by Eve Forward
“Y’know,” Arcie commented to Sam at one point, “even if what Kaylana and Valeriana say aren’t true, I’d still go on this quest. This whole world is too disgustingly cute.”
Sam nodded thoughtfully. He agreed, actually. It was all too... nice. Dawn had broken while they were still on the road to Tailerand, and the land was at its most flamboyant in these early hours. A twinge of contempt from his evil nature made him steer Damazcus through a patch of purple clover, trampling several mating butterflies and crushing the blossoms. A whistle from up ahead brought his attention back, and he and Arcie spurred their mounts to catch up to the others on the broad road into the city.
Tailerand was a seaport city, about half the size of Sam’s native city but more sprawling and open. The sea air mingled with the scents of human habitation, the faint roar of the surf with the rounded noise of the large trading river that emptied into the sea here. For several miles outside of the city were fields and orchards taking advantage of the last of this continent’s mild climate. The sea winds helped protect against frost, and the produce of this area, both grown from the soil and harvested from the sea, was taken upriver or sent out on ships to the rich but wild Land of Trois, to trade for wood, pelts, precious ores, and horses.
Most of the renegades had visited here one time or another; Blackmail silently led them to a small livery stable, which looked poor and out of the way, but was spotless and well-kept within, all the horses stabled there well-fed and shining. Kaylana, having sent her stag to run free back to the woods it had come from, examined the horses for sale and finally picked out a young piebald gelding, purchased by a loan at ruinous interest from Arcie. They boarded their mounts there for a token fee, and prepared to set out on foot. Blackmail himself insisted on untacking and stabling his huge black stallion, who showed high spirits by stealing the feed bag and occasionally pushing his master playfully against the wall. As the ancient stableman watched, the horse used its lips to stealthily work open the buckles on one of the saddlebags, the one containing the sweet grain with which the knight fed the horse.
“That’s a fine clever beast you’ve got there,” said the fellow. “Looks like a Kwartan warhorse.” Blackmail nodded absently, too busy currying to reply further, as the others waited impatiently.
At last they managed to drag the knight away from his companion, and they set off through the town, enjoying the tang of ocean in the air. Arcie was marching proudly down the main street, pointing out, landmarks; Robin had been here not too many months before, when he had first left his home and came by ship to this port, ready to start a new life in the fabled Six Lands. The very air here seemed to have a hint of that excitement, of beginnings and expectation, where anything was possible.
Kaylana said, “This is where it all started. Where it all starts,” as though she had read Robin’s thoughts. It made him a little uneasy.
“Where ‘they’ first met, then?” Arcie asked. “Och! I thought so. Where the warrior Hero Tamame caught Jasper Dunthwittle trying to steal from him, and the two became fast friends, and met with their other companions, and decided taste stomp out evilness, and so forth.” He shook his head. “Supposedly were the first and last time Jasper tried to steal anything. Pah! Some thief. Typical Wilderkin though, aye. No sense of selfpreservation.”
Sam was looking about. He’d been here once before on an assignment. Tailerand, last he’d seen it, had made him nervous. Of course there was no Assassin’s Guild; the one he had come from was the only one in the Six Lands, though there were rumors that such institutions had existed in distant lands such as Shadrezar and Kono. Tailerand hadn’t had a Thieves’ Guild either; that population had lived in small, free-roaming, competitive gangs. Sam had run afoul, briefly, of such a gang back then. The conflict had resulted in several broken bones, a minor concussion, and several missing teeth for the thieves, who were very wary of anyone wearing black for many weeks after. It occurred to Sam, much later, that they likely would never have attacked him if they hadn’t been desperate.
And desperate they must have been, for now there was no trace of their activity.
Arcie had noticed this too. Here, as in Mertensia, the town where they had sought out the Gypsies, the subtle graffiti of thiefsigns scratched on walls and posts were faded or missing. These had once marked the territories of the rival gangs, showed threat or warning, or marked neutral turf for the occasional rare truce. He stopped to trace one with his short fingers thoughtfully. “What is it, gnome?” asked the sorceress impatiently. She had been nervous since entering the city, its air of cheerful expectation making her skin itch.
Arcie glowered. “ ‘Tis a sort of ‘help wanted’ sign, Valerie.”
“Valeriana,” corrected the Nathauan with a glare. But Sam and the others knew that she was probably going to be stuck with the nickname, what with her amulet held captive so that she could not enforce her desires.
Kaylana, also not approving of the crowded city, was watching the citizens apprehensively. Their small group, three of whom were garbed mostly in black and containing such rare sights as a centaur and a huge man in full armor, was attracting a lot of stares. Two members of this crew wanted by the very nobility of the land of Dous, and a mage involved ... it was probably a good idea to get out of sight. She said as much to Arcie.
“I agrees,” he said immediately. “And, I think I know of a place where we can find both a hidey-hole and an ally. Follow me.” He set off down the road, occasionally pausing at thiefsigns to touch them lightly, frowning as he translated the faint rough markings.
They passed through the waterfront district. Sam noticed the familiar name of one of the most popular taverns.
The Frothing Otter, he thought, looking at it. In a bar of the same name back in Bistort this had all begun.
The sign at this establishment showed one of the thickpelted sea otters that were once quite prolific on this coast, lying on its back in the water with its whiskers full of foam and a half-full tankard of sea ale balanced on its chest. He pointed it out to Arcie, who nodded, saying nothing. It was a common name for a tavern in the Six Lands, no one knew why. Probably if they’d looked they could have found one in Mertensia.
At last, down a back alley, Arcie found a small door, half-covered in old rotting fishing nets hung with dead starfish. The air had a fishy smell and a strong hint of dust and drains, warm in the growing sunlight. Arcie rapped a soft, complicated tattoo on the rough wood, and sucked his knuckles silently because of the splinters.
A moment later, he tapped again, and the door burst open, and a whirl of multicolored cloth swirled them in.
As the door closed and a lamp was turned up, theif host was illuminated, a woman, younger than Kaylana, wearing the flouncy colorful skirts of a Gypsy, topped with a dark blue tunic, the standard item of dress in Dous, and fitted with a brown leather bodice. Her hair was blond, lighter than the assassin’s, and hung in soft waves around her face, accenting blue eyes. She shook Arcie’s hand in delight.
“Mr. Macrory!” she cried. “So good to see another friendly face after all these years!”
“Macrory?” Sam exclaimed in surprise. Arcie shot him a glare.
“Perfectly good family name, Sam. My father’s quite a respected gentleman in the Old Country. Kimi, this bounder are called Sam, the ladies are Valerie ...” The sorceress rolled her amethyst eyes, but said nothing, “and Kaylana, the knight by the door we call Blackmail, and the centaur goes by the handle of Robin. Fellows, this is Kimi, who were quite a promising student at my Guild before she ran off here with some rapscallion from a street gang. Whatever happened to him, anyway?”
“Knifed by the Sharks five summers past,” Kimi said with a sigh. “Things were crazy for the longest time there. All the gangs sort of dissolved. Most of them lost their leaders to mysterious disappearances. Then, of course, discipline fell apart, there was murder and warfare for a few weeks, and when the smoke all cleared I was the only one left. At least it’s easy pickings now, bu
t I was hoping to get another gang under way ... that’s why the thiefsign. You and these fellows interested in joining? Of course, you’d have seniority, sir, being a Guildmaster and all...”
“No, Kimi, that’s not what we’re about today.” He glanced around, and his eyes lighted on the centaur.
Something would have to be done about that; he still didn’t quite trust the minstrel. As Kimi bustled around the room, dumping books, plates, ropes, candles, pouches and other objects off various surfaces in order to clear a space for them to sit, he motioned to the centaur.
“Robin,” he said, looking up at the tall being, “do us a great favor and stand watch outside, will you? There’s a good fellow,” he added, as he gently but forcibly shoved the centaur’s back toward the hidden door. The centaur, despite his bulk, was not very large or strong; built more like the delicate, deer-like racing horses of the desert folk of Shadrezar than the large, familiar Troisian breed.
Robin had barely begun to stammer a protest when his haunches bumped open the door and he stumbled out into the daylight, the concealed door shutting in front of him.
“Was that necessary. Northerner?” Kaylana asked, as Arcie stepped back from locking the door. Arcie sighed and scratched his head.
“Call it a hunch, lady. Now then, Valerie, Kaylana, will you explain to Kimi what brings us all here? For ‘truth I’m not able to keep straight all this business of portals and keys and suchlike.”
As the two women explained to the young thief, Arcie lay back and lit up his pipe from a pouch of tobacco he’d found on a small table. Kimi didn’t smoke, but loved all kinds of clever tricks and distractions-the harsh smoky herb could be used in numerous ways for this. Blackmail remained standing in a corner, looking like, well, like a suit of armor, oddly out-of-place in Kimi’s mishmash den. The cluttered, shadowy room, smelling of candle wax, paprika, and mildew, was barely big enough for them, but passages twisted off into the darkness beyond.
For a moment, Arcie thought Sam had vanished again, but then saw him, a slightly different patch among the shadows, looking at what appeared to be a large, cracked, round-bottomed bowl on a tottering pile of sea crates.
Outside, Robin breathed a sigh of relief, chest and sides giving a deep heave, and twitched his beloved, beautiful tail thoughtfully. He was glad to be out of that cramped thieves’ den and away from the staring eyes of the villains. Time to do some long-overdue reporting. He rolled up one white sleeve to show the delicate silver filigree bracelet set with two cloudy gemstones, the gift and token of Mizzamir. With thumb and forefinger he pressed the gemstones, tensing himself for the transition.
It was more unnerving than Mizzamir had said: a sensation of the ground wiggling under his hooves, a brief moment of speed, and a smell like cedar that faded into the familiar scent of lavender and ozone so characteristic of the Silver Tower, in the Castle of Diamond Magic. He opened his eyes and saw Mizzamir look up from his desk.
“Why, Robin of Avensdale! I was beginning to become concerned! How have you fared?”
“With some difficulty, your Greatness,” stammered Robin, quickly doffing his hat in respect. He related the happenings thus far, including the party’s secretive visits to the cavern of the Mad Godling and the thieves’ den in Tailerand. Mizzamir listened thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on a pile of parchment on his desk. The sunlight made the dust motes in the room shine like tiny suns.
“Interesting,” Mizzamir said when he had finished.
“Excellent reporting, your minstrel training has served you well. We have done well in choosing you as our agent.” Robin blushed deeply and scuffed his forehooves on the floor, looking down bashfully. Mizzamir smiled at his discomfiture, then his face grew thoughtful again.
“Hmm ... it would almost seem ... but surely they cannot have that in mind. Stay here awhile, Robin, and rest yourself, until you can meet with the villains tomorrow. One of the servants will show you to a spare room ... your aura indicates weariness.” He smiled and rang a summoning bell. Robin allowed himself to be led off to a small room with a floor-comer bed, as the centaurs used, and curled himself up on it with a yawn, and was asleep before the last strands of his waterfall tail had finished settling.
Back in the thieves’ den in Tailerand, Kimi and Arcie were poring over the parchment with the prophecy of the Mad Godling written upon it in Valerie’s sharp liquid handwriting. They had partaken of a late meal and had a nap, while the young thief herself went out on her various rounds, dressed in her becoming clothes to lull the unwary while she harvested a living from picking their pockets. In the early afternoon, they made their plans.
Valerie stood looking over their shoulders, while her raven hopped about among the clutter, snapping up spiders and the occasional young mouse, croaking softly.
Sam had returned to inspecting the bowl. He thought he could almost make out words in the bird’s noises; it sounded like a gruff old man muttering to himself. He watched it as it picked up a knitting needle to winkle a beetle out of a crack and wondered exactly how intelligent the creature was. It winked at him and snapped up the beetle with a tiny disgusting scrunchy noise, its throat feathers puffing. Kaylana wandered over, gave the bowl he was examining a brief glance, and muttered, “Wyvem eggshell.”
Kimi chewed on the end of the inkstick she was using to make notes. “Town where they first met ... that’s Tailerand, we’re assuming,”They’ being the Heroes.
Then ... “The center of the smuggler’s net’ ... net, net ... smuggler’s net. Let me think ... smugglers. Heroes, Tailerand ... there’s no place I know of called Smuggler’s Net, but it would make sense that everything in these riddles would have something to do with the Heroes...”
“A net, used to catch smugglers?” suggested Arcie.
“Did the Heroes ...”
“Yes!” cried Kimi suddenly. “That has to be it! Mr. Macrory, I’m with you and your friends. Let’s bring the world back to the way it was, when we all were free. I admit I don’t see any signs of the world being, uh, sublimated, but if there’s any chance to return the world to the good old days, I’m all for it. And I know exactly where the net for smugglers must be.”
A short while later, after Kimi had changed from her skirts into a sensible set of leggings and tunic and armed herself with a long rapier and several daggers, they gathered a few candle lanterns from the clutter and set off down into the dark back passages. Kimi led the way, Arcie following alongside, then Valerie, Sam, and Kaylana, with Blackmail bringing up the rear, trying to walk quietly and occasionally having to duck because of the low ceiling. Kimi explained as they travelled: “Back just before the War proper, supposedly, there was an evil trade of smugglers in Tailerand, and one of the first things the Heroes did, when they had all met here, was decide to rid the town of this menace. The smugglers, hundreds of them, operated in a series of catacombs under the sewers, and the Heroes won by trapping them in there and then rerouting the floodwater systems through those tunnels. A lot of the place gave way, sunk and settled. One of my gang’s initiation rituals was to spend the night down in there; it’s supposedly haunted.”
“Did you see anything?” inquired Arcie. The idea of ghosts had always intrigued him; being able to walk through walls! That would be quite useful. Kimi shook her head.
“Ghosts would be unlikely, of course,” Valerie added, as she walked along the dim flickering tunnel gracefully, her huge purple eyes dark with their pupils dilated. “The undead require negative energy to function, and these days there’s not much of it about.”
They wandered on through the tunnels. The air was cold and close, with a definite pong of sewage. Kimi led them in detours from the main sewer pipes and drains, but soon they had to extinguish their lanterns because, Kimi explained, of the danger of pockets of explosive gas that sometimes collected at these levels. The tunnels now, however, were lit with the faint iridescent glow of the mossy slime that covered walls and ceiling, while the floor was a dark siup of mud and slurry.
The smell was less noticeable after awhile, and soon the only one bothered by it was Valerie, who fastidiously kept a fold other cloak over her nose and mouth.
“And about a flowing stair...” Kimi shook her head.
“That I’ve never heard of or seen. I guess we’ll have to just get to the ‘center of the smuggler’s net’ and look for it.”
They were now already in what appeared to have been a more habitable part of the underground. Though piles of rubble and rotting supports jammed every corner, and the moss grew thickly, the tunnels looked more like corridors, and occasionally broken-in rooms, full of decay and rats, could be seen. Kimi stepped quickly and silently through the passages, counting corridors under her breath. Occasionally, she’d make a wrong guess, and they would backtrack, nevertheless it was impressive how well she found her way about. Kaylana noticed that she and Arcie both moved with the same kind of careful, light grace, especially surprising in the short and seemingly ungainly Barigan. Sam moved in a similar fashion, but his gait was ever so slightly smoother, less predictable, and more predatory. Kimi called back to the others from where she and Arcie were leading the way. “We should be getting close to the center about now ... keep an eye out.”
They wandered through the small maze of broken rooms and passages that marked the center of the ancient smuggler’s den, and wandered back through them again, but saw nothing. At last they stopped to rest.
“No sign of a stair, flowing or otherwise,” Sam remarked, knocking dottle from his boots.