Mortal Consequences (8 page)

The clerk jotted glyphs in a small book, and finished with, “Keep your stone honed.” Knucklebones nodded and circled the table, then spiraled down toward the torchlight.

“What is this hole?” asked Sunbright. “Why does it loop?”

“Don’t know. Enclaves are mostly hollow, to save weight so the mythallar doesn’t have to work so hard. When they build one, they drill all sorts of tunnels in odd shapes. Some have uses right away, like sewers or grain storage or water pipes. Others are for future expansion, or just a whim.”

“What did he call me back there? A purse?”

“A victim, someone with a purse to steal. I said you were a blood, a blood brother. I can’t pass you off as an assassin because you don’t move like one. I asked if the guild were fisted or palmed: closed to new members or open. It’s open because the ferrets have killed some folk lately. Am I a pursecutter? No, a burglar—a latch-breaker—mostly. And a scavenger looting warehouses with your muscle. The guild fee is half what you carry to join, then half what you make after. Keep your stone honed means keep your knife sharp for good luck. If your blade snags while you’re cutting purse strings, the pigeon might notice and object.”

Brain reeling, Sunbright thought of a dozen questions. Why a ferret, which was a brown weasel, for instance? “What happens if you don’t join the guild?” he asked.

“And go about thieving? The guild saws off your hands and feet. While you watch.”

“Hunh. Why give your name as Butterfly?”

“Would you have me give Knucklebones?”

“Why am I Ten Pound?”

“You carry a ten pound tool, don’t you?”

“No. Harvester weighs—oh. A joke.” Sunbright huffed as they clumped down and around the spiral ramp. “Why all this obscure cant? Why not just talk?”

“Cant is quicker in an emergency. And it confuses guards if you’re in their clutches.”

“Are thieves captured often?”

“And robbed by the guards, yes. Usually they’re forced into labor gangs on the ground. Unless you hurt or kill a guard. Then they fly you home.”

“Home where?”

“Earthmother. They pitch you off the island to ‘fly’ to earth.”

Sunbright’s stomach lurched. “But why does the city tolerate thieves at all?” he asked. “Why not make one big purge and wipe them out?”

A shrug of narrow shoulders, and Knucklebones said, “Catching thieves gives the guards work. What would you have them do, arrest mages? Besides, many rogues are only part-time. Otherwise they toil at the docks, or black boots, or dig graves. Which lets them pilfer leather, cut purses, and loot the dead. Besides, when I pay half my ‘winnings’ to the guild, the guild pays half to the authorities.”

“What?” Noise from below had increased, so Sunbright no longer whispered, “You mean the city takes bribes from the thieves’ guild?”

“You’re learning, country mouse, but they’re not bribes. They’re taxes, gifts. It costs to be a citizen.”

Sunbright sighed. “None of this makes sense.”

“Neither does spearing killer whales through the ice.”

“Hunh? That’s easy.”

“Uh, hunh.”

The spiraling ramp finally ended, and Sunbright was amazed by a virtual village at the bottom. In a catacomb bored from stone ran tunnels and passageways and balconies filled with smoky taverns, shops, a smith, a washroom with hot and cold water, niches with beds, and a common room where three dozen roisterers cheered a wrestling match among two women and a man. The air reeked of sweat and ale and smoke and ham and soap and drain water, and rang to the sound of hammers, laughter, jokes, creaking bellows, laundry slapping, and children splashing one another.

“Are these all thieves?” asked the tundra man.

“Oh, no.” Knucklebones grinned, her usual aplomb giving way to joy at finally being home. “Those with the gloves in their belts are stevedores. The aprons mark housekeepers. And those blokes in the tight pants are prostitutes. And see there? Rich snots seeking thrills— you met some like them in Karsus. Isn’t it grand?”

“It’s not very secret.”

“Don’t fret. Hungry?”

Knucklebones laughed to see Sunbright salivate. She handed him coins and told him, “Order something at the bar while I check bolt holes.” She faded away, leaving Sunbright as awkward and out of place as a polar bear amidst these ribald strangers. He bought bowls of mutton stew, mugs of frothy harvest ale, and black bread at the bar, found a not-so grimy table, and plunked down. He’d eaten all his before Knucklebones returned.

“Found the exits,” she said. “There are seven, but five one-way only. That’s good.”

Sunbright watched her eat hungrily, so she gave him more coins for a refill. The wrestling done, a man with a lute sang a long, sad romance. Finally the warrior patted his belly and said, “What next?”

“Already done. A mage named Bly can scry what we need. She lives in the Street of the Faithful Protector on the east side. What does that tell us?”

Sunbright thought. “If she lives on the east side,” he said, “she must be prosperous? Good at her work?”

“Excellent!” Knucklebones said, licking gravy from her lip. Her one green eye shone with happiness at being home. “But she’ll be expensive. We’ll need money, or else must strike a bargain. I don’t know what to offer, but mages are always arse-deep in intrigue, so—”

“RAID!”

Knucklebones didn’t even look around. Grabbing Sunbright’s wrist, she hurled the table aside and yanked him out of the chair. He stumbled to one knee. She shrilled, “Come on, sluefoot!”

Men and women hollered, shouts rebounded and echoed from stone walls. Children scurried underfoot like rats and dived through doorways and down chutes and up ladders. In the tavern, bartenders doused torches in dishwater. In darkness, the cat-eyed thief slid past panicked people, upset furniture, and spilled flagons and plates. Towed by one hand, Sunbright banged every item with knees, shins, and toes.

As Knucklebones dragged him around a corner, the barbarian glimpsed a horde pounding down the ramp in blazing light. City guards in polished lobstertail helmets and yellow tunics emblazoned with I for Ioulaum carried silver-tipped maces and I-shaped shields with gasglobe lanterns bolted to the upper bar. As they surged into the crowd, a mix of workers and young nobles, they methodically clubbed down the working class, breaking collarbones and arms and cracking skulls, while letting the nobles stream past and up the ramp. That rich snots escaped harm while average people suffered lit Sunbright’s temper, but Knucklebones soon towed him into a dark tunnel after other escapees.

Yet light flared ahead. Someone yelped before being clubbed down. Curses and screams and thuds resounded.

“They’ve come two ways!” Knucklebones chirped, and immediately tacked against the stalled crowd.

“Get behind!” Sunbright yelled, hoisted her bodily, and plunked her in back of him. “Which way?”

In spinning darkness and a milling crowd, the small rogue latched onto his belt, and tugged sharply left. “Go! But for the love of Kismet, don’t kill anyone!”

Good advice, the barbarian recalled. He’d killed guards in Karsus, and whole teams with sniffing golems had tracked them to Knucklebones’s lair, and wiped out her gang. Pointing his arms as if swimming, Sunbright cleaved into the milling mob, but gently.

And too late. Lights sparkled before Sunbright’s eyes as three guards in a wedge smashed and trod under a half dozen people. The big barbarian became their target. In the glare of shield lamps, he saw three maces raise as one.

Tilting back on one leg and mashing Knucklebones against a wall, Sunbright raised a moosehide boot and lashed out, hollering, “Ra-vens!”

His high kick smashed a lantern atop an I-shaped shield. Glass and a silver-wire cage crunched, and the globe winked out. The mighty blow snagged an inside corner of the shield and wrenched it from the guard’s arm. The man rocked back with a curse, his hand sprained. He fumbled his mace and dropped it.

The other guards were quick, though. One flailed for Sunbright’s head, missed. The other slammed at Sunbright’s knee. Even though he retracted the leg, searing pain like a bone saw sang up and down his leg.

But not crippling pain. He stamped the foot flat, missed crunching toes, ducked low then drove high with his shoulder. His broad frame collided with both shields. The owners were shoved up and backward, off-balance. The barbarian roared, and hammered them again. One guard flopped on his bottom. The other, a woman, raised her mace, but found her wrist snagged in a grip like a vise. With a massive twist, Sunbright slammed her hand across the top of her own shield. She cried out as the wrist sprained or snapped. The shank of the club rapped the gasglobe so it winked out. The barbarian was encouraged. To douse the lights would give Knucklebones the advantage, and they could escape.

But the last guard danced back, leveled his shield, and took aim. From the corner of his eye Sunbright glimpsed a flash of silver. He made to throw up his right hand, but his sleeve fetched on a corner of the shield. Too late he realized the I-shape, with its sharp angles, was also a weapon. He ripped his sleeve loose, but too late to keep the mace from braining him.

Yet the mace barely flipped over his head, and bounced off his back. A streak of black had flitted by, and Sunbright realized Knucklebones had hurled her elven blade. Hadn’t she ordered not to kill?

The trio of guards were down, and the flood of people stampeded over them. The guard with the cracked wrist rolled on the slimy floor, whimpering in pain, but someone had already swiped her silver-tipped mace. A child kicked her ribs, sawed through her belt, and jerked away her belt buckle.

Sunbright felt a dig in his ribs. Knucklebones barked, “Move your bloody big feet! Ha! Drop it!” A woman had stooped for the dark elven blade. Knucklebones stiff-armed the woman on her duff, and snatched up the black hilt wrapped with silver wire.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to kill!” Sunbright recalled.

“Who killed? I flipped it backward!”

She waggled the hilt under his nose, showed the diamond-shaped skull-popper. The guard had been beaned on the forehead.

The mob pilfered the guards bare. Then the last gasglobe was stomped and the catacombs were plunged into blackness. It was stifling hot with so many frantic bodies, and sweat stung Sunbright’s eyes. The tunnels grew more chaotic as folks ran in two directions at once. Evidently there was trouble at both ends.

True. A roar, a wash of light reflected on steel weapons and stone ceiling, shrills from the common room, and another wedge of brutal guards charged. The thud of ebony wood and silver on skulls and shoulders was sickening.

“This way!” Having sheathed her blade, Knucklebones planted both hands on Sunbright’s midriff and pushed. Sunbright walked backward, shoving smaller folk aside like a bow wave. Before long, she called, “Duck!”

He crouched, and backed through a doorway into a small room with only a few people. Knucklebones poked his belly, and slid under his arm.

Cold glow striped the walls. Sunbright saw long pipes fitted with shelves, jars and crocks atop. A pantry. A handful of thieves and dockworkers screamed at a man by a stout door in the opposite wall. The man was thick through the body, bald, and adorned with enough earrings to make a bracelet. He yanked an iron handle, thumped the door with his shoulder, panted and sweated and thumped again. The door didn’t budge.

“Open the damned thing, Senon!” someone yelled. The crowd sweated, cursed, glanced for oncoming guards, but Sunbright blocked the doorway.

“I can’t! It must be glyphed!” The fat man slammed the door with his shoulder, hammered with his fist. “We’re trapped!”

“Hogwash! He’s lying!” The shout came from Knucklebones, to Sunbright’s surprise. She whapped his elbow. “Go! Pound him! Knock him aside!”

The crowd mashed against pipes and shelves, creating a corridor for the two men. Without a clue why, Sunbright advanced, hands poised to grapple or brawl. Instantly he saw that Senon had been exposed at some trick, for the fat man’s face changed from helpless fright to rage. Whirling from the door, he snatched at a boot top, and yanked up a triangular spike four inches long. Enough steel to pierce a heart through the ribs. Bellowing like a bull, the man charged.

Sunbright yanked his belt knife, thin and a foot long, and caught it tightly in his right hand. He wished he could unsheathe Harvester, but he had to stop the fat man’s rush.

Hollering, Senon bunched an arm thick as a hog’s leg to stab straight. His left he put on guard, but he counted on Sunbright quailing and falling back.

Sunbright didn’t budge. Rather, the tundra-born fighter rotated both hands in circles to distract his foe. And when Senon closed, the barbarian attacked from an unexpected corner.

As Senon lunged to strike, Sunbright’s left foot snapped up. Senon’s fat knee smacked into Sunbright’s sole, jolting him to a halt, but the fat man stabbed wildly, hoping to land a lucky blow.

Luck was no part of Sunbright’s fighting. Skill and instinct drummed into him by training saved his life. As the deadly spike slashed by, he snagged the fat wrist in his free hand, locked his wrist, and twisted cruelly. With his arm crooked backward, Senon stumbled helplessly. Sunbright neatly slipped his blade into the pudgy elbow and severed the tendons. Blood erupted to spatter a half dozen folk squashed along the walls, who winced and yelled. Dragging Senon like an ox to slaughter by his trapped wrist, Sunbright inverted his own wrist, and bashed the stag horn pommel on the fat man’s temple. Thin bone popped, Senon’s eyes flew wide, then slammed shut. Sunbright kicked the falling body against the far wall. Senon’s flopping head bashed the door frame. A fountain of blood soaked his clothes.

Amazed at the cool savagery, the crowd whispered and gasped. Knucklebones squirmed past them all, and rattled the far door’s handle. It opened easily onto a wet cave smell. “Come on!” she called.

Sunbright sheathed his belt knife, and straightened his shirt. “He’ll bleed to death!”

“Let him! He’s a ferret!”

That word again. Rather than shove, Sunbright let thieves rush by. Finally, the impatient Knucklebones grabbed the barbarian’s thick wrist. “Let’s go!” she said.