Currun slapped dust from his clothes and stepped toward Russ. “Maintaining our disguise is very important,” he said in a low voice, squinting his eyes. He stopped and crossed his arms. “And as I said, tantrums are the last thing we need. If you cared about the ‘purpose’ you wouldn’t complain about your role.”
“Yeah. Well, you told me to do what you say. So far that’s been nothing.”
“And so you will do nothing!” Currun took another step, bumping up against Russ and glaring into his eyes. “Be assured that I will tell you what you need to know, if you can’t figure it out for yourself. But I am in charge. That, I would imagine, is the kind of help Alisiya had in mind.”
Russ fought the urge to take a step back. “You just fell for the oldest trick in the book. I don’t think I trust you.”
“Ha,” Currun turned away and went to retrieve his pack. “You’re one to talk about trusting me. I was merely testing you.”
“For what?” Russ didn’t believe him.
“Spirit, nerve, half a brain,” Currun knocked dust from his pack and swung it over his shoulder. “Pride, even. It’s one thing to be able to control your temper, it’s another to let people walk all over you.”
“Huh,” Russ shook his head. “You expect me to believe—”
“I don’t care what you believe.” Currun turned his back on him. “I have my answer.”
“Oh really.” Russ still didn’t move. “And what’s that?”
“If you don’t know yourself I can’t tell you.”
“I can lose my temper, if that’s your big test. Getting mad never did any good, though.” Russ bent to pick up his pack. He felt like an idiot again, wasting time bickering on the road when all that mattered was getting back to Elharan with Alisiya so she could help Liseli.
“Ahhhh, sage words,” Currun snorted. “Lecture me while walking, if you have more pearls of wisdom gained from your extreme youth to share.”
Russ just rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. He wasn’t going to be baited into a fight again. He followed Currun in silence, staring ahead at the city. He wondered if Currun was planning on sacrificing him as a diversion. What other tactical reason could he possibly have for keeping Russ in the dark about what the plan was?
Chapter 20 ~ Varaneshe, part 3
When they reached the city, Currun lead Russ to a tavern where they ate a dinner of rye bread and beef stew with a mug of beer. Currun had three more mugs, flirted with the barmaid, and chatted with the other customers at length before requesting a room for the night. Russ spent the evening in silence whenever Currun left him alone. When they finished their supper Currun got a room, and Russ followed him upstairs, wondering how on earth this was supposed to lead them to Alisiya.
The room was sparsely furnished, with one well-used bed and a small battered side table and chair by the window. “I’m not sleeping with you,” Russ said as soon as the door was shut. I miss Liseli, he thought for the thousandth time that night.
“Well, good, since I don’t plan on either of us sleeping tonight,” Currun took off his pack and slung it onto the bed. It landed in the middle and nearly made the bed cave in. “We’ve had enough rest, now we need only wait for the city to fall asleep.”
Finally. “Oh. Good. So what’s the plan after that?”
Currun was moving around the room with his hands brushing the wall. He shushed Russ and bent his ear close to the aged wood panels. Silenced, Russ watched him make his unusual rounds. Currun paused near a corner of the table, studying the wall intently as he ran the fingers of his right hand up and down the crease between two planks. He flattened the palm of his left hand against the wall about two feet away, and pushed, while trying to pry the wall toward him with his right. Russ had gathered what he was doing before then, and his interest was piqued. He stepped toward Currun, “Do you—”
“Shhh!” Currun hissed, throwing him a sharp glare. Then he thought again, and stepped back from the wall, turning to face Russ. “I chose this inn,” he said very quietly, so that Russ had to take another step closer to hear, “because I had a hand in the building of it. I designed it to contain a network of hidden passages connecting all the rooms, upstairs, downstairs, and cellar.”
“Why?” Russ glanced at the spot near the table again. He didn’t see any distinguishing marks, but for a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of narrow, cold darkness running along that wall. He looked back at Currun, who was smiling dryly.
“When Leeton was first made King,” he said, “this city was in ruins. It showed signs of having been great in an age long forgotten, but plagues and death had lost that history.” Currun moved over to the bed and began to rummage through his pack, while Russ wondered if he’d forgotten that he was trying to open a door. “We set to rebuilding the cities; Arlic and Pillari overseeing the restoration of Elharan and I sent off to help Leeton here.” He shrugged, pulling a flat bottle from the pack. “That was always Arlic’s way, to send me wherever I was ‘useful’ and out of his way. At any rate, I helped repair and rebuild the ruins of Varaneshe. I thought to make this inn an experiment, a challenge to keep me interested. Now the challenge is remembering my design.”
He plopped down onto the bed and uncorked the bottle, crossing his ankles on the quilted bedspread without taking his boots off.
“So what does this have to do with Alisiya?” Russ asked, with a sudden suspicion that Currun was more interested in running an obstacle course of memories than getting to Leeton’s daughter.
Currun took a sip before responding. “The tunnel that leads down to the cellar also leads into the sewers,” he said, smiling with a wink.
“Oh.”
“You don’t have to stand there hugging your pack,” Currun said, waving him toward the chair. “We’ll wait a little longer, then we’ll take the sewer tunnels to Leeton’s palace. It’s the one way we’re unlikely to encounter guards and night watchmen.”
Russ lowered his pack to the floor and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and trying to look patient, and not keep glancing toward the wall as if it would swing open.
Currun went on: “You say that Alisiya told you to look for her mother in order to find her. I’m going to assume she meant for us to seek out the catacombs beneath the palace, where the rulers of Alisiya’s past are buried.” He continued to sip from the bottle as he talked, and Russ wondered if he was going to get plastered like on Thursday morning, but said nothing.
“These Alisiyans are a mysterious people,” Currun said thoughtfully, almost to himself. “The bones of their ancestors are still there, but no names or lives to go with them. When we came here from Adayzjia, the two cities were practically deserted. The land was a ghostland, full of empty farms and villages. The few natives we found told us of a sudden plague that had wiped out their rulers, their peasants, their young, their old, their healthy and their weak.” He shook his head. “They had no name for this world other than their word for ‘earth.’ They had no records and only a smattering of tales about their past. But then we saw these—” he waved his bottle toward the window “—these cities. Varaneshe and Elharan were not the work of the primitive people we encountered, that was obvious. There was a greater level of civilization that existed before the one we found. I’ve always wondered what sent them into their Dark Age. Hm.”
“What about the plague?” Russ asked, more out of a desire to keep his mind occupied on something other than what he’d been turning over in his head all day, than genuine interest in the subject.
“One plague doesn’t put buildings into shambles and destroy historical records,” Currun shook his head.
Russ shrugged. “Maybe things got destroyed in a war at one time.”
“That’s what we’ve assumed. War or wars. Maybe multiple plagues over the years? Ruling houses dying off, others fighting over the right to succession, the like. That would explain missing documents. Sometimes winners are only too eager to obliterate the pride and heritage of the losers. Make a habi
t of having civil wars and you’re left with no history at all. Leeton always said that.”
Russ just shrugged again.
“Leeton built the sewers,” said Currun suddenly, as if making an announcement. “Or oversaw them, I should say. He set the natives to work tunneling, and he introduced the concept of plumbing, beyond tossing waste into the River.”
“Seems . . . like a good idea.”
“Hm. That’s one thing I can say for Leeton. He’s conscientious about public health. When we came here he set out on a crusade to show the natives how to prevent such widespread disease . . . he’s the most fastidious man I’ve ever met. That’s one of the reasons why the natives clamored to make him King. He was full of modern knowledge and ideas, gifted in magic, and overflowing with a desire to make life in this land the best it could be. Peaceful, healthy, prosperous.” Currun shrugged, staring at the wall. “You should never trust a man who wants a utopia.”
“I won’t. You’re not getting drunk, are you?”
Currun turned a dark eye on him in annoyance. “This is plain, ordinary liquor,” he waved the bottle. “I haven’t been able to get drunk on this stuff in years.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not an idiot. And I would offer you some to be polite, but it’s best that you be sober.”
“You haven’t worried about being rude before. Why start.” Russ folded his hands and stared at them.
Currun laughed. “You know, Markson, there are times I find you almost likable,” he said, corking the bottle, “for a young, ignorant, soft boy.”
“Gee, thanks,” Russ said dryly. “I’ve always dreamed of being almost liked by an old bastard who looks like a boy.”
Currun just laughed again as he shoved the half-emptied bottle back into his pack, taking the comment as a compliment.
“How old are you, anyway?” Russ figured this was a good a time as any to ask what he’d been wondering about for days. Currun might insist he wasn’t getting drunk, but he seemed to be a lot mellower than earlier in the day. “I mean, I know you’re old. Older than you look. But . . . .”
Currun stopped, and sighed, running a hand through his hair; jet black without a trace of gray. “I’ve almost stopped counting, really.” He paused briefly. “One hundred twelve years, seven months, and three days.”
“Oh,” Russ tried not to gawk, though he looked over Currun’s youthful, if tired, appearance with awe and doubt. The man looked his age, though somehow even without knowing his exact age, he’d had to think of him as much older. “Is that . . . common, around here?”
“Ha, no,” Currun said, swinging his feet off the side of the bed. “I told you, Leeton is gifted in magic, and obsessed with health and long life. It was his dream to make us into a society of immortals. Even before he came to Adayzjia he searched out and studied all the arcane notions of the worlds he visited, trying to find the recipe for eternal life. So far as I can tell that dream died with Aysha.” His tone took on a note of bitterness as he stood up. “He drove her to madness with his magic; his spells and potions. Drugs and poison was all it amounted to. What kind of man, I ask you, tests dangerous magic on his wife and unborn child?”
Russ unfolded his hands, looking up at Currun nervously. The man stopped and crossed his arms, expecting an answer to what seemed like a rhetorical question. “A psycho, I guess,” said Russ. “Leeton’s a psycho.”
“A madman. That’s right,” Currun nodded. “He poisoned us all. Arlic, Pillari, Halla, Martilia, me, Aysha, Alisiya.” He snorted, his face twisting into a cold sneer as he went on. “He told us we were the first to taste the waters of life, because he wanted to share his grand discovery with his family, his loved ones, before making it known to everyone. That day never came. So we few remain alive, on the outside, when generations live normal spans and then die around us. But trust me, I feel every day of my life in here—” he tapped his chest. “Aysha only escaped by killing herself.”
Russ nodded, not sure what else to do, and Currun just turned back to the wall. He resumed his pushing and prying, muttering, “Magic is given to the wrong people. All sorcerers are madmen. It’s no wonder the Chaiorra revolted against us and is as poisonous as the worst of his elixirs.”
Russ stood up, getting impatient watching Currun’s ineffectiveness. His hands itched to try moving the wall, and he offered to help. Currun brushed him aside. “I don’t need help. I designed these secret doors; I know how to open them. It’s obviously,” he grunted, “just stuck with age. This side should pull out and this side should swing in—”
“Like this?” Russ asked, giving the wall a nudge. It fell open swiftly and silently, just as it was meant to, the perfect way to slip in and out undetected. Cold, musty air met them as the lamplight in the room illuminated a patch of tunnel.
Currun stared. Russ enjoyed the surprised look on the man’s face, and couldn’t wipe a grin off his own. Currun scowled at him. “Of course. I should have remembered. You got into Alisiya through a Gate — a broken one, at that — you’re good at opening things, aren’t you?”
Russ had never thought about it before coming to Alisiya, but he shrugged and nodded. Currun’s scowl deepened. “Fine then, you’ll be handier than I thought. But I still say magic is given to the wrong people. Leeton was a Key, a powerful one. I’d think twice before grinning like a simpleton over having the same so-called gift. Come along, then. It’s time we found our way out of this inn and into the sewers.”
He turned and entered the tunnel. Russ, feeling deflated, asked, “Aren’t we gonna take a light?”
“Keep your voice down. I won’t need one, not if my memory serves me,” Currun whispered, waving a hand for him to follow. “Stay close behind me, and see if you’re as good at shutting doors as you are at opening them.”
Russ gritted his teeth, reminding himself that he could do something Currun couldn’t, and obeyed. The tunnel was narrow as it was dark, and Russ was glad that he wasn’t claustrophobic. Currun moved swiftly and silently through the tight corridor, brushing through cobwebs and mouse nests without noticing. Russ tried to keep up as stealthily, but Currun kept reaching back to either pull him along, or give him a warning tap to be quieter. He had no idea where they were going, except vaguely downwards, at times following a path of steep steps.
Currun was so quiet that Russ wasn’t always sure that he was right ahead. He needed the impatient hand to remind him. At one point he realized that Currun had not swatted or yanked at him in a while, and he reached out ahead to feel around for his guide. He felt only air and lingering cobwebs, till his hand brushed up against the wall. He swallowed down the urge to whisper Currun’s name, and quickened his step. He faltered over something, a loose board in the floor or object left by a previous lurker, and felt a surge of alarm as his ankle twisted and he stumbled to the side. He put his hands out and felt his palms slap against the wall to his right. Shit shit shit! he panicked, the thump of his body magnified ten times in his ears.
Currun was there in an instant, cursing him under his breath as he pulled him upright again. He then practically dragged Russ away from the spot of noise, muttering, “Stupid clumsy fool. We’re not even out of the inn and . . . gah. Be more careful!”
“I—”
“Don’t talk. Don’t. Just be silent.”
Russ swallowed down an angry retort, only because he was afraid of being heard in the rooms. Just as soon as it was possible, he thought, he would give Currun a piece of his mind. After all, Liseli would never have stood for any of this, being dragged around and told not to ask questions and to not be ignorant at the same time, and not to breathe, and . . . and he wasn’t Liseli. He was Mister Doormat. Come wipe your feet on me.
He shook his head, disgusted, but reminded himself that he could take anything if it meant a good outcome. So he kept following Currun downward in the dark, to the unknown.
Chapter 21 ~ Night Shadows
As they went farther down, into the cellar, the wooden walls became e
arthen, and the floor became a low plank walkway over a stream of foul smelling water. Then the narrow tunnel wall opened into a large, cool corridor, and Currun finally lit a small light. Russ looked down and halted, pressing himself against the wall. A stone ledge about three feet wide ran along the wall, but beyond lay an underground river. It flowed black and quiet. Currun held the light out over it for a moment, before sweeping his arm up and gazing at the walls and ceiling. Russ saw a mingling of cave walls and stone archways. The ceiling was about twelve feet high.
“Come,” said Currun, heading to the left on the ledge. “Don’t slip into the water.”
Russ had every intention of staying as dry as possible, and kept a hand on the cool smoothness of the tunnel wall as he followed. They remained silent as they went; the only sounds were their feet on the slick walkway and the lazy gurgle of the sewer water, accompanied by the occasional scurry of a rat or feral cat. Currun’s light threw strange shadows over the underground walls; shapes that leapt out or flickered by. Russ didn’t know what were rats and what were light tricks, but tried not to let any of it spook him. He wasn’t going to act like a girl in front of Currun.
They walked on and on underground, meeting other tunnels at intersections where the black rivers’ currents met and mingled and flowed on under the streets above. Russ was tired but alert, feeling as if he were operating on adrenaline alone. He had to be alert; because he still didn’t know what was going to be expected of him when they reached the underside of the palace. He’d given up asking Currun for information; the man opened up only when he wanted to and got pissed off when he didn’t. When Currun did clue him in, he didn’t want to miss it. Bastard, he thought again. He likes keeping me hanging on his every word.
Currun held up his hand, and Russ halted wearily. “Up this way,” he whispered briefly before extinguishing the light and heading up a narrow culvert. Russ followed. The culvert was like a ramp, and there was no water running down the groove in the middle. The ceiling got lower and lower the higher they went, till they were crawling, not walking. But then, at the end, it opened up into a long vertical tunnel above their heads. At the top far above was a grate, and the faint light of the moon filtered down to the them, though Russ couldn’t see any sky or stars.
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