Eighty: Deja Vu

Ethred's rooms were, as Usk had predicted, very obviously Ethred's rooms. For sheer flashiness it shamed the rest of the temple, and suited the shallow, showy man Jordan had met very well. He hadn't had much to do with Ethred, but the man had always been immaculately, if tastelessly, decked out in jewellery and fine clothing, and the way he behaved when he didn't get his way couldn't be described as anything other than a tantrum.

The room did not have an inch of wall uncovered; gold and black cloth draped the stone where polished weapons, paintings and mirrors weren't already occupying the space. The furnishings were rich leather with generous numbers of cushions. The fireplace in one wall was vast, the mantel lined with gold candlesticks and tasselled cloth. There was a large four poster bed, an equally ridiculous desk, and storage box after chest after cupboard. Jordan was caught between admiration that one man could own so much, and horror that he might have to try and search all of this.

Usk's heavy footsteps stopped behind him. A short silence followed.

Then the Varthian softly groaned, "Fuck."

"Yep."

Together they surveyed the potential enormity of the job ahead of them. To Jordan's admittedly inexpert eye, it didn't look like Ethred had come back here since his unlikely escape. He didn't seem the kind of man to clear up after himself, and the room was immaculately neat. A resounding crash from somewhere deep in the temple jolted him back from his thoughts. Usk stirred back to life as well.

"You check bedside drawers, under the bed, behind the headboard," Usk said. "I will search the desk. Girl, are you here to help or to stare?"

Jordan turned. The Kelian acolyte had crept to the doorway and now peered in, her face pale and jaw set. Grace had said once that she was thirteen, and all over again Jordan felt terrible for having to bring her along. The look on her face when she had seen him in the doorway was something no one wanted to see in response to their presence, but fetching her had been Arlen's first instruction and with the way the mood had been between them, he hadn't felt it a good time to argue.

Dela crept inside with another nervous glance at the corridor outside. Jordan was also nervous, despite his earlier reassurances. What if Harkenn's guard searched here anyway – how would he explain his presence, or why he hadn't arrived with them? Had Harkenn told them he might be here?

Well, no use worrying about it. He dragged his thoughts back on course and headed for the bedside dresser, partly to avoid looking at the terror on Dela's face. He searched each drawer thoroughly, flinching at every noise from outside. He found more jewellery and reams of documents. He dumped them all out on the bed for a better look later and continued searching.

He found a sword strapped to the back of the headboard, as if Ethred had feared attack in the night. Unlike the decorative weapons on the walls, this blade was sharp and intended for practical use. He pulled it from its leather holding and put it on the bed with the other documents. He stared at his pile for a moment. Nothing looked promising. The documents looked very much like temple accounts – too many numbers to be anything else. He sifted through them, and as he leaned across the bed to reach one that had drifted further away, he felt something small and hard under his hand.

He shook the pillow out of its case. A small glass tube dropped out of it onto the covers. He picked it up and tipped the fine powder from one side to the other; it was brownish-grey in colour, the consistency of flour.

"Usk," he said. He held up the tube.

"I have also found something." Usk held up a thick roll of parchment. "Signed by Lucifer himself." He stowed it inside his shirt and crossed the room to look closer at what Jordan held. "That looks like devilcap." At Jordan's blank silence, he elaborated, "It is a mushroom that grows in the scrub forest outside the city. Dry it down and grind it up, and you can send a man into fits and hallucinations with a pinch in his drink."

"Does it slow down other poisons?"

Usk gave him a narrow look. "It slows down all bodily functions, and it stays in the system for weeks. If you are not strong of body already, it will kill by itself."

"It could fit."

"Yes. I do not think this would kill him by itself."

Jordan stared at the little vial in revulsion. "But when would he have taken it? He hasn't been here recently, has he?"

"Actually, yes."

The unfamiliar voice startled him. He had been so distracted by the discovery that he hadn't heard or sensed the sour-faced priest enter the room. He had a hand over Dela's mouth and a knife at her throat. Her wide eyes found Jordan, pleading, but she made no sound.

"Marick won't be happy about this," the priest continued. "It doesn't reflect well on Arlen, does it?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Usk said. His voice remained level, but his upper lip lifted in a snarl. The priest seemed bolstered by his hostage, holding Dela like a shield. Jordan guessed that if he hadn't been able to capture Dela he might not have had the guts to confront them. He certainly didn't look in good enough shape to win a fight, especially not against Usk. So they had to get Dela off him, and preferably corner him at the same time.

"No concern of yours." The priest scowled. "Harkenn was here only a few weeks ago. He came in for a drink." A ghastly smile touched his thin lips. "It's been far too long. He will die. Even if he doesn't, he will never be as strong as he once was, and then he'll need the strength of Orthan to help him rule."

Jordan had never met the man in his life and already hated him. So much trouble to go to, in the genuine belief that Harkenn would concede to it. Then again, the declining state of the lord in the last few weeks was not encouraging.

"Is this the part where we let the movie villain explain all his diabolical plans in a boring monologue?" he muttered, and then pushed down a hysterical laugh. Only Grace would have understood that joke, and he was very glad she wasn't in this shitstorm with him.

Usk muttered back, "Might want to ease up on the blackweed there, kid."

"I think you might be right. Fuck."

The four of them stood there so long that if there hadn't been a life and a reputation at stake, it would have been comical. The colour was slowly leaving the priest's face as he realised they weren't going to leave or beg him for anything. Jordan decided abruptly that it was probably best to take his cues from Usk, who had undoubtedly been in these situations before - with the one exception that he wouldn't allow Dela to be held captive or killed, as he was certain the assassin wasn't above it. The girl had done nothing to deserve this level of involvement except being in the wrong place at the wrong time and he knew well how helpless that left someone.

"Give me the vial or I'll kill the girl," the priest finally said. "And I'll leave your names out of it when I report to Marick over this."

"You think I'm letting you drag Arlen's name through the mud?" Usk's voice lowered to a growl. "What makes you think he wouldn't send us on legitimate business? Are you that far into Marick's confidences that you would tell his second he has his orders wrong?"

The priest's dumbfounded expression was a definite no, but he soon recovered. Dela squeaked as he shifted his position slightly back towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder, and Jordan realised that the noise of Harkenn's guard had quieted. A moment later, the tingling of his sixth sense told him that someone approached from the corridor.

"Window. Go." He shoved the vial into Usk's hand. "Someone's coming."

"What about..."

"Yddris will get me out of it," Jordan said, with a conviction he didn't feel. "And if he can't, Arlen will need you to help get me out. Take this. You can go faster than me."

"Don't you go anywhere," the priest said, some strength coming back into his voice, but Usk was already shoving the heavy drapes aside and battering the catch open. They met eyes for another moment, and then the assassin was gone into the night, leaving the gold curtain drifting in the breeze. Jordan took a breath of relief that left him in a gust when he turned to see who had arrived. Instead of Harkenn's guard as he had expected, he came face to face with a line of soldiers in unfamiliar armour. Each one of them had a vast pair of wings.

"Should have gone with him, Whisperer," the priest said, regaining confidence with his backup, which Jordan belatedly realised he must have been waiting for all this time. He handed Dela off, struggling, to one of the Angel soldiers, who held her still with seemingly no effort. "I'm sure Cael will be most pleased to finally speak one on one with his little thief."

He had no time to draw the knife he had put away in order to search, no time to wish he had followed Usk after all, before two Angel soldiers grabbed him by either arm and wrestled him to his knees. He hit the ground hard and gritted his teeth against the pain that shot all the way up to his skull. He was sure he had heard Harkenn's guard arrive; perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps they hadn't even been sent yet. Was this why the temple had been so quiet – had they been expected? His thoughts jarred to a halt as his hands were wrenched behind his back and lashed together.

"And if you're thinking of doing anything funny," the priest continued, "we've got you a special escort."

He knew what it was before his eyes had even stopped watering. Blank panic overtook his thoughts as his vision cleared and he came face to face with a long, curved blade that radiated chill nothingness. His shoulder ached in remembrance, the scar tight and tingling, but his Angel captors didn't budge a single inch to allow him space from it. He had been in situations that threatened his life before, but nothing struck as much terror into him as these monsters did. It was so unnatural, and left him so helpless. He clung to Nictaven's distant current like his own heartbeat, waiting for and dreading it going silent at any second.

"For every move you make to escape, you get a cut," the priest said. Jordan remained dead still, eyes squeezed shut now so at least he didn't have to see his death. "That goes for you, girl. You make a move, the Whisperer gets the chop. Do you understand me?"

Dela's voice was hoarse when she replied, but conveyed a whole world of disdain in her tone, "I understand."

"Good. Then let's not hang about. The castle might send another unit and we're already late."

Jordan's thoughts raced. The castle had sent a unit – so the question only remained as to what had happened to them. He hoped they weren't dead, but couldn't see any other way this many Angels could be standing around him with no alarm going up to alert the city. He had been kidnapped before, but even then he had had more hope. No one had been standing over him with a magic-destroying sword, for one. Would Marick have mercy on him? Or had he ordered it done? Best not to think about that before he was sick. Arlen had always impressed upon him that Devils rarely outlived their usefulness by very long, and perhaps Jordan had just not met the standard the Devil leader had hoped for.

Grace, I'm sorry.

He hadn't even stuck his head in to let her know he was going out. Koen was with her, and Nova would join her as soon as she was able, at least. It was a damn sight more than Jordan had, and it was all the comfort he could give himself. That, and a desperate signal to Yddris.

He got a hard slap from one of his guards for the trouble, and the blade wavered closer. Of course, he thought dully, of course they could sense him doing it. He pulled his magic in close and prayed they took it as compliance. If Yddris hadn't picked it up he wouldn't get another chance at it. He tried to stay calm as they wrenched his hood down and blindfolded him, bracing himself for the blow that would knock him out. They didn't bother, only hauled him back to his feet, shoved his hood back up and began to march him away. There was no room in his buzzing thoughts for worry that they knew what he looked like. He lost track of where Dela was, as the girl had gone silent. He took it as a sign that they hadn't killed her, and clung to that belief – because if they had he had got himself caught for nothing.

More concerning was the fact that he had no idea where the walking cadaver was, or where its blade was pointing. In the total darkness behind the blindfold, it was easy to imagine that he felt it close to him, but without an aura it was impossible to tell for certain. His back ached with anticipation of the kiss of the blade and the dreadful empty cold that followed, and that in itself kept him compliant enough not to struggle. He had no idea where they were going, and only knew when they left the temple at the change in temperature and the sudden smell of smoke on the breeze. He didn't know the area enough to discern their destination from direction alone. He was too scared to scout around to see if any familiar aura followed them – Yddris or Usk, perhaps. Though he supposed it did feel slightly better to imagine they were than to know for certain that they weren't.

They walked for what felt like over an hour in silence. They encountered no resistance; the city was quiet and the guard was nowhere to be found. The only sound was the gentle rattle of Caelumese armour, the rustle of wings. The priest complained of sore feet more than once. The rest, nothing.

In that blinded, restricted, deafened state, the challenge to stay on top of his panic increased ten-fold. He couldn't decide which was more likely – that they were taking him to Marick, to Cael, or simply killing him on the way to wherever they were going. He had heard Arlen mention the Devils' favoured method of body disposal enough times to almost wet himself with terror when he heard rushing water thundering under the stone beneath his feet, but they only crossed the bridge and continued walking. His heart thundered in his ears and didn't quiet down.

Coming to a stop was almost a surprise – and a relief, as the Angels set a punishing pace. Jordan had come a long way since arriving in Nictaven, but he hadn't had military training, and the hard march left his knees and feet aching. He was pushed inside a building that smelled of old wood and polish, the musty scent of grand houses left to mildew. After the total darkness of the blindfold, even the soft glow of candles made him wince as the cloth was ripped from his face, nails catching on his cheeks and making them sting. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision. Blood welled in the scratches.

Before he could orientate himself, someone grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him into a chair. They untied his hands and retied them behind the backrest. The hooded cadaver stood over him as they did it, eyes blind and sword ready.

Somewhere nearby, Dela let out a soft shriek. He couldn't see her through the press of armoured bodies, and soon was too distracted to look as the throng parted to allow Cael through. The Angel smiled with no warmth, ash grey wings fluttering. As he approached, the Caelumese soldiers retreated to the shadows, forming a half-visible audience of glittering eyes and gently moving feathers. Cael's cold grey gaze fixed on Jordan's as he pushed down his hood and tucked it gently down behind his neck. He cocked his head.

The blow was so sudden and sharp that the sting came several seconds later, and when it did it burned like fire. Salt flooded his mouth and his chest ached with the effort of keeping his magic contained.

"What did you take?" the Angel demanded, when Jordan's ears had stopped ringing.

"Take?" he asked, struggling past the numbness in his cheek. Cael's forefinger and thumb dug into the flesh just beneath each ear and he nearly swooned.

"Don't act stupid with me, Whisperer. Your stink was all over my chamber. You and those filthy defectors, you had been through all my things. What did you take?" The fingers pinched harder, until black spots swam at the edges of his vision.

"P-perfume," he gasped. There was no use denying he'd taken anything. If Nova could tell with such accuracy when he was lying, then Cael would be even more sensitive to it. The question remained whether avoiding the whole truth was the same thing. "I took perfume from some bottles on your dresser. I put everything else back."

A muscle twitched in the Angel's cheek. "You're holding something back from me. But don't worry, I know what it is. And you're far too late to do anything about it." A sick grin replaced the hard pinch of his mouth. "He already signed what we need him to sign."

It was like missing a step in the dark. Harkenn hadn't mentioned signing anything, but of course he wouldn't remember doing so if Cael hadn't wanted him to. At what point had he been left so unattended that this could happen? Where had Yddris or Nika been?

The temple fire, he realised. Neither Nika nor Yddris had been at the castle that night, and Nova had been at the inn with him. It was probably safe to assume that Jeorge hadn't been there, either.

"You burned down a temple just for that?" he asked incredulously. Cael laughed.

"Of course not just that. But it did help a great deal. Lady Kerrin was getting a little too involved for my liking." His eyes narrowed. "What else did you take?"

"Nothing, I swear."

"And your companions?"

"I didn't see. And I didn't think to ask after...after..."

The smile was back. "I did quite enjoy feeling that one hit. You have a strange mind, boy. You look the part, but you aren't really, are you?" He tapped Jordan's forehead with a slender finger. "There's all sorts of promise in there. Couldn't get a good look then, of course, but..." he spread his hands, "now I've got you right here..."

Jordan said nothing. There was nothing he could say. A wave of revulsion flooded through him at the thought of the Angel rifling through his mind like a stack of papers, but Cael was also right; there was nothing Jordan could do to stop him if he chose to.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Jordan's heart stopped for a beat and then restarted at a thundering pace as Marick stepped out of the shadows near the door. His face was unreadable. It was utterly impossible to guess whether his presence meant that Jordan was about to be rescued or if his situation was about to get ten times worse. At his side was Gelert, hat drawn down low. The assassin just looked perplexed and slightly intimidated by the number of Angels in the place.

The leader of the Devil guild was immaculately turned out as always, dark hair neat and clean and face freshly shaved. It didn't mitigate the terrifying effect of the spark of fury in his gaze as it travelled from Cael to Jordan.

"Cael, why is one of my guild apprentices tied up in my own house?" Marick demanded, when Cael didn't speak, seeming just as surprised to see the man as Jordan was. "Why was I not informed immediately that you had him?"

Cael drew himself up to his full height, which wasn't substantial though his wings made him seem bigger. "Twice now this boy has been found tampering with things he shouldn't. He was the one who broke into my rooms at the castle, and Areon says he was caught sneaking about in Ethred's chambers with a Kelian acolyte and a Varthian brute I believe you are familiar with."

Marick's stare settled on Jordan. It was much more paralysing when he wasn't covered up; he hadn't felt so vulnerable in a long time. "Boy, is this true?"

"Harkenn's orders," Jordan muttered.

"And Usk is following Harkenn's orders too, is he?" Gelert said, but stepped back at Marick's silencing hand.

"It is true that this boy plays on both sides, Cael," Marick said. "Both Calder and Usk are a part of my Guild. It is my job to judge whether there has been a transgression in their loyalties, and my job alone to decide when and how to apply discipline. You contracted me, Sir Cael, as a service. When you employ someone to fix the cracked plaster on your walls, do you beat his apprentice if that apprentice does not know what tools to use?"

"N-no, of course not, but..."

"And do you beat his apprentice when he asks for help from someone with greater skill? Do you make the assumption that because he has gone and plastered a different room with the help of another master, he has abandoned the teacher that you employed and therefore you can do what you like with him?"

Cael shook his head, looking more perplexed and angry by the minute. "I'm failing to see what point you are making, Marick, this boy has trespassed on my property..."

"And in that case, I will deal with the issue of his discipline." Marick didn't raise his voice, but the Angel was effectively silenced. "You never brought this to me, Cael. It clearly did not worry you that much. And now you have had the audacity to bring him here and beat him in my home without my knowledge. He carries my mark. He belongs to me. Untie him." His eyes sparked blue fire. "Right now. Or our contract is voided."

Cael didn't move, but one of the soldiers stepped from the shadows and cut the ties binding Jordan's wrists. He massaged feeling back into his hands but didn't dare move from the chair. Marick was still outnumbered, and it remained to be seen whether he was on Jordan's side or simply pissed that Cael had acted without his consent. He flipped his hood back up and immediately felt better; some of the soldiers had been staring at him like he was some freakish circus act.

"Get up, boy," Marick said, his voice loud and cold in the silence. "It seems we're due a catch-up."

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Thanks so much for your patience.

Regards,

Elinor (S E Harrison)