Paul Crilley: Night of Long Shadows

Cutter braced his feet and screamed, pushing forward with all of his strength. The knife went deeper and higher, as far as it could go. Cutter prayed it was long enough to reach the heart.

The hobgoblin’s grip tightened painfully. Then it coughed and a bubble of blood burst from its mouth, spraying Cutter’s face. The hobgoblin paused, looking at the blood in confusion. Then the creature sagged to the floor. Cutter pulled out his knife and turned-

Just in time to see a club arcing through the air toward him. He hunched down and spun away, taking the brunt of the blow on his shoulder. The force punched him to the floor. Cutter flopped onto his back and saw the club coming down for another strike. He rolled and pushed himself to his feet, darting behind the desk. He angled the light to shine in the hobgoblin’s eyes. The creature raised a hand to shield the glare. Cutter took the opportunity. He leaped over the desk and ran past his assailant. He lashed out with his knife as he went, felt it connect with flesh. But he didn’t stop. He bounded down the stairs and out the front door, then ran until he reached a street with passing people. Only then did he slow down enough to regain his breath.

He looked around at the people going about their business. A skycoach drifted past with a well-dressed woman seated inside. She stared at Cutter as she went, turning in her seat to watch him until the coach turned a corner.

Cutter shook his head ruefully. That could have gone better.

The Tufted Feather was one of the more upscale brothels in Menthis, despite its location in the lower district of Downstairs. It competed favorably with the more infamous Savia’s, the well-known “companion house” in the Firelight District, that was run by Savia Potellas. A low-key rivalry simmered between the two brothels, in no small way the result of a deep-seated jealousy the Madame of the Feather, an aging halfling called Mela, harbored for Savia and her position as the Lower Menthis representative on the Sharn city council.

Tiel and the Boromar clan owned the Tufted Feather. Cutter had a room there, and it was his job to make sure none of the clients got out of hand. He didn’t have to step in often. Mela was a formidable presence, despite her size. She referred to herself as the lath of the Feather, a halfling term Cutter understood to mean leader. She looked after her girls, and they in turn accorded her the respect she demanded.

Even Cutter was wary of angering her.

The main floor of the Feather was a vast open space filled with couches and tables. Dim lanterns lent a relaxed mood. A bar took up the back wall of the room, and to the right, a wooden staircase led to the upper floors.

Cutter cast a quick glance around the common room, but everything was calm. A slow night, by the looks of it. Only four customers waited, sitting at tables while they impatiently sipped their drinks. Cutter approached the bar. Dyce was doing Cutter’s duty tonight, seeing as he’d been otherwise occupied with Tiel. The dwarf nodded at him. The floor behind the bar was elevated so Dyce could move around without having to look up at anyone.

“All quiet?” asked Cutter.

Dyce nodded.

Cutter glanced around. “Is Rowen here?”

“Nah. She left about two hours ago. Said she was heading to the university.”

“Thanks, Dyce.” Cutter knocked sharply on the bar and climbed the stairs. So she’d gone after all. He’d asked her not to, but they were already fighting, so he didn’t think she’d listen. Still, he’d hoped.

He reached the top floor and headed for his room. It didn’t have much-a bed, a chair, some books, a trunk for his clothes. He lay down on the bed. It was still messed up from his slumber with Rowen. He could smell her perfume on the pillows, the faint scent of jasmine on a summer day. He sighed and put his arms behind his head. Why did they always seem to fight lately? And always about the same thing …

She’d come to him after her last appointment with the Professor. That was what she called him, like it was a mark of respect or something. So Cutter was already on the defensive, not really willing to listen to what she had to say, to give her a fair hearing.

“He stuck me in this hidden room, like a closet in his wall,” she’d said, sitting at her rolltop desk while she wiped the rouge from her face. “I think he thought the door was shut, because he talked as if I wasn’t there.”

Or he just didn’t consider you a threat , thought Cutter, then felt bad about it. He was letting his temper get the better of him again. It wasn’t the first time Cutter had let it get in the way, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“So what happened?” he asked, sitting on the edge of her bed and trying to ignore the smell of expensive wine on her breath.

“A man came in-I think the Professor called him Salkith.”

Cutter sat upright. “Salkith? Are you sure?”

Rowen looked at him in the mirror. “Very sure. Why?”

“I know him. He works for the Boromars. He’s a dreamlily courier.”

“I knew it!” Rowen spun around in her chair. “The way they were speaking, I knew it was something valuable.”

“Wait. Back up here. You knew what was valuable?”

“They were talking about handing over some package. Just the way they talked about it, I could tell it was worth a lot. Cutter, this is perfect!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The delivery is next week. I made my next appointment for the same night, said I was busy the rest of the week. Don’t you see? I steal the dreamlily and we sell it. We’ll make enough money to get out of this place!”

Cutter surged to his feet. “Rowen, get that out of your head. Right now. Do you realize what you’re saying? You cross the Boromars, they’ll hunt you down. We’ll spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders.”

“We’ll run. We’ll hide.”

“There’s nowhere we can go that they wouldn’t find us. They won’t give up until we’re dead. They’ll have no choice. If word got out, other people would get ideas. They won’t let that happen. It’s too risky, Rowen. No, we stick to the plan.”

“And what plan is that? You keep working for Tiel beating people up and I keep selling my body? How long do you think we’ll last like this, Cutter? You can barely handle it now!”

Cutter couldn’t look at her. He stared at the floorboards. “I can handle it.”

“No. You can’t. Send ten bugbears into a locked room with you and yes, I’ll believe you can handle it. But not this. This is eating you away.”

Cutter looked up, straight into her green eyes. “Then give it up.”

She turned away. “I’m not getting into this again.” She picked up the brush her mother had left her, the one with the pearl handle, and started brushing out her long, copper hair.

“Rowen.”

She didn’t turn.

“Rowen, promise me you’ll forget about this. I’ll find another way. I promise. One that isn’t so dangerous. Agreed?”

She shrugged.

And Cutter had thought that was the last of it.

Cutter’s eyes flicked open. He stared at the ceiling, wondering what time it was. It felt late. He pushed himself up, wincing at the ache in his shoulder blade. The hobgoblin had gotten in a good hit.

He headed to the landing and took the stairs down to the next floor, knocking on Rowen’s door. No answer. He searched his pockets until he found his key and turned it in the lock.

He stepped inside. The small yellow everbright lamp on her rolltop was lit. She always left it burning when she was out on a job. Said she liked the familiar glow when she came home.

There was no sign of her. Cutter frowned. Maybe he’d got the time wrong. She was usually back from her appointment with the professor well before midnight. He hurried down to the ground floor. Dyce was packing away his clean glasses for the night. Cutter looked around. No one was in the common room.