The Shadow at the Gate (18 page)

“Devnes Elloran?” said Owain.

“Herself.” The man spat again. “The house of Elloran be cursed, but tain’t them that bear it but us poor folk. None to help us, there ain’t.”

“Perhaps Hearne can be of help. Where is this village, old man, this Upper Wen?”

“Oh, tain’t any Upper Wen,” said the old man.

“But I thought you said—”

“We burned it straight t’ the ground. Every stick of wood an’ thatch. Broke the stone walls down an’ threw ‘em in the lake. You go murderin’ folks like they did there an’ the spirits linger, you see? An’ ain’t a while afore they get real mean an’ angry that nothing been done about who murdered ‘em. We figger it better t’ get rid of their houses. Mebbe then they forget where they lived an’ just wander off.”

“The whole village is gone?”

“Ain’t a splinter left,” said the old man with some satisfaction.

“Well,” said Owain coldly, “that certainly makes an impossible pursuit even more impossible. These killers are faceless and any scrap of evidence, no matter how small, would’ve been greatly valued. I commend your diligence but not your reasoning.”

“Oh, they ain’t all that faceless,” said the old man.

“What do you mean?”

“Binny here, done seen ‘em. Binny!”

A boy shuffled forward, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“Tell the lord what you seen, Binny. You can trust ‘em, m’lord. He’s my grandson an’ allus tells the truth else I take a stick t’ him.”

“Setting trap for muskrat,” said Binny. He mumbled so quietly that Owain was forced to step closer. “Just along the shore near t’ the old willow.”

“That’s close by Upper Wen,” broke in his grandfather. “Least, where used t’ be Upper Wen.”

“Was this during the day?” asked Owain. He tried to keep the excitement from his voice. “Were you able to see clearly?”

“Course not, m’lord,” said Binny in indignation. “You allus set trap for muskrat at night. But there was a full moon, so I seen enough.” He shuddered. “Lucky for me, I allus been fond of setting ‘em in deep water. Just past the bulrushes, up t’ my neck an’ moving slow an’ quiet—see, I was pulling a string of traps behind me.”

Binny paused and his eyes seemed to go slightly out of focus, as if he was seeing something else. “You allus gotta be quiet around muskrats. Too much excitement, an’ they get t’ thinking about moving on t’ other parts. That’s what musta saved me. I just happen t’ look up an’ there they were, running along the shore. Heading on t’ Upper Wen.”

“Who? Who was running?”

“Were a man an’ two hounds—only they weren’t.”

“What do you mean they weren’t?”

“They weren’t. It looked like a man, but things weren’t right. His legs an’ arms were all wrong. Too long an’ bending too far. He was tall too, taller’n you, m’lord, an’ running faster’n a horse. Had him a long, thin face with sick-looking white skin like you’d ‘spect on a dead man. An’ the hounds weren’t dogs, least, no dog I seen. Both of ‘em size of a small cow. Big necks an’ heads an’ eyes all white an’ staring like boiled eggs. I thought my heart about t’ stop beating.”

“But how did you see all this if they were running as fast as you say?”

“Well, they stopped dead, m’lord. Right on the bank, an’ me that close. Only the bulrushes between me an ‘em. The dogs swinging their heads around. I could hear ‘em sniffing like there was a scent t’ be had. But water an’ mud an’ the stink of rotten rushes is a lot t’ sniff through. I didn’t twitch a muscle, that scared I was, not even t’ sink below the surface. You know how it is. Any small move’ll draw the eye, even at night.”

“I think you came near your death,” said Owain. “I’m glad the night turned out in your favor, though it did not for the poor folk of Upper Wen. You are lucky.”

“Aye, m’lord, an’ right do I know it. But there’s more t’ my story. The two dogs did their sniffing for a while more an’ then the man growled at them. Growled like he knew their tongue an’ was telling them something. It were a strange thing. His mouth opened wide, an’ it were filled with more teeth ‘n any two men have between em’. Made the hair stand up on my neck, it did.”

“And then they just left?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

Owain nodded. It was a stroke of tremendous luck—luck the lad had survived and luck that had brought him and his men to the little village. Damn the duke of Vomaro. If the incident had been followed up when it had happened, then such details might have made their way to Hearne months ago. At any rate, at least it was known now.

“One last thing, m’lord. I know this might sound strange—”

“Nothing’s strange anymore, lad.”

“After they were gone, an’ I was sitting there in the water, I realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“It’d been a nice, warm summer night, but everything’d gone cold. Real cold, like close on to ice, an’ my bones were chilled so they ached.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

AN UNEXPECTED ALLIANCE

Lena kicked at the door, but it was locked and made of much harder material than her foot. She scowled. Her luck usually wasn’t this bad.

True, the time she had tripped the bakery ward in Highneck Rise had been extremely unlucky—unlucky enough to mark her for life with the livid scar on her face—but that had been the exception. Wasn’t she the one who had lifted seven purses in a single afternoon in Mioja Square, one of which had contained a perfectly cut ruby as big as a quail’s egg and a second that had held a handful of unused guardian wards—wards woven by none other than Bredan Gow, the most expensive ward weaver in all of Hearne? The Juggler had been pleased at that.

And hadn’t she beaten Taggity at dice just last week and won a whole jug of ale off of him? Him boasting there wasn’t a die in all of Hearne he couldn’t roll as crooked as a hanged man’s neck. She certainly had set that straight. A dozen rolls and three pairs of eyes. Served him right to boast, the smelly rotter.

She went through her pockets for the third time. Two coppers left over from the swoop Jute had given her the other day, a hunk of stale bread, one handkerchief, and a rag doll she had stolen off a barrow months ago. Not that there was any value to the doll, as far as she knew, but it gave her an odd comfort to have it in her pocket.

But nothing suited for picking locks.

She thought it would have been safe. Surely there wouldn’t be harm in asking the other children. After all, they had grown up together, playing and fighting and stealing together on the streets of Hearne. So she had asked. Had they ever heard the name Nio before? Did they know anything about the old manor down on Losian Street, the one with the tall garden wall and the stone tower? They had all said no—no, never heard the name—no, never been near that house. Why would any of us go there? High walls and wards. No. Never heard the name.

But someone had gone and spoken to their new master. The old man. Someone had whispered. They had been pitching pebbles at the blackbirds perched on top of the stable roofs behind the Goose and Gold when she had heard him call through an open window on the second floor.

“Lena!”

The old man had smiled all fatherlike—at least, that’s how she imagined fathers would smile like—and she had trotted inside without a second thought. Down the hallway at the top of the stairs. He had held the door open for her, and she had assumed she was going to hear about a job. Perhaps a certain someone to be followed. Someone’s pockets to be swooped. But all she had heard was the door slamming behind her and the key turning in the lock. She had yelled and kicked the door until her toes ached. The only response was a whisper from the keyhole.

“Some questions shouldn’t be asked.”

The room had one window set high in the wall. It was barred, and she grabbed hold of the bottom railing and hoisted herself up. She had enough strength in her skinny arms to hold herself there for a while. The sun was going down and there were afternoon shadows slanting across the yard behind the inn. The rest of the children were gone. She growled in frustration to herself, wondering who had told the old man. The ostler slouched across the yard and disappeared into the stable. Her grip was weakening on the railing and she let go. She would teach them a lesson or two when she found out who squealed.

Her hands balled into sharp little fists, but then she slumped in the corner and cried.
Some questions shouldn’t be asked.
She wished Jute weren’t gone. It would’ve been all right if he hadn’t gone and gotten himself nabbed. There was no one else she could trust. Certainly not any of the other children. Not even the twins. If only Jute were here.

Don’t be silly. He can’t help now. You’re trying to help him, so pull yourself together.

She wiped her nose on her sleeve and investigated her pockets yet again. Stone and blasted shadow! Next time, she would be sure to carry some wire. But then she remembered she didn’t know how to pick locks in the first place.

Jute had promised to teach me.

A slight noise came to her ears. The noise was so quiet she half thought she had imagined it. Perhaps a mouse trotting between the walls. She listened, trying to throw her senses wide—push them out, Jute had always said; let them expand like your cheeks expand when you hold your breath. The explanation had always seemed silly to her. It made no sense at all.

She heard the noise again. It was coming from the door. She tiptoed over and stared at the lock. Dust drifted out of it and she heard metal grating. The handle turned. The door opened and she found herself staring into the face of the man from the alley. The Knife.

She blinked, shocked into silence.

The man from the alley alongside the Goose and Gold. The man who had been bruised and bleeding and face down in the mud when she had left him. Ronan of Aum. The Knife of the Guild.

She opened her mouth to scream, and he instantly clamped it shut with his hand. He nudged the door closed behind him with his foot.

“Not a sound,” he said. “Do you understand me?”

She nodded. Felt her heart fluttering faster. Tried to swallow. She nodded again, trying not to cry.

“Good. I’m going to release you and you’re not going to make a sound. Is that clear?”

He stepped back from her. She drew a long, shaky breath.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Lena, even though I have good cause. The Guild’s a harsh master and it often demands harsh things—things we might not choose to do on our own. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice shaking.

“I didn’t want to hurt your friend Jute. I was only acting under orders, for I was the Knife and the Knife cannot disobey the word of the Silentman. I’ve done terrible things, working for the Silentman, things that are shameful even to speak of. But of all of them, nothing was worse than what I was forced to do to Jute. I was forced to do it, Lena, for the Knife must carry out every command of the Silentman. But I’m not the Knife anymore.”

“You poisoned him! He did his job and you pushed him back down the chimney!”

She knew, Ronan thought to himself in triumph. She knew what had happened. Poison. More than what could have been learned from spying from a neighboring rooftop that night. Between then and now, she must have talked with Jute.

“I had no other choice, Lena.” He kept his voice gentle. “As the Knife of the Guild, my will was never my own. I had to serve my master, just like you served the Juggler. You understand that, don’t you?”

She did not answer.

“You do understand, don’t you?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she said reluctantly, but he had her interest now. He could see it in the way her eyes studied his face.

“I’m no longer the Knife. The Guild cast me out. I don’t serve the Silentman anymore. Do you think I’m proud of what I did to your friend? But I’m free now, free to do what I will. I don’t lift my hand against children. I’d do anything in my power to take back what I did to Jute. Anything. But what’s done is done. Perhaps helping you escape from here will atone in some small way. How I wish I could do more.”

He paused to see what effect his words might be having. She scowled down at the floor.

“Anything?” she said.

“Anything. Anything at all.”

“Well,” she said slowly. “Do you know a man named Nio Secganon?”

“Yes—but not here.” Something uneasy turned over in his mind. He remembered the sound in the basement, the shambling figure. “We can’t waste any more time here. Your life’s already in danger from the Guild for asking questions about that man—that’s why you were locked up, isn’t it? We must leave now. Later, I’ll explain about Nio Secganon.”

The hallway was empty, but Lena could hear the sounds of the common room drifting up the stairs at the far end. Laughter, voices, the clink of trenchers and knives. Ronan closed the door behind them. The lock clicked.

“Come,” he said.

He walked down the hall and she followed in his footsteps. A lockpick gleamed in his hand and another door opened. It was the innkeeper’s own room. She had seen it once, peeking in through the open door while one of the serving girls had been gathering up an armful of bedding. The innkeeper’s wife had emerged at that moment from behind a cracked toilet screen, letting her skirts fall down around her skinny legs, and she had seen Lena peeping around the door. What a chase that had been!