‘No trouble. No krrf, either.’ He heaved aside the bolt on the massive door to
the tunnel. ‘For all I know, it’s still going on. If Mizraith had lost, I’d know
by now, I think.’
‘Or if he’d won,’ the eunuch said.
‘Possibly. I’ll be in touch with your mistress if I have anything for her.’ One
Thumb lit the waiting lamp and swung the door closed behind him.
Before he’d reached the bottom of the stairs, he knew something was wrong. Too
much light. He turned the wick all the way down; the air was slightly glowing.
At the foot of the stairs, he set down the lamp, drew his rapier, and waited.
The glow coalesced into a fuzzy image of Mizraith. It whispered, ‘You are
finally in dark, Lastel. One-Thumb. Listen: I may die soon. Your charm, I’ve
transferred to Stefab, and it holds. Pay him as you’ve paid me …’ He wavered,
disappeared, came back. ‘Your krrf is in this tunnel. It cost more than you can
know.’ Darkness again.
One-Thumb waited a few minutes more in the darkness and silence (fifty steps
from the light above) before re-lighting the lamp. The block of krrf was at his
feet. He tucked it under his left arm and proceeded down the tunnel, rapier in
hand. Not that steel would be much use against sorcery, if that was to be the
end of this. But an empty hand was less.
The tunnel kinked every fifty steps or so, to restrict line-of-sight. One-Thumb
went through three corners and thought he saw light at the fourth. He stopped,
doused the lamp again, and listened. No footfalls. He set down the krrf and lamp