“Patience, Acaanan,” Bael reassured her. “There is more to Grimpkin than even we could dream of. I’ll explain in a trice.”
Afterward, Bael made a few inquiries of the prostitute who had warmed to him. The trollop was overly compliant in answering his questions. Lakif followed silently in tow, wondering what the Kulthean was cooking up.
As they were leaving, Lakif suddenly remembered the drug-dealing Istani. He must be waiting for the Acaanan with his intoxicating powder! As much as Lakif wanted to score the drug, she felt that the moment had passed. Bael was already ushering them onward, and Lakif couldn’t improvise on the spur of the moment a credible reason to run back into the shadows. She accepted her loss well, comforted by the fact that she hadn’t paid in advance.
They caught up with Torkoth. He was emerging from a crack under the stairs. Lakif wondered what he had been doing in there. Had he taken the opportunity to pounce on a diva, or was he merely taking a leak? Lakif hailed him, and in a dash Torkoth caught up to the Stone bearers.
XXIII
The Reconnoiter
THE TRIO COMMANDEERED A SECLUDED BALCONY OVERLOOKING A DUSTY avenue. Nearby, a gruesome statue loomed. The giant gargoyle was perched as if scrutinizing the traffic below. Such statues were omnipresent in the Gray District. Muscled wings framed a granite trunk, giving the impression of a shrouded throne. A leering mouth registered unmitigated revulsion with the pedestrians below. Lakif shivered before its warped face, which looked remarkably Human.
“There.” Bael pointed down. From their position they had, quite literally, a bird’s-eye view of a bridge spanning a wing of the Fornix.
The thoroughfare was deeply set, and Lakif couldn’t decide if it was indeed an element of the Old City. She now accepted that she had always embraced a superficial view of Grimpkin. She tended to view any element of the district that was exposed to the sun as Grimpkin, as this was where the citizenry at large lived and worked. On the other hand, anything buried in the darkness beneath was relegated to the Old City. This proved to be a gross simplification. Often, the two faces blurred together.
The Acaanan was astounded to see a horse-drawn carriage rattling across the windswept bridge. A driver, bundled up against the toothy chill, egged the beasts on. His coarse cries sounded like distant chirps from this height. The frantic patter of hooves rang out over the creaking of the carriage’s wheels. As they watched, the carriage passed into a lantern-flanked tunnel on the opposite bank and disappeared from sight.
“Was that a horse?” Torkoth asked. Lakif cracked a smile at the infantile remark. Torkoth was certainly without guile; he displayed his ignorance of the beasts quite candidly. But in all honesty, Lakif had to admit to herself that had she not seen horses illustrated in manuals, she would have been as clueless. Not that this was unusual. Horses were so rare that few citizens ever saw one. In fact, they had achieved the status of urban myths in many areas. Any storyteller worth his salt carefully wove a steed into his yarn to spice it up with a fantastic quality. Only special circles harnessed the remarkable power of horses, circles that the Acaanan wasn’t privileged to tread.
“Is that some wealthy manor?” Lakif gestured to the entrance where the carriage had rattled. The edifice’s bland facade in no way deserved such a reference, but Lakif was at a loss as to why such a vehicle would have rumbled in.
Bael shook his head. “That’s the Arachna.”
Lakif had heard the word before, for it had come up in conversations in the past, although at the moment, she couldn’t place in what context. Torkoth looked equally baffled, so Bael explained.
“The Arachna is a system for transport. This station is connected to other such centers around the district by a network of specialized routes mining the Old City. They utilize horses for swift travel. Lakif, remember I mentioned that I came up from the coast? I actually rode in. This was my port of debarkation.”
In light of the Kulthean’s description, Lakif found the word Arachna apropos for the network. It clearly was related to the Istani word for spider. Apparently, Arachna referred to the central hubs and the interlacing routes that connected them. This surely would resemble a spider’s web blanketing the district.
Bael went on to explain he knew something of the system. According to him, it was the principal network of transport within Grimpkin. Of course, the Leviathan was without a doubt the most rapid mechanism to cross the district. It leapt the staggering distance from the First to the Seventh Circles in a few hours. But its obvious drawback was that it offered only east–west transportation. As the Arachna canvassed the district like a web, virtually any destination would be within walking distance of a local station. The smaller hubs arose where two transport routes intersected. Others, situated at the junction of three or more routes, were proportionately larger.
Hearing the Kulthean’s description, Lakif was struck by the complexity of the district. There was a whole buried infrastructure of which she had been completely unaware. Grimpkin was undeniably the most intricate of the core districts. It was a war chest of surprises that opened daily to emit a new arsenal of mysteries.
“That’s all well and good, but what are we to do now?” Lakif rolled her eyes. “Perhaps they would sell us horses, but…” Lakif trailed off, for she didn’t need to finish the thought. It was evident that to buy just one steed would cost a limb.
“We will have to appropriate them.” The Kulthean finished her thought.
Lakif just looked at her friend blankly.
“Steal them?” Torkoth clarified.
Bael shrugged his wide shoulders.
“You can’t be serious!” Lakif shouted.
“If we’re successful…”
“This has gone far enough!” Lakif truncated her friend. “If we can steal the horses without getting caught and hanged! If Janus is truthful and has a master who knows of the Bard. If we survive a trip into Erebus! If this Rasp character abides by the bargain his rotting flunky scripted! If we can track down the Bard, and if he actually knows of a furnace! That’s too many ifs for my comfort!”
“I’m ready to entertain any other possibilities,” Bael opened the floor for alternatives.
“But if Jonas…I mean Janus…is a fraud, we will be wanted criminals!” Lakif grieved.
“We already are.” Bael placed his hand on his pouch. His meaning was patent enough. By guarding Rare Earth Stones, they had already contradicted a time-honored order of the Elders. Such was a capital offense. Adding horse theft to the grave charge was a pittance.
“What’s the security like in the stables?” Torkoth asked. A calculating look dented his face.
Lakif had hoped that the Half-man would sympathize with her reservation, and a democratic vote would sway the decision to her side. But he was already appraising their odds of success. Now she felt outnumbered.
“Minimal. I guard my socks better,” Bael replied to the Half-man’s question.
Lakif couldn’t believe that it was the Kulthean who was suggesting all this. She could understand why Torkoth would warm to the idea. As a vagrant with a questionable past he could be expected to gravitate to such criminal acts. But Bael was another matter—the scandalous act he proposed seemed far beneath him. She was now beginning to appreciate just how far and wide Bael diverged from the Kulthean norm. That he would travel in open company with Inhumans, alone pegged him as the black sheep of his kind. That he was suggesting they don the base cap of horse thieves proved that he wasn’t one to cavil over minor moral issues.
Lakif now saw why Bael had chosen this particular Arachna station. It was an unassuming structure, probably with a modest staff and minimal cross traffic. These features coalesced into an ideal target that posed the least amount of danger.
“Do you recall the layout?” Torkoth’s question broadcast his final opinion clearly.
Bael nodded. “We won’t need to case it.”
“Then all we need is a plan,” the Half-man schemed. “And the best plan is the most br
azen.”
“Oy gevalt!” Lakif slapped her head. They were walking into a hornet’s nest of troubles, and all for what: a promise from a diseased loon? She slumped back against the gargoyle, her mind gearing up to face their troubling options.
Suddenly, the statue’s wings fanned out overhead; the Acaanan virtually leapt right out of her skin. The gargoyle was alive! Behind her, it pivoted on its haunches and growled at the trio. Lakif vaulted for safety, nearly tripping over her own feet. A low baluster offered protection, and she dove over it.
After regaining her bearings, she peered through the railing. The gargoyle’s angry face boiled at her. Its wings, longer than a spear, arched out threateningly, and its dorsal spines bristled.
Her companions, no less startled by the movement, had also scrambled for cover. The Acaanan would never have imagined that the statue was anything other than what it appeared. Judging by her cohorts’ startled reactions, the feeling was mutual.
The incensed sentry didn’t advance but was content to simply intimidate the intruders with hisses and yawns. Lakif breathed a sigh of relief. Although of fierce disposition, gargoyles seldom attacked men. Curiously their preferred meal included lichens and other brambles that studded stone. Their lengthy conversation at its flank surely had annoyed the solitary guardian. But the Acaanan using it as a recliner had been the final straw.
Once they gathered their wits, they regrouped and hastened from the grumpy sentry.
Lakif was inclined to return to the Goblin Knight. The inn, due to its central position and familiarity, had clearly been established as their base of operations. This particular Arachna station wasn’t the nearest one to the inn, but a brisk walk would have them home before None.
Torkoth, however, equivocated and suggested that they remain local. He favored fining a closer inn for the night. When asked about the reason for this, he responded with a tired axiom concerning an early bird rising and its wormy breakfast; they would be much closer to tackle the station at first light. But Lakif suspected that the Half-man had a sound reason for not wanting to return to the Goblin Knight. Had he become involved in some mishap there? Perhaps he was wanted for the disappearance of the three travelers? But fortunately Torkoth seemed to harness no ill-will to her, so she judged it best not to pry. Bael also advocated remaining close to the Arachna. Again outvoted, she capitulated.
They randomly chose a local inn. The Acaanan’s first appraisal wasn’t favorable, and she groused about the uninspiring establishment. But on second thought, it seemed completely satisfactory. She concluded that her standards had been poisoned by spending too much time in the Goblin Knight, in whose austere shadow any normal inn would blanch. She never even caught the name of the place.
Much to the inn keep’s disappointment, they chose but a single room. Not that they were being stingy. Lakif felt relatively flushed with coin, especially having saved on the cryptide, an expense she had budgeted for. Although she didn’t know how deep the Kulthean’s pockets were, judging by his stylish garb Bael was in no danger of insolvency. Lakif had absolutely no idea how much money the Half-man had and certainly wasn’t inclined to broach the subject. Instead, their decision was based on one simple fact; they would need to jointly hammer out a plan for tomorrow. An unexpected appurtenance came with the room. They received a free snack delivered to their quarters.
No sooner had they settled into the room than they commandeered the central table and began brainstorming the escapade. The springs of their individual imaginations coalesced, and the confluence bore out a saucy strategy.
Later that night, Lakif tossed restlessly in her bed. The two men had appropriated spots on the floor, leaving her the bed. That gesture was as chivalrous as any she had ever received, although she didn’t feel she needed or deserved any special accommodation as a female.
She mulled over the bargain with the leper and the subsequent decision to steal the mares from the Arachna station. Her instinctive reaction to the crime baffled her. She had openly denounced the deed, but why? She clearly was not above breaking the law to obtain her goals. In fact, she had overly championed the break-in of Ebon Myre, when their opposition was much less well defined and more was at stake. Yet she had initially dismissed today’s plan, which was far more concrete. The only difference she could imagine was Bael. Was her resistance some subconscious act performed for the benefit of the Kulthean, so that he may not view her as a typical Acaanan forever shackled in mayhem?
She thought about the recent spectacular turn of events. Prior to the Goblin Knight Inn, her days were a litany of indistinguishable failures. But after allying with Torkoth things had really taken off, and more so now that Bael was in the picture. As much as Lakif fancied herself an independent self-starter, the fact was that she owed all of her current successes to her benefactors. This ruffled her pride.
She shuffled from the bed and crept to the window. Bael was rolled on his side, facing away from her. Strangely, Torkoth was sleeping propped up against a wall. He looked battle-ready even in sleep, as if at any disturbance he would leap to his feet. His face was colored by the moonlight, but only half was visible to the Acaanan; his flesh sparkled but the opposing scaled half was inked out. He seemed to truly have half a face.
A twinkle lanced her eyeball. Resting next to Torkoth was a sword. It was unwrapped now, as he had brandished it in the Fornix to stave off the pimp. The pommel contained a peculiar jewel, and the hilt was wrapped in some kind of reptile hide. In all it was a stately arm, certainly not the standard fodder of the local weapon-wrights. But something about the arm resonated with the Acaanan. Then it dawned on her—this was none other than Ku-Than’s exotic blade! She had marveled at it the night of the star fall. Its unique features couldn’t be duplicated. But what was Torkoth doing with the arm? Had the shaman given the blade to the Half-man? If so, then why hadn’t Torkoth relied on the arm in their foray into Ebon Myre? This led Lakif to fear that her partner had confiscated the item after their invasion of the monastery. Harboring the slain shaman’s articles was a glaring red flag. She imagined the Half-man gutting the strung up mystic chaps to groin with his own blade! Lakif now more than ever quaked with dread at her dozing partner.
She tried to shake the ghastly scene from her mind. Whatever schemes Torkoth was up to, he had acted only in Lakif’s best interests up to now. Was he truly forthright in supporting the Acaanan, or was he lulling her into false confidence? She could wrap her mind around it a thousand ways and still come up empty. But whatever the truth, she needed Torkoth’s canny reflexes and strong arm at this juncture. But she promised to keep a third eye planted on her partner from now on.
She turned and looked out the window and up into the night sky, specifically to where the star had burned so brightly before. To her dismay, the site was an inky well. She reflected on Capalos’ words in the train station. Tonight was the twelth night out from the star fall.
XXIV
The Heist
“HOW CAN I HELP YOU?” THE CLERK ASKED WITH DISINTERESTED EYES.
Lakif stepped forward, summoning up her most cavalier tone.
“My liege is returning to his manor on the Isle of Alma. Important matters have surfaced that require his immediate attention. Time is of the essence, and he requires a carriage as far as the Dank Well Chateau.” Lakif paused to evaluate the effect of her eloquence on the employee.
“Liege? Alma?” the bleary-eyed clerk mumbled. They were in the Arachna’s foyer yard, negotiating with a clerk. Lakif had spouted the introduction with as much speed as she could muster. The Acaanan’s intent was that the clerk would only catch isolated words, thus putting the fellow on the defensive right from the start. She didn’t know if there was an isle called Alma in the Dank Well Sea, but the clerk would not be in a position to dispute this. No one could know more than a few of the countless islands that dotted that endless ocean. The clerk’s befuddled expression suggested that Lakif had succeeded.
“You heard me correctly,” Lakif u
rged.
“You require a carriage?” the clerk clarified.
“Yes. Chop-chop!” Lakif exhorted, clapping her hands together. Her role in the charade was that of the liege’s dutiful assistant.
Just as the clerk turned to run off, Torkoth interjected.
“Wait!” He had been standing astutely at the Acaanan’s side. As he was armored and bearing obvious weaponry, he was to assume the role of the liege’s private guard. The clerk screeched to a halt and spun around at the urgency of his tone.
Lakif threw her companion a disapproving frown. “You know our liege is in a hurry!”
“Yes, but…” Torkoth drew in close and whispered into the Acaanan’s ear through the funnel of a cupped hand.
“Excellent point.” Lakif nodded, acknowledging the private message.
“Good sir.” Lakif redirected her attention back to the frazzled clerk. “My liege is rather punctilious in his taste of horses.” She suspected that the clerk wouldn’t know the meaning of punctilious, but that was all the better to bamboozle the lackey.
“It goes back to his childhood stallion, Excelsior. It was a sad story really…” At this, Torkoth nudged her elbow.
“I digress.” Lakif pretended to wipe a wispy tear from the corner of her eye. “The short of it is that we will have to see the horses firsthand.”
“Pardon?” The clerk blinked.
“You didn’t hear me?” Lakif added a tincture of ire to her words. “Has a colt kicked you in the ear?”
“Yes, but…” The clerk hesitated.
“We will need to see the horses! We can’t very well leave the choice up to Lady Luck. If the Master is displeased with either one of them, he will demand a replacement, and all this will eat precious time. Fortunately, I’m in a position to judge his tastes.”
“Customers are not allowed in the livery,” the clerk stuttered.
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