Mountain of Daggers (9 page)

Pulling himself to his feet, he checked the copper door. It was unlocked.

Cautiously, he pushed it, but it didn’t move. He tried again, driving his weight into the door. Slowly, it swung open. The spike jutting from the fish’s mouth retracted as the opening widened. With a soft click, the trap re-armed.

A sigh of stale air wafted out the dark doorway. Pulling his veil tighter across his nose to block the foul odor, Ahren raised his lantern and peered inside. Bright mosaics sparkled in the dim light. Ragged tapestries of dusty cobwebs hung from the ceiling. A honeycomb of niches, each containing a moldy skeleton in a rotted shroud, covered the back wall. Marble busts, accented with gold and tarnished silver, lined the walkway past engraved vault doors covering the walls and floor.

Careful not to set off another trap, Ahren removed the cylindrical key from the wall and returned it to the sword handle. He glanced over his shoulder one last time and then stepped though the tower door.

Ahren followed the narrow path between the sculpted busts of the former guild masters. Jeweled masks, silver ferry figureheads and other bizarre treasures leaned in the corners and decorated the walls. To the left, between a pair of gold oars, an arched doorway led to a spiral staircase.

A faint breeze trickled down the stairway as Ahren followed the tight spirals upward. The passage opened up onto the second floor, to a vaulted chamber decorated in amber. A ring of stone sarcophagi encircled a white statue of a veiled woman playing a violin. Ahren only glanced inside before continuing up the steep stairs.

He passed two more floors before reaching the highest level in the tower. Pale moonlight shone through the narrow, barred windows lining the room. Blood-red tiles decorated the inlaid floor. A full-size stone statue of a canal ferry dominated the center of the chamber. Its veiled pilot stared out ahead, holding his bronze oar with both hands. An ivory coffin, decorated with black pearls, rested inside the narrow craft. Its lid was carved into the form of a man lying on a draped cloth.

Amazed by its haunting beauty, Ahren circled the dark statue before finally approaching. He ran his fingers across the smooth ivory, wiping away a thin layer of dust. Placing his hands firmly against the lid near the top, he pushed. The heavy stone didn’t budge.

Taking a deep breath, he braced his feet against the floor, and pressed against the sarcophagus cover with all his weight. Stone ground on stone as the thick lid inched aside. A sliver of blackness widened as the casket slid open. Suddenly, a small pop came from the lid, followed by a loud clank.

With a screech, the ferryman statue whirled around. Ahren ducked just as its bronze paddle whooshed past, knocking the hat from his head. Chains rattled as an iron portcullis slammed down over the stairwell entrance with a thunderous crash, sealing him in.

Catching his breath, Ahren slowly rose to his feet. A thumb-sized metal pin protruded up from the casket's inner walls where Ahren had slid away the lid. Hesitant to move the lid any further, he raised his lantern and peered through the narrow crevice into the sarcophagus.

A dried skeleton lay inside. It held a black, tarnished oar cap against its chest. Gold and jeweled rings covered white boney fingers. Carefully, Ahren slipped his hand through the narrow opening and removed the artifact from the corpse’s grasp.

Glistening square diamonds rimmed the oar cap’s hollow end. The round knob at the other end was formed like a ruby-eyed skull, accented with gold.

Removing a wide strip of cloth from his satchel, Ahren wrapped the cap tightly before tucking it into his bag. He drew a thick raven’s quill from his pouch and slipped it into the Ferrymaster’s dead hands with a smile.

Now that the prize was his, Ahren surveyed his situation. Rusted iron bars covered the windows. One by one, he pulled and pushed, hoping one might be loose, but the thick rivets holding them in place were too strong.

Outside, over the island walls, he could see the swinging lanterns aboard the boats and ferries in the harbor. Shouts and ship’s bells echoed across the nighttime water. Behind them, the quiet cityscape stood like a jagged silhouette, broken only by yellow-lit windows.

Sweat trickled down his face and into his eyes as he wrestled with the last set of bars before finally surrendering. It didn’t matter. Even if he managed to pry one free, the tower was sixty feet of smooth marble before the ground, and he didn’t have a rope.

Wiping his brow, he turned his attention to the wide portcullis blocking the stairs. Chips of stone tile lay scattered around where the gate’s spear-like points had shattered them when it dropped. He could tell by looking that it was too heavy to lift.

Creeping panic began to take hold. He was trapped.

Given enough time, Ahren could escape unscathed. But he didn’t have time. Someone outside must have heard the thunderous noise the falling portcullis had made. He had bribed the guards outside the cemetery, but the burglary of one of the city’s most prominent tombs wouldn’t be ignored. Even if no one had heard him, the guards would want him gone before their shift ended. His boat was still moored at the docks. The tower door was still open. Someone would notice.

He spied an alabaster figure of a mermaid in the corner near the door. The statue itself was useless, but its stout, waist-high pedestal was perfect. If he could lift the portcullis enough to lay the pedestal under it, he could squeeze out. He just needed a lever or something to pry up the gate.

Ahren’s eyes fell onto the bronze oar that had nearly taken his head off only a few minutes before. The nine-foot pole would be enough for him to lever the gate. If he couldn’t pull it out of ferryman’s stone hands, he’d break the statue at the wrists.

Grasping the oar at the paddle head, Ahren pulled with his entire body. It didn’t move. He pushed and jerked harder, trying to wiggle it in any way. The statue moved at the waist-seam which had spun before. Ahren heard chains rattle as he jostled the mechanical sculpture.

Pushing against the side of the oar, Ahren moved the statue again. The hollow rattle of chains echoed from somewhere in the walls. The same chains had rattled when the portcullis had dropped. Ahren pushed harder, straining against the metal oar. Across the room, the iron gate groaned and lifted less than an inch.

Excitement swept through Ahren’s veins, watching the portcullis lift. He relaxed his pressure on the oar, and the bronze pole nearly swung into him as the gate dropped back to the floor with a clang.

Lifting the gate was no longer a problem, but keeping it up long enough for him to get out was.

The portcullis was too far away to slip a brace under, so he’d have to keep the wench arm from spinning when he let go. He looked at the mermaid statue’s pedestal, but it was too short to block the bronze oar. Scanning the chamber again, he spied the sarcophagus lid still resting on the box. He could have used that, if he hadn’t been worried there might be more traps hidden beneath, but then he remembered the pin.

Returning to the ivory casket, Ahren depressed the small metal pin hidden along its inside wall. Holding it down with a dagger blade, he dug his fingers into a narrow crevice on the carved lid and pulled the heavy stone back. His fingers strained as he slid the stone lid back enough to cover the pin and keep it in place.

Shaking his hand to restore the feeling to his numb fingertips, he grabbed the bronze oar and pushed. Chains rattled and the iron gate inched higher. The portcullis had risen about a hand’s breadth above the floor when something inside the rotating statue clicked. And Ahren relaxed his hold long enough to see the door didn’t fall.

Ahren drove his weight against the oar again, lifting the door another few inches.

Click.

The gap was almost enough to squeeze though. He drove himself against the oar again and again, each time lifting the gate a little higher as clicks locked his progress in place. Sweat poured down his forehead and into his eyes as he propped himself against the lever one last time. The gate’s bent spear points hovered almost two feet above the floor; more than enough space to slide under.

Nodding his farewell to the Ferrymaster’s grave, Ahren slipped under the black portcullis and retreated down the tower stairs. He reached the bottom and crossed the tomb room without even a glance at the riches displayed along the walls. He had entertained the notion of keeping a few of the jeweled treasures buried in the tower, but after the commotion and near catastrophe of being trapped inside, it was better to leave with the Ferrymaster’s treasure than risk another mishap.

A fresh breeze blew from outside as Ahren reached the doorway. He was about to step through when a shadow moved in the cemetery ahead.

A figure stepped out from behind one of the mausoleums, a crossbow tucked against his shoulder. Ahren jumped behind the door just as the bolt whizzed past, sparking off the stone and skittering into the darkness.

“He’s here!” someone yelled.

Boot steps raced toward the tower.

Ahren drove his shoulder into the copper door and pushed it closed just as the pounding footsteps reached the alcove. The door lock snapped into place with a metallic thump.

“Damn it,” someone shouted, the voice muffled behind the door. Something slammed into the thick copper. “You missed him.”

Ahren backed away, nearly stumbling into one of the marble busts. His mind tumbled over possibilities, trying to figure out who the men were. They weren’t dressed in uniforms. They hadn’t tried to capture him. They had been waiting for him.

The door rang as someone pounded a fist against the other side. It would take hours before anyone could batter it down. Ahren had until then to figure a way out. There were no windows except for in the Ferrymaster’s room, and Ahren hurried back up the stairs to identify his assailants.

He slipped back under the gate, and peered down from the barred window onto the area in front of the tower’s door. Four plainly dressed men in veils stood outside talking amongst themselves. One carried a burning torch, while two others held stout crossbows. The fourth man clutched a rapier. He carried himself with authority, and the others appeared to look to him for instruction.

Ahren squinted to see if he could recognize the leader’s hidden face. The man looked up as if he’d felt Ahren’s eyes. He unclasped his brown veil and smiled.

“Ahren,” Kirril called. “I thought it was you.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” Ahren replied.

Kirril chuckled. “So you’re the Black Raven. I must congratulate you on your accomplishments. First you plunder Baron Rusukny’s house and now you survived the Ferrymaster’s tower.”

“So you meant to double-cross me?”

“Nothing personal, Black Raven. But I had an offer from another buyer who promised a larger cut than Mashkov.”

Ahren’s gaze ran across the cemetery to the open canal gate leading outside.

“Oh, don’t worry about the guards,” Kirril said casually. “We took care of them. We wouldn’t want anyone disturbing us.”

One of Kirril’s henchmen began lifting his crossbow while Kirril spoke.

Ahren backed away from the window.

“Put that away you idiot,” Kirril snapped. “The door’s locked. We can’t get inside.”

“That puts us in a delicate situation,” Ahren called.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Kirril smiled. “You’re in a cage, Black Raven. You might have the key, but you can’t get out. You have no food. No water. Nothing.”

“Someone’s going to notice the missing guards,” Ahren said. “I don’t think you’ll want to be here when they come looking.”

Kirril laughed. “Nice try. But I don’t see you calling down from that tower for them to rescue you. You’ve broken into the Ferrymaster’s tomb. It won’t be hard to believe you killed the guards.”

Ahren chewed his lip. His eyes returned to the bronze oar in the ferryman statue’s grip. “Then what do you propose, Kirril? If I die in here, you don’t get the oar cap and you’re buyer won’t be happy.”

“Easy. Just drop the cap out the window, and we’ll leave. I’m sure the Black Raven can figure a way out of there.”

“No deal,” Ahren called. “If you want the cap, you’ll have to come get it.”

Kirril’s blue eyes chilled. “I’d love to.”

Ahren smiled. He unscrewed the sword pommel at his waist and removed the cylindrical key from the handle. “Here,” he said, holding it out through the bars. “Here’s your key. It fits in the fish’s mouth. Come up here if you’re man enough.” He let it fall from his grasp.

Kirril snatched the key before it hit the ground. “You’re a fool, Black Raven.” Holding the key, he marched into the door alcove and out of sight.

Ahren didn’t have much time. He leapt toward the bronze oar and drove it back. It clicked as the gate crept higher. Grinding his teeth, Ahren pushed with all his strength. The ferryman statue twisted around.

Click. Click.

Outside, from below, someone screamed. A wide smile curled along Ahren’s strained face. Kirril had found the door trap. They’d be coming up the tower any second. Bracing his feet against the floor, Ahren pushed the winch harder.

Click. Click. Click.

The portcullis was high enough to walk under, but he needed it higher. Driving himself harder against the lever, he spun the winch a full revolution, hoisting the gate higher.