Root was getting awfully sick of taking tours.
She and Vit stood just inside the front entrance of the Eternal Palace, lumped into a mass alongside another dozen gawking tourists as a familiar face corralled them past the door’s security checkpoint like the worlds’ most timid sheep dog.
“Is that everyone?” asked Anjeanette to no one in particular. Her eyes danced across Root and Vit for a fraction of a second—infinitely longer than she looked at any other member of the tour. It made Root feel like a special guest.
Though they’d taken two tours already, this one was different. This time, they were the ones guiding the path.
They’d timed it with Anjeanette’s regular schedule so as not to raise any suspicions by having her ask to move duties, and she’d slipped them into the group for free—just the two of them, they’d decided, to keep a low profile.
Rather, three of them. But even the palace security hadn’t batted an eye at the heavy, gift-wrapped box tucked into Vit’s bag.
Vit slipped a hand into the bag and removed the patterned gold paper and tape from the king’s brick. You could get anything through a checkpoint if you pretended it was a gift.
“Peh,” spat the king, and Vit put up a finger to hush him. “Did you have to stick the sticky part of the tape on me?”
“It makes for a crisper fold,” said Vit defensively.
Anjeanette led the tour through the foyer and into the courtyard as Vit angled the king in a way that let him peer out of their bag. Root and Vit fell back as Anjeanette began her usual rapid spiel about the palace history.
“Oh, look at this,” said the king with a tone of sorrow. “My courtyard. It looks so much worse from down here.”
“Don’t like the new floors?” asked Root, scuffing her boot across the humongous gold symbol of spokes in a way that was probably sacrilegious.
“There was nothing wrong with the old design. There was a great big tree here, you know. And over there I had such a nice row of spikes…”
“We’re not here to reminisce,” said Root. “Look around. What’s new? What can we use?”
The Evening of Generosity would be held in the courtyard—just inside the palace doors, and adjacent to the Hall of Relics. From Anjeanette, they’d learned that attendees would be able to enter the hall as well, as the treasures hoarded there were a great source of pride.
The king sighed. “The walls look original—the north and south, at least, and the far part of the east wall. The facade of the ‘Hall of Relics’ is new. Used to be a ballroom—what, what? Oh, have I mentioned that? Well, still. That wall there and the doors back to the foyer are all new, too. Get me closer over there—I need to see the south wall.”
Root and Vit did their best to break away from the tour in a manner that looked like casual admiration. Anjeanette drifted in their direction to cover the divide.
A cloister rimmed the courtyard, great big columns that each would’ve been worth more than the entirety of Root’s village back home—and likely weigh more as well, judging by the sheer amount of gold and lapis lazuli that crusted each one. Vit sidled up between two columns, shifting their bag but facing back in the direction of the tour. Root leaned against a column, vowing that if anything flaked off it meant it was destined to leave in her pocket.
“Yes, this is good. There are tunnel entrances there and there—both look untouched,” said the king. “That hallway there, down closer to the ballr—the Hall of Relics. Take me down there.”
Root turned her attention back to the tour. It seemed Anjeanette was fielding questions as a way to stall their continuation. Her dedication to her new role was truly admirable.
“And the Grand Priest,” said one older man. “He comes through here sometimes, right?”
“Yes,” said Anjeanette. “He lives here. In the palace.”
“And so he has probably stepped on this very floor.”
“He has…”
The man quivered as he took in the holiness of the scuffed tiles. “Has he stepped—do you know if he has stepped on this tile right here?”
“Um I assume probably yes…?”
“The Grand Priest…” started another woman, sticking up her hand but doing so half a second after her mouth had already jumped into motion. “Does he eat here?”
“Yes,” said Anjeanette. “He lives here.”
“Does he eat pistachios?”
“Um. He might.”
“I eat pistachios!”
“Anjeanette?” said Root when there was a moment to get a word in edgewise. “What’s down that hallway there?” She pointed down the way the king had indicated.
“Oh, um, I’ll show you,” said Anjeanette. It was the system they’d agreed on prior to the tour. If they asked about a location, Anjeanette would steer them that way. She led the flocking tourists down the hall.
“Hm. Mhm,” muttered the king. “More open. They’ve knocked down a wall there and there. Compromised a tunnel there… Yes, it’d be gone now. And there was an alcove there—bricked-over, and look at that shoddy workmanship! Yes, there would’ve been an escape chute there. Inaccessible now.”
Anjeanette cleared her throat. “Um, down here is one of the palace’s many kitchens. This kitchen has a great hiding spot under the bench near the dish sink. Um, the kitchen and this wing are used during events in the courtyard. Just a servants’ hallway.”
“Does Grand Priest David cook in this kitchen?” asked one of the tourists as Root turned away.
“Ah!” said the king. “This floor here is original. There’s a tunnel below us. Send them away, let me look.”
“Anjeanette?” said Root, interrupting a riveting conversation that steered rapidly towards David’s bathroom routine. “Will we get to see the Hall of Relics?”
“Oh, um, yes,” said Anjeanette in a voice that was immediately drowned out by the clamoring excitement of the tourists. “Follow me.” The crowd surged after Anjeanette, their attention racing ahead to reach the hall before their feet.
“Quickly now,” said the king as Root and Vit lagged. “That tile there on the wall, down at the base. No, there. No, there. Yes. Really, wouldn’t it be easier if you just let me have hands again? Put your hand on it, push it to the left—slight click, it’ll move back a hair, then turn it counterclockwise. Only two clicks; you do not want it to get to three. Then push in.”
Vit followed the instructions. A small section of the wall popped open and lifted into a chamber beyond.
“Yes, yes, untouched. Quick, close it. Perfect. Did anyone see?”
“No,” said Root, who’d kept a careful eye on the retreating backs of the tour group.
“Great. Good. Hurry, now. We need to see the hall. There’s much to check in the hall.”
They followed Anjeanette into the Hall of Relics. It looked just as it had last time—huge glass cases in a mottled kaleidoscope of colors filtering down from the skylights.
“A shame, a shame,” muttered the king. “Such a clunky modern look.”
“Is it?” asked Root. To her, the church’s buildings seemed to lean heavily on the aesthetics of an older age.
“Some newfangled sensibilities that came about while I was away. Surely even a human can remember a time back before this steel craze. What’s wrong with good old-fashioned bronze?”
“But the room,” said Vit.
“Right, yes, looks like they kept my layout. Not that they could improve upon it. Those other cases are all mine, in fact. Used to put the heads or other bits of those who made attempts on my life in those. Deterrent to future would-be assassins.”
“Oh,” said Vit, eyeing the cases with a newfound queasiness.
“These were yours?” asked Root. “So, I don’t suppose you have a spare key lying around…?”
“Better. But the halo case… get closer, get closer, I want to… I want to see it.”
The halo’s display case stood just as immense and immovable as it had when they’d stopped by to see it the first time. Again, the halo lay inside, distorted slightly by the thick layer of glass. Root and Vit went right up to the lock as the king inspected it.
“All right,” he said—hushed, to keep his voice from reaching the tourists all around. “Let’s see what we have here.”
Vit gave the king angle after angle of the case. If anyone noticed them wandering around holding their bag up like the case was a tremendous magnet against which they fought desperately to cling to their bag of scrap metal, no one mentioned it. They took a full tour around the case’s perimeter and then paused again beside Root where she waited.
“Very interesting,” said the king.
“So?” asked Root.
“There’s a lock.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“The Grand Priest will have the key, no doubt. Another fascinating measure they’ve put into place: look at the base, the floor all around the foot of the edges. Do you see?”
Root looked and spotted what the king meant. A thin crack ran around the case as if David had feared ants might come for the halo and had added a moat to scale. It looked deep.
“There’s a mechanism there on the side,” continued the king. “Another on the opposite end. The case is primed to drop at a moment’s notice.”
“Drop?” said Vit. “Where does it go?”
The king scrunched up his little carved face in thought. “It should… yes, yes I believe… and then the…” His tiny face nodded once. “The palace vaults are just below us. Clever—and a good use of my own layout.”
“Why does it need to drop?” asked Root. “I mean, look at the size of that thing. It’s practically solid stone. It’s gotta weigh a ton at least.”
“But it’s out in the open,” said the king. “At least, very nearly. Skylights overhead, the courtyard just outside the door. It’s a level of protection designed to counter something far, far more powerful than us. Imagine a monstrous winged spirit—” The king shivered, his face vibrating on the side of the brick. “Imagine such a beast dove down in here to snatch up the entire case in its… talons. Or maw. The weight of a great stone would mean nothing. But those mechanisms—if the case rises, even just a hair, they’ll trigger. The entire case shoots down into the vault, down to where it’s secure. I have to admit, it’s genius.”
“Well, there’s no way in hell we’re lifting that thing anyway, so we don’t have to worry about it.”
“Perhaps not.”
“So just a key, then. That’s not too hard.”
“Oh, no. Far more than just a key.”
Vit glanced back at the case. “What else is there?”
“You didn’t see it? Behind the glass, around the halo. Look again, look again.”
They peered back inside the glass. Root remembered it from last time—a cord of gold, like a necklace lying around the halo’s cushion.
“What is that?” asked Vit.
“An old toy of mine. They’ve taken it and put it to their own uses, I see. It’s called a skip snare.”
“What does it do?”
“It guards the halo. If anyone but the Grand Priest were to reach into that case—if anyone so much as brushed a finger over the halo, the slightest touch—snap!”
It was a little loud for someone who was trying to keep his presence concealed. Fortunately, the tourists were busy inundating Anjeanette with questions about David’s skincare routine.
“Takes off the hand?” Root guessed.
“Might. And worse: takes the halo. Teleports it to another location—wherever it has been set to lead. A spring-loaded portal ready to pounce.”
“So we get rid of the snare,” said Root. “Maybe a big stick or something—you know, just fish it out of there…”
“Any disturbance of the skip snare or halo will set it off. And it moves fast.”
Vit rubbed their chin, brow creased. “How do we get around it?”
“You don’t,” admitted the king. “We’ll need to move fast—lightning fast. I may have a plan. But we’ll have to see to that later.”
They ended their assessment of the Hall of Relics with the king directing them to the back wall, to a spot beyond a row of narrow pillars where he insisted on inspecting a high-up section of the blank wall. Whatever he found there seemed to satisfy him. Perhaps he thought it would’ve been a particularly detestable place to mount a coat rack and was pleased that the Children of Endkiu hadn’t stooped so low.
Anjeanette returned to her usual routine, and Root and Vit followed along on the tour like the rest of the party. She brought them through halls and rooms and pointed out fresh hidey-holes. Root coasted along at the back of the group, mulling over thoughts of falling display cases and finger-hungry snares.
She almost didn’t notice when they turned a bend and saw Syrus walking down the hallway toward them.
Panic gripped Root. Very nearly she called up to Anjeanette to deploy their code and pilot a hasty U-turn. But that would only be more suspicious—and put scrutiny on Anjeanette as well. They wouldn’t want to get her fired—they needed her for this heist. And, well, sure she wouldn’t miss out on any pay, but she still needed the college credit.
Root smacked Vit a little harder than she meant to. “Syrus!” she hissed.
Vit’s attention snapped up.
There were no hallways to duck down. Root pulled Vit forward into the middle of the tour group and turned her head aside. Somehow, Vit looked even more frightened as they ducked their head low.
Root didn’t exhale until Syrus was around the bend behind them. He hadn’t seen them, clearly, or else he surely would have called out for the palace guards. They’d gotten lucky, but it was a narrow and harrowing break.
Or maybe Syrus had had just as much interest in avoiding the tour. Perhaps the palace staff knew by this point to keep their heads down and attention diverted—lest they find themselves amidst a barrage of questions about the Grand Priest’s favorite evening reads or average number of sneezes in a day.
Whatever it was, Root was ready to wrap up the tour. The sooner she left the Eternal Palace for the last time, the better.
Vit stuffed extra clothes into their worn little knapsack. It wasn’t often that they went away, and there was so much life outside of the swamp—so much to see! They simply couldn’t wait any longer.
“Vit,” said Bradan. “You know we aren’t leaving for another two days.”
“I know, I know,” said Vit. They turned away from the cot where their things lay scattered. They were growing fast, hitting growth spurts every week it seemed, and had just gotten another one like an eleventh-birthday gift. They were almost eye-to-eye with Bradan now. Bradan, it seemed, only got shorter. Perhaps he’d received a shrinkth spurt for his most recent ninety-fifth birthday.
Bradan’s reminder only staved off the rest of Vit’s packing for another two hours, but that was nearly a record.
The two of them were heading to the nearby town of Egogbin in the coming days—a day-and-a-half to two-day journey each way depending on Bradan’s pace. They’d stay in town for a day or three, too, which was always Vit’s favorite part. There were so many people in the town, playing music or telling stories on street corners or in the little gazebos. They had hot chocolate and spiced cider there, and there was a bakery that made the most incredible pastries with lemon and cheese. Every day was a celebration when there were so many people together in a place like that.
Of course, Bradan’s primary mission was the supplies they needed. He brought mushrooms and hand-woven baskets to sell for a bit of money to buy the things they couldn’t get or make out there in the swamp. And some treats, of course. It was a yearly tradition—sometimes more if they needed something particular.
The days crawled by. The night before they were set to leave, Bradan didn’t make supper.
Bradan always made supper. When Vit returned from an afternoon out in the woods, they found him napping on his cot. They’d expected a reprimand for returning so late and nearly missing their meal, and had half a mind upon returning to turn the sentiment on Bradan—in jest, of course—for sleeping through it.
But Bradan didn’t look good.
Sweat beaded on his face. Shadows fell across his eyes and wrinkles in a way that made them look deep and troubled. Vit knelt and stirred him gently awake.
“Bradan?”
“Hh. Hm?” Bradan’s human eye fluttered open. “Oh, Vit. What time is it?”
“It’s late. I just got home… uh, sorry.”
“No, no, it’s all right. I’m sorry, I just lay down because I was feeling a little weak. Here, let me—” Bradan tried to get up, but the effort wasn’t enough to lift him.
“No, you rest,” said Vit. “I’ll make you some soup. You’ve got to rest up for the trip tomorrow.”
“Right you are,” said Bradan with a weak smile. “Thank you, Vit.”
The next morning, Bradan was worse.
Vit had risen early and gotten the last of their things together in hopes it might keep away the bad news they feared. But it didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry, Vit,” said Bradan. “Perhaps I’ve come down with something.”
“You don’t feel warm,” said Vit with a hand on the old man’s forehead.
“Ah, well, I’ll kick this soon enough. I hate to delay our trip. But let’s see how I’m doing tomorrow, eh?”
They took it day by day for the first three days. Frustration nipped at Vit’s mind every morning as the day dawned on another disappointment, but they never breathed a word of it to Bradan. Of course they couldn’t do that—it wasn’t his fault, and they felt stupid for being upset besides. It was only hot chocolate and pastries and a story or two.
“We’ll give it one week. One week from today,” said Bradan. “That way we don’t have to keep pushing it off like this. How does that sound?”
It sounded disappointing, but Vit nodded.
A week later, Bradan still struggled. He could get out of bed and do some light work around the cabin, but the way he shook even just trying to climb down off the deck made Vit worried he’d fall and delay their trip further.
“Oh, Vit, I’m sorry you’re stuck with an old coot like me.”
“No, don’t say that. We’ll just keep waiting until you’re better.”
Bradan clicked his tongue. “Say—you know the way there, don’t you? I know the trail gets awfully overgrown, but you know these woods.”
Vit paused. “I do, I think.”
“You’re old enough, I think, that you could manage it on your own. You’ll have to carry all the baskets and such yourself. You can go alone if you’d like.”
Vit’s heart was torn. They wanted to go to Egogbin—really, really wanted to go—but part of what made it so special was going with Bradan.
“I… who will take care of you while I’m gone?”
Bradan chuckled. “Oh, don’t you worry about me. I can still get myself up, fix a pot of stew. As long as you make sure the water barrels are all full before you go, I shouldn’t have any trouble at all holding down the fort.”
“Well… all right.”
“And you know where to go to sell the baskets? Jista’s shop on the corner?”
“Yes, I know where to go.”
“Good. And, here, bring me something to write on and I’ll give you a list of everything we need. And there’s a bit of money left over from last year—over there, tucked in the side of my chest. Take that, too.”
Vit set to work getting the cabin in order and repacking for a solo journey with excitement and anxiousness warring in equal measure. At last, they were off. Finally, after a week and a half of twiddling their thumbs (or spider claws).
But they’d have to hurry back—that they knew. They would spend a day in town, but then turn around. Three or four days away, depending on how quickly they could make the journey alone.
Three or four days so they could hurry back to Bradan.
It ended up taking four days and then a little extra. Carrying all of the baskets on the way there, then all the supplies on the way back, added time they hadn’t accounted for. No wonder Bradan walked slower when they traveled together.
It was late in the night when Vit reached the cabin. Bradan would likely be fast asleep.
But they were surprised to see light coming from the windows, and more surprised to find Bradan in the kitchen fixing a bowl of oats and fruit. He looked up when Vit entered.
“Ah, Vit! I didn’t expect you home so soon.”
There was more color in his face, more energy in his step. He wasn’t back to the full cache of energy he’d once had, but he looked better than he had when Vit left. Vit set down their things and wrapped him in a hug.
“How was the trip?”
“It was great!” said Vit, just excited to see Bradan again. “I sold all the baskets, and the mushrooms too. And there’s a good bit of money left over, even more than last year. And here, I brought you something!” Vit dug through one of their bags and came up with a paper-wrapped package. They unwrapped it gingerly and set it on the counter: three pastries, lemon and cheese.
“Oh, Vit. Thank you!” said Bradan as he plucked one from the paper and took a bite. “This is just what I needed. It’ll have my strength back in no time!”
Vit beamed. “I would’ve brought you some cider too, but, well, I didn’t think it would make the journey.”
“Because you’d drink it before you made it a mile out of town?”
“No!” said Vit with a faux-offended expression.
“I kid, I kid. Come on now.” Bradan lowered himself onto his cot with a flashing wince of pain. “Come and sit. Tell me all about your travels!”