Glistening square diamonds rimmed the oar cap’s hollow end. The round knob at the other end was formed like a ruby-eyed skull, accented with gold.
Removing a wide strip of cloth from his satchel, Ahren wrapped the cap tightly before tucking it into his bag. He drew a thick raven’s quill from his pouch and slipped it into the Ferrymaster’s dead hands with a smile.
Now that the prize was his, Ahren surveyed his situation. Rusted iron bars covered the windows. One by one, he pulled and pushed, hoping one might be loose, but the thick rivets holding them in place were too strong.
Outside, over the island walls, he could see the swinging lanterns aboard the boats and ferries in the harbor. Shouts and ship’s bells echoed across the nighttime water. Behind them, the quiet cityscape stood like a jagged silhouette, broken only by yellow-lit windows.
Sweat trickled down his face and into his eyes as he wrestled with the last set of bars before finally surrendering. It didn’t matter. Even if he managed to pry one free, the tower was sixty feet of smooth marble before the ground, and he didn’t have a rope.
Wiping his brow, he turned his attention to the wide portcullis blocking the stairs. Chips of stone tile lay scattered around where the gate’s spear-like points had shattered them when it dropped. He could tell by looking that it was too heavy to lift.
Creeping panic began to take hold. He was trapped.
Given enough time, Ahren could escape unscathed. But he didn’t have time. Someone outside must have heard the thunderous noise the falling portcullis had made. He had bribed the guards outside the cemetery, but the burglary of one of the city’s most prominent tombs wouldn’t be ignored. Even if no one had heard him, the guards would want him gone before their shift ended. His boat was still moored at the docks. The tower door was still open. Someone would notice.
He spied an alabaster figure of a mermaid in the corner near the door. The statue itself was useless, but its stout, waist-high pedestal was perfect. If he could lift the portcullis enough to lay the pedestal under it, he could squeeze out. He just needed a lever or something to pry up the gate.
Ahren’s eyes fell onto the bronze oar that had nearly taken his head off only a few minutes before. The nine-foot pole would be enough for him to lever the gate. If he couldn’t pull it out of ferryman’s stone hands, he’d break the statue at the wrists.
Grasping the oar at the paddle head, Ahren pulled with his entire body. It didn’t move. He pushed and jerked harder, trying to wiggle it in any way. The statue moved at the waist-seam which had spun before. Ahren heard chains rattle as he jostled the mechanical sculpture.
Pushing against the side of the oar, Ahren moved the statue again. The hollow rattle of chains echoed from somewhere in the walls. The same chains had rattled when the portcullis had dropped. Ahren pushed harder, straining against the metal oar. Across the room, the iron gate groaned and lifted less than an inch.
Excitement swept through Ahren’s veins, watching the portcullis lift. He relaxed his pressure on the oar, and the bronze pole nearly swung into him as the gate dropped back to the floor with a clang.
Lifting the gate was no longer a problem, but keeping it up long enough for him to get out was.
The portcullis was too far away to slip a brace under, so he’d have to keep the wench arm from spinning when he let go. He looked at the mermaid statue’s pedestal, but it was too short to block the bronze oar. Scanning the chamber again, he spied the sarcophagus lid still resting on the box. He could have used that, if he hadn’t been worried there might be more traps hidden beneath, but then he remembered the pin.
Returning to the ivory casket, Ahren depressed the small metal pin hidden along its inside wall. Holding it down with a dagger blade, he dug his fingers into a narrow crevice on the carved lid and pulled the heavy stone back. His fingers strained as he slid the stone lid back enough to cover the pin and keep it in place.
Shaking his hand to restore the feeling to his numb fingertips, he grabbed the bronze oar and pushed. Chains rattled and the iron gate inched higher. The portcullis had risen about a hand’s breadth above the floor when something inside the rotating statue clicked. And Ahren relaxed his hold long enough to see the door didn’t fall.
Ahren drove his weight against the oar again, lifting the door another few inches.
Click.
The gap was almost enough to squeeze though. He drove himself against the oar again and again, each time lifting the gate a little higher as clicks locked his progress in place. Sweat poured down his forehead and into his eyes as he propped himself against the lever one last time. The gate’s bent spear points hovered almost two feet above the floor; more than enough space to slide under.
Nodding his farewell to the Ferrymaster’s grave, Ahren slipped under the black portcullis and retreated down the tower stairs. He reached the bottom and crossed the tomb room without even a glance at the riches displayed along the walls. He had entertained the notion of keeping a few of the jeweled treasures buried in the tower, but after the commotion and near catastrophe of being trapped inside, it was better to leave with the Ferrymaster’s treasure than risk another mishap.
A fresh breeze blew from outside as Ahren reached the doorway. He was about to step through when a shadow moved in the cemetery ahead.
A figure stepped out from behind one of the mausoleums, a crossbow tucked against his shoulder. Ahren jumped behind the door just as the bolt whizzed past, sparking off the stone and skittering into the darkness.
“He’s here!” someone yelled.
Boot steps raced toward the tower.
Ahren drove his shoulder into the copper door and pushed it closed just as the pounding footsteps reached the alcove. The door lock snapped into place with a metallic thump.
“Damn it,” someone shouted, the voice muffled behind the door. Something slammed into the thick copper. “You missed him.”
Ahren backed away, nearly stumbling into one of the marble busts. His mind tumbled over possibilities, trying to figure out who the men were. They weren’t dressed in uniforms. They hadn’t tried to capture him. They had been waiting for him.
The door rang as someone pounded a fist against the other side. It would take hours before anyone could batter it down. Ahren had until then to figure a way out. There were no windows except for in the Ferrymaster’s room, and Ahren hurried back up the stairs to identify his assailants.
He slipped back under the gate, and peered down from the barred window onto the area in front of the tower’s door. Four plainly dressed men in veils stood outside talking amongst themselves. One carried a burning torch, while two others held stout crossbows. The fourth man clutched a rapier. He carried himself with authority, and the others appeared to look to him for instruction.
Ahren squinted to see if he could recognize the leader’s hidden face. The man looked up as if he’d felt Ahren’s eyes. He unclasped his brown veil and smiled.
“Ahren,” Kirril called. “I thought it was you.”
“I was about to say the same thing,” Ahren replied.
Kirril chuckled. “So you’re the Black Raven. I must congratulate you on your accomplishments. First you plunder Baron Rusukny’s house and now you survived the Ferrymaster’s tower.”
“So you meant to double-cross me?”
“Nothing personal, Black Raven. But I had an offer from another buyer who promised a larger cut than Mashkov.”
Ahren’s gaze ran across the cemetery to the open canal gate leading outside.
“Oh, don’t worry about the guards,” Kirril said casually. “We took care of them. We wouldn’t want anyone disturbing us.”
One of Kirril’s henchmen began lifting his crossbow while Kirril spoke.
Ahren backed away from the window.
“Put that away you idiot,” Kirril snapped. “The door’s locked. We can’t get inside.”
“That puts us in a delicate situation,” Ahren called.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Kirril smile
d. “You’re in a cage, Black Raven. You might have the key, but you can’t get out. You have no food. No water. Nothing.”
“Someone’s going to notice the missing guards,” Ahren said. “I don’t think you’ll want to be here when they come looking.”
Kirril laughed. “Nice try. But I don’t see you calling down from that tower for them to rescue you. You’ve broken into the Ferrymaster’s tomb. It won’t be hard to believe you killed the guards.”
Ahren chewed his lip. His eyes returned to the bronze oar in the ferryman statue’s grip. “Then what do you propose, Kirril? If I die in here, you don’t get the oar cap and you’re buyer won’t be happy.”
“Easy. Just drop the cap out the window, and we’ll leave. I’m sure the Black Raven can figure a way out of there.”
“No deal,” Ahren called. “If you want the cap, you’ll have to come get it.”
Kirril’s blue eyes chilled. “I’d love to.”
Ahren smiled. He unscrewed the sword pommel at his waist and removed the cylindrical key from the handle. “Here,” he said, holding it out through the bars. “Here’s your key. It fits in the fish’s mouth. Come up here if you’re man enough.” He let it fall from his grasp.
Kirril snatched the key before it hit the ground. “You’re a fool, Black Raven.” Holding the key, he marched into the door alcove and out of sight.
Ahren didn’t have much time. He leapt toward the bronze oar and drove it back. It clicked as the gate crept higher. Grinding his teeth, Ahren pushed with all his strength. The ferryman statue twisted around.
Click. Click.
Outside, from below, someone screamed. A wide smile curled along Ahren’s strained face. Kirril had found the door trap. They’d be coming up the tower any second. Bracing his feet against the floor, Ahren pushed the winch harder.
Click. Click. Click.
The portcullis was high enough to walk under, but he needed it higher. Driving himself harder against the lever, he spun the winch a full revolution, hoisting the gate higher.
Click. Click. Click.
Torchlight grew in the stairwell as the men drew closer. Backing away from the statue, Ahren removed the jeweled cap from his satchel.
“There you are!” Kirril barked and he came up the steps. Blood dripped from the brown veil wound tightly around his hand.
Ahren just smiled.
A towering brute in a dark blue veil followed Kirril into the room. A sword-like knife gleamed from his clubbish hand. Two more henchmen, each armed with crossbows followed him up.
“Give me the cap.” Kirril growled, squeezing his rapier handle with his good hand. He circled around the room on Ahern’s right. The hulking thug moved to the left, blocking Ahren behind the sarcophagus. One of the crossbowmen stood in the doorway, aiming his weapon at Ahren’s chest.
“Right here.” Ahren held up the silver and jeweled cap.
The men moved closer.
They were almost on him when Ahren flicked the oar cap across the room. Its red gemstones sparkled as it flew in a high arc, end over end toward the doorway.
“Get it,” Kirril shouted, lunging his blade at Ahren.
The crossbowman in the doorway dropped his aim to catch the treasure flying toward him.
In one motion, Ahren brought up his foot, kicked the pearl-studded coffin lid and leapt over it. Screeching, the ferryman statue spun around. Its bronze oar whipped through the air. Ahren curled his legs, allowing the oar to fly beneath him and strike the massive brute in the mouth. With a hard crack, blood and broken teeth exploded from under his veil as the whirling oar knocked him back across the room.
With a shriek of grinding iron, the portcullis dropped from the ceiling, smashing into the crossbowman in the door, impaling him on its spikes. The oar cap hit the tiles with a ting and skittered down the stairs beyond
Tumbling to the ground, Ahren slid across the floor and under the falling portcullis briefly suspended by the henchman’s crumpling body. The gate slammed shut behind him with a meaty squish.
The other crossbowman stood dumfounded in the stairwell. Leaping to his feet, Ahren tackled the man against the wall. He smashed the man’s face with his elbow and knocked him to the floor.
Kirril screamed in fury.
Ahren snagged the oar cap off the floor and raced down the stairs. He flew blindly through the dark stairwell, leaping steps two to three at a time. After passing the other two floors, the stairwell opened up onto the ground floor.
A wedge of pale moonlight shined through the open copper door. Clutching the silver oar cap tighter, Ahren ran into the cemetery.
Cool air hit his face as he burst outside. For a short moment, Ahren felt the exhilarating rush of victory, moments before a blur flew out from the shadows.
Something hard slammed into Ahren’s stomach, knocking away his breath. He doubled over in pain as his attacker stepped into the alcove wielding a scarred and scratched belaying pin. Rearing it back, the man swung it like a club. Ahren tried dodging, but the cudgel cracked against his head and spots swam before his eyes. The silver cap fell from his grasp as he staggered back. His vision cleared long enough to see the club smash into his cheek.
Blood’s tang filled his mouth.
The man swung again, but Ahren ducked. The club smacked against the tower’s marble carvings, chipping off a siren’s nose. Ahren ripped the jeweled rapier from its sheath and brought it up just in time to block another swing. The cudgel’s blow knocked the poorly-weighted sword from Ahren’s grasp.
Jumping back to avoid another attack, Ahren tripped over an uneven flagstone. Ahren kicked his attacker in the knee and scrambled to get away.
“Get him, Yurlik,” Kirril shouted from a window above. “Kill him!”
Ahren stumbled to his feet, his vision still lurching in and out of focus. Yurlik charged again, raising the short club high. Ahren side-stepped the attack and punched him in the kidneys.
The man’s body went rigid and then he fell to his knees. Ahren raised his fist to finish him off when the crossbowman from within the tower burst through the door.
Ahren leapt to the side behind a tomb before the crossbowman could take aim. His weapon tucked into his shoulder, the man hurried to his fallen companion and helped him to his feet.
Kirril pointed out from the tower window. “He’s over there!”
Keeping low, Ahren hurried away. The two henchmen followed him through the narrow labyrinth of tombs and monuments. Ahren slipped into a dark niche behind a statue and hid.
“Right there,” Kirril shouted.
A bolt whizzed through the air, shattering the statue’s hand beside Ahren’s head. Ahren scrambled away before the man had time to reload. He wove his way quickly through the narrow streets, trying to keep out of Kirril’s searching sight. His pursuers circled like sharks, herding him deeper into the city of tombs.
He came to a small garden and ducked beside a hedge. The henchmen’s shadows moved between the buildings as they drew closer. Ahren picked up a fist-sized rock and hurled it far to the side. The stone clattered off roof tiles and the men hurried toward it.
As fast and quietly as he could, Ahren crept the other direction. Following a row of short, bushy trees, he came to the island’s vault-lined outer wall. He headed right, back toward the tower. He hadn’t seen the men pick up the oar cap after he dropped it. With luck, he could sneak in and steal it out from under Kirril’s nose.
The wall turned, and Ahren found himself boxed in a tight canyon of unmarked mausoleums. He doubled back but stopped. Yurlik turned down the narrow footpath coming toward him.
“Over here!” he shouted.
With nowhere to go, Ahren grabbed onto the vault doors beside him and clamored up the wall.
Yurlik charged, swinging his club, but Ahren climbed faster. “He’s getting away!”
Ahren pulled himself onto the top and ran down the wide wall. A crossbow twanged and a bolt flew past. Racing away, he left his pursuers in the necropolis maze, a
nd followed the perimeter walls back to the unguarded tower.
He circled almost half the island before nearing the Ferrymaster’s tower. Ragged clouds swept across the sky, obscuring the moonlight. A soft breeze blew in from the sea, washing away the harbor’s stench. Ahren slowed to a jog, searching for a good place to drop off the wall.
The clouds opened up and pale moonlight bathed the cemetery grounds. Ahren froze.
Kirril stood in front of the tower door, aiming a crossbow. The iron trigger clicked and the bolt shot through the air.
Ahren sprung away but the bolt stabbed into his side. The sharp point bit into his hip, wheeling him around. He tumbled over the low parapet and fell. City lights and the crescent moon spun past in a blur before he slammed into the cold water and everything went black.
#
Ahren awoke with a gasp. Putrid water rushed over his head as his sudden movement shattered his body’s natural buoyancy. Stabbing pain shot through his body as Ahren kicked his legs. Reaching down, he felt the jagged tear the bolt had left in his side. The deep cut ran a fingers-width above the hip bone.
He pulled his way back to the surface and spat out the foul, salty water. Ahead, the yellow city lights shimmered off the calm harbor surface. He floated no more than fifteen feet from the wall he had fallen from. A dark shape bobbed aimlessly along the stone block walls. Squinting he could make out a piece of driftwood.
Clutching his hip with one hand, Ahren paddled over to the floating chunk of wood. A thin film of grime coated the stout timber. Barnacles encrusted one end. The faded paint spiraling up the broken pole indicated it had been a mooring post. Pulling it under his arms, the floating wood held his head above the water.
Ahren sighed, trying to plot his next move, when the echoing rattle of chains broke the silence. Rolling his head around, he saw the fore and aft lamps of Kirril’s boat as it glided out of the cemetery gate.
He was getting away.
Fury surged through Ahren’s veins, numbing the pain from his wounds. Kirril had betrayed him and left him for dead. He couldn’t let him escape.
Aiming himself and his broken post in the direction of Kirril’s boat, he kicked off the wall and began his pursuit.
Mountain of Daggers Page 9
