The Universal Mirror Read Online Free PDF Page A

considered the possibility, remote though it seemed.  He used the crypts as cover, following the shadows as much as the sound ahead.  As the noise grew louder, he pressed his back against a nearby wall, hearing strained breaths that didn’t sound like any sound he’d ever heard Asahel make, wheezing like an old bellows with every pitch of dirt.  It was followed by a young woman’s voice, high and clear as the tower bells at dawn.
    “Why are we digging?  Most of this lot aren’t buried like proper folk.  Do we really want someone who is?  Why, he mightn’t have anything.  Not like thems in the crypts.”
    “We’re digging—” The low, grizzled voice of a man interrupted her.  “Because I don’t trust as those—those graves don’t have some curse on them.”
    “That’s nonsense,” A third voice said, this one also male.  It was thinner, however, almost songlike in its cadence.  “Curse talk.  You might as well hire yourself for a nanny, telling stories like that.”
    “Them stories’s what pays your wages.”  The other man returned.  “And I don’t hear you bellyaching about that.”
    “He hasn’t got much of a belly to ache with,” said the girl.
    “Lot of good your wages do me,” the man who Quentin thought of now as the Thin One replied.  “Twenty five percent of nothing’s still nothing.”
    “See?”  The sound of digging stopped suddenly, followed by another wheeze.  “No money.  Cursed.  We’re definitely cursed.”
    Quentin could hear the trio sigh in unison.  It was followed by a clattering sound, a shovel hitting another piece of metal.  He jumped, stumbling a little, and caught himself against the wall.
    “What was that?”  He heard the thin man ask.  The fact that neither of the others answered gave Quentin pause.  He was afraid to peek out and see what they were doing, his hands pressing flat against cool stone walls as he began to edge further from the sound of their breathing.  It’ll be easy enough, he thought, sweating a little, to get away.  They don’t know I’m here—
    A tap on his shoulder alerted him to the fact that he’d been discovered before he’d even had a chance to finish the thought.  Turning, Quentin stared directly into the shoulders of a man who resembled ox more than human—right down to the bullish face and the slow snorting of breath from his nostrils.  Quent stilled, trying to think of a response.  For once, his mouth was failing him.
    “You don’t belong here,” the man growled.  He reached out and clenched Quentin by the shoulder, lifting him up off the ground.  The pressure caused the redhead’s chest to pound as he fumbled with his hands, searching for the energy in the air.  The Laws may have prohibited the use of magic on man but it said nothing about clothing.
    With a loud ripping sound, he channeled the magic into his sleeve, wincing as the heat stung the fabric and twisted itself free from his attacker’s hands.
    Quentin dropped down, then lept up, hoping to run.  A heavy fist plowed into his jaw before he could make the attempt.  His body slammed backwards, sliding into the mud and falling silent.
    “Damn magicians,” was all the other man said.
     
     

Chapter 5
     
     
    Asahel’s heart was pounding so hard against his chest that he thought the group clustered around Quentin’s fallen body could probably hear it.  The girl with them had lifted her head, her clear green eyes penetrating the shadows where he was crouched.  Her stare felt directed at him, marking him as a target.
    “What is it, Meg?”  One of them asked, a man so thin it looked as if his skin had simply been painted on his bones.
    “Nothing,” she said.  He was sure that she met his eyes then but the girl twisted her head too quickly for Asahel to make any sort of motion.
    “What’ll we do with this sorry bastard, Pig?”  Another man, older, asked the thin one.  Just a moment before, the questioner had been holding a