Page 65

Cath pointed to a severed foot. “Pop a piece of string on that and you’ve got a mad good-luck charm.”

“Regardez—the Heads are coming out,” said Élodie.

Xanthe’s small figure entered the circle of torchlight, along with bald Abercorn and skinny Prendergast.

“What have you discovered?” asked Abercorn, as Aurienne, Cath, and Élodie eavesdropped like naughty apprentices.

“We detected them hours ago, sniffing around the moat,” said Verity, the tallest of the Wardens. “Lured them in with spotty warding along the east wall. They were skittish, but eventually came through. Nothing of use on them for identification.”

“What are those?” asked Prendergast, indicating a pile near the corpses.

“Incendiary devices,” said Verity. “Call your resident Ingenaut. They must be inspected and disarmed.”

One of the other Wardens, Haven, held a gleaming dagger to the light. “They were well equipped. This is quality kit. A lot of gold on them, too.”

“Any idea what they wanted?” asked Xanthe.

Verity’s steel sabaton nudged at a heap of ropes, gloves, and grappling hooks. “They were geared up for an incursion. Not sure to what end. We didn’t wish to allow them into Swanstone proper to find out.”

“Were they members of any Order?” asked Prendergast.

“No.” Haven unfurled the corpses’ limp hands. “No tacn.”

Xanthe’s dry, annoyed voice rang across the courtyard. “Perhaps next time we could try a live capture, so that we might interrogate them?”

Haven turned her helmeted head to Xanthe. “Our command is to kill intruders on sight. You may speak to the Head of our Order if you wish to change the agreement.”

Aurienne stiffened at Haven’s tone. Élodie produced a small gasp of outrage.

Xanthe was less ruffled than her audience. “Very well. If you’re done with the bodies, we’ll find a use for them. Thank you for your vigilance tonight.”

The Wardens had, at least, the wherewithal to salute her and the other Heads, before stamping off to return to their posts.

Aurienne, Élodie, and Cath settled onto the window ledge to observe the goings-on like the Fates. The bodies were carted away; the blood was mopped up; the clothes were carried off. Felicette, the bespectacled and slightly mad Ingenaut who lived at Swanstone, observed the incendiary devices, then gathered them up in her arms and trotted off like a child with new presents. The three Heads retreated into the fortress, looking grave.

“I wonder what they wanted,” said Élodie. “Can’t’ve been the medicinal garden again, not with those bombs. Unless they wanted to destroy it.”

Aurienne gasped at the hideous thought.

“We’ve a healthy vault,” said Cath. “Perhaps the bombs were a distraction.”

“D’you think they’ll let us out?” asked Aurienne. “I’m meant to be going to see—to see my parents tonight.”

Another lie because of the Fyren. Disgusting. Resentment fermented within Aurienne like some sort of yeast.

“Must you go, tonight of all nights?” asked Élodie.

“She’ll be fine,” said Cath. “A Warden will probably escort her to the waystone.”

Cath was right. When Aurienne approached Verity at the front gate a quarter of an hour later, she was questioned on the necessity of an outing. Aurienne lied again, yeastily, and was escorted to the waystone at the Publish or Perish.

Verity was on edge. Her helmeted head swept left and right as they crossed the bridge from Swanstone to the village; her spear was loose in her gauntlet; her shoulders were tense even under her pauldrons. Her wards shimmered under her feet.

“Will there be an investigation, or something, to work out who those people were?” asked Aurienne.

Verity’s sentences were more terse than usual. “Not by us. We’re not here to play detective. You’ll have to ask your Heads.”

“I’m certain they’ll launch one,” said Aurienne. “Those weren’t run-of-the-mill thieves.”