City of Lies - Lian Tanner [49]
“Is there a problem?” said one of the guards, leaning over to peer at the bit of paper.
“Read for yourself,” said the Fugleman, keeping his face blank only by an enormous effort. A terrible fury was growing inside him, and he wanted to leap out of his chair and scream at the man.
Of course there’s a problem, you moron! The brats escaped! They’ve been recaptured, but somehow they have discovered the truth. The WHOLE truth!
The guard read the message out loud. “Extremely ill? I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Neither do I. But we must—we must not give up,” said the Fugleman. He grabbed a pen and paper and began to scratch out a coded reply, his hand pushing so hard on the pen that the nib broke.
He took a new one and started again. “Here,” he said, “I’ll read it aloud as I write.” He cleared his throat. “Use all available resources. Rescue … them … tonight. Repeat … tonight. Repeat … rescue.”
He blotted the ink, put the message in an envelope and gave it to the runner. She ducked her head and mumbled, “Um—I just wanted to say, Your Honor, we all appreciate your efforts to save the children.” Then she dashed out the door.
As the sound of her footsteps receded, the Fugleman leaned back in his chair. “Now,” he said, “it is up to my informants—and the will of the Seven Gods.”
The guards flicked their fingers. “It was good, Your Honor,” said the youngest one, “the way you repeated bits of it. That’ll get them moving.”
“I certainly hope so,” murmured the Fugleman.
In his mind, he was replaying the message he had sent. Use all available resources.
That was the important part, the bit that would set his backup plan in motion. He was glad now that he had decided to have a backup. Of course, it would have been so much more satisfying to do the whole thing by his own wits, and the Southern Archipelago mercenaries were appallingly expensive. But they were about to prove their worth. With luck he would be free within a day or so, and the city of Jewel would be under his heel at last.
The second part of the message was really just an afterthought. But it was important to tie up loose ends. And the children were a very loose end.
He chuckled silently to himself, his rage entirely gone. The youngest guard would be surprised if he knew what the real message was. The one that Hope would act on.
Kill them tonight. Repeat—tonight. Repeat—kill them.
The light from Cord’s lantern seeped into the tunnel like a false dawn. Mouse’s face was white with misery. His little pets huddled on his shoulders, pressing themselves against his bare neck as if they were trying to warm him. The sound of running water was growing louder.
“I think Morg’s forgotten about us,” said Bonnie. She was shivering. They all were, except for the cat, which was crouched on a ledge three-quarters of the way up the tunnel wall, cleaning its paws.
Goldie touched Mouse’s arm. “Did Pounce send you?”
“Yeah,” growled Toadspit. “Sent him to trap us.”
Mouse shook his head. He mimed waking up and finding that they had gone. He pretended to be Pounce, a gleeful Pounce, counting out a pile of coins from his britches pocket—more coins than Mouse had ever seen. He mimed himself discovering the map on the wall, and running desperately down to the deserted stableyard to warn them, only to find that the trap had been sprung.
He touched the rockfall, and showed them how new it was—how it must have happened in the last day or so.
Toadspit grunted.
“I believe you,” said Bonnie, glaring at her brother.
“Does Pounce know you came after us?” said Goldie.
Mouse shook his head.
“I don’t understand why—” began Bonnie.
“Shhh!” said Toadspit.
Goldie heard sharp footsteps on the stairs and saw the light of a second lantern brighten the mouth of the tunnel. She quickly adjusted her mask. Guardian Hope had been gone for an hour or more, but now she was back.
“Hey, Flense,” said Smudge. “The snotties have disappeared, look. Did ya tell Harrow it weren’t me who caught ’em?”
“Stop your stupid lies, idiot,” snapped Guardian Hope.