Filed To Story: The Knight and the Moth Book PDF Free by Rachel Gillig
But the Seacht was indeed a city of intellects. The man raised himself out of the ink and ran.
“You can be happy now, I suppose,” I said through tight lips. “Clearly not everyone in the Seacht falls prey to the old ways.”
Rory pushed his hair out of his eyes. “That didn’t make me happy at all.”
“Oh, look-a Diviner!”
Pith. A crowd was already forming. “Did someone show you their ink?” a woman asked me, dragging a man who looked about one hundred years old with her. “Pray, Diviner, will you read mine?”
“Oh. I’m sorry, that’s not how it w-“
More onlookers pushed forward, and suddenly there were two, three, four more inkwells in my face. “Read my ink! Please, Diviner, what signs do you see? Good or bad?”
I was jostled, my bare feet trampled, and then a warm arm was around my shoulders and I was being moved through the crowd, through the marketplace, far quicker than before.
“And to think,” Rory said in my ear, “it might have all been avoided had you been wearing shoes.”
The Seacht’s streets narrowed as we turned east. The crowd was thinner here, dispersed. I noted the exact moment when, just ahead, two figures slunk from an alley.
They walked close to each other, the hoods of their cloaks pulled up like mine.
Rory watched them, a crooked smile slithering over his mouth. “Well, well.” He retracted his arm from my shoulders and pressed ahead. Soon he was directly behind the hooded figures, walking on silent step, reaching a hand into one of their cloaks like a common pickpocket.
I balked. “What are you doing, Myndacious?”
One of the figures turned. I saw a sharp face fitted with green eyes with charcoal drawn around them.
Maude.
She caught Rory by the wrist, denying him her pocket. “Nice try, little thief.”
Rory looked at me like he’d picked me out from between his teeth. “Spoilsport.”
The second figure, who turned on his heel, was none other than the king of Traum himself. When King Castor saw Rory, he smiled so widely I could count his teeth. “We found him, Rory. He was hiding in plain sight. We followed him and-“
The king stopped short, his eyes finally catching up to his mouth. “Oh-a Diviner.” His cheeks went ruddy. “My Diviner.”
“Six,” I reminded him. It would have been proper to lower my head. But the boy was in common garb-leathers and an undyed cloak. He looked so ordinary I forgot he mattered enough to bow to.
“I am here, too, Bartholomew,” the gargoyle said, clearing his throat. “You may greet me as well.”
Maude went still. “Pith,” she muttered. “I didn’t know gargoyles spoke.”
“Who’s Bartholomew?” the king asked.
“Unimportant.” Rory’s posture had changed. He wasn’t slouched or lazy or perked for enjoyment. His back was stiff, his shoulders inflexible. “You found him. And you were going after him-without me
?”
“Who?” I snapped.
They turned, six eyes combing me. They were like the three leaves of a clover, conspiratorial and exclusive in their trio. There was an arduous pause, then Rory looked at Maude. Said something to her with the wiggle of his eyebrows.
Maude shook her head. “No.”
I crossed my arms. “No what
?”
Rory scratched his jaw and ignored me. “It’s a two birds, one stone situation.”
“It’s risky and thoughtless,” Maude bit back.
“My specialties.”
I was going to break something with my hammer if these idiots didn’t stop acting like I wasn’t there.
“Ahem.”
King Castor looked from me to Rory to Maude-then back to me. Slowly, he shrugged. “I say we bring her. She could be useful.”
The gargoyle puffed his chest out with pride. “Bartholomew is a daughter of Aisling, a harbinger of gods-the most dedicated dreamer I know.” He patted my shoulder. “But no, I’m sorry to say she is not especially useful. I, on the other hand-“
I put my hand over his mouth. “Whatever you are doing, I will come along. But immediately after, I require your ear, King Castor.” I tried to be like the abbess when she was cross-like Aisling Cathedral itself. Cold, beautiful, and disapproving. “And I will have it.”
The king grinned. “Ear, eye, hand-they’re yours.”
“Easy, Your Majesty.” Rory threw an arm over the king’s shoulder, steering him away from me. “It’s hardly a marriage proposal. Now”-he gestured to the street ahead-“let’s go see an old friend.”
Maude was not pleased. I could tell by the way she censured Rory with relentless glares as she led us down dizzying streets that she did not want me along for whatever ill adventure lay ahead.
Too bad. I wasn’t letting the boy-king out of my sight until he promised he would help me find my Diviners.
We stopped abruptly in an ivy-laden alley that was almost too narrow for Fig. Maude looked over her shoulder. Satisfied we were alone, she began peeling back the ivy, revealing a small wooden door in the alley wall. “Right.” She turned to me. “We need to go over a few things before we bring you in.”
“In…” I looked up at the ivy wall. It didn’t look like a barracks or anywhere the knighthood might be stationed. “Where, exactly?”
“We’re meeting with someone,” Maude said flatly. “A vestige of the Seacht.”
I crossed my arms. “You’re being cryptic. It’s obnoxious.”
“Hey.” Rory tapped my wrist. “Uncross those and listen. There’s a chance this man knows something of your lost Diviners. Seeing him may be a bit of a shock, but it’s important that you see him, understood?”
“Understood, Bartholomew.” The gargoyle straightened. “I will strive to be a pillar of decorum-“
“You will stay with Fig.” When the gargoyle’s bottom lip began to quiver, Rory hastily added, “She gets lonely.”
The gargoyle looked up at Fig, who was contentedly eating ivy off the wall, and sniffled. “Very well. If my presence will ease her suffering, I shall weather my own.”
“Fantastic.” Rory’s dark eyes returned to me. “Our business may get… animated. Stay close.”