Free The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows by Paul Crilley

ground.
    Cutter staggered to his feet, looking for signs of the war-forged. It was nowhere to be seen. Cutter opened his mouth to thank his rescuer, but only a pained gasp came out. He gave up and simply waved a hand, hurrying along the bridge into the tower.
    “Hey!” the man called. “You need to report this to the Watch! I want my reward!”
    Cutter ignored him and melted into the safety of the crowds, following the flow of traffic, not knowing or caring where it led him. Just as long as there were people around.

The second day of Long Shadows
Far, the 27th day of Vult, 998
    W here did she say it was? I wasn’t paying attention.”
    “I noticed. You were too busy watching Savia’s backside.”
    “How dare you! I’ll have you know that I value and appreciate Savia as a person.”
    “Yes. That must have been why you were trying to see inside her dressing gown every time she bent forward.”
    “You saw that, did you? Can you blame me? She’s a fine looking woman. I mean, I know you’re married and a loyal husband, blah-blah-blah, but surely that doesn’t stop you looking. You can still appreciate the form of a beautiful woman. That doesn’t make you unfaithful, does it?”
    “Not as such, no.”
    “Unless you prefer your females to be the same race as yourself? Although I’ll admit I never thought that of you.”
    Torin sighed. “No, Wren. I find females of all races attractive.”
    Wren continued as if Torin hadn’t said anything. “I myself find your wife
incredibly
attractive, and but for the fact that Irespect you as a friend, I’d be all over her like a dog in—”
    “Here we are!” said Torin loudly, cutting Wren off.
    Wren smiled. It was too easy. Really. He looked up at the building across the street. Whereas Savia’s was tasteful and discreet, the Tufted Feather declared itself and its intentions with all the enthusiasm of a forty-year-old stripper being ogled by men half her age. Red everbright lanterns adorned the wall above the door in a rather tasteless shape. And in case one was still in doubt as to the kind of business carried out there, a young, half-naked elf was dancing in the window.
    “She looks bored,” Wren commented.
    “Wouldn’t you be? Being paid to perform for drunken men?
    “Torin, I never knew you felt so strongly. Is it personal? Has one of your family been forced to turn their hand to—how shall I put it? Earning their money from home?”
    “Don’t be absurd. I simply feel it’s degrading and humiliating.”
    “And what would you have them do?” said Wren. “Beg on the street corners? Die of starvation?”
    “Well, no, but—”
    Wren pointed upward. “Want to bet that broken window up there belongs to our man?”
    Torin looked up at the window. “Why do you say that?”
    Wren shrugged. “Just a feeling. People tend not to leave their windows broken for long. Come.”
    Wren jogged across the street and entered the building. A dwarf stood behind the bar but had his back to them as he poured drinks. Wren moved straight through the common room and up the stairs beyond, Torin trailing close behind.
    Wren heard the sounds of fighting as soon as he reached the first landing. They came from one of the floors above. He grabbed a densewood wand from his belt and sprinted the rest of the wayto the top floor, but the sounds stopped by the time he arrived.
    A woman stood in the corridor, her ear pressed to a door. As soon as she saw Wren, she quickly bent down and picked up something from the floor.
    Wren approached cautiously. “What’s going on?” he asked the girl.
    “I … I don’t know. I came to see Cutter, but there was a crash—I think the window broke—and he slammed the door in my face. It sounds like fighting.”
    “Doesn’t it just?” Wren turned to Torin. “You owe me for the window.”
    “We didn’t bet!”
    “Come, come, Torin. Nobody likes a stingy dwarf. It panders to stereotypes.”
    Wren held his wand before him and pushed open the