“And this Cutter?”
“Mmm. Good point.” He thought for a moment. “How about this? They were both in on it. Rowen told Renaia a cleaned-up version of what happened. This Salkith probably did come, and then they killed the professor for the dreamlily.”
They walked for a while. “No,” Torin said. “That still doesn’t feel right.”
“I agree. Why would Rowen tell Renaia that Salkith came to pick something up? It’s pointless if she’s lying. There’s no need for it.”
“And we know Rowen was hiding in the room. So that part of the story is backed up. It’s the professor’s death that puzzles me.”
“I know what I saw, Wren.”
“I know. But this Cutter works for the Boromar Clan, right? What if he was simply told to kill the professor for pulling out of the deal? What if his relationship to Rowen is just a coincidence?”
“You mean he didn’t know Rowen would do this?”
“He could have known. But he would have to carry out the deed anyway, to divert suspicion away from her. Host, he might even have enjoyed it. Remember, this professor was sleeping with his girlfriend. What do you think?”
“I think we need to find this Salkith and find out what he has to say.”
“I thought you wanted to get home to your bed?”
“Not a chance. This is getting too interesting.”
The second day of Long Shadows
Far, the 27th day of Vult, 998
The city of Sharn existed in its current form only because it was built on a manifest zone that linked the city to the plane of Syrania. This link strengthened any kind of spell related to levitation and flight, and thus the vast towers within the city were able to soar without risk. If the link between the planes were to fail, most of Sharn’s towers would collapse beneath their own weight.
But within this magical zone were anomalies, areas where the magic was slightly distorted, where the influence of Syrania was felt, but in unexpected ways.
The Hanging Gardens was one such place. It occupied the entire top half of a tower in Middle Menthis, and it made the most of its fame by catering to as many needs as possible. It had numerous shops, four restaurants, two theaters, eleven taverns, and four inns. The Hanging Gardens was almost an entire ward in its own right, and entrepreneurs fought (sometimes literally) to get on the waiting list.
What was so special about the Hanging Gardens was that by some strange quirk in the connection between planes, gravity was reversed.
From the perspective of someone entering the base of the tower and glancing up, it was like looking into a mirror. The whole top half of the tower was upside down. The heads of tiny people could be seen as they moved about the pathways and bridges.
Cutter hated it, but he had no choice but to go there if he wanted to get the information he needed. He climbed one of the special ramps designed for access to the Gardens. The ramp started amid normal gravity, but as it climbed around the inside of the tower, it gently curled around on itself until he was walking upside down. He glanced up and saw the Gardens ahead of him, now the right way up. He looked to where he had entered the tower. Everyone seemed to be hanging from the ceiling.
He entered one of four entrance courtyards to the Hanging Gardens. The square was wide and unroofed, as was everything in the Hanging Gardens except private rooms. Pale white marble shot through with blue veins paved the courtyard. Looks like Karrn cheese, Cutter thought. Ivy climbed up the walls all around him, and greenery of all kinds had been planted seemingly at random, giving Cutter the impression that he was standing in some ancient city discovered in Xen’drik.
On the other side of the courtyard was an arched doorway. A decorative trellis carved with the likeness of the Ring of Syberis followed the curve of the opening. The various moons of Eberron, carved from different kinds of precious gemstones, dotted the lattice at regular intervals.
Cutter ducked through and followed the short corridor beyond to a wide thoroughfare crowded with people. This was the main street of the Gardens. Vendors were set up all along the road, selling snacks and clothing, books and drinks. Cutter moved with the flow until he came to a huge tavern on his right. A sign with a picture of a decapitated gargoyle hung from the eaves. He pushed his way out of the throng and slipped through the doors.
A busy night. Cutter used the cover of the crowd to make sure Tiel wasn’t seated at his usual booth. He did a lot of his business at the Gargoyle. Cutter was in luck. No sign of the halfling.
Cutter allowed himself a small sigh of relief and headed to the bar. Katain, the halfling owner of the Gardens, spotted him and raised a hand in greeting. He finished serving a shifter, then approached him behind the bar, grabbing a bottle and two glasses as he came.
“Cutter,” he said. “What brings you to my humble establishment? Thought you hated the place.” Katain poured two shots of the lethal spirits he imported from the Talenta Plains and slid one across to Cutter.
Cutter raised the glass in thanks and tossed it back. He smacked his lips. “I do. But I need information, and you were the only one I could think of.”
Katain grinned. “Five years out and you lot still come to me for help.”
“Just because you’re retired doesn’t mean you don’t keep your ears to the ground.”
“You’re right. In fact, I reckon I pick up more information now than I did when I was working for the Boromars. I should have opened this place years ago. To think of all that time standing on street corners in the middle of the night, waiting for contacts to show up. I could have done it all from here.”
Cutter shook his head. “You would have been drunk all the time. Too much temptation.”
“True. In fact, I’m drunk now.” Katain grinned and downed another shot. “So. What do you need?”
“I’m looking for Salkith. He did a job for the Boromars tonight and he hasn’t turned up. People are worried.”
“Worried about him or worried he’s run off with their money?”
Cutter shrugged. “I don’t ask questions.”
“Wise man.” Katain looked thoughtful for a moment. “Salkith. He usually unwinds at a place called Silvermist. It’s a dream parlor in Callestan. But if he’s there, he might not be much help to you.”
“Thanks, Kat.”
“No problem.” Someone called for his attention. The halfling turned and waved. “I’ll leave the bottle here. See you round.”
Katain went to attend to his customers. Cutter poured another drink, but this time sipped it slowly.
“Well, well. Always knew I’d find you propping up a bar someday.”
Cutter froze, then swallowed the drink and carefully replaced the glass. He took hold of the bottle and turned around on his stool.
He’d often wondered what he’d do if he ever saw Jana again. And now, here she was. She still looked the same—pale skin, black hair down to her lower back. It was even tied in the same tight braid she always wore. But as he stared at her, he noticed there were changes. She looked thinner than before—harder. He remembered how he used to stare into her wide brown eyes and think they were the most beautiful he’d seen, but now they were continually narrowed as if she was suspicious of everything around her.
She still smelled like a miracle, though. Of jasmine in summertime. He realized with a guilty start that it was the same scent he had bought for Rowen. How had he not noticed that before?
He waited a moment to make sure his voice was calm. “Jana. Had a promotion, I see.”
“Captain.”
“Congratulations. Who’s your pet?”
Jana glanced at the man to her right. Cutter reckoned he was in his early thirties.
“This is Corporal Conal. I’m keeping an eye on him.”
“Poor man.”
Jana cocked her head to the side. “You look older, Blackbird.”
“I am.”
“No. You look older than your years. Where have you been?”
“Valenar.”
“Being a slave. For four years.”
Her eyes widened a fraction. Not much, but enough that he noted.
“And the name’s Cutter now,” he said.
Jana cocked an eyebrow. “What kind of a name is that?”
“The kind of name I earned. One that I’m proud of.”
“What? You’re not proud of Blackbird? It suited you so well.” She turned to Conal. “He was always after the shiny stuff, you see. Couldn’t keep his beak out of trouble.”
Cutter took a swig of spirits, watching them both.
“So what are you up to nowadays, Blackbird?”
“None of your business.”
Jana stepped forward. “Be nice to me, Blackbird. I can haul you off to jail and no one would even notice.”
“Like you did before?”
“Exactly like I did before.”
Cutter stood. “Well, it’s been lovely catching up. We should get together again, have supper or something.” He turned to Conal before he left. “Watch your back, corporal. She’s a dangerous one.”
Silvermist was a dream parlor, a place where people went to experience illusions and shows different from the more run-of-the-mill plays and supper theaters of the upper wards. The changeling Jix even got a write-up in the Chronicle for her one-woman opera, a review that gave the parlor a brief dabbling of fame as the upper class, bored with the usual routine, organized coach parties complete with bodyguards and packed suppers (just in case the food wasn’t up to standard), to take them down into the dangerous wards of Lower Dura.
This was something that quite upset the Boromar clan, as they secretly owned Silvermist and were using it as an illegal dreamlily den.
Steps had to be taken, and Cutter had been one of the Boromar employees hired to hassle and intimidate the guests until they stopped visiting. It had been his first job for them.
He nodded to the doorman and stepped into a dimly lit dining room. The smells of the night’s dinner service lingered in the air. Roasted meat and vegetables. Seafood and lemon. Fried potatoes. His stomach grumbled in response. He ignored it and looked around.
A bright flare of blue and orange light forced him to shield his eyes. An intake of breath sounded throughout the room, sounding like a sigh of wind. He had entered right at the beginning of a show.
The blue and orange light coalesced into a gently spinning ball that hovered in the air over the stage, the separate colors twining and bleeding into each other like paint in water. Then it split into two separate balls that drifted apart until they were hovering close to the walls. They spun faster and faster, their glows growing in strength until one side of the room was bathed in blue, while the other was suffused in orange.
The onlookers’ faces were bathed in color. Cutter looked around and saw that the dream parlor had a full house.
The light slowly dimmed. Cutter looked to the front and saw the balls condensing into tiny points of light. After a moment of near darkness, the balls burst open in a silent explosion, flinging globes of multicolored light in all directions. The audience gasped. Some tried to reach up and touch them, but the spheres darted away as if they were alive, drawing appreciative chuckles from the spectators. The balls stopped moving and again shrunk down in size, the light fading until Cutter realized with a small shock of perception that he was actually looking at the night sky, the balls of light now thousands of stars.
Then tiny dragons swooped through the air, banking around tables, swooping in to hover before the delighted faces of the patrons.
Cutter could see Salleon standing on the stage, the gnome’s hands extended as he wove the illusion with deft flicks of his fingers, his eyes closed in concentration.
Cutter gave himself a mental shake and pulled himself away from the show, winding his way through the tables to a door in the far wall. The door led to a corridor, with the kitchen and private dining suites on either side. At the end was another door, which Cutter found to be locked.
Cutter knocked and waited. It opened a moment later, and he stared into the face of a half-orc.
Cutter racked his brain, trying to think of his name.
“Uh … Dajin, right? How’s it going?”
The half-orc said nothing.
“Fine. Listen, I need to speak to Salkith. Instructions from high up.”
The half-orc stared at him.
“I know he’s here. And so does Tiel. You know who Tiel is?”
Cutter saw the eyes flicker slightly. He took that for a yes.
“Good. Now if you know Tiel, you know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I have information to deliver. Are you going to let me in?”
Dajin paused for a moment, then stood aside.
“Thanks.”
Cutter stepped into a large room. Couches lined the walls, along with glamerweave tapestries depicting cityscape scenes from Gatherhold in the Talenta Plains. Seven doors nestled between the tapestries. “Which one?” he asked.
Dajin gestured at a door to Cutter’s left. Cutter opened it and slipped inside the room. The door clicked shut behind him.
The room was tiny. A young dwarf attendant stood beside a bed on which the tanned, wiry form of Salkith was lying. His long, sandy hair was carefully braided and placed on the pillow above his head. The attendant looked at Cutter in surprise, pausing in the movement of lifting a small vial of white liquid to the halfling’s mouth.
“What are you doing?” she said. “You can’t come in here.”
“Wrong. Salkith’s needed back at work. How much have you given him?”
The attendant frowned and glanced at the unconscious figure. “He’s already had one dose tonight. I was just about to top him off.”
“Don’t. I need him awake. How long before he comes out of it?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“Guess.”
“About half a bell.”
“Thank you. Now, get out and don’t disturb us. I may have to hurt you if I thought you overheard something you shouldn’t have.”
The woman drew herself up in protest. “I resent—”
“Resent all you want. Just tell me if you understand. That way, I won’t feel bad killing you if I catch you spying.”
The woman paled. “I … I understand.”
“Well done. Now get out.”
The attendant hastily left the room. Cutter waited to see if Dajin would come bursting in, but either she didn’t tell the half-orc, or he thought it was best to stay out of it.
The room was empty except for the bed. He checked underneath it and found two drawers built into the frame. They were filled with white sheets, freshly laundered and folded. Cutter pulled one out and used his Khutai blade to cut it into strips, then lifted Salkith’s arms above his head. He tied them together with the torn sheet, then ran the strip beneath the bed and did the same with his feet.
Cutter stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. No way he was getting out of that. Cutter pulled the other Khutai blade from its sheath and knelt on the floor, placing the knives to either side of him.
He closed his eyes and waited.
It took a little more than half a bell for the halfling to wake. Cutter heard the rustle of the sheets and opened his eyes. He saw Salkith turning his head from side to side as he tried to figure out what was going on.
Cutter picked up his blades and stood. Salkith’s eyes widened slightly as he saw Cutter rise up from the floor.
“Who—” Salkith licked dry lips. “Who are you?”
“Here’s how it works. You’ve already wasted my time—”
“I’ve been asleep,” he protested.
“Is that what you call it? Anyway, that’s not my problem. I’ve been waiting here more than half a bell now, and that’s all the time I was going to give you. Which means you need to talk very fast to tell me what I want to know.”
Salkith strained against the bindings, his corded muscles standing out against his tanned skin
. Cutter was glad he’d tied him up. The halfling looked like he could be quite a handful.
“I’ll kill you,” said Salkith. “And your family. Do you have a wife? A woman? Children? They’re dead, you hear me? I’m going to strip their skin and hang it out to dry!”
Cutter stared at him for a moment. “You have no idea what a bad choice of words that was,” he said softly. He leaned over the incapacitated halfling. “Listen to me carefully,” he whispered. “I’m going to hurt you now. I’m going to keep on hurting you until you tell me what I want to know. If you scream, I’ll kill you. I’ll slit your throat. If you make any sound above a whimper, any sound that can be heard outside this room, you’re dead. Do you believe me? Just nod.”
Salkith stared into his eyes. After a long, trembling pause, he nodded.
“Good.” Cutter drew the razor-sharp edge of the blade down Salkith’s arm. Blood welled from the cut and stained the white sheets. Salkith squirmed and moaned, his eyes never leaving Cutter’s.
“That was to show you I’m being serious. Now, what happened tonight at the professor’s rooms?”
Salkith’s brows drew together at the sudden change in topic. “What … happened? I don’t understand.”
Cutter punched Salkith in the face. Hard. The halfling’s head jerked to the side. Droplets of blood sprayed over the white wall.
“Wait!” he snarled. “I don’t understand! What do you want to know?”
“What happened?”
“But … nothing happened. I was supposed to pick something up from him. A … a package. But he changed his mind and didn’t want to give it to me.”
“You were supposed to pick it up from him?”
Salkith nodded desperately.
“What was in the package?”
“I don’t know. I’m just a courier!”
“So what did you do?”
“I left. I wasn’t about to argue with him. I reported it and came here. That’s all I know.”
Cutter frowned. “What were you supposed to do with the package?”
“I was supposed to meet someone at a tavern in Khyber’s Gate. The … the Goblin’s Revenge, it was called.”
The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows Page 8
