The Copper Promise (2 page)

Aaron Frith was strapped to the bench, his arms held down by his sides with iron cuffs. Rin had long since removed the expensive velvets and silks, so that he lay shivering in his smallclothes. One side of his face was slick with blood, and one hand was red to the wrist. His chest was livid with burn marks, and Bethan could smell the hot, sweet scent of scorched flesh.

‘I’ve done all the usual. Hot pokers, burning needles under the fingernails – once that didn’t work I just ripped ’em off – some cuts here and there. Took one of his ears, and I thought he might give in then, but it doesn’t look like he’s paying much attention now. You want me to put one of his eyes out?’

Bethan watched the young lord carefully. His eyes were closed, his breathing rapid and shallow. He looked like someone caught in the midst of a deep fever, but she thought he could hear them, all the same.

‘Hold off for a moment.’

She went over to the bench and took hold of Frith’s jaw, turning him to face her. One of his eyes flickered open; the other was caked shut with blood from a deep cut on his cheek.

‘Put away your pride, Lord Frith. Tell me where the vault is.’

For a moment the look in his one open eye was confused, as though he didn’t know where he was. Then he focussed on her and she saw that look sharpen to hate.

‘The Blackwood will have your blood,
peasant
.’

Bethan took her hand away.

‘There is a grave out there in your precious forest, and it isn’t for me.’ She turned back to the torturer. ‘The mallet, I think. I want his legs broken.’

‘We tread carefully here, master.’

Gallo looked up from the map. The guide was running his fingers over the red granite walls, sniffing and frowning as though he’d trodden in something regrettable.

‘Really? There’s nothing indicated on here.’ Gallo shook the map at him. ‘And I’d really prefer it if you didn’t call me master, Chednit. I am your employer, not your overlord. We’re practically partners!’

Chednit turned his mismatched eyes towards him. One was brown as a nut and narrow with caution; the other was false, a ball of green jade etched with a silver pupil. It swivelled in his eye socket.

‘You trust the map?’

‘It’s all we’ve got to go on. And it’s not as though I bought it from one of those grinning charlatans we saw down in the city – I’ve no doubt there’s a little house somewhere in Krete where a hundred skinny children sit drawing fake maps to the Citadel –
this
was stolen from the ruins of a temple in Relios, snatched from under the noses of the Chattering Men.’ Gallo paused to let this sink in; he was still proud of that.

‘As you say, master.’

Gallo cast a look back the way they’d come. He could still see the last of the desert daylight far above, framed in the distant doorway like a window of gold. They had walked cautiously down a steep set of plain stone steps, treading carefully for fear of traps, snakes and scorpions; it was said that the haunted Citadel had a thousand grisly ways to kill you, each more unpleasant than the last. In front of them was a chamber made of grey stone. It was a little colder than he’d been expecting, but there was nothing obviously untoward. On the far side were the entrances to three passageways, each shrouded in darkness.

‘What is it you fear?’

The guide screwed up his face and shook his head.

‘I fancy I hear things. Every now and then, a rumble, a sigh.’

‘You do?’ Gallo stood very still and listened, but all he could hear was the rush of the wind sighing past the door high above them, and the sound of his own breathing. This far above Krete it wasn’t even possible to hear the cacophony of the city, shielded as they were by the solid weight of the ancient stones. He laughed suddenly, and clapped Chednit heartily on the back. The guide winced.

‘Look at us! We have barely made headway into the first level of the Citadel and already we are twitching at every noise, as nervous as mice. Let’s keep moving.’ Gallo looked at the map and nodded to the entrance on the far right. ‘We take this one.’

‘As you say, master.’

In the next chamber they found a narrow stairwell leading downwards. The light from Chednit’s torch only illuminated the first few steps before the darkness seemed to eat it up.

‘We should light another torch, master.’

‘I’d rather have my hands free.’ Gallo patted the scabbard at his hip.

‘I do not like this.’ Chednit frowned at the dark, pushing his leathery old face into a thousand crinkles. The light from the torch reflected on his jade eye, making it glow like a cat’s. ‘We should have waited for your friend to join us. Another sword hand, yes, that would have been most wise. We can still go back, await him in Krete.’

Gallo shook his head impatiently.

‘I could waste my whole life waiting for Sebastian while the Citadel sits here, all its secrets undiscovered. And besides, we’ve already given the guards their bribe.’ There had been a time when his friend would have been the first down the steps into the Citadel, a wild gleam in his eye and his sword drawn, but now he spoke of waiting and, worse,
honour
. It was enough to turn an adventurer’s stomach. ‘Look, if it makes you feel better, my blade shall go first.’ He drew his sword and gave Chednit his most reassuring smile. ‘Follow me close. We shall need what light that torch of yours can cast.’

They descended the stairs, Gallo in front, Chednit coming along behind, holding the torch high above his head. The passageway was narrow, the steps uneven. Gallo brushed his free hand against the stones and his fingers came away covered in a thin green slime. Ahead there was a darkness as deep and complete as anything he had ever seen; it was like a solid thing, so that he almost feared to go too quickly lest he collide with it. Their footsteps echoed strangely, seeming to fade away and then come back again faster, or slower. A few more steps, and his ears popped.

‘A dark place, that is for certain,’ said Gallo. He wanted to talk, to cover up those uneasy echoes, but his voice sounded strained and weak to his own ears. ‘Sebastian would not like this at all. He prefers his open skies and his mountains.’

‘As you say, master.’ Chednit sounded as though he couldn’t give two shakes of a donkey’s arse about Sebastian’s mountains, and Gallo couldn’t blame him. Even so, he could not stop talking.

‘Do you know Ynnsmouth, Chednit? Strange place. They worship their mountains as gods, and there are secret shrines that only the Ynnsmouth knights can find. Sebastian promised to take me to one once, even though it is forbidden.’

Suddenly Gallo was filled with the certainty that he would never see the mountain shrine – would never, in fact, see daylight again. The thought caught his tongue and held it, filling his chest with an alien tightness. He cleared his throat but said no more, and they walked on in silence.

Ever downwards they went, with no change to the steps or the rough walls beside them. They walked for so long that Gallo began to wonder if this was one of the mythical traps of the Citadel, one so subtle and simple that you could be walking for years before you realised you had grown old and doddery. Gallo was a man who prided himself on the physical condition of his body – when he had stolen the map from the Chattering Men he had outrun them all and barely felt it – but a sweat had broken out on his brow and his legs were starting to ache.

A faint rustling from above stopped Gallo in his tracks. It reminded him of the sound ropes make on the docks when the boats cast off – rough hessian rubbing against splintered wood. He looked up, but Chednit’s torch cast only the faintest of glimmers towards the ceiling.

‘What is that?’ he said, his fear briefly lost in curiosity. ‘Say, can you see something?’

There was a brief suggestion of movement, followed by a blood-curdling scream from behind him. Gallo turned in time to see Chednit’s legs vanishing upwards, his body pulled up into the darkened ceiling. Like most men who sell their sword for money Gallo was as quick as a cat. His arm shot out and grabbed hold of his guide’s boot.

‘Help me, help me!’ squealed Chednit. The torch dropped down onto the steps, smouldering and smoking. Whatever had him was fearsomely strong. Gallo pulled down on Chednit’s boot but the force pulling him up only increased, nearly yanking him up with the hapless guide. He tried to drop the sword to grab on with both hands, but his hand would not obey.

‘Chednit!’

As quick as that the boot was gone, and Chednit flew up into the dark recesses of the ceiling. Gallo held his sword over his head as, unseen, his guide began to scream, over and over. There was a patter of what felt like warm rain against his upturned face, and something small and round dropped down past his nose, to chink against the stone steps and then bounce away into the dark beyond. He saw it only for a second in the guttering light of Chednit’s torch, but he recognised the jade eye with the silver pupil, now lost to the shadows at the bottom of the unending steps.

The whole thing had taken no more than a handful of heartbeats. Gallo picked up the torch and blew it back into life, noticing that it was now sticky with blood. When the light was strong again, he held it up over his head, half fearing to see Chednit’s grinning corpse flattened to the ceiling, a hole in his face where his eyes should be … but there was nothing there. He saw more of the same grey stones, the same green mould, and no sign of his guide. Gallo swallowed hard and tightened his grip on his sword.

‘The place is cursed,’ he spat. As the terror passed, he was filled with a black fury. How dare it take his guide from him? To suffer such a loss at the very beginning of the adventure was unthinkable. Sebastian would be insufferable, for a start. ‘A foul thing, to pick off an unarmed man from above.’

‘Would you prefer to meet face to face, young warrior?’

The voice was so close behind him Gallo could feel the tickle of warm breath on the back of his neck. He spun, sword out, but what met him on the steps of the Citadel drained all the strength from his arms with one slow smile.

‘I thought not,’ it said, with a note of long-suffering humour. ‘They never do.’

‘You’re a dirty cheat! Everyone knows it! That’s what everyone says.’

Wydrin drew the last of the cards towards her across the table, snatching a quick glance at whoever might be listening in the crowded tavern. Good rumours, bad rumours; they were all the same to her. Unfortunately, an early summer’s evening in The Hands of Fate tavern was a busy time, and no one was paying much attention to an argument over a game of cards.
Not until it gets bloody, anyway
, she thought.

‘Have you forgotten the rules again, Sammy?’ She smiled up at him, and was pleased to see his face turn a darker shade of pink. ‘I’ll be glad to explain them to you, but the gist of it is, well, you lost. Fair and square. The Copper Cat plays a clean game. Well, clean
card
games, anyway.’

‘I want my money back.’ Sam Larken slammed his fist down on the table, causing the small pile of coins to jump. ‘You’ll give it back now, you lying little thief.’

Wydrin leaned back in her chair and patted the two daggers at her belt.

‘Thief, is it? You want to take that up with my claws here?’

There was a slight hesitation from Sam Larken now, and this, too, pleased Wydrin. It seemed he wasn’t a total fool after all.

‘I just want what’s mine, that’s all, or I’ll tell everyone—’

Wydrin drew the dagger, too fast for him to follow, and then very slowly flipped one of the cards over with the point. It was the eight of cups.

‘You’ll tell everyone
what
?’

‘Uh …’

A shadow suddenly loomed over them. Wydrin looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with long black hair tied into a braid and an enormous broadsword slung over his back. He was carrying a tankard in each hand, and he gave Wydrin a pained look before turning to Sam.

‘I’ve told you before, Sam. If you still insist on playing cards with her you can’t keep complaining you’ve lost all your money. Rats learn faster than you.’

Sam backed away from the table awkwardly, half taking the chair with him. His eyes were glued to the sword.

‘Fine, keep it then.’ He shot a poisonous look at Wydrin. ‘Can’t get an honest game in this shit hole of a city.’

Wydrin watched him back away into the crowd. She gave him a little wave.

‘Really, Sebastian,’ she said as the big man sat down, carefully placing the tankards away from the cards. ‘I wasn’t even cheating this time. As soon as he gets some decent cards it’s written all over his stupid face.’

Sebastian shifted in his seat and glanced back towards the door. He was a big man, muscled and powerful, but with a kind face, a long nose and blue eyes, which Wydrin liked to tease him about. No fearsome knight had eyes that pretty, she said.

‘It would be helpful if you could avoid starting any fights while we’re waiting to meet a potential client.’

Wydrin rolled her eyes and took a mouthful of ale. It was warm and tasted of oats. Not bad for Krete.

‘What’s the matter with you? You look like someone’s pissed in your beer.’

Sebastian sighed and picked up his tankard.

‘This job. I’m not certain it’s wise. After what happened we should be all the more cautious.’

‘This is what you wanted, Sebastian.’ Wydrin slid her dagger back into its scabbard and lowered her voice. ‘We can find him this way. Gallo was an idiot, and we’re not. We’ll be fine.’ Catching the look on his face she changed her tone. ‘Besides which, anyone stupid enough to explore the Citadel will be paying through the nose for it. We’ll be set for the rest of the year. No more working for tiresome little merchants who want their poxy wagon trains guarded.’ She sniffed. ‘I was thinking of getting some new leather armour, too. Red, maybe, to match my hair.’

Sebastian laughed at that; her hair was short, scruffy, and carroty.

‘I suppose,’ he said eventually. ‘We have to go in there after him, and this is as good a way as any. We can’t even afford to bribe the guards by ourselves.’

‘Who is this client, anyway?’ asked Wydrin. ‘I’m curious to know what sort of fool is so eager to go exploring such an infamous death trap.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Besides Gallo, of course.’