Kushiel's Chosen

lock, but it was a heavy one and I held my breath as I caught the tumbler, maneuvering it with delicacy lest it bend the slender silver pin.
    In the midst of my operation came the sound of pelting footsteps, bare feet slapping softly on the wooden walkway; the oarsmen, returning. I didn't dare look up, but I heard a gasping voice. "A squadron of guardsmen coming on foot! Halfway to the corner!"
    Illyrian steel scraped as Kazan's men reached for their hilts, and I heard an anxious, murmured prayer in Habiru. "Phèdre?" Joscelin's voice asked calmly.
    I closed my eyes and bore down on the pin, levering the tumbler to the left. The pin bent, bent... and held. With a solid chunking sound, the bar dropped. Clutching my cloak closed with one hand, I set the other to the handle of the warehouse door and tried it.
    It gave, opening onto a wedge of dark interior.
    "Go, go!"
    We piled inside in a mass, barefoot oarsmen with boots in hand, no order of procedure to our company, and someone closed the door behind us, softly and firmly. Inside, it was wholly dark. There were high windows along the outer wall to admit daylight, but nothing penetrated in these small hours before dawn. Whispering, shuffling bodies jostled me. Someone trod on the hem of my cloak, nearly jerking it from my shoulders. I took it off and wrapped it over one arm.
    It would have looked humorous, I imagine, if anyone could have seen us in our tight, milling knot. No doubt it did when a door at the rear of the main chamber was thrown open and a sudden blaze of torchlight fell over us.
    "What... ?" It was one of the Temple eunuchs, blinking and sleepy-eyed, a torch in one upraised hand and his ceremonial spear held loosely in the other, silver barbed head pointing at the floor. And no more than that did he say, for Sarae, acting on terrified reflex, brought up her crossbow and fired at him.
    The barb took him in the throat; he blinked once more, slow and surprised, while his spear fell with a clatter. Still clutching his torch, he sank to his knees and slumped forward, facedown and motionless, the torch now guttering on the floor beside his outstretched hand.
    It was Kazan and his men who raced forward instantly, swords drawn and bucklers raised, hurdling the fallen figure to enter the chambers beyond. They were pirates, after all, scourges of the sea, trained to a swarming attack. Sick at heart, I followed, while Joscelin and Ti-Philippe set grimly about retrieving the torch and directing the Yeshuites to search the rest of the building.
    There had been four attendants in all set to watch over the warehouse; there were sleeping quarters, a privy chamber and a meager kitchen beyond the door from which the first had emerged. Two more were dead by the time I got there, slain half-naked in their beds, and Tormos had his sword raised for the killing stroke against the fourth.
    "No!" I cried. He paused. "Eisheth's mercy, we don't need them dead, Kazan!" I pleaded. "Let him live, and he may show us the passage."
    Kazan hesitated, then said shortly, "Do as she says."
    They had been young, the attendants of the warehouse; the survivor was no exception. I guessed him no older than Joscelin's Yeshuites, though 'twas harder to tell since he was cut and beardless. He watched with wide, terrified eyes as the Illyrians cleaned their weapons and I drew near.
    "What is your name?" I asked softly.
    "Cer ... Cervianus." Shock and fear prompted his stuttering answer.
    "Cervianus, aid us and you will live, I promise. There is a passage below the canals to the Temple of Asherat. I need you to show us."
    His eyes darted this way and that and his throat moved as he swallowed audibly, but for all his terror, he was no coward. "I know of no such passage."
    "Do you fear to betray the goddess?" I asked him, and his eyes fixed on my face, pupils dilating. "Cervianus, I swear to you, Asherat-of-the-Sea has already been betrayed, by one who stands high in her favor, and this night's doings are the fruit of that betrayal. Although I serve another, I have come to avenge her."
    Some of Kazan's men grumbled; they had come to kill Serenissimans. I ignored them.
    No coward and no fool, Cervianus. He licked his lips, trembling. "And if I do not aid you? What then?"
    "You will die," I said. "And we will find it anyway."
    He closed his eyes briefly. "It's in the underchamber. The door is hidden. Let me put on clothing, and I will show you."
    The Illyrians stepped back, allowing him to rise.