The Grimjinx Rebellion (4 page)

6

The Rescue Mission

“When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, is probably worth stealing.”

—Krinilla Grimjinx, leader of the raid on the Soulship stockyards

T
iming was critical.

It would be much easier to snatch Aubrin and leave the Provinces if the Palatinate and the Provincial Guard were otherwise engaged. Thankfully, the Jubilee gave us the perfect distraction. If we did this right, we could pull it off while the whole of the Provinces was busy celebrating.

We spent the next few days preparing. It would take a week to travel northwest to the Creche, and another week to go to the capital city, Vesta, where we could hire a ship to take us away. That left us with a week to find Aubrin and get her out.

The night before our trip to the Creche, my family sat around the kitchen table. The Provincial Guards stood at their posts, watching vigilantly. Luda waited near the fireplace, her eyes never leaving me.

The Dowager sat in our living room, trying to enjoy a pot of singetea while the Castellan went on and on about how the Vengekeep Jubilee celebration would be talked about for centuries to come. He asked the Dowager what she knew of her brother's plans to celebrate in Vesta.

“I know very little,” the Dowager conceded. “He plans to honor the Palatinate for their service. He'll be presenting Nalia and the Lordcourt with some magical relics that have been locked away for hundreds of years.”

Which,
I thought,
was exactly what they wanted.
The Palatinate had tried to steal those relics. Now the High Laird was just handing them over.

A black-and-white striped candle burned in the center of the kitchen table next to a map of the Five Provinces. We each had a small dab of melted wax from the candle stuck to our earlobes.

“Are you sure this will work?” Maloch asked, nodding at the candle. “I mean, Luda is standing right there.”

Ma and Da touched their temples—the family sign for
everything's okay
—and turned their attention to Aubrin's journal.

Da squinted at the curious symbols. “I used to study ancient languages. Thought it would come in handy when raiding old tombs. But I've never seen anything like this. Translating it could be tricky.”

“We could see if the scholars at the Great Library of Thorosar know it,” Maloch suggested.

“Maybe,” Ma said, “but if we want experts in long-lost languages, we want the assassin-monks of Blackvesper Abbey.”

We all shivered and spit, a thief ritual to ward off bad luck. The assassin-monks were a mysterious order, known almost as well for their devotion to cataloging every known language in the Provinces as they were for their abilities as assassins. You didn't exactly walk up and introduce yourself. They were hard to find. No two accounts could agree on where Blackvesper Abbey was located. In fact, the par-Goblins had a saying:
You don't find the assassin-monks, the assassin-monks find you
. Not exactly welcoming.

“I have an important question,” I said. “Why does my life depend on delivering this message?”

“Huh,” Maloch said. “I thought it meant your life depended on leaving the Provinces.”

“I can see how you'd read it that way,” Ma said. “She could have been clearer. I've warned her about imprecise language—”

“Can we
focus
, please?” I said. “My life depends on
something
happening or not happening. Which is it?”

Da closed the journal. “Well, you can ask Aubrin yourself when we get her out of the Creche. Which is what we're here to discuss. Let's hear your thoughts.”

Everyone spoke fast. We threw around ideas, good and bad. We were so busy talking, we hardly noticed a knock at the door. When one of the guards opened it, Callie charged into the house, clutching a scroll. “I've got an idea how—”

She froze when she saw the Dowager, the Castellan, and the guards. My family and Maloch silenced Callie with big, wide-eyed smiles. Callie's gaze fell on the candle and, without hesitation, she smeared a bit of freshly melted wax on her earlobe.

“What are you doing with a garblewax candle?” Callie asked.

“A what?” I replied innocently.

She pointed at the candle. “I'm a mage, Jaxter. I know a garblewax candle when I see one. It magically masks your conversation. Anyone with wax on their ears can hear what you're saying, while everyone else”—she pointed to the Dowager and Jorn—“hears something completely different.”

“Sorry, Callie,” the Dowager called over from the living room. “What was that about eating cargabeast steak for breakfast?”

Callie raised her eyebrows at us to say
See what I mean?
, then smiled sweetly at the Dowager. “Nothing!” She sat next to me at the table. “Only mages can legally possess garblewax.”

“You do remember whose house you're in, right?” Da asked.

Callie shrugged it off. “I know how to get Aubrin.”

We stared uncomfortably at Callie. Technically, she worked for the Palatinate. Sharing our plans with her wasn't a good idea.

She waved her hand. “Oh, please. You're planning to break Aubrin out of the Creche. I know you too well. I'm here to help.”

We remained quiet for a long time. Finally, Ma said, “We appreciate the offer, Callie. But I think, under the circumstances—”

“I won't tell anyone,” Callie insisted.

Maloch grunted. “No chance, Strom. You're one of them.”

“I'm an honorary Grimjinx,” Callie said, looking at Da to back her up.

“That she is,” Da said. Callie had been given the title after she helped us destroy the fateskein tapestry. It wasn't a title we bestowed lightly on non-family.

Callie nodded once. “I've been reading up on the Creche in Talian's library—”

“Unless you've got a map that shows how to sneak in—” Maloch said.

“You don't need one. You can walk right in the front door and no one will think twice about it.”

It didn't seem possible. With the Palatinate running the Creche, it had to be highly secure.

Callie leaned in. “Did you know there's not a single adult there? Just the seers and a staff of caretakers . . . and they're all kids.”

Ma perked up, suddenly curious. “Now why is that, do you suppose?”

“It's because adults tend to make the seers nervous,” Callie said. “When they're surrounded by people their own age, the seers are much more productive and find it easier to master their skills. At least, that's what it said in
A History of Seers
.”

“How is that in any way helpful?” Maloch asked.

Callie ignored him. “They don't use just
any
kids. The workers there are all criminals. They're sent to the Creche as a punishment.”

I saw where Callie was going. “Bangers! So Maloch and I pose as prisoners—”

Callie nodded. “I'm coming too. The Creche has magical defenses. You'll need a mage to help.”

Da wasn't convinced. “How will you explain it to Talian?”

“He's leaving for the Palatinate Palace tomorrow,” Callie said. “All the mages in the Provinces are planning a special celebration for the High Laird during the Jubilee. I'm to stay with my uncle until Talian returns. But I'll just tell my uncle that Talian changed his mind and is taking me with him. So all we really need now is to forge some documents that say we've been sentenced to work in the Creche. . . .”

Callie batted her eyes at Ma, the family's forgery expert. “Oh, I think that's entirely possible,” Ma said.

We finalized our plans. Callie would meet us tomorrow morning at the Vengekeep portcullis. Ma and Da would take us to the Creche, then go ahead to Vesta to arrange passage away from the Provinces. By the time we got Aubrin out of the Creche and met up with my folks at Vesta's Bellraven Inn (a secret safehouse for thieves), the Jubilee would be in full swing. People would be so busy celebrating that we could be halfway out to sea before anyone realized we were gone.

Callie went home. Ma and Da went upstairs to bed. Maloch muttered something about taking a last walk around Vengekeep and left. I sat alone at the table, while the Dowager wrapped up her meeting. When Jorn finally left, I took a deep breath. This was it.

Time to say good-bye.

The Dowager heaved a loud sigh as soon as the front door was between her and the Castellan. “You've lived in town with that man for twelve years?” she asked, wide-eyed. “I can barely stand twelve hours with him.”

I laughed and took a seat at her side. “You get used to the smell. Besides, you only have to wait until the end of the Jubilee.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Then we'll be back at Redvalor.”

My stomach lurched. I tried to speak but nothing came out.
Tell her the truth,
I thought.
Tell her that unless she breaks the law and sets Aubrin free, you can never go back to Redvalor.

But I couldn't. The Dowager would never ask me to turn on my family. I couldn't ask her to turn on hers. So I went with the story we created.

“Listen,” I said, “we're taking a trip to visit Nanni in Angel Cove.”

“Will you be back in time for the Jubilee?”

“Absolutely,” I said, maybe a little too quickly.

“Oh, good,” the Dowager said. “As soon as the Jubilee's over, we're going on vacation. I'm thinking a trip to the Firebrand Falls. Or maybe . . .”

She listed several exotic destinations throughout the Provinces. I smiled, but it was killing me inside. When she finished, she rose.

“We should get some sleep,” the Dowager announced. “You've got a long trip ahead of you and I have another day . . . with the Castellan.”

As we moved to go up the stairs, Luda fell in behind us. “I'll miss you, Luda,” I said, perhaps the biggest lie of the night. “But I'll see you when I get back.”

The Dowager chuckled. “Don't be silly, Jaxter. Luda's going with you on your trip. You'll be in even more danger on the open road.”

I hadn't planned on that.

“Right,” I said, casting a quick look at the Satyran. I could have sworn she raised her eyebrow just enough to say,
And you thought you could get rid of me easily.

“Good night, Jaxter,” the Dowager said. She stepped into her room and closed the door. I watched her disappear from sight, knowing it would be the last time I'd ever see her.

Heading to my own room, I bumped into Luda.
Her
I'd have to see again. At least one more time.

The next morning, Ma, Da, and Maloch packed our covered wagon while I ran to the market to get food for our trip. Or, at least, that's what I told Luda. I wove my way through the streets of Vengekeep, and my Satyran shadow never strayed more than an arm's length away.

As we neared the market, I threw myself to the cobblestone pavement and screamed in agony. “The pain! The pain!”

Luda looked stymied. She wasn't very good with an opponent she couldn't bludgeon. “What happened?”

“It's my ankle,” I whined. “I need you to bring the healers here.”

“I will carry you,” she said, bending over to scoop me up.

I swatted away her outstretched hands. “Are you naff-nut?” I asked. “Don't you know anything about human bodies? This is a serious, life-threatening wound. If you move an injured ankle . . . my
head
could fall off!”

Not one of my better lies. But I was pressed for time.

Luda looked from my ankle to my head and back to my ankle, as if trying to decide how one could possibly be related to the other. I cried out again, hoping to speed her along. She glanced around at the passersby.

“If anyone kidnaps you, do not fear. I am a Satyran Grand Master at tracking. I can find you anywhere.”

“Master tracker, right, great. Go track down a healer!”