Over an hour had passed since Ammas had led them past the catacomb's outermost wall. The musty smell of tombs had given way to a more pleasant scent of fresh water, but an undercurrent of mold and earth lingered beneath it. It had taken nearly a full hour to reach the end of the catacombs, having passed from solemn rows of occupied niches to jumbled piles of ancient bones in crumbling ossuaries. The statuary they saw could have been part of a lecture on architecture and history, the depictions of the Graces and their saints becoming more primitive -- or perhaps fanciful -- as they plumbed older areas of the catacombs. At last they had reached a heap of broken columns, beyond which lay a collapsed masonry wall. A cool breeze blew through it, making Casimir's lantern flicker slightly. Denisius bore a torch which guttered more visibly. Even the airy spirit reacted, seeming to dance in the breeze's currents. Casimir smiled at it.

The passage beyond that wall was narrow, so narrow they had to walk single file, with Ammas leading and Vos on drogue. The stonework was expertly done, though the footing was treacherous, for it ran on a shallow but noticeable upward incline and the center of the path was interrupted by a metal pipe about as thick as a man's forearm. Ammas spoke softly to Casimir, perhaps to soothe the boy's nerves. Airy spirit or not, this was an oppressive, claustrophobic space, and not much more comforting than the halls of the dead they had just left behind them. His voice carried to all of them, and save for Barthim what they heard was a bit of history none of them knew.

"This passage dates from the time of the Emperor Kyrantine." Ammas's voice echoed off the low vaulted ceiling, traveling into the darkness before them. "If you look closely, you can see his seal on the cornerstones of each wall. After the Sultan's first conquest of the city, centuries ago, the Munaz Emperors adopted some of his practices. The Sultan is famous for his obsession with cleanliness and purity, and so all his palaces and soldiers' barracks were equipped with connections to great cisterns beneath the city, allowing them fresh water and making Munazyr not quite as dirty as most Imperial cities once were. Kyrantine loved the running water, so he expanded the system well beyond the Sultan's original designs, calling in forgewrights from all across the Empire. The work continued long after he died, here and in other cities in the Anointed Realms."

"Does the city still maintain it?" Carala sounded fascinated. Some parts of Talinara, naturally including the Chalcedony Palace, relied on a similar system, but she had never heard that it was anything approaching the complexity of Munazyr's.

"The Argent Council sends regular guard patrols down to make sure the system is working and no one has tampered with it." In fact Ammas had occasionally assisted on these patrols, when Captain Thalia (never her predecessor) feared enchanted meddling, which was one reason he knew these tunnels so well. "But there's been no real maintenance in over twenty years. The brotherhood of forgewrights built it, and they are all gone. They fled the city to aid their brethren, and like their brethren they died. I suppose sooner or later the system will fail, either ward by ward or all at once, and Munazyr and your father's cities will become pits of disease and filth once again. But the brotherhood did their work well. It may be centuries before that happens. Perhaps before then a way to keep it functional will be found."

Ammas's words hung in the air. Denisius felt a chill worming down his back. Carala's face was a study in regret, imagining the lost wonders condemned to ruin by her father's purge of Ammas's brothers and sisters in the arcane. Always she had been taught the price the Anointed Realms paid for their works was too high; that their arrogance and greed were more than any kingdom could bear. It had been easy to believe, in the comfort of the Chalcedony Palace.

That sense of regret only intensified as Ammas led them through a round portal, a heavy metal door propped open by a stout length of wood. He whispered to the airy spirit and a great burst of light surged forth, illuminating a vast open space ahead of them. "Be careful," the cursewright called to them. "The water is deep."

One by one they followed him through the portal. Ammas stood to one side, the trapped spirit casting a circle of light that spilled out some thirty feet, illuminating the intricate bas reliefs that adorned the masonry walls, the great columns that supported the vaulted ceiling, and the immense pool of water before them that stretched off into the shadows. Flickering, dreamlike medallions of light shone on the ribs and stones of the vault above. The columns alternated with masterworks of sculpture, great stone faces which were not identical but whose familial resemblance was obvious.

"Gods have mercy," Vos murmured. Barthim made a reverent sign over the Hethmar symbol on his chest, dumbstruck for one of the few times Ammas could remember. "Is it all clean?"

"Oh yes," Ammas said lightly. "The city wells draw from one of seven different cisterns. They are all quite potable. This is why the Lioness has such wonderful showers, Barthim. It draws from this cistern."

Barthim could only shake his head. Like most Munazyri, he never spent much time thinking about the miracle of the city wells or how many buildings had clean water.

"Do you know that from experience?" Carala murmured, just low enough so only Ammas and Casimir heard. Ammas chuckled.

"Its reputation is citywide, Carala."

"How in the world did a brothel end up with such amenities?" Denisius was perhaps most awestruck of them all, for Marhollow had no system remotely like the one in Talinara, and certainly nothing like the vast artificial lake that stretched before him.

"It was not always being a brothel," Barthim answered. Ammas nodded, now moving to the edge of the cistern, touching his foot to the lip of stone that separated this walkway from the water itself. "When the old temple of the Graces was still active, there was a rectory there for the priests. Not much is left of the old place, but when the Lioness was built over its ruins they were keeping the showers."

"That is a blasphemy," Carala said, her tone nearly one of wonder. Barthim chuckled appreciatively.

Abruptly a light shone from another part of the cistern, not quite directly across from them, a little to their right. A silhouette could be seen, a lantern held aloft. Denisius gasped and dropped into a defensive crouch. His scabbard became entangled between his ankles and he nearly tumbled over as he drew his blade.

"Stop," Barthim growled. Ammas had risen a hand in greeting, drawing elaborate signs in the air. Across the cistern -- hundreds of feet across, if Carala were any judge of distances -- the figure was doing likewise. To Carala's surprise, Casimir was doing the same thing.

"I thought you never came down here," Ammas muttered to his apprentice.

"I still have to know the signs. Laurette used to send me out at night to pick things up on Butcherstreet after the markets closed. Sometimes I saw things I wasn't supposed to," Casimir whispered in response.

"Do you two know that person?" Denisius asked incredulously.

"Not personally," Ammas replied. He, Casimir, and the figure made identical signs across their chests. The figure then shone its light down at the water. Vaguely they could make out the sight of a person crouching at the water's edge, filling skins with water. "He's a member of one of the criminal guilds. I am telling him that we are not rivals and we are not part of the city guard." Barthim nodded approvingly. Ammas murmured to the spirit, its light dimming by about half. "What do you think, Barthim? Poison Rose?"

"Poison Rose are all women. Jenaya left the Lioness two summers ago to join them."

"Are you sure that's a man?"

Barthim frowned, scrutinizing the figure. "Now that you are saying it, no."

"It's a man," Carala murmured. "I can smell it."

Everyone stared, except Ammas, who seemed unsurprised. Carala blushed, looking down. "A wolf's senses are a powerful weapon to have on one's side," the cursewright said briskly, laying a hand on Carala's shoulder and squeezing comfortingly. She smiled up at him, their eyes meeting for a moment. Ammas cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the water, bracing his walking stick between two unmortared stones in the lip. "We've made good progress. Let's stop and have a bite. A good place for it, I think. We won't have to resort to our skins or bottles."