Chapter 9

LIGHT FROM THE CANDLES streamed out of the church windows into the street behind the church, where Alys stood in the shadows. Anybody watching would be able to see her clearly, and the only thing that gave her the courage to step out of the shadows was the knowledge that the streets were nearly deserted—just about all the townspeople would be at the vigil service.

A huge black shadow flapped against a nearby wall, silent warning that someone was approaching.

The witch, Alys thought, realizing at the same moment that there was no place to hide the two sacks of gold she was holding. The witch had said she could smell people in trouble, and of course she wouldn't be at the service. Too late, Alys realized she had been so intent on telling Selendrile about the Inquisitor, she hadn't mentioned the witch at all.

But it was a trick of candlelight and nerves. The shadow got smaller and smaller, and where shadow was finally met by substance, it was only a raven that had nearly caused her to panic. Selendrile: She could tell by the way he cocked his head at her. He had settled on one of the church's gargoyle waterspouts, which just went to show how useful those figures were at protecting the building from evil spirits.

Grimly Alys moved beneath the window of Atherton's house. What if he'd closed the shutters against the night air?

But he hadn't.

Taking a deep breath, she flung the sack full of money.

It struck the wall not even halfway up and fell to the ground with a clunk and a jangle.

Alys kept her back to the raven, sure that Selendrile would find a way to look superior and smug, even in bird form. She retrieved the bag, threw it again. Missed again. She hoped the service was a nice long one. How would she explain herself, standing in the dark, hurling a bagful of money at the Inquisitor's wall? For that matter, what would she do if the bag burst open and scattered coins all over the street?

Atherton's horse was nearby, readied and tethered, brought earlier by one of the boys from the public stable so that Atherton could leave immediately after the service. Alys had the sinking sensation that she'd never get to that part of the plan. The horse watched her and the raven warily.

On the fifth try, Alys got the sack through the window, and Selendrile dove in after it.

Gingerly, Alys approached the horse. "Easy, easy," she whispered, though it had already calmed down now that Selendrile was indoors. She got the silver candlesticks out of her own sack, then pulled everything out of the Inquisitor's saddlebags. Using one of the candlesticks, she poked a hole through the leather at the seam, then repacked the bag, starting with handfuls of gold.

With the coins in there, not all of the Inquisitor's clothes would fit. Now what? She pushed damp hair off her sweaty forehead and forced herself to remain calm. Selendrile wasn't here to give her advice, so she'd better come up with a plan on her own. She set aside a bulky cape and managed to jam in the rest. Giving the horse one final pat, she scooped up both the bundle of Selendrile's clothes and Atherton's cloak. The first she left against the back wall of the church, as planned, the other in the wooden poor box just inside the front door.

The vigil service was almost over. She arrived just in time for the final benediction. Moments later, Selendrile slipped in beside her, and there was a murmur of disapproval from the surrounding people.

Oh no, she thought, assuming the townsfolk were upset because she had come in late and Selendrile had not quite made it at all. She opened her mouth to apologize, but already others had started talking—whispering, because of the place, but very intense, very upset.

"What happened?" at least three different voices asked. But nobody was even looking at her for an explanation. She heard Saint Emmett's name mentioned, and the word "relic," and the fact that Father Donato and Inquisitor Atherton had been as obviously surprised as everybody else. There were two priests in Griswold, Alys surmised, since Inquisitor Atherton was called away so often to deal with witches and dragons and demons, and somebody had to carry on the daily routine. But the single word she heard most often was "gone."

Trying to make sense of the jumble of voices, she let herself be carried along with the flow of people leaving the church, though it separated her from Selendrile. "Excuse me," she said at a point where only two people were talking at the same time, "something's missing?"

Closest to her was a man about her father's age and build, a cloth merchant who just this afternoon had offered to hire her to clean his shop and run errands. "That's right," he said, "you're new here and wouldn't know. The chalice is gone—the one Saint Emmett brought back from his pilgrimage to the Holy Land."

"They had to do the service without a chalice?" Alys asked.

"It was a gift to Saint Emmett from the bishop of Jerusalem," somebody explained. And somebody else: "Father Donato only uses it on special occasions on account of it's a relic, and because it's so precious since it's made of silver and emeralds."

On the verge of expressing her sympathy, Alys felt the words drain out of her. Silver and emeralds?

"Oh my," said Selendrile, suddenly right beside her. "Then it's not likely to have been mislaid."

Alys was ready to strangle him for not having told her when he'd had the chance. How could he have taken the risk of stealing Griswold's chalice right out from under everybody's noses? But apparently the townsfolk read her furious expression as shock and dismay, for nobody asked her what was wrong.

Selendrile looked at her calmly and evenly, then raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Then, with an expression of chagrin since she was obviously not jumping in and playing her part as he expected, he said, "Just like at Saint Toby's."

The murmur of voices intensified. Was everyone who'd been in the church crowded around them in the square?

Slowly and deliberately Selendrile said, "Maybe it wasn't somebody from Saint Toby's who stole those candlesticks after all. There must be a thief going from town to town stealing from churches. We were lucky not to get set upon on the road. Did anyone see any strangers loitering about the church?"

In Alys's opinion he'd gone and convicted them. But nobody pointed out that they were strangers. "Maybe," Alys said, sure that the crime was written plain on her face, "we should tell Father Donato and Inquisitor Atherton that there was a similar theft at Saint Toby's church."

The crowd surged around the corner toward Atherton's house. Atherton was standing outside, one hand on the tether of his readied mount. Straightaway, Alys's gaze went to the saddlebag. If she'd made the hole too large, people would see that it had been made intentionally. If she'd made it too small, the coins wouldn't fall through and all that she'd have accomplished would have been to enrich her enemy. She forced herself to look away from the bag and now saw that Father Donato was out here, too. By the look of them, he and Inquisitor Atherton had been arguing.

Selendrile caught her arm as though the crowd's jostling had caused him to lose his balance, but Alys had been looking at him and knew that wasn't the case. "Stay back," he hissed into her ear. He made his way forward as Atherton cast an annoyed glance at all the noisy people.

"Quiet!" the Inquisitor bellowed.

The townspeople stilled, so Alys could hear Father Donato say in his thin and whiny voice, "But why must you go now, when the church has been burglarized and we don't know how, and the villains might strike again?"

Atherton was aware of how many waited for his answer. "I already told you, I'm urgently needed in Tierbo for an exorcism."

"But surely tomorrow is soon en—"

"The boy they sent said it couldn

't wait. In fact, he's supposed to be here now"—Alys ducked to avoid the searching gaze that passed over the crowd—"and if he doesn't hurry, I may be forced to leave without him. As for the burglar, just put three trustworthy men inside the church, lock the doors, then post three more men outside. I'm confident you can handle everything until I return."

Alys wasn't confident Father Donato could handle anything. He seemed a mild little man on the verge of being overwhelmed by life.

By this time, Selendrile had made it to the edge of the crowd. People were calling out to Atherton, telling him about the theft of the silver candlesticks from Saint Toby's church, urging Selendrile to step forward and speak up, demanding attention in a confusion of voices that even Alys, knowing what they were saying, couldn't sort out.

Atherton's horse became suddenly skittish. It snorted and sidestepped and threw its head back in wide-eyed terror. Alys recognized that reaction from the cart horses that had brought her to the hill where she'd been staked out as dragon's bait. She glanced again at the saddlebag. The horse was shying away from Selendrile, but since the dragon-youth stood so close to everybody else, anyone would have assumed the size and noise of the crowd was the problem.

Atherton dragged on the bridle but to no effect. Finally he said, "I've got to get away before this foul beast steps on someone. Just set up guards to watch the church, and guards to watch the guards, and I'll be back as soon as I can." He swung up into the saddle and dragged hard to the right, which was toward the crowd in the street, which was exactly where the horse didn't want to go. The horse reared, then landed back on all fours with what was probably bone-jarring force.

Alys, who was looking for it, saw a coin fall to the packed earth.

As Atherton guided the horse into the street, Selendrile swooped in and picked up the coin. "Inquisitor," he called.

The horse reared again, and the saddlebag lost another coin. Atherton craned around to see what was the matter.

"You dropped this." Selendrile held up the coin so that it sparkled goldenly in the light of the nearby torches.

"Not mine," Atherton said, obviously annoyed with the interruption, the horse, and the world.

"Not mine either," Selendrile said. He held the coin up as though to let its owner claim it.

"There's another one." Alys pointed. "Under the horse."

Atherton's head swung round at the sound of her voice, and she stepped behind a wide woman lest he recognize her too early.

Someone else from the crowd retrieved the second coin.

"It's not mine," Atherton snapped when the man held it out to him. He sounded ill-tempered to have to admit it. "Now move out of my way. I have work to do."

Selendrile moved in closer. "Well, maybe you should hold it in safekeeping until the owner shows up."

At his approach, the horse reared again. This time several coins were jostled loose.

"They're coming from your saddlebag," someone pointed out.

"Nonsense," Atherton answered.

Another coin dropped onto the little pile, and the sound of it was clear in the silence that had settled over the crowd.

Father Donato came forward, wringing his hands in agitation. He licked his lips several times before he could bring himself to say what the townsfolk were already muttering amongst themselves. His voice was so soft, Alys could barely hear. "Perhaps we should take a look in that bag," he said, "just to ... take a look."

Furious, Atherton swung off his horse. But as soon as he'd untied the bag and started to hand it to Father Donato, the entire bottom ripped out. Gold and silver coins poured onto the street, along with the silver candlesticks, the golden plate, and Saint Emmett's chalice.

"I—I—" Atherton moved from shock to suspicion in the interval between two breaths. "Somebody put these things here."

"Obviously," said the man who had tried to give Atherton the second coin. "Which just leaves us with the question of why you were so anxious to leave."

"Oh dear," Father Donato said, looking as though he were about to wring his hands off. "Oh dear, oh dear."

Atherton scowled. Although his words answered the townsman, he was looking at Father Donato. "I've been called to Tierbo for an exorcism, you silly little man."

"Tierbo's a seaport," someone pointed out. "Lots of smugglers, lots of opportunities to sell stolen goods."

"I did not steal these things," Atherton shouted.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Father Donato repeated.

Atherton grabbed him by the shoulders. "There was some boy, sent to call me to Tierbo. That's where I'm going, and all we need to do is find him—"

That sounded like Alys's signal; she poked her head out from behind the wide lady.

"There!" Atherton cried. "There he is!"

Alys looked behind her and to both sides.

"You! You, boy!"

Alys stood there, as though waiting, like everybody else.

Atherton let go of Father Donato and pushed through the crowd to her. "Are you a simpleton, boy? I'm talking to you."

Again Alys looked to either side.

"Tell them about the man with the voices. Tell them that it wasn't my idea to go to Tierbo but that you summoned me."

"What?" Alys said.

He grabbed her by the front of her shirt, which she hadn't anticipated.

"Let go," she cried, twisting. The last thing she needed was for him to realize she was a girl. "I've never seen you before."

"You were here this afternoon!" Apparently he was too frantic to notice anything amiss. "Tell them you were here."

"The boy was with me," the cloth merchant said, "talking about working for me."

"He came to my shop, too," someone from behind called out.

"And mine." That person added, "And he sure don't come from Tierbo."

"Terrible thing," Father Donato said in his nervous little whisper-squeak, "terrible. Nothing like this has ever happened before. We'd better take a look in your rooms, Inquisitor Atherton."

"There's nothing amiss there," Atherton answered. Then he swung back to Alys and stuck his finger practically into her nose. Very quietly, very firmly, he said, "You were here."

"He can't have nothing to do with the thievin'," someone pointed out. "He's the one told us about the thievin'."

Two of the townsmen took Atherton by the arms and marched him back to his house, with Father Donato as the reluctant leader.

Too many people jammed into the house, so that Alys and Selendrile couldn't even see into the doorway, but it didn't take long before they heard someone cry out that there was a large leather bag full of gold in Atherton's clothes chest.

Selendrile motioned with his head for Alys to move away from all the people. At the next street, he turned to look back. "Well," he said, "what do you think? You don't look as pleased as I would have thought."

Alys had to stop to consider and realized she didn't feel as pleased as she would have thought. "I'm sorry Father Donato had to get involved," she said. "He seemed like a sweet man."

"Ah," Selendrile said.

She looked up at him sharply, trying to decide what that was supposed to mean.

"Maybe it'll be better with Gower," he said.

"Maybe," Alys agreed.