A Dark Disguise

Silence. Soft leather boots glided across the shiny cobbled back streets of Paaren Disen, cobbles worn smooth by the endless passing of humanity. A thin moon glowed behind a patchwork blanket of cloud and a dog cried out through the cold air in the distance. The city slept with the quiet thrum of existence.

A black-cowled figure slipped from shadow to shadow, calm and confident. Flitting through the streets it continued without a sound until it reached a dark, deserted corner behind a disused house. Bending down it pulled a plain, well-used belt knife from its waist and slid the blade into the gap made between a drain cover and the surface of the alley. The grimy, black metal made a soft scraping sound as the individual prised it up and carefully placed the iron grill to one side against a stone wall. From the recesses of the dark hood, bright eyes shone, checking one last time for any nearby signs of life. Satisfied that no one had seen him pass by, the figure suddenly and silently plunged into the blackness below.

The young man had been a member of the guild for many years and knew many of its more sinister secrets. He had risen quickly through the ranks, mainly due to his exceptional talent, yet he had a sharp brain and could see the trail of toes he had stepped on to gain such a position so quickly. A lesser man would have relaxed now, confident and secure that his rank would protect him. Yet ‘The Spider’ as he had come to be known was not a lesser man. Completion of the task set before him tonight would give him the right to stand before the Council of Nine, the guild’s ruling body, and claim his destiny shown to him so many years ago. Tonight was his night.

He set off at a brisk walk through the dank, dingy passageways that sprawled beneath the world above. His knowledge of the warren of tunnels that comprised the sewerage system of the ancient city was like no other. This subterranean landscape was bereft of all light yet he made his way with a sure-footed confidence. A large proportion of his life had been spent here, beneath the markets, taverns and houses that was the historic port they now named Paaren Disen. He knew every turning, every shortcut and every trapdoor. Few knew that the miles of passageways he now walked through were in fact far older than the buildings above. Even less knew that some, including himself, could recall a time when the city had been known by a different name.

Turning a corner, he slowed his pace and counted; ...7...8...9...10 strides and then stopped, turned to face the cool, damp brick of the wall and crouched down, running his hands over the hard stone, searching for the catch he knew was concealed between two of the bricks. There. He had found it. His fingers ran over a small glass bead set into the wall and carefully depressed it. A soft clicking sound emanated from behind the aged wall and the brick came loose. Placing it on the slimy wet floor, he reached inside the newly uncovered hole and pulled out a small vial. About the size of an adult thumb, it was made of blue glass and was stopped with a small cork that ensured the thick purple liquid within was safe and secure. Placing it in his belt pouch he quickly straightened and stood motionless, a sinister statue, veiled by the blackness of the tunnels and the night above. The normal silence of the sewers had been disturbed. Not so much a sound, but rather a different type of silence. An expectant one.