Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sardec looked out through the window of the coach and into the revelling crowd. He took another puff of the opiated locoweed in the erotically carved pipe Marcus had handed to him. The lunar wine seemed to have broken through all his defences. He was out of the palace, out of sight of Asea and out of control and he was enjoying it. There was something exciting about tonight, he thought. The music, the fireworks, the lewd behaviour, the obvious joy of the crowd was a total contrast to the decorousness of Asea’s ball. Whatever else you thought about humans, they knew how to have fun. He almost envied them their primitive earthy behaviour.
When Paulus offered him another swig of the lunar wine, he took it. He even laughed at some of Jazeray’s observations on the revellers outside the window.
It was with a growing sense of anticipation that he climbed out of the coach on the edge of the Pit. It was a place of dark legend to the junior officers of the camp, but it was obvious from their knowledgeable air that these three had been here before, at least once. Jazeray summoned a linkboy with a snap of his fingers.
“Mama Horne’s” he said, and flipped the boy a silver coin.
“Yes, Excellency.”
Within heartbeats they were on their way into the dark, corrupt maze that he knew was the heart of the human part of every city. The stench was incredible as was the sense of bustling life. Everywhere was decorated with Solace lanterns. Costumed people emerged from the shadows like demons sprung to life. Part of him wondered what he was doing here. This was a place that could be dangerous for his kind, he knew. To these people he must be carrying a fortune.
But part of him revelled in the danger, in the idea of breaking out of the strictures of his life, in the sense that anything was possible. Here was a place where all the darkest of desires could be sated. Here was a place where, for a moment, he could escape from the constrictions of his ancient lineage and the role of ruler. He felt guilty that he could even admit such things to himself, but at the same time he acknowledged the truth. There seemed to be only one thing to do and that was have another swig from Marcus’s hip-flask when it was offered, and to see what was to come.
Certainly the people around them did not seem dangerous. This masquerade was the one time of the year when, by ancient tradition, the differences between the rulers and the ruled could be forgotten, and they seemed intent on taking advantage of it.
“Hello dearie,” called a girl in the mask of a cat. “Bet you are a handsome devil beneath that mask.” She reached out and stroked his face. Under normal circumstances, Sardec would have been repulsed, but with the alcohol in his belly, the drug in his lungs and the drumming music throbbing in his veins, he found it perversely erotic. The sense of shame he felt made it only more so. He had always told himself that wanting to sleep with a human woman was like wanting to sleep with a sheep.
Now, it seemed something long buried was emerging from the depths of his mind. Briefly he considered turning back, of running from this place before all the barriers came down, but he could not. There was no way he could find his way back, and the Pit was a dangerous place for a Terrarch to walk alone.
As if to confirm this, Paulus said; “Stick close and keep your hands on your weapons. This place is full of wolves.” Even as he said it a woman emerged from the crowd to kiss him full on the mouth and then be pulled back into the crowd by a male partner.
Anything could happen tonight, Sardec thought, anything at all.
Lighted glitter-boats plied the river. Inside and outside every tavern masked people drank and sang. Musicians played in the streets. People jigged to the sound of pipe and fiddle. Even here Rik saw that not all the drunks were as intoxicated as they pretended. There were still pickpockets and footpads about their business tonight, even if far fewer than normal. He was glad Leon was with him. Such scavengers were less likely to attack two seemingly sober men when there was plenty of easier prey about.
Ahead of him now he could see the go-down. It was as big and black as he remembered. The stink of the river filled his nostrils. The warehouse area was relatively quiet, so much so that the comparative silence seemed to ring in his ears, like the quiet on a battlefield once the fighting was over. Overhead, fireworks burst, exploding like flares. He felt now like he had often felt before going into combat. There was a tightness in his stomach and a dryness in his mouth. He held his hands up level and looked at them. They were steady.
“Now I know you are going to steal something,” said Leon. The pipe was back in his mouth now, rolling from side to side. “You always do that before you do the business.”
“It’s nice to know I am so predictable,” said Rik, eyeing the side of the warehouse. He had already decided he needed to make his entry through the roof. It was merely a matter of getting up there. There were several ledges on the river side, designed for lowering things into barges from. The rest of the building was like a fortress. The walls were thick, the doors heavy and multiply locked. Doubtless there would be watchmen inside and perhaps even attack dogs or ravager wyrms. They were sometimes let loose inside warehouses at night. He thought he had the means to deal with these. It was armed men he was worried about. Not for the first time he wondered about what he was doing. He knew it was crazy but that did not seem to affect his determination in the slightest. The lust to possess those books had taken over him completely.
“The night is not getting any younger,” he said. He opened the cloak and unwound the rope around his chest. Below his costume he was wearing a black tunic and britches. He took out some soot from a tobacco pouch and rubbed it on his face and hair.
“Now there’s a blast from the past. I never knew you still had it,” said Leon. Rik knew exactly what he meant. It was the same rope and grapnel they had used on many a night in Sorrow. The grapnel was wound round with the Old Witch’s finest spells of silence and stealth. The rope was spidersilk, light as a feather and twenty times stronger than normal hemp. “I think I will come with you.”
Rik shook his head. “No, this is personal. If you want to do something useful take my costume and mask. We might need it to cover our getaway. Keep watch here but make sure no one sees you. If you hear anything inside cause a distraction, it might help.”
There was no need to explain to Leon how to do that. He had done it many times before. “Fair enough. Be careful.”
“I’ll do my best.” Rik whirled the rope and then hurled it. The grapnel caught on the edge of the roof. He tugged it to make sure it would bear his weight. It held easily enough. He began to scamper up the side of the building. Soon the ground looked a long way below him. Leon seemed to have vanished. A moment later, he saw why. A bobbing lantern light announced the coming of a watchman.
Rik froze. The lantern came slowly closer. He could make out some cloaked figures now. One of them held the light, several more held clubs. Briefly he considered pulling up the line behind him, but decided the motion would probably draw exactly the attention he was trying to avoid. Instead he just hung where he was, praying that the grapnel would not work its way loose. His arms were sore and a little tired now. It had been a long time since he had done this, and it was using muscles that he had forgotten existed.
The watchmen were almost directly beneath him now. They paused. His heart pounded so loudly now he was surprised they did not hear it. Had they spotted his line? If so a swift tug by the whole group on it might bring him tumbling down. Or if they just looked up…
“This is the place,” said Jazeray. He had a look on his face that Sardec did not like, a self-satisfied smirk, the look of a glutton contemplating a feast. They passed within, into a place that reeked of cheap perfume and human bodies pressed too close together. As they entered, masked faces turned to look at them. Sardec noted two somehow familiar costumed figures had just entered and were glancing at him. One was massive and hulking, the other was tall and thin. Soldiers, he thought, soldiers from the camp, and felt another surge of shame that one of his men might have seen him here. How could he keep their respect?
A tall woman wearing a stage mask of Memosine, Patron Saint of Lovers, came forward to greet them. Her clothes were rich enough for a factor’s wife, but he knew that was not what she was. She performed an intricate and extraordinarily well-timed curtsy before them, graceful as a dancer, and said; “Welcome to my house, masters, what is your pleasure?”
“A private room and a deck of cards,” said Jazeray. “And your best wine, and girls.”
He said it as if one was no more important than the other. Perhaps to him they were not. He looked like a
