Swords: 06 - The Third Book of Lost Swords - Stonecutter's Story (21 page)

      
In a moment Wen Chang had shed his dignity entirely, and was lowering himself feet first into the dark and narrow opening in the floor. “Hah!” was the comment of the Blue Temple’s Director of Security, delivered in a tone of loud derision. But having said that much he did not know what else to add.

      
Everyone else—except for Kasimir, who was preparing to follow his leader—stood motionless and silent, watching Wen Chang’s descent and disappearance. Only a moment after the Magistrate was out of sight, Kasimir was waist-deep in the hole himself, and rapidly working his way lower.

      
The young man, chin at floor level now, groped below him with his toe for the next foothold—there it was. You really had to go down feet first, because climbing down headfirst for any distance would be impossibly awkward. And if the tunnel was this narrow through its whole length, as seemed likely, there wouldn’t be any place to turn around.

      
Now the walls of the tunnel wall had swallowed him completely, the cell he had just left was somewhere overhead. Renewed argument had broken out up there, and now he could hear sounds indicating that someone else was following him down. He trusted that whoever it was would avoid stepping on his head, as he was doing his best to avoid treading on the Magistrate’s.

      
The descent took a long time, and was full of turns and twists, vertical drops alternating with horizontal stretches. That the tunnel was a long one came as no surprise to Kasimir. The diggers would have had to begin operations a fair distance away; they would have needed a secure place, a place where they could drop a lot of displaced rock without hauling it any farther to avoid undue attention.

      
Now Wen Chang had reached the end. He was calling encouraging words back to his assistant in a soft voice, from somewhere not far ahead. And the darkness in the tunnel around Kasimir was beginning to moderate. In another few moments his feet came out into empty space, and then he had emerged.

      
He found himself standing on a narrow catwalk, that ran beside a deep drain through a rounded subterranean vault. A steady breeze, cool but decidedly foul-smelling, blew through the larger tunnel. The scene was rendered visible by a wan illumination that washed down through small patches of grillwork set at wide intervals into the stone vaulting overhead. The pattern and spacing of that grill-work was somehow familiar; Kasimir decided that they must be underneath a part of the plaza that surrounded the Hetman’s palace.

      
A rat went scurrying away along the narrow ledge on the far side of the drain. Just at the place where the narrow escape tunnel came out of the wall, the flow in the main drain was partially blocked, so that it ran in a series of miniature waterfalls and rapids. The cause of the blockage was several tons of rock, all in pieces of modest size, an impressive pile of sliced-up and displaced minerals, including building-stone, that had been dumped here by the hurried rescuers.

      
Wen Chang, standing close beside Kasimir upon the narrow ledge, was squinting thoughtfully up and down the gloomy tunnel of the drain. Now from somewhere in his pockets the Magistrate pulled forth yet another Old World light, this one no bigger than a finger, and began to use it.

      
“In that direction, of course,” he remarked, jiggling his little beam of light downstream, “all of these city drains must empty into the Tungri. And almost directly above us, just over here, must be the palace—yes, I think I am sufficiently well oriented now.”

      
Scraping and grunting noises were issuing from the mouth of the little escape tunnel. In a moment these were followed by a set of legs and feet, garbed in the Hetman’s military colors. Soon an officer of the palace guards was standing silently on the ledge, straightening his uniform and looking at Wen Chang and Kasimir with controlled suspicion.

      
“Ah,” said Wen Chang to the newcomer. “You may reassure your master that my associate and I are not trying to escape—far from it. But never mind, here come others to see for themselves.”

      
Another man who had been in the cell above was now grunting his way out through the last meter or two of the constricted tunnel. Scarcely had he found footing on the ledge when another came after him. Soon half a dozen, the most eminent of them Prince al-Farabi himself, were decorously jostling one another for position on the little shelf of masonry, meanwhile watching Wen Chang closely to see what he might be up to now. The group also included the Blue Temple’s Director of Security.

      
“No one was coming down after you, sir?” the Magistrate inquired of the last arrival, when the tunnel had been silent for a little while. “Good! Then we are ready!” And to Kasimir’s surprise Wen Chang relieved the crowding on the ledge by jumping right down into the knee-deep stream. Splashing briskly to the other side in a few quick strides, he went scrambling nimbly up the opposite bank of stone.

      
Kasimir, after only the most momentary hesitation, followed. He did his best to look as if he knew exactly what his leader was doing. Privately he wondered, not for the first time, whether his leader might have gone quite mad.

      
Wen Chang had put away his pocket light. On reaching the catwalk on the other side of the drain, he paused just long enough to glance back once at the assembly he had just left. Then with an air of indifference, ignoring the cries for an explanation that came from behind, he started walking along the new ledge toward an intersection of drains not far away. Again Kasimir followed.

      
One after another, the other men came after them. It was either that or stand waiting in a sewer for they knew not what, or else make the hard climb through the escape tunnel back to the cell.

      
Their subterranean progress, lighted by the Magistrate’s Old World lamp, continued for some minutes. Then the small party came to an even greater branching of the ways. From here an even larger drain led on in the direction of the river, and a waterfall somewhere in that direction was large enough to sound a note of distant thunder.

      
Here, on a walkway large enough to accommodate a conference, Wen Chang called a temporary halt.

      
“From this point forward, gentlemen,” he taxed them seriously, “he who accompanies me must remain as quiet as a ghost, say nothing, and follow my orders strictly as regards to noise and movement. He who splashes or mutters, whispers or sneezes—I hereby charge that man with full responsibility for our failure to regain that which we seek.

      
“Whoever cannot agree to these terms must turn back now.”

      
There was silence as his audience looked at him stubbornly, challenging him to make good on his pledge.

      
Wen Chang was not perturbed. “Then all of you are with me? Good. Follow where I lead, and be as silent as the grave.”

Chapter Eighteen

      
As soon as he had seen the Hetman’s carriage depart hastily for the palace, the High Priest Theodore quickly turned away and issued urgent orders to a few of his most trusted associates.

      
Then he hurried into his temple, where a few necessary personal preparations had to be made. As soon as these had been completed he descended to the lowest level but one of his establishment, then hurried along a half-buried passageway in the direction of the river, passing numerous tired-looking guards as he progressed.

      
At a dock covered by its own roof and served by an artificial inlet of the river, the High Priest walked past a large ceremonial barge which was used very rarely, and stopped beside a much smaller launch, whose crew, having been sent word of his intentions, was already making ready to put out. Upon the wharf beside this vessel Theodore paced impatiently until a few more people arrived, men he wanted to bring with him on this venture. These sheltered docks were very handy for certain transactions in which the temple sometimes found itself engaged—deals involving some substantial bulk of cargo requiring to be moved in or out.
      
Such goods could be much more readily and unobtrusively transported by water than by moving them in caravans that had to wind their way through all the streets of Eylau.

      
The Director of Security was notably absent on this occasion, but the High Priest thought that was probably just as well.

      
The launch had space for only four rowers on a side, and a half deck under which a few more men might lie concealed. Discussing these matters with the captain, Theodore nodded and gestured, and gave more orders.

* * *

      
A couple of minutes later he was standing near amidships in the launch, gliding across the open surface of the Tungri. River traffic was for the moment comparatively light. The face of the water was spotted with remnants of the morning mist that were rapidly being burned away by the sun. The launch in which he rode was, like the much greater barge, a brightly decorated, somewhat ostentatious craft, and was usually employed only during the Festival and on certain other rare occasions. But it had been the only boat quickly available. The fact that this was the first morning of the Festival might make its presence on the river less surprising to anyone who happened to observe it.

      
The note that Theodore had received just before the Magistrate’s departure was still clutched in his right hand. He stood with eyes shaded under a light gold awning, holding lightly to one of its supports, impatiently scanning the fog-spotted river for any sign that any of the busy vessels in sight had any intention of approaching his launch.

      
The aide who crouched beside him repeated a doubt, voiced earlier, that the note the High Priest had received was genuine.

      
On his part the High Priest maintained that he could not afford to ignore any communication like this one. Thieves of some kind were certainly in possession of the Sword of Siege, and what was more logical and natural than that those thieves should seek to sell it at great profit to themselves?

      
As for taking out the launch in this furtive way, of course it was essential to keep other people, who might take it into their heads to put in their own inconvenient claims, from knowing about the negotiations should the note prove an authentic offer.

      
Theodore looked down at the note once more, though by now he certainly had it learned by heart. It specified, in crude, block printing, in just what area of the river he was to cruise. He looked up sharply, making sure that the oarsmen were ordered at the proper moment to put about smartly and coast downstream for a while.

      
Meanwhile the three heavily armed men he had managed to conceal under the half deck were crouching there in awkward patience, now and then shifting their positions stealthily.

      
The High Priest had also brought with him on this voyage a wizard, the best available at a moment’s notice, but a man who was more a specialist in guarding treasure than anything else, so that Theodore had doubts of how useful he was going to be upon this mission.

      
And now, just when Theodore was beginning to suspect that the note might after all have been a hoax, the officer in command of the launch touched him quietly on the arm to get his attention. “My lord, someone on shore is signaling to us.”

      
The officer was sufficiently discreet to refrain from pointing, but in a moment Theodore, following the man’s low-voiced directions, had caught sight of a dark gesturing figure on shore, standing almost out of sight between two low abandoned-looking buildings.

      
The figure was hooded or masked, and dressed in some loose garment that made even the sex impossible to determine at this distance. He—or she—was standing between two dilapidated buildings, and close above the broken outlet of one of the municipal drains, in such a position as to be practically invisible from anywhere but the narrow strip of water where the launch was cruising.

      
Farther inland, on the same side of the river, Theodore could see the palace, his own temple, and the tall Red Temple too, somewhat more distant.

      
Under the officer’s direction, the launch was now being rowed toward the dock where the beckoning figure waited. When it had drawn within four or five boat lengths of that goal, the figure on shore suddenly moved a step forward and held up an imperious hand.

* * *

      
“Come no closer!” The voice was deep and throaty, but still, the High Priest thought, it was almost certainly that of a woman. “We must talk first. No closer, I tell you, or you’ll not see Stonecutter today!” And the figure held up a Sword-shaped bundle where Theodore could see it.

      
It took an imperious gesture from the High Priest himself to make the officer and the rowers stop the boat; now the oarsmen were laboring to keep her more or less in the same place in the brisk current. Actually they were doing their job well for men who got so little chance to practice.

      
Theodore sent his most dominating voice toward the shore. “Is that really a Sword you have there? You must let me see it now, if we are to talk seriously.”

      
Silently the figure holding the bundle shook the wrappings free, and let him see the Sword. Theodore, only a few meters distant, had no doubt that he was seeing the real thing.

      
But he was not going to admit that right away. “I must see it more closely.”

      
The person who held the bare blade swung it, cutting deeply into the side of a stone bollard. The thudding sound of Vulcan’s magic was clearly audible.

      
The wizard on the launch clutched Theodore by the arm, and spoke into his ear, quietly and unnecessarily affirming the genuineness of the article in question.

      
Theodore put the man aside impatiently.

      
“Very well,” he called ashore. “I am convinced. Come aboard here and we will talk terms; we cannot treat of a matter so important while shouting back and forth like two street peddlers.”

      
“No, my lord, I think not.” Yes, it was definitely a woman’s husky voice that issued from behind the mask. “Instead you must come ashore. Bring two men—no more—with you, if their presence will make you feel more comfortable.”

      
“Where ashore?”

      
“Nowhere, most cautious man, but right here in sight of your boat, though she must retreat and wait for you no closer to the dock than she is now. Come, come, will you do business or not? I am taking a real risk. If you won’t accept a tiny one that is no risk at all, I’m sure I can find another buyer who is less timid.”

      
Theodore was frowning, but the offer really seemed fair enough to him. You had to expect that anyone who had the Sword to sell would want to take some precautions. He had to admit that the scoundrels had chosen the place well. Within a few paces of that tantalizing masked figure there could well be a dozen man-sized rat holes, openings in the dock or buildings, into any one of which a thief could easily vanish—or from which other criminals could perhaps come pouring out in case they were intending treachery.

      
Well, Theodore had some good men with him in the boat, and he would risk it. The sight of Stonecutter, almost within reach, was too much to let him reach any other conclusion.

      
“I accept your terms,” called Theodore. Then, quite openly, he gave some final orders to the men who were to remain aboard the launch, and to the pair, newly emerged from under the half deck, who were going to precede him ashore, telling them to be alert, but to take no action except in case of treachery by the other side. He had already given them their secret orders, by which his own treachery would be implemented if and when he thought the chances of success were good, and the secret signal for which they were to watch.

      
The boat drew near the dock, and in a moment, the two bodyguards had hopped ashore, their own businesslike weapons drawn and ready. The High Priest followed, and then the launch, according to the agreement, eased out again to her previous position.

      
Theodore, as was his custom, was carrying with him quite a sizable sum in gold coin, plus a few valuable jewels. Quite likely, he thought, the amount he had with him would be enough to impress a small band of hungry robbers; though of course it was not anywhere near the true value of a treasure like the Blade.

      
Now he stood on the rough planking of the dock, facing the figure that still held the Sword.

      
The High Priest was flanked by his two bodyguards, good men both of them. If the slighter figure he confronted had any companions present, they had yet to show themselves.

      
“Let me hold the weapon myself,” said Theodore to his counterpart who faced him. “I must be very sure.”

      
He had expected an argument at least when he made this demand, and indeed the figure opposite seemed to hesitate momentarily. But then the cloth wrapping was cast aside, and the sheathed weapon was proffered hilt first.

      
Theodore reached for the hilt with both hands, and took the weighty treasure into his possession. He looked at the small white symbol on the hilt, a wedge splitting a block.

      
And, in that very moment when his full attention was on the Sword, the dark-clad woman who had given it to him turned and darted away, vanishing in an instant into a broken hole in the wooden side of the nearest building.

      
Theodore’s bodyguards started and brandished their weapons—but there was no threat. There was only an empty dock before them, and the High Priest their master left standing with the treasure he had so craved in his hands.

      
Theodore could not doubt that the weapon he had been given was quite genuine. Then why had it been given him in such a—

      
There were sounds nearby, a buried stirring, footsteps, careless voices of a different quality than that of the bandit woman who had just left. Someone was about to appear on the scene. No doubt the bandit woman had been first to hear these newcomers approaching, and that explained her sudden disappearance.

      
Or might she have—

      
Whatever the reason Theodore now found himself in possession of the Sword, he could not decline the chance to keep it. He had only time to re-sheathe the blade and muffle Stonecutter under his long blue cape. His right hand was gripping the leather sheath near the middle, so that the pointed end of the blade made a stiff extension of his right arm. It was the best he could do at a moment’s notice; no one would be able to see that he had the Sword as long as he could stand still with his long cape furled about him.

      
Only a heartbeat after Stonecutter had been made to disappear, Wen Chang and his physician-associate, with a surprising escort of notables after them, came popping up out of the opening atop a broken drain nearby. Theodore could only stare without comprehension at the sight of his own Director of Security emerging from the sewers as part of the same group. But the Director was not the highest rank accompanying Wen Chang; Prince al-Farabi himself was in the group as well.

      
The group appeared on the dock very near the water’s edge, so they were actually between Theodore and his waiting boat.

      
He might call in his launch, but he could not move to get aboard without giving away his secret; so the launch stayed where it was for the moment, the rowers pulling easily to offset the current, some ten or fifteen meters from the dock. The men aboard her could perceive no immediate threat to their master in this arrival of the other eminent folk with whom he had been arguing for the past few days.

      
In response to something—perhaps a guarded look from the High Priest—they did however begin to ease their craft a little closer to the shoreline.

      
Before they had closed more than half the distance, however, a somewhat smaller and much shabbier boat appeared just upstream, loaded to the gunwales with armed men. Lieutenant Komi stood in the prow, and in response to his crisp orders his crew propelled their vessel right up to the dock in the launch’s way.

      
“What are you all doing here?” demanded Theodore of Wen Chang and those who had just climbed up onto the dock with him. All of the new arrivals looked more or less wet and bedraggled, especially around the legs and feet, as if they had been wading through noisome waters underground.