The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows

by Crilley, Paul

  A shadow fell across the rectangle of light on the floor. Cutter tensed, but it moved on. Just someone walking across the room.

  “We’re going to be late,” said Tiel. “Where is that idiot? You’re going to have to take him out, by the way. I don’t trust him.”

  “Fine,” said Bren, sounding bored.

  Cutter took a deep breath. Now or never. They were going to walk out that door. He thought about waiting for them to do just that, but he had no way of knowing who would come first. No, he had to surprise them.

  He held his blades in attack positions and stepped into the room.

  The first thing he noticed was that the room was huge. It easily took up half the house. Skylights let in streams of sunlight. Pillars that seemed to be made of clay or mud reached up to the ceiling. Tiel had modeled them on something from the Plains.

  Bren was lounging in a chair, clenching and unclenching his adamantine arm. Tiel paced back and forward in a short line. Both were an equal distance from Cutter, but he wasn’t sure if he could get to Tiel before Bren reached him. He flipped one of the knives around, holding it by the blade. The shape of the knives meant they weren’t ideal for throwing, but he still reckoned he could hit the halfling.

  Bren stared at him. He didn’t move from his chair. “Cutter,” he said, by way of greeting. “Been looking for you. Where’ve you been?”

  “Around,” he said.

  Tiel turned in surprise, his eyes narrowing when he saw Cutter, knives drawn.

  “What in Khyber’s name are you doing here? You should have just run with the money. Always knew you were an idiot.”

  “I didn’t take your money. Someone beat me to it.”

  “Then what are you doing here, Cutter?” asked Bren. “Why the blades?”

  Cutter glanced at Bren. “I’m hoping you didn’t have anything to do with this, Bren. Really hoping.”

  Bren frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Anriel’s here,” Cutter said to Tiel, ignoring Bren for the moment.

  “Who?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You know who. He has the dragonshard you’ve been so eager to get your hands on.”

  Tiel licked his lips. “Uh … where is he?”

  “Dead.” He threw a glance at Bren. “I’ve saved you the effort.”

  Bren sat forward in the chair. “Cutter, I’m getting a feeling here. Like you’re about to do something you might regret.”

  “Oh, I won’t regret it, Bren. Believe me. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, tell you what happened. Stop me if you’ve already heard it.” He nodded at Tiel. “See, Rowen accidentally stole this precious dragonshard of his and went into hiding. She knew they would be after her.”

  “Wait,” said Bren. He glanced between Tiel and Cutter. “Renaia came to me asking for help. Said she thought Rowen was in trouble.”

  Cutter stared at Bren. “Bren, what did you do?”

  “I followed the procedure. I told Tiel and he said he’d take care of her.”

  “He took care of her, all right.” He turned to Tiel. “Did you do it, or get someone else to do it?”

  “I did it. It was enjoyable, actually. Quite the little fighter, our Rowen. Even up to the end she wouldn’t tell me where it was. I must admit I was quite surprised when Xavien told me it had turned up again. Was that thanks to you?”

  Bren stood. “What’s he saying? Cutter, what about Rowen?”

  “She’s dead, Bren. Tiel killed her. Tortured her, actually. Trying to get her to give up where she’d hidden the shard.”

  “Is that true?” Bren asked Tiel.

  “Yes, it’s true. Who cares? She was just a courtesan. Not even worth the effort, really.”

  “I cared,” whispered Cutter.

  Tiel grinned. “Ah, shame for poor Cutter. His woman’s dead.” He stepped forward, scowling at him. “I did you a favor.”

  Cutter stepped forward. Tiel held his ground.

  “Cutter,” warned Bren.

  “What? You going to protect him after what he did? You knew Rowen. You drank with her.”

  “I know, but that has nothing to do with this. I can’t let you do anything stupid.”

  “It’s not stupid. It’s the most sensible thing I’ve ever done.”

  He stepped forward again. He saw Bren glance over his shoulder. Cutter started to turn, but too late. Something exploded against the back of his head and his legs wouldn’t hold him up. He fell to his knees, his surroundings swirling like he’d had too much to drink. He looked down and saw blood pooling at his knees.

  “Find the shard,” he heard Tiel say, then something hit him again, and he was flung forward onto the floor, his cheek cracking against the tiles.

  The third day of Long Shadows

  Sar, the 28th day of Vult, 998

  Wren and Torin made their way through the crowds of students that crammed the grounds of Morgrave University. The break for the midday meal was ending, and everyone was hurrying off to classes, research projects, or whatever it was that students did.

  Probably off to get drunk, thought Wren uncharitably.

  “How could we lose him? We walk faster than that lift moved.”

  “Yes, Wren. It’s just a pity we can’t walk up the sides of buildings.” Torin stepped aside as a group of young gnomes sprinted down the hall, shouting for someone’s attention. “Why did you want to follow him, anyway? He said he’d meet us in the professor’s office when he gets the shard.”

  “Because he doesn’t care about the shard,” said Wren. “All he cares about is finding whoever is responsible for Rowen’s death. We, however, need that shard to prove what’s been going on, and that we didn’t kill a member of the City Watch for no reason.”

  “And to stop whatever they plan on doing with it,” reminded Torin.

  “Yes, yes. That too.”

  “Have you figured out why that name sounds familiar?”

  “Diadus?” Wren shook his head. “No. We’re still missing too many pieces of this puzzle, Torin. Why was the dragonshard delivered to Anriel? If we knew that, maybe we could move forward.”

  They headed through the warren of corridors that led to the professor’s office. Wren entered first. He pushed open the door and looked into the face of the young watchman who had first chased them back at Warden Towers.

  “Well, hello there, Master Wren. I’ve been looking for you.”

  Wren froze, wondering what to do. Torin was still behind him. He tried to move so the dwarf wouldn’t be seen, but the guardsman merely smiled at him.

  “Despite appearances to the contrary, I’m not just a simple member of the Watch. Please, come in—both of you. We have a few things to talk about.”

  “First off, let’s get things straight,” said the corporal as he lowered himself into the professor’s chair. Wren noted that someone had tidied up the mess Cutter had made. “I’m not a member of the Watch. I’m from the Dark Lanterns. My name is Col.”

  Wren’s eyes widened. He looked at Torin, who simply shrugged.

  “The professor got word to us a while ago that he had been approached by someone who wanted to get their hands on a dragonshard from the University’s museum. As one of the senior members of the faculty, he was one of only three people who could pull that off without anyone finding out. I was supposed to be there when the exchange took place so I could follow the courier back to his superiors.”

  “What happened?” asked Wren.

  “I don’t know. The meeting was moved forward by a day. I wasn’t there to help out. The professor must have refused to hand over the shard and he was killed. I’ve been looking for it ever since. I know a Watch captain called Jana is involved. I was transferred into her command as part of my cover, but so far, all she’s been bothered with is targeting this Cutter. That’s why I let you get away, by the way. I could have taken you down back at the prison, but I wanted to see how things played out. Now, why don’t you tell me how you are involved?”


  “Why don’t you prove who you are—and who you say you are?”

  Col stared at Wren for a moment, then shrugged and withdrew a piece of expensive vellum from a pocket. It identified Col as a member of the King’s Citadel, and requested that the bearer be supplied with all available aid in the furtherance of his investigations. The vellum was affixed with the King’s seal.

  “Happy?” asked Col.

  “Not really. Forged documents aren’t hard to come by in Sharn. Doesn’t look like I have any choice, does it?”

  “Not really.”

  So Wren told him how Larrien asked him to investigate the professor’s death, about Rowen and Cutter, the courier Salkith, and how Cutter was blamed for the death of the professor.

  “I knew it wasn’t him,” said Col. “I just didn’t know how he was involved.”

  Wren resumed his narration, filling in the events of the previous day. Col held a hand up and stopped him when he got to the part about finding the journal hidden inside the desk.

  “Wait. The professor actually had a suspect?”

  “Lord Xavien. He’s on the Sharn city council.”

  “But why didn’t he tell me?”

  Torin spoke up. “He was just a professor. Probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to him was sleeping in and being late for class. Maybe he wasn’t sure if he could really trust you. Just because someone says they’re someone, it doesn’t always mean they are. Maybe he thought you were a rival out to get the shard for yourself.”

  Col looked thoughtful. “It’s possible, I suppose. So what happened next?”

  “Cutter pretended to be the courier and went to see Xavien. Xavien said they still had time, that whatever they were planning would take place today. Cutter was to take the shard to a priest of the Shadow in Khyber’s Gate. This priest did something with the shard and they—Cutter and the priest—took it to whoever is behind this whole thing.”

  “He took the dragonshard to the person who is responsible for all this?” asked Col incredulously.

  Wren held his hands in the air. “Don’t take it out on us. We told him not to, but he wanted his revenge. He said he’d get the shard back once he knew who was behind it, and bring it back here.”

  “But what if he doesn’t get it back? What if he’s dead?”

  Wren shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. There was no way he would give it to us.”

  “This isn’t good,” said Col, leaning forward and steepling his hands against his mouth. “We knew something was being planned, something big, but we had no idea what it was. That priest could have done anything with the shard.”

  He was silent for a while, staring at the floor. Finally, he straightened. “I can’t hang around here hoping he’s going to come back with the shard. I need to have a word with this Xavien.”

  He stood. Wren did the same.

  “What are you doing?” asked Col.

  “Coming with you. I’ve been on this case from the start. You wouldn’t have Xavien’s name if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Us,” said Torin.

  “Sorry. Us. I can save you time by taking you directly to him.”

  Col thought about it. “But what if your friend comes back? With or without the shard, someone should be here in case he returns.”

  “Torin—” said Wren, turning to the dwarf.

  Torin sighed and sat back down. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

  Wren raised an eyebrow at Col and waited.

  “Very well,” said Col. “Let’s go, then. Just don’t get in the way.”

  “I do not get in the way,” said Wren, offended.

  “I see. Just do as you’re told.”

  “And I certainly do not do as I’m told!”

  Col glanced at Torin. “You sure you wouldn’t rather come and leave him behind to wait?”

  Torin grinned and shook his head. Wren pushed past the young man—how old was he, anyway, telling him to stay out of the way? He stepped into the hall.

  “Come, Col,” he called over his shoulder. “Time is short.”

  “I’m sorry,” said a young woman seated behind a desk, “but Lord Xavien is in a meeting at the moment. If you’d care to leave your name—”

  “We don’t leave names,” declared Wren, still worked up at Col’s patronizing manner.

  Col put his hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Take it easy,” he said. He pulled out the piece of vellum and showed it to the secretary.

  “You see this?”

  The secretary nodded.

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “It identifies you as a member of the Citadel.”

  “That’s correct. So if you don’t want to be hauled off to Wroat to spend the next couple of years in the King’s dungeons, you’ll keep quiet.” He pointed to a door behind the secretary. “Through there?”

  She nodded, eyes wide.

  “Thanks.”

  Col moved toward the door and pulled it open. Wren hurried after, trying to walk at his side. He didn’t want anyone thinking he was below Col.

  A huge window situated directly behind Xavien’s desk lit the office. Afternoon sunlight streamed in, falling across the carpeted floor and partway up the opposite wall. Xavien was seated in a highbacked chair at his desk, facing a woman and a man who were holding files on their laps. They all looked up in surprise.

  Xavien started to stand up. “What is the meaning—”

  Col held up his hand. Xavien stopped in mid sentence, half-risen from his chair, one hand supporting himself on the edge of the desk. Wren had to admit, Col had the touch when it came to shutting people up.

  Col let him stand there for a moment before asking, “Lord Xavien?”

  As if his words were some kind of signal for the lord to carry on, Xavien stood up all the way. “Who do you think you are? You can’t just—”

  Col clicked his tongue in irritation and held up the piece of vellum once again. He first showed it to the two people with the files. They looked at it, then glanced at Xavien.

  “What?” he asked. “What is it?”

  Col laid the vellum down on the desk. Xavien fished a pair of spectacles out of his breast pocket and perched them on the bridge of his nose. While he did this, his guests hastily gathered their things, darting sideways looks at Col. Wren held the door open for them as they fell over themselves to get out.

  He closed it again, the click of the latch loud in the silent room. Col sat in one of the recently vacated chairs. Wren took the other. He was curious to see the young man’s technique. Getting information from people unwilling to give it up was something inquisitives did all the time. It would be interesting to see how Col handled it.

  Col leaned forward and took back the vellum. Xavien flopped into his chair. Wren thought he looked a little pale, and … were those beads of sweat on his forehead? He couldn’t tell. Xavien took off his glasses, carefully folded them, and placed them back into his pocket. He forced a smile onto his face.

  “How can I help you? Please. Ask away. Anything for the King’s Citadel. You fight a brave fight, you lot. I salute you.”

  Wren almost snorted. The King’s Citadel were some of the most feared law enforcers in the kingdom. Part spy, part inquisitive, sometimes executioner, always feared. They pretty much had a permit to do anything they needed to get the job done. Furthermore, the Dark Lanterns were widely considered to be the most ruthless of the lot. They frequently went undercover in some of the most dangerous places on the continent, foiling attempts—real and perceived—to undermine the Crown.

  Now Wren got to see how all that training paid off.

  But it seemed like he would have to wait, because Col didn’t say anything. He simply sat in his chair, looking very relaxed, staring at Xavien.

  The councilor shifted uncomfortably. He was trying to hold Col’s stare, but after a moment or so, his eyelids flickered, like he was straining to keep them open against a fierce wind.

  Finally, the standoff was too much. He
blinked, then looked down at the papers on his desk and rearranged the pile as if it was what he had intended to do.

  Col cleared his throat, bringing Xavien’s eyes up to his once again. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” he said.

  Xavien frowned. “Tell you about what?” he asked innocently.

  Again the stare.

  “If you told me what you wanted to know, maybe I could help you,” protested Xavien.

  “If I told you what I wanted to know, I wouldn’t need you to tell me.”

  “What?”

  The stare, then, “Tell me about the dragonshard.”

  Wren had to give Xavien credit. He barely reacted. Only the tiniest flicker of panic flashed behind his eyes, quickly quashed. He supposed that was what a life in politics gave you. The ability to tell bare-faced lies in the face of damning evidence.

  “The … dragonshard? I’m sorry—what was your name again? Cole? I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Trying to play it smart. Usually a mistake, in Wren’s opinion.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. This city doesn’t run itself, you know.”

  “Oh, are you a member of the council? I only ask because tonight’s the Tain gala, isn’t it? Don’t all the members of the council have standing invitations?”

  “I’m … not a senior member,” said Xavien. Wren could see this was something he wasn’t happy about. “I’m what they call a shadow member. I do a lot of the leg work for my superior on the council.”

  “Ah, I see. So you’re saying that you do all the work and your boss gets to attend one of the most sought-after dinners in Sharn.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to. See, with me it’s about what you don’t say that matters. Since we’ve been talking, I’ve seen jealousy, fear, anger, irritation, cockiness, superiority, and subterfuge cross your face. And we’ve been sitting here—what? Two minutes? So I know when you’re lying. It’s what I’m trained for.”