Page 77 of Paladin's Faith

“I’ll write you a receipt.”

Davith grumbled and handed over his belt pouch. Marguerite extracted a pitifully small handful of coins.

“You weren’t lying about being hard up, were you?”

He shrugged. “We’re not all blessed with wealthy patrons.” His eyes strayed to Wren, and it suddenly occurred to Marguerite that Davith didn’t know that she was a paladin. Up until a few minutes ago, he probably didn’t know she could fight at all. And he thinks that Shane is just a knight. Hmm.

At precisely eleven, Shane opened the door, looked both ways down the hall, and gestured at the others to follow. Marguerite and Wren took the lead, while Shane brought up the rear, behind Davith.

The hall was empty except for a pair of pages. At the far end, a guard stood on duty, looking bored.

“If you attempt to alert anyone, I will stab you in the kidneys,” Shane told Davith in an undertone. “Even if we are captured in the next moment, you will die of your wounds.”

“Tell me, does your order surgically remove the sense of humor at birth, or were you simply born without one?”

Marguerite wanted to snap at the pair to shut up, but at that moment, someone in another corridor yelled, “Fire!”

The reaction was immediate. The guard’s head snapped up and he half-turned. The pages both looked in the direction of the shout.

And…that was all.

“That’s the distraction?” Davith asked no one in particular. “That’s the least original thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Fire!” the voice yelled again. “Fire!”

Marguerite agreed with Davith, even if she didn’t want to say it. It couldn’t possibly work. You’d get maybe ten seconds of distraction, no more. And no one working for the Sail would actually believe that there was a fire at such a convenient moment, so they wouldn’t leave their post. Oh crap, we’re about to walk right into them, this is going to be such a mess…

Then she smelled the smoke.

Sweet Lady of Grass, Silver actually started a fire? Inside the fortress?

A second voice joined the first one. “Smoke! Smoke! Everybody out!”

“Dreaming God have mercy,” said Shane. “If that spreads up here, with all these people and so few exits—” He started to turn toward the cries.

“No time!” Marguerite hissed, redoubling her pace. The guard at the end of the hall left his post and broke into a jog.

“But—”

Of course he wants to go join a bucket brigade. Why did I think otherwise? “This is not the time to be knightly! Come on!”

Their progress slowed as doors began to open and groggy people emerged, many in nightshirts and bare feet. Shane stepped to the forefront and began pushing his way through with sheer bulk while Wren brought up the rear. “Where’s the fire?” a woman asked. “Do we need to evacuate?”

“Can’t hurt,” Marguerite called back.

Shane paused again at an intersection, smelling the air. A line formed between his eyebrows. “Does that smoke smell odd to you?”

Marguerite sniffed. It smelled like smoke, although there was a peculiar, unpleasant undertone to it. “Errr…”

“Could be anything. The gods only know where the fire was started,” said Davith. He glanced at Marguerite. “Unexpectedly ruthless of you, my dear.”

Marguerite wanted to say that this wasn’t her fault, but it had happened on her orders, which ultimately made it her responsibility. If the Court of Smoke burns down because of me, the Sail may not be the only ones mad at me.

There was a clot of bodies in the intersection ahead. A man standing in the middle was blocking traffic. As they approached, Marguerite heard him shout, “Don’t be absurd, people. This is a stone building! Stone doesn’t burn! We are in no danger!”

“Shane,” said Marguerite, “I know I told you not to cause any scenes, but I suppose we’re past that now. Can you move that idiot?”

“With pleasure.” Shane pushed his way through the crowd, seized the man’s upper arms, and picked him up.