Allaze.
Josef snorted. “I thought this was supposed to be a secret entrance.”
“Secret from outsiders, yes,” Eli said. “But you don’t want some maid or delivery boy coming down here and opening it by mistake.”
“No chance of that.” Miranda shook her head. “How do we get it open?”
“Leave that to me,” Eli announced. He reached into the small leather bag he wore under his valet coat and pulled out two small glass bottles filled with clear liquid. “Two weak acids,” he said, holding the bottles up, “used in metal working to etch patterns. Normally, it would take either of these a month to go through that much metal. However, these particular bottles of acid happen to hate each other.”
“Hate each other?” Miranda frowned. “How did that happen?”
Eli swirled the bottles innocently. “I might have played the gossipmonger a bit too well. You see, acid spirits, though volatile and dangerous, aren’t very bright. They are, however, very quick-tempered.” As he spoke, the liquid began to slosh. Just a little at first, so that Miranda thought it was because of Eli’s swirling, but by the time he finished speaking, the acids were practically boiling in their bottles.
“Now,” Eli said, shaking the bottles violently, “we just have to get them good and mad, and—” He hurled both bottles at the door, landing them smack on top of each other. The glass shattered, and the acids fell on each other with a roar, sinking through the iron door like boiling water through fresh snow.
“A good fight does wonders for them!” Eli shouted over the din of the spirits’ war.
“That’s horrible!” Miranda shouted back. “Using a spirit’s feelings like that, it’s abusive!”
“Not at all.” Eli looked hurt. “I’m treating them like living things, which is a lot more than I can say for the blacksmith I bought them from. Look, it’s even waking up the door.”
The acids’ fight was indeed getting the door’s attention. It squealed and ground on its hinges, trying to get away from the brawl that was eating through its core. The din was deafening, and Miranda clapped her hands over her ears. Eli cringed at the worst of it, but otherwise seemed content to watch the show. Josef just stood there, watching the door with bored interest. Nico crouched closer to the hissing metal than Miranda would have dared, staring in fascination as the hole in the door grew wider.
Finally, the acids fought themselves out, leaving a warped, melted hole in the iron just large enough to fit a small fist through. The door whimpered, and Eli rubbed it gently, whispering apologies and promising to have it recast as soon as possible. Whether he meant it or not, the words seemed to put the door at ease, and as it drifted back to sleep, Eli reached his hand through the melted hole and popped the lock on the other side.
“Swordsmen first,” Eli said, swinging the door open.
Josef put his hand on his sword hilt and eased his way into the black tunnel.
“All clear,” he whispered, and the rest of them hurried through the doorway, mindful of the spots where the last remnants of the acids were still steaming.
The hall on the other side was smaller than the cellar it joined. In fact, it was barely larger than the door itself. They walked single file, with Josef leading the way, absently twirling two knives in his hands. Miranda went next, followed by Eli, with Nico trailing behind as usual. For her part, the Spiritualist kept to the absolute center of the hall, as far as she could get from the cobwebby walls. Here and there, small roots had pushed through the ceiling, and she realized they must be under the palace grounds. Unseen things scuttled in the dark behind them, making Miranda’s skin crawl. Apparently, Josef didn’t like the scuttles either because he stopped suddenly, causing Miranda to nearly run into him.
“What now?” she whispered, regaining her balance.
Josef threw up his hand to silence her. She glowered at the command, but said nothing. Behind them, something skittered again, and Josef turned on his heel. Miranda didn’t see the knife leave his hand, but she heard it hit. A squeal erupted behind them, and the skittering stopped. Eli whirled around, holding his lamp high. The light fell across their dusty footprints and, right at the edge of the glow, was a squirming, dying rat with Josef’s knife sticking out of its side.
“Getting paranoid?” Eli muttered, lowering the lamp. “It’s not like you to kill