Soulbinder (Book 3) (23 page)

Kendril didn’t move from where he sat in his chair. “I need you, Maklavir.”

Maklavir spun back around. “And another thing—” He stopped mid-sentence. “I beg your pardon?”

“I need you for this to work.”

Maklavir tilted his head. “For what to work?”

“Getting into Dutraad’s town house. You’re from Valmingaard. You know the people, the customs. You were a part of the royal court.”

Maklavir looked away. “I was
exiled
from the royal court.”

“So you have a checkered past. Nobles love that.”

The diplomat hesitated. “I don’t know, Kendril—”

“We’ll re-make you,” the Ghostwalker continued. “Get you a new set of clothes, your own carriage. You’ll be the toast of Vorten, the talk of the upper class. By the time we’re done Baron Dutraad will be honored to have you in his home.”

Maklavir was visibly taken aback. “I—I’m not sure what to—”

Kendril took a deep breath. “
Please
, Maklavir. You’re the only one who can pull this off.”

Maklavir gave Kendril a probing look. “You’re really
that
desperate?”

“Yes.”

The diplomat thought for a moment. “So…new clothes, you say?”

“This will be expensive,” Joseph said in a low voice. “It might take most of the coins we have left.”

“So we have Kara swipe some valuables from Baron Dutraad once we’re inside,” said Kendril coolly. “Maybe we’ll even make a profit.”

Kara gave a smug smile. “
Finally
.”

Joseph glanced over at the red-headed thief. “We can’t—I mean we
shouldn’t
—”

Kendril smiled at Kara. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said with a wink.

Maklavir walked back to the table and sat down again. He gave Kendril a measured look. “You’re serious about this? This pendant is this important to you?”

The Ghostwalker returned his gaze. “Absolutely.”

Maklavir nodded slowly. “Alright then. I’m in. But I still think this whole idea is a complete waste of time.”

Kendril looked over at the other two inquiringly.

“A chance for burglary? You’ve got my vote,” Kara said with a sparkle in her eyes.

Joseph paused for a moment, thinking. “This will all take time,” he said. “We might not have it.”

“I’d say we have until the next new moon,” said Kendril.

Maklavir raised his eyebrows. “I’d ask you how in Zanthora you know that, but I don’t think I even want to know.”

“Alright,” said Joseph, “you have my support, Kendril. If you say this Soulbinder is worth tracking down, then I trust you.”

Kendril looked over at his friend, a surprised look on his face.

Kara cocked her head. “What’s wrong?”

The Ghostwalker looked down at the table. “Nothing. It’s just…it’s been a long time since I’ve heard someone say that to me.”

“Well,” said Maklavir smoothly, “if it makes you feel any better you won’t hear it from
me
.”

Kendril gave a sardonic smile. “Thank you, Maklavir. I appreciate that.”

Kara clapped her hands eagerly. “So, where do we start?”

Kendril pulled his chair closer to the table. “Listen up,” he said. “This is my plan…”

Chapter 14

“What about this one?”

Kendril turned, then weaved his way through the hulking pieces of snow-covered junk that filled the yard.

Kara brushed some ice off the side of what had once been a carriage. She gave an apologetic shrug. “At least it’s got three out of four wheels.”

Kendril ducked down and looked under the vehicle’s bottom. “Hmm. Rear axle’s busted. Suspension springs are pretty badly rusted.”

There was a loud squeal as Kara forced open the side door. “Ugh,” she said, crinkling her nose. “I don’t think you even want to look inside.”

Kendril straightened. “We have to find something we can fix up in a week or less.”

“At least Senna is letting us use that old warehouse in back of her tavern.” Kara ran a gloved hand over the broken carriage’s wheel. “What do you think the story between her and Maklavir is, anyway?”

Kendril scowled. “The less I know, the better.” He looked in through the open door. “That’s a lot of mold.”

“I wonder if Maklavir has ever actually been in a
real
relationship,” Kara mused. “You know, a girlfriend, wife…even a long term mistress.” She moved around the back of the carriage. “He’s really quite sweet. But his relationships just seem so…shallow.”

“Believe me,” said Kendril with a grunt, “I try to think about Maklavir and his relationships as little as humanly possible.” He leaned his head inside the coach. “We could tear this out, re-line the upholstery, repaint it…It doesn’t have to be perfect, just pass muster for a day or two.”

“I wonder if he got hurt.” Kara stepped to the other side of the carriage. She looked at Kendril through the open window on the other side. “That would explain a lot.”

Kendril tugged on one of the molded seats. “I’m not sure if
anything
would really explain Maklavir.” He gave the redhead a coy glance. “Besides, I would think that you would find Joseph’s love life a little more interesting to talk about.”

Kara blushed a bright red. She stepped back from the carriage’s window. “I think this could work,” she said with a nod toward the vehicle.

The Ghostwalker sighed. His eyes wandered over the wreck. “We certainly can’t afford to buy a new carriage. We’ll have to get a new wheel on this, then tow it back to the warehouse after dark.”

The thief smiled. “I’m sure Simon will love that.”

“He’s been getting too soft lately. A little hard work will be good for him.” Kendril gave one of the wheels a kick. Ice tumbled off the wooden rim. “I caught Senna giving him
flenshi
buns last night.”

Kara came around the side of the carriage. She gave Kendril a questioning look. “Senna…do you trust her?”

Kendril looked around, his eyes lighting on a nearby pile of junk. “More than I trust Maklavir.” He stepped over to the heap, and began rummaging through the snow-covered garbage. “If she wanted to turn us in to the gendarmes, she could have done it already. Besides, like you said, she and Maklavir have history.”

Kara crossed her arms. “That’s what worries me.”

Kendril pulled out an ice-encrusted wheel. “We don’t have a lot of other options, do we?” He turned over the wheel in his hands. “Hmm. We can fix the rim on this, then come back here later and attach it to the carriage.” He nodded to himself. “With luck we can start work on this tonight.”

Kara shivered as a cold wind cut through the yard. “This whole infiltration scheme of yours…you really think Maklavir is up to it?”

Kendril straightened up. “I trust him to get us into Dutraad’s manor.” He looked over at her. “I trust a
thief
to actually find the Soulbinder and get it back.”

“Well,” said Kara, “it sounds like you’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you?” She glanced back at the wrecked carriage behind them. “So where
is
Maklavir, anyways?”

“Hopefully,” said Kendril as he lifted the broken wheel, “doing something useful.”

“It’s no use. The documents are legitimate. The justice won’t bend.”

Baron Dutraad fumed silently, his fists balled on the top of the polished wooden table. His mustache bristled as his face contorted. He stood back up to his full height. “It’s
my
land.”

The elderly barrister, a man named Alfin, turned from the fireplace. “Not according to the title deed.” He clasped and unclasped his hands nervously behind his back. “I
am
sorry, my lord, but Sir Pekerin’s claim is impossible to refute. He has the paperwork—”

Dutraad turned from the desk in fury, his gaunt figure pacing back and forth across the chamber’s floor. From the room’s open door came the constant low mutter of voices echoing in the hallway just outside, a constant presence in the Vorten courthouse.

“We could appeal,” Alfin continued. He shrugged. “That could take months, however. The request would have to travel to Varnost, and then—”

“Vesuna’s blood, what do I pay you for?” Dutraad turned to the window and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Pekerin forged that document somehow. I
know
it. His family has never been near that land. They never staked a claim to it. Now suddenly he comes up with this…deed.” Dutraad swung around, his face menacing. “He’s
cheating
me, Alfin. I won’t stand for it.”

Alfin opened his mouth, but said nothing.

“You
don’t
have to stand for it, my lord.”

Dutraad whipped his head towards the door of the chamber.

A tall, clean-shaven man, finely dressed with a red cape, leaned against the door frame.

“Who the devil are you?” Dutraad snapped.

“Maklavir,” he said easily, “formerly of the royal court in Varnost.” He stepped into the room. “And you, unless I am very much mistaken, are Baron Dutraad. It is an honor to meet you, sir.”

Dutraad turned his back. “I’m in the middle of something, Makladden.”

“Maklavir,” the diplomat corrected smoothly. He rubbed his smooth face, grimacing slightly as he remembered his lost goatee. “And you’re right. I had a look at Pekerin’s deed, and it is undoubtedly a forgery.”

Alfin’s mouth dropped open. “How in Zanthora did you see that? This is a private case, with decision still pend—”

Maklavir shrugged. “Justice Tenroliv and I go way back. I sponsored his son to the Royal Diplomatic Corps several years ago.” He flopped down into a chair by the table.

Dutraad watched him with a cold and measured stare. “This forgery? You can prove it?”

Maklavir kicked up his feet casually on the table, then folded his hands behind his head. “Not really. It’s a sharp job.”

Alfin snorted. “Then how do you
know
it’s a fake?”

Maklavir looked up at the gray-haired man. “Trust me, when you have worked with legal documents as long as I have, you can spot a fake even if you can’t prove it.”

The obviously-much older barrister stiffened. He looked over imploringly at Dutraad. “I beg you, my lord, have this man ejected and let us get back to the matter at hand. We need—”

Dutraad raised a hand, and Alfin fell silent. “Leave us,” he said quietly.

Alfin gave a relieved nod. “Yes. Now, my lord, we must—”

Dutraad didn’t look at him. “Not him. You.”

The elderly barrister gaped at Dutraad in astonishment, then looked over at Maklavir.

The young diplomat gave an apologetic smile.

Alfin gathered some papers off the table, gave Dutraad once last look, then exited the room. He closed the door softly behind him.

“Did Pekerin send you?” Dutraad asked.

“Great Eru, no,” said Maklavir scornfully. “Quite the opposite, old man. I’m here to help
you
.”

Dutraad gave the thinnest of smiles. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. Your arrival here seems more than a little convenient.”

Maklavir uncrossed his arms and pressed the fingertips of his hands together. “I prefer to say
fortuitous
.”

Dutraad rose from the chair and walked to the fireplace. He adjusted a bust on the mantle. “You claim that Pekerin’s documents are fake, but you can’t prove it.”

“Not in a court of law, no.”

Dutraad turned. “Then you can’t help me.”

“That, my lord, is where you are mistaken.” Maklavir sat up in the chair, swinging his feet down off the table. “Give me thirty minutes and I guarantee you that the land will remain yours.”

The baron turned his attention back to the marble bust. He fingered it idly. “You seem very confident. How do you intend to disprove Pekerin’s claim?”

Maklavir gave a sly smile. “No offense, my lord, but if I told you that now I’d be surrendering a winning hand before collecting the pot, as it were.”

Dutraad cocked his head towards the diplomat. “And what ‘pot’ did you have in mind?”

“A thousand sovereigns,” said Maklavir. “A pittance, I think you will agree, especially given the value of the land in question. Not to mention the cost of the legal fees you’ll be saving.”

Dutraad smiled mirthlessly. “You’re quite the gambler, Maklavir.”

“I like to think so,” he replied calmly.

The baron stroked his mustache. He looked back at the roaring fire. “You have a deal. Give me the pertinent information and I will pass it on to Alfin.”

“Your barrister is a venerable fool,” Maklavir said without a hint of emotion. “I don’t trust him to be able to pull this off successfully. I’ll do this myself, or not at all. Those are my terms.”

Dutraad moved back to the table and sat down in a chair opposite from Maklavir. He stared shrewdly at the diplomat for a long moment.

“You’re not in this for the money,” the baron said after a long moment. It wasn’t a question.

“No,” said Maklavir instantly.

“What is it that you
really
want?” Dutraad measured Maklavir carefully with his eyes.

“A patron.”

Dutraad nodded slowly. “There was a Maklavir at the court of King Luxium, if I remember correctly. A terrible scandal. It was in all the bulletins at the time. Even earned a mention in the state notices.” The baron lowered his eyebrows. “
That
Maklavir was exiled from the court.”

Maklavir leaned forward. “It has been several years since then,” he said softly. “I am ready to come back to Valmingaard, to step into public life again. Nothing extreme, just a little job here in Valmingaard as a barrister. I cannot imagine the King would begrudge me that.”

Dutraad’s eyes flashed. “The King can be quite petty, and holds onto a grudge for a long while. If you spent any time around him, you should know that.”

“Exile has been hard on me,” said Maklavir simply. “I want to come back, to settle down in my old country again.” His face changed for a moment, torn with emotions. “I’ve…wanted it more than anything else.”

Dutraad glanced out the window at the swirling snow and passing traffic of the street. “I can’t do it, Maklavir. It’s too risky for me.”