Nightblade: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 1) (24 page)

“Her favorite.” Loren heard the twinge of pain in his voice and sought to reassure Gem with a comforting hand on his shoulder.
 

He looked up at Loren but did not smile. “That’s it, then. What now?”

“Now,” said Loren, “we find a way to—”

A clanging screech tore through the tunnel. Her fingers tightened so hard on Gem’s shoulder that Loren feared she might draw blood.

The hidey hole door swung wide, and Auntie emerged. She had another boy with her, following at her heels like a dog.
 

“It’s her!” said Gem. “We need to go!”

“Hold a moment.”

“Why?”

Loren watched without giving an answer. After the boy stepped out behind her, Auntie turned and closed the door. She pulled something from her neck—
a key—
and turned to walk down the short hallway leading out. The guards straightened their postures at Auntie’s approach, like soldiers coming to attention.
 

Auntie stepped up to one of the guards, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. She yanked his head low and placed her mouth on his. Loren could not see at this distance but winced as she imagined details. Then Auntie stepped away, seized the other boy, and did the same. Neither boy wrapped his arms around her, nor did either let the kiss linger overlong.

“What . . . does she . . . ?”
 

“Any boy has to kiss her when she wants it, and more besides.” Gem’s voice had grown suddenly small, so quiet Loren barely heard it. “If you don’t, she’ll hurt you. You learn quick. Some of the boys like it all right, especially the other things she does. Most of us don’t.”

Loren looked at him sharply. Gem’s eyes refused to find hers.
 

Her throat was suddenly dry, and Loren felt the slow-burning anger rising inside her again—the rage that always seemed so near to her now.

Her eyes returned to Auntie, now burning with fury. The weremage walked forward, leaving the two guards behind, coming down the tunnel with only the one she’d had in the room.

Loren grabbed Gem’s shoulder hard. He whirled around with fearful eyes. Together, they slunk back, utterly silent, and vanished behind the corner. He led Loren down the tunnel until they found a small alcove that delved a few feet into the wall.
 

“Here!” he said, his voice a sharp whisper.

“It is not big enough!”
 

“Trust me.” Gem vanished, ducking around a corner within the alcove. Loren blinked and followed him into the darkness.
 

The alcove sharply curved to either side. They huddled together, hiding in gloom, gently flowing water the sewer’s only sound. But soon Loren heard something else: soft, padded footsteps approaching.
 

She leaned out slightly, peeked around the corner, and saw her: Auntie, strolling idly by as if on an afternoon walk. The boy walked behind her, tall and strong, his bare arms looking like they could crush a skull between them. And mayhap they could.

Loren almost listened to her inner voice, screaming
attack
, telling her to leap upon Auntie and tear at the weremage until she lay bleeding in the sewer. But Auntie had her knives and guard. Loren had only a blade made for hunting.
 

And most importantly, Nightblade did not kill.

So Loren let them go. As the footsteps were fading to silence, she heard Auntie’s smooth, languid laugh drifting out of the darkness, chuckling at some remark from the boy.

Loren turned back to Gem.

“I will take back what she stole. And perhaps not now, but one day, I will make her rue the moment she thought to cross us. How does that sound?”

Loren had never seen Gem’s eyes wider.
 

“You’ll get no complaints from me,” he said.

“Good. Let us start with my dagger. I have an idea.”

twenty-eight

Loren explained her idea to an unimpressed Gem.

“They could catch me and gut me like a fish!”
 

“You are only saying that because you are the one they will chase,” she said. “But they will never catch you. I have heard stories about how fast you can run.”

Gem glared at her. “This is different, and you know it.”

Loren put a hand on either of his shoulders and rocked him back and forth until he could not help a small smile. “Come now. You already proved that Auntie had no better boy on the roofs. Now you have shown many times your worth in the sewers. Do you really think they will be able to lay a hand upon you? Who knows this place better than you?”

“No one,” said Gem.

“As I thought. Come now. Destiny awaits. I am the one who must wait in plain sight for someone to sneak up behind me and slip a knife between my ribs.”

Mollified, Gem stepped with Loren from the alcove and led her around the corner, back to the hidey hole’s tunnel.

In truth, Loren filled her voice with confidence she did not feel. It seemed a solid plan, but she was a stranger and knew little, only hoping that the gaps in her knowing would not cost Gem his life. She could not bear the thought nor stand to walk away.

They snuck back to the torchlight’s edge, the tunnel yawning before them. Loren pointed to a small plank bridge spanning a channel to the guards’ right and whispered. “You will want to avoid that. They will cross more easily there. On the other side, they will be cautious.”

Gem nodded. His eyes had grown large, and Loren could feel him tremble beneath her hand. She thought of speaking more encouragement but feared to rekindle his doubts and decided upon a gentle nudge instead.

“Go, master pickpocket. And remember, keep out of their reach until you are out of sight. Then disappear.”

“Right,” said Gem. “Very well. Here I go. Do not let this be for nothing.”

He bounced on the balls of his feet twice, and with a sharp cry ran pell-mell down the tunnel toward the guards.

“Help! Help! They’re coming!”

Both boys shot to attention, exchanging a glance before turning to Gem. One of them squinted, leaning forward to get a better look at the boy.

“Who’s coming?” The guard’s voice sounded low and resonant in the dank space.

“Constables!” said Gem. “We’ve been betrayed!”

The guards reached for the cudgels at their waists. One leaned forward. “Hey, wait! It’s you!”

“It is indeed.” Gem skidded to a stop at the tunnel’s end and turned left, disappearing around the corner. With a furious cry the guards gave chase, cudgels clutched in meaty fists.

It had been her idea, but still Loren marveled that it had worked. She had feared only one of the guards would chase Gem, and had had no idea what to do if the other remained.
 

She stole down the tunnel and paused at the corner to peek around it. Torches stretched down the left-hand tunnel as far as Loren could see, but she saw no sign of Gem or the guards. She gathered herself and leapt across the channel in one quick jump. She did not hesitate but darted into the small hallway leading to the hidey hole door.

There it stood, dark and imposing. The wood appeared old, ancient even, but solid and without any rot. Polish still covered its surface, and as Loren put a hand against it she found it bone dry, not damp as she would have expected. The door had no damage, save a grid of indents grazing its surface. She studied them, curious. They spaced perfectly across the wood, a mesh of dents with six inches between each, from one wall to the other.

She glanced over her shoulder and put a hand on its knob. It didn’t budge. Locked.

“Sky and stars,” she muttered.
 

Loren kneeled to look at the lock—a massive thing, made from well-wrought iron that bore no trace of rust. That was odd—the thing should have been rusted through from all the air’s moisture. Loren felt a prickling along the back of her neck. Could it be some form of enchantment? Some firemage’s spell to keep water from metal?

That was neither here nor there. Loren claimed no expertise with locks, but Bracken had taught her something about them. In his tales, Mennet wore a belt of tools: small, intricate spikes and twisted prongs that could best any lock.
 

A lock consisted of tumblers, small metal levers that one had to push in the proper order to open. Bracken had once carried a big padlock in his pack and had let Loren toy around with it, using the end of his twisted knife. She had opened it once or twice but only after much prodding and a great deal of Bracken’s time. And that lock had been a much larger, cruder affair than the one before her now.

Still, she did not appear to have much choice. “Let us see what I remember.”

Loren drew the knife from her boot. It had a broader blade than Bracken’s and did not twist. Mayhap she could fix that. She thrust the tip of it into the lock and pulled it to the side. The metal bent obligingly—almost too well, and Loren eased off for fear of it snapping.

She inserted her new poker into the lock, shoving a bit to force its fit, and felt around for the tumblers. The dagger
skritched
against the iron, and Loren grew suddenly aware of the silence. Only trickling water sounded in the hallway behind her. She glanced over her shoulder but could see only the blinking torchlights stretching down the tunnel.

Loren turned back to the lock and probed until she felt something give. A small piece of metal, hardly anything at all—but it had to be a tumbler. She sighed and probed for another. Her knife scraped back and forth, seeking them out.
 

Perhaps she had probed too far. Loren withdrew the knife slightly, almost to the entrance. She heard another
snik
and felt something give. She nearly cried out in triumph.

SkreeeEEE!

Loren looked up just in time to see the ceiling falling upon her. She barely dropped to the ground and covered her head before something snatched at her brown cloak and yanked Loren onto her side.
 

THOOM!
 

The sound was deafening. But nothing slammed into her back. No rocks or boulders crushed her where she lay.
 

Loren opened her eyes and raised her head. A large, spiked iron grate had swung down from the ceiling to skewer the door with its prongs. Had Loren remained on her knees or, worse, stayed standing, she would now be impaled on a dozen jutting protrusions.

The bottom spikes had snatched at her hood as the thing fell, and were now embedded in the wood. She tried tugging it free, but it would not move from the door. Growling in disgust, she loosened the ties at her throat and freed herself from the cloak.

Now the grate stood between her and the door. Through its holes, Loren could still reach the lock, and the door opened inward. If she could get the thing open, mayhap she could lift the trap enough to slide beneath it. She bent to the task, again sliding the tip of her hunting knife into the lock. But now the gate blocked her way, the grid making each movement awkward, blocking her arms as she sought to twist and turn them in her hunt for the tumblers. Loren gave another frustrated growl.

She must move the gate. Mayhap she could prop it up with something. She looked around but saw nothing. Very well, she would push it back to the ceiling. If it stuck, she would carefully continue her picking. Loren now knew what to expect—if she tripped it again, she could always get out of the way.
 

Loren wrapped her hands around the bottom of the grid and pulled upward.
 

SKREEEeeee!

She dropped it like white-hot metal. They would hear her across the nine lands, and the thing weighed so much that Loren doubted she could reach the ceiling with it. Frustrated, she knelt again and went for the lock with her knife.

“Loren!” A hand came down on her shoulder, pulling her back.

Loren screamed and whirled, slashing wildly with the knife. Gem cried out and tumbled backward, crashing hard into the stone floor.

“Gem!” What under the sky? I nearly killed you.”

“You couldn’t have cut me if you tried,” said Gem, his nose in the air even as he found his feet. “I came back to warn you—they’re on their way.
You must go
.”

“I have not got in.”
 

Gem glanced at the door. “In or not, they will be upon us in a moment. We must flee now before our chance is gone.”

Loren gave the door another look. “If I could only . . . it is in there, Gem! Do you know nothing of locks?”

He tugged at her hand. “I told you, only the older boys learned that. We must go. I think one of them has gone for Auntie. Come.
Now!
”

Loren growled and followed Gem, running again into the sewer’s gloom.

twenty-nine

They found their way back to Markus’s shop just before sundown. The cobbler’s granddaughter let them in the back door without a word to a pair of straw pallets waiting in the cellar. The blankets were threadbare, and Loren saw no pillows, but still the pallets seemed like a slice of heaven. She realized with shock that she had not slept in more than a day—since the last morning she woke with Damaris’s caravan on the road to Cabrus.