“Four more on this side of the street,” said Degan as I stepped back from the curtain. “They slipped into a couple doorways before you came up.”
I gave a soft whistle. “Twelve? Just for us?”
A caustic grin formed on Degan’s face. “Flattering in a disturbing sort of way, isn’t it?”
Frightening, more like it. Who spends a dozen blades on two? The odds were obscene, unnecessary, even with Degan in the equation. Someone wanted us beyond dead-someone wanted to erase us.
“You didn’t see them coming before they were in position?” I asked.
Degan shrugged. “Their turf.”
I tapped my rapier against my boot. Maybe they were just holding us for someone. After all, they hadn’t started to-
“Here we go,” said Degan.
I flipped a small bit of curtain back with my sword. The five up and down the street were starting to move our way, slowly. The three in the doorway seemed to be staying put.
“They won’t rush until they’re close,” said Degan. “They’re hoping we panic and make a break for it. Easier for them to take us in the open.”
“Good thing we don’t panic,” I said.
Degan smiled. “Good thing.”
“Got anything to throw?”
He gestured at a shelf on the wall. “Vases.”
I drew the knife from my boot and held it up for Degan. I had the one in my wrist sheath for myself.
Degan shook his head. “More your style than mine.”
I turned around to Larrios. “Can you throw a-”
He was gone. Of course. Damn. Damndamndamn.
Chapter Eight
“Problem,” I said.
Degan glanced back over his shoulder, saw the empty room. He didn’t even blink.
“If he got out…” said Degan.
“So can we.” I ran toward the back room. There was no time to be subtle, no way to play it safe and still see what Larrios was up to. Two paces from the doorway to the back room, I planted my feet and leapt. I crossed my arms above and behind my head, hoping the rapier and boot dagger would deflect any attack Larrios tried as I sailed into the room. Odds were, though, if he did swing, I was dead.
I hit the floor in the back room, rolled awkwardly. The dagger skipped from my hand. I put my sword through three parries before I took a single breath.
No one.
No light, either, except for sunset’s dirty leftovers coming in from the front room. Not enough to see by, but too much for my night vision to help.
I stood and scanned the room. Woven mats on the floor prevented footprints. No walls appeared out of place, no hole made itself invitingly apparent in the ceiling. I stamped the floor. Dirt beneath the mats.
“Larrios!” I called.
No answer. No surprise.
“Well?” yelled Degan.
“Hold on.”
Degan mumbled something I couldn’t catch.
I ran a circuit of the room, four paces for each wall, striking the plaster with my blade. Everything sounded equally solid. I guessed where I might put a concealed door and threw my weight against the spot. The wall surrendered a thin snow of dust, but nothing more.
I looked over the rest of the room, taking in its dim shapes, grainy textures, hints of a shadow here and there. Why the hell couldn’t it be darker out?
There was nothing beneath Fedim’s bed but dirt, same for the lone table.
I threw myself at another spot on the wall in desperation, bounced off it. As I staggered back, my heel caught on the hard corner of a mat and sent me over. I scrambled back up, wondering how fast I could cut through the weathered lumber of the ceiling. Then it hit me.
Hard corner of a woven mat?
I dropped to my knees and pulled the mat away. Or rather, I tried to, since it was attached to the floor by long pegs that ran into the dirt.
I ran my fingers around the edges, felt a sunken wooden frame beneath it. There were two rope handles tucked beneath the mat. Grabbing one in each hand, I crouched and lifted.
It was heavy.
“Ah, Angels!” I gasped as the trapdoor slowly came up out of the ground.
“Door” was generous; it was a nothing more than a wooden box filled with dirt, placed in a shaped recess in the floor. Unwieldy, but it would sound as solid as the rest of the floor to anyone walking on it.
Beneath, there was a crude shaft running straight down into darkness. A horrible, familiar stench rose from the hole-sewage.
Suddenly, staying here and dying didn’t seem like such a bad option.
Nevertheless, I yelled, “Degan! Let’s go!”
Degan came running into the room, sword in one hand, a hefty-looking vase in the other.
“They’ll rush soon,” he said. “The pots slowed them down, but not enough.” He looked at the hole and moved toward it. Then the smell reached him.
“Ugh!” Degan wrinkled his nose and looked at me pointedly. “You always manage to find a sewer, don’t you?”
“Only when you’re around,” I said.
Pushing his hat down more firmly on his head, Degan climbed into the shaft. Grumbling something about Noses liking the worst scents, he disappeared into the darkness below.
I set the “door” near the edge of the hole, sat down, and swung my legs in.
The stench was nauseating, ten times worse than anything we’d encountered in Ten Ways that night. As I slid into the hole, I heard a yell from outside. The Cutters were coming.
I pulled on the box of dirt, trying to shift it back into place as I sank the last few feet into the hole. My feet met round, slippery resistance: a peg or spike of some sort set into the shaft wall. The box moved two fingers’ breadth, then stopped. I tugged at it again. Nothing. Larrios had been stronger than he looked to move this thing by himself. Then again, he hadn’t had ten Cutters breathing down his neck, either.
I gave up on the box and started climbing down the peg ladder set in the shaft wall. I hoped the smell would be enough to keep the Cutters off our blinds.
The darkness was thick with moisture and odor. After eight pegs, my foot met nothing but air.
I shifted in the hole, trying to find the next peg, and something poked me in the shoulder. I felt behind me, found a niche dug out of the earth. In the niche was a long, thin object, like a small case of some sort. So, this was where Fedim had kept his swag. Clever bastard. Larrios must not have known it was here; otherwise I doubted he would have left it behind. I pulled the object out and tucked it between my back and my belt. Damned if I was going to leave this place empty-handed.
“Degan?” I called.
His voice rose up from below. “It’s a short drop. Just let go.” His voice echoed and reechoed.
I went down to the last peg and hung by my hands. Dropping off into darkness is always an unnerving proposition, but twice so when you’re used to being able to see in the stuff. I was tempted to hang and wait for my night vision to adapt, but I could hear Degan splashing about below. He had no such advantage to wait for; for him, the darkness was there to stay. Every moment I held on was another he had to spend listening and groping and wondering at every sound and sensation.
I let go and fell.
Darkness and the rush of air. My feet hit light resistance, then firmer, slicker stuff. Sewage and then the bottom of the sewage tunnel, respectively. I staggered, legs wide, and went to one knee and a hand to keep from falling over completely. The sewage would have come up high on my calf if I had been standing. As it was, I could feel the muck at my hips and past my left elbow.
The stench! My stomach started rolling over and over within me. I felt my throat tighten, my guts lurch, and I tasted bile. Force of will kept everything else down, but there was no telling how long that would last.