Bounty (20 page)

He waited until the princess thought he was gone, and then watched her come back down the wall so she could use the trees to climb down. Pulling himself up into the branches, he climbed out of sight. He heard the ravaged whisper of leaves and the creak of branches, and then the light silken rustle as Catris dropped to the ground. Risking a glance, he peered through the branches to catch her reaction when she discovered her missing skirt.

Catris stood over the empty ground with something dry and knowing in her stance, and then, with a small shake of her head, she headed off across the palace grounds. Godren waited until she wouldn’t be able to pick up on his own descent, and then he followed.

Catris took a clever route through the estate to avoid detection. She cut across the dark edge of a vast lawn and then wove her way through the gardens, using hedges and twisting paths to stay out of sight. When she submerged into a thickly vibrant forest of rose bushes, she slowed her pace, taking time to linger in the richly flowering atmosphere. The shrubs were positively dripping with roses, the path overflowing with shed petals. Godren’s boots stirred through them, crushing their scent into the air, and they fluttered in the princess’s wake. She paused once to pick one of the over-blooming flowers, and while he waited for her to continue, struck by an idea, he gathered rose petals and stuffed them into the folds of her borrowed skirt for safekeeping. As she moved on, he plucked a few roses in passing too, taking advantage of the numb state his right hand was reduced to by paying the thorns no heed.

Avoiding the radiant ballroom, the princess rounded the palace and entered at the side, and Godren lingered outside, surveying the outer appearance of the structure and guessing at her room. A few moments later, lights flickered on beyond a balcony on the top floor, and then his suspicions were confirmed as she appeared opening the glass doors that led out to the extended stone basin without.

Grinning, Godren moved toward the palace. Scaling a towering trellis that rose past her window, he alighted on the balcony and peered into her room. Catris was disappearing into an adjoining room, and he soon heard the sloshing movement of water and caught the cleansing smell of rose-scented soap. Satisfied that she’d be out of the way, Godren slid off the balcony rail and moved stealthily into her room. Keeping an ear open for servants coming to check on her, Godren unfurled the balled-up garment he held across her canopied bed. Arranging the petals across the liquid satin folds and leaving one of the intact roses on her pillow, he retreated to the balcony and began picking the thorns off of the remaining bouquet.

After a good soak, Catris reappeared in her night gown. She was toweling her hair, but stopped short and stared blankly at the bed when she noticed the flowery arrangement. When a bouquet of roses landed at her feet, she looked up at Godren where he leaned cloaked in shadow against the balcony rail.

“
Miss me?” he asked.

Drawing the towel away from her damp hair, Catris stooped to pick up the bouquet, drawing out the mystery of her reaction. Godren stayed where he was, wondering when he might be hit with the disinclination that would express he had gone too far.

Absently fingering the petals, the princess considered before replying. “This is extravagant,” she commented.

Godren’s eyes swept around the room, taking in the foreign-themed canopy, the intricate stonework arching over the door, the life-like sculpture of a sinuous wildcat in the corner, the artfully-rendered chests that held her possessions, the draping chain-work on the ceiling that fanned out from her blazing chandelier…and landed significantly back on her. “It’s all extravagant,” he said. “I just thought this was a nice touch.”

“
I hope you didn’t leave any thorns in my bed.”

“
I sincerely hope the same.”

Treading over to her ebony nightstand, Catris placed the bouquet on its surface. “Thank you,” she said, “for returning my skirt.”

“
Well,” Godren shrugged, “
I
didn’t have much use for it.”

“
Will there be anything else?” Catris wanted to know.

“
Indeed yes,” Godren admitted.

The princess raised a waiting eyebrow, lingering by the bed.

Smiling slightly, drawing out the suspense of the seductive charade, Godren ultimately pushed himself away from the railing, but turned to leave rather than entering the room. “Goodnight, Cat,” he said, a mockery of the obvious setting, and alighted on the balcony. But, at the last moment, he turned back. “One more thing. When shall I be allowed to collect on your offer...collect on your
demand
...to return with an account of my adventures?”

She relaxed now, seeing that he wasn't after anything more than an honest – not to mention warranted – inquiry; and teasing along the way seemingly only for good measure.

“I'm serving at the soup kitchens a week from now. Midday,” she offered.

He smiled. “Well If I find that my adventuring sparks a particularly ravenous appetite, I will see if I cannot stop for lunch.”

*

It was dawn as Godren mounted the walls of the Ruins and headed back toward the lurking prison he was bound to. He had lost all track of time while with the princess, and he could only hope Mastodon wouldn’t view his extended absence as an issue.

He was distracted with recounting the night’s events when a cawing, flurrying racket caught his attention on the wall ahead of him. Looking up, he was met by an odd sight. Cages lined the ledge, and trapped inside were multiple, frenzied ravens. Also trapped inside were rigged dead things – bait, no doubt, and Godren grimaced in distaste while wondering what the ravens had been captured for. Taking care as he stepped over each cage, Godren’s legs were battered by frantic, angry feathers. He stole himself against the smell, curiously eyeing the birds once more before leaving them behind.

Kane was playing with a cat at the upper entrance to the Underworld, and Godren shook his head at him as he went by. Sometimes Kane showed the most uncharacteristic, incompetent traits for the position he occupied.

Godren found Seth with Mastodon, and noted the raven that the mistress of the Underworld held on her desk. “…thoroughly brain-washed and addicted to our clever treats, now all that’s left to be done is enspelling its eyes – hello, Godren.”

“
Greetings. What’s with the new development with the birds?”

“
The incident with the wolf got me thinking we needed an additional secret weapon, one that compared in likeness to the edge of using animals. These fellows,” Mastodon indicated, stroking the raven, “are going to be our spies. I’m enspelling their eyes with a mirror effect – which basically makes their eyes hold the reflections of the things they see, so I can view them when the birds return from their scouting. We’ve ensured they
will
return by sustaining them on a rather addicting substance I concocted for the purpose.”

Godren made an agreeable face. “Can they do anything else?”

“I’m going to experiment a bit with influencing their aggressive instincts, but I require some more birds first. Sethos was kind enough to rig some more cages for me; they should bring me what I need.”

“
I passed them on my way in,” Godren mentioned. “They were full.”

“
Good. Get Ossen to help you bring them in. Seth, you too.”

Nodding, Seth rose to accompany Godren on his new task. Together they sought out Ossen. He was in the dungeon with Bastin, cleaning dart guns and measuring fresh poison into empty darts.

“
It’s about time,” Bastin commented when he saw Godren. “We were beginning to wonder if those posters got the better of you, or if you lost them to the water and had to chase the current clear out of the city before you got them back.”

“
It went something like that,” Godren replied, warming to the excuse.

Ossen ignored their arrival, keeping his focus on the gun in his hands.

“
We’re bringing in the cages,” Seth said to him. “You’re helping.”

Remaining unresponsive, Ossen continued stroking the gun with one methodical swipe of his rag after another. It was only for no apparent reason that his eyes suddenly snapped to attention and fastened on Godren. The rag in his hand hovered in one spot, idle as the intensity in his eyes occupied his focus.

Finding himself a little disgruntled by the unwarranted suspicion and hostility in Ossen’s eyes, Godren wondered what he had done. Frowning a little, he passed behind Seth to intercept Ossen’s intense gaze, but Ossen’s eyes remained riveted to him.

“
Are they full already?” Bastin asked, unaware of the abrupt tension.

“
To the brim,” Godren replied, turning with Seth to leave. Ossen’s eyes followed him the entire time, oblivious to the look Seth gave him.

When they were outside, Seth mentioned his peculiar behavior. “What’s with Ossen staring at you like that?”

Godren frowned. “I wouldn’t know. How was he while I was gone?”

“
Intolerably, dreadfully normal.”

“
Then I really have no idea.”

Ossen showed up to help with the cages, but never said a word and eyed Godren through the entirety of the task. Godren made an effort to ignore him, but couldn’t stop wondering what, in the gods’ names, he could have done to warrant the blazing suspicion in his rival’s eyes. After all, he hadn’t even been here.

Delivering the ravens to Mastodon, they left a few with her and took the rest to the dungeon where they designated one of the cells as the official aviary. Rather than disposing of the dead things, they reused the bait and set the traps again, and then Godren sought a place to sleep where no one could find him. It was just as much to escape Ossen as to catch up on sleep, though. For, while Ossen had always been openly keen on tossing Godren off the edge of the world and being done with him, Godren had never seen that particular look in his eyes before. It had been uncharacteristically startled, then almost wary – or had that been dread? But underneath it all had smoldered a murderous suspicion, something that, when Godren pictured Ossen standing victoriously over his climactic corpse in the end, took the smile that was always going to be there right off his rival’s twisted face.

18:
W
ages,
W
ishes, and
S
oup

“
Y
our wages, Godren,” Mastodon issued, setting a sizable pouch on the far side of her desk. It didn't jangle – she was artful about it – but it looked heavy enough. He moved forward languidly to accept it, staying moot about it. But it was still an unnatural motion for him. He was grossly unaccustomed to getting paid – and getting paid for
this
...

He stowed it with what he hoped was indifference, rather than disorientation.

“Spend it wisely,” Mastodon bade, un-moved by the transfer. It was regular business for her.

And not even the first time you've gotten paid, fool.
Their arrangement had been, of course, that he was to be paid in advance to secure his services. But their contract detailed that he was to prove himself reliable through a temporary 'trial phase', during which Mastodon had paid a partial deposit. Now, having given her no reason to squirm about commissioning him, it was time to collect the rest of what he was owed.

“Thank you, Mastress,” he offered, briefly inclining his head.

She shook her own. “So gracious,” she noted, as if disapproving. But it was halfhearted, inconsequential. She would not presume to rule him.

Perhaps I should curb that
. Did it register as a certain weakness? He didn't know. It was impossible to know how to go about acting in such a fraternity. He simply could never be sure – was always guessing, or second-guessing.

“Well, off with you,” she dismissed before he could fashion a response. He turned to leave without another word, strolling out with his riches, feeling out of place no matter what he did. Even when he could utterly compose himself – that felt almost more out of place than anything. Because he should never in good conscience be able to achieve such composure given the circumstances.

There was no way to win.

Your life of crime just paid off,
he found himself thinking as he walked the cave-like halls to his courtyard. A look of disgust penciled itself across his face at the thought. Suddenly he knew he would not be able to bring himself to so much as test the weight of the money bag – something that would normally have been a tempting, natural motion. He wouldn't count it. He wouldn't spend – would he spend it?

He took pause at that, wondering. What a novel idea. There were possibilities there...and something he could certainly use. He imagined it would end up being too tempting...

Really, he was obligated. He'd as good as committed to making an appearance at the soup kitchens when the princess was to serve in a few days' time; he really had little choice but to solve the matter of his unstately garb. He could always show up in his usual attire and simply play the adventurer again, but the nature of such an undertaking seemed much more reliant on a night setting. Surely he would never get away with such swashbuckling during lawful, daylight hours. As well, he had a much greater chance of being recognized if he went out like this during the day – and to such a public place! He should not go at all, but – ah, he had been a fool. He'd mindlessly committed, grasping at the chance to see her again.