Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
-William Blake
Maze sat in the shadowed alcove. His shabby dressed form slumped against the stones of the mausoleum, looking half dead or full asleep. Neither of these was he, but speaking low and steady to someone in the deeper grounds, sharing plans and fighting concerns.
That someone was Ewan. The tiny recess of the Tunnels had been constructed to serve as the drainage of water that poured off the mausoleum rooftop. The roof, however, had been expanded some years ago to enclose a small garden for meditation and solitude. In that time the space leading below the surface had been filled with rocks and earth, but none noticed when the rocks had been removed and a simple slate replaced it.
Beneath the earthen exterior, inside the Tunnels themselves, it was a precarious place to stand for long. The opening did not allow for escape except for those of a childlike slenderness, which Ewan had not possessed for years. It kept him from seeing what approached in the Tunnels, and it was this that kept his hand on the dagger, prepared to face any unheeded attack. It was a paranoid gesture he was not inclined to set aside. Such acts had kept him alive, and though he partly listened for any echoes of approach drifting up the curved stone walls to his ears, his foremost thoughts were on Maze.
?I know it is going to be difficult, Maze, with the man able to change himself so drastically, but this is of importance. I am asking you to use three or four Tunnelers to wander this Michael?s old grounds. For some people, it is difficult to give up checking to see if the world has changed with their absence, and if it has not, to make it do so. I want to know if odd things are happening there. I want to know of the man before he shed his skin, so to speak.?
Maze coughed into his hand and grumbled nonsense before he answered. ?We?ll do as you say, Quicksand. Nibs and Jacks have a good cover for their being around that neck of the woods. I won?t be risking Tabby.?
?No, not Tabby. You are right on that. Too close still to the upperworld life. Time yet on that one.? Ewan nodded, his rusty blonde hair covered with a swatch of the dark cloth that also rested between his body and his armor.
?If we have word, we?ll leave signs. What are you going to be doing??
?I and another, and I think I will be taking young Rip with us, training so to speak, and seeing if we cannot find some trail. Work back from the strikes of attacks. A recent death is said to be his work. We can only start with what we know.? Ewan frowned. It was be a challenge, to be sure, but he had given his word to the Barrister. With a firm, low spoken command, ?Spread the word to keep tails tucked. No bold moves.?
Maze snorted then spat and coughed again. Ewan heard someone squeal and a deeper voice curse about street trash sullying such saintly places. When the voice had faded, Maze spoke again. ?That?s us, lad. Just the eyes and ears. You?ll have to be the claws.?
No more words were said. Maze did not move as Ewan slid the slate back in place and then stepped out of the recess in the curve of the Tunnel wall. It was a four foot drop, and he landed with a soft touch, drawing up the mild impact into his body so it would not echo down the tunnels. He sheathed the blade to prevent its catching light from the shuttered distant lamps that dotted random places along the Tunnel walls. He felt the hunt creep into his body and he let lose the cage on the darker side of his soul. His hands flexed and stretched, his back arched, and then he settled into his senses while the familiar dark cocooned him.
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
-William Blake
Maze sat in the shadowed alcove. His shabby dressed form slumped against the stones of the mausoleum, looking half dead or full asleep. Neither of these was he, but speaking low and steady to someone in the deeper grounds, sharing plans and fighting concerns.
That someone was Ewan. The tiny recess of the Tunnels had been constructed to serve as the drainage of water that poured off the mausoleum rooftop. The roof, however, had been expanded some years ago to enclose a small garden for meditation and solitude. In that time the space leading below the surface had been filled with rocks and earth, but none noticed when the rocks had been removed and a simple slate replaced it.
Beneath the earthen exterior, inside the Tunnels themselves, it was a precarious place to stand for long. The opening did not allow for escape except for those of a childlike slenderness, which Ewan had not possessed for years. It kept him from seeing what approached in the Tunnels, and it was this that kept his hand on the dagger, prepared to face any unheeded attack. It was a paranoid gesture he was not inclined to set aside. Such acts had kept him alive, and though he partly listened for any echoes of approach drifting up the curved stone walls to his ears, his foremost thoughts were on Maze.
?I know it is going to be difficult, Maze, with the man able to change himself so drastically, but this is of importance. I am asking you to use three or four Tunnelers to wander this Michael?s old grounds. For some people, it is difficult to give up checking to see if the world has changed with their absence, and if it has not, to make it do so. I want to know if odd things are happening there. I want to know of the man before he shed his skin, so to speak.?
Maze coughed into his hand and grumbled nonsense before he answered. ?We?ll do as you say, Quicksand. Nibs and Jacks have a good cover for their being around that neck of the woods. I won?t be risking Tabby.?
?No, not Tabby. You are right on that. Too close still to the upperworld life. Time yet on that one.? Ewan nodded, his rusty blonde hair covered with a swatch of the dark cloth that also rested between his body and his armor.
?If we have word, we?ll leave signs. What are you going to be doing??
?I and another, and I think I will be taking young Rip with us, training so to speak, and seeing if we cannot find some trail. Work back from the strikes of attacks. A recent death is said to be his work. We can only start with what we know.? Ewan frowned. It was be a challenge, to be sure, but he had given his word to the Barrister. With a firm, low spoken command, ?Spread the word to keep tails tucked. No bold moves.?
Maze snorted then spat and coughed again. Ewan heard someone squeal and a deeper voice curse about street trash sullying such saintly places. When the voice had faded, Maze spoke again. ?That?s us, lad. Just the eyes and ears. You?ll have to be the claws.?
No more words were said. Maze did not move as Ewan slid the slate back in place and then stepped out of the recess in the curve of the Tunnel wall. It was a four foot drop, and he landed with a soft touch, drawing up the mild impact into his body so it would not echo down the tunnels. He sheathed the blade to prevent its catching light from the shuttered distant lamps that dotted random places along the Tunnel walls. He felt the hunt creep into his body and he let lose the cage on the darker side of his soul. His hands flexed and stretched, his back arched, and then he settled into his senses while the familiar dark cocooned him.