chapter SEVENTEEN
Ephitel turned to the other prisoners. “And these,” he said. “Before you see them in cells of their own, strip them of whatever tools they may possess. They have proven themselves resourceful to a surprising degree. You may leave them their clothes, but nothing more.”
The jailers immediately set to the task, one of them searching all the many pockets inside Corin’s cloak. Ephitel watched with an apparent hunger, but the most interesting thing the warden found was Parkyr’s lockpick set. The soldier offered it with a victorious flourish, proof of Corin’s villainy, but Ephitel dismissed it with a wave.
Red-faced, the younger jailer suffered Maurelle the indignity of a close search. Avery snarled to see his sister groped by such ungentle men, but one raised eyebrow from Ephitel was enough to silence him. Avery was searched as well, though he clearly had been disarmed before his prior arrest. Then a jailer pointed toward Kellen’s cell. “And him?”
Ephitel laughed. “Kellen?” He approached the soldier. “Yeoman! Yield to me your sword.”
Utterly defeated, Kellen unbuckled his sword belt and passed it through the bars. Ephitel tossed it aside to clatter against the stone floor near the wardens’ station. “Even that was probably unnecessary,” he said. “I’ve never seen this one draw blood. He is lucky his father served Oberon so well, or he might have to find some useful occupation.”
Ephitel turned back to the jailers. “Lock them up. But not this one. I would have a word with him yet.” He caught Corin by the collarbone and dragged him some short distance back toward the stairs. There was no room for privacy—this place was not designed for such things—but Ephitel cast an imperious gaze around the landing, and the wardens at least pretended not to be listening.
If Ephitel was even talking to him, Corin had a chance. But even absent Kellen’s sad display, Corin knew better than to play the meek prisoner. Strong men were always brash, and Ephitel’s sort had no respect for any other kind. Corin gave a weary sigh. “What do you want of me?”
“I want you to understand the cost of defying me. Do you see how vagabonds are treated in my city?”
“Your city? I understood it was Oberon’s.”
“The king has tasked me to keep the peace. In this regard, at least, it is my domain.”
“And you show so much attention to every vagabond?”
“Not at all. Most are beaten senseless and left outside the city walls.”
“Hospitable.”
“But most do not walk around with a thousand livres of dwarven powder in their pockets. And none would dare employ it against the innocent patrons of an honest tavern.”
Corin shook his head. “I know of no such powder. But if I did, I would have employed it against you, not the innocent patrons.”
“A dangerous statement,” Ephitel said. “You would not want me for an enemy.”
“And yet I seem to have you all the same.”
Ephitel stepped closer and lowered his voice. “But perhaps you may find another way to employ the dwarven powder.”
Corin frowned. “How is that?”
“For all the threat you pose, for all the damage you have done, I could yet be willing to turn you loose, if you prove useful to me.”
“I have heard offers like this before.”
“Not like this,” Ephitel said. “And never from such as me.”
“What do you require, then?”
“A large supply of dwarven powder.”
“But the city, as you say, is your domain. Can you not acquire that supply yourself?”
“There are…limitations,” Ephitel said. “These same limitations should make it impossible for a manling like you to acquire any such powder at all. And yet you carried a full bag.”
“Did I? I don’t recall.”
“Don’t toy with me. I know you had a hoard of powder. That tells me one of two things: you have a compromising friend among the dwarves, or you have the skills and knowledge to acquire the powder despite them. I would reward you well for either resource.”
“I’m afraid my resources would be of little use to you.”
“Likely,” Ephitel replied. “Likely that small bag was the limit of your abilities, where I need crates. But I have resources of my own. Show me where to start, and I will find reward enough for us all.”
“It’s no small thing you ask of me, to defy the orders of Oberon and betray the secrets of the dwarves.”
“Ah, but yours is no small crime that I am prepared to forgive.”
“I’m sorry, Ephitel. Forgiveness is not reward enough for me.”
The prince lowered his brows. “Then what would satisfy you? A pile of gold? A name? An estate within the city? I can give you all these things.”
“But will you?”
Ephitel showed his teeth in what was meant to be a smile. “I give my word.”
“And all you ask of me?”
“A name. A place. Whatever lead it takes to gain access to their storehouses.”
“You have a deal,” Corin said. “I’ll give you the name for a thousand pistoles.”
Ephitel grinned and clapped his hands together. “A princely sum!”
But Corin shook his head. “That’s not all. You must also free Maurelle and Avery.” He hesitated, then added, “And Yeoman Kellen.”
“The elves are no concern of yours.”
Corin crossed his arms over his chest. “I regret to say that I must insist.”
Ephitel sighed. “Maurelle I can give you. And Kellen, though I cannot imagine why you’d want him. But Avery’s name has already been committed to a warrant. It would be no small matter to arrange his release.”
“Nonetheless, it is a matter you must attend to. I will not leave here without Avery.”
Ephitel narrowed his eyes. “Be careful how you answer me. I am not known for my generosity.”
Corin shrugged. “And I am not known for leaving my crew in dangerous waters. You have my answer.”
“Then I will give you mine,” Ephitel shouted. “You may rot in here forgotten! If I come back for you at all, you will wish I hadn’t.”
While Ephitel swept up the stairs, the jailers came for Corin. He went quietly. There were not cells enough for the guards to fully follow Ephitel’s demands, but they had seen enough of his treatment of Kellen that they did not consider him a true collaborator. So Corin had the first cell on the left and Avery the third with Kellen separating them. Across the corridor, Maurelle had the center cell alone.
The jailers checked the lock on Corin’s door, and all the others’, too, but they seemed easily satisfied. They soon resumed their places by the gate, half-turned to watch the landing and the prisoners at once. Corin waved to them, then took a seat on his narrow cot and leaned his back against the wall, trying hard to look completely unambitious.
Kellen interrupted his pretense. “He means it, you know. You would not be the first to rot, forgotten, in these cells. You should have taken his offer.”
“I have no faith in the promises of Ephitel.”
“Do you hold hope the druids will come save you? They can’t. They have no access to these dungeons.”
Corin shook his head. “They wouldn’t even try.”
Kellen nodded slowly. “So you hoped to escape on your own?”
“I did,” Corin said. “But this is no easy prison to escape. Even without the fortified courtyard up above, every landing on the stair is a guarded checkpoint.”
“As I said, you should have taken Ephitel’s offer.”
Corin had no answer. The yeoman fell silent for a while, but he was clearly troubled. He wrung his hands and shifted on his cot, then finally he spoke again. “Why did you ask for me?”
Corin shrugged. “You do not deserve to be here.”
“You do not know me. You could have asked for more in gold. Why speak my name?”
Corin turned to face him for a moment. The pirate sighed. “I have a special fondness for anyone despised by tyrants. Such men are my friends, even if I do not know them yet.”
Kellen nodded slowly over Corin’s words. He stared at his hands, then gave a smirk. “You should not have asked for Avery. Even Avery agrees.”
“I need Avery.”
“For a thousand pistoles, you could have bought a better man and changed his name.”
Corin laughed. “It doesn’t matter. Ephitel would not have paid. I would rot down here no matter what I said.”
“How can you know that?”
“You heard his words. He wants a secret from me, and it is not a secret he can risk out in the world.”
Kellen chuckled, though there was no joy in the sound. “It is a poor secret if he discusses it where we all can hear.”
Corin held his eyes for a moment, then repeated what the yeoman had told them in the carriage. “No one leaves the lord protector’s dungeons.” The pirate glanced toward the wardens and frowned. “Although this does not look good for them.”
Kellen shook his head. “He might just trust that we don’t understand. I heard his words, but they meant nothing to me. I barely grasp what’s going on.”
“You heard how freely Ephitel defies the king.”
“Yes, but I cannot guess why.”
“Then I will tell you,” Corin said. “Ephitel seeks dwarven powder. Do you know what that is for?”
“Everyone knows. It’s used in holiday rockets and for excavation. Perhaps Ephitel means at last to carve a road through the Elpan Mountains.”
“Why would he not ask the powder of Oberon then? No. I’ll grant you rockets and excavations, but I’d wager everything he wants it for cannons and guns.”
“Cannons and guns?” Kellen asked, looking confused. “They are not the same? I have heard of cannon…”
“By guns, I mean firearms. Muskets. Flintlock pistols.” The bafflement on the yeoman’s face told Corin everything he needed to know.
“You don’t have guns. There are no guns. Yet. Oh, gods’ blood!” Corin hissed. “Ephitel is bringing guns to Jezeeli! That is how he means to overthrow the king.”