Commandment (44 page)

“What happened?” Lakif pointed to the wound.

Torkoth looked surprised as he examined the laceration. “I have no idea.”

Lakif didn’t entirely believe the response. The length of the cut would defy ignorance. The wound looked exactly in accord with a punch through a glass pane or mirror.

“Where are we off to now?” Torkoth asked. Lakif had the distinct impression that he was eager to change the subject. She was also startled by the question, having assumed that Torkoth would take this opportunity to bail out. He had every right to take his long awaited leave, having fulfilled his duty admirably.

“You’re staying with me?” Lakif was flabbergasted, but also thrilled. She had become rather accustomed to Torkoth’s company and was hoping for the guard’s continued presence.

“Why not? You are a bag of surprises, for weal or woe.” Lakif noticed Torkoth had a dagger slid under his boot straps.

“My past is as blank today as it was that first night together. I must continue the search.”

“Perhaps one must lose his life in order to find it.” Lakif commented.

“More than
find
it, I reckon. I can rebuild it, as the potter who has marred his vessel can reshape it into another pot.”

Lakif was reminded of Bael’s final remarks.

“I imagined that you would take care of the girl from the plaza. What was her name?”

“Sarah, but she’s in a safe haven now.”

“Well, if we are to remain together, you should be forewarned. We must keep a tight lid on any talk of the Stone or the church. And there must be no talk of Arcanum or warlocks, at least where others can overhear us. It would spell disaster for us both, pun intended. The citizenry would stone us and anoint our skulls with their urine; it is the law of the land.”

“Agreed,” the Half-man acknowledged.

“Because I’m putting my heart on my sleeve, there is something else I should mention. It concerns my sudden disappearance from the Goblin Knight days back, shortly after we returned from Ebon Myre. I skipped out on our deal.”

“What deal?”

Lakif blinked in surprise.

“I had promised you some talents, and I couldn’t keep up my end of the bargain.”

“Is
that
why you acted so squirrelly? Never mind, I’d forgotten about it.”

Lakif nodded. “All the same, I’m afraid that it doesn’t cast me in a favorable light.”

“Then as you suggested, let’s stick to the shadows.”

Lakif breathed easier, feeling a weight lifting off her shoulders. Her eye wandered up to the column behind her companion. There was etched an engraving of a tower, not much different than a chess piece. She wondered if it were a rune.

“Jonas!” Lakif shouted.

“Who?” Torkoth looked around for the object of the outburst but saw nobody.

“The scribe from the Goblin Knight!” She was mentally calculating the days. “It’s tonight, or was it last night? I can’t be sure!”

“Pardon?” Torkoth blinked with surprise.

“I have to meet Jonas at once!” Lakif leapt to her feet.

“Who is Jonas?”

“I’ll explain on the way.” Lakif was tugging on a reluctant Torkoth’s arm.

“Why tonight?” her partner complained.

“He may disappear, succumbing to the lure of another rune!” Lakif shrieked, as if a general emergency existed.

“As usual, you speak in riddles,” Torkoth’s resistance continued.

“I must go back to the Goblin Knight tonight!” Lakif pulled again but was still thwarted by the Half-man’s inertia.

“Is that wise—after our subtle escape?” Torkoth cautioned.

Lakif momentarily equivocated, evaluating the wisdom of returning to the inn. Torkoth was undeniably right. They would be flirting with disaster by returning to the inn, but the impulse was too great. But she was suddenly reminded of the Half-man’s suspicious behavior concerning the inn.

“Wait a moment. Three travelers turned up slain near the Goblin Knight,” Lakif informed him.

“And?”

“One was Capalos. You’re wearing his gift.” Lakif pointed out Torkoth’s tunic. “The others were the mystic and the Istani.”

“Megani?” Torkoth grew wide-eyed.

“I never gleaned his name.”

“Slain you say?” Torkoth looked shocked.

“In a most profane manner.”

“That is a pity.” He stewed.

“If we are to unite, I need an answer to this—did you have a hand in their untimely, and shocking, end?”

Torkoth reflected on the revelation, then addressed her doubt.

“No, but I have an inkling that I know the culprits.”

“Culprits?”

“There is a certain faction working at the inn. The sinister cadre takes it upon themselves to preserve the inn’s antiquated traditions, paying homage to the primitive idols of yesterday. They also see it as their duty to eliminate any undesirables that may drop in.”

“Such as?”

“Rabble rousers, alarmists, and the like. Capalos’ doomsday speeches may have aroused grievances. But they abominate Inhumans—particularly Acaanans. They tried to trick you one night into opening your door, so as to ambush you. They made some strange sounds in the hall, hoping you would investigate. It is not safe for you there.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I wormed my way into their confidence as we toiled together in the tower hearth.”

“And the sword?” She challenged him.

“Sword?”

“
That
is Ku-than’s sword.” She singled out his blade.

“Who is Ku-than?”

“The mystic, I mean the shaman, from the Goblin Knight Inn. That sword was in his possession the night we met.”

“Really? I hadn’t caught his name. He was a wise man, and gave me that pouch…I didn’t know this was his. One of the rakehells I mentioned was selling some items, and this sword spoke to me. At the time I naively assumed they were old heirlooms he was parting with, but now I see he was pawning stolen goods from his victims.”

Lakif mulled over the Half-man’s warning. It seemed reasonable that Capalos and Ku-than had been killed like Isaiah of old for their doomsday talk. The intelligence certainly explained Torkoth’s reluctance to return to the inn on various occasions. He was simply looking out for the Acaanan’s welfare, as she was earmarked next for the gallows.

“We must be wary of this faction, and the Seekers, of course,” Lakif muttered, more to herself than her hardened companion.

“So what say you
now
about returning?” Torkoth asked.

“I have no choice! It’s worth the risk! If trouble waits, let the chips fall where they may.” Lakif pulled more resolutely on his scales. Her partner grudgingly capitulated to the goading and lurched to his feet. “To be on the safe side, you can lure Jonas outside the gates.”

“How?”

“Wave that chicken wing!” She identified the gnawed bone he had discarded. “He’ll follow in a hypnotic trance!”

A
S LAKIF COULDN’T REMEMBER THE DATE OF HER APPOINTMENT WITH
J
ONAS,
the two set off with haste. Along the way she briefly outlined how she had originally met the rune chronicler, how she salvaged the ancient parchment from the tome, and the subsequent contract to translate it.

Torkoth decided that the fastest approach would once again be by the Leviathan. Lakif readily conceded, despite her reluctance to hazard the sauna pit. Both agreed that the Second Circle Station was probably closer, so they broke in that direction. After cantering for nearly an hour, they found themselves near the terminal.

As they neared the Second Circle Station, she caught a glimpse of the local Son of Man. It was every bit as awesome as its brethren. So preoccupied was she with reaching the Goblin Knight that she couldn’t remember the name of its local brother. She paid the architectural marvel, as well as details of the Station, little heed. Her mind was utterly wrapped around how they would track down the epicurean.

It was mid-dusk when the two drew close to the Goblin Knight. They decided it prudent for Lakif to remain hidden a safe distance away while the Half-man entered to scout out the scribe. Lakif estimated that they had at most an hour before the outer gates were closed. This should be sufficient time to locate the fellow and draw him out, should he still be around. She described the friar in impeccable detail, down to the crumbs in his beard, thus assuring that Torkoth could readily identify him. Lakif also handed over her chamber key. She hadn’t been able to return it in the customary manner the other morning, and hopefully Torkoth could slide it into the return box.

The Acaanan jittered uneasily in the wake of the Half-man’s exit. She rocked back and forth on a bench snuggled away in a cloistered court. Vines spangled with crimson roses painted one wall. They were curious inhabitants given the winter season. Snow salted their ruby petals. Even in this secluded area, she felt she wasn’t alone. Shadows were growing long, reaching out toward her. Somewhere in the dusk, a turtledove cooed her plaintive song. Above, the stars were winking into view one by one. Of note, the fallen star’s seat was still vacant. Tonight was well past the fortnight limit decreed by Capalos.

Trembling with anxiety, she fiddled with the ring on her left index finger. It was the same trick ring from the alchemist’s laboratory. Within, she had poured the red mercury powder. She wasn’t sure why she had done so. Perhaps it was just a safer place to keep the powder than a vial in her pocket, which was bound to get lost.

A movement jarred the settling shadows. Jonas stumbled out as if he had tripped. Torkoth followed in toe, prodding him forward like a reluctant prisoner. The scribe’s aspiratory gasps and flushed cheeks attested to his speedy exit from the tower. Lakif’s heart swelled at the sight of the waddling epicure.

“Jonas!” Lakif virtually assaulted the portly fellow.

“I should have known you were behind this!” Jonas huffed.

“I’m delighted to find you!”

“Our appointment was yesterday.” Jonas frowned.

“And if you weren’t still around, I was prepared to scour the neighborhood, chicken wing in hand!”

“I had rather hoped we would meet in the comfort of the
inn
.” Jonas snickered.

“Sadly, that’s not possible.” Lakif dismissed the idea.

“Fallen out of favor with the establishment? I should have known—it was only a matter of time. Wait a moment! The Seekers came a calling a few mornings past. Did that have anything to do with you?”

“I have no idea what you speak of. I had to leave on urgent personal business.”

Jonas tilted his round face toward Torkoth.

“And this thug? Two shekels hardly warrants hired muscle!”

“He’s protecting my investment. And that was three shekels! Enough of the warm greetings, how fared your diggings?”

“A mixed course, I’m afraid.” Jonas patted beading sweat off his brow with a pocket handkerchief.

“What’s the unfavorable dish?” Lakif asked, imitating the gastronomic allusions that so peppered the friar’s speech.

“I’ve identified the writing on the parchment.”

“Excellent!” Lakif vented with such force that it startled the informer. “I thought you said you had bad news!”

“I
identified
it. But the contents elude me. So I’m left dissatisfied, like a stifled burp.”

“Tell me what you do know,” Lakif said. “Coin offered accordingly.”

“I surmised it wasn’t an actual language, living or dead, but rather a
code
of some kind,” Jonas began. He was perusing Torkoth, apparently evaluating whether the Half-man was prepared to throttle him if his forecast wasn’t encouraging.

“Don’t worry about him. Give your thoughts form, man!” Lakif coaxed.

“Well, Acaanan, you have a significantly rare find here. This scroll is penned in Thieves’ Cant.”

“Thieves’ chant, you said?” Lakif had no idea what the scribe was referring to. “So it’s a song?”

“Pay attention! I said
Cant
.” Jonas mildly chuckled. “It’s an antiquated form of communication among thieves.”

“Why would a thief need such a contrivance? I imagine they couldn’t even read.”

“I’m not speaking about the ordinary thieves skulking around. The Thieves’ Cant was used by the venerable Thieves’ Guild of old. It was a secret form of communication, necessary to coordinate all their nefarious activities.”

The mention of the defunct Guild surprised the Acaanan. It was an esoteric institution alluded to in many an urban myth.

“Are you saying this document hails from the days of the Guild?” Lakif asked skeptically. “It must be three hundred years old!”

“I would say four hundred. And yes, I believe this document to be from that era. There would be little cause to utilize the Cant following the collapse of the Guild.”

“Then how do you explain the parchment’s excellent condition, given its antiquity?”

Jonas balanced the rolled up scroll between his parallel palms.

“Clearly, this is not ordinary paper. The Guild commonly treated important documents with a special elixir concocted by the alchemists.” Lakif rolled her eyes at the mention of those ghastly fellows. “This afforded the paper to which it was applied extra resistance to normal oxidation, yellowing, burns, and the like.”

“I see. You are well-informed,” Lakif complimented. Jonas certainly was caretaker to a wealth of information, both trivial and useful. “So we have to find a thief to decode it?”

Jonas shook his head.

“Since the Guild slaked, the Cant has become obsolete. The code to decipher it was said to be engraved on a tablet called the
rosetta stone
. This tablet was safeguarded by the Thieve Lords as dearly as their own blood. It was perhaps the most prized secret of the Guild. The tablet’s rules were the last teachings to a thief after he had mastered all the normal arts of thievery, such as picking locks, backstabbing, shadowing, and so on. This allowed the Guild time to ascertain if the rogue in question was reliable and worthy to adopt the Cant. The confidentiality of the rosetta stone was of utmost importance. Any thief caught revealing the code to an outsider would suffer the harshest of reprisals.”

“We can’t decipher this?” Lakif whined. All her hopes for the parchment were rapidly deflating.