Stalking Darkness (28 page)

“Hold still,” Seregil began, but Alec’s foot found sudden purchase against the wall and, with a final lurch, he toppled Seregil backward into the icy channel.

Fortunately, Seregil had the presence of mind to clamp his mouth shut as he went under. For a horrifying second he tumbled helplessly against the side of the channel, unable to find the bottom with his feet. Fetching up against the grate, he righted himself and used the crossbars to pull himself back onto the walkway.

Sputtering and retching, he grasped Alec by the back of the tunic and hauled him out of range of the sparks, then held him forcibly still while the white light faded slowly to a small orange glow. One torch still burned, and by it he could see the thin pall of smoke curling lazily near the roof.

Alec groaned again, hands pressed over his face.

Fearing the worst, Seregil dug the lightwand from his sodden tool roll and pulled the boy’s hands away to inspect the damage.

Alec’s hair and the vinegar mask had protected most of his face from the sparks, but half a dozen tiny blisters were already bubbling up on the backs of his hands. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he turned his head from the light. “Can you see anything?” Seregil asked anxiously.

“I’m beginning to.” Alec pressed one sleeve across his eyes, then blinked. “Why are you wet?” A look of shocked realization slowly spread across his face. “Oh, no. Oh, Seregil, I’m sorry!”

Seregil managed a tight grin, trying hard not to think about the water dripping down his face toward his mouth.

“What was that light?” Alec asked.

“I don’t know.” Going back to the grate, he climbed up to inspect the damage. “The pin is burned completely away, stonework cracked from the heat, top of the flange warped. And whatever it was, it must work on the other side, too, or you still couldn’t move the grate.”

Jumping the channel, he gripped the handle of the lightwand between his teeth and climbed up to inspect the upper corner.

“Tell me again what you saw.”

Still blinking, Alec came across and picked up the torch. “I held the flame close to the pin, trying to see if it had been cut. It must have been the heat, because the surface of the pin began to melt and run like wax. I think I saw something white underneath, just before it flared up the way it did.”

Craning his neck cautiously, Seregil found several inches of exposed pin between the flange and the stonework above. Using the tip of his dagger, he scraped gently at the surface of the pin. Curls of some black, waxy substance shaved off easily, revealing a white layer below.

“You were right. A band of silvery white metal has been set into the pin.”

The white substance cut easily as lead.

Extracting a tiny sliver, he handed it down to Alec on the tip of his blade. “Put it on the floor and light it.”

Alec set the sliver gingerly on the floor and, standing well back, held the torch to it. It burst at once into a brief, sputtering blaze of light that left black burns on the stone.

Alec let out a low whistle. “Bilairy’s Balls, I think we found what we’re looking for.”

“There must be enough iron in the center of the pin to strengthen it, but this stuff burns right through it.”

“Is it magic?”

Seregil cut away another small sample of the white substance.

“Maybe. I’ve never seen anything like it, but Nysander might know.”

Seregil placed the shavings carefully in the little ceramic jar he’d carried the firechip in, then handed it down to Alec.

“I sure made a mess of that corner,” Alec said, casting a worried look at the blackened stonework.

“True.” Seregil climbed down to join him. “Our saboteurs are bound to come checking sooner or later and even if they don’t, there are the Scavengers to consider. We’d better get Nysander down here, or

Thero.”

Alec’s sight slowly returned to normal as they cleaned up the site as best they could and started back.

“What about the locks?” he asked, reaching the first of the gated barriers.

“Best leave ‘em as we found ‘em,” Seregil replied. “I’ll scout ahead to the next one. You catch up.”

The lock was rusty; swearing softly under his breath, Alec ground a pick against the wards until something dropped into place.

Seregil was out of sight beyond a bend in the tunnel by then. Anxious to leave the rats and echoing dampness behind, Alec hurried after him.

He’d just caught sight of him ahead near the intersection of channels when Seregil suddenly collapsed sideways into the water with a startled grunt. The torch he’d been carrying hung precariously over the edge and by its light Alec saw two ragged, hooded figures jump out from the side tunnel, cudgels raised as they reached for Seregil’s floating form.

Without stopping to think, Alec let out a yell, drew his sword, and charged.

The gaterunners were caught by surprise, but the one closest to Alec got a long club up in time to block the first downward slash. Alec jumped back a pace and braced, ready to fight.

The narrowness of the walkway kept the fight to a one against one affair, but it also severely restricted the range of Alec’s swings. His opponents were more accustomed to such conditions. The second quickly jumped across the channel to outflank him from behind. Alec did the same, keeping his face toward them. He couldn’t see Seregil anywhere.

The current must have swept him back the way we came, he thought, and for a sickening instant he pictured the dog’s carcass and its attendant rats trapped against the lower bars of a grate. The gaterunners didn’t allow him time to dwell on the image, however. The one on his side of the channel was advancing, cudgel at the ready. From the corner of his eye, Alec saw the other reaching into his tattered tunic for something, presumably a knife or dart.

Suddenly, however, the runner slumped against the wall with a high-pitched wail, clutching at a throwing knife protruding from his shoulder.

“Hammil!” the one facing Alec cried out, and he realized it was a woman. “Let’s not anyone be stupid,” said a familiar voice from the shadows downstream.

Alec and the woman both turned in time to see Seregil step into sight on the far side. He was wetter than ever but held a second dagger at the ready as he walked slowly toward the wounded runner.

The boy scuttled weakly back, still clutching his arm. “We don’t mean any harm here,” Seregil said calmly, motioning for Alec to back slowly away.

The woman pushed her hood back, showing a harsh, deeply lined face. “Get away from my boy,” she growled, shaking her club threateningly in Alec’s direction.

“You started this. What do you want?” asked Seregil, stopping a few paces from the boy, dagger in hand.

“Nothin’,” the woman replied. “You’s just strangers is all, and strangers is getting to be a hazard down here. We’ve lost friends to strangers down here lately.”

Seregil sheathed his knife. Bending over the fallen boy, he examined the wound, then pulled the small throwing blade out. “It’s not too bad a cut,” he told the woman over his shoulder. “You’re lucky my aim was off.”

“I’m alright, Ma,” the young gaterunner gasped, cringing away from Seregil. By the dying light of the torch, Alec saw that he was younger than himself. He could also make out a thin ribbon of blood running down Seregil’s right cheek.

“You all right?” Seregil called over. “Yes. Are you?”

Seregil nodded, then stepped over the wounded boy and addressed his mother again. “I’ll leave yours if you’ll leave mine,” he told her, holding his hands out palm up.

Without a word, she sprang across, grabbed the boy up, and hurried him away into the shadows. Alec crossed over and reached to inspect the cut on Seregil’s scalp. “That’s quite a lump she raised.”

“Serves me right,” he muttered through chattering teeth. “Illior’s Fingers! Jumped by a pair of gaterunners. If the cold water hadn’t brought me around I’d have drowned.”

“I’m glad you didn’t kill him. He couldn’t have been more than twelve.”

Seregil braced one arm against the wall and let out a long sigh. “Me, too. It’s strange for them to have attacked in the first place. Runners are usually a pretty elusive lot. They steal and spy, but they generally avoid a fight.”

Frowning, Alec pulled off his face rag and pressed it to the cut on Seregil’s head. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’re looking kind of shaky.”

Seregil closed his eyes for a moment, resting one hand on Alec’s shoulder. Then, taking the cloth from him, he held it himself and continued on down the tunnel. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ve had all the swimming I care for tonight.”

They reached the upper entrance behind the mulberry bushes without incident, but the combined effects of cold and the blow were beginning to take their toll on Seregil.

“You go for Nysander,” he said, shivering even with his dry cloak pulled tightly around him. “I’d better stay and make sure no one tumbles to our little adventure in the meantime.”

To his surprise, Alec balked.

“No, you go,” he stated flatly. “Your head is still bleeding and I can hear your teeth chattering from here.”

“I’ll survive,” Seregil retorted. “I don’t want you here alone. What if someone does show up?”

“All the more reason for you to hurry,” Alec said stubbornly. “I’ll stay out of sight—they’ll never know I’m here. You’re the one needs looking after. Go on!”

Seregil could tell by the set of Alec’s jaw that his mind was made up. Cutting a small strip from the hem of his cloak, he handed it to Alec. “Hang on to this. Nysander can use it to find you. And keep out of sight no matter what, understand? No heroics.”

“No heroics.”

Seregil let out a defeated sigh. “If I’m not back soon, you get back to the Oreska, understand?”

“All right, yes! Will you just go? I don’t want to be here all night.” Pulling up his hood, Alec melted back into the shadows.

The pounding in Seregil’s head worsened as he dashed through the darkened streets toward the Oreska, but he managed to ignore the pain by worrying about Alec instead. Despite his faith in the boy’s quick wits, he couldn’t seem to shake off visions of Alec being caught unawares by the Watch or stealthy spies returning to check their handiwork.

Arriving at the Oreska filthy, wet, and bloody, he argued his way past the watchman and hurried up the twisting stairs to Nysander’s tower.

Thero opened the door and recoiled, covering his nose with one full sleeve. “By the Four!” he gagged, blocking the doorway. “You smell like you just crawled out of the sewers.”

“Very observant of you. Get out of my way.” “You’re not coming in here like that. Go down to the baths first.” “I don’t have time for this, Thero. Now move or I’ll move you.”

The two glared at each other, years of mutual dislike laid open between them without the gloss of banter or social nicety. Either could have done the other considerable harm if it came to open confrontation, and they both knew it.

“Alec’s alone out there, and we need Nysander’s help,” hissed Seregil.

With a last disgusted look, Thero stepped aside and let him through to the workroom. “He’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

“Out for his nightly walk, I imagine,” Thero replied stiffly. “Or perhaps you’ve forgotten about those?”

“Then summon him!” Seregil paused, took a deep breath, and said through clenched teeth, “If you please.”

Thero conjured a message sphere with a casual wave of his hand. Balancing the tiny light over his palm, he said to it, “Nysander, Seregil needs you right away. He’s in the workroom.” The light shot away through the floor. He waved Seregil to a wooden bench near one of the tables, but remained standing himself.

The young wizard was immaculate as ever, Seregil noted sourly, his robe spotless beneath his leather apron, his curly black hair and beard neatly trimmed, blunt-fingered hands unsullied. The thought that he’d inhabited that angular frame himself, if briefly, still made him cringe inwardly. That Thero had had the use of his body didn’t bear thinking about.

“You’re bleeding,” Thero said at last, stepping reluctantly toward him. “I’d better have a look.” Seregil drew back from his touch. “It’s just a scratch.”

“You have a lump the size of an egg over your ear and fresh blood on your cheek,” Thero snapped. “What do you think Nysander would say if I let you sit there like that?” Wethis, the young servant, brought clean water and dressings and Thero set about cleaning the wound.

Nysander returned just as he was finishing. “What an unprecedented tableau,” the wizard exclaimed, hurrying in between the stacks of manuscripts. He was dressed in a threadbare surcoat and trousers. Seregil noted with a twinge of pride how kind and unwizardly his old friend looked in comparison to his stiff assistant.

“By the Light, Seregil, what an appalling stench! When you have finished there, Thero, please go and find him a clean robe.”

Folding the bloodied towel next to the basin, Thero disappeared down the back stairway to their quarters.

Nysander smiled, examining his assistant’s handiwork. “He does surprise me sometimes. But where is Alec?”

“Take this.” Seregil pulled out another scrap of cloth he’d cut from his cloak and pressed it into Nysander’s hand. “We found what we were looking for, sabotage in the tunnels, but made one hell of a mess doing it. I need you to fix it up for us. Alec’s waiting by the entrance, so we’d better hurry.”

Nysander shook his head. “Yes, of course, but I see no reason to drag you out again. You are still chilled to the bone, and a translocation would not be the best thing for you after such a knock on the head.”

Seregil rose to protest and was very surprised to feel the floor lurch beneath his feet in a decidedly unpleasant manner.

“There now, you see?” Nysander chided, pressing him back down on the bench. “You go downstairs and sit by the fire. Alec can show me whatever it is I need to see.”

“I can’t just sit here,” Seregil insisted again, though his head was still spinning. “We ran into one pair of gaterunners down there already tonight. There could be others, or worse.”

Nysander raised a shaggy eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting that Alec would not be safe in my company?”