It is only a dead dog.
Tonno grimaced. ‘Hope Darrow’s grateful for this.’
Left here. This is the last turn.
This tunnel was the narrowest yet; both men had to bend their heads, and the river of filth rose until it almost reached their thighs. The floor of the tunnel was very slippery, and only Tonno’s quick hand prevented Halasaa from plunging under.
Look there. Halasaa pointed to a set of steps cut into the wall ahead. They must lead to the Lazar-House.
‘I hope so,’Tonno grunted. ‘I’m a sea-man. I wasn’t meant to creep around underground like a rat.’
Halasaa smiled. We won’t return this way. Darrow can open the locks with chantment, and you and I will shield him from the touch of the lazars. We are not chanters, the sickness cannot harm us. We will all walk out together.
Tonno looked down at himself. He was spattered with muck, and his legs were caked with foul slime. Halasaa was even filthier. ‘I never walked the streets of any town, looking like this. And even after a turn of the moons at sea, I never smelled so bad.’
Steadying themselves against the slick, mossy wall, they scraped off as much dirt as they could then squelched up the steps.The door had been installed for the use of the sewer engineers; it was bolted on the inside, and obviously had not been opened for many years. With a mighty effort, Tonno forced the bolt and peered out into the Lazar-House.
As soon as the door swung open, they realised there was no need to be quiet, nor to worry what they smelled like. The place stank almost as much as the sewers, though the smell was different, a fetid waft of stale bed-linen and urine and musty air.Trouble-makers and sick chanters alike were dragged to the Lazar-House by the Protectors, and once imprisoned the lazars could earn greater comforts by acting as guards. There was no one to care for the ill, to change their sheets or strew sweet herbs.
Halasaa and Tonno had been expecting the hush of the sickroom or the grim silence of the dungeon, but the Lazar-House rang with shouts and groans. Somewhere nearby, a tin cup scraped against stone, while someone screamed ‘ Shut up!’ A tuneless song echoed through the corridors. There was a tramp of boots and a clatter of plates, and a handbell clanged while one of the guards bawled, ‘ Dinner! You miserable worms, wriggle out and get yer dinner!’
Tonno touched the hilt of his knife. ‘Ready?’
Halasaa nodded, and they moved off down the corridor, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The Lazar-House was heavily fortified on the outside; the walls were made of thick stone, and the high windows were all barred. But every internal door gaped open, and the inmates wandered freely about the place. Listless men and women shambled down the corridors and slumped in doorways.
Halasaa spoke into Tonno’s mind. Do not walk so straight, my brother. You must try to look ill.
‘That’s not hard,’ muttered Tonno, queasy from the stench that clung to them.
Anyone who looked closely would have seen that their faces were not pale enough for lazars, especially Halasaa with his coppery skin, but they were filthy and bedraggled enough to blend in with the other inmates, and no one gave the pair more than a casual glance as they shuffled through the Lazar-House. The green and brown uniforms of the Protectors were nowhere to be seen.
‘Where’s Darrow, I wonder?’ muttered Tonno.
Halasaa grinned. Why not ask?
Tonno snorted, then shrugged. ‘Why not?’ And he thrust his head around the nearest doorway.
A group of four men, wrapped in striped blankets, sat on dirty straw, playing clumsily at knucklebones. They glared at Tonno. ‘You want something?’
‘Prisoner called Darrow,’ growled Tonno, just as surly. ‘Know where we could find him?’
A man with thinning hair and a sly face like a weasel looked up with a faint spark of interest. ‘Darrow, the iron-crafter? What’s it worth?’
Tonno grimaced. Nothing in Gellan came without a
Tonno grimaced. ‘Hope Darrow’s grateful for this.’
Left here. This is the last turn.
This tunnel was the narrowest yet; both men had to bend their heads, and the river of filth rose until it almost reached their thighs. The floor of the tunnel was very slippery, and only Tonno’s quick hand prevented Halasaa from plunging under.
Look there. Halasaa pointed to a set of steps cut into the wall ahead. They must lead to the Lazar-House.
‘I hope so,’Tonno grunted. ‘I’m a sea-man. I wasn’t meant to creep around underground like a rat.’
Halasaa smiled. We won’t return this way. Darrow can open the locks with chantment, and you and I will shield him from the touch of the lazars. We are not chanters, the sickness cannot harm us. We will all walk out together.
Tonno looked down at himself. He was spattered with muck, and his legs were caked with foul slime. Halasaa was even filthier. ‘I never walked the streets of any town, looking like this. And even after a turn of the moons at sea, I never smelled so bad.’
Steadying themselves against the slick, mossy wall, they scraped off as much dirt as they could then squelched up the steps.The door had been installed for the use of the sewer engineers; it was bolted on the inside, and obviously had not been opened for many years. With a mighty effort, Tonno forced the bolt and peered out into the Lazar-House.
As soon as the door swung open, they realised there was no need to be quiet, nor to worry what they smelled like. The place stank almost as much as the sewers, though the smell was different, a fetid waft of stale bed-linen and urine and musty air.Trouble-makers and sick chanters alike were dragged to the Lazar-House by the Protectors, and once imprisoned the lazars could earn greater comforts by acting as guards. There was no one to care for the ill, to change their sheets or strew sweet herbs.
Halasaa and Tonno had been expecting the hush of the sickroom or the grim silence of the dungeon, but the Lazar-House rang with shouts and groans. Somewhere nearby, a tin cup scraped against stone, while someone screamed ‘ Shut up!’ A tuneless song echoed through the corridors. There was a tramp of boots and a clatter of plates, and a handbell clanged while one of the guards bawled, ‘ Dinner! You miserable worms, wriggle out and get yer dinner!’
Tonno touched the hilt of his knife. ‘Ready?’
Halasaa nodded, and they moved off down the corridor, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The Lazar-House was heavily fortified on the outside; the walls were made of thick stone, and the high windows were all barred. But every internal door gaped open, and the inmates wandered freely about the place. Listless men and women shambled down the corridors and slumped in doorways.
Halasaa spoke into Tonno’s mind. Do not walk so straight, my brother. You must try to look ill.
‘That’s not hard,’ muttered Tonno, queasy from the stench that clung to them.
Anyone who looked closely would have seen that their faces were not pale enough for lazars, especially Halasaa with his coppery skin, but they were filthy and bedraggled enough to blend in with the other inmates, and no one gave the pair more than a casual glance as they shuffled through the Lazar-House. The green and brown uniforms of the Protectors were nowhere to be seen.
‘Where’s Darrow, I wonder?’ muttered Tonno.
Halasaa grinned. Why not ask?
Tonno snorted, then shrugged. ‘Why not?’ And he thrust his head around the nearest doorway.
A group of four men, wrapped in striped blankets, sat on dirty straw, playing clumsily at knucklebones. They glared at Tonno. ‘You want something?’
‘Prisoner called Darrow,’ growled Tonno, just as surly. ‘Know where we could find him?’
A man with thinning hair and a sly face like a weasel looked up with a faint spark of interest. ‘Darrow, the iron-crafter? What’s it worth?’
Tonno grimaced. Nothing in Gellan came without a
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