Paul Crilley - Night of Long Shadows

Wren smiled. It was too easy. Really. He looked up at the building across the street. Whereas Savia’s was tasteful and discreet, the Tufted Feather declared itself and its intentions with all the enthusiasm of a forty-year-old stripper being ogled by men half her age. Red everbright lanterns adorned the wall above the door in a rather tasteless shape. And in case one was still in doubt as to the kind of business carried out there, a young, half-naked elf was dancing in the window.

“She looks bored,” Wren commented.

“Wouldn’t you be? Being paid to perform for drunken men?

“Torin, I never knew you felt so strongly. Is it personal? Has one of your family been forced to turn their hand to-how shall I put it? Earning their money from home?”

“Don’t be absurd. I simply feel it’s degrading and humiliating.”

“And what would you have them do?” said Wren. “Beg on the street corners? Die of starvation?”

“Well, no, but-”

Wren pointed upward. “Want to bet that broken window up there belongs to our man?”

Torin looked up at the window. “Why do you say that?”

Wren shrugged. “Just a feeling. People tend not to leave their windows broken for long. Come.”

Wren jogged across the street and entered the building. A dwarf stood behind the bar but had his back to them as he poured drinks. Wren moved straight through the common room and up the stairs beyond, Torin trailing close behind.

Wren heard the sounds of fighting as soon as he reached the first landing. They came from one of the floors above. He grabbed a densewood wand from his belt and sprinted the rest of the way to the top floor, but the sounds stopped by the time he arrived.

A woman stood in the corridor, her ear pressed to a door. As soon as she saw Wren, she quickly bent down and picked up something from the floor.

Wren approached cautiously. “What’s going on?” he asked the girl.

“I … I don’t know. I came to see Cutter, but there was a crash-I think the window broke-and he slammed the door in my face. It sounds like fighting.”

“Doesn’t it just?” Wren turned to Torin. “You owe me for the window.”

“We didn’t bet!”

“Come, come, Torin. Nobody likes a stingy dwarf. It panders to stereotypes.”

Wren held his wand before him and pushed open the door. Silence greeted him. A muggy draft blew through the broken window. Wren stepped inside and glanced around. He replaced his wand. Cutter was gone.

“You can come in now, Torin. The danger has passed.”

Wren heard the dwarf swearing under his breath and smiled again. He checked the drawers and the cupboard, but found nothing of interest. The man obviously lived light. There were signs of a scuffle, but no damage besides a hole in the wall. Who was he fighting? And where did they go?

Wren leaned out the broken window, careful not to cut himself on the shards of glass. He turned and looked upward. The roof was close. Cutter could have made his escape that way. Well, he certainly wasn’t going to run around on rooftops in the middle of the night. Cutter would be long gone by now, anyway.

Wren ducked back inside. Torin was seated on the bed, and the woman hovered uncertainly in the doorway, eager to be away.

“You can go now, my dear,” said Wren.

“Oh. Fine.” She turned to leave.

“Just one thing before you leave.” The woman paused. “What’s in the envelope?”

“Which envelope?”

“The one you picked up from the floor when we arrived.” The woman shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come, come, my dear. Let’s not play around. Rowen is in danger, and the more you delay the worse it could be for her.”

She looked surprised. “You know Rowen?”

“And Cutter, yes. We’re trying to help them. They’ve angered some very powerful people tonight, and we want to protect them. So why don’t you hand over the envelope, and we’ll see what the young lady has to say for herself.”

The woman still looked doubtful. Wren sighed. Why was it never easy? “What’s your name?”

“Renaia.”

“Renaia. What a beautiful name.” He saw Torin roll his eyes. “Renaia, we know Rowen was involved in something up at the university. Now, whatever it was has put her life in danger. Torin and I–I’m Wren, by the way-we can help her. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for something bad happening to your friend, would you?”

Renaia stared at Wren for a long time, biting her lower lip. Wren thought she wasn’t going to give it to them, that he’d have to take it by force, but she finally reached into her blouse and pulled out the envelope.

Wren took it from her and ripped it open. Inside was a folded piece of cheap paper. Written on it in a shaky hand was a short message. Got dreamlily. Hidden at the family crypt. Will meet later .

Wren handed the letter to Torin. So, the murder had been a drug deal gone bad. Had Rowen killed the professor? No, that didn’t feel right. What, then? Were she and Cutter both in the rooms? Rowen took the drugs, Cutter stayed behind to finish off the professor, deciding to get his revenge on the man who was sleeping with his woman? Possible. But then why the letter? Wouldn’t they have made arrangements beforehand? Maybe things didn’t go according to plan. Maybe-

Too many maybes. He needed to speak to the girl.

“Renaia, you’re not going to like this, but I need you to take me to see Rowen.”

“I can’t! She made me promise.”

“I know, but this is important. I’m sorry to have to say this, but if you don’t lead me to her now, I’ll take you to the Watch.”

“What for? I haven’t done anything!”

“You’re obstructing my investigation. Renaia, we don’t even want Rowen. We’re after the bigger fish. Rowen’s … Rowen’s just someone who got caught in the middle. I promise you, it’s for the best.”

Renaia glared at Wren. “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“I’m afraid not.”

They caught a skycoach to the Gates of Gold district in Lower Dura. The driver dropped them off outside the huge arch, refusing to enter the rundown neighborhood for fear of losing his coach. Wren asked him to wait for them, but the driver just laughed and the skycoach lifted into the air.

Renaia led them through the litter-strewn streets, seemingly at ease in the dilapidated district. Wren kept his wands close at hand, and he saw Torin gripping his sword hilt tightly.

“Is it far?” asked Wren.

“Just a couple of streets,” said Renaia.

“Aren’t you worried about walking around here at night?” asked Torin.

“No. It might look bad, but it’s still a close neighborhood. Slums usually are, you know. We look after our own.”

Renaia turned into a wide concourse where ramshackle, sprawling mansions lined the sides of the road. They were practically falling apart, but Wren could see that they had once been opulent.

At the end of the street was another wide boulevard that ran across their path. Instead of following it, Renaia took them straight across the road to a smaller street that led into darkness.

Wren stopped. He didn’t like this. Too many places for an ambush here, and he was getting that uneasy feeling.

“Torin?”

“What?”

“Just go on ahead and check that our path’s clear.”

Torin snorted. “You’re funny.”

“Fine.”

Wren closed his eyes and concentrated, muttering words under his breath. He heard Renaia let out a gasp, and he opened his eyes. A small, smokelike being stood before him, almost indistinguishable from the shadows surrounding them. Tendrils of darkness drifted from its body like long hair in water.

“Be calm, Renaia. It’s only my homunculus. Off you go, then,” he said to the creature.