Silence spread between them, then Aline drew it back.
“Think about it. I’ll respect any decision you make, and I will never doubt that you will keep every secret of ours.”
Dezra nodded.
“In the morning,” Aline said. “We’ll talk then.”
On the corner of River Way and Wrackham Street, Dezra saw Dunbrae standing. She wondered whether he’d found his three men. Had he taken money from some secret coffer and already returned to his post for a last walk around the perimeter before leaving? Dezra crooked a wry grin. For that matter, did Dunbrae ever sleep? She watched him, for a moment thinking to ask him about Madoc, but then turned and walked the other way. Dunbrae had kept watch over Rose Hall in secret since the occupation. The curfew meant nothing to him, for he could melt into the shadows as quickly as breathing. She wouldn’t compromise him now by calling attention to him. She had her own way to find safely home.
Around the other corner, past the alley where Dez and Dunbrae had killed an interloper and bundled off a dark elf to his death, the street narrowed and turned in its rise from the riverside. The back edge of Rose Hall ran along this street, bordered in boxwood, some ambitious, wandering firethorn, and honeysuckle. The peaked roof of a shed rose above the hedge. A gap in the boxwood allowed a glimpse past the boundaries of Rose Hall. The night was still; what breeze had stirred after the rain was gone.
Something moved before the shed door, a shadow flowing on the ground.
Dezra looked over her shoulder. Dunbrae was too far away to help if she needed it. Her eyes narrowed, and she pulled a knife from her boot. She slipped through the gap in the hedge on silent feet, drifting along the edge of darkness beside the hedge. The musty scent of boxwood hung in the moist air. It mingled with the odor of sweat and beer. Tavern-scent.
Dezra stopped, watching as the intruder unlatched the shed. It was a place for the tools Aline’s groundsman used. The door sighed open. The intruder stopped and looked over his shoulder.
Bullfrogs boomed in the night, peepers shrilled, and into that sudden noise, Dezra said, “Did you lose something?”
Madoc Diviner whipped around. His hand never touched the short sword hidden beneath his brown cloak before Dezra’s blade kissed the skin of his throat.
“I said, did you lose something?”
Madoc swallowed, very carefully. “No, I—” he tilted his head back to relieve the pressure of the knife. “No. I’m here on Aline’s order.”
“I heard her send you back to the Goat.”
The pressure did not lessen, but Madoc managed an ironic smile. “You didn’t. You heard her tell me to take care of what I have to do. Some of that was at the Goat.”
Dez raised an eyebrow.
“And that will be my business.” He looked down and to the right, as if to glance over his shoulder. “The rest of what I have to do is here.”
“And whose business would that be?”
“Hers.”
The reverence in the simple word sent a shiver skittering up Dezra’s neck, the kind to let her know she was in the presence of something deeply true. Still, she didn’t move the blade.
“Tell me what it is.”
Bullfrogs and peepers croaked and screamed. A rough voice called out, the words undistinguishable—despair, anger, something hard in the tone to make Dezra think someone had run afoul of the watch.
Madoc risked a shrug. “I’ll show you if you like.” The ring of a hard boot on paving stones spoke of Dunbrae coming near. “Or you can call out to him and see nothing of it.”
Dunbrae with his onyx ring, his magic to do what Madoc was increasingly unable to do—know the heart, the motive of whoever was near. Dezra eased her knife away from the man’s throat, but she didn’t put it away.
“Show me.”
Wisely, he didn’t smile when he held the door wide. “Come inside.”
Dezra stepped into darkness and stood perfectly still. Behind her, the ambient light of night seemed startling. Light of stars, of rosy candles in the windows at the top of Aline’s house, the waning moon shining down. These combined to thin the darkness a bit outside the shed door.
“Wait,” he said, and took a long stride ahead of her. A vague shape in the dark, he moved. She thought he bent down, then stood again. “Come here.”
She followed the sound of his voice and collided with him. Madoc cursed, caught his balance on something Dezra couldn’t see. She looked down and saw a deeper blackness, a square opening that seemed to drop without end.
“What’s that?” She almost reached for her knife again, then felt faintly foolish.
“A secret way.” He crouched down, looked up and around at her, his face a pale oval in the feeble light from outside. He turned his head and vanished.
Dezra heard a thump and grunt, then he called, “Wait. There’s a ladder here somewhere. Damn ... somewhere.”
Her general mistrust of the mage didn’t quell curiosity. Dezra stood at the edge of the drop. Steel scraped on flint, a spark, a hiss, and a small torch flared to bright light. In the sudden glare, she saw that the drop was not much more than half again Madoc’s length.
“Move,” she said and followed him down.
Mud squelched under her boots. Firelight ran on the surface of puddles and sheened off walls where trickles of water ran. Dez saw a ceiling of damp earth and walls shored up by thick beams. The ladder that should have been propped and ready lay in the mud, it’s footing undermined by the wet, shifting earth.
“A pirate road,” Madoc said. “This is one tunnel of several that run out to the river. I’m here to check it and the others, to make sure all’s well after the rain. Things get unsettled by even a little water.” He lifted his torch, inspecting walls and ceiling. They dripped, but the wooden beams shoring them seemed strong enough to Dezra’s eye. He turned and seemed to take a brand from the earthen wall itself. This he ignited from his own torch. “As long as you’re here, come on along.”
“On your inspection tour?”
Madoc handed her the second torch. “If you like. Or you can go back up and kick your heels against the cobbles with old Dunbrae until it’s time for him to leave.”
Again curiosity sparked. Dezra took the torch. “You don’t much like him. Why?”
Madoc didn’t reply, and she followed him through the tunnel. It wasn’t long before they came to two branches. One looked fairly dry. The other was clogged with mud and rocks and fallen shoring beams. When Dez turned down to look into the clear tunnel Madoc pulled her back.
“No. These branches aren’t going to be safe, even if one looks like it. Listen.”
Beneath the comfortable hiss of torches, she heard the steady trickle of water. “It’s going to fall soon.”
“Yes. Let’s go.”
She lifted her torch and followed, careful to mark her way. At every intersection, he showed her where brands and oil-soaked rags were stored in waxed canvas pouches. “If you have to run these tunnels, you’ll want to know where to find fire at need. Without light, you could wander around under Haven for longer than you’d like.”
Dez noted the places and followed in silence. They splashed through puddles up to their ankles, but found no worse. Three of the small off-shoot tunnels proved dry, and Madoc told her where they led.