Covenant's End - Ari Marmell Page 0,71

took him to make the rounds and return were spent largely in silence, with everyone smiling awkwardly at everyone else.

Well, almost in silence. Shins did take the opportunity to fill Olgun in on what she had in mind.

The moment the soldier returned, the door shutting behind him with a dull click, Shins said, “All right.” She twisted, pointed a finger toward one of the other soldiers, a man stationed near the rear of the sanctuary—and who, she'd made a point to note, was wearing his flintlock in such a way that a misfire would strike the carpet, as opposed to his foot or perhaps a neighbor. “Him!”

Olgun's power flowed, a single spark sizzled, and the weapon fired.

Those in the assembly who hadn't already begun to turn that way when Widdershins pointed certainly did so now, jumping in their seats or at their posts. Guards and more than a few of the aristocrats reached for weapons, while the lone soldier whose gun Olgun had triggered could only gawk, at it and at them, in almost puppy-like confusion.

As the burnt sulfur scent wafted through the room, Luchene turned back around in her seat. “All right, Widdershins, that's a…”

More whispers and mutters, then, as everyone intently studied the spot next to Sicard where Shins had stood an instant before.

“Up here!”

Crouched atop the chandelier, Shins gave them all a jaunty wave.

“Assuming it's not too much trouble, Your Eminence,” she continued, “if you would just pass my compliments on to the architect and craftsmen? I don't think this chain—” and here she flicked said chain, a great brass monstrosity that held the fixture in place, “—even noticed my weight.”

“Uh…the Basilica's almost a hundred years old. The folks who built it are rather long dead.”

“Oh. Well, then, you should know where to find them.”

“How did you get up there?!” one of the aristocrats squawked. “There's nothing to climb!”

“Noticed that, did you? That's why I didn't climb. I jumped.”

“Preposterous!”

“I'm here, aren't I?”

“Yes, but…you, but…I…”

Baron Merchand rubbed at his chin. “You didn't even disturb any of the lanterns.”

“Well, I don't know about that. This one here seemed right annoyed at me.”

Luchene shook her head, creating an odd ripple effect when the upper coils of her hair seemed to hesitate for an instant before following. “If you'd come down, now?”

Shins stepped between two branches of the chandelier and dropped. She was once again at Sicard's side, clearly none the worse for wear, before the various gasps had entirely ceased.

“So,” she said, “will that do? Can we get on with this, or do I need to jump through hoops and fetch a stick?”

“Widdershins…” The duchess stood and trundled her heavily swaddled way to the front of the chamber. “We've all seen that there's something—unnatural—in the body of Commandant Archibeque. We've seen your abilities, or a hint of them. Our House priests are apparently on their way—and you've still to explain that little breach in decorum, Your Eminence,” she added with a sharp look at Sicard. “—and I'm fairly certain, at this point, that they will confirm what he has to say, about Archibeque and about you.”

So why does this sound like a bad thing…?

“I believe, too, that—your status and profession notwithstanding—you truly do seek to do right by Davillon.”

“Your Grace, if the forthcoming ‘but’ gets any larger, we're going to need to move to a bigger room.”

Another polite quirk of the lips. “Indeed. But… you are asking us to believe in a conspiracy amongst multiple noble Houses. And their priests. And the guard. And the criminal underground.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And unless I'm very much mistaken, your plan to deal with this conspiracy, when you finally deign to reveal it to us, will involve our own Houses, and the city government proper, moving against these forces? Why else bring this to us, when you must have known even getting us to believe was an uphill battle?”

When Shins just sort of scuffed her feet, oddly reluctant to answer, it was Evrard who jumped in. “More or less correct, Your Grace.”

“So. I cannot make such decisions—none of us can—based on ‘believe’ and ‘fairly certain.’ We must know, Widdershins. We—I—must know that you can be trusted.”

Had the snow-sculpted chamber pot returned at that moment, Shins would have been too numb to feel it. “What do you mean?” she asked, despite knowing full well, too well, what answer she'd receive.

“How do you do what you do, Widdershins? How do you know what you know? Who are you?”

Years. That was it, the one question that for years