Lost Covenant: A Widdershins Adventure (10 page)

“All right, Olgun.” So far, Shins's breath came easily despite the sprint, but at a flat-out run such as this, even with the god's aid, it wouldn't be for long. “We need to pick a destination a tad bit more specific than ‘away,’ yes? ’Cause we, uh…I think we've
reached
‘away,’ and those seams of britches appear to have the same destination in mind.”

Many of Aubier's roads were unnecessarily broad, the turns often gradual; a bad place in which to shake a pursuit, especially when those chasing her knew those streets
far
better than she. First Lourveaux, now this.

“Seriously, is there some patron god of footraces I was supposed to sacrifice to? Because if you can get me his name, I'll find him a goat. Or a virgin.

“Or a virgin goat.”

If there
was
such a deity, Olgun appeared not to know his name either.

Thus far, the almost impossible speeds at which she ran had kept her far ahead of the Thousand Crows, and she'd lost sight of many, but she'd never managed to shake them entirely. The fastest of them, Ivon included, always seemed to appear behind her just as she began to wonder if she was finally safe. At least they hadn't opened fire, but as silver linings went, that was a thin patina indeed. The streets were now almost deserted—from the hour, the presence of the Crows, or both, Shins couldn't say. She had little doubt that the moment the risk of civilian casualties (and thus official government attention) reached an acceptable threshold, she would start to hear the thunderous retort of flintlocks.

No allies. No refuge. No crowds in which to vanish. No idea where she ought to go, or how she would get there if she did.

She'd been in worse situations, certainly. But not recently.

Her feet ached from slapping so hard against the cold-hardened earth of the roadways. Her lungs were finally starting to burn. She was quite certain she must, by this point, smell much like a mendicant who had taken a vow against bathing. And was also a baboon.

Gods, if she could just get a
minute
to catch her breath, get her bearings…to
think
…

An image—crisp, clear, specific—flashed across her mind.

“Are you…sure?” she asked around ever-more-frequent gasps. “The buildings here…aren't as—”

Olgun was
quite
sure, a fact he expressed in no uncertain lack of words.

“All right. On three…”

Widdershins broke right, scarcely waiting for the familiar tingle of power before leaping for a second-story windowsill. From there she cleared a narrow alley to the next structure, grabbing hold of sloped shingles, vaulting up on the roof, and leaping once more. She found herself atop the building, staring out over a large swathe of Aubier illuminated primarily by lanterns and torches in the windows below.

Olgun had, indeed, been right. While Aubier was far more spread out than Lourveaux or Davillon, the particular sequence of blocks stretching out toward the northeast were near enough to one another that Widdershins could cross most of the gaps without difficulty.

For a few moments, at least, she had a clear path—one that Ivon and the Crows could not easily follow, one that should allow her to gain some distance even if she couldn't lose them completely.

“So what the frogs and fishes
was
that?” she demanded as she set off once more, keeping to a slower pace long enough for her breathing to steady. “That…stuff? That powder, and waxy gunk? I've never seen magic like that.”

And then, “It's
not
? So what
is
it?”

Again, Olgun proved unable to convey what he wanted to; Widdershins had the sense that he was trying to explain something he only barely understood, and for which she had no reference at all.

It was, however, a
familiar
confusion she sensed.

“Same as the blight, then?”

Uncertainty, but a sense of growing conviction.

“So, probably. All right, that's one question answered. Now we just have to live long enough to tell…”

Her voice trailed away, though her jaw continued to work, seemingly chewing on a new idea. Would that work? Were
they
her way out of this? Would they even still be there?

Well…Better than fleeing aimlessly.

Widdershins grinned shallowly, turned to face a little more east than north, and broke once more into a dead sprint.

“See? I told you they'd stay open late if we asked nicely.”

Cyrille sighed, though he maintained enough self-control to avoid visibly rolling his eyes at his sister. “That wasn't my point, though, Fifi.”

“Oh?” The young woman finally looked up from the ornate platter she was studying, part of the set they'd just purchased to replace a few dishes Marjolaine had smashed during the most recent of her many screaming arguments with Malgier. She was not, for a change, carrying her lantern; jaunts into town were among the few occasions where she traveled anywhere without the silly thing.

“We…we're Delacroix. They'd have stayed open for us whether we'd asked nicely or not. But it wasn't
polite
to ask it of them.”

Fifi's whole face was a rounded mask of bewilderment. “Why?”

A second sigh, even bigger than the first. Cyrille glanced around,
met Jourdain's gaze; the old guard only shrugged. The rest of the soldiers either kept looking straight ahead—the more professional ones—or scarcely smothered snickers, directed either at Fifi or at Cyrille, depending on their own opinions regarding the proper use of aristocratic authority.

“Never mind, Fifi.”

“Oh, no, go ahead and explain, Cyrille.” Widdershins dropped to the street directly beside the two Delacroix siblings. “Gods know nobody
else
is ever going to do it, yes?”

The next minute or so was absolute chaos: weapons clearing sheaths, guards screaming at her, Cyrille and Jourdain shouting at the guards, Cyrille and Jourdain shouting at each other. It was almost funny.

Still, the thief kept only half her attention on the fracas, peering intently over and around the madly shifting guards, Olgun's vision augmenting her own.

And there they were. Glaring at her from the shadows of the nearby streets, Ivon and several of the Thousand Crows, lips twisted in frustrated fury. As she'd hoped, then—they outnumbered the guards, but the Crows weren't
about
to risk an open attack on a cadre of House soldiers.

Satisfied she was safe, at least for the moment, she returned her focus fully to those around her.

Um…Safe from the
Crows
, at any rate
, she amended.

None of the blades or pistols were currently pointed directly at her, but neither had they been put away. All the guards were silent, now, glaring her way; the only voices left were Cyrille's and Jourdain's.

“If you two gentlemen could stop fighting over me for a bit, perhaps we can discuss this like rational adults?”

Two gaping jaws turned her way. She shrugged.

“At least
similar
to rational adults? I know I've met one or two at
some
point. I think I can fake it.”

“How do I know you're not here to harm Cyrille or Josephine?” Jourdain demanded, his mustache practically bristling.

“Um, because I didn't harm Cyrille or Josephine? Despite appearing right next to them in what would have to be the most salmon-headed assassination attempt in history?

“Besides, you know better than that, after the other night.”

“Do I?”

“Oh, of course you do!” Cyrille finally broke in. “Would all of you
please
put your damn swords away? She's not going to hurt anyone. And I'm assuming,” he added, “that this is important if she was willing to risk having to beat the stuffing out of the lot of you, so maybe we should hear her out?”

Widdershins smile was a weak one as resentment flickered over the faces of the armsmen. “Cyrille? Stop being on my side.”

He looked perplexed, perhaps even hurt, but Jourdain's irate façade cracked in a faint chuckle, despite his obvious strain to prevent it. A bit of tension fled from the assembled guards, breath coming easier, shoulders starting to relax…

“Is this the girl Mother got
so
angry at you for helping?” Fifi asked nervously.

Every one of the armsmen, Jourdain included, went rigid, exchanging swift glances before their gazes turned icy. Cyrille's shoulders visibly slumped.

“She has a point,” Jourdain told them, once again all business. “I really think we need to take this young woman to see Lady Delacroix.”

Boots and armor creaked as the guards shifted, ready to take hold of either Widdershins or their weapons, as needed. Shins tensed, unsure of what her next move should be but prepared to make it all the same.

“No.”

Widdershins gawped at Cyrille, and she very much was not the only one.

“You cannot countermand your mother's orders—” the elder guardsman began.

“I'm not. None of your orders were to take Widdershins prisoner—illegally, I might add. You were to find out what she's up to. I'd hazard a guess that hearing her out would tell us more of that than trying—and I do stress
trying
—to hold her against her will.”

“I'm starting to think he's not that dim after all,” Shins whispered to Olgun.

“Cyrille…” Jourdain tried again.

“We are going to get off the street,” the young Delacroix continued. “Perhaps to one of our properties in town. And we are going to discuss this…” He grinned sidelong at Widdershins. “…
somewhat
like rational adults.”

Jourdain's face had enough expressions for any four other men. The rest of the guards, and Josephine, just looked confused. Again. “I really think we need Lady Delacroix's instruction…” he muttered, as uncertain as Widdershins, at least, had ever heard him.

“Fine,” Cyrille snapped. “You need to go home, go. Take Fifi. Widdershins and I will talk.”

“I can't leave you in town unprotected!”

“Well, then, you seem to have a decision to make. Please do so quickly.”

Shins whispered so only her divine partner might hear, “I had no idea he had that in him. Seemed a little more like a puppy that first night, yes?”

And then, with a series of bewildered blinks, “Me? Don't be silly! Why the happy horses would he care about impressing
me
?”

Whatever answer Olgun might have offered, if any, was interrupted by the conclusion of the ongoing argument. Jourdain and half the guards would return to the manor with Fifi in tow; the others would accompany Cyrille. Confused as a bat in a bakery, Fifi watched her brother over her shoulder until the lot of them were out of sight.

“So, where are we going?” Widdershins asked brightly. “Hideout? Bolt-hole? Sanctum? I've always wanted to see a sanctum.”

“Uh…No, I…That is, my family owns several properties in Aubier. We lease them to vendors or craftsman, for shops and apartments. Pretty sure there are a few who aren't using the apartments, so…”

“Oh. That'll do, I suppose. How come nobody ever has a sanctum?”

They passed several blocks, seemingly the only traffic in the road this late. The back of Widdershins's scalp itched, and she swore she saw Crows lurking everywhere, but no trouble manifested. The guards, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, remained silent, so it fell to Cyrille and Shins herself to hold the silence at bay—which she did by asking questions about Aubier at speeds that threatened to shake her lips loose from her face, and by occasionally allowing her native guide enough time to answer.

“…mostly run by the Houses working together,” he explained. “No real baron or mayor or anything. Just a reeve, and he's really more of a symbolic tradition. Most of the government is, well, us…”

“The castle? Pauvril. Castle Pauvril. Baronial seat when there
was
a baron, generations ago. Now, it's mostly left alone, except for the occasional ceremony or big house meeting…”

“No, not really growing anymore. We're still on some major trade routes, but not as many as we used to be, not since things got tense with Rannanti again. It's not going to wither anytime soon—well, assuming the damn blight doesn't spread—but we're all pretty sure Aubier's done expanding. It's one of the reasons competition between Houses has gotten fiercer lately…”