The Glowing Knight (5 page)

“Of course.” A hand holding a small pouch appeared out of the shadows. Coins tapped.

The sound made Professor Knight glance around, and I pressed myself against a wall behind a stack of crates. My breath came short with revulsion.

Professor Knight was selling shine.

FURY ROARED THROUGH
me.

Knight
had been the one to warn me of the dangers of shine.

Knight
had been the one to proudly tell me how he conquered his addiction.

Knight
had been the one to tell me not to make shine my cause. Because he was selling it, and he didn't want me to know.

This was so much worse than I'd imagined. This was him abetting one of the worst problems to ever plague Skyvale and the rest of the Indigo Kingdom—at least how
he'd
described the shine usage sweeping through the land.

I forced myself to breathe long and even. Maybe this wasn't what it looked like. Father had said Hensley was working for him, and Knight was working for Hensley. Maybe I was misunderstanding everything.

Or maybe I wanted Knight to be the victim in this so much that I was willing to risk ignoring what was right in front of me.

And the truth was that he'd just sold someone a bunch of shine and I couldn't for a moment believe there was anything innocent about that.

Footfalls thumped the ground as one or both of the men moved toward me.

My heart hammered as I forced myself to
listen
as the steps came closer. One man. Heavy steps. I'd never really paid attention to the way Knight walked before, but that did sound like him. The other man—Shade—must have gone back through the alley.

I'd find him later.

As Knight came even with me, I surged forward and grabbed the lapels of his coat. Before he had a chance to even shout, I yanked him backward and slammed him against the wall where I'd been hiding.

“Where did you get the shine?” I growled.

Knight's eyes grew wide and round, but he didn't respond. Just took in the mask and clothes and sword, and suddenly he was on me.

He shoved me backward. I was unprepared for it, and I stumbled, but caught him as he tried to run away.

I snatched his coat collar and dragged him back. He struggled, reaching for something to hold on to. He was broader, but I had the advantage of height and knowing Knight had very little combat training. At least, I
thought
I knew. Apparently there was a lot I didn't know about my tutor.

He reached for my mask. I slammed him against the wall. “Where did you get the shine?” I repeated.

Was it Lord Hensley? I couldn't help but remember his
interest in the idea of shine-hunting dogs, and his quick ability to name the new variation when my father hadn't remembered.

“Firefly,” I whispered. “Is it firefly you have?”

Professor Knight's eyes went wide—confirmation enough—and I banged his head against the wall.

He passed out.

I jumped away as Knight slumped to the ground. Guilt softened the rage. I'd just knocked out my teacher. If anyone found out, I definitely wouldn't get into Bome Boys' Academy.

Not that Father would ever allow it.

This alley was still empty, but the sound of voices wasn't that far off. I needed to make a decision about what to do with Professor Knight, now that he was unconscious at my feet. Leave him here? Drag him somewhere else? Call in the police?

Maybe, if he was afraid of me now—since I'd just given him a concussion—I could actually get some answers.

The voices were moving closer.

I grabbed Professor Knight by his coat and dragged him through the alley, around a bend, and down another alley. His heels bored small ruts into the dirt as I heaved him onward, a few stumbling steps at a time.

The exertion made my heart pound uncomfortably hard. Dragging a fully grown man after dealing with that trellis . . . it seemed I needed to gain more muscle.

Breathing embarrassingly difficult, I glanced around the alley. Whoever was coming was closer now, and if I wanted to ask Knight questions, I needed to get him somewhere safe.

There. A door. I let Knight drop to the ground and hurried to try it. Locked. As the voices drew nearer, I jogged down the
alley a little toward another door. Unlocked. Which hopefully meant it was abandoned.

Only darkness waited inside. The room had the feel of a larger space, but it was hard to tell with only the faint glow from the moon and mirrors. At least it seemed to be empty. I heard no voices, no scuffle of movement, no ragged breathing.

I ran back to get Knight, struggling to keep as quiet as possible while dragging a man down the dingy alley. My arms trembled with strain by the time I made it to the door, nudged it open, and hauled Knight inside.

“Where's Shade?” someone asked down the alley.

“Don't know, but there are a lot of needy people looking for what's in those vials.”

The voices were coming closer. I heaved Knight a little farther before hurrying to close the door.

In the dark room, I unwound the curtain pull I'd intended to use to scale the wall. Now, it would bind my professor.

I'd never tied up anyone, but I'd certainly been lashed to a chair before. During the One-Night War.

The memory shivered up inside me as I scanned the room, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. I'd been right about the size; this used to be some kind of storage area, as far as I could tell. Broken crates, crooked shelves, and planks of wood littered the floor. Bug carcasses crunched under my boots.

This was the sort of filthy place I'd always assumed was limited to the Flags. But maybe every district had its own forgotten corners—or the Flags were even worse.

Professor Knight groaned. He'd wake soon.

After a moment's consideration, I stripped off his coat,
pulled him toward the nearest shelving unit, and wrapped the curtain pull around his arms in a figure eight, then again around the shelf legs.

As he stirred, I dug through his coat pockets and found more sacks like the one he'd sold Shade.

Shine
.

No, I reminded myself. This was firefly.

Betrayal shot through me again. How could he do this to people, knowing what he did about the effects? How could he do this to
me
?

“Who are you?” Professor Knight's voice was groggy as he blinked up, his eyes not quite focusing. “Are you going to kill me?”

Who was
he
was the better question.

“Where did you get this?” I pitched my voice deeper, more menacing. The Saint Fade Christopher mask gave it a faint ring, disguising me further.

“It's better if you don't know. If the Burning Hand hears about you, you'll be dead within a week.”

The Burning Hand? Lord Hensley?

Too easily, I could recall the palm scorched onto Professor Knight's forearm. Did Hensley do that to many people?

And if Hensley was behind the firefly . . .

Well, I couldn't trust that he was the
only
one, but I wasn't trying to put a stop to
all
shine use right now. Just Hensley. All I had to do was connect Hensley to shine and then my father would have no choice but to investigate him for magic use, too. He'd be convicted of murdering Lord Roth and attacking Professor Knight, and investigations would open into other things I
didn't even know about.

I'd be vindicated, and Hensley would be in the darkest of prisons.

Unless Hensley—and Knight—was really doing all this for my father.

“Tell me about the Burning Hand.” I lifted a bag of vials and removed one. The pale liquid inside glowed with faint iridescence, and even through the stopper, I could smell the acrid odor of wraith. Usually—at least, from what I'd read—shine was pearly blue, but this was a shimmery rust color. “This is firefly?” I asked, though I knew. I just needed him to say it.

Professor Knight lifted his eyes to mine. His gaze was clearer now, and faint recognition lit his face. “What do you think it is, Tobiah?”

My heart lurched and I dropped the vial back into the sack.

“Of course I know who you are.” Knight tugged at the tie around his hands, but at that, at least, I'd done a good job; he couldn't get free. “You're wearing the same clothes from your training and I helped you choose that mask years ago.”

“Then you know I'm determined to hear the truth.” I didn't bother deepening my voice this time, but I didn't remove the mask, either. As much as I didn't like the way it cut off my peripheral vision, there was something comforting about the illusion of anonymity. “Tell me what's going on.”

“I told you not to make this your cause.” Knight shook his head. “I wish you'd forget this. Why didn't you listen?”

“Because you won't tell me the truth. I need proof that Hensley burned you. I need proof that he's connected to this.” I shoved the bag of vials forward. “Is this what my father has you
and Hensley doing?”

He lowered his eyes. “Hensley isn't working for your father. Not like King Terrell says.”

My stomach dropped. Hensley
was
working for my father, but deceiving him in the process. “What's going on? Did Father ask Hensley to look into shine? Or firefly?” Or maybe Hensley had volunteered to keep up the illusion of innocence.

“Please, just go. I don't want you involved. If he finds out you're investigating him, your title won't save you. Especially if you're out like this.” He nodded at my clothes and mask. “I don't want to see you get hurt.”

Movement sounded outside. “The tracks lead this way.”

Knight swore. “If his people catch us, we're dead.”

“Tell me everything and I'll let you go free,” I hissed. “Please.”

Knight shook his head. “Sorry. I can't risk you getting hurt, and I'd rather deal with the police than Hensley.”

“If he thinks you're talking to the police—”

“Go.”

The footfalls came closer, and lantern light shot into the building, carving a path of yellow illumination across bits of metal and wood. There was another open door on the far side of the room, which led deeper into the building.

“Go,” Knight said. “Or I'll reveal your identity.”

My throat tightened, but I nodded and dashed for the door. A dark room waited beyond.

Just as I made it through, police crashed through the door near Knight.

Someone grabbed my arm and yanked me into the blackness.

I JERKED AWAY
from whoever had been waiting for me, but in the dark, unfamiliar room, I wasn't sure where to go. Not back into the storage room where police stormed in, their lanterns held high. Some knelt around Professor Knight. Others dug through the bags and the discarded coat, calling out about shine and firefly. Another pair ran toward my door.

“There's someone through here!”

In the flashes of light through the door, I caught the girl's wide eyes. She was young. Earnest looking. “Saint Fade Christopher? I'm Romily Ries. I can help you.”

I was no saint, but at least she seemed to be on my side. “Get us out of here.”

She gave a quick nod, took my wrist, and pulled me into a dark hallway. Her steps were soundless under the pounding of police moving in and shouting for us to stop. I tried to keep my steps quiet, too, but as she dragged me through the darkness and
I lost all sense of where we were going, my movements became louder and less in control.

“You there! Stop!” It seemed like the police were gaining on us, and I couldn't see
anything
. Romily's turns were sharp and erratic, and my elbows slammed into walls. She didn't have trouble, though. How could she tell where we were going?

My heart thundered. Any second now, I'd crash into a wall or stumble over some forgotten piece of machinery.

“Left.” Her direction was so quiet I almost didn't hear.

We turned left.

The footfalls behind us softened.

“Left.”

We turned again, never slowing the flat-out run.

“Upstairs,” she hissed, and we stumbled upward. “Switchback.”

Our flight continued and the sound of the police behind us faded. Maybe they were giving up. Maybe we'd lost them.

After another minute, we burst onto a rooftop. Mirrors and stars and moonlight shed light across the flat section we emerged onto. Hot, humid air seared through my throat and lungs as I leaned onto my knees to catch my breath. James and I ran plenty as part of our sword training, but never through dark passages at full speed. My head buzzed with adrenaline.

“You all right?” Romily shut the rooftop door and wedged a piece of wood beneath it.

“I'm fine.” I crept toward the edge of the roof. Men and women shouted orders. The police uniforms were dark, highlighted with gold or silver—depending on rank—that caught the flares of lantern light. There wasn't much to see from this angle.
Just everyone milling about.

The police were everywhere. I couldn't question Knight like this. Father would never let me see Knight if he went to prison. And, in spite of what I'd seen earlier, I wanted to believe that Knight had been forced into this because of his history. I wanted to believe that Hensley was using him and Knight, on his own, would never sell shine or firefly, because he knew what kind of pain it could cause.

I swore and sat back, out of view.

Romily's eyes went round. “You're not a saint.”

I snorted. “Does a saint wear a sword?”

“No.” She crouched beside me. “But I thought I'd ask. I saw you follow the Knight and make him stop selling firefly.”

“
The
Knight?”

“That's what everyone calls him,” she said.

I glanced at her. The girl was a few years younger than me. Maybe twelve or thirteen. Her hair was oily and uncombed, and dirt and pimples marked her skin. Her clothes were torn and loose on her skeletal frame. “Are you from Thornton?” During my rare trip to Thornton, always well supervised, I visited only high-end shops where everyone was well fed and clean, and the prices were obviously marked up from normal.

“Red Flag.” She lifted her chin. “I was following my brother. He was the one who met up with the Knight.”

“Your brother's name is Shade?” Who would do that to a child?

“Mercush likes others to call him Shade. It makes him feel tough.”

“I see.”

“Why did you take the Knight?”

“Because I needed to question him about what he's been doing.” I dipped my voice. “Why did you follow your brother?”

“I wanted to ask him to stop. He's a dealer, and dealers aren't supposed to use, but he started last week. He couldn't help it. He said he needed to know what it felt like.”

My chest tightened with anguish. Knight was a distributor. He might not be using again, but he provided the firefly to dealers and users throughout all Skyvale. Maybe even farther.

And
firefly
. Shine that didn't just addict, but killed those who quit. I met Romily's eyes for a moment, but couldn't tell if she knew what would happen to her brother.

“The Knight didn't come last week, and he was late the week before. Everyone says the Burning Hand was mad with him and punished him. Dealers in the Flags are mad, too. At least that's what my brother says. Not to me. He doesn't want me involved. But I hear him talk to friends.”

“What kind of friends?”

Her voice went flat. “Nightmare gang friends.”

Oh, saints.

“Is your brother in the Nightmare gang?”

Romily shook her head. “He knows some people in it, though. He's been selling them firefly. They have mostly regular shine right now, but they want firefly.”

If the Nightmare gang got hold of firefly . . .

A tremor shoved through me. This was worse than I ever guessed.

“Is there a good place we can watch what's happening down there?” We seemed to be right over the door I'd dragged Knight
through, but everything happening was still inside the building.

“Not if you don't want to be caught. You're too clumsy.”

The words stung, but she was right. I was a fair swordsman, but jumping around on rooftops wasn't one of my skills. Yet. I'd practice.

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “They're bringing the Knight out.”

She was right. A pair of police officers marched my professor into the alley, kicked the back of his legs, and forced him to his knees. He grunted and fell forward. Was this how police normally behaved?

A familiar figure emerged from the group of officers. Wide shoulders. Well-tailored clothes. Lord Hensley.

I pressed myself flat on the roof and strained to hear over the brush of wind. Romily did the same.

“Did you realize you were followed?” Hensley asked, like he wasn't worried about the police wondering about that suspicious question.

“That's the Burning Hand.” Romily shuddered beside me. “I never saw him before, but that's him.”

She was right. Knight had told me as much.

And now, my professor just sat there with his head hanging. Blood dripped onto the ground. Had the police beat him? Or had I hurt him more than I'd realized?

“Who attacked you?” asked Hensley. “What did they want?”

Knight didn't move.

“You've disappointed me.” Hensley strode forward. A few of the police officers glanced at one another, but none of them
intervened as Hensley knelt in front of Professor Knight and said, “Skipping deliveries. Getting followed. And now you won't tell me who's interfering? I cannot trust you, Professor. What if Shade hadn't seen you go down?”

My heart pounded so loudly it was a wonder they couldn't hear it down there.

“If you won't do your work, and you won't be careful, and you won't tell me about the man wearing the Saint Fade Christopher mask, then you're useless to me.” Hensley motioned to the police officers at Knight's sides. “Hold him.”

My throat squeezed.

Only when Hensley stripped off his gloves did Knight begin thrashing against the hands gripping him.

Then, ignoring the struggles, Hensley pressed his palm to Knight's forehead.

Knight screamed. The sound cut through the night, cut through
me
. I pushed myself up—I had to stop this—but Romily touched my arm.

“Don't.” Her voice shook. “He'll kill you, too.”

The scent of burning flesh rippled upward, clouding my thoughts. “I have to—”

“You can't.” The whites of her eyes shone as she looked at me. “You can't win against all of them.”

The truth hit me. She was right. Hensley wasn't afraid of saying those things in front of the police, because the police—these anyway—were with him. They, like Knight, were working for him. And every single one of them just watched as Hensley drew back from Professor Knight, shook a whiff of smoke off his palm, and nodded to the officers.

“Let him go now.”

For a moment, I hoped that meant Professor Knight would be set free. But then, his body dropped. One of the officers nudged him, rolling him onto his back. His face was bright red and everything reeked. But that wasn't the worst.

On his forehead, up through his hairline, there was a large blackened handprint.

The Burning Hand indeed.

I scrambled away from the edge of the roof, frantic to keep my movements silent. The roof-access door wouldn't open. I kicked the wooden stopper aside and ducked into the stairwell and pulled up the mask and heaved.

“You all right?” Romily whispered after a few moments.

I spit out the taste of bile, put my mask back in place, and shook my head. “I'm not all right. But I will be after I put a stop to Hensley and firefly and every single corrupted police officer in Skyvale.”

“A big job.”

No one else was doing it. My father didn't seem to know, either. He'd put Hensley in charge of this. He'd never believe Hensley was responsible.

Romily didn't smile as she said, “I'll help you, if you want.”

Because her brother was involved, and she wanted to help him. A good enough reason for me.

“For now, help me get into Hawksbill. But meet me tomorrow night. I want you to teach me everything you know about Skyvale.”

No matter what it took, I was going to stop Lord Hensley.