Sly

Chapter Forty Seven

My pulse drummed in my ears as I read the scrawling name two, three, four times. Girault was here? How? Was he behind the murders at the gates too? Was he in the palace? What was I supposed to do now? I didn't have a plan if I didn't have someone leading the cause. Without Davery I was nothing, and now without Rorik here it was no better.

"Think, damn you," I cursed to myself as my eyes scrambled around the room. No prince, obviously. Nothing else was out of order beyond the sloppy scrawl on the page. The chair wasn't pushed back under the desk but he often neglected to do that. Nothing on his desk was out of place, and the bookshelf door was neatly in place when I arrived.

So, where did he go? What was he doing? What was I supposed to do?

Taking my lower lip between my teeth, I bit a little harder than necessary while I put together the scene in my head. If Rorik knew where Girault was, he'd get backup and go to him. Right? Surely . . .

My fist hit the desk and I cursed. I'd be here all day if I waited to think out a plan. Better to let it happen on my feet.

On the coatrack in the corner hung more than one palace uniform, and I took the apron-fronted fireplace keeper's clothing. Pulling it on quickly, I grabbed a fistful of ash from a charred log in our own cold brazier and smudged it over my arms and face for better effect. Through the door and out of the library entirely, I let my feet wander at a safe pace as I listened.

No shouting, no armored boots, no hurried steps. I kept moving. Down a hall, through a sunroom, past a garden view. Few were even awake so early, but the longer this took, the more we're rousing for the day, unknowing of the death at our gates.

"Come on . . . Where are you?" My nerves worsened with every step. Where was Pettypiece? Did he send people to investigate the gates? Where was Rorik?

Footsteps. I slipped around the nearest corner until they passed. The quickest glance of armor and a sword went by swiftly. That was not one of the captain's soldiers. There was something very wrong going on here. I had to move.

Toward the stairs I went, there was nothing on the second floor for me if not the library room. It wasn't until I reached a path near the upper servants' chambers that I heard suspicious footsteps. Not quite at the stairs yet, I could hear someone coming and it definitely wasn't another servant.

I scampered to the wall in a panic. Do I just keep my head down and act like I'm working, or if Girault really is here would a darker fate befall the palace servants? Parting the wall as I went, my hand hit a tapestry and sank into it.

"What?" I hissed. But whoever was coming was loud and quick, and I had no time to think it through as I tossed the tapestry open and slipped in, the heavy fabric folds settling into place just as several sets of heavy boots went by. The rough the thin line of light I still had from the edge of the tapestry, I caught sight of soldiers with spears. My heart stayed in my throat until they were long gone.

When I could breathe again, I inspected my surroundings. An alcove of sorts that could have housed a statue at some point. There was nothing here now, which was probably why they covered it with a tapestry. I pulled the fabric aside again, but just as I moved to slip out form behind it the added light revealed an odd recessed part of the wall, almost like a handle to slip my fingers in.

I stared at it a moment, and then did just that. My pulled it as I would pull a curtain open, except this was supposed to be heavy palace stone. A passage was revealed as a doo-shaped portion of the back of the alcove slid aside, and I found myself slack-jawed and staring into the dark opening of a tunnel.

Words that Rorik had said to me recently surfaced. 'A tunnel somewhere above the dining hall, though I can't for the life of me figure out where the entrance to such a passage would be.'

I clenched my jaw tight. There were soldiers afoot, and j couldn't evade them forever, not out in the open. But maybe . . .

Grabbing the closest oil lamp off the wall sconces, I slid into the alcove and down the tunnel. Cold, dark, and dusty with neglect, but the unexplored path was so filled with possibilities. What did it lead to? What could I hear or perhaps even see in this place?

I had my answer quickly in the form of two lines. They say maybe the height of my knee off the ground, and through them filtered yellow light. I crouched down and was rewarded with exactly what Rorik was looking for.

The slit was narrow, but I could plainly see the dining hall. The tables below were not more than a sliver, these peep holes must be lined up with the stone bricks of the wall. I could see the decorative shields and banners that graced the top of the dining hall walls, and some of the tables, but not the head of the room. Surely that would be more useful, right?

I pulled my head back and looked down the tunnel. Sure enough, there were more slits down the line. They provided so little light from the dining hall beyond, but now that I looked to find them there were more than I could quickly count. I moved down a short distance and looked. Sure enough, a slight change in view.

Clack.

My heart stopped.

Clack. Clack.

A sound I would never forget. Paired with the softer shoes of the nobility, the tapping of a cane on the stone floor. I shivered, moving down the wall until I found a slit that showed me what I dreaded. There, at the entrance of the room, was Girault.