by Alec Hutson
Tingling cold washed over Vessa. Del’s reflection swelled larger, as if he was approaching the glass . . . yet in the darkened study, his back to the mirror, the real Del hadn’t moved. What sorcery was this?
The image of Del did not pause as it passed through the mirror, sending tiny ripples scurrying across the gleaming surface, like a pebble dropped into a pool of still water. A slim dagger that looked to be a twin of the one that Del kept strapped to his forearm materialized in the reflection’s hand, held sideways in the same Beloshi knife-fighter style her partner favored. In another moment it would be close enough to plunge the dagger into Del’s back.
No time to try and figure out what was happening. Vessa lunged into the room, ripping her swords from their sheaths as she charged the creature. The reflection of Del whirled toward her, and even though its face was hidden in darkness, she imagined she saw surprise as she slashed its neck. It reeled away from her, dropping its dagger as it clutched at its torn throat. Vessa followed, wrapping her arms around the reflection and guiding it as quietly as possible to the floor, trying to ignore the hot pulses of blood soaking her tunic and the thing’s slippery fingers as it weakly attempted to push her away. The mirror-image made a ragged gurgling, then a shudder passed through it and a moment later it went limp.
“Vess!” the real Del hissed, twisting around. “Are there more guards? Look at the mirror!”
“I see it,” Vessa whispered, then yanked the image’s corpse into a sitting position and turned it toward the glowing silver surface.
Del gasped softly. “Gods! That looks like me!”
“It was you. It came out of the mirror.” A shiver of unease passed through Vessa again as she studied the bright reflection. It showed her clutching Del’s ravaged corpse, its eyes wide and staring and its face drained of blood. Overcome with revulsion, she lowered it to the floor… and the Vessa in the mirror did the same. She raised her hand, holding up three fingers, and the reflection copied her perfectly. Had the mirror expended whatever sorcery it contained? Or was her own likeness waiting for her to turn her back so it could creep through the glass and slay her?
The door she had noticed earlier in the room swung open. Without hesitating, Vessa rushed the shape that filled this patch of deeper blackness, grabbing handfuls of cloth and smashing the man – it was a man, from the grunt of surprise and pain – into the wall and then throwing him to the floor. She put her boot on an ample belly and set the tip of her sword under his chin, pushing it into the dark bramble of his beard. “The Eye,” she snarled, “where is it?”
“Who . . . who are you?” he asked, fear cracking his voice.
“No one. I’ve come for the Eye of Aradeth. You have until the count of five to tell me where it is. If I don’t know by then, my sword is going to slip and my partner will have to find it on his own. Which he will. He has a nose for this sort of thing.”
Vessa loosened her grip on the hilt of her sword, letting it drop fractionally. “One.”
“Wait! We can come to some arrange –”
“Two.”
“Aghh! Ow! I’m bleeding!”
“Yes, that’s the point. Literally. Three.”
“Ah . . . ah . . . all right, all right. In this room. On my desk in a small golden box.”
“Any traps?”
“N-nothing. Now can I know – ”
“Be quiet.”
The fat man fell silent, though his belly still heaved with panicked gasps. Del’s shadow slipped behind the desk and began rummaging among the loose papers and small items covering its surface.
“I have it.” There was a click as something snapped open. “Gods, Vessa. Yes, this must be it. There’s ancient power here . . . great sorcery.”
The fat man underneath her boot moaned. “Oh, my lord will be so angry . . .”
“Should have thought of that before you stole from Aradeth,” Vessa said, sheathing her sword and hurrying back toward the doors that opened onto the balcony. Before she slipped outside, though, she glanced one final time at the mirror, studying it carefully. Her reflection’s movements echoed her own perfectly, and she snorted. She was getting paranoid.
“Come,” Del Amoth said, brushing past her. “Let’s make haste. I already died here once tonight.”
“That’s true,” Vessa replied, following him out into the darkness. “I killed you.”
Drums. Some cruel bastard was beating drums inside her head. Vessa whimpered as she was dragged awake by the incessant pounding, burying her face in the worn fabric of a brocade pillow. Doom. Doom. Doom. Regular as the rhythm in a slave ship’s galley, and the feather-stuffed mattress she was lying on even seemed to lurch a little like a boat riding the waves.
Weight shifted elsewhere on the bed, and then soft warmth pressed against her side.
“Are you alright?” Carine asked sleepily through a yawn, running a finger lightly down Vessa’s back.
Despite her discomfort, she shivered at the touch. “No,” she said, muffled by the pillow. “What in the seven abysses did I drink last night?”
“A better question would be what didn’t you drink. Many pints of bitter. Three fingers of grog. More than a few glasses of crystalwine. But I think it was the mother’s milk that finally laid you low.”
“Mother’s milk?” A hazy memory emerged from the fog: a bottle of clouded white pulled from some secret cubby and placed with a flourish by Carine on the Grot’s bar. Then its honey-slow contents being drizzled into a tumbler. Vessa remembered holding that glass up to the light, studying its swirling, silty whiteness, followed moments later by cold fire rushing down her throat to pool in her belly . . . She moaned into the pillow, her stomach twisting. “Why would I do that?”
Carine laughed. “You said you wanted our most expensive drink.” The barmaid’s hot breath tickled her neck. “I think you were trying to impress me,” she whispered, then bit Vessa’s ear softly, sending another shudder of pleasure racing up her spine.
Vessa rolled onto her back and found Carine’s beautiful freckled face hovering just a handspan above her own. She reached up and tangled her fingers in the barmaid’s mess of red curls, then pulled her closer and kissed her deeply, enjoying the feel of her soft curves crushed against her hard body.
After a long, pleasurable moment, Carine pushed herself away, wiping her lips. “That was a bit sweeter than last night. To be truthful, I thought I was going to wake up with some bruises.”
Vessa sat up, crossing her legs. “Ha. I’ve wanted to drag you back to my room for a long time.”
Carine reached over and lightly brushed her arm. “I’m glad you finally did.”
Vessa smiled, then glanced around the room. “Where are we, anyway?” It didn’t look like the Grot, as the bed was canopied, and though ancient it was carved from an expensive-looking dark wood. A mirror with a silver frame hung on the wall, reflecting the chamber’s general state of disarray, including the various bits of their clothing strewn in a path leading from the door to the bed.
“Upstairs,” Carine said, sliding closer.
“In the Grot? I didn’t know it had rooms like this.”
“It does. There’s a lot of very rich people who come to Malakesh that want the discretion afforded by staying at the Grot. You paid for it for a month, and settled all your debts with a green jewel the size of a quail’s egg.”
“I see,” Vessa said, wondering idly how many high-priced assassins and majordomos of thieves’ guilds had slept in this very same bed. If walls could talk this chamber would certainly have some interesting tales to tell.
As her gaze traveled around the room she noticed the small circular windows set high up on the wall. “Look at the sky, it’s twilight outside. We’ve slept away the whole day.”
Carine frowned. “That’s strange . . . it feels like it should be late morning, not nearly night again.”
“It seems we lost track of time,” Vessa murmured, leaning closer to kiss the hollow of Carine’s neck. “And I s
uggest we do so once more.”
Carine pushed her away and scrambled off the bed. “I need to get behind the bar soon,” she said as she bent to retrieve her clothes, “or Kell will have me flayed.”
Vessa flopped backward and wriggled herself under the cool linen sheets. “I’ll stay here for a while longer. If your uncle asks where you’ve been, tell him you’ve been attending to a rich patron who just secured his most expensive room for a month.”
Vessa thought she’d fallen asleep again, but she must have only drowsed because when she opened her eyes the same purple evening light still filled the windows. She felt much more refreshed, however, so she went around the room gathering the various bits of her armor and clothing that she had tossed aside the night before. Buckling on her brigandine of hardened black leather, she checked the secret pocket where she had slipped the pouch with her share of the jewels Sahm had traded them for the Eye. She emptied the small bag into her hand, mesmerized by the glittering colors. This was her big score. This was what would finally let her hang up her swords. She felt giddy as she sifted through the stones with her finger, trying to guess how much each was worth – but also, surprisingly, a little sad, because she knew that a part of her life which had come to define her was now finished forever.
That feeling proved fleeting, however, as by the time she had made her way downstairs and entered the common room, she was again excited by the possibilities her newfound wealth afforded her. It was a quiet evening at the Grot: only a handful of tables were occupied, and the conversation seemed subdued. Vessa looked for Carine but she wasn’t there – instead the inn’s owner, Kell, loomed behind the bar, furiously polishing a set of dented metal tankards, his face twisted into a scowl. When he noticed her descending the stairs his expression darkened further, if that was possible, and he angrily tossed away the rag he’d been using.
“Vessa!” he barked, motioning for her to approach.
“Kell,” she said, wondering if he was upset over Carine’s absence. Well, if so, she’d calm him down by showing him her pretty new jewels. Kell was an ornery bastard, but she’d seen him crack a smile once or twice when rich patrons had started throwing money around the Grot – and finally she was in a position to do just that.
“What in the black balls of Garazon is this?” he snarled, holding up something small pinched between two fingers.
“I don’t –” she began, but then it caught the lamplight and flashed green.
Oh no.
“You don’t know? You mean you settled your very sizable debt with me – and added to it significantly last night – with a jewel you never bothered to have appraised?”
“It . . . I . . .”
“It’s worthless!” Kell bellowed, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. “A bit of colored glass! The only reason I don’t have the guard in here right now dragging you off to an oubliette is because you must have thought it was real or you wouldn’t have slept away the entire morning upstairs!”
“Did someone summon the guard?” said a new voice.
Her head whirling, Vessa turned from the fuming innkeep just as a cowled man in a dark cloak stood unsteadily from the table in the corner where he’d been sitting alone. Gods above and below, what’s going on?
She knew who it was before he even pulled back his hood – the limp was so recognizable she wondered why he even bothered to go about Malakesh in disguise.
“Vigilant,” said Kell, ducking his head, the white-hot fire of his rage snuffed out instantly.
“Innkeep,” Malz said, nodding in greeting. “May I have a word alone with Vessa?”
“Of course,” Kell muttered obsequiously, then scurried like a chastised dog through the door behind the bar that led to the kitchens.
“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting,” the Vigilant said, flashing her one of his lopsided smiles.
Vessa struggled to make sense of what was happening. The jewels are fake? Malz wants to speak with me? Where is Del? “Not . . . not at all.”
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here, and not in my uniform.”
“Um, yes.” Though I have a few more pressing things on my mind.
Malz sighed and leaned against the bar. “It’s been an eventful morning, Vessa.”
Morning. That penetrated the fog in her mind.
“You mean day, Vigilant. It’s evening outside.”
“No, I mean morning. By my reckoning it’s barely past midday.”
“Look at the light,” she said slowly, as if speaking to a child, gesturing at the few small windows in the darkened common room.
“Yes, look at that light. It’s all the city’s seen for nearly half a day.”
“What?”
A line of spittle escaped from the slack corner of his mouth, but Malz didn’t seem to notice. “The sun, Vessa. The sun is gone. Instead, we have only twilight.”
“The sun is gone?” she repeated, stunned.
“Gone. Why? Well, there are a number of theories being bandied about. But the one I give the most credence to comes from the high priest of Aradeth the Golden, the Great Effulgence himself. I mentioned Aradeth the last time we spoke – I’m sure you remember. He’s one of the more popular sun gods in Malakesh these days.”
“I remember,” Vessa whispered.
“That’s good. Anyway, the high priest has told the duke that the sun was taken away by his divine lord.”
Numbness spread through Vessa as the Vigilant spoke. She had a strong suspicion where this was leading. “And why would Aradeth take away the sun?” she heard herself say from far away.
“Apparently the god is enraged! Last night thieves broke into a manse in the Gold Quarter that his faithful servants use as a residence and stole his most precious artifact.”
“Oh.”
“Yes! And not just any thieves, as the house was protected by very powerful wards. No, someone extremely skilled at untangling complex sorcery was part of this robbery. I wanted to ask your partner about this, since he’s the best I ever encountered at such things. Now, I know it wasn’t him, as you told me yourself that you two are only doing honest work these days, but I thought he might know who else was capable of such a dastardly act. So, do you know where Del Amoth is?”
“No.”
“I see. Well, when he does turn up – or crawls out of whatever gutter he’s fallen into this time – please come at once to Stonespear.” The Vigilant blew out his one good cheek, gesturing toward the windows and the bruise-colored sky beyond. “The duke certainly wants to resolve this mess as quickly as possible.”
Malz made to turn away but Vessa laid a hand on his arm. “Wait, Vigilant. You never told me why you are out of uniform. What happened this morning?”
“Oh. Please excuse me, my mind is elsewhere. I’m here” – he leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially – “in disguise to get the pulse of the Rat Quarter after the riots this morning.”
“Riots?”
“Yes. Six dead and three dozen more wounded, including a few guardsmen. The priests of Aradeth badly misplayed their cards – when the sun refused to rise, they started preaching loudly to the good citizens of Malakesh that it was their god who had stolen it away, and that it would not appear again unless this artifact that had been taken the night before was returned.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yes, you know the Rat as well as I do. The denizens of this quarter do not take kindly to being threatened. The response was predictable – by claiming responsibility for the missing sun, they made themselves into a very convenient target for mob violence. And if my guardsmen had not been in the area trying to keep the tensions between the Day and Night zealots from boiling over, I think all of Aradeth’s faithful might have been torn to pieces. Xeno and his followers haven’t escaped the city’s wrath, either, as they are seen by most as simply being the reverse side of the same foreign coin – remember, both sects are very new to the city. Right now the priests of both gods are barricaded in their templ
es, afraid to even walk the streets.”
“This all occurred today?”
“It’s been a busy morning. And there’s something else.”
Vessa pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to steel herself for whatever surprise was coming next. “Yes?”
“The priests of Aradeth aren’t taking all this meekly. My whispers tell me that the high priest has contracted with one of the shadow societies to get back the stolen artifact.”
A wave of coldness washed over Vessa, and she had to stifle a small moan. The societies are involved in this. She and Del had striven very hard to avoid their attention over the years, turning down any job that they suspected might brush up against their interests. The societies were tight-knit organizations that controlled the darker trade that coursed beneath the surface of Malakesh. Every illegal vice in the city could be traced back to them – dreamsmoke, slaves, poisons, outlawed thaumaturgies, assassinations. They were one of the pillars that held up the city, along with the merchants, the nobles, and the duke himself. Some would argue the most powerful of the four . . . and now they were looking for her and Del.
“Do you know which society?” she managed to get out, hoping her face hadn’t gone completely ashen.
“The Lost Men.”
Bad. Very bad. She needed to find Del immediately, before they did. Or she’d be fishing pieces of her partner out of the Bloat. Luckily there was only one place her partner would have gone with a purse full of gemstones – despite his many promises to stay away.
“Vigilant, I don’t mean to be rude but I suddenly remembered a very pressing appointment I have elsewhere.”
He flashed her another of his gruesome smiles as she pushed past him, hurrying for the door. “I thought you might. Godspeed, Vessa.”
She had never seen the streets of Malakesh so empty, not even on those dark and thankfully rare days when plague had stalked the city. Most everyone must be huddled inside, Vessa supposed, out of the unnatural light and hoping that if they ignored this strangeness then the sun might decide to saunter back into the sky as if nothing had happened. Even the galagan lizard from the previous day had finally abandoned the festering remnants of the dog’s corpse, which now sprawled alone and forlorn in the middle of the road. Vessa was suddenly struck by an odd thought: just as rats flee sinking ships or fleas a corpse, perhaps the vermin of Malakesh were streaming from the city in a chittering, writhing horde, some animal impulse telling them that this eternal twilight portended an onrushing calamity.