Allika now frowned impatiently at him. "I know what Ghil are, and I know what a rat is. This was a big rat. Wolf and Raven and Hound set him loose." Her frown mutated into a sly grin. She reached with her good arm into her clothes, scratched busily. "Want to know more?"
Deveren rubbed at his eyes, startled to hear the names of three of his thieves in connection with a giant rat. Damir rose and with a jerk of his head indicated that he wished to speak with Deveren alone.
"We're going to get some water and bandages for that… that bite," Deveren reassured Allika. "In the meantime, have one of these."
He placed the soft, fragrant peach into the child's small hand. Allika sniffed it and grinned, biting into the juicy fruit eagerly. With her mouth full she pointed at her ankle and said, "Foot hurts, too." Deveren nodded acknowledgement and followed Damir outside the library, closing the heavy oak door softly.
Damir spoke first. "She's clearly hurt herself somehow and is making up a story to justify coming to you for help," Damir stated.
Deveren shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Allika's imagination has, up till now, anyway, confined itself to Miss Lally. Her doll," he added for Damir's benefit. "Whenever she makes a report she's usually very accurate. She's actually one of my more trusted observers."
Damir seemed skeptical, but pushed it no further. 'Then what do you make of this, if she is telling the truth?"
"I won't know till I've heard it all. You get the water and cloths, I'll go find some coins. She does expect to be paid for her information, you know."
A few minutes later, the two brothers returned to the library. Allika had finished the peach, and its sticky juices covered her mouth, chin, and dress. But she was smiling, and deigned to let Damir tend her wound and her twisted ankle while she told Deveren her story.
The leader of the thieves of Braedon listened intently. Enough of it rang true for him to swallow the rest. The landing of the boat by night, the ordinary box housing an extraordinary box, and, most convincing of all, the bitter barbs between the thieves. Allika recounted the dialogue verbatim.
But it raised as many questions as it answered. What was in the second, glowing box? What did the symbols mean? How could a rat be a weapon? Who was the mad priest that Freylis had mentioned so derisively, and what had Marrika been chosen for?
An idea came to him. "Allika, I know you can't read, but can you remember exactly what those symbols were?"
The child, stuffing herself with a crusty slice of bread thickly covered with butter, nodded. Deveren hastened to fetch several pieces of parchment and writing implements. He placed the parchment, quill, and ink in front of the girl.
"Can you draw them for me, Little Squirrel?" he asked.
She scratched herself thoughtfully, her gaze soft, recalling the images, then nodded. Damir had finished tending her wound, and her arm was now swathed in clean, soft cloth. Her ankle had been soothed with cold water and was also bound to give it support. Allika reached for the quill and, looking shy and embarrassed, tried to draw with it. It blotted and scritched.
Allika's dark brows drew together in a frown. Angrily, she crumpled the spoiled parchment, flung the quill aside, and dipped a forefinger in the ink. Deveren was surprised. Allika was generally a mild tempered, sweet little girl-if a bit on the impish side. He'd never seen such a display of irritation from her before. But then again, if her story was true-and Deveren didn't doubt it-she'd had a rough, long, frightening night.
Allika stuck her tongue out to aid her concentration. Beneath her small fingers, designs came to life.
"Now, sweeting, what are these?" asked Deveren, crouching down beside her.
'These are the things that were on the box," said Allika. "And it was glowing, too."
Swirls and dots, arcs and circles. Deveren didn't recognize him, but across the table from him his brother's face grew pale.
What in the Nightlands is going on? Deveren felt an icy finger of apprehension trace its way up his spine and he shivered.
"Very good, honey," he approved. "Do you want another slice of bread?"
"No," said Allika shortly, flashing him an annoyed glance. "I want to finish my drawing."
Deveren said nothing. She completed the symbols and sat back. 'Those were on the box," she said. "And this was on the rat. It was done on its back in white paint." Softly, she added, more to herself than the Larath brothers, "It had red eyes."
She dipped her finger in the ink again — by now the digit was stained completely black-and traced a long, single line horizontally across the page. She examined her work, then filled the line out a little bit. Again she inked her finger and drew a second, shorter line about three quarters of the way through the first.
Even Deveren knew what that one was. He glanced over and saw comprehension in Damir's eyes. The Sword of Vengeance. The mark of the god.
Allika had finished. She wiped her inky finger on her dress and announced, " Now I want some more bread." Busily she scratched her scalp. The poor thing's probably crawling with vermin after spending a night in the sewers, Deveren thought.
"Would you like to stay here for the night?" he invited her, knowing she would reject the offer. As he predicted, she shook her dark head. "No. I got a place to stay tonight."
He sent her on her way loaded down with bread; dried meats, and dried, sugared fruit. She exited the way she had come, climbing out the window, glancing around to see if she was being watched, then slipping into the shadows.
Deveren closed the window, locked it, and drew the shades. He turned to face Damir. "You reacted to the symbols that were on the box," he said, wasting no time. "What were they?"
Damir shook his head, gathering his thoughts. "I was convinced the child was lying," he said softly, "but when she drew these…" He tapped the sketch with a long, thin forefinger. Deveren slipped into a chair beside his brother, and the two of them stared at the designs.
'These are wards," Damir continued. "And not your ordinary, workaday wards, either. Nor was the box of the common sort, from what she described. It was built to order, and warded heavily. Something very dangerous and very evil was inside it, Deveren." He raised his eyes to meet his brother's. "Something that could indeed be called a weapon."
Deveren felt a strange tightness in his chest at the thought of brave little Allika, alone in a dark sewer, battling this… creature
… with only a toy for comfort. "Is Allika going to be all right? That bite-"
"— should heal up just fine," Damir reassured him. "That's what sits ill with me about this whole thing. Something that dark and powerful-it should have overcome her at once."
"But what do Freylis, Marrika, and Khem have to do with something like this? I know them all, Damir, and while I'd not trust a one of them with my back turned, I find it hard to believe that they've mastered this sort of magic."
"I suspect they haven't. Allika describes the box as coming from somewhere else-probably a bribe of power to come or some such thing."
Deveren smiled a little. "So now you're trusting her information, eh?"
"I know a good spy when I see one, little brother," Damir replied.
"Well, it wouldn't surprise me at all to find out that Freylis was the one behind my attempted murder. But a giant rat loose in the sewers? It doesn't make any sense to me."
"You do not have all the pieces of the puzzle."
"Well, one piece I intend to get," stated Deveren, "and that is the pelt of that damned rat. If it's skulking about in the sewers, then it's a danger to my thieves. I'm going to put out orders for it to be destroyed."