The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows (26 page)

Cutter waited until the man finished. “You done? I hope so, because you take that tone with me again and I walk.”

“Good! Please. Walk.”

“I don’t think you want me to do that.”

“On the contrary. I’ve had a difficult time of late, and the last thing I want is someone of your caliber hanging around causing trouble.”

“I see.” Cutter made a show of glancing around, looking bored. Then he took the silk-wrapped bundle from his pocket. “You won’t be needing this, then?”

“What is it?” Xavien reached out and took the bundle, unwrapping it to see what was inside.

When he saw the shard, he actually dropped it. Cutter couldn’t believe his eyes. Xavien yanked his hands out from under it as if it burned him. Cutter caught it before it hit the floor.

“Are you insane? Do you know how much trouble it was to find this?”

Xavien gripped him by the shoulder and moved him closer to the windows. He made sure no one was nearby before he spoke. “Where did you get it? I was told it was lost.”

Cutter shrugged. “I don’t like to leave a job undone. I went back to the university after the Watch left. He’d hidden it in his office.”

Cutter could see Xavien running everything through his mind. The old man looked out at the rising sun. “There’s still time,” he said to himself.

Cutter kept quiet, hoping Xavien would say something else that would tell him what was going on.

No such luck. Xavien turned his attention back to Cutter.

“You were supposed to deliver this to someone.”

“At the Goblin’s Revenge. Yes. But I doubt they’ll still be waiting for me.”

“No, of course not. You’ll have to take it directly to him. He doesn’t have much time.”

Damn. Was Salkith supposed to know where this person lived? But then, why arrange the drop at the tavern?

“Where am I meant to take it?” he said, chancing a risk.

“Quiet. I’m thinking.” Xavien pursed his lips and stared at Cutter for what seemed like an age. He moistened his thin lips. “You understand I’m going to trust you with something that is dangerous to know.”

Cutter didn’t say anything.

“If word gets out, or if anything goes wrong, we’ll know it was you. We have resources you wouldn’t believe. You will never escape. You will be hunted down and killed.”

“I don’t like threats, Xavien.”

“I understand that. I’m just telling you how it is. There’s a lot at stake here. I need you to finish what you started. And just so you know I appreciate your … enthusiasm to finish the job, I’ll triple your fee. But only if you deliver the shard.”

“Who to?”

“A priest.”

“A priest? What would a priest want with this?”

“Because he is a priest of the Shadow. Please do not ask any more questions, because I won’t answer them. You will find him at the Temple of the Six in Khyber’s Gate. He is an elf called Anriel. Are these instructions clear?”

“You want me to go down to Khyber’s Gate during Long Shadows? I think I’ll need more than triple.”

“How much, then?”

“Ten times the original amount.”

Xavien didn’t even blink. “Done. Now hurry. He must have the shard before the changing of the next Watch. Tell him the rest of the plan is back on track. He will understand.”

Xavien turned his back on Cutter and walked away, disappearing through a distant door. Cutter watched him go, then headed across the floor to the lift.

“Khyber’s Gate?” said Torin. “Why there?”

“I’ve told you what he told me. You know as much as I do.”

“A priest of the Shadow,” said Wren. “Can it be a coincidence that this is happening now? During Long Shadows?”

“No way,” said Torin. “The Shadow’s priests have more power now than at any other time during the year. I’d say that whatever they’re doing could only be accomplished during these three days.”

“That makes sense,” said Cutter. “Remember what he said about there still being time, and that it had to be done today.”

“And today is the last day of Long Shadows.” Wren sat back in his chair. “I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

“Neither do I, but if I stand any chance of finding out who did this to Rowen, I have to follow it through.”

“And don’t forget clearing your name of murder,” said Wren. “I realize that’s not quite as important as revenge, but it’s high on the list of priorities.”

Torin shook his head. “Are we seriously suggesting we let him take the Khyber dragonshard straight to the people who wanted it in the first place? That professor died because he didn’t want it falling into their hands.”

Wren frowned. “He’s right, Cutter. It’s too dangerous. We
have no idea what they want it for. Taking it to them is a stupid thing to do.”

“What makes you think you have any say in the matter?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m the one holding the dragonshard, and short of killing me and stripping it from my corpse, there’s no way you’re going to stop me from going to Khyber’s Gate and finding out why Rowen died.”

Wren stared at him. “You know, you’re a very hard man to like.”

“Just as well I don’t care then, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Just as well.” Wren stood and moved around the table. “Torin, I seem to have left my money at home. Pay the bill, will you? We travel to Khyber’s Gate.”

T
he way Cutter looked at life, the rich people landed at the top of the pile—the bankers, the businessmen, the politicians (the crooked ones, at least), and the higher echelons of the criminal world.

Directly underneath were the people who kept them in those positions—the badly-paid workers, the people who borrowed their money and had to pay interest, the people who voted them into power, and the people who supported crime in any number of ways.

At the bottom were the people who did everything else. The ones who cleaned up the messes everyone else made, and the ones who took an active role in the criminal lifestyle, working directly for the crime bosses at the top.

It was the same with the city. At the very top of the pack was Skyway, a part of the city that floated above Central and Menthis Plateau. Then there was the Upper City, where all the aforementioned bankers and politicians lived. Middle City
housed the workers, the people who scraped and saved just to get by. Then there was the Lower City where Cutter lived. He considered it pretty much the bottom of the barrel, but the one thing Sharn had taught him was that someone was always worse off than yourself.

Below Lower City were the Depths. The Depths held the sewers of the city—huge, algae-covered aqueducts that once carried water but now shipped the city’s effluence to Khyber knew where. Beneath these sewers were ancient ruins and mold-ering buildings—all that remained of Sharn’s earlier ages.

And underneath that, underneath everything, were the Cogs.

The Cogs stretched underground the whole length and breadth of Sharn. Lakes of fire dotted the landscape of the Cogs. Channels of sluggish lava carved through the bedrock, powering the industrial heart of the city. The Cogs were home to the city’s foundries and forges, the slaughterhouses and tanneries. The stench of sulfur was ever present, and oily black smoke lurked around chimneys that were no more than uneven holes cut in ceilings, too small to handle the belching smoke. The walls were stained black, the slightest touch leaving hands covered in grime.

A short visit to the Cogs meant hacking up filth and soot from your lungs for a week.

This was where Khyber’s Gate lay. Khyber’s Gate was the only housing district in the Cogs, and its crumbling tenements were home to nearly all the goblins and bugbears who worked there.

“So what’s the plan?” asked Wren. They walked nervously through the all-but-deserted streets.

“Identify Anriel and find out what he knows.”

“What if he doesn’t tell you?” asked Torin, looking around
and fingering one of the many knives he had armed himself with after learning where they were going.

“He’ll tell me.”

Wren stepped around something messy in the street. “I understand you need the shard to get inside the temple,” he said, pausing briefly to check the sole of his shoe, “but Cutter, you can’t let the shard get out of your sight. Do you understand that? Whatever they have planned for it, it can’t be good.”

“I’m not stupid,” said Cutter. “Host, you’re like an old woman, you know?”

Torin looked around uneasily. “Where is everyone? This place is like a ghost town.”

“Last night was the final night of Long Shadows,” said Wren. “I’ll bet everyone had a bit of a party.”

“Oh. So those weren’t dead bodies we passed a while back? They were just drunk?”

“Mmm … no. I think those
were
dead bodies. Those goblins are just passed out, though.” Wren pointed at three goblins and a bugbear lying on the pavement outside a tavern.

“I have to say I’m a bit confused as to how one gains entry into the headquarters of one of the most powerful criminal gangs in the city,” said Torin.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Cutter.

“And?”

“And I haven’t come up with anything.

I’ll play it by ear.” “I’ll lay odds you end up using your fists.”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“There are more elegant ways of achieving one’s goals, Cutter,” said Wren.

“Like what?”

“Like using an invisibility potion.”

Cutter stopped in his tracks. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. I picked it up from my apartments before we went to the college. The thing is, the effects won’t last very long.”

“But it’ll get me inside?”

“Yes. And another one will get you out.”

“Then that’s all I need.”

They stopped at a side road that traveled to their left and seemed to end against a sheer rock face. Except it wasn’t a rock face. Cutter could see flickering light through small openings scattered all the way up to the stalactites of the distant roof. Two guttering torches framed an almost invisible doorway carved from the rock. That was it. The infamous Temple of the Six.

“Doesn’t look like much,” said Cutter.

“Maybe so,” said Wren, “but it has warrens that extend for miles below ground. As far as I know, it was built by some of the original inhabitants of this city, long before any of us showed up.”

“I’d better get moving,” said Cutter.

Wren handed him two small vials.

Cutter pocketed one and opened the other. “All of it?”

“Every drop,” said Wren.

Cutter emptied the contents down his throat. It tasted like the medicine his mother used to give him. He grimaced and smacked his lips, dropping the vial to the ground. He looked at his hands as they slowly faded from sight.

Cutter moved to the side, watching Wren and Torin to see if they could detect the movement. But their eyes remained fixed on the spot where he had been when he took the potion. He turned onto the road without a word and headed for the temple. He could hear his footsteps and his breathing. He should have asked Wren about that. Could other people hear him? Or were his sounds masked as well? He decided to play it safe and assume
others could hear him. That way, there’d be no surprises.

The doors were closed, but as he pushed on them they slid smoothly inward. He quickly stepped to the side, in case someone was standing there. Nobody appeared, so he slipped through the door and into a long corridor. The walls were roughly carved from the rock, all angles and hard lines. Coldfire torches lit the way.

He pulled the doors closed and set off down the hall. At the bottom of the corridor was an anteroom with three passageways leading deeper into the temple.

Four priests of the Keeper stood at the far right passage. They were dressed in rags, their faces dirty and drawn. Cutter froze, but they hadn’t heard him. They were too busy looking at a parchment of some kind. Cutter slipped around the wall and took the corridor closest to the entrance.

It led to a staircase that wound up through the rock. He took the stairs and reached another long corridor, this one lit by real torches. The greasy flames guttered and spat oil onto the walls. Black smoke marks smeared the rock above the sconces.