03 - Underground Refuge
Brinn cursed to himself and closed the window. With balled fists, he skipped whole steps as he descended the stairs back to the ground floor. Brinn knew the exact number of stairs by feeling, he knew the number of steps it took to get to the front door and what he would do to deftly open the door, step through, and close it quickly and quietly. He would descend the front steps backwards at first, then turn midstride, and go from a hurried walk into a fair clip. Before the older men expected him to return, Brinn was back at his father’s side.
Silence and stares.
Brinn paused and consciously relaxed his fists, “She’s gone, ran out the back.”
His father closed his eyes and held his breath. The Inspector frowned, his men narrowed their eyes and stared at the lord of Lightwood and his son. Brinn’s father opened his eyes and glanced at Brinn meaningfully, “She’s only going to be in one place, Arrik. I’ll send Brinn to fetch her from the Opera House.”
One of the Inspector’s men looked at Brinn and held out an open palm, “We do have men there already, perhaps I should go with him?”
Brinn stared blankly forward, trying to understand. “I don’t need a weapon, if that’s what you’re worried about, constable.”
The constable glanced at Brinn quizzically, scanned over to Sharlan and finally at the Inspector. “No, that’s not what I – sir, what say you?”
“If you can keep up,” the Inspector eyed Brinn up and down and nodded at him. Brinn immediately took off running. With a grin the inspector pointed at the youth and repeated, “If you can keep up, constable.”
Brinn enjoyed running, especially as quickly as he could through the city. Usually, he would do so at night and be free of the crowds that presented difficult obstacles and witnesses to his eccentricities that would further embarrass his father. Today, he would ensure that his speed would be used to its fullest. He would bound down the narrow streets and crowded alleys, jumping over all manner of crates, boxes, sacks and amphora. He would jump, climb, vault and flip through the streets toward the Grand Opera. For his efforts, Brinn engendered both joyous cheers and frustrated anger as he moved through the city as quickly as a flying bird.
The Grand Opera was a truly massive building, a gift to the Lyrian people by Riga the White Sage during her great rebellion against the dwarven god-emperor, it was the first great building built entirely out of stonework, and it was the only one to exist for nearly an age. Using pure white marble quarried not far away in what is now southern Mercadia, the Grand Opera was decorated in an ornate geometric style. Aside from the main entrance, the Grand Opera had two other entrances: one to the side used by servants to make deliveries, and one in the rear for performers and creators.
Brinn had never used any but the main entrance before, but he knew it was a better idea to try the rear entrance first. And despite his lack of familiarity, he knew that there was a problem once he rounded the corner and approached the rear entrance: no one was at the door and it lay open.
He bounded up the steps, slipped off his boots, and sidled through the partially open door without touching it. His feet felt the soft carpeting, the entire entrance hall was soiled with the puddle water, mud and other detritus of the streets tracked into the building by several sets of heavy boots. Moving closer to the walls as he stole through the halls toward the dressing rooms, Brinn could hear the sounds of stomping boots and the harsh, strained voices of guardsmen yelling out orders.
He made his way to corridors that accessed the backstage, noting that it was largely without any prying eyes or investigating guardsmen. Brinn knew he didn’t have a lot of time before the constable on his heels would be here and would announce their arrival to the rest. Heading backstage, he arrived at the same time as a concealed trapdoor was closing in the far corner. Focusing his mind, he bounded quickly and quietly; with a foot-first slide, he caught the lip of the trapdoor with an outstretched palm. Standing to his feet and lifting at the same time, he opened the door with some slight resistance and found himself staring down at the second Lord and second Lady of the Opera, the twin singers Maya and Soren Sungrass.
As Soren grimaced at their discovery, Maya beamed up at Brinn. She quickly waived with her comparatively tiny hands, “Brinn! Come down with us, the guardsmen are tearing the place apart!”
Brinn blinked, momentarily paralyzed by the presence of the young woman who has commanded his affections since they were children.
“Brinn!” Soren whispered venomously, his hand on the hilt of a rapier. “Either come with us or close the door!”
Maya tilted her head and stepped off the ladder backwards, still looking up at him. Brinn had used to joke that she wasn’t much more than a tall halfling by the look of her, but what she lacked in physicality, her voice more than made up for it. “Yes, please, let’s go, Brinn.”
Brinn inhaled in thought and exhaled in action. He waived the two away from the ladder, and dropped down onto the lower half of the ladder. Closing the trapdoor as he fell, he landed deftly and closed the door above them quietly. Not two heartbeats later, heavy footfalls could be heard entering the backstage area.
The trio crept quietly toward another set of stairs lit by a single candle. At the bottom of the dozen steps, a great ironshod door stood. Soren descended the steps and knocked in a specific pattern, three quick knocks, a pause, two more.
A woman with her face and hair hidden by a linen wrap opened the door swiftly and let the twins inside. She stepped forward and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorjam and blocking the way, “You are not welcome here, Brinn.”
“Sorana?”
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