Patracheus! The man who controlled the purse strings of Vivane. Well, that is logical enough, I suppose, Cassian told himself. I shall call upon him, I think, using Ilfaralek's good offices—which ought to be about as easy as capturing a slippery snake in a swamp.
Cassian refolded the paper, returned it to Fargresh. Coming outside, he noted the blackening skies with annoyance. He would need to commandeer one of the soldier's mounts, ride to the river, and transfer to a returning river vessel. That voyage would certainly not be as comfortable as the one that had brought him here, and in all likelihood he would probably be soaked to the skin by the time he got to the river anyway. He turned up his collar and hoped for the best.
Many miles to the east of the galloping elf, Jerenn sat quietly and tried to keep the mixed stench of stale sweat, other body fluids of diseased flesh, and some spectacularly evil-looking meat pies being dumped on the serving-hatch of the drinking hole, out of his nostrils. The Broken Quarter boasted many houses and buildings that were almost sound, and many more with only one major defect; a badly leaking roof, perhaps, or a room with rotted floorboards. Many people had their own dwellings, and some traders and merchants also had their own places, but there were very few taverns or hostelries to be found. It was simply too dangerous; too much money could be found in such a place and there were far too many desperate souls ready to brave any number of guards and ruffians hired for protection. Indeed, most such hirelings would be all too happy to take a taverner's coin and then beat him to a pulp for the rest. So, such refreshment as could be found tended to be available in places like this, temporary drinking holes that tomorrow would be somewhere else in the ruins, set up for a few days in some other semi-ruin until they became too well-known and it became prudent to move on.
Jerenn remembered the young woman's words about the tunnels, and steered into the gloom close to some dwarfs. Whatever was going on in the Undercity, they would surely have heard about it. He was as fortunate as Cassian had been. He heard some places mentioned, the dwarfs surly and resentful because they hadn't been part of the work, and their people had not participated in what was afoot. Then he heard a name, and he smiled quietly in the darkness, for it was that of a man he'd also heard Mother Grishin mention. He had hidden his gifts for her carefully, and he slipped away into the early evening to pick them up and take them to her. He would surely learn something worth hearing now.
The old ork was coughing badly when he found her. It seemed to be the season for sickness in the lungs or the ribs; the sudden rains after so much heat was trailing some infection or virulence in its wake, perhaps. As usual, she tried to suffocate pain beneath blankets of hard drink, numbing her senses. She pulled on the mittens with a groan, but when he gave her the hard leather strips she was delighted, he could see that.
"I know you can make boots, you told me," he said. "I didn't have enough money to buy boots and I didn't know if they would fit anyway."
"My fingers aren't what they were," she grumbled, "but this is good leather. I don't know what I've done to deserve you, boy." She fondled the hide appreciatively, turning it over and over in hands that looked more like arthritic claws. He sat with her and they ate together, until at last he tried to sidle up on what interested him without making her too suspicious.
"Some of those dwarfs, they're talking about someone making a tunnel down at the Rat Circus," he said as casually as he could manage. Her eyes narrowed.
"And what's that to you, boy?"
"It's just that I beg down there sometimes, to get some coppers. I wasn't sure if I ought to stay away, not when I don't know what's happening."
The ork looked uncertain; the boy earned money there, and her life was going to be slightly less wretched this winter because of what he brought to her with that money. But Jerenn was over-eager, clutching at his opportunity too aggressively.
"They say there's a wizard there, a young woman; no, there's two of them they were saying, and—"
His words were cut short. With surprising speed and strength, the ork had him by the throat.
"Now you listen to me," she snarled. "You better forget anything like that you heard. Not that I know nothing anyway. But you keep your mouth shut or there'll be people who'll knock out every tooth inside it and stomp your bones into dust by the time they've finished beating you. Understand?"
He nodded, wide-eyed and shaking. She slowly relaxed her hold, and he coughed violently, his throat tender and sore from her powerful grip. It had hurt, and his eyes and nose stung now, but there was something important afoot. Mother Grishin usually heard most of what went on in the Broken Quarter, so he couldn't think it was common knowledge, but it wasn't entirely a secret either.
That means that enough people must have been told to get ready for something big, he thought.
He sat quietly until she grunted at him in a reasonably kindly way and broke off another hunk of crusty bread for them to eat.
I'll be back here tomorrow night, he plotted to himself, and I'll see for myself what's going on in the tunnels. After all, I may know some side-exits and entrances even the builders don't, with any luck.
Jerenn tended to make the natural mistake, common among overoptimistic youth, of trusting to luck just once too often.
15
The weather held good the next day, fine and clear, the crisp morning air offering the promise of a frost within a few days. After riding the ship's rail all day, Cassian was disappointed to see the vessel approaching the walls and docks of Vivane later than he'd hoped, dusk already staining the sky at his back, a spectrum of deep reds and oranges. It would be days before his messenger returned from Marac, and he was unsure whether to confront Ziraldesh again. The alternative was a much more demanding target, but Cassian felt too tired from constant travel to pit his wits against Patracheus that evening.
The t'skrang rivermen were boisterous when they finally moored their ship, and he could not get away without inviting them to a drink. It would have given offense if he'd left so cursorily, and in truth they had been very friendly to him. He had eaten well with them—their smoked river flatfish had been excellent—and it would have been rude not to return their kindness. It was not surprising, then, that by the time Cassian finally descended from his carriage and urged his weary bones toward the door of the Rose Villa, he had no thought of anything other than a warm bath and peaceful sleep.
"Yes, yes, fine, just make sure I have hot water for my bath first," he muttered to the eager Jerenn as the boy buzzed about the chambers. "No, I don't want any food. Yes, my journey was a safe one. Look, what are all these questions?"
A chastened Jerenn retreated towards the kitchens. Cassian closed the door of his bedchamber, wearily peeled off his traveling clothes and pulled the silk nightshirt over his head and shoulders. It was a plain garment, unembroidered and without motifs, a simple dark blue, but even so it had seemed something of an extravagance when he'd bought it in the market town upriver. He could, doubtless, have found better, and cheaper, in the markets of Vivane itself, but it had caught his eye and the cool feeling of the breathing fabric was easy on his skin. He wandered off to the bathchamber, bare feet padding along the cool stone floor. The solid, unmoving stones felt wonderful underneath his tired feet.
Some uncertain time later, he was startled into rude wakefulness as a hand prodded his shoulder tentatively. His sudden, alarmed jerk rolled him over in the bath and he got a mouthful of warm water before he splashed his way unceremoniously around again, coughing violently on what had gotten into his lungs. His reddened eyes took in the sight of Jerenn, who was trying to hide behind a large towel while simultaneously holding it out towards him like some kind of ceremonial offering.
"Begging your pardon, sir," the boy pleaded, "you fell asleep. It isn't safe, sir—you might have drowned."
Cassian was about to scold him, but held his tongue. No, he wouldn't have drowned. He had far better instincts than that, even when asleep, but the boy wasn't to know that. No doubt h
e'd been told from time to time to keep an eye out for drunken nobles falling asleep in Tarlanth's pool after a night of overindulgence.
He reached the side of the pool in a couple of swift swimming strokes and rested his elbows on the edge.
"Thank you for your watchfulness. Now I think I can get myself off to bed. A Theran praetor can manage that without the help of a servant, I think."
The boy looked crestfallen, as Cassian intended.
If he becomes overfamiliar with me, it will not go easy for him once I'm gone. One lapse into the same habit and his master might have him flogged or worse. He's a useful lad to have around, but I must keep in mind that I will not be here forever.
On the other hand, one of these times I really must follow him on one of those nocturnal jaunts of his to see what he is really up to.
Jerenn had run into enough hazards recently to be especially cautious in his approach to Mother Grishin's den this night. Unless someone specifically knew he was coming, and knew which routes he took and how long he watched and waited at various points along the way, he could not be trapped. Of course, someone knew exactly those things; or, rather, a pair of people did. Less than fifty yards from the lair, hands leaped from the darkness and a sack was over his head before he was even aware that anything was amiss. A thump over the back of the head with something heavy and blunt knocked him completely senseless.
When he came to, Jerenn was still blinded by the sack tied over his head. He was somewhere cold, and through the crude fabric of the sack he could dimly see a flickering flame, torch light perhaps. He could not keep from groaning as he woke, and when he tried to rub the lump on his head, he found his hands tied fast behind his back. Murmuring voices stopped in mid-sentence and rough hands prodded at him.
“You'd better talk fast," someone snarled at him in the rough tongue of Throal. Jerenn made deliberately obscure sounds, trying to trick them into untying the sack from his head. He wanted to see where he was, and who was imprisoning him. His reward for his efforts was a neatly placed kick to the back of his knees. He yelped and asked his unseen tormentor what he wanted to know.
"You been hearing things about tunnels, then?"
"Only what some dwarfs were saying in a drinking hole," he replied painfully. He tried to curl himself up into a ball to shield himself as best he could from further assault. "Nothing secret. They hadn't even been in them."
"You mentioned some names you heard," a second voice shot back menacingly.
Jerenn thought fast. There was no way he could get away with claiming that he'd overheard the names he'd foolishly let slip to Mother Grishin from some old dwarfs moaning over their beer.
"I heard Taravail say something," he lied. He didn't want to get the ork into the same trouble he was in, but telling the truth might get him killed here and now. He wished fervently that he'd never told the old ork, later on the previous night, of the names he'd overheard from his perch on the roof.
"Damned ork never could keep his mouth shut," one of his captors growled. "We'd better make sure this gets known about." His fellow ignored him and prodded at the boy again.
"What do you know about them then? Arlyna and Nighthand?"
"Nothing, I just heard the names."
There was a moment of silence and then the boy nearly screamed with pain. A burning sensation shot along the inside of his right leg, and a fist struck him right in the pit of his stomach.
"I said, what do you know?" The voice was angry, and Jerenn didn't wait for the blow that was sure to follow the short silence. Half-winded by the punch, he could only gasp a few syllables at a time.
"Wizards. Heard they were wizards. That's all. Honestly," he pleaded.
"Then why were you so interested in them?"
"I wasn't. I only mentioned it to someone," Jerenn was too scared to mention Mother Grishin. He didn't want her to get in any trouble. "She likes to be told what's happening. She can't move around much."
"Yes, sure," his interrogator spat at him. "You'd better come up with something better than that. Who are you spying for?"
"I'm not spying. I'm not!" Jerenn yelled the last part, trying to preempt another punching. The inside of his leg throbbed painfully. From the nature of the pain, he knew they must have burned him.
"You've been seen all over the place, you little gutter rat," the voice said, and hands clamped about his throat, threatening to strangle him. As the pressure grew about his neck, and he could not breathe, Jerenn only barely managed to gurgle a few choked-off sounds. He was on the point of losing consciousness when the hands suddenly released their murderous grip. He gasped for breath, coughing and sputtering. He was given a couple of minutes to recover before his relentless inquisitor returned to his questioning.
"I asked you, who are you spying for? Don't cover up. You're only going to die for it if you don't tell me."
"I'm not spying for anyone. I was just interested. I was scared. I heard there's some plan to get into the walled Quarter. I wanted to hear when, to make sure I would be out of the way. If any of the Therans has ever seen me go through the tunnels they'd have me killed straight away," he said, inventing a plausible stratagem. "They'd think I was involved. Maybe. I don't know, I was just scared."
"Look, let's just kill him," a weary voice said somewhere in the background.
"Not so simple," the first man said. "Even the Therans might miss a slave. He's a trusty, I've been told. Runs errands and the like. He would be missed.
"Better blood him," the voice concluded.
Jerenn felt his left arm cut with a blade. He tried not to cry out against the mounting pain; his leg was still hurting, his guts still sore, and his throat throbbing. One more assault and his whole body would be afire.
"Now look, brat," the man growled into his ear. Jerenn could feel warm, foul breath close to his face. "We've got some of your blood now. Wizards can do terrible things to you if they have a bit of your blood. You ain't coming back here, not any time. Take one step into the Broken Quarter and it'll be your last. You stay behind those walls and take your chances. And if you talk to anyone, well, after the right magical rituals them wizards do, it'll be known about. You'd be better off dead, right? You were lucky tonight. You should be dead. You just come back here, or talk, and you're going to wish you were."
"I understand," the boy said, pain, relief, and fear all mixed together in his voice.
"Get him out of here. Dump him near where we got him," one of the men said quietly. Hands grabbed at his ankles and under his arms and carried him away into the night.
Jerenn tried to patch himself up as best he could, and wore long-sleeved garments the next day. The bump on his head didn't show from the front, but the red-raw burn on the inside of his thigh was so painful he couldn't walk properly. Apprehensive, he moved very slowly into the elf's bedroom to bring him hot water for shaving and washing his face in the morning. The elf thanked him lazily and by the time Jerren had padded carefully to the doorway, Jerenn thought he'd gotten away with it. He was one stride away from safety when Cassian's voice, still very casual, drifted after him.
"Did you see your friend last night?"
"Yes, sir, I took her the clothes and some food." Jerenn nodded and was just turning to leave.
"Just a minute," the elf said with deliberate casualness. "You seem to have some rather rough friends. They don't seem to reward your gifts with gratitude. You're walking very strangely, and that's an unpleasant bang you took on the head."
Jerenn had hoped, but not really expected, to avoid the elf's sharp gaze. He had been prepared for this.
"I fell, sir, in the tunnels. The floors collapse sometimes. I struck my head and grazed my knee a little. I'm just a little stiff, sir. I'll be all right."
"I'd better see that graze. It might need healing to keep it from getting infected," Cassian replied, just the slightest edge in his tone.
"It won't need that, sir. I know how to bathe and use the right herbs. It isn't discolored and—"
Jerenn was forced to comply, standing with his shift coming down to mid-thigh, the livid burn mark glaring puffy and scarlet.
"By the Passions, lad, what on earth have you been doing? That burn needs treating. That was no accident. You had better get to that herbalist's again—after you've told me what happened to you."
Jerenn did not try to lie, but he did try to get away with less than the truth at every turn. It seemed pointless after a while, for Cassian always seemed to know. Residual pain and weariness broke the youth's resistance to the elf's relentless pressing for detail. Finally, he remembered the few jotted words he'd seen on the table beside Cassian's bed. The elf was sitting up now, arms folded before his satin-skinned chest, his eyes fixed firmly on him. He looked wholly implacable, and Jerenn decided to try to turn disadvantage into a possible gain.
"There's some tunneling beyond the walls, sir. There's some plan to try to get into the Quarter. It's nothing to worry about, sir, they talk about such things all the time.''
Cassian managed, successfully, not to give away his interest. He clenched his arms more tightly across his chest.
“It would appear to me that you were treated most harshly for learning of it, and I doubt that it is just another tale."
Jerenn paused for a moment and then offered his best hope of finding favor. "Well, sir, there are some wizards involved. And one of them is a Theran." He had clean forgotten what he'd been warned of, that he mustn't speak on pain of magical reprisal from some unseen and unknown wizard with a vial of his blood from which to work.
So Crotias was right, Cassian thought. And wasn't I right to wonder whether this lad was not brighter than a slave should be?
Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness Page 11