Obsidian Ridge - Jess Lebow [44]
Three armed men stood in the hall. One shut the door while the other two searched Whitman, patting him down for weapons.
"Believe me," he said, as they checked under his cloak, "there is nothing to find. Even if I had a weapon, you'd still all be safe."
The men finished their search and left him be. "He's got nothing."
Whitman adjusted himself, annoyed by the intrusion. "I wouldn't know how to use it anyway."
"Go inside," said the guard who had opened the door. "I'll let the Matron know you are here."
Whitman did as he was told, heading down the corridor and descending a long set of steps. He had never been inside this building before, but he had heard the stories. The meetings of the underworld council took place here. For a criminal, this was a sort of a holy shrine. Every infamous figure in the Erlkazar underworld was said to have walked down these steps. Several had even died here-killed as a punishment for wronging another member of the council, or perhaps for simply disappointing the Matron.
At the base of the stairs, four guards waited. As Whitman approached, they took hold of one huge steel door, and together they pulled it open. The heavy hinges groaned as they rotated and let the metal door swing wide.
Whitman nodded to the men as he stepped through the doorway. A huge, wooden table dominated the inside of the room. Mage-lit stones sat in sconces on either end and in the middle, filling the chamber with cold, bluish-white light. The door closed behind him with a tremendous clang, and Whitman stepped down from the entrance to the middle of the room.
Besides the table, the chairs, and the sconces, there was nothing else in the room, except four huge metal doors-three that led out to the corridor where Whitman had just come from, and another on the opposite side of the room. That door swung open, smooth and silent, and out stepped a woman, a tight purple robe adorning her body, a veil over her face.
She stepped down into the room, the only noise of her passage the light brushing of her hem against the stone floor.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, taking a seat at the far end.
"We have to talk," replied Whitman.
"You compromise yourself by coming."
"I'm aware of the consequences," replied Whitman. "But the situation is growing dire. We're running out of time."
The Matron tapped her fingers against the wood table. "This is why you came to me?"
"Matron, we are gambling with the lives of everyone in Erlkazar. We must turn over Princess Mariko, and we must do it now."
The Matron stood. "I am aware of the situation, Whitman. But I disagree with your assessment."
"Then you are blinded by your greed. We are risking too much. The stakes have gotten too high."
"You're overreacting."
"You saw what happened to the soldiers the king sent out to negotiate with the Obsidian Ridge."
"I know what happened."
"Are you prepared to let that happen to all of us? Never mind the Elixir business. Are you willing to lose every one of your followers? Every one of your associates? Every customer in the kingdom?"
"There are risks with every venture," replied the Matron. "But there are rewards too."
"What reward? What is all of this worth to us?"
The Matron took a deep breath. "Freedom," she replied. "The freedom to run our trade the way we want to, without the meddling of the monarchy." She thought for a moment. "And for control. The right to control our own destinies and marketplace without interference."
"You risk all of this for a little bit of freedom? For the ability to run our business without the fear of reprisal?"
"Don't be so shortsighted." The Matron slammed her fist against the table. "Some of the largest conflicts in the history of this world have been over freedom. What we're talking about here-it's not just about a little more breathing room, or even about greed. It's about the future. It's about establishing a foothold here in Erlkazar, where we cannot only run our businesses, but also decide what rules we live by. Us. Ourselves. Not some silver-spoon-fed monarch