A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1) (18 page)

His winning streak stood at fifteen.

“Dagan,” Blackstone told me, “things are going to be dangerous. When we go in there, one of us might die. Perhaps we both will. Nobody has tried to infiltrate the Arena like this in the past. This might be the only chance we get.”

“How do we get in?” I asked.

“That’s the easy part.” Blackstone grinned. “You pretend to be a deaf mute. I pretend to be your slaver. The flagship fight occurs last. There will be plenty of smaller ones beforehand to warm up the crowd. It gives them a thirst for blood.”

“You’re going to enter me in the fights?” I asked.

“Yes. But we’re going to rig the place first.” He tossed a small, round bundle at me.

There was a tiny glass orb with a black, grainy powder inside. A bit of string came out of one end.

“What is this?” I asked.

“A fire starter. Light the wick, and the orb explodes.”

“Like what I saw the assassin use?” I asked, thinking back two years when I first met Blackstone.

“Yes,” he said, “but much more powerful. You hold in your hands enough power to destroy this entire room.”

I looked up at him, incredulous.
This innocent-looking glass orb?
I thought.

“Is it magic?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “It’s science. Come.” He beckoned me around back. “Look at this.”

I found a wagon loaded with six barrels behind his house. It had not been there that morning.

“Delivered a few hours ago,” Blackstone said, tapping one of the barrels. He jumped up and bid me to follow.

I climbed after him, and was immediately struck by the smell. The barrels emitted a foul odor reminiscent of dry manure, but with a sharp, metallic tang underneath.

Blackstone lifted one of the barrel tops. I looked inside. It was filled with the same black powder I had seen in the orb.

I reached out and picked up a handful, then let the fine grains fall through my fingers. The powder stained my hand black.

“They’re
all
like that?” I asked, motioning at the other five barrels.

“Yes,” Blackstone said.

“And the orb you showed me can
really
destroy a room?”

Blackstone eyed me. “You don’t believe me.” He took out a match from his pocket. “Would you like a demonstration?”

I nodded.

“Not here,” he said. He closed the barrel lid and stepped down. I followed him as he strode out of his backyard, into the street.

“Where?” I asked.

“The river.”

I followed Blackstone to the water. We waited until there was nobody around, then walked to the highest point of the bridge.

Blackstone looked down at me. I met his eyes. He reached into his pocket and produced a match, then lit the wick coming out of the small glass orb.

He extended his arm back and threw the orb as far as he could downriver.

It landed in the distance with a small splash, swallowed by the current.

“Just wait...” Blackstone murmured.

Out of nowhere, an explosion made water burst up like a giant geyser. It combined with a sound like crashing thunder that rocked the bridge.

Then all was quiet. I stood gaping, gripping the side of the bridge tight. If a tiny glass orb could do all that…

“What are you going to do with all the barrels?” I asked when we turned back.

“You mean, you still haven’t figured it out?” Blackstone paused. “We are going to blow up the Arena.”

***

That night, under cover of darkness, we made our first move.

The plan was simple: sneak the loaded barrels into the Arena. Place them in strategic locations underneath the structure. The night of the big fight, start a fire that would evacuate the place. Then, explode the barrels.

But not before stealing all the gold that was reserved for the winners.

Blackstone hired a team of horses to pull the wagon. I had a healthy distrust of the animals. They whinnied and brayed incessantly. One of them tried to bite me when I came close.

“We’re never going to get through the city unseen with these beasts,” I muttered under my breath. “What was the point of waiting until night? Everybody within ten leagues is going to hear us!”

Blackstone chuckled. “Sometimes, the hardest things to see are those right under your nose.” He unfurled a rolled up cloth and tacked it to the side of the wagon. It read,
The King’s Brew
.

“That’s never going to work,” I said skeptically.

Blackstone grinned at me. “Want to bet?”

“No.” I could tell he was feeling smug. “But if we get caught, I’m just a runaway who jumped on your wagon when you weren’t looking. You don’t know me.”

“Fair enough.” Blackstone’s eyes glimmered. “And if we don’t?”

“If we don’t,” I said, “I’ll admit that you’re a luck-struck bastard.”

Blackstone threw his head back and laughed.

***

Later that hour, we were rolling down the middle of an abandoned city street. I was huddled in the back with the barrels of explosives. Blackstone was steering the wagon and singing at the top of his lungs:

The King’s men said,

Give us a drink,

The old King said,

Not for your dink!

I cringed every time we passed a guard post.

But, to my surprise, nobody stopped us. The wagon bumped and rattled and jolted all the way to our destination. The movement was actually rhythmic enough that I could almost have fallen asleep, were it not for the off-key singing.

I shot up when we lurched to a stop. I heard Blackstone’s voice, low and urgent. “Dagan. Get out here!”

I scrambled up and ducked out from under the canopy.

The street was dark. Old buildings leaned in around us. I wondered how long it would be until one of them fell.

Everything was quiet aside from a small whicker every once in a while from the horses.

Blackstone motioned me to his side. “Stay close,” he said, “and keep quiet. If anybody asks, you’re my apprentice.”

I nodded.

Blackstone walked to a pair of low cellar doors leading to one of the larger buildings. They lay close to the ground, almost completely horizontal.

He knelt down and banged on them with his fist.

We waited. I heard footsteps from the other side, followed by the clatter of locks being opened. One of the doors lifted and a man peered out.

He had a gap between his front teeth and a head completely devoid of hair. His nose was twisted from one-too-many street fights. Patchy stubble lined his cheeks, and he smelled a little like cheese.

He glared at Blackstone. “Whaddaya want?”

“Greetings, friend,” Blackstone said, putting on a country accent. “I’ve got a delivery of the finest King’s Ale this side of the Sephinx for you. Six barrels of the stuff, freshly brewed and delicious.”

“Do you, now?” The man eyed Blackstone. He looked past him at the wagon, ignoring me completely. “You got yer papers?”

“Sure do,” Blackstone said cheerily. He pulled out a few loose sheets from his pocket and handed them to the man who took them and started to read. I noticed his eyes moving from right to left, instead of left to right.

I struggled to keep my face straight. Blackstone might as well have handed him a recipe for a roast turkey. The man was illiterate.

“Here.” He handed the papers back to Blackstone with a grunt. He lifted the door he was holding up and stepped out. “C’mon. I’ll show y’the way in.”

As we trailed after him, Blackstone looked down at me and winked.

We walked to the other side of the building. Two large doors, each double the height of a man, loomed before us. Our guide unhooked a ring of keys from his side, flipped through them with his finger, picked one out, and stuck it into the lock.

The doors opened.

Inside was a long, paved path sloping down. I could not see far into the darkness.

“I’ll get the torches lit,” the man said. “You bring yer wagon ‘round here, and we can roll the barrels down.” He pointed. “That’s where they go.”

My heart froze in my chest at the mention of his help. If the man handled any of the barrels, he’d realize in a second that they weren’t filled with liquid.

Blackstone stepped in quickly. “I don’t want t’be troubling you, friend,” he said in that fake accent. “You’ve already provided us with more than enough assistance.” He took out a gold coin from his pouch and pressed it into the man’s hand. “For your effort,” he said, then gestured off-handedly to me. “I brought this scrappy fellow t’help.”

The man looked at me and grunted. Then, he turned his attention to the coin in his hand. His eyes widened for a moment when he saw that it was real gold.

He covered it quickly. “Yeh, fine, that ain’t a problem,” he said, suddenly too-toady. He gave Blackstone an elaborate bow. “Pleasure doin’ business wit you, sir. Just knock on my door again when yer done and I’ll come back ‘ere and lock up.”

Blackstone tipped his hat in reply.

As the man scrambled off, I tugged on Blackstone’s sleeve. “Did you really mean to give him a
gold
mark?” I asked. “That’s more than he makes in a month!”

Blackstone chuckled. “I doubt he’ll protest. And if it gets him to leave us alone…?” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

I followed Blackstone to the wagon. He grabbed the horses’ reins and tugged on them. The team followed us back, each step of their hooves making a distinctive
clop
.

We returned to the open doors. The inside of the building was still dark. Blackstone led the horses farther away, then came back and picked up the torch hanging on the door. He lit it carefully with a match from his pocket, then handed it to me.

“There are others every five paces,” he explained. “Run down and get them lit. I’ll keep an eye on our cargo.”

I nodded and ventured inside.

I saw the brick ceiling as soon as enough of the side torches were burning. It curved in a concave arc above me. When I saw that, I understood that the outside of the building was simply a façade. Nobody actually lived here. There was no space. The outer walls of the building were a way to mask this tunnel.

As I made my way down, I was reminded uncomfortably of Three-Grin’s dungeons. The tunnel didn’t smell, praise Xune, but it still gave off similar vibes.

At the very bottom, I reached another set of locked doors. I heard somebody moving behind me, and looked over to find Blackstone’s silhouette against the night sky. He was laboring with one of the barrels.

I ran to help. He set it down and tipped it onto its side. “Careful now,” he said, shooting the torches a warning look.

My eyes darted to them. Knives and even magic were all fine. But black powder that burst into flames a thousand times more powerful than the spark that lit it? That made me uncomfortable.

We rolled the barrel down and righted it in the corner opposite the nearest torch. Then we came back up and proceeded with the rest.

In the end, we had all six standing side-by-side in one corner. Blackstone straightened and looked at the doors.

“They’re locked,” I pointed out.

“I can see that.” He tugged on the lock and gave a grunt of displeasure. “A twelve-pin. Nearly impenetrable.”

“You can open it, can’t you?”

“Yes, but I need more light.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “It’ll take too long in the dark. If the man who let us in comes back, he’ll wonder why we’re still here. Usually the deliveries get left here.” Blackstone tapped the nearest barrel. “They get picked up in the morning.”

“So what?” I asked. “Is that it? Don’t you have another plan?”

“I do,” he said.

“What is it?”

“You.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

I crept down the long, dark alley, angling my path toward the cellar doors where we had first been greeted.

Blackstone’s plan was simple. Well, simple for him, anyway.

It involved me breaking into the building, sneaking up on the man undetected, and swiping that ring of keys from his belt.

As I said, simple for
him
.

The first order of business was finding an alternate way inside. I couldn’t go through the cellar doors. That meant I had to find a window or back door or
something
that would let me in.

I circled the building once, searching. The closest I could find was a second story window left slightly ajar.

But it was too high for me to reach. The siding of the building was plain mortar. I could not climb it.

I was crouching in the shadows under an opposing eave, considering my options, when I heard the sound of another wagon approaching.

I ducked out of my hiding spot and looked to the road. I saw a large cart, with a canvas thrown over the back to hide whatever its cargo was. It was pulled by a team of two donkeys.

Immediately, the familiarity of that sight gripped me. I’d seen a cart like that before. I’d
been
on a cart like that before.

It was coming toward me. I slipped back into the shadows and waited for it to pass. I saw the driver as the cart came closer. I half-expected him to be the same white-haired man who was supposed to bring me to the Arena.

Of course, that was a silly boyhood fear. That man was dead. I had seen the arrow between his eyes.

The man driving this cart had a reputable air about him. As the cart passed, I heard a very human mewl come from the back.

I froze and strained my ears. The sound did not come again. But I was certain of what it was.

The driver stopped in front of the building I was surveilling. He pounded on the same doors that Blackstone had. After a minute, the bald man popped out.

“Delivery, courtesy of Three-Grin,” the cart driver said. He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Fresh meat for the Arena.”

The other man nodded. “Let’s see.”

I crept closer as they walked to the back of the cart.

The driver flipped the canvas up. The reek of shit and piss wafted over to me.