Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [216]
Two trios had their backs to the Vulgar Unicorn when Cauvin’s dropped down to the street. One trio, with two torches among them, was headed toward the harbor. The other, without torches, set a fast pace toward the palace. Cauvin followed the second trio. One man split off at Slippery Street; the second at a Shadow Street alley. The third kept Cauvin’s hopes alive until the dark expanse of the Promise was in sight, then he took the Split harborward.
Cauvin almost followed the third man. The Split passed close to Copper Corner, and he could almost convince himself that the Hand had a bolt-hole in that quarter, but almost wasn’t enough. He crossed the Promise instead and entered the Temple of Ils. The Hand had covered its tracks, literally. A scaffold of wood and ragged cloth had been dragged over the pit and against the broken column, concealing the metal rings. It was flimsy. Cauvin pushed it aside one-handed, but it was enough to fool quick observation.
He considered leaving the pit exposed and could almost hear the Torch and Soldt both telling him not to start something he couldn’t finish. He considered climbing down the ladder again. The voices in his conscience grew louder. Maybe Soldt had taken the Torch’s ring to Arizak after all. Cauvin wouldn’t hesitate to follow ten or twenty men like Gorge into the tunnel. And maybe, Grabar had gotten the gods’ own luck on the Hill.
Cauvin made his way from the crumbling temple to Pyrtanis Street. He scaled the stoneyard wall, whispering the yard dog’s name as he climbed. It was waiting, a wag in its tail, when Cauvin swung his legs over the top and let him into the yard without raising a ruckus. The house was shuttered up and quiet. Cauvin knocked lightly, got no response, and retreated to the loft, hoping the Torch was dead.
Never mind that the froggin’ pud had nothing to do with what Leorin was—what she’d been all along. Or, that Cauvin realized he was better off betrayed than otherwise. The Torch had destroyed his dreams, and he wished him dead. His wishes were worthless. Three floating embers, two small and close together, the third, large and getting brighter greeted him at the top of the ladder.
He started to ask, Aren’t you dead yet, pud? but got no farther than the first word before a wind struck his chest. Cauvin staggered backward, striking his head on a roof beam, before sitting hard on the floor.
“It’s me, pud—Cauvin. Frog all, I live here.”
“Where have you been?” the Torch demanded, a hoarse voice in dark.
“I’ve tracked the Hand to their lair—almost. You’re not going to froggin’—”
“Where’s my ring?”
The third ember in the loft—the amber knob atop the Torch’s staff—brightened and the third finger of Cauvin’s right hand became uncomfortably warm.
“What did you do with my ring? I gave you my ring! I gave you instructions—simple instructions: Go to the palace, talk to Arizak. Was that too complicated?”
Cauvin put his right hand behind his back. The burning lessened, but didn’t end. “Listen to me, pud—I know where the Hand is!”
“I didn’t send you on a wild-goose chase, I sent you to the palace! I asked you to do what you were told. Did you? No. No, you got cold feet and took off!”
“froggin’ shite, pud—Soldt and I went to the palace and saw all the wrong men once we got there. The wrong men, no matter what Soldt told you. I recognized a man from when I used to live there, in the froggin’ pits. Soldt didn’t recognize him, not for what he was. Shite for sure, you wouldn’t have recognized him, but I did. The Hand’s in the palace, pud. That’s how they got you.”
The third ember faded. Cauvin’s finger cooled.
“I haven’t seen Soldt since he left with you.”
“Then how did you know I didn’t go talk to your froggin’ Irrune friend?”
“Because I’m alive, Cauvin. I’m still alive. If you’d done what you were told, you wouldn’t have come skulking back here, and I’d be dead by now, damn it. Strike a light.