“Does that mean you’re giving up the search?” Greytooth asked, voice mild.
“It does not. It means I am preparing to resort to unreasonable means to find her.”
“Such as?”
“Well, that depends in part on what you can tell me about the Philosophers’ connection to the Eightfold, and Her Blades.”
He put his glass down. “I can tell you nothing, Holgren.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
He avoided my question by asking his own.
“What do you hope to gain by such knowledge? What would it have to do with finding Mistress Thetys?”
“An Arhat was mixed up in the whole sordid affair with the Blade that Whispers Hate. Here in Bellarius, Amra encountered the Knife that Parts the Night—and you, Magister Greytooth, another Arhat, another Philosopher. I have learned one thing in the years I have spent with Amra Thetys: Where she goes there is no coincidence, only cause and effect.
“That the Philosophers are connected to the Eightfold’s Blades I have zero doubt. That Amra is connected to the Blades, likewise. Therefore you Philosophers are, in some form or fashion, connected to Amra, even if only tangentially. I want to know what that connection is, Fallon.”
“Why?”
“Because anything connected to her might be something I can use to pull her back from wherever she has gone, or guide me to where she is.”
“Holgren. I am sorry, truly. This connection does not offer hope of that sort.”
“Tell me, and let me judge.”
He took some time to collect his thoughts. “Very well,” he said at last. “The Cataclysm was caused by a splinter faction of the Philosophers; this much I suspect you know.”
“I do.”
“That faction used one of the Eightfold’s Blades to… do what they did. The rest of us have been dedicated to collecting Her Blades ever since, to finding them and keeping them out of the reach of anyone who would seek to use them, so that nothing like the Cataclysm might ever happen again.”
“Noble,” I said, “but not, you’ll pardon my saying, terribly effective, judging by the state of Bellarius.” Hundreds had died when the power of the rift had begun to breach its containment. Buildings had melted like wax, dark things had been birthed and still roamed the night streets, killing and worse. The Knife that Parts the Night had made it all possible.
“We are few and the Blades are extremely powerful. Until Amra destroyed the Blade that Whispers Hate, we had devoted ourselves for centuries to tracking the Blades down and containing them, believing them indestructible.” He tossed back the remains of his wine and set the empty glass carefully on the table.
“Amra Thetys gave us hope that we might accomplish what we all had believed was impossible. She gave us reason to think we could fully discharge the debt that the Philosophers owed the world, for bringing on the Cataclysm. Her destroying Abanon’s Blade gave us reason to hope that we need not spend an eternity hunting and imprisoning the mad weapons of a mad goddess, that our quest and our watch might actually have some end. That is the connection between Amra and my order, Holgren. That, and no other. I swear it. I’m sorry that it does not offer you any means to bring her back.”
It was the most I’d heard him say at any one time. He looked drained. I poured him another glass.
“How do the Philosophers track the Blades?”
“We do not, as such. We merely look and listen for certain signs that one might be loose, and in the hands of a mortal. We have no direct way of finding them using the Art, or the Philosophy. I do not know where Kalara’s Knife is any more than I know where Amra is, nor do I have any special means of finding out.”
“What if—” My question was interrupted by a knock at the door. Theiner, I presumed. Or Moc Mien. Whichever. Keel obviously presumed the same, because he was suddenly very busy clearing the table and disappearing.
I went and opened the door.
“Magus,” Theiner said with a nod. “Got your invite.” He was standing with his arms folded, coat-less despite the cold.
I nodded in return and stepped aside to allow him entry. He didn’t move.
“Where’s Amra?” he asked.
“That’s one of the things I’d like to discuss with you.”
“She obviously did what she said she would, or we wouldn’t be standing here talking. And I wouldn’t be meeting you in the Citadel if the Telemarch still had a pulse.”
“Please, Moc Mien, come in.” He was Theiner to Amra, not me. I was meeting with a crew chief, not an old friend.
Finally he did, with what seemed to me a strange reluctance. He wandered around the big, empty room for a moment, sparing a glance for Greytooth, who in turn ignored him completely.
“Where’s Keel?” he asked.
“Washing up after dinner.”
“Staying out of my sight, you mean.”
“I mean he’s washing up after dinner.” Moc Mien snorted, but let it rest. To my mind, Keel had nothing to prove to anyone. He could have fled the city at any point, knowing his former crew wouldn’t be kind at all if they caught him. He’d stayed to help rescue Amra. Moc Mien’s opinion of the boy meant nothing to me.
“Care for some wine?” I asked him, and he nodded. I poured him a glass.
“Are you going to answer my question, mage?” he asked as he took the glass from me and leaned up against a pillar.
“As to where Amra is, I don’t know. Not here. Not anywhere in the word. But not dead.”
“You’re going to have to explain that one to me, mage. I’m just a street rat grown up.”
I snorted. “So is Amra, as far as that goes. Please don’t play the fool, Moc Mien. It doesn’t suit you.”
“All right, if she isn’t dead and isn’t in the world, where the fuck is she?”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to find out ever since she disappeared.”
“Well. Thanks for enlightening me. Is that all you wanted to discuss?”
“No,” I said. “But let’s leave the other topics until Keel rejoins us. Amra told me that you were her oldest living friend. How did you meet?”
“I needed someone small enough and with the balls to climb up the inside of a drainpipe. It was a pretty wide drainpipe, but it was long, and as crooked as Kerf’s staff.”
“What in the world did you need someone to do that for?”
“It was the only way I could find into a place I wanted to get into.”
“Did she do it?”
“No. She asked if I was born a moron or became one later, and then picked the lock on a coal chute I hadn’t even noticed.” He smiled at the memory, briefly. The smile disappeared when Keel came up the stairs from the kitchen, replaced by the stony mask of a crime lord. For his part, Keel ignored his former boss, sat down at the table and sipped at his wine.
I went to the table and sat as well, looking at Moc Mien. After a brief hesitation he peeled his back off the pillar and sat, splay-legged, in the last empty chair.
“Gentlemen. Sitting around this table are the four people in Bellarius who know Amra, know that she saved this city from annihilation, and who have a stake in bringing her back from wherever she has gone.”
“Yeah, you might want to explain that part a bit more clearly,” Moc Mien drawled. “Where did she go?”
“Very well. Here are the bare facts. She entered the Telemarch’s inner sanctum. The Telemarch died. Amra, the Knife that Parts the Night, and the power that the Telemarch had summoned, which was rapidly destroying the city, all vanished. The facts and their order of occurrence are what I and Magister Greytooth are completely certain of.”
“What in hells is the Knife that Parts the Night?”
“A powerful and deadly weapon made by a powerful and insane goddess. It was what gave the Telemarch much of his magic, and made him insane.”
“Fair enough. Next question. Where were you when Amra was facing him down, mage?” Moc Mien’s voice had a thick thread of contemp
t running through it, but I answered calmly.
“Getting my eye ripped out by a monster.”
“He was protecting a little girl,” Keel interjected, pointing to me, eyes hot. “Where the hells were you?”
“I’m going to let that pass for now, boy. We’ll get to you later.”
“Keel,” I said quietly, “Moc Mien is here for a parley at my invitation. Don’t insult my hospitality.” It wasn’t really fair to Keel, but he was young and hotheaded. He needed to learn to stay calm when provoked.
“Sorry,” Keel muttered. He didn’t sound or look the least bit sorry. I wouldn’t have either, at that age.
“Moc Mien, Amra isn’t dead. Whatever she did, it saved the city and everyone in it. Whatever she did, it caused her to disappear from the world. But she isn’t dead.”
“How does that work, exactly? How do you leave the world any way other than feet-first?”
“There are an infinite number of planes of existence.”
“Oh? Care to give me an example?”
“Certainly. In fact I’ll give you eleven: The eleven hells, to be precise.”
“You’re saying Amra is in a hell?”
“I don’t know where Amra is. It’s possible she’s there. It’s equally possible she’s wandering around the plane of the gods, stealing fruit from Isin’s own garden and complaining about the wine. I don’t know where she is. I only know she isn’t here, on this plane with us.”
Moc Mien rubbed his forehead. “Well. Thanks for informing me, I suppose.” He put his glass on the table and stood up. Turned to leave.
“I’m going to find her,” I said quietly to his back, “and then I’m going to go and get her. And I need your help.” I looked at Greytooth and Keel. “I need all of your help.”
Moc Mien turned around.
“Just what sort of help is it you think I can offer?” he asked.
“First, I want you to give Keel a pass for the time we will remain in Bellarius. I’ll need him to run errands for me. I need him to be able to do that without turning up at my door in pieces.”
“How long were you planning on staying?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps a week. Perhaps a month. Until I no longer need the Citadel.” Which wasn’t precisely true, but was true enough. Until I could take, and break, one of the creatures created by the power of the rift, I couldn’t leave the Citadel. After that, I could just lock it up to keep anyone else from having it.
“I can probably accommodate you,” Moc Mien allowed. “But it won’t be cheap.”
“I didn’t expect it to be free. Second, I’d like for you to arrange quiet transportation for me and mine out of the city whenever I do decamp. I imagine you’ve got ins with the smugglers I’ve heard of down in the marsh.” I did not want anyone knowing when I left or where I was going. Old habits die hard, and usually for a good reason. “Finally, I want to hire your crew. It will be for a very dangerous job.”
“What do you want to steal, and who from?”
“I don’t want to steal anything. I want to trap something.”
“Trap? We’re thieves, not hunters.”
“Do you see many hunters in Bellarius? I need tough men who know the streets, alleys, rooftops and hiding places in the city. Your crew will serve.”
“Not unless I say they will.”
“You know what I mean.”
“What are you hunting?”
“One of the creatures that was spawned the night Amra disappeared. One of the dark mishaps created by the Telemarch’s rift. Which one doesn’t really matter.”
“So you want me to ignore Keel’s existence, and you want my crew to kill something.”
“No. Not kill. I need it alive.”
“By all the dead gods, what for? Those things are horrors.”
“I need it to lead me to Amra.”
“How in hells will that work?”
“It’s complicated and magical. Just trust me. If I can capture one and break it to my will, I’m virtually certain I can use it to lead me to Amra, or at least very near.”
Greytooth cleared his throat. “Have you discovered a way to walk the planes, then?”
“Me? No. But there’s a book that might tell me how.”
“Oh, really. And where might this book be found?”
“In the Black Library.”
Greytooth stared at me, open-mouthed. Finally he said “You’ve lost your mind.”
“What?” Keel asked. “What’s the Black Library?”
“I have to second the kid, unfortunately,” Moc Mien added. “Never heard of it. Not that I’m big on libraries.”
“The Black Library,” said Greytooth, never taking his eyes off mine, “is in Thraxys. The fifth hell. It houses the trophies of the demon Xom Dei, ruler of that realm.”
“So let me get this straight,” Moc Mien said. “You want to trap one of the nightmares that’s been terrorizing the Girdle and house-break it. Then you’re going to go to a library in the fifth hell and steal a book that will tell you how to wander around other magical realms of existence. Have I got the basics down so far?”
“Perfectly.”
“That’s not a plan. That’s not even wishing. That’s pure, impossible madness.”
Greytooth cleared his throat. “I’m assuming you’ll be using your new, notional pet as a bloodhound of some sort, to lead you to wherever Amra is.”
“That’s right. It won’t have any connection to her, but it will almost certainly have a connection to the power that spawned it. And I’m virtually certain that if I find one, I’ll find the other.”
Moc Mien looked at Greytooth. “You’re not taking him seriously?’
“I am. Unfortunately. It is both the strength and weakness of mages that we deal in making the impossible become the inevitable. Strength, because without that level of self-belief, we could work no magic whatsoever. Weakness, because we sometimes bite off more than we can chew. Holgren is not necessarily mad, despite what I said earlier.”
“Are you joking? I’m not even a mage and I can see holes in that plan big enough to put my foot through.”
“Nothing Holgren has said so far is impossible. Incredibly dangerous, yes. Almost sure to get him killed, certainly. But not impossible. Though I do get the feeling he is leaving out some rather large portions of his plan.”
“Oh?” I asked. “Such as?”
“Such as how you’re going to domesticate a monster. Such as how you’re going to gain access to the infernal regions in the first place. Such as how you intend to battle your way past the endless hordes of demons hungering for a taste of living human flesh, rather than the pale, wispy sustenance of a human soul. Such as how you plan to withstand the sorrowind, should you be caught out in it. Such as—”
“Details, magus, merely details.”
He snorted. “Does that mean you don’t yet know how you’re going to deal with those details, or does it mean you don’t want to discuss them?”
“Mostly the latter, a bit of the former,” I admitted.
Greytooth shook his head. “And what is it you’d like me to do, Holgren?”
“Just research, Fallon, and advice.”
“I’ll help you to that extent, certainly. My first piece of advice is to find another way.”
Silence crept into the room. Keel finally broke it.
“So does all that mean Holgren is rats-in-a-bag crazy, or not?”
#
The ‘party’ broke up a short while later. Greytooth and Moc Mien left thinking I was probably insane, but in the end Moc Mien was convinced to help by the promise of large amounts of gold, and Greytooth by simple hope. Keel was also leaning towards crazy, but he was too young and inexperienced to make a final judgment. Even if he became convinced I’d lost my mind, I was fairly certain he’d stick around out of loyalty.
Gold, hope, and loyalty. Powerful enough motivators to convince three people to help me attempt what seemed impossible. Explaining that I didn’t nee
d any of them to accompany me on my trip to Thraxys hadn’t hurt either.
I knew more about the eleven hells, in all probability, than anyone else alive. Well, anyone who wasn’t a daemonist, at least. I’d studied them in depth after I’d sold my soul, looking for some way out of the bargain. Then I’d died, and gone to the third hell. What I’d discovered there wasn’t something I could talk much about; some sort of compulsion had accompanied my resurrection. But one thing I’d learned before my resurrection gave me hope that my plan to raid the Black Library might have a chance of succeeding.
The hells were empty. Or at least the third one had been. I was willing to bet my life and my soul that the others were, as well.
Oh, there were still damned souls pouring in, but there were no demons or daemons there to receive them, to torment them, to feast on them.
They were all gone. From demon lords, to daemon foot soldiers, to the hellish daemonette fauna, they’d vanished.
Where they’d gone and why, I hadn’t a clue. Whether they would be back, the same. But their disappearance gave me at least a hope of success. If they were still disappeared, I would not have to battle my way across the third, fourth and fifth hells to reach the Black Library—a battle I would have had no chance of winning. Even without their native denizens, trekking across three hells would be a perilous journey.
I would have to enter at Gholdoryth, the third hell. It was the only one with a gate I had relatively easy access to. From there, I might be able to avoid the fourth hell, if I could gain access to the Spike. But there was no avoiding Thraxys, and Thraxys, though the smallest of the eleven hells, was in some ways the worst of them all.
First things first. Trap a rift spawn, and test my theory. If it could sense the rift, break it to my will. Once I’d accomplished that, I could leave Bellarius behind and return to Lucernis.
I wouldn’t be spending much time in Lucernis, however, if all went well. Just long enough to drop Keel off safe and sound at home, visit a powerful, unpredictable being, and reopen the hell gate that the mad sorcerer, Bosch, had created just off the Jacos Road.
Inspector Kluge would be very unhappy about that, if he found out. Best he didn’t find out.
The Thief Who Wasn't There Page 3
