Scholar of Decay (15 page)

The sewer system that ran under Pont-a-Museau was a marvel. The stone tunnels spread under all of the islands and both shores
of the mainland. The occasional collapsed ceiling notwithstanding, it was possible to use them in combination with the river and the canals to get anywhere in the city.

The extended Renier family spent as much time in the sewers as they did anywhere else. The other inhabitants of the city did what they could to avoid spending any time in the sewers at all. Those townspeople who entered seldom did so under their own power and never survived the experience.

Staying well back and in deepest shadow, the white wererat followed its ebony counterpart through the sewers. Although Louise had not brought Dmitri under the city with her, Chantel was still curious about where her cousin was going. Overhead, in the most decayed of the buildings, lived the most desperate of the refugees who had come to Pont-a-Museau. While the entire family tended to treat the area as a private hunting preserve, none of them were in the habit of visiting it with a couple of dozen common rats in tow.

And they were obviously under Louise’s command. Safe behind a buttress, Chantel smoothed back her whiskers and watched as Louise changed into her intermediate form. The older wererat studied the ceiling for a moment, nodded in satisfaction, and began to move a spill of rock away from an old, rusty iron door.

Chantel barely managed to close her teeth on a surprised gasp that surely would have given her away and very likely gotten her killed. She wouldn’t!

The deep catacombs that ran under the sewers were out of bounds to the younger members of the family. Not because Jacqueline objected to losing relatives—Chantel had heard her say that at the rate certain people reproduced, she welcomed a good culling now and then to keep the numbers in line—but because winning a battle with even an immature wererat made the goblins cocky
and annoying. As a result, all but a few secret entrances to the deep catacombs had been closed and locked.

And were supposed to remain that way.

But there was Louise taking a large iron key from the pouch she wore strapped to her chest and unlocking the door. Chantel frowned. Louise had to know the entrances that remained open, so what was she doing?

Abused metal shrieked.

Chantel leaped back and clapped her front paws over sensitive ears. A moment later, when she dared to look again, she saw the last of the rats disappear into the dark opening. She waited a moment longer, decided Louise must have already descended and, whiskers twitching, cautiously approached the door.

Standing on the ledge, she listened to the last of the rats move down the stairs, put a front leg over the threshold, and changed her mind. More important than what Louise was doing in the catacombs was her manner of entry. The closed doors were not supposed to be opened. After grooming accumulated muck from ivory flanks, Chantel started back toward the center of town. Knowledge, delivered to the right person, was power.

Louise ignored the goblin-sign. The smart ones would avoid her; the stupid ones, she’d kill. Almost covering the ceiling, huge, spreading patches of phosphorescent lichens glistened with a pale green luminescence just barely sufficient for wererat vision. As inadequate as they were, she was glad of them—a lantern would’ve meant a two-legged form, and two legs were not enough security given the fine patina of slime that made the footing less than stable.

Dragging the rats behind her by force of will, she hurried along
the narrow ledge that ran just above the murky water on both sides of the catacombs. At one point, where a section of the ledge had crumbled—the stone looked almost as though it had been eaten away—she leaped the gap with care. Jacqueline might know everything that hunted this deep below the city, but no one else did.

Feeling ill-used, she smacked one of the rats with her tail, knocking it off the ledge. It surfaced, squeaked once, and suddenly disappeared, leaving only a pattern of ripples behind.

Louise moved a little faster, even though she realized that whatever was in the water had to stay there. Had the creature been able to hunt on land, the goblins wouldn’t have infested the catacombs in such numbers. And if my dear sister knows what’s down here, she has no right to keep that kind of information to herself. I could get hurt. But does she care? No.

She was still silently complaining when the ledge widened out to become a deep landing at the foot of a broad flight of shallow stairs. The walls at bottom bore the crumbling remains of a number of fanciful creatures carved into the yellow-gray stone, and glyphs covered the huge blocks that delineated the doorway.

Settling herself in a spot where she could watch both the doorway and the catacombs—and as far from the door as possible—Louise sent the rats up the stairs. It took nearly total concentration to force them over the threshold, and one died on the topmost step—too terrified to obey but not strong enough to resist.

Not even for control of Richemulot would she cross through that doorway herself. She’d discovered this place years before when the goblin she’d been hunting ran in panic up the stairs and was thrown, broken and bleeding, back down, its body stinking of magic. Returning involved all the personal risk she was willing to take. The power oozing down the stairs sizzled over her skin and made her fur stand on end.

The rats had been ordered to bring her the most powerful magical item they could carry. She only hoped she’d sent enough so that one, at least, would survive.

As the last rat disappeared over the threshold, the sound of a battle began inside the room.

Rats screamed.

Three heartbeats later, a hideous laugh dragged razor-edged fingers along her spine. Although the sound had been muffled by stone and distance, Louise had to consciously force herself not to turn and flee. Trembling, she groomed and regroomed the same spot on her haunch, the air filling with ebony hair as fear made her shed.

By the time silence fell, she’d regained most of her equilibrium and had begun to grow impatient. She could hear movement out in the catacombs as the goblins realized they had company and drew closer to check it out. They didn’t especially worry her, but their unseen presence was an irritant. Grinding her teeth, she wished one of them would do something stupid so she could use up some of the extra energy that kept her shifting in place.

Finally a single wounded rat emerged carrying a gold amulet on a chain. Louise waited while it made its painful way down the stairs, its labored breathing nearly drowning out the slither and clunk of its dragging prize. When at last it reached the bottom, she rushed forward, snatched up the amulet, and hastily scurried away.

The metal disc felt warm and greasy to the touch. Rubbing it between clawed fingers, Louise squinted at the raised inscription, but the words meant nothing to her. As long as they mean something to Aurek Nuikin … and they would. She could smell the hot scent of magic even over the stink of the catacombs.

Tucking the heavy artifact into her pack, she waited a moment longer in case one of the other rats had survived. The more she had to tempt Aurek Nuikin down into the catacombs with, the
better. The hackles lifted off the back of her neck as the sound of something much larger than a rat slowly approached the glyphed doorway. Dropping onto all fours, she spun around and sped toward the entrance to the upper levels.

Behind her, the wounded rat struggled to keep up, blood bubbling from mouth and nose with every panicked breath.

The shadows took on distinct goblin shapes.

Before Louise had gone very far, the unmistakable sound of a morning star connecting with a small furred body echoed through the catacombs.

“Overkill,” she snarled derisively, leaped the gap, and hurried home to plan.

“Why,” Jacqueline wondered, picking a chunk of meat off a plate, discarding it, and choosing another, “are you telling me this?”

“Don’t you want to know that Louise has opened one of the locked doors into the catacombs?”

Jacqueline stared at her young relative. She chewed and swallowed, then said, “What makes you think I didn’t know?”

“Did you?” Chantel asked pointedly.

“That, my dear, is none of your business. Now, answer my question: why are you telling me?”

“I can’t get Dmitri Nuikin away from Louise, but you can.”

Not for a moment did Jacqueline assume Chantel was trying to save Dmitri for altruistic reasons; obviously, she wanted him for herself. The girl’s ambition amused her. “I thought I made it quite clear that night by the river that he is under my protection.”

“I’m not going to hurt him, but he was my …” Suddenly remembering there was safety in numbers, Chantel corrected herself. “Our toy first.”

“True enough. But why should I help you get him back?”

“I’ve given you information.…”

“Exactly. You’ve given me information, therefore you no longer have anything to trade.” She brushed a strand of hair back off her face. “I might also point out that my sister probably knows you’ve been following her. You’re white. You don’t exactly … blend.”

“I’ve been white all my life,” Chantel protested indignantly.

Jacqueline ceased to be amused. “And if you want to be white for much longer you won’t ever take that tone with me again.”

Realizing that she’d overstepped the bounds, and well aware of the usual result, Chantel twitched and stammered, “I—I’m sorry, Jacqueline.”

The head of the family bared her teeth in an expression that did not even approximate a smile. “Get out,” she said.

Chantel ran.

That evening, stepping into the gazebo where a canalboat waited, Louise nearly leaped out of her skin when Jacqueline appeared suddenly out of the shadows. Furious that not only had she reacted, but that her sister had seen the reaction—that smug self-satisfied smile could refer to nothing else—Louise gathered up the fringed ends of her shawl and refused to speak first.

Jacqueline stepped closer and, still smiling, announced, “I hear you were in the lower tunnels this afternoon.”

Louise waited, but her twin said nothing more. Obviously Jacqueline didn’t know about the amulet, now wrapped in bloodstained silk and safely tucked away, or she’d have mentioned it. She’d never been able to resist showing off just how much she knew, flaunting her power. Apparently, Louise thought with no small satisfaction, she doesn’t know everything and is not as powerful as
she thinks. Cradling that small, secret pleasure, half-tempted to tell the story she’d spent the evening fabricating, Louise murmured, “What if I was?”

“Nothing. Just be careful.” Jacqueline’s tone was edged with less-than-gentle sarcasm. “I’d hate for anything to happen to you.”

“Unless you did it yourself,” Louise amended silently at her sister’s departing back.