I felt myself grin. Or maybe I did want to steal it.
Spook the horses, they’d bolt, then Nephew Nukpana and Uncle Janos would have to walk home. Now, that image was a keeper. Take away their transportation and get the added bonus of a distraction that might just get us into the house, or at least on the grounds.
“Raine, just see if Sarad Nukpana has been in that coach in the past hour and leave the horses to me.”
I was incredulous. “You like my plan?”
“I like this plan.”
I really didn’t want to look inside that coach and find Sarad Nukpana sitting there while his uncle was inside catching his dinner, so I got close enough to sense anything inside and took a big, psychic sniff.
My skin did a full head-to-toe crawl. Sarad Nukpana had definitely been in that coach; that meant he was here, inside the house. A black, oily sensation crawled along my skin, accompanied by the smell of musty air and mold. Death. Ancient and eternal. I didn’t know if it was from Nukpana or from the lives he’d taken. It didn’t matter. He was inside, so was his death-dealing uncle, and so was Markus.
Musty air and mold.
The same things I’d sensed when I touched General Aratus’s corpse.
Sarad Nukpana’s lair.
I needed more than confirmation; I needed a location.
I stopped, forced down some damned near overwhelming revulsion, and inhaled with all my senses. I got an image instantly. Smooth, hard stone, darkness, flickering firelight at the end of a long corridor or tunnel. The walls were smooth and cool, definitely man-made, a corridor or hallway, then. Shafts of cool blue light shone down from a light source embedded in the ceiling, possibly lightglobes. Rats scuttled and squeaked in the darkness next to the walls, running away from the light.
Away from what was in that room.
I’d been on enough ships to trust the instincts of rodents. In packs they could be downright brazen, so if a pack of rats ran from something, they had a good reason.
I had to see what that reason was, and I couldn’t do that without going into that room.
The coach lurched and my link snapped. Dammit. The guards couldn’t sense me, but the horses could, and they jerked in their harnesses to get away.
I usually ended up on the ground when a seeking link broke that quickly. I wasn’t on the ground now. Mychael was holding me up, one arm tightly around my waist, the other on the back of my head, pressing my face into his chest. I guess he didn’t want to chance that I’d make any noise.
With our link, he knew what I’d seen.
“Recognize it?” I asked.
“No.” He didn’t sound happy about that.
I wasn’t, either. It seemed like Mychael knew every bordello, alley, and abandoned building on the island, but he had no idea where the spooky room with the running rats was.
The image and memory wasn’t going anywhere. That was something about seeking. What you saw, you got to keep whether you wanted it or not. We’d find out where it was later. Now we had to get into Markus’s house. We had a family reunion to break up.
“Well, if you were planning on spooking the horses, I got them started for you. What’s the plan after that?”
“The back gate is just beyond where the coach is,” Mychael told me. “Just inside is a gardener’s shed. It stays unlocked. There’s a trapdoor with a short tunnel leading into the house’s basement. The basement door is warded, but I can get around it.”
“You have been here before. Okay, we get in the basement, then what?”
“We’ll evaluate the situation and act accordingly.”
Which meant Mychael’s plan was changing with our situation. He was flexible; I liked that. What I didn’t like was that we didn’t know what was waiting for us inside that basement.
I was right. Nothing good ever happened after two bells.
Chapter 13
Mychael began humming at a level so low it barely registered in my ears, but I was close enough to him to feel the rumbling deep in his chest. There were four horses harnessed to that coach. A split second later, every last one had its ears flat to its head. Then they started neighing nervously and pawing the cobblestones. When two Khrynsani guards came up on either side to calm them, the horses screamed and reared as if those goblins had stepped straight out of their worst nightmare.
Then they bolted. The coach went up on two wheels as the terrified horses tore around the corner, the friction of their horseshoes raising sparks against the cobbles. They rounded the next corner and were gone. Two of the guards took off in pursuit. Two remained.
We went from outnumbered to piece of cake in under ten seconds.
“Can you hold the veil on your own?” Mychael asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
“Get to the gate. I’ll take care of the guards.”
Mychael glided swiftly and in complete silence to the pair of goblin guards and snatched them up by the scruffs of their necks like a pair of kittens. They didn’t even have time to reach for their weapons. I felt Mychael’s surge of magic as the goblins’ eyes rolled back in their heads and they went down. It helped that they were standing close together, no doubt trying to come up with an excuse for their bosses as to why they had no way to get back home to the family lair. Mychael altered his grip from their necks to the backs of their uniform collars and quickly dragged them down the street and tossed them behind a pile of garbage.
The garden gate had probably been warded, but the goblins had deactivated it for a quick getaway. I appreciated their consideration almost as much as I appreciated that someone had kept the gate’s hinges oiled. There was a bit of a breeze, so a slowly opening garden gate could be blamed on a loose latch and the wind. I slipped through and left it open for Mychael. I didn’t see any goblins in the garden. If they were there, and I was sure they were, they were probably sticking close to the house, making sure Nukpana and Ghalfari weren’t disturbed.
The door to the garden shed was conveniently located on the side of the small building and the only thing it faced was an ancient oak in the garden’s corner. True to Mychael’s word, it was unlocked. A few seconds later, Mychael joined me inside.
“How long will those two be out?” I asked.
“At least an hour.”
Within minutes, we were through the trapdoor, down the ladder, and, with the help of a lightglobe that Mychael conjured, quickly covered the distance to the house under cover and underground. I’d never liked tunnels, and events during the past few weeks hadn’t given me any reason to change my opinion, but I was grateful for this one. When we reached the basement door, Mychael disabled the ward with a single word. But before turning the knob, he carefully reached out with a searching spell.
Mychael didn’t have to say anything, out loud or otherwise. I felt it myself. No one was on the other side of that door, or even anywhere near. I didn’t have to say I didn’t like it; from Mychael’s expression, he liked it even less than I did.
I knew what it meant. There was no one down here because everyone was upstairs. And if we were going to save Markus, that was where we had to go.
Mychael turned the knob and slowly opened the door.
Nothing. No Khrynsani welcoming committee, but I could feel them and hear sibilant goblin voices coming from the floor above us.
I hadn’t seen any horses other than the ones harnessed to the coach. That told me there couldn’t be that many goblins upstairs. Probably. Hopefully. Though considering that there were only two of us, anything more than that was too many.
An acrid smell tickled my nose, familiar and potentially helpful. I took another whiff to be sure. I felt myself smile. Oh yeah. It was dark in the far corner, but my Benares nose had never lied to me when it came to these little beauties. I tapped Mychael twice on the shoulder and jerked my head toward something that just might even the odds—or eliminate the odds entirely.
Markus Sevelien was a connoisseur of the finer things in life, most notably wines and exotic liqueurs. Even though Markus was only living here temporarily, he probably had a nicely stocked wine cellar down here somewhere, but this wasn’t it.
This was an ammunition cache that would have made Phaelan green with envy.
There were eight plain wooden crates stacked in the corner. The lids on the top two were open. Mychael increased the glow from his lightglobe and I took a peek inside. Carefully nestled in three rows were a dozen of what looked like metal kegs so small I could have easily wrapped my hands around one. Nebian grenades. Someone who didn’t know what was inside might have called them cute. Just one of those little kegs contained enough Nebian black powder to turn the ceiling above our heads into the floor beneath our feet. Regular black powder didn’t have anywhere near the punch that the Nebian variety did. It was literally powder fine, highly unstable, and obscenely expensive. The Nebians were a wealthy people, and the contents of these little kegs was one of the reasons.
The simple beauty of a Nebian grenade was that no fuses were necessary—just throw and run; the metal was thin and the impact would take care of the rest. Once the powder inside was exposed to the air, you had ten seconds to run like hell or become a permanent part of whatever was left of what you were blowing up.
Very nice.
Markus favored less obvious and more elegant means of dealing with his enemies. And until two days ago, he’d been staying at the elven embassy, which made me wonder if he even knew these were down here. Maybe, maybe not. It depended on if the Markus upstairs was the Markus I knew or the son of a bitch I suspected. If all of those crates were full of Nebian grenades, there was enough “kaboom” to turn this end of Ambassador Row into Ambassador Crater. It wasn’t that I wanted to use a grenade, but if the situation went to hell in a handbasket, I wasn’t going to turn up my nose at any viable solution.
I found myself grinning. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Mychael took a look in the crate and shook his head. “You’re thinking extreme property damage; I’m thinking quick and messy death—for us.”
I emptied the leather pouch clipped to my belt of anything that a girl in a house full of evil goblins didn’t need and reached for the closest grenade.
