He must still be keeping company with Ylinestra, Alec thought wryly as Thero let them into Nysander’s tower. Several long scratches were visible on the young wizard’s neck just above the collar of his robe. She’d left similar marks on Alec during their single encounter.
He’s welcome to her, Alec decided.
Having let them in, Thero returned to a worktable spread with open books. “Nysander’s downstairs,” he told them.
“You’d better come down with us,” said Seregil as he started down the stairs.
Thero shot Alec a look of surprise.
“Watcher business, maybe.”
Alec was pleased to see the hint of an expectant smile cross Thero’s face as he hurried to join him. He was a cold fish, and no mistake, but in the months since he’d helped secure Seregil’s release from prison, albeit grudgingly, Alec had come to feel a certain sympathy for the stiff young wizard, and respect. He was talented, and his arrogance seemed a shield for his own inner loneliness. As for the rivalry between him and Seregil, Alec had quickly learned that this was as much Seregil’s fault as Thero’s.
They found Nysander in his favorite sitting-room armchair, the floor around him covered in charts of some sort.
“Well, there you two are,” he exclaimed, looking up with a pleased smile. “How long has it been? Two weeks?”
“Closer to four,” Seregil said. “Business has been slow lately, but we may have run across something interesting.”
With Alec’s help, he quickly sketched out what they’d learned over the past two days. Thero sat a little apart, arms crossed, nodding silently to himself as he listened.
“Dear me, that does sound suspicious,” Nysander said when he’d heard their report. “I seem to recall hearing that one of Lord Zymanis’ valets disappeared not too long ago. I had not heard of any stolen documents, though. Most curious. I assume you mean to make a closer investigation?”
Seregil nodded. “Tonight, but we’ll have to be careful. So far Rythel is the only fish in our net. I don’t want to get the wind up him before we find out who’s behind all this.”
“Have you looked into his lodgings?” asked Thero.
“Not yet. Tenements are terrible for housebreaking—every room occupied and half the time no corridors, just a series of rooms letting one onto another. I thought we’d have a look at the sewer tunnel first, then proceed from there.”
“Yes, that seems to be the logical course,” said Nysander. “How do you propose to get in with the tunnel so carefully guarded?”
“The lower end is, where they’re still working,” said Alec. “But it shouldn’t be at the upper end, where they started. There’s no need, since the grates are fixed and they started at the top and worked down toward the lower city end. Seregil figures there must be at least five or six between the city wall and the sea.”
“Anyone planning to bugger about with any of the grates later on would have to do them all,” Seregil added. “I know of an access passage near the south wall that should lead down to the head of the channel. If we can get to it from this end, we should be able to find out what they’ve been up to.”
“When will you go?” asked Nysander.
“Tonight seems as good a time as any,” replied Seregil, standing to go. “I’ll let you know if we need any help.”
“Luck in the shadows,” said Thero as he passed.
Seregil raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, then touched a finger lightly to one of the scratches on Thero’s neck. “And to you.”
17
GAIE RUNNING
Tamír the Great’s builders had laid down the sewers of Rhíminee before a single building was constructed, thereby sparing the new capital the unpleasant and often unhealthy filth common to most large cities. So extensive was it, and so often modified and enlarged to accommodate the growth of the city over five centuries, that now only the Scavenger Guild knew the full extent of it. Even among the Scavengers, most knew only the section that they maintained, and they guarded their knowledge jealously.
Alec and Seregil waited until the second watch of the night before making their way to the southern ward of the city. Though armed, they went cautiously, fading silently into alleys or doorways whenever a Watch patrol happened by.
The entrance they’d targeted was located in a small square behind a block of tenements by the south wall of the city. Half-covered by an unkempt clump of mulberry bushes, the low, iron-strapped door was set into the wall itself. The small grate near the top of it reminded Alec uncomfortably of a prison door, but he kept this to himself as they set down the torches and pry bars they’d brought with them.
He stood behind Seregil and held his cloak out with both hands to hide the light of his companion’s lightwand. Kneeling in front of the door, Seregil probed the keyhole with a hooked pick, soon producing a succession of grating clicks. The door swung in on blackness. Gathering their gear again, they slipped inside.
Alec tacked a square of heavy felt over the grate, then looked around the little entrance chamber. In front of them, stone steps led downward through an arched passage and out of sight. The faint stench already permeating the air left no doubt they were in the right place.
“Here, we’d better put these on now.” Seregil pulled vinegar-soaked face rags from a leather pouch and handed one to Alec. Leaving their cumbersome cloaks, they lit their torches with a firechip and started down, Seregil in the lead.
“Why did they build it so big?” Alec whispered; the arched passage was nearly ten feet high.
“For safety. The poisonous humours that can collect down here rise. The theory is that this design lets them collect overhead, with good air below. Keep an eye on the torches, though; if they burn blue or gutter, the air’s bad.”
The stairway led down to a tunnel below. Narrow walkways bordered a central channel, full to the brim now with a swift, evil-smelling stream.
Turning to the right, they followed the tunnel for several hundred feet. The recent rains had swelled the flow, and it had overflowed whole sections of the raised walkway, forcing them to wade ankle deep in the foul, frigid waters.
Suddenly they heard high-pitched growling and squeaking coming from the darkness ahead. Seregil edged forward, torch held high, until they came to an iron grate fixed across the width of the tunnel.
The lower ends of the vertical bars extended down into the channel and the body of a small dog was caught against them, held there by the pressure of the stream as it flowed through. Dozens of fat, snarling rats swarmed over the carcass, tearing at it and each other. Others paddled down the channel toward the feast or perched on the crosspieces of the grate. They paid little attention to the human interlopers as they fed, beady eyes glaring red in the torchlight.
“This one is gated,” whispered Seregil, driving off the closest rats with the burning torch. “It’s locked up, but it’s nothing we can’t manage. Want to do the honors?”
“Go ahead,” Alec rasped, not wanting to have to squeeze past his companion in such a narrow place.
Jiggering the lock, Seregil swung back a narrow section of grate on protesting hinges and stepped through, Alec close on his heels.
There were more rats beyond, rats everywhere. The chuckle of the flowing water and the sounds of the rats echoed in the silence as they paused at a sort of crossroads where another channel flowed into the one they were following. Leaping the four feet to the other side, they continued on to a second hinged grate. Beyond this the way began to slope downhill noticeably.
No other tunnels intersected theirs and finally they came to a fixed grate. The ironwork was new and of the same design Alec had seen at the work site. The broad flanges set at the four corners of the grate rested against stone knees jutting from the walls of the tunnel and were held in place by thick iron pins set in holes drilled into the stone.
“Here we are,” Seregil whispered, setting down his bundle. “Light your torch from mine and go check that side.”
“What are
we looking for, exactly?”
“I don’t know, so be thorough. It could be some fault in the iron or the stone.”
Alec jumped across the channel and began his examination of the ironwork, looking first for something as obvious as bars sawn through. They seemed sound enough, however. The sockets for the pins had been sealed with rivets hammered in hot and the lower flanges, which bore the weight of the grate, rested solidly against the stone knees.
“Let’s try moving it,” said Seregil.
Grasping two crosspieces, they braced their shoulders against the bars and lifted. The grate lifted an inch or two.
“Push!” Seregil grunted, shaking his side of it.
But the grate was solidly held in place by the pins. Giving up, they let it fall back into place with a dull clank.
“I thought maybe he’d sawn off the lower pins,” Seregil panted, flexing his arms. “I guess not.”
“It did move, though.” Alec squinted up at the flanges overhead. It was impossible to see anything from this angle, so he climbed the crossbars for a closer inspection, torch in hand.
• • •
Across the channel, Seregil was about to do the same, but his torch was burning low. Pulling a fresh one from his belt, he paused to light it from the old one. “See anything?”
“There’s nearly three inches of pin exposed up here,” Alec replied, clinging one-handed to the top of the bars.
“I’m no expert, but that seems like a lot. How does it look?”
“Like a metal pin.” Alec held his torch closer. “No marks or cuts. Hold on. Hey, it’s melting like wax and there’s—”
“Be careful!”
Searing white sparks erupted inches from Alec’s face with an angry spitting sound. With a startled cry, he dropped his torch and threw an arm across his face.
“Alec! Alec, get down,” Seregil yelled.
Alec crouched awkwardly, one leg jammed between the bars. Overhead, sparks still rained down from the sizzling corona of light.
Dark spots danced in front of Seregil’s eyes as he launched himself across the channel. Grabbing Alec, he dragged him to the floor and tried to roll him onto his belly to smother the smoldering patches on his tunic.
“My eyes!” Alec gasped, struggling away in pain and confusion.
“Hold still,” Seregil began, but Alec’s foot found sudden purchase against the wall and, with a final lurch, he toppled Seregil backward into the icy channel.
Fortunately, Seregil had the presence of mind to clamp his mouth shut as he went under. For a horrifying second he tumbled helplessly against the side of the channel, unable to find the bottom with his feet. Fetching up against the grate, he righted himself and used the crossbars to pull himself back onto the walkway.
Sputtering and retching, he grasped Alec by the back of the tunic and hauled him out of range of the sparks, then held him forcibly still while the white light faded slowly to a small orange glow. One torch still burned, and by it he could see the thin pall of smoke curling lazily near the roof.
Alec groaned again, hands pressed over his face. Fearing the worst, Seregil dug the lightwand from his sodden tool roll and pulled the boy’s hands away to inspect the damage.
Alec’s hair and the vinegar mask had protected most of his face from the sparks, but half a dozen tiny blisters were already bubbling up on the backs of his hands. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he turned his head from the light.
“Can you see anything?” Seregil asked anxiously.
“I’m beginning to.” Alec pressed one sleeve across his eyes, then blinked. “Why are you wet?” A look of shocked realization slowly spread across his face. “Oh, no. Oh, Seregil, I’m sorry!”
Seregil managed a tight grin, trying hard not to think about the water dripping down his face toward his mouth.
“What was that light?” Alec asked.
“I don’t know.” Going back to the grate, he climbed up to inspect the damage. “The pin is burned completely away, stonework cracked from the heat, top of the flange warped. And whatever it was, it must work on the other side, too, or you still couldn’t move the grate.”
Jumping the channel, he gripped the handle of the lightwand between his teeth and climbed up to inspect the upper corner.
“Tell me again what you saw.”
Still blinking, Alec came across and picked up the torch. “I held the flame close to the pin, trying to see if it had been cut. It must have been the heat, because the surface of the pin began to melt and run like wax. I think I saw something white underneath, just before it flared up the way it did.”
Craning his neck cautiously, Seregil found several inches of exposed pin between the flange and the stonework above. Using the tip of his dagger, he scraped gently at the surface of the pin. Curls of some black, waxy substance shaved off easily, revealing a white layer below.
“You were right. A band of silvery white metal has been set into the pin.”
The white substance cut easily as lead. Extracting a tiny sliver, he handed it down to Alec on the tip of his blade. “Put it on the floor and light it.”
Alec set the sliver gingerly on the floor and, standing well back, held the torch to it. It burst at once into a brief, sputtering blaze of light that left black burns on the stone.
Alec let out a low whistle. “Bilairy’s Balls, I think we found what we’re looking for.”
“There must be enough iron in the center of the pin to strengthen it, but this stuff burns right through it.”
“Is it magic?”
Seregil cut away another small sample of the white substance. “Maybe. I’ve never seen anything like it, but Nysander might know.”
Seregil placed the shavings carefully in the little ceramic jar he’d carried the firechip in, then handed it down to Alec.
“I sure made a mess of that corner,” Alec said, casting a worried look at the blackened stonework.
“True.” Seregil climbed down to join him. “Our saboteurs are bound to come checking sooner or later and even if they don’t, there are the Scavengers to consider. We’d better get Nysander down here, or Thero.”
Alec’s sight slowly returned to normal as they cleaned up the site as best they could and started back.
“What about the locks?” he asked, reaching the first of the gated barriers.
“Best leave ’em as we found ’em,” Seregil replied. “I’ll scout ahead to the next one. You catch up.”
The lock was rusty; swearing softly under his breath, Alec ground a pick against the wards until something dropped into place.
Seregil was out of sight beyond a bend in the tunnel by then. Anxious to leave the rats and echoing dampness behind, Alec hurried after him.
He’d just caught sight of him ahead near the intersection of channels when Seregil suddenly collapsed sideways into the water with a startled grunt. The torch he’d been carrying hung precariously over the edge and by its light Alec saw two ragged, hooded figures jump out from the side tunnel, cudgels raised as they reached for Seregil’s floating form.
Without stopping to think, Alec let out a yell, drew his sword, and charged.
The gaterunners were caught by surprise, but the one closest to Alec got a long club up in time to block the first downward slash. Alec jumped back a pace and braced, ready to fight.
The narrowness of the walkway kept the fight to a one against one affair, but it also severely restricted the range of Alec’s swings. His opponents were more accustomed to such conditions. The second quickly jumped across the channel to outflank him from behind. Alec did the same, keeping his face toward them. He couldn’t see Seregil anywhere.
The current must have swept him back the way we came, he thought, and for a sickening instant he pictured the dog’s carcass and its attendant rats trapped against the lower bars of a grate. The gaterunners didn’t allow him time to dwell on the image, however. The one on his side of the channel was advancing, cudgel at the ready. From the corner of his eye, Alec saw the
other reaching into his tattered tunic for something, presumably a knife or dart. Suddenly, however, the runner slumped against the wall with a high-pitched wail, clutching at a throwing knife protruding from his shoulder.
“Hammil!” the one facing Alec cried out, and he realized it was a woman.
“Let’s not anyone be stupid,” said a familiar voice from the shadows downstream.
Alec and the woman both turned in time to see Seregil step into sight on the far side. He was wetter than ever but held a second dagger at the ready as he walked slowly toward the wounded runner. The boy scuttled weakly back, still clutching his arm.
“We don’t mean any harm here,” Seregil said calmly, motioning for Alec to back slowly away.
The woman pushed her hood back, showing a harsh, deeply lined face. “Get away from my boy,” she growled, shaking her club threateningly in Alec’s direction.
“You started this. What do you want?” asked Seregil, stopping a few paces from the boy, dagger in hand.
“Nothin’,” the woman replied. “You’s just strangers is all, and strangers is getting to be a hazard down here. We’ve lost friends to strangers down here lately.”
Seregil sheathed his knife. Bending over the fallen boy, he examined the wound, then pulled the small throwing blade out. “It’s not too bad a cut,” he told the woman over his shoulder. “You’re lucky my aim was off.”
“I’m alright, Ma,” the young gaterunner gasped, cringing away from Seregil. By the dying light of the torch, Alec saw that he was younger than himself. He could also make out a thin ribbon of blood running down Seregil’s right cheek.
“You all right?” Seregil called over.
“Yes. Are you?”
Seregil nodded, then stepped over the wounded boy and addressed his mother again. “I’ll leave yours if you’ll leave mine,” he told her, holding his hands out palm up.
Without a word, she sprang across, grabbed the boy up, and hurried him away into the shadows.
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