Shadow of the Father (43 page)

He’d just dozed off when something jerked him awake. Disoriented, he imagined for a moment that he was in the basement of the palace in Divalia, hiding overnight, and the kitchen boy had just come down to get flour for the morning’s baking. But of course, that was ridiculous; the basement of the palace smelled like dried fruit, salted meat, and the grain, not like spiderwebs and old bones. Silly dream, he thought, and then, just before he could completely relax, he thought he hears something, a scrape across stone.

Ears straining, he froze. The room was silent. But no; there it was again. A light click, someone with claws who hadn’t been taught how to walk completely silently. Someone descending the stone stairs, trying not to be heard.

Sinch got slowly to his feet. He padded away from the satchel. Finding a support column, he put it between him and the stairs, peering around it to listen. He heard another click, and then one more, on the floor of the crypt. The fox was in the room with him. Two short sniffs, and then a low chuckle. “You know, I never made the connection. I had to go all the way to Divalia to learn about crypts beneath churches, and it never occurred to me to look for one here in the church where I grew up until I saw you run in here yesterday. They’ve forgotten about this. You probably figured that out. Very clever. Very clever. Almost as clever as a fox.”

He recognized the voice, the same one he’d last heard in Balinni’s office. The anger was gone, and in its place was a purr of smug satisfaction. “And now you’re trapped. They don’t build a second exit to these places. Who would need it?” More sniffs. “You know you’re trapped. I can smell it. You poor creatures, so dumb to the world. How can you know the richness that we do? We hear better, smell better, run faster. And still you think yourselves equals.” Dewry was moving around to Sinch’s right. All of Sinch’s nerves screamed at him to run, run! But he held his ground. If only the fox would move a little further, away from the stairs. “And you have the gall to touch the sacred crown. The gall! But Canis knows when injustice is being done. I’m here by His paw.”

I’m sure you are, Sinch thought. Now just let his Paw move you a little to the right. He stepped quietly around the pillar to his left, keeping it between him and Dewry. The fox had stopped talking, but his claws gave away his position as clearly as if he had been. He moved past the stair, past the ledge where Sinch had hidden the crown. He paused there, and Sinch heard another sniff. He tensed, prepared to leap at Dewry if he heard the scrape of leather on dusty stone that would signal that he’d found the satchel.

But Dewry was apparently still just sniffing for him. He moved again, closer to Sinch, and now Sinch had a clear path to the stairs. Dewry was perhaps fifteen feet away from him, moving closer slowly. Sinch let him get a little further, and then he sprang across the crypt.

He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own paws hitting the rock. He deliberately ran to the left of where he knew the stairs were, so that he could turn along the wall until he found them. When he made the turn, he heard Dewry’s paws close behind. He jumped forward, and came down on the floor; he’d run too far to the left, overcompensating. But Dewry hadn’t caught him yet. He jumped forward again.

His feet landed on the rounded corner of the first stair. He fell forward hard, but his paws were out to break his fall, so he suffered no immediate injury beyond scraped paw pads. Scrambling up the stairs even as he tried to regain his balance, he listened for Dewry behind him, but the fox was apparently taking his time so he wouldn’t fall. Sinch panted, running up the stairs, and now he heard Dewry at the bottom of them.

His pounding heart urged him faster up the stairs, but he knew he was far enough ahead that he would make it now. His main concern was making sure Dewry followed him. Lead him out into the church, he thought. Don’t let him stay down there with the satchel. If he turns around, you’ll have to turn and fight.

And then, abruptly, there were no more stairs beneath his paws. He lurched forward and hit a stone wall, dust and spiderwebs sticking to the fur of his muzzle. Frantically, he felt for the opening in the wall, but where there had been a patch of grey, there was nothing but blackness.

“Ah, did I forget to mention I closed the stone leading down here?” Dewry was halfway up the stairs, advancing as he spoke. “How forgetful of me. I’m certain you can find it, given time. But I think you’ll give me the crown first.”

“It’ll never be yours,” Sinch said, and then immediately moved, in case Dewry used his voice to throw something at him. He cursed himself for a fool for not realizing that his best chance would have been to keep moving around down in the darkness until he had an opening to attack Dewry. He’d been herded up the stairs where Dewry could find him easily. Perhaps if he rushed the fox, he could knock him down the stairs—but then Sinch would fall, too, and Dewry might have a dagger out.

“It is mine.” Dewry sounded peevish. “I just don’t have my paws on it yet. But you’ll help me with that.” He’s stopped, almost at the top of the stairs. Sinch used the cover of his voice to draw his own dagger. His paws were trembling, with fear or anger or a combination of both.

“Do what you want to me,” Sinch said. “Yilon will be back soon, and he knows about the crypt.”

“Ah,” Dewry said. “When your pretender lord comes back, well, I have a fellow with a crossbow just outside. If he doesn’t see me come out with the crown before then, he’ll shoot your master through the heart.”

Sinch’s heart stopped. “Liar,” he said, ears cupped.

“Just as he shot Corwin.” Dewry’s voice had gotten sharper.

“You don’t have any men left.”

“Then you’ve nothing to worry about. Just stay where you are. I won’t move. You’ll come to me.”

Oh, Rodenta, Sinch breathed. He was sure, sure Dewry was bluffing. Yilon had told him that the house was empty, that Kites and Shreds were gone. But he couldn’t stop his fingers from tightening around the dagger. His mind formed a picture of the stairs, Dewry leaning against the wall on the right hand side. His head would be
there
, his chest would be
there
. A blind throw, in the dark? Whisper could do it, no doubt. But could Sinch? He would have to wait until Dewry spoke again.

But the fox seemed content to remain silent, having baited Sinch. Sinch crept to his right and stood upright. “What makes you think they’ll let a coward like you be Lord of Dewanne?”

“I’m no coward,” Dewry said sharply. Sinch ducked to his left and threw his dagger as hard as he could. He heard the soft impact and Dewry’s yelled curse, and ran down the stairs as fast as he could.

As he passed the stair where Dewry stood, pain lanced through his side, just below his ribs. Momentum carried him forward, but he lost his balance halfway and fell, landing with a sharp crack on the stone floor. He could hear Dewry gasping, making his way down the stairs, and he struggled to get to his feet, but only one of his arms was working, and his side throbbed, his fur soaking with warmth. He felt dizzy.

“You little piece of gutter trash,” Dewry wheezed. He was at the base of the stairs. “Bastard!”

Sinch crawled away from him, toward the wall. There was a mensa there, clear of bones on one side. He pulled himself in with his one good arm, and found another hollow behind it, a small cavity that let him down below the floor. He landed on more bones and then lay still, breathing in dust and ancient fur, one paw pressed to his side.

Dewry stumbled down the stairs. “I know you’re here!” he screamed, his voice echoing in the crypt, but sounding distant to Sinch. “I’ll find you!” He reached into the mensa above Sinch, and then scattered the bones on the shelf above which Sinch lay. A piece of bone dropped onto Sinch’s thigh, but he didn’t move. A moment later, the sounds of searching had moved on. “I can smell you!” Dewry was shouting, but his voice was even more distant.

Sinch felt the darkness growing thicker around him, as if he’d fallen into an icy river and were sinking slowly. He pinched the wound in his side to keep himself awake, gasping at the pain as stars burst across his vision.
Not yet, not yet…

 
Collecting Lady Dewanne and Maxon took forever. Velkan, informed that they were going to see the crown returned, yawned and said that he was sure it would all happen perfectly happily without his involvement and that after a night of raiding the Shadows and a night of cleaning up, he would rather have some sleep. Lady Dewanne was not in her chambers, but they found her in one of the lower rooms, staring out a window, holding a clear glass ornament in her paws.

“Have you been awake all night?” Maxon asked when they found her. The steward had not taken being awoken with very good humor.

“Most of it,” she replied. She set the glass down on the table, where its curves caught the light, setting the green streak of color inside it to glowing softly. “Where are we going?”

“To get the crown.” Yilon smiled.

She nodded, turning from the window and walking slowly after them out of the room. Her muzzle did lift as they walked out of the palace, looking up at the sky.

The sun had risen, but not yet cleared the mountains nor the thick blanket of low-lying clouds. Though the air was still warm, Maxon drew his cloak around himself and glared as they set off from the castle gates. “I presume that you are going to introduce us to a mouse, and that is why you did not bring him to the castle.”

“It’s your rule,” Yilon said.

“No rule prevents mice from standing just outside the palace gates.”

“I’ve been incautious with it once,” Yilon said. “I didn’t want to risk anything again. Sinch is in a safe place.”

“Let him be, Maxon.” Lady Dewanne sounded tired. “He wants to create an effect.”

Maxon coughed. “He’s creating an effect of making us sick.”

“It’s not winter yet. We’re about to get a lord. Enjoy the weather.”

“Easy for you,” Maxon said, with another cough that Yilon was sure was exaggerated. “Come winter, you won’t be here.”

“I think it’s nice,” Dinah said, unexpectedly. “It feels like an old ritual of some sort, the recovery of the crown in the church.”

Yilon tensed, waiting for a shocked reaction at a mouse in the church, but neither the steward nor the lady said anything. Good, he thought.

After Dinah’s last comment, they fell silent, with Lady Dewanne and Maxon letting Yilon and Dinah lead them forward through the waking streets. Yilon recognized not only the landmark buildings, glowing the early light, but also smaller houses and oddities like break in the landing-stone outside the small grey stone building, the peculiar smell of the goat-cheese shop down that street. Perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad place to live. Dinah felt right at his side, a comrade-in-arms if not a lover, and they were going to join Sinch.

At the crossroads where they turned right, Yilon thought he saw a shadow on the roof, far ahead to the right. I haven’t forgotten, Whisper, he said in his head. I’ll make it right.

And then they came around a corner, the flagstones angling upward under their feet, the gleaming dome of the church and the five points of the star above it shining ahead of them, gathering the dull light struggling through the clouds and making it stronger.

Lady Dewanne greeted two foxes on their way up the street, but apart from that, none of them spoke. Maxon cleared his throat several times, while Yilon and Dinah were breathing hard. Only Lady Dewanne walked without any visible signs of stress. At the top of the hill, at the edge of the circle where the church stood, they paused to rest. Yilon looked up again at the roof, but the shadow was no longer there, or couldn’t be seen from this angle. He knew they were still out there watching him, but he didn’t feel threatened.

“Are we ready?” he asked the group.

“Yes,” Maxon said, with a cough. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Lady Dewanne inclined her head. “Lead on.”

Dinah smiled and stepped to his side. Together, they crossed the street to the front door of the church and opened the door.

The church was brighter, the western side painted with morning’s glow, the eastern wall touched softly by reflections of that glow. Both the Cantor and the fox who’d been praying were gone; the church was empty. As the door eased shut behind Maxon, Yilon padded ahead of them, toward the chapel. He felt a twinge of annoyance at the Cantor for vanishing. After all, anyone could have gotten in to find Sinch and cause trouble.

The curtain across the chapel moved, and a fox came out. He looked like the Cantor at first: tall and thin, though his robes were so filthy it was impossible to tell if they’d once been white. He stopped when he saw Yilon, and then walked quickly down one of the pews.

“Hey!” Yilon said. The smell of mold and dust drifted across the air to him. The robes, he saw now, were not robes at all, but a loose tunic. The fox made his way halfway down a pew and then stopped to look at Yilon, turning so Yilon could now see the familiar leather satchel hanging from his right shoulder. It wasn’t the Cantor. It was the guard from their journey, the thin fox who’d sat quietly atop the carriage with his crossbow.

Maxon’s voice rang out through the church. “Dewry—”

“Quiet, traitor,” the Cantor—the fox who wasn’t the Cantor—said. “I’ve no more need of you.”

“Where’s Sinch?” Yilon reached across his back and grasped his short bow.

“Keep your weapons down,” Dewry said sharply. He put down the satchel with a dull thud, and lifted a crossbow from the pew with his right paw. “This is a sacred place.”