by Chris Bunch
I wondered how the conspirators had been able to dig such an elaborate work without being seen, but when I brushed against the tunnel’s walls, which were heavily nitered brick, I realized they’d merely happened on it. Perhaps this had been a smuggler or pirate’s lair in the distant past, abandoned or forgotten.
I heard a rat chitter, then we came around a curve, and saw light. At the same time, we heard a voice booming, for all the world like that of a priest in a temple.
The tunnel mouth was a low arch, and I saw the outline of a figure, a man with a sword in one hand. But his back was turned to us, and he was intent on whatever was going on in the chamber inside.
I looked at Kutulu, and he gestured me back around the bend.
“So there’s more than one entrance,” he whispered. “That isn’t Malebranche’s voice, so whoever’s speaking must have come in some other way. Either that, or people live down here. I think we should see more.” I was impressed with the little man. There was not the slightest sign of fear in his voice.
“Now,” he went on calmly, “I think a bit of your soldierly skills are needed. Can you take out that guard without raising the alarm?”
I thought so, and also thought that Kutulu was talking too much. I touched my finger to my lips, pointed to the ground — stay here. Stay silent. I considered various possibilities, then crept around the corner. I held close to the wall, and moved forward. I was relatively unworried. Unless I stumbled over something, there would be no way the sentry could be alerted — he would be night-blind and unable to see me.
I kept my eyes on the cobbles in front of me, and never looked directly at the man in front of me. I refuse to accept any senses beyond the normal, except those seers might develop, but it’s a fact that if you stare at the back of someone’s head long and hard enough, he will turn.
I’d thought of taking him down with my knife, but in spite of my assurances to Kutulu I was not really an artist with the small blade. The leaded gloves were a better solution. A few feet from the guard I went into a crouch, then went forward, not fast, but very smoothly, rising to my full height, and smashing the back of my fisted hand against his neck. His body contorted, I grabbed his sword before it could fall and clatter on the cobbles, and I eased him to the ground. I don’t know if he was dead, but if he was not he’d be out for a very long time and very sick if he came to.
I went back to Kutulu, and we slipped to the mouth of the tunnel.
The chamber inside was rectangular, fairly large, with an arching brick roof. I saw two other entrances, both with large wooden doors. It did, indeed, resemble a temple, since there were benches from front to back and a low dais in the front.
The man speaking did have the rolling, sonorous speech of a priest, but he certainly didn’t look imposing. Rather, he looked like the jolly fat grover in the market, complete with a small fringe of a beard.
And his words were anything but religious:
“… but it isn’t the gold which we must be thinking of at this most important time, Brother.”
There were about sixty men and women sitting on the benches, all cleanly dressed and sober-appearing, paying no attention to anything but the speaker. Among them I saw the Marchioness Fenelon and some other noblemen and -women I’d seen around Nicias. I spotted Count — or rather former Count — Komroff, whom I’d seen holding forth the evening I first met Marán. But nobles were in the minority — most of the people in the audience were poor or working class in their desperately scrubbed best outfits.
I saw Kutulu’s head swiveling from man to woman to man, creating new entries for his file.
The man whom the priest, for so I kept thinking him to be, had been addressing frowned, not satisfied.
“I know, Brother. But when a loyal Sister tells me she must have food for her babies, it’s hard to tell her not to reap the spoils she’s entitled, the spoils Thak promised us.”
A man sitting with his back to me rose, and I recognized Malebranche.
“Sir … since I’m not a member of your order, I cannot call you Brother … let me repeat what I’ve said before. My master has more than enough gold to provide for all.”
Son of a bitch! Quite suddenly it was obvious why Elias Malebranche had been in Sayana. It wasn’t merely to stir up trouble and attempt to make an alliance with Achim Baber Fergana, but also to work with the Tovieti. Now, from what Malebranche was saying, the Kallian was bankrolling them as well. It was apparent we’d come on the Inner council, or whatever they called it, of the stranglers.
Kutulu’s eyes widened briefly, probably as much surprise as the lawman could show.
The fat “priest” nodded.
“Thank you, sir. Brother, tell that woman in your band what our friend said, and tell her also to have faith in our coming victory. We cannot name who our friend’s master is, although I’m sure many of you know. Also tell your woman why we must not linger over our kills.
“We have the wardens in a frenzy, the commoners quaking, nobility fleeing their estates for safe havens that don’t exist, and even the Rule of Ten must be beginning to tremble. Think what it must be, when you do not know your enemy, nor where the silken cord may come from at any time, day or night, but know it is coming, as inexorably as the Wheel turns.
“Even the old gray gods must be shuddering at the new day we are about to bring.
“The minute one of us is caught, a bit of the mystery, the fear, the darkness that is the blanket we love, vanishes.
“Thak is content; Thak has his blood and a chance to play with the souls of those we kill before they return to the Wheel. Our day will be here very soon.”
There was a murmur of pleasure. A woman stood.
“Brother, p’rhaps eveything you’re sayin’ is true. But why’re we listenin’ to this man, this nobleman, one of the bastards we’ve given our lives to send into th’ Darkness? He ain’t joinin’ us, he’s made that clear. But we’re willin’ to take his gold. What’s his stake? What’s his master’s stake?
“An’ Brother, I don’t need any fine words. I want answers.”
“You’ll find out when the time comes,” Malebranche snarled. “Until then, you’ve no right to ask my business.”
“Stop!” The fat man snapped, and I heard raw power in his tone. “Never address any of us in such a tone again, or be prepared to face our wrath. She has all the right to speak she wishes, sir. Let me remind you that the Sister is right. We are dedicated to bringing you, and all you now represent, down.
“Your master is helping us assist him in bringing down the Rule of Ten. Very well, very good. We are not fools, so we know he intends to return to the old days and old ways and sit the throne as king of all Numantia.
“That may happen, that may not happen. Thak has allowed us to work together thus far. But do not ever think we are your servants. If your master reneges on his promises to create a society of equals, to distribute the lands, the gold, and the women of the rich pigs of Dara among us … our war can always continue, sir.
“Our war can continue until the Wheel is choked with the corpses of those who do not follow Thak, and yours may well be one of them! Be warned, sir, and be aware, as should your master, that our alliance is but of the moment, and can be shattered with a single word or a single dream sent by Thak, who even now sits just Beyond, watching all we say and do.”
We’d heard enough. We stole back into darkness. I pulled at the lever and the hatch rose, and we went out into the clean night.
Neither Kutulu nor I said a word — this vast conspiracy, stretching from Kallio to the Border States to Nicias itself, was too enormous, and shocked us both to our cores. Seer Tenedos must learn what was going on and then plans could be made.
We went up the alleyway at a fast walk, still worried that there might be some outside sentries. I could not believe the arrogance of the Tovieti in holding a meeting with no more than one guard, but then realized they truly did believe they owned the night, and were comfortable in its blan
ket. We were halfway up the alley when the ground shook and I heard a scraping, grating roar — a tremblor! But when I turned and looked back the river was undisturbed, nor did any building sway.
The street itself was turning, cobbles being churned away, a ridge snaking toward us as if some enormous, not-yet-visible mole were tunneling toward us, moving faster than a man could run, or a horse could trot!
We ran for our lives, out of the alley and onto the street.
But that was no sanctuary. The unseen digger raced on us, and then the stones of the street rained away and a dark, slime-gleaming shape reared out of the ground.
The demon, worm, mole, slime-dripping slug, whatever it was, screeched, a mouth in the center of its body opening to engulf us, as long tentacles snaked out.
The Tovieti did not need sentries.
Thak had his own minions posted.
NINETEEN
THE COLLAPSE
The demon struck at Kutulu, and he tried to duck away, but was too slow, and a tentacle had him by the ankle. Yet he did not scream, or panic, but somehow pulled his knife, slashed at the tentacle, and fell free.
Again came that scraping roar, and the monster’s mouth was reaching for me. I hurled my own knife, a truly worthless defense, and it pinwheeled end for end, bouncing harmlessly off the creature’s hide. The tentacles swept out, and I rolled underneath them, kept moving while my fingers found that tiny bottle. I yanked the stopper free with my teeth, spat inside, then tossed the bottle at the demon.
There was a flash of light that nearly blinded me, than a howl of rage as Tenedos’s captive exploded to its full size.
Demon-roar, monster-growl, and I dimly heard shouts from the houses around us as people awoke. The demon’s head snaked out, and took on the creature, then Thak’s guardian bellowed pain as its jaws closed on spikes and the beast’s tail swung and its mace smashed into the monster’s slimy sides. It rolled, still in the demon’s jaws, bent its head, and, snarling like a pack of lions over a kill, ripped and tore at the demon with its own fangs. The two nightmares, each blind in its own rage, rolled and ripped at each other, mere humans forgotten for the moment.
“The water!” I shouted, and Kutulu stumbled to his feet and we went back down that alley, running across the pier as the trapdoor yawned open. I did not look to see who was coming out, but flat-dove straight out into darkness. I hit the water cleanly, surfaced, and began swimming away.
I heard a shout for help. Kutulu! “I … I can’t swim!” I saw floundering arms above the dark water, and swam for them as they went under, then had him. Kutulu clutched at me, and I banged the heel of my hand into his forehead to stun him, pulled away, dove under, and came up behind him.
I had his chin in my arm, his groping, panicked arms flailing without effect, and was swimming hard, a strong side-stroke, once more.
I let the current carry us down toward the waiting sea. Kutulu went limp, and I wondered if he was drowning.
I saw a dark bulk, swam toward it, and reached a drifting log, uprooted somewhere far south in the uplands and now on the final stages of its journey to the sea. I pulled Kutulu across it, and then lifted myself aboard our rescuing raft.
The warden started coughing, and I thumped his back. He vomited water twice, then gasped for air. His breathing became normal after a while.
“Thank you,” he managed. “Now you are my friend, Damastes.”
“The hells with it,” I said. “You would have done the same for me if you were a swimmer.”
He thought, seriously. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, you’re right. I would have.” He looked about him. “Now what shall we do?”
“Since I’ve no plans to go avoyaging on this somewhat uncertain craft, we’ll be swimming again, as soon as I see something to swim for.”
A few seconds later I saw a long pier jutting toward us. The current swept us close, and when we were a few yards away I took Kutulu in the rescuer’s hold, and we abandoned ship. There was a rickety ladder that extended down into the water, and we made our way up it.
We were in the worst part of Nicias, a part of the city where the wardens patrolled in squads, so, once Kutulu had his bearings, we went directly to the nearest warden’s post and he ordered a team to escort us out of the area. They looked curiously at our sodden clothes, and wanted to ask questions, but Kutulu told them nothing. Thank several gods my boil had come unstuck during the swim and the spray-on smell had been washed away, so I wasn’t as disreputable as before.
As to what happened to Thak’s demon, and Tenedos’s animunculi, I have no idea and less curiosity, other than that I heard no reports of monsters abroad the next day. I hope they dragged each other down into some inescapable dark hell.
• • •
We reached Tenedos’s apartments only to find them deserted, even though it was only a few hours before dawn.
“Could he have gone to see Rasenna?” I wondered, then realized my question was foolish — he’d promised to wait, and he was a man of his word. We decided to do the same.
While we waited, we used Tenedos’s bath to wash and, in my case, change, since I’d been keeping a couple of sets of somewhat forbidden civilian clothes at his place. Kutulu toweled himself off and started to pull on his wet clothes again.
“If the seer were here,” I said, “it’d be a simple matter for him to cast some sort of clothes-line spell and they’d be dry as toast.” I went to one of Tenedos’s closets, and hunted through it until I found a dark set of pants and overshirt I thought suited the warden. “Put these on,” I said and tossed them to Kutulu.
“But — ” Kutulu looked appalled.
The warden had the worst case of hero worship I’d ever seen. It would be some incredible breach of his private ethics to dream of touching, let alone wearing without permission, something of his idol’s. But I did not josh him about the matter.
“Don’t be absurd,” I said. “He’d tell you the same thing if he were here. You’ll probably have to find a belt and punch a new hole in it. Our esteemed sorcerer is a bit more fond of the dining table than you.”
Reluctantly, Kutulu obeyed. In the kitchen I found canisters with tea leaves, and made hot drinks for us, although I wondered if I’d gotten the wrong container and created a concoction to change us into frogs or something.
Two hours before dawn, an angry and worried Tenedos returned.
“My apologies,” he said. “But I was summoned not an hour after you left by the Rule of Ten. Or, perhaps, I should now call them the Rule of Nine. Farel and his mistress were found dead late yesterday afternoon. Strangled by the Tovieti.”
“Shit!” I said. I couldn’t remember when one of the Rule of Ten had died by anything other than sickness, accident, or old age, let alone murder.
“Naturally, the Rule of Ten wanted to hear, immediately, everything that I knew about the stranglers, as if they’d paid no attention when we testified last year. Incidentally, the Nician Council sat in on the meeting, and provided leadership fully as thrilling and competent.
“Now, did you two uncover anything as shattering?”
“We did,” I said. “I’ll let Kutulu tell it, since he’s more experienced at precise reporting than I am.”
Kutulu told Tenedos exactly what had occurred, adding nothing, leaving nothing out. He made no judgments, but provided a perfect image of events. He even told Tenedos, unemotionally, as if it had happened to someone else, how he’d panicked in the water. He was about to continue when Tenedos held up his hand.
“Enough, my friend. Does your tale include anything more of either the monsters or the Tovieti?”
“No, sir.”
Tenedos nodded, and Kutulu obediently said no more. He got up and paced back and forth for a while.
“I will return to the Rule of Ten, and inform them of what happened,” he said. “But I do not think it will make a difference.”
“What?” I was incredulous.
“Let me repeat what they said after I finished tel
ling them what we know of the Tovieti. They admitted the Tovieti are probably a threat. But we have a very efficient force of wardens, who can deal with the situation. Perhaps we should consider giving them some emergency powers.” It was Kutulu’s turn for surprise.
“May I interrupt, Seer? How can they think that? We’ve yet to take one single Tovieti to prison. But what powers are they speaking of?”
“Setting up teams of crack officers to go after the menace, which of course they believe is quartered in the slums where our foreign workers live. No true Nician would listen to such garbage, or so Farel’s ex-harness-mate Rask said. A magistrate to accompany the teams, so the proper orders can be issued on the spot for searching any house or business immediately.
“The Tovieti are to be added to the list of forbidden organizations.
“Scopas suggested that mere membership in the organization should be cause for the death penalty. But since they don’t appear to have convenient tattoos, uniforms, nor membership tokens, how this would be proven went unmentioned. At any rate, the measure went undiscussed and therefore was forgotten. No doubt too radical.
“Those were the only specifics. But, my good Kutulu, you can rest assured the Rule of Ten hold you wardens in the highest esteem.”
Kutulu’s lips worked.
“You may say anything you wish here,” Tenedos said. “Even if it borders on the treasonous.”
“This is nothing! They can’t just sit there and wait for the threat to vanish! Chardin Sher will be marching into Nicias and they’ll still be talking. Or else all of us will be lying dead with silk nooses cutting into our gullets! Those men,” the little warden spat, “are fools! Fools and worse!”
“Such is what I’ve been saying for some years now,” Tenedos said.
“What else?” I wanted to know. “What about the army? We heard no details about the Tovieti’s future plans, but I assume they’ll be escalating their murder campaign. Are we, too, going to just sit with our thumbs in our bums?”
“The army is to be ordered to full alertness, although the Rule of Ten did not think it necessary to declare martial law.
