Firebrand
Chapter 87: Dealings in the Dark

Dealings in the Dark

Back at the derelict house, the three mages and their younger companions found the scene as described by Mole. Sparrow, crying and shivering, jumped at Weasel and clung to him as soon as she saw him. It took a while to calm the girl down and get her to relate her story.

"I was going to the harbour to get into the fruit crates when I passed this house with an old man in the door," Sparrow began to say, her breath appearing in hefty gasps. "He promised me apples if I would carry some firewood for him inside. Said he was too old to carry it himself. And he did look all wrinkly, his back bent, so I didn't think him dangerous. But once I went inside, he closed the door and grabbed me. He was too strong." A fresh wave of tears appeared in her face.

"He must have been in disguise," Eleanor mumbled. "This was carefully planned out."

"How did you get away?" Martel asked. At least the girl did not show signs of injury, and he prayed to both Sol and all the Stars that this were the case.

"He tied me up in his basement, I don't know how long, it was dark," Sparrow sniffed. "Finally, he came back and untied me. I bit his hand, so he let go of me, just like Weasel taught us to do with guards, and then I ran all the way here."

"Sparrow, can you replace your way back?" Weasel asked darkly.

"Don't make me go back!" the little girl all but screamed.

"You don't have to," he hurried to say. "Just help us replace where it is." The small chief looked at the three mages. "And then you can do the rest."

"Yeah." Martel looked at the two mageknights. "We can."

~

In yet another alley, the trio of young spellcasters stared at a house across the street. Weasel had pointed it out to them, following a detailed description by Sparrow, and retreated to another alley to watch from a distance; apparently, he preferred not to be seen in the company of three mages about to commit violence.

"Nothing to it, is there?" Maximilian had yet to sober up, judging by his mannerisms, though at least his gait seemed steady, indicating he could fight. "The girl did not mention any others. Just this one pitiful man, who will soon regret his actions."

"There will be a backdoor leading out to an alley on the other side of the house," Eleanor considered. "We do not want him to escape."

"Maybe you go around the back? We'll wait until you're in position and go through the front at the same time," Martel suggested to her.

"Right." Maximilian emptied the last of his wineskin and threw it aside. "Let us do this." He drew his dagger and strode across the street, attracting stares from the few people out at this late hour.

Exchanging exasperated looks, Martel and Eleanor hurried after him. Reaching the door, Maximilian gave it a powerful kick to send it flying off its hinges, and it landed several feet within the room. The noise served as an efficient announcement to any residents of their arrival.

The mageknights entered first, blades drawn. Only darkness met them, so Martel ignited a flame and sent it floating across the space. It illuminated nothing but debris and a few pieces of broken furniture. Clearly, nobody lived here. All three of them relaxed their posture.

"I guess he fled once Sparrow escaped, rather than wait for the mob with torches," Martel considered. The building had no second floor, only the single room at ground level. "There's nobody here."

"Wait. She said he tied her up in the basement," Eleanor pointed out. They exchanged looks and began examining the floor in the sparse light provided by Martel, until they found a rusty hatch.

Maximilian groaned. "If a berserker waits for me down there, I will let him have you," he told Martel.

Eleanor gave the novice a quizzical look, to which he simply shrugged. "If you open it, I'll send the light down. No reason we go down blind," he suggested to the mageknights.

Maximilian grabbed the hatch and pulled it off, casting it aside. "Be my guest."

Martel floated his light down the stairs into the foreboding darkness, even as they themselves were swallowed by the black left behind. The flame revealed nothing. No monsters in the dark or men standing in ambush with knives drawn. Shrugging, Maximilian went down as the first.

Eleanor and Martel followed suit, and moments later, they stood in the cellar of the dilapidated house. It was empty as above, giving the same impression of a dwelling long since abandoned. Their search found nothing but the pieces of a smashed barrel and other trash beyond identification.

"Rather a disappointment," Maximilian declared. "I could have been home and sleeping hours ago, but instead, I wasted my time on this." He kicked one of the pieces of debris.

"A pity. Not only will he escape justice, but we have learned nothing of his identity. He wore a disguise and used this location without any possible links for us to trace." Disappointment in her voice, Eleanor sheathed her dagger. "We do not know the slightest thing about him."

"Wait." Martel's eyes had swept over the refuse, none of it interesting, but something on the floor itself caught his attention. Carved into the stamped dirt, he saw lines that looked clearly intentional rather than made by accident. He kneeled down and brought his light closer to examine it, brushing aside the piece of debris that Maximilian had kicked over. The lines made a circle with complicated patterns inside, and he immediately recognised it, once it all came into sight. The same mark could be seen etched into the skin of the unconscious boy in the infirmary, back at the Lyceum. "We know one thing." Martel looked up at the other two. "He is a maleficar."