The Spirit Rebellion(84)

Pride was the obvious answer. Monpress was a prideful man. He might have come looking for clues as to who would impersonate him. Yet that seemed too simple an explanation. If his studies had taught him anything, it was that Monpress never did anything simply. Also, it was too fast. The robbery had only happened this morning, which meant Monpress must have already been in town. That made him smile. His bait had worked. At least that part of the plan had stayed on track. His smile faded, someone had sprung the trap early, and he meant to find out who. Still, today’s events had convinced him that the situation was salvageable. Monpress was in town. He’d probably been planning his own heist when he heard about the impostor and came to investigate. That certainly matched what he knew of Monpress, but still, something was off.

Edward walked in a slow circle around the room. Eli’s exit bothered him. The thief was known for his flash, and the demon trick with the door had certainly been flashy, but after that, nothing. He’d vanished just as smoothly as the thief last night. He briefly entertained the idea that the two thieves might be in league, but he dismissed it almost as quickly. Monpress wasn’t the kind to share glory.

He was still walking and thinking when he spotted something white on the floor. He stooped to pick it up, turning it over in his hand. It was a card, marked the same as all his others, with the fine, cursive M. Smiling, Edward slid the card into his coat pocket. Cocky to the last, that was Eli. He couldn’t bear to leave any credit unclaimed. But as he straightened up, his eyes caught something else out of place. There, straight ahead, the wall was uneven.

Edward stared at it. He’d ordered all the bricks to square themselves when he’d righted the citadel. Was this more disobedience or just simple incompetence? He stepped in for a closer look, brushing the crooked stones with his fingers. As he touched the smooth cut surface, his eyes widened, and several mysteries clicked into place.


Othril blew in through the front door of the citadel, pausing to stare at the sobbing bulk of the treasury door as the guards struggled in teams of twenty to drag it down the steps. After a moment of gawking, the wind hurried on. It was best not to question things like that, and he had news for the duke that could not wait.

He found the duke in the treasury, which wasn’t surprising, staring at the wall, which was. Othril circled uncertainly overhead. Interrupting the duke while he was working was never something that ended well, but neither was withholding a time-sensitive report. He was still warring between those two bad choices when the duke made the decision for him.

“Othril,” he said, pointing at the square of wall in front of him. “Look there and tell me what you see.”

Othril swooped down to the duke’s level and stared at the stone. “Nothing,” he said. “I see nothing at all. Why?”

“Nothing,” the duke said. “I thought so.”

He reached forward and grabbed the stone. The blocks crumbled in his grasp like flaky pastry, revealing a tunnel.

A tremor of panic shot through Othril. It had been his job to inspect the castle. His job to find anything untoward. The duke was not forgiving of failure. Fortunately, Duke Edward looked more annoyed than angry.

“It’s a mash-up,” he said, picking up a large chunk of the fake wall and crumbling it in his hands. “Tiny specks of stone and sand too small for consciousness, and thus below the notice of awakened spirits, bound together in brittle glue and then stamped to look like a wall.” He paused, shaking his head. “It’s actually brilliant in a simplistic way. How else would you hide a tunnel from a wizard who knows every spirit in his castle than to make something those spirits can’t see? Not Eli’s work, of course. Far too subtle. Still,” he sighed, “one can’t help being a little impressed by such a simple and effective escape.”

“Yes, well,” Othril said, “about that. I came to let you know that the spirits have reported in and we’re ready to move into position.” The wind paused. “Do you still want to go ahead with the plan, my lord? If you’re certain he’s not Monpress, perhaps we should wait.”

“No,” the duke said, standing up. “We’re absolutely going ahead. Monpress is in town, and he’s also looking for the impostor. This may well be our chance to catch two thieves for the price of one.”

“Monpress is here?” Othril said, astonished. “But I haven’t—”

The duke gave him a cold look, and Othril backed away. “Of course, my lord. As you say.”

The duke nodded. “What about our other business? Is the Spiritualist secured?”