The Star Shard (22 page)

She grabbed his wrists. "Your home is just down the hill. Do you want to go there or not?"

"I want to go there more than anything. With you." The racing of her heart was not entirely from fear or urgency. Quite close up, she looked into his gold-brown eyes. Tears were pooling there. "Whenever I try to bring you a key, I fail. So tell me this other way."

Drawing a slow breath, he gently took her hand. She looked down but made no move to pull her hand away.

"You saved my life in the swamp," he said. "Loric? Why won't you tell me how to free you?"

For a long time, he watched her. Then, tenderly, his long fingers touched her face.

"It's a magic lock," he said at last. "A sorcerer must have made it for Rombol, or a witch. It can't be smashed with any hammer or cut with any pincers. It opens only for a key, or..."

"Or what?"

"Or we stick your magic hairpin into the keyhole and release the power it contains. It will blow the lock apart like a thunderbolt through a daisy. But it will destroy the hairpin, too."

Cymbril froze with her mouth open. It was as if she'd leaned against some great soundless bell that had just rung. She felt its deep vibrations rolling through her bones. All she could hear was her own breath, rushing in and out.

"You see?" said Loric. "That's unthinkable. It would be a mistake to part with that." He pressed her hand. "Now, go out and close my door. Even if it means wearing this collar, I'd rather be here than somewhere you're not."

Cymbril stood up, her knees wobbly, and backed away. Reaching into her pocket, she felt among the leaves and grasped the pin—her mother's gift, the hairpin that no one could take from her.

"Go," said Loric, nodding.

She looked out past the threshold. There was no one in the hallway, no one coming, not a murmur in the still hour before dawn.

With a suddenness that made Loric flinch, she flew to his side and thrust the pin into the lock. "Call the power," she said quietly, not daring a last look down at the perfect gem. Instead, she stared into Loric's eyes. Cymbril had her mother's voice and face, her mother's blood in her veins. She could live without the pin if losing it meant setting him free. "Loric. Do it now."

Eyes brimming, he uttered a swift phrase in the language of the Sidhe.

The hairpin's stone blazed brighter than ever before. Its shank glowed red as if heated in a fire. Cymbril turned away from the glare. Then came a clap of thunder.

When she opened her eyes, the padlock lay in red-hot chunks. The hairpin was gone. All that remained of its stone was a sprinkling of tiny grains, as of crushed crystal, their light fading to darkness. Heavy smoke filled the room, and Loric lay on his side. As Cymbril pulled open the iron collar, he sat up.

"Cymbril," he whispered. Even with his resistance to iron, the collar had left brown-purple bruises around his neck.

"Quickly." She drew him to his feet and led the way. The noise of the explosion would bring people running. To slow the pursuit for an extra moment, she closed the door and rebarred it. Then, with Loric at her heels, she pelted to the nearest crank basket, dragged him inside it, and cranked for all she was worth. Too slowly, the levels crept past as they descended.

"What about the enchantment?" she asked breathlessly over the squeaking crank. "Shall I give you the germander?"

"Not yet," he said. "We have to wait for Miwa."

With luck, the soldiers would expect her and Loric to go over the rail and down a rope. Already, she heard shouts above. Somewhere Bale began to bark. The fierce, deep sound rang in the bulkheads, seeming to come from all sides at once.

One level up from the bottom, the basket creaked into an archway that gave them a view across the vaulted second story of Barrel Corner, its floor one deck below. The balcony they were passing faced another, beyond the gulf of empty air. This farther colonnaded platform held barrels and plank boxes in stacked rows. Lamps on wall hooks flickered at intervals.

Loric seized Cymbril's arm. "Look," he whispered.

On the far balcony, one by one, the lamps were going out. It was as if a wind extinguished them, but there was no wind. They went dark in order from farther ones to nearer, marking the progress of some unseen force that consumed the light.

"Don't stop here!" whispered Loric.

Cymbril stood rooted, unable to look away from the opposite side of Barrel Corner. She felt him fighting her for the crank.

Something alive—something very
large
—moved behind the barrels, through the narrow aisles, keeping pace with the advancing darkness. As it passed, the stacks rippled askew, some boxes tumbling out of place. Above the sounds of sliding crates and wobbling barrels came a low-pitched grunting, a wet snuffling of the kind made by a hound following a scent, only louder by far—and the
thump, thump
of massive feet. Two barrels fell from the stack and into the avenue, where they crashed on the floor.

"Go! Go!" hissed Loric. They worked the crank together.

Just as the last lamp wavered out, the noises stopped. A sudden stillness flooded the two-story passage. Painfully conscious of the crank's loud screeching, Cymbril and Loric held still. The basket swung and squeaked, its upper rim even with the balcony floor. Crouching, they peeked over the deck. Fear tightened Cymbril's throat. She could scarcely breathe.

Far away, Bale still barked. The only light was filtered up from below, where lamps burned along the first floor of the avenue. Red glimmers and shadows shifted on the carved angels and gargoyles, making their faces seem to contort in terror.

Cymbril risked a glance at Loric.

"Is it gone?" she mouthed.

He shook his head uncertainly.

Reaching an unspoken agreement, they took hold of the crank again, and after a long pause, they began to turn it.

On the other balcony, the closest rank of barrels and boxes splintered as if struck by a wagon at full speed. Kegs of ale and wine flipped end over end. Cymbril and Loric screamed together as an enormous shape pounced across the gulf, straight toward them.

The nightmarish creature landed on the balcony's edge, smashing the rail. Its forelegs ended in curving claws, and its slick-looking fur was like that of a mole. The head was almost entirely a nose—the tiniest black eye-beads above huge, gaping nostrils. Beneath the nose, spittle dripped from a mouth of hooklike teeth.

The nostrils widened and quivered, and the beast bellowed, its pitch so low that Cymbril's bones tingled. The nargus sank its claws into the planks of the balcony, its enormous body sliding backwards. Its leap had not carried it fully across the void, and the monster was struggling to pull itself up, its hindquarters dangling in space. The claws dug furrows in the wood.

"Run!" said Loric into Cymbril's ear.

They leaped out of the basket and dashed along the balcony, dodging between barrels and cloth sacks. Behind them, the beast roared in fury. Just ahead, where another avenue joined Barrel Corner, the balcony ended. The doorways into the bulkhead were blocked by a row of crates. Cymbril saw no escape. Beyond the rail, the passage floor was too far below. Though she didn't dare look backwards, she could hear the nargus loping, its heavy feet pounding. Already it was only a few strides behind them. It grunted, then shook the air with another roar.

Loric caught Cymbril's hand. "Faster!" he yelled. "Come on!"

She ran with him, seeing nothing but the balcony rail, closer and closer—and past it, only empty air. No—not empty. At the last instant, she guessed Loric's plan, and it was totally mad. Out in the middle of the side corridor hung one of the Rake's long-forgotten chandeliers, a giant structure of wooden rings, tarnished candle holders, and glass bangles. Loric shouted, "JUMP!"

Together they stepped up onto the rail and launched themselves. They grabbed hold of the chandelier in a chaos of glass and dust. Overhead, the supporting chain groaned as they swung.

"Let go!" Loric cried. Cymbril closed her eyes as they plummeted down onto a pile of bulging sacks. Grain bags. Sliding to the floor among toppling cargo, she saw that they'd come down safely on the farther section of Barrel Corner's second level—they'd ridden the chandelier across the side passage.

They looked back just in time to watch the nargus crash headfirst into the returning chandelier. Wooden hoops snapped apart. Glass beads rattled like hail. Claws slashing, the monster fell with the ruined chandelier to the corridor floor, one level down. The deck cracked beneath its weight.

Shaking itself free of the wreckage, the creature raised its head and unleashed a terrible roar like prolonged thunder. The nearest wall lanterns went out in an expanding circle of darkness. Even so, in the street's firelight, Cymbril could see the nargus's whole body for the first time. Part bear, part mole, it was larger than a war horse, with corded muscles and a short hairless pink tail.

On the main street level, soldiers approached. At the moment, that hardly seemed a bad thing.

"Miwa," Loric said quietly, moving away from the rail. He turned toward the balcony's length ahead. His gaze seemed far away as he focused his mind's eye, searching with his Sidhe sense for the cat.

Cymbril didn't know what plans had passed between Miwa and Loric, but she wanted to run while the nargus couldn't see them.
But it can smell the Star Shard,
she reminded herself.
No matter where we go, it will come after us.

Small places.
She and Loric had to get out of the open, into a space where the nargus couldn't follow.

The deck was piled with grain sacks and rows of barrels. Loric urged Cymbril forward. But on the main level of Barrel Corner, straight beneath their feet, the monster snuffled and growled, keeping pace with them.

"The Eye Women have sent it after us," Loric muttered. "They don't want us to escape alive."

Cymbril shot him a glance as they ran. "Why?" Were the crones getting revenge for what she'd told Wiltwain?

A moving lantern flared ahead. Voices echoed, and running feet hammered the flooring. Loric and Cymbril skidded to a halt. They were cut off. More soldiers charged straight toward them.

Cymbril glanced desperately around for somewhere to hide. The only chance was to crouch quietly among the rows of cargo and hope the soldiers came along a different aisle. Too late, she realized that she no longer heard the snuffling on the lower floor.

The nargus lunged over the rail to their right. It plowed through a wall of sacks, its mouth agape. The hideous jaws slammed together just short of her arm, the monster's foul breath on her face as Loric pulled her away. The beast's claws floundered in the loose, sliding bags, finding no traction. Cymbril fell back against Loric, his arms wrapped around her. They stumbled over a sack and pitched to the floor.

So close its vile saliva sprayed them, the nargus waggled its head, its feet scratching for purchase. Again it roared, and Cymbril felt a ringing in her skull.

Men-at-arms raced from between rows of wares. Some hung back in horror. A brave one leaped forward, brandishing his halberd. The monster's teeth smashed shut on the weapon's handle, snapping it. The creature flailed sideways, slamming into the armored man. He flew through the air and struck a mound of boxes.

The nargus regained its footing, its slavering jaws searching for a target. A second man attacked and did no better than the first. The blow of his ax went wide. Gyring its head, the beast flipped the soldier high over the rail.

The man's dagger clattered free of its sheath, landing just beside Loric, who snatched it up.

"No!" cried Cymbril, thinking he meant to lunge at the nargus.

But Loric plunged the blade into a sack, ripping a long slash in the cloth. Dark, dry beans showered out, rattling and bouncing.

The nargus rushed at him. Loric hurled a double handful of beans straight into the wet caverns of its nostrils. The beast writhed, clawing at its nose, bringing down more barrels. As the men tried to surround it, Cymbril and Loric slinked away, huddling low.

"This way!" Loric turned left around a stack of crates, heading for the wall. He'd left the dagger behind.
Just as well,
Cymbril thought—against the nargus, the dagger would be useless. "Are you all right?" Loric asked, and she nodded. Unlatching an ironbound door, he led her down an enclosed stairway in the dark. Cymbril felt cobwebs sticking to her face and hair, and the air smelled musty and dead. She pulled out the Star Shard and kept close at Loric's heels, trying to keep from falling headlong.

She remembered the wide, low-ceilinged space at the foot of the stairs. It was a storage cellar beneath Barrel Corner, perhaps more often used in years past, but now cluttered with things rarely needed—sawhorses, scaffolds, empty barrels, ladders, old-fashioned lanterns ... Cymbril had explored it a few years previously and had found nothing of particular interest.

The beam-supported ceiling shuddered with thumps and roars, with clashes and muffled shouts. On the wooden street just overhead, Rombol's men-at-arms were fighting the nargus.

"That won't go well," said Loric, gazing upward.

Cymbril sat on a rusted stove, catching her breath. "At least we're safe for now. I don't think the nargus can get down here."

"Yes, it can." Loric scooted a broken chair aside, clearing a space on the floor. "Narguses can collapse their skeletons and squeeze into places you wouldn't believe."

Cymbril stared at him. "Then we have to keep moving. We have to get to the aft hold." Now she understood how the monster had stayed hidden. Except for the doors of countinghouses and living quarters, there were no barriers on the Rake. The nargus used the crawlspaces above dropped ceilings, beneath raised floors—untraveled half-levels just like this one. Bale could smell the creature but not easily reach it. And to Rombol's men, it would seem the hound was barking at nothing. Fear squeezed Cymbril's chest, making it hard to breathe. The beast was hunting her and Loric now, just as the cats hunted mice.