Thieves' Carnival Part 7

The room was warm, and Mouse yawned. The smell of stale incense rose to her nostrils, thick and cloying. She shuddered. Next to her, Ciaran nodded, exhausted.

Both thieves struggled to stay awake, but it was a vain effort. Slowly, their eyes closed, their heads sank onto their chests. Huddled together, Mouse and Ciaran slept like church mice.

The awoke to an uproar of blows and shouts. Three angry figures in black, hooded robes surrounded them, moving in wild frenzy.

"Thieves! Come to steal more?" cried one.

"You are unclean-blasphemers!" yelled another.

"Rascals! Scoundrels! Serpents!"

Each comment was punctuated by a blow. Like a pike through a knot, Mouse slipped past them, cursing furiously, pursued by a thick-bodied Cator. The little thief was nimble and quick, and across the great hall almost faster than an eyeblink. At the end of the wall, the exit loomed. But before she could reach it, a strong hand grasped the back of her tunic and pulled firmly. She kicked out but the Cator's hold was tenacious. Teeth clenched, Mouse pulled her knife out, twisted around, and sliced neatly through the hooded one's black robe. She felt flesh yield to her blow and saw a red gout of blood come spurting through the slash in the dark fabric.

Yowling with pain, the Cator released his grip on her and spun around, clutching his thigh. He toppled to the floorstones of the Cathedral where he collapsed heavily moaning.

"All - we - wanted - to - do - was - return - something-dammit," Mouse said to no one in particular, between gritted teeth. But in the tumult, her voice went unheard.

To her left, Ciaran was laying about him, pummeling first one, then the other remaining aggressor. One of the Cators swung a cudgel at him, missed, and swungagain, this time catching the minstrel squarely in the mouth. Ciaran grunted, careened backward, and would have fallen but for Mouse. She caught him, staggering under his weight, and planted her feet firmly to prop up the groggy harpist.

"Kiri! Stay awake. Come on. There are only two left."

His lip was badly cut and already growing puffy. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Mouse swung around, supporting Ciaran with her back while she kicked viciously at the two Cators. One came too close, and she landed a solid blow to his groin. He sank to the floor, whimpering. The remaining Cator stepped back, watching her uncertainly. Ciaran's weight on her eased. Shaking his head, the harpist stood up straight and felt his swollen lips gingerly. With a look of disgust and anger, he spat out a pink and b.l.o.o.d.y tooth.

"d.a.m.n!"

He whipped his knife from his girdle and began to stalk the remaining Cator with deadly intent. He had the man by the throat when a thunderous shout froze his arm.

"You will not kill in this house of worship!"

The Cator began trembling in Ciaran's grasp.

"The Cator Primate," he whispered. "Let me go. I beg you."

Snarling, Ciaran shoved the man away from him.

"Be gone and be d.a.m.ned," he said. The Cator scurried away, into the shadows of the hall. His companions had already vanished.

"Cowards," Mouse sneered.

"Silence, thief!"

"Who demands our silence?" Ciaran asked, speaking thickly through swollen lips.

A tall, spectral figure in a white, hooded robe slowly approached them. When he was within ten paces of the thieves, he pushed the hood back so that it sat in folds, a high collar about his neck and shoulders. His long face was pale and gaunt. Deep furrows worn by time ran through each cheek, and his eyes were dark and weary and deep-set, plainly carrying troubling memories in their hazel depths. His hair was a white crescent at the back of his head.

"Thieves, what brings you here?" he asked. His voice was deep. Quiet.

"To return something that belongs to you," Mouse said. The robed figure fixed her with a steady look.

"You are the one who stole the Portal Cube."

It was not a question. Mouse glared fiercely, shoulders pressed back in defiance.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I am. And I've got the brand to prove it. Look!"

With a sweeping flourish of her hand, she lifted the hair of her forehead to show the small red spot where the Cators' hot metal had left its mark. To her satisfaction, the primate flinched and looked away.

"I would not have allowed it, had I been present," he said. His tone was apologetic. "At times I regret the barbaric ways my brethren pursue. But what's done is done." He spread his hands out in a gesture of dismissal and his expression hardened into something almost hawklike.

"Have you the Cube with you?" he asked Mouse.

She pulled the relic from her pouch and displayed it in the Cathedral's dim light. The surface of it remained ashen, opaque. Its fire had been extinguished. The Cator Primate bit his lip and nodded curtly. There was a flicker of despair in his eyes. "As I'd feared," he said with a sigh. "You attempted to use it, did you not?"

"We attempted nothing," Mouse retorted. "We merely stole it as part of The Race at Thieves' Carnival. I'd have won first prize, too, if you Cators hadn't slowed me down by branding me." The ghost of a smile lit the primate's features. Then it vanished as quickly as it had come.

"My apologies," he said, and she could not be sure whether he was mocking her.

"You took this, then, without knowing of its powers?" Mouse drew herself up righteously.

"I knew the Cube was famous, all right. As for magical powers, well, a good thief steals first and asks questions later. What powers?"

Again, a fleeting smile pa.s.sed over the Cator's face.

"I see," he said. "Then who was it that tried to employ the Cube?"

"We're not sure," Ciaran said. "A great man, we think, who died in the attempt. And another because of what he attempted." The Cator closed his eyes tightly, as though in pain. For a moment, he breathed deeply, muttering strange words in hurried cadence. Mouse hoped it was a prayer and not a curse. The primate opened his eyes and looked at both thieves sadly.

"As I suspected," he said. "The Cube can be ruled by no one save Sacred Bas.

For it was he who first created it. And now, one much lesser has seized it and drained its magic."

Sadly, he put out his hand. Mouse deposited the Cube in his palm and pulled back.

"Is it ruined?" she whispered.

"I don't know," the Cator said. "Perhaps its strength will return. It has returned before, after such abuse. Best to keep it under lock and key until then." Shivering, Mouse nodded.

"Make sure you lock it up better than before," she said.

The primate raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps you could advise me?" Mouse paused, taken aback.

"I don't think so," she said, voice quavering. "We really should get back to Thieves'

Quarter ..:"

"Oh, go ahead, Mousie," Ciaran said. A chuckle warmed his voice.

She shrugged.

"All right."

The tall primate kindled a glowstone globe and gestured for them to follow. The two thieves accompanied him into the depths of the Black Cathedral. They pa.s.sed inset panels of polished and etched gla.s.s, deep amber, blue-violet, or warm russet in hue.

The first six panels showed scenes of ferocious battles; men on strange beasts carrying evil-looking weapons, their mouths open in song. Or panic. Behind each group of cavalrymen came a procession of hooded figures on foot, carrying what looked like huge books or square cudgels. Mouse couldn't be sure.

From scenes of warfare, the artwork shifted to portraits of various people. Men, mostly, wearing antiquated clothing, standing in stylized poses with stiff facial expressions. One portrait in particular caught Mouse's attention. It showed a man whose angular face and huge eyes glowed with patience. He had long hair and a neat, small beard. His head was framed by a small, rounded aura like a soft cap. "Who's that?" Mouse asked. The primate paused, looked at the portrait, and shook his head.

"We are not sure any longer," he said. "Probably an ancient magistrate-general or seer. The ages have not been kind to our records."

A neighboring gla.s.s panel displayed the face of a young boy with dark eyes and dark, curling hair. His lips were drawn back in a smile of surprising sweetness. For a moment, Mouse thought he looked familiar-or was he a face from out of her dreams? The Cator probably didn't know who he was either. She stopped dawdling by the portrait and hurried to catch up with Ciaran and the primate. As the pa.s.sage curved and straightened, the artwork on the panels became cruder and cruder, faint scratches and patterns. These gave way to carved receptacles in the very walls of the Cathedral. Stepping up on tiptoe, Mouse peered deep into one of the recesses.

Human skulls, brown with age, stared back. A faint odor of decay filled her nostrils.

Grimacing, Mouse looked away from the reliquaries.

"You say that Sacred Bas made the Portal Cube?" she asked. "Do you really believe it?" The tall cleric nodded.

"Our legends have it that among the machineries the sleeping G.o.d created was the Cube, by means of which great distances and ages could be transversed."

Behind them, Ciaran snorted.

"Tales to tell around a fire," he said. "After a good meal with wine." The primate smiled gently. Said nothing.

"If what you say is true, why hasn't this so-called magical Cube been used before?"

Ciaran demanded.

"Oh, men have tried," the primate said. "Always with the same result. The Cube has been tremendous temptation for centuries. Cults flourished around it. And so, finally, the Cube came to us."

Ciaran's eyes glittered.

"I'd heard tales-in pubs, mostly, at closing-- that the Cators use the Cube in their rites. Now there's the stuff of song," he said, fingering his harp.

"Use it? Hardly," the primate said. "We consider it an icon. We worship it on certain occasions. But only a fool would try to use it. Or a G.o.d. We like to think we are not fools."

The Cator paused at a gloomy intersection and seemed to be deliberating. "Come this way," he said. He gave Mouse a sidelong glance. "I had no idea the Cube was considered a prize in a thieves' game." , Mouse blushed and rubbed the red spot between her eyebrows.

"Not a game," she said. "A race."

And I almost won, she thought. A narrow pa.s.sageway slowly widened into a good-sized chamber filled with locked stone boxes. The primate pointed to one safe box set into the stone wall of the room.

"What do you think of that lock?"

Mouse inspected the device carefully. Then she snickered.

"It's a simple three-in-four combination, with two sets of tumblers. Any five-year-old child in Thieves' Quarter could open it."

The Gator frowned. "What do you suggest?"

"Well, for starters, put a lock on the door of the room. And make it one of thosefancy gla.s.s locks connected to a bar system." "Bar system?"

The little thief nodded impatiently. "You know. If the lock is forced, a series of bars fall, sealing the place. Then, hire a jeweler to make a special lock for the safe box.

With a special combination that only the primate knows. A custom job is the only way to do it."

"And you think this would keep the Portal Cube safe?" She shrugged.

"There are at least three thieves I know who can disarm any bar system made. But bars slow them down and they don't like that. And custom locks can beat the best."

"What about a custom lock based on a series of musical chords?" Ciaran asked.

"Could a gla.s.s-smith make such a thing?" the primate asked.

"Easily," Mouse said. "And it would take a thief and minstrel to try and pick that lock." She gave Ciaran a warm look. "A special breed."

"And this one has had his fill of robbing cathedrals," Ciaran said wryly.

The primate nodded. "Then I've consulted the proper authorities. I thank you."

Footsteps resounded above their heads. The primate looked up.

"You must go now," he said. "Mentlan is over. A new service will begin soon, and if you are caught in the Cathedral by a mob, I suspect that even I could not save you." With quick steps, he brought them to a small door whose hinges protested as he opened it.

"Follow the stairs upward and you will find yourselves in the plaza. Farewell."

Sighing rustily, the door swung shut behind them and the two thieves were in darkness once more. Mouse turned to Ciaran, or where she thought he was in the gloom.

"Got a glowstone?"

"I thought you were the one carrying them."

"No."

Ciaran sighed, and Mouse did also. Neither wanted to show the other their hatred, their fear, of the darkness. With steps spurred by pounding hearts, the two thieves began the long climb toward the light. The sunb.a.l.l.s' amber filtered down through tiny glowholes to light Ciaran's rooms. Mouse sat next to the harpist on his pallet, happily counting golden decols.

"Oh, Kiri. There's enough here to get us across the badlands and back. To buy you five new harps."

The minstrel nodded. "A nice haul. I told you that Cube would pay off after all."

"I wish I could remember more of what happened after I got branded." Mouse bit her lip.

Ciaran shrugged. "Did you get hit in the head, too?"

"Of course not." She gave him a sharp look. "Some of us are a bit nimbler than others." He swatted at her, but she eluded him easily.