23: Burglars

The old man’s house was in the River District – not one of the most wealthy districts of the city, it had to be said.

Carton still felt the need for a certain amount of discretion in their activities, so he prevailed on Adam and Somon to get changed into nondescript tunics, trews and cloaks. None of them wore armour, and Carton carried only a dagger. Adam carried nothing – not that he needed any weapons when he could probably just kill people with his mind. Somon carried his sword, which to Carton’s surprise had shrunk down to dagger size before his very eyes. He remembered the look in Somon’s eyes as it had happened. He had seen that look before – on a cat that had spotted but not yet pounced on a mouse.

The street that Prid’s house was on was not a very nice area at all, Carton realised as they turned the corner, rain pelting onto their cloak hoods. It hadn’t been hit by the dragon, which was fortunate, but it was fairly run-down and dingy. Carton and Adam tried their best not to step in the deep puddles, but Somon ploughed through everything without noticing. There was a drunk old man sitting against the front wall of a building under a threadbare cloak. There were alleyways between the houses where people could lurk and not be clearly seen. Carton kept his hand on his dagger.

Somon went over to the old man, crouched, and slapped him lightly on the face. The old man blearily looked up at him. Somon drew his dagger, which glinted wetly in the moonlight.

“Somon, stop!” Somon stopped and looked back at Carton.

“What?” he asked. His dagger remained poised at the old man’s throat.

“What are you doing?”

Somon looked at the old man, looked back at Carton.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to be seen.”

“That doesn’t mean that you should just murder the witnesses.”

Somon looked again at the old man, who had already passed out. Reluctantly he resheathed his dagger-that-was-not-a-dagger and stood up, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “wouldn’t be the first time.”

Carton looked at Adam, who shrugged, disinterested. Great. Carton was responsible for a potential murderer. One who wouldn’t hesitate to murder him if he tried to do anything about it. He wished he’d waited until the rod had been found. He’d have to deal with Somon later.

“This is the place,” he said, indicating a door opposite the old man. He tried the handle. His men had told him that it was locked, but for some reason he had to try it anyway.

“Allow me,” said Adam. Carton backed away a few feet. Adam leaned his back against the door, one hand over the keyhole. He casually looked in both directions, up and down the street. There was a muffled cracking sound and he quickly turned, opened the door, and disappeared inside.

Carton followed him in. The remains of the lock had hit the opposite wall and now lay shattered on the floor. Somon brushed past him, eyes everywhere.

“Nice place,” he said.

“Not really,” replied Adam.

It was a reasonably nice place, though probably not up to Adam’s accustomed standard. The first room was well-appointed. Adam was already opening drawers while Somon headed straight for the main living area. A staircase led both up and down, and there was a small kitchen in the back.

Adam and Somon were systematically searching everything. Carton, watching, realised that they weren’t just doing it quickly, they were coordinated. Adam never searched something that Somon had already searched, and vice versa. It was like they knew instinctively, and without speaking, what the other was doing.

Then, as one, they made for the stairs. Somon grabbed a lantern from a side table and held it out to Adam, who pointed his finger at it. A flame sprung up. Somon, still holding the lantern, headed downstairs while Adam went up.

Somon returned almost immediately. “Adam,” he called. Adam came back downstairs. “I think I found it.”

“Found what?” asked Carton, who was beginning to feel a little superfluous to the whole process. Somon just looked at him, then returned downstairs. Adam followed, and so did Carton.

The room below was clearly an office or a workshop of some kind. Adam and Somon were already systematically taking it apart the way they had the upstairs living areas.

Unfortunately, even Carton could see that the room had been emptied some time ago. Only furniture remained.

Idly, Carton opened a desk drawer that Adam had already searched and drew out two sheets of paper. The first had some kind of writing on it, but Carton recognised neither the language nor the script. The other had a strange and interesting illustration.

It was done in black ink, and it depicted what Carton had initially assumed was an abstract geometrical form – a prism or a spindle of some kind, pointed at the top and bottom, with many sides. It was shown with radiating lines, as if to depict that it was glowing, or shining with an inner light.

“Hey, Adam. Take a look at this.”

Adam was at his side in moments.

“Yes,” he said. “That looks familiar.”

“Can you read this?” Carton showed him the strange writing.

“No,” said Adam, taking it and giving it a good look. “No, I can’t.”

At that moment Somon approached and said “Here, I’ve got something for you.” He placed something into Adam’s hand. Adam immediately lost interest in the documents, handing them back to Carton.

Adam held up a ring. It was made of silver, with a large square-cut purple stone – an amethyst, perhaps.

“What does it do?” he asked.

“No idea,” replied Somon. “I put it on, but nothing.”

Adam put the ring on his own finger – it fit nicely on the long finger of his left hand.

“Nope,” he said. “Nothing here, either.”

Carton assumed that they were referring to possible powers or properties that the ring might have had. “Does that…”

“Glow? Yes. A purplish colour,” replied Adam. Somon had already returned to searching. “We know it must do something. But it doesn’t seem to be working for either of us. I’ll hang onto it for now.”

Carton would have preferred to hang onto it himself, but the look on Adam’s face deterred him from arguing. Then Somon called from across the room.

“Hey,” he said.

He was standing by an empty bookshelf. Empty, Carton noticed, except for a tiny object on one shelf. He moved over and took a closer look. It was a lever, only an inch long, obviously intended to be hidden by books. Before Carton could stop him, Somon pressed it.

Carton half-expected the bookshelf to swing aside, revealing a secret passage. He was only half wrong. The bookshelf didn’t move, but a section of the floor to one side popped up. Somon bent down and hauled it open, revealing a set of stairs descending into blackness.

“Well,” he said. “This is interesting.”