Chasers of the Wind

by Alexey Pehov

  The wound Freckles left on my side was aching contrarily, but I tried to cast it from my mind for the time being.

  “Now we’re somewhere near the barracks,” said Layen when we had walked two hundred yards. “If Stump is to be trusted, there’ll be a turn soon.”

  And indeed, the tunnel did take a sharp turn and begin to slope upward, climbing the hill under the cliff on which Hightown stood. We passed by four side tunnels. The thief couldn’t resist and stuck his head into one of the tunnels, but as expected, he didn’t see anything interesting.

  “Just think of it! So many glorious things used to be made with the help of mages…” said Layen, coming up to walk next to me. In the lantern light her face was pensive and very beautiful.

  “What?” I asked her gently.

  She sighed. “None of the Walkers living now could dig underground aqueducts that not only led the river to the sea, but also brought water to the houses along its path. In Hightown and Second City it’s just below the ground.”

  “Fairy tales.” I didn’t really believe in such stories.

  “Judging from what I heard, no.”

  “She’s right,” came the thief’s voice. “In one of the wealthy houses, not far from here, I saw a bath. It was old. Just the kind of thing that would have been filled by an underground river. Although I must say, I’m not all that impressed by this dungeon.”

  “One would think you’d managed to get into a lot of them and that you’ve seen so much better,” murmured Layen.

  Harold grinned but didn’t respond.

  “Imagine all the frustration of the rich when the spring dried up,” I said, chuckling, and raised the lantern higher.

  “The river began to dry up, and it was only then that they destroyed some of the arches.”

  “To break is not to build,” concluded Harold philosophically.

  “That’s not the point,” I disagreed. “Here’s the heart of the matter. If they hadn’t, parts of the houses would have collapsed into the ground.”

  “Is it just me or is the ceiling getting lower?” said the thief thoughtfully.

  Indeed, the farther we walked, the lower the ceiling became. After some time I could have touched it if I wished to do so. Finally, a brick wall blocked our way.

  “We’ve arrived,” I said, and I put the lantern on the floor.

  “The masonry is six years old, no more,” Harold estimated. “Compared with all of this”—he gestured around the tunnel—“it’s very fresh.”

  “Old Joch took pains so that not a single rat would slip in to pay him a visit,” I said and, plying it with my dagger, teased out one of the lower bricks.

  The mason who betrayed Threefingers did his work excellently. Without the mortar to bond the bricks together, they were easy to pry out, but to a person who was not in the know it would seem that there was a solid structure in front of him. The bricks were heavy, and Harold’s help came in very handy. Finally, we opened up the passage—a hole so small that you could only squeeze through it lying on your back.

  “Lower the wick. We don’t need the extra light right now,” said the thief as he crawled through first. After a few seconds he called back, “It’s clear.”

  We followed after him and once again found ourselves in the tunnel. The ceiling here was even lower, and we had to stand hunched over.

  “Take a seat,” invited the thief. “This will take some time.”

  Right above us was the hole closed by the grate.

  The entrance to Joch’s lair.

  The darkness of the Abyss reigned beyond the thick bars. The place we were supposed to enter was some kind of barn, according to Stump. I hoped that the servants were not in the habit of sleeping here, but Joch probably wouldn’t allow everyone to know about the grate that covered the entrance under the ground.

  “And now would be a good time for light,” Harold suggested.

  I raised the lantern and whistled softly. The lock was largish, black, constructed in the form of a snarling dog’s muzzle, and the keyhole was located down its throat. The work of Morassian masters. To any knowledgeable person such a trifle said, “Go away! I bite!”

  And it really did bite! It would bite anyone who failed to open it. The cunning Morassians had crammed this thing with so many tricks and snares that only a true master could open it. And even then not always.

  Stump hadn’t spoken a word about what awaited us. But he had to have known, the bastard!

  “A charming little thing,” the thief said, chuckling.

  “Joch didn’t spare any money for the trinket,” I agreed.

  “Trinket!” Layen said, outraged. “Are all men such idiots, or is it only you two? It’s more dangerous than an irritated cobra! If you make even the slightest mistake it will kill you. Why else do you think the Morassian craftsmen ask so much money for the things?”

  “I can handle it,” said Harold simply.

  “And if you can’t?”

  “Then for a start the jaws will snap shut, and these delightful, razor-sharp teeth will bite off my fingers. Or the lock will spit out a poisoned needle, but in that case I’m not too worried. I won’t be in front of it, but behind. But it’ll be worst of all if I make a mistake with the last pin. Most often they make it the toughest, and if it stops halfway or slips, the lock might spit out some poison that will turn our lungs into tattered rags after a few seconds. There’d be quite enough for all three of us.”

  “You know how to explain it all superbly.” I coughed. “My sun, maybe you could turn back and wait for us behind the wall?”

  She was immediately on her guard. “What for?”

  “So that if he makes a mistake, all three of us don’t die.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I have to hold up the lantern. And you’re just sitting there doing nothing. So shoo!”

  She grumbled for show, but agreed with my arguments. “If you’re thinking of dying, warn me in advance, dear.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She snorted loudly and crawled under the wall.

  “Get twenty paces away,” I called after her, lowering myself on all fours and sticking my head into the hole. “When we’re done, I’ll call you.”

  She pecked me on the lips and, still grumbling in irritation, walked away into the darkness.

  The thief was studying the lock, humming that same unfamiliar tune.

  “What are you singing?”

  “Oh, never you mind.” Harold grinned without taking his eyes off the Morassian Cur. “A silly old song. A good friend of mine sang it. One could say, in another life.”

  Well, if he didn’t want to tell me, he didn’t have to.

  “Have you ever worked with such things?” I asked, nodding toward the dog’s jaws.

  “A couple of times,” he said in a bored tone of voice, and then he put on a pair of gloves with the fingers cut off. “Don’t worry, it’s not as difficult as people think. With the right amount of experience, this toothy little toy can be cracked like a nut.”

  “I hope you have that experience.”

  “I should also hope so.” A shadow of a smile passed over his lips. “Most fail by going too fast.”

  I don’t know. Morassian Curs have killed a lot of good thieves. The things were too capricious and dangerous, and their masters made them too well. Most people who saw black canine jaws on a door or coffer preferred to get out of harm’s way and find themselves easier pickings.

  “You’re going to have to work blindly. The lock is on the other side.”

  “As if I didn’t notice,” he muttered. “By the way, I really don’t need the light. I’ll do it all by touch. So, before it’s too late, go take a stroll with your girlfriend. When I’ve opened it, I’ll give a shout.”

  “I want to watch.”

  “Well, have it your way.” Harold shrugged.

  He took a bundle of finely crafted lock picks from his bag.

  “Morassian made?”

  “No. By fa
r better craftsmen.” He grinned, and then he put his hands through the bars of the grate. “Well, let’s…”

  “Let’s what?”

  “Pray to Melot.” He snickered and on his first try got the pick in the keyhole. “I hope the god is on our side today.”

  For some time he worked in concentrated silence, and only the gentle click of metal against metal could be heard. His face was tense, his lips tightly compressed, but his hands never trembled. Harold didn’t need to look at them to know what they were doing, so the thief studied the toes of his boots instead. I anxiously watched the dog’s jaws, which could turn into a trap at any moment and snap shut. Or even worse, spit out a poison cloud.

  “There’s the first pin,” he said.

  Personally, I hadn’t heard anything. The click must have been very quiet, but the keen ears of thieves are hard to deceive.

  “How many more?”

  “However many it takes to open it.”

  “So that means you don’t know?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “One. Two. Ten. This is piecework. Every Morassian master creates a different number of pins, tricks, and traps. There are no identical Curs. That’s why they’re such a bother.”

  While he was talking he didn’t stop working, and over the course of the next several minutes he disarmed three more pins. I was beginning to have respect for this strange man. Behind all his jokes, laughter, and carelessness, a genuine master was hidden—calm, experienced, and aware of his own value.

  “Why did you stay with me?” he asked suddenly.

  “I told you, I wanted to watch. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. Watch all you like. I’m flattered that you have such faith in me.”

  “Faith?”

  “Well, yes. If I made a mistake now, you wouldn’t hold out for very long.” He grinned crookedly. “Nothing I could do about it. So you’re really just moved by curiosity to see what I’m capable of?”

  I pondered his question and then answered honestly, “I don’t know. I just hate sitting still. At least there’s something going on here.”

  “Many of the present generation hate sitting still. They’re always rushing off somewhere, hurrying, striving to get something, trying to change, even though most of them have no idea what they want.”

  “We’re simply moving.” I smiled.

  “I call people like you ‘chasers of the wind.’ You chase after it blindly, but what will you do once you find it? Not one of you thinks about where that search will lead you. You may find something completely different than what you are looking for and, instead of catching the wind, you’ll get lost in the storm. Are you ready to meet it face-to-face?”

  “You’re a philosopher, aren’t you?” I laughed quietly.

  “I try to think.” He chuckled. “It keeps me from turning into an idiot. And you should meditate on what I said at your leisure. If you, like many others, chase the wind, without even knowing why, there is still time to stop. To avoid the storm.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Being unafraid is stupid. And not fearing for the fate of your loved ones is doubly stupid. If you’re lucky, you might survive, but the storm will devour someone else. A person dear to you. Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “So don’t run. Stop and think about the consequences. Decide, do you need this?”

  “Why are you saying all this?” I frowned.

  “It makes it easier for me to work.” He shrugged. “If you don’t like it, I can shut up. However, more conversation isn’t really necessary.”

  He abruptly twisted his left wrist and something clicked in the lock.

  “Opa!” said Harold triumphantly.

  “Did it work?” I exclaimed.

  “As if you have to ask!” The thief pretended that he was offended and, pushing the grate upward, showed me how easily it opened. “It may be that this world came out a bit flawed, but I know all about locks. Harold’s more than a match for Morassian Curs. Call your wife; the path is clear.”

  While Layen was returning, he pulled himself up with his arms, and then he helped us up. I opened the lantern window a bit, increasing the light so we could look around. We were in a large but completely empty barn. Joch wasn’t about to store anything here. The floor was made of earth, and the walls were constructed from thick logs. There were no signs of a window. There were transverse beams under the roof. On one of them hung a thick chain, which ended in a frightful butcher’s hook, the kind that serves quite well for stringing up undesirable people. By the ribs. As I heard it, Threefingers sometimes entertained himself thus with those who did not pay back their debts.

  The first thing the thief did was dash over to the door. Then he returned to us, smiling happily. “I underestimated the master of this house. He’s not just cautious, he’s very cautious. I tip my cap to him. Go see for yourselves.”

  “Damn. It. All,” hissed Layen through clenched teeth when we got to the door. Then she turned to me. “Do what you want, but I’m not crawling back. I’m staying with you.”

  I nodded reluctantly. I hadn’t thought Joch would have enough brains to hang a second lock worked by Morassian masters on his barn. But that’s what he did! The dog’s jaws with the sharp teeth and the keyhole in its throat grinned warningly at us.

  “I’ll have to work a bit longer.” Harold was not at all dejected by what he saw. “You still chasing the wind?”

  “Yes.”

  “As you will. They’re your lives,” he said indifferently, and once again took his picks from his bag.

  “What are you talking about?” Layen half whispered to me. “What wind?”

  “Later, okay?” Now there was neither time nor need to explain it to her. All my thoughts were occupied with the lock. “Harold, what if there’s a dead bolt on the other side of the door?”

  “Is your Joch an idiot or a coward?”

  “No,” I replied, not knowing what he was driving at.

  “Then there won’t be any dead bolt. Only a complete fool would place something else on a door with a Morassian Cur. The dog’s jaws are reliable all by themselves. And here there are two of them—one on the inside and one on the outside. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  My heart beat painfully.

  “How do you know that it’s double?” Layen asked, surprised. “Can you see through the wood?”

  “No. I can just feel it.” He smiled thinly. “Also, sane people usually put a lock on the outside of such places, not on the inside.”

  “Sane people don’t usually put Morassian playthings on barns,” my sun argued with him.

  “It makes no difference to us right now, whether your friend is sane or insane. I just have to open the first one without knocking aside any pins, and then I’ll tackle the second, though they probably have some bits in common. It’s going to take some time.”

  “I hope you’ll get it done before dawn.”

  “Sure,” said the thief, and then he got to work.

  He managed it in less than twenty minutes. When the lock clicked, there wasn’t a drop of sweat on Harold’s forehead.

  “I’m impressed.”

  “It’s cats who thrive on flattery.” Harold grinned. “Now it’s your turn to show what you can do.”

  “You’re staying?”

  He thought about it. Then he chuckled, and the miniature crossbow appeared in his hand.

  “Are we going to tug the storm’s beard? Perhaps I’ll join your team, after all. It’s too hospitable a home to leave it so quickly.”

  “All right.” Layen and I donned black half-masks. “Follow us and don’t get into any fights. Do you have something to cover your face?”

  “No. I have no need for it. Just watch out for dogs. Right now dogs are our biggest threat.”

  Well, if he didn’t want to cover his face, that was his right. I didn’t care.

  I opened the door and looked around. I saw no one. We slipped through and, clinging to th
e wall, crept from the moonlight to thick shadow. Now I could really have a look around.

  The barn from which we’d successfully escaped was neighbored by two identical structures. There were also mismatched sheds, a chicken coop, a pigsty, a small silo, and a few other buildings whose purpose I couldn’t guess. Twenty yards away there were some low, squat stables. Beyond it was a narrow strip of orchards, consisting of large shadowy apple, apricot, and mulberry trees.

  We swung wide around the stables and plunged into the orchard. Harold plucked an apple from a nearby tree, rubbed it on his jacket, and sank his teeth into it. He immediately grimaced and tossed the unpleasant fruit aside. We approached the house from the rear.

  The Viceroy himself could very well live in this four-storied palace. The large lancet windows were dark, and the only lights burning brightly were in the far wing of the ground and fourth floors.

  “That’s the kitchen.” Layen pointed at the lighted windows on the ground floor. “Going through there would be faster, but more dangerous. There’s always someone there. And that’s Joch’s bedroom.” She pointed to the fourth floor.

  “Not sleeping at such an hour. Obviously his conscience is not clear,” muttered Harold. “I suggest we go through that door there.”

  “It’s lit by torches,” I objected.

  “Does light frighten you? Never mind,” the thief dismissed me carelessly.

  “We’d just need to get through the greenhouse, and we’d be in the right wing,” Layen supported him. “Otherwise we’ll have to walk through the entire house, and we’re bound to get an unwelcoming reception then and—”

  “Look at the balcony,” I interrupted her softly.

  A man with a crossbow on his knees was sitting there.

  “He’s sleeping,” objected Harold. “Some guard.”

  “He could wake up. Also, we don’t know how much security there is around the house.”

  “Most of it should be at the gate and the front door. No one expects uninvited guests to crawl out of the barn.”

  “Okay,” I decided. “We’ll do as you say. I’ll cover you.”