Alexey Pehov - Shadow Prowler

“Quick!” I barked. “Speed up! Dawn’s almost here.”

There was despair written all over the thief’s simple face. With all his might, he forced himself to go faster.

“Now,” I said, honey dripping from my words. “All you have to do is tell me who your client is, and what you know about the Master. Then, my friend, I’ll quick pull you right over the wall.”

Shnyg stopped and wailed, “I can’t do that, Harold. He’ll kill me sure! Please! Help me over and we’ll make a deal!”

But then the pink dawn flooded the horizon, dispelling the darkness. I jumped back swiftly, sliding down off the wall onto the ground, and out of the corner of my eye I saw blinding-bright rays of crimson light come bursting out of the unfortunate thief in all directions. There was a muffled howl, and then silence. Oh well, I probably couldn’t have trusted anything he said, anyway.

I picked the heavy books up off the ground, hugged them against myself, and set off through the awakening neighborhoods of the Artisans’ City.

In this part of the city they got up very early. These hard workers left sleep behind when other people were still dozing. If you want to make money, get up early. Funny, the rich sleep late and they earn more than these poor slobs will ever see.

The baker had lit his stove long ago, and there was a pleasant smell of fresh bread and dough coming from his house. The milkman was hurrying on his rounds, pushing along a huge cart loaded with metal canisters. A tinsmith was on his way to the Port City. An old house painter yawned widely as he wandered along, still not fully awake.

“Go on, get out of it!” said a frail old woman, waving an equally old and tattered broom at a drunk lying on the ground. They don’t like idlers in the Artisans’ City.

I think that after the announcement that the demons of night had been driven out of Avendoom forever, the number of drunks who didn’t get home, but fell asleep on the way, increased sharply. The city went on living its life without paying any attention to what was hidden behind the white wall of the Forbidden Territory. In two hundred years people can get used to even more terrifying neighbors than that.

“Well, there’s evil there right beside us, but it stays on the other side of the wall, it doesn’t come out here and bother us. So that’s all right. Our grandfathers lived here, our fathers lived here, now we live here. And our grandchildren and great-grandchildren will be all right, too!”

That’s the way almost every one of them thinks.

Sometimes when I hear these simpletons it makes me feel really angry. It’s just like sitting on a powder keg with a lighted fuse out in the open air and hoping for a shower of rain. I understand that there’s nothing that can be done with this ulcer on the body of the city, the mysterious Stain. But you can’t just close your eyes and hope that the gods will save you! Because…

Damn it! I was tired.

The Artisans’ City was behind me, there weren’t many people out on the streets, and I had no problems as I walked through a part of the city that was still half empty at this early hour of the morning. A few of the locals gave my tattered and dirty clothes a dubious sideways glance, but on this particular occasion, I really couldn’t care less about them. My less than joyful expression frightened off the most curious of them and I plodded on quite calmly all the way to Cathedral Square.

Here I was met by the familiar senior priests. It looked as if these old ruins had not even left their posts since the last time I’d seen them. Both of them regarded me with expressions of something less than delight. However, they hadn’t been put there to think but to carry out a very important and responsible assignment-to repeat the same phrase over and over again, like parrots from faraway places.

“Do you struggle with the Darkness within you?”

Oh, that’s exactly what I was just talking about!

“I exterminate the Darkness,” I replied wearily, keen to get the irrepressible cathedral staff’s idiotic and pompous nonsense over with as soon as possible.

“Then enter and address Them,” the second priest told me, in a voice that sounded rather feeble and uncertain.

Probably my appearance wasn’t conducive to long theological discussions.

“I’ll address them straightaway,” I muttered, heading toward the living quarters of the priests of Sagot. And thinking in particular of someone who took gold pieces for idiotic pieces of advice.

The knight-and-ogre fountain was still gurgling merrily, throwing up jets of sparkling water. There were priests bustling around the statues of the gods. The morning cleanup, before the worshipers arrived. One of them was carefully wiping Sagra’s face with a rag, another was laying a bouquet of flowers at the feet of the attractive Silna. They took no notice of me.

I stopped in front of the archway that brought back rather unpleasant memories. After a moment’s hesitation, I took a step forward.

Nothing happened.

No over-clever creature of darkness tried to grab hold of me. And no one threatened to suck the marrow out of my bones.

Strange.

Maybe something had happened? I strolled backward and forward, waiting for someone to do me the favor of grabbing me. Nothing. Right, the Darkness take that Vukhdjaaz! I gave up and took myself off to For’s chambers.

On the way I came across several priests who were extinguishing the torches that had burned all night. The servants of Sagot took no notice of me; they had apparently been informed of my impending visit. I walked up to the familiar door, pushed it open, and barged into my teacher’s dwelling. He had clearly not gone to bed, but sat up at the table all the time I was away. The table, by the way, was empty, with not a single crumb of food, which was another strange thing. For must have been worried about his wayward pupil after all.

“So there you are,” he said with a start when he caught sight of me, but gave no sign of being glad. “Did it go well?”

I dumped the bag containing the papers and books on the table in front of him.

“Oho!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect that. Will you tell me what it was like?”

“Later,” I mumbled. “A bit later. Wake me up when it gets dark.”

And with those words I pulled off my dirty clothes, flopped onto the bed, and sank into the welcome embrace of sleep.

I was woken by the rustling of pages being turned, but I didn’t open my eyes in a hurry, deciding to carry on lying there for a while instead.

“That’s enough idling about, it’s evening already,” For said peevishly when he spotted that I wasn’t asleep.

“Is it already dark?” I asked with a yawn.

“It soon will be. Have you got things to do?”

“Unfortunately,” I muttered, sitting up on the bed. For had occupied his favorite armchair and was studying one of the old tomes that I had brought back from the Tower of the Order. The other book and the bundle of manuscripts were lying beside him on a small table.

“I took the liberty of throwing away your clothes. Only beggars could wear them now, and even they would probably be too ashamed. There are some new ones on the chair. What do you think, will dark colors suit you?”

I usually leave rhetorical questions unanswered. In any case, For knows perfectly well that it’s handier to work in dark clothes at night and-let’s be frank about it-far less dangerous. Only a madman would dress up in white to enter the houses of rich men who would probably spot him from a hundred yards away and arrange a warm welcome, followed by a hard poke with something very sharp.

The clothes were a good fit, except that the shirt was a bit tight in the shoulders, but that was only a minor problem. My gaze fell on a table beside the window set with food and my stomach gurgled in craving.