Inside the place smelt of moldy straw and horses ill-kept. The ex-apprentice wrinkled his nose at the odor and wondered what kind of person would keep a horse in such foul quarters.
“You want something?”
He whirled and saw a man standing beside one of the stalls, leaning on a pitchfork.
“I am looking for something.”
The other advanced, still holding the pitchfork. Pryddian saw the man was short and powerfully built, with a permanent squint and lank dark hair. As he came closer Pryddian’s nose told him he was as ill-kempt as his stable.
“If it’s a horse we got ’em. If not, be on your way.”
Pryddian licked his lips. If the rumors were wrong about this place he could be in a lot of trouble. But if they were true . . .
“I wish to meet—some people.”
“Well, there’s none here but myself. Now be off with you!” The man gestured threateningly with the pitchfork.
Pryddian almost turned and ran. But he was desperate, so he stood his ground.
“I need to reach the Dark League.”
The man stopped. “You’re an apprentice from the castle.”
“Former apprentice. I seek a different master and I bring something with me that will be valued in other quarters.”
“The way to the Dark League lies south and over the Freshened Sea, as everyone knows,” the man said sullenly.
“No more. The City of Night is in ruins and the old roads are closed.”
“That’s nothing to me. I have no truck with the likes of those.”
“A pity,” said Pryddian, fingering his pouch. “I am prepared to pay for information.” He reached in and pulled out a silver coin. “I pay well.” He turned the coin around in his fingers so it flashed in the dim light.
“Well,” said the stableman, lowering the pitchfork. “I don’t say I know anything and I don’t say I don’t. But there are those that say that if you take the road west to the Wild Wood there is a place where you might be met, sometimes.”
Pryddian held out the coin to the man’s grasp. “Tell me more.”
Damn! Jerry muttered as he peered around the corner into the lobby. The guard was at the desk reading a supermarket tabloid.
He pulled his head back and stopped to think. Moira had no business being in the building, of course, and right now Jerry didn’t think he was up to inventing a good excuse for her presence. He had hoped the guard would be off making a round, but they did rounds at irregular intervals and in this case it looked like the next interval would come when the guard finished his reading.
“Okay,” he whispered, “just stay close to me and don’t say anything.” Moira nodded and they both sauntered around the corner.
As they came into the lobby the guard glanced up briefly and went back to his reading. Moira was behind and to one side of Jerry’s bulk and the man obviously missed her.
Jerry leaned over to sign out on the sheet. The guard kept his nose buried in the tabloid.
“Good night,” he said. The guard mumbled a response without looking up from his magazine. As they went by, Jerry got a glimpse of the headline.
Americans Falling Down
On the Job, Prof Warns
Wiz took a deep breath and examined the scene in front of him carefully, weighing the odds. There was a faint reptilian scent in the air he didn’t like at all, but he was hungry enough and desperate enough to ignore it.
Most of the buildings in this district were utilitarian; warehouses, barracks, workshops and the like. This one was different. It was made of glossy dark marble instead of rough hewn basalt. The slanting late afternoon sun picked out the fine carving on the window and door frames. The courtyard itself was paved in an elaborate pattern of black and white and dark green blocks, laid in a way that made the surface appear to swoop and undulate wildly even though it was perfectly flat. Around the court was a colonnade and extending off the colonnade at close intervals were open doors like gaping black mouths. Wiz stood in a niche in the gateway for a moment and studied the place.