finished with him. Haught shook the blood from his hand and healed as the witch
ranted, cursed, and swallowed the globe.
Haught was against the cupboard where Shiey kept the knives. Silently he called
one to his sleeve and held it against his forearm when he meekly rose and
followed his mistress/master from the room. He said nothing about the wards or
his vision.
Stilcho crept back up the stairway to the dark landing where Moria waited.
“It’s now or never,” he told the quiet woman, grateful he could not see her face
when he found her wrist and led her back down the stairs.
There were two stairways leading to the kitchen of the Peres house: one came up
from the larder and pantries in the basement, the other ascended to the
servant’s quarters under the eaves. Both had been occupied. Stilcho opened the
door to face the malevolent leer of the household’s cook, Shiey. He knew that
face-the last face his missing eye had seen-and it turned his bowels to ice. His
resolve and his courage vanished; Moria’s hand fell from his trembling fingers.
“We’re taking Straton to the stables,” Moria said in a soft but firm whisper as
she stepped out of Stilcho’s shadow. She had her own fears of these servants
whom the beggar-king Moruth had provided for the house and she had learned how
to hide those fears long ago. “You and you,” she pointed to the burliest pair,
“take his feet.” She looked up to Stilcho.
Giving the one-handed cook a lingering glower, the one-eyed man took position at
the Stepson’s shoulders.
“We’ll get him into the lofts, if we can. And we’ll wait for the help that’s