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might have been as friendly as templars got with one another. Neither one of
them had ever been tied to the numerous corrupt cadres that dominated the
civil bureau's lower ranks. They both kept to themselves, which, given the
hidden structure of the bureau, meant their paths had crossed before. The
biggest obstacle between them would always be rank. It ran the other way now,
with far more than five levels separating an instigator from Hamanu's
favorites. Pavek couldn't blame Nunk for currying a bit of favor when he had a
chance.
"Rumors that you're the one who brought down a high bureau interrogator.
Rumors that you're the one who made Laq disappear. Rumors that you've got
yourself a medallion made of beaten gold."
Pavek stopped pumping the instigator's hand and fished out his regulators'
ceramic with the gouged reverse. "Rumors lie."
"Right," Nunk replied with a fading smile. He led the way to the small, dusty
room that served as his command chamber. He closed the door before asking:
"What brings you and yours to this cesspit, Great One? Remember, I helped you
before."
Pavek didn't remember any help, just another templar prudently deciding to
mind his own business at a moment when Pavek impulsively decided to get
involved. Still, he'd have no trouble putting in a good word or two on Nunk's
behalf, if the opportunity arose, as it probably would. "I remember," he
agreed, and Nunk's jagged grin returned, full strength. "I want to go inside
and look around, maybe ask a few questions."
"Why not ask me first? You'll know where your gold's going."
"No gold, not yet. Got things to finish first."
"Laq?"
"Seen any around?"
"Not since the deadheart disappeared and everyone connected to him went to the
obsidian pits. Lord, you should have seen it-the Lion Himself marching through
the quarter calling out the names. I'll tell you something: the city's cleaner
than it's been since my grandfather got whelped. Rumor is we'll be at war with
Nibenay this time next year, and the lion always cleans house before a war,
but this time it's different. The scum he sent to the pits wasn't just
Escrissar's cadre. He cast a wide net and the ones that got away left Urik."
"Not all of them. I'm looking for a halfling, Escrissar's slave-"
Nunk's eyebrows rose. It was common knowledge halfling slaves withered fast.
"When I saw him, he had Escrissar's scars on his cheeks. He's the one who
cooked up the Laq poison, but he didn't go down with his master. I think he's
gone to ground in Codesh. You keeping watch on any halfling troublemakers?
Name's Kakzim. Even if the scars were just a mask, like Escrissar's, you'd
know him if you'd seen him. You'd never forget his eyes."
"Don't know the name, but we've got a halfling lune living in rented rooms
along the abattoir gallery-he'd have to be a lune to live there. He's a
regular doomsayer-there seem to be more of them all the time, what with all
the changes now that the Dragon's gone. He gets up on his box a couple times a
day, preaching the great conflagration, but this is Codesh, and they've been
preaching the downfall of Urik since Hamanu arrived a thousand years ago. A
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faker's got to deliver a miracle or two if he wants to keep drawing a crowd in
Codesh. Can't speak about this halfling's eyes, but from what I hear, he's got
a face more like yours than a slave's-no offense, Great One."
"No offense," Pavek agreed. "I'd like to get a look at him. Which way to this
abattoir?"
Nunk shrugged. "Don't go inside, that's what regulators are for-or have you
forgotten that?" He stuck two fingers between his teeth and whistled. An elf
with very familiar patterns woven into her sleeve answered the summons. "These
folk want to take a look-see through the village and abattoir."
She looked them over with narrowed, lethargic eyes, Pavek had stuffed his
medallion back inside his shirt when the door opened. He left it there,
letting her draw her own conclusions, letting her make her own mistakes.
"Four bits," she said. "And the ghost wears a cloak."
It was a fair price, a fair request: Kakzim might spot Mahtra long before they
spotted him. Pavek dug the money out of his belt-pouch.
Her name was Giola, not a tribal name, but elves who wound up wearing yellow
had little in common with their nomadic cousins. She armed herself with an
obsidian mace from a rack beside the watchtower door before leading them to
the village gate, which, unlike the gates of the Lion-King's city, was never
wide open.
"You know how to use that sticker?" she asked and pointed at Pavek's sword.
"I won't cut off my hand."
"That's a lot of metal for a badlands boy to carry around on his hip. There're
folk inside who'd slit your throat for it. Sure you wouldn't rather I carried
it for you? Push comes to shove, the best weapon should be in the best hands."
"In your dreams, Great One," Pavek replied, using a phrase only templars used.
Between friends, it was commiseration; between enemies, an insult. When Pavek
smiled, it became a challenge Giola wisely declined.
"Have it your way," she said with a shrug. "But don't expect me to risk my
neck for four lousy bits. Anything goes wrong, you're on your own."
"Fair enough," Pavek agreed. "Anything goes wrong, you're on your own." He'd
never been skilled in the subtle art of extortion, which was probably why he
was always skirting poverty. He didn't begrudge Giola for shaking him down,
but he didn't intend to give her any more money, either. "Let's go. We're
looking for a way underground, a cave, a stream, something big enough for a
human-"
"A halfling," Ruari corrected, speaking up for the first time since they
entered the watchtower and earning one of Pavek's sourest sneers for his
unwelcome words.
"Halflings, humans, dwarves, the whole gamut," Pavek continued, barely
acknowledging the half-elf's interruption. "Maybe a warehouse or catacombs-if
Codesh has any."
"Not a chance, not even a public cesspit," Giola replied. "The place is built
on rock. They burn what they can-" she wrinkled her nose and gestured toward
the several smoky plumes that fouled Codesh's air. "The rest they either sell
to the farmers or cart clear around to Modekan."
Not a chance. The only thing Pavek heard after that was the sound of his heart
thudding. He'd been so certain when he saw those glamourous bone scaffolds and
stitched-together bowls. Usually he knew better than to trust his own
judgment... or Ruari's. He watched a boy about Zvain's age lead a string of
animals through the gate. They were bound for slaughter, and Pavek saw his own
hapless face on each of them.
Giola led them through the gate after the boy and his animals.
Codesh was a tangled place, squeezed tight against its outer walls. Its
streets were scarcely wide enough for two men to pass without touching. Greedy
buildings angled off their foundations, reaching for the sun, condemning the
narrow streets to perpetual, stifling twilight. When one of the slops carts
Giola had described rumbled past, bystanders scrambled for safety, shrinking
into a doorway, if they were lucky; grabbing the overhanging eaves and lifting [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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