In the Palace of Shadow and Joy by D.J. Butler

In the Palace of Shadow and Joy by D.J. Butler

Author:D.J. Butler [Butler, D.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, Space Opera, Action & Adventure, General
ISBN: 9781982124700
Publisher: BAEN BOOKS
Published: 2020-07-07T05:00:00+00:00


Chapter Sixteen

Indrajit woke while it was still dark, the damp chill of night clinging to his bones and his nostrils so thoroughly plugged with the stench of the latrine that he barely smelled it any longer. What had awakened him?

He heard a groan and saw a flickering light. For a moment, he prepared himself to slip sideways to avoid falling matter from above, but then he realized that the light was at his feet. No, not quite at his feet, but cracking now and then along the floor of the tight, slimy chamber.

A light was shining through the sewer pipe.

It could have been many things, including someone in the basement of an adjoining building, or a jobber working the sewers. But it could also have been some creature, glowing of its own power, creeping up from the lich-dusty Druvash levels to find a meal, so Indrajit jumped into action.

He elbowed Fix, and the short man was instantly awake. They pushed the dead Zalapting to one side so that the light wouldn’t touch him—in case anyone was also looking through the pipe—and then climbed out. Indrajit had the gray Handler’s tunic balled in one hand.

They crept from the alley. Indrajit’s muscles screamed as they slowly uncramped, and the wound in his leg stung him. Once he could see more than a fist’s width of stars overhead, Indrajit realized that he’d slept nearly a whole night leaning against the stone. He ached all over, including in his lungs. At the edge of the street, a coughing fit overtook him and Fix joined him in it. For three violent minutes, they hacked phlegm up and cast it onto the bricks of the Crown, and then Indrajit felt he could breathe again.

The air of the Crown wasn’t sweet, exactly—in the world’s oldest city, the only sweet air was in the gardens of the temples or the wealthy, or on high rooftops—but on top of the sweat of sleepers, the pall of coal fires, and the faint tang of latrines, Indrajit could smell early morning bread, scented toilet waters, and the sea.

“I need a bath,” he announced.

“We both do,” Fix agreed.

“I have no money left.”

“You are quick to spend.” Fix chuckled, a high-pitched, silvery sound. “No wonder you were in debt.”

“Get off your high horse, Fascicular,” Indrajit grunted.

Fix nodded. “All I’m saying is that I still have cash. Let’s discuss this in a steam bath.”

“And at first light, we go talk to Frodilo Choot.”

Indrajit kept the gray tunic, just in case. He walked with his face down and swinging his head from side to side, sweeping the streets around him with his wide-ranging vision. He saw two jobbers in green cloaks with spears—one looked like an ordinary Kishi and the other had cheeks and a jaw that glowed a bright blue, casting light in whichever direction he looked. Jobbers, patrolling the street at night, but they slowly walked away from Indrajit and Fix.

Indrajit didn’t see anyone following them.

Thoughts of the Spill reminded Indrajit of the



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