Chapter Thirty-Seven #3
The wet smack of a sword’s pommel against skin. The heavy thump of Jacoby’s body falling to the floor, his upper body in the Vault while his legs rested outside of it.
“They stole all the gold they could carry.”
A soldier picked up the bag Jacoby had been stuffing. “How much is this? Should we grab more?”
Shouting rose in the distance as people discovered the fire. Smoke was already drifting into the room. “If we stick around too long, we’ll burn with the rest of the place.”
“Then they stuffed Jacoby in the Vault and closed the door.”
One soldier grabbed Jacoby’s shoulders, the other his legs. They dragged him backwards into the Vault. “Isn’t there a reward for this guy’s capture?” one of them asked.
The other snorted. “If you want to risk your life trying to collect it, that’s your business.”
“Doing their work for them and we don’t even get fucking paid for it,” the first grumbled.
Together, they grabbed the massive steel door and dragged it closed.
By then, smoke was leaking through the cracks in the door, burning Silas’ throat. He clapped a hand over his mouth to suppress a cough, afraid that if they caught him, they’d stuff him into the Vault right alongside Jacoby.
“And how did you get the key?” Silas asked, his own voice feeling faint and unreal with Quentin’s thoughts clouding his head.
Quentin hesitated for a long time before admitting. “They’d left it in the door. Why would they care about it when they never intended to return here? It wasn’t as if they could rob the same vault twice.”
Silas nodded slowly. “And did you know Jacoby was alive when you left?”
The blood completely drained from Quentin’s already pale face. “No … he was dead. He was definitely dead.”
Instead of arguing with him, Silas pulled out his keyring and unlocked the Vault door.
The crank was heavy and difficult to turn, so it took time to get the door fully open.
When he did, Silas leaned against the heavy steel and gestured to the scratch marks.
“He was alive, Quentin. The medic’s best estimate is for half an hour afterwards, perhaps an hour. ”
Confronted by the evidence of his part in his mentor’s murder, Quentin swayed on his feet.
“You didn’t check for a pulse or to see if he was breathing. You just left him to suffocate to death.”
Quentin stared blankly at the Vault door for a long time before asking, “Do I get the reward?”
The question threw Silas off guard. It was an odd echo of the same thing the soldier had asked in his memory. “What?”
“Jacoby was a traitor,” Quentin said, his voice faint. “I … I saved the kingdom from a traitor, so I should be rewarded.”
“Quentin,” Silas said slowly. “You didn’t save the kingdom from a traitor. You should have reported to me immediately when Jacoby contacted you. Instead, you helped him hide from justice and rob the kingdom—”
Quentin lunged, the chain of his manacle stretched taut as he wrapped his arms around Silas’ neck. Silas’ back slammed against the wall and the chain pressed against his throat, choking off his air in a startled yelp. “You said you would be lenient!” Quentin shouted.
Silas’ hands instinctively jerked toward the chain, but Griselda’s voice barked in his head: “No use scrabbling at the rope. It’s the bastard holding it who is trying to kill you.
” Silas pressed his palm against Quentin’s face and shoved his head to the side.
The chain loosened from around Silas’ neck, allowing him to breathe again.
While Quentin was off balance, Silas hooked his ankle behind Quentin’s knee and yanked.
Quentin crashed to the floor with a startled yelp.
Langley pinned him with a foot on his manacle chain and the point of his sword against his neck. The guard’s chest heaved as he looked at Silas, wide-eyed with awe and respect. “Where’d you learn that?”
Silas rubbed his tender throat. His voice came out raspy as he said, “Griselda made me practice that move until I could break free every time.”
“How long did that take?”
“Sixteen tries.”
Langley whistled low in response. He looked down at Quentin and asked, “What would you like me to do with him, sir?” The point of his sword crept ever closer, a silent offer to eliminate the threat, just as his general had taught him.
It would have been one thing in the heat of the moment, but since they’d easily subdued Quentin, killing him now felt cold and unnecessary. Silas rubbed his eyes. “Have someone take him back to the barracks.”
“Are you sure, sir? He tried to kill you.”
“If I executed everyone who’d ever tried to kill me, I wouldn’t have much of a kingdom to rule over,” Silas replied dryly.
As Langley dealt with Quentin, Silas looked back at the scratch marks on the Vault door.
He would never know if Quentin’s story was true—if the visions Silas had seen were memories or a manifestation of how Quentin wished the events had unfolded.
The not-knowing was a persistent itch in Silas’ mind, one he would simply have to live with.
It was just one item in the long list of questions he would never have real answers to.