"You see," I said, "the thing about Quintus is that he really does care about right and wrong, and gets very upset when politicians start interfering with his work." I tried one of the keys, but to no avail. "He must have known we'd want to get back in your uncle's house, so set this up so we could." I tried another key, again to no effect. "This is, for example, definitely not my coat."
"But he's the captain of the guard," Arianwyn protested, not yet ready to give up.
Another key went in the lock. There was a click; nothing else.
"And very good he is at it too," I said, "and this definitely goes a little beyond harmless rule-bending – at least it will do if Solomon finds out. I can only assume Quintus trusts one or both of us to make sure he won't."
"It's you he trusts." Her tone brooked no argument. "Though given everything, I'm not sure I understand why." She stopped, realising what she'd implied. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
"No offence taken," I said airily. Another key tried, another failure. "I'll be most disappointed if one of these doesn't, in fact, open the door." I tried another.
Arianwyn turned her attention to the empty street. "How did you meet Quintus?"
"It was just after I arrived in the city. Quintus' last lieutenant was an efficient sort, the apple of the establishment's lazy eye. Alas, he was completely corrupt, and clever with it. I don't think Quintus even suspected until Odran – that was the lieutenant's name – sprang his trap."
Another key failed. This was getting ridiculous.
"Odran decided the best way to be rid of Quintus was to lure him down to the dockside at night, and have a mob of his cronies beat him to a pulp. Odran would, of course, have set about avenging his beloved captain with such fervour no one would ever have thought to connect him to the death."
Leaves rustled somewhere in the garden. I glanced up, but saw nothing there save for the two guardians, one living, one not.
"It would have worked, I think, apart for two things: first, Odran decided he needed to be in at the kill. Second, I blundered into the trap just as it was sprung."
"And just like that, you saved Quintus' life and earned his undying gratitude?"
"Something like that, although to be fair I did very little. To be honest, I'm not sure they brought enough men for the job. Quintus was formidable." Gods, but that had been a desperate fight. If I hadn't been so drunk, I'd never have gone near.
"What happened to Odran?"
"He died." I'd killed him, in fact, but the detail didn't seem important.
"I see." The look in Arianwyn's eyes told me she knew exactly what I hadn't told her.
Finally, a key turned in the lock, and the door sprang open.
Without another word, I ushered Arianwyn inside.
Six
The house's interior was dark. Too dark even for me. Fortunately, Arianwyn had that one covered, and produced a small lantern from beneath her cloak. When lit, it gave us enough light to reach the topmost floor with only the occasional stubbed toe.
As with many Tressian houses, there was no direct access onto the roof, but then I'd not really expected one. There was a balcony, however. After another brief game of find-the-correct-key, Arianwyn and I were out in the open air once more. With a little undignified scrambling, we managed to haul ourselves up onto the rain-slicked tiles. I'd grown quite fond of the sturdy guttering hereabouts.
Thankfully, my second journey across the rooftops was nowhere near as breakneck as the first. We had to take things slowly. The tiles were slippery underfoot, and the lively wind threatened to bowl us over the edge if we moved incautiously.
I almost fell twice over the course of that short journey – two occasions on which I was saved from a very long drop by desperate scrabbling and Arianwyn's help. My companion, on the other hand, traversed the roofs as serenely as she had the streets below. Seemingly the wind could find no purchase on her, and her feet always found grip where mine failed to do so. I told myself it was just luck.
When we finally arrived on Stefan's balcony, I saw a light blazing away in the study. Putting a finger to my lips in warning, I peered through the glass of the balcony doors. There was a lantern on the late historian's desk, but there didn't seem to be anyone in the room – at the moment, at least. I heard a beating of wings, and a raven settled on the balustrade beside me. I regarded it with ill-favour. Was this the same bird who'd nearly sent me into the street the previous night?
The door handle turned under my hand, and I passed inside. Arianwyn followed. The raven croaked, and flew off.
I padded across to the stairway door and opened it a crack. The lanterns were lit, but there wasn't a soul in sight. Setting the door to, I joined Arianwyn at Stefan's desk. The historian's body had long since removed, but the pile of books remained – after a fashion.
"This is different," I whispered.
Arianwyn nodded, and riffled through the handwritten pages of the topmost tome. "Someone's been through his notes."
"Looking for the same thing as us?"
"That seems likely, don't you think?" She took in the jumble on the desk and sighed. "This isn't everything. There were loose sheets with sketches of the fragment. Try that bureau." She pointed to a squat piece of furniture in a shadowy corner. "I'll sort through this."
"I'll need your lantern if I'm to read anything."
She nodded, passed it over and I went to work. The bureau was locked. Worse, the skeleton keys were much too large to be of use here. "Alas, poor lock."
"What?" hissed Arianwyn.
"It doesn't matter."
I drew my dagger. After a few false starts I slid the blade down between the folding shelf at the bureau's front and the lock's housing. Mentally crossing my fingers, I levered back the blade. I winced at the splintering noise and looked back round at Arianwyn, who regarded me with distaste, although whether she did so because I'd made too much noise or because I'd damaged part of her inheritance, I couldn't be sure.
Turning my attention to the bureau, I found it was filled with loose papers, letters and scrolls of all shapes and sizes. I sifted through them as quickly as I dared, searching only for information on the fragment. The first half dozen pages contained an outline for a work on recent Tressian history. These I cast to the floor. Now the lock of the bureau was damaged and the rich carpet sodden from the water dripping off my greatcoat and Arianwyn's cloak, there was no point trying to conceal our intrusion.
Next to go were letters from other historians. There was still no sign of anything concerning the fragment, just a few notes concerning household expenditure, some of the most atrocious poetry it had ever been my misfortune to read, and yet more letters. Stefan must have been in correspondence with half the city, and a fair portion of the Hadari Empire as well, come to that.
I was about to give up my search when one particular letter caught my eye. I read it quickly at first, frowned, and then read it a second time much more slowly, taking especial note of the name and title at the bottom of the page.
This changed things. This changed things a lot.
I folded the letter, and stashed it in a pocket.
Without even a flicker of warning, the lantern I'd borrowed from Arianwyn went out. Cursing silently, I struggled to get the thing relit, but with no success.
"Give it here," Arianwyn whispered. "There's a knack to it."
I gave her the lantern, which soon blazed into life once more.
"It doesn't matter," I said. "I'm done over there."
"Find anything interesting?" She spoke without looking up from the desk.
I shook my head. "Nothing," I lied. "You had any luck?"
She closed the volume she was reading and opened another book. "No." She paused. "Actually, yes." She traced her finger over a line of Stefan's uneven handwriting. "Listen: I am the gatekeeper, with the power of death over life, and of life over death."
Beneath the words, I saw a scrawled sketch of the watchstone.
"There's more." A
rianwyn turned the page. "Much more. I think this is what we came for."
The sound of heavy boots echoed up the stairs.
"Good," I said grimly. "Because it's time to leave."
Arianwyn thrust the book into my hands. "Here, take this."
She doused her lantern, returning it beneath the folds of her cloak then, pausing for a moment, extinguished the lantern on the desk. "At least this way it'll take them longer to notice the mess. I'll take the book back. If the journey here was any indication, you'll need both hands free to make it back across the rooftops."
I gave her the book with as much grace as wounded pride could manage, and we slipped back into the night.
*******
We made it all the way back to the balcony of Twelve Highvale without any sign the alarm had been raised, and by then we were safe. Though sodden footprints would betray our presence and point of entry, I felt sure no one could trace our path across the rain-lashed rooftops. We certainly saw no sign of pursuers before we were safely inside the empty house. The owner would certainly have some questions when he came back and found his carpets ruined, but it was too late to help that now.
A few minutes later, as the distant clock chimed one in the morning, we were through the front door, past the mismatched guardian statues and out onto the flooded cobbles of the street.
"So," I asked. "What next?"
Arianwyn thought for a moment before replying. "I need a proper look at this book. Hopefully it'll offer a few answers."
"Back to your home?"
"Yes, but not directly. To do that we'd practically have to walk past Dalrand's house, and I think we've pushed our luck enough."
I nodded. "Enough for one night, at least."
"I'll head back down to the river, and cut across from there. But there's no need for you to come. I can make my way back easily enough, and I've imposed upon you entirely too much."
Was she trying to get rid of me, or genuinely considerate?
"All part of the service. I'll rest better knowing you and that book have ended up somewhere safe." I gestured skyward. "The rain's finally slackening off, and not long after that the criminal element will be out in force." I wasn't certain about that last bit – it was every bit as likely that they'd simply called it a night.
"I can take care of myself, thank you," she said primly. The considerate approach had failed, so now she was resorting to implied offence in the hope of changing my mind.
"I'm not saying you can't. I'm talking about my own peace of mind, nothing more."
This seemed to mollify Arianwyn, at least a little. Or perhaps she realised that I wasn't about to give up any time soon.
"Very well," she said, "let's be on our way."
It wasn't the most graceful of accessions, but not wanting to provoke another disagreement, I let Arianwyn lead the way down to the river.
I still harboured fears of a hue and cry, that there'd be a constable waiting at every crossroads. As it happened, my concerns were unfounded. We crossed paths with no fewer than three of Quintus' patrols as we headed down the hill, but two of them ignored us completely, and the sergeant in charge of the third spoke to us only out of politeness. It helped, of course, that with the rain's cessation, the streets had grown busier, as those few citizens trapped by the deluge risked the open streets to return home. Had it still been raining, Arianwyn and I would have almost certainly stood out, but with other possible suspects to choose from, I doubted even the most ardent searcher would have laid hands on us by any means save unlucky chance.
Of course, the improving weather also brought drawbacks. Clusters of Sidarists, their candles guttering in the wind, returned to the corners of major junctions. Doleful hymns thundered out from beneath towering birch trees as the faithful tempted passersby with threats of oblivion and promises of redemption.
A particularly large gathering lurked in the square before the council palace, their white robes a wan yellow in the lamplight. Their spokesman was a determined orator, alternately imploring and threatening all who came near. In the time it took Arianwyn and I to cross the square, not a single person had paid the preacher any heed, save for perhaps the occasional rude gesture. A group of Quintus' constables was close at hand, presumably to preclude the philosophical assault on reason and sinfulness turning into something uglier and more physical.
Arianwen, her hood down, shook her head ruefully. "It's a good thing Constans isn't with us."
"Why so?"
"He hates Sidarists with a fiery passion." She paused. "No, actually that's not entirely true. He hates Sidarism with fiery passion. The Sidarists he considers fools of the first order."
"He's not a believer?"
"Yes and no." Arianwyn said unhelpfully, then clarified. "He believes Sidara existed, even that she worked for the salvation of others, but he rejects the idea of some divine and perfect being who kept Tressia safe from traitors and infidels."
"And you? What do you believe?"
She shrugged, then smiled impishly and raised her voice in clear provocation. "I think they're all mad."
So much for keeping a low profile. Scarcely had Arianwyn finished those few, well-chosen words than the preacher broke off from haranguing an unfortunate drunk, spun on his heel and stabbed a querulous finger in her direction.
"Is it madness to believe in a higher power?" he demanded. "To trust that the purity of Her way and Her light will deliver us from debasement?"
To my relief, Arianwyn kept walking, smiling at the storm of words she'd provoked.
The preacher, clearly warming to his theme, raised his voice another notch. "Once, the world trembled to the might of our armies. The kings of distant lands prostrated themselves before the righteousness of our cause. But we strayed! Our lack of faith was punished! That is why our gates are besieged, our dignity trampled and our leaders feckless!"
Cheers rang out from amongst his supporters, but I suspected he wasn't going to make many friends in the council with language like that. For a mercy, Arianwyn didn't needle him further, and the preacher, perhaps deciding she was not worth salvation, let her be. Shortly after, we passed into an until alley, and followed its meandering slope downhill.
"Very subtle."
"Sorry," said Arianwyn, with no conviction whatsoever. She smiled sharply. "It's just as well he couldn't see your face. He'd not have given up so quickly if he'd seen my companion was a member of an infidel race. They'd have called you a demon and torn you apart."
I wasn't really listening; I was more concerned with what was waiting ahead. I put a finger to my lips and she went quiet. The alley ahead was empty, but my straining ears heard what I fancied to be the sound of someone waiting in silence. It was hard to be sure with the wind rustling through the alleyway's trees. Just ahead of us, another alley cut across our path. That would be the likeliest place for an ambush, but was it simple cutpurses or a patrol of praetorians caught up with us at last?
Motioning for Arianwyn to stay behind me, I gripped the hilt of my sword and advanced slowly. At the junction, I stole swift glances to my left and then to my right. I saw nothing. Arianwyn joined me and shot me a questioning look.
"What's wrong?" she asked, serious again.
"I'm not sure. Something feels out of place."
Again, the wind rose. I craned my head to watch it stir the birch leaves above me. Except ...there were no trees in this alleyway. I'd gotten so used to the sound I'd stopped questioning it. A cold dread settled in my stomach. At last, I knew the nature of the nebulous idea that I'd tried to pin down in Quintus' office. Why I'd been so interested in the statues outside the empty house.
"Run! Now!" I snapped.
The attack came from above. A dark shape, all but invisible against the night sky, detached itself from the side of the building and dropped like a stone into the alley.
Arianwyn froze, shocked into immobility. I flung myself forward, knocking her from the assailant's path. My reward was to be struck instead. The impact emp
tied my lungs and sent me sprawling to the rain-lashed cobbles. The back of my head hit the roadway with a vicious crack, and my vision swam.
The shape started forward, hunched and gangling in the moon-cast shadows. The scrape and click of its uneven steps filled my ears; the tang of blood – my blood – choked my nostrils. I tried to move, but my limbs were sluggish. My head felt like it was stuffed with cobwebs. It was such a stupid way to die.
"Edric!"
Arianwyn's hand blurred, and something whistled over my head. Our assailant's head snapped back. He staggered back, one hand scraping at brick to steady himself. She must have found a loose cobble. Arianwyn was at my side a moment later, her slender hands tugging at my shoulders.
"Get up! I can't carry you!"
The cobwebs in my head dissipated, burned away by her urgency. I rolled to my knees, sodden clothes clammy against my skin. Arianwyn grabbed my hand and dragged me to my feet.
Our assailant hissed, the sound like dry leaves caught in a storm, and charged. That very morning, faced with an attacker in the darkness, I'd refused to draw my sword. I had no such hesitation now. Stepping between Arianwyn and our foe, I ripped the blade free of its scabbard, and struck.
It was not a blow of which my long-dead fencing tutor would have approved. I was out of practice and groggy, and my wild attack was fit more for an axe than a sword. But my sword had slain warriors beyond counting, and taken the life of an emperor. A child could draw blood with it, if there were any blood to draw.
There was a snapping sound as my strike hit home. The attacker crashed to the ground, arms and legs thrashing. The hiss faded, only to return louder and fiercer than before.
"Come on!" I grabbed Arianwyn's arm and dragged her away. "We have to go."
We'd fled scarcely a dozen paces when Arianwyn missed her footing. She skidded sideways, one arm windmilling as she fought to stay upright.
I caught her before she lost her balance entirely, and at once saw the reason for her sudden clumsiness. She'd drawn her lantern from beneath her cloak and had been attempting to light it when she'd stumbled.
Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1) Page 6
