by Storey, Rob
The narrow corridor led two hundred yards straight under the garden and into a lower level of the weighty edifice above. It ended at another ladder going up. The passage’s purpose seemed to be an escape route, though obviously it might be used to reenter the main building in secret as well. Its only defense was its secrecy, and that had been compromised.
Kieler left his mask and cloak and climbed, pulling back the latch to a trap door in the ceiling. He cautiously put his shoulder to the hatch. It took more effort then he expected to lift and peek out. He saw immediately that the floor around it was expensive tile, probably from the quarries of eastern Coprackus. No wonder the hatch was so heavy.
A strong pungency struck him as he climbed into a wine cellar. He saw that the edge of the secret hatch abutted a wine rack against the wall. Inside the rack was a well-hidden latch used to open the trap door from above. It was cleverly and precisely made, and Kieler appreciated such devices. He noted its location for his return trip, but on a hunch, left the hatch open. Instinct told him this room would not be on a patrol route.
Again he wondered who used this entrance and how often.
His musings did not cause him to slow down, however. There was no evidence that the guards from the powercoach gate had alerted the main residence, but if a patrol spotted their ship in the rail yard below, it was best that what he must do be done quickly. At least the rain and the shadow of the freighter would make the sled very difficult to see.
The door to the wine room opened out to a tasting area. It was cool, and the redolence of fine wines saturated his nose. This scent, though exquisitely pleasant, somehow reminded him of the stale rank of a pub he frequented in his information trade, The Bottom of the Barrel. The alcoholic stench of that pub was an acquired tolerance.
No one was about. He exited the wine chamber and followed the map Movus had provided and Kieler had memorized. He moved with certainty through the exquisitely tiled lower level of the Cortatti keep. This southwestern side was mostly residential. In fact, the map showed Feleanna’s suites to be two and three floors directly above the wine rooms.
The administrative and intelligence headquarters occupied the north side of the keep. Kieler would stay well clear of that as it was sure to be even more heavily guarded.
This lower corridor was cool with several heavy wooden doors on either side. He passed one door on his right hung with a sign that was strikingly out of place, considering the residential feel of this part of the building. It read: STAY OUT OR DIE.
Not on Kieler’s route anyway. He continued toward the stairway that led up to the great hall on the main floor. He spun silently onto the stair and had gone but five steps when he simultaneously heard and saw the feet of two guards coming down. Instantly he about-faced and was off the stair, backtracking down the tiled hall. There were two doors close, both locked, and then the STAY OUT door. Figuring it locked, he nevertheless tried the lever as he passed. He was shocked to have it swing open.
The guards were chatting, about to round the corner from the stairs.
Be caught, stay out, or die.
He chose to risk dying.
Within, Kieler swung the door closed quickly, slowing it an inch from the latch and then pushing it gently shut. His quick glance around had revealed little, but no instant death came upon him. Instead, the room was quiet, lit by a single source far across the room and shaded by a curtain.
The voices in the hall were faint but did not fade. The two guards had stopped somewhere outside the door. He leaned close to the heavy door to try and hear words but could not.
Move on! he mentally commanded, focusing on their presence beyond.
What if they come in here?
What is in here, anyway?
Accompanying that thought came the uncanny feeling that he was not alone. He turned his head slowly, eyes adjusting to the dimmer light, and saw a faint silhouette against the backlit curtain.
Chapter Two
The part of the room in which Kieler stood was like a waiting room but with only one chair and one low cocktail table, stacked with books. But separating the waiting area from the much larger portion of the room were dark metal bars, spanning floor-to-ceiling, that he hadn’t seen in the low light. The entire chamber was covered with a rich carpet. Within the barred area was an ornate bedroom set, a full wall of bookshelves, and a curtained private area from which the light shone.
These details he noted incidentally as he tried to pierce the gloom and see more of the man standing not three feet behind the bars. At first he thought the shadow might be a statue, still as it was. But then he noticed a halo of thinning red hair and the slightest motion of his shoulders. Hands behind his back and eyes shadowed, he silently watched Kieler.
What kind of criminal gets this kind of quarters?
Chilled and at a loss, Kieler didn’t know whether to speak first or wait. He could not tackle the man, regardless of the bars. The man could easily cry out an alert before Kieler reached him. And besides, a prisoner, of sorts—he could have called out already had he wished.
Waiting for the eerie man drove Kieler crazy. He broke the silence with a whispered question, “What are you being held for?”
Despite the shadowed face, Kieler knew the man smiled slightly. He didn’t whisper but spoke quietly enough that the guards could not hear. “I hear a voice.” His pitch was oddly high.
An answer or an observation?
Torn between wanting to get moving and not wanting this man to sound the alarm, Kieler searched for the right thing to say.
“Hearing voices is not a crime,” Kieler remarked cautiously.
The man cocked his head, regarding him—or listening. “Especially when the voice is the truth.” Another uncomfortable pause. “But no one else seems to hear this voice.”
Having no idea what to make of that, Kieler once again wondered what to do. He could still hear talking in the hall outside. It seemed—had this been a normal conversation—that the man should be asking Kieler a few questions like, “Why are you hiding from the guards in the middle of the night?” or “What are you doing here?”
But something wasn’t normal about this person.
Finally, the man did ask a question—a question as unexpected as his behavior.
“Do you want to hear what the voice says about you?”
There was silence. Complete silence. The guards had moved on. Kieler was ready to run. Yet now his curiosity was piqued. And the question remained; would this man give him away?
Kieler didn’t have time for distractions. He peeked out the door, found it clear, and left. He hadn’t answered the man and he hadn’t time for strange discussions. He ran down the empty hall.
Listening carefully this time, he hit the stairs and bounded up them three at a time. At the top, a different kind of disorientation hit him. There seemed to be nothing in front of him. A single dim light shone behind him from the wall above the stairs, creating a small semi-circle of light that faded into darkness before him. Above him was a cavernous space so high it seemed to be open to the outside. For a moment he was reminded of the main cavern beneath the Plate. That cavern, several miles across, hosted Karst, city of exile.
Then he saw lights far away and knew this, though enormous for a building, was not miles across. The lights marked the far side of the Cortatti great hall, dimmed for night. The lights also pinpointed his target: the bastion at the far east corner.
Before crossing the open space, Kieler faded to his left and into the shadows. He looked up and back at the second floor to watch the promenade that overlooked the great hall. Double doors and windows, darkened, were probably Feleanna’s quarters. As he watched, a patrolling guard passed indolently by those doors and continued farther south along the high promenade. The guard was bored. Kieler could almost imagine the man’s thoughts: “Why am I here? No one would ever dare to intrude on the Cortatti estate.”
Kieler grinned, and the thrill of what he was doing rose in him.
Kieler dared.
And he would dare much more at tomorrow night’s New Year’s gala—provided he succeeded here tonight.
Once the guard was gone, Kieler forced himself to stride confidently across the open area. Movus’ map had led Kieler to expect big, but the magnitude of the great hall could not be gauged from a mere blueprint. As he crossed he looked up and actually staggered with vertigo from the emptiness above and before him. The ceiling, and he knew there had to be one, was not visible. The great hall must have been open the full height to the top of the ziggurat.
The lights of the far wall, like pinpoints of stars, eventually resolved to show four rows of columns. The bases of the immense columns were the size of buildings themselves, and they disappeared upward toward the obscured ceiling.
He was awed.
Disgusted at his own reaction, Kieler almost spat. This was typical of the gross opulence and pride of the ruling houses. They must appear imposing beyond limits, untouchable, unapproachable. As an archaic saying went, “Thus they lived, mere mortals; thus they ruled, immortal.”
But he knew them to be men, with fears and insecurities, hoarding wealth and holding it close so that no one could wrench it from their clutching grasp. And the Cortattis, through violence and deception, were one of the few houses that could actually maintain such grandeur. Most of the rest of Avertori was in steep decline.
He smiled grimly. Here he was, about to steal a symbol of house power from the most heavily armed, well-guarded, ruthless house in history. And this was only the preamble. This was just preparation for nothing short of a revolution.
Glancing up again, he kept his focus on the lights on the nearing side of the empty gallery, acting out a courage he did not feel. He felt exposed despite the keep’s vast dimness. At least he was moving. Poor Bags, sitting back there minding their ride, was probably pacing the cargo hold.
Kieler reached the far wall and found the columned entryway to their main library. He checked it clear, and dashed up to the library doors at the base of the tower. He slipped the bolt with a tool from inside his fake uniform jacket and passed inside.
Again the only proper descriptor was “awe.” The library went both up and down, every wall of the hexagonal room filled with shelves and books. Kieler had always heard people talk of House Cortatti as mindless brutes—a stereotype Movus had warned Kieler not to believe. Most people would be surprised that they could read. But that they maintained such a well appointed library—that surprised even Kieler.
In the center, hanging down from the ceiling, was a globe lantern, mostly shuttered. But enough could be seen through the shutters for Kieler to realize it held a cut stone of high-quality luzhril the size of his head—a fortune in itself. The shutters were undoubtedly magal, regulating the energy of the globe for safe use. An unbridled globe that size would be so intense it would cause a sunburn in a very short time.
The light escaping from the suspended lantern allowed Kieler to make out the various artworks displayed around the center of the athenaeum. While he was not a student of art, he was certain each piece was phenomenally expensive. As he passed through the center to the stairs on the far left wall, he could tell another thing too: the art was coordinated. Each piece was carefully placed and set to match in style, size, form and genre. They were on display not only as a show of power, but appreciation. He wondered who had arranged the place.
None of these pieces were what he sought. The cases of jewelry and ornate weapons, paintings and carvings—none were as valuable to the Cortattis as the single item he was after.
He climbed a wrought-iron stair to the top level and a recessed alcove. Another locked door barred his way, and this one Movus had assured him he could not pick, its lock being both shaped and magnetically coded within. But the door was simple dark glass.
Listening for a patrol and hearing nothing, Kieler smashed a hole through the expensive glass and reached his hand in to open the fancy and useless lock mechanism from the inside. The security design was manifest arrogance.
Inside a small sitting room were three fine chairs and a table on which to place their coveted treasures for admiring. Kieler exposed the chip of luzhril on his sheathed rod. He quickly found a small but heavy case on a shelf. The metalized glass was designed to sustain and display four house sigils. Each piece was crafted of the finest luzhril jewels; each unique in the colors of an ancient house. He opened the heavy, magal-lined lid and the gems of each piece flashed to life—a dramatic and inspiring effect. The symbols were designed to be worn on the formal attire of a house prime as a statement of authority and authenticity. But none of these was the Cortatti’s own signet. That they possessed these heirlooms was evidence of treachery.
With a burst of anger, Kieler wanted to scoop out every one of the signets, each representing an extinct house, exterminated by Cortatti in the past. But Movus gave the orders. And he claimed the signets were much more useful in the possession of the Cortattis as a means to damn them; to convict them when the time was right.
But one of these symbols of house legitimacy was needed by Kieler.
He picked up a jeweled signet in the shape of a six-pointed star, alternating between three long and three short points. The long points of the star were decorated with glittering green luzhril and the short with a lovely golden amber, the stone of time. This iconic shape symbolized history and was the preeminent mark on books and art that preserved the rich achievements and foundational principles upon which a more visionary Omeron had been established. This was the sigil handed down to the successors of House Ortessi.
That the Cortattis held this jeweled emblem was only rumored. The fire that destroyed every member of family Ortessi was officially deemed an accidental tragedy. But every house knew who had arranged it. And every house had looked away from pursuing justice because of the personal cost. To do what was right would have attracted the retribution of House Cortatti. No one wanted to add their own sigil to this growing collection—it wasn’t worth the risk.
Kieler’s thoughts translated to his fierce grip on the sharp-pointed clasp. He almost drew blood from his own hand before the pain cut through his anger to his rational thought. Time to get out of here. He had what he needed.
He took a long last look around. There were so many artifacts of unimaginable value in the room around him. He licked his lips. To take even one more piece—not to have but to sell—would change his fortune forever. But Kieler had a higher calling; he wanted to bring down this corrupt regime, not become like it. Besides, the other pieces were known to belong to House Cortatti. Possessing one would incriminate Kieler.
This piece, this signet, was not supposed to be here. They could accuse him of nothing without incriminating themselves.
He tucked it into the pocket of his coat and turned to leave.
He spun out of the private collection room and pulled up short—almost crashing into a guard. The man stood in numb confusion, staring at the broken pane of glass. They stood frozen, mutually shocked, trying to process implications.
While the lackadaisical guard could not fathom that his cushy job had just turned into a nightmare, Kieler reached an actionable decision: He smashed the guard’s face with the palm of his hand.
He had intended to knock him senseless, forestalling any reaction by the guard. But instead the man fell backward, losing his maggun down the metal stairs. Whether he was conscious or not, the metal gun on two stories of metal stairs clanged and echoed as loudly and effectively as any alarm bell.
Kieler flew down after him, barely touching every fifth step.
He dashed from the library and hit the grand hall—and hesitated. He didn’t want to cross that open area. But it was the shortest and surest route back to the secret exit. He ran.
Before he was half way across he saw guards coming from the sides to investigate the odd alarm. One was coming straight toward him.
Kieler didn’t slow but called out to the approaching man. “It’s Corwain! He fe
ll down the stairs and hit his head. I’m going for help!”
The guard, not recognizing Kieler, but also not able to believe he could be an infiltrator in the dead center of the keep, stopped and motioned for Kieler to stop. “Who’s Corwain?”
Kieler passed him running and called back. “The new guy. Get a doctor!”
The man started chasing Kieler, slowly at first. “Who are you?”
But Kieler had run out of names and diversions. He poured on the speed. He heard the whine of a maggun being powered up. He started veering randomly to make a harder target, opening up the distance.
“Stop that man!”
The first maggun bolt was fired from the man he had passed. It went wide in the dim light, but not so wide that it didn’t add adrenaline speed to Kieler’s feet.
Other alarms were ringing now. Real alarms. Before he reached the stairs he saw lights come on in the long suite of rooms on the second level. Feleanna Cortatti’s rooms.
He reached the wall and bounded down the stairs. Grabbing the banister he swung around the first landing and glimpsed a guard coming up. Kieler launched himself, using the high ground advantage and his plunging momentum. Catching the unready guard full in the chest with both feet, the guard flew backward all the way to the next landing, never touching a single step on the way down. Kieler kept his momentum and swung completely over the rail to the next flight of stairs. That man didn’t follow and Kieler kept up his headlong descent to the bottom.
By the time he reached the corridor he could hear footfalls from every direction getting close fast.
A guard popped out several yards in front of him as Kieler reached the doorway to the wine tasting room. The man’s maggun was already spun up and as he leveled and shot, Kieler dove out of the corridor, accidentally tackling one of the wine tables. Fumbling for footing, he half crawled, half lurched to the storage room door, knocking over two more tables on the way. He found his footing just in time to crash through the storage room door.
