The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1) Page 3

  “This life, Tipper. The situation of this dead-end life,” Brock replied.

  CHAPTER 5

  Brock needed more gold and only knew one way to get it.

  About halfway to Southgate, he and Tipper ducked into a dark alley. Once beyond the mouth of the narrow corridor, they put their backs to a wall and watched the alley entrance. Confirming they weren’t followed, Brock tugged on Tipper’s sleeve and continued.

  They crossed a dark intersection, circling around the trash and old barrels that had been discarded there. The alley soon terminated at a stone wall, creating a dead end. Brock put his hands on the wall and began feeling the stones. He could barely see the wall in the darkness, but that was irrelevant. Even in the light of day, you needed to feel with your hands to find the trigger. After a bit, he found a stone with a pattern of five shallow dimples.

  He leaned against the stone, feeling it sink into the wall. A distinct click sounded as a section of the wall began to move with the force applied. A door cut into the wall swung open. The rank stench of human waste wafted from the pitch-black space within.

  Brock stepped inside and removed his glowstick. Once activated, the blue light illuminated the upper portion of a stairwell that led into inky darkness. With Tipper close behind, Brock began his descent. In the dim light of the glowstick, they could barely see the far wall of the sewer tunnel, fifteen feet away. A thud sounded when the stone door behind them closed, echoing in the quiet tunnels.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, they continued down the tunnel, carefully navigating the narrow brick ledge that ran along the wall. They soon heard a dull roar ahead, the noise growing louder as they drew closer. Reaching a recessed door in the side of the tunnel, Brock knocked five times. After a couple seconds, he opened the door and light poured into the tunnel.

  The dull roar instantly transformed to the rumble of loud conversation. Big Ed nodded as they entered. He then set his cudgel back on the floor, leaning it against the wall near his stool. The bouncer crossed his beefy arms and resumed monitoring the crowd.

  Patrons sitting at tables were chatting, eating, and drinking. A man in one corner was celebrating a winning dice throw, hooting and jumping around. Two intoxicated men were harassing a pretty waitress as she deftly swatted groping hands from the curves of her body.

  These were common traits found in any taproom in Lower Kantar. However, this was no ordinary taproom.

  For one thing, nobody in the room had a rune on his or her forehead. This place was a secret refuge for Unchosen. It was the one place in Kantar where they felt welcome and were treated as equals. Treated like humans.

  The second unique aspect of the taproom was Sally.

  She was an attractive middle-aged woman with long brown hair. Though a bit plump, her weight was distributed in all the right places. This gave her a voluptuous figure that the male patrons admired. However, those men soon learned that Sally was to be respected. Unwanted attention would likely to earn them a cracked head and see them tossed into the sewer outside.

  As Brock approached the bar, Sally’s eyes met his. A smile spread across her face. He gave a broad smile in return. It was difficult not to smile when Sally smiled at you.

  She finished pouring a tankard of ale, set it before a man at the bar, and pocketed his copper. Brock and Tipper grabbed two open stools as Sally walked over to greet them.

  “Brock, Tipper. How are my favorite boys?” She smiled at Brock. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you for weeks.”

  Brock flashed a smile. “Hi, Sally. Sorry I haven’t been around. I ran into a bit of trouble with my pa and was on lockdown for a while.” He paused and the smile slid off his face. “Ellie died, Sally. She’s gone.”

  Sally’s face clouded with sympathy. She reached across the bar and held her hand to Brock’s cheek. “I’m so sorry to hear that dear. She was a good woman. I know how much she meant to you after your momma died.”

  Tipper cleared his throat, breaking the somber moment. “Sally, can we get something to drink? I was on the street all day and Brock has been running me around ever since. I’m parched.”

  Sally stepped away, returning a moment later with two mugs.

  “Here you go. It’s on the house.”

  They both took a big drink of the cider. Brock set his mug on the bar and smacked his lips before speaking.

  “Sally, I need another mark. Same rules apply. It needs to be someone who is crooked. If I’m going to steal, I’m not targeting anyone who’s honest, regardless of his station.”

  While she had looks, personality, and compassion, what made Sally special was being the ultimate source of information within the city. Many people ignored Unchosen, which allowed them to overhear things normally kept secret. Inevitably, those secrets soon found their way to Sally.

  She stared back a moment before releasing a sigh. “You seem determined. I suppose I do have a mark that suits your needs. If the rumor proves true, what he’s doing is horrible. It might be particularly dangerous though.”

  She stepped away to help another customer.

  Tipper leaned close. “I have a bad feeling about this. She wouldn’t warn you unless there was a problem.”

  Brock turned toward Tipper, speaking with determination. “I have to do this, Tip. I’m willing to take a few risks.”

  “Okay, Brock. If you’re sure you want to do this, I’m here to help.”

  Sally returned, holding a piece of paper toward Brock. He grabbed it, but she held it tight, looking him in the eyes.

  “Be careful.”

  Letting go of the note, she was off to help another patron. He opened it and read the contents.

  Tipper leaned close. “What’s it say?”

  Like most Unchosen, Tipper couldn’t read. Brock was a rare exception.

  Brock took one last swig of cider and slid off the stool. “C’mon. I’ll tell you after we’re out of here.”

  CHAPTER 6

  After a long day of working hides, Brock headed out to meet Tipper. Concern clouded his mind as he passed through the streets of Lower Kantar.

  What he was planning was dangerous and held life-altering implications. Crimes against members of the Ministry were treated harshly in all cases. Brock being Unchosen, only made it worse.

  Brock turned the corner, leaving Center Street behind as he approached the temple near the Southgate guardhouse. He stopped when he spotted Tipper near the entrance to the temple.

  Seated with his back against the wall, Tipper begged to those passing by. Brock watched a score of people pass in and out of the temple over the next ten minutes, none offering a single copper.

  Finally noticing Brock, Tipper gathered his things and crossed the street to where Brock stood. A moment later, he had settled on the ground to resume his pose. Without looking at Brock, Tipper spoke.

  “Samson’s inside now. I followed him last night to a house along the West Wall. He seemed nervous and stopped to check if anyone followed, but I was careful to stay out of sight. I bet he goes there again tonight.”

  Brock listened to Tipper, working on a plan. After a moment, he responded, “When he leaves, you wait here for a bit. He may have noticed you by now but he won’t be looking for me, so I’ll follow instead. After he’s been gone for fifteen minutes, you head over to that house. Let’s meet across the street from it. If you don’t see me within an hour, I’ll meet you at Sally’s.”

  “Will do,” Tipper replied before calling out to someone walking past. “Please ma’am. Can you spare a copper for a homeless Unchosen?”

  Without pause, the woman continued and entered the temple.

  Brock chuckled as he pulled an apple from his pocket and tossed it to Tipper. He then strolled down the street until he found a spot on a low wall where he could sit and still see the temple entrance.

  A half-hour later, the sky darkened as dusk set in. A junior minister emerged from the temple and grabbed the small glowlamp located near the door. After a few shakes
, it came alive with soft blue light. He then placed it into the wall sconce and disappeared back inside.

  Ten minutes later, a man in a dark cloak emerged from the temple, heading directly toward Brock. As the man walked past, Brock stared hard at him. Even in the fading light, the spiked blonde hair made him easy to identify. It was Minister Samson.

  Brock watched the back of the man’s cloak as Samson continued westward. After a moment, he stood and followed along.

  Samson turned north at an intersection just short of the West Wall. Brock quickened his pace until he was close to the intersection before slowing to a casual walk. As he crossed the opening, he glanced right and spotted a shadow near a glowlamp two buildings down. Samson had stopped with his back to the light and was watching for anyone following. Brock continued his casual pace until he was clear of the intersection and beyond Samson’s vision.

  Brock leapt onto the rim of a full rain barrel. The extra height enabled him to jump and grab the edge of the second-story balcony. He pulled himself up and was soon standing on the balcony railing.

  With practiced balance, he leapt to grab the drainpipe anchored to the wall above the barrel. He scaled the pipe and pulled himself onto the second-story rooftop.

  He hurried across the tiled roof to the neighboring building, slowing once past the glowlamp on the street below. Lying on his stomach, he pulled himself to the edge of the eave. He saw Samson standing near the lamp, still looking toward the street corner.

  Samson turned and hurried down the street, passing directly under Brock’s position. Brock stood and followed the man. The buildings on this street were all two stories, making it easy to keep pace.

  Brock came to a gap where a narrow alley crossed the street below. He paused to check if Samson turned, but the man continued on. Backing up two steps, Brock leapt over the span to the next rooftop, hurrying to catch his prey.

  Stopping to peek over the roof edge again, he watched Samson turn left at the next intersection. Brock made his way across the roof until he was directly over that street. Samson passed under him, heading toward the West Wall.

  Brock ran along the roof edge, keeping Samson in sight. The minister turned right onto the last street before the city wall. Brock felt a stab of panic, realizing that there was no way he could jump to the next rooftop. He needed to get down fast, before he lost the man.

  He began searching for a way down until he saw Samson enter a building not far from the intersection. Brock realized that he had successfully followed the man to his destination. Deciding his current location was an ideal place to stage his lookout, he settled in to wait for Tipper.

  CHAPTER 7

  The evening fog continued to thicken as Brock watched the house across the street from his rooftop perch. Located at the outer edge of town with no shops or inns nearby, the area was dark and quiet.

  After a half-hour, he began to worry about Tipper.

  “Where is he? He should be here by now,” Brock muttered to himself.

  Hearing a noise below, he leaned over the edge to see if it was Tipper.

  Two men were heading his direction, one of them with a bundle over his shoulder. As they passed below him, he could hear their conversation.

  “…was right. This one was even easier than the others.”

  The other man replied, “As long as he pays us the same, I don’t care.”

  The first man made a suggestion. “You wanna head over to Drake’s for a drink after this?”

  The response was too muffled to hear as they passed beyond earshot. Approaching the same house that Samson had entered, the unburdened man knocked. A moment later, the door opened and soft blue light bled into the street. The man entered with the other a step behind. As the second man neared the light, Brock noticed that the bundle was moving. There was a person wrapped in that bundle!

  The bundle began to squirm wildly. The man swung around and banged the bundle against the doorframe, producing a thud that Brock heard from his perch. The bundle fell limp and the door closed, leaving the street dark and quiet.

  Brock swallowed hard. Sally had been correct. The note said that Minister Samson was involved with a slavery ring, kidnapping Unchosen. Seeing those men smuggle somebody into the house confirmed the rumor.

  Unchosen disappearing was nothing new, but Brock had always assumed it was from them leaving the city or dying a natural death. Unchosen didn’t have much in the way of rights, but at least they were free. He was appalled at the thought of a life of slavery.

  There were three of them and he was alone, but he had to do something to help. Steeling himself, he began looking for a way down.

  Spotting a balcony on the building next door, Brock crept across the wet roof until he was above it. He slid off the roof to hang by his hands before dropping feet-first onto the balcony. He climbed over the railing and hung from the edge again, landing on the street below.

  Darting across the street, he hugged his back against the building next to the one the men had entered. He remained still, listening for a minute as he considered his next move. Where was Tipper?

  Noise from a door opening startled him. Soft blue light poured into the street. The two thugs emerged, closing the door behind them. They turned north, walking away from where Brock now stood. One man elbowed the other.

  “You ready to grab that drink now?”

  “You know it,” the other man responded. “I hope that busty wench is working tonight. I think she likes me”

  “I’m sure she does, Mick. I heard she goes for big smelly guys who’re missing half their teeth.”

  Mick pushed the other man. “Funny, Wes. You’re just jealous because she ignores...”

  The sound of the two men faded and the street was again quiet.

  With the two thugs out of the house, Samson and his victim might be the only two remaining. Brock considered his options and decided it was a chance he was willing to take.

  Creeping to the front of the house, he peered in the window but couldn’t see beyond the closed drapes. He put his ear to the door and listened. Not hearing anything, he tested the door. It was unlocked so he turned the knob and stepped inside.

  Light from the glowlamp illuminated the first floor of the house. An empty sitting room with a brick fireplace was to his left, a small kitchen area with a dining table to his right. Other than the glowlamp, there was no sign of activity.

  He climbed the stairwell across from the front door. Other than minimal furniture, the rooms on the second story were also empty.

  Brock crept back down to check the closet under the stairs. It was dark and completely empty. He returned to stand near the lamp.

  He had inspected the entire house. Where were they? They hadn’t left out the front door and he hadn’t found any other exits.

  Mentally retracing his steps, he tried to place anything odd. It occurred to him that the closet under the stairs was completely empty. Why was there nothing inside a closet?

  He opened the closet door again and drew his glowstick, activating it. With the added light, he spotted a small knothole in the floorboards. He put two fingers in the knothole and lifted. A trap door swung upward to expose steep wooden stairs leading into the darkness below. He drew his knife and descended into the cellar.

  Holding his glowstick high, he realized that the cellar was empty. He turned and noticed a dark opening cut into the far wall. Two heavy posts and a crossbeam framed the opening, holding the earth in place around it.

  He approached the doorway, the light from the glowstick revealing a tunnel just wide enough for two men. The tunnel sloped downward, likely going under the wall and out of the city. He crept down the tunnel, pausing when he heard noises ahead.

  Hiding the glowstick in his coat, Brock could see faint light coming from around the tunnel bend. He crept forward and peeked around the corner. The narrow tunnel opened up to a larger gallery with another dark tunnel on the opposite end. A single glowlamp sat on the ground, lighting the cavern. Samson wa
s in the center of the cavern, his back to Brock. He was standing over the bundle, speaking to his victim.

  “…and don’t worry. You won’t have to wait long. My friends will be here soon, and you’ll be safe on a ship before sunrise.” The minister reached down with a knife. “Now don’t move or you might get cut.”

  The knife sliced the twine binding the blanket wrapped around the kidnap victim. Samson then grabbed one end of the blanket and gave it a hard yank. The person in the bundle rolled away from him, out of the blanket and onto the cave floor.

  Brock could see him lying face-down, his hands tied behind his back and gag tied around his head. The minister stepped closer and used his foot to roll the person onto his back.

  That’s when Brock realized it was Tipper.

  Emotion welled up in Brock’s chest. He burst in a run and charged the man, stabbing with his knife as he collided into the minister’s back. They flew over Tipper and tumbled to the cave floor. Their momentum caused the minister to roll on top of Brock, continuing so they rolled again to end with Brock on top and Samson beneath him face-down.

  Brock regained his feet, ready to defend himself. Samson didn’t move. Brock noticed the knife sticking from the back of the man’s neck. He was dead.

  He spun and ran to Tipper, pulling the gag from his mouth, down to his neck.

  Tipper spat and coughed. “Boy am I glad to see you. I thought I was done for.”

  “Are you okay?” Brock asked.

  Tipper nodded. “I’ll live. Just cut me loose so we can get out of here.”

  Brock ran over to the minister to reclaim his knife. When reaching for the blade, he noticed something at the base of the man’s hairline. Parting the hair with his fingers, he saw a mark in the shape of a hand.

  Shaking his head to refocus, he gripped the knife to pull it from the man’s neck, but it didn’t move. Using both hands for a better grip, he pulled harder and it came loose. As the knife slid out, it made a nasty slurping sound and blood spurted from the deep wound. Brock gagged, his stomach cramping as he turned to vomit. After emptying his stomach, he wiped the knife on the dead man’s cloak and ran back to cut Tipper loose. His hands were shaking as he sliced the bonds.