Assassin of the Damned

— 10-

“Madam,” I whispered, “I do not wish to appear churlish. Yet even less do I wish to be brought like a fool into the priestess’ presence.”

We crept through a secret passageway dusty with misuse and thick with webs. Lorelei carried a candle, its flicker our only light.

“What troubles you?” she whispered.

“Doubt,” I said.

“Concerning?”

“Why you should help me.”

“That’s reasonable enough. So let me put you at ease. First, you appear to be unique.” Lorelei held up a hand to forestall any questions. “I’ve seen…certain situations before so that current events trouble me.” She glanced up at my face. “Old Father Night troubles me. I’d rather the Moon Lady-” She smiled oddly. “The priestess understands my antipathy toward him and thus attempts to persuade me to the Moon Lady’s course. But perhaps there is a third way. I’ve always been partial to third ways, the reason I am who I am.”

“And that is?” I asked.

“Shhh,” she whispered.

I heard muffled voices from the other side of our secret passage. Soon I heard thumps and clanks. Lorelei led me down a different passage even narrower than the first. There she flipped a latch and pressed her right eye to a spyhole. We had used many narrow stairs and secret corridors to reach here. She replaced the latch and put a dusty finger to her lips.

I’d moved soundlessly the entire time. More than once, I’d almost suggested she remove her jester’s hat with its bells.

After a muffled thump from the other side, Lorelei’s mouth twisted with distaste and she brushed aside long, dusty webs.

“These secret corridors are old,” I whispered.

“The reason the priestess doesn’t know about them,” Lorelei said, swiping at webs as we crept along.

“That’s contrary to reason. The castle is new.”

“New to Tuscany,” she agreed. “But from the old days.”

“What days are those?”

Lorelei grinned. “When the gods were young.”

“Madam, I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

“This is an old game,” she said, “and some of the players have gone mad. You’ve undoubtedly heard the term ‘let sleeping dogs lie.’ Well, dog spelled backward is god. Do you see what I mean?”

“When were the gods young?” I asked.

“It’s a matter of perspective. Now you must keep quiet. We’re near the pool. I suspect guards, traps or hidden alarms. We must be alert.”

That amounted to standing motionless for a time. When the gods were young, what had she meant by that?

Lorelei pinched the wick. “Can’t let them smell the smoke,” she whispered. She pressed her hands against the wall. Something clicked. She pushed open a hidden door, wiped her feet and stepped through.

My gut clenched as I followed her into a corridor that glowed with eldritch light. I expected a waiting throng with capture nets, and knew sick relief that it was just her and me. Lorelei pushed the door shut and it was impossible to tell it was there.

“That’s excellent craftsmanship,” I whispered.

“Coming from a Darkling, that’s praise indeed.”

“Do Darklings normally sulk through secret passageways?”

She smiled knowingly. “Darklings are the prince of Shadows.”

“You mean they’re assassins?”

“A crude word,” she whispered. “Come.”

We crept through the corridor, entered another. From far down the other way, maybe two levels, I heard marching soldiers.

“The priestess has called out her guard,” Lorelei whispered. “That might be good for us. If my invisible friend has spoken, I think they’ll hunt in the warrens first. We must hurry.”

We soon reached the threshold of a strange place. I glanced through and spied a steeply sloping floor. Torches crackled along the sides. Lorelei studied the threshold and finally moved her hands an inch from the frame, seeming careful never to touch wood. She stepped back and took a deep breath.

“I can’t tell for sure,” she whispered. “The priestess could have employed a hidden guardian. But calling forth such a one is difficult. I suspect she would first let the guards search for you. Are you willing?”

“I want my memories,” I said.

“Watch your step. Keep your hands out of the water. It’s…well, don’t let even a drop touch you.”

She tried to send me in first in case an invisible guardian waited, or so she wanted me to believe. I listened. It felt more like a cave than a room. I hated caves, and I hated traps even more. I grasped her elbow. She tried a cunning twist to free herself, but I clamped harder.

“We’ll both go,” I whispered. And I marched in with her.

She cringed. I looked right and left. The pool was a sunken pit of oily water, a small patch at the bottom of the room. Droplets formed on the ceiling and a drip plunked into the pool. The torches hissed, until slowly they flickered as before.

“That was a foul thing to do,” she whispered.

“Will you forgive me?”

Her mouth lost its tightness. She even managed a wry smile. “There’s a needed spell. Without it, the water merely remains poisonous.”

“When were you going to tell me this?” I asked.

“There’s a price for its casting,” she said.

“I have three thousand florins in the courtyard.”

“You offer me silver-colored dirt?” she asked, offended.

“Florins are coins,” I said.

“And coins are fashioned out of veins in the Earth. My price is greater. You must answer three questions.”

“Done,” I said.

She gave me a pitying smile, as if I could have whittled her down to one or two questions. “You must answer truthfully.”

“Of course,” I said.

She gave me a level stare. “Why did you take so long coming to the castle?”

I suspected she wanted to hear something other than my wagon ride with Ofelia. Why was the answer important? I shrugged. I wanted my memories and here was the pool. So I told her how I’d awoken with grass sprouting through my chainmail.

She muttered to herself before asking, “Was…was the circle tampered with?”

“What circle?” I asked.

She stared at me and soon became thoughtful. “I’ll save the last question.” She drew a pocketknife and shuffled down the steep incline. She spoke softly, cut her palm and squeezed out several drops. The water rippled, became darker. She took a shuddering breath, folded her knife and took out a handkerchief. She wrapped it around her palm and used her teeth to help tie a knot. Then she trudged up to the level area beside me. “Go ahead,” she whispered, sounding winded. “It’s safe. You didn’t have to drag me in with you. I’d have given you away before now if such had been my intent.”

I crouched and slid my feet down the incline until the tips of my boots almost touched the water. A drop plunked from the ceiling. The oily water stirred. I stared greedily into the waters.

…Images slowly formed under the rippling surface. I saw myself ride out of mountainous Perugia. I rode with armored men-at-arms in the dark along the Via Lavicana. Our lanterns rattled and Tuscan cypresses lined the road. The trees sheltered us from a cold wind. We galloped for the coast. Erasmo rode beside me. His father had been loyal to House Baglioni since before my birth. The underwater images blurred. They turned into-

I saw myself wade through a swamp with a sword held in one hand and a torch in the other. Erasmo waded behind me, his cheeks slick with sweat. The soldiers had remained behind, frightened by Avernus’ wicked legends. Erasmo and I searched for deathbane. We sought it because-

In the Pool of Memories, in the images underwater, I climbed out of the swamp and strode among hangman trees. Erasmo struggled out of the muck and hurried after me. His jeweled fingers gripped a heavy bag. Ahead of him, I found a huge tree stump. It had iron bolts riveted into the ancient wood, with rusty chains attached to the bolts. On the ends of the chains were manacles. I remembered thinking that the legends were true. Sorcerers committed hideous sacrifices in the grove of hangman trees. Here was an ancient altar of wood.

Standing above the Pool of Memories, I clutched my head and moaned. Dizziness gripped me. I lost my sense of perspective. It seemed as if the “I” of myself whirled around in a mental twister. I lifted out of my body. I plunged down into those images in the water, down into lost memories.