Scholar of Decay (30 page)

“If you would explain to him, explain everything to him, I think he would listen.” Edik spread his hands. “The young master has his pride, sir. Just as you do. He knows you are keeping things from him.”

“I kept nothing from Natalia, and look where it got her. I will not be responsible for disaster happening to my brother as well. The less
his life touches mine, the better for him.” His expression darkened. “Especially considering the company he’s been keeping of late.”

“Sir, I …”

“Enough.” Aurek chopped at the air. “You presume upon long service.”

Edik inclined his head. When he raised it again, it wore the slightly blank expression of a well-trained servant. “The boat has arrived,” he said.

Aurek turned eagerly toward the river, took a step toward the boat, toward the Narrows, toward the workshop, then stopped and, with an effort, turned to face Edik once again. “Dmitri is safest if he lives his own life, but I do appreciate your concern—for us both.” He didn’t wait for a reply; the pull of the workshop was too strong. Moving as quickly as healing muscles allowed, he ran for the boat, and a moment later stood in the bow, leaning upriver as though to speed it on with his body.

Behind his back, the boatman lifted a hand to Edik, who raised one in return. He stood on the step and watched until the boat and his master passed under the South Lacheur bridge; then, shaking his head, he went inside.

A bloody feather fell unnoticed as he closed the door.

In full rat form, Jean climbed down the tower wall, pried open the window, and climbed inside. As his tail disappeared over the crumbling stone of the window ledge, Lucien leaned forward, ears cocked. If the window were trapped, he reasoned, better Jean discover it. A moment later, when there were no sounds at all from the tower room, he followed, grumpily reflecting that only fools and humans were up at this hour.

Jean sat on his haunches in the middle of the room, head back,
whiskers twitching. “Smells like magic,” he hissed, changing just enough for speech.

“Of course it does, you fool.” Lucien changed as well, quickly combing the fur on his shoulders down into place with his claws. “This Nuikin’s been searching for magic stuff in the city. You never pay attention.”

“I don’t like magic. It makes me itch.” Jean began to scratch vigorously. “Louise never said there’d be magic.”

“You think she tells us everything? Think again, Brother. Let’s get the statue and get out of here.”

With his muzzle, Jean pointed to the figurine on the pedestal. “You think that’s it?”

Lucien’s only answer was a muttered “Idiot” as he crossed over to the alcove. Dropping down onto his haunches, he studied the area with eyes and nose. He could see no traps, smell no traps, and that usually meant there were no traps, as humans seldom were devious enough to fool the members of the family. Most members, he corrected shooting a glance at his twin.

“What are you waiting for?” Jean demanded. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.” He reached past his brother’s shoulder, but Lucien snarled and batted his paw aside.

“I’ll take that—” The instant his fingers touched the porcelain, he knew he’d made a mistake. Few things move faster than a terrified wererat, and Lucien snatched his hand away with all the speed his terror lent him.

Too late.

The room whirled and dissolved around him, walls melting into windows, melting into doors, melting into the ceiling, melting into the floor. He tried to scream, but something held his throat in an iron grip, and no sound emerged.

When the room stopped spinning, he saw he was no longer in
the human’s study, but crouched at the end of a narrow corridor. Corpse-gray walls stretched up on three sides of him as high as he could see. Claws extended, he leaped for the wall to his right but slid back, unable to gain any sort of purchase. He tried again. And again. And again.

Finally he stopped, gasping for breath, and took another look around.

The wall at the end of the cul-de-sac seemed a lighter gray than those on either side. When he pressed his hand against it, he felt it give, though his claws continued to make no impression. Frowning, he stepped back and suddenly realized that something was pressing on the wall from the other side. Strange shapes bulged toward him, moving from place to place as though they were testing the strength of the barrier.

If whatever lurked on the other side of the wall got through, he was dead.

He didn’t know how he knew that, but Lucien had never been so sure of anything in his entire life. Changing to full ratform, he turned and ran.

After about twenty feet, he came to a T-junction—nearly invisible in the gray-on-gray corridor—and without slowing, threw himself to the right. As he cleared the corner, he heard something tear behind him. The wall? He ran faster.

When the corridor turned left, he turned with it, then left again, then right. Another dead end. He threw himself at the wall, and felt something throw itself at the other side. The impact knocked him backward. As he hit the ground, he rolled and raced back the way he’d come.

Whatever they were, there was more than one of them.

He didn’t think he could cross the mouth of the original corridor, but he found he had no choice—he had no idea of where the original
corridor was. Everything looked the same, and nothing carried a scent. He couldn’t backtrack because he couldn’t find his own trail.

He ran back through the turns he remembered, raced down a long, straight section and, claws scrabbling for purchase, turned right. Left. Another T-junction. Right. Dead end. He didn’t wait to see if his presence caused a third attempt to breach the walls. Back past the junction. Right around two corners, three, four, five, shorter stretches of corridor turning tighter and tighter …

 … to a fourth dead end.

By the time he found where he’d made his mistake, Lucien knew they were in the maze with him.

Around another tight turn to another junction. Left. Left. His breath tore at his throat. He couldn’t hear them over the sound his own heartbeat, but he knew they followed close behind. One turn back. Maybe two. If he stopped—if he paused—if he hesitated—they’d have him.

Only his fear kept him moving. Exhaustion dropped his tail to the floor. It dragged, slowing him further. If I change … But he couldn’t change on the run, and he couldn’t stop running.

The center … If I can make it to the center …

Left and left and left again.

They were gaining on him. He could feel their hot breath on his back, their claws reaching out to rend and tear. But he could also feel how close he was! Drawing strength from reserves he didn’t know he had, he put on one final burst of speed and left the gray walls behind.

Unfortunately, he also left the gray floor behind.

He screamed as he fell, a long, drawn-out, horror-stricken sound caught halfway between a human cry and a rat’s squeal. It went on, and on, and on.

They were waiting at the bottom.

Jean watched as his brother thrashed about on the plank floor of Aurek Nuikin’s study—legs pedaling the air as though he were running full-out; eyes wide, staring at nothing Jean could see.

He was afraid to touch him and equally afraid to leave.

The room stank of magic.

When Lucien began to pant, Jean shrank back.

When he opened his mouth and screamed—first in terror and then in such agony that there could be nothing left of living but pain, Jean dove out the open window, scurried down the dead ivy clinging to the tower wall, and raced away.

Whatever had Lucien was not getting him.

Edik threw open the study door and stared down at the largest dead rat he’d ever seen.

Shifting his grip on the axe he carried, he quietly closed the door and scanned the room. Where there was one, there could be more.

Not until he was certain he was alone did he actually study the grotesque corpse.

He’d been in the basement kitchen, trying futilely to instill a basic concept of cleanliness into the house servants, when the young man hired to keep the floors scrubbed had stumbled into the room, frightened out of his wits. Pale and shaking, he’d stammered out that he’d heard something scream in the master’s study.

Edik had snatched up the axe and leaped up the stairs. He’d heard the house servants bolt the kitchen door behind him, but he’d deal with their cowardice later.

Right now, there was the rat.

Brow furrowed, Edik studied the body for a moment. Given
its position at the foot of the pedestal, he had a good idea of what had killed it—the master would not have left the porcelain statue unprotected. Why a wererat wanted the figurine of the late mistress was no concern of his. His problem was one of logistics.

Dumping the body in the river as it was could quite possibly cause nasty repercussions if he was seen—unlike the young master, he’d listened to the house servants’ lurid stories of what lurked in the sewers and shadows of Pont-a-Museau, added them to personal observation, and drawn his own conclusions.

He measured the thickness of muscle and joint, then changed his mind. Chopping the body into unrecognizable pieces seemed just a bit extreme and would be more than a bit messy. Setting the axe aside, he left and returned with a worn blanket, a large piece of rusted angle-iron, and some rope. After wrapping rat and iron together, he bent and heaved the weighted corpse up onto his shoulders. This wouldn’t be the first large, unidentifiable bundle to be slipped into the river. Nor, Edik was certain, would it be the last.

He was actually more concerned about getting the urine stain off the floor and its acrid odor out of the room.

The path through the Narrows, through the sewers, through the catacombs to the landing at the foot of the stairs had been etched in his mind. Aurek couldn’t have forgotten it even if he’d wanted to. All the long days and nights he’d lain trapped in his bed by slowly healing injuries, he’d dreamed of returning.

This time, nothing would get in his way. He’d use the skills he’d honed through years of scholarship and open the book. He’d find the spell. His Natalia would be free.

And he would be redeemed.