The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows (19 page)

“Afraid not. We heard noises and just assumed. Perhaps we should have made sure.”

“Perhaps,” said Wren.

The lift was halfway up now, but the riders were hurrying around the balcony toward them.

“Put your hands behind your back,” Wren told Cutter.

Cutter obeyed, and Wren placed his hand on the big man’s wrists, so it looked like he was keeping a tight grip on his prisoner.

The lift rose higher, but they weren’t going to make it before the riders reached the group.

Bex stepped away from the balcony.

“What are you doing?” asked Wren.

“Stalling them. One of us needs to go this way to get the
skycoach, anyway. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Before Wren could stop him, Bex hurried forward to meet the riders. He caught up with them and they stopped to talk. The riders gestured over their shoulders at the corridor that led to the stables. Bex said something and gestured to the hallway that led to the prisons. The riders frowned at whatever he said and looked toward the hallway.

“Lift’s here,” said Cutter.

Wren hesitated a moment before leading Cutter onto the round platform. He passed his hand over the sigil for the bottom floor. The lift lurched, then started to descend. Wren watched Bex until the balcony cut him from sight. Then he turned his attention to Cutter.

“Hunch down a bit,” he said critically. “Look cowed.”

Cutter stared at him from beneath lowered brows. “I don’t do cowed.”

“Well, you’d better try. We’ll slip along the wall, but if anyone stops us,
please
don’t pull out those blades of yours and start hacking away at anything that moves. Let me talk to them first.”

“Why? Are you going to bore them to sleep?”

“Very funny.”

Wren watched the activity below as the lift dropped to the ground. The air was filled with nervousness and barely contained energy, the kind of feeling one gets after a battle. Even though the enemy wasn’t real, adrenaline was still pumping through the guardsmen and they were looking for an outlet. It made them more alert, a potential problem.

The lift touched the floor and Wren pushed Cutter ahead of him, past desks and closed offices. They reached the middle of the room, where the huge main desk was situated, a vast circle of darkwood perched on a high rostrum. About fifteen guards stood behind this desk, taking down details
from prisoners and dealing with complaints.

Wren heard the guards talking about Dalen’s illusion. They seemed to be of the opinion that it was some kind of Daask prank or initiation rite.

They crossed the floor and walked through the door into the outer lobby. Wren closed it firmly behind him, then headed for the entrance to the tower.

“Hold.”

Wren turned and felt his heart sink. It was the same elf who had been on duty when Jana confronted him yesterday, and Wren had forgotten to put the shiftweave hood up. Didn’t the idiot ever have a day off? He lowered his head behind Cutter’s back. “Yes?”

“Where are you taking him?”

“Transfer. Bit of a mix-up. He wasn’t supposed to be brought here. Daggerwatch wants him.”

“Well, you have to sign him out.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry. Forgot about that.”

He dragged Cutter to the elf’s desk and turned around, keeping his head lowered. How many people did the elf see every day? Enough that he wouldn’t recognize him? Wren hoped so.

The elf pulled a book out from under his desk. Wren quickly slid the book around and signed a fake name. “Is that it?”

The elf glanced at the name. “Yes, that’s fine.” He held out his hands.

Wren frowned at them. “What?”

“Transfer papers.”

“Trans—but I just signed for him.”

“So? You know the procedure. No moving prisoners without papers.”

Wren made a show of patting down his uniform. He heard a sigh at his side and Cutter leaned forward, took hold of the elf’s
head, and slammed it into the desk. The elf did not get up.

“Can we go now?” said Cutter.

“Uh, yes. Yes, of course. Well done.”

He turned and marched Cutter to the doors leading outside. He pulled them open and stood face to face with a guard—a corporal, judging from his uniform. The corporal looked at Wren, then glanced over his shoulder at Cutter. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He opened his mouth to say something but Cutter yanked Wren to the side and shoved the guard hard in the chest. The man stumbled, slipping on the steps and falling backward. Cutter pulled the door shut and turned to Wren.

“We need another way out.”

Wren didn’t say anything. What was the point? Instead, he grabbed hold of Cutter’s wrists and they hurried back into the main offices of Warden Towers. He pushed Cutter to the first door they came to. It led into a short hallway with glass windows looking into offices. Wren pulled the door closed and checked the next one. The doors behind him slammed open and the watchman Cutter had pushed down the stairs ran through.

“Stop!”

Wren and Cutter ducked through the door and pulled it closed. A staircase wound up through the levels. “Did he see us?” asked Wren, running past the big man and taking the stairs two at a time.

The door slammed against the wall behind them.

“Stop!”

“That answer your question?” Cutter grunted.

They ran as fast as they could, the sounds of pursuit growing as more guards joined the chase.

“Out here.” Wren pulled open a door after they had climbed a few floors. It led out onto the balcony that ran around the central shaft. Wren tried to get his bearings as they ran. He realized
they were on the prison level once again. They sprinted around to the branching corridor that took them to the corner staircase. Just before they took the passage, Wren glanced around and saw the lift stopping on their level. Five guards disembarked and pointed at them.

“Khyber’s ghost,” muttered Wren under his breath. “Why is nothing ever easy?”

The watchmen who had followed them up the stairs appeared on the balcony behind them, shouting for reinforcements. Wren turned and followed Cutter, who was already at the spiral staircase that climbed to the roof.

They sped upwards and through the rooms, past the unconscious guards. Into the open air. Host, he hoped Bex was there. Wren took the lead and they ran across the rooftop. Wren leaned over the edge, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The skycoach was gone.

He searched frantically in the night and saw it dropping away below them.

“Bex!” he yelled. “Bex! Up here. Bex—”

Cutter grabbed Wren by the arm and yanked him behind a brick hut. Wren heard the stable yard gate bang and peered around the corner. The watchmen fanned out into a line, weapons drawn as they swept across the rooftop.

He pulled back. “Any ideas?” he asked Cutter. “Because if you do, now’s a good time to get them out. Don’t be shy.”

But Cutter wasn’t listening. He nodded his head, indicating Wren should look over his shoulder.

“Friend of yours?” he asked.

Wren whirled around and saw Bex steering the skycoach toward them. He was level with the roof, but still some distance away. Relief flooded through him.

“Over here!” shouted a voice.

Wren looked and saw a watchman leveling a crossbow at them. He grabbed Cutter by the shirt. “Run.”

“What?”

“Run!”

Without waiting to see if he was following, Wren ran for the edge of the roof, putting everything he had into building up speed. Bex stood up at the controls when he saw him coming. The half-orc’s eyes widened in shock when he realized what Wren was planning. He steered the skycoach down slightly so it was below roof level.

But it was still too far away.

Oh well, thought Wren, and hit the edge of the roof, pushing off as hard as possible with his feet. Air whipped at his face and hair, soared in his ears. He saw the skycoach below him, Bex trying to guide it closer.

And then he landed on the front of the vehicle. It dipped alarmingly. He scrabbled up and grabbed hold of Bex’s arm as the half-orc lunged forward to grab him. Cutter landed behind Bex, smashing into the seats and breaking their backs. Wren heard him swearing furiously.

Bex dragged Wren inside and pushed the controls forward, sending the skycoach plummeting into the mist—away from the watchmen who were leaning over the edge, staring at them with looks of amazement, annoyance, and hatred.

“That’s some good timing you’ve got there, Bex.”

“No problem,” called the half-orc. “Where to?”

“Back to Callian’s,” said Wren.

“Consider it done,” said Bex.

Wren smiled and gingerly prodded his limbs to make sure they were all still there.

Then he closed his eyes and let out a long, slow sigh of relief.

T
he half-orc settled the skycoach down in the vicinity of Stone Trees. Cutter sat in the back, watching as Bex and the half-elf disembarked and stood whispering together. When they finished talking, they clasped hands and the half-orc disappeared into the night while the half-elf climbed back onboard and turned to face him.

“Let’s get everything clear and out in the open,” he said. “My name’s Wren. I’m an Inquisitive. I was called in to investigate the death of the professor. And seeing as you were spotted standing over his body with your blades in your hands, covered in blood, you were our main suspect.” He paused, then said wryly, “You can see why we made that assumption.”

Cutter didn’t answer.

“Do you have anything to add?” asked Wren.

“Like what?”

“Well … anything. Who was the warforged that killed the professor? Why is this package so important? We thought it was
dreamlily at first, but it seems like a lot of trouble to go through for some drugs.”

“Sounds like you know as much as I do. The only thing I wanted to do was find Rowen. I couldn’t care less about who killed who.”

Wren looked disappointed. “I was hoping you’d have more information.”

“You said you knew where Rowen is.”

Wren hesitated. “I do. But first …” Wren fished around in his pockets. He pulled out a piece of paper and leaned over the ruined seats to hand it to him.

“Rowen asked a friend of hers to deliver this to you.”

Cutter stared at the folded piece of paper. His stomach dropped. This must have been the last thing she ever wrote to him. His hands shook as he reached forward and took it.

He thought he could smell her perfume as he opened it, but that was probably just his imagination. He fought back tears when he saw her neat, elegant handwriting.

Got dreamlily. Hidden it at the family crypt. Will meet later
.

“Do you know what it means?” asked Wren. “Is it a graveyard or something?”

“I know what it means.” Cutter folded the note and slipped it inside his shirt. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his hands over his face. He knew what he had to do. He wouldn’t be able to rest until everyone involved in her death had been made to suffer. But he had to take care of something first.

“Take me to her.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea … she’s …”

“I don’t care,” Cutter snapped. “She died alone, half-elf. I won’t leave her there any longer. Understand?”

Wren sighed. “It’s your choice. But I warn you, it’s not pretty. She was … coerced.”

Cutter’s heart hardened. He would make whoever had done this suffer a thousand times what they had inflicted on her. He would keep them alive while he stripped the skin from their bodies.

“I just need to make a little detour first,” said Wren. “To pick someone up.”

Cutter peered over the side of the skycoach as Wren lowered them between two tenement buildings. The walls were only inches away. One twitch of the controls would send them crashing into someone’s home.

“I’m sure it’s one of these,” Wren muttered. He stopped the car and leaned against a window, cupping his hands to either side of his face as he tried to see inside.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. Yes, I’m sure this is the one.”

He tapped lightly on the window, then looked over his shoulder at Cutter.