Assassin’s Fate

I stared. A small pair of black wings, opening and closing, opening and closing. It could be any bird, really. It came closer. I drained my mug and set it down. ‘Let’s go to meet her,’ I proposed.

We left the inn and crossed the road. There was a short stretch of steep hill with the sort of grasses and brush that can withstand wind, salt and the occasional high tide or storm dousing. We didn’t hesitate, but climbed down it and then found a way down a rocky outcrop and onto a beach that was as much stone as sand. The tide was still coming in, but there was enough beach for us to stand on and wait. Whatever news our bird did or didn’t bring to us, I wanted no eavesdroppers.

Per stood perfectly still, holding his arm up as if he awaited a majestic hawk. Motley did not come with the slow majestic beats of a raptor, but rocked back and forth as she landed, catching her balance. Per let her settle before asking, ‘Did you find her?’

‘Bee. Bee, Bee, Bee!’ she announced, bobbing her head up and down.

‘Yes, Bee. Did you find her?’

‘Through the hole. Stuck! Bee. Bee, Bee, Bee.’

I caught my breath. What to believe? Did I dare hope? Was she only repeating Per’s words?

‘Is she alive? Is she hurt?’

‘Does she know we are here?’

‘And Amber?’ Spark demanded.

The bird was suddenly still. ‘No.’

I sharply motioned everyone to silence.

‘No what?’ I asked the bird.

‘No Amber.’

Silence. ‘She took the butterfly cloak,’ Spark said, a forlorn hope in her voice.

‘Did you see Bee? Is she hurt?’ I wanted to ask question after question and forced myself to stop. One at a time.

‘She talked.’ The bird spoke after a moment’s consideration. Then, as if working hard to put words together, ‘Hole little. Motley stuck.’

I felt a rush of impotent fury, the desire to seize the messenger and crush her in my hands. I needed to know. Wit and Skill, I reached out to her. Please!

‘Stupid Fitz!’ She spoke the words aloud. Without warning, she leaned away from Per and darted her beak at my face. Lifting my hand defensively was a reflex. She seized my hand in her silver bill and clung to my sleeve in a battering of wings. We did not connect as cleanly as Nighteyes and I had but I spied through a tiny crack in her bird-mind. A glimpse of a little girl’s battered face, blue eyes wide, her cheek bruised. I scarcely recognized her. Bee’s anxious voice. ‘A way out is a way in! Tell Per! Where the waste goes out from the castle!’ And then an incomprehensible view of the castle and the waters surrounding it, as if viewed from the tallest tower or the top of a mast. It moved and my stomach lurched as Motley showed me what she had seen when she flew over the castle. The roof, the guards pacing there, the cottages in the walled garden, more guards, and then a swooping view of the waters around the castle. Little fishing boats bobbed and cast nets, avoiding the shallows created by the outgoing tide. A plume of greyish-brown water in the sea, as if a rain-swollen river had debouched into it. ‘A way out is a way in!’ Bee’s words echoed again, and then the bird released me, dropping to the sand at our feet.

‘Motley!’ Per cried and stooped to gather her up.

I looked at their anxious, puzzled faces. I didn’t smile. It was too slender a hope to support a smile. I spoke the words in a shaking voice. ‘Per. Bee told Motley to tell you, “a way out is a way in.’’ I gathered air into my lungs. ‘We have to get ready.’

We didn’t go back to Paragon. I sent Motley back to the ship with a simple message. ‘Please wait.’ I hoped she would remember to deliver it.

The inn room we rented was cheap and bare, and all the noise came up through the floor. We lay on the floor, our grand clothing serving as our beds, and fruitlessly tried to sleep. The inn was finally silent when we rose. ‘Leave anything we won’t need,’ I told them. Spark folded all the clothing and gave the stack a fond pat as if saying farewell. Spark had adapted the firepot belt to ride high on my back. The pack containing the Silver and fire-brick was secured below the belt. I gave Lant my Buckkeep cloak. ‘Bring this.’ He nodded. On our way out, I ghosted through the kitchen to steal a pot of grease. I raked ash away from the banked cookfire and mixed it generously. Then I caught up with the others waiting on the shore.

We spoke little as we greased our hands and faces with the ashy blend. I had cautioned them that sound carries clear over water. I checked my hidden pockets. I saw Spark making a similar check, and Lant as well. Overhead, there was a full moon, casting more light than I liked over the water. The tide was ebbing. By early morning it would bare the causeway. But that was not our destination.