The Black Star (Book 3) (45 page)

Dante sent Somburr down the street to keep watch, then went into the public house, taking Cee with him to watch over him. As soon as they were seated, he sent the rat into the street and delved into its eyes.

It loped outside and bounded to the side of the building. The structure was faced with rough stone. The rat had no problem scrambling straight up, clawing its way to Julen's balcony. It gazed into the dim apartment and slipped inside.

A candle flickered across the room. A man hunched over a desk, quill scratching away. Maps hung on the walls. In one corner, a bin overflowed with chicken bones, old rice, wadded paper, and fruit pits. Two live rats were already there, gnawing furtively.

His rat prowled, taking in the scene. The man continued to write. Fifteen minutes later, he blotted his ink, shook off the sand, blew on the papers, and set them aside while he went to the other room to relieve himself in a pot. Dante moved the rat to a dark corner. The man returned, examined the papers, and stored them in the desk's top drawer. He blew out the candle and lay on the mattress across the room.

The man was breathing evenly before Lew and Ast came into the public house, bearing Dante's writing implements. As soon as they'd arrived, he sent the rat up to the top of the desk. It wedged its paws inside the drawer and pushed it open with a soft squeak of wood. The man didn't stir. The rat clenched the corners of the papers in its teeth, dragged them out, trotted to the balcony, and descended to the street, where Somburr had positioned himself to intercept. He brought the papers to the pub and Dante and Lew copied them as quickly as they could. Finished, Somburr walked the rat back to the rowhouse and it returned the papers to the desk, closing the drawer as best it could.

The whole thing took a few minutes longer than the hour Dante had estimated, but it was among the easiest jobs he'd ever pulled. On the way back to the door to the secret underground, he tried to read what he'd stolen, but it was too dark to make out many of the words, and what he could catch seemed rambling and quotidian. After he'd accidentally stepped in his third puddle, he rolled up the papers and pocketed them.

This time, he took the whole group below, but left Lew and Somburr several blocks away from the abode of Kasee Gage. As Dante approached it, the door opened. Horace ushered them inside.

Dante produced the papers. "He was writing a letter when I got there. This is a copy of it."

Horace took the pages, glancing between them and Dante. "How did you get this?"

"I suppose I'll tell you that when Kasee tells me what I want to know."

He flapped the letter against his thigh. "She will be extremely pleased with this. Wait here."

He retreated into the home, which was more shadowed and hushed than it had been on Dante's previous visit a few hours earlier. Horace returned in moments.

"She is pleased with the news," he said. "But not with the hour. She requests that you return at noon after she's had time to sleep and look over your findings."

Dante was a bit miffed at being turned away, but he was tired enough to be relieved that the end of the night was in sight. "Before I go, will you at least tell me what this place is?"

"You mean the Echoes?" Horace gestured around the caverns. "This is where the city used to be, long ago."

"No offense, but why does anyone still live down here? You do realize there's a perfectly usable sun upstairs, right?"

"Some are here because they think the city above is an illusion. The history of Ellan is invasion and strife. It has never been safe there. Some day, it will be torn down to the foundation, and the careless, oblivious citizens will be torn down with it." He smiled slightly. "Or so they believe."

"Why are
you
here?"

He smiled foxily. "There is some business the people don't want to see. And there is other business we don't want them to see."

"I'm guessing your group tends toward the latter."

"I believe we are a mixture of both." Horace stepped back from the door. "Goodnight."

Dante went back to the stairs again, collecting Lew and Somburr along the way. He told them what little there was to tell. Everyone must have been as tired as he was, because for once there were no objections or complaints. They returned to the inn straightaway.

Once Dante woke, he spent the morning paging through the
Cycle of Jeren
. Ideally, he would have been skimming it for mention of Cellen, or absorbing enough of its theology to have a real conversation with Mikkel and try to tap his wisdom on the matter. But between his tired mind and his genuine excitement about this divergence from everything he held true, he read through the early sections it shared with
Arawn
to determine if they were worded differently.

With noon approaching, they headed down to the Echoes. The streets were visibly busier than the night before. There were even a few stalls selling food to those who called the caverns home. Not everyone wore gray scarves, and there were no guards or obvious controls over who came and who went. Dante thought the scarves might be nothing more than a way for the people who lived here to identify each other when they ventured above, so they would know when they were in the presence of their own.

This time, expecting useful information about Cellen, he took Somburr and Lew with them as well. One of Kasee's people opened the door before he could knock. The man inspected Somburr and Lew, then led all five of them to the back room. A minute later, Kasee strode inside, offered them each a ritual sip of water, and whacked Dante in the chest with the papers.

"This is great," she said. "It's so great I want you to steal everything else he's got in there, too."

"If you think that's the best use of my talents," Dante said. "Now what about my info?"

"For all I know, you're working with Julen and falsified these letters to trick me into thinking we're paddling the same way. Before my trust is bridged, I'm going to need more. Something that hurts them too bad to be a part of some gambit."

"This is ridiculous. I can't control the content of the letters. All I can do is copy what's there. Did you get proof Julen is working with the Minister?"

Kasee slumped a little. "Maybe."

"Doesn't the Minister already know about this Black Star thing?" Cee said. "If we were working with him, why would it matter if you tell us something he already knows?"

"He could have sent us to find out what
they
know," Somburr said.

"Not helping!" Dante glared at him, then attempted to smooth his expression as he turned to Kasee. "We're both working toward the same ends. You said it yourself: if you think the Black Star is a part of his plans, it's in your interest to help me find it instead."

She hissed air through her teeth. "You are going to owe me big." She nodded at Horace. "Take them upstairs."

Horace moved to the door, motioning them to follow. "I don't know as much about the Black Star as you may like—but all I know is yours to hear."

22

Blays laughed hard, then realized he shouldn't be laughing at all. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me. But they've just totally and utterly screwed themselves."

Dennie fought to keep the wrath from his face. "By mutilating my son?"

"Yes. I'm very sorry about that. But they've given us the means to find him. Do you still have the finger?"

"I wouldn't throw out a part of my son."

Blays was somehow able to refrain from asking what Dennie intended to do with it otherwise. He screwed up his face. "Well, there is just no polite way to discuss this." He raised his eyebrows at Minn. "Does he know what you do? With the dark stuff?"

"I'm sure he's heard rumors," she said.

"Which are always five times taller than the truth. There you go, then. All you have to do is track your cousin's blood back to the source."

"How do I do that?"

"You know. With the shadows. Same way Dante hunted me down."

"I don't know how to do that," Minn said slowly. "I've never even heard of it. Maybe Ro could do it."

"Ro's not here," Blays said. "I'm happy to try, but I'm as productive as a leech in your nose."

"I can try." She turned to Dennie. "May I?"

Her uncle rolled his lips together. "You're talking about sorcery."

She eyed him calmly. "Would that be a problem?"

"No." He jerked his head to the side. "Not if it helps find Cal."

"Then I'm sorry to be macabre," Blays said, "but we'll need to see the finger."

The man was spooked, but hid it well. He took them upstairs to a round room with a high ceiling and wraparound glass windows that gave a full view of the black lake. The chambers were outfitted with stuffed chairs, rich wooden bookshelves and desks, and a cabinet of bottles of myriad colors. In the house of your typical lord, all this would mark it as a private study, the tower to which the man of the house could retreat and survey his domain. But Dennie was a merchant of Gallador. Blays knew enough to recognize the room as the businessman's equivalent of a war room.

Dennie moved to a desk, shoulders bowed, and retrieved a small wooden box. He held it out, glancing between Minn and Blays. Tears shined in his eyes. Minn accepted it without eye contact and lifted its hinged lid. Her jaw went tight.

She closed her eyes. Nether wafted to her hands. She sent it to the box and it buzzed in confused spirals. It went still, then vibrated side to side; it paused a second time, then floated like tiny flakes of snow in a tumbling winter wind.

Minn stepped back, holding the box at arm's length. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"That makes two of us," Blays said.

She wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow. "Did he ever tell you how to do this?"

"It rarely occurred to me to talk shop when he was raising zombies and making people's heads explode. I think the concept is you find the nether in the blood, then follow it back to its source. Make sense?"

"In theory."

He laughed wryly. "Trust me, after what you've put me through the last couple months, I understand how this feels. Relax and see what you can do."

Annoyance flickered across her face. She breathed and the lines smoothed. Dennie watched them the way Blays might watch a barber bleeding a man whose cough has reduced him to a life in bed: hopeful but nauseated, and not quite certain the supposed cure wasn't making things worse.

When she was ready, Minn summoned the nether back to the box. It was visibly calmer, washing over what lay in the box, retracting, then rolling forward like midnight surf. For ten minutes, she stood in perfect concentration.

The nether winked away. She staggered back, clutching her head. The box tipped from her hand. Blays darted in to catch it. Inside a bed of black velvet, a pale finger pointed at his heart.

"I can't do it," Minn said. "I'm not making any progress at all."

"What are you trying?" Blays said. "When you follow the nether, where does it go?"

"I don't know! Maybe
you
should try."

Blays glanced at Dennie, who nodded his okay. Blays gazed at the finger. Its stump was rusty with dried blood. The nether there was plentiful, flowing through severed veins and tickling along cut skin. He reached into it and tried to follow wherever it might lead, but the edge of the shadows blended into nothing, leaving him lost. Even so, he tried again and again, attacking the problem with every trick he'd honed in Pocket Cove.

All failed to show him a thing. He sighed and set the box down on the desk. "I've got nothing."

"Thank you for trying," Dennie said, making a valiant effort to keep the disappointment from his face.

"Well, just because the shadows quit on us doesn't mean we're done." Blays sat in a chair, its cushioned seat sinking beneath his weight. He rubbed his face. "We've got other tools in the kit: feet and brains. Why don't you tell us exactly what's happened?"

Dennie glanced at the night, perhaps deciding whether he'd had enough of the day, then opened the cabinet and got out a pink bottle. "Blank? Minn?"

Blays nodded. After a pause, so did Minn. Dennie poured three glasses with two inches of whitish liquid and distributed them. It tasted like anise and honey. Blays hadn't had anything stronger than tea and broth in months, but he forced himself to sip rather than guzzle.

Dennie seated himself and laid out the facts. Though he was more detailed in places, the relevant bits matched Minn's version.

Blays swirled his drink. "They still haven't sent any demands?"

"They have not," Dennie said. "I've seen this game at the negotiating table. The idea is to bring my nerves to a boil. Don't dangle the offer until I'm so exhausted I'll grab it like a lifeline."

"Any idea why they're so hellbent on this book?"

"It is ancient. Concerned with the machinations of the Celeset. The woman who wants it is from Narashtovik. It doesn't take a cartographer to map those shores." Dennie rubbed his palms together. "But it makes little sense. Narashtovik was our ally during the Chainbreakers' War."

"Yeah, but these days a different brow wears the crown." Blays tapped his glass. "Here's my thinking. Minn, you keep trying to hunt the blood. Dennie—can I call you Dennie?—you look into the courier who delivered today's message. See if you can trace him back to whoever hired him."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Me?" Blays said. "Taking a nap."

Dennie's eyebrows shifted together. "Taking a..?"

"Sorry, I make odd jokes when I'm tired. This isn't my first trip to Gallador. I know some people here. I'll visit them and see what I can turn up. Sound good?"

"Thank you for coming," Dennie said. He leaned forward and patted Minn's knee. "You, too. I don't understand where you've been, but I know you must be risking much to be here."

"Then do me one favor," Minn said. "Don't tell my dad I'm here."

"How can you ask me to choose between my brother and my niece?"

"I'm not asking."

His cheeks puffed with laughter. "You would have done well here."

He showed them to the guest quarters and sent around servants to see to their needs, but all Blays needed was a bed. He slept soundly, yet woke as soon as the help began to bump around preparing for the morning. At least in Gallador you always knew there'd be plenty of tea. Downstairs, he ate crab cakes on toast. As he wiped his mouth, a servant handed him a weighty purse. Blays grinned. Dennie knew how things got done.