Maren Goldweaver's Arc

Chapter 4 of 42

Maren pressed her back to the shelves and stared at the file against her ribs. She pulled it free and cracked it open. Half the page was plain: her sister's name, a date, a transfer stamp. The rest was a block of letters and numbers she did not recognize. Not any code from the transfer logs. A cipher. Whoever had moved her sister had hidden the location behind it. She could not read where her sister was. Boots hit the landing below. The cipher would have to wait. She had to get out. The leopard cub sat by the door with its wings half open. It made a low sound in its throat, more purr than growl. In the corridor, a body hit the floor. Then another. Then a third, in slow, heavy thumps. Maren edged to the door and looked out. Two guards lay sprawled on the tile, chests rising and falling, mouths open. One snored. The cub blinked at her like it had done nothing. She did not have time to understand it. She shoved the file back inside her shirt and ran to the tall window at the end of the wing. The latch was stiff. She forced it open. Below, the courtyard was empty. She uncoiled the thin rope she had wound under her belt for six months and never used, tied it to the iron mullion, and dropped it down the stone face of the hall. She climbed out. The rope burned her palms. Her boots hit gravel. She ran. A hand caught her elbow at the corner of the wall. Miller. His knuckles were split. He had a cut above one eye. "Move," he said. They went through side lanes until the Records Hall was behind them. Neither spoke until the cottage door shut and the bolt slid home. Maren dropped the file on the table. The red closure tag caught the lamp. She flattened the pages and pointed at the block of scrambled text. "It's coded," she said. "I can read the header. Not the rest. Not where they took her." Miller looked at it. He did not touch it. "You know anyone who can break it?" Maren did not answer at first. She sat down. She looked at her hands. "One person," she said. "Then we go to him." "Topper." The name came out flat. "He worked ciphers for the Registry before they threw him out. He'll read it in an hour." Miller waited. "I swore I would never ask him for anything again," she said. "He knows that." "Will he do it?" "He'll do it. He'll make me pay for it." She closed the file. The cub sat on the windowsill outside, tail wrapped around its paws, watching her through the glass. "Sleep an hour," she said. "Then we find him."