by AC Cobble
Rew looked between the two of them. “Do you normally repeat each other, or just when you’re nervous?”
The old women scowled at him.
“Look,” he said, “my friends and I don’t want to cause trouble. We don’t want to make a fuss. We don’t want to do anything other than pass through the gate. You’ll never see us or hear from us again.”
“Simply knowing about the gate is reason enough that no one should hear from you again,” threatened the first woman.
The leader, guessed Rew, or at least the more experienced of the pair. He turned to the second one and told her, “Tell me of the gate, or I’ll remove your glamour, and we’ll talk face to face.”
“You can’t do that!” barked the visage of the crone.
Rew sat down his mug of ale and leaned across the table. “Yes, I can. I can pull off your glamour, and I can counter whatever low magic you throw at me. I can deal with however many thieves the barmaid is bringing with her. I am not afraid of you and your guild, and I will do what I have to do because the only thing that is important to me is entering the city unnoticed. If I have to kill a few thieves to do it, well, I don’t think you’ll be running to the city watch, will you? No one else in this rundown sty looks like they have friends in the city, either.”
He watched them for a moment, and neither replied. They both kept their eyes on him, struggling not to react.
Rew continued, “Let’s handle this like civilized people. I don’t want violence, and I suspect neither do you. Let’s settle this before the barmaid comes back and there’s no choice but to fight. What does it take to gain entry to the gate?”
“Three gold coins for every member of your party,” said the first crone.
“That’s too much,” said Rew. “I can give you one.”
“The boy’s greatsword, then,” countered the crone.
“Two gold coins per person. That’s my final offer.”
The two women turned to each other and seemed to have a wordless conversation. Rew wondered whether they actually could. It was rumored to be an ability of some low magicians, but he’d never encountered anyone who could do it. It certainly would be useful for a watcher outside of a hidden gate.
Finally, the second woman stood and shuffled toward the back of the tavern.
“She’s going to prepare the way,” stated the first. “Pay me, and then she’ll guide you through.”
“If she betrays us, her death will be on your hands,” declared Rew.
“She’s my daughter,” said the crone.
Rew nodded and dipped his hand into his purse. He sorted through until he found ten gold coins and slid them to the crone, covering the gleaming discs with his hand so none of the other patrons saw.
The crone grinned at him, her black gums and yellow teeth on full display. “Only one of us is holding a glamour. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” admitted Rew.
“How’d you guess then?”
Rew touched the side of his nose and did not reply. The crone frowned at him, but he ignored her and stood. He gestured to his companions and led them back behind the filthy curtain that covered a room behind the bar.
They saw racks of barrels, a pot of simmering stew over a fire, several wheels of suspicious-looking cheese, and a large tub where ale mugs were floating in a dark, murky pool. A cake of soap sat next to the tub, but if it had ever seen the water inside, Rew could not tell. Anne gripped Rew’s arm at the sight, and he suppressed a shudder. He enjoyed needling the innkeeper about her penchant for cleanliness, but some things went too far… He’d just drank—He walked quicker, pushing aside a flimsy curtain and entering a narrow storage room.
“There,” he croaked, nodding to another doorway.
They walked through the opening and found themselves in a long, narrow hallway. A middle-aged woman stood waiting for them. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, obscuring most of her body. Her curly hair was piled high on her head, exposing a slender neck. Cheap bangles hung from her arms, and her ears were studded with dozens of piercings. She stared at them with no expression. The younglings gawked at her, probably noticing that her attire was identical to the old crone they’d watched leave the bar room. Without word, the woman picked a torch off of the wall and turned, walking down the hallway.
They followed, hurrying to stay close as darkness pressed around them. In a moment, they could no longer see the walls of the hallway, and everywhere was ink black. The woman walked on, unconcerned with the encroaching dark.
“If we got lost in here…” whispered Raif.
“Just keep walking straight,” responded Rew. “There are no turns, nowhere to get lost.”
“Is it another glamour?” wondered Cinda.
“They’ve painted the walls black and hung curtains or rugs above to muffle the sound,” said Rew. “A special paint, maybe. See, it’s absorbing the light from the torch and making it seem like nothing is there. Listen to our footsteps. We’re still in the tunnel. Besides, our guide hasn’t turned. Give it two or three dozen paces and we’ll find the other end. My guess, most strangers in this passageway are given several more drinks before they’re brought through.”
The woman glanced over her shoulder at him, a curious expression warring with her forced somber one. Rew winked at her. True to his prediction, in thirty more paces, the woman pushed aside a black cloth that hung over a doorway, and flickering yellow light spilled through.
The woman told them, “We’re in the back of a bathhouse. Through that door is a hallway that leads by a number of rooms and to the front. There may be people in those rooms or in the hall. They know nothing of this. Do not speak to them, and do not make eye contact if you can avoid it without looking suspicious. I’ll walk you through the hall and take you to the exit. Turn left and go at least three city blocks before you change your course. From there, you are free to do as you please.”
Rew nodded.
The woman continued, “If you give away the location of this gate, you and whoever you speak to, will be killed. Do not come sniffing around again, you understand?”
“We do,” assured Rew.
The woman grunted, opened the door, and walked them through the bathhouse until they exited onto the streets of Spinesend. She looked to the left where she’d told them to walk, and then she stepped back into the doorway, watching them.
Rew led the others down the street, heading deeper into Spinesend.
18
The city of Spinesend was a warren of streets and stairways that twisted and climbed their way up the side of the mountain like branches of a barren, stone tree. There were beautiful vistas around some turns that looked for leagues out over the lake, the surrounding hills, and even the farmland beyond. Away from the main thoroughfares, there was no logic as to how the city climbed the side of the mountain, and one could be stunned by suddenly walking out almost off the edge of a cliff and then, at the next turn, thrusting deep into a grim cavern lit only by a string of smoky torches. Unlike many of Vaeldon’s cities, Spinesend was not divided into quarters. There was no market district, no neighborhood designated for the tanners and the abattoirs, no place all of the bankers congregated, and nowhere the poor found refuge from the boots and the truncheons of the wealthy and their servants. Instead, it was like ingredients in a pot—dumped in, swirled about—but not so much that the lumps were stirred away.
Spinesend was confusing and loud, and at night, there were few areas that could be deemed safe. While word had been sent to the thieves’ guild that they’d had fair passage through the gate, that didn’t stop the cutpurses from tailing them looking for an opportunity. The denizens of Spinesend were savvy enough to wear their coin purses inside of their clothing, and they never carried packs on their backs. In the maze of the city, a cutpurse could be lost in the tangled streets and alleys in a blink.
Within blocks, Zaine had pulled her hood over her head and warned the others. “Watch for thieves. They’ve seen us, a
nd we’re perfect targets. Wealthy looking but not so wealthy we have guards.”
Raif reached over his shoulder for his greatsword.
Zaine warned him, “You draw that, and we’ll have people screaming at the sight of us. We can’t suffer attention from the watch.”
Grunting, the nobleman dropped his hand, and the group shuffled closer together, walking up the cobblestone streets, taking narrow staircases to climb higher toward Spinesend’s keep.
They didn’t mean to assault the place right away, but they wanted to get closer and find a base they could conduct reconnaissance from. They had to find the arcanist whom Zaine had seen meeting with the fixer, Fein. They meant to follow that man to see where he went, and they hoped he would reveal the location Baron Fedgley was being kept. They had to do it all without being spotted by anyone in Duke Eeron’s service and without drawing attention that may alert Alsayer, Vyar Grund, Mistress Clae, or any of the other hunters who stalked them.
Mistress Clae.
Rew scowled at a scampering urchin who was looking at them a little too closely. An assassin in the thieves’ guild, Zaine had called the woman. Did she have eyes and ears amongst the thieves, or did she consider herself above that? After several more blocks, Rew decided that if the woman did maintain contacts in the lower echelons of the guild, and if she had asked her informers to look for them, there was nothing they could do to hide. One could duck the guards and soldiers patrolling the city, one could hide from a few high magicians who would never deign to venture into the poor quarters, but one could not avoid the thieves. They were everywhere, like flies hovering around dung, and Rew could only hope it was simply interest in their coins and valuables which attracted the thin, pale-faced cutpurses.
He shook himself. The task ahead was daunting, but the first step was simple enough. They were looking for an inn that was close enough to the keep they could monitor movements in and out of the place, and it had to be an inn that Anne was willing to stay.
It couldn’t be too close, though, or people from the palace may frequent it. Raif and Cinda were known in the duchy by other members of the nobility and their courtiers, and it was possible the children’s description had been shared with the duke’s soldiers. Rew might be recognized as well. He made an effort to avoid nobility when he could, but over the years, he’d made several appearances in Duke Eeron’s court as well as the other cities in the Eastern Territory. As the King’s Ranger, a man outside the normal chain of authority, a man who’d been to Mordenhold and had met the king, he’d always attracted a certain level of attention.
Zaine, on the other hand, couldn’t be seen in many of the lesser sinks in Spinesend. She’d spent months around the thieves’ guild hoping for acceptance into a burglary crew, and when that didn’t happen, she’d survived amongst the urchins and the others hoping to become apprentices. She hadn’t been a member, so most of the guild wouldn’t recognize her face, but enough of them would that there was reason for caution.
Reluctantly, Rew had allowed Anne to take the lead when she’d claimed to know of a suitable place to stay. He worried about the damage her choice might do to his dwindling coin purse, but they couldn’t go anywhere he or the others had stayed, so it was either allow Anne to have her choice or to wander aimlessly, hoping they stumbled across the perfect hiding spot. After a brief moment of staring at her that went on perhaps a little too long as her face had started to cloud, Rew nodded for her to take them to—
“There,” said Anne. She pointed to a small stone cottage that crouched in the shadow of a soaring bridge. The cottage was backed into a switchback in the road, and as the road wrapped around the cottage and higher toward the bridge, it left raw stone at the tiny structure’s back and a line of progressively larger buildings lining the street below it.
Rew guessed the land was too small for anyone to bother demolishing the cottage and building something more substantial. From the looks of the place, it had been built in a different era. Peering at the darkened building and the wooden sign hanging above the door, he said, “Anne, that’s an herbalist.”
“It is,” she agreed.
She strode forward, raised a brass knocker, and smacked it down against the surprisingly thick wooden door. The knocker thumped again, but Rew couldn’t hear a thing beyond the door. They waited, wondering if anyone was coming.
Zaine yawned. “Wherever we stay, I wouldn’t mind finding a bed soon.”
“We’ll find one here,” assured Anne, “assuming she’s home.”
She rapped the knocker against the door several more times for good measure before they heard a muffled voice leaking through the thick wooden barrier. There was the sound of a heavy bolt being drawn, and then the door opened.
“Been awhile,” drawled a woman, looking Anne up and down.
“It has been,” agreed Anne. “We could use a place to stay and something to eat.”
The woman nodded and stepped back to allow them into the dark room. There were no lights inside, but from the moonlight that bathed the outside and the lantern that hung at the bend of the street, Rew could see the woman was close to Anne’s age and dressed in the same type of flowing blouse and long skirts that the empath favored. Her hair was a tangled mess, but he supposed she’d been woken from her slumber. She wore no jewelry or shoes.
Anne walked inside, and Rew followed. As the sign outside proclaimed, it was an herbalist’s shop. There were a row of floor-to-ceiling cabinets lining one wall and a row of shelves along the other. He could not see the details, but the cabinets appeared to be labelled with the esoteric products any herbalist hawked, and the shelves were lined with glass jars that held a variety of contents from flower buds to ground powders. There were other shelves with stacked bones, fat sticks of chalk, and a leering skull. He looked closer and saw gleaming emblems fashioned of more silver than a humble herbalist’s shop should ever be able to display, and stoppered jugs which he quickly stopped reading the labels on after the first one.
Turning from the jugs and frowning at the skull, Rew walked carefully through the room. Behind him, Raif crashed into a table, stumbled across the room against the shelves, and barely caught a jar before it rolled off from the impact.
“A little light, maybe?” he croaked.
“Cinda,” said Anne.
“What?”
“Cast us a bit of light, please.”
“I don’t think…“ started Cinda, but she stopped. Instead of speaking, she held out her palm, and a pale glow emanated from her hand, reflecting green and white against the rows of glass jars, illuminating the scowling herbalist and the rest of the party.
The herbalist snorted, turned on her bare heel, and took them deeper into the cottage. Noises from outside vanished, the thick stone walls and heavy doors and windows of the cottage blocking out all of it. The herbalist’s cottage was built like a castle, thought Rew.
Near the back, they found a cozy kitchen that had a large, leaded glass window that opened up to a surprisingly lush garden behind the building. Rew peered through the window, seeing in the moonlight that the garden was filled with row after row of planters, all spilling thick tangles of herbs and vegetables.
In the kitchen, the herbalist finally lit a handful of candles, and a golden glow bathed the room. Cinda let the eerie light in her palm dissipate. The kitchen held a fire, a hearth, an oven, a table with two chairs, and the customary pots and pans one would expect to find in a small but well-stocked larder.
“There’s a cellar through there,” said the herbalist, nodding toward a door set in a slant against the wall and the floor. “I don’t consume animal products, but you should find meats and cheeses I’ve been offered in trade for my services. I dislike keeping that stuff here, but I can’t stomach the idea of turning away someone who needs my help, and I hate to simply throw it away and waste what has been given. It makes me sick giving it to the poor—that’s simply one beast of burden used to feed another. You may as well eat whatever you find and ta
ke what you cannot finish.” She turned to Anne. “That is, assuming you haven’t changed and still consume the flesh of animals?”
“I do,” murmured Anne.
“You’ve never changed, have you?” asked the woman.
Anne shrugged, as if unsure whether it was a question or an accusation. She didn’t answer either way. Instead, she gestured for Raif and Zaine to collect a candle. They took it and ducked their way through the cellar door. After an uncomfortable silence, Anne told the herbalist, “I’ve never had a reason to change. Have you?”
“What are you running from?” asked the herbalist.
“Why do you think I’m running from something?” wondered Anne.
“Because you never change,” said the herbalist.
Anne laughed. “Well, maybe I have changed, then. We are not running from something but to something. We have a task that will take us several days to accomplish here in Spinesend, and we could use a discreet place to stay. You are still in that business, are you not?”
“For some,” responded the woman coldly, turning her eyes toward Rew and giving him a flat look.
“We are traveling together,” said Anne. “Would you turn us away?”
“You know I cannot,” muttered the woman. She glanced at Cinda, who was shifting nervously in the corner of the room. “And what else is it you need, Anne? It has been a long time, and you ask much.”
“I only ask for a place to stay,” assured Anne. “I promise.”
The woman, appearing only slightly mollified, nodded.
Raif and Zaine returned from the cellar hoisting a long string of short, fat sausages and a wheel of cheese. Raif lifted a jug and asked, “Is this ale?”
The herbalist looked away from the meat and cheese. She declared, “I shall leave you to eat.” She pointed to a stairwell that led to a loft which extended over the front half of the cottage. “You’ll find beds and blankets up there. There’s a barrel in the garden for bathing. If discretion is necessary, I recommend you only go outside at night. The back is hidden from the street, but my neighbor is a widower who constantly monitors the guests that I have. If she sees a man, she’ll squawk like a hen down at the tavern.” The herbalist snorted. “As if I’d want an affair with a man. The woman’s rumor-mongering does not concern me, but it may concern you if you mean to keep your presence quiet.”