Chapter 25
Will hated leaving Sebastian, Edmund, and Amaya on the train without him. And, of course, Mouse.
Will hadn’t told anyone the boy was coming, and he’d followed at a long distance, but his job was to keep watch and report back to the Maelstrom if anything happened to the Starcrest Peak party.
Mouse knew how to disappear, and the extra set of eyes would be needed if something went wrong, but Will hated sending the kid into the snake pit that was Sorrento. He disliked being separated from his inner circle in general, especially in a place that would execute them all, if given the chance.
Except for Amaya, of course. If they were caught, she’d be sequestered at her cushy estate, not executed. But Will wasn’t intent on losing her, either.
His thoughts must have been evident on his face, because Lockwood patted him on the back with a good-natured grin.
“Don’t worry. Sebastian will take care of her.”
“I’m not worried,” Will said, irritated Lockwood felt the need to comfort him.
“You know, I think she’s starting to fit in,” Lockwood continued, undeterred. “We’ll make a sharpshooter out of her yet.”
Lockwood navigated the monstrous city like he belonged there, leading Will through the urban maze with confidence and precision.
Will suspected he secretly enjoyed being back, but hoped the hood and false glasses were enough to prevent him from being recognized.
Lockwood had achieved significant acclaim as a Royal Investigator and developed many allies and enemies alike.
Being here was a risk for him, perhaps most of all.
They skirted the crowds and kept their heads low, each street tighter and emptier and darker.
The stench of rotting garbage flooded Will’s nose, the occasional rat scurrying across their path.
But Lockwood didn’t stop until Will was convinced they were one turn away from the entrance to hell itself.
“Here we are,” he said finally.
Will scanned the dilapidated building before them. “. . . This is it?”
The shop, if it could even be called that, was labeled “Arbuckle Emporium” in fading, curly letters.
It looked shady at best, haunted at worst. The pitiful excuse for a building sat sandwiched between two much larger ones, making it look like it had been shoved between them after they were built.
The single flickering lantern hanging above the door was the only thing convincing Will it wasn’t abandoned.
“This is it,” Lockwood confirmed. “Stay here a moment, Captain.”
“Why?”
“You’ll alarm him.” Will shot Lockwood a look, and his friend clarified, somewhat apologetically, “There’s one detail I haven’t shared. He’s a bit, shall we say, renowned in Sorrento’s relic black market.”
“He’s what?”
“There’s not a pirate who comes and goes from Sorrento he doesn’t know about—for good reason. Just stay back, please.”
Lockwood approached the door and knocked five times in a strange rhythm.
And . . . nothing happened.
Will sighed and lifted his hand to run a hand through his hair—a nervous tic—but stopped when he remembered the pomade slicking it into place. His fingers curled into fists instead, his nose wrinkling as an unusually large rat pattered by.
“Perhaps they only allow rodents now.”
“I would caution you against offending him.”
“Offending who? The rat?”
Lockwood knocked again, with the same result.
Will was contemplating either cutting their losses and finding another informant or smashing down the door when a series of mechanical whirs reached his ears, followed by the distinctive squeak of grinding gears and the heavy thud of shifting metal bars.
“Damn. This is one paranoid son of a bitch,” Will muttered.
Lockwood lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t you be?”
Will clenched and unclenched his fists as the door continued to creak. Finally, the last lock clicked into place and the door swung outwards, revealing not a person, but a stationary, wheel-mounted cannon.
“Lockwood . . .”
Before his companion could say anything, a lithe, flamboyant man with frazzled white hair and a colorful patchwork coat bounced up from behind the cannon. Sharp, beady black eyes landed on them.
“Markus! What a surprise!” He winked, giving Will the sense that their appearance wasn’t a surprise at all, and flashed a wicked grin as he shifted his attention to Will. “And I am not paranoid. I’m prepared, as one should be when a Sky Lord comes knocking. May I call you Lex?”
Will didn’t dignify the question with a response. Lockwood had described Arbuckle as eccentric earlier, but clearly, it had been code for “lunatic.”
“I’ll take that as a maybe.” Arbuckle grinned, revealing what looked like gems embedded in his teeth. Will pitied his dentist. “Come in, come in.”
Arbuckle shoved back the cannon, waving them inside. Will and Lockwood crammed into the small space, then filed through a hidden door behind a cabinet. Will should have known the small shop was merely an entrance hall.
But the actual shop was in disrepair, too.
Dust caked the carpeted floor, tickling Will’s nose when he inhaled.
Some of the display cases scattered about the single room were so grimy, he could hardly see what was inside.
Maybe it was intentional, but he still wasn’t impressed by Lockwood’s associate.
“This is . . .” Will squinted, trying to get a good look inside a display case. There were trinkets stacked inside—relics, presumably—but it would take a good amount of rifling through to find anything useful. Perhaps that was the point. “This is certainly a place you’ve got here.”
“Indeed. Feel free to browse my wares—although, I don’t think relics are what you’re here for. And if you steal them, your presence in my city will be short-lived.”
That grin again. It made Will’s skin crawl.
“Presumptuous of you,” Will commented. “You know how many Sky Lords are killed during raids? Not many.”
“Yes, but there’s a reason you lot don’t come to Sorrento, isn’t there?” Arbuckle licked his lips. “What can I help you find, Lord Lexington?”
“Alastor Graven.”
“Captain, you wound me. No foreplay?”
Will started to say they had no time for nonsense, but Lockwood cut in. “How’s business, Barnabas?”
“Oh, booming!” Arbuckle smacked another stationary cannon against the wall. He giggled at his own joke, a grating, high-pitched cackle that made Will want to punch him square in his bedazzled teeth.
“Even more reason to kill you if you can’t help us. Do you have intel on Alastor Graven or not?” Will asked.
“Ooh, you’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” Arbuckle chuckled. Although Will’s tall frame dwarfed him, Arbuckle didn’t seem remotely intimidated as he approached. It was annoying—and unnerving. “Really, must I beg for the foreplay?”
“You little . . .” Will grabbed Arbuckle by the collar of his shirt and yanked him up on his toes.
“Captain, don’t!” Lockwood warned, just as Sixth Sense pinged Will’s brain.
Left; behind.
Releasing Arbuckle’s collar, Will jolted back. He narrowly missed a bullet flying past his head and into the opposite wall. His instinct was to identify the perpetrator and eliminate them, but as Will turned around the room . . . he saw nothing.
The bullet had materialized from thin air.
Lockwood reached for Deadeye, concealed under his cloak, while Hellsgate appeared in Will’s hand. The curved blade caught the shopkeeper’s attention, and his eyes twinkled hungrily.
“Now, this is much more fun. Was that so hard?”
“What was that?” Will growled, still scanning the walls for the bullet’s origin.
“Security is of utmost importance here at the Arbuckle Emporium.” Arbuckle’s expression turned malicious as the glint of humor left his eyes. “Now, down to business. What do you want?”
“Graven, dammit.”
“You’ll have to be more specific. I know several individuals with that surname.”
“Sky Lord Alastor Graven,” Will said, enunciating each syllable. “I want to know where he is, where he’s been, and what his plans are.”
Arbuckle let out a theatrical sigh, leaning against the splintered counter. “You Sky Lords are exhausting. You want the Baron, the Baron wants a necklace and your pretty new girlfriend, and on and on it goes.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Oh yes, I know about the girl.”
Will felt a headache coming on, his stomach swooping with a sudden onset of nausea.
“Though that’s not all that lucrative,” Arbuckle continued.
“There’s not an informant in this city who doesn’t know the name of Amaya Sinclair, especially since her disappearance.
What I don’t understand is why you’ve bothered to keep her alive.
Killing her would throw quite the wrench in Graven’s plans, if that’s your objective.
” Another dramatic sigh from Arbuckle, and another lurch in Will’s stomach as the shopkeeper continued.
“Anyway, that’s neither here nor there, but my goodness, this is a sticky situation. It’s not every day I have two Sky Lords who’d love to see my head on a pike come in asking for information about each other.”
Will froze. Graven had already been here?
“What did you tell him?”
“That depends. What have you brought to trade?”
“Gold. Lots of it.”
Arbuckle clucked his tongue and shook his head. “I have no interest in gold.”
“You want relics, then?”
Arbuckle leaned forward and grinned, the gems in his teeth sparkling.
“I want Dorian Duaric.”
That was the last name Will expected to hear.
Lockwood sucked in a breath, understandably alarmed, but Will manufactured his reaction, pulling his brows together and turning his mouth to a deep frown. Inside, his pulse rushed.
How could he possibly . . . ?
“Duaric is dead,” he said. “If you’re interested in his grave, you’ll find it in Aerion.”
“You’re only allowed one lie in my shop, William,” Arbuckle said, his voice dangerously low. He held up a finger. “Just one.”
The shop turned deathly quiet. Will almost didn’t dare to breathe, his head spinning so fast he thought he might combust.