Alexey Pehov - Shadow Prowler

The patron of thieves and swindlers clearly had no objections to this. In any case, the priests had not seen any signs, except for a few after the fifth jug of wine, but they were so vague and mysterious that no one had taken them seriously. And so now empty marble pedestals stood in all of Sagot’s shrines.

Right now, though, there was a vagabond in dirty boots sitting cross-legged on the pedestal in front of me and holding out a coarse clay bowl. Strangely enough, the priests didn’t seem to notice the blasphemy of it. Overcome by curiosity, I set off along the row of the other gods toward the beggar in the farthest section of the small green yard. As I walked along I took off my cloak and wrapped my crossbow in it.

“You have a fine seat there,” I said in a friendly manner as I halted in front of the stranger.

He cast a rapid glance at me from under the dark hood concealing his face and shook his cup for alms.

“Are you quite comfortable? Haven’t your legs turned numb?” I asked, pretending not to notice his gesture.

“I’m a lot more comfortable than you are just at the moment, Shadow Harold,” a mocking voice said.

“Do I know you?” I was beginning to feel annoyed that every last rat in Avendoom seemed to know who I was.

“Oh no.” The tramp shrugged and rattled his cup again. “But I’ve heard about you.”

“Nothing but the very best, I hope.” I had already completely lost interest in the beggar, and was about to set off along a barely visible path, overgrown with tall grass, into the depths of the cathedral grounds, when the beggar’s voice stopped me:

“Toss in a coin, Harold, and you’ll get a free piece of advice.”

“That’s strange,” I said, turning back toward the seated man. “If the advice is free, why should I give you a coin?”

“Come on, Harold, I have to eat and sleep somewhere, don’t I?”

The stranger had intrigued me. I rummaged in my pockets, fished out a piece of small change, and laughed as I flung it into the bowl he was holding out toward me. The copper disk clattered forlornly against the bottom. The beggar raised the bowl to his nose to see what I had given him and heaved a sigh.

“Is that just the way you are, or are all thieves that mean?”

“You ought to thank me for spending time here and at least giving you something!” I exclaimed indignantly.

“Thank you. So shall I give you that advice, then?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“Then pay in gold, I don’t work for coppers.”

I felt like taking him by the scruff of the neck and giving him a good shaking. This weasel could live well for an entire month on a gold piece. But I was already snared in the net that the cunning rogue had spread, and I was even willing to pay a gold piece to hear whatever raving nonsense he had to tell me.

“All right, here you are.” I twirled the yellow coin between my fingers. “But first I’d like to see your face.”

“Nothing could be simpler,” said the beggar, and he threw back his hood.

An entirely unremarkable set of features. Coarse, weatherbeaten, no longer young, covered with gray stubble. A pointed nose, bright eyes. I didn’t know him.

“Here’s your payment.” I tossed the weighty little disk into the cup, and the tramp smiled triumphantly. “But bear in mind that if the advice is bad, I’ll shake the money back out of you! Well?”

“This is the advice,” said the beggar, pulling his hood back up again. “Don’t stand on Selena. Walk on your own feet, your own feet, Harold, and then you might live to a ripe old age.”

“Selena? What’s Selena? And why shouldn’t I stand on it?” I asked. “What kind of riddles are these?”

But the beggar had shut up as tight as a clam.

“Listen, I’m not joking. Either give me my money back, or tell me where you know me from and what this stupid riddle means.”

“Eh-e-eb-b-m-a-a-a,” the beggar moaned, making himself out to be a deaf-mute idiot.

But it didn’t escape my attention that, as if by magic, the coin had disappeared from the tramp’s hands into some secret place under his clothes.

“Stop playing the fool! Give me my money back!” I cried in fury, and took a step toward the swindler.

“Would you be mocking a holy fool?” a coarse, rasping voice asked behind my back.

“May darkness reduce me to dust if he’s a holy fool! He’s a real swindler!” I just couldn’t believe that I had been duped.

“Move on, my dear fellow, move on. People come here to commune with the gods, and you’re creating a commotion,” said the sergeant of the guard, standing slightly ahead of his morose subordinates. He gave me a menacing smile. “Otherwise we shall have to escort you out of this holy place.”

“Moooooo,” the “deaf-mute” lowed in support of the guard, and began nodding his head wildly.

There was nothing left to do but shrug and withdraw, seething with righteous fury and indignation. I was surrounded on all sides by thieves and swindlers.

I had been duped with deft skill, like some oafish peasant, caught out by one of the standard tricks practiced by swindlers ever since the dawn of time. Well, Sagot be with him! It won’t bankrupt me.

The track wound between green gardens and flower beds. A couple of times I ran into priests going about their business, but they took no notice of me, as if visitors were always walking about in the inner territory of the cathedral.

The path wound to the left and rounded a bed of pale blue flowers reaching all their petals up toward the warm sunshine, then approached a massive building made of huge blocks of gray stone. And there was the dark archway that led to the dwelling of my only friend in this world.

The shadows, afraid of the sunlight, had squeezed themselves tight up against the ancient gray walls, and after the heat of the summer day the coolness that pervaded the narrow tunnel seemed like a blessing from the gods.

My footsteps echoed off the low vaults. I had almost walked right through when my guts suddenly twitched in agony as a familiar grip took hold of me by the sides of my chest and lifted me up off the ground.

The hands were followed out of the wall by shoulders and a head. The rest of the body remained out of view.

“Vukhdjaaz is clever,” said the demon.

“Hi there,” I said with a joyful smile, greeting him like my own dear mom, and not a demon of the Darkness.

“Vukhdjaaz is clever.” The vile beast decided to put me back down on the ground anyway, and then surveyed me suspiciously. “You have the Horse?”

“I was just working on that.”

“Quicker!” the demon hissed, and his bright scarlet eyes glinted menacingly in the semidarkness. “I can’t hold out for long.”

“I need just a little more time.”

“Bring the Horse in three days, or I’ll suck the marrow out of your bones!”

“But how will I find you?”

“Call me by name when you have the Horse, and I will appear.”

Vukhdjaaz shot me another piercing glance and dissolved into the wall.

I leaned back against the rough surface of the stone, catching my breath. Oo-ooph! That sort of thing could give you a heart attack. I never expected the cursed monster to appear again so soon, and during the day, too. Something had to be done about Vukhdjaaz.

I already had a rough idea of where to start looking for the Horse. Whoever it was that set the Doralissians on me had it. No doubt about that. Now I needed to find these persons unknown and filch the Stone before nightfall the day after tomorrow, or I’d have my marrow sucked out…

I walked up a massive stairway with chipped and battered steps, and then along the corridor leading to the quarters of the priests of Sagot. Two priests standing beside a marble tub from which protruded a feeble scruffy bunch of leaves that was supposed to be a palm tree stopped discussing the affairs of the god of thieves and began staring at me. I nodded and formed my fingers into the sign of our guild. They relaxed, lowered their heads to greet me in reply, and went back to their philosophical dispute. I was no longer an outsider to them.