“And you stay here at night?”
“Old Jerbie, she lets us stay here,” said the girl, slicing the beef now with a very blunt knife. “We work for her during the day, picking up stuff that might be useful. In the canals, and along Kneebone Street. It ain’t much of a living but it’s better than dying, as my old sister used to say.”
Anya thought for a moment, then produced the Wallet of Crunchings and Munchings.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Street rat, scum girl, you good-for-nought,” said the child bitterly. She was still intent on carving the beef, each piece no larger than a silver penny.
“What is it really?” asked Anya.
“Truvence,” said the girl. She looked across at Anya properly for the first time, and down into the boat. “Here, who are you lot?”
“Never mind that,” said Anya hastily. She handed over the wallet. Truvence took it gingerly.
“That’s a magical wallet,” said Anya. “Three times a day, when you open it, there will be a large biscuit inside.”
Truvence opened it as Anya spoke, and looked at the biscuit suspiciously.
“They’re not very nice biscuits,” said Anya. “But they’re food, and the wallet will never run out. But you’ll need to keep it secret. Don’t let any others see it, or someone will steal it from you.”
Truvence was still looking at the biscuit.
“Why you giving us this?” she asked.
“Because … because I want to make even a little difference,” said Anya quietly. “Maybe later I can make a big difference.”
She hesitated, then added, “People call me the Frogkisser. Remember that, because one day I’ll be back to do more.”
Truvence nodded mechanically, lifted the biscuit, and took a tiny bite. Anya expected her to make a face, but she didn’t. She just chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds, then handed the biscuit slowly to the closest child.
“Small bite,” she said firmly. “No bigger than mine, then pass it on. Bread and meat coming.”
“We have to go,” said Anya. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, miss,” said the girl. “I mean, Frogkisser.”
The other children whispered their thanks too. Anya rowed away with a quiet chorus of “Frogkisser … Frogkisser … Frogkisser” echoing in her wake.
Anya thought Ardent might have something to say about her giving away the Wallet of Munchings and Crunchings. But he didn’t. No one said anything as she rowed on, until Smoothie lifted her head at the bow and pointed.
“Turn coming up,” said the otter-maid. “Sharp right, three, two, one … now!”
The statue without a head was some kind of gargoyle projecting from the house on the corner of the small canal. It had a chest and arms, and a broken bit where it probably once did have a head. It didn’t have legs, joining the brick wall at the waist.
It was instantly darker in the narrow, lesser canal, which was so choked with garbage the water had the consistency of oatmeal and it smelled worse than the main canal, if that was possible. Even Ardent, who liked smells of all kinds, scuffed at his nose with his forepaws. Anya breathed through her mouth and tried to ignore it, telling herself that this is what she had to expect if they were going to sneak into a fortress via a sewer.
“I don’t know how they can swim in this,” muttered Smoothie. “You wouldn’t be able to get clean for ages. Even the river would take a long time to get this muck off.”
A chittering noise from the water a few seconds later seemed to confirm this assessment. Smoothie listened for a moment, then squeaked and chirruped back.
“It is too foul,” she said to Anya. “They have to get out. The grating is under the second bridge. They wish us luck and also advise to not put your head under the water.”
“Yes indeed,” agreed Anya fervently. “Please give them my thanks, and if there is ever anything I can do for the otters of the Yarrow River, they have only to ask.”
Smoothie repeated these words in Otterish, there were some discreet splashes, and Diver and Swiftie were gone, speeding back to the main canal … and from there to the clean water of the river.
The canal wasn’t wide enough for Anya to row normally, so she had to dig the oars in close to the side of the boat, several times scraping the walls on the left or right. But they continued to make their way along, passing under the first narrow bridge without incident.
They stopped under the next bridge. There was a narrow tunnel leading off the canal there, which had once been barred but was now open, with only a few stubs of rusting iron left behind from the former grille.
Ardent, peering over the side, said, “It smells even more horrible. I didn’t think it c-c-ould.”
“We have to go up there, no matter how it smells,” said Anya. She unshipped an oar and used it to probe the water, checking the depth. “It’s not very deep. About up to my waist, I’d say. I can wade.”
“You can wade,” said Ardent. “I’ll have to swim. So will Shrub.”
“I don’t mind,” said Shrub. “I can’t smell much anyway. No worse than mud.”
“It’s a lot worse than mud,” said Anya. She accidentally breathed through her nose for a moment, and felt the gorge rising in her throat. “But we have to do it. You take the lead, Shrub. Look for the way into the meetinghouse. Ardent, you go next. I’ll follow with Denholm. Smoothie, you bring up the rear.”
Before they went over the side, Anya put the bottles of druid’s blood and witches’ tears down the front of her jerkin so they’d stay out of the water. She rolled up her cloak and tied it high on her back as well. The money in her belt purse and her knife would hopefully be no worse for immersion.
All that done, the princess tied the boat up to a protruding hook that stuck out of the wall and slid over the side, holding the blue lantern in one hand and Denholm in his cage high in the other hand, well clear of the polluted water.
It actually wasn’t quite as bad as Anya feared. The water wasn’t cold, the smell was no worse, provided she breathed through her mouth, and the lantern didn’t shed enough light to see more than she cared to see floating about. She waded after Ardent, who was paddling hard, keeping his snout well up and out of the water.
Twenty or thirty paces in, Shrub called out.
“There’s steps to the right! I’m going up.”
The steps rose up from below the surface of the water. Anya held back as Ardent jumped up, and she turned aside just in time as he shook himself, so hundreds of droplets of disgustingly dirty sewer water flew onto her back instead of straight into her face.
“Ardent!”
“Sorry. Forgot,” said Ardent.
Anya followed the dog onto the steps, almost slipping because the lower ones were covered in algae or something even worse. Smoothie followed quickly, muttering complaints under her breath about what had been done to the canal and, by connection, the river.
At the top of the steps, Shrub was studying some marks painted on the door there, a rough oak barrier that was already slightly ajar. Anya held the lantern high so she could see too. The marks looked like they were painted in blood.
“Thieves’ Guild marks,” said Shrub. “Don’t know what they all mean, but that one is ‘Beware.’ ”
“Like the giant,” said Anya. She peered more closely at the marks, and a broad stain below them. A big puddle of dried blood.
“Is that … The thief must have died here!”
Nah,” commented Shrub. “That’s spilled orange paint. Looks red in the blue light.”
“Oh,” said Anya. She started to take a deep breath of relief but managed to stop herself in time. Even breathing through her mouth the stink was almost unbearable. “Well, we have to go on. But this time, everyone really needs to be looking out, in case there is a monster guarding the way.”
“What do we do if there is one?” asked Ardent. “Bite it?”
“We either sneak past or sneak back,” said Anya. “Very quietly and carefully.
”
True to her words, she leaned over Shrub and pushed the door open as gently as she could. It creaked and groaned a little, but moved fairly easily. Shrub stuck his head around when it was open wide enough.
“All clear,” he whispered. “More steps.”
Anya pushed the door a little more, and squeezed through after Ardent and the newt. Her lantern was flickering now, and she regretted not bringing another candle stub from the tin box on the boat. But if it did go out, the animals would still be able to see, and they could guide her. She really hoped it didn’t come to that.
At the top of the steps, Shrub halted. Ardent went to his side and crouched, sniffing. Anya came up, keeping the lantern low. Smoothie edged in behind her, so they were all crouched close together.
Ahead lay a vaulted chamber that had once been a very large wine cellar. There were still the remnants of a few huge barrels against one wall, and the collapsed timbers of a wine rack mixed in with a mound of broken bottles.
“What’s that sound?” whispered Anya.
She could hear a clinking noise, like forks and spoons being put back in the cutlery chest one by one. Clink-clink-clink-clink. But there was something else as well, a strange warbling or clucking sound.
“Bluck, bluck, bluck, bluck … ”
Ardent moved past Shrub, his ears up, tongue hanging out. Anya lifted a hand to restrain him, but then let it fall and followed him instead, walking as if in a daze. Both of them were drawn inexorably to that strange clucking sound and the clink of metal.
“What are you doing?” hissed Shrub, aghast. But they trod past him without taking any care to sneak or be quiet.
“What are they doing?” asked Smoothie. She stepped past Shrub to clutch at Anya’s sleeve, but the princess shrugged her off and kept moving into the open cellar.
As she walked straight out, a hideous creature emerged from behind one of the decaying barrels. It had the head of giant rooster, connected to a ten-foot-long lizard-like body covered in greenish scales. Two scarred stumps on its back showed where it had once had wings, the stumps moving even now, as if in its tiny mind it still was trying to lurch forward in flight.
A thick metal chain was fixed to a manacle on its back right leg, the links rattling as it trudged forward.
Its piercing red eyes were fixed on Ardent and Anya, but it was the dreadful bluck-bluck-bluck coming from its blackened beak that kept them mesmerized.
Princess and dog continued to walk straight towards it, and the cockatrice reared back, preparing to strike with its deadly beak—straight at the defenseless Anya.
But the blow never landed.
Smoothie ran forward, and with her otterish grace, swept up a piece of plank from an old barrel and swung it like a bat at the cockatrice’s head. There was a very loud squawk, an explosion of feathers, and the creature slowly subsided to the floor, its red eyes dimming.
Anya came instantly, horribly, fully aware of herself again. So did Ardent, who barked and ran first one way and then the other, biting at the air. Both of them had known what was happening, but hadn’t been able to resist the compulsion to walk towards the creature.
“That horrible warbling noise,” said Anya, fighting back the shakes. “I thought it was their stare that was meant to hypnotize the prey, but it was that awful sound it made!”
“Whose stare?” asked Smoothie. She had the plank ready to hit the monster again.
“That creature’s,” said Anya. “It’s a cockatrice. Head of a rooster, body of a dragonet. Sir Garnet Bester’s book never mentioned the horrible sound. It got into my head, and I couldn’t get free of it … ”
“Should I kill it?” said Smoothie unemotionally. She raised her plank.
Ardent calmed down enough to sniff at the unconscious monster. He only needed a few sniffs before he shook his head at Smoothie.
“He was human once,” he said. “I c-c-an smell it, under all the magic and great age. He was transformed a long time ago. Chained here, in the dark, to guard the back door.”
“We can’t kill it … him … then,” said Anya, correctly interpreting the look from Ardent. She hesitated, then bent down to touch the creature’s head. “I’ll return one day, and change you back. I … ”
She hesitated, then added, “I promise.”
Another promise. Another complication added to her Quest.
“That’s nice,” said Shrub. “What’s to stop it eating us on the way back? Reckon it’ll remember you promising to change it back?”
“We’ll shorten his chain,” said Anya. “For now. Oh, I must pull some feathers.”
She walked to the end of the fallen creature and looked at its tail. It had a dragonish body, but its tail did end in a clump of feathers, not as abundant or as handsome as a rooster’s. Anya was reaching down to take ahold of some to pull out when Ardent suddenly barked.
“Don’t! They’re metal. They’ll c-c-ut you.”
Anya hesitated. “That’s harpies, isn’t it?”
“Oh,” said Ardent, his ears drooping. “Yes. Got them mixed up.”
Even so, Anya gingerly touched the closest feather with the tip of her forefinger before proceeding. The feather felt like a chicken’s, though coarser. It certainly wasn’t sharp metal.
She grabbed several and pulled them out easily enough, and put them through her belt.
“I do seem to recall there’s something funny about keeping cockatrice feathers,” she said, looking at them. “The recipe says ‘fresh-pulled.’ I hope these’ll last long enough. Anyway, I’ll take some and we’ll look for more upstairs.”
“Otters must be immune to the warbling as well as the stare of c-c-cockatrices,” observed Ardent, eager to regain some reputation for knowing his monster lore. “Like weasels.”
“And newts,” said Shrub. “It just sounded like a huge chicken to me.”
Anya shuddered. She didn’t like to recall how she had been so easily overcome by the creature’s magic. Leaving the now rather bare tail, she followed the cockatrice’s chain back to where it was connected to the wall by a huge iron staple, which despite its evident age and the rust on its surface felt very strong when Anya pulled on it. Picking up the chain, she pulled it tight and looped it back through the staple several times and then tied it in a knot, so when the cockatrice woke up it wouldn’t be able to reach the lower steps.
“I suppose we’ll have to send Smoothie first, with a plank, when we come back,” said Anya. “Maybe it’ll get the idea and shut up.”
Shrub had spent the time investigating what appeared to be a pile of rubbish in one corner. It was only when Anya got closer that she saw he was digging away at a pile of old bones. A human skull rolled out and Anya pushed it aside with the toe of her shoe. Luckily, it was very old and just clean white bone.
“A thief, I reckon,” said Shrub. “Not good enough to get past. Ah, I was hoping to find something like this.”
He dragged out a long key.
“Take this, Princess,” he said. “It was made by a wizard too, though probably not the Good Wizard.”
Anya picked it up. It was very light. She’d thought it was metal, but looking at it more closely, she could see the key was carved from bone.
“Skeleton key,” said Shrub. “It’ll open one door and then fall into dust. I was hoping to find lock picks too, but they’re all rusty and useless. I ’spose you don’t know how to use them anyway?”
“No,” said Anya. “It’s probably something I should learn. Thank you for finding this, Shrub. And thank you, Smoothie, for saving Ardent and me from the cockatrice.”
They went on through the cellar until they found another set of steps leading up. This time it ended in a locked door, but the key was in the lock on the other side, so under instruction from Shrub, Anya slid Gotfried’s recipe book through the gap under the door and pushed the key out with a long splinter from a barrel. It fell on the book and Anya dragged it back to their side. A few seconds later, the door was unlocked and open
.
Again, Shrub went first, to have a look around.
He returned after a few minutes to report. The questers held a quick, whispered conference.
“We’re still below street level,” he said. “There’s a passage and lots of doors on both sides. Look like storage rooms to me, so maybe one will be full of ingredients.”
“I c-c-can sniff them out,” said Ardent.
“Any sign of sorcerers?” asked Anya. “Or guards?”
“All quiet,” said Shrub.
“Let’s go look, then,” said Anya. “Ardent, sniff out what we need.”
Ardent found the alchemical ingredients store behind the third door he sniffed at, and it wasn’t even locked. Anya turned the handle and pushed it quietly open just enough for Shrub to go in. But he backed out almost straightaway.
“This is it!” he said excitedly. “Shelves and shelves of bottles and jars and tubs and stuff!”
Anya pushed the door open wider and slipped in. It was as Ardent had sniffed and Shrub had reported: a huge storeroom lined with shelves from floor to ceiling, and every shelf groaning with the weight of hundreds of different containers, all of them neatly labeled, though the handwriting and the faded ink indicated it had been done by many different people over a long time.
The princess put Denholm’s cage down on the floor and, taking the match from behind her ear, used it to light a much larger lamp that was near the door. It was a very old bronze one that had no globe; it just burned oil from its spout. But it was full, and the flame burned clean and high and delivered a surprising amount of light.
Everyone else came in, and Smoothie carefully shut the door behind them.
“They’ve got everything!” Anya marveled as she read the labels. “Blind eyes, undersea terror type two. Baby basilisk teeth. Bone, powdered, wyvern. That’d be super poisonous I expect—”
“Princess!” barked Ardent, not too loudly. “We have to get what we need and get out again.”
“Yes, sorry,” said Anya. “I got carried away. It’s alphabetical. Look for ‘Hail, three day old’ and maybe … ”