by Greg Curtis
“If I may ask Lady, why did you do this? Why did you attack the city?”
“We didn't.” She sighed heavily as if he'd said something oafish – something she’d been asked many times before. “We were summoned here by some sort of spell and immediately attacked by the King's soldiers. They tried to kill us for no reason. But feel free to doubt me like all your people.”
“How could you be summoned to the one city in all the realm where there are no afflicted?” He was genuinely curious about that. It made no sense. And yet he didn't sense that she was lying.
“Ask the gods, not me,” she told him tiredly. “I only know what happened.”
“Even if that's true, you're still driving a million innocent people from their homes.”
“They aren't so innocent from where I stand. And we have no choice. If we don't take the city we'll be killed. Our families will be killed. We have to capture the King to protect them. You wouldn't understand.”
“You could negotiate.” He didn't want to push her too hard, but still he had to say it. Unfortunately he appeared to have angered her.
“We tried that! “You truly think we didn't?! Each and every time another one of us was dragged to this arse backwards city, the first thing we tried to do was talk. Many of us tried to surrender to the soldiers. All we wanted to do was to go home. And guess what? Every time those whoresons opened fire on us. They shot us in the back where they could. They blasted us with cannon. Set fire to the buildings we were hiding in. We tried to call a truce. They shot at us while we negotiated under a white flag. You want to count how many of those bodies lying in the street have the markings of the afflicted?”
“We did nothing wrong! Nothing more than defend ourselves! And those bastard soldiers simply kept shooting at us. And then they started muck-spouting about how we had attacked them. Whoresons, the lot of them!”
“Now, after weeks of endless battles, running from street to street, hiding behind broken buildings, and being mercilessly attacked day and night, we've won the battle. But the remaining soldiers have thrown their uniforms away and are dressed like civilians. They are waiting for the chance to strike. And you want us to talk to the muck-spouts? To listen to more of their lies while they bide their time looking for more ways to kill us?” She stared at Hendrick as though he was breathing Vitanna’s mist.
“No! We won't do it! We are not diseased. We are not churls and hedge born. We have not been cursed by the Goat Footed God. Nor are we lessor people who should be looked down upon. We are instead blessed by Ri Altenne. And we have a right to live the same sorts of lives as everyone else. But these whoresons will never let us do that. So we will take that right for ourselves! And it is not your place to judge us.” There was real bitterness in her voice as she added the last.
“Go! And be quick about your business, brewer.”
With that she turned and marched off, leaving him sitting there on his horse, feeling more than a little confused. He understood her anger. All the afflicted would. He also understood that she was worried about being attacked again by soldiers dressed as civilians. But was she serious about the rest? How could she have been pulled here? That didn't make any sense. It would take magic to do that. But only the afflicted had magic. Why did she seem angered by his questions? They were surely only the same questions many others would ask. And if she was lying to him, then what was the point?
Still, he put aside his confusion and pulled his riding glove back on before setting off for the middle of the terrace. He had no idea where he was going. But he knew that if he stayed where he was he would look even more suspicious.
Besides, as he was riding along the streets a fragment of memory from his childhood came to him, telling him that there might be a way in. Because while he couldn't go through the barrier, perhaps there might be a way under it?
The other children had sworn blind that old man Peti had had a way in and out of the inner city. A secret entrance through which he could smuggle thieves and murderers in and out. Then again, they had also sworn blind that he was the head of the thieves guild – assuming that there was such a thing – and that he ran the black market in the city. They had also liked to pretend he was actually a retired pirate even though the nearest ocean was over three hundred leagues away.
Most of that was of course just children talking. Old man Peti had been a scary man with that huge scar running down one cheek. But that didn't matter. What did matter was that he had always seemed to have a lot of gold, and – according to rumour – contraband. Black market goods. Enchanted objects. Poisons and potions. Things that weren't allowed in the inner city even if they were allowed in the rest of the city. Things that weren’t allowed near the Court or the King. Things that would have been caught by the guards if he passed through the gates. Which meant that he had to have a secret way in and out of the inner city. A way under the wall as the children had said. And while Hendrick didn't know if there really was a tunnel, or if there was one where it was located, he knew where the Peti Estate was.
Unfortunately the estate lay in the inner city. Still, he reasoned as he headed in a more or less straight line toward it, if there was a tunnel, it surely came out somewhere on this side of the estate. All he had to do was find the entrance.
Chapter Seven
Hendrick struggled to push his way through the enormous piles of junk that filled the basement, wondering for the thousandth time if this was all in vain. It was the right property – he knew that. It was the only one that was owned by the self styled Lord Peti. Or at least the only one that had his name proudly proclaimed above its entrance. Though “proudly” might be a relative term. The wrought iron gate that opened to the path of broken paving stones crossing the overgrown front yard and leading to the front door of the premises, had the name “Peti Yard” etched on it. But it was hard to make it out clearly because it hadn't been painted in many years and the rust was thick. And as to why a nobleman – self proclaimed or otherwise – would own a rag and bone yard and attached mercantile, he didn't know. This was the sort of place where a man could buy a dozen items for a single styne. Where absolutely nothing was worth more than a couple.
The yard itself was an overgrown mass of weeds and junk that clearly hadn't seen a gardener in many years. And what he had in it was a collection of scrap unworthy of even the name.
And then there was the building itself. A structure that he worried was near to collapse. The roof was solid, but only because it was slate. But everything underneath it was unpainted wood that had almost rotted through. In places it had, and someone had nailed planks over the holes. That someone had clearly not been a carpenter. The stables beside it were actually more liveable.
Inside was nearly as bad. It had been poorly built and never been cared for. There had been leaks in the roof and walls that had turned into rivulets of mould. The floors creaked underfoot when he walked around and he feared he might be about to go through them in places. None of the doors opened or closed smoothly – the damp had caused them to swell over the years and no one had tended to them. While the light from the candles and lanterns had covered the ceilings with soot, which again no one had cleaned.
Most of all the whole place reeked of squalor. The downstairs which was the main store, was filled with rickety shelves full of dry rot. Its floors were heavily worn, and the windows were filled with the cheapest of glass – which also leaked. Upstairs there was a suite of offices that had never seen the business end of a broom let alone a mop. And in places the wind just seemed to blow straight through the paper thin walls. As for the basement storage area – it smelled.
This seemed like the last place anyone trying to claim a title would want to be associated with. On the other hand a bespawling half wit might consider it worthy, and his memories of Old Peti were starting to remind him that he had dribbled a lot and said strange things from time to time.
Still the man had called himself a lord. And this did not fit.
He remembered his mother all th
ose years ago, telling him that appearance was everything. You dressed to show it, and never complained about the tightness of your collar or the itch of the starch in your shirts. You rode in only the most expensive carriages and never in a cart. And you did not associate with those of lower station. Ever! They served you and that was the end of the matter.
While most of the nobility engaged in commerce it was always at a distance. They might have made their stynes by owning farms and factories, but they were always run by their employees. And they would never have thought to run something like this.
But the Peti Yard was probably the perfect place to hide a secret entrance into the inner city. It was also directly opposite the Peti Estate which was located just on the other side of the wall. Hendrick was guessing that if there was actually an underground route through to the inner city, he entrance would be through the basement.
But as he pushed his way through the junk below, using his free hand to push and pull, twist and turn anything that might remotely be a lever, he could see no evidence of it. And after hours of trying he was now feeling decidedly frustrated. Maybe Old Peti had never had such a tunnel? Maybe he hadn't run the black market either. Or the thieves guild. Or been a retired pirate. Maybe it had all just been the foolish chatter of children as his mother would have said.
“Any more thoughts?” He asked Val tiredly after having tried pushing and turning every knob, lever, hanger or object on all four walls that he could find for the tenth time at least.
“Only that you would make an excellent appetiser!” Val wasn't happy about being forced to watch him as he worked. He said his time was too valuable to waste watching a dullard do dim witted things.
“I probably wouldn't taste very good. I might even be poisonous to you.” Hendrick didn't know that of course. But he had to say something. Val was once again in a bad mood.
“I'd be willing to find out!” Val answered him. “And properly fried with some Velmer root, everything tastes good!”
“I've checked all the walls. There's absolutely nothing that moves.” Hendrick tried to put the conversation back on course. He wasn't in the mood to discuss how edible he might be.
“And have you checked the floor?”
“The floor?! I'm in a basement!” But even as he responded to the sage's bizarre suggestion, Hendrick started thinking. This basement had wooden floor boards. Why wasn't it made of stone like any other?
“I'm sorry Val. That’s a good idea. Thank you. And question answered.” Hendrick hurriedly released the spell before Val could tell him once more that he was always right and he needed to stop bothering him. Then he rushed back to the base of the stairs to begin his search of the floor.
“You down there?” A woman's voice unexpectedly floated down from the store above.
“Me. I mean Hendrick. Who's that?” Hendrick wondered who would be bothering him at this hour. It was late. The sun would be setting shortly. And besides, most everyone was in the process of packing up or leaving.
“Me.” The dark haired woman he'd met in the street earlier appeared at the top of the stairs. She was smiling. But it wasn't a friendly smile.
“And why are you in my uncle's store?” Hendrick had decided that that would be the best explanation he could give if someone asked him why he was in the Yard. And Old Peti wouldn't mind. He was probably long since dead. He'd been old when Hendrick had last seen him some twenty-one years before.
“Doing my job of course. Keeping an eye on the only man to enter the city today. Which reminds me – who were you talking to?” She sounded suspicious.
“Myself mostly. Uncle Peti – wherever he is and assuming he isn't dead. My horse sometimes.” Of course his horse was actually currently locked away in the stables, safe from those who might look upon her with envious eyes. But he did actually talk to her. The horse was a good listener.
“Huh!” She grunted at him in a less than ladylike manner. Then she started walking down the stairs to him. “A likely story. “I'd believe that fairies were flying around the room before that!”
“And tell me, do you expect to find your family in the basement of a rag and bone yard?”
“It's my uncle's yard – Peti of Styrion Might. I was actually looking for some sign that they'd been here after your people attacked. It's the largest home and it has a basement where people can hide. The family home has been burnt down. But if they had been hiding here I can't see a sign yet. They should have left a note. Something to say where they were or where they were going. Or at least some hint that they'd been here. Discarded clothes. That sort of thing.”
“I've told you, it wasn't an attack!” The woman reached the bottom of the stairs and stood in front of him, staring him straight in the eye. “We were brought here by some sort of spell. Simply deposited on the streets in the blink of an eye. And then the soldiers attacked us. We were only defending ourselves.”
“Of course! How could I forget?! You were dragged here magically by people with no magic, and the dwarves are building new houses for you on the sun!” It was Hendrick's turn to cast doubt on what was said. And to get an angry scowl in return.
“You, should be more careful with your words.” She narrowed her eyes to stare at him. “You have no idea what we who have been gifted by Ri Altenne can do to you.” In the darkness of the basement which was only relieved by the light from his burning torch, she did look menacing.
But was she really dangerous he wondered? That was the problem with magic. No one knew what spells they would be given when they picked up a piece of magic metal. They all looked much the same. And the markings on their flesh said nothing about what spells they had. Not that he could see any markings on her. She might be able to throw fireballs. Or she might be able to talk to cats. He had no way of knowing which if either might be true. At least, not until she actually cast her magic. And then it might be too late.
“Yes. I've already seen what you've done! Truly wondrous!” Hendrick let the bitterness out. If she was angry about this, he was too. This had once been a grand city, even if he was no longer allowed to enter it, save for those times when duty called. Now it was a ruin and people were lying dead in the streets. And from now on his life would be harder because of what she and her friends had done.
“Now if you don't mind I have a family to find, Lady. And you aren't helping. So please do whatever it is you came to do and leave me in peace.”
Maybe he had gone too far? As her eyes narrowed even further and her face wrinkled up in anger, he thought he might have. But he stood his ground, if only because he had to. Eventually she backed down.
“You – whoreson – have no idea who you're dealing with! Or how I'll deal with you if you annoy me further. Don't ever anger me like that again, or you'll soon find out.”
With that she turned and marched back up the stairs, leaving Hendrick standing there, his heart racing and cold sweat starting to bead on his brow.
He actually had a very good idea what she might be able to do – if she had some warspells. But he also knew that she had had to be faced down. If he hadn't done so she would have continued to bother him day and night. This way he at least had a little breathing room. He'd been lucky. Still, he suspected she would be back in the morning to check on him. She was like a bad brew. She came back.
He'd been lucky in another way, he realised. Since he wasn't wearing gloves his markings had been on display for her to see. But his hand had been clutched around the base of the torch, hiding the markings that began in his palm, while the sleeve of his jacket and the darkness had hidden the rest of them. But he would have to be more careful in future.
After making sure the dark-haired woman really had gone, Hendrick resumed his search. But this time he spent his time studying the floor instead of the walls. Looking for any unexplained joints that might reveal a hatch or trap door, or any marks in the dust that might suggest something that had been shifted. Listening for differences in the creak of the boards as he stood on one after
the other, It took time, partly because it was a massive basement covered in benches and free standing shelves, and partly because the light was poor.
Still he was thorough, getting right down on his hands and knees whenever he found something that seemed out of place. A floor board that was too soft or creaked too loudly. A deep scratch in the boards that was too straight and might have been a join. Even strange patterns in the dust. And eventually his methodical approach paid off and he found what he was looking for.
The trap door when he eventually found it, turned out to be extremely well concealed. It had been hidden under a wheeled bench that rolled away. He only discovered it because he had noticed some indentations in the boards from the casters rolling across them. And even when he rolled the bench away it was still difficult to make out what he'd found. But he discovered when he pressed his hand against one particular board, that it could be depressed lifting the other end up like a see-saw. It in turn revealed the cord that lifted up the trap door.
One thing was certain he realised; his newly claimed uncle Peti hadn't wanted this room to be discovered. Holding the torch in front of him, Hendrick used it to light his way as he descended the stone stairs leading down to the room underneath the basement. And then when he was finally standing in it he found out just why Lord Peti went to such pains to conceal this room.