False Covenant (A Widdershins Adventure) (23 page)

She'd begrudged every wasted minute, every unnecessary step from the Lamarr estate to the hidden, but somewhat less than secret, headquarters of the Finders' Guild. As light and sporadic as the traffic might be, she resented every pedestrian on the road, the extra fractions of seconds it required to sprint around them.

So distracted was she that, even though she'd spent the entire run with her skirts gathered in one fist (as otherwise she might well have tripped on them), it took Olgun to remind her, as the pawnbroker's hove into view, that she was dressed and disguised as Madeleine Valois. And while more than a few of the Finders knew that Widdershins had an aristocratic guise that she used to case the homes of the rich and powerful, not many of them knew the precise details of that disguise, or by what name she went.

Grumbling further about the delay, Widdershins ducked into a small walkway that ran behind several of the nearby shops. Stepping over a pile of refuse that looked (and smelled) as though it might, at some point last week, have been a head of cabbage and a few other vegetables, she carelessly stripped off the gown, revealing portions of the sleek black leather that was her “working uniform.” The rest she acquired from the small sack that had also hung hidden beneath her skirts, so that in less than a minute, she was more or less Widdershins again. The wig and the gown were crumpled sloppily into the sack—she didn't expect to wear that precise outfit again, lest it bring to mind anyone's memories of Madeleine speaking to Squirrel at the party—while a barrel of rainwater from a few days previous was sufficient to remove the bulk of her makeup. (She realized that a few smears and smudges surely remained, but while these might draw a few sidelong looks or even some mild mockery, they weren't enough to identify who she'd been just moments before).

Finally, she removed a main gauche dagger, with a silver wire grip and a ring protruding from the hilt for extra protection, and strapped it to her waist. It was something she'd picked up on a job about two years ago and hadn't gotten around to selling. She'd never expected to use it, really, but she hadn't yet purchased a replacement rapier. She knew she should, knew that she might well regret not having a sword at her side, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to do so. It would have meant a final acknowledgment that she'd lost Alexandre's blade, and that was one admission that she couldn't quite face.

Although there wouldn't have been room to hide a full-sized rapier in her disguise anyway.

The bag itself she stuffed behind said rain barrel, hiding it with a few slats of wood from what had previously been either a second barrel or a large box. It wouldn't stand up to any sort of meticulous search during daylight hours, but Widdershins was pretty sure that she'd be retrieving the sack before dawn—and
completely
sure that very few people would ever have much reason to search this particular alleyway, night or day.

Thus suitably attired, Widdershins marched across the road and pounded on the door. The hidden panel had barely scooted open when she announced, “Widdershins. Member. I've every right to be here, and I don't want to hear it. Open the stupid door.”

Eyes blinked, skin crinkled, the panel slid shut, and—after a prolonged stretch in which Widdershins was starting to become convinced that she would have to pick the lock—the door creaked inward. Her chin forward and nose in the air as though she'd never for a heartbeat doubted that her way would be cleared, she cast a single nod toward the woman currently guarding the door, steadfastly ignored Olgun as he softly laughed at her, and proceeded into the guild's twisted hallways.

Her plan, which had begun as something to the effect of “Barge in on Remy or the Shrouded Lord and make them listen” had by now evolved into the much more intricate and political plan of “Knock politely first,
then
barge in on Remy or the Shrouded Lord and make them listen.” Whether either of these plans would have panned out, in their original or modified forms, became a moot point, however. Just as Widdershins was stalking past the heavy door to the guild's chapel, the iron portal slid open to reveal a handful of flickering candles around the feet of the idol to the Shrouded God.

And, somewhat more importantly, the priestess Igraine Vernadoe silhouetted against that dim and dancing halo.

“A moment of your time, Widdershins.” It was
not
phrased as a request.

Widdershins gave an instant's thought to blowing it off and continuing on her way, but she decided—even without Olgun's warning—that offending one of the Finders' top-three leaders,
particularly
one who was already harboring more than her share of suspicions, was not the best path to either success in her current endeavor or a long and happy life in general.

“Sure thing,” she said, turning on her heel and stepping so swiftly into the shrine that Igraine had to retreat a frantic step to let her pass. “Whatcha need?”

“Don't you think this charade has gone on long enough?” Igraine demanded.

“Uh…What?”

“Still playing? How foolish do you think I am, anyway?”

“What are my choices?”

The priestess's skin, naturally dark-hued to begin with, went almost mahogany, and her mouth twisted in a scowl. “I know there's something unnatural about you. I've warned you of this before.”

“Yes, but—”

“And this
thing
that's stalking Davillon? I know you're involved with it. I've heard the tale you told Lambert.”

“But I—”

“And now we hear that the Church is pressuring the Guard for your arrest? You expect me to believe that's a coincidence?”

“Wait, they're doing what?” Widdershins was rapidly starting to feel that she'd been thrown completely from the saddle of a wildly bucking conversation. “When did
that
happen?”

“Obviously, they've determined some link between you and these events. Maybe due to your involvement with de Laurent's death, I don't know. But I
do
know that it's time, and well past time, for you to tell us
precisely
what's going on in Davillon, and what your part in it might be. At which point, I'll know whether to advise the Shrouded Lord to have you killed or just expelled.”

Widdershins only realized that she'd narrowed her gaze at the priestess when the floor and the ceiling went blurry. “What happened,” she asked softly, “to ‘I have nothing against you personally, Widdershins’?”

“That,” Igraine said, her shoulders stiff, “was before it became blatantly obvious that we had something not only supernatural but murderous haunting our streets—and before we lost several of our own Finders to it. I've told you before, I know there's something
off
about you, something unnatural. I haven't determined how you're involved in all this, but between what's happening now and your complicity in the demonic attack against the Guild last year, I've no doubt whatsoever that you
are
involved.”

“Fine! I was just on my way to see the Shrouded Lord, and explain some of this to him. You're welcome to come along and—”

“I think not. You'll tell me—
everything
, not ‘some of this’—and I'll decide which parts of it need to be brought to his attention, and which fall under my purview as priestess.”

“Uh, no.” Widdershins cast an exasperated glance ceiling-ward and turned toward the door. “Tag along or not, but I'm going.”

Igraine clamped a hand down on Widdershins bicep. “I
said
—!”

The priestess swallowed whatever the rest of the sentence might have been, very nearly along with her own tongue. Her reflexes augmented by Olgun's power, Widdershins swiveled away from Igraine even as she stepped
toward
her, yanking the taller woman off-balance. For an instant Widdershins stood with her back toward the tottering Igraine, and then the thief stuck a leg out behind her, between the other woman's own, and shoved with her elbow. Igraine toppled backward with a faint screech—only to find that Widdershins, with blatantly unnatural speed, had actually pulled away and spun around to
catch
her before she hit the floor.

Except that what Igraine felt in the small of her back, supporting a good amount of her weight, was not Widdershins's hand, but the pommel of her main gauche.

“You realize,” Widdershins said, her tone casual, “that if I hadn't held the dagger point
down
, you'd be dead now?”

“The thought had occurred to me,” Igraine croaked, staring up at Widdershins's face, and the idol of the Shrouded God beyond. It peered back at them both, as indifferent as ever.

The priestess's weight was beginning to become awkward, given how precariously balanced she was, but Widdershins refused to let the strain show in either her expression or her voice. “So you see how this proves I'm not the enemy here, right?”

“Proves…You
attacked
me!”

“Actually, you grabbed me first.” Then, before Igraine could protest, “Look, if I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead, and I could tell whatever story I wanted, yes? And if I had something to
hide
, I wouldn't have attacked you at all, because I wouldn't have wanted you to know what I could do. So
obviously
, since I went this far but didn't hurt you, it can
only
mean that you can trust me.”

Igraine looked dizzier now than she'd been when she was actively in the process of falling over. “I wouldn't know how to
begin
to argue with that.”

“Good, because honestly, I don't know what half of it meant.”

“Can I get up?”

“Oh, sure.” Widdershins clasped Igraine's arm with her free hand, moved the fist holding the dagger (the pommel of which had certainly left an impressive bruise in the priestess's back, but otherwise hadn't harmed her in the slightest), and helped leverage the woman to a more or less upright position.

Igraine coughed once, then did what she could to smooth out the new rumples in her cassock of office. “You're awfully fast,” she noted.

“I've been told that.”

“Do you really think that assaulting me was the best way for you to make your case?”

Widdershins blanched, though she tried her best to keep it from her face. What
had
she been thinking? True, she'd never even considered actually striking with the blade, but even so, she'd just been so
furious
…

“That wasn't an assault,” she said in a tone far lighter than her roiling emotions. “That was roughhousing.
Maybe
a tussle, if we're being generous in our definitions.”

Despite herself, Igraine found her jaw tensing once more into a scowl. “You don't take
anything
seriously, do you?”

Widdershins met her stare without so much as blinking. “It's because I take the important things seriously,” she said, “that I know not to take
you
seriously.” And then, once more before Igraine could make the retort for which she was clearly drawing breath, “I'm going to see the Shrouded Lord now. You're welcome to join me. After I've told him what I need to tell him, if you want to lodge a complaint, be my guest.”

This time, though the priestess huffed something that might or might not have been a word, she made no attempt to stop Widdershins as the thief made for the door. Instead, she followed close behind—though not, Widdershins couldn't help but note, ever quite stepping within reach.

“Yeah,” Widdershins admitted in a voice that was even less than a whisper, agreeing with Olgun's unspoken remonstration. “Maybe it
was
dumb to show off in front of her. But she already sensed you, you know, or
something
about you. This way, at least she also knows I can take care of myself and I won't put up with her nonsense!”

Olgun somehow didn't seem convinced.

A few quick turns through hallways lit by the ubiquitous cheap lanterns (and thick with the equally ubiquitous oily smoke), and the two women—carefully keeping at least an arm's length between them—faced the door to the Shrouded Lord's audience chamber.

Today
, Widdershins couldn't help but worry,
is going to turn out really embarrassing if he's not here after all this.
Then, with a shrug that drew a puzzled expression from Igraine, she took a few more steps and nodded to the sentry standing beside the door.

“He in?”

She kept her sigh of relief subtle when the fellow nodded, and reached past him to knock on the door. A voice called out for her to enter, and she did just that.

No matter how many times she saw it, Widdershins couldn't help but be impressed at the effect. The Shrouded Lord's peculiar gray garb really did blend perfectly with the heavy smoke that always wafted through the room, as well as the similar cloths laid across his chair and table. It truly made the man appear to be a vaguely phantasmal, disembodied presence.

Of course, part of the effect might have come from the fact that the fumes always made visitors' eyes water something nasty, but hey, who was going to complain about it?

“Well.” A vague sense of movement, and the sudden appearance of a pair of white orbs in the haze, was enough to indicate that they had the man's attention. “There's a pair of women I didn't expect to see keeping company.”

“It wasn't by choice,” Widdershins announced cheerfully.

“Ah. And do you care to add anything to that, Igraine?”

“No, my lord, I think Widdershins summed it up fairly well.”

The Shrouded Lord chuckled, but only briefly. “Widdershins,” he said, his voice serious once more, “Lambert told me of your wish for a meeting, but I haven't sent for you. You really need to learn to be more—”

“I'm sorry about that—uh, my lord,” she added swiftly as, even through the haze, she could see him tense at her interruption. “But something's happened that can't wait.” Then, taking his silence for permission to continue, Widdershins began recounting the events of the evening. By the time she neared the end, she found herself rushing, tripping over her own words, in her haste to get it all out so that she could stop remembering. She hoped the other two would attribute the redness in her eyes to nothing more than the cloying smoke.