Saga of the Old City

Chapter 18

A patch of shadow detached itself from the dark space between two of the buildings. For a brief moment only it seemed manlike in shape as it moved swiftly and noiselessly across the starlit courtyard. Then it was gone, enveloped in the umbra of the other structure toward which it had drifted. Only a bat had seen the shadow-figure, and it cared nothing about it. Sharp-eyed sentries hired for their ability to see well in darkness had noticed nothing, and the squad of soldiers that passed the area a few seconds later noticed the bat flutter overhead, but saw no more.

Gord was clad in black, head covered by a soft felt cap of inky hue, face smeared with lamp soot, hands gloved in ebon leather. Long training and practice enabled him to move without noise, and this silent progress was but a part of his skill. Clad as he was, Gord could become virtually invisible, using small projections, indentations, and shadow to conceal his presence.

It had been an easy matter for him to scale the wall around the complex, ease down the other side, and then disappear among the buildings of the fortresslike compound within which the lord of Stoink dwelled and the city’s government was administered. However, crossing the broad expanse of Hall Street a few moments earlier had not been quite so simple, for there were late-night passersby out strolling, and sentries on the outer wall before him to be contended with. Gord had utilized a passing night-soil cart, smelly as it was, to mask his approach, and then he had been forced to remain frozen, prone against the base of the wall, until a group of off-duty guards quit conversing with their fellows atop the wall and went on their way up Safe Avenue.

The outer wall of the building he was adjacent to had many projecting stones and cracks. Gord’s ascent was much the same as that of a normal person climbing a ladder-although a normal person attempting such a climb as the young thief made would find it next to impossible. Once atop the structure, he continued his oblique progress toward the palace, moving up and down as easily as normal folk went back and forth along the ground. He utilized the concealment of another nearby building, then the south inner wall, to move west to where he could easily see the palace’s tall turrets and towers showing faint black silhouettes against the pale stars. Once, Gord had to hang by his fingertips over a ledge as a sentry slowly paced by. Then he was scrambling up at a juncture where the lower wall of the administrative compound met the higher barrier around the palace proper.

Now he must be doubly careful, for this area was teeming with guards. The inner bailey of the castlelike palace was only twenty or so feet below him, although the drop to the park on the outer side was over thirty. The palace was built on a small hill, and the ground had been terraced long ago to make the place into a stronghold capable of withstanding siege. As a sentry approached, Gord hung at arms’ length over the inside of the wall and allowed himself to drop. His fall, roll, and recovery made little more than a whisper and soft thump. Shadow hid his position, and the patrolling soldier continued on along the top of the wall, unaware that an intruder was within the place.

Understanding that he may well encounter magical as well as flesh-and-blood protections, Gord had opted for a bold plan. He ran along the base of the palace wall, for the bailey was deserted, and the darkness hid his motion. Where the angle of the wall met the great tower at the southwestern end of the palace proper, he sprang upward and stood upon the tiny ledge provided by the arch of the locked portal beneath.

Unmoving, hardly breathing as he plastered his body against the stone, Gord watched the bronzewood gate open and light spill out into the compound. A half-dozen guards came out, the door was banged shut, and the group walked away toward their barracks tower, chatting. Their torches might have revealed Gord’s presence, if any of the soldiers had bothered to look behind and up. In another minute, Gord was halfway up the tower, moving with speed verging on recklessness. However, he made the ascent without a slip, and about sixty feet up he moved off onto the steeply pitched roof of the great hall. Another guardsman on the tower’s top, thirty feet above, was dozing and witnessed nothing.

Pausing near a small turret at the northeastern end of the roof, Gord silently unstrapped his ebon-hued backpack. He pulled a dark cloth out of it and carefully removed all traces of black from his visage. Next he divested himself of his black outer garments, then got out and put on a surcoat identifying him as a junior officer of the Constabulary Guard, the body of men-at-arms whose duty it was to protect this very place. He pulled out and strapped on his shortsword, then stuffed the black garb into the pack, which he left tucked into a niche where none but the birds and bats would see it.

Now for the hard part, he thought, taking a deep breath and thrusting open a small door that gave into a circular room.

“Rotten Ralishaz!” a dice-playing guardsman exclaimed at Gord’s sudden appearance before him. The three other men seated at the rough table looked equally taken aback.

“Who is in charge here?” demanded Gord, looking angry and official.

One fellow sprang up instantly, the others a bit more slowly, until they realized that an officer was before them. Normally the guards-and most of their commanders-were pretty lax, but this unfamiliar officer before them could mean big trouble. They were supposed to be patrolling the rooftop, watching for possible threats to Boss Dhaelhy’s security. And now they had been nailed by an officer, albeit a most junior one, playing at knucklebones in obvious dereliction of their duty. Not one of them wanted to speculate on the consequences of this, if indeed the man before them had been sent by the boss to check on how really secure the palace was.

The first man who had stood assumed a sloppy sort of posture of attention and responded meekly. “I am in charge, sir,” he said. “Corporal Mender. Sir, I can explain about the game….”

“Shut up, asshole!” Gord commanded. “You listen, I’ll talk! Lucky for you dumbshits that Commander Oakert it was sent me, not the Boss himself.”

Gord gave them a minute to let that sink in. Commander Oakert was in charge of all the guards on night duty this month. He was not a lovable man at best, and he hated night duty. He’d just been posted to it as a way of letting him know that his master was displeased with him for not finding out about the plot of the Hierarchs. Oakert had been chief of spying before. All this was common knowledge among the guards and other employees of the palace, and they also knew that the commander would do anything he could to get back into the good graces of Lord Dhaelhy-including exposing the men under his command who were slacking in their duties.

“But we-”

“Shut up!” interrupted Gord. “I’m supposed to be here catching you jerks and placing you on report so that the commander can look good. Well, I don’t mind telling you that I’m a new boy here, and I don’t like that sort of crappy deal at all. Oakert will end up looking great, I’ll get a nasty reputation, and one day I’ll happen to slip and fall off a wall, or have some other accident, and that will be that.”

The four guards looked at each other and couldn’t keep from grinning knowingly at what the subaltern just said. Piss off the troops, and things did have a way of happening-perhaps not to captains and commanders, but certainly to subalterns.

“Wipe those damn smirks off your ugly pusses!” Gord raved at them. “Any more of that behavior, and I’ll be tempted to take my chances with an accident. Get your asses out of here and on your rounds! Nobody was goofing off in here when I checked, understand?”

“Yessir,” the guards muttered in unison, and then they were gone in a scuffle and a slam of the roofway door.

Gord looked around the room, smiling at the ease of his success, then spied a trapdoor in the floor and pulled it open. In another few minutes, he was walking briskly along the torchlit corridors of the palace’s upper floors, looking very busy and official. None of the various persons he encountered took any suspicious notice of him. In fact, the only ones who seemed to notice him at all were a pair of guards at the entrance to Lord Dhaelhy’s wing. They came to attention smartly as Gord passed. Tossing off a distracted salute in reply, he strode past, and that was that.

There was but a single man-at-arms on duty at the entrance to the great tower. Waving his papers vaguely at the guard, Gord went through and up the stairs there without being questioned. The uppermost storey was where Evaleigh was kept as “guest” of Boss Dhaelhy. Another guard was before the door to her chamber-a serjeant who looked professional and mean.

Gord took a chance. “Is that door locked?” he demanded.

“Yes… sir,” the sentry replied, adding the honorific as he measured the junior officer before him, and saw danger in not responding with deference.

“Then open it, Serjeant. I am here on the order of His Authoritative Lordship.”

“At midnight?” The man was uncertain, but not easily moved.

“Are you on guard duty? Or posted to tell your superiors the time of night?” Gord allowed the anger he truly felt to rise within him. “Open that door, or I’ll have you on report for insubordination!”

“Yessir. May I see the order from His Lordship?”

Gord was prepared. “I assume you can read, Serjeant,” he said sarcastically, pulling a square of parchment from within his coat and handing it to the guard.

The fellow took the document without comment, noted that it was an order for the immediate removal of Lady Evaleigh to Boss Dhaelhy’s apartments, and signed by Commander Oakert.

“Well?” said Gord impatiently, after scarcely giving the guard enough time to absorb the contents of the parchment.

“This is in order, sir. I’ll have the door unlocked in just a moment.”

“Hurry, damn you! If I am questioned as to why I am tardy by Commander Oakert, or His Lordship, the Boss, you’ll be the one to hear! Serjeant…”

“Serjeant Melson, sir-Black Melson,” he added hastily as he turned the great lock and pushed on the iron-bound panel to open it.

“Stay at your post. I’ll get the lady and be out as quickly as possible,” Gord said with a steely voice that brooked no further word from the sentry.

The room beyond was a salon, with a thick rug on the floor and several divans and other furniture. A serving maid slept on one of these couches. Gord walked over to her and woke her none too gently, causing the woman to give a small, startled squeak.

“Go to your mistress, Lady Evaleigh. Inform her that His Authoritative Lordship Dhaelhy commands her presence in five minutes. Tell her she must be dressed for travel, but without any baggage or impediment.”

The maid got up without a word and turned toward the door of her mistress’ chamber.

“You may inform her that Subaltern Gord is to be her escort,” the young thief added.

“Subaltern who, sir?” inquired the still-drowsy servant.

“Gord…. Tell her Subaltern Gord.”

“Very well, sir. Subaltern Gord. I shall tell Lady Evaleigh just that. Five minutes, you say?” She bustled into the next room, leaving the question hanging in thin air.

Not more than ten minutes elapsed before Evaleigh and her maid appeared through the door. Gord had been pacing nervously but silently, pausing often to listen at the outer portal for any sign of possible trouble. He breathed a sigh of released tension when he heard the two women approaching the salon. Then, at the instant he saw her, Evaleigh’s eyes met his, and Gord felt a strange flow of energy within him-a force that made his heart sing and his muscles weak at the same time. He shook it off, forcing his mind to remain on the matters at hand.

“Woman,” he said, addressing the maid, “I have no instructions as to you. Wait here until someone comes to fetch you or tell you otherwise. Go back to sleep, do your duties, whatever.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Subaltern Gord, I’ll just go back to sleep.”

Gord gave the servant a black look, keeping in character, and then turned to Evaleigh. “Your Ladyship, are you ready to be escorted to His Authoritative Lordship?”

“I am, subaltern,” Evaleigh answered coldly. “Bless you, dear Goldie, for being a friend during this time,” she said as she hugged the woman. “I shall miss you-I hope!”

At that the maid laughed briefly and squeezed Evaleigh in return. “Godspeed,” she said softly and somberly. Then she turned away and headed back to her couch.

Evaleigh was clad in a greatcloak of dark gray. The hood was thrown back, showing a lining of rose-colored silk to keep the coarse wool from touching tender skin. What she wore beneath this garment, Gord could only suppose, although he noted that she was shod in soft leather boots with stout soles. Again his eyes met hers.

“Well, soldier, are we to stand here and keep Lord Dhaelhy waiting? Or are we to get on with it?”

“This way, Your Ladyship,” Gord said with a slight wink. “We must hurry-we are late already,” he added as he pulled the door open.

The guard outside the door allowed them to pass his station, but after closing the door behind them he took a couple of tentative steps along their route as though intending to accompany them. Upon hearing the unwanted footsteps, Gord paused and looked back over his shoulder toward the guard. “Remain on duty here, Serjeant, until you are properly relieved,” he barked.

“Yessir,” the fellow answered briskly. He gave Gord a salute and returned to his post.

“Come along, Your Ladyship. The Boss does not wait well,” said Gord as he picked up speed down the stairway. Evaleigh’s feet fairly skipped to keep up, and she squeezed his arm tightly-not entirely for the purpose of keeping the pace.

“Where do we actually go?” she asked in a conspiratorial voice.

“I’m really not sure of that,” Gord replied candidly. “There was no time for me to work out a proper plan, so as soon as I managed to find a means of freeing you from your prison room, I came ahead, figuring that luck and skill would take care of the rest.”

“You dare to risk my well-being on luck?!” It was an accusation more than a question, voiced as she released her hold on his arm.

Gord took a hasty look at Evaleigh. She was definitely not pleased with him now, as was borne out all too plainly by her expression. He replied softly. “Better to have left you for sale to Plar Rookroost? Shall we turn back, then?” As he voiced the second query, Gord slowed his steps.

“Don’t be a clod! Of course we won’t return-ever! Just get me out of this prison, and see to my safety,” Evaleigh said with great feeling. Then she took his arm again and said, “Do forgive me, Gord, I am frightened and alone save for you. What will become of me if we are discovered? If you are killed? I am but a weak girl and desperate for assistance!”

Returning to a hurried pace of descent, Gord smiled at the beautiful lady holding his arm. “Evaleigh, I will see to our escape,” he said fervently, “or die in the trying!”

“Do not think of death, Gord-only freedom,” Evaleigh responded, regaining her resolve.

In their descent, Gord and Evaleigh got safely past the archway of the third floor, where the master of the palace resided. But now that they had deviated from the path that would have taken them to Boss Dhaelhy’s chambers, Gord knew he would not be able to talk himself out of any situation they might encounter on the lower floors. Gord began to move more slowly and deliberately now, looking and listening carefully for signs of activity. Suddenly, the faint sound of tramping feet coming from above caused him to stop short and turn his attention upward. The sound was getting louder by the second, and it was unmistakably being made by a squad of men-at-arms in the third-floor corridor heading for this very stair.

Gord grabbed Evaleigh’s arm and nearly threw her off balance as he resumed their downward flight. “Guards are coming this way,” he hissed. “Hurry, and be as silent as possible.”

Evaleigh made no reply, only picked up her pace to match his. She strained to land on the balls of her feet, to make her footfalls as silent as leather on stone could be. The marching sound behind continued to increase in volume. Fortunately, the pair was out of sight of anyone on the landing above, having made two full turns on this part of the stairway already. The clumping sound reached the landing and then divided into two parts. Some of the guards were moving up, but other steps were coming down the stairway in their direction.

“They’ll soon discover your absence,” Gord whispered. “We must now hope that fortune favors us, for a hue and cry will sound in minutes.”

The girl nodded, panting from the exertion of the rapid descent. They passed the main floor without discovery and continued down. The stairs at basement level were still illuminated by flaming cressets, so they had no difficulty seeing their way. Still the tramping footfalls followed them, so Gord and Evaleigh went on to the deeper level beneath the cellar. Now the steps were damp and slippery, and only one dim flambeau shed its wavering light for them. Gord again slowed to a more careful rate of descent, fearing that if he did not, Evaleigh would make a misstep and tumble headlong. They had put a good bit of distance between themselves and the approaching guards, so the more cautious pace was safe enough as far as discovery from above was concerned-at least for a short time.

They passed several doors as they continued downward to a depth that surprised Gord. The foundation of the great tower must have been dug down to a depth of more than sixty feet! At last they came to a place where the steps ended, and they stood before the entrance to a large chamber. Columns and arches were dimly visible in the light of the cresset at the end of the subterranean stairway. Here was a dark expanse containing who knew what. It offered temporary shelter, however, for the pillars of this vault formed a veritable maze.

“Take my hand,” Gord commanded as he extended his left arm toward Evaleigh. She did so, and then he led her cautiously into the darkness between a pair of nearby columns. There was no sound of pursuit from above, and Gord paused so that Evaleigh could regain her breath.

“What now?” she asked. “Is there a way out?”

“Other than the way we came, I know not,” Gord answered, meanwhile digging under his surcoat. “Blast this rag!” he said, pulling the garment off and stuffing it into a space between stones nearby.

“That’s better,” he muttered, and he opened the pouch at his waist and drew out a tinderbox and a small candle. In a moment he had the candle wick aflame. He instructed Evaleigh to remain concealed near the stairway and he began to move slowly about the chamber. After a few minutes of careful exploring, Gord learned that the vault they were in covered more area than the tower they had just left. This sub-basement extended elsewhere under the palace itself and off at an angle that seemed to run east.

Just as Evaleigh’s soft cry to Gord reached his ears, he too heard the sound that caused her alarm. What had begun as a faint clamor from above was rapidly growing in volume and intensity. In a scant few seconds, as he moved to where Evaleigh could see him, Gord sized up the situation: It was most probable that the loss of the Boss’ prize captive had been discovered, and now the hunt was on.

“Come here quickly!” barked the young man. As soon as Evaleigh reached him, Gord led her into the passage that angled away from the building complex, hoping that they would find some means of egress along the route.

Evaleigh shuddered and pressed close to him, for there were cobwebs, bugs, spiders, and rats aplenty in the dank corridor. That there was occasional traffic here seemed evident, however, by the lack of webs obstructing the center. That meant that it was unlikely they would encounter anything really formidable inside the passage-and besides, at the moment, Gord feared no creatures other than pursuing men-at-arms.

The candle flickered uncertainly in the breeze caused by their movement, and its illumination was feeble at best. Despite this, they traversed several hundred feet of the passageway without mishap before being brought up short before a rusty, iron door. Recalling the layout of the palace, Gord guessed that they were at the base of the middle tower of the wall that formed the compound of the fortress.

The door was meant to be barred on this side, but the iron rod was simply leaning against the wall of the corridor. Gord tried to pull open the small portal with as much effort as he could muster, but it would not budge; it was certainly held fast by a bar on its other side. Shrugging, Gord picked up the unused rod and rammed it in place.

“That should prevent unwanted visitors from this end,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “Now we had better backtrack and look for a door we can get through.”

Evaleigh’s grim expression melted into a thin smile for a moment as they began retracing their steps. After they had gone only a few dozen paces, they heard from ahead the clang of bare steel on stone, followed almost instantly by a great hammering at the iron door behind them. There were guards coming toward them, and soldiers from the tower beyond assaulting the barred portal-they were trapped!

“Lie flat on the stone beside me-now!” Gord said as he blew out the candle. A glow was visible ahead-the light of several approaching torches and lanterns. The girl complied with his order instantly. Men could be seen with the lights now, just entering the long passage.

“What are we to do?” Evaleigh wailed in a faint whispering voice.

“Take my hand, and crawl,” Gord told her. “Use your elbows and knees. Keep your body down.” Gord headed for the bewebbed wall of the corridor, trying to disturb as few of the ancient cobwebs and freshly spun silken networks as possible.

“It’s no use! They’ll find us,” moaned the girl.

“Hush, and don’t give up yet,” he reassured her. “There is plenty of chance they’ll overlook us in here.” Then he looked ahead and saw guardsmen thrusting their flaming brands to either side of the corridor as the knot of soldiers progressed toward them. This slowed the pace of their pursuers, but the process made certain that no one would go unnoticed in the curving recesses of the arched underground tunnel. Shadows and webs-the only allies they had-would provide no obscurement for thief or damsel. It was time to come up with another strategy….

“Turn around, get as close to the wall as possible, and keep up with me,” Gord hissed as he suited action to words. Left shoulder against the rough stones, he began crawling on his stomach back toward the iron door. He paused for a second, and Evaleigh ran into his feet. She had followed the soft sounds of his movement remarkably well and quickly.

“Ouch!” she said involuntarily at the contact, as much from surprise as from pain.

“Shhh… I wanted to make certain you knew where I was. Let’s move again now,” he said as he resumed his worming movement. Things scuttled across his hands as he crept, and he felt a spider crawling in his hair. From the stifled gasps and faint rustling noises coming from behind him, Gord knew that the girl was experiencing the same unwanted intrusions.

Suddenly, surprisingly, there was no stone against his shoulder. Gord almost entirely overlooked the opening in his desire to escape the oncoming men, then realized the message that his nerves were transmitting to his brain. He stopped abruptly after his upper body had passed the place, and again Evaleigh hit his feet with her head and uttered a soft sound as before.

“Back up about two feet-quickly!” Gord whispered sharply.

Gord could not make use of the light from the torches and lanterns of the men-at-arms searching the passageway, for they were-fortunately, all things considered-more than a hundred feet distant yet. So, he used his hands to explore the perimeter of the opening, and they told him it was a rectangle about a span high and perhaps a little more than half again as wide. It seemed to slope slightly downward, as near as he could tell by reaching into it as far he could. It was low and narrow at the entrance here, but about a foot beyond it seemed to open into a rounded pipe-probably a drain for this place. He knew that his size and skills would enable him to negotiate the passage easily, and Lady Evaleigh was fortunately also slight and slender-although Gord suspected that her bosom and rounded posterior might pose some problem.

“What have you found?” asked Evaleigh, a hint of panic in her voice.

“This is our way out, my lady. It is a small hole, but it leads to a safe place. I’ll crawl through first. You come as close upon my heels as possible, but be cautious of my kicking feet when I turn and enter. As soon as my legs are through the opening, follow me with all speed!”

Without waiting for a reply, Gord turned his body and wiggled his way through the opening. In just a couple of seconds, he was clear of the rectangular opening and into the somewhat more spacious pipe beyond. He crept ahead farther to make room for Evaleigh, whose breathing indicated she was laboring to get through the small access hole. Then, just as he was hoping it would not happen…

“I am stuck!” she cried. “Help me, Gord!”