The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows

by Crilley, Paul

  “Yes, but I’m not sure he’s the right man. Will you help? It’s urgent.”

  Kayla sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Did the professor have an office on campus?”

  “Of course he did. Oh—”

  “Yes. It would have been nice if someone had told me earlier. Can you take me to it?”

  “Of course. Just let me get dressed. Host, Wren, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think of it.”

  “That’s fine. I won’t say ‘no harm done’ because we don’t really know that yet. But let’s hope we can find something.”

  The university was deserted so early in the morning. Kayla led them sleepily through the front door and across the huge plaza that would be filled with students in a few hours.

  The first hallways they walked down were bare of ornamentation. The walls needed a coat of paint underneath pinned-up notices and advertisements. The deeper into the university they went, the more expensive the finishings became. Paintings of past chancellors lined newly painted walls. Busts of famous explorers stood atop marble plinths. Eventually, the walls were no longer painted but were instead lined with polished wood paneling. Pictures hung in intricately carved frames which were gilded with precious metals. Cutter looked about with interest. He had no idea there were such rich pickings in a school. He’d been through tough times—it would have been a matter of a few moments to break in here and walk away with something valuable. The security was a joke.

  He was busy thinking who might possibly buy some of the paintings when Kayla stopped before a solid mahogany door.

  “This is it,” she said. “I should warn you. The professor was rather … messy.”

  “Not to worry. We’ll figure it out. Many thanks, Kayla. I wonder—could you do one more thing for us?”

  “What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing that would get you into trouble, never fear. Do you happen to know how good the recordkeeping is here?”

  “Everything is cataloged, if that’s what you mean.”

  “And you have a collection of dragonshards, is that correct?”

  “We do. Quite a substantial collection.”

  “I thought so. Could you do me a favor and check to see if any are missing from your collection?”

  “Why would any of them be missing?”

  “It’s just a hunch I have. Please?”

  Kayla sighed. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll see what I can find out. Please don’t wander off. Especially you,” she said, glancing at Cutter before hurrying away.

  Wren grinned at him. “You have that look about you,” he said, before heading into the office.

  Cutter followed and felt his heart sink as he looked around. The room was an explosion of parchment. It lay everywhere, on every available surface, jammed between books, stuffed beneath books, piled on chairs, piled on the floor.

  “Host, when she said he was messy, she wasn’t jesting,” said Torin.

  Cutter stared around the room. Yellowing paper was even stuffed between the top of the bookshelves and the ceiling. “How are we going to get through all this?”

  “Not by complaining about it, that’s for certain,” said Wren. “Torin, you take that side. Cutter—”

  “I’ll take the desk, thanks.” Cutter walked around the antique desk and lowered himself into the padded seat. He let out a groan and rubbed his back.

  “Fine,” said Wren. “You take the desk. I’ll take this wall.”

  “What are we looking for?” asked Cutter.

  “Anything that strikes you as odd or out of place. Correspondence, threats, anything.”

  “You think we’re going to find a signed letter from the killer asking the professor to steal the dragonshard?”

  “One can always hope,” said Wren.

  “Maybe while we’re at it, we should keep an eye out for a receipt for the shard with the killer’s address on it.”

  “Yes,” snapped Wren. “That would be very helpful. Get started, please.”

  “This is a waste of time,” said Cutter. But he tried the drawers to the desk anyway, and found them locked. He pulled out a small knife and jammed the point between the lock and the desktop. He gave it a sharp push, and the drawer jerked open with the sound of cracking wood.

  The others were looking at him. “What?”

  “That desk looks like it’s a hundred years old,” said Torin. “Don’t you have any appreciation for the finer things in life?”

  “Afraid not.” He pulled the drawer out and dumped its contents onto the desktop. He rifled through them. Some reminder notes, a diary—he opened it but it was just birthdays and anniversaries—some old boiled sweets that had been long forgotten. Nothing interesting.

  He did the same with the next drawer, then the next, until his chair was surrounded by piles of useless papers. But he didn’t find anything of interest. Torin and Wren were methodically going through the bookshelves, checking each piece of paper carefully before moving on to the next. The task would take all day at this rate.

  Cutter got down on his hands and knees and checked inside the empty drawer compartments. He knocked on the wood, searching for hiding places. Desks this old were usually riddled with them.

  He couldn’t reach in far enough so he moved around the back of the desk. He knocked on the wood, but it was too thick to hear anything. If there was a hidden compartment, he wouldn’t be able to tell.

  He stood up and glanced at the others. They were busy with their own searches. He turned to the desk and kicked the wooden paneling with the heel of his boot.

  The sound of breaking wood pierced the room like the crack of thunder. Torin and Wren both jumped.

  “What are you doing, man?” exclaimed Wren. “That desk is worth more than you are.”

  Cutter paused in examining the hole he had inflicted in the panel. “Desks this old usually have hidden compartments. Believe me, I know. You’d be amazed how many people who say they’re broke hide their money in a desk and think it’s protected.”

  He kicked the desk again. This time the whole panel caved in. He pulled the broken wood out to reveal an empty space.

  “You see? There’s room to hide a few valuables. You could fit a painting in it if you wanted.”

  Torin peered inside. “Pity there’s nothing there for us.”

  “I haven’t finished yet.”

  He proceeded to tear the desk apart, something he found immensely satisfying. Even after the other two told him to give it up, he kept at it, sure that if a professor was going to hide anything, he would hide it in his desk.

  He found what he was looking for on the underside of the desktop, after prying it away from the frame with the knife.

  It was a small notebook, and it was hidden in a tiny drawer that opened from within the beveled patterns that ran around the edge of the desktop.

  He held up the book. “Is this what we’re looking for?”

  He had to admit that he got a certain amount of satisfaction from the looks on their faces. They weren’t so clever now.

  He tossed the book to Wren. He opened it and paged through it, frowning.

  “What is it?” asked Torin.

  “It appears to be a record—” he paged some more, then flipped back to the beginning—”a record of someone’s movements. For a whole week. From the time they left their house to the time they returned at night. Everything the person did.”

  “Which person?”

  “Someone called Xavien.” He looked up. “Sound familiar?”

  Cutter shook his head. Torin did the same.

  “Why would a professor be following someone?” Cutter asked.

  “Indeed. That’s the question, my destructive friend.”

  Torin looked around at the mess. “We’ve found what we’re looking for. Let’s get out of here before someone finds us.”

  They opened the door and stepped out. Kayla was hurrying down the corridor toward them. “You were right,” she said, stop
ping before them. “There’s a Khyber shard listed in the manifest that isn’t where it should be.”

  Wren glanced at the others. “Now we know why they approached the professor.” He turned to Kayla. “Does the name Xavien mean anything to you?”

  “Of course. He’s a city councilor. Donates a lot of money to the university. He even has a wing named after him.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Hmm? Oh, no reason. My dear, thank you ever so much. You’ve been a great help to us.” He gestured over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you. It’s a bit of a mess.”

  They headed down the corridor. Kayla ignored them and opened the door.

  “Hey!” she called angrily. “What have you done?”

  “Uh, I think you have woodworm,” said Wren over his shoulder. He lowered his voice. “We should run now.”

  The third day of Long Shadows

  Sar, the 28th day of Vult, 998

  By the time they left the university, dawn had broken over the city. It was strange for Cutter to see the sky at daybreak, instead of noticing the odd beam of light that managed to shoulder its way down to the lower levels through gaps in the huge towers.

  “I’m not happy about this,” said Wren.

  Cutter turned from his perusal of the sky. “Not happy about what?”

  “Politics. You think the people you hang out with are bad? Well, they’re nothing compared to politicians. A bunch of useless, self-serving sycophants who are good for absolutely nothing.”

  “As always,” said Torin, “your faith in our government institutions leaves me amazed.”

  “Oh, come now,” snapped Wren. “All they do is swan around trying to look busy so no one will notice they don’t actually do anything. And believe me, they’d kill to protect those positions.”

  “Wren, that’s the stupidest generalization I’ve ever heard from you. And that’s quite something, let me tell you.”

  “Think what you want. But just wait, Torin. When all this is over, you’ll see I’m right. Dirty politics and corrupt officials.”

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Torin.

  Wren opened the diary. “It says here that Xavien works at Sun Tower in Upper Central. He’s there first thing in the morning to last thing at night.”

  “He sounds conscientious,” Torin pointed out.

  “Doesn’t he just? Pity he seems to be involved in our little problem, isn’t it?”

  “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “Come now, Torin. Your natural suspicion seems to be wearing tiresomely thin these days.”

  “I’m just saying that the professor could have been following him for other reasons. We have to keep an open mind. Cutter, what’s your opinion?”

  “Mine? Go in assuming the worst. That way, things can only get better.”

  “You see?” said Wren to Torin. “That’s the mind of an inquisitive.”

  “Wonderful. Maybe the two of you should be partners then.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Wren snapped the diary shut. “Whatever we decide to do, I can’t be seen there. The Highest Towers district is only a casual stroll from my apartments. I’d be recognized in an instant.”

  “You being the world famous inquisitive that you are,” said Torin sarcastically.

  “Exactly.”

  “I may have a plan,” said Cutter.

  “You?” said Wren, in much the same tone of voice Cutter imagined he would use to point out a fly in his soup.

  “Yes, me. A moment ago you were saying I had the mind of an inquisitive.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t mean it.” He sighed. “Go on then. What is it?”

  “I pretend to be Salkith. If he’s involved, Xavien will come running like a headless chicken wondering what I’m doing at his place of business. If he’s not involved, then he won’t be bothered.”

  Wren frowned. “But what if he knew Salkith?”

  “Then I’ll improvise. But I don’t think he would know him. Salkith is just a courier. He’s an independent contractor. People hire him because they don’t know him. That way, they can keep their distance if anything goes wrong. If I go in there pretending to be him, I can try to draw information out of Xavien.”

  “It might work,” said Torin.

  “And it might not,” said Wren.

  “But we don’t have any other options right now.” Cutter held out his hand. “And I’ll need the shard.”

  Wren looked at him in amazement. “What?”

  “The shard. Give it to me. I need it to prove who I am.”

  “But what if you lose it?”

  “I won’t.” Cutter sighed. “It doesn’t belong to you, half-elf. If anyone has a right to hold onto it, it’s me.”

  Wren thought for a while, then sighed and pulled out the silk-wrapped shard from his inside pocket. He reluctantly handed it over and opened his mouth to say something.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” said Cutter. “Be careful with it.” He tucked it into his pocket. “Stop worrying so much. I’ve got it taken care of.”

  “Oh, that’s good. For a moment, I was actually concerned.”

  Sun Tower was one of many civic buildings in the district of Highest Towers. All the city laws were passed within, political lives were built up and ruined by the merest whisper, and a simple glance at the wrong person during a weekly city council meeting could end a career.

  At least, that was how Wren put it before Cutter left them at a restaurant across the street.

  When the council wasn’t in session, tourists could buy tickets to tour the council hall and see the famous view from the top of Sun Tower, one of the tallest buildings in Sharn. It was the quickest way Cutter could think of to get to the top of the building where Xavien had his offices, so he handed over his last few coins with a wince and took the lift to the top floor.

  Cutter had to admit, it was almost worth the money.

  Even before he arrived at the top floor, Cutter could see bright golden light spilling down the lift shaft above him. As the lift rose higher and bumped gently to a stop, the grandeur of the Council Hall was revealed in all its glory. The room was massive. Ornate pillars were spaced evenly along the highly polished marble floor. They supported the high ceiling, where a painstakingly detailed mural of the continent of Khorvaire had been painted. He noted that it was kept up to date, with the latest lightning rail lines painted in.

  Golden light from the early morning sun bathed the whole room in a syrupy radiance. Long black shadows fell across the floor where the pillars cut into this light. The central pillar formed a shadow that pointed directly at Cutter, the rest forming a fanlike pattern as they angled to either side.

  Cutter left the lift, his footsteps echoing in the vast chamber. A few people walked briskly through the hall, carrying files and piles of papers and trying to look as if they were doing important work. Cutter stopped at this last thought and shook his head. He was starting to think like Wren.

  A huge wooden table lay in the center of the room, directly beneath the painting on the ceiling. As he passed, Cutter noted that the table was inlaid with a detailed mosaic of Breland, the decoration even more detailed than the painting above.

  Cutter squinted against the light as he approached the huge windows that overlooked the city. The towers and neighborhoods receded into the far distance, glinting in the morning sun. Everything looked so clean by the light of a new day.

  But soon it will tarnish, thought Cutter. Clouds would appear, shadows bringing dampness and dirt. For now at least, for a brief, tiny moment, it seemed like anything was possible, the hope of a new day borne on that golden light.

  He stared through the window for some time, until the increasing sounds of the business day getting underway brought him back to the job at hand.

  He turned around and stopped a young, flustered looking woman. “Do you work here?”

  “What?”

  “I asked if you worked here.”<
br />
  She held up the huge pile of files she had cradled against her chest. “What do you think?”

  Cutter shrugged. “I’m looking for a man called Xavien. Do you know him?”

  “Lord Xavien. And yes, I know him.” She made to move on.

  Cutter stepped in front of her. “Could you go and fetch him for me?”

  “I beg your pardon? Do I look like someone who runs around fetching people?”

  Cutter stepped back and looked her up and down. “Actually, you look like a woman trying too hard to look younger than she actually is.”

  The woman’s face flushed red and she opened her mouth to say something clever and witty to put him in his place. Cutter held up his hand to stop her.

  “Just go to Lord Xavien and tell him Salkith is here. Believe me, if you don’t, the absolute best that will happen to you is that you lose your job.”

  She stared at him. Cutter could see her trying to decide how to react, wondering if she should call security. Cutter gazed back impassively until she turned and stormed back the way she had come.

  Cutter turned back to take in the view once again. He found it calming.

  Some time passed before Cutter heard footsteps approaching behind him. He tensed, but carried on looking through the window.

  “Are you looking for me?”

  Cutter turned slowly, a bored look on his face. The man who stood before him was in his fifties, corpse thin with gray hair swept back from a high forehead. He held his hands behind his erect back as he waited for a response. He was trying his best to look officious, but Cutter could see the old man’s arms tensing as he clenched and unclenched his hidden hands.

  “That depends,” said Cutter. “Who are you?”

  They stared at each other, Cutter deciding then and there that this guy didn’t know what Salkith looked like. They wouldn’t be playing this game otherwise.

  “Are you Xavien?” he asked.

  The man hesitated, then nodded. “I am.”

  Cutter nodded. “You know who I am, then.”

  “I would hear you say it.”

  Cutter sighed. “I’m Salkith.”

  Instantly, the man’s demeanor changed. He leaned forward angrily. “Then what in Khyber’s name are you doing here?” he snapped. “How do you even know of me?”