The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows (14 page)

He pushed himself up against the wall. A moment later, the door opened and the light from the hall flooded into the room. He could see the shadows of two men in the swath of light that fell across the floor.

“—couldn’t believe it when I saw him. Word is, Tiel wants him bad.”

Tiel? What in Khyber’s name does he want?

Then it hit him. The money he was supposed to collect. Tiel thought he’d stolen it. Cutter frowned. Tough for him, then. He didn’t have time for this.

The two men entered the room. They froze when they saw the pieces of broken chair, but Cutter didn’t give them a chance to do anything more. He stepped forward and swung the chair leg into the back of the near one’s head. The man cried out and dropped to his knees. Cutter shifted his grip and swung again, this time backhand. It slammed across the face of the other man. His head jerked to the side and Cutter brought the leg back for another hit, sending him sprawling on his face. The first man was trying to get to his feet. Cutter brought the leg down on his skull. Blood sprayed across the floor and he collapsed to the side, his head hitting the floor first.

Cutter didn’t hang around. In the room beyond were a table and two chairs. On the table were an empty bottle, two glasses, and a pile of cards.

And his blades. Sitting near a small pile of coins. The bastards were playing cards for his weapons.

He picked up his knives and the money, then climbed the stairs to the club beyond.

W
ren and Torin hurried along the crowded streets of Callestan, dodging between drunken revelers and worse-for-wear courtesans.

“How much did this information cost you?” asked Torin.

Wren cleared his throat. “Not much,” he said evasively.

“Wren, he found out where this Salkith hangs out in under two hours! That kind of service doesn’t come cheap.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“So how much?”

Wren sighed. “Thirty galifars,” he said, and winced, waiting for the explosion.

“Thirty galifars!” shouted Torin. Some of the less drunk stragglers turned to stare. Torin glanced at them and lowered his voice. “Are you mad? You have to stop throwing money about like that. We’re not even getting paid for this!”

“No, but Larrien will be indebted to us, and that is much more valuable than money, my tight-fisted friend. By the way, you’re bordering on cliched behavior again.”

“It’s got nothing to do with me being a dwarf!”

“Oh? What does it have to do with?”

“With you being insane!”

“Oh, pish-posh, Torin. Relax.”

“Don’t—! Hey, isn’t that him?”

“Where?”

“Over there. Coming out of the alley.”

Wren looked to where Torin was pointing and saw a big man staggering into the main street. He didn’t look well. “Are you sure that’s him?”

“Definitely.”

“Why is he stumbling around like that?” asked Wren.

“How would I know? Maybe he’s been drinking to forget what happened.”

“Ah,” said Wren sorrowfully. “A mistake that brings many a downfall.” Wren patted Torin on the shoulder. “You could tell him a few stories about that, couldn’t you, Torin?”

Torin shook his head. “Are we going to follow him?”

“I think it would be a waste
not
to. I mean, since we’re here and everything. Unless … did you have something better in mind?”

But Torin was already walking away from Wren, keeping an eye on Cutter’s back as the human walked as fast as he could without falling over. Wren picked up his pace to catch up with Torin.

“He’s heading for the lifts. Run ahead and catch it, a few levels up. I’ll keep an eye on him from this side. If you see the Watch, alert them.”

Torin nodded and slipped away into the crowds. Wren followed Cutter as he made his way along the streets to the nearest lift. It took some time, as the human wasn’t moving very fast. Wren was worried that maybe the man had forgotten where it
was and he’d have to tackle him on his own, without Torin’s help.
Had
he been drinking? It certainly looked that way.

The reached the lifts without much incident. A couple of goblins had thought to take advantage of what they thought was a helpless drunk, but Cutter proved himself capable of taking care of himself. He slammed his fist into the throat of the first goblin. It dropped to the ground with a broken neck. The second came at Cutter with a rusty short sword. He slid inside the goblin’s guard, grabbed its sword arm, and pushed it back in a direction it was not meant to go. The arm snapped and the blade sank deep into the goblin’s chest.

Wren made a note to be very careful around Cutter.

When they arrived at the lift, Cutter climbed aboard and leaned wearily on the safety railing, his head resting on the backs of his hands.

Wren checked to make sure his dagger was easily accessible, then followed after. Cutter didn’t look up.

The lift jerked and started to move. Cutter was definitely as big close up as Torin had said. But, Host, did he look a mess. Wren’s gaze dropped to the weapons hanging from his hips. The scabbards were curiously shaped—long and curved. It took Wren a moment to realize they were Valenar blades.

Wren had barely gotten over his surprise when Cutter spoke to him.

“Why are you following me?” he said.

Wren’s eyes snapped up. Cutter had turned his head to stare at him over his shoulder.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I am merely returning from a night’s frivolity. I like to slum it, you see. Much more exciting.”

Cutter didn’t move. Wren did his best to keep his face nonchalant, the kind of look he frequently saw on the rich and bored.

“You’re lying. Are you from Tiel?”

Wren frowned. “Where is Tiel?”

“Not where. Who. Tiel is a person.”

“Oh. Then no, I’m not. I take it this Tiel is after you for some reason?”

Cutter was silent for a while. “A misunderstanding,” he said.

“Ah.”

The lift rose past the lower levels of the city. It stopped at a darkened street and a halfling and a dwarf staggered aboard, laughing as they passed a flask of spirits between them. Wren realized he didn’t know where Cutter was getting off. If he wanted to learn anything, he’d have to take a calculated risk. Just as the gate swung closed and the lift started to move again, Wren straightened up and cleared his throat. “Go to the university often?” he asked.

Cutter tensed and pushed himself up from the rails. He glanced at the halfling and the dwarf, then locked eyes with Wren. Neither looked away.

The two drunks lurched off at the next stop. As soon as the lift was rising again, Cutter moved, yanking his blades out and stepping toward Wren faster than he thought possible for a man in his condition. At the same moment, Wren pulled out his depleted wand with one hand and his dagger with the other. Cutter froze.

“Why are you asking about the university?”

“Curiosity,” replied Wren.

“Curiosity about what?”

“About why you killed the professor. I
think
it had to do with dreamlily, but I’m not sure.”

“I didn’t kill anyone! It was that damn warforged.”

Wren frowned. “What warforged? What are you talking about?”

Cutter hesitated.

“You don’t seem to understand,” said Wren. “Everyone thinks you killed him.
I
think you killed him. If you have a different story, now is the time to tell it.”

Still Cutter hesitated. He glanced at the towers drifting past. Then he sighed.

“When I reached the university, the professor was dead. I was looking for … something, and this … black warforged attacked me. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It wrapped shadows around its body like a cloak. I barely got away in one piece. If it wasn’t for some dwarf coming to investigate the noise, that thing would have killed me.”

“Interesting. And where does Rowen fit into all this?”

Cutter’s eyes narrowed. He moved to grab Wren, but the half-elf twitched the wand in the direction of Cutter’s face and he stopped, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “What do you know about Rowen?” he asked in a low voice. “Where is she? Have you seen her?”

Wren hesitated, trying to decide which route to take. Lies, or truth? Which would glean him the most information?

Probably the lie.

But he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but the man deserved the truth.

“Cutter, Rowen is dead. I’m sorry. Whoever she stole the package from killed her.”

Wren watched as Cutter tried to reject his words. It was almost as if he was fighting a battle, the words ricocheting against some kind of armor he had hastily erected around his mind.

But even the best armor had weak spots.

“You’re lying,” Cutter whispered.

“I wish I was.” He paused, searching for words. “She was a very beautiful woman,” he finally said.

“You … saw her?”

“I did.”

Cutter shook his head. “No. I was with her earlier tonight. It’s impossible.”

“Death can happen in an instant, Cutter. Believe me, I speak the truth.”

“No. It can’t be. We … we fought. We can’t leave it like that. She can’t be gone. Not when we’re fighting. That … that’s not fair.”

Wren didn’t know what to say. He was dimly aware of the lift slowing to a stop, but all he could see was the pain in Cutter’s eyes. The man was massive, a brute by any other name, but he was brought down by his love for a woman.

Wren heard the scrape of metal on metal. He blinked, pulling his eyes away from Cutter to see the lift surrounded by the Watch. Torin stood with them. The commander stepped aboard, sword point leveled at Cutter’s heart. Wren took a step back, unsure how the man would react in his current state of mind.

He didn’t do anything. He looked as if the life had simply drained out of him. He stood still while he was disarmed and then cuffed. He locked eyes with Wren just before he was pulled off the lift. He didn’t say anything, but Wren felt some kind of connection there, a kinship.

The Watch led Cutter through the streets, his head hanging low.

“Pretty good, aren’t I?” said Torin.

“What?” Wren glanced down at the dwarf.

“I found the Watch.”

“Oh. Yes. Well done. I think that’s it for tonight, Torin. Go home to your wife.”

Wren stepped onto the street and walked away.

“I can never please you, you know that?” Torin called behind him.

Wren returned to his apartments overlooking Skysedge Park. He stood on the balcony and stared over the gentle hills as the morning mist slunk down the banks and slowly filled the hollows and depressions.

It was over. For all intents and purposes, the case was solved. No judge would look beyond the facts as they were presented. Two lovers, one a courtesan, conspired to steal something from one of her clients. The man then killed the client in a fit of jealousy, and the courtesan was killed as revenge for the theft.

No one would investigate to find out who had killed her. These kinds of crimes were not important enough for the Watch to waste their time. Cheap courtesans in the lower levels died all the time. Just another death among a thousand others. No one cared.

But something wasn’t right. This whole thing, far from being an open and shut case, was a confused muddle of lies and mistaken assumptions, and Wren was as much to blame for that as anyone. He sighed, recognizing the feeling that was building inside his chest, that tight knot of impatience that told him things weren’t right. It wouldn’t go away. Not until he’d checked every last lead.

Wren turned from the balcony and stepped back inside. He grabbed the satchel that contained all his equipment, slung it over his shoulder, and headed out the door.

Lucky for him, he didn’t need much sleep.