Shadow Chaser: Book Two of The Chronicles of Siala

by Alexey Pehov

  I tried to cover the dangerous stretch as quickly as possible. The thick pile of the carpet deadened my footsteps, and I didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing me. The doors on my right and my left were closed, and there wasn’t a sound from any of the rooms. I walked past one intersection where two corridors crossed. As far as I recalled, one of them led to the servants’ wing and the basement.

  Aha, here’s the door I need.

  I pressed down on the bronze handle, but it didn’t give. I had to take out my lock picks and fiddle with the lock, feeling for the spring. To say I felt uncomfortable would be putting it very mildly. Fiddling with a lock when there are lanterns burning on every side and any lunatic can see you from the far end of the corridor is nervous kind of work.

  “Ah! Don’t talk n-nonsense, you stup-pid f-fool! I think what I s-said, was … hic! Yes…” I heard someone say behind the door opposite me.

  “You’re drunk, O’Lack, where are you off to?”

  “F-for a leak, you stup-pid f-fool! Or do you prefer … hic! P-pref … pah! Do you want me to d-do it right here?”

  The lock clicked and I tumbled into the room and closed the door behind me, before the drunk could open his. I listened to what was going on the corridor. A man came out of the other room and walked away unsteadily. I stopped hearing his steps almost immediately—the carpet deadened every sound.

  I was in one of the numerous guest rooms in this wing. And, to my roguish thief’s delight, it was empty. All I had to do was go over to the other door and open it to find myself on the balcony, so that’s what I did.

  One glance was enough to make me jump back quickly into the shelter of the darkness. As the plan had shown, the balcony overlooked the inner courtyard of the count’s mansion.

  For those who haven’t realized yet, the count’s mansion was built in the form of a square, with a little inner courtyard that was entered through a door on the first floor. There was a fountain murmuring gently in the yard, and a few feeble apple trees, with branches that barely reached as high as the second floor. A man was sitting under one of the trees, smoking a paper pipe stuffed with tobacco. The flickering of the little light was the only reason I spotted him.

  Until that moment my plan had been very simple. Climb down the spider web into the courtyard, run to the wall of the opposite wing, and climb up the rope onto a balcony—and I would be close to the Key.

  But thanks to this damned guard, all my efforts had been a total waste of time. He was looking straight in my direction, and if I climbed down the rope, he was bound to see me, even on a dark night like this. And running back through the corridors was pointless and dangerous; I could be spotted at any moment.

  There was only one thing I could do—wait.

  Should I put a crossbow bolt into the guard? In principle, it was possible, but in that kind of darkness I wasn’t sure that I could hit him in the neck. If I missed, then he’d probably bellow like a hog under the butcher’s knife and wake the entire house.

  I sat down on the floor and started watching through the light, airy curtains. The little light flared up as he inhaled—he poisoned the air for what seemed like an eternity.

  Eventually the guard stood up, stamped the remains of his paper pipe into the ground, slung his hefty crossbow over his shoulder, and tramped over to the door. I gave a sigh of relief, but I was getting ahead of myself. The guard swung round sharply and set off along the wall, then swung round again.…

  He’s patrolling, the lousy dog! I really don’t like overdiligent guards—they’re always a big headache. And this lad certainly is.

  There was no point in grinding my teeth—you only get one set. I sat back down on the floor and started counting the guard’s steps. Six … ten … fifteen … twenty-two …

  I didn’t have much time, in fact none at all. I had to take the risk. I waited until the man turned his back to me and shot out onto the balcony.

  Two …

  The spider web took a grip and I flung myself over the railings and jumped, clinging onto the rope with both hands.

  Eight …

  It must have been the quickest descent of my life. If I hadn’t been wearing gloves, I’d have ripped all the skin off my hands, and the muscle along with it. But not even the gloves could protect me against the fire scorching my palms.

  Ten …

  I tugged on the spider web and it came unstuck from the balcony, fell, and rolled up into a coil.

  Thirteen …

  I leaped forward toward the really thick darkness under a feeble, stunted apple tree.

  Fifteen …

  The guard swung round and came walking toward me. Come on now, darling, you won’t even notice me until you trip over me. When the guard turned away again, I started moving toward him, making short little runs from one shadow to another.

  Eventually I found myself behind the guard, who strode along like a mechanical toy, and I took my brass knuckles out of my pocket and smacked them against the back of his head.

  The lad gave a grunt of surprise and started falling over backwards. I grabbed hold of him and sat him down on the grass, with his back leaning against the trunk of a tree. Just to be on the safe side, I unloaded his crossbow and threw the bolt into the fountain, then after thinking for a moment, I threw his bag with the other nine bolts in there, too.

  Then I set the useless weapon across the lad’s knees and stepped to take a look at the result of my efforts.

  That will do. From a distance he looks just like someone who’s fallen asleep. I just hope that this guard will sleep all the way through until morning.

  Using the spider web, it took only a minute to clamber up onto the balcony I needed. The door here was slightly ajar, and there was a light draft toying with the white curtains. I took one step into the room and waited for my eyes to get used to the darkness.

  There was definitely someone in the room. I could hear them snuffling gently. The bed over by the far wall gradually took shape, emerging out of the gloom. I had to walk past it to get out. When I’d almost reached the door, a floorboard creaked under my feet.

  I stopped, wincing as if I had a toothache. The person in the bed turned over and started snuffling again. Another step, and another creak from a floorboard.

  I almost jumped in surprise when I heard an indecisive little yap from the bed.

  A dog!

  “What’s wrong, Tobiander?” a sleepy voice asked.

  Countess Ranter! Of all people, I’d ended up in her bedroom!

  “Rr-ruff? Ruff!”

  “What is it? Rats?”

  The old woman half sat up, as if she was peering into the darkness, but she didn’t get off the bed. Fortunately for me, her damned little mongrel wasn’t the brave type, either, and he was in no hurry to sink his teeth into me.

  “It’s all that detestable count’s fault, my little love! I told him I was afraid of rats, and his servants put us in a room like this. Even the floor squeaks here, never mind those horrible gray monsters! They’re just waiting to get at my poor little boy.”

  “Rrr-ruff!” Tobiander agreed.

  “Let’s go to sleep, my little one. Those disgusting rats won’t be able to reach us!”

  Tobiander yapped again to calm his own nerves, and then shut up. My legs were completely numb from standing still before I heard the countess start snuffling again.

  Trying to move as quietly as possible, I went out into the corridor, which was a precise copy of the one that my route had led me down in the other wing. The same carpet, the same lighting, and the same emptiness.

  I moved forward, stopping every two yards to listen to the silence. One door on my right was slightly open.

  “But who is she?”

  “Keep your mouth shut. Some questions can put you in your grave.”

  Paleface!

  “All I did was ask…”

  “And all I did was give you a piece of advice—less loose talk. You know the count is fond of shortening tongues that are
too long. And I don’t know who she is, anyway. I was told to meet her, and so I met her. The rest of it is none of my business.”

  “All right, all right, Rolio. Let’s just forget it. How about a drop of wine?”

  “No. And stop smoking that garbage, I’ve got a splitting headache.”

  “What are you getting so uppity about?” The man’s voice sounded offended.

  “That woman makes me uneasy…”

  I took a cautious peep in through the crack of the door and I was hit by a weak smell of charm-weed. Paleface and another man, the one who was smoking, were sitting on a table and casting dice. Each one of them had a tall heap of assorted coins in front of him. Rolio was sitting with his back to me, and I was really tempted to put a bolt between his shoulder blades there and then and get rid of him for good.

  “I’m sorry, Rolio, it seems to me that you’re worrying about the wrong things. You have a Commission to complete. That lad’s still walking around and more than a month’s gone by now.”

  “You deal with your own business, and I’ll deal with mine!”

  I heard footsteps. Whoever it was, he was tramping like a platoon on Parade Square, so I heard him long before he reached the corridor. I jumped back from the door and looked around desperately for somewhere to hide.

  “What’s wrong?” I heard the smoker ask in a surprised voice.

  “There’s someone there.”

  “Where?”

  “Outside the door.”

  I heard a chair being moved back. Seven yards along the corridor there were niches with huge vases of flowers, as tall as a man, standing in them. The niches were full of darkness, and I made a dash for them, hoping to hide behind one of the vases.

  I barely managed to fit into the narrow space between a vase and the wall. I didn’t dare risk moving the vase, in case it fell over.

  A man walked past me along the corridor, swaying about as violently as if he were on the deck of a ship in a storm, not the floor of a corridor. In other words, the lad was drunk, very drunk. He almost ran straight into Paleface when the killer dashed out into the corridor with a throwing star in his hand.

  “Idiot!” Paleface barked with a contemptuous scowl, pushing the other man away.

  The man collapsed onto the floor.

  “Th-thank you!”

  “There, you see, Rolio, nobody was eavesdropping,” Paleface’s dice partner told him.

  “S’right, wasn’ lissening, no, not me. Honess! I’ve got lost!”

  “Shut up!”

  Paleface looked round the corridor with an expression of fury, turning the throwing star over in his hands, and then reluctantly tucked the weapon away behind his belt.

  “Come on, Bedbug. And you, O’Lack, get off to bed!”

  “Th-thank you.”

  Paleface slammed the door angrily, leaving the drunk on the carpet. I could see that Rolio’s nerves were beginning to play him false. That’s what an uncompleted Commission will do for you!

  I slipped out of my hiding place and set off. The drunk was trying to get up off the floor and he took no notice of me at all. If I’d started doing a shaman’s dance around him, singing and beating on a tambourine, I still don’t think he would have understood what was going on.

  The corridor came to an end, and I walked out onto that unforgettable balcony round the reception hall. It looked empty and cold now, without the music, the servants darting about, and the nobles all dressed up in silk. There weren’t even any guards at the door. No candles, no torches, no lanterns. Darkness and peace, just pale squares of light on the floor from the windows. The moon had come out from behind the clouds and was peeping in through the tall arched windows.

  The carpet came to an end: The floor on the balcony and in the next corridor was marble. Fortunately, it was the normal kind of stone, dark red with light veins, and not the Isilian pain-in-the-you-know-where, on which every step sets off a hundred alarm bells.

  I could feel that tickling in my stomach and the call of the Key again.

  There were widely spaced lanterns burning in the corridor with the portraits, and the shadows were roaming across the walls, playing hide-and-seek with each other. Balistan Pargaid’s forebears gazed out at me from the portraits, and somehow I failed to spot any friendly amusement in their eyes. Strange as it may seem, the men in the pictures stared at me with positively menacing expressions.

  For a moment I was overcome with superstitious fear—I remembered a story that For had told me in my distant childhood, about men in pictures coming to life and killing a thief.

  What nonsense! Superstitious nonsense, that’s all! I cast a quick glance at Suovik Pargaid and turned away. Sagot! Whoever the artist was that painted that portrait, the son of a bitch was certainly talented. I wouldn’t be surprised if Suovik tumbled out of the picture, straight onto the floor.

  “I’m here! Here I am! The bonds are calling!” the Key sang to me.

  There was no guard outside the door of the count’s bedroom. Yet another strange thing. Usually highborn individuals put a couple of guards outside their bedroom to defend their troubled sleep. So who was it I’d brought the sleeping spell for, then?

  I took out my lock picks, put one in the keyhole, turned— It wasn’t locked. The door was closed, but it wasn’t locked!

  I pushed it open, expecting to see anything at all in the bedroom, up to and including Balistan Pargaid’s dead body with its throat torn out (I had a sudden vision of the body of Archduke Patin and the Messenger, who had just dispatched the king’s cousin into the darkness). But no, there was no one at all in the bedroom. A huge bed standing against the wall took up most of the space. By the window there was a small table, with a lighted candle and massive casket standing on it.

  The count was fond of ogre handiwork, and this item was no exception. It was made out of the same dark metal as the bracelet that we had presented to Balistan Pargaid. It was covered with half-erased runes, images of some wild creatures—animals or something worse than that. But right now it wasn’t the chest that was important—it was what was inside it. The Key was calling, and I took a step toward it, as if I was hypnotized.

  “I’m here! Quickly! Take me! The bonds are calling!”

  The sound of steps in the corridor shattered the spell. Someone was coming this way, and I hadn’t even closed the door behind me!

  There was nowhere in the room to hide, and there were bars on the windows.… The bed! I took my crossbow out from behind my back and dived under the bed, hoping that the person walking along the corridor would go straight past the room and take no notice of the open door.

  My hiding place was a bit cramped, but I could see the entire room (or rather, the entire floor). There was no dust, so I wasn’t afraid of sneezing at the wrong moment.

  A woman wearing red shoes walked into the room. She stopped beside the low table with the casket, and the scent of ripe strawberries struck my nostrils.

  Lafresa!

  There were more steps in the corridor, and a few moments later a pair of tall, soft boots came into the room. Red shoes and tall, soft boots—that was all I could see from my hiding place.

  “Is it time?”

  I recognized the count’s voice.

  “Yes, the stars are favorable. How does it open?”

  Milord walked across to the table, there was a musical chiming sound and then several rapid clicks.

  “There you are, Lady Iena.”

  “Don’t call me lady.”

  “What would you prefer?”

  “Madam. Or Lafresa. That is what the Master calls me.”

  “Oh!” the count gasped sympathetically.

  “Save me! Quickly! They’re taking me! Save me!” The howling of the Key exploded inside my head, and for a moment everything went completely black.

  There was nothing I could do, not even if I had a hundred crossbows! I didn’t believe an ordinary crossbow bolt would cause Lafresa any harm at all. All I could do was wait and pray to th
e gods.

  “Step back, I have to concentrate.”

  Lafresa started singing in a language that I didn’t know, and again the calls of the Key started ringing in my ears. The feet in the red shoes tapped out a strange, fascinating rhythm that wove itself into Lafresa’s quiet song and drifted in a leaden-heavy spell around the room, which was frozen in anticipation.

  “Save me! I don’t want to go! Our bonds are strong!”

  The pain in my ears was unbearable. I pressed my hands against my temples, but it didn’t help.

  Lafresa’s song grew louder and louder, her words wove together into a magical music that chimed and thundered above my head. I could feel the bonds with which Miralissa had tied me to the Key breaking, feel it with my entire body. It was as if someone was smashing my fingers with a hammer.

  “Our bonds are strong!” I whispered reassuringly, like someone under a spell.

  “Strong!” I heard a voice say with a sigh of relief.

  The pain receded a little, but Lafresa only had to raise her voice, and my fingers started aching again, and it felt as if someone had poured liquid lead in my ears.

  “Our bonds are strong,” I whispered again.

  “Count! I need blood, I’m not getting anywhere!” Lafresa barked between her wails.

  Searing fire spilled onto my fingers, but I knew what to do. They couldn’t break the bonds while I was there. The Key was not alive, but it was still a rational being—and it was on my side:

  He meets at night with Strawberry

  But who will be helped by the key?

  Wasn’t that part of my best friend Kli-Kli’s prophecy? But to be quite honest, I was very glad that the artifact was on my side.

  “Our bonds are strong, our bonds are strong, our bonds are strong, strong, strong, strong, strong, strong…”

  How about that magic, Lafresa? Do you like it?

  The singing stopped as suddenly as it had started—the only sound left was the woman’s hoarse, heavy breathing.

  “What is wrong, madam?” The count’s voice sounded like a crow cawing—harsh, repulsive.