Page 21 of Crucible of Chaos

‘What?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘My question.Yourquestion. What is the answer?’

‘My mind is clear,’ he said without hesitation.

‘Good.’

She disappeared back into the shadows at the far end of the cavern, returning a moment later with something long and thin wrapped in a blanket. When she was standing before him, he observed that she was pretty, in the way of Tristian women, which was to say, not entirely to his taste. The delicate cleft in her chin added to the mischievousness in her expression. She was also, he was quite certain, dangerous to anyone who crossed her path. Nonetheless, she’d proven herself to be clever and she knew details of this abbey that Estevar did not, which made her a useful ally. At least, for now.

‘Call me Caeda,’ she said, and handed him the bundle. ‘If you hope to survive what comes next, you’ll be wanting this.’

He unwrapped the blanket and found a scabbarded rapier underneath. It had a cup-hilt, unlike his own swept-hilt weapon now lying at the bottom of the ocean. Drawing the sword from its sheath, he found the balance not too bad and the length well-suited to his height. Malezias hadn’t struck him as the sort of fighter who would choose to wield so precise an instrument, which meant Caeda had almost certainly filched this one from somewhere in the abbey.

‘An inauspicious gift for a man who recently lost a sword fight,’ Estevar said. ‘What is it you predict is going to occur?’

She grinned at him, tapping the flat of the blade with a fingertip. ‘The three things that always happens when a Greatcoat sticks his nose in other people’s murders, Eminence. An enquiry, a trial and, inevitably. . .’

Estevar belted the rapier to his side, trying not to wince when even that small effort made his wound flare with pain. ‘A duel,’ he finished for her, then asked, ‘Why did you bring me down here rather than to the abbey’s infirmary? Has it been taken over by one of the factions?’

Her tone was icy. ‘I will not go to that place.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t. . .’ A curious uncertainty revealed itself in the brief furrowing of her brow, quickly banished. ‘That crazy inquisitor who tried to kill you might have found you there and finished the job.’

Before Estevar could press her further, Caeda knelt and picked up the candle, then strode to the other side of the chamber, banishing enough of the shadows to reveal the dark silhouette of Imperious, kneeling on a small pile of horse blankets and swaying as if groggy. Roused by the candlelight, he gave a confused bray and rose unsteadily to his hooves. Caeda stroked his neck before walking to the far end, where she opened the wooden door set in an arch carved into the rock, peeked outside, then motioned for Estevar to join her. He first went to check on Imperious, whose jagged wound had been cleaned, stitched and smothered in the same sticky gunk as his own. The mule didn’t look too happy about it.

‘Patience, my friend,’ Estevar said quietly, rubbing the mule’s neck affectionately. ‘The enemy struck the first blow, but they will not take us so easily next time.’

Caeda beckoned him with a curled forefinger. ‘If you would accompany me, Eminence?’ She winked.

Estevar took hold of the reins and guided the weary mule towards the door.Unless they’ve already taken us.

CHAPTER 14

OF HOUNDS, TRUMPETERS AND BONE-RATTLERS

The candle in Caeda’s hand was fighting a losing battle against the darkness outside the ancient prayer chamber. Carved into the walls on either side of the narrow tunnels were centuries-old ossuaries. Dank, musty air filled the maze of passages, reminding Estevar of mist rolling across a moor.

Is there no part of this cursed island free of dampness and fog?he wondered.

Caeda moved with an easy grace, her slender figure navigating the cramped, winding passages with ease, while Estevar’s shoulders grazed the encroaching stone and the low rounded ceiling forced him to stoop like a crook-backed old man. Imperious, still only half-roused from whatever sedative Caeda had administered, kept shying away from the mouldy, fungus-covered bones jutting from the walls.

Estevar tugged gently on the reins, urging the poor beast onwards.

‘The storm drains,’ he asked, his deep baritone echoing through the tunnels in a most unsettling fashion. ‘What happens if they fill, or if the grates get clogged?’

Caeda paused at a junction before choosing the path to the right. ‘The storm drains are above us.Thisis where the water comes.’

‘The monks allow this ancient holy site to flood?’

‘It wasn’ttheirholy site. It belonged to whatever cult or religious sect previously occupied Isola Sombra.’ Caeda took a few more steps, then held up the candle to an iron grate above their heads. ‘Water from the courtyard flows down here,’ she whispered, evidently concerned someone walking the grounds above might hear. Then she held the candle close to an identical grate at their feet. ‘Which, when all goes well and the sewers underneath us don’t flood, keeps both levels reasonably safe.’

‘And what happens when the sewers do overflow?’

She grimaced. ‘A great many dead rats– and occasionally, unlucky monks–float to the top.’

A potential point of sabotage, Estevar noted, filing away that knowledge for future use.

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