Mountain of Daggers (3 page)

Undaunted, Ahren searched a bookshelf, opening, and looking behind every dusty tome. Finally, on the bottom shelf, he discovered the row of books was a façade. He pulled away the board covered in book spines, and found a heavy wooden box.

Nerves tingling, he placed the casket on the desk. A silver keyhole stared back at him. He removed his tools and picked the simple lock with ease. Ahren held his breath and opened the case.

He remembered Kazimir’s smile as he had poured Ahren another drink. “At Paook’s suggestion, Baron Krevnyet wed Aglaya Vischkol, and then used her very wealthy dowry to pay Paook’s debt. He actually had no interest in the girl aside from financial gain. In fact, he despised her. He maintained the image of a pair of newlyweds in love, while simultaneously plotting her murder. That’s where you fell in.”

Ahren had tongued his cheek, pondering Kazimir’s story. “How do you know this?” he finally asked.

The old man had chuckled. “By his own hand.” He pulled a folded letter out from under the table and dropped it before Ahren. The broken wax seal still held the mark of Baron Krevnyet.

Ahren glanced at the foreign words fluidly written across the page.

“That’s just one of over a half-dozen letters the baron wrote to Paook, detailing their plot.” He folded the letter and returned it to the drawer. “The Vischkol family has much influence here and in Kossintry. The news that their daughter’s murderer was the very man they paid to wed her would eliminate the baron, allowing me to acquire his warehouses. Also, if Paook were to be the one to bring forth the incriminating evidence, he would be guaranteed their noble favor.”

“Then why not bring the letters forward?” Ahren asked. “What do you need me for?”

“Paook has enough letters incriminating the baron, but not himself. However the baron was smart enough to know that. So to protect himself, he holds the letters Paook wrote to him, proposing the union and the plot. Therefore, they are both locked together in blackmail.”

Ahren shot the vodka back. “I believe I know what you want me to get.”

Ahren pulled the folded letters out from the case and opened them. The words were unintelligible, but he had been taught Paook’s signature. He thumbed through the papers. All four letters were there. He took them and dropped them inside his pouch.

A broad smile crept across his lips as he pulled out another piece of paper from the leather pouch; his reward poster. He dropped it inside the box and shut the lid. Carefully, he picked the lock closed, and returned the chest to its hidden shelf.

Ahren closed the window shutters and the curtains then quietly returned to the hall. He drew his tools to lock the door behind him, but voices from the stairway pulled his attention.

Light approached along the corridor. Ahren slipped behind a small table holding a vase just as a man and woman turned down the hall toward him. He pressed himself against the wall as tightly as he could, and pulled the excess fabric of his cloak from sight.

He held his breath. The couple drew closer. The man laughed something to his companion and instantly Ahren knew the voice. The baron.

Braving a peek, Ahren slowly lifted his head behind the vase. The smug baron staggered slightly, beneath the weight of a candelabrum in one hand and a woman on his other arm. Her rich red dress and powdered cheeks revealed her as a courtesan. The baron opened the door to his chamber and led her inside.

Ahren heard the door lock before he exhaled. He decided not to lock the office door, and quickly slipped down the hallway and down the stairs. Before heading back to the lounge, he detoured into the dining room.

Servants’ voices came from the neighboring kitchen. Ahren crept across the room alongside the ornate table. Against the far wall a gold and crystal statue rested on a pedestal beneath a leaded glass dome. The letters paid Kazimir for four weeks of protection, but this would pay his safe passage out of the city.

Ahren opened a nearby cabinet and removed a handful of yellow napkins, shoving them inside an empty cloth satchel he wore over his shoulder. He grabbed another handful and hurried across the room. He lifted the dome and set it carefully on the marble floor. He rubbed his sweaty fingers together and removed the statue from its pedestal. Wrapping it in the cloth napkins, he slipped it into the now cushioned satchel.

As he turned to leave, the kitchen door swung silently open, releasing a beam of orange firelight. An older housemaid stood silhouetted in the door frame, holding a tray of gilded glasses. She froze, seeing Ahren standing in the room, and with a gasp, the silver tray fell from her hands.

Heart pounding, Ahren bolted from the room and into the hall as the crash of metal and exploding porcelain erupted behind him. The servant’s screams filled the house before the shards finished tinkling across the stone.

Ahren slipped into the lounge and smiled in relief to find the room empty. He darted through the door, leaving it open behind him, and raced across the lawn. He glanced at the front gate to see the guard still standing oblivious to the commotion from inside.

With the grace of a frightened cat, Ahren clamored over the wall. He held the satchel close against his body and dropped to the alley on the other side. The shock of the hard ground stung his feet through the soft-soled shoes, but he didn’t fall. He pulled the cloak around him, hiding the bulging satchel, and hurried down the street.

#

“Very good,” Kazimir said, flipping through the letters. “They’re all here. Paook will be very pleased.” He looked at Ahren. “And your passage?”

Ahren removed the bundle of napkins from his satchel and unwrapped the crystal statue.

The old man smiled as he took the treasure. “Good. You have done well, Chernyy Voron.” He placed the statue in a velvet-lined box and shut the lid. “There is an ale wagon out front, waiting to take you from the city.” He nodded to an empty barrel in the corner. “There is your seat. Get in.”

Ahren stepped into the barrel and crammed himself inside.

“Motya will let you out once you are far from the city. There is a ship leaving for Mordakland in two weeks, bound for Lunnisburg. I have already booked you passage.”

“Thank you, Kazimir,” Ahren said. “I cannot thank you enough.”

Motya picked up the round lid, but Kazimir stopped him before he sealed the barrel.

“Here,” he said dropping a heavy wad of paper onto Ahren’s lap. “This is yours.”

Ahren unfolded the paper to see the gold brooch wrapped inside. He chuckled as he realized the wrapping was one of his reward posters.

The old man handed him a shiny copper medallion stamped with the glyph of the Tyenee. Ahren flipped it over to find the image of a raven crudely scratched on the back.

“Show that to a man in Lunnisburg named Fritz, he owns a tavern called The Mermaid’s Tail. He’ll find you work.”

Ahren looked back at the old man with a puzzled stare. Before he could speak, Motya placed the lid onto the barrel. As it closed, he heard Kazimir’s voice.

“Welcome to the Tyenee.”

The Porvov Switch

“Come on, Whazzik. Who took it?” Volker strummed the taut rope stretching from Wazzik’s tied wrists. The other end ran over a ceiling rafter to a large hanging bucket filled with bricks. A second rope connected the three-foot shopkeeper’s ankles to the base of a wooden support beam, leaving the quellen suspended between them.

“I…I don’t know,” Whazzik screamed through gritted teeth. “It was…just gone.”

Volker sighed. “Two more.”

Ahren nodded, grabbed two more brown bricks from a pile in the corner, and dropped them into the pendulous bucket. The rope creaked tighter.

“I said I don’t know!” Whazzik yelled. Beads of sweat ran off his forehead and into his hand-sized quellish ears.

Nonchalantly, Volker scratched his chin. “That’s a real shame, Whazzik. I thought you knew every cutpurse and smuggler in the city. I’m sure you can think of it. Otherwise you’re going to be a lot taller.”

“I told you,” the quellen moaned, his pained face reddened almost purple. “I got to the drop off…and it was just gone. Dolfus was already dead. I never…saw anyone.”

Volker removed his cloth cap, scratched his bald head, and gestured to Ahren. Ahren dropped another heavy brick into the bucket. A sickly pop echoed from the shopkeeper’s shoulders.

“Have mercy!” he squealed.

“Mercy?” Volker smiled. “I am. You’re lucky I’m the one asking the questions instead of my friend here. They call him the Black Raven. His methods of persuasion make mine look like fun.”

“Black Raven? Never… heard of him.” The little quellen slumped his head back in an attempt to see behind him, but Ahren side-stepped behind the support pillar.

“He’s new to the city. Big-time killer down in Rhomanny. He wanted to ask you the questions, but since you’re my friend and all, I managed to convince him otherwise.” Volker leaned close to Whazzik’s large ear and whispered, “But I’m afraid that if you won’t tell me what I need, he’ll have to ask you. And neither of us wants that, do we?”

Ahren rolled his eyes at the big man’s fantastic claims. He had never asked to do the interrogation. Torture made him queasy. He set another brick onto the already overloaded bucket and the shopkeeper cried out again.

“You can scream all you like,” Volker said. “No one can hear us down here.” He nodded up to the basement door. “Shop’s closed, and these walls are mighty thick. Even if someone came inside, they wouldn’t find this door. I remember you hiding me out down here when the guards were after me. Searched your place for half an hour before giving up, remember?”

Ahren watched the hulking thug taunt his prisoner the way a wolf might circle a deer caught in a steel trap. Volker was brilliant. He spoke several languages, could read maps, and knew more obscure history and trivia than anyone Ahren had ever met. Had he chosen another profession, he might have been a scholar or a priest, but neither could satisfy Volker’s true appetite for crime.

“I remember,” Whazzik said with a forced laugh. “We’ve had a lot of good times.”

“You’re a good man, Whazzik. I’m really going to hate losing you. Unless of course, you can think of who stole my merchandise. Only someone who knew what it was would have taken it, and everyone knows not to cross you. So who was it?”

Ahren dropped another block into the bucket, now threatening to overflow.

“The Gravins,” the shopkeeper screamed. “It had to…have been the Gravins.”

Volker shot a quick glace to Ahren as his brow rose. “Who?”

“Some new…group,” Whazzik groaned. “Just heard of them myself. Got…some hideout in the Harbor District.”

“Progress,” Volker said. “Tell me about them.”

“Don’t know much about them.” The quellen winced, futilely struggling with his bonds. “Just smalltime heists…and stuff. But word is…their leader, Dolch, has got the power of a demon. It had to be them, I swear it.”

“Demon, eh?” Volker sucked something out of his teeth. “Makes sense why they’d want the egg. A drake would make a good sacrifice…or pet.” He leaned back down and growled. “You better not be lying to me.”

Whazzik feverently shook his head. “No, no. All the…other gangs know me as a fence…and know Dolfus worked for me. They…wouldn’t risk it.” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “It had to be them.”

“I believe you. But if you’re lying…” Volker slid a thick-bladed knife from his belt and ran the tip along the quellen’s shivering throat. “Good. Now I want you to find out as much about these Gravins as you can. I need to know where to find them and everything known about this Dolch. I’ll be back in three days, and if you don’t have anything, I’ll let Black Raven do the asking.”

“I’ll find out everything,” Whazzik said quickly.

“I knew I could trust you.” Volker sliced the rope binding the shopkeeper’s hands, sending him and the heavy bucket crashing to the dirt floor. “You’re a good friend, Whazzik.” He sheathed his knife and motioned to Ahren to leave.

They ascended the rickety stairs and crouched through the short, concealed door leading to the back of the shop. Passing the furniture and art cluttering the small store, they unlocked the door and stepped out onto the streets of Lunnisburg. A thin blanket of dark smog hung over the city despite the cool, sea breeze. Fresh smoke billowed from the Old Kaisers, the twenty-five statues forming the towers of the city’s outer wall. The twelve patron Saints of Lunnisburg formed the tower walls of the Kaiser’s citadel in the city’s heart. Each figure held a constantly burning basin in their right hand. The fires served as navigation points for nighttime sailors, lit the streets in a constant glow, and consumed any trash normally found in a port city. They also covered the city in a gritty haze.

“Seemed a little extreme,” Ahren said, closing the door behind them.

Volker snorted as he headed down the narrow street. “That little rat was screaming for mercy before we even added the first weight. Quellens do that because they’re small. Truth is they can handle much more pain than you or I.”

“Then why play along with it?”

“Because he’s my friend. He just needed some encouragement in order to speak. Quellens rarely share anything unless it’s to their advantage. So in lieu of gold, the best payment was his life.”

Ahren shook his head trying to grasp the unnecessary complexity of quellens. “So what are we going to do about this gang?”

The big man shrugged. “We’ll ask around about them, but probably won’t know much until Whazzik gets back with us. He has a nose for gossip and such. By this time tomorrow, half the thieves of the city will know the Black Raven’s name.”

“And that’s a good thing? There’s probably still a price on my head down in Rhomanny.”

“So? Rhomanny is far away, and Whazzik didn’t get a good look at you even if he was stupid enough to tell anyone what you look like. The important point is people know the name, and learn to fear it.”

“That doesn’t help with the Gravins,” Ahren insisted.

“We’ll report to Fritz what we know. He’ll tell us what he wants us to do about them. No gang of thieves can ever beat the Tyenee. Just because they might not know we are their masters does not excuse their sin. No matter what Fritz decides, these Gravins will learn who they really answer to.”

“So we’re to kill them?”

“With just you and me?” Volker asked with a smile. “I’m sure it would be a good fight, but a demon cult of thieves is probably best left for someone with more men; men we can afford to lose. No, I think Fritz will call for a Porvov Switch.”

“What’s that?”

“Saint Vishtin!” Volker exclaimed as he stopped and faced Ahren. “When Fritz told me we were getting a new member, I was excited. Even more so, when I heard you were a sailor and had traveled the world. I figured you’d be able to tell me all sorts of stories about places you’d been and things you’ve seen. And here you are, the Black Raven. You dazzled Kazimir into making you a member of the greatest cabal of smugglers and assassins in the world, and you don’t even know the roots of the Tyenee. We came from Rhomanny and you can’t even speak Rhomanic!” Volker’s disappointment in Ahren had been a regular conversation since his arrival three weeks ago.

“That’s why you’re teaching me,” Ahren reminded. “And the longer you delay in telling me what the Porvov Switch is, the longer you’ll be forced to associate with an ignorant.”

The bald man’s stern grimace softened into a smile. “Good point.” He turned and continued along the cobble street toward The Mermaid’s Tail. “Come along. The sooner we report, the sooner you’ll learn.”

#

Shadows slithered along the streets and looming shop fronts under the red glow from the colossal statues surrounding the city. Most reputable businesses had already closed for the evening, but customers still filled the lanes, their faces hidden beneath hooded cloaks and wide-brimmed hats. They clustered around dark stands and alleys in search of the taboo pleasures and artifacts only available in the nighttime markets of Lunnisburg.

Ahren kept his head low as he made his way through the city. The folds of his grey cloak hid the heavy rope slung over his shoulder. Ignoring the calls from whores and vendors, he followed Volker through a crowded bazaar and into a dark street away from the Old Kaisers’ watchful lights.

The steep engraved walls of Heiligstein Basilica loomed over Saint Faiga’s Square and towered over the surrounding buildings. A pair of guards in breast plates and armed with long halberds patrolled the front of the building. Their capes were white instead of rich blue, meaning they belonged to the church and not the city.

Ahren’s soft glove-leather shoes made no sound as he hugged the shadows along the neighboring buildings and passed the basilica. Two blocks further he stopped behind a smaller, and much less elaborate, domed church, and crouched between a short tree and the low wall surrounding a cemetery behind it.

A group of drunken sailors sauntered past, arguing about where they were. Ahren kept still, watching them from his hiding place. The men stopped beside a stone well and bickered for several long minutes before taking the road toward Kaiser Adelino II. A figure moved from the alley after they left, and raced toward Ahren. The clomping of its feet across the cobblestone echoed off the buildings.

“You’re loud,” Ahren whispered as Volker scurried into the bushes beside him.

“I never claimed to be the quiet one,” the bald man hissed. “Just get me up to the top of that dome and I’ll show you what I can do.”

Ahren held back his response. He leaned out, braving a peek around the bushes. The streets were empty on either side. A lighted house window looked down on the cemetery, but appeared vacant. He drew a breath, grabbed the edge of the stone wall, swung his legs onto the other side, and dropped to the ground. Keeping low, he hurried past gravestones and urns to the rear wall of the chapel and hid behind a pillar. He watched the lit window as Volker hopped the wall and crawled over to him, then pointed at his eyes and then to the window. Volker nodded and slipped behind the neighboring pillar to avoid being seen.

Briskly rubbing his hands together, Ahren let out a deep breath and jumped, grabbing the carved awning lip above him. The heavy rope pulled him slightly to the side, but he managed to scramble up onto the narrow, slate-shingled ledge above the rear door. The smooth tiles creaked underfoot as he slipped behind a statue in a dark alcove. He scanned the streets from the shadows, and watched a lone soldier in a blue tabard walk down the quiet lane talking to himself, apparently oblivious of his surroundings. Ahren waited for several heartbeats after the guard walked out of sight before emerging from his hiding place.

He climbed up and over the heavy statue, then pulled himself up onto a narrow ledge running the perimeter of the church. The cool sea breeze from the harbor pulled at his cloak, ruffling it to the side. With his face against the rough-hewn stone wall, Ahren sidestepped along the six-inch ledge to a round window. Thick stained glass filled the opening. Breaking it silently would be impossible. He glanced over his shoulder to the empty streets. A figure moved inside the open window across the street and Ahren froze. A young woman sat at a table beside the window, deeply engrossed in her needlepoint. Ahren sighed in relief, then grasped the ornate window frame and pulled himself up. He dug the toes of his soft shoes as far as he could onto the one-inch rim of molding and reached up to the ledge marking the next level of the building.

His outstretched fingers wrapped around the rough edge of the shelf and dug in. He gave a quick jump, allowing his fingers to grip a good hold before gravity caught him. Quickly he pulled himself up and then over a low wall onto the domed roof. Sweat beaded his brow, and he caught his breath for a few moments before peering back over the wall to make sure no one had witnessed him. The streets were still empty.

Ahren wrenched the coil off his shoulder and tied it at the base of a stone globe adorning the wall. After pulling the line taut, he dropped it down to where Volker waited forty feet below. The rope straightened and shuddered as the large man pulled himself up. Ahren stood watch, waiting for his companion to join him.

“That’ll wake you up,” Volker gasped after pulling himself onto the roof.

Ahren nodded, surveying the great triple-sided dome beside them. Three small statues stood along the lip tracing the opening at the dome’s summit. Hopefully they’d be strong enough to hold them.