Page 37 of The Eyes of Tamburah
It surprised her that he’d waited this long to ask. At least this time she had an answer prepared. “I think it’s connected to an old organization that’s still in existence.”
“One that we’ve never heard of?” Rendor sounded doubtful.
“Yes, and they might be the ones who stole The Eyes.”
“Okay, so you find out that symbol is indeed the crest or whatever for this secret organization. How does that help you find them?”
The desire to punch him coursed through her body. Why couldn’t the captain of the prince’s guard be big and dumb? “I’m hoping the research will reveal their tendencies—how they operate, how they pick a leader, who funded them in the past, where they held their gatherings. Many times this leads to…clues to what they’re doing now.”
His eyebrows rose, crinkling his forehead. His short black hair almost touched his prominent brow.
“It’s how I found the location of the Quarry Men’s treasure trove,” she said.
“You found that? I thought Banqui discovered it.”
“It was a team effort.”
No response.
They reached the city’s entrance. The cleaning crew stood at attention and saluted Rendor as they entered. The temperature dropped a few degrees. Shyla slowed to allow her eyes to adjust to the decreased light. Rendor followed her to her room. The cracked door had been replaced.
“That was fast,” she said in surprise.
“My staff might be creepy, but they’re efficient.”
Was that a joke? Instead of responding, she pushed on the new door. It slid open easily. The key to the lock had been left on the inside. “Please thank them for being efficient.”
A grunt. “I suggest you rest and eat before going to the library. I’ll follow up with the guards regarding the diggers.”
“All right.”
He squinted at her and she kept her expression neutral—nothing to see here. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
She nodded, entered her room and didn’t breathe until she shut the door and locked it. Did he suspect she had no intention of resting? Or going to the library? She hoped not. Because if he suspected she was going on a crazy mission for the monks, he’d either stop her or insist on tagging along. Instead of worrying about Rendor, she restocked her pack with items she need for the deeper levels, exchanged her sun cloak for a warmer wrap, and waited another couple angles in case Rendor remained outside.
Easing the door open, she peered out. No one in sight. Relieved, she secured the door. Once she ensured no one was following her, she stopped by her hidden cubby hole on level four. It was tucked underneath a staircase and not accessible unless you crawled through a tight opening, which she blocked with a piece of velbloud skin painted to match the surrounding stone. In the darkness, it was invisible and no druk light ever reached this area unless it was purposely shone in this direction. But just in case someone grew curious and managed to find her spot, they’d be surprised when they reached into the cubby hole. All those circuits studying ancient ruins taught her not only how to spot a trap, but how to build one as well. A couple of broken fingers would chase most intruders away.
After she neutralized the trap, she sorted through her treasures. It was a pitiful collection. For now. She opened her map of Zirdai and scanned it. Not that she really expected the black river to be marked on it, but she had to make sure. It wasn’t. She tucked the map into her pack and reset the trap.
Her next stop was the dining cavern. She’d missed first meal by five angles. Refilling her water skin, she grabbed more jerky then set out at a brisk pace. When she first arrived in Zirdai, no one would talk to her directly, but they had loud conversations nearby. During one such encounter, Shyla had overheard a group of people speculating on how long it would be until that sun-kissed could no longer afford the living fees. They guessed it wouldn’t be more than a couple dozen sun jumps until she was forced to join the destitute who illegally lived in the far western reaches of level sixteen. At the time, Shyla wondered if, in some warped way, they believed they were helping her. Now, she hoped their information was still good.
Avoiding the guards and populated areas, she navigated through remote tunnels and dark stairwells. Her plan was to use the prince’s coins to buy the location of the black river from the vagrants.
The rank smell was her first clue she neared the settlement. The foul odor matched the one that filled the prison level. No collection stations here. No water or food either. She wondered how they survived. Probably by stealing. So why hadn’t the guards arrested them by now?
Before going any closer, she removed her wrap and stuffed it into her pack. They had to have lanterns further in, but keeping the perimeter of their living space dark was sound strategy. She debated if she should take a druk with her or leave her hands free. Too bad she couldn’t have both. Then an idea sparked. She used her wrap as a belt to secure the druk to her. It hung from her right hip, balancing her pack, which rested on her left. Perfect.
One problem solved, she continued. The strong smell stung her eyes, causing them to water. Bile rose, pushing at the back of her throat. She swallowed. Repeatedly. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, the odor eased and soon dissipated. Perhaps that was another protective measure. Only the truly determined would endure the stench.
The slight scuff of a boot sounded behind her. Then another, but it rasped as if dragged. At least two. Her pulse quickened. She kept walking even though a light shuffling noise emanated from the darkness in front of her. Concentrating, she guessed another three or four people. Coming alone might not have been her best idea. She took a few deep breaths to steady her heart and ease the tightness along her shoulders, preparing to defend herself at any moment.
The distant orange-tinted glow of druk lanterns appeared, illuminating three black shapes, but they seemed content to remain a few steps ahead, backing away as she advanced. Perhaps they planned an ambush once she reached the light. Not a comforting thought.
Eventually the tunnel ended into a wide cavern. The three in front allowed her to enter, but they didn’t go far. The two behind her slipped to the sides. She scanned the five “guards,” assessing them, picking out the strongest and weakest links. All young men, lanky and malnourished. No weapons visible. Their gazes scanned her as well. If they knew how to fight, she’d be in trouble. But they showed no signs of aggression. Yet.
Druks glowing orange hung from the walls of the cavern, ringing an encampment of sorts—small groups of grubby people sitting on cushions or standing in clumps, including children. How could their parents be so irresponsible? Surely they could find a way to pay taxes for their children so they had food and clean water. At least the kids seemed happy. They played, running along the cleared aisles or sitting together. The musty funk of unwashed bodies permeated the air.
It didn’t take long for conversation to cease. Even the kids paused to stare at the stranger.
