Thief of Light (50 page)

All Erik had to do was follow his nose. Gods, he’d been so preoccupied with his terror for Prue, he’d almost forgotten the corpse-marsh stink of rotting vegetation surrounding the Leaf of Nobility. As he grew closer, his nasal passages burned with it. Inga’s face, glimmering beneath the water, her eyes open wide, unseeing . . . Erik set his teeth, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat.

He didn’t have a clue what he was going to do, but the heart of it was here, he was convinced of it. The corruption still lurked beneath this Leaf, as it had for the gods knew how long. But nothing had happened until he’d revealed it in public and then capped off the performance with a clear demonstration of just how stubborn he could be.

With a gentle bump, the skiff grounded under the Processional Bridge. Very well, two stairs to the east. He had to start somewhere. Poling silently on, Erik tried not to inhale. The first water stair was obviously a private mooring, with some kind of pleasure barge tied to a large bollard. He snugged the little skiff in next to it, flung the rope over the overhanging branch of a widow’s hair tree and secured it.

The tall gate of iron bars at the top of the stair was locked, but it presented no obstacle to an athletic man filled to the bursting with fear and rage and the first intimations of a power beyond his wildest dreams. Erik stretched and jumped. He hung for an instant, then tightened his grip and hauled himself over with a quiet grunt. Dropping to a crouch on the other side, he took stock.

Nothing moved, only the barge creaking at the other end of its cable, the occasional flower trembling at the end of a branch.

Even in the cool half-light of the approaching dawn, he could see this noblefamily’s garden had been sculpted to within an inch of its life. Every plant, no matter how insignificant, had been clipped, forced or constrained. The lawn was a velvet swathe, paths intersected at right angles, even the pond was a perfect circle.

Cautiously, he sniffed. Faugh! Yes, that way.

Beyond the pond, a small gate gave out onto the narrow alley he remembered. Erik latched it carefully behind him and headed east, his long legs eating up the distance. Drawing on his early walk-on roles as servants of various types, he projected the air of a man busy about his master’s business, with every right to walk where he pleased.

Three minutes and two sprawling palazzos later, he stared without surprise at a familiar wooden gate, his head swimming with the intensity of the odor. He rested a hand on the cool wood and turned to stare at the luxurious dwelling behind him. A light flickered high up in a room under the roof, so someone was awake, but all the other windows gazed back at him with dark, blank eyes. Erik’s lip curled. How did they stand the stink?

This garden was lovely, nothing like the other, all flowing curves that intrigued and delighted the eye, vaguely reminiscent of the Sibling Gardens surrounding the Library. If he survived this, he’d have to ask Walker if he’d had a hand in the design.

Opening the gate, he gritted his teeth and walked down the steps toward the lapping water, now the color of pewter. He’d always known it would come to this, hadn’t he? It was horrible, but fitting.

Where were the seelies? They were the only lead he had, his sole advantage in this cruel game of bluff.

Very softly, he began to sing, no more than a sweet, deep croon. A traditional ballad of unrequited love, one of his mother’s favorites. But this time, he watched out of the corner of his eye, pretending nonchalance on the off-chance he might convince himself. At first, all he saw was a glassy shimmer above the water, but when he hit and held a note in a melancholy minor key, the flow of air firmed, a narrow brush of transparent color laid out before him. Note after note, bar after bar, the streams multiplied, drifting and dancing in spirals, weaving together and splitting off.

For a few precious moments, the stinking miasma of
wrongness
lifted.

“Hoot?”

Still humming, Erik glanced down. Bobbing in the water, a row of bug-eyed, whiskery faces stared up at the flows, entranced. There must have been at least a dozen of them. He gave a harsh bark of satisfaction, surprising himself with a gusty blast that sparkled with motes of strong orange.

“Prue,” he said to his furry audience. “I have to find Prue.”

Blue bodies flashed through the water. “Hoot? Burble?”

Erik crouched and leaned toward them, holding out his hands. “You’ve got to help me. Where is she? Prue? Remember Prue?” With every particle of mental strength he possessed, he projected an image of her—her vivid little face, animated with curiosity and brisk intelligence, the honey-cream of her skin, those wonderful tip-tilted eyes, brighter even than the aquamarines she wore on her slim wrists, the fall of her shiny brown hair, gleaming with gold high—

“
Hoot!
” A furry body arced out of the water and hit him in the small of the back with unexpected force.

Before he could regain his balance, Erik tumbled forward, arms flying. The chill of the canal closed over his head as he sank, his clothes pulling him down. Fuck!

Seething, he clawed his way back to the surface. “You stupid little shits!” he hissed as soon as his head was clear. “Why didn’t you wait? I was going to—Ah, fuck!”

“Burble?”

The seelies withdrew to a safe distance, large eyes watching him reproachfully as he floated on his back to haul off his boots and toss them onto the lowest step, followed by his jacket. He checked the long dagger sheathed at his waist. Still there. Good.

Erik rolled his eyes at the circle of anxious, bewhiskered faces, the quivering snouts. “All right,” he said, treading water. “I’m sorry I yelled.
Prue?
Can you take me to Prue?”

As one, they surged toward him. “Stop!” Erik held up his hand, provoking a positive chorus of hoots and burbles. “I’m a land animal, remember? I need to breathe.”

Relentlessly, he pumped his lungs full of hair, his chest expanding to what should have been bursting point—but wasn’t. As he inhaled a little more and then more yet, the air fizzed and sparkled in his blood, his body effervescent with power.

Erik extended his arms to the sides. “Now,” he gasped, “Take me now.” Immediately, two of the biggest seelies barreled into his ribs, and he wrapped his arms around them, his fingers sinking into cool, silky fur.

“Hoot!” said one.

“Burble!” said the other.

For all the world, it sounded like, “Hang on tight.”

Erik’s tired grin became a startled grunt as they headed for the bottom at breakneck speed.

Prue stared at the ceiling, dry-eyed. Dully, she wondered how many hours had passed. The room was dark, save for the dim light of a single glowglobe, but she had the sense she’d slept for several hours at least. Thanks be to the Sister, the Technomage had removed the straps from her ankles so she could twist and stretch her lower body. The return of sensation to unused muscles had been agonizing, but she’d been ruthless, cursing under her breath as she contorted her body, testing the wrist restraints to their limits. Her life might depend on whether she could stand unaided—and run.

Katrin must be frantic by now. Rose would be beside herself. As for Erik . . . She clamped her eyes shut and breathed through the pain.
If I live through this, I’ ll . . .

What? What would she do? Clenching her fists, Prue whispered, “I will reach for what I want and hold it fast. I will not doubt him. And I will not doubt myself. By all the gods, I swear it.” She needed to hear the words to make them real.

It . . . it . . . it,
the walls murmured back to her. The machine looming behind her hummed in counterpoint.

If she strained her ears, she could hear the faintest ladylike snuffle coming from behind a plain, unpainted door off to the right. Her guess had been correct, the Technomage slept and lived down here. Prue shivered.

No matter. Erik and the others would be searching for her, she had to be ready.

Once again, she began the painful process of stretching, tense and release—left foot, right foot, left leg . . .

By the time they surfaced again, the sun had risen, the day beginning to heat up. Erik scraped the hair out of his eyes, struggling to hold on to his temper. “Look,” he said to the ring of intent, blue, furry faces, “I’ve seen it before. You don’t have to show me again. I
know
what the fucking problem is, all right? I’m trying to fix it, but first I have to find Prue.
Prue?
Get it?”

One of the smaller seelies made a pathetic bleating noise and disappeared, leaving only a ripple behind. A number of the others wavered, their snouts whiffling in distress. He honestly would not have been surprised to see them burst into tears.

The little creatures had taken him back under the titanplant, straight to the rotting stem. He wasn’t sure how long they’d kept him down there, the water so full of suspended flakes of slime it was a filthy gray, but he knew it had to be more than five minutes. His lungs had shrunk to the size of manda fruits, and he’d lost buoyancy. Without the support of the seelies, he would have slid unresisting all the way to the seafloor. Lord’s balls, if it hadn’t been for the air Magick . . .

“You danced for her,” he said desperately. “Don’t you remember? She loved it, she laughed, she—” He choked, her image vivid in his mind, her face transfigured with delight, her eyes shining. His pretty Prue.

“Hoot, burble, burble?” said one of the seelies, so sleek and sinuous Erik was sure it was female. She slipped through the water until she floated nose to nose with the biggest of them all. “Hoot, burble,
burble
!” she insisted.

“Honk!” said the big one emphatically and Erik stared.
Honk?

The two creatures conferred a moment longer, before spinning around to float on their backs, searching his face.

“Prue?” said Erik again, his brain racing with strategies, possibilities. He’d do the palazzos. Hell, he should have tried them first. Every noble house had a discreet entrance for the hired help. With the Voice, it shouldn’t take him long to extract the truth from any servant, even the most loyal. Conscience be damned, it was the only way left.

Almost hesitantly, the two seelies approached. The female nudged his biceps with her nose. “Burble?” When Erik lifted his arm, she snuggled beneath, pressed tight against his ribs.

Within seconds, the pack surrounded him with a wall of blue-furred muscle. There was only time for a snatched breath before they pulled him under.

Fortunately, the trip was rushed, but short. About thirty feet farther along the canal, the seelies back-paddled, slowing their forward momentum to a crawl. Abruptly, they backed off, leaving Erik to drift to the surface. Puzzled, he gazed around. The female shot past him, circled and returned. “Hoot!” Then she did it again. And again.

Erik squinted. Fuck, there was a rope! The strangest rope he’d ever seen, almost transparent. It hung from a garden wall, entered the water and disappeared. He looked back over his shoulder. The property was huge, the garden extensive, but it was definitely the same palazzo, the one with the water stair—the center of the corruption.

The blood turned to ice in Erik’s veins. What was at the other end of the rope, fathoms deep? Ruthlessly, he pumped his lungs full of air, feeling the Magick suffuse every cell in his body.

Heart hammering, he jackknifed into the depths, bubbles streaming back over his body. Exerting all his considerable strength, he hauled himself hand over hand down the rope, deeper and deeper. It felt slick in his palms, invisible in the filthy water. If he hadn’t been holding on to it, he wouldn’t have known it was there.

He lost track of how deep he went, accompanied by only the sleek female. She darted about his head, brushing back and forth, distracting him. Cursing, he tried to bat her aside, his guts twisting with sick horror. A hopeless litany pounded in his head.
My Lord, Great Lady, please, no. I can’t bear it. I’ll pay, I promise. Just let it not be her. Please, please
.