The Shadow at the Gate Read Free

continued the Silentman, ignoring his steward. “When the Guild’s hired to do a job, it’s my word given as surety that the customer will be satisfied. Our reputation rests on this. When that reputation is tarnished, our profits fall. This, I cannot have.”
    “I’ve always given the Guild my complete loyalty, my lord,” said Ronan. “What prompts your speech? I confess myself confused.”
    “The Guild was hired recently to recover a box from the house of Nio Secganon, a member of that group of scholars mucking about the university ruins. They’ve been searching for ancient manuscripts and whatnot. Trinkets from the past. Botrell is a fool. He should never have allowed them permission. It’s always best to let the past sleep. Anyway, the box had previously belonged to our client and then, unfortunately, found its way into the hands of this Nio fellow.”
    “The box carved with the hawk,” said Ronan. “I remember it. I delivered it to your hands in full sight of the steward here, just a few days ago.”
    “Were all the details of the job observed?”
    “Of course.”
    Memories from that night raced through Ronan’s mind. The moonless sky. Listening at the chimney and hearing the stealthy descent of the boy down through the darkness. Waiting crouched on the roof and gazing out over the sleeping skyline of Hearne. Tension in the rope, signifying the boy’s return. The tiny, poisoned knife hidden and waiting inside his cloak. And the guilt. Numb as ever, but guilt nonetheless.
    “But they weren’t,” said the Silentman. “The box was opened.”
    “What do you mean, my lord?” asked Ronan.
    “The box was opened,” repeated the Silentman. His voice, diminished to a rough whisper by whatever magic masked him, was vicious. “It was the simplest of instructions. What am I to do if my most trusted thief, my ablest killer, doesn’t obey me?”
    “I didn’t open the thing,” said Ronan, hating the shadowed figure in front of him. “Did I become the Knife to act like a child, to hear words and then forget them?”
    “But the boy’s dead, isn’t he?”
    “Beyond a doubt,” said Ronan. “He took enough lianol to kill all four of us. He would’ve been dead thirty seconds after I jabbed him. I’d stake my life on it.”
    “I might have to take you up on that.”
    The words fell into the silence of the room and lay there, heavy and immobile. Torchlight gleamed on Dreccan Gor’s face. His fat jowls glistened with sweat. A dispassionate part of Ronan’s mind observed this with interest. He’s afraid. This fat old man I thought as sturdy and as unmovable as the hill of Highneck Rise. The unshakable Gor fears something. Something that isn’t being said, behind these words and whatever is in the devious mind of our Silentman. Something stands in the shadows behind them.
    I’m afraid too.
    “My lord?” said Ronan.
    His senses tingled raw, poised for sudden movement. He felt the weight of the knife slung around his neck. One second. That’s all it would take to draw and fling the knife. He could already see it buried in the Silentman’s throat. He never missed. But he didn’t know what kind of magic was guarding the man. His fingers twitched once and then were still.
    “The box was opened before it reached this court. Of that I’m in no doubt.”
    “How do you know this is true, my lord?” said Ronan.
    The Silentman waved one hand in irritation. “It was opened. It contained an item of great power and now it’s gone. It was gone before you brought the box here.”
    “But you have only the word of your client on this. Perhaps he’s merely—”
    “Silence!”
    The Silentman rose from his stone chair in fury. Shadow thickened around him, and the torches throughout the hall dimmed as if choked of air.
    “You dare question me?” he said. “The box was opened.”
    “Not by me,” said Ronan.
    “Someone opened the accursed thing!”
    Ronan’s thoughts rapidly filled in the answers, the