Keys and Curses (Shadow Book 2) (22 page)

Nikifor sought for some rhyme or reason behind his objections, but could find nothing except a nightmare image of himself, gaunt and insane, following Flower out of the city in a last ditch effort at not dying. He feared his return more than death itself, but that was hardly something to burden Fitz with. “What about the Moon Troopers?” he said. “Once night falls they’ll be out looking for us.”

“Surely you of all muses are not worried about a few Moon Troopers?”

“Not for myself. For the fairies!” His voice spiraled out of control. “They will die a thousand gruesome deaths at the hands of those monsters!” He clapped his hand over his mouth at the last word, but it was too late. A wagon full of silent fairies stared at him with wide, horrified eyes.

He dropped his hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t let them.”

But the fairies stayed silent and stared fixedly at him until the wagons rolled all the way past.

“Don’t underestimate them,” Fitz said. “They may not seek out violence like the Bloody Fairies do, but they can stand up for themselves when the occasion calls for it.”

“Even the Bloody Fairies needed help during the Vampire Wars.”

Fitz’s eyebrows rose. “Are you remembering things?”

“More and more.” Nikifor watched the prison cart come closer. Flower, sitting facing it from the back of the next wagon, was deep in conversation with Mudface and Shazza. “The longer she keeps her key broken.”

Flower waved and beckoned them over. “What are you two doing standing there?” She shuffled over to make room on the seat with herself and Mudface. “You need to come up here for a minute. This-” she gestured at Shazza “-creature has a proposition. Tell them, Sharon.”

Nikifor perched on the edge of the seat next to Fitz and studied the false muse in her cell. He was still puzzled as to how a circle of simple salt around the rim of the wagon kept her from disappearing in a puff of smoke, but he was happy to trust in Fitz’s sorcery for now. He certainly didn’t trust the girl.

She gave them all a measuring look. “I want to help.”

Fitz ran a hand over his beard. “You want to help us do what?”

“Not you.” Shazza jabbed a finger at Mudface, who was wide-eyed and silent. “I want to help her.” 

Mudface gave Fitz a beseeching look.

Fitz’s eyebrows drew together. “How?” The word was forbidding.

Shazza drew her knees up and flicked her ponytail over her shoulder. She fidgeted as though looking for something that was no longer there. Her lower lip trembled with a hint of petulance. “I want to help her print her book. I could make enough copies to flood Shadow City. I can get into the printers like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I used to work in there.”

Nikifor looked discreetly over at Mudface, whose whole expression was now so hopeful and radiant she seemed quite transformed.

Fitz’s face sunk into deeper lines. “But why would you want to? And how do you expect us to trust you?”

Shazza’s eyes narrowed. “Because when I pledged my loyalty to the king, he promised me I’d be important and respected.”

“The king?” Nikifor asked, startled.

Flower made a dismissive gesture. “Not our king, Nikifor. Obviously an imposter. Our king would have nothing to do with her kind.”

Shazza’s expression remained neutral. She only shrugged. “Well, I’m not important and respected, so he lied to me. And now I want more. I want to be famous, and I can be if everyone reads her book, because I’m in it.”

“Why do you want to be famous?” Fitz, to Nikifor’s surprise, sounded mildly amused. “The kind of fame you’d get from such an action would only draw the attention of the Guild.”

“Mister, I work for the Guild. And added to that, I can disappear in a puff of smoke. Except when you’re doing your funky whatsits on me. Who’s going to hurt me? Nobody. Except you. Which is why you can trust me. Obviously I’m going to help the person with the most power.”

Fitz leaned forward. “I am going to hurt you, if you betray us.”

Shazza’s face lit up. “You’re going to let me do it?”

“I didn’t say that. We still have to get into the city.”

“I can get you in.” She cast a sulky look at the wagons ahead. “If you can keep the fairies out of sight.”

“I still don’t understand why we’re trusting her,” Nikifor said in a low voice.

It was dark on the road. The faint glow of gaslight flickered behind the blank high walls of Shadow City. The wagons lumbered down the road like giant, silent, tired snails. The mules plodded with their heads down, barely paying attention to Shazza holding their reins. There was no sign or sound of the Bloomin Fairies, because all but two of them were clinging to the underside of the wagons and, to Nikifor’s amazement, were silent except for the occasional faint snore. Fairies would never cease to amaze him.

The Lord of the Gourd and Pumpkinhead slept in the prison cart. The door was not locked of course, but Fitz had made it look so for appearances sake if they encountered any Moon Troopers. Fitz, Nikifor and Flower walked quietly behind the whole procession, since there was nowhere they could hide anyway.

“We’re trusting her because we have no other choice,” Fitz replied. “We must get the fairies into Shadow City, and the place I want is right next door to the printing press.”

“What would you have done had we not met her?” Nikifor asked.

Fitz shrugged. “I would have found a way. I always do.”

“In effect, what you’re saying is you’re flying by the seat of your pants. Is this how the Invisible Army always works, or is it only when you make yourself responsible for entire tribes of Bloomin Fairies?” Flower’s voice was mildly acid, but Nikifor thought that was more out of habit than anything else. She hadn’t objected to the plan. In fact, he suspected she was secretly pleased to have talked Shazza into changing sides.

Fitz’s reply was grave. “If even I don’t know what I’m doing next, then our moves cannot be anticipated or discovered. The Guild has eyes and ears everywhere.”

It made as much sense as anything else. Nikifor watched the prison cart trundle ahead of them. The mountain of blankets inside barely moved; the Lord of the Gourd was invisible underneath. Pumpkinhead snored. “Are you really going to let her print Mudface’s book?” he whispered.

Fitz considered this. “Mudface wants it. And actions like that can have unforeseen consequences, some good, some bad. Think of it as a wild card.”

“But Mudface will be in terrible trouble,” Flower said.

“Mudface will be safely in Dream before the night is out. They won’t find her.”

“Will people believe the book?” Nikifor wondered why Flower looked so troubled all of a sudden.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Fitz said. “Some will. Some won’t. Nobody will be able to prove much of anything, but it’ll be enough to make even those who don’t already doubt the Guild turn on them at the least provocation. Doubt is a weapon we will one day put to good use.”

The wagons approached the huge stone archway that marked the southern entrance to Shadow City. The blackened, ancient stone weighed down on him. Filthy streets, towering, crowded buildings and tenements, as familiar as the intoxicating first sip of vibe after a long drought. He could almost smell it. The urge to fill the aching void in his ribs with green oblivion was so overwhelming it was all he could do not to break and run.

Nikifor jolted back to himself. He hadn’t missed a step or given a thing away. Flower’s hands were on her key. She’d just joined the two halves together.

“Flower!” He clenched his teeth together to swallow the reflexive yell and moved to bar her way.

“What?” She scowled. “You’re not going to flip out on me now, are you? I thought you were coming good!”

He took a deep breath to calm himself and tried not to look at the Tormentor behind her shoulder. “The key,” he said.

“Don’t be silly Nikifor. We’re about to walk into lethal danger and probably be killed by Moon Troopers. This is a perfect opportunity to send some inspiration to my poor humans before I die. They’ve been cut off from me for days now!”

Nikifor did something he’d never have dared to do if he hadn’t been desperate. He put his hands on her shoulders. “He’s behind you,” he whispered. “Please, Flower.”

Flower glanced over her shoulder reflexively, then made an irritated noise. “Oh, alright.” She broke her key apart. “I hope you realise you’re responsible for completely upsetting the natural order of inspiration, considering I’m apparently the last muse left alive with a key.”

Nikifor let out a long, tense breath when the Tormentor disappeared. His presence of mind flooded back. The need for Vibe was just a shadow on the edge of his consciousness as it had been for days, something he could pretend was not there.

“Halt,” a voice said up ahead.

“It begins.” Fitz sounded almost pleased.

They crowded in behind the prison cart. Nikifor prayed that Shazza would not betray them.

“State your business,” said the voice.

“Quicksilver shipment.” Shazza sounded sulky. “Do you mind?”

“Check it.”

Heavy footsteps marched toward them. Nikifor peered very carefully around Flower’s shoulder. Seven tall figures crowded around the first and second wagons. They lifted up the covers and peered inside.

“See?” Shazza’s voice was snide. “What’d you think it was going to be, fairy dust?”

The Moon Troopers ignored the comment. “What’s in the prison cart?”

“Couple of fairies my sister caught on the way in.” Shazza sounded bored now.

The Moon Troopers approached. “Move on in. We’ll take charge of the fairies once they’re in the city.” They formed up to march by the silver wagons.

“As you like.” Shazza clicked her tongue. The mules began to move.

Nikifor, Flower and Fitz kept low and followed the cart through the archway, ridiculously exposed. Inside the prison cart Pumpkinhead sat up and looked back at them.

Fitz put a finger to his lips.

A bead of sweat trickled from Nikifor’s hair to his mouth, despite the cold. Flower’s fists were clenched. Fitz looked terribly old in the dim light, too old for this kind of adventure. What would happen to them and the fairies if Nikifor failed to protect them all? If he walked into that city and suddenly vibe became more important than any of it?

The archway stooped like a brooding giant. The city at night embraced him, as familiar as his own breath. Grime crunched under his tattered boots, so thick it made a layer of black over the cobblestones. Grey stone tenements with peaked, crooked rooves reached like claws for the sky, dim lights glowing around the edges of curtained windows. The silent, grimy, dangerous city he’d known for the last twenty five years had always been like this: a melting pot for the outcasts and loners of every tribe. The rambling tenements and big, hulking houses that dominated so many of the crooked streets were the only respite at night. Brooding Pixies, frightened dwarves, muses, Fire Elves, even the occasional fairy, all of them locked and barred their doors and windows and huddled inside, listening for the heavy tread of Moon Trooper boots, the tread that even now preceded them into the city.

The wagons rolled down the wide main thoroughfare. A slight, furtive shadow, perhaps a Pixie, slid away around the corner of a tenement. Nikifor looked away. Guilt warred with shame. He’d been that kind of shadow, a lost and hopeless drug addict. He’d slept on the streets for months at a time, too despicable a creature for even the Moon Troopers to bother with.

“Halt!” A rough voice called.

The wagons rolled to a stop. Shazza’s sulky tones cut the night like a blunt spoon. “But we’re not there yet.”

“You’ll travel on without the prisoners. All illegal fairies are to be surrendered to the custody of the Guild.”

“I work for the Guild, genius,” Shazza said.

Nikifor heard the Moon Trooper mumble something extremely unpleasant about the kind of work Shazza was likely to do while he moved toward the prison cage.

Pumpkinhead crept forward and wrapped his hands around the bars.

“Illegal fairies?” Flower mouthed.

“Wait for it,” Fitz whispered.

The Moon Trooper stopped at the cage and looked Pumpkinhead up and down. The pale glow of the overhead gas lanterns shone blue on his silver mask. His voice held no hint of emotion. “Try anything, Fairy, and it’ll be the worse for you.” He reached for the lock, then stopped. “You! Muse! Why isn’t this cage locked?”