King's Man and Thief (23 page)

Something moved, and then two points of red light glittered up at her.

Startled, Allika gasped and flailed, trying to move back away from whatever was down there. One hand knocked into Miss Lally, and the little rag doll tumbled down, head over heels, to land with a soft
plop
in the sludgy water.

"Miss Lally!" cried Allika, heedless of the noise. She suddenly had a vision, of soft hands and a kind voice; a remembrance of a brand new Miss Lally, white and clean and unstained:
You must take good care of her, site's your baby.

"Miss Lally," said Allika again, her voice a whimper now. Tears filled her eyes, dropped down twenty feet into the filthy water beneath. Miss Lally was made of light material; Allika had no trouble seeing her.

Again a movement, a flash of two red lights.

Allika sobbed brokenly. What was she going to do? Miss Lally was twenty feet below the surface, down there with that... whatever it was that Raven and Hound and Wolf had put there. But Allika couldn't just leave her. Miss Lally was her baby; she had to take good care of her.

She wiped her eyes with a dirty hand, forcing them to clear. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Allika whispered bravely, "I'm coming, Miss Lally."

The shaft that led down to the sewers was about three feet wide. Allika pulled off her ragged boots and swung her body around so that she would be descending feet first. Small, strong toes groped for crevices, protrusions, anything to ease her passage downward. Allika forced herself not to think of the
thing
down there in the dirt and dark, but only of Miss Lally. Slowly, she lowered herself, her small, soft mouth pursed in a grim line of concentration. The rocks were not smooth, and she was able to find purchase.

She was hanging by her hands now, and it took a great effort to move them down to the holds that had secured her feet. By leaning back, Allika was able to wedge herself in more securely and inch her way down.

She had already gone several feet. The rock was unforgiving and tore her already ragged clothing, left bruises and scrapes on her soft, pale skin. Allika paid it no attention. The main thing was getting down to Miss Lally, and finding her, and getting back to the docks where she could get out without running into that
thing
that was down there and—

The slippery walls turned traitor. Allika's feet shot out and she fell. There wasn't even time to scream before she landed, on her back, in six inches of filthy water and at least two soft, squishy inches of waste matter. The wind was knocked out of her and she gasped like a fish, splashing. Her shoulders and tailbone hurt, and as she flopped herself over and tried to stumble to her feet, her ankle shrieked in white-hot protest and she fell.

But Miss Lally was right there, smiling up at her with her faded, painted face. Allika's breath came back and she sobbed with joy as she seized her beloved toy, now soaked with filthy water. She sat in the sludgy water, clasping the doll tightly, completely oblivious to everything save her dear, sweet Miss Lally.

"I will take good care of you," she whispered fiercely.
Something moved in the dark, inches away. Memory returned and Allika's small body went taut. The
thing.
It was still down here. It was down here with her in the darkness.

Again, she tried to rise. Her ankle wasn't broken, but it was twisted badly. Clutching the saturated toy, she managed to make it to her feet. Every instinct was crying out, telling her to run, but she couldn't run. Instead, she found a weapon—a length of nail-studded wood from the crate used to house the
thing.

"Where are you?" she called, sounding as brave as she could. "You're not gonna hurt me or Miss Lally."

A soft splash came behind her. She whirled unsteadily, and yelped, horrified.

It sat in the square of light that came from the street above, barely a yard away from the little girl. The thing was a rat—enormous, as bit as a cat,
bigger,
and pitch black, save for its eyes, which burned in the dark like two hot coals. It was sitting up on its haunches, regarding her evenly. As she stared back, one ear twitched.

Then, with no warning and no sound, it sprang, leaping for the soft flesh of her face. Allika stumbled backward, swinging the nail-studded slat with all of her wiry, seven-year-old strength. It caught the rat in the side, and the creature squeaked in agony and rage. It came again, and this time managed to sink sharp yellow teeth into Allika's upper arm. She screamed and lashed out, slamming the wood on its head. The blow, though not as strong as an adult's, ought to have been enough to crush the thing's skull, but the rat darted away. As it vanished into the darkness, Allika saw something painted in white on its back.

It was two lines, one long, one shorter. The shorter line bisected the longer line about three quarters of the way down its length. The symbol was somehow familiar to Allika, but at the moment, in her pain and terror, she couldn't place it. For a moment she stood, panting, clutching the wooden slat like a club, her ears straining for a telltale splash that indicated the
thing
had returned to renew its attack. She heard nothing.

"Think we chased it away?" she asked Miss Lally.

"We sure did!" she said in a higher voice, speaking for the doll. "You're wonderful, Allika! I knew you'd come save me."

Turning, the little girl took a deep breath. She was almost a half a mile away from the port; a half mile from the nearest place where she could scramble out of the sewers as they opened into the sea. Low tide would be coming soon. If she didn't make it, she'd be trapped.

"Come on, Miss Lally. Let's go find Fox."

Unkind thoughts breed like rats in the darkness; but good thoughts grow like the oldest of trees. 

—Mharian folk saying

Tap, tap, tap.
Deveren tossed in his sleep. Kastara wanted him to get up for some reason, but the bed linens were so warm and comfortable ...

Tap, tap.
More insistent now. "Love, what is it?"

And with the sound of his own voice, soft and sleepy, he came fully awake and realized that it was not Kastara tapping on his shoulder, trying to rouse him; would never be Kastara, not ever again, and even as the grief resettled upon his heart he was fully alert.

Tap, tap, tap!

Something was rattling on the glass panes of his solar window with a regularity that put the thief leader instantly on his guard. This was no random clatter of tree limbs in the wind, and the memory of his attempted murder flashed starkly in his mind.

Moving in silence, Deveren pushed aside the curtains that shrouded his bed and glanced about. There was no one in the room with him. He reached for the knife he kept beneath the bed and swung his legs out onto the floor. His feet sank into the thick sheepskin.

Tap, tap, rattle.

That was it. Someone was outside, throwing stones up against the window, trying to get his attention. While this deduction brought some relief, Deveren did not drop his guard. It could yet be a decoy. Quickly tugging on a pair of breeches, Deveren moved toward the window and cautiously peered out.

Allika stood on the ground beneath, her ubiquitous doll clutched in one hand. She was in the process of gathering more stones, and Deveren saw that one little hand was clenched around a rock that was significantly larger than the pebbles she had tossed up hitherto. The child was clearly growing impatient.

She pulled her hand back as if to toss the stone when she saw his face. Her own was a pale blur in the moonlight, but when Deveren waved, signaling that he had noticed her, she waved back. Quickly she disappeared into the shadows, moving toward the library, where she would not be seen.

Deveren lit a lamp from the fire that had burned to embers in the bedroom. He quickly shrugged into a fur robe, stepped into slippers, and rapidly descended the stone stairs. As he hurried past the dining room, he paused long enough to grab a peach for the little girl, then continued to the library.

She was there, outside, crouched up against the wall. As he entered, she turned to the window. Her face was not the lively, cheerful visage he was used to seeing; rather she reminded him of a small, forlorn little ghost.

Quickly Deveren opened the window and helped the little girl inside. His hand closed on her arm, trying to maneuver her, and she uttered a sharp, pained ejaculation and jerked out of his grasp. Surprised, Deveren glanced down—and gasped himself at the ugly wound on the child's soft flesh. "Sit down," he said, "and let's take care of this first thing."

"Here, let me," came Damir's voice. Deveren's head whipped around and he saw, to his annoyance, that his brother stood in the doorway. Like Deveren, Damir was only partially dressed, but he was clearly awake and alert. He moved to the little girl, who ducked away from him, burying her face against Deveren's thigh.

"Come on, Little Squirrel," Deveren soothed, patting her dark head. "My brother won't hurt you. You can trust him like you trust me." He glared at Damir. "Can't she?"

Damir's eyes glinted with amusement, but his voice was sober. "Certainly you can. Here, let me see." He waited, and finally Allika, after glancing from one brother to the other, slowly stuck out her arm.

Deveren winced as he took a good look at the wound. It was a nasty gash, and the flesh around the wound was red and painful. Damir probed it gingerly with long, gentle fingers, but even that delicate touch prompted the girl to yelp "Ow!" and twist away. "What happened to your arm, sweeting?" Deveren asked softly, stroking the girl's dark hair.

"Rat bit me," she replied in a low voice.
"Big
rat."

Damir and Deveren exchanged glances. It couldn't have been a rat; the bite was far too large for that. And yet, Deveren thought to himself as he regarded the injury in the lamp's glow, it did look as if it had been made by the teeth of a rodent.

An idea came to him that made him stagger. "Little Squirrel—where did this happen?" "In the sewer. I dropped Miss Lally."

"Are you sure it wasn't a Ghil?" The Ghil were sometimes called "giant rats." They were far more intelligent than regular rats, and far larger—they stood five feet tall when they rose on their hind legs. The Ghil certainly did have rodentlike teeth. But for her to have found a Ghil in the sewer system of Braedon was unthinkable.

Allika now frowned impatiently at him. "I know what Ghil are, and I know what a rat is. This was a big rat. Wolf and Raven and Hound set him loose." Her frown mutated into a sly grin. She reached with her good arm into her clothes, scratched busily. "Want to know more?"

Deveren rubbed at his eyes, startled to hear the names of three of his thieves in connection with a giant rat. Damir rose and with a jerk of his head indicated that he wished to speak with Deveren alone.

"We're going to get some water and bandages for that... that bite," Deveren reassured Allika. "In the meantime, have one of these."

He placed the soft, fragrant peach into the child's small hand. Allika sniffed it and grinned, biting into the juicy fruit eagerly. With her mouth full she pointed at her ankle and said, "Foot hurts, too." Deveren nodded acknowledgement and followed Damir outside the library, closing the heavy oak door softly.

Damir spoke first. "She's clearly hurt herself somehow and is making up a story to justify coming to you for help," Damir stated.

Deveren shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Allika's imagination has, up till now, anyway, confined itself to Miss Lally. Her doll," he added for Damir's benefit. "Whenever she makes a report she's usually very accurate. She's actually one of my more trusted observers."

Damir seemed skeptical, but pushed it no further. 'Then what do you make of this, if she is telling the truth?"

"I won't know till I've heard it all. You get the water and cloths, I'll go find some coins. She does expect to be paid for her information, you know."

A few minutes later, the two brothers returned to the library. Allika had finished the peach, and its sticky juices covered her mouth, chin, and dress. But she was smiling, and deigned to let Damir tend her wound and her twisted ankle while she told Deveren her story.

The leader of the thieves of Braedon listened intently. Enough of it rang true for him to swallow the rest. The landing of the boat by night, the ordinary box housing an extraordinary box, and, most convincing of all, the bitter barbs between the thieves. Allika recounted the dialogue verbatim.

But it raised as many questions as it answered. What was in the second, glowing box? What did the symbols mean? How could a rat be a weapon? Who was the mad priest that Freylis had mentioned so derisively, and what had Marrika been chosen for?

An idea came to him. "Allika, I know you can't read, but can you remember exactly what those symbols were?"

The child, stuffing herself with a crusty slice of bread thickly covered with butter, nodded. Deveren hastened to fetch several pieces of parchment and writing implements. He placed the parchment, quill, and ink in front of the girl.

"Can you draw them for me, Little Squirrel?" he asked.

She scratched herself thoughtfully, her gaze soft, recalling the images, then nodded. Damir had finished tending her wound, and her arm was now swathed in clean, soft cloth. Her ankle had been soothed with cold water and was also bound to give it support. Allika reached for the quill and, looking shy and embarrassed, tried to draw with it. It blotted and scritched.

Allika's dark brows drew together in a frown. Angrily, she crumpled the spoiled parchment, flung the quill aside, and dipped a forefinger in the ink. Deveren was surprised. Allika was generally a mild tempered, sweet little girl—if a bit on the impish side. He'd never seen such a display of irritation from her before. But then again, if her story was true—and Deveren didn't doubt it—she'd had a rough, long, frightening night.