Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [21]
“For ten thousand in gold, you bet I will.”
Ten thousand gold pieces? Arvin whistled under his breath. That was some bounty. As he slowly sank into the clay in which he sat, he wondered again who they’d mistaken him for. He didn’t dare stand up; the sucking noise of his legs pulling out of the clay would betray his location. And he was starting to wonder if he would ever be able to climb out of the pot. Its walls were concave and thickly coated with clay. It had partially dried to a crumbly consistency, but underneath this skin was a damp, slippery layer. And the pot was enormous; even standing, Arvin wouldn’t be able to reach its rim. A jump would allow him to catch hold of it-assuming his feet and legs didn’t become so deeply mired in clay that jumping became impossible.
His dagger had landed point-down in the clay beside him. Slowly, wary of squelching the clay, he drew it out. Armed again, he felt better, but only slightly. With his ungloved hand, he reached up to touch his bead-and found it rough to the touch.
Superstitious dread washed through him as he realized what must have happened. When he’d struck the edge of the pot, the bead had cracked. Holding it at the end of its thong, he stared down at it. He couldn’t see much in this dim light, but the front of the cat’s eye appeared to have a deep, jagged line running across it. The damage could be temporarily mended-all Arvin had to do was fill the crack with some of the clay he was sitting in-but the timing of it frightened him. His mother had said the bead was a good luck charm-that as long as Arvin kept it close, it would provide him with the nine lives of a cat.
Had he just used up his last one?
He could hear the murmur of voices-both men’s and women’s. They had to be those of the potters, emerging into the courtyard to find out what was happening. One voice rose above the rest-Tanju, calling up to the sergeant, asking him exactly where he’d last seen the man they’d been pursuing.
“He jumped down from here,” came the answer from above. “And I can guess where he’s hiding. You there-fetch a ladder so we can look inside the pot.”
Arvin gritted his teeth. In another moment the lid would open and the militia would lean over the edge to feather him with crossbow bolts. Readying his dagger for throwing, Arvin vowed to take at least one of them with him. He waited, heart racing, almost forgetting to breathe.
He heard running footsteps-and a breathless voice, announcing that a ladder could not be found. Arvin opened his mouth to whisper a prayer to Tymora for favoring him-then halted as he noticed the light filtering down into the pot through the crack where the lid was askew. The light had a distinctive purple glow.
“Is he inside?” the sergeant asked from close above.
The purple glow came nearer; as it did Arvin heard a low humming noise. It must have been Tanju, humming to himself as he worked his magic. Above it, Arvin heard the clink of mail; the militiamen must be standing just outside the pot, waiting for Tanju’s pronouncement.
The humming stopped. “No,” Tanju called back. “All I see is darkness. The pot is empty. He must have escaped from the courtyard.”
The purple glow dimmed.
Arvin felt his eyes widen as the sergeant shouted down at his men, ordering them to search the factory. Despite his magic, Tanju hadn’t been able to find Arvin, this time. Something had saved him-but what?
Arvin stared at the clay caked onto the walls of the pot and the inside of its wooden lid. The clay had a peculiar undertone to its smell, one that he was at last able to place. It was heavy and metallic-lead.
Suddenly, Arvin understood. He’d heard that lead would block certain magics; the spells Tanju was casting must have been among these.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Arvin touched the bead at his throat. His mother’s blessing still held; he hadn’t used up his last life, after all… yet.
Whispering the two words that had become his personal prayer, Arvin started to rise to his feet but then thought better of it. Though the militiamen