32. Mysteries and Evasions
“Another tribe of fairies described in Ximander’s Book are the Tricksters, Qar who seem to be the bargain-making fairies of many human legends. Only Ximander and a few other scholars claim to know anything about them, and since Ximander died before his book was read by any others, his sources are unknown and therefore his conclusions are untrustworthy.”
“In truth, it is not so strange at all,” saidBrother Antimony, warming to his subject. “The tongue the prisoner speaks is much like the old language of the Feldspar Grammars. You may not know this, but the Grammars were written on perfect mica sheets, each one shaped from a single crystal, and they contain stories of the Eldest Days found nowhere else ...”
Vansen cleared his throat, interrupting the enthusiastic young monk. “That’s all very well, Antimony, but we need to know what this fellow is saying now.”
He flushed so deeply that Vansen could see it even in the dim light that Funderlings loved so much. “My apologies ...”
“Just go on, son,” Cinnabar told him. “Talk to the prisoner, if you can.”
The young monk turned to the trembling, scowling drow, who clearly thought he had been brought to the refectory to be tortured. Two Funderling warders stood behind the fierce little bearded creature, ready for trouble, but Vansen wasn’t worried. He had seen many men being questioned and this one showed signs of the false, blustery courage that would collapse quickly.
“Ask him why they have attacked us here in our home,” said Vansen.
Antimony uttered a halting string of deep, throaty sounds. Some of the other Funderlings looked bemused, as though it had a familiar ring, but to Vansen it was all noise. The shaggy-bearded drow looked up at the monk, resentment in every dirty line of his face, but did not answer.
“Ask him why they follow the dark lady.” He struggled for a moment to remember the name Gyir had given her. “Ask him why the drows follow Yasammez.”
This time Antimony’s question made the drow stare in surprise. After a moment, he said something—short and clearly reluctantly given, but something.
Antimony cleared his throat. “He says that… Lady Porcupine, I think that is the name… that she will crush you. That she will have revenge against the Sunlanders. I think that is right.”
Vansen suppressed a smile. Slogans—that was what you got from prisoners who did not actually know why they had been fighting. “I’m going to step to the back of the room, Antimony,” he told the monk. “You and Cinnabar ask him some questions about why drows would take up arms against their brothers—against Funderlings.”
He gestured as if in frustration and walked away. Cinnabar leaned in and began to ask questions, Antimony carefully translating. Vansen noticed that every now and then Cinnabar recognized one of the foreign words and repeated it. Vansen could not help being impressed by the magister’s wits.
Thus he underscores the connection between them—see, drow, he is practically speaking your tongue now!
Vansen stood quietly in the background as Cinnabar continued asking questions, leaning heavily on the idea that the Funderlings were closer relatives to the drows than the Qar leaders they served, but still the prisoner would not tell them anything.
Ah, but if we have created even the smallest bit of sympathy or shame… Vansen thought. “Ask him what his name is.”
Antimony looked surprised, but asked. The drow looked shamefaced, but grunted a reply.
“Kronyuul, he says—that is ‘Browncoal’ in the old tongue, I think.”
“Good,” said Vansen, still speaking quietly so as not to draw attention to himself. “Then ask Master Coal why exactly his Lady Porcupine wants our castle. What will she do with it if she gains it? Why does she waste so many drow lives to take this castle?”
After Antimony had translated the drow stared back at him, apparently at a loss for words. At last he began to murmur. It went on for some time. The young monk leaned close to hear, then straightened up.
“He says the dark lady is angry. The king of the Qar would not let her simply slaughter us wicked folk—he calls us something like ‘sun-land-dwellers’—but forced her instead into some kind of a pact. The dark lady did her best to honor that pact, but it failed. Her… I do not understand the word he uses… her relative, her friend, something—it is a little like our word ‘clansman’… was killed, and so now she says the pact is broken. She blames the fairy-king, but she is also angry because of her kins-man.” Antimony sat back. “That seems to be all he knows—he is only a petty officer of the belowground army ...”
Vansen’s heart was suddenly beating fast. “Perin’s hammer, I don’t believe it. The pact? Did he say pact?”
Antimony shrugged. “Bargain, pact, treaty—the word is not precisely the same as ...”
“Silence! No, I beg your pardon, but do not say anything for a moment, Antimony.” Vansen did his best to remember. Yes, he thought, it all seemed to fit. “Ask him if he knows the name of the lady’s kinsman—the one who was killed. The one whose death ended the pact.”
The young monk, surprised by Vansen’s vehemence, turned and passed the question along to the drow, who was looking less frightened and more puzzled every moment. “He wants to know if you are going to kill him,” Antimony said after listening to the man’s reply. “And he says that he thinks the kinsman’s name was Storm Lantern.”
“I knew it!” Vansen slapped his hand on the stone table, making the prisoner jump. “Tell him no, Antimony—no, we are not going to kill him. In fact, he is going to be set free to lead me back to his mistress. Yes, I will go and speak to her. I will tell her the truth about the Storm Lantern and the pact. Because I was there.”
Haltingly, the monk translated Ferras Vansen’s words to the prisoner. The small room fell silent. Vansen looked around. Cinnabar, Brother Antimony, Malachite Copper, even the drow—all were staring at him as though he had utterly lost his mind.
Chaven’s bed still hadn’t been slept in. In fact, there was no sign the physician had even been in his cell.
“He’s not here,” Flint said in his solemn, high-pitched voice.
“I know he’s not,” Chert growled. “We haven’t seen him for days—not since he let you run off when he was supposed to be watching you. But I want to talk to him. Did he say anything to you about going somewhere? ”
“He’s not here,” Flint said again.
“You’re going to make my head cave in, boy.” Chert led him out of the room.
“Captain Vansen isn’t here,” Cinnabar said. “He’s preparing for a trip where he’ll risk his life to do something I don’t quite understand and which seems to have no chance of succeeding in any case.” He sighed. “I hope you have some better news for us.”
“I’m afraid not,” Chert told him. “I found no sign of Chaven anywhere in the temple.”
Cinnabar frowned. “That is very strange and worrying. He is under threat of death from Hendon Tolly, so why would he go upground into the castle, or even into Funderling Town?”
“Let us hope he has not gone off on his own somewhere and fallen,” said Malachite Copper. “So much is dark down here, especially beyond Five Arches—we might never even find his body.”