The Spirit Thief(69)

Finally, at the base of the longest stairway yet, they reached a small wooden door.

“This is as far as I can take you,” Marion said, turning to face them. “The treasury hall is just beyond here, but I’ve never been inside myself. Actually,” she said and blushed sheepishly, “servants aren’t even allowed past the prison, but I spent a lot of time memorizing drawings of the castle back when I was the Master Architect’s assistant, before I got promoted to librarian.”

“Well, thank the Powers for that,” Eli said, smiling charmingly. “You’ve been a most effective guide, Lady Marion.”

Marion’s blush spread as Eli took her hand and guided her back toward the stairs. “I must insist that you return now. You’ve risked far too much helping us.”

“It was the least I could do,” Marion mumbled. She looked shyly at Miranda and dropped into a sudden, haphazard curtsy. “Thank you, lady. Good luck!”

She whirled around and scrambled back up the stairs as fast as she could go. Miranda watched her with a faint smile. Only when the girl’s footsteps had safely faded away did she turn back to the grim task before them.

Josef had pressed himself against the wooden door and was peering through the gaps in the boards with one eye. Nico was crouched below him, peeking under the crack where the door met the floor, while Eli hovered impatiently behind them both. “How does it look?” he asked.

“Interesting,” Josef said. He stepped aside so Miranda and Eli could have a look.

Miranda pressed her eye against the crack, and her breath caught in her throat. On the other side of the door was the treasury hall Marion had mentioned. It was much larger than Miranda had expected, roughly a hundred feet from end to end and wide enough for ten men to stand shoulder to shoulder. She knew that last bit for certain, because that’s how they were standing. The corridor was absolutely packed with soldiers. They were standing at attention in tight rows running from wall to wall down the entire length of the carved hall. Each soldier carried a tall, wooden shield in one hand and an iron-tipped spear in the other. Bright torches hung from every bracket on the blackened walls, filling the entire corridor with light. At the end of the hall, almost hidden by the bristling spears and peaked helmets, the top edge of the iron treasury door was visible, a black spot in the dancing light.

“That explains why there were no guards outside,” Josef whispered. “They must have packed the entire army in there. Even if we were invisible, we couldn’t sneak through without shoving half a platoon out of the way.”

Miranda bit her lip. “Nico”—she looked down at the girl—“couldn’t you just do your, um, disappearing thing to get past them?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Nico said. “It’s too far to go in one jump. I’d have to land in the middle of them. Anyway, what would I do when I got there? You all would still be here.”

“Well,” Josef said, “I guess there’s nothing for it.” He walked back up the stairs a little ways and took hold of one of the wooden support beams. Bracing his foot against the stone wall, he dug his fingers into the wood and began to pull. The wood squealed under his grip, and the old stone crumbled. Josef pulled harder and, with a cracking sound, yanked the beam free of its anchors. Miranda gaped like a landed fish as the swordsman swung the six-foot beam over his shoulder like it was made of straw. The noise had drawn some attention. Shouted orders and the sound of shields slamming down filtered through the thin door. Josef, however, walked calmly down the stairs past Eli and the gaping Miranda and paused just in front of the door, beside Nico.

“Ready, girl?” he said.

To Miranda’s amazement, Nico’s pale face lit up in an enormous smile. “Always, swordsman.”

“Wait,” Miranda whispered. “What are you—”

Josef lifted his foot and, in a motion too fast for Miranda’s eyes to follow, kicked down the door. Time slowed to a crawl as all the soldiers turned toward the sound, and for one endless, silent moment, no one moved. Then, Josef’s wooden beam caught the closest soldier square in the chest, and the hallway erupted.

The soldiers surged forward, shouting and brandishing their spears. The alarm horns rang out deafeningly close, and the stone floor trembled under the pounding boots as the wave of armed men crashed into the small doorway. Josef swung his beam in huge arcs, sweeping soldiers off their feet and slamming them by the half dozen into the mosaic walls. He waded into the thick of them, the Heart of War securely strapped across his back, its leather disguise falling off in ragged chunks as it deflected strokes that would otherwise have landed in the swordsman’s spine.