The Goblin Gate (25 page)

“They’re running it fast tonight.” Cogswhallop stepped out of the shadows. “Must have a lot of dishes to wash.”

Jeriah eyed the dripping buckets the great chain carried to the cistern under the temple floor, from which water flowed into taps and fountains throughout the palace.

“Are you sure you can get into the vault from here?”

The goblin snorted. “I showed you the builder’s plan three times. This shaft is where water’s hauled up from the spring room—see that big bucket chain? All you have to do is climb down the ladder beside it and use those big muscles of yours to remove the grate that keeps folks like us from going past the dungeons.”

Jeriah looked dubiously into the black pit—he couldn’t see the bottom. “Isn’t there an easier way down?”

“Of course. There’s a great human-size door into the spring room from the wine cellar. It’s right next to the vault’s guard station. You could—”

“All right!” Jeriah gripped the ladder and descended into darkness.

The rungs were evenly spaced, and soon the rhythm claimed him. Down and down. The sound of splashing water grew louder. He stumbled when his feet hit the floor, then stood aside, clinging to the ladder. Cogswhallop came down and felt his way across the room, grumbling softly.

A starter scraped, and light bloomed from the lamp in the goblin’s hand. It shimmered on the surface of a deep pool, as bucket after bucket sloshed in and out. The great wheel that guided the chain creaked. From the pool’s rim, two shallow troughs led into the wall through culverts about three feet high. Water ran in one, but the gate that controlled the other was closed.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope we go down the dry one?”

Cogswhallop grinned. “Best take off your fancy tunic. They’re sewage culverts, hero. They open the gate when they’ve got prisoners on one side or other. So your sister’s on the side—”

“Where the water’s running. Naturally.” Jeriah pulled off his tunic. “And someone might notice if we shut it off.” There
were worse things. He drew a resolute breath and pulled a crowbar from the pile of tools the goblins had placed near the culvert’s mouth.

“Do I owe someone a button for these?”

Cogswhallop bit back a grin. “Part of the service—no payment required.”

“You’re joking. A goblin doing something for free?”

“Not for free; for getting the Decree of Bright Magic revoked. Don’t forget that, hero. Not ever.” The softness of his voice did nothing to diminish the threat.

“I won’t. We’d better go.”

“Wait.” said Cogswhallop. “You can’t hold that bar while you crawl—you’ll clank all the way. Sound carries in stone, and there’s an opening up to every cell.”

They strapped the crowbar to Jeriah’s back and he crawled into the culvert, trying to ignore the cold water flowing over his hands, soaking his knees and feet. It was no colder than the dread in the pit of his stomach. Jeriah tried not to think about the layer of slime that covered the stone—at least it made their progress quieter.

The culvert was dark, for Cogswhallop had left the lamp back in the spring room, but every ten feet a faint patch of light shone from above; sewer holes from the cells. They were only small square shafts with bars across the top, but that light meant there were prisoners in some of the cells above—and that meant guards, who might hear someone pulling out a grate or chipping through the culvert’s wall.

Senna was in one of these cells. Terrified? Despairing? The goblins had delivered his second note hours ago, but Jeriah longed to stop and whisper up some words of hope. He didn’t dare. He had no way to know if the guards were watching her. If Senna got into more trouble, would his father blame him for that, too? It hardly mattered—if Senna came to harm because of his schemes, Jeriah would never forgive himself.

Below the sixth shaft Jeriah’s dark-adapted eyes caught a glimpse of something lumpy, crouched precariously above the waterline. He stopped so abruptly that Cogswhallop bumped into him and breathed a curse. The shape stirred and resolved itself into a grinning Daroo, who motioned them past. They must be beneath Senna’s cell. Jeriah had hoped she’d be imprisoned near the grating he’d come to remove, but there’d been no way to arrange it. Yet another of the things that could go wrong. They’d been lucky—Jeriah passed only three more openings before he reached the grate, which blended with the darkness so well, he ran into it. “Ow!” He managed to keep it to a whisper.

“Shhh.”

Hanging the crowbar quietly over one of the bars to keep from losing it in the water, Jeriah studied the barrier with his fingers—he could see almost nothing.

The bars stretched from one side of the culvert to the other. If they’d been drilled into the stone, Jeriah’s plan would probably have ended there, but they were fastened to
an iron rim that had been spiked to the wall. The spikes didn’t feel too large.

“I can do it,” Jeriah murmured, “but it’s going to make a demonish noise.”

“Isn’t that why we passed that second note to your sister telling her to create a diversion? Give me a minute to signal Daroo. Then give her a minute or two to get it started.”

The goblin moved away and appeared in the faint patch of light beneath the nearest shaft. He waved to Daroo, and moments later a muffled shout echoed down the culvert. Jeriah couldn’t make out the words, but it was a girl’s voice.

Cogswhallop crept back to Jeriah. “Wait for it….”

Vigorous clanging joined the shouts. “What’s that?”

“We gave her a rock to pound on the bars. How else could she make enough noise? Hurry it up. The guards will reach her soon.”

Jeriah wedged the crowbar under the iron rim, braced himself, and heaved. Iron shrieked and stone cracked. Jeriah prayed that in the corridor above them Senna’s clanging would be louder, but he had no time for finesse. He pried the grate free of the stone and pushed it to one side. Then he stopped, listening. He heard nothing but Senna banging on the bars and shrieking, and his own gasping breath. It had only taken a few moments.

Cogswhallop’s eyes gleamed. “Good enough. Back out with you, hero.”

“That was easy!”

“Humph. For a great lout like you, maybe. Not one of us could have done it, even if the others could touch iron. Come along, back to the dance. Your alibi, remember?”

Jeriah turned awkwardly and crawled out, grinning at Daroo as he passed. “Tell her she did great! Tell her—” But the child was already scurrying up the shaft to Senna’s cell. As Jeriah and Cogswhallop passed the next opening, the clamor quieted—the guards, come to see to Senna’s “illness.” It really was going according to plan, St. Cerwyn be praised! With a little more luck, Senna could be out of that place by morning.

Jeriah emerged into the spring room, which now seemed brilliantly lit. Half a dozen goblins darted into the culvert, their tools wrapped in rags so they wouldn’t clank.

Cogswhallop, who looked like he’d rolled in a pig wallow, watched them critically. “They’ll do. Once you get past the dungeons, there’s only three or four inches of stone between the culvert and the vault. It’s a pity no Stoners were left behind; they’d have done it better. But we’ll manage.”

Jeriah looked down at himself. He not only looked like he’d rolled in a pig wallow, he smelled like it. “I can’t go back to the dance like this. I have to change, but I haven’t got time! I didn’t think—”

“Then it’s a good thing you’ve got us to think for you.” Cogswhallop dug into the equipment pile and pulled out a clean shirt and britches. “You can get wash water from the pool. With your tunic over them no one will…Bend over.”
He grabbed Jeriah’s collar and pulled him down to brush at his hair. “Aye. Clean clothes and you’ll do. I’d best get back to the action.” He strolled into the culvert and disappeared.

Jeriah washed off the stinking muck, put on clean clothes, and climbed the ladder, leaving his muddy garments for the goblins to dispose of. If they wanted another button or two for their pains, that would be fine with him!

Nothing had changed at the dance when Jeriah slipped back in, and he was startled to realized that less than an hour had passed. Koryn wasn’t there. He hoped she’d made it out of the ravine by now, but he didn’t dare go in search of her.

He returned to the dance floor and spent the last hour till midnight avoiding the squires he’d bet with, and trying to look as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

The next step might not go so smoothly; it depended on Nevin. Jeriah looked at the high table where Nevin hovered over the weary Hierarch. He was no fool and, arrogant idiot that he was, he loved the old man. It would work. It had to.

Nevin fussed about, putting the Hierarch to bed. The menservants had been dismissed, and Jeriah boiled water for the drugged tea. One level scoop of leaves…It would smell stronger if he added more. As Jeriah poured steaming water over the sieve, the leaves compressed. He grabbed a generous pinch of the tea and added it to the sieve, pouring again till the cup was full. He turned the sand timer and waited for
it to steep. A minute and a half.

A minute and a half for Jeriah to realize that a stronger dose might harm the Hierarch. That someone might notice there was more tea in the sieve than usual.
Fool! Why did you have to improvise?

Jeriah could smell the sickly sweetness of it. Would Nevin? He hadn’t been wrong to try to strengthen the scent—if Nevin failed to notice it, the whole plan would collapse. And Jeriah’s father would be destroyed.

So don’t let him fail
.

The last of the sand ran through the glass. Jeriah removed the tea sieve and carried the cup to the bed where the Hierarch waited, helpless. He couldn’t let the old man drink such a strong dose. If worse came to worst, Jeriah could spill it. That would surely trigger Nevin’s memory, but it would be cursed suspicious—twice in one day.

The Hierarch smiled at Jeriah and guilt pierced his panic. Nevin was reaching for the cup.

Jeriah wrinkled his nose like someone catching an odd scent. He lifted the cup, sniffed it and grimaced, then passed the cup to Nevin. His heart pounded in his throat.

Nevin sniffed the cup curiously, then offered it to the Hierarch. Jeriah tensed to knock the cup away. What excuse could he make? Then Nevin froze, his face a mask of astonishment.

The Hierarch reached for the cup, but Nevin pulled it back and sniffed again. The surprise in his face gave way to
furious thought…and dawning suspicion.

That’s it! Put it together
.

Nevin moved to the medicine jars, opened one, and smelled the tea.

“Is something wrong?” Jeriah asked innocently.

“I’m not sure.” He turned the jar in his hands, looking at it instead of its contents. “Do you recognize this?”

Yes!

“Of course I do. I’ve been making it for him for weeks. What’s the matter with you?” Jeriah prayed he could keep his expression sober; his heart was singing.

“You fool! It was in Lazur’s office! Don’t you remember…Wait. Let me think.” Nevin paced. “I have to talk to the council. My father too. Zachiros…You stay here. Don’t touch anything. He’ll be asleep in a few minutes—
don’t
give him that medicine. Just stay here, don’t touch anything, and don’t let anyone do anything till I get back with the council.”

“But why? What’s going on?”

“Do it!” He hurried out, slamming the door behind him.

Jeriah drew in a sigh of heartfelt relief.

“At last! I thought the fool would never leave.”

Jeriah spun to the window and met Cogswhallop’s worried eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’ve got a problem, hero. A bad one. You need to come with me.”

M
OONLIGHT SHONE FAINTLY THROUGH THE
canvas patches of Makenna’s tent. It shouldn’t have been enough light for Tobin to see, but he could. Charba was glowing, wispy streams of glittering dust trickling from her hair, her fingers, her nose.

Her hands were gentle, the damp cloth in them cool on his hot skin. It eased the aches when it passed, and Tobin was grateful. He decided to tell her so.

“It’s nice that this tent is here,” he said.

“Aye, aye, be easy, lad,” she murmured.

Tobin had noticed that sometimes his nurses didn’t understand what he said, but it hardly mattered.

He closed his eyes, but he could still see Charba, or at least, see the nimbus of light that surrounded her. Tiny comet tails shot off it, and when they came in contact with the trampled grass on which the tent had been pitched, the blades glowed brighter. Or was he imagining that?

Tobin opened his eyes and looked again, but he still saw
it. Whenever those trailing sparks touched the grass, or even the smooth stone they’d set the bucket on, they brightened for a moment.

“You’re glowing,” Tobin said.

“Easy, lad. It’s all right.” The cool cloth slid down the inside of his arm, and Tobin saw that even the water devoured those glowing wisps. But the tent didn’t. Charba’s clothes didn’t. The blankets didn’t.

Of course! All those things had come from the real world with them. It was only the stuff of the Otherworld that was absorbing Charba’s magic into its own. Because it was made of the same glowing…

Wait a minute. Was this what was happening to Makenna’s spells? He had to tell her! If the very fabric of the Otherworld, everything in it, was
made
of magic, that was how they could move a whole hill! That was why…why…It was important. He knew it was important.

“I have to tell Makenna she’s important,” Tobin said urgently. His head was aching again. It did when he tried to rouse himself, which was why he’d stopped trying. “I have to tell her about the magic.”

“Shh, it’s all right,” Charba soothed.

“No!” Tobin made a great effort and tried to sit up. “Makenna. I need to talk to Makenna.”

A lightning shaft of pain took him down to his pillow, assisted by Charba’s firm hands.

“Is it Mistress Makenna you want? She’s getting some
sleep. She’ll be by in the morning, but she needs her rest now. And so do you, so no more thrashing about! Just settle down—there you are.”

Tobin gathered his failing strength and spoke each word distinctly. “I have to tell Makenna about…about…”

It was something to do with magic, wasn’t it? His head was pounding so fiercely he couldn’t remember, but the cool cloth in Charba’s hand eased the pain. Her hands were tiny, and little wisps of light drifted from her, making the water on his skin glow. It was pretty. Soothing.

Tobin let his eyes fall closed.