Megrithe shook her head sadly and made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Oh dear. You should probably keep better track of him. Who exactly is holding the leash here?”
“There’s no leash. We have a deal.”
“Are you sure about that? He – or she – seems like a bit of a slippery fish, if you don’t mind me saying so. When even an eallawif says not to trust him, you might want to reconsider whatever deals you think you have.”
“You spoke to an eallawif about him?”
“I did,” Megrithe nodded. “She seemed to think he was going to betray her. Something about a piece of jewelry, if I remember correctly.”
“What jewelry?” he asked sharply, taking a step towards her as his blood suddenly went cold.
“I’m sure it’s none of my business,” she said, her eyes going a little wide as she sidestepped him, making sure he wasn’t between her and the door. “It wasn’t my main item of concern.”
“What jewelry, miss?” he asked again, a little more calmly, making no move to corner her again.
“A pendant. He promised it to her,” she told him. “But she said he would try to cheat her.”
Arran closed his eyes and slumped against the wall, letting the brickwork hold his weight as he suddenly felt unable to keep himself standing. “Cheat me, you mean,” he said, putting his head in his hands.
“Are you quite well, Mister Swinn?”
“No. No, I’m not well.”
“He seemed to have a bit of a checkered past, if that’s any comfort,” she said, reaching out to offer him her handkerchief, but he just waved it away. He wasn’t about to cry or anything. Probably. “She said he had committed many crimes.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“What is so important about the pendant?” she tried when he fell silent again.
“Nothing. It was stolen from me, and I just wanted it back.”
“Faidal stole it?”
“No. Faidal was supposed to help me get it back.”
“From the woman you killed,” she guessed.
“How do you know about that? Godefroy told you,” he said immediately after, answering his own question.
“Yes. If you killed her, why couldn’t you just take it from her corpse?”
“Because Elargwyd was a neneckt too. She disappeared with it. I’m not even so certain that I really did kill her, anyway.”
“Did you say her name was Elargwyd?” Megrithe asked, peering at him with a very strange look in her eyes.
“Yes. You know her?”
“Oh, I do. Indeed, I do. And I’m afraid you do, too.”
***
Megrithe watched Arran carefully as he digested the news she had just given him. She had started to feel rather bad for him, actually, as soon as Faidal had left the room. He was clearly a man in over his depth, and while he didn’t appear stupid, he was certainly trying to hold one too many threads than he could handle. Her news that Faidal and Elargwyd were one and the same had sent his carefully managed web scattering.
“So the pendant is promised to the eallawif twice?” she asked when he had recounted to her the gist of his misadventures from the time he left Cantrid. He didn’t have much of a choice other than to tell her the truth at this point. She was his only ally left now that his only other hope for salvation had betrayed him.
“Apparently,” he replied. “But Faidal must have it already. He must have had it the whole time. I’m sure it’s hidden somewhere I can’t hope to find it. It’s over for me.”
“Not if you give him the gemstone,” she pointed out. “Maybe he’ll be willing to trade.”
“That won’t satisfy Faidal’s bargain. He will still owe a debt to the eallawif, even if she gets the pendant from me. Besides,” Arran said, rubbing his temples. “God only knows where he is. He could spend the rest of his days in the deep and we’d never know it.”
“Then why did he bring you all the way here?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter,” he said, standing up straight and squaring his shoulders. “I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you, miss, but I’ll be dead long before you can put me on trial. If you think a few weeks of torturing me to set an example is worth your while, you can do as you please.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no point if you’re going to die anyway. It’ll just make a mess.”
He looked up at her face and she smiled a little, relieved when he returned the gesture. She hated looking at the defeat of dead men. She was glad he wasn’t showing it quite yet.
“Do you still want him?” he asked.
“More than ever, now that I know he’s truly responsible.”
“Then we might as well give it a try. I have nothing left to lose, after all.”
“But I do, Mister Swinn,” she said. “Please be mindful of that.”
Arran nodded. “I understand. I have to know, though. What did you tell him to make him scarper like that? It must have been something good.”
“His true name,” she said after a moment.
“Well. Yes. That would certainly explain his reaction.”
“Indeed,” she nodded, trying not to smile at how impressed he was. It was rather pleasing. “Shall we?”
He opened the door again and held it for her as she walked out. “Watch your step,” he told her, pointing out the stain on the ground. “Do you think he’ll still try to find the red iron, or will he just run for it?”
“I’m really not sure. But I know what I want first.”
“The iron.”
“Of course. I didn’t come all this way for nothing.”
“All right. Why not? Down we go, I suppose,” he said, and she followed him towards the doorway where Constans had long since completed his work. It was very quiet, and Megrithe felt her ears rattling with the pulsing of her blood as her heart sped up with each step down into the darkness.
“You don’t speak neneckt, do you?” she whispered when they heard the sounds of movement at the bottom of the long, deep stairs.
“Me? No. I’m starting to wish I did, though.”
“What do we do if they ask us why we’re here?”
“We tell them,” Arran said. “We’re looking for Faidal.”
Megrithe fell silent as they approached the bottom floor. It was as good a plan as any, she supposed. The steps opened out into a hallway, where thick, rank air gathered in a haze above them, obscuring a dim glow of torchlight from a room at the other end.
“Browning,” Megrithe said quietly, instantly recognizing the stink. “They use it to make the iron red.”
“I know.”
“We must be in the right place.”
“Or the wrong one,” Arran said as a worker entered the hallway, looking puzzled at their presence. “Hello,” he called cheerfully at the surprised man, one of the lumpy ones that didn’t put much into its appearance. “I’m looking for my friend, but I think we’re lost.”
“Who is your friend?” the neneckt said, struggling to form the words with a mouth that had not been made for speaking.
“His name is Faidal. I think he came this way.”
It was impossible to read the stranger’s expression in the dark – it would be impossible even in full light, since he barely had a nose or eyes that were anything more than serviceable holes in its head, but body language was the same no matter what form it took, and Megrithe put her hand on Arran’s arm in warning as the neneckt started to speak again.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “This way. He is come this way.”
“Could you get him for me?” Arran asked, glancing down at Megrithe and catching her meaning. “I’m afraid all this smoke isn’t good for the lady.”
The neneckt nodded, and stuck his head back into the room he had come from, shouting something in his own language. There was a noise of many feet from the hidden chamber, and she could feel Arran tense under her hand.
“Let’s go,” he said, taking a step back. “Not good. Let’s go.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her back towards the stairs, taking them two at a time as he ran up. She couldn’t go that fast – her damned shoes were being a nuisance again and her legs weren’t that long – and she nearly tripped and fell as he dragged her along.
“Stop. Wait,” she gasped as she tried to regain her balance. He pulled her upright and helped steady her, but he started to move on again immediately. “What about the iron?”
“We know where it is now,” he said. “There’s nothing more the two of us can do at the moment.”
“But I need proof.”
“You’ve got plenty of proof you took off my ship. I suggest we run now and talk about it later.”
Megrithe did as she was told. She didn’t have much of a choice with him gripping her hand like he was, but she wasn’t about to let go and risk falling again.
The stairs seemed interminable as a group of neneckt gathered behind them, hooting and honking in their own speech as they spotted the interlopers and began to pursue them. Her foot was starting to hurt. But just as she was about to wonder if they would ever reach the end, they burst out onto the surface and into the alleyway they had just left behind.
“This way,” Megrithe said, trying to pull Arran towards the gardens, where there would be plenty of people to witness any attempt to harm them, and hopefully to intervene.
“No, this way,” he said instead, trying to take her in the opposite direction. “There has to be a consul somewhere.”
“What?”
“A consulate. An ambassador. The customs house. Someone whose business it is not to let humans get hurt by neneckt.”
“That’s very law-abiding of you, Mister Swinn, but we don’t have time to read the directory,” she hissed as their pursuers spotted them and shouted the alarm. “We need to disappear. Now.”
She shook off his hand and took off in the direction she had indicated, but only got a few steps away from the sound of his cursing when she ran full tilt into Faidal. He stood there as solid as a stone wall as she barreled into him, bouncing her backwards to fall on her behind, her arms splayed out behind her, jarring her wrists and scarping her palms in the dirt.
She was more surprised than hurt, and though it took a moment for her to gather her wits as her hindbrain spent precious energy trying to reconstruct the fall, she was scrambling to her feet again moments before he even reached down to grab her by the upper arm and haul her upright with a grip like a vice.
“Disappear from a neneckt?” he asked, as she twisted and kicked at his shins. “You should leave such things to the experts.”
“You seem to have your hands full with lying and stealing,” she spat when it was clear she would not be able to free herself.
“Let her go, Faidal,” Arran said, though he looked poised to flee rather than to help her. “You already have what you want, don’t you?”
“You have absolutely no idea what I want, you idiot,” the neneckt snarled as his fellows caught up with them and sealed off both ends of the alleyway with their solid bulk. “Where’s my gemstone?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arran said, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the men who surrounded him. “What gemstone?”
“The one you stole from me,” Faidal said, dropping Megrithe’s arm as he stepped towards Arran. Any thought of running was instantly quashed as a clay-like neneckt took her up instead, the putty of his hands still firm enough to bruise her.
“I only stole it from you because you tried to kill me,” Arran countered. “I know who you are. She told me.”
Faidal laughed. “Well done. It certainly took you long enough. Now you better tell me where that stone is before I get very cross, Mister Swinn,” he said, mimicking the voice he had used as Elargwyd.
“I don’t have it. I gave it away.”
Megrithe winced in sympathy as Faidal hit Arran so hard in the face that he spun half way around and had to steady himself on the wall to keep from falling. “Liar.”
Arran leaned against the brick for a moment as he spit bright red blood on the ground.
“I don’t have it,” he said again, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and leaving a vermillion trail on the fabric from his split lip. “Remember?” he added as the motion revealed a black drawing on his arm.
“The eallawif,” Faidal said, narrowing his eyes. “Of course.”
“Good luck trying to convince her to give it up. Now, can we go? You don’t need anything else from us.”
“I don’t think so. You are both coming with me. Mikkal, get her ready,” he called to a man who came forward with a bottle in his hand. He uncorked the vessel as the neneckt holding Megrithe pulled her head back and grabbed her chin to open her mouth, squeezing her jaw hard enough to make it click and grind as she tried to fight it.
“What are you giving her?” Arran said as Mikkal tipped the contents of the bottle into her mouth. She couldn’t see what he was doing as the tears gathered in her eyes from choking on the bitter, sharp, wintry concoction that left her gagging on the foul taste.
“I gave you the chance to sleep it off, at least,” Faidal was saying, but she wasn’t paying much attention anymore. She was feeling very dizzy and somewhat overly warm, like the drink had lit a fire in her stomach that was spreading its flames outward through every nerve and vein. “Wasn’t that kind of me?”
Megrithe’s legs gave out on her with a little cry of dismay as the potion took hold, and she lost all interest in what Arran was doing – what Faidal and the others were doing to Arran as he shouted and tried to fight them off. She barely had enough of her wits about her to be upset when someone stuck a sharp, sharp needle into the back of her neck, the dust and strife of the alley fading softly as she slumped over the arm of her captor and her sight slowly bled away.
CHAPTER NINE
Waking up wasn’t quite as horrible as Arran had thought it would be, somewhere in the back of his turgid, complicated dreams. The agonizing pain he had expected was only rising to the level of searing unbearableness, which had to be put down as a small victory.
There was a tender, swollen lump on his neck where Mikkal had pushed in his needle. His jaw was stiff and aching from Faidal’s blow, and the thin skin of his lip had opened in a painful gash that had left a modest river of dried blood crackling down his chin. It hurt just to think about it, let alone try to shift his position.
But he needed to move because he was lying face down in a pile of fine sand, and it kept getting up his nose and into his mouth as he breathed. It didn’t move exactly the way he expected – it must be wet, he thought, as he tried to gather the strength to turn himself over – and there was some sort of urgent observation tugging at the less alert parts of his sore head as he tried to get purchase with his toes to lever himself around.
The nagging notion that something was terribly wrong slowly exploded into a cacophony of alarm bells echoing through his skull when he managed to twist around and stare upwards.
“Oh, fuck me,” he whispered in terrified awe. There was no ceiling. There was nothing. He was under water. He was deep, deep under the water, and the shimmering of the distance between him and the golden sunlit surface boggled his confused and petrified mind.
What he vomited a moment later was thin and acidic, burning his throat and the lining of his nose as he helplessly coughed and sputtered, feeling queasy again as the disgusting result floated in front of him like a cloud. He tried to bat it away with his hands, creating a slight current in the water to help it drift from him, but it didn’t help much.
“Are you all right?” Megrithe asked quietly, and he raised his head to see her huddled in the corner, looking very scared and more than a little ill herself.
“Yes, thank you. Are you? Did they hurt you?”
“I don’t know. I’m fine, I think.”
Arran nodded and tried to control his churning stomach as he thought about what was happening. He knew where he was, if not exactly why or how.
The neneckt had him. Elargwyd had him, he suddenly remembered, and the bile came back to his throat as he realized how thoroughly he had been duped. Again.
He tried to sit back and ponder his situation without being sick. The rough gray rock that surrounded him on all sides was riddled with tiny holes like a pumice stone in the bath, and the high walls created an effective cell. He wondered if he could swim over the top, but when he stood and jumped, trying to launch himself upward, he was as firmly tied to the floor as he ever was, regardless of the fact that the resistance of the seawater slowed his movements and his hair stood out from his scalp, waving gently.
“It doesn’t work,” she said, watching him. “I tried.”
He sank down again and pulled his knees up to his chin, staring out blankly in front of him as he tried to think of what to do. Faidal – no, Elargwyd, he corrected himself – had betrayed him utterly, and there was no help to be had from any of his – of her – people. There was no hope to be had from any human, either. No one knew he was there. No one even knew Megrithe was there. They would not come looking for either of them. They were alone.
The mark on his arm started to throb quietly as he probed the depths of his despair. He would never be able to repay the eallawif. He didn’t know how he would die for defying her, but he hoped it would be quick.
“What are we going to do?” Megrithe asked.
“I don’t know. Did he say anything to you? Have you heard anything?”
“I only woke up a few moments ago. I’m still coming to terms with being able to breathe.”
Arran nodded. “Me too. I didn’t know it was a drink that did it. I thought it was – I don’t know, a spell or a hat or something.”
“A hat?”
“Wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen to me,” Arran said, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes to try to make the smarting stop. His head hurt a lot. “I’m sorry you got caught up in this. I’d be sorrier if I knew what this is, I think, but I don’t.”
“He can’t keep us here forever,” Megrithe said with a lot more confidence than her face was showing. “The Guild in Paderborn knows I’m in Niheba. Someone will start looking for me eventually.”
Dark the Night Descending (The Paderborn Chronicles Book 1) Page 17
