Lawrence Watt-Evans
The Spell of the Black Dagger
PART ONE
Thief
CHAPTER 1
The house was magnificent, its dozen gables high and ornate, the cornerposts elaborately carved and painted, the many panes of the broad windows neatly beveled and arranged in intricate patterns. Some of the window glass was colored, but most was clear and of the highest quality; through the crystalline casements Tabaea could see only tightly drawn curtains and drapes— draperies of velvet and silk and other fine fabrics, no simple cotton shades or wooden shutters here.
The house faced onto both Grand Street and Wizard Street, its front door at the corner, angled to face northeast into the intersection. Small shrines were carved into the stone archway on either side of this door, each shrine equipped with both a fountain and an eternal flame. The substance of the door itself was unidentifiable under its thick coat of glossy black enamel, but it was bound and trimmed with polished brass, with gleaming bolt heads forming a complex spiral pattern.
Despite its prominent location, there were no shop windows, no signboards—it was obviously a residence, rather than a business. Curious, that anyone would build so fine a house here in the Grandgate district, Tabaea thought—and worthy of further investigation. She had walked past it many times, of course, but had never paid much attention before.
She admired the shrines, then wandered on down Grand Street as if she were just another ordinary young citizen out for a late stroll on a summer evening, or perhaps an apprentice returning from an errand. She paused at the rear corner of the house and glanced back, as if trying to remember something; what she was actually doing, however, was studying the street to see whether anyone was watching her.
About a dozen people were scattered along the four long blocks between herself and Grandgate Market, but none of them seemed to be looking in her direction, or paying any attention to her. No one was leaning out any of the windows or shop doors. The market itself was crowded, but at this distance that hardly mattered; even in the bright torchlight, the people there were little more than faceless blobs. None of them would be able to identify her later.
Thus reassured, she turned and ducked into the narrow alley behind the great house.
Grand Street was reasonably well lit, thanks to the torches and lanterns illuminating the various shops and taverns, but there were no torches in the alley, and no light came from either the house on her left or the shuttered tea house on her right.
That meant that the only light in the alley came from the cold and distant gleam of the stars overhead, and the firelight of Grand Street behind her. Such limited illumination was not enough; the alley appeared utterly black.
She hesitated, hoping her eyes would adjust, but the longer she lingered this close to Grand Street, the more likely, even with the tea house closed, that she would be spotted and questioned. She crept forward into the darkness, moving by feel, as if blind. The wall of the house felt solid and smooth and unbroken, and as she advanced into the darkness she began to worry that she might have made a mistake. There might not be any entrance back here.
She set her jaw. The whole point of an alley, she reminded herself, was to let people in the back of a house. And even if this particular alley wasn’t here to let people into the back of the big comer house, there must be windows—houses need ventilation, and the larger the house the more windows it would need.
Of course, her pessimistic side reminded her, those windows needn’t be within reach of the ground, especially for a girl her size.
Maybe she should have planned this out more carefully, she thought, taken a look at the house by daylight, maybe found out whose house it was, instead of just yielding to a whim like this.
But she was here now, and it would be cowardly to turn back.
All the same, she thought, if she didn’t find an entrance soon she might do best to just head home and try again another day.
Then, finally, her hand struck a doorframe, and a smile crept unseen across her face.
She stood and waited, and at last her vision began to adjust.
Yes, it was a door, though she could just barely make out the outline and could see no details at all. She tried the handle.
It was locked, naturally.
She grinned, drew her belt knife, and fished the lockpick from her hair. The darkness didn’t matter for this; picking a lock was all done by feel anyway. This was her chance to put her lessons with old Cluros and all her practice at home to the test.
Five minutes later she had the door open and had slipped carefully inside, moving as quietly as she could. The lock had been a simple one; only inexperience, the weight of the bolt, and Tabaea’s natural caution had kept her from springing it within seconds. Whoever owned this house had not wasted money on fancy locks and bars.
That was not necessarily a good thing, of course; sometimes a simple lock meant other precautions had been taken—spells, guards, any number of possibilities existed.
Tabaea saw no sign of any of them. Of course, she wasn’t at all sure what to look for to spot protective spells; nobody had taught her any of that yet. Still, she didn’t see anything unusual.
In truth, she didn’t see much of anything at all. The mudroom behind the door was even darker than the alley. She felt her way across the little room, almost tripping over a boot scraper, and found an inner door.
That was unlocked, and the chamber beyond just as dark as the mudroom. Reluctantly, Tabaea decided it was time to risk a little light.
She had tinder and flint and steel in her pouch, but it was dark and she was wary of making too much sound—the house might be deserted, or it might not. It took several tries before she had a good steady light.
When she had the tinder burning, she looked around by its flickering light for something more permanent, and spotted a candle by the alley door. She lit that, then blew out the tinder and tucked it away.
Candle in hand, she looked around the mudroom.
As one might expect, there was nothing of any interest. Half a dozen assorted pairs of boots were ranged against one wall; below there was a line of hooks, about half of which held cloaks or jackets; at the other end of the room three heavy wooden chests took up most of the available space, but a quick glance in each showed that they held only scarves, gloves, and other appurtenances. She was not disappointed; this was just the mudroom, and there was plenty more house to explore. Besides, there were plenty of people in Ethshar of the Sands who couldn’t afford gloves and scarves and coats. In any case, it wasn’t as if the winters here were so long or cold, as they were said to be in Sardiron or the other Ethshars, that they were truly necessary. A house so rich in winter wear would surely be rich in more marketable goods, as well.
Cautiously, moving as stealthily as she could, Tabaea opened the interior door and peered through, candle in hand.
A smile spread across her face as she saw what lay beyond. This was more like it.
The next room was a dining salon, and the light of her candle sparkled from brass and gold and crystal and fine polished woods. Catlike and silent, she slipped around the door and into the room.
The table was heavy and dark, gleaming almost black in the candlelight, its edges carved with intertwined serpents and the corners with songbirds, wings spread; above it hung an ornate brass and crystal chandelier. The six surrounding chairs were of the same dark wood, carved with serpents and eagles, seats and backs upholstered
