Chapter 33
DAVE
The basement of the mansion was quiet at four in the morning, and the Eight walked through it in silence.
Losham had canceled the night shifts after he'd received orders from the clan to do so. The timeline had been moving up too fast, and the clan wanted to slow things down so all the pieces of the plan could align.
Number One had spoken to K after the council meeting on Friday and had told him about the brothers' choosing to go to the harem on Sunday. K hadn't provided any further instructions, just wished them good luck.
The Eight had entered the basement through the service entrance that the debris removal teams used, and from there they had access to the rest of the mansion and to the secret tunnel leading to the harem.
Losham was at his home, and he'd ordered two women from the brothel to entertain him tonight, so he would have an alibi in case anyone tried to blame him for what was about to go down.
They'd already retrieved one of Navuh's robes a few days ago, and Number Five was carrying it, folded over his arm in a long protective bag.
On the bottom of the bag were Navuh's leather slippers, which had been a last-minute addition they hadn't thought about until they looked through his closet and realized that the lord didn't own a single pair of boots.
The wrong footwear under the robe could have given Number Three away.
They entered the stairwell leading up to Navuh's former office, closed the door behind them, and pressed on the panel that revealed the entry to the tunnel.
The jeep they used each time they visited the harem was where they'd left it, and they arranged themselves in the vehicle as best they could. Four in the jump seats in the back. Two up front. Number One and Number Eight stood on the vehicle's rear bumper, braced against the roll bar.
Number Seven started the engine.
The air in the tunnel was damp, earthy, and cool, and smelled like stone that had never seen daylight.
The drive took twenty-two minutes.
They parked the jeep facing the mansion and then entered the harem using the code they had memorized to open the door.
The carpet on the other side was thick enough that the soft click of the mechanism did not carry. The bookcase swung open, and the Eight passed through it into the receiving room of the apartment.
Number Two closed it behind them.
"Let's check the robes in here," Number Three suggested. "Maybe there is something better in his closet here."
The Eight walked into the bedroom that had been Navuh and Areana's.
It had been kept exactly as it had been on the day Navuh had vanished from the island. The bed was made, and the two leather chairs by the terrace doors were positioned to face each other.
Number Three set the garment bag on the bed.
Number Two walked into the closet.
Most of it was taken by beautiful floor-length gowns, but one wall was lined with all kinds of robes, organized by color and level of ornamentation. Number Two moved along the rail, pulling out one at a time and assessing it.
The fifth one caught his attention.
It was a black, floor-length robe, heavier than the one they had taken from the mansion. The edges were embroidered in silver thread, and it had a deep hood lined in matching silk.
This one will work much better, he thought.
Number One stood at the doorway and tilted his head. We are using a thrall to make Number Three look like Navuh. The robe doesn't matter that much.
Number Two lifted the hood. The one we brought has no hood. I do not remember what Navuh's hair looked like. What if we get it wrong? The brothers will notice the difference. The hood solves that problem.
The collective considered.
Number One remembered short, nearly black hair, brushed back from the forehead, and slicked. Number Eight held a different memory of slightly longer hair that was parted on the side.
The robe with the hood is better, Number Eight agreed.
Number Three pulled the slippers out from the garment bag and handed the bag to Number Two, who hung it back in the closet and handed Number Three the black robe with the hood.
The robe was loose on his frame, but that was okay.
Lord Navuh was a slim male with a similar build to Number Three.
He probably wore this robe to make himself appear larger.
Number Three closed the robe at the throat so it covered the clothes he was wearing underneath, also borrowed from Lord Navuh's closet in the mansion.
He sat on the bed, removed the boots, put on the slippers, and winced.
They were too small for him.
Who knew that Lord Navuh had such small feet? Was this why he wore long robes? To hide his unimpressive feet?
The collective registered amusement.
Number Three stood and walked over to the mirror. He looked enough like Navuh that the collective wouldn't have to work hard to create the illusion that he was the lord.
The Eight took the service stairs to the topside pavilion.
The harem had two exits, and both were guarded. This one was the fancier of the two because it had served the lord and his ladies. The other one was used by the staff.
The sliding doors led out to the gardens, and the path leading to the cliff meandered through them.
The Eight walked out the sliding doors and stepped into the gray pre-dawn air, thralling the two guards standing next to them to ignore all of them save for the fake Navuh.
"Good morning, my lord," the guard on the left breathed.
The other one stared, sweating profusely despite the morning chill.
Number Three grunted his response, and the Eight kept walking.
The garden was beautiful, meticulously tended to, aiming to please occupants who were no longer in residence.
They passed a human gardener who had no business being outside at this early hour. The man immediately dropped to his knees and lowered his forehead to the ground.
The second and third witnesses were human guards stationed along the path. Both of them bowed deeply and mumbled their good mornings.
Number Three didn't even bother to grunt a response because Navuh wouldn't have acknowledged the lowly human guards. Their status was slightly above that of the gardeners, which allowed them to greet him, but it wasn't enough to merit a response.
The Eight moved past them at a measured pace, because Navuh wouldn't have walked quickly when he was out in the garden.
The two guards began to follow.
It was the guards' duty to follow the lord at a respectful distance, but they had to get rid of them. They allowed it for a few meters, and then Number Three stopped and turned, and the guards immediately stopped and bowed.
"Don't follow me. Guard the harem entrance."
He'd pitched his voice low and flat, imitating what they remembered about the way Navuh talked to those he considered disposable. The thrall did the small additional work of suggesting the recognizable timbre to the listening minds.
"My lord," one of the guards said, his head still hanging nearly to his navel.
"I am going to the cliff to meditate, and I do not wish to be bothered."
"Yes, my lord."
The two guards backed away, turning only once. Number Three turned his back to them and resumed walking.
It took only a few minutes to reach the cliff, which was a flat rocky area jutting over a sheer drop into the ocean of at least a hundred meters. There was a stone bench near the edge of the rock, about three meters from the lip, providing a perfect vantage point to enjoy the view.
Number Three sat down on the bench, and the other seven moved into position.
There were no convenient architectural features to hide behind, but there were shrubs and boulders, and the seven found places that could conceal their presence.
It was five-twelve in the morning, and the brothers were not expected until mid-morning. The collective would have to hold this configuration for several hours.
It was good that their hive mind didn't get bored.
The sun came up.
The garden behind them woke up with a bird chorus, and the gardening staff arrived and dispersed throughout the grounds, but none of them came down the cliff path because they'd been told to stay away from their lord.
The hours passed.
At ten, Number One registered footsteps on the gravel path.
A guard rushed toward Number Three, murmuring apologies and bowing nearly all the way to the ground.
"My lord, I wouldn't have bothered you, but three of your sons are at the outer fence, and they are requesting an audience with you."
"Their names!" Number Three barked.
"Lord Kolhood, Lord Hazok, and Lord Hocken."
"Impudent fools," Number Three murmured. "Bring them to me. They are not to set foot inside the harem. They will speak to me out here."
"Yes, my lord." The guard looked relieved to retreat with his head still attached to his shoulders.
Show time, Number Eight thought.
Number Three rose to his feet and walked to the edge of the cliff, the hood draped over his head.
Seventeen minutes later, footsteps sounded on the gravel. Five sets of shoes, two of them combat boots and the other three dress shoes. The brothers thought that formal wear would mollify their father's rage and make him less inclined to kill them.
They would have been wrong even if they were about to meet the real Navuh, and not an imposter.
Number One watched the path from behind a shrub, using a thrall to deflect attention from himself.
The first to come into view was the senior of the two human guards. Behind him came Kolhood, Hazok, and Hocken, with Kolhood in the middle and the other two flanking him as usual. Behind them was the second guard.
Kolhood wore a dark suit with a gold tie pin. Hazok was wearing a charcoal suit with a high collar, and Hocken was in all black. Kolhood was carrying a wrapped package in the shape of a bottle. The wrapping was a deep red silk.
The brothers were nervous, as they should be.
The senior guard stopped about ten meters from the bench and bowed deeply.
"My lord." He held the bow.
Number Three did not turn.