The Dragon Round (Dragon #1)(95)

Inside Ject pushes past the cook and says, “We’re going up top.” He spies a scullery looking out the door to the kitchen stairs. “Keep your people down here.”

“What’s the—”

“Guard business.” Ject and his men march into the entry hall, where several tower guards stand behind the brass doors. Several more stand before the outer doors to the council chamber’s waiting area. They look through the windows, hands on their pommels. Their sergeant, Chevron, brings them to attention.

Ject says, “Put two men on the back door. Keep the main ones closed.”

“Yes,” Chevron says. “Can we assist—”

“If you hear our horns, come running. That’ll make up for your men locking me out.”

Herse listens at the chamber doors, but can’t make anything out. He paces the waiting area. He never realized how tight it is, the long room locked between two sets of doors with two lines of iron benches, the dim light letting the walls teeter over him. He could use some air. His job’s done anyway.

He knocks on the outer doors. A tower guard opens one just in time for Herse to see Ject and his men disappear up the public stairs. He notes crossbows, and he wonders where they are going in such a hurry, especially with a confrontation heating up outside and Ject the one who threw the soup together and put it on the fire. Certainly he can’t be thinking of shooting down into the crowd. Herse has to see what the city general is up to. Besides, he can’t go back into the waiting area.

Taking the owners’ stairs would expose him as much as following Ject up the public stairs, so he descends to the entry hall and heads for the service hallway. The tower guards give him dirty looks. As Ject goes, so do they. There’s no point in reminding them that the city expects they will do their duty. He looks forward to the moment when they, like the rest of the guards, are under his command.

Herse closes the door behind him and, using a key copied long ago, enters the closet that serves as the tower’s armory. He selects a dirk, a crossbow, and a half-dozen bolts, makes sure the hallway’s clear, relocks the door, and runs to the servants’ stair.

Above the company floors Ject finds a locked door. He sends Oftly to the cook, who sends him to the tower seneschal, who has much to do, so much to do.

“I have much to do,” the seneschal says as Oftly releases him in front of Ject like a cat presenting a rat.

“The door,” Ject says. “And any above.”

“Why?”

“Guard business.”

The man produces an enormous key ring with dozens of keys. He considers each slowly then flips it over the top of the ring. He says, “I thought you’d come to investigate the thefts we’ve suffered.”

“What thefts?” Ject says.

“Meat. Drink. Two nights ago. I had to beat a scullery. Do you know what our tower contract costs? How are we to make a profit—”

“How much meat?”

“Two roasts. A belly.” Another key flips over. “The meat was shifted to disguise their disappearance, but I knew.”

Is that enough for a dragon? Ject thinks. Do dragons steal? Could the dragon have an ally, some misguided girl who thinks it’s her friend? He should speak with the scullery. For the moment: “Open the door, and I’ll look into it.”

“What assurance do I have?” Another key flips.

“What assurance do your ledgers provide that you didn’t steal the meat yourself?”

“Perfect assurance,” the seneschal says. “Ah, here it is.” He fits a key into the lock.

Herse reaches the door leading to the unused portions of the tower. The lock’s already been forced, then rigged to appear not so. It opens on darkness. He’s pulling a candle from a sconce on the wall when a face appears below.

“You can’t go up there,” the scullery says.

Herse can see down her ratty tunic. Her bony chest is covered with bruises. He says, “The cook beat you?”

“That’s the seneschal’s privilege. He said I was a thief.”

“Are you?”

“Does it matter?” the scullery says. “If you go up there he’ll blame me. And for the lock.”

“Did you break it?”

“No,” she says. “I found it that way two days ago. He’ll send me to a whorehouse to work off the damages.”

There will come a time very soon . . . how often has he thought that? He would ask her why a scullery was all the way up here, but her puffy eyes tell that story. In the meantime, he can do something to help her.

He takes the crossbow from the shadows and smashes the lock with the butt of the stock until something snaps inside and the door swings free. “There, I did it.”

The scullery smiles with her remaining teeth. She’s never had a hero before.

Herse says, “Do you have a candle I could borrow?”

The scullery rummages through the pockets of her apron and comes up with a tallow stub. She lights it with a sconce and hands it, quivering, to him. He makes sure to touch her finger lightly as he takes it. Her hand shakes more.

“I’ll return this soon,” Herse says. “Don’t let anyone know I’m up here.”

The public stairs twist through ten stories of musty spaces filled with forgotten storage and touched for years only by the yellow glow seeping through the canvas-covered windows and the rats peering out of every corner. These would make wonderful apartments if the councilors and shipowners would allow someone above them.