Chapter 40
There are certain moments in life when you realize you've made a massive mistake. Like climbing into a suspiciously opulent cart without checking for, say, who the owner is. Or agreeing to let Laine accompany you on your vacation. Or trusting that a talking skull wouldn't spend ten straight minutes whispering ominous things about a marble.
We were curled up in the storage compartment of the Grand Factor's cart. The de facto ruler of Lis, master of opulence, and apparently a big fan of monogrammed velvet. Why, of all the carts outside the auction, did I pick this one to jump into?
"I'm telling you," Vorrak muttered for the eighth time, voice muffled under a sock I had sacrificed in desperation, "that marble's more than it seems. It hums with potential. Dark, squishy potential."
He was still speaking about the treasure that the seafolk had attacked the auction to retrieve.
"I don't care. Just stop talking," I whispered.
Laine, meanwhile, was trying to stealthily transfer his loot from my pouch into his sacks. Every few seconds, he'd glance at me like I might spontaneously develop a sense of property rights and snatch it all back.
I didn't. Mostly because I didn't want to touch anything in there. Some of it glowed. I didn't want some sort of magical cancer.
About ten minutes after leaving the auction (and narrowly surviving being trampled by angry seafolk), the cart came to a slow stop.
I peeked through a crack.
We were in the garden area of a mansion.
And not the "slightly wealthy uncle with a garden" kind. This was the kind of place that looked like it was built entirely to compensate for a personality defect.
Columns. Fountains. A hedge maze that probably ate interns.
And behind us? A whole convoy of carts, lined up like they were auditioning for the role of Most Unnecessarily Fancy Delivery Fleet.
"Sam," Laine whispered. "This is the Grand Factor's house."
I looked blankly at him. "You don't say."
We slipped out of the storage compartment while servants bustled around, unloading boxes of stuff I couldn't describe but knew immediately was super expensive. Laine nearly blew our cover trying to carry three extra bags. I threatened to leave him behind if he jingled one more time.
After a few panicked sprints through decorative hedges and a very tense moment involving a statue that looked way too interested in our hiding spot, we made it to the mansion wall. The gate was heavily guarded, with a crowd of guests and more dogs than I was comfortable with.
"Could you take the guards?" Laine asked, glancing at me like I was a vending machine for violence.
"Probably," I said. "But I'm on vacation."
"The dogs look hungry."
"Let's not become appetizers."
We backtracked until we found an open window. I pushed Laine inside first and slipped in after him.
The interior of the mansion was exactly what I expected: intimidatingly clean, suspiciously quiet, and full of things Laine was already mentally pricing.
"Don't steal anything," I warned. "You can barely carry the stuff you already have."
"I'm just looking."
"You're always just looking. And then suddenly a priceless sculpture ends up in your pants."
He winked.
We crept through the hallways, ducking behind vases and curtains, doing our best impression of a couple of morally conflicted ghosts.
A servant spotted us once. Laine smiled, puffed his chest, and said, "Inspection. Grand Factor's orders."
She didn't question it.
It's honestly upsetting how good Laine was at persuading people. Showed how stupid most people were, really.
Eventually, we found ourselves in a small, lavish room. Gold trimming. Plush chairs. A painting of someone who probably hadn't smiled since the invention of joy.
We locked the door behind us and took a breath.
Then I heard it.
Voices. Muffled. Close.
Laine was already halfway into a cabinet when I held up a hand.
"Shh."
I crept toward the far wall. There was a hairline crack where the wood panels didn't quite meet. The sound was coming from there.
Two voices.
I pressed my eye to the crack in the wall, straining to see as the voices shifted slightly. Closer, clearer.
I could make out the Grand Factor now, his tone clipped with the edge of someone who thought he was the smartest person in every room and wanted everyone else to know it.
"We couldn't have planned it better," he said, sounding far too proud of himself. "The auction created exactly the outrage we needed. The Seafolk are furious; public opinion here is splitting. Within a week, half the city will believe they're monsters."
"How tragic," said the other man. His voice was low and calm, like the kind of guy who narrated documentaries about spider mating rituals. "And when our fake assassination attempt on you goes as planned tomorrow, we can vilify them even more. The fall guy we have prepared will admit to his crime, and the council will have no choice but to declare a military response."
"Lis will justify a war. And we'll be hailed as heroes for it." There was a clink as the two men shared a drink glass. "And once we secure the port routes and isolate their waters, we strike the city directly."
"The Heart of the Sea," the masked man added, as if that explained everything.
I blinked. "The what now?" I mouthed at Laine.
He shrugged, already scribbling something into a small notebook he absolutely had no business owning.
The Grand Factor's voice dipped lower. "That artifact is the key to our goals. Once we take it, the tides shift. Permanently."
"Why not just steal it outright?" the masked man asked. "Like the marble. That went so smoothly, we even put it up for auction."
A pause.
Then the Grand Factor's voice returned, this time quieter and bitter. "Because the Heart is never far from the King. He carries it. Sleeps beside it. Eats near it. Bathes with it. If we stole it openly, Lis would never believe it wasn't an act of war."
"But like this," the masked man said, "they beg us to attack. They welcome the retaliation."
I mouthed, These guys are psychos.
I felt disgusted.
Laine, to his credit, also looked genuinely disturbed. That was rare. Usually, he just looked like he was calculating resale value.
But what really chilled my spine wasn't their political scheming. It was the next thing they said.
"For the Void," the Grand Factor intoned solemnly.
"For the Void," the masked man echoed back.
I froze.
They were cultists. Whatever they were planning, it was for the sake of the Void and probably really bad for the rest of the world.
"Oh good," Vorrak whispered from the pouch at my side. "I leave you alone for one day, and you end up in the center of an apocalypse plot."
"Need I remind you that you were part of one such plot yourself?" Laine said to him.
"Touché."
The Grand Factor continued on with his plan.
"The assassination attempt will go ahead as planned tomorrow at the council meeting. All the other merchants will have no choice but to side with me."
"Who is the fall guy? If you don't mind me asking, my lord."
"A merman. Some merchant. We're holding his family hostage. Once he does as he's promised, we will kill him before he can open his mouth. Then we announce the attempt on my life to the people of Lis. Loudly. Publicly. And then we take the fleet."
"And his family?"
"We'll let them go, of course. Besides, we'll be killing all the seafolk soon anyway. What does it matter if they get to die now or in two weeks?"
The two men laughed at their grand joke.
I could feel my disgust growing stronger.
It was too much. I was halfway through planning how I was going to throttle someone when the Grand Factor spoke again.
"Then it's your turn."
There was a pause.
Then a voice said, "Of course. You can trust me with anything. Just as long as you pay me."
I nearly swore out loud.
Because I knew that voice. I'd heard it not twelve hours ago, smarming its way through a history lecture I didn't ask for.
Donald.
Sure enough, he stepped into view through the crack. Same smug grin. Same punchable aura. Only now he was accepting some kind of horn-shaped object from the Grand Factor like he'd just won Employee of the Month at Cultist Incorporated.
"What the hell is that?" I whispered.
"Show me! Show me! I can sense something powerful," Vorrak pleaded.
I held him up so he could peer through the crack. "Looks magical. Probably evil."
"Of course it's evil. Otherwise, that maniac Donald wouldn't be smiling as he grabs it."
"Friend of yours?" Vorrak asked.
"Don't ask."
Laine appeared and pushed Vorrak out of the way. After he was done peeking at himself, he turned to me, his face pale.
"That's the dude from that time with the dragon, right? From the other world, like yourself."
I nodded, seeing his eyes serious for once.
"We're leaving. Now."
Laine didn't argue. He nodded, already gathering his bags like a reverse Santa. I thought maybe he was finally going to take the situation seriously. I was proven wrong very shortly.
We crept out of the room, easing the door open inch by agonizing inch. I slipped out first, then motioned for him to follow. The hallway was quiet.
We made it three steps.
Three.
Then Laine, blessed soul that he is, bumped into a table.
The vase on the table wobbled around. It performed the world's most stressful dance. I held my breath as I watched it inch closer to the table's edge.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the vase stopped right at the end, stopping its dance. We were safe.
Then Laine walked over to it, claimed it would probably fetch a good price, and tried to pick it up. It slipped out of his fingers and shattered against the marble floor.
The sound echoed like a drumbeat announcing our death.
I didn't say anything for a second. I was too busy planning Laine's death, funeral, and heartfelt eulogy.
Then the door down the hall burst open.
Donald stepped out.
He looked at me. He smiled.
I have the worst luck.