Blood of the Red

Chapter 33 - Shallo

Chapter 33 – Shallo

Rats ran among the rafters, dozens of long grey rats, keen to get out of Shallo's way. Clever creatures, rats. They run when they have to, eat shit when they have to. When their neighbour dies, they eat him too. You won't find anywhere without rats, not palace nor temple.

The night-kelp Shallo swallowed before the climb now worked its magic inside her. The weed, gathered by dredge-net from the Marro trench, made her throat sore and her tongue black, but it saved its wonders for the eyes. Where wertweed turned her eyes from the palest blue to the brightest green, night-kelp left them wholly black and keen as a cat's. With the night-kelp in her Shallo felt blinded by the moon. In the lightless attic she saw every detail, only colour escaped her.

Shallo made her way unhurriedly, moving from one pile of dusty documents to the next. All this parchment, all these words. For what? Should I keep every word I've ever spoken in a bottle? Who would ever listen to them - who will ever read this rubbish? Better to let it burn. Give it to the wind. If I could lose the past so easily...

The attic seemed empty enough, but sooner or later Shallo would meet a guard. Better to start being cautious too early than too late. Watch a rat, he's always cautious. Leave him food and he'll sniff the air first. He'll circle around before tasting. All the stupid rats died a long time ago.

The lock on trapdoor to the top floor looked formidable. Grethan had explained to Shallo that the Red Priests kept their prisoners on the top floor of the Cloister.

"Not in the dungeons?" she had asked. "I'd keep my prisoners in the dungeons. When I wasn't using them." She had coiled her fingers in his beard.

But no, apparently the Red Priests had better use for the subterranean levels beneath the Cloister. Even Grethan had never been there. As Grethan told it, the founder of their order, a priest named Grenaroth, went so far as to kill every mason who worked to build the under-levels. A policy as effective as it is unoriginal.

"So if they asked me to work there, I'd run for Sark, pretty-one. Same as I would if anyone asked me to delve into the Rock. The Red Priests don't like anyone chipping at the Rock."

Shallo took a small vial from an inner pocket. She tore away the wadding around the glass and broke its seal. The contents steamed as they dripped into the lock. It took only moments for the acid to eat away the mechanisms within. Shallo kept pressure on the door and hauled it open as soon as the lock gave. There were too many possible giveaways now that might alert anyone below. She no longer had the luxury of further caution. The low fizz of the acid would alert only the most perceptive of guardians, but the acrid scent could draw attention, and if a droplet escaped to fall on the floor... Shallo jumped through the hatchway.

The drop of ten-foot or so drove Shallo's knees to her chest. She crouched on the boards for an instant, coiled like a spring, then leapt at the figure before her. She brought the man down. A tray clattered, spilling bowls of slop. They hit the ground together, and only Shallo rose. She tugged her knife from the man's throat and wiped it on his jerkin. He had red hair, boils on his neck, they wouldn't bother him again. The keys on his belt jangled when he hit the floor. Shallo took them.

The man's lantern lay on its side, unbroken. Its light felt like needles in her eyes. She trimmed the wick and looked around. Cell doors! As Grethan promised. To the righthand side of the corridor, heavy wooden doors, each with a small barred window and a slot at the base through which food could be passed. The stench caught at Shallo's throat, the stink of shit, and worse than that, it smelled as if a prisoner had died here, a long time ago.