“Eli,” Josef said slowly, “they are just crates. We’ll find something else—”
“It doesn’t matter if they’re crates or cupcakes!” Eli cried. “They’re spirits, and they’re not talking. Spirits always talk to me, unless they’re under an Enslavement not to, but I don’t feel anything like that here. Just crates who won’t talk.”
“Maybe they’re shy?” Josef said and sighed. “Anyway, we’ve got bigger problems than not-talking crates. Something’s off in town.”
“Off?” Eli said. “Off how?”
“Hard to explain, really.” Josef ran his hand through his short hair. “To start, it’s spooky quiet. Everything’s so neat. Plus, the streets emptied out as soon as the sun went down. No taverns, no drunks, nothing but guards, clean streets, and quiet.”
Eli shrugged. “Gaol’s a peaceful, quiet town full of decent, boring people. I realize you might not have much experience with those, but it’s hardly something to get alarmed about.”
“There’s quiet and then there’s quiet,” Josef snapped. “I told you, this was spooky quiet. And”—he reached in his pocket—“these are all over town.” He took out a piece of paper and unfolded it, revealing a familiar grinning face above a large, bold number. Fifty-five thousand standards.
“They didn’t even get the bounty right,” Eli said, grabbing the poster. “I’m worth sixty thousand.”
“Who cares about the number?” Josef growled, snatching the paper back. “I knew this was a trap from the moment you got all starry-eyed over that poster for the citadel back at the broker’s, but the bounty posters confirm it. We should sneak out tonight before it slams shut on our heads.”
“Sneak out?” Eli cried. “Josef, we just slogged through two days of rain to get here. We’re not going to just turn tail and leave.”
“Weren’t you listening?” Josef said, grabbing Eli’s arm. “It’s one thing to get caught in an ambush, but it’s just plain stupid to stay in one after you’ve spotted it. Part of fighting is knowing when to retreat.”
“As you are so fond of pointing out,” Eli said, snatching his arm back, “I’m not a fighter. And we’re not leaving.”
“You should leave,” whispered a quiet voice. “You seem like a nice wizard. We don’t want you to die.”
Eli spun away from Josef. “Well, hello there,” he said. “Looks like you can talk!”
The crates around them jumped. “Shh!” the voice hissed. “Not so loud! If we’re caught talking to you it’s the end for us.”
“What?” Josef whispered, looking around.
“It’s the crates,” Eli whispered back, grinning like a madman. “They’re agreeing with you.” He patted the swordsman on the back and then leaned in to whisper to the wooden crate. “What do you mean ‘the end’? Who would catch you?”
The crate fell silent again, leaving the question hanging. Then, in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper of dust on wood, it said, “The watcher.”
Eli frowned, confused. “Watcher?”
“The duke’s watcher sees everything,” the crate said, trembling. “We’re not allowed to talk to wizards, but you’re the nicest, brightest wizard we’ve ever seen, so please, leave. We don’t want you to get caught.”
Eli was about to ask another question when a sharp crack from the highest crate on the stack interrupted him.
“Watcher!” the crates cried in unison. “It’s coming! Say nothing! Ignore the wizard!”
“Get out of here!” Eli’s crate whispered frantically.
“What’s coming?” Eli whispered frantically, running his hands over the dusty wood. “What do you mean ‘watcher’?”
But the crates had shut themselves down again, and in the silence, Eli heard a low sound.
“What is going on?” Josef said again, more urgently this time.
“Shh!” Eli hushed him, hunkering down among the crates.
Josef gave him a cutting look, and then he heard it too.
It sounded like a strong wind rushing between the buildings, only it didn’t rush. The roaring sound lingered, moving up the river slowly, patiently, and in a manner that was wholly disconnected with the entire idea of wind. It hit the wooden walls of the warehouse like a wave, rattling anything that wasn’t nailed down, whistling as it tore through the high windows. Then it was gone, moving methodically down the line of dock houses, leaving only the terrified silence of traumatized crates in its wake.