The War of Six Crowns: The Vanished Knight

Going Upstairs

Yeah. Right. Everyone else took the stairs to nonexistent places. James rolled his eyes. He and Ward left the office. They caught up with Phipps farther down the corridor and followed him past the staircase that had once landed them in so much trouble. The door to it stood open, allowing men to carry out more corpses.

A shot of excitement ran through James. "Are we taking those stairs?"

"Later," Phipps said. "First we need provisions."

James's heart thumped harder. For eight years, he'd wanted to go up those steps. Now would be his chance. To think, Phipps would never have let him in if it wasn't for Callan.

"Why are you taking us with you?" James asked. "Why didn't you just go to...wherever the name was—"

"Caranth," Ward cut in helpfully.

"Thank you. Caranth. Why didn't you just go there alone?"

Phipps waved the question aside with a scowl. "Boy, you need to learn the right questions."

"What right questions?" James demanded, frustration etched into his voice.

"Better."

James growled under his breath and bit his tongue.

Phipps led them down another set of steps and into a storeroom. Shelves upon shelves stretched so far, James couldn't find the other three walls. He ran his hands along soft tapestries and cool, metallic plates. He picked one up. His eyes widened with recognition. It was solid gold. He gently replaced the plate and jogged to catch up with the others.

After thirty minutes, Phipps stopped and faced them. "Before we go on, we have to settle something between us. I want your word you'll do what I say. Always."

James scowled. Constant obedience to Phipps sounded like a prison sentence. "Mr. Phipps, I—"

"Your word, James."

All this was happening too fast to even make sense. But the sooner they got Callan back, the better. Arguing with Phipps would just be a useless delay. "Fine. I promise."

"Me too," Ward said.

Phipps shook his head, but still reached for bundles of clothes and handed a heap to each of them. "Take off everything you own and put these on. Leave your things on the shelf. I'll be right back."

James dropped the rags with a grimace. A mysterious smell rose from the heap. He cast a despairing look to Ward, who was already undressing.

Well...they did promise to obey...

"Bloody hell," James grumbled, pulling off his shirt and putting on the dull brown one Phipps had given him. It sat much too loose and long, hanging all the way to his knees. He smelled the long sleeve. Wet dog. His skin started to itch. The shirt probably had fleas. James cringed and scratched everywhere he could reach.

Ward scratched his arm and picked up something looking suspiciously like thick pantyhose.

James found his own pair. "Oh hell no!" He shook the hose out. They weren't a quarter of his size. "No. I'm not wearing this."

"Struggling with the promise already?" Phipps asked, rounding the corner.

James took in the old man's dark blue cloak. No rags or pantyhose for him.

"I look like a beggar."

"No, no. A peasant. One with a job, so be proud of yourself." Phipps held up a hand when James prepared to speak. "Put on the hose, boy."