The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows (11 page)

“Where was Rowen during this meeting?”

“In a hidden room—like a closet or something. She … she found the package there. When the professor kicked Salkith out, he went to get a drink. She took the drugs and ran.”

“Renaia, did she have this package when you ran into her?”

Renaia looked thoughtful, trying to remember. “No, she didn’t.”

“Interesting.” Wren stared out across the garden as he tried to piece together the events.

“Rowen did say she was confused about one thing.”

“Oh? What was that?”

“She said she’d overheard the professor planning this, and that she thought the professor was
buying
the dreamlily from Salkith. But when he arrived, it was to
collect
something from the professor.”

“I see. Renaia, this is important—did you tell anyone else about Rowen’s hiding place?”

“Only our Boromar handler. He looks out for us, watches to make sure we don’t get hurt or anything.”

Wren stood up. “Thank you, Renaia. We’d better get you back to civilization.”

“What? Oh, no, it’s all right. I live down here.”

Wren frowned and looked around. “Where?”

“At a tavern a few streets over. My brother owns it. That’s why I knew about this house.”

“Come, then. We’ll walk you there.”

After seeing Renaia to the tavern, Wren and Torin headed back through the streets, looking for a lift they could use to ascend.

“I think Renaia signed Rowen’s death warrant,” said Wren after a while. “I think this is most definitely a bad drug deal. Rowen steals Boromar drugs meant for distribution. Renaia accidentally reveals her hiding place, Boromar heavies track her down and torture her into revealing where she’s hidden the goods.”

“And this Cutter?”

“Mmm. Good point.” He thought for a moment. “How about this? They were both in on it. Rowen told Renaia a cleaned-up version of what happened. This Salkith probably did come, and then they killed the professor for the dreamlily.”

They walked for a while. “No,” Torin said. “That still doesn’t feel right.”

“I agree. Why would Rowen tell Renaia that Salkith came to pick something up? It’s pointless if she’s lying. There’s no need for it.”

“And we know Rowen was hiding in the room. So that part of the story is backed up. It’s the professor’s death that puzzles me.”

“I know what I saw, Wren.”

“I know. But this Cutter works for the Boromar Clan, right? What if he was simply told to kill the professor for pulling out of the deal? What if his relationship to Rowen is just a coincidence?”

“You mean he didn’t know Rowen would do this?”

“He could have known. But he would have to carry out the deed anyway, to divert suspicion away from her. Host, he might even have enjoyed it. Remember, this professor was sleeping with his girlfriend. What do you think?”

“I think we need to find this Salkith and find out what he has to say.”

“I thought you wanted to get home to your bed?”

“Not a chance. This is getting too interesting.”

T
he city of Sharn existed in its current form only because it was built on a manifest zone that linked the city to the plane of Syrania. This link strengthened any kind of spell related to levitation and flight, and thus the vast towers within the city were able to soar without risk. If the link between the planes were to fail, most of Sharn’s towers would collapse beneath their own weight.

But within this magical zone were anomalies, areas where the magic was slightly distorted, where the influence of Syrania was felt, but in unexpected ways.

The Hanging Gardens was one such place. It occupied the entire top half of a tower in Middle Menthis, and it made the most of its fame by catering to as many needs as possible. It had numerous shops, four restaurants, two theaters, eleven taverns, and four inns. The Hanging Gardens was almost an entire ward in its own right, and entrepreneurs fought (sometimes literally) to get on the waiting list.

What was so special about the Hanging Gardens was that by some strange quirk in the connection between planes, gravity was reversed.

From the perspective of someone entering the base of the tower and glancing up, it was like looking into a mirror. The whole top half of the tower was upside down. The heads of tiny people could be seen as they moved about the pathways and bridges.

Cutter hated it, but he had no choice but to go there if he wanted to get the information he needed. He climbed one of the special ramps designed for access to the Gardens. The ramp started amid normal gravity, but as it climbed around the inside of the tower, it gently curled around on itself until he was walking upside down. He glanced up and saw the Gardens ahead of him, now the right way up. He looked to where he had entered the tower. Everyone seemed to be hanging from the ceiling.

He entered one of four entrance courtyards to the Hanging Gardens. The square was wide and unroofed, as was everything in the Hanging Gardens except private rooms. Pale white marble shot through with blue veins paved the courtyard. Looks like Karrn cheese, Cutter thought. Ivy climbed up the walls all around him, and greenery of all kinds had been planted seemingly at random, giving Cutter the impression that he was standing in some ancient city discovered in Xen’drik.

On the other side of the courtyard was an arched doorway. A decorative trellis carved with the likeness of the Ring of Syberis followed the curve of the opening. The various moons of Eberron, carved from different kinds of precious gemstones, dotted the lattice at regular intervals.

Cutter ducked through and followed the short corridor beyond to a wide thoroughfare crowded with people. This was the main street of the Gardens. Vendors were set up all along
the road, selling snacks and clothing, books and drinks. Cutter moved with the flow until he came to a huge tavern on his right. A sign with a picture of a decapitated gargoyle hung from the eaves. He pushed his way out of the throng and slipped through the doors.

A busy night. Cutter used the cover of the crowd to make sure Tiel wasn’t seated at his usual booth. He did a lot of his business at the Gargoyle. Cutter was in luck. No sign of the halfling.

Cutter allowed himself a small sigh of relief and headed to the bar. Katain, the halfling owner of the Gardens, spotted him and raised a hand in greeting. He finished serving a shifter, then approached him behind the bar, grabbing a bottle and two glasses as he came.

“Cutter,” he said. “What brings you to my humble establishment? Thought you hated the place.” Katain poured two shots of the lethal spirits he imported from the Talenta Plains and slid one across to Cutter.

Cutter raised the glass in thanks and tossed it back. He smacked his lips. “I do. But I need information, and you were the only one I could think of.”

Katain grinned. “Five years out and you lot still come to me for help.”

“Just because you’re retired doesn’t mean you don’t keep your ears to the ground.”

“You’re right. In fact, I reckon I pick up more information now than I did when I was working for the Boromars. I should have opened this place years ago. To think of all that time standing on street corners in the middle of the night, waiting for contacts to show up. I could have done it all from here.”

Cutter shook his head. “You would have been drunk all the time. Too much temptation.”

“True. In fact, I’m drunk now.” Katain grinned and downed another shot. “So. What do you need?”

“I’m looking for Salkith. He did a job for the Boromars tonight and he hasn’t turned up. People are worried.”

“Worried about him or worried he’s run off with their money?”

Cutter shrugged. “I don’t ask questions.”

“Wise man.” Katain looked thoughtful for a moment. “Salkith. He usually unwinds at a place called Silvermist. It’s a dream parlor in Callestan. But if he’s there, he might not be much help to you.”

“Thanks, Kat.”

“No problem.” Someone called for his attention. The halfling turned and waved. “I’ll leave the bottle here. See you round.”

Katain went to attend to his customers. Cutter poured another drink, but this time sipped it slowly.

“Well, well. Always knew I’d find you propping up a bar someday.”

Cutter froze, then swallowed the drink and carefully replaced the glass. He took hold of the bottle and turned around on his stool.

He’d often wondered what he’d do if he ever saw Jana again. And now, here she was. She still looked the same—pale skin, black hair down to her lower back. It was even tied in the same tight braid she always wore. But as he stared at her, he noticed there were changes. She looked thinner than before—harder. He remembered how he used to stare into her wide brown eyes and think they were the most beautiful he’d seen, but now they were continually narrowed as if she was suspicious of everything around her.

She still smelled like a miracle, though. Of jasmine in summertime. He realized with a guilty start that it was the same
scent he had bought for Rowen. How had he not noticed that before?

He waited a moment to make sure his voice was calm. “Jana. Had a promotion, I see.”

“Captain.”

“Congratulations. Who’s your pet?”

Jana glanced at the man to her right. Cutter reckoned he was in his early thirties.

“This is Corporal Conal. I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“Poor man.”

Jana cocked her head to the side. “You look older, Blackbird.”

“I am.”

“No. You look older than your years. Where have you been?”

“Valenar.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Being a slave. For four years.”

Her eyes widened a fraction. Not much, but enough that he noted.

“And the name’s Cutter now,” he said.

Jana cocked an eyebrow. “What kind of a name is that?”

“The kind of name I earned. One that I’m proud of.”

“What? You’re not proud of Blackbird? It suited you so well.” She turned to Conal. “He was always after the shiny stuff, you see. Couldn’t keep his beak out of trouble.”

Cutter took a swig of spirits, watching them both.

“So what are you up to nowadays, Blackbird?”

“None of your business.”

Jana stepped forward. “Be nice to me, Blackbird. I can haul you off to jail and no one would even notice.”

“Like you did before?”

“Exactly
like I did before.”

Cutter stood. “Well, it’s been lovely catching up. We should
get together again, have supper or something.” He turned to Conal before he left. “Watch your back, corporal. She’s a dangerous one.”

Silvermist was a dream parlor, a place where people went to experience illusions and shows different from the more run-of-the-mill plays and supper theaters of the upper wards. The changeling Jix even got a write-up in the
Chronicle
for her one-woman opera, a review that gave the parlor a brief dabbling of fame as the upper class, bored with the usual routine, organized coach parties complete with bodyguards and packed suppers (just in case the food wasn’t up to standard), to take them down into the dangerous wards of Lower Dura.