Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [275]
The door to the warehouse was of solid oaken construction, half again as tall as a man, with Asherat's crown of stars etched in silver. Joscelin and Kazan both felt at it, drawing daggers to pry at the hinges and the massive lock. It was well and truly bolted, secured from within, the hinges set deep and tight. The Illyrians muttered under their breath. I wrapped my cloak around me and shifted from foot to foot, tense and nervous. Kazan swore and struck the marble blocks of the building with the heel of his palm; one of the Habiru made a stifled sound in his throat.
I couldn't stand it any longer. "Name of Elua! Joscelin, get out of the way," I hissed, wrenching loose the silver falcon brooch that clasped my cloak. He stepped aside obligingly and Kazan raised his eyebrows as I stuck the pin between my teeth, bending the tip into a tiny hook. Crouching, I worked it into the lock, feeling my way for the tumbler that would drop the bar on the far side and silently blessing Hyacinthe for having taught me this dubious skill. 'Twas not a difficult lock, but it was a heavy one and I held my breath as I caught the tumbler, maneuvering it with delicacy lest it bend the slender silver pin.
In the midst of my operation came the sound of pelting footsteps, bare feet slapping softly on the wooden walkway;the oarsmen, returning. I didn't dare look up, but I heard a gasping voice. "A squadron of guardsmen coming on foot! Halfway to the corner!"
Illyrian steel scraped as Kazan's men reached for their hilts, and I heard an anxious, murmured prayer in Habiru. "Phèdre?" Joscelin's voice asked calmly.
I closed my eyes and bore down on the pin, levering the tumbler to the left. The pin bent, bent... and held. With a solid chunking sound, the bar dropped. Clutching my cloak closed with one hand, I set the other to the handle of the warehouse door and tried it.
It gave, opening onto a wedge of dark interior.
"Go, go!"
We piled inside in a mass, barefoot oarsmen with boots in hand, no order of procedure to our company, and someone closed the door behind us, softly and firmly. Inside, it was wholly dark. There were high windows along the outer wall to admit daylight, but nothing penetrated in these small hours before dawn. Whispering, shuffling bodies jostled me. Someone trod on the hem of my cloak, nearly jerking it from my shoulders. I took it off and wrapped it over one arm.
It would have looked humorous, I imagine, if anyone could have seen us in our tight, milling knot. No doubt it did when a door at the rear of the main chamber was thrown open and a sudden blaze of torchlight fell over us.
"What... ?" It was one of the Temple eunuchs, blinking and sleepy-eyed, a torch in one upraised hand and his ceremonial spear held loosely in the other, silver barbed head pointing at the floor. And no more than that did he say, for Sarae, acting on terrified reflex, brought up her crossbow and fired at him.
The barb took him in the throat; he blinked once more, slow and surprised, while his spear fell with a clatter. Still clutching his torch, he sank to his knees and slumped forward, facedown and motionless, the torch now guttering on the floor beside his outstretched hand.
It was Kazan and his men who raced forward instantly,swords drawn and bucklers raised, hurdling the fallen figure to enter the chambers beyond. They were pirates, after all, scourges of the sea, trained to a swarming attack. Sick at heart, I followed, while Joscelin and Ti-Philippe set grimly about retrieving the torch and directing the Yeshuites to search the rest of the building.
There had been four attendants in all set to watch over the warehouse; there were sleeping quarters, a privy chamber and a meager kitchen beyond the door from which the first had emerged. Two more were dead by the time I got there, slain half-naked in their beds, and Tormos had his sword raised for the killing stroke against the fourth.
"No!" I cried. He paused. "Eisheth's mercy, we don't need them dead, Kazan!"