There was no way of telling how religious types would react to his admittedly minor magical talent. It wasn’t very impressive, but it was related to the dead, and people tended to get very anxious about anything that smacked of necromancy. It was hard enough just being a lich-doctor.
Some priests, like those of the Hanged Motherhood, would want him burned at the stake for witchcraft, although that wasn’t much distinction since they would have burned the world if they could have found sufficient kindling and a big enough stake. And then again, you had the White Rat’s people, whose only concern was how you could use such a talent to solve problems. Galen works for the Rat now, no matter who he once served. They’re not a burning order. Perhaps it will be all right.
“I’m a wonderworker,” he confessed. “Not much of one. If I touch a dead body, I can see what they saw as they died.”
He didn’t look at either one of his companions. The air nozzles had stopped hissing, and as he watched, the far door slid open.
“You can watch them die?” said Galen, his voice determinedly neutral.
“Not watch. I’m on the inside, seeing what they saw and feeling whatever emotions they felt. Only the last few seconds, usually.” He added, almost plaintively, “The Bishop knows.”
There was a long, long silence, and then Galen said, “That’s what you were doing on the body at the waterfront. When you took off your gloves.” Piper looked up, nodding. Sudden knowledge flared in the paladin’s eyes, and he said softly, “And the baby.” Piper had to look away.
Galen reached out and gripped his shoulder. Living flesh, no death on it. It warmed Piper more than he wanted to admit.
Earstripe flicked his ears sharply. “Can a bone-doctor eat meat?”
Piper shook his head. “Mostly, no. Eggs are fine, they’re almost never fertilized. The more rendered it is, the less likely it is to set me off. Grease doesn’t bother me. I can eat a cake baked with lard, or a jelly that started its life as hooves. And shellfish is fine. I don’t think clams and oysters are smart enough to know they’re dead.” He tapped one gloved finger against the other. “And tanned leather doesn’t remember anything either.”
“But if a bone-doctor bit into a steak…?”
“I am intimately acquainted with the last moments of a number of cows,” said Piper glumly. “Every time someone mixes up an order. There’s nothing to destroy a nice evening like suddenly being in a slaughterhouse and watching a hammer land between your eyes.” He paused then added, “Most of them don’t mind much, I have to say. They’re confused because they’re not in a place they recognize, but they aren’t scared of dying the way we are. But I know what’s happening.”
He’d also run into a couple of dried fish in the village—there had been almost no way to avoid them, they were on every possible surface—and had started coughing every time as he relived the dry-land drowning. He was pretty sure at least one of the fisherfolk thought he’d had consumption.
Galen and Earstripe sat in silence for a few minutes, and then finally Galen said, “Saint’s balls, what a horrible talent that must be.”
Piper snorted and finally dared to look over at the paladin again. There was no condemnation in those green eyes, which was a relief. “It’s not fantastic, no. But in my line of work, sometimes it’s useful.”
“A gnole thinks it is useful now, bone-doctor.”
Piper snorted. “I didn’t recognize the spot soon enough to get us out of here.”
“Not that.” Earstripe made a short chopping motion with one hand. “Smelling bodies, yeah? Something dead up ahead. You find a body, you touch a body, maybe you know what killed it. Maybe you know where to stand, yeah?”
Piper inhaled sharply. “He said it was a pig up ahead.”
“He also locked us in a death trap,” said Galen, “so I think his truthfulness may be in question.” He rose to his feet. “Come on. I’m sure the front door is locked, but we had better check anyway.”
Thirteen
The first door was indeed closed and locked. They crossed back through the rooms warily, waiting for the traps, but apparently Thomas had been telling the truth and they only worked when one entered through the front door. The short hallway at the end was dark and the door was sealed as tight as the doors of heaven. Tighter, probably. Galen knew at least a few people who were probably going to heaven, but he didn’t know anyone who was getting through that door.
Their host had left them a neat pile of waterskins, a box of matches, the other lantern, and a note that read: Remember, the righthand door. Stand on the triangles. Good luck! in such cheery handwriting that Galen felt like snarling.
“Damnation,” he muttered. He made several attempts to open the door, bashing it with his shoulder, digging the blade of his eating knife into the narrow seam. The door did not move a fraction and he broke the tip off his knife. He hadn’t really hoped for more, but it still felt like a blow to the gut.
“Well,” he said, eyeing the broken tip. “Now what do we do? Try to go through the maze, or try to break down the door?”
Piper shook his head. “I’ve tried to break down this kind of door before, and I had a crowbar and a hammer and anything else I could think of to try.”
“Brindle will notice when we don’t come out,” said Galen.
“If a human doesn’t try to kill a gnole.”
Galen winced. “He’s one of the toughest people I know,” he said. “And he’ll be suspicious. I think he’ll probably get away, and try to bring help.”
“Maybe,” said Piper, “but can they help find us when they get here?” He rapped the door. “Thomas can just say the door doesn’t open. Nobody would think he was lying.”
The silence got deeper and glummer. Piper was the one to break it. “I say we go on, and try to get out. We’re smart, we have some experience, and…well…the alternative isn’t great.”
“Better than starving to death,” said Earstripe. He opened one of the barrels, revealing apples packed in straw. The one next to it held water.
None of them said what probably all of them were thinking—that there might not even be a way out, that this might be a maze with no end. Who knew why the ancients did anything? Who knew why they had left this line of traps waiting for the unwary? Galen pushed this thought aside. All we can do is hope. Years ago, he might have prayed, but the Saint was gone and hope was all that any of them had left. “Unanimous, then. All right. Everyone drink up and take a load of lamp oil and candles, and let’s see how far we get.”
* * *
The way back was easy enough, now that they knew what to expect. The blades falling still made Galen jump. Piper put a hand on his shoulder and the paladin summoned a rueful smile for him, but Piper could tell that it was a strain. The muscle under his fingers was drawn as tight as a bowstring.
Not that I’m doing much better, mind you.
They reached the last door and all three of them stared at it.
Piper set a hand on the smooth surface. “Stand on the triangles, he said.”
“He said that,” said Galen. “Do we trust he was telling the truth?”
Piper gnawed on his lower lip. “I think he wants us to live as long as possible,” he said slowly. “If he’s running us through this maze to test the traps, there’s no point in telling us something that will kill us right off the bat.”
“Unless he’s simply a murderer who enjoys the thought of people dying.”
“…there’s that.” Piper nodded. “Maybe we shouldn’t all go?”
They argued for several minutes about who was going into the pit trap room. It was probably a credit to each of them as individuals that they were all willing to sacrifice themselves, but it didn’t make deciding any easier.
“I’m the one who’s trusting that Thomas wants to know how the traps work.”
“A gnole brought humans on a tailless snake hunt.” (Piper filed ‘tailless snake hunt’ away to ask about later.)
“I’m a paladin.”
In the end, it was the last one that carried the day. “Really,” said Galen, a small smile playing over his lips, “somebody has to take the stupid risks. That’s what I’m for.”
“You’re for more than that,” said Piper sharply.
“Not really, no. Even when my god was alive, that’s what we were for.”
Piper wanted to grab Galen and shake him and yell that he was worth more than bait for a trap, but this did not seem like the proper time and also he wasn’t sure how to do it without insulting the late Saint of Steel. So he gritted his teeth and let Galen walk through the door while his nerves screamed at him to follow.
“The smell’s a lot worse in here,” Galen called. “I don’t see any bodies, though. Nor blood stains.”
“Are there triangles on the floor?”
“Probably. There’s everything else.”
Thirty seconds later, the door closed. Click. Earstripe heaved a massive sigh. Piper rested his forehead against the wall, his stomach churning. He thought he might be ill. The cool ivory against his skin helped, but not much.
Twenty-eight minutes.
If Thomas had lied, then Galen could be dead in six. They wouldn’t know until after the fact.
Indistinct words came through the door. Was Galen calling that he had found the triangles? Screaming that there was poison gas that worked this time, and he was about to die? Piper curled his hands into fists, resisting the urge to hammer on the door. It wouldn’t help, and what if Galen came back to find out what the problem was and became trapped?
Earstripe sat down. Piper almost yelled at him to stop being disrespectful, which made no sense at all. Calm down. Standing or sitting makes no difference. You could stand on your head for twenty-eight minutes and it wouldn’t change anything that happens in that room.
Pretend this is a bedside vigil, and you are waiting to see if the patient recovers. You’re good at that.
He sat down as well. Vigil. Yes. He understood those. You went in and you drenched everything in alcohol and you prayed you didn’t nick an artery and you got out your needle and gut and you prayed some more and when you were done, you closed everything up as best you could and dumped more alcohol over it and then you waited to see if they lived or died.
It was so much easier with the dead. You couldn’t hurt the dead. You never had to second guess yourself. Nothing you did or didn’t do could make it any worse.
(Tell people you wished you were dead, though, and they thought you were suicidal. It was too much trouble to try to explain that you were fine being alive, you just envied the dead their composure.)
“How long has it been?” he asked. Earstripe shrugged.
Ten minutes? Surely more than six. Surely Galen was dead or not dead by now.
Someone thumped on the door. Piper nearly fainted from relief, and then thumped back. “He’s alive!”
“Sounds that way,” said Earstripe.
It was much easier after that. Piper leaned against the wall, resisting the temptation to keep pounding on the door just to hear the paladin respond. The minutes stretched by. Earstripe sat down and had a good scratch. Piper thought about pacing, but decided against it.
A minor eternity later, the door slid open. Galen stood framed in it. Piper jumped forward and threw his arms around the paladin. “You’re alive!”
“Ah…yes. Yes, I am.” Piper felt the other man’s chuckle vibrate through his chest. “I’m alive. And there was even a dead pig.”
It occurred to Piper that he had just flung himself into Galen’s arms like a long-lost lover, rather than like a friendly acquaintance and travel companion. He stepped back, feeling a blush already starting to climb his neck. “I…uh…”
“No, no, I love it when handsome men hug me for not being dead.” Galen paused, grinning at Piper. “Although if you want to hug the pig too, that’s going to be a little more difficult.”
“I shall skip the pig,” said Piper, with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances. His ears felt hot. Now why did I do that? I knew he couldn’t be dead, he thumped on the door and everything, so what the hell is wrong with me?
Galen hadn’t seemed to mind.
“Right,” said the paladin. “The floor is made of what look like interlocking tiles. Most of them snap down, starting from this side. Some of them don’t. It’s incredibly nerve-wracking, but the tile itself is about eighteen inches square, so you can stand on it easily enough. I understand why the pigs panicked, though.”
Piper and Earstripe nodded. “A gnole wants to get this over with,” muttered Earstripe.
They stepped through the door. Galen led them to the correct spot, holding up the lantern and pointing out the safe tiles. “There, there, and there. And now hold on.”
Piper listened for the mechanical click of the door. The lights came up.
The clicking started up again, but this time it was staggered—click-a-click-a-click-a-click! The floor fell away behind him. Piper fought the urge to lunge forward as the pit raced toward his heels.
“Steady,” said Galen beside him. Piper closed his eyes.
The clicking stopped. When he opened his eyes again, the floor behind him was completely gone.
“The rest will go in a minute,” said Galen. Piper nodded. Earstripe might as well have been a marble statue of a gnole.
Click-a-click-a-click-a-click…
“A gnole does not like to watch that,” said Earstripe.
Piper didn’t much like it either, but he forced himself to look, even though his heart was thumping in his chest. He had to admit that the design was ingenious. Each tile folded downward, leaving a narrow, wickedly sharp edge facing up. Anyone standing on the wrong tile would either fall down into the pit itself or find themselves literally on a razor’s edge.
“…and there’s the pig,” said Galen, pointing.
“I had been wondering why he didn’t just carry a pig over the pit,” Piper said, “but I suppose you couldn’t very well balance here for five minutes with a panicking hog, could you?”
“I wouldn’t want to.”
Piper’s gaze was drawn back to the darkness. “Look there,” he said, crouching down.
Galen made a small noise of alarm. “Don’t fall in.”
“I’m fine. But look—chunks of ivory. And are those gears?”
“More over on this side, too. Couple of them.”
Galen knelt down cautiously on his own square. “I don’t…wait, yes. That looks familiar.” He scowled. “It looks like part of a goddamn clocktaur.”
“Couldn’t fit a clocktaur through the door, tomato-man.”
“No, of course not. Although if you were going to kill one, those giant falling blades would probably work a treat.” He frowned. “This can’t be some kind of clocktaur killing device. It’s just not big enough. But if it was about twice as large…”
“Maybe they used to have small clocktaurs,” said Piper thoughtfully. “I suppose if you have the capacity to make a sword, it follows that you can make a dagger just as easily.”
“But why would you need this whole maze just to kill them off? You could do it with one room full of blades.”
“That’s an excellent question.” Piper stretched out his hand and touched one of the razors. He felt the skin on his fingertip part and hastily pulled it back. “It’s incredibly sharp. Whatever this stuff is, it doesn’t dull over time. Fascinating. It must be some property of the material. It doesn’t oxidize, so rust doesn’t build up, even though the air is clearly being refreshed regularly. There must be some kind of ventilation system that’s still running, since the rooms aren’t full of bad air. I wonder how they managed that?”
“You’re enjoying this,” said Galen accusingly.
“I am not. It’s just fascinating, that’s all.” Piper huffed. “Obviously I’d rather be observing it with an easy way out and fewer dead pigs.” He wondered if the door below his workshop led to something like this, instead of water, as he’d
suspected.
Speaking of water, there was a sudden liquid sound. Piper looked over and saw that Earstripe was urinating off the side of his tile into the pit.
“What?” said the gnole. “A gnole had to go.”
“You’re pissing on ancient technology!”
“Ancient humans did not provide toilets for a gnole.”
“Yes, but—”
“A gnole will aim for the dead pig, if it makes a human feel better.”
“Besides,” said Galen, “if those are clocktaur bits, urine’s not going to hurt them. Trust me on this one.”
“You pissed on a clocktaur?”
“What can I say? War is hell.”
Piper paused. “Did it do anything to the clocktaurs?”
“Made them slightly damp? You can’t drown the things anyway, they just walk along the bottom of the moat.”
Piper shook his head. “Incredible. And they were powered by demons, the paladins say. Err, different paladins, that is.”
“The Dreaming God’s people,” said Galen. “They’d know.” He chuckled. “They’re not the sharpest, even by our admittedly low standards, but what they don’t know about demons isn’t worth knowing. And god, are they pretty.”
“So pretty,” said Piper, almost involuntarily. Galen flashed him a broad grin, but whatever remark he was about to make was lost as the pit tiles snapped upright again. The far door ground open.
They crowded into the hallway nervously, even though the hallways had, so far, been entirely safe. The triangular lights came up. There was only one door this time, on the lefthand wall.
“Are we turning?” asked Galen. “Is this the halfway point?”
“Possibly,” said Piper. “Or there could be switchbacks. We have no idea what the layout of this place really is. It might be spiraling around a central point.”
“Our charming host thought that one closed door in the wall outside was the exit,” said Galen.
Paladin’s Hope: Book Three of the Saint of Steel Page 9
