Rose & Thorn Page 11

  Griff joined them. “Quirk, I saw Bouchet, one of the Breakers we followed the other night. I think there might be a secret stair down to the lake.”

  Quirk shook his head. “Is that your current assignment, junior?”

  “No,” Griff answered. Not exactly. “But—”

  “I will report it,” Quirk said sharply. “But you will not let Rose out of your sight again. You let yourself be separated from us just now. You will do your duty, Griff. Understand?”

  His duty was to guard Rose, and nothing else. He nodded.

  “Good lad,” Quirk said approvingly. “Now, we will continue Rose’s tour of the City. The factory district.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “No more mistakes like the lift. No more distractions. Stay alert.”

  Griff swallowed down a protest. Was he ever not alert? No.

  CHAPTER

  11

  GRIFF WAS TAKING QUIRK’S ORDER VERY SERIOUSLY. I HAD to trust that Quirk would find a way of distracting Griff when the time came, or the Breakers’ plan to help me escape was not going to work.

  We returned to the citadel and my prison room at the end of the day. After I told Quirk that I hadn’t liked being stared at in the dining hall, he left Griff on guard while he went down to fetch us something to eat. I was tired from all the walking and went to sit down on the cot. Griff leaned a shoulder against the wall by the door. We hadn’t said a word to each other all day.

  Well, I reminded myself, he was the son of the man who had ordered my rose burned off.

  With a sigh I took off my cloak, and then pulled up the sleeve of my dress to have a look at the bandage that covered my rose. The burn still ached wretchedly.

  Hearing footsteps, I looked up; Griff came to stand before me and took something from his pocket. Without meeting my eyes, he said, “This is from the physician.” He nodded at my arm. “For the burn.” He handed me a packet, which I unwrapped, finding a roll of clean bandage and a small stoppered glass vial. Taking the top off, I sniffed. A sharp, medicinal smell; some sort of salve, I guessed.

  I bit my lip to keep myself from speaking to him and set the salve on the cot next to me. I picked at the bandage on my wrist; it was tied tightly, and I needed two hands for the job.

  Without speaking, Griff knelt on the floor before me and took my hand, turning it so he could get at the bandage. Carefully he took it off and set it aside. The burn was puffy and red around the edges; it felt tender, exposed to the air. Very gently, Griff applied some of the salve, then wrapped the clean bandage around my wrist.

  As he worked, I found myself gazing at his bent head, the line of his neck, his shoulders. He was lean, as if his training had pared him down to his essentials, but I could sense his strength, too.

  He looked up at me, his face sober. “Is that any better?”

  For some reason, my eyes filled with tears. Wordlessly, I nodded.

  He got to his feet, then headed back to his post by the door.

  “Thank you,” I managed to say. But I couldn’t tell if he’d heard me or not.

  WHEN QUIRK GOT back to my prison room with our dinner, he sent Griff down to the dining hall. “I’ll stay with her until you get back, junior,” he said.

  With a nod, Griff left.

  Quirk set the tray down on the cot. “I’ve had a note from the Breakers.” He put his hand into his tunic pocket and drew out a piece of paper, which he unfolded and squinted at.

  I sniffed at the muddy brown soup. Fish again. With the usual half piece of grayish, gritty bread. With a sigh I picked up the spoon and started eating.

  “It’s encoded,” Quirk said, looking up from the note. With me sitting on the cot, his head was about even with mine. He gave me a reassuring smile and then peered at the note again. “Ah. It’s tonight.”

  “Tonight!” I repeated, and then inhaled a bit of watery, fishy soup.

  While I coughed, Quirk peered at the note again. “Mm. Two hours.”

  “My goodness,” I managed. It was happening so fast. “Quirk, what is it exactly? I mean, what is the Breakers’ plan?”

  “I’m sorry, lass. The less you know the better. I can’t say anything more.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t stay in the City, not with the threats facing me here. I didn’t seem to have much choice but to flee with the Breakers.

  Quirk went back to the note. “There is a secret way down to the lake.” He frowned. “I knew about it already, but it seems Griff almost found it today.”

  Yes, Griff. “How are we going to get rid of him?” I asked. “So we can escape to meet the Breakers?”

  “Tell him his father wants to see him, perhaps,” Quirk mused, folding the note and returning it to his pocket. “But that wouldn’t give us much time, and it would risk raising the Lord Protector’s suspicion. We’ll need to leave very soon to get to the lake.”

  “He’s serious about his training,” I suggested.

  “An extra session, yes.” Quirk nodded. “That could work.”

  I picked up the piece of bread and nibbled at a corner of it. Stale. A thought occurred to me; my stomach twisted with worry. “Quirk, if I get away from the City and the Forest while you and Griff are supposed to be guarding me, will you get into trouble for it?”

  Quirk reached out and patted my knee with his small hand. “Well, lass, I’ve been thinking. It’ll be best if I come along to be sure everything is all right.” Then he frowned down at the floor. “As for Griff . . .” He shook his head.

  “He will get into trouble,” I confirmed. “But maybe it won’t be too bad, since his father is the Lord Protector.”

  “That will just make it worse,” Griff muttered. “He’s likely to be tossed out of the Watchers for it.” He leaned against the cot, his head lowered, thinking. “I can’t figure any way around it, Rose.”

  My heart sank.

  Unlike me, Griff knew what he was—a weapon. What if he had that taken away from him? What would he be then?

  I was sorry. But there was nothing I could do about it.

  WHEN GRIFF GOT back from dinner, Rose and Quirk were sitting on the cot with their heads together, talking quietly. As he came into the room, they looked up, and Quirk hopped onto the floor. “There you are, junior,” he said briskly, with a clap of his hands. Then he looked Griff up and down. “You’re looking a bit out of condition. You’ve skipped training a few times, haven’t you?”

  He was fit enough. But he had missed a few sessions, that was true.

  “Well then,” Quirk said. “Rose and I are having a nice chat here. We’ve some time before locking her in for the night. Go and report to Stet and ask him to drill you. Do some sparring, too.”

  “Right,” Griff said, and turning on his heel, he left the room.

  INSTEAD OF REPORTING to Stet in the cohort’s room, Griff made his way through the citadel until he reached the Lord Protector’s quarters. He’d never disobeyed an order before, but he was sure the Breaker, Bouchet, was up to something. Given some time, he could track down that lead and discover what.

  His father wouldn’t be around now—he always worked in his office until late. Griff had lived in these rooms as a child, but he hadn’t been back here for years, not since he’d joined the Watchers. Checking the hallway—it was empty—he lifted the latch and went in. The rooms were as chilly and austere as they’d always been, and they had the same musty smell even though they were spotlessly clean.

  The Lord Protector, Griff knew, did not often go out into the City as himself, but he liked to keep an eye on things, to get a feel for the mood of the people, and when he did, he walked the streets in drab clothing that wouldn’t be noticed. Griff opened the closet next to the main door into the apartments and took a shabby sweater and trousers and a long, ragged black coat. In the back of the closet, he found a broken-down pair of boots. Bundling it all in his arms, he slipped out of his father’s rooms and into the hallway, then found an abandoned office where he could change. Dressed in the r
ags, he looked down at himself. He must have almost reached his father’s height; the clothes hung loose on his slimmer frame, but they fit surprisingly well.

  Leaving his uniform, but taking his patrol knife, he went through deserted hallways and down a back stairway, and let himself out a side door of the citadel, one that led to a seldom-used gate barred from the inside. He unbarred it and, hoping it would still be open when he returned, went out into the dark streets of the City.

  The night was chill and dank. Putting his hands into the pockets of the coat, he found a pair of woolen half gloves, which he pulled on as he walked. Few people were out at this time of the evening, and the ones who were kept their heads lowered as they hurried along. Doing the same, Griff made his way along the streets from the citadel and into the warehouse district, until he came to the waterfall. He headed down the dark alley nearby that led to the secret stairway he’d discovered earlier that day. He found a broken barrel in the alley and settled himself in the shadows behind it. There was no telling if Breakers would be using the stairway tonight, but he would keep his watch and see what happened.

  CHAPTER

  12

  WITH GRIFF SENT TO DO HIS EXTRA TRAINING, QUIRK and I didn’t have long to wait until it was time to meet the Breakers who would smuggle me out of the City. We left the citadel and hurried through the darkened streets until we arrived at the meeting place, an alley near the lift gate. The sound of water rushing over the falls seemed louder than it had during the day. Nearby, the lift and its pulleys were a looming mechanical skeleton a darker black than the night.

  “The note said that Bouchet would meet us here,” Quirk whispered.

  I nodded and shivered, and pulled my cloak tightly around myself. My burned rose felt better, I realized; it was hardly throbbing at all anymore.

  A moment later, I heard the sound of a door opening, and a huge, shadowed figure approached. Bouchet, I guessed. Without speaking, he led us through an alley that was completely dark, into the warehouse, then through a room that smelled of dust, and through another door.

  “Watch your head,” Bouchet’s deep voice muttered.

  We started down a dark, narrow staircase that had been hacked out of the living rock, first Quirk, then me, and then Bouchet. The ceiling was low, and when I put my hand up to check its height, it came away wet and smelling of mold. Behind me, Bouchet’s broad shoulders filled the entire stairway, like a wall. The stairs turned, and turned again, and after a long, dark time we reached the bottom, coming out into a bigger room full of shadows that was barely lit. Its floor was rough stone, and its walls were slick with moisture. It wasn’t a room, I realized, but a long, narrow cave. We’d reached the level of the lake, and we’d soon come out to the shore where, I assumed, the Breakers would have a boat waiting.

  As we went deeper into the cave, Bouchet gripped my shoulder with a big hand. I stopped. The air felt heavy, as if the entire cliff was pressing down over our heads.

  “Someone’s following,” he breathed.

  I glanced over my shoulder, seeing nothing but the faint lantern light glistening on the wet walls.

  “Here,” Quirk whispered, and reaching up to take my hand, drew me deeper into the shadows. Bouchet came with us, and, hidden, we turned to see who would come into the light.

  I heard a quiet step on the stair, and a dark figure emerged into the cave. He was wearing a ragged coat instead of his uniform, and his hair, usually neatly combed, was rumpled, but I knew immediately who it was. Griff. He looked keenly alert, and held an unsheathed knife in one hand. I covered my mouth to stifle a gasp.

  “Ah, curse it,” I thought I heard Quirk say.

  “I’ve got a sword,” Bouchet whispered. “I’ll do him.”

  “No,” Quirk said quickly. He tugged on Bouchet’s arm, and the big man bent so he could hear Quirk’s whispered words. “Go for help. I’ll get his knife, but he’s very skilled. You’ll need at least two others to overpower him.”

  Griff had come farther into the cave, and he paused, head cocked, listening.

  “Go,” Quirk breathed, and as Bouchet nodded, he took three quick steps out of the shadows and into the light. “Ah, junior,” he said in a low voice. “It’s some luck meeting you here.”

  Griff started to speak, when Quirk looked over his shoulder, as if hearing a noise. “Quickly, lad. They’re coming. I need your knife.”

  Without even hesitating, Griff flipped the knife and held it, handle first, out to Quirk. “Three of them, I think,” he said intently. “I heard their footsteps on the stairs. Breakers?”

  Quirk reached up and took the knife and stepped away from him. At the same moment, Bouchet and Timothy and the other woman who’d been at the shed came out of the shadows, ready to fight. “He’s disarmed,” Quirk said softly, almost sadly. “Take him.”

  For just a moment, I saw Griff react—a wide-eyed look of shock and dismay—and the three Breakers set upon him, Bouchet with a knife, the big woman with a club, and Timothy with a sword. As they attacked, Griff whirled into motion. It was too fast—I didn’t even see what happened, except that Timothy’s sword clattered onto the stone floor and she had fallen, holding her side. Griff had already turned and, ducking a thrust from Bouchet’s knife, he blocked the woman’s club with his arm and elbowed her in the face. She fell to the floor, blood fountaining from her nose.

  I could see why Quirk had told Bouchet to go for help. Griff didn’t even need the knife—he was a knife.

  “Block the stairs,” Quirk shouted.

  They might have been too late—he might have gotten away—except that Timothy reached out as Griff leaped past her and grabbed his leg, and he went down hard onto the stone floor. Before he could recover, Quirk was there with the knife. He held it to Griff’s throat, his knee on his chest.

  “Be still, lad,” Quirk said.

  Pushing Quirk aside, Bouchet dragged Griff to his feet and slammed him hard against the cave wall not an arm’s length away from me. Griff gasped, almost a sob, and fought against Bouchet’s hold until the big man grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm up behind him, pressing him against the wall with a hand against the back of his neck. Griff’s eyes were closed, his teeth clenched as he struggled to catch his breath. The bigger woman, still bleeding from the nose, came up with a length of rope and quickly looped it around Griff’s hands, tying them behind his back. Then Bouchet spun him around again, bunched his big hand into a fist, and swung it at Griff’s head—but Griff evaded the punch and hooked Bouchet’s ankle; the big man tipped over, and like a tree falling, crashed to the ground. Roaring, he lurched to his feet and managed to grab Griff by the collar of his coat. “You’re in for it now, Watcher,” he growled. He bared his teeth and cocked his big fist.

  Griff glared daggers at him, but didn’t speak.

  “That’s enough,” Quirk said sharply, stepping between them.

  Bouchet could have easily pushed Quirk aside, but he obeyed, dropping his fist while keeping his hold on Griff’s collar. “We need to give him a knock on the head and drop him in the lake,” he grunted.

  Kill him? “No,” I gasped.

  Seeing me, Griff’s eyes went wide; then he looked away, his face set and pale.

  “We have to get rid of him,” the big woman put in, swiping her sleeve across her bloody nose. “We can’t have the Watchers learning about the stairs to the lake.”

  “Bring him with us,” Quirk ordered.

  After a moment, Bouchet nodded. “We’ll let Precious decide what to do with him.” Taking Griff’s arm, he dragged him along with us as we went through the rest of the cave and ducked beneath a low arch that was concealed by a deep crevice in the cliff. We edged around that and came out onto the rocky shore of the lake.

  The rush of the waterfall, not far away, covered the sound of our footsteps crunching on the graveled beach. While we’d been inside the cliff, a three-quarter moon had risen and hung low in the sky, giving enough light to see the deserted docks off to our left, a
nd the barges that were anchored farther out on the lake. A boat was waiting, just a shadow against the glimmering surface of the water. Without hesitating, the other two Breakers pushed it deeper into the lake, the keel grating over the stones. “Get in,” Bouchet ordered, and I awkwardly climbed over the side and felt my way to a seat at the front of the boat. A moment later, Griff had been shoved onto the seat next to me; his shoulder bumped mine.

  And oh, I wished he hadn’t followed us. “I’m so sorry about this,” I whispered, but it was as if I hadn’t spoken. In the moonlight his face was so bleak, like stone. He didn’t speak; he didn’t even glance at me.

  A thump, and Quirk climbed onto the seat behind me. The boat tilted; the keel scraped the rocks again, and Bouchet and Timothy had climbed aboard, leaving the big woman to push us farther out into the water. Another bump, and Bouchet settled himself at the oars and started rowing us away from the shore; Timothy was at the back end, holding the tiller to steer.

  We slipped quietly past the moored barges and the impenetrably dark and forested banks of the lake. The cliff face, a black, rough curtain split by the rushing swath of the waterfall, receded behind us; above it a few lights shone from the City, and then, as we entered the river, disappeared.

  GRIFF FELT THE shock of Quirk’s betrayal echoing through him. For six months they’d been partners; Griff had trusted him completely, had admired him. The Lord Protector’s unremitting coldness had become easier to bear because Quirk had been there, with his named muscles and gap-toothed grin and steady approval. But it was a lie. All along, Quirk must have been using him to get closer to the Lord Protector, to discover information that he could pass along to the Breakers. Griff closed his eyes at the bitterness of the realization.

  The Breakers would probably decide to kill him. He was of absolutely no use to them as a hostage, despite who his father was. Quirk knew that well enough. If they freed him they’d have to assume—rightly—that he’d go straight back to the City to report to the Lord Protector.