The brick of the tunnel had been cut from the stone of the cliffside itself, laborers hollowing out the hill and then cutting its remnants into squares that lined its wound. It was simple: flat floor, arcing ceiling, and a deep-set darkness touched neither by the sun nor lamplight. As Indirk hurried quietly toward the distant flicker of fire, she ran a hand along the wall to keep track of it. Her fingers brushed over metal fixtures waiting for lamps to be mounted, though none had ever been placed. The builders hadn’t meant for this darkness. It wasn’t necessary. It was left this way on purpose.
Indirk listened hard for the song of magic. She didn’t have the best ear for it, but who had use for places like this if not for sorcerers? Instead, she heard only the echo of her footsteps and a strange rattling sound that gave her pause. She slowed and stopped to hear it move. Something in the walls? No, on the ceiling. She looked up, but it was too dark. She thought she saw a shadow move, heard a brush of something’s passage. The rattling, unmistakable, like pebbles vibrating against a metal plate. It passed her and moved on.
Clutching her fists against her coat, Indirk felt fearful instincts pulse through her body. Indirk was a carnivate, a meat-eater by nature, but even she possessed a primordial fear of larger predators. Her instincts mistook this for a den and screamed warning. For a moment, frozen there in the dark, she almost failed to overcome them. She almost turned back.
Magic sang ahead of her. This dull hum she’d heard before, a slow little song on the quay or carried on the wind from the cliffs. There was a flick of yellow in the dark ahead, reflective eyes turning to look.
Indirk flinched back and let out a hiss.
“Do not fear me, Indirk Correlon,” said the Writhewife. The voice gave her away as the same one that had been on the beach, though there her tone had wavered between frustration and taunting mischief. Now her tone was serious, direct, monotone. “I thought you might follow me in. Good for you.”
“What are you…?” Indirk started, but ran out of breath. She became very aware, suddenly, of how she’d almost fallen at this strange woman’s sudden appearance. Indirk was crouching low against the wall, thin and tense beneath her bulky coat, her clawed fingers open like an animal ready to be pounced. She found she couldn’t catch her breath.
In the dark, it was difficult to see the Writhewife. The yellow flick of her eyes was a fitful, ephemeral candle, vanishing for long seconds only to flash to life and disappear again. Her footsteps moved to a side, the ceaseless hum of the Writhe’s magic warbling slightly in the echoing hall. “Don’t be too surprised that I know you, Indirk Correlon. You work at the Admiralty office on the mainland, live in the Angolhills, and have a pet named Avie.”
Far from reassured, Indirk tried to back away further, but just ended up pushing herself against the wall. One of her hands went into her coat, to her side, where her pistol was concealed. Shooting a Writhewife would be suicide, obviously, but her mind had sunk so far into its fear that she struggled to think at all.
“People mistake the Writhe for a single great mind, but I am a thousand minds with the knowledge to match. As much as I know about you, imagine how strange it is that I know nothing about this place. But is it important? I didn’t think so until I saw how closely the Commodore has it guarded.” The Writhewife’s footsteps moved slightly away. “Oh, do not keep secrets from me, Gray Watch. We have taken our vows, and secrets between us will not be abided.”
The rattling sound moved again, near the ceiling, somewhere beyond the Writhewife.
The animal inside of Indirk shifted to stare, petrified, into the dark. “What is that sound? Some magic you’re doing?”
“No,” the Writhewife answered directly, turning to walk away. “That’s not magic at all. That’s an animal. A large one.”
“What? Hey.” The light of the Writhewife’s eyes was gone. The sound of her movement took her further away. The rattling came again, something sliding against the stone on the ceiling. Indirk could almost feel the warmth of the thing, whatever it was, and before she knew it she was on her feet hurrying after the Writhewife. Deeper into the dark.
“Curious woman,” the Writhewife said without turning, “Full of curiosity, on my heels. You’ve seen enough to know that things you see can change you.”
Muscle’s twitching at every syllable, at every echo of the overhead clatter, Indirk grated, “Nothing’s ever changed me before.”
“You don’t believe that at all. That’s the sound of fear. Indirk Correlon, listen: I’m warning you that what you see here will change you. Are you ready to be changed today?”
