The Star Shard by Frederic S. Durbin Read Free Book Online Page B

"The one by Tinley that no one ever goes into."
    "Except you, apparently." A look she could not identify passed over Rombol's face. "What storeroom?"
    She spread her arms, not knowing how else to describe it. "The one with the magician's things and those old, scary books of yours, stamped with an
R.
"
    "Show me." Rombol snatched up the bundle, his eyes wide. "Take me there."
    They made one stop at his quarters. Cymbril waited in the hall as the Master went in and emerged with his great ring of keys. Then they hurried through the avenues, Cymbril free for once to take the most direct, public ways. Now and then they saw a patrolling guard who saluted Rombol, and at the mouth of Hyacinth, they met old Spargulus the lamp warden, with his taper and his flask of oil.
    All the way, Cymbril thought of the undisturbed dust on the storeroom's floor—a room where such odd things were kept—and of Rombol's strange reaction.
    They took Longwander to Tinley and passed beneath the dark, abandoned chandelier of angels, a cobwebby monstrosity that dangled forever in a ceiling well formed by the arrangement of half-levels above. Cymbril began counting hallways that led away to the left. When she reached the proper one and turned into it, Rombol stood still and gaped.
    Cymbril peered at him curiously. A draft made the nearest lamp waver, casting shadows across his face. He looked up and down Tinley, at the ceiling above, and into the narrow, nameless corridor of the three storerooms. When he crouched and used his knife to carve an X into the planks of Tinley, Cymbril understood.
    "You've never seen this hallway before," she said quietly.
    Rombol made no answer.
    Magic. There had to be magic at work, hiding the corridor even from the Rake's Master.
Of course
—now it made sense why no one went into the storerooms and why such wondrous relics were left untouched in the dark. Maybe the musty books didn't belong to Rombol after all. But how could the hallway be secret? Countless times Cymbril had heard the Master boast of how his father Tycho had ordered the Rake built and had organized the guild of merchants, of whom he was the richest and the chief—and Rombol was his sole inheritor. The wagon city had never known any Master but Tycho and then his son. How could it harbor places of which Rombol knew nothing?
    Once in the dim hallway, Rombol had no trouble seeing the doors. Setting Byrni down, he moved to the first, trying keys. None seemed to fit the lock. He rattled the brass knob, then passed along the corridor to where it emerged into Lesser Candleway. All the while he muttered under his breath and ran his hands over the walls, peering often at the ceiling or the floor, which Cymbril now noticed was dustier than the Rake's other passages.
    No one swept this hallway. No one even knew it was here—no one but Cymbril. The thought made her shiver.
Why can I see it?
she wondered.
    Hearing a furtive, flopping sound, Cymbril jumped and glanced toward the end of the hallway, where it opened into Tinley. The warty fat frog sat there, its throat slowly puffing in and out, its moonlike eyes glaring. Rombol hissed at it and waved an arm. Without hurrying, the frog hopped away, its pale legs flashing. It was so ponderous that its ambulation thumped the deck.
    "These doors are locked," Rombol said to Cymbril. "How did you get in?"
    Cymbril hated to give away her secrets, but she really had no choice. "There are ways to crawl in from above."
    "Hmm," he said, scowling. "You and the cats and the rats." He stuck a thick finger in front of her nose. "Go to bed, Cymbril. It won't do to have you headachy and fainting tomorrow. Yellow dress, gold belt and cape. Don't think you're forgiven, and
stay away from the Curdlebrees.
"
    Clenching her teeth to keep from saying any one of the things she was thinking, Cymbril curtsied and hurried off.
    If only Urrt were aboard tonight ... But her questions for him would have to wait. She could feel weariness