The Legend Of Eli Monpress (96 page)

“Don’t waste your gold,” said a lilting, unfamiliar voice. “More would just spring up.”

Miranda and Gin both jumped and whirled around to face the sound. There, five steps inside the locked and bolted door, was a man. He was very tall and dressed extremely oddly. He wore red snakeskin boots with pointed toes, black trousers that were far too tight and were embellished with lemon-yellow thread, and a green velvet jacket the color of new grass over a bright pink shirt and a maroon vest. His long hair was ice blond shot with black (an obvious dye job, though she couldn’t say which, if either, had been his original color), and his head was crowned with a large red hat trimmed with gold that he wore swooped down over his eyes.

“Anyway,” he continued, traipsing into the room as if he’d been invited. “There’s no point in getting angry at the gossips. If it wasn’t the Court, they’d be after someone else.”

“Who are you?” Miranda shouted, jumping up, her rings flashing as her chair toppled over behind her. But Gin was even faster. By the time the words were out of her mouth, he had launched himself off the floor and pounced on the man, pinning him to the ground.

“How did you sneak in here?” Gin snarled, his orange eyes blinking rapidly, as though he was having trouble focusing. “How do you make no sound? Why do you flicker like that?”

The man smiled up at the large, sharp teeth hovering inches above his head. “Easy, doggie,” he said, his eyes darting toward Miranda. “I’m afraid I’m not a wizard. So if your guard dog is addressing me, he’s wasting his rather
terrible-smelling breath. If you wouldn’t mind?” He wiggled helplessly.

Miranda made no move to call Gin off. Instead, she walked across the room to stand over the man as well. “You haven’t answered my question,” she said. “And I’ll add Gin’s to it, since you can’t hear. Who are you? How did you get in here? What are you doing?”

“You left out the part about the flickering,” Gin growled, leaning harder on the stranger’s shoulders until the man’s face turned pasty against the garish backdrop of his hat. “Can’t you see it?”

Miranda shook her head. Other than questionable color choices, the man looked normal to her.

The stranger wiggled one hand into his pocket and flipped out a card, which he tossed toward Miranda’s feet.

“The name’s Sparrow,” he said as she picked it up. “I got in through the door, and I do almost anything. Tonight, I’m an errand boy. I’ve been sent by our mutual employer to request your presence at a meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Employer?” Miranda said, holding the card by its edges. “Lord Whitefall?”

“That windbag?” The man laughed. “No, dear, I’m no paper-pusher. I’m talking about Sara, the lady running the show.”

Miranda looked at the card in her hand. It was surprisingly plain, considering the man it belonged to, just a white rectangle on heavy stock with a small engraving of a sparrow in flight in the lower left-hand corner. She flipped it over. The back was as blank as the front, save for a small notation written in slanting script:
8:40
.

“Eight forty?” Miranda read, brows furrowed.

“Yes, and don’t be late,” Sparrow said. “Sara keeps an extremely tight schedule. She’ll be intolerable if you throw it off.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “Where am I going?”

“The Council citadel, of course,” Sparrow said, tilting his head sideways so that he wasn’t directly under Gin’s bared teeth. “Just show up and I’ll bring you down. I play doorman as well as messenger.”

Miranda slipped the card into her pocket. “Is that all you have to tell me?”

“Yes,” Sparrow said. “Can you get this dog off of me? I’m having trouble feeling my legs.”

Miranda looked at Gin and jerked her head to the side. With a final growl, Gin pulled back, circling around to stand beside Miranda as Sparrow sat up and wiped his face with an orange handkerchief.

“I can see you’ll be a delightful addition to our team,” he said, standing up stiffly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

“Eight forty.” Miranda nodded. “I’ll be early, and your Sara had better have a good explanation.”

“Oh, she has dozens,” Sparrow said. “Getting one out of her is the challenge.” He straightened his coat and turned to face her, tipping his extravagant hat politely. “Until tomorrow, Miss Miranda.”

He flashed her a wide smile and then, spinning on his tall heel, walked out the previously locked door. Gin watched him intently, ears swiveling, but Sparrow made a perfectly normal amount of noise as he left, and the dog seemed disappointed. He stared at the door as it swung shut, growling low in his throat. “I don’t trust that man.”

Miranda could only laugh at that. “What was your first clue?”

“No,” Gin said sharply. “There’s something really wrong about him.”

Miranda stopped laughing. “What do you mean?”

“He flickers,” the dog said. “He’s hard to look at, like he’s there but not.”

“Flickers how?”

Gin made a frustrated sound. “I can’t explain it. It’s just wrong. I had to look at him with my eyes to see him clearly. I’ve never had to do that before.” He looked at her intently. “You should be careful tomorrow.”

“I always am,” Miranda said. “Still, I don’t care what’s wrong with the man. There’s something going on and I want to know what. Whitefall said this Sara person was in charge of wizard affairs for the Council. If she’s calling me in, it could mean she has some information about Eli. Anyway, whatever this meeting is about, it has to be better than paperwork.”

Gin gave her a firm look. “I’m going with you.”

Miranda shook her head, reaching out to scratch his long nose. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Gin leaned into the scratch, but he stayed put as Miranda gathered her things and closed up the office for the night. Only when she blew out the lamp did he rise and pad through the doorway, going ahead of her into the rowdy Zarin night.

The next morning, thirty minutes after the eight o’clock bell, Miranda and Gin trotted up to the front of the Council fortress. As the Council’s offices didn’t open for formal business until ten (since no Court official worth his
silks would be up before then), the gates were still closed, but Miranda was able to get past the guards with her official title and a well-placed growl from her ghosthound.

The growl was, perhaps, a little harsher than it needed to be. Gin was in a foul mood this morning. He’d spent the whole ride over trying to convince her to turn around, but Miranda would hear none of it. Truth be told, Sparrow’s sudden appearance last night was the most exciting thing that had happened since Lord Whitefall’s letter arrived, and she wasn’t about to waste her chance, even if Gin’s hunches had a bad habit of being right.

They waited in the courtyard, out of the way of the few carriages that came and went. Miranda spent the time checking her rings. She woke each spirit, soothing and nudging it until each ring glowed with its own light. Mellinor was already awake and waiting at the base of her soul, his cool presence dark and cautious.

After about ten minutes (ten minutes exactly, Miranda would wager), Sparrow appeared from a small door on the far side of the yard. He was dressed this morning in a long fuchsia coat that dropped to his knees with gold buttons and cream lace spilling out of the cuffs. His pants were orange and covered with some sort of black bead-work that clacked as he walked. They were wide-legged, and their ends were stuffed into the tops of his low black boots, which boasted silver heels and toes. He wore no hat, and his hair was all blond now, but a different shade from last night, more honey than white blond, and tousled in a way that suggested he’d spent an hour arranging it to fall just so.

Miranda winced at the clashing colors and leaned in close to Gin. “Is he still flickering?”

“Worse than ever,” Gin growled.

“It’s more like he’s fading,” Mellinor put in. “I don’t like it.”

“No one seems to,” Miranda muttered. “Keep watch; let me know if it changes.”

“Why?” Gin said. “You won’t be able to see it.”

“That’s why you’re the ones watching,” Miranda hissed, and then smiled graciously as Sparrow stopped before her.

Sparrow dropped a flourished bow. “Miranda,” he said. “Right on schedule. I’ll take you in directly.” He paused. “Will you be bringing your pet as well?”

Gin snarled at that, and Miranda put her hand on his nose in a warning gesture. “Gin goes where I do,” she said.

Sparrow shrugged. “We’ll have to take the back way, then. Follow me.”

He led them through an arched breezeway and out onto a side path that had been cleverly hidden behind the ornamental trees. It was narrow going. They were walking down an alley with the outer wall of the Council fortress towering over them on one side and the side of the fortress itself going up on the other. There was room for the three of them to walk single file comfortably enough, but Miranda couldn’t help feeling trapped as the road circled downward and the walls grew higher and higher around them.

At last, when the morning sky was a thin strip far overhead, the steep road stopped at an enormous pair of double doors set deep in the citadel’s base.

“Apologies for taking you in through the service entrance,” Sparrow said, fishing a ring of keys out of his
monstrosity of a coat. “But I doubt your puppy would fit down the tunnels.”

“This is fine,” Miranda said over Gin’s growling. “I had more than enough of Council finery on my previous visit to last me awhile.”

Sparrow unlocked the door and held it open for her, motioning for Miranda to go first. Miranda stepped inside with a curt nod of thanks, then stopped again, her mouth dropping open. She was standing inside the largest room she’d ever seen. It was twice the size of the throne room in Mellinor and easily half again as tall as the Spirit Court’s hearing chamber. Or that’s what she guessed, since she couldn’t actually see the ceiling. The chamber was huge and hollow, with pillars sprouting from the stone floor at regular intervals, climbing up into the darkness. Between the pillars, set in rows like the giant, gray eggs of some enormous insect, stood tall, fat, cylindrical towers. The towers stretched off forever in all directions, a forest of identical gray metal ovals suspended on an iron framework that kept their ends off the floor. Miranda was still gawking at the sheer number and size of … whatever they were when Sparrow shut the door behind them and locked it again.

“This way,” he said, starting off into the darkness.

Miranda followed, craning her neck as they walked between the metal cylinders and up a set of wooden stairs that had been built into the framework. Gin followed more slowly, delicately picking his way along the narrow path. The stairs led to a wide wooden scaffolding that ran like a suspended road between the strange metal cylinders. Tiny glass lanterns lined the metal railing that separated the walkway from the straight drop down to the stone floor,
their collective soft glow casting large, ominous shadows behind the iron towers.

“What are they?” Miranda whispered as they walked down the scaffold, gawking at the endless forest of metal silos just out of arm’s reach.

“Tanks,” Sparrow said, picking up the pace. “This is the Relay Room. Don’t touch anything, please.”

Miranda’s eyes widened. “You mean the Ollor Relay?”

“You know any other relay the Council cares about?” Sparrow said. “Watch your step; we’re turning.”

Miranda followed him blindly. Her mind was entirely on the metal cylinders around him, the tanks. The Ollor Relay was the backbone of the Council of Thrones. The precise way it worked was a closely guarded secret, but it had something to do with water, which explained the tanks. She wasn’t exactly sure how it was used, but common knowledge was that a person with a Relay point could speak to a person at the base Relay from any distance, and the person at the base could speak back, or pass the message on to another Relay point somewhere else entirely. It was this ability to communicate instantly across the kingdoms that had allowed the Council armies, which had included only a handful of countries at the time, to beat back the much larger invading army of the Immortal Empress twenty-five years ago. That impossible victory had sealed the Council of Thrones as the foremost power on the continent, an achievement Merchant Prince Whitefall had leveraged to form the greatest coalition of nations in the world.

The Council would have grown even faster if access to the Relay had been more widespread, but Relay points were famously rare. However, looking out over the
endless rows of tanks, Miranda suddenly had a hard time believing the Relay was as small as people claimed. True, she had no idea how it worked, but there must be hundreds of tanks down here. How could such a huge infrastructure support only a tiny number of Relay points?

She was puzzling over this when Sparrow’s rapid pace suddenly slowed. They were approaching a brightly lit crossroads of several scaffoldings, the center of which seemed to be a single, enormous tank. As they got closer, however, Miranda realized the giant thing in the center wasn’t a tank at all. It was a building. A great, metal building inside the larger room, complete with a rounded roof and a half dozen little chimneys spewing steam. The building was several stories tall, but the main story seemed to be the one level with the scaffolding. The building was at an intersection of walkways, and the suspended scaffolding joined together to form a wide platform. On the platform, men and women in plain white jackets and trousers clustered around long tables, their work lit by enormous hanging lanterns that burned steady and bright. Metal doors opened and closed without sound as workers entered and left the metal building, which looked to have more workstations inside.