The enforcer on the arched doorway was an easy piece of business, half asleep. Christian covered his mouth with one hand and wrapped the other around his neck, cracking it easily. Killing a man outside the ring, he had found, was no different from inside, not when the death was necessary. After laying the slumping figure against the outer wall, Christian pulled the spiked club—the mace, he reminded himself; one of the men he had questioned had told him its name—from his belt and crept through the archway.
He found himself in a squalid little cave that made Mrs. Evans’s common room look the height of luxury. Then, as he saw them scattered around the room, Christian finally understood the secrecy surrounding Thorne’s stable, the reason no one would talk about this place, not even in the Deep Patch.
In the far corner were two dwarves, a boy and a girl. They sat together on a low sofa, clearly built for their height, but even standing, Christian thought that they would not reach his thighs. One of them held a thin boy, perhaps five years old, whose right arm was a withered stalk.
Nearer to the fire, sitting on a small stool, were two little girls, twins. At the sight of them, Christian instinctively lowered his mace. The twins turned to look at him, and he saw that they were joined, their hips fused. All of these children were filthy, their faces and arms and legs smeared with soot.
“Good morning,” the boy with the withered arm said, smiling shyly. “How can we help you? What sort of diversion do you seek?”
For a long moment, Christian could not reply. He thought he had seen every terrible thing the tunnels could conjure, but that was the nature of the Creche, wasn’t it? There was always something worse, waiting just around the corner of the world he knew.
“Where is Thorne?” he asked, in a voice that stuck in his throat.
For a moment, none of them answered him. The boy’s bright smile disappeared, like a candle snuffing out, and then he pointed down a corridor to Christian’s right. Feeling as though something enormous had lodged in his airway, Christian turned and stalked softly down the corridor, which ended in a door that stood slightly ajar. Bright torchlight leaked around the edges. Christian paused, blinking, trying to clear the obstacle in his chest.
“You said she would be easy to control,” said a man behind the door.
“She will be, master,” a woman replied, her voice cool and pleasant. “But we must have the sapphire first, and it must come of her own free will. Try to take it by force, and we will both suffer.”
There were at least two of them in there. The fact that one was a woman made no mind; in the Creche, women were often as dangerous as men. Christian crouched down, placing his ear beside the edge of the door, trying to decide where each stood in the room.
“Have it your way,” Thorne replied, his voice betraying impatience. “But it’s taking too long.”
“Do not rush me, master.” The woman’s voice had lowered into a snarl. Christian was almost certain she was on the far side of the room. “You have made that mistake before.”
“I am not trying to rush you, dearest, but that cunt has upset everything with her damned sermon. The prophecy was already causing problems, and now this? It’s an earthquake.”
“Trust me, master. Youth is vulnerable, and the girl has many cracks to be used against the mother. I have already begun.”
“And what of the Blue Horizon? The Fetch?”
“He is a difficult mark, but I am tracking him. They have a spy in the Queen’s Wing; I am sure of it.”
Christian had heard enough. He was certain that they were both standing on the far side of the room, opposite the door. Taking a good grip on his mace, he batted the door aside and charged into the room.
Thorne sat behind a large oak desk. Later, Christian would remember nothing of this desk except that it was perfectly clean; only Thorne’s clasped hands rested on top.
“Welcome, Lazarus.”
Christian leapt forward, raising the mace, his other hand reaching for Thorne’s neck. But the leap ended abortively; he felt his muscles seize, his brain unable to command, to give even the simplest orders. He crashed to the floor, landing painfully on one elbow, and lay there, staring wide-eyed at his mace, which had landed two feet away.