I'd wager you will, Cassian thought. Trying to call in a favor or two in case the Overgovernor gets difficult.
"Let me know what else you may discover," Ilfaralek said, though Cassian knew he was not obliged to do so. The elf owed an accounting only to the distant figure of the Arbiter-General, but Ilfaralek's problems were a great deal closer to hand.
Cassian nodded. "I'm grateful to you for showing me the book. I may keep it a while?"
"As long as you can get it back to me by this evening. Oh, and I wouldn't mind having a look at whatever it was you took from Aralesh with the same codes in it. Showing those two to Kypros might deflect at least some of his wrath."
Cassian smiled slightly. "A reasonable exchange. . .and thank you again."
"You had some business here?" Ilfaralek asked casually as the elf was opening the door to leave.
"You just preempted it," Cassian grinned, walking through the door and quickly out into the street.
21
In the early afternoon, Cassian called at Tarlanth's house, to inquire after Karlanta. He had still not had a chance to speak with her, and given what he now knew about Daralec's will and his affairs, it was a meeting he could not defer much longer. It took several knocks to gain admittance, and when a servant finally ushered him in, he found himself in the presence of Tarlanth's son. Lyn looked at him shyly and quizzically.
"Hello. I'm afraid my parents are not here," the young man said in his gentle voice.
"It was Karlanta I was hoping to see."
"She's not here either. They've taken her upriver," the boy said.
"Why?" Cassian was taken aback.
"Well, she didn't want to stay here. Not now that she's recovered—well, she's better, anyway. She wanted to convalesce outside the city. Not surprising after what happened to her family."
"I suppose not," Cassian said thoughtfully. "Where is she making for?"
"Sendernis," the youth said without further explanation. Then, in response to Cassian's request for more, "It's a town west of here. Old and sick people go there to be healed or fade away quietly. It's full of healers and the waters are supposed to have magical properties. So I'm told, anyway."
"I take it you've never seen the place."
"I don't leave here much," the boy said, slightly pathetically. "My health isn't much good either, I'm afraid."
"What exactly is wrong with you?"
"I'm just sickly." Lyn managed a weak smile. "I was a sick infant, then a sick child, and now I'm not exactly a well adult."
Hardly an adult at all, Cassian reflected, looking at the lad. His posture was slightly hunched, and his loose and shabby clothing contrasted sharply with the finery of his parents' apparel and, in particular, his mother's rigidly disciplined brilliant good looks and dress sense.
"You paint, I recall," Cassian offered pleasantly, not having much to do before his planned evening jaunt. "May I see?"
The boy seemed uncomfortable. "It's nothing," he mumbled. "Just something I do in my spare time. I'm useless at it, really."
Cassian laughed softly. "Well, you needn't worry about me. I'm no expert, though I've always enjoyed sampling the various styles in the places where I've traveled. It would be my pleasure to look at what you've been doing."
Reluctantly, the boy shambled up the stairs, leading the elf into a light and airy upper-floor chamber. It was entirely bare, save for trestles and benches and a couple of rickety chairs. The room and its walls were bare stone, except for some splashes of paint on the floor. To his surprise, Cassian saw no mounted paintings. Even the easel set up near the window had nothing leaning against its frame. The only paintings visible were a heap of them almost thrown into a corner, with a length of dirty, streaked cotton mostly obscuring them.
He had to lift the first painting up and turn it around to face him to make it out. It was a night scene, difficult to render well, showing the garden of a villa, with a deep pool the central feature. At first the painting looked like a slab of blackness, until he began to detect nuances and timbres in the black and blues, hints of shadowy presences gathering; or at least his imagination conjured up such a scene. It was an ambiguous piece of work, but it was subtle, and demanded more from the viewer than an ordinary or mundane theme. Cassian did not in all honesty know just how good it might be, but it certainly showed promise. He gazed at it with interest for a minute or so and then replaced it with the rest.
"You do yourself a disservice," he said. "I've seen work not as good as yours in certain places in the Great City itself. Have you a tutor?"
"For what?" the boy asked anxiously.
"Painting, of course," Cassian said, still gazing at the pile of paintings, recalling the subtleties of the one in his mind's eye.
"Oh, no," Lyn replied. "I just do it to pass the time. As 1 said."
"You should get proper tuition," Cassian said, turning back to Lyn. "You might become a well-known artist in time. Who knows?"
The boy just shook his head and stood gazing down at the floor. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, and wrung them ineffectually. He was clearly embarrassed and unhappy.
"It might not be a bad idea," the elf insisted. "Somehow, I don't imagine you will enjoy inheriting your father's businesses."
"Why do you say that?" Lyn said querulously.
"People who have success with money usually have hard business heads and a readiness to put feelings aside most of the time, which is not the kind of person you seem to be," the elf said smoothly. "At any rate, I won't take up any more of your time. Thank you for giving me the news of Karlanta. Good day."
As Cassian walked past the boy, he caught the faintest floral scent about him; an effeminate perfume, very subtle but clear to his heightened senses. He did not pause, but pondered that the boy's life in his father's household must be a wretched one. He probably took refuge in illness to avoid his father's wrath, and would likely remain a semi-invalid until Tarlanth died. The elf cast the morbid thought aside, and descended the stairs.
Lyn stood watching him go, his face an impassive mask.
Jerenn was still away, making his purchases, when Cassian returned to the Rose Villa. It was, however, obvious from the pile of clothes and equipment on his bed that the boy had already put in an industrious morning's work. The clothes were plain and simple, well made, with a degree of ornamentation that showed the craftsman's pride in his work without any degree of ostentation. Judging by some of the Barsaivian elves he'd seen in the markets and streets of the city, Cassian was confident the attire would allow him to pass for one of them easily enough. A small pack contained a whole plethora of other items Jerenn had considered useful: oil, preserved food, a small lantern, rope, a leather pouch that rattled with marble spheres when Cassian gave it a shake, a waterskin, a small knife with a hooked end to the blade, a twist of leather thongs, and much besides.
It looked more like Jerenn was supplying them for a lengthy trip into the wilderness rather than a short sojourn just outside the walls of the Theran Quarter. The elf smiled. Perhaps, he thought, I could simply have alerted Crotias and had a division or two—maybe a whole cohort—of the Legion sent out into the Broken Quarter to see what's going on in the Rat Circus. But a foot-stamp-ing, marching cohort would have scared away anyone I might want to know about down there; it would be self-defeating. And I can always see if Crotias wants to send in the Legion after I've dug up some more evidence—if there's more to be gained.
Cassian's reflections were interrupted by a knock at the door, and he called permission to enter. A maid poked her head around it, then came in to deliver a plaque of fine vellum with gilded borders on a silver tray. Picking up the vellum, Cassian turned it over to find that Overgovernor Kypros himself had requested an audience with the elf at noon the following day. A brief postscript informed him that no response was necessary. Dismissing the maid, Cassian smiled again as he sat down and turned the unwelcome invitation over and over in his long fingers.
The Overg
overnor is getting rattled, he thought. That probably calls for a change in plans. Jerenn and I will have to brave the Undercity by night. I only hope he comes back soon so we can get started and find a group of travelers to join for the short time that will be useful to me. Kypros cannot interfere with my work, but he can be subtly obstructive and I can do without that.
Almost on cue, a second knock at the door announced the boy's arrival. He carried a bagful of bulging objects and wore a broad grin on his face.
"I think we may need to venture forth this evening/' the elf said casually. Jerenn's eyes took in the plaque the elf still held in his hands and he looked startled. Cassian gave him a knowing look and the boy inched backward slightly.
"I'm sorry, I've seen one of those before when I had to take it to my master when Berelas was ill," he stuttered. "I didn't read it or anything, but—"
"Spare me your explanations," Cassian replied. "So you know who this invitation is from. You're a knowledgeable fellow."
"I don't want to get into any trouble," Jerenn said timidly.
"Then let us not speak of it further," the elf returned reasonably. "We should begin preparations, I think."
"We need passes," Jerenn said doubtfully.
"Hardly a problem," the elf smiled. "I have them from someone who will keep this quiet." He was not going to mention Ilfaralek's name. Going to Crotias to request gate passes for a Barsaivian would have aroused too many questions.
"Are you sure I don't have to wear black?" The boy was obviously most anxious about that. After all, it was a capital crime under certain circumstances. Slaves were recognized by their attire, and dressing otherwise was assumed to be an admission of dishonesty and pretense bordering on subversion or sedition.
"I've left a signed statement with a very senior and trustworthy city official, in case anything should happen to me and you are wrongly accused," Cassian said.
"Who is it?" Jerenn asked. Then, when the elf did not reply, "If anything does go wrong I must know who to tell the guards to talk to."
"No," Cassian demurred. "I can only assure you he will know." At the back of the elf's mind was the fact that the boy might be less trustworthy if he knew where to gain such legal absolution. Though the drug Cassian had given Jerenn had reassured him of the lad's honesty and likely loyalty, there was no point in taking more chances than was absolutely necessary. Jerenn looked unhappy, but when the elf asked to see the other purchases, he dumped the contents of his bag on the bed and told proudly of his haggling prowess.
As Jerenn looked happier and began to babble on, Cassian realized that it was all still a game to him. An adventure. He would have to make sure the lad was capable of more.
From a cloth cover laid on a table, he drew out a curved scabbard of plain leather and extracted from it a knife nearly a foot in length. The blade was keen, and the workmanship excellent. He offered it to the boy.
"Do you know how to use such a weapon?" To his great relief, the boy didn't bat an eye.
"I do, sir. When I was in Bartertown, I had to learn. I was too small to use a sword or axe and so I always kept a knife or dagger about me for protection. Anyone who doesn't won't survive for long."
"Then take this," Cassian said, "and hope that you will not need to use it."
Early evening saw an elf and his young traveling companion, utterly transformed in appearance, approach the northern gates of the Theran Quarter together with a ragtag group of Creanan men heading for Bartertown. Knowing the tongue of these foreign folk, Cassian found it easy to persuade their leader to let them join the group for a short time. Perhaps even more persuasive than his words was the transfer of a small sum of gold. This had seemed wiser than traveling with Barsaivians, who were likely to be more suspicious and to betray them to their own fellows beyond the gates. Passes were inspected by a patrol of orks at the gates, and Cassian saw a small handful of gold transferred from the dark hands of the Creanan leader to the inspecting officer. The group was ushered through the small side-gate, and their mounts through the larger horse-gate at the left.
When they had passed through onto the broad, but hardly well-repaired, road that wound northeast into the sprawl of the Broken Quarter and on into the wider lands around the city, eventually into Barsaive itself, an ork among the Creanans tried to engage Cassian in conversation. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea of traveling companions he did not know and had not laid eyes on until an hour or so earlier. But Cassian was able to calm the man's fears with a tale of the ancestor statues of Creana, which he had actually seen on their once-yearly walk around the old tombs of the plateau. An extraordinary sight, the giant, faceless stone monoliths animating under the moon and striding in a complex geometric pattern that some sages fancied was a symbolic representation of the paths of the planets in the night skies. The ork was obviously superstitious at first, but his uncertainty changed to deep curiosity mingled with respect for Cassian, and no little fear and awe. The elf was pleased to see the odd Barsaivian face along the way glance at the two of them in deep conversation, probably assuming the ork and the elf were fellows. By the time the two had to take their leave, Cassian was almost disappointed.
"We'll be back this way by the last week of Borrum. Will you be in Vivane then?" the ork asked plaintively. "I'd like to hear more. I've been away from home six years now and I've never seen the statues."
"I'll look for you in the markets," Cassian said. To his surprise, the ork seized him by the shoulders and gave him the well-judged neck bite that most orks used as a greeting. In return, Cassian spat carefully to his left, a gesture of respect to his newfound acquaintance. The ork grinned broadly before he and the rest of the group trudged ahead along the road, their mounts clinking with the sound of their harnesses and the goods they carried.
Jerenn was quietly urging Cassian away from the road and toward a dimly lit building to the left. The boy was hardly recognizable now. His hair was lightened with light brown flecks and his eyebrows almost auburn in color. He had cut his hair shorter, and bore a distinctive small triangular scar on the left side of his chin. Thanks to some deft work with his footwear, he was also more than an inch taller than a few hours ago, and a chunky bronze bracelet on his left wrist added to the detail. His knife was well concealed, and he had the look about him of someone at ease with his surroundings, one who knew what he was doing, and was able to take care of himself.
"Here," he said firmly. "This is the safest place in the area, though it used to be a real pit. I've only been here once and that was six months ago. It's probably much changed since the dwarf took it over. And the beer's supposed to be quite good now."
"You told me," Cassian reminded him. "Now let's go in and find ourselves a nice, quiet, secluded corner where we can wait until it gets properly dark."
22
After spending the best part of two hours trying to stay inconspicuous, two figures emerged from the drinking den and crossed the rubble of the street in the last shadows of dusk. Cassian had agreed to Jerenn's ingenious idea of playing mute to keep from having to respond to any unwanted queries from drunken and overcurious souls. Since the boy had much better knowledge of many areas of Barsaive and the city beyond the walls, and since Cassian's Throalic was both a little stumbling and delivered in a distinctly Theran accent, Cassian had been grateful for the subterfuge. Some of the drinkers had probably assumed that the elf's mother had been cursed while he was still in the womb for him to be so afflicted, which again helped keep other folk at bay.
"Here," jerenn hissed. "There's a shaft leading down to it here." To Cassian's elven eyes, able to see much more easily in the last of the day's light, the hole in the ground was apparent. They walked carefully towards it.
"It seems amazingly obvious," the elf puzzled.
"It's said to be full of rats, plague rats," the boy reminded him. "No one in his right mind would go down there. Deep down there are said to be tombs, too, and Deadwalkers. People are too scared even to try to cover up the hole. The l
ast person who tried never came back. Mind you, I don't think it was rats got him. More likely he got waylaid by someone who wanted what he had."
Cassian knelt a short distance from the aperture and pressed his head to the ground. Though there were shouts and the sounds of feet crunching their way through the rubble in the distance, the elf's keen senses could distinguish vibrations from below ground from such distractions.
"I don't hear much sound of movement down there," he whispered. "This shaft—will we need ropes?"
Jerenn was lying down on his belly now, hands exploring the top of the shaft. "There are iron rungs set into the stone," he whispered back.
"You'll need a lantern to see by," the elf pointed out.
"Not to begin with. It's too dangerous. If you go first I should be safe following," the boy said rather doubtfully. "But once we're down there I'll need light."
"So will I in pitch darkness," the elf grinned. "But let us be certain of our footing first." In the darkness, the boy did not see him reach down to his leg and detach the little black scarab beetle, and set it on the ground close to the shaft entrance. After a minute's silence, praying that no nocturnal wanderer would come upon them, Cassian was satisfied there were no traps laid for the unwary; at least, none in the shaft itself.
He lowered his legs carefully into the shaft and tested the first two rungs, pressing more weight upon them until he was convinced they wouldn't give way. Gripping the top of the shaft with his hands, he began the descent.
Though not lighting their way had seemed a wise precaution, Cassian began to regret it by the third time Jerenn's feet struck his head. The boy was eager to get down, and unlike Cassian he knew he could trust the next step of his descent since someone else had already tested the way down. Finally, Cassian's feet touched solid stone and he stood in pitch blackness, helping Jerenn the last few feet. They stood absolutely silent for some seconds, hearing nothing save for the faintest sound of dripping water in the distance.
Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness Page 16