The Dark City (24 page)

It leaped up in relief. “What have you done to these men, Galen? Are they alive?”

Without answering, Galen faced the Watchmen.

“Go back to your tower. Remember nothing of what you’ve seen. Forget me, forget these others, forget the name of the Crow. Remember only that in your hearts you fear the Makers.”

They simply turned and walked away, the castellan among them; for a long while the echo of their footsteps rang in the empty alleys.

When they were gone Galen closed down the stone, and then he and Raffi threw every hiding-spell they knew around it, binding it tight, darkening it, until even Carys realized that when she looked at the stone she could no longer quite see it, as if some blind spot hovered behind her eyes.

Finally Raffi looked around. The ruins of Tasceron were dark with smoke. Streets away, an owl hooted. “I almost thought all this would be changed.”

“Not yet.” Galen dragged his hair back irritably. “But when they come, we can rebuild this. We can rebuild everything.”

The Sekoi stroked its fur. “You seem very sure of that, keeper.”

Galen stood a moment, as if looking deep inside himself. Then he said, “I am.”

They walked slowly over the broken stones to a splintered archway. The alley beyond was silent and black.

Carys turned suddenly. “I’ll go on from here alone.”

“Change your mind!” Raffi urged abruptly.

She grinned at him. “Look out for me. If the Makers do come, put in a good word.” Taking the small pack off her back, she tugged something out and pushed it into his hands. “You’d better have this. You can keep it to remember me.”

And she was gone, a flicker in the shadows of the alley, and they could hear her feet running after the tread of the Watchmen.

Raffi looked down; it was a small blue book full of scrawled writing. “Good-bye, Carys,” he murmured, and then sent one long sense-line curling after her.

“I can’t help thinking,” the Sekoi said drily, “that she’s gone back there knowing everything she set out to know. I hope you’re sure of what you’re doing, Relic Master.”

Raffi was silent. It was Galen who answered. “Faith is a strange tree. Plant the seed and somewhere, sometime, in the right weather, it will grow. We also have done what we came for.” He turned to the creature. “We go back to the Pyramid. Then we need to get out of Tasceron. Can you help?”

The Sekoi’s sharp face smiled. “I’m sure it can be arranged.”

“Good.”

“And then what? Do you drag me kicking and squealing back to Alberic?”

Raffi looked up. “Alberic! He’s still got our blue box!”

Galen and the Sekoi gazed at each other with a strange glint in their eyes. Carelessly the Sekoi kicked a loose stone. “I suppose we could always steal it back.”

“I suppose we could,” the keeper said grimly. Then he grinned. “I think it’s our duty really, don’t you?”

THE SERIES CONTINUES IN

RELIC MASTER

Book 2:
THE LOST HEIRESS

T
HE STRAIN ON HIS ARMS was agony. Clutching the rope, he hauled himself up, hand over hand, gripping with aching knees and ankles.

“Hurry up!” The Sekoi leaned precariously from the tower ledge above, its seven fingers stretching for him. Behind it the Maker-wall glimmered in the light of the moons.

Raffi gave one last desperate pull, flung his hand up, and grabbed. A hard grip clenched on his; he was dragged onto the ledge and clung there, gasping and soaked with sweat.

“Not bad,” the creature purred in his ear. “Now look down.”

Below them, the night was black. Somewhere at the tower’s smooth base Galen was waiting, a shadow with a hooked face of moonlight, staring up. Even from here Raffi could feel his tension.

“Now what?”

“The window.” Delicately, the Sekoi put its long hand out and wriggled it through the smashed, patched pane. A latch clicked. The casement creaked softly open.

The creature’s fur tickled Raffi as it whispered, “In you go.”

Raffi nodded. Silently he swung his feet in and slithered over the sill, standing in the still room.

In the moonlight he sent a sense-line out, feeling at once the tangled dreams of the man in the bed, the sleeping bodyguards outside the door, and then, as he groped for it, the bright mind-echo of the relic, the familiar blue box.

It was somewhere near the bed.

He pointed; the Sekoi nodded, its yellow eyes catching the light. Raffi began to cross the room. He knew there was no one else here, but if Alberic woke up and yelled, there soon would be. The tiny man seemed lost in the vast bed, its hangings purple and crimson damask, heavy and expensive. Beside the bed was a table, a dim shadow of smooth wood, and he could just see the gleam of a drawer-handle. The relic box was in there.

Galen’s box.

Inch by inch, Raffi’s hand moved toward the drawer.

Alberic snuffled, turned over. His face was close to Raffi now; a sly face, even in sleep. Soundlessly, Raffi opened the drawer, pushed his fingers in, and touched the box. Power jerked through him; his fingers clenched on it and he almost hissed with the shock. Then it was out, and shoved deep inside his jerkin.

Glancing back, he saw the Sekoi’s black shape breathless against the window; behind it the stars were bright. He backed, carefully.

But Alberic was restless, turning and tossing in his rich covers; with each step back Raffi felt the dwarf’s sharp mind bubbling up out of the dark, a growing unease. As he turned and grabbed the window he felt the moment of waking like a pain.

Alberic sat bolt upright. He stared across the dark room; in that instant he saw them both, and a strangled scream of fury broke out of him. In seconds Raffi was out, slithering down the rope after the Sekoi, so fast that the heat seared the gloves on his hands, and as he hit the bottom and crumpled to his knees he heard the dogs erupt into barking and the screeching of Alberic’s wrath.

Galen’s hand grabbed him. “Have you got it?”

“Yes!”

The dwarf’s head jutted from the high window. “Galen Harn!” he screamed, his voice raw. “And you, Sekoi! I’ll kill you both for this!”

He seemed to be demented with rage; someone had to haul him back inside. “I’ll kill you!” he shrieked.

But the night was dark. They were already long gone.