The Shadow at the Gate (31 page)

After a while, still crying, he fell asleep on the straw.

Later, the jailer shambled by with a hunk of bread and water in a tankard. The boy did not rouse at his call, but lay sleeping with his face turned to the floor, looking like nothing more than a heap of clothing in the corner. The jailer shoved the food through the bars and moved on.

Jute dreamed of the dark sky again.

Below and above him, there was nothing but distance and darkness. There were no stars. Cold crept through his bones. His thoughts drifted through his mind. The words felt heavy, as if the cold and dark made them ponderous, as if the language could not grapple with the idea of a never-ending sky. Weighted with this impotence, words sank into irrelevance and were undone.

Here.

I have been here before.

With the hawk.

But he was alone this time. There was no hawk hovering at his side. The black walls stood before him. They rose up into the darkness, plunged down into the darkness, stretched away on either side, forever and ever and ever. They towered above, below, beyond him with a terrible certainty of being.

Everything ceases here, Jute thought dismally—even words. They are no longer true. Sky and light fail. Even the night ends here, for this darkness is deeper than the night. Even I shall cease here. Things fall apart. They drift on the tide of night and come to rest at these walls.

But then the words of the hawk came to his memory.

Deep within the darkness, further e’en the void, Nokhoron Nozhan built himself a fortress of night.

Even here, there are words.

Something struck him in the back. He turned around. Lena was standing there in the air, rocks in her hand. She threw another one. It hit him in the stomach.

“Stop that,” he said angrily.

She did not reply but only threw another stone.

“Stop it!”

Another stone.

“You wretch! Why’d you do it, Lena? I hope they paid you well for selling me. That’s what you did—you sold me out. We were friends. I taught you everything I knew! I protected you!”

Her face was pinched with anxiety, but still she said nothing. A stone came whistling at him and he tried to catch it, to throw it back hard at her, but his body would not obey him.

“We were family!” he shouted.

Another stone struck him. It dropped away, tumbling into the nothingness below him. He looked down. It was a long way to fall.

He fell. His mouth gaped open, desperate for the air rushing by.

Jute woke up, gasping for air. He breathed in the odor of straw and remembered where he was. The darkness around him was only darkness, and the stone wall inches from his face was just a stone wall. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he thought dismally. Something hit him hard in the back. He yelped and sat up.

“Be quiet!” said a familiar voice.

Lena crouched on the other side of the bars. Jute scuttled across the floor, so furious he couldn’t even think. He reached through the bars, grabbed her by the throat. Her little hands flailed at his.

“No, wait!” she said. “Please! He weren’t the Knife no more—everyone said so—kicked outta the Guild by the Silentman. Said he did what he did because he was forced to. He only wanted to help now. Said you were in terrible danger. I only thought I could help, that something would work out—Jute, please—I can’t breathe!”

His hands were wet with her tears. He let go of her and they both slumped down on either side of the bars. She sobbed quietly.

“Why’d you do it, Lena?”

“I thought I was helping.”

“Well, you weren’t,” he said. This only made her sob louder. “Shush. Or the jailer’ll come along and then we’ll be both locked up.”

“I’d rather be in there than anywhere else.”

“I don’t suppose you were clever enough to bring a—”

She produced a rusty nail before he could finish speaking.

“It’s no good,” she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I tried while you were sleeping. The tumblers are so rusty there’s no good budging it without a proper key.”

“Lemme have it.”

She sniffled and handed the nail over. He reached through the bars and around, feeling blind for the lock. The nail rattled in the keyhole. He investigated with his eyes closed, testing the tumblers.

“It won’t work.”

“Be quiet,” he said frowning, but already knowing she was right. He sat back on his heels.

“There’s allus another way to rob the duchess. That’s what you allus say.”

“Aye,” said Jute, considering the nail with disfavor. She pressed her face against the bars and smiled uncertainly.

“So how’ll it be?”

He told her.

The jailer came yawning down the passage. A torch burned in one hand, but it did little to dispel the gloom, for the fire guttered more with smoke than flame. He paused at Jute’s cell and raised the torch to peer within. Two hands shot out from the bars and grabbed him by the coat.

“Help!” yelled Jute.

The jailor shouted in fright and stumbled back, but he was held tight to the bars by the boy’s grip.

“Get me out here! Help me, kind sir! Get me out! Help! Help!”

“Leave off!” said the jailer, and he beat Jute about the ears. The boy ducked his head under the blows and doggedly held on.

“Help!” bawled Jute.

The tiny form of Lena materialized out of the shadows and tiptoed forward. Her fingers fluttered at the jailer’s belt. Torchlight gleamed on the ring of keys in her hands. She darted silently away.

“Help! Fire! Flood!”

“Here’s some help!” said the jailer, and he dealt Jute a tremendous buffet on the side of his head which sent the boy staggering back from the bars.

“Idiot boy.” And after tugging his coat straight, the jailer continued on his way. His shadow straggled after him, vanishing into the darkness that thickened as the torchlight disappeared down the corridor.

Instantly, Jute was at the bars.

“Quick,” he said.

Lena bobbed out from an alcove, her face pale with excitement.

“Hurry,” said Jute. “We haven’t much time. As soon as he comes to the next door we’re done for if that ring isn’t back on his belt.”

“Which one is it?” said Lena. The ring was heavy with keys. She tried them, one after the other. They sounded like chattering teeth as they rattled in the lock.

“Hurry up!”

“I am!”

And then the lock opened with such a creak that both of them froze in horror, sure the jailer would be soon hurrying back. The door swung open and Jute popped out.

“In you go,” he said. He grabbed the ring of keys from her hand.

“Do I have to?”

“Lay down in the back corner with your face to the wall. He’ll think you’re me. Whatever you do, don’t move or say a word if someone comes. Hurry!”

“And you’ll be back for me?”

“Yes,” he said, and he pushed her inside and locked the door.

He darted through the shadows on noiseless feet. The jailer stamped along. Jute slipped the keys back onto his belt. It was lucky he did, because the man groped for them not a second afterward and vanished through a door. The lock on the door proved impervious to Jute’s nail. He stepped back, frowning, and looked down the passage on either side. Both directions looked identical. Here and there, oil lamps shone, sitting on ledges that jutted out from the wall. The light they shed, however, was so mean and miserable that it only served to deepen the shadows in the spaces between.

“Should just leave her to rot,” he said to himself.

It would serve her right. The stupid little beast.

And perhaps Jute would have left Lena, for there’s no telling what someone will do when left up to their own thoughts. However, just as he was considering which direction down the passage to investigate, he heard voices. He darted behind a stone arch. The voices slowly approached. There were two voices, and after a little while he managed to distinguish them. The first had a light, complaining tone, as if the speaker had just been roused from his sleep or a good meal and was not taking the interruption kindly. The second was deeper and seemed to spend all his words soothing the first voice.

“That son of a thrice-cursed misbegotten sheepherder,” said the first voice. “The gall of him. As if a desert nag could run the legs off one of my beauties.”

“Well,” said the second voice, “it’s difficult to ignore the fact that his horse won.”

“Entirely beside the point. Y’have to remember those sand eaters are steeped in magic, up to their noses. Wasn’t true speed—wasn’t real horse—that won the length. It was magic, I say, magic!”

“Magic,” returned the second voice. “I’d give my right hand to be rid of the lot of it—”

“Aye, then we’d be winning some races.”

“—for the stuff’s been nothing but a torment to us, ever since that cursed creature came knocking on our door. I’ve heard its whisper in my sleep every night since.”

“Gold.”

“More us the idiots, for I’m thinking it’ll be fool’s gold before the story’s out.”

Shadows wavered along the passageway. Jute felt the stone of the wall against his cheek. It was cold and hard and the silence of it seeped into his flesh. The two men appeared in the dim light. They were walking slowly, heads down, and so preoccupied with their conversation that they would not have noticed the boy had there been lamplight shining on his face. Both of the men wore long, draping cloaks with hoods so that Jute could not see much of them other than the shape of their bodies.

“You’ve always seen the darker side of things, old friend.”

“That’s what you pay me for,” said the second man. “So I’d think it remiss if I didn’t look in that direction. But perhaps I’ll be proven wrong tonight when the creature returns. After all, we’ve the boy in hand now, locked up tight.”

“Shadow take the little wretch. I knew Ronan would come through. Didn’t I say he would?”

“I don’t recall your exact words,’ said the other politely.

“That’ll put us back safely with that—that—whatever that thing is.”

“I trust so. I hope so.”

“Well, I hope it snaps the boy’s filthy neck.”

The pair had passed on by this time and Jute, horrified by their words, slipped out and tiptoed along behind them. He knew that the filthy neck they spoke of was his own and, even though his neck was indeed filthy, he did not think it deserved snapping. But necks could get mistaken in the dark, particularly if someone was angry enough. Lena’s neck was no bigger than that of a sparrow. It would snap easily. He shivered.

The two men stopped outside the cell and he sidled into an alcove jutting off the passageway. He crouched in the shadows, gnawing his lip and hoping against hope they would not open the cell.

I can run at them, he thought. Scream and shout if they open the door. Enough of a distraction for Lena to dart out and be gone. If only I had a knife. If only I hadn’t touched the knife. None of this would be happening.

“So, this is the miserable wretch,” said the first man. “Strange to think the mighty Guild could’ve been brought near to destruction by a child. My father must be writhing in his grave.”

The second man sighed.

“I think we were done in by simple curiosity,” he said. “What child have you ever known to resist a shut door or a closed box? Doubly so if the child’s a thief. And we gave this boy an enticing mystery, for the instructions were to not open the box. If you tell ‘em a certain thing mustn’t be done, why then they promptly focus all their energies on accomplishing that particular thing. Each of mine was like that.”

“One of many reasons why I’ve never had children of my own,” said the other.

They fell silent. Then, without warning, the first man kicked at the bars.

“You there!” he shouted. “On your feet, shadowspawn. Up, and let me see your ugly face!”

Jute flinched at the rage in the man’s voice. His lips moved soundlessly.

Don’t move, Lena. Please, don’t move.

“Do you know who I am? I am the Silentman!”

Don’t even breathe.

“I own you! I own your worthless life and I’ll do with it what I will!”

No he won’t. I’ll get you out. It’ll be all right—you’ll see. It’ll be all right.

“Before this night’s over, boy, you’ll wish you’d never been born. Get on your feet!”

A shape passed before Jute’s staring eyes. The jailer. He shrank back into the shadows, but the man did not even waste a glance into the alcove.

“My lord.” The jailer bowed and tugged at his forelock.

“What is it?” said the first man.

He turned toward the jailer and, for the first time, Jute was able to look within the man’s hood. The jailer’s torch illuminated the passage, but where there should have been face there was only a strange blur of darkness that resisted the light.

“Mostly been like that e’er since the Knife brung him in,” offered the jailer. “Jus’ huddles against the wall.”