The ladder continued far deeper than Arista would have expected, and instead of the tight, cramped tunnel she anticipated, she found herself dropping into a large gallery. It was completely dark, except around the lantern, and the smell was unmistakable. Without pause or a word of direction, the woman walked away. They had no choice but to follow her light.
They were in a sewer far larger and grander than Arista had imagined possible after seeing the city above. Walls of brick and stone rose twelve feet to a roof of decorative mosaic tiles. Every few feet grates formed waterfalls that spilled from the ceiling, raining down with a deafening roar. Storm water frothed and foamed in the center of the tunnel as it churned around corners and broke upon dividers, spraying walls and staining them dark.
They chased the woman with the lantern as she moved quickly along the brick curb near the wall. Like ribs supporting the ceiling, thick stone archways jutted out at regular intervals, blocking their path. The woman skirted around these easily, but it was much harder for Arista in her gown to traverse the columns and keep her footing on the slick stone curb. Below her, the storm’s runoff created a fast-flowing river of dirty water and debris that echoed in the chamber.
The corridor reached a four-way intersection. In the stone at the top corners were chiseled small notations. These read HONOR WAY going one direction and HERALD’S STREET going the other. The woman with the lantern never wavered, and turned without a pause, leading them down Honor Way at a breakneck pace. Abruptly, she stopped.
They stood on a curb beside the sewer river, which was like any other part of the corridor they had traveled except a bit wider and quieter.
“Before we go further, I must be certain,” she began. “Allow me to make things easier by guessing the lady here is actually Princess Arista Essendon of Melengar. You are Hadrian Blackwater, and you’re Duster, the famous Demon of Colnora. Am I correct?”
“That would make you a Diamond,” Royce said.
“At your service.” She smiled, and Arista thought how catlike her face was, in that she appeared both friendly and sinister at the same time. “You can call me Quartz.”
“In that case, you can assume you’re correct.”
“Thanks for getting us out of there,” Hadrian offered.
“No need to thank me. It’s my job and, in this particular case, my happy pleasure. We didn’t know where you were since leaving Colnora, but I was hoping you would happen by this way. Now follow me.”
Off she sprang again, and Arista once more struggled to follow.
“How is this here?” Hadrian asked from somewhere behind Arista. “This sewer is incredible but the city above has dirt roads.”
“Ratibor wasn’t always Ratibor,” Quartz shouted back. “Once it was something bigger. All that’s been forgotten—buried like this sewer under centuries of dirt and manure.”
They moved on down the tunnel until they came to an alcove, little more than a recessed area surrounded by brick. Quartz leaned up against a wooden panel and gave a strong shove. The back shifted inward slightly. She put her fingers in the crack and slid the panel sideways, exposing a hidden tunnel. They entered and traveled up a short set of steps to a wooden door. Light seeped around its cracks and voices could be heard from the other side. Quartz knocked and opened it, revealing a large subterranean chamber filled with people.
Tables, chairs, desks, and bunk beds stacked four high filled the room, lit by numerous candles that spilled a wealth of waxy tears. A fire burned in a blackened cooking hearth, where a huge iron pot was suspended by a swivel arm. Several large chests lay open, displaying sorted contents of silverware, candlesticks, clothes, hats, cloaks, and even dresses. Still other chests held purses, shoes, and rope. At least one was partially filled with coins, mostly copper, but Arista spotted a few silver and an occasional gold tenent sparkling in the firelight. This last chest they closed the moment the door opened.
A dozen people filled the room, all young, thin predators, each dressed in an odd assortment of clothing.
“Welcome to the Rat’s Nest,” Quartz told them. “Rats, let me introduce you to the three travelers from Colnora.” Shoulders settled, hands pulled back from weapons, and Arista heard a number of exhales. “The older gent back there is Polish.” Quartz pointed over some heads at a tall, thin man with a scraggly beard and drooping eyes. He sported a tall black hat and a dramatic-looking cloak, like something a bishop would wear. “He’s our fearless leader.”
This comment drew a round of laughter.
“Damn you, Quartz!” a boy no older than nine cursed her.
“Sorry, Carat,” she told him. “They just walked into the Gnome while I was there.”
“We heard the Imps just crashed the Gnome,” Polish said.
“Aye, they did.” Quartz gleamed.