Rylana looked at Mayor Sedgewick. “Blackmail plans.”
Not waiting for permission, she jogged into the diner. The peacekeepers didn’t stop her, but she didn’t doubt that they would come in after her if she took too long, so she hurried for the storeroom, only glancing around for the stockpot. Nothing was glowing from the shadows. Might Sylin have taken it to the bakery instead? Rylanahadasked her to find Mya.
In the storeroom, she grabbed Vormalt’s journal and also paused to eye her weapons. Her bow, quiver, and sword leaned against the wall, tied with tranquility ribbons. She didn’tplanto leave town and encounter dragons again—the peacekeepers probably wouldn’t allow her to depart, even if she wished. Still, she picked up her bow and quiver. Just in case. As long as the knots remained tied, the gnomes shouldn’t object to her carrying the weapons, but if she ran into more irate dragons, she could untie them.
On the way out of the diner, she checked the office and kitchen, even peeking into the pantry, but she didn’t see thestockpot. Outside, two familiar people were walking toward the bakery, Sylin with her cloak and hood pulled close and the stout Mya, who peered curiously at the group gathered in the street out front.
Rylana walked the journal toward Sedgewick. In the dim lighting of the intermittent streetlamps, Vormalt must not have recognized it at first. It was in the mayor’s hands before he blurted, “Rylana!” He stepped toward the gnome. “She stole that.”
A golem intercepted him, keeping him from reaching Sedgewick. Squinting at Vormalt, the mayor walked the journal to a streetlamp.
Sylin joined Rylana as Mya yawned loudly, unlocked the bakery, and went inside.
“She’s going to see if she can figure out what to do with your pot of water,” Sylin said. “I left it in her kitchen.”
“Do you have a key to the place now?” Rylana had assumed Sylin had been joking when she’d mentioned asking about lodgings in the attic.
“Key?”
“Never mind.” Rylana reminded herself that assassins were as good at getting into locked buildings as practiced burglars. “Jildarin, do you want to get the recipe book and work with Mya in the bakery? Maybe you two can figure out how to get that yeast fermenting. Assuming we got some of the right variety.”
That was, Rylana admitted grimly, a big assumption. Who knew how many kinds of glowing organisms lived in the water out there? If they hadn’t gotten a sample, maybe Mya would know which part of the lake they could visit to acquire the right species.
Jildarin looked toward the peacekeepers, but they’d joined the mayor and the high priest under the streetlamp to peer at the journal.
“I will get the cookbook,” he said and strode into the diner.
The distracted gnomes didn’t stop him.
“The evidence is mounting against you, Lord Vormalt,” Sedgewick said. “You might find yourselfdetainedfor some time.”
“If you detain me for even an hour, the curse will escalate. I’m the only one who knows how to stop it.” He glanced at the bakery.
“Doyou know how to stop it?” Rylana asked him.
“Of course,” Vormalt said. “I never intended for?—”
The ground shook again, interrupting him. Unfazed by the tremors, Jildarin walked from the diner to the bakery with the troll recipe book in hand.
The green miasma that they’d been seeing for days wafted out of the nearby stormwater drains, denser than ever. Great clouds billowed into the street, hazing the air and floating past the lamps, turning their yellow light a sickly green.
“Is that Lieutenant Wogmork?” came a call from the intersection.
A group of uniformed peacekeepers jogged around a fountain and toward them, batting their hands at the green vapors.
“That’s your friend, isn’t it?” Rylana asked Sylin, recognizing the officer in the lead.
“Captain Laridon,” Sylin said, “is an acquaintance who occasionally pays me for specific work that I’m qualified for.”
“So you’re very close, then. Can you get him to let Jildarin and me continue our quest to lift the curse instead ofdetainingus along with Vormalt?”
“Are you detained now? Your dragon is walking about freely, there aren’t handcuffs on your wrists, and you’re carrying your bow and quiver.”
“Well, the gnomes weren’t willing to leave us on Lucky Island.”
“Did you have other business there? I thought it was only the dragon trying to incinerate your rowboat that led you to its banks.”
“For a chance eavesdropping session, yes. If Jildarin’s relatives weren’t such pains in the ass, I would thank them for that. I?—”
