A Clash of Shadows (4 page)

“Enormously,” he said with a small smile. The beggar’s guise was very good. He could look terrible when he wanted to.

Katja peered down into his bag. This morning’s earnings were rather poor. Frank watched her.

“Don’t look at me,” Katja said. “I already gave you alms.”

“So you are just the sort to engage a beggar in conversation for fun?” he asked and looked around.

Katja sighed. She understood and had no counter argument. She walked to a booth and bought a bread roll, returned and tore it in two. She started munching on one half and dropped the other one into the bag from some height.

Frank grinned with a gleam in his eyes and muttered thanks and blessings.

“But on to business, just what happened?” she asked.

Frank looked away and at the crowds.

“This was no heart attack,” he whispered with sudden seriousness. “At most a man will groan and collapse when the heart fails. I don’t know whether those in power are simply glad to be rid of him or don’t want a magic hysteria, or whether the heart attack story has spread about and become the truth in people’s minds, but at any rate there is no investigation in progress.”

“So we won’t be bribing information out of anyone, but on the other hand no one will be getting in our way.”

“You are learning.”

Why does everyone feel the need to state as much?

“Did you see anything useful? Thorgeir didn’t give a very detailed description.”

Frank shook his head.

“The man was just strolling about with two assistants. He stopped by that booth over there, where that fat, blonde man is standing. I was over there,” he pointed. “A few steps from him.”

Frank sighed and the last of his good humour had fled.

“I saw his face. He was asking about the pie he’d bought when he suddenly fell silent and got... a rigid look of terror in his eyes. I was about to try and see what had startled him so badly when the scream came.”

Frank looked her in the eyes, deadly serious.

“It was piercing. The kind of scream a man only makes when he is dying. And yet it was half smothered, as if he would have screamed more if not for something restraining him.”

“Then he groaned a few times. People gathered around him and blocked my view, but it was only a few breathes before someone shouted that he was dead.”

Frank shook his head.

“A death curse is an ugly matter. There is something so... indecent about it. And I believe it’s a wretched death. Worse than any knife. I think I wouldn’t use such a trick even if I could.”

Katja nodded and felt a bit uneasy. Redcloaks had a certain protection from such things. But they weren’t immune.

“Do you know anything about his seat?”

“He was buried yesterday and the matter will be ignored for two more days to show respect. After that the council will elect a man who meets the requirements for the seat. If they do not reach an agreement in three meetings the chancellor will select someone.”

“But do you know who is likely to receive the prize?”

“No,” Frank said and seemed embarrassed. “I am working on that. Finding the right spots to hear the right things is a certain art, but so far I’ve heard nothing but empty gossip.”

“Hm,” Katja said. “Has Serdra snuck up on us yet?”

“Yes,” Serdra said behind her.

Katja turned around.

“Welcome.”

“Hello, Frank,” her mentor said.

“Greetings, lady,” Frank said, with a bit of the awe Thorgeir had displayed. Frank had helped a bit with Katja’s training, but not enough to get used to her mentor.

“Did Vogn live in the council hall?” Katja asked.

“On occasion, but he owned a nice estate a day’s journey to the west. He spent his free time there. But when in the city he usually chose to stay in a good house by the Flower Road. It is white with a red roof, and one large window facing the street. Oh, I know some servants reside there.”

“But who were these enemies the fellow had? Have you heard anything about that?”

“Plenty. People do love discussing hostilities. But to answer your question, the main ones would be Agnes Ko, who among other things owns a large sawmill and didn’t care for his pushing for greater harvesting of the forests to the west, and Markus Miller, who has been friendly with the eastern cattle farmers for a long time. They are both in the city at present and reside in the council hall. In the northern wing.”

“Do you know any more?”

“I am afraid not. But I will endeavour to find out.”

“Thank you.”

Katja waved at him and she and Serdra walked off.

Katja stepped on the spot Frank had pointed at. Here the man had died two days ago. Probably through sorcery.

Strong events with big results left marks Redcloaks could sense, and doing so happened to be her greatest skill.

She closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind as Serdra had taught. All the bustle around her made it difficult, but she felt a faint echo of agony and horror. She didn’t dare dig deeper. It would be too risky to try now. She might become too immersed, and reliving such an ugly death was a terrible experience. She would probably not be able to keep calm and they mustn’t draw attention.

She was still in need of improvement.

“Do you feel anything?” Serdra whispered into her ear, just loud enough for Katja to hear her in the din.

“Nothing useful. We will have to wait for darkness if we want to use this method.”

“Then we will look around in the meantime.”

4.

What remained of the day was mostly spent on not drawing attention. They went about and pretended to take part in the city life and Katja allowed herself to enjoy the performances a bit.

They decided against visiting the other Shades living within the walls. The chances of anyone who had seen them on the homestead seeing them enter certain homes were slim, but better safe than sorry.

As the sky darkened they settled beneath a bridge by the port they knew from experience no one peeked under, and waited for the bells to sound curfew. The city gate was closed, people gathered their beasts in from the streets, disassembled sales booths, shelved tools and retired behind closed doors.

The guardsmen retired from upholding trade laws and watching for petty thieves to be replaced by the night watch, who began lighting the lanterns in the better streets.

Every watchman then began walking his route accompanied by a small group of citizens who were obliged to aid a few days a year.

Katja knew all of this from experience. There was nothing to see beneath the bridge and little to hear. She did her best to kill time by going over the stealth language and the runes in her head and remembering more interesting times than this.

Eventually total darkness mercifully descended.

“Our time has come,” Serdra said, to Katja’s great relief. She had been stretching and flexing ever since the bells rang and was eager to get out from under this wretched, stinking bridge.

Serdra took a rope they had once stashed beneath the bridge in case they would need it someday. She tested its strength and then wrapped it around herself like a sash.

The older woman went up first with a bit of help from Katja, who then let herself be pulled up. The men who guarded the harbour gate were quite a distance away, but caution was all important.

They chose a narrow street mostly inhabited by unskilled labourers. No lights burned there and there was little to steal. The watchmen took little interest in it.

Walking through this big city at night was rather peculiar. It went from being a teeming stew of humanity and animals to being a silent, black row of cliffs one had to traverse with utmost care.

The night changes everything
, Katja said to herself as they walked and thought of the Brotherhood’s activities. They did their work at night, when neighbours and friends couldn’t see what lay beneath the masks they showed to civilized society. Actually, the same could be said about the Shades. And the Redcloaks.

The conflict over the world of mankind had gone through many manifestations through the ages and she occasionally wished to have been born in times of open war. The stories of those times described a world that was perhaps not
better
, but at least simpler.

They dove together into a doorway when a watchman passed through an intersection ahead, but he walked straight onwards without peering beyond the light of his lantern. They continued once the radius was well away from them.

Avoiding the watchmen was rather easy. They had practised in the city often enough that they knew all the best ways to sneak about away from lanterns and eyes.

Thieves had little cause to visit the market square at night and so neither did the watchmen, but on the other hand it was big and with the booths disassembled there was little cover. And their job wasn’t so entertaining that they wouldn’t occasionally meet and share a wineskin and play dice. So they needed to take care and be sure that the nearest watchman was far away.

The square was another perfect example of the night’s effects. The biggest and loudest place, the place that was the heart of a community, now stood empty and silent and was somehow twice as large for it. For some reason Katja thought of death.

“Here,” Serdra said quietly.

The booths by the spot had been taken down, but Katja still immediately knew that the woman was right. There was something here. An echo of something bad. Now free of the stimuli of the crowd and her own thoughts she sensed it easily.

Now she took a deep breath and slid readily into the focus the past-sight demanded. She walked slowly to the exact spot where Aron Vogn had died and sat down with her legs crossed.

She opened her mind as Serdra had taught. She let go of the present with all its malleability and opened herself to what was engraved in the past.

So much had happened here through the ages, in this meeting place of crowds, that she mostly just sensed a din. But there was also something black and abnormal. Something alien and sick. A power that had torn the life out of him without causing a wound. Sorcery, channelled from the Underworld. She recognized the feel of it.

Aron Vogn had been afraid. Katja knew as much. He had felt what was happening without understanding it. The pain had been agonizing and Katja gnashed her teeth as she relived it.

This could be dangerous; Serdra had made as much clear. So Katja fought not to delve too deeply into the memory, this event. She fought the current and the pain.

This is not now! Not now and not me!

Katja returned to the right time and took a few moments to remember when she was, what was going on and who she was with.

“It...” she said slowly as she struggled to get a hold of herself. “It was sorcery.”

“Then we know for sure,” Serdra said. “Come.”

Serdra pulled her to her feet, but Katja hesitated. As often happened the vision wouldn’t quite leave her, and she was both unbalanced at the horror and felt the sun should still be in the sky and the air resound with haggling. But there was just darkness and silence and the disorientation made it even spookier than before.

This gift has its price.

“Come now,” Serdra said after a short while and headed off. Katja could only follow.

--------------------

The Flower Road was one the city’s better streets. It was home to officials, major merchants and highly successful craftsmen. The residents had the influence to keep the area well patrolled and the lanterns ever burning. The two of them had therefore covered it better than most others. It was little use to only train for easy situations.

They avoided the lights and ran between hiding places in between listening for traffic.

One patrol was passing through. Katja and Serdra knelt in the stairs to a potato basement as they went by. Katja still allowed herself to peek up a bit. She saw an armoured watchman with a club in his hand, leading a group of surly men with long staffs.

This wasn’t a popular duty among civilians and Katja understood that ones allowed to patrol without supervision tended to go about with enough noise for thieves to hear, so they wouldn’t have to deal with them. Under other circumstances Katja would have liked to step out and mess with them a bit. But she would have to refrain.

They arrived at the house Frank had described to them. The closest lantern was close enough for them to see the white of the walls and the red of the roof. And there high up on the upper floor was the large window.

“What now?” Serdra asked and crossed her arms.

Katja sighed. She understood the situation.

“You and your tests.” Katja drew breath and thought a bit. “Servants usually sleep on the bottom floor. It would probably be better for us to enter through the upper floor to avoid waking them.” She thought a bit more. “Still, they were in a perfect position to curse Aron Vogn, so we should also scry for sorcery. Even if, well, only to eliminate this place as a possible source.”

Serdra watched her.

“And? Anything else?”

Katja squirmed a bit but stood her ground and stared back.

“No. Let’s just go and examine the situation.”

Serdra nodded curtly and pointed at the house.

“Go on.”

Katja breathed in and snuck across the street. She neither smelled dog droppings nor heard footsteps so the
y
slid in between houses, leaned up against a wall and waited. Nothing happened.

She motioned for Serdra to come over and she did. Katja watched her and waited to be given a boost up, but the woman just stood still.

Very well
, Katja thought and began climbing. It was a great strain on the fingers, but she managed to reach the window without her foot scraping or causing noise in any other way.

Katja clung to the outside of the house with three braced limbs and brought out the wire Serdra had given her. Either Aron Vogn hadn’t been wealthy or wasteful enough to buy glass for the window, so she only had to tear a hole in the stretched skin and slip the wire inside. She fumbled a bit with hooking the latch without making noise or losing her balance. A watchman would spot her easily hanging over the street like a fruit.

Finally the latch lifted. Katja opened the shutter carefully and slid inside. Her feet touched the floor softly and she felt a satisfied shiver pass through her, mixed with dread.

I am not a thief
, she tried to tell herself.
I am investigating.

She crept to the centre of the floor with utmost caution out of fear of loose and loud boards. She was in a large bedroom that had clearly belonged to a well-of individual. There was a fine cabinet with a mirror the moonlight reached a bit, the trunk had an in-built lock and the bed was wide, with artistically carved posts and a very tempting duvet.

But the bed was empty and she didn’t hear the slow breath of sleep, so she hissed quietly. Serdra heard the signal and climbed up nimbly and closed the window behind her.

The room became even darker and Katja did everything she could to maintain total concentration. She should be able to manage quietly in darkness by this point.

Serdra herself just glanced about a bit and signalled Katja to continue.

Should I maybe carry her around too?
Katja thought grumpily and then scolded herself for breaking concentration.

She went slowly around the room and searched for the unpleasant feeling sorcery caused. She stroked her fingertips about the cabinet and touched feather quills, papers, inkwells, a hair brush, books, a lockbox and a mug. The curse would have been greatly enhanced if cast in place and with an object connected to the victim. Even though Aron Vogn had apparently not spent that much time here this was an important part of the investigation.

She moved to the bed and crawled into it with her eyes closed. There was a faint odour of sweat and hair and she stroked the pillow.

Nothing there. It was just a pillow.

Katja heard a clinking as Serdra produced two lockpicks. The woman motioned for the trunk.

Katja sighed silently and received them. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

She felt for the lock and slid the picks in. She had once tested her skills on a lock from Veifano at the homestead and was greatly relieved to find this wasn’t one of those masterpieces. The lock opened with a sound that felt far too loud and then the lid opened with a creaking that seemed to echo.

Going through the belongings of a recently dead man made her squirm but there was no way around it. His spirit would hopefully be pacified by being avenged.

There were clothes, jewelry, money, fine drinking mugs and knives. Katja stilled her mind and waited for the past.

Again her peering was in vain.

Well then.

She closed the trunk carefully and prepared for the next step. The step that worried her the most. She would have to go down, to the servants.

Something touched her shoulder and Katja looked to the side and saw Serdra was handing her a large wooden candlestick. For a moment she was about to use her past-sight on it but then realised she was to use it as a weapon if it came to violence.

She took it. It was at least better than using the knife against innocent people.

Katja walked to the door and opened it into the hallway. They had discussed all this beneath the bridge. If discovered she should preferably stun the person and then run up, from where they’d leap from the window and Katja would hopefully remember how to roll on landing. Then they would flee to a darker street.

If she messed this up.

The hallway sported doors into a lounge, a guest room and a storeroom. Katja took a quick peek into each room to be sure she wouldn’t run into someone on the way back, and then snuck to the stairs.

The black abyss awaited her like the maw of a predator. This would be dangerous. She had certainly tasted danger before, but this was a new kind.

I don’t want to fight innocent servants.

She pressed her foot down on the top step to check for creaking. The sound was barely audible and would hardly have awoken a mouse, so she stepped on the second one with more confidence. Little by little she made her way down to the floor and stopped.

Here she did hear slow breathing from a room on her right and the footsteps of a fire lighter out in the street and nothing else.

Katja entered the kitchen. It was smaller than the one in the homestead, but she got a feeling that it was even more impressive in the light of day. She doubted Aron Vogn had done much cooking on his own but she still tried stroking knives, bowls, dishes, pitchers and pots. One of the chairs had been left by the dining table and Katja indulged herself sat down in it. She placed her hands on the table and scanned the place.