False Covenant (A Widdershins Adventure) (16 page)

Well, that and the truly motley assortment of individuals currently gathered in said office.

Individuals who…Widdershins blinked, puzzled, wondering if she remained dazed enough to be so severely misinterpreting what she saw. Both Renard and Robin were glaring at Julien Bouniard with a simmering anger; what could, indeed, have almost been hatred! From Renard, Widdershins could have dismissed it. The flamboyant thief, for all his bravado, had to be made a little uneasy just standing here in the heart of his enemy's domain. But Robin? What could Julien possibly have done to earn
Robin's
ire?

Perhaps sensing Widdershins's confusion, if not the underpinning reasons for it, Julien gently released her hand and took a half step back from her side.

“Better count your fingers,” Renard warned, casting a sidelong grin at Widdershins that
almost
hid the growl of genuine hostility underlying his words.

“Oh, please,” Widdershins huffed. “I wouldn't steal from Bouniard.” Her own grin went impish. “Until I was well enough to escape, anyway.”

Julien snorted back a laugh. “Whatever issues I may have with your
friend
here,” he said, “he hasn't left your side since he arrived. He says he's something important to tell you.”

Three faces swiveled toward Renard, then, who blinked, looked askance at Robin, and then back at the young woman on the mattress.

“I trust her,” Widdershins said simply.

“I'm sure you do,” Renard began, “but—”

“I trust her. Completely. Out with it.”

Robin beamed, tenderly brushing a strand of sweat-matted hair from Widdershins's forehead.

“Well…All right. Widdershins, there's been some talk going around the Finders.”

“Yeah? Wow. Good thing I'm already lying down, or else I'd probably fall—”

“Talk about
you
, my little jester.”

“Still not being shocked here, Renard.”

“Talk that you just murdered a couple of Finders.”

“
What?!
”

It took a bit of time to calm things down after that. Widdershins needed a few minutes to recover from the surge of pain in her shoulder brought about when she shot to her feet (or attempted to). Bouniard had to speak to several of his fellow Guardsmen, assuring them that no, they had
not
in fact just heard someone being violently assaulted within the walls of their own headquarters. And thankfully, by the time all that was done, Robin had recovered most of the hearing in her right ear.

“Who do these people think they are?!” Widdershins was lying back, and her voice was substantially softer, but neither fact was preventing her from giving the rant everything she had. “What am I, the guild's designated scapegoat? ‘Something's gone wrong, must be Widdershins's fault!’ ‘Uh-oh, it's raining, must be Widdershins's fault!’ ‘Stubbed my toe! Curse that Widdershins!’”

“Uh, Shins?” Robin began. “Maybe—”

“This was supposed to get
better
once Lisette was gone! But
noooo
, I still have a target painted on my soul's butt!”

“Widdershins,” Julien said, “I think—”

“All right, so I messed up
one job
! But it was dumb! And it wouldn't have worked anyway, and it would've brought the Guard down on us! And—”

“Widdershins!” Both Robin and Julien, this time.

“Well…it's all I've done
lately
. How long can they hold a grudge, anyway?” She crossed her arms with a genuine
hmph
, as though daring anyone to answer. “All right, fine. I've done a lot. So if there's plenty to blame me for, why does the world always insist on getting me in hot water for stuff I
didn't
do, hmm? Seems like a stupid amount of effort to go through, yes?”

Robin, Julien, and Renard all waited, presumably to be certain she was done. Then, as she began to draw breath—suggesting, perhaps, that she
wasn't
done—her fellow Finder spoke up, apparently determined to head her off before she built up any further momentum.

“There's a witness,” he told her.

“What?” Not a screech this time, but more of a faint squeak, as Widdershins seemed to deflate or even flatten rather like a mouse in a grain mill.

“Simon Beaupre.”

Widdershins was able, this time, to keep herself from sitting bolt upright and stressing her injuries even further. She settled, instead, for squeezing her eyes shut against what promised to become an incipient headache. “Squirrel.”

“Squirrel?” Robin and Julien asked simultaneously.

“That's him,” Renard said.

“I'm gonna kill him!” Widdershins promised.

Several chuckles answered her. “Maybe not the best thing to say when he's the one accusing you of murder,” Renard pointed out.

“Or in front of the Guard,” Julien added.

“Oh, both of you shut up.” Then, “Renard, I didn't kill anyone, and I don't know what Squirrel's talking about, though I can take a pretty good guess as to why he's trying to blame it on me.” Another pause, as she squirmed beneath the questioning expressions of Julien and Robin. “I, uh, sort of interfered with a job he was trying to pull. You…” She offered the Guardsman a weak, limp sort of smile. “You, uh, were sort of there for part of it.”

Julien's face stiffened. “I think you'd probably better not go into any further detail, before I hear something I'll have to act on.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking that.”

Robin looked at her, at Julien, at Renard. “Guess there's a reason you thieves don't plan anything with Guardsmen in the room, huh? Umm…” It was her turn to wither beneath the weight of several unamused glowers. “Maybe you guys should keep doing most of the talking.”

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” Julien asked the world at large. Widdershins—who knew, for once, when
not
to make a snide comment—just nodded her sympathy.

“I never for a moment believed you a murderer, Widdershins,” Renard assured her, with a borderline melodramatic hand over his heart. “More importantly, neither do the Shrouded Lord or the taskmaster.”

Widdershins felt the fist that had closed around her lungs relax its hold just a bit, and nearly gasped aloud.

“There's a lot of pressure from the ranks of the Finders to question you—you're, let's say, not popular in some quarters…”

“You don't say?”

“…so I can't promise you that there won't be repercussions. And I'd
definitely
watch my back while out alone, were I you. Actually, I wouldn't
go
out alone, were I you.”

“You offering to follow me around, Renard?”

“Well, if mademoiselle wishes…”

“Never you mind.”

Renard chuckled. “Honestly, though, I think it should blow over fairly quickly. Even most of the Finders who believe you capable of murder don't really believe you'd use witchcraft to do it, so—”

“Stop. Stop right there. In fact, go back a few steps. What are you
talking
about?”

“The bodies. Our people you supposedly killed. They certainly weren't
natural
deaths.”

That fist in Widdershins's chest began to clench again. “Dry?” she asked. “Like old leather or parchment?”

She'd already had the attention of everyone in the room, yet somehow it felt as though her audience had grown. “You know about it?” Renard demanded.

“How many?”

“Widdershins…”

“Renard, please! How many?”

The older thief sighed. “Four.”

Widdershins shook her head. The hair Robin had so carefully brushed away fell right back into her face, though she scarcely noticed. “I only knew about two. Robin, help me sit up, please.”

During the few moments it took for her to get settled again, the pillows propped behind her so as to avoid putting any pressure on her wounds, Widdershins's mind was furiously chasing itself in half a dozen different directions. How much could she say here? Who would she have to keep secrets from? Gods, but this had been easier when she didn't mind lying to Julien, but now…

She blinked. When had she decided she didn't want to lie to Julien anymore?

Oh, this is bad….

“I ran into—well, into
something
—on the street last night,” she began.
Better not mention that two of the Finders were actually masquerading as our local “phantom,” not in front of Jul—in front of a Guardsman.
“I don't know
what
it was, but it…” She shuddered, and not just for dramatic effect. She found herself clutching at her shoulder with her right hand, though she didn't remember moving. “It did this to me, and…Well, you know what it did to
them
.”

“Something?” Julien asked, crouching down beside her. “Not some
one
?”

“Trust me, Julien, I can tell the difference.”

He nodded, and if he doubted her words at all, no such qualms appeared in his expression or his voice. “Can you describe it?”

“It, he—whichever—was
kind of
human-looking. Frighteningly gaunt, like a scarecrow, with really long limbs. Even longer fingers, like spider's legs or—”

Robin, with something somewhere between a gasp and an abortive shriek, actually lurched back from Widdershins's bedside. Her voice, when it emerged from between quivering lips, was a gravelly whisper. “Spider hands and webs for hair…”

“What?” Widdershins, stunned at the reaction and frightened by the sudden pallor in her friend's face, ignored her own pain and reached out to put a hand on Robin's arm. “Sweetie, what is it?”

“Don't you remember, Widdershins? You must have heard it when you were young. I'm sure everyone who grew up in Galice must have!”

The thief frowned, troubled once again by the strange sense of familiarity she'd felt when she'd first gotten a good look at the creature. “I'm not sure what…”

Robin took a deep breath, and began.

“Beneath the sun, the roads are man's
,

His work, his home, his town, his plans.

But 'ware the ticking of the clock:

The night belongs to Iruoch.”

Widdershins's breath caught, and she felt the tingle of a thousand tiny legs across her back and neck. She
did
remember!

“In shadowed wood, in distant vale
,

In summer rain or winter hail
,

If you alone should choose to walk
,

You may just meet with Iruoch.”

It was a children's rhyme, nothing but a silly, scary story; one of scores they told each other in the dark, long after they were supposed to have gone to sleep. Just one of many Galician bogeymen.

But he wasn't
real
!

“With spider hands and webs for hair
,

A black and never-blinking stare
,

A scarecrow's form, a dancer's walk
,

There's no mistaking Iruoch.”

It didn't seem that Robin could have stopped, now, even if she'd wanted to. With every word, her cadence grew ever more singsong; her voice grew higher, as though she were physically reverting back to the girl she'd been when first she'd heard the words. She shook beneath the weight of a childhood nightmare made very, very real, and Widdershins could do nothing but try to hold her.

“No means to fight, nowhere to run
,

Your dreams are ash, your days are done.

No point to scream, to cry, to talk;

Your words mean naught to Iruoch.”

Even Julien and Renard were captivated, reaching out to Robin as though to comfort her, even as they clearly had trouble believing that she could possibly
need
comfort, not from something as simple, as silly, as a rhyme. And Widdershins—Widdershins, who now remembered it as clearly as when she herself was a little girl, could only recite the last stanza along with her friend.

“No mortals, magics, blades, or flames
,

He only fears the Sacred Names.

Only a faith as stout as rock

Might save your hide from Iruoch.”

Robin inhaled once, deeply, as though only now able to breathe, buried her head in Widdershins's chest, and sobbed. Unsure of what else she should do, Widdershins held her tight, casting a worried glance over Robin's head—a glance returned by the other occupants of the room.

“Uh…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Robin, that's not, well, not
exactly
how he looked. His hair wasn't…” She tried to shrug, and succeeded only in jostling the other girl's head. “I don't think we've got enough reason to believe that—”

“It's him,” Robin insisted, sniffling, and raised her head. “Iruoch's come to Davillon.”

“It's nonsense,” Julien insisted. “It's just a folktale. A child's rhyme.”

“Pure silliness, dear girl,” Renard agreed.

Widdershins nodded. “See, Robin? Besides, there haven't been any fairies in Galice in hundreds of years.”

“Like there haven't been any demons, Shins?”

The thief actually felt herself wilt. “Olgun?” she asked, scarcely vocalizing. “It's
not
Iruoch, right?”

Olgun's silence was worse than any confirmation he might have offered.

“Oh.” Then, somewhat more loudly, “Uh, guys? I don't know if Robin's right about who or what this thing is, but we know it's real, and it's magic, and it's really,
really
not friendly. Does it honestly matter what his name is?”

When nobody offered her any reply more intelligible than a grunt of agreement, she continued. “Jul—uh, Bouniard, can you increase the patrols?”

Julien grinned. “Widdershins
asking
for a greater Guard presence on the street? Are we certain the world's not ending?”

“Keep talking, Bouniard, and you'll wish it was.”

The major's grin only widened, and Widdershins had to bite her lip to keep from matching the expression. Trying to force herself to remain on topic, she said, “I don't actually think any of your people could take on Iruoch—or whoever he is—but maybe he won't attack groups.”