Marguerite shrugged. “Your skin. Without that information, how charitable do you think Fenella is likely to be?”
Davith’s scowl was all the answer she needed. “You’re completely mad,” he said. “Maybe you can sneak out of the fortress, but once you’re on the road, they’ll be hunting you clear to Cambraith.”
Cambraith. Marguerite exulted internally. He’d just handed her the only piece of information she needed. She saw the flicker in Shane’s eyes as he registered the name too. “Well, we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it,” she said lightly. “Right now, we need to get out of here. Fast.”
Nobody said anything for a moment. Davith groaned and rolled his eyes. “Really? You’re going to make me suggest the best way to kidnap myself?”
Shane’s growl was so low as to be almost subterranean, but Davith was not a fool, no matter how often he acted like one. He held up his hands. “Right. I was just saying. So, there’s two ways out. We either try to brazen our way through taking a lift, and risk them cutting the rope, or we go down to ground level through the cellars.”
“Cellars,” said Wren instantly.
“What, you don’t favor being splattered across the landscape?” asked Davith.
Wren flushed. “The cellars it is,” Marguerite said hastily. “Then we’ll take a ship across the lake into the highlands.”
Davith scowled. “Dodging the Sail’s people, as I said, the whole way to Cambraith.”
“Then think of all the chances you’ll have to escape,” said Marguerite lightly.
“I’m thinking of all the chances I’ll have to catch a stray arrow, thank you very much.”
“Do we go now?” asked Shane. “Will it be suspicious if we have full packs?”
“I think we can probably assume that we’ll be observed leaving the room,” said Marguerite.
“They may attempt to stop us.”
“They’re welcome to try,” the paladin said coolly.
Marguerite sighed. “And that will turn into unlicensed violence within the fortress, which will lead to both the Sail and the Court guards trying to stop us. And once we’re in a jail cell, I don’t see us all getting out alive again. I might be able to bribe or blackmail one of us loose, but probably not all three.”
（“Oh, I see how it is,” muttered Davith.）
“We need a distraction, then,” said Shane. “Something to allow us to get to the cellars unobserved, and to cover in case they do attempt to stop us.”
Marguerite nodded. “We do. Hmm, let’s see…who could I get a note to…” She nibbled on her lower lip, while Shane and Wren moved about the suite, shoving things into packs. Unfortunately there weren’t that many people that both owed her a favor and would be able to cause a suitable
distraction at a moment’s notice. And we have to figure that anything I write will be intercepted.
Dammit.
“I could stay behind and cause the distraction,” Wren began.
“You’re not staying behind,” said Shane. “It’s too dangerous.”
She gave him an annoyed look. “You heard yourself that they don’t consider me important. And I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself in a fight.”
“And once you demonstrate that fact, they will suddenly realize that you are very important indeed.”
“Hate to say it, but he’s right,” said Marguerite. “And we don’t even know that they believe Davith completely about that bit anyway.” She considered. “On the other hand, it’s probably less likely that they’ll try to stop you if you leave here, so possibly you can carry a message for me.”
“Or me,” said Shane.
Marguerite’s eyebrows went up. “You’ve got a plan?” Has Mr. Communicates-in-Grunts actually made a useful contact or two when my back was turned? Or does the Temple have an operative here that has been carefully avoiding me?
“I may.” He looked sharply at Davith. “I don’t want him to hear it, though. The less he knows, the better.”
Davith rolled his eyes. “I’ll go into the other room.”
“You’re not leaving my sight, spy.”
“Oh for god’s sake. What do you want me to do, put my fingers in my ears and hum?”
“…Yes. That is exactly what I want.”
Davith stared at him. “You’re not serious.”
“I am entirely serious.”
With a much put-upon expression, Davith shoved his fingers in his ears and began to hum a tune that Marguerite recognized as the one about the milkmaid and the wolverine.
“Can he read lips?” asked Shane suspiciously.
“Probably, yeah.”
Shane made a little twirling gesture with his fingers and Davith rolled his eyes and turned his back. He began to sing the chorus. “Hmmm-mmm-mm-hmm, hmm-hmm…oh where are you going, my pretty little dear…”
“Lady Silver,” said Shane. “If we send Wren to her and ask her to cause a distraction, I suspect she’d be willing to help.”
“…with your milk buckets swaying to-and-fro…”
“Really!” Marguerite’s eyebrows shot up at that. Lady Silver? The diplomat? Gods above and below, she’s been here as long as the Court has. They say she doesn’t ever leave, just stays here writing letters to her nation and watching human politics. “You know her?”
“…suppose I were to carry you up on my back…”
“We’ve met.”
“… far far away from here…”
“And you think she’d help us?” Marguerite rubbed the back of her neck. “She doesn’t play politics, so far as I know.”
“I could be wrong. But at least if Wren goes to speak to her directly, there’s less chance of a message being intercepted. Little as I like to send her off alone.”
“…and with these great claws, why I’ll scratch any itch…”
I can’t imagine she works for the Sail. Though I suppose that I can just about believe that Bishop Beartongue knows her. “It’s worth a try. If it doesn’t work, I doubt it will put us in any more danger.”
“…that troubles your skin so fair, my dear, that troubles your skin so fair…”
Shane tried to give Wren directions, which went badly. Davith warbling about how the wolverine successfully scratched the milkmaid’s itch did not particularly help. “Just act like you’re going to the baths,” suggested Marguerite, “then find a page and ask them to lead you.”
“Will do.” She hurried out the door of the suite. It closed behind her and Marguerite tried to ignore the familiar lurch in her gut that happened every time she sent one of her people into potential danger. At least Wren can defend herself. Better than I can, come to that.
“…but the poor beast soon found that in scratching her itch…”
“Davith, you can stop now.”
“…he’d acquired quite an itch of his own, aye, acquired quite an itch of his owwwwwwn…”
“May I hit him now?” asked Shane. “Just a little?”