“I don’t know. Jonna and Ranel said—Oh!” She leapt to her feet. “I didn’t meet them. They don’t know where I am!”
Cery waved a hand dismissively. “They’ll be around.”
She groped for her money pouch, and found it hanging full and heavy at her waist.
“Nice bit of savings you’ve got there,” Cery noted.
“Ranel said we should each carry a bit and head for the slums on our own. We’d be so unlucky to all be searched by the guards.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I know how much went in there.”
He laughed. “So do I, and it’s all there. Come on, I’ll help you find them.”
Rising, he ushered her through the door and out into a short corridor. Sonea followed him down a narrow flight of stairs into a familiar drinking room. As always, the air was thick with bol fumes, laughter and a constant flow of chatter and amiable swearing. A large man slouched over the bench where the thick liquor was served.
“Morning Gellin,” Cery called.
He narrowed his eyes at Sonea short-sightedly, then grinned.
“Hai! This is little Sonea, eh?” Gellin strolled over and clapped her on the shoulders. “All grown up, too. I remember when you used to swipe bol from me, girl. A dainty little thief, you were.”
Sonea grinned and cast a glance at Cery. “And it was all my idea, too, wasn’t it, Cery?”
Cery spread his hands and blinked innocently. “What do you mean, Sonea?”
Gellin chuckled. “That’s what comes of hanging about with Thieves. How are your parents, then?”
“You mean Aunt Jonna and Uncle Ranel?”
He waved a hand. “That’s them.”
Sonea shrugged and quickly described her family’s eviction from the stayhouse. Gellin nodded sympathetically at their misfortune.
“They’re probably wondering where I got to,” she told him. “I—”
Sonea jumped as the door of the inn slammed. The room quietened and all looked toward the entrance. Harrin stood leaning against the frame, his chest heaving and his brow slick with sweat.
“Take care of my door,” Gellin yelled.
Harrin looked up. As he saw Sonea and Cery he paled and started forward. Hurrying across the room, he caught Sonea’s arm and pulled her through a door into the inn’s kitchen, with Cery following closely.
“What is it?” Cery whispered.
“The magicians are searching the slums,” Harrin panted.
Sonea stared at him with horror.
“They’re here?” Cery exclaimed. “Why?”
Harrin gave Sonea a meaningful glance.
“They’re looking for me,” she breathed.
Harrin nodded grimly, then turned to Cery. “Where should we go?”
“How close are they?”
“Close. They started from the Outer Wall, working outward.”
Cery whistled. “That close.”
Sonea pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was beating too fast. She felt sick.
“We’ve only got a few minutes,” Harrin told them. “We have to get out of here. They’re searching every building.”
“Then we’ll have to put her somewhere they’ve already been.”
Sonea leaned against the wall, her knees losing all strength as a memory of a blackened corpse rose before her eyes.
“They’re going to kill me!” she gasped.
Cery looked at her. “No, Sonea,” he told her firmly.
“They killed that boy ...” she shuddered.
He gripped her shoulders. “We’re not going to let that happen, Sonea.”
His gaze was direct, and his expression uncharacteristically stern. She stared back, looking for doubt and not finding it.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
She nodded. He gave her a quick smile.
“Come on, then.”
He pulled her away from the wall and propelled her through the kitchen, Harrin following close behind. Passing through another door, they stepped out into a muddy alley. Sonea shivered as the chill winter air quickly seeped into her clothes.
Stopping near the end of the alley, Cery told them to stay back while he checked so see if the way was clear. He paused only a moment at the entrance, then hurried back, shaking his head. With a wave, he sent them hurrying back down the alley again.
Midway, he stopped and lifted a small grille set into a wall. Harrin gave his friend a doubtful look, then flattened himself to the ground and slithered through. Sonea followed and found herself in a dark passageway. As Harrin helped her to her feet and pulled her to one side, Cery slid through the opening. The grille closed silently, suggesting a regular oiling of the hinges.
“Are you sure about this?” Harrin whispered.
“The Thieves will be too busy trying to stop the magicians from finding their stuff to worry about us,” Cery told him. “Besides, we won’t be down here long. Keep your hand on my shoulder, Sonea.”
She obeyed, taking hold of his coat. Harrin’s hand rested firmly on her shoulder. As they started down the passage she stared into the darkness ahead, heart racing.
From Harrin’s question, she knew they had entered the Thieves’ Road.
Using the underground network of tunnels without prior approval was forbidden, and she had heard frightening stories of the punishment the Thieves dealt out to those who trespassed.
For as long as she could remember, people had jokingly called Cery a friend of the Thieves. There had always been a hint of both fear and respect in their teasing. His father had been a smuggler, she knew, so it was possible that Cery had inherited privileges and contacts. She had seen no proof, however, and had always suspected he had encouraged speculation to keep his place of importance as Harrin’s second in the gang. For all she knew, he had no connection to the Thieves at all and she was hurrying to her death.
Better to chance a meeting with the Thieves than face certain death above ground. At least the Thieves weren’t searching for her.
The way darkened even further until Sonea could see nothing but varying shades of blackness, then it gradually lightened again as they approached another grille. Cery turned into another passage, then changed direction into the total darkness of a side passage. They continued on for several turns before Cery stopped.
“They should have been here already,” Cery murmured to Harrin. “We’ll stay long enough to buy something, then move on. You should get the others and make sure they haven’t told anyone about Sonea. People might think they can get something out of us by threatening to tell the magicians where we are.”
“I’ll round ’em up,” Harrin assured him. “Find out if they talked and tell them to keep their mugs shut.”
“Good,” Cery replied. “Now we’re here to buy some iker powder, that’s all.”
Faint sounds echoed in the dark, then a door opened, and they stepped out into bright daylight—and a pen filled with rassook.
At the sight of invaders, the birds lifted their tiny, useless wings and screeched loudly. The sound bounced off the four walls of a small courtyard. A woman appeared in a nearby doorway. Seeing Sonea and Harrin in her pen, her face creased into a scowl.
“Hai! Who’re you?”
Sonea turned to Cery, and found him squatting behind her, running his hand over the dusty ground. He rose and grinned at the woman.
“Come to pay you a visit, Laria,” he said.
The woman peered down at him. Her scowl vanished and was replaced by a wrinkly smile. “Ceryni! Always good to see you. These your friends? Welcome! Welcome! Come in my house and have some raka.”
“How’s trade?” Cery asked as they stepped out of the pen and followed Laria through the door into a tiny room. A narrow bed filled one half of the room, and a stove and table took up most of the rest.
Her brow creased. “Busy day. Had some visitors less than an hour ago. Very nosy they were.”
“Robed visitors?” Cery asked.
She nodded. “Scared me witless, they did. Looked everywhere, but didn’t see anything, if you know what I mean. The guards did, though. I’m sure they’ll be back, but when they do there’ll be nothing to find.” She chuckled. “Too late then.” She paused as she set water boiling on the stove. “What you here for, then?”