“Monpress?”
“Who else?” Eli’s laughing voice was muted, like he was behind something large and heavy.
“What are you doing in here?”
“I was caught.” She could almost hear his shrug. “It happens from time to time. The trouble, as always, is keeping me caught. I was just exhausting my options when I heard your voice. Now, I think I can safely assume, unless your little oration about the powdered poison was a cruel and elaborate ploy, that you are also an unwilling guest of our illustrious host, Duke Edward?”
“Duke Edward?” Miranda stood up. “The Duke of Gaol?”
“No, the Duke of Farley,” Eli said, sighing. “Yes, the Duke of Gaol. As I said, he’s the one running everything. Whose castle do you think we’re in?”
“Nonsense,” Miranda said. “The duke isn’t even a wizard.”
“Who told you that?” Eli scoffed. “Just because a man doesn’t wear rings or have WIZARD written across his forehead doesn’t mean he isn’t one.”
Miranda shut her mouth. Now that she thought about it, everything she knew about the Duke of Gaol came from Hern’s annual reports. This situation was getting stranger by the minute.
“So,” she said slowly, “the Duke of Gaol is a wizard, and he’s the one controlling the spirits, not Hern?”
“I don’t know who Hern is,” Eli said, “but that’s correct. Now that you know, however, I can’t imagine it makes you any happier to be locked up, so how about we work together and get out of here? It’ll be just like Mellinor, only with less enslavement and near-drowning.”
“Me,” Miranda cried, “help you? Do you have any idea how much trouble helping you has caused me?”
“Not in the slightest,” Eli said. “But think on this: I wouldn’t be sitting here talking if I had a way out, would I? I’m proper trapped, same as you. Now, the duke will be back in less than half an hour to take me away, and after that, I don’t think I’ll be coming back. Are you really going to let a wizard who runs his spirits through a system of fear and intimidation be the one to catch me?”
Miranda scowled. The thief had a point. She’d put Monpress to the side while she focused on getting dirt on Hern, and it had landed her in here. If circumstance had delivered the thief, and possibly her freedom, right into her hands, who was she to argue? Plus, she now knew who was behind the strange happenings in Gaol. If the duke had indeed set himself up as the tyrant Great Spirit of Gaol that would certainly fit the West Wind’s concern. If she played things carefully, she could very well walk out of Gaol with everything she’d come here to get, and that was worth taking a risk. After all, she thought and glared at the grimy filth on her skin, what did she have to lose?
“All right,” she called back up. “What do you want me to do?”
“Catch!” Eli shouted, and she heard the jingle of something metal flying through the air before a set of keys landed with a jangle on the grate to her cell. They tottered there a moment, and then fell. She caught them in her outstretched hand.
“I don’t believe it,” she said. “How did you get keys? And how did you know what cell I was in?”
“You are the only source of light in the room. It’s kind of hard to miss,” Eli said. “As for the first part, who do you think you’re dealing with? I’m Eli Monpress, the—”
“Greatest thief in the world. Yes, I know,” Miranda sighed, looking up at the lock high, high overhead. “How am I supposed to use these?”
“I can’t do everything for you,” Eli said. “Figure it out, and do it fast. The duke could come in at any moment.”
“Right,” Miranda grumbled. “No pressure.” She looked around at the walls for anything she could use as a grip to climb, but they were smooth, almost glossy, and she couldn’t find so much as a hairline fracture. Jumping was out of the question. Even standing on tiptoe on the wooden bucket, stretching with all her might, she couldn’t reach the halfway mark. She put her fists on her hips, scanning the cell. There had to be a way.
Her roving eyes stopped on the bucket under her feet. It was wide and low like a wash bucket, which was probably what it had been before being repurposed. It was made of cheap, light wood, but the joints were tight and waxed to hold water. Suddenly, she began to smile.
“Mellinor,” she said, “could you flood this cell?”
“Theoretically,” the water answered. “It’s dry, but I could probably get enough water out of the air to do it, but I thought we weren’t going to risk the powder.”