Dragon's Bait (7 page)

"Tierbo," Atherton repeated. It was a seaport, a good three days away.

"My da says give this to you, for your church here." She reached into the bag of silver Selendrile had brought and grabbed a fistful of
the
coins. When she looked up from handing it
over, she knew she had him. "There be more," she said, "what they were still collecting when I left."

Atherton nodded slowly. "Tonight's the vigil of Saint Emmett, Griswold's patron saint. Be here first thing tomorrow morning, and look you don't keep me waiting."

Now that she had started, Alys wasn't willing to delay. She saw Atherton start to move his arm—he had it up against the doorway as though to block her lest she try to forge ahead into his room. In another moment he would slam the door shut, dismissing her. She said, "Right, that's what my da said."

She watched him weigh his choices. He tightened his grip on the door, but asked, "
What
did he say?"

"Not to keep him waiting. He's in a terrible rush, the possessed man's that violent. That's why Da sent my brother over to Wendbury, to ask the priest there to come, too—see?—figurin' someone's got to get there first." The implication she hoped he'd come away with was that only the first would get the extra money.

Atherton considered. Then, as though doing her a favor, "All right, all right," he said. "If the
man's that bad off, we'll set out tonight. Meet me here directly after the vigil service." Alys was nodding, but he repeated, "Directly. I'll have my things packed and a horse ready to go, and I want no nonsense from you."

"No nonsense," Alys agreed.

Atherton looked doubtful, but he said nothing more. He just—finally—slammed the door in her face.

A
LYS SPENT THE REST
of the afternoon wandering about the town of Griswold, hoping to find Selendrile and meanwhile talking to the merchants about what work was available, lest anyone become suspicious. Nobody had seen Selendrile since last night, but she did get three job offers.

As evening set in, her mood shifted from annoyance to anger to worry.

Then, as she passed a dark, narrow alleyway, she heard someone say, "
Psst
."

Hoping that it had nothing to do with her, Alys ducked her head and walked faster.

"
Psst!
Little boy."

Alys glanced into the darkness only long enough to see that there were far too many shadows. But apparently that was long enough. She heard a quick, startled laugh. Then the voice—a woman's—called, "Little girl disguised as a boy."

It was no use pretending she didn't hear or that it wasn't true. From the corner of the alley with the darkest shadows she caught a movement—a gnarled white hand beckoning. Alys looked around to make sure nobody on the street was watching and stepped into the alley.

Part of the shadows resolved themselves into the shape of an old woman with a shawl over her head. "Well, well, my sweet one," the woman said. But despite her gentle words, Alys flinched when she raised her hand to brush Alys's cheek. "What's such a pretty child doing dressed in nasty boys' clothes and with her lovely hair all cut off? Are you in trouble?" The woman smiled gleefully. "You
are
." She tapped the side of her own nose with a crooked finger. "I can
smell
people in trouble. You've gone and gotten yourself in bad company, haven't you?"

Not as bad as this
, Alys wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat, and Alys was
afraid that might be because they were untrue. She took a step away and felt the rough wall at her back, snagging her clothes and hair.

"You better get out," the old woman warned, "before you get in too deep."

"Yes," Alys said, easing toward the mouth of the alley, toward the open street. "Thank you for your advice."

"Advice is free," the woman said. "Would you like my help?"

Alys shook her head and the woman laughed. Alys felt the edge of the corner building, realized she was back on the street. Was the woman going to follow her? Prevent her from leaving? Yell out the truth about Alys to all the world?

But the woman did nothing, yelled nothing, only continued to laugh. "I'll be here if you change your mind," she called after Alys. "Here or in the glen behind the waterfall. I may well be your only chance—if you don't wait too long."

Alys ran the rest of the way back to the Green Barrel Inn, but she didn't go there directly, just in case she was being followed. She ran past it and circled to the right, then the left, temporarily lost herself, and only then ap
proached the inn. At the door she stopped and looked back.

Silly
, she told herself for the nagging feeling that the witch was watching her from the evening darkness. The witch was too old to run, and besides, Alys would have heard her. Still, it was a relief to enter the Green Barrel's brightly lit common room, especially when she saw Selendrile. He was sitting at a table by the fire, where the flames cast their glow on the long blond hair he'd gathered at the nape of his neck. For a moment she forgot how annoyed she was at him, until she noticed his impatient look, as though
he'd
spent all afternoon looking for
her
.

Which she didn't believe for a moment.

She sat down next to him before speaking so that not everybody in the room would overhear their business. "Where have you been?" she demanded.

He smiled, as though to say she didn't really want to know.

Which she didn't. "Don't do that again. I was worried."

"About me?" His tone was insincere, which made her answer: "About the plan," though she hadn't liked the thought he could be hurt or in
trouble. He sat back on the bench and smiled. "What about the plan?" he asked.

She couldn't answer, because the cook came out then, carrying bowls of smoked-mutton stew, which she set before them on the table.

"None for me, thank you," Selendrile said, never looking at her.

"You don't eat enough," the cook scolded him, "that's your problem."

At which point he did look at her.

Any appetite that Alys may have had dissolved in that look. "Let's go to our room," she said, scrambling to get to her feet, to get away. "Come on, Selendrile."

He got up slowly, with a smile for the cook, which she no doubt took as charming.

In their room, Alys talked fast to get his mind away from the path she was sure it was taking. "I went to see Atherton," she said, and saw a shadow of surprise. "I told him I was from Tierbo and that we needed him there for an exorcism. He agreed to come. I'm supposed to meet him after the vigil service tonight to take him there."

"When is a vigil service?" he asked.

She suddenly wondered if he knew
what
a
vigil service was. Or an exorcism, for that matter. "Sundown. Which means it already started, so we'll have to hurry. My plan, since you weren't there to help, was to put the rest of the gold that you brought into his saddlebags, and then somehow get people to notice. I hoped that they'd think he'd been stealing from them, maybe." It sounded so lame, so ridiculous.

Instead of saying that, he pulled a large leather bag out from under his bedding.

So that's what he'd been doing, at least part of the day. It was more gold, much more. He'd also brought a pair of silver candlesticks, a delicately engraved silver goblet studded with emeralds, and a little golden plate—which, if it wasn't a paten meant to hold the Eucharist during Mass, certainly could pass as one. She tried not to gawk like a peasant at court, but judging from his half smile she hadn't quite pulled it off. "I take it these are from your ... ah..."

"Hoard."

"...hoard," she repeated, wondering why she felt guilty saying it if he didn't. "Good."
Good
? He'd stolen these things, how could she be saying "good" about that? "I can put part of this in his saddlebags and then make a little slit,
so some of it spills out on the street while everybody's watching him leave for Tierbo. I saw that his house has a small upper window. I couldn't fit through, but if you could get in and hide the rest of this in Atherton's room, it'll seem as though he's been stealing for a long time."

He nodded, following her reasoning. "If you can toss the bag up into the room, I can turn into a bird, fly in the window, change back to human, hide the things, resume bird shape..." He considered. "Of course, if I walk into the church without any clothes, somebody's sure to notice.
You
always do."

Alys felt her cheeks get warm.

Selendrile smiled that dragon smile, which always made her afraid she was missing something obvious.

She said, "I'll bring your clothes and hide them behind the church. Join me as soon as you can."

He nodded and Alys tried to think if they were forgetting anything. "All right," she said slowly. She put her back to him before he could get his shirt up over his head.

L
IGHT FROM THE CANDLES
streamed out of the church windows into the street behind the church, where Alys stood in the shadows. Anybody watching would be able to see her clearly, and the only thing that gave her the courage to step out of the shadows was the knowledge that the streets were nearly deserted—just about all the townspeople would be at the vigil service.

A huge black shadow flapped against a nearby wall, silent warning that someone was approaching.

The witch
, Alys thought, realizing at the same moment that there was no place to hide the two sacks of gold she was holding. The witch had
said
she could smell people in trouble, and of course she wouldn't be at the service. Too
late, Alys realized she had been so intent on telling Selendrile about the Inquisitor, she hadn't mentioned the witch at all.

But it was a trick of candlelight and nerves. The shadow got smaller and smaller, and where shadow was finally met by substance, it was only a raven that had nearly caused her to panic. Selendrile: She could tell by the way he cocked his head at her. He had settled on one of the church's gargoyle waterspouts, which just went to show how useful those figures were at protecting the building from evil spirits.

Grimly Alys moved beneath the window of Atherton's house. What if he'd closed the shutters against the night air?

But he hadn't.

Taking a deep breath, she flung the sack full of money.

It struck the wall not even halfway up and fell to the ground with a clunk and a jangle.

Alys kept her back to the raven, sure that Selendrile would find a way to look superior and smug, even in bird form. She retrieved the bag, threw it again. Missed again. She hoped the service was a nice long one. How would she explain herself, standing in the dark, hurling a
bagful of money at the Inquisitor's wall? For that matter, what would she do if the bag burst open and scattered coins all over the street?

Atherton's horse was nearby, readied and tethered, brought earlier by one of the boys from the public stable so that Atherton could leave immediately after the service. Alys had the sinking sensation that she'd never get to that part of the plan. The horse watched her and the raven warily.

On the fifth try, Alys got the sack through the window, and Selendrile dove in after it.

Gingerly, Alys approached the horse. "Easy, easy," she whispered, though it had already calmed down now that Selendrile was indoors. She got the silver candlesticks out of her own sack, then pulled everything out of the Inquisitor's saddlebags. Using one of the candlesticks, she poked a hole through the leather at the seam, then repacked the bag, starting with handfuls of gold.

With the coins in there, not all of the Inquisitor's clothes would fit. Now what? She pushed damp hair off her sweaty forehead and forced herself to remain calm. Selendrile wasn't here to give her advice, so she'd better come up
with a plan on her own. She set aside a bulky cape and managed to jam in the rest. Giving the horse one final pat, she scooped up both the bundle of Selendrile's clothes and Atherton's cloak. The first she left against the back wall of the church, as planned, the other in the wooden poor box just inside the front door.

The vigil service was almost over. She arrived just in time for the final benediction. Moments later, Selendrile slipped in beside her, and there was a murmur of disapproval from the surrounding people.

Oh no
, she thought, assuming the townsfolk were upset because she had come in late and Selendrile had not quite made it at all. She opened her mouth to apologize, but already others had started talking—whispering, because of the place, but very intense, very upset.

"What happened?" at least three different voices asked. But nobody was even looking at her for an explanation. She heard Saint Emmett's name mentioned, and the word "relic," and the fact that Father Donato and Inquisitor Atherton had been as obviously surprised as everybody else. There were two priests in Griswold, Alys surmised, since Inquisitor Atherton
was called away so often to deal with witches and dragons and demons, and somebody had to carry on the daily routine. But the single word she heard most often was "gone."

Trying to make sense of the jumble of voices, she let herself be carried along with the flow of people leaving the church, though it separated her from Selendrile. "Excuse me," she said at a point where only two people were talking at the same time, "something's missing?"

Closest to her was a man about her father's age and build, a cloth merchant who just this afternoon had offered to hire her to clean his shop and run errands. "That's right," he said, "you're new here and wouldn't know. The chalice is gone—the one Saint Emmett brought back from his pilgrimage to the Holy Land."

"They had to do the service without a chalice?" Alys asked.

"It was a gift to Saint Emmett from the bishop of Jerusalem," somebody explained. And somebody else: "Father Donato only uses it on special occasions on account of it's a relic, and because it's so precious since it's made of silver and emeralds."

On the verge of expressing her sympathy,
Alys felt the words drain out of her. Silver and emeralds?