The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows (30 page)

He closed it again, the click of the latch loud in the silent room. Col sat in one of the recently vacated chairs. Wren took the other. He was curious to see the young man’s technique. Getting information from people unwilling to give it up was something inquisitives did all the time. It would be interesting to see how Col handled it.

Col leaned forward and took back the vellum. Xavien flopped into his chair. Wren thought he looked a little pale, and … were those beads of sweat on his forehead? He couldn’t tell. Xavien took off his glasses, carefully folded them, and placed them back into his pocket. He forced a smile onto his face.

“How can I help you? Please. Ask away. Anything for the King’s Citadel. You fight a brave fight, you lot. I salute you.”

Wren almost snorted. The King’s Citadel were some of the most feared law enforcers in the kingdom. Part spy, part inquisitive, sometimes executioner, always feared. They pretty much had a permit to do anything they needed to get the job done. Furthermore, the Dark Lanterns were widely considered to be the most ruthless of the lot. They frequently went undercover in some of the most dangerous places on the continent, foiling attempts—real and perceived—to undermine the Crown.

Now Wren got to see how all that training paid off.

But it seemed like he would have to wait, because Col didn’t
say anything. He simply sat in his chair, looking very relaxed, staring at Xavien.

The councilor shifted uncomfortably. He was trying to hold Col’s stare, but after a moment or so, his eyelids flickered, like he was straining to keep them open against a fierce wind.

Finally, the standoff was too much. He blinked, then looked down at the papers on his desk and rearranged the pile as if it was what he had intended to do.

Col cleared his throat, bringing Xavien’s eyes up to his once again. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” he said.

Xavien frowned. “Tell you about what?” he asked innocently.

Again the stare.

“If you told me what you wanted to know, maybe I could help you,” protested Xavien.

“If I told you what I wanted to know, I wouldn’t need you to tell me.”

“What?”

The stare, then, “Tell me about the dragonshard.”

Wren had to give Xavien credit. He barely reacted. Only the tiniest flicker of panic flashed behind his eyes, quickly quashed. He supposed that was what a life in politics gave you. The ability to tell bare-faced lies in the face of damning evidence.

“The … dragonshard? I’m sorry—what was your name again? Cole? I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Trying to play it smart. Usually a mistake, in Wren’s opinion.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. This city doesn’t run itself, you know.”

“Oh, are you a member of the council? I only ask because tonight’s the Tain gala, isn’t it? Don’t all the members of the council have standing invitations?”

“I’m … not a senior member,” said Xavien. Wren could see
this was something he wasn’t happy about. “I’m what they call a shadow member. I do a lot of the leg work for my superior on the council.”

“Ah, I see. So you’re saying that you do all the work and your boss gets to attend one of the most sought-after dinners in Sharn.”

“I
never
said that.”

“You didn’t have to. See, with me it’s about what you
don’t
say that matters. Since we’ve been talking, I’ve seen jealousy, fear, anger, irritation, cockiness, superiority, and subterfuge cross your face. And we’ve been sitting here—what? Two minutes? So I
know
when you’re lying. It’s what I’m trained for.”

“How dare you—”

“And please, don’t start with the whole ‘I know powerful people’ routine. You have
no
idea how much that irritates me. Why don’t we just lay it all out? We know about Anriel. We know about the dragonshard. The man you thought was Salkith? He wasn’t. He was an undercover agent. So we can tie you to the Shadow priest
and
the stolen shard, which then ties you to the deaths of the professor and the courtesan.”

Xavien looked afraid, and not a little confused. “What courtesan?” he asked, his voice filled with bewilderment.

“Please don’t insult me, Lord Xavien. As it stands, you’re taking the blame for everything.”

Xavien paused. Wren could see him running all the evidence through his mind, trying to decide how damning it actually was. Quite damning, he concluded.

“Please,” Xavien said, leaning forward on his desk, “you must understand. I didn’t want to get involved. I was threatened. I had no choice.”

“Involved in what?”

“It was Tiel. A halfling. He’s in the Boromar clan. He thinks
he’s some kind of unrecognized heir of Saidan Boromar.”

“I know who Tiel is.” Col turned to Wren. “We weren’t sure if he was involved or not. He’s very good at keeping himself clean. All we knew was that Jana did some work for him. That was why I got myself attached to her squad.” He looked back to Xavien. “So what is he up to?”

“I don’t know. All I did was put him in touch with Anriel. My department is in charge of keeping track of worshipers of the Dark Six, to make sure they don’t try anything dangerous. He threatened me. I had no choice! Surely you can see that?”

Wren certainly couldn’t. Something wasn’t making sense. If Xavien was lying, he was very good at it, the best he’d ever seen, but something didn’t feel right. He decided to take a risk.

“And did you also put him in touch with Diadus?” he asked.

Xavien’s response was astounding. As soon as Wren uttered the name, his eyes fixed on Wren’s and his face broke into a snarl of rage. He yanked open the desk drawer and pulled out a small crossbow. Wren stared in astonishment, too surprised to move.

Good thing he wasn’t the target. Xavien swung the crossbow at Col, but he was already on his feet and diving across the desk. He grabbed hold of Xavien’s wrist and they went over backward onto the floor. Wren got to his feet and hurried around the desk. Xavien was struggling with Col, trying to free the hand holding the crossbow.

“To Khyber with you!”
shouted Xavien. “You’ll ruin everything!”

Wren stood on Xavien’s wrist and put his weight on it until the councilor cried out in pain and released his grip on the crossbow. Wren kicked it out of reach. As soon as he did this, Col punched Xavien hard in the stomach, incapacitating him. He looked around.

“Get me some rope, something to tie him up with.”

Wren looked around “Where am I going to get rope?”

“I don’t know! Just find anything!”

Wren’s glance fell on the curtains. They were made from thick velvet. He yanked one down and cut it into long strips with his knife. Col took them and tied the councilor to his chair. The man was still wheezing in pain from the punch, struggling to take in breath.

Col stood back once his work was finished. Wren glanced at him. “What was that all about?”

Col shrugged. “Guess he doesn’t want us to know about Diadus.”

At the sound of the name, Xavien’s head snapped up. “You’ll never get anything out of me.”

“We’ll see,” said Col mildly. He sighed. “Why can your lot never make it easy?” He opened up a pouch that was slung over his shoulder and took out a tiny bloodspike.

“What’s that?” Wren asked.

“It’s a type of clerical magic,” said Col. “Took our people ages to adapt it this way.” “What does it do?”

Col held up the small glass vial. “Whoever is injected with this is forced to tell the truth.”

“Oh.” Wren thought for a moment. “That’s handy.”

“Extremely. And top secret. So I’m afraid I may have to kill you once this is all done.”

Wren waited for him to laugh or follow the comment with a joke, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned to Xavien.

“Last chance,” he said. “These things are still a bit unreliable. I know of a few people who still can’t tell lies, years after they were injected.”

Xavien glared at Col, but said nothing.

Col shrugged. “Your choice,” he said, and jabbed it into the councilor’s neck.

“How long does it take to work?” asked Wren.

“Lord Xavien,” said Col, “are you currently involved in any criminal activities?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Five projects that are currently active, four more that will soon begin.”

Col raised his eyebrows at Wren. “Projects. I like that.” He turned back to Xavien. “Tell me about Diadus.”

“He’s an artificer. Cannith. But he was excoriated when the family found out he was experimenting with creating warforged.”

“That’s it!” exclaimed Wren. “I knew I’d heard that name before. Remember that warforged mass murderer a few years ago? Just after the war? After he was caught, there were rumors going about that it was this Diadus who created him.”

“What happened to him?”

“He disappeared. No one knew where he went.”

“Looks like we’re about to find out. Xavien, where is Diadus now?”

“In Fallen. Where the Glass Tower fell.”

“And what is his involvement?”

Xavien hesitated. Wren could see the man trying to hold back the words.

“Xavien,” said Col. “I order you to tell me what Diadus is doing.”

“He helped Anriel trap the Shadow elemental inside the dragonshard.”

Wren and Col exchanged glances.

“Why?” asked Col. “What is the purpose of this dragonshard?”

“Tiel plans to release the elemental at the Tain gala dinner. The elemental has been ordered to kill Saidan Boromar and then wipe out all the members of the city council.”

“But that’s absurd!” snapped Wren. “For what purpose?”

“Tiel got tired of waiting for his father to acknowledge him. He plans on taking over all of Boromar’s business.”

“And the council?”

“They will be replaced by politicians who are sympathetic to Tiel.”

“And grateful,” said Col grimly.

“Correct.”

“Are you one of those?”

Xavien smiled. “Most definitely. You are looking at the next mayor of Sharn.”

Wren turned and walked to the window. “But this is insane. King Boranel will never stand for it. There will be investigations. Arrests.”

“Why do you think Tiel used Anriel?” Col asked.

Wren turned. “Explain.”

“Anriel is a member of Daask. He has lodgings in Daask’s headquarters, for Khyber’s sake. Tiel has planted enough evidence to let the blame fall on Anriel and the heads of the Daask clan.”

“Clever,” said Col. “In one swoop, he becomes head of one of the biggest criminal organizations in the land, plants a city council that will never speak out against him, and gets rid of the Boromar clan’s closest rivals.”

“We have to warn the council.”

“No point,” said Xavien. “Once the elemental is released, it won’t stop ‘til it’s tracked down each and every one of them.”

“Then we have to stop Tiel from releasing it.”

“Good luck. Only Diadus knows where that will happen.”

Wren was heading for the door, Col close behind.

“Hey!” Xavien struggled in his chair, straining against the bonds. “What about me?”

“Don’t worry,” called Col over his shoulder. “I’ll send some watchmen up to take you into custody.”

Col closed the door, but they could still hear Xavien’s screams of outrage.

W
aves of pain pulsed through Cutter’s head. Every time a wave crested, it felt as though his brain was pushing against his skull, trying to escape through his eye sockets. Then it would slowly subside and he would hope it was finished, hope that the pain had ended, until a few moments later, it started all over again.

As he struggled through the black depths of unconsciousness, he became aware of another pain, this one in the muscles just below his armpits. This one was constant, a drawn-out stretching feeling that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

He wondered briefly if he had been drinking last night. That would account for the headache. But what about the arms?

Freezing cold water hit him in the face. He drew in a huge gulp of air, gasping at the shock of the temperature. His eyes snapped open. He shook the water from his face as his blurry vision slowly focused on the floor below him.

He looked up. His arms were pulled high above him, tied
together by a rope that was thrown over a thick wooden beam, one of many that supported the roof. He scanned down the rope and saw that it was tied around one of the strange pillars. His feet dangled about five feet off the ground.

“Glad to see you’re finally awake,” said a voice.

He looked up and wasn’t at all surprised to see Jana standing before him with an empty bucket in her hand. She had a bandage tied around her neck.

“Host, don’t you ever go away?” said Cutter. “Like I told you five years ago, I’m not interested.”

The bucket flew through the air. He managed to turn aside just in time to avoid it hitting him full in the face. Instead, it cracked into the side of his head. Blood trickled over his ear.

He turned and glared at her.

“That look might scare some of the people you hang out with, Blackbird, but not me. I’ve seen a lot worse.”