"Good," he noted, "you're ready. Let's go."
"Go through there?"
The chamberlain scowled. "Of course. Did you expect me to traipse you through the halls for everyone to see? People would wonder what we were about at such an hour."
If all was right, Sprite was waiting outside for just that signal. Going through the tunnels meant bypassing the halfling and that meant his entire plan was for naught.
"This seems like an ill idea to me. There's things down there, trying to kill me. I say we use the door-I can lose anyone who tries to follow us."
The old man was adamant. "The tunnels-Manferic waits for us there."
"It's too dangerous."
"Nothing will harm us."
"How can you be so sure?" Pinch challenged in feigned anger, his voice rising in hopes that Sprite would hear it through the door. To increase the odds, he strode into the sitting room as if in a restless fury.
"Because I am the chamberlain of the Famisso household, right hand of Manferic the Great, and nothing down there will dare attack me or anyone carrying the privy seal of our lord," Cleedis blustered in exasperation. "Now, end this nonsense and let us go-unless all this is just to hide your own failure. You do have the regalia, don't you?"
The clear suspicion in the lord's voice warned Pinch not to press the issue any further. "Very well," he practically bellowed in his false temper, "we'll go by the tunnels!" Even as he did, he prayed to Mask and any other god who cared to grant Sprite particularly sharp ears.
Gathering up his goods-his well-used short sword, a fine black cloak, and the velvet sack that held his treasure-Pinch followed his guide.
"Close it," the chamberlain grunted as he set a taper to the lantern he'd brought with him. The rogue seized the handle and pulled the heavy wall shut. Just as it was about to close, he slipped the hem of his cloak into the gap so that it dangled like a pennon on the other side. Though it pained him to ruin such fine clothes, Pinch slashed the fabric away before Cleedis was done. He was barely able to manage it, forgetting until that moment that he had only one good hand.
When the sputtering lantern was finally lit, sparks rising from its wick, the old general led the way. The cobweb shadows quivered like veins against the crumbling stone walls. The lantern gave barely enough light to see the way by.
"You could have brought a wand or something enchanted with daylight," Pinch sourly observed.
"Lord Manferic disapproves," was all the explanation he got.
"Of course, I forgot. He's dead."
They ventured farther into the tunnels and Pinch could not say if these were routes he'd traveled before. Unsure that Sprite could follow their dust-marred trail, Pinch set to slicing off more bits of his cloak, scraps of cloth for the halfling to follow, assuming he made it this far. He was barely able to grip the fabric in his crippled hand, and the task threatened to be noisy. To cover his actions, he became unusually talkative. "Why do you serve him, Cleedis? He's dead and it's better he was gone."
"Lord Manferic is a great man."
"He's not a man anymore, and he was more monster than man when he was alive."
"He did what he must to protect Ankhapur from its enemies. The city is strong because of him."
"What about me, Cleedis? What reason was there to hide my past from me?" Pinch shot back. "How did I threaten the city?"
"I'm sure he did what he thought he must," was the old official's icy reply.
"Is that what you'll say when he turns on you?" The rogue cut free another strip of cloth as they reached an intersection. He let it drop at the start of the branch they took.
"I have been loyal to Lord Manferic and he recognizes that. He will reward me for my effort."
"I see. Bors will be prince, you'll be the regent, and Manferic will dangle you both before the crowds as his puppets. Always the dog, never the one holding the leash, eh, Cleedis?"
The old man never broke his slow stride, though Pinch knew the words stung his warrior conscience. "There is no dishonor in loyalty, no shame in the rewards. I have done well by my life, far better than your mangy existence."
Another piece cut away. Pinch palmed it and continued his work. "I, at least, have my freedom. I choose what I want and I take it."
"Hah! That pathetic lie. Tell me, Janol, are you here now because you choose to be or because you've been trapped by your own greed and lust? You scramble for what I have, and not able to earn it by your own skills, you steal it from others. Or you used to-I've seen your hand though you try to hide it. Tell me, what becomes of a one-handed thief?"
Suddenly, Pinch lost his taste for conversation. He followed behind his guide, who was showing unusual vigor as they wound though arched passages, down stairs, and through vaults until they finally reached a large crypt just beyond a bridge that spanned an underground stream. Even before they entered the chamber, Pinch could feel the tingle of fear that had touched him in the necropolis. Manferic, cold and decaying, was near.
Cleedis stopped at the entrance to the room, sheltering the light from the door. "Lord Manferic, I've brought Janol," he announced to the darkness.
"Bring him in," resonated the chill voice of the dead.
Pinch paused at the door. If Sprite had followed him, he needed to stall for as much time as possible while the halfling scurried back for help. His plan, such as it was, depended on the others. He had few doubts what fate Manferic intended for him once the goods were passed over. He needed the distraction the others would provide if he wanted to escape alive.
Cleedis was in no mood to dawdle, perhaps motivated by fear of his dread lord. He impatiently drew Pinch through the door and into the center of the floor. The chamber had the pungent air of shriveled leather, the peculiar dry scent of decay.
The chamberlain fiddled with the lamp, lowering the wick until the flame was little more than a spark. It exaggerated the limestone walls even further until they were black canvases upon which played a grotesque shadow play of leaps and shimmers.
Something moved at the very outer layer of this bleak hell. Pinch saw it only by a shadow that stretched the thin limbs into an enormous insect scuttling across the wall. The shadow moved with a chiseled rattle that spoke of bones. It sounded like a skeleton the rogue had once stumbled into while breaking into an alchemist's garret, but it made him feel like a moth drawn too near the deadly flame.
"Chamberlain, you kept me waiting. There is no time for waiting," the shadow rasped like a bellows wheezing stale air, whispery yet harshly echoing from the stone walls.
"My apologies, Your Highness," Cleedis fawned. Using his sword as cane, the old man stiffly got himself down on one knee and bowed his head before the former king. "The path here confounds old men, my lord, and makes them loose their way. I have brought you Janol so that you can reward his service."
The shadow scraped closer, stepping into the edge of the dim light. In the sheltering darkness of the catacombs, Manferic the lich stood uncloaked before them both.
It wasn't as disgusting as Pinch expected, in fact it was barely disgusting at all. The thing that had been his guardian-Pinch could not change guardian to father so quickly-this thing almost looked alive. Certainly at midnight Manferic could have hurried through the streets unremarked, at worst a poor consumptive in search of good air. His face was drawn and stripped of fat. The skin was pearly gray and translucent as if someone had painted it over with wax. Pinch had expected the eyes to be deadest of all, but it was just the opposite; they burned with a life more ferocious than any living man's. They were the furnaces of Manferic's will, the driving ambition that kept him alive.