Assassin of Dragonclaw (Nysta Book 7) Page 24

  She pressed a hand to the stone wall. Looking at it, it didn’t look like much. Just another dead end alley.

  Didn’t look too high.

  Maybe he meant for them to slip over.

  She looked around, seeing if there was anything she could use to prop against it.

  But he moved in front of her and grabbed one of the small bricks.

  Motioned her to move aside and then pulled it free.

  Pushed his face to the hole and, before she could stop him, let out a high piercing whistle.

  Opening her mouth to growl at him, she snapped it shut just as quick when he put his finger to his lips and nodded. Nodded because the sound of heavy footsteps announced the arrival of a Red Claw guard on the other side.

  Understanding, she flattened herself against the stone, out of sight. Closed her eyes and told herself she’d never again let anyone come with her when she was working.

  Ever.

  Promised herself.

  “Yeah? Who is it?” The voice was dull. A little stupid.

  “It me.”

  “Who the fuck is me?”

  “Me not know you,” Bograt said, getting impatient. “If you not know who you, how me know?”

  “I know who the fuck I am. I’m Jye! I asked who you were!”

  “Me tell you. It me.” The goblin squinted into the dark. “You fucked in ear?”

  “Shit. Fucking goblins.” A club prodded the goblin in the forehead through the hole. “Go away, you little cunt. We don’t need no more of you right now.”

  “Me not cunt,” Bograt said, trying to grab the club. Missing as it was jerked back inside. “You cunt. Me Bograt. You let in so me bring special thing to alchemist. He need special thing now.”

  “What special thing?”

  “Me not tell. It big secret. Big special secret thing. You not look like Noster. You look like dickhead. If you not dickhead, you already know big secret thing. You not know, so me not tell. You let in, or me go. Damis get nothing. No more potion. Bograt never come back.”

  “Shit.” Jye shuffled around for a few seconds. She could hear him tapping his thigh with his club. Frustration and indecision working a brain not used to thinking. He stopped. Pushed his head against the hole in the wall and peered at the goblin. “I ain’t ever seen you before. How do I know you’re really working for Damis?”

  “Me not give fuck,” Bograt said. Stomped his foot and shook his fist. “But me not like waiting like asshole. Me not asshole. Me got important secret thing! And Damis bring Bograt important secret coin. You open door!”

  “Maybe I should go ask him, first…”

  “Alright. Me go.” The goblin swung around. “You give Damis words from Bograt. Say he fuck off. No more special secret thing from Bograt. He make potion from horseshit now. Me not care.”

  “Hold on, hold on,” Jye fumbled with a heavy bar. “Keep your fucking little green balls in hand. I’ll let you in. This shit ain’t easy to open. It’s heavy, alright?”

  The elf chewed her lip, not knowing which way the door would swing.

  Bograt shot her a cunning grin and took three steps back. Robbed his hands together and nodded. Pleased with himself.

  Inside the bricks, a heavy bolt was worked loose and Jye grunted with effort as he began the process of hauling the door open.

  It wasn’t quite a door.

  Rather, part of the wall’s face was on rails, allowing it to be pulled straight back inside, exposing a square portal as entry. The elf had to admit to being impressed. She hadn’t even seen the joins in the wall.

  Bograt slipped inside to the right. Grin wider than the gap he had to squeeze through.

  Nysta took the left.

  Jye, bent double with fatigue. Pressed one hand against the thick stone. Shot a look at Bograt he hoped would express his feelings to the old goblin. “There, you little fucker. It better be worth-”

  And died, The Ugly ripping fast across his throat. Angled in from his blind side as his attention lay firm on the old goblin.

  Blood foamed from the cut, drooling a wet gurgle. Jye reeled once on uncertain legs and flopped against the stone doorway he’d just hauled loose of the wall. Twitching as his soul was ejected on spurts of red.

  Bograt kicked the corpse with a cheerful giggle.

  Keeping low, the elf’s muscles were tense as she waited.

  Listening to expanding silence.

  Expecting the alarm to be raised by a shout of outrage. A squeal of indignation.

  Anything.

  Instead, just the slow dribble of water down the moist stone walls and the tucked breathing of Bograt.

  Her heartbeat slowed as she uncoiled herself. Dropped to one side of the body and cleaned The Ugly on Jye’s unresponsive shirt.

  Slid the blade home in a sheath across her back.

  Thrust her jaw toward the end of the corridor. An iron door blocked the way.

  Whispered; “Where’s this lead to?”

  “It go to workshop. Damis there. If not, he have bed in next room. He never go far.”

  “For someone who only came here once, you know a lot about this place, Bograt.” Couldn’t hide the suspicion from her tone. “How’d you know all that?”

  The old goblin dug around the corpse until he came up with some keys from a pocket on Jye’s thigh.

  Shrugged.

  Whisper barely cut the air as he showed the first signs of caution she’d seen from him. “Eventide say so. Me not only goblin come here.” He crouched beside the dead man’s other leg, froglike face baring rows of sharp splintered teeth. “Me wonder. Me have time to get bit of knee? Me like bit of knee.”

  She reached. Took him by the shirt to draw his slavering attention from the corpse’s leg. “And how does Eventide know what’s happening here, feller?”

  “Me tell you before. Some goblins never leave, Knifehand.” Hint of sorrow in his voice. Sorrow which hardened into something else. “They give words to Eventide. Eventide give words to Bograt. Bograt give words to Knifehand. Knifehand give death to Red Claws. It right thing.”

  In the dark, it was hard to tell what was hiding within his eyes.

  But hatred was there. Dark and venomous. Hatred for the Red Claws.

  Jye’s legs twitched between them. Rustle of cloth against sand-draped stone.

  Instinctively, the elf pushed down on the dead man’s knees, holding them down while his muscles made one last attempt to contact the soul which had abandoned them.

  “Fine,” she said at last, unable to shake a sliver of doubt. Leaned across the trembling legs to get closer to the goblin’s ear. “But these whispers of yours better be worth more than Jye knees.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The iron door opened easily and without sound. Revealed a corridor of doors on either side. Looked like a dungeon, she thought.

  At the end of this corridor, another door.

  “That lead to Red Claw volcano,” Bograt said. “And alchemist workshop.”

  Squinted at the doors between her and the end of the corridor. “What’s in these?”

  “Goblins,” he said. Voice a rasp.

  “You want to get them out?”

  “Me not have key. Only Damis have it.”

  A ripple of cold slithered down her neck on a bead of sweat. There was a smell in the corridor. On the chilled breeze floating from the room ahead. A heady smell. Sharp and sweet.

  Somewhat familiar, though she couldn’t place it.

  “Why are they locked up?”

  “It not matter.”

  “If you want me to trust you, Bograt, you’d better tell me. Because something stinks down here, and I ain’t walking into shit.”

  “Making potion not easy,” he said. “Potion use secret water. From secret place. Sometimes potion not good.”

  “So, they test it on goblins.”

  “It big city. Bad city.” Sighed. “Only Eventide care for goblin.”

  The smell grew stronger, burning her nostrils
and making her head throb. Shook her head to clear the uneasiness tugging at her gut. “What the fuck is it? Is that garlic? Something else, too.”

  He sniffed as though smelling the fumes for the first time. Shrugged. “Damis have many secret things.”

  “Secret things?” She rubbed her eyes, pushing at the nausea building in her body. The smell was thick. And aggravatingly familiar. A memory lurked on the edges of her mind.

  A memory which she began to pick at like an old scab.

  “Many goblins die here,” Voice even and calm. “You kill Damis. Eventide owe Knifehand.”

  “He already owes me for killing Storr.”

  “Eventide pay debt any time.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I just bet he does.”

  Bograt’s eyes stared like the eyes of a doll. Empty and inert. Expression vacant. Tongue slid out to wet his upper lip.

  Then, slowly, the hate seethed through his pupils and the green irises seemed to glow with anger. He flexed gnarled fingers and aimed his round face toward the door. Held the keys out to her.

  “You kill Damis, Knifehand. Think of goblin. Kill him bad. Please, Knifehand. For goblin. Maybe Eventide not have big coin. But goblin never forget debt. Never.”

  She took the small ring of heavy keys and turned without a word.

  Strode to the heavy iron door and plunged the key into the lock.

  Twisted.

  Heard the sullen metal click and pushed.

  The alchemist’s workshop was more warehouse than she expected. Shrouded in shadows. No torches. No braziers. No exposed fires.

  Plenty of barrels, some squatting on top of each other. Crates were stacked neatly down the left side of the room.

  Shelves stocked with flasks ran the length of the farthest wall, interrupted only by another door, swung wide open. Each flask bore fluid more exotic than the last.

  Some glowing, aiding to keep the room bathed in light. Others sullen and latent.

  A few more sucked the shadows, leeching the dark.

  In the centre, a few heavy tables laden with glass vials. Contents bubbling. They seemed to be heated by candles which were sheltered within glass bottles. Unexposed to the air. Tubes of glass threaded the vials together, carrying liquid.

  The liquid glowed blue, like the vials she’d seen before.

  The entire contraption looked like a giant invisible body with internal organs exposed.

  A huge black cauldron stood on three iron feet beside the table.

  Something about it called to her. A voiceless whisper hushing in her ears.

  Crippled steam ghosts choked free of the apparatus and filled the room with acidic mist. A mist unconcerned by wide vented tubes hanging from the ceiling. Glancing up, she could see the tubes led to a series of vertical shafts.

  None of which helped clear the air.

  She took a half-step into the room before she knew what she was doing.

  And Damis, half-hidden by the mist, turned from where he stood at his table.

  He was tall. Thin. Face prematurely wrinkled. Skin pocked with splash-burns. Hair grey too soon and hanging out of his mostly-bald pate in scrounging tufts.

  Eyes, bloodshot and dark.

  Mouth, a downturned line interrupted by a scar on his upper lip.

  He opened his mouth. A startled fish.

  Closed it.

  Opened it again, and spoke. “Who are you?” Cough. “Did Noster send you?”

  “Sure, feller,” she said. The mist made her flinch. “Noster sent me.”

  “You don’t look like the usual kind he sends.”

  Her lip curled. “Then, I’m a new kind.”

  “Well. Whatever you are, be careful what you touch. Stay away from the cauldron.” He sighed. Shook his head as she started walking closer to it. Cough. “I tell everyone, and they never listen. We’ve lost five already. You’ll be the sixth.”

  The memory still picked at her brain, and she looked around. Something about the room was familiar. “It’s dark in here.”

  “Great. Another idiot. Why does he always send idiots?” Cough. “Look around. Surely your little brain can see why.”

  “What’s in the cauldron?”

  Cough. “Darkness.”

  The word hung in the air longer than it should. Leaving her to wonder at the alchemist’s tone. Smug. But afraid.

  She knew the answer, but she had to ask. “You found it in the Bloods?”

  “Yes. In the Bloods. I was looking for Billfern. Do you know it? Small plant. Hard to find. Grows near mountains streams. Mostly where they fork. There was a storm. Savage, it was. Lightning burned the trees near where I was sleeping. It woke me. I went searching the next day. I found a gate. A terrible gate.” He licked his lips, tongue pausing at the scar. “I went inside.”

  “You found a pool.”

  “Yes.” He smiled wide. “You know the story. You’ve heard it before.”

  “Ain’t no story, was it?” She took another step toward him. “The pool was real. I know. I saw it. It was cold. And dark. I remember now. It didn’t soak into my clothes. It slid right off.”

  “You saw it?” Disbelief flicked across his face. “Touched it?”

  “Walked from one side to the other.”

  “Liar!” He shrieked the word, stabbing a finger toward her. “You’re a fucking liar! No one touches it. No one. The Warp cannot be touched.”

  “It was cold,” she said. “Icy cold.”

  “No. No, you’re lying.” He lifted himself taller, nodded in satisfaction. “They sent you to test me. To see if I was telling the truth. Well, I was. No one can touch it. It kills all. That’s why I need to filter it, you see. Why I need to extract its essence. Without my process, it kills all it touches! Only I can turn it into pure Shadow. Only I can force it to share its secrets.”

  “It didn’t kill me.” She strode toward the cauldron. Could see the dark water shimmering inside. “Or the mage who was with me. He walked right through it just fine, too. Now, I ain’t sure what the fuck you’re doing here. Or why. But whatever it is, feller, I reckon it ain’t good.”

  “What would you know?” He backed away, glancing toward the door. “You’re a common thug. Anyone can see that. You’ve probably never set foot outside Dragonclaw in your life.”

  “I’m new here,” she said. “Trying to make a living.”

  Something about the way she said it made him blink. “How?”

  “Noster sent me, remember.” Squinted as a wave of mist seemed to burn her eyeballs. “He wants you to give me the key.”

  “Key? Which key?”

  She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “For the goblins.”

  “Goblins?” Cough. Confused. “But there are no goblins.”

  “Sure there are. You test your potions on them. Get them to drink this shit you make.”

  “Yes, but I don’t need to keep them in here. Noster’s boys snatch them from the street, and bring them to me. They taste the potion. Then they die, and we bury them. Or feed them to the Warp.” He cocked his head. “You’d know this if Noster had sent you. Who are you? What are you doing here? I think I should call the guards.”

  “Where’s the key?”

  “What key?” Cough.

  “The key to the cells behind me?”

  “Cells?” He smiled, cunning grin. “You’re insane. That’s what it is. You’re obviously addicted to my potions. You’re seeing things. They all go mad in the end. All see things they shouldn’t see. Cyr Nogg has spoken to you. Yes? Yes, that’s it. You’re his. It’s in your eyes. Staring right at me. I see it now. Well, it’s too late for you. Your mind is lost and your soul is theirs. You belong to the Warp now.”

  “Give me the key.”

  “Guards,” he croaked. Cough. Lifted his voice. “Guards!”

  She started forward, A Flaw in the Glass gleaming in her hand. The venomous glow rippling in the dark.

  He shrieked louder; “Noster!”

  The elf lunged past the
cauldron, feeling something tug her soul like a magnet, but she didn’t slow. Instead, aimed the blade for the skinny alchemist’s guts.

  Heard the shuffle of feet. Grunt of effort.

  And whipped around, bringing enchanted weapon up in a streak of venomous green.

  Caught a Red Claw’s blade on her own. The masked man’s eyes widened above a cloth scarf wrapped tight around his lower face. Filter against fumes.

  A spark choked free between clashing knives. Danced on the ground once before dissolving.

  “Careful, you fools!” The alchemist hopped from leg to leg. Cough. “You’ll kill us all.”

  Memory latched onto her brain and finally wormed its way inside, carried on the backs of a flood of black worms.

  The elf twisted her wrist and raked downward, slashing the masked Red Claw’s forearm. Slit skin parted in a wave of red. Behind the scarf wrapping his face, he let out a yell and fell to his knee. Tried to hold his arm together.

  A few drops of blood found the darkness swirling inside the cauldron. It bubbled, a violent spasm quickly silenced.

  “See?” Bograt’s voice was shrill. “Me tell you me bring elf. You give big coin now. Lots of pieces. Me waiting.”

  Her eyes found the goblin. He stood next to Noster.

  A short man with a round belly. Round head bald on top and swathed with a neat beard covering his chin. Shaved across his mouth. Mouth of red lips and yellow teeth.

  His clothes looked expensive. Boots gleamed in the low light.

  Dark red jacket, a little too small.

  The Red Claw leader’s face was wild with glee as he watched her dodge around the alchemist’s tables. Four Red Claws swaying in her wake, knives and clubs at ready.

  Fifth knelt beside the cauldron, still trying to hold his blood in.

  Low keening muffled by scarf.

  Behind Noster, at least a dozen more waited to pour into the room if they had to. Many looked like they wanted to. Glanced at their leader in expectation. Weapons shivering in their hands.

  Damis skirted the wall, keeping well away from her. Dashed to stand behind Noster, frightened eyes zipping this way and that.

  “Who is she?” Cough. “Did you send her? Why’s she here?”

  “Hired killer,” Noster said. “She’s been after you for days. But I knew she was coming. You hear that, long-ear? I was waiting for you. You’re a real slippery bitch, I’ll give you that. But this time we’ve got you cornered. Ain’t no way out now except through us. And I can see you know it, too. Maybe you’re thinking you can make it. Take us out and get out the way you came? Well. Not now. We locked that hole up real tight. Only way out is up those stairs, and there’s a whole lot more trouble than you can deal with up there. I promise.”