“Sorry,” Veil said, grabbing a sack of grain. “That woman’s head is a frightening place.”
“Well, I did say that Nananav is notoriously difficult.”
Yeah, Veil thought. But I was talking about Shallan.
They worked quickly, filling the large dumbwaiter—which was needed to take in large shipments from the delivery room below. They got all of the sausages, most of the longroots, and a few sacks of grain. Once the dumbwaiter was full, the two of them lowered the thing to the ground floor. They waited by the door, and fortunately Red started whistling. The ground floor was clear again. Not trusting herself with Nananav’s face, she stayed Veil as the two hurried out. Pattern waited outside, and he hummed, climbing her trousers.
On their way down, they passed a waterfall made of pure marble. Shallan would have loved to linger and marvel at the artful Soulcasting. Fortunately, Veil was running this operation. Shallan … Shallan got lost in things. She’d get focused on details, or stick her head in the clouds and dream about the big picture. That comfortable middle, that safe place of moderation, was unfamiliar ground to her.
They descended the steps, then joined Red at the damaged room and helped him carry a rolled-up carpet to the loading bay. She had Pattern quietly open the lock to the dumbwaiter down here, then sent him away to decoy a few servants who had been bringing wood into the bay. They pursued an image of a feral mink with a key in its mouth.
Together, Veil, Red, and Vathah unrolled the rug, filled it with sacks of food from the dumbwaiter, then rolled it back up and heaved it into their waiting wagon. The guards at the gate shouldn’t notice a few extra-bulgy carpets.
They fetched a second carpet, repeated the process, then started back. Veil, however, paused in the loading bay, right by the door. What was that on the ceiling? She cocked her head at the strange sight of pools of liquid, dripping down.
Angerspren, she realized. Collecting there and then boiling through the floor. The larder was directly above them.
“Run!” Veil said, spinning and bolting back toward the wagon. A second later, someone upstairs started shouting.
Veil scrambled into the wagon’s seat, then slapped the chull with the steering reed. Her team, joined by Ishnah, charged back into the room and leapt into the wagon, which started moving. Step. By. Protracted. Step.
Veil … Shallan slapped the large crab on the shell, urging it forward. But chulls went at chull speed. The wagon eased out into the courtyard, and ahead the gates were already closing.
“Storms!” Vathah said. He looked over his shoulder. “Is this part of the ‘fun’?”
Behind them, Nananav burst out of the building, her hair wobbling. “Stop them! Thieves!”
“Shallan?” Vathah asked. “Veil? Whoever you are? Storms, they have crossbows!”
Shallan breathed out.
The gates clanged shut ahead of them. Armed guards entered the small courtyard, weapons ready.
“Shallan!” Vathah cried.
She stood on the wagon, Stormlight swirling around her. The chull pulled to a stop, and she confronted the guards. The men stumbled to a halt, jaws dropping.
Behind, Nananav broke the silence. “What are you idiots doing? Why…”
She trailed off, then pulled up short as Shallan turned to look at her. Wearing the woman’s face.
Same hair. Same features. Same clothing. Mimicked right down to the attitude, with nose in the air. Shallan/Nananav raised her hands to the side, and spren burst from the ground around the wagon. Pools of blood, shimmering the wrong color, and boiling far too violently. Pieces of glass that rained down. Anticipationspren, like thin tentacles.
Shallan/Nananav let her image distort, features sliding off her face, dripping down like paint running down a wall. Ordinary Nananav screamed and fled back toward the building. One of the guards loosed his crossbow, and the bolt took Shallan/Nananav right in the head.
Bother.
Her vision went dark for a moment, and she had a flash of panic remembering her stabbing in the palace. But why should she care if actual painspren joined the illusory ones around her? She righted herself and looked back toward the soldiers, her face melting, the crossbow bolt sticking from her temple.
The guards ran.
“Vathah,” she said, “plesh open sha gate.” Her mouth didn’t work right. How odd.
Vathah didn’t move, so she glared at him.
“Gah!” he shouted, scrambling back and stumbling across one of the rugs in the bed of the wagon. He fell down beside Red, who was surrounded by fearspren, like globs of goo. Even Ishnah looked as if she’d seen a Voidbringer.
Shallan let the illusions go, all of them, right down to Veil. Just normal, everyday Veil. “Itsh all right,” Veil said. “Jush illushionsh. Go, open sha gatesh.”
Vathah heaved himself out of the wagon and ran for the gates.
“Um, Veil?” Red said. “That crossbow bolt … the blood is staining your outfit.”
“I wash going to shrow it away regardlesh,” she said, settling back down, growing more comfortable as Pattern rejoined the wagon and scuttled across the seat to her. “I’ve got a new outfit almosht ready.”
At this rate, she’d have to buy them in bulk.
They maneuvered the wagon out the gates, then picked up Vathah. No guards gave pursuit, and Veil’s mind … drifted as they pulled away.
That … that crossbow bolt was getting annoying. She couldn’t feel her safehand. Bother. She poked at the bolt; it seemed that her Stormlight had healed her head around the wound. She gritted her teeth and tried to pull it out, but the thing was jammed in there. Her vision blurred again.
“I’m going to need shome help, boysh,” she said, pointing at it and drawing in more Stormlight.
She blacked out entirely when Vathah pulled it free. She came to a short time later, slumped in the front seat of the wagon. When she brushed the side of her head with her fingers, she found no hole.
“You worry me sometimes,” Vathah said, steering the chull with a reed.
“I do what needs to be done,” Veil said, relaxing back and setting her feet up on the front of the wagon. Was it only her imagination, or did the people lining the streets today look hungrier than they had previous days? Hungerspren buzzed about the heads of the people, like black specks, or little flies of the type you could find sometimes on rotting plants. Children cried in the laps of exhausted mothers.
Veil turned away, ashamed, thinking of the food she had hidden in the wagon. How much good could she do with all of that? How many tears could she dry, how many of the hungry cries of children could she silence?
Steady …
Infiltrating the Cult of Moments was a greater good than feeding a few mouths now. She needed this food to buy her way in. To investigate … the Heart of the Revel, as Wit had called it.
Veil didn’t know much of the Unmade. She’d never paid attention to the ardents on important matters, let alone when they spoke of old folktales and stories of Voidbringers. Shallan knew little more, and wanted to find a book about the subject, of course.
Last night, Veil had returned to the inn where Shallan had met with the King’s Wit, and while he hadn’t been there, he’d left a message for her.
I’m still trying to get you a contact among the cult’s highers. Everyone I talk to merely says, “Do something to get their attention.” I would, but I’m certain that violating the city’s indecency laws would be unwise, even considering the lack of a proper watch.