Faster.
Out of the armory, down a different hall, through the door.
She couldn't let the Svarm boy get assassinated, not under her house's care. Not in her own room. War may not be the result, but the Golden Apples carried enormous favor in the king's court. There would be a…debt.
Her alliance with Petra and Clara would go from favorable to actively dragging them down.
The secret passages would have been a shorter path, but those would take time to even open. Seconds mattered. Only one passage was worth it.
Harriett burst into the kitchen, abandoned and dusted in crumbling stone. She dashed to the other end, vaulting tables and scattering inedible food, then flung open the dumb waiter. Harriett pushed the top off of the dumbwaiter and crawled inside. Into the chimney that had delivered her food and freedom.
Harriet climbed and burst out of the wooden door and into the room beyond. No bodies. No blood. But no hint of the assassin.
"Mistress Calendula," Trenador said, shoulders relaxing as he politely stored his 'cleaning equipment', "I thought I recognized your sound. Are you joining in the battle? Your mother just left the field of combat."
"What?!" Harriett gaped, "She left? Never mind. Where's this Svarm boy?"
Trenador pointed behind a couch and said, "He has been arming himself with your training blades. I believe that he took cover when he heard you enter the dumbwaiter."
Svarm poked his head up, his wobbling helmet sitting too high. Harriett smirked, then wiped the expression from her face. The boy was a political representative, and a necessary ally when the Tast'er House had set its sights on them. She shouldn't mock.
"Oh, thank goodness," Svarm said, standing, "You're Calendula of House Peckishire, right? We haven't been introduced."
Svarm straightened and held his hand out, saying, "I am Svarm of the Golden Apples. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, despite it being such an eventful evening. I am glad to see you safe."
Harriett shook his hand but said nothing, just scanned the room. Trenador seemed to pick up on what she was doing and looked around as well.
"Ahem," Svarm reached into his locker and pulled out a package, "I had prepared a gift for you. I am told that you follow after your mother, and thought that this might befit a master of cordial relations."
Harriett held out her hand and idly took the bottle, tucking it away as she said, "You have my thanks. Now, if you and Trenador could make your way out, I would be ever grateful. There is an assassin after you tonight."
"An assassin?!" Svarm said, "How do I get down the castle?! My sister is on the lower levels with the manservant."
Harriett hesitated. Svarm and herself were the only targets. But if it got him down the castle any faster, then…
"I have an elevator to ground-level," Harriett said, stepping that way, "I'll need to turn down the speed for you. Then Trenador can escort you."
"But what about you?" Svarm said, "Aren't you coming with us?"
Harriett shook her head and said, "I am going to deal with the assassin. It's tricky, but if I could just pin it down then-"
"Come with us," Svarm said, "You are my date for the evening. I can't just leave you now. Especially when- oh #(*&%^!"
Trenador burst into action, shouting, "MISS CALENDULA!!!"
Ironically enough, the assassin did not 'miss' Calendula. Harriett didn't dodge in time. The armor didn't stop the knife.
Charon, the Ferryman of the dead, materialized in the slow, ethereal betwixt. He looked Harriett up and down then grinned half a smile as he said, "Now we see what you are made of. Literally speaking."
****
The envoys of the Tast'er house, after having profusely apologized to the people caught in their attack, watched as the dragon died.
"Oh, thank the gods," A noble said beside them, "With the Butcher gone, I was worried. How about you?"
"Oh, so worried," Man 1 said, a manic smile glinting, "This is so perfect. Now we are all safe. Every single one of us."
"I agree," Man 2 didn't have the energy to smile anymore, but he tried anyway, "This was a great victory for the Peckishire house."
The noble found themselves suddenly bearing the reason and excuse to be elsewhere and said, "Ah, glad to hear it. I'll- erm. I have to visit the restroom. Good day."
Belatedly, almost trying to add to the cover story, Man 3 said to the departing form, "We will have to congratulate them on their success. They truly are the city that stops the Broken Dungeon."
Man 4, somewhat peeved and not wanting to lose his 'word in edgewise', said, "After we complain loudly of the spy that was in our midst. Did you hear that? A spy and- oh. They're gone."
A lovely voice, the type as calm as a gentle sea, said, "What spy is this?"
The four of them whirled to face the Duchess, who sat gracefully on nothing as she drank a glass of wine. Composed. Knowledge glinting. Not dead.
"We- ah." Man 4 said, "umm…"
Man 1 said, "There was a spy in our room. Cleverly hidden. Wearing all black. We, of course, do not suspect you, madam. But we were given to understand the security of the castle would…you know…work?"
"I had yet to hear of this," The Duchess said, "But, of course, I have been fighting a dragon. Let us conduct a search and see if we can find a black clad individual hiding in our rooms."
****
The black-clad spy in question was hiding in what was, most assuredly, her own room. Bleeding. Harriett had never bled like this before. There must have been some kind of agony poison.
The knife had punched through her armor and into her side, the myriad of organs there queuing to be cut. The pain lanced through her as Harriett stepped away, and the assassin materialized as it stepped to Harriett.
That shifting disguise pulled apart to display its victorious smile. A twisted, feminine style that had none of the grace of polite court women. It was hungry and sated, bloodthirsty and regretful that this should end. It raised a second blade to finish the job.
A single steel strand entangled the upraised brick-arm, pulling the assassin off balance. Trenador stood, dignified air discarded in rage, as he pulled the string taut.
"I see why you have been so disquieted, milady," The butler said, "This skin appears to truly be stone."
The assassin reached over and cut the strand, and Harriett pulled out the deadly knife. Her armor kicked in, an unguided burst of emergency healing. Sealing the wound with a single, frail patch. That was it. That had been her only chance.
Harriet dashed for the elevator and the assassin followed, but Trenador threw another thread and tripped the assassin.
"Good choice, milady!" Trenador said, "Get out of here! I will hold it- ah!"
Harriett burst into the elevator and slammed open the control panel. There were the Flux controls and, if she moved this here and reversed that orientation, the source of her childhood entertainment was ready to go.
"RUN!" Trenador shouted, and Harriett looked up to see the assassin leaping for her throat.
"As if," Harriett said, and slammed the lever just as the assassin entered the elevator.
WOOMPH!
Time slowed. The elevator careened down the tower as if taking a demon to hell. Harriett landed on the ceiling, forcing herself to stay conscious against the forces. The assassin lay there, immobile against the top of the elevator. It had disguised itself again, but didn't change shape as Harriett moved. It had disguised itself as the top of the elevator.
Which was a wooden cage. And just like in the armory, there were nice, big holes between the slats.
Harriett pulled a sword from her bag, long and hard and sharp. She'd named it Fang, but had never had the strength to pierce armor with it. The assassin's eyes rolled forward, one covered by wood and the other exposed. It locked onto Harriett and sluggishly tried to raise a hand against the g-forces.
Harriett said, "Not on my home turf. Now die."
Harriett stabbed the sword into a gap right above the heart. It sunk a mind-numbing inch, then stopped. The Assassin's eyes glinted, switching from shock to a confident smirk.
"I figured that you'd have a backup plan," Harriett let the sword go, "Here's mine."
Then the elevator hit bottom.