be quite enough.”

  Her attacker, to Shea’s surprise, begrudgingly withdrew. “No one heeds my caution,” he grumbled.

  It took Shea a moment to recover her wits, as well as her breath. By the time she found her footing, the upstairs doors had been shut; whoever had rescued her did not wish to be seen. Shea felt she should leave, but she was still trying to sort out in her head just what had happened, and in her weariness, the front door still felt so far away.

  Courtesies be damned, she thought to herself and sat down at the base of the staircase to have that smoke she’d been craving.

  * * *

  It was a longer wait than Shea expected. Three cigarette butts sat clustered on the floor, and she had just lit a fourth when Flynn finally emerged from the door to her right. She hadn’t moved from the staircase, and managed to suppress her nerves when he appeared; she’d half-expected something worse to come back for her.

  “I thought you’d have left by now.”

  “Didn’t plan on barging,” she replied, pointing the cigarette at the ruined entrance.

  “Well … as you can see, the ladies have been knocking my doors down,” he replied. “What brings you back?”

  “Day left till I ship. Had a nice walk and talk yesterday. Thought you might fancy returning where we left off.” Shea took a drag, then continued. “Didn’t figure on a guard.”

  “That … would be Poe,” he replied reluctantly. “He doesn’t take well to unexpected company. Trust issues.”

  “’Course,” she replied tersely as she stood up. “Seen violence in all sorts of places, from Selif and ‘cross the sea. Never here, lucky me. Guess that changed today.” She shook her head and headed for the front door. “Sorry to bother. Daft of me to stay this long.”

  After waiting so long on the stairs, Shea had given up on him. All the while she’d been left alone, hearing others move through the corridors, each actively working to avoid her. The pleasant walk the day before had been a ploy to get her off their land—as if they had any right to it. She expected now that only a full day at the pub and a terrible hangover would prelude her travel to Bheln.

  “Shea. Wait.”

  And just like that, she faltered. She didn’t want to spend her last day alone. “Not looking to lay, if that’s expected. Just want the company. Happy conversation.”

  “It’s not about that,” he replied. “I’m s
orry, but I can’t take your invitation. I would, but there’s too much going on. We’ll be leaving soon, and a friend is missing. I need to find her, if I can. To make amends.” It stung to hear, but less than what he added. “And I’m sorry too for leaving you waiting. To be honest … I didn’t think you’d stay so long.”

  She put on a brave face and nodded. “Don’t well know me yet, do you? What of later? When I’m back from the front?”

  “I’ll be gone, and I won’t be coming this way again.”

  “Pity,” she replied, and meant it. “Well, needn’t see me off again. Know the way well enough.”

  Flynn nodded, and smiled in farewell. “Stay safe, Shea.”

  She wished him the same and left, but by the time she got outside, Shea found she wasn’t ready to go. Seeing—knowing—that others had taken up residence in den Vier Manor seemed to cement its death in her heart, and she felt the need to stay a little longer. Whatever business Flynn had to attend, it hadn’t kept him by the door, so she sat beneath the dining room window where, quite unintentionally, she found herself eavesdropping on a meeting between him and his companions. As they settled in, Shea picked up their names.

  “So what exactly happened this morning?” Zaja asked. “Is this how we’re inducting people? Are you supposed to try and kill them first?”

  “Had I succeeded in killing her, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Poe snapped.

  “Certainly we would not.” Chari, the one who had intervened on Shea’s behalf. “Had you killed her, I’d expect a very different one.”

  “He hasn’t tried to kill me,” Zella pointed out.

  “Not yet,” Poe agreed. “Have we settled on what’s to be done about Jean? Can we agree she has abandoned us?”

  “You said the same of her back on Breth,” Chari interjected. “She returned to us then, and without the foreknowledge of where to find us.”

  “I was overeager in my estimation of her. But she had not suffered then what she has now, and I do not—”

  “She wouldn’t just leave,” Flynn interrupted sharply. “She doesn’t ditch…” His affirmation failed. “We have to find her.”

  “And how would you have us search?” Poe demanded. “We are strangers in a strange land, uncanny and unwelcome. If we are to find Jean, it will likely be in a public space as she is being lynched.”

  After some further bickering, Chari spoke up. “Let us shelve this matter for a time. I worry for Jean, but we’ve other concerns to attend.” From the sounds that followed, Shea deduced that a map was being unfurled and its corners weighted to prevent curling. “With consideration to our collective illiteracy, forgive the shortcomings of my research. After some study, I believe this was our entry point—” She knocked firmly on the table. “—and that we traveled here … through here … across this bridge … ultimately arriving somewhere around here.”

  “den Vier Manor,” Flynn confirmed.

  “So, where’re we going?” Zaja asked.

  “Presently, what we possess are directions, not destinations,” Chari replied. “Flynn’s intuitive sense fades with distance. The dimmer his sense, the further we must travel. We have traced several possible avenues.” Several books hit the table, and Shea could hear them fluttering through the pages.

  “How about this one? It cuts through a desert for a while. That’d be a welcome change, right, Flynn?”

  A desert? Shea thought. New Tekevia?

  “I’d prefer these northern mountains,” Poe said. “Should we meet pursuers, odds are better that we’ll command the high ground.”

  Senven?

  “If we want to avoid pursuers, this route passes through wetlands for a hundred miles,” Flynn countered. “By the time we reach the valley on the other side, they’d still be stuck in the mire.”

  Sounds like Qalish land, Shea thought. What are their intentions? These territories are too far apart to know a common destination.

  “Ease and advantage of passage is secondary,” Chari cut in. “What matters is our eventual destination, however undesirable it remains.”

  “As we do not know where any of these conduits connect, there seems little point in hoping the hardest or furthest road will somehow be correct,” Zella replied.

  “A familiar place might work better for us,” Flynn pointed out. “If we landed on Earth, I could find our way back to TseTsu.”

  Earth? TseTsu? Shea did not know these lands.

  “Hey, Chari?” Zaja asked. “What about this place?”

  “What of it?”

  “It’s just, all the paths you’ve found go across the ocean and through all these other lands. What’s up here?”

  Flynn spoke first. “If there’s anything there, it’s too far away for me to sense.”

  “Nonetheless, some cursory research was pursued,” Chari added. “But I could find nothing of that place.”

  “Which are you talking about?” Zella asked.

  “This big ol’ hunk of land, to the north,” Zaja replied.

  Though Shea’s unit had been fighting primarily in the Gorrati territories, they had faced reassignment several times in the last year. She’d learned what to expect from every front she might be sent to, but the continent they spoke of sounded foreign, yet felt familiar.

  “Whatever the name, it’s consistent with the oldest of the maps I’ve found,” Chari said. “It may harbor some longstanding empire, or else lands too inhospitable for sovereign interests.”

  “Sounds a bit like Thoris,” Shea mused.

  Almost instantly, the voices inside hushed. Shea waited for a moment, then considered creeping off through the ivy before someone could investigate. With her first movement, the leaves beneath her feet crunched, and she knew there was no chance of escaping in silence. Her heart raced, but she decided to face them. She rose, protected only by the iron bars of the broken window, and turned to face the five at the table, who all stared at her.

  “Well. You’re an odd lot.” Where they stared, she tried to avoid eye contact altogether. Looking at them made her uncomfortable. “I should let myself in?”

  Chari spoke reluctantly. “That might be best.”

  “Be right ’round, then.”

  Shea hurried back to the front door, then turned left to cross the sitting room and properly enter the dining area. Hurried, arguing whispers hushed the moment she arrived. A map of Keltia was rolled out on the table, held open by candlesticks and wine-stained glasses. Chari stood before it, clutching a blood-stained table knife as a makeshift pointer.

  “Hi, Alicea. Again.” Flynn greeted her distractedly.

  “Bit of an awkward spot,” she admitted. “Wasn’t looking to listen, just—”

  “This house,” he suddenly blurted out. “You mentioned a history with it. After what happened this morning, I … I shouldn’t have dismissed you so quickly.”

  “Read my mind.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Bagwells were servants for the den Viers, yes.” She looked at Poe and explained, “Might have noticed, knew my way through.”

  “So you did,” he replied sternly. After a moment, he added, “I underestimated you this morning. My apologies.”

  His sincerity felt perturbingly backhanded. Shea was less certain that he meant Sorry for trying to kill you and more Sorry for trying to kill you so poorly. She decided to brush it aside, having no intention of remaining with this company for long. There’s a war to be fought, she reminded herself.

  Zella spoke up. “You mentioned Thoris. What do you know of it?”

  “Not much, really,” Shea admitted. “Just, no one’s ever been.”

  “From the map, it looks like a northern pole,” Flynn said. “Is it all ice and snow, too cold to traverse?”

  “If it is, I just want to rule it out now,” Zaja interjected. “I signed on to this whole ordeal to say ‘no’ to snow.
”

  “Could be,” Shea replied. “Like said: no one’s been there.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, but there are several neighboring nations,” Chari said, tapping them with the end of the knife. “How has none even explored Thoris, if only in inquiry?”

  “You really don’t bloody see?” Shea studied the map for a moment, trying to find the words. Then, as something clicked in her head, she reached into her coat and produced a small bag of gunpowder. Ever so carefully, she poured it from the bag, little by little, until she had outlined the entire continent of Thoris. “There. That’s what you missed. No shores ’round Thoris. Just earth, high as sky. No ship’s gotten near—tides are brutal, dash you to the rocks.”

  Whatever their fascination with venturing to Thoris, Shea was convinced she had tabled the matter. It did not take long to realize she’d had the opposite effect. Flynn, Chari, and Zella had taken greater interest, whispering among themselves. Shea worried they would upset the gunpowder she’d poured as a prop, which would mean explaining to the arms master why she needed a refill while on leave.

  “Have I done something?” Shea asked.

  “It seems you’ve aided us,” Poe replied. “Now I truly am sorry for trying to kill you.” She felt even less consoled the second time he said it.

  * * *

  Despite this new development, Thoris was presently little more than a point of intrigue, and it left Flynn with a nagging curiosity. Shea’s knowledge about the northern land was altogether sparse, as she half-heartedly offered, “Place for lost souls. Trap for lost sailors. Big, dead volcano. Plenty stories, no pattern. Follow?”

  At Chari’s behest, they went to the den Vier library to see if they could find something, but returned within the hour.

  “You’re finished already?” he asked in surprise.

  “den Viers weren’t exactly lovers of fairy tales,” Shea replied. She glanced back in the direction of the study. “Books here are either history or law or bugger all else.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “We sought the definition of ‘Thoris’ in the dictionary,” Chari confessed with palpable shame. “Thoris: noun. Northern landmass, enclosed by mountains. Geographic structure, unknown. Flora and fauna, unknown.” With that matter addressed, her visage softened. “As we spoke, however, Alicea offered a solution.”