Grayshade, page 22
I took a deep breath. “Are you sure the meeting is tonight?” The Chief nodded, still smiling. I looked at Rillia, her face pale. “The Prelate must have decided I was still a threat—or he doesn’t want to give Jarrett the chance to change his mind about meeting with him.” I looked back at the Rat. “If that’s true, Chief, then we have no time to return home. We need to get into the Governor’s home tonight, and you’re the only ones who can help us do it.”
The Chief broke into a chittering laugh. “Weren’t going to help him do anything.”
“This isn’t about helping me,” I replied. “It’s about helping you, and Cohrelle.”
“Acolytes didn’t want to help Rats . . . especially gray one,” the Rat shot back, twirling his dagger in his right hand as his smile vanished. “Rats didn’t want to help Acolytes.”
I sighed, but I also remembered Rillia’s words and Esper’s story, and deep down I understood. “Chief,” I said finally. “I know you’re angry at me. You should be.”
I looked at Rillia and Caron, both waiting to hear what I would say next. Then I turned back to the Chief, lowered my head, and said two words I had never said in my life before.
“I’m sorry.”
The room was too small for an echo, but I still thought I could hear the phrase repeat itself several times before fading away. The Chief’s lips twitched. “Thought Acolytes weren’t sorry about anything,” he said at last. “Thought they only had to worry about their god.” His face seemed strained, the muscles around his mouth taut.
I nodded. “That’s true,” I said. “But I’ve discovered the lies—the ones they tell everyone to keep order, the ones they told me for years to keep me in line . . . ” I paused, glancing at Caron for a moment, wondering what they were thinking about my words. “The ones they told me when they sent me to kill your son.”
The Chief’s arms tightened, his body arching against the chair as if he had been stabbed, but his eyes remained fixed on mine.
“I didn’t know he was your son at first,” I said after a moment. “In those days—Hells, until only recently—I did what I was asked without question, or very few of them. They told me the Sewer Rats were dangerous; I believed them. They told me you were planning a major offensive against the streetsiders; I believed them. They told me the one who would lead it, a Speaker, was the one I had to stop; finish him off, and the attack would be thwarted. I believed them.”
I turned away, my mind drifting to the event. “They told me the Rats would scurry away when I came, and I believed that too. But when I came down here and found my target alone, I wondered. He didn’t run away, or fight back. He just looked at me calmly. I told him I was there to kill him. He nodded. The only thing he said, right before the end, was that he was sorry.”
I looked down again, watching his masked face drift through my consciousness. “I never knew what he meant when he said that. Sorry he had to die? Sorry for me? The other Rats?” Then I looked up at the Chief, whose yellow eyes were staring at me in fascination. “But years later I found out who he was, and now I think I know what he meant. I think he was sorry for you. I think he was sorry that you would lose him, and that you wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it—or to avenge him. You knew the Service would annihilate the Rats if you tried to attack the Order directly. Even worse, you knew the killing had been pointless. There was no attack planned, was there?”
“No,” the Chief whispered, sinking back into his chair, the dagger now hanging loosely from his hand. “Order was angry with Rats, tired of Rats ignoring it. Head of Service knew killing Speaker would send a message.” He blinked rapidly and swallowed. “Thought they’d come for me . . . didn’t think they’d kill . . . ” He paused, eyes distant.
“I didn’t either,” I said quietly. “But they did. They’ll always take something from you, sooner or later.”
The Chief’s face tightened as his eyes refocused and glared at me. “Didn’t care that you’re sorry,” he snarled. “Didn’t care what you lost.” He stood again, holding the dagger tightly again as his yellow eyes bored into me. “Shouldn’t have come back.”
“Chief,” Rillia suddenly said, stepping forward. “Didn’t just come back for your help. Came back to help you too.”
“Knew too much about his help,” the Chief shot back. “Would only help him meet his god.”
“Wasn’t the same,” Rillia said in a tone of desperation. “Gray one changed. Thought you could change too.”
The Chief took a step forward, hands trembling. “Things already changed too much. Trusted shopkeeper, shopkeeper betrayed us. Couldn’t trust the future either. Should have stayed in past.” He turned again to me, and I nearly recoiled from his expression—not one of anger, or triumph, but sadness.
I took a deep breath and nodded, fighting the urge to turn and run from the merciless grief written in his face. “I’ve spent my life buried in the present; it would be fitting for me to be struck down by the past. But this isn’t about me. This is about a city about to fall under the sway of the Order of Argoth without limit, without anyone to stand in the way.”
“Didn’t care about city,” the Rat said contemptuously. I glanced at Rillia, her mouth now closed in a thin line, and Caron, looking at the Rat curiously. Then I sighed inwardly and played my final card.
“You want a chance to strike back at the Service? At the Order? At me?” I asked, stepping forward to draw even with Rillia, only a few feet from the Chief. His eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. “Then help me bring the High Prelate down,” I went on. “If he’s meeting with the Governor tonight, I’m the only one who can stop him from doing what he wants to—permanently. If he goes, the Order will be badly wounded. You know this. Without leadership, on the run, the Order won’t be able to move against you for a long time. In fact, you might even be able to move against them.”
The Chief raised his head slightly as his eyes widened again, as if he were trying to read my thoughts directly.
“And who knows? If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go down in the process too,” I said, stepping forward again so I was practically on top of the Rat, whose gaze did not waver as my eyes met his. “I’m not offering you profit, Chief. I’m offering you a chance for survival—and revenge. Just help me get to the Governor.”
“Jarrett wasn’t worth saving,” the Chief said, more quietly. “Couldn’t trust him any more than the Order did.”
“Perhaps not. But he will admit his mistakes, and he will consider alternatives. I believe he is an honest man.”
The Chief sat down slowly, never taking his eyes from mine. “And gray one?” the Chief asked. “Was gray one honest?”
I hesitated, looking for an explanation I didn’t know how to find. “No, Chief,” I said at last. “Honesty was never part of my training. All I was taught to do is adapt to my surroundings, learn from my environment. It took me a while to do that with my teachers as well as my targets.”
I looked at Caron and Rillia. “When I came here, I hoped to convince you of the profit you could gain in helping us—the Order in disarray, the Service badly damaged, chaos in Cohrelle’s political structure.” I turned back to the Rat. “But now I’m asking for your help for another reason. I’m asking because most Acolytes will never meet you, or people like you. Not really. Most Acolytes will do just what I did, and follow orders, and do what they’re told . . . and never ask why, or even wonder whether they’re on the right path.” I leaned in toward the Chief, lowering my voice slightly. “If I don’t stop them here, now, while there’s still time, there may never be another chance to do it. The lies will continue, and the killing will go on. And no one will ever know a different path might have been possible.”
The Chief tilted his head slightly as he regarded me, then looked at Caron. “Wondered what young one thought,” he said, almost musing.
Caron smiled. “Follow your conscience,” they said. “My teachers say that’s all any of us can do.”
The Rat nodded, his painted face thoughtful as he turned back to me. “Did gray one want help from Rats? Or forgiveness?”
Just for a moment, Lady Ashenza’s face flitted across my memory.
Freedom, and a true family . . .
I heard a rustling behind me, and I looked over my shoulder to see the other Rats had returned, this time clustered at the opening to the room as they regarded me silently—me, the man who killed people he didn’t know for reasons he couldn’t explain. The assassin. The gray one.
I shook my head. “I don’t deserve forgiveness, Chief. The best I can hope for now is the chance to do my job, and the only things I can offer you in return are my skills or myself. It’s up to you to decide which of those things serves your needs better.” I drew myself straight and waited for his answer.
~
A short time later, Rillia and I left the room through the archway on the opposite side from where we had come in and headed into the maze of tunnels beyond, accompanied by the Chief and a few of the Sewer Rats carrying their strange lights.
Caron stayed behind in the Chief’s room, though they were less than pleased with the arrangement. They wanted to help, and staying behind in the Rats’ lair, even within the zone protected from the sewer’s overwhelming stench, had to be daunting even for Caron. I knew the Rats’ apparent chaos probably troubled them more than they were willing to admit. I couldn’t blame them; two hours before I would have left them in The Honest Thief before leaving them in the hands of the Rats. But I had chosen a different path now, and along with it had decided to trust those I had previously hunted. There was no other option. I was heading directly into the heart of the fire, and I couldn’t take a chance on anyone being burned in it but me—and apparently Rillia, who flatly refused to let me go alone. I put up less of a battle regarding this; she had saved me at the Repository, she could more than hold her own in a fight, and we were about to be in the midst of a major one. I knew I needed her help.
I glanced over at her as we went, her face again covered in the ferrin cloth to reduce the surrounding stench. Her eyes were focused intently on the path ahead, but after a moment she looked in my direction. The skin around her eyes crinkled, revealing her smile, before she turned back to the task at hand. How long has it been since she really smiled at me, not just when making some sarcastic joke? I wondered. How long has it been since she really smiled at anyone?
We had not parted on the best of terms before, and here I had brought a disaster right to her doorstep. Yet somehow she had managed not only to keep from throwing Caron and me out of her shop the minute we’d arrived, she had now descended into the Sewers and risked her life many times over to help me stop the High Prelate of Argoth. Perhaps it had something to do with Caron, who was remarkably persuasive with everyone they met. Or maybe it had something to do with . . .
I shook my head as we walked along. I had no time for foolishness; at the moment I had to think of what lay ahead.
The Chief, who was slightly in front of us, had said little when we left other than to tell me where we were headed: even deeper into the Sewers, down tunnels which would lead directly to the underground entrance to the Governor’s home. If he was telling me the truth, it would be an even more useful trip, for the entrance led directly into the hall where the Governor would be meeting with the High Prelate. I hadn’t yet figured out how we were going to handle the guards if we just popped up through some hole in the floor in the middle of the meeting, but given the remaining time, I could only deal with that once we got there. First we had to get through the Sewers unscathed.
Despite my earlier doubts, making it through seemed much more likely with the Chief and his Rats leading the way. I couldn’t help wondering how much the Chief really had to sacrifice when he agreed to lead us to the entrance. The other Rats said nothing, but I didn’t need Caron to interpret the looks they were shooting at me. Deciding to help me may have cost the Chief immeasurable prestige among his own people . . . and the Rats were not known for being forgiving to those they believed had betrayed them, including their own leaders. But then, nothing I had experienced in the past few days fit anything I thought I had known . . . including, as it happened, the Chief, who for his part seemed focused only on the trip itself.
The farther we went—descending for a few minutes, ascending again for a few, turning to the left, then right, then left again, making so many twists and turns in quick succession that direction ceased to have any meaning—the more I realized how much we needed the Rats. I would have had no chance of getting into the Governor’s home aboveground as it was, especially in the time before the meeting. But trying to get there through these tunnels by myself would have been even more impossible. Here the rock walls were narrow and appeared natural, not even rough-hewn as they were elsewhere in the Sewers, and I asked the Chief about it.
“Wasn’t part of the Sewers,” was his short reply.
“You mean you carved these yourselves?” I asked in surprise, my voice muffled by the cloth over my mouth and nose.
The Chief chuckled, a particularly odd sound. “Couldn’t carve through stone rubble like this in fifty years with twice as many Rats. Found the tunnels when we came. Could have been older than Cohrelle. Governor, guards, even Acolytes didn’t know.”
“In all that time, not a single prisoner made it back to the surface? No Speaker ever told anyone from above about the tunnels?”
“Rats needed tunnels. Wouldn’t tell anyone else about them. Prisoners joined Rats,” the Chief replied. “Knew what happened if they didn’t.”
“I still can’t believe no one found out.”
The Chief glanced at me for a brief second. “Rats wouldn’t have been here if they did.” He looked away again as I remembered Caoesthenes’ voice: Truth is truth, lad, whether it comes from friends or enemies. The Rats had survived, the tunnels had made it possible, and no one had ever known. Knowledge, after all, wasn’t just in the hands of the Service. I was about to ask the Chief something else when he held up his hand and chittered softly, and the Rats around him instantly stopped, Rillia and I following suit a moment later.
The Rats looked around, their eyes darting from side to side, and the Chief drew himself up with his face right near the low ceiling, as if he were trying to sniff the rock itself. I looked around, but saw nothing except ourselves and the weird shadows cast by the flickering lightsticks.
I closed my eyes and listened intently, feeling the ground beneath my feet as I did so, but all was quiet except for the soft sounds of our own breathing, and I felt no rumblings from the rock floor. As I opened my eyes again, I saw the Chief staring intently into the darkness in front of us. His painted face looked troubled, and Rillia and I watched as he ran his hand over the ceiling above him before turning and chittering softly to the Rats next to him.
“What do you think?” a muffled voice said, and I turned to see Rillia looking at the Chief as the conversation with his Rats continued. After a moment she glanced over at me. “Do you hear anything?”
“No, but the Rats know much more about these tunnels than we do,” I replied. “If something is wrong, they’d notice it well before us.”
She nodded. “Grayshade,” she said after a moment. “What you said to the Chief back in the room . . . you meant it, didn’t you?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“A little. You’ve never talked about missions before, even unimportant jobs. Here you poured your heart out to someone you knew wanted you dead, and . . . ” She shook her head. “I just . . . didn’t think you could do something like that.”
I sighed. “I know. I didn’t think I could either. But after this last week . . . ” I trailed off. What, indeed, could I say to explain, when I didn’t fully understand myself why I had changed? “Maybe if I’d had the chance to think about it, I wouldn’t have,” I finally said. “But it made sense, somehow. I don’t know that I’ve got the strength to carry secrets with me anymore, Rillia. I’m starting to think soon I’ll be too heavy to move if I don’t start letting some of them go.”
Suddenly the Chief said something in a short, staccato burst to the Rats, and with a chittering acknowledgement they ran off, one into the passage ahead of us and two into the passage behind. He turned to us and nodded. “Had to move quickly. Didn’t have much time.”
“What is it?” I asked, quickening my pace as the Chief set off down the tunnel.
“Didn’t know,” he replied, not looking back at me. “Felt wrong.” I glanced back at Rillia, close on my heels, and shook my head before turning back to the path in front of me. Whether it felt wrong or not, we had little choice but to continue.
We traveled a little while longer, following the same bewildering course of turns, rises and falls within the tunnels. The Chief seemed to have decided that speed was more important than caution, so we were now going at almost a jog. The floor was gradually becoming rougher as we went, and once I heard Rillia slip slightly and mutter a curse under her breath. I was glad Caron had stayed behind; they couldn’t have kept this pace. Still, something about the air felt lighter and less oppressive here, and as we continued, I sensed that we were also slowly climbing. I took the risk of lowering the cloth from around my face and sniffed experimentally. The odor of the Sewers was still present, but much less intense; given the pace we were moving, I decided I could put up with the smell if it meant I could breathe properly, so I removed the cloth entirely and stowed it within my cloak.
“You could probably manage the smell here,” I said to Rillia over my shoulder.
There was a pause, then a cough. “I don’t know how manageable it is,” she said, her voice no longer muffled, “but I don’t mind taking a break from the ferrin cloth. Are we leaving the Sewers?”
“It seems like it. We may be getting close. Chief, do you—” I stopped as I saw him shake his head, his pace slowing rapidly. A few seconds later he stopped altogether, his lightstick wavering slightly as he peered ahead.
