The Dark City Read Online Free PDF Page A

thought you wouldn’t.”
    Raffi tugged away across the room, weak with relief. For a moment he had thought the same, and that made him angry. “You should have used it!” he snapped.
    “He was too close to you.”
    “But just to give it to him!”
    “Would you rather be dead?” the keeper asked quietly.
    “He wanted me as a hostage. He wouldn’t have killed me.”
    “He wanted the box more.” Galen glared at him. “We have other weapons, Raffi. Keep your mind on them.”
    Simmering, Raffi watched Alberic. He had climbed back into his chair and was fingering the box avidly, exploring it by touch. When he looked up his eyes were alert. “So what’s wrong with it?”
    “Wrong?”
    “You wouldn’t have given it to me otherwise.” He lifted it and pointed it straight at them. Raffi went cold.
    “Be careful,” Galen said calmly. “It’s dangerous.”
    “That’s what I want.”
    “And unstable. We have no way of knowing how much life is left in it, but it’s already hundreds of years old. Maybe very little.”
    “And maybe a lot.” Alberic swung the box and aimed it at a tall bronze candlestick by the window; Godric and Taran scattered instantly. “Chief!”
    “Be quiet.” Then he fired.
    Light blinded them. When they could see again, the candle was a bubbling, hissing pool of wax and molten metal on the seared floor. There was a shocked silence, and then the tiny man began to laugh. He wheezed and giggled and cackled; jumping from his chair, he cavorted around the candles, catching Sikka’s hands and kissing them, then dancing away. His own people watched him in amusement; Raffi stared; Galen stood stiff with distaste.
    At last, breathless, Alberic slumped over the arm of his chair, clutching his side. “Oh, this is wonderful!” he managed. “Superb. Beyond belief! To rob a Relic Master!” He lifted the box and rubbed it as gently as if it had been a bird; then his head turned, and his eyes were cold and crafty.
    “This is the arrangement. I want the Sekoi. You have power, contacts. You’ll find him for me and get him here alive. And then I might, I just might, give you your box of flames back.” He stretched over for the wine and took a long drink, then climbed into his chair and sat.
    Galen said nothing. His look was dark.
    Alberic shrugged. “Think about it. In the meantime you can try my hospitality.”
    Godric came forward and led them to the door, but just as they got there the sly voice behind them said, “It doesn’t sound very inviting, does it? But one thing might interest you, Relic Master. The Sekoi was headed for the city. The city of the Makers. Tasceron.”
    Galen stood stock-still, as if the word had frozen him. Then, without turning, he stalked out of the room.
     
     
     
    ALBERIC’S HOSPITALITY TURNED out to be a locked room, as filthy as the rest of the building, with one threadbare mattress and a window that let in a drizzle of rain and moonlight. Galen sat moodily in a corner, his knees drawn up and his arms resting on them, staring at nothing.
    Raffi left him alone. He swept all the filthy straw and dung into one corner with his foot, tossed the mattress after it, then dragged their pack over, and the two plates of food a hand had just banged in through a grille at the base of the door.
    He looked them over anxiously. “There’s some sort of meat. It looks all right. The bread’s stale. Cheese.” He tasted the clear liquid in the wooden cup and scowled. “Water. He’s not stripping the apple tree for us, is he?”
    Galen made a meaningless murmur. Raffi began to eat hurriedly. He was hungry—he was always hungry—and even the stale bread could be moistened with water and broken up. With a few withered shar-roots and herbs from the pack it was almost tasty.
    Swallowing a mouthful, he muttered, “So what do we do?”
    Galen looked up. In the dim cell his face was haggard. “We agree.”
    “Just to get out of here? I mean, he’ll never give it