The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows

by Crilley, Paul

  Cutter didn’t hang around. In the room beyond were a table and two chairs. On the table were an empty bottle, two glasses, and a pile of cards.

  And his blades. Sitting near a small pile of coins. The bastards were playing cards for his weapons.

  He picked up his knives and the money, then climbed the stairs to the club beyond.

  The second day of Long Shadows

  Far, the 27th day of Vult, 998

  Wren and Torin hurried along the crowded streets of Callestan, dodging between drunken revelers and worse-for-wear courtesans.

  “How much did this information cost you?” asked Torin.

  Wren cleared his throat. “Not much,” he said evasively.

  “Wren, he found out where this Salkith hangs out in under two hours! That kind of service doesn’t come cheap.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “So how much?”

  Wren sighed. “Thirty galifars,” he said, and winced, waiting for the explosion.

  “Thirty galifars!” shouted Torin. Some of the less drunk stragglers turned to stare. Torin glanced at them and lowered his voice. “Are you mad? You have to stop throwing money about like that. We’re not even getting paid for this!”

  “No, but Larrien will be indebted to us, and that is much more valuable than money, my tight-fisted friend. By the way, you’re bordering on cliched behavior again.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with me being a dwarf!”

  “Oh? What does it have to do with?”

  “With you being insane!”

  “Oh, pish-posh, Torin. Relax.”

  “Don’t—! Hey, isn’t that him?”

  “Where?”

  “Over there. Coming out of the alley.”

  Wren looked to where Torin was pointing and saw a big man staggering into the main street. He didn’t look well. “Are you sure that’s him?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Why is he stumbling around like that?” asked Wren.

  “How would I know? Maybe he’s been drinking to forget what happened.”

  “Ah,” said Wren sorrowfully. “A mistake that brings many a downfall.” Wren patted Torin on the shoulder. “You could tell him a few stories about that, couldn’t you, Torin?”

  Torin shook his head. “Are we going to follow him?”

  “I think it would be a waste not to. I mean, since we’re here and everything. Unless … did you have something better in mind?”

  But Torin was already walking away from Wren, keeping an eye on Cutter’s back as the human walked as fast as he could without falling over. Wren picked up his pace to catch up with Torin.

  “He’s heading for the lifts. Run ahead and catch it, a few levels up. I’ll keep an eye on him from this side. If you see the Watch, alert them.”

  Torin nodded and slipped away into the crowds. Wren followed Cutter as he made his way along the streets to the nearest lift. It took some time, as the human wasn’t moving very fast. Wren was worried that maybe the man had forgotten where it was and he’d have to tackle him on his own, without Torin’s help. Had he been drinking? It certainly looked that way.

  The reached the lifts without much incident. A couple of goblins had thought to take advantage of what they thought was a helpless drunk, but Cutter proved himself capable of taking care of himself. He slammed his fist into the throat of the first goblin. It dropped to the ground with a broken neck. The second came at Cutter with a rusty short sword. He slid inside the goblin’s guard, grabbed its sword arm, and pushed it back in a direction it was not meant to go. The arm snapped and the blade sank deep into the goblin’s chest.

  Wren made a note to be very careful around Cutter.

  When they arrived at the lift, Cutter climbed aboard and leaned wearily on the safety railing, his head resting on the backs of his hands.

  Wren checked to make sure his dagger was easily accessible, then followed after. Cutter didn’t look up.

  The lift jerked and started to move. Cutter was definitely as big close up as Torin had said. But, Host, did he look a mess. Wren’s gaze dropped to the weapons hanging from his hips. The scabbards were curiously shaped—long and curved. It took Wren a moment to realize they were Valenar blades.

  Wren had barely gotten over his surprise when Cutter spoke to him.

  “Why are you following me?” he said.

  Wren’s eyes snapped up. Cutter had turned his head to stare at him over his shoulder.

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I am merely returning from a night’s frivolity. I like to slum it, you see. Much more exciting.”

  Cutter didn’t move. Wren did his best to keep his face nonchalant, the kind of look he frequently saw on the rich and bored.

  “You’re lying. Are you from Tiel?”

  Wren frowned. “Where is Tiel?”

  “Not where. Who. Tiel is a person.”

  “Oh. Then no, I’m not. I take it this Tiel is after you for some reason?”

  Cutter was silent for a while. “A misunderstanding,” he said.

  “Ah.”

  The lift rose past the lower levels of the city. It stopped at a darkened street and a halfling and a dwarf staggered aboard, laughing as they passed a flask of spirits between them. Wren realized he didn’t know where Cutter was getting off. If he wanted to learn anything, he’d have to take a calculated risk. Just as the gate swung closed and the lift started to move again, Wren straightened up and cleared his throat. “Go to the university often?” he asked.

  Cutter tensed and pushed himself up from the rails. He glanced at the halfling and the dwarf, then locked eyes with Wren. Neither looked away.

  The two drunks lurched off at the next stop. As soon as the lift was rising again, Cutter moved, yanking his blades out and stepping toward Wren faster than he thought possible for a man in his condition. At the same moment, Wren pulled out his depleted wand with one hand and his dagger with the other. Cutter froze.

  “Why are you asking about the university?”

  “Curiosity,” replied Wren.

  “Curiosity about what?”

  “About why you killed the professor. I think it had to do with dreamlily, but I’m not sure.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone! It was that damn warforged.”

  Wren frowned. “What warforged? What are you talking about?”

  Cutter hesitated.

  “You don’t seem to understand,” said Wren. “Everyone thinks you killed him. I think you killed him. If you have a different story, now is the time to tell it.”

  Still Cutter hesitated. He glanced at the towers drifting past. Then he sighed.

  “When I reached the university, the professor was dead. I was looking for … something, and this … black warforged attacked me. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It wrapped shadows around its body like a cloak. I barely got away in one piece. If it wasn’t for some dwarf coming to investigate the noise, that thing would have killed me.”

  “Interesting. And where does Rowen fit into all this?”

  Cutter’s eyes narrowed. He moved to grab Wren, but the half-elf twitched the wand in the direction of Cutter’s face and he stopped, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “What do you know about Rowen?” he asked in a low voice. “Where is she? Have you seen her?”

  Wren hesitated, trying to decide which route to take. Lies, or truth? Which would glean him the most information?

  Probably the lie.

  But he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but the man deserved the truth.

  “Cutter, Rowen is dead. I’m sorry. Whoever she stole the package from killed her.”

  Wren watched as Cutter tried to reject his words. It was almost as if he was fighting a battle, the words ricocheting against some kind of armor he had hastily erected around his mind.

  But even the best armor had weak spots.

  “You’re lying,” Cutter whispered.

  “I wish I was.” He paused, searching for words. “She was a very beaut
iful woman,” he finally said.

  “You … saw her?”

  “I did.”

  Cutter shook his head. “No. I was with her earlier tonight. It’s impossible.”

  “Death can happen in an instant, Cutter. Believe me, I speak the truth.”

  “No. It can’t be. We … we fought. We can’t leave it like that. She can’t be gone. Not when we’re fighting. That … that’s not fair.”

  Wren didn’t know what to say. He was dimly aware of the lift slowing to a stop, but all he could see was the pain in Cutter’s eyes. The man was massive, a brute by any other name, but he was brought down by his love for a woman.

  Wren heard the scrape of metal on metal. He blinked, pulling his eyes away from Cutter to see the lift surrounded by the Watch. Torin stood with them. The commander stepped aboard, sword point leveled at Cutter’s heart. Wren took a step back, unsure how the man would react in his current state of mind.

  He didn’t do anything. He looked as if the life had simply drained out of him. He stood still while he was disarmed and then cuffed. He locked eyes with Wren just before he was pulled off the lift. He didn’t say anything, but Wren felt some kind of connection there, a kinship.

  The Watch led Cutter through the streets, his head hanging low.

  “Pretty good, aren’t I?” said Torin.

  “What?” Wren glanced down at the dwarf.

  “I found the Watch.”

  “Oh. Yes. Well done. I think that’s it for tonight, Torin. Go home to your wife.”

  Wren stepped onto the street and walked away.

  “I can never please you, you know that?” Torin called behind him.

  Wren returned to his apartments overlooking Skysedge Park. He stood on the balcony and stared over the gentle hills as the morning mist slunk down the banks and slowly filled the hollows and depressions.

  It was over. For all intents and purposes, the case was solved. No judge would look beyond the facts as they were presented. Two lovers, one a courtesan, conspired to steal something from one of her clients. The man then killed the client in a fit of jealousy, and the courtesan was killed as revenge for the theft.

  No one would investigate to find out who had killed her. These kinds of crimes were not important enough for the Watch to waste their time. Cheap courtesans in the lower levels died all the time. Just another death among a thousand others. No one cared.

  But something wasn’t right. This whole thing, far from being an open and shut case, was a confused muddle of lies and mistaken assumptions, and Wren was as much to blame for that as anyone. He sighed, recognizing the feeling that was building inside his chest, that tight knot of impatience that told him things weren’t right. It wouldn’t go away. Not until he’d checked every last lead.

  Wren turned from the balcony and stepped back inside. He grabbed the satchel that contained all his equipment, slung it over his shoulder, and headed out the door.

  Lucky for him, he didn’t need much sleep.

  Kayla let him back into the university. Larrien had placed her in charge of coordinating the Watch and fending off chroniclers from the Inquisitive and the Chronicle. She had dark rings beneath her eyes and yawned repeatedly as she reluctantly led the way to the professor’s rooms.

  “What did the cleric find out?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Wren looked at Kayla in surprise. “He must have picked up something.”

  “He didn’t. He seemed quite upset about it. He said there was absolutely nothing there. Said that whatever killed him must have been blessed.”

  “Or cursed,” muttered Wren. “And the Watch? Did they find anything?”

  “They didn’t look. They just took the body away and said they’d be back tomorrow.”

  They arrived at the apartment. Wren paused before opening the door. “No point in both of us being kept from our beds. I just want to take a second look, then I’ll be off.”

  Kayla stifled a yawn. “I’ll wait. Have to lock up once you’re gone.”

  Wren nodded and pushed open the door. “Won’t be long.”

  The room felt different since the body had been removed. Less … heavy. No real sense remained that a tragedy had occurred earlier that night. It just felt—what was the word he was looking for? It felt vacant. Unlived in.

  He opened his satchel and rummaged around inside. He took out a pair of Cannith goggles and pulled them over his head. He fitted them over his eyes and blinked a few times to get used to the smoky orange tinge of the lenses. He closed his eyes and concentrated, activating the magic of the goggles.

  When he opened his eyes again, his vision changed drastically. Everything was clearer, much sharper, as if he had been half-blind his whole life and then presented with his first pair of glasses. Everywhere he looked, his vision seemed to focus and then zoom in on whatever his eyes settled on, revealing tiny details that hadn’t been apparent before.

  Just there, for example. He saw the faint outlines of footprints in the carpet, one pair deeper than the others. A warforged, perhaps? The carpet had bounced back but not enough to hide the prints from the goggles. To the right, he spied a deep indentation then a short trail across the fibers, as if someone had landed heavily and slid along the floor on his back.

  He walked to the bedroom and traveled slowly back and forth across the floor, peering straight down at his feet.

  Here we go, Wren thought. He got down on his hands and knees and lowered his face to the floor, cocking his head to the side as he tried to peer at his discovery from every angle. He pulled out a wooden vial and a pair of tongs from his satchel and carefully picked up a tiny item, holding it close to the goggles.

  A shaving of black metal. The kind one would find if, say, a fight had taken place and a heavy blade was scraped across the body of a dark warforged.

  Wren dropped the shavings into the vial and placed it into his bag. He stood up and stared at the hole in the wall. It was vaguely man-shaped, but when he stepped forward he could see faint pinpricks of blood on the wall studs inside the hole. He reckoned that if he had a look at Cutter’s back, he would see the same pattern there.

  Wren put the goggles away and stood in the dark, lost in thought. He left the room and walked Kayla back to her apartment in Shava House, the tiny boarding house for the community of staff that lived on campus.

  Some time later, Wren climbed the steps of Daggerwatch garrison and pushed open the reinforced metal doors that led into the building. He walked through and entered a square room with three doors on each wall. A huge desk sat against the far side of the room, about as high as Wren’s shoulders. A tired-looking dwarf woman sat behind it.

  Wren approached and beamed his smile. “Excuse me, my dear—”

  “Do not, and I repeat that, do not ever, call me ‘my dear.’ Understood?” The dwarf stared at him.

  Wren’s smile faltered, but for only a fraction of a second. “Of course. My apologies, uh …?”

  “Sergeant.”

  “Yes. Sergeant. My apologies. I was wondering if you could lend me some assistance.”

  “Probably not, but ask anyway. I’m feeling generous.”

  “Thank you. I’m looking for a prisoner who was brought in earlier.”

  The dwarf held up her hand to stop him. Wren waited, but she simply held it there. Wren leaned to the side so he could see past it to her face. “Yes?”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, sergeant. Sorry.”

  The dwarf lowered her hand and turned a huge ledger around on the desk. Wren leaned forward with interest. The dwarf ran her finger down a list of names, turned the page over, ran her finger down the next list, then slammed the book shut.

  “Don’t tell me,” said Wren, becoming slightly annoyed. “Those are the names of prisoners brought in during the last watch.”

  “Correct.”

  “Can I check the list to see if his name is there?”

  “No.”

  “Can I describe him to you
to see if you remember him?”

  She appeared to consider this for a moment. “Go on, then. And I’m only doing this because I like you.”

  “Uh, thank you. His name is Cutter. He’s a human, over six feet tall, muscular. He has a tattoo of a dragon on his head that runs down his neck and wraps around his arms.”

  “Shaved head, growing into stubble?”

  “Yes!”

  “Haven’t seen him.”

  Wren deflated. “Oh.”

  “Unless …”

  “Yes?”

  “What are you doing for dinner at the end of the week?”

  Wren blinked in bemusement. “Sorry?”

  “Dinner. You take me out to dinner, I’ll tell you about your friend.”

  “Oh.” He shrugged. “That’s fine. Would Sannid’s suit your taste?”

  For the first time, he saw expression on her face. Her eyes widened. “Sannid’s? I thought the waiting list was over a month long.”

  Wren shrugged. “I know the owner.”

  She studied him, eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to back out, are you?”

  “Perish the thought!” Wren leaned over the desk and pointed at a quill. “May I?” She nodded, so he took it and wrote his address on a piece of parchment. “My address. You can track me down if I don’t turn up.”

  She took the piece of paper and read it. “Skysedge Park?”

  Wren nodded. “We can meet at my place first. Try some of my wine. I collect the stuff, but so rarely get the chance to enjoy it.”

  “That … sounds good.” She looked at the address again and seemed to remember something. “Your friend! Yes, your friend was moved to Warden Towers.”

  Wren frowned. “Moved? Why would he be moved?”

  “I have no idea. Some woman came in and spoke to the captain. Cold bitch, she was.” She shrugged. “We don’t care. One less mouth to feed.”