The Magicians' Guild

The man snorted, then turned slightly.

'Hai, Kollin!'

A boy appeared in a doorway behind the bench. He looked at Dannyl, his sharp eyes moving from boots to hair.

'Take this man to the slaughterhouse.'

Kollin looked at Dannyl, then beckoned. As Dannyl moved behind the bench, the server blocked his path and opened his hand.

'There's a fee. Silver.'

Dannyl frowned at the extended hand doubtfully.

'Don't worry,' the server said. 'If they found out I was cheating those who went looking for their help, they'd flay me and hang my skin off the rafters as a lesson to others.'

Wondering if he was being duped, Dannyl pressed the silver coin into the server's palm. The man stepped aside, allowing Dannyl to follow Kollin through the doorway.

'Follow me but don't say nothing,' the boy said. He entered a small kitchen, then opened another door and checked the alley outside before stepping out.

The boy moved quickly, leading Dannyl through a maze of narrow streets. They passed doorways from which wafted the smell of baking, or cooked meat and vegetables, or the tang of oiled leather. The boy stopped and gestured to the entrance of an alley. The narrow street was filled with litter and mud, and came to a dead end after twenty paces.

'Slaughterhouse. You go there,' the boy said, pointing down the alley. He turned and hurried away.

Dannyl regarded the alley dubiously as he walked down it. No doors. No windows. Nobody stepped out to greet him. Reaching the end of the alley, he sighed. He had been duped. Considering the name of the place, he had suspected an ambush at least.

Shrugging, he turned around and found three heavily built men standing in the alley's entrance.

'Hai! Looking for someone?'

'Yes.' Dannyl strode toward them. All wore heavy long-coats and gloves. The one at the center bore a scar down one cheek. They returned his stare coldly. Just your average thug, Dannyl mused. Perhaps this was an ambush.

He stopped a few paces away, then glanced back down the alley and smiled. 'So this is the slaughterhouse. How appropriate. Are you my escort now?'

The middle thug held out his hand.

'For a price.'

'I gave my money to the man at The Bold Knife.'

The thug frowned. 'You want a knife?'

'No.' Dannyl sighed. 'I want to talk to the Thieves.'

The man looked at his companions, who were grinning. 'Which one?'

'The one with the widest influence.'

The thug at the center chuckled. 'That'd be Gorin.' One of his companions smothered a laugh. Still grinning, the leader gestured for Dannyl to follow him. 'Come with me.'

The other two stepped aside. Dannyl followed his new guide to the entrance of a wider street. Glancing back, he saw that the others were watching him, still smiling broadly.

A series of twisting streets and alleys followed. Dannyl began to wonder if the back of every baker, leather-merchant, tailor and bolhouse looked the same. Then he recognized a sign, and stopped in his tracks.

'We've been here before. Why are you leading me in circles?'

The thug turned and regarded Dannyl, then turned and moved to the nearby wall. Bending down, he grasped the edge of a ventilation grille and pulled. It swung forward.

The thug gestured to the hole. 'You first.'

Dannyl crouched and looked inside. He could see nothing. Resisting the temptation to create a globe light, he put a leg into the hole, but found only emptiness where he expected the floor to be. He looked up at his guide.

'The street's 'bout chest height,' the thug told him. 'Go on.'

Grasping the edge of the hole, Dannyl climbed through. He found a ledge to brace himself on, then drew his other leg through and lowered it until his foot reached the floor. Stepping back, his shoulder met a wall. The thug slipped into the passage with practiced ease. Unable to see much more than the man's shape within the dim light, Dannyl kept his distance.

'Follow my footsteps,' the man said. As he started down the passage, Dannyl walked a few paces behind, trailing his hands along the walls on either side. They walked for several minutes, taking numerous turns, then the footsteps in front of Dannyl stopped and he heard a rapping from somewhere close by.

'You've got a long way to go,' the thug said. 'You sure 'bout this? You can change your mind now and I'll I take you back.'

'Why would I want to do that?' Dannyl asked.

'You just might, that's all.'

A sliver of light appeared, then widened beside them. Within it stood a silhouette of another man. In the glare Dannyl could not make out the man's face.

'This one's for Gorin,' the thug said. He looked at Dannyl, made a quick gesture, then turned and disappeared into the shadows.

'Gorin, eh?' the man in the doorway said. The voice could have belonged to a man anywhere between twenty and sixty years. 'What is your name?'

'Larkin.'

'What is your profession?'

'I sell simba mats.' Mat-making houses had sprung up all over Imardin in the last few years.

'A competitive market.'

'You're telling me?'

The man grunted.

'Why you want to talk to Gorin?'

'That's for Gorin to know.'

'Of course.' The man shrugged, then reached up to the inner wall of the room.

'Turn away from me,' he ordered. 'From here, you go blindfold.'

Dannyl hesitated before reluctantly turning around. He had expected something like this. A piece of cloth dropped over his eyes, and he felt the man knot it behind his head. The faint light of the lamp revealed only the thick weave of the material.

'Follow my footsteps, please.'

Once again, Dannyl walked with his hands trailing along the walls. His new guide travelled fast. Dannyl counted his steps, thinking that, as soon as he had the opportunity, he would measure how far a thousand strides would normally take him.

Something, probably a hand, was suddenly pressed on his chest, and he halted. He heard a door open, and he was pushed forward. The smell of spices and flowers filled his senses, and he felt a softness under his boots which suggested carpet.

'Stay here. Don't remove your blindfold.'

The door closed.

The faint sounds of voices and footsteps came from above, and he guessed he was under one of the rowdier bolhouses. He listened to the sounds, then began counting his breaths. When that bored him, he lifted his hands to the blindfold. He heard a soft thud behind him, like the sound a bare heel makes on a carpeted floor. He turned and grasped the blindfold to remove it, then froze as he heard the door handle turning. Straightening, he quickly let go of the material.

The door didn't open. He waited, and concentrated on the silence within the room. Something drew his attention. Something more subtle than the faint sound he had heard before.

A presence.

It hovered behind him. Taking in a deep breath he stretched his arms out and pretended to be feeling for