Root tried not to take too much pride in the sequence of expressions that danced their routine across David’s face as he entered the room.
Her ploy with the seeds had worked its magic. David hurried into the Hall of Relics, led by a guard carrying an umbrella they’d snatched from the least wealthy-looking nearby guest. He looked more baffled than concerned, as he’d been hearing calls of missing crowns all evening. Mollified by whatever coursed through his bloodstream, his biggest worry seemed to be the sudden rainstorm inside his palace, which spattered confusion across his face and sent it dripping down his wrinkles and off his nose.
That all changed when he entered the hall.
The crowd crammed through the doors, pressing into the backs of the people in front, thinking they could escape the rain. Umbrellas bumped and poked disgruntled attendees in the backs of their heads, each wielded by hands that had never used an umbrella, did not know the manners of carrying something so ungainly, and certainly had not heard that opening one indoors was bad luck—and would’ve been outright horrified to learn as much.
Despite the crowd, David’s guards carved a path for him—forcefully, when needed. They got him into the hall, where it was impossible not to notice the gaping hole at the room’s heart, like a missing tooth prodded endlessly by a bored tongue.
His face contorted into a deep expression of fear.
It faded quickly, much to Root’s dismay. Whether a facade to keep the guests from thinking the worst or whether his muddied mind had landed on its own theory that this must’ve been yet another malfunction of the case’s defenses, Root couldn’t be sure, but that thread of concern remained amidst it all. Whatever the case, David couldn’t walk up and check so easily, and that clearly unnerved him.
A smaller sect of the crowd had sought shelter in the foyer. Saly’s voice came through the whisper stone from his spot among them. “Got the checks from Beel. Keeping them dry.”
David made his way towards the empty spot of floor where the halo case wasn’t. The guard who’d been running towards Azriah was picking himself up off the floor, drenched but unharmed, and looking all around wildly.
“Sir!” he said as he hurried to David and the other guards. That was all Root overheard; they spoke together in hushed tones for many tense seconds.
Azriah wound through the crowd, hurrying up to the huddle. He tugged on a raincoat as he went.
“Can we get this turned off?” called David to his staff, gesturing to the air. He was still shaded by an umbrella held by a guard—who stood to the side, exposed and dripping. “What is this? We’ll all drown in here, get it off!”
It was a bit overdramatic, but in his defense, his night was not going swimmingly. At this rate, he might still turn that around.
The water stopped a few minutes later after a lot of scrambling from the palace staff and guards. More guards spoke with David, including Elijah Amin, the young head of security they’d seen during the service in the Numinous Cathedral.
Root waited patiently, holding her breath. She picked at a scab on the back of her neck where the tickle of eyes watching her made her shiver.
Syrus eyed her carefully. His attention roved—Root, Azriah with the other guards, Vit across the room, and Beel, way out in the foyer but still unmistakably red beneath his altered raincoat. All four of them in attendance now; he certainly couldn’t miss something like that, regardless of the lies she’d told him.
He approached David and spoke quietly with him and Elijah for a moment. Root tried not to watch, but it was impossible to miss the way he looked at her. He pointed—one, two, three, four.
Shit.
At David’s command, a guard peeled away and hurried over to the foyer. He only slipped and fell twice. He returned with Beel and Leslie—speaking quietly into Leslie’s ear and escorting a very frightened (so, normal) looking Beel before them.
Elijah rounded up Vit and pulled Azriah away from the crowd of guards. They all converged on Root.
“Excuse me,” said Elijah. “Your name?”
“Vixie Luscious.” Root tried to put on an expression of clipped annoyance. It was easy enough after recentering Tohlog in her mind. At her fake name, Syrus gave her a curious look, but he remained silent.
“Ms. Luscious—we’d like a word.” Elijah motioned for Root to follow. He led them all aside to a spot in the corner.
Root, Azriah, Vit, and Beel stood there in a line, facing David, Elijah, Leslie, Syrus, and two other guards.
Root did her best to calm her racing heart. This had always been a possibility—a likelihood, even. They’d expected it. They’d planned for it.
But that didn’t make it less harrowing. There were no fewer than three dozen guards around them—in the room, in the courtyard, out by the door. They couldn’t run and they couldn’t fight. The best they could do now was lie, hope their plan held, and see what information came to the table when the wildcard was played.
David, eyes glassy, leaned into Elijah’s ear and murmured something. Root only caught the word “lockdown.” Elijah relayed a command to one of the guards, who ran off. He only slipped and fell once.
Moments later, the exterior doors out in the foyer closed with a final thud. There was no show to it, and no one else seemed to take notice.
The church couldn’t lose the halo. Both by the mythos they’d spooned to their followers, their narrative, and their own tight-gripped hand—their protocol, their insistence that such a thing must never come to pass—they couldn’t lose the halo. And the only thing worse than losing the halo would be their followers knowing they’d lost the halo. So, in the face of doubt, they’d have to deal with this quietly. Quietly, and without anyone coming or going.
As far as Root and the others were concerned, that was no major issue. They’d never planned to leave through the front door anyhow.
Elijah stepped forward. The water had made his hair slick. While the other guards looked like sopping cats, angry and deflated, somehow the rain had only accentuated Elijah’s sharp jaw and thick hair. The water beaded on his cheeks and neck like a glow of perspiration. Then Root realized there was steam coming off him. His clothes were drying, the water evaporating rapidly from his skin. It filled the air around him with a light mist that danced in the purple and green and gold light from the skylights.
He cleared his throat. “This is Syrus Bortoot, but he says you all know that. He indicated that you four might have something to do with what’s going on here.”
“Why would we?” asked Root with a huff. She’d see how far the visage of wealth could carry her.
“I’d like to know that myself,” said Elijah, throwing a pointed look back at Syrus. “But he said he saw you four… I believe his words were ‘creeping about.’” Though I don’t see how that can be entirely the case, as he’s included the postal worker in the accusations.”
So Syrus hadn’t said everything. He hadn’t mentioned Midden or the flute. That was a lucky break, and they’d need to keep it that way.
“Just thought they seemed suspicious,” said Syrus with a nonchalant shrug.
Elijah turned to Azriah. “You—you were stationed here in the Hall, no?”
“I was, sir.”
“And what did you see? Your partner insists there was a disguised bandit. Did you see this?”
“I was in the bathroom, sir,” said his mouth, but his face conveyed more—authentic concern. Root was immediately reminded how startlingly effective he could be.
Elijah paused for a beat. “The bathroom.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was it not our order that you would need to be relieved before going on any breaks?”
“Well, yes, sir, that’s why I went…”
Root barely held in a laugh.
Elijah let those words sit for a moment. “You were brought in for the evening from another parish, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Elijah exhaled slowly through his nose. “Well, we clearly won’t be doing that again.”
Leslie interjected. “Listen, Elijah—Syrus, we appreciate your help, but… the postal worker here—Bongo, was it?—I was with him the whole time. He has a most aggravating tendency to run his mouth, but otherwise…”
Elijah watched David with concern as the Grand Priest blinked a few times, then spoke. “Just search them, and we’ll proceed from there.” Elijah and the other guard moved forward.
“I can help,” said Syrus, leaning forward with antsy fingers that made Root gag. Elijah waved him away.
Elijah checked the group while the other guard went to the security checkpoint and returned with a tool that reminded Root of the one used in the Capsoul facility. Elijah flipped through Beel’s clipboard, checked Root’s clutch, and patted his hands over their sides and up and down their legs. Root’s throat closed as he touched her with hands that looked like they were wreathed in fire and stained with soot. He found nothing.
The other guard waved the tool before them. Weep weep weep weep! Elijah checked their ears and raised an eyebrow.
“Why the whisper stones?”
“In case we got separated in the crowd,” said Root. “Lot of people here.”
“You all know each other, then?”
“Yes.”
Elijah folded his arms. “And what brings you here? As a guard, a bartender, a mail carrier?”
“We travel a lot, sir,” said Azriah. “We take jobs wherever we stay.”
“And we all have our talents,” added Vit.
Elijah took another hard look at them. The other guard watched him, waiting for a verdict, panting obediently as he prayed for the order to start hitting something.
“They’re clean. Enough,” Elijah said to David. “Though I understand why they caught Syrus’s eye.” He cocked his head, and the church officials followed him farther down the wall to a secluded spot.
Root and the others hadn’t been told to stay put, but they hadn’t not been told to stay put. There had been a heavy implication of staying-put in Elijah’s expression. Surely he meant to file the four of them away for later questions.
But the group from the foyer had been corralled into the Hall of Relics now, and there was an amassing mob of guards in the courtyard. They wouldn’t let anyone leave.
Root spotted guards at the side hall entrances as well—each group like a small clique, a few standing around casually in discussion. They didn’t look like checkpoints, but they were. The functionality of a lockdown with the image of a continuing social. No complaints—no suspicions—if the guests were kept happy, the drinks still came around, and everyone was having a grand time. But no one would be leaving the Hall of Relics anytime soon; not until the halo had been confirmed safe, or every attendee checked and cleared beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Root heard Beel counting guards under his breath again. Not that that mattered any more than the closed door. There were other ways out of the room—if you knew a guy.
Vit looked sidelong at the rest of them. They all shared a quick, knowing look, a nod, and then Vit was just another yellow raincoat in the crowd.
First, Vit found Saly. It was unfortunately somewhat tricky in a sea of raincoats and several umbrellas still deployed in cautious consideration for dresses valued at the same price tag as a family home.
They spotted Saly at the same time he spotted them. They crossed the floor and passed him by.
As they walked, Saly slid a stack of papers into Vit’s hand, which they promptly stuffed into their pocket. Checks—each one with a messy, angry signature, but a signature nonetheless.
Next, Vit found the king. That was less difficult. He couldn’t move, and was right where Root had left him, tucked carefully at the base of a display case, out of sight and out of tripping range.
“You’re late,” said the king when Vit picked him up.
“Had to get our pat-down. And David’s a little… sluggish at the moment.”
“Have they sent anyone to the vault yet?”
“Not that I know of, but they’ve been giving a lot of orders.”
“That’s bad. We have to hurry.”
“I know.”
Saly’s voice spoke in Vit’s ear. “I’ve moved close enough to the bigwigs to eavesdrop. They’re saying it has to be a false alarm since nothing could’ve actually lifted the display case.”
“That’s good,” said Root. “And the witness?”
“Still insistent, apparently. Uh, he was also an outside hire, so limited credibility. Elijah’s getting chewed out about that.”
“No suspicion on you four?” asked Anjeanette.
“Some, but nothing too incriminating,” said Root.
Vit wound around the display cases and pushed their way through a mass of bodies that each seemed to be incapable of the thought that it might be in the way. They reached the side wall and looked around. A lot of eyes nearby…
Saly spoke again. “David is sending Elijah to check the vaults. As long as the crown is still inside, he’ll raise it back up to reassure the guests.”
“And if it’s not inside?” asked Root.
“Lots of pat-downs and such, I expect.”
“We have to go,” said the king to Vit, more insistent now.
“I know. They’re sending someone to check the vault now. But there are a lot of people who might see.”
“Sit down. Act natural. Loosen the grate. Then transform elsewhere.”
“Good thinking.” Vit sank down, back against the wall near a small metal grate, a simple vent. They started loosening screws.
“Elijah hasn’t left yet,” said Saly, letting Vit exhale a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. “He’s trying to insist that David sit down. He isn’t looking good. His aides keep bringing water. A chair. It’s eating up a lot of time. Uh, also something about a… a vermin? Elijah’s guards have been chasing something through the halls all night, apparently. They thought it was a lost wild spirit, but they’re all more suspicious now.”
“Hey all. That wild spirit makes real efficient use of tight timelines. Extremely deadline-driven. Best, B. S., Senior Marketing, Strategy, and Operations Coordinating Analyst.”
“Right.”
Vit finished with the screws. They stood up and hurried to the most unwatched corner they could find. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best they had.
“Ready?”
“Unfortunately,” said the quivering voice of the king.
Vit set the king down. Then they shrank—their body collapsing, folding in, becoming the small spider form. The transformation took only a second, and then they scooped up the king’s brick on their back and skittered over to the grate. They slipped easily inside, unseen.
The air shaft went straight down. A lot of air had to be displaced for the display case to descend through a hole at that speed. And that air had to escape somewhere.
Clutching the king, Vit scaled down the side, descending into the darkness.