The Office of Shadow (35 page)

"Such things do happen," said Wenathn.

"Let me propose a scenario to you, Magyster Wenathn," said Silverdun.

"Propose away."

"Suppose you determined that we were, as you have suspected, notorious
spies of Regina Titania. Having captured us, you would no doubt be warmly
regarded by your Unseelie protectors."

"No doubt," said Wenathn.

"Suppose then that having thus determined, you remanded us to the custody of the Unseelie. I presume a small detachment of Unseelie Army officers
would retrieve us from your jail and convey us back to the City of Mab, where
we would be tried. And in the course of that trial, all sorts of things could
come to light that no one in this room would be especially pleased to have
repeated far and wide. Correct?"

Wenathn frowned. "Correct."

"Let us suppose even further," said Silverdun, "and this is in the wildest
realm of speculation imaginable, of course. Let us suppose that some in
Annwn would not be terrifically opposed to having friends in the Seelie
Kingdom. Friends with pockets."

Now Wenathn looked definitely interested. "Elections can become very
expensive affairs," he said.

"Then I believe there's a very simple solution that can accommodate us
all," said Silverdun.

Before dawn the next morning, Silverdun and Ironfoot were roused in their
cell by a different pair of guards. They were brought out of the jail in a different direction, out to an enclosed courtyard, where Wenathn stood with a
pair of Unseelie Army officers in front of a covered wagon. Wenathn ordered
Silverdun and Ironfoot to be shackled hand and foot.

"I'm glad we agreed to do this quietly," Wenathn said to the officers.
"There are some elements here in Blood of Arawn that still take offense at
your gracious assistance in our local affairs."

"Yes, well. Some people will never accept the way of things," said one of
the officers. "The proconsul is grateful to you for your assistance in this
matter. It will not be forgotten."

"I hope not," said Wenathn. "It's not every day that one gets the opportunity to foil a foreign plot, is it?"

Wenathn's clerk handed the officers a sheaf of papers, and the officers
placed Ironfoot and Silverdun into the back of the wagon, chaining their
shackles to a bolt in the carriage's floor.

There were no windows in the back of the wagon, and very little light.
Silverdun's right hand hung free, since there was no way to shackle it, and he
held it gingerly aloft. Ironfoot was a dark shape in front of him.

"This is never going to work," said Ironfoot.

"We'll see," said Silverdun.

The wagon started and turned out of the courtyard. It proceeded through
the winding streets of Blood of Arawn, jouncing on the cobbles and potholes
as it went. The Unseelie officers were talking in the front of the wagon, but
Silverdun couldn't hear what they were saying.

The wagon pulled up short and stopped, nearly throwing Silverdun
against the back of its cab.

"Out of the way!" he heard one of the officers shout.

There was another shout, this one wordless, and then steps on either side
of the wagon. Two blades clashed, and then there was silence.

The back of the wagon opened, and a man dressed entirely in black, with
a black hood covering his face, stepped in and unlocked Silverdun's and Ironfoot's shackles. "Out," he said.

Silverdun and Ironfoot climbed out of the wagon. They were in a narrow
alley. An oxcart was blocking the path in front of the wagon, and standing
on the cart were two more men in black, also hooded, holding crossbows.
Another held a sword at the throat of the driver of the wagon. The other
Unseelie lay either unconscious or dead next to him; in the predawn light of
the alley it was difficult to tell.

"Come with me," said one of the men in black. He led Silverdun and
Ironfoot around the corner, where two horses were saddled and waiting. Once
they were out of sight of the Unseelie, he pushed back his hood. It was the
older of the two guards who had brought them to Wenathn.

"Annwn used to be a good place," he said. "Are you truly here to help rid
us of the Unseelie?" He peered deeply into Silverdun's eyes.

"We are," said Silverdun.

The guard handed Silverdun the travel documents that had been taken
from them when they'd been captured. "Take these and ride directly to the
river. There's a boat waiting for you there called the Magl," he said. "We'll
detain these men long enough for you to get there, but no longer."

Silverdun nodded. He couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound
crass, so he said nothing.

"A little help getting up?" he said to Ironfoot, holding up his stump.
Ironfoot helped him mount his horse, and the two of them rode off into the
morning.

Once they were safely on board the Magl, which turned out to be a dusty
mining barge, the crew escorted them down into a small hold that smelled
like dirt and lamp oil. It was close and dark, but Silverdun was grateful
nonetheless.

"Unbelievable," said Ironfoot. "I can't believe that actually worked."

Silverdun, however, had been certain that it would. Wenathn wanted to
be elected to the high council, but if the tale of their exploit was revealed in
open court before the Unseelie proconsul, he'd be excoriated for having
botched it so badly. The problem was that he couldn't have released them
without making the proconsul's office suspicious, and he'd miss the opportunity to curry favor with them by allowing two spies to go free. The third
option was to allow them to escape; not from hint, but from the Unseelie soldiers. That way Wenathn had done his duty as a good little collaborator, and
the Unseelie looked stupid in the bargain.

"But," said Ironfoot, "won't the truth of all this come out during the
Unseelie investigation of our escape?"

"It would, if there were an investigation. But the Unseelie can't allow
themselves to be seen losing foreign spies, so they do what all spineless
bureaucrats do when they're in trouble."

"They cover it up."

"Exactly. It's like it never happened. And now Wenathn is our good
friend in Annwn, a man who clearly has no love for the Unseelie, and can
almost certainly be influenced once we help get him elected."

Ironfoot whistled. "You're a devious son of a whore, Silverdun. I'll give
you that."

"My mother was no whore, but you're right about the other."

"Well done, then. I suppose our mission was a success."

Silverdun winced. "Tell that to my right hand," he said.

Time on the river crawled. Once the city was behind them they were able to
move about freely on deck. The air was fresher, but the view wasn't much
better. Outside the city, Annwn was an endless sea of prairie grass, without a
single tree or shrub to break up the view. Sometimes they saw animals come
to drink at the water, but beyond that, nothing. They took their meals with
the crew, who were a taciturn bunch.

On the second day of the journey Silverdun began to feel queasy; his
wrist itched. That evening he began to vomit and sweat, and every time the
boat rolled in the water he groaned.

On the morning of the third day, he was delirious, remembering things
only in bits and pieces. There was the nausea and the dreadful itching and
the pitching of the deck. He wanted desperately to scratch at his stump,
but Ironfoot kept stopping him. Why did Ironfoot keep stopping him? In
a lucid moment he looked at his hand, saw it covered in blood. "Stop it!"
came Ironfoot's voice through the haze. He felt something being tied
around his arm, something thick and heavy. When he went to scratch the
wrist it wasn't there; there was only thick heavy cloth. He burned and
choked and itched.

When he awoke on the fourth morning, he felt light-headed, but the
delirium had gone. He was lying out in the open, and the sun hurt his eyes.
When he looked down at his right arm he saw that it had been wrapped in a
piece of sail and belted to keep him from scratching it. The pain and itching
were gone, but he still felt the ghostly sensation of the missing hand
straining against the wrappings. It felt impossibly real.

He was on the foredeck, his clothes soaked in sweat. A cool wind blew
across the bow, and Silverdun reveled in it.

"You're awake at last," said Ironfoot. He brought Silverdun a tin cup of
water and a plate of dried fish. Silverdun ate and drank, slowly at first and
then faster.

"More water, please," he said, holding out the cup. Ironfoot refilled it
once, and then again.

"How do you feel?" asked Ironfoot. "The captain thought you were done
for."

"Not I," said Silverdun, pulling himself up slowly to a standing position.
"We Lords Silverdun are made of hardier stuff than most. Extraordinarily difficult to kill."

"I need to change your bandage," said Ironfoot. "Sorry about the wrapping, but we couldn't get you to stop scratching at the thing; you kept
reopening the wound. The captain says you'll have to get it sewn up properly
by a physician as soon as we get to Mag Mell or you're liable to get gangrene."

"Lovely," said Silverdun.

Ironfoot removed the belt holding the cloth in place and pulled the sailcloth off the bandage. Underneath was a bloody mess, but despite the confusion of blood-caked bandaging one thing was very clear.

"Auberon's balls!" said Ironfoot. "Your hand's grown back!"

Silverdun pulled off the bandages and held up his hand. It was there,
good as new. He flexed his fingers and thumb; everything worked. There was
no itching, no tenderness, no pain.

"That's a nice trick," said Ironfoot, eyes wide. "What did you do?"

Silverdun pinched the skin on the new hand hard and thrilled at the
pain. "I have no idea."

He lay on his stomach and reached into the water, washing the blood
from his hand. When he held it up again it was as if nothing had ever happened to it.

"Look at this," he said to Ironfoot. "Right here on the palm. That scar. I
got it when I was a boy, falling off a wall."

"I see it," said Ironfoot.

"Let's assume for a moment that it's somehow possible to regrow a hand,"
said Silverdun. "How do you explain regrowing a scar?"

"I have no compelling scholarly response to that one," said Ironfoot.