Gravedigger 01 - Sea Of Ghosts

by Alan Campbell

  Hours must have passed, and still Ianthe couldn’t sleep. And then she heard a floorboard creak nearby. Someone shook her shoulder, and a voice whispered, ‘Are you awake?’

  Ianthe pulled back the blanket.

  In the darkness she could just make out a dim figure crouching next to her bed. She realized it was the fat red-haired girl she’d briefly sat next to at supper. The girl leaned close and whispered, ‘Don’t let them get to you. They pick on everyone at first. And Sister Ulla is a monster.’ She pressed something into Ianthe’s hands.

  It was a piece of chicken, wrapped in a napkin. Ianthe began to eat it at once.

  ‘You’re from Evensraum?’

  Ianthe nodded.

  ‘I’m from Harpool, about thirty miles north of Losoto. My family are farmers, too.’

  ‘We’re not farmers,’ Ianthe said. ‘I mean, I don’t . . . what does it matter?’

  ‘Regina and Constance are the worst,’ the girl said. ‘They think they’re Losotan nobles or something. It’s like they’re always going on about Emperor Hu and how their families have arranged a special deal with him and they’re going to be attached to his court. It doesn’t even work like that. You don’t get to choose where you’re posted.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Aria. I’d better go.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ianthe said.

  Aria turned away, but Ianthe grabbed her and whispered, ‘Are they talking now?’

  ‘They’re asleep.’

  Ianthe lowered her head. ‘I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘Silences are difficult here,’ Aria said. ‘But you’ll soon start to miss them.’

  Ianthe got up before dawn and sneaked into the bathroom to wash herself before the other girls woke up. She returned to her bed but didn’t have to wait there for long. As the first glimmer of light crept into the forest outside, the dormitory door opened, and Sister Ulla marched in.

  ‘Up,’ she said, ‘up, you lazy creatures. We’ve too much to do today.’

  The girls rose, complaining groggily. Ianthe looked over at Aria, but the big, auburn-haired girl avoided her eye. Constance and Regina, the pair whom Sister Ulla had expelled from the library with bleeding noses, were not so coy. Constance offered Ianthe a cut-glass stare, then brushed her blonde curls from her shoulder in an exaggerated manner. She turned and smiled at her companion in a way that seemed to promise mischief. Regina suppressed a giggle.

  ‘You!’ Sister Ulla said to Ianthe. ‘You’ve washed? Come with me.’

  The Testing Room was further along the corridor from the dormitory. It was bare but for a table and two chairs in the centre of the floor. Tall windows overlooked an empty courtyard flanked by colonnades and facing a wall with an iron grate leading into the forest. Sister Ulla told Ianthe to sit, and then left the room.

  Ianthe waited.

  The courtyard outside grew steadily lighter. Ianthe watched the shadows draw back towards the easternmost colonnade. Birds hopped along the forest wall. Half the morning passed by, and still nobody came. She wondered if this was part of the test. If she stood up and walked over to the window, would she fail? Perhaps she was supposed to make a decision and leave? Were they watching her? She got up and listened at the door but heard nothing. She sat down again.

  The morning dragged on. Noon came and went. It must have been early afternoon when Sister Ulla returned. The little old woman carried a glass bell jar, which she placed unceremoniously on the table as she sat down. In the jar was a frog.

  Sister Ulla regarded Ianthe for a long time. Her crumpled face was unreadable, but her eyes were small and cold. Finally she said, ‘Know where you are and who you are with. This organization gives nothing. If you want to be a part of it, you will accept that.’

  Ianthe looked at the frog.

  ‘Some members of the Guild like to think they can bend the rules,’ the old woman went on. ‘They expect me to make concessions for students. But I don’t hold with that. The Guild is not a crown to be worn or a sword to be wielded. It is an ideology. Do you understand?’

  Ianthe thought she should nod, so she did.

  The old woman’s eyes narrowed. Then she tapped the glass jar and said, ‘I want you to kill this creature.’

  Ianthe just looked at her.

  ‘Psychic communication requires the lightest touch,’ the old woman said. ‘The ability to sense thoughts without disrupting the transmitting mind in any way. Psychic warfare, on the other hand, is all about causing stress. One forces one’s own thoughts into the recipient’s brain with the intention of causing disruption. A competent practitioner can alter the mood of another psychic . . . evoke depression . . . or rage. But a skilled warrior . . .’ Her wrinkled lips made a semblance of a smile. ‘A skilled warrior can cause actual damage.’

  Ianthe glanced at the frog again. ‘What about control? What about getting someone to do what you want?’

  The old woman made a sound of disapproval. ‘You can’t etch glass with a sledgehammer, can you?’ She gestured towards the frog. ‘Psychic warfare techniques are more effective than the communicative disciplines precisely because there is no need to read the intricacies of the target mind. One’s victim need not even be sensitive. Even a mindless ugly little creature like this is vulnerable.’

  ‘But I don’t want to hurt it.’

  Sister Ulla stood up. ‘I think it extremely unlikely that you will. Now, I have a class to teach. I’ll be back before supper to check on your failure.’ She headed for the door.

  Ianthe called after her, ‘I’m just supposed to will it to death?’

  ‘Do what you like,’ Sister Ulla replied.

  ‘But how? I don’t—’

  The old woman slammed the door.

  Ianthe stared at the frog. The frog blinked. She allowed her mind to connect with the creature’s perceptions and peered up at herself through its marbled eyes. Poor little thing. She sighed, then got up and walked over to the window. A brown pigeon had perched on the forest wall at the other side of the courtyard. It pecked at some moss near its feet, then fluttered off into the trees. Ianthe opened the window and breathed deeply of the cool green air. She could hear other pigeons cooing above her and the restful chuckle of a stream coming from the woods beyond the wall.

  She glanced back at the frog. Then she stormed over, threw herself back down in her seat and stared at the miserable little creature, willing it to die.

  Time dragged on. No matter how much hellfire and agony Ianthe wished upon the frog, it simply crouched there, staring dumbly out of the jar. Its throat bobbed, and it blinked, and, once, it turned slightly. By mid afternoon a headache had crept into Ianthe’s skull. She let out a long breath and rose from her seat, stretching her arms and neck.

  Aria was standing in the courtyard outside, looking in.

  Ianthe hurried over and opened the window. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The big red-haired girl glanced back at the courtyard wall, where she had propped the gate open with a wicker basket. ‘We’re supposed to collect mushrooms in the woods,’ she said, ‘but most of the girls just go back to the dorm. No one ever checks up.’ She looked past Ianthe into the room behind. ‘Is that a frog?’

  Ianthe followed her gaze. ‘I’m supposed to kill it.’

  Aria frowned. ‘Why a frog?’ she said. ‘Normally it’s a mouse. Not that anyone ever kills it the first time. Sister Ulla likes to say it’s easy, but it isn’t. Animal minds are much harder to destroy than Un
mer ones.’

  ‘Have you ever killed an Unmer?’

  Aria shook her head. ‘The dungeons are full of stock, but you’re only supposed to torture them,’ she said. ‘There’s barely enough to go around. If we killed them all, we’d need to bring in more from the ghettos and that would mean less income from the empire.’ She looked suddenly serious, and lowered her voice. ‘Constance killed one by accident, and Sister Ulla was so furious she nearly expelled her.’

  Ianthe thought back to the illicit excursion her mind had taken through the palace the night before. The palace had extended as far underground as it had reached skywards. Had all those people she’d sensed down there been Unmer?

  ‘Do you want to walk in the woods with me?’

  Ianthe snapped out of her reverie. ‘What?’

  ‘Sister Ulla wont be back for ages.’

  ‘What about the test?’

  ‘She’s not expecting you to pass anyway.’ She held out her hand. ‘Come on, it’s a lovely day. I’ll show you the glade.’

  Ianthe accepted Aria’s hand and climbed out through the open window.

  Aria picked up her mushroom basket and closed the courtyard gate behind them. Gold-green light filtered down through the forest canopy, dappling the mossy ground and picking out bursts of white and pink wild-flowers. Yellow butterflies fluttered to and fro. The air smelled of warm summer pollen. Numerous trails wound through the ancient oaks, and Aria led Ianthe along one of these down a steep slope towards a spur of granite. As they drew nearer, Ianthe heard the sound of a rushing stream. Steps cut into the living rock took them down one side of the spur to a shady pool surrounded by walls of smooth grey stone. The sunshine fell on a flat expanse of granite beside the water’s edge, so smooth and round it might have been carved by the gods as a seat for bathers. In the shadows at the rear of the glade, a small waterfall chuckled into the dark waters.

  Ianthe crouched at the edge of the pool. It was so clear she could see light rippling across pebbles two fathoms down. She hesitated, then dipped her hand into the cool water.

  Aria flopped down onto the rocks behind her. ‘Some of the girls come here to swim,’ she said. ‘Do you swim?’

  Ianthe shook her head.

  ‘Me neither.’ Aria rummaged in her basket, pulled out a handful of red berries and began to eat them.

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to be collecting mushrooms?’

  ‘These taste better,’ Aria said. ‘Do you want some?’

  Ianthe realized she was ravenous. The only food she’d eaten since she’d arrived at the palace had been the chicken leg Aria had given to her the night before. She scurried over, and soon the two girls were sitting side by side, their chins running with red berry juice as they devoured Aria’s hoard.

  ‘Look, Regina,’ said a voice from behind. ‘A pig and a peasant.’

  Ianthe turned to see two girls standing on the rock steps above them. The small blonde, Constance, stood with her chin raised and her blue eyes lit with arrogance, while her clumpy, brown-haired companion shifted coyly on the rock steps a few paces behind. Both girls carried baskets similar to Aria’s.

  Constance strolled down the remaining steps, stopped before Ianthe and peered at her as one might peer at an insect. ‘I suppose Unmer eyeglasses are fashionable in Evensraum,’ she said to Regina. ‘These peasants have always had quaint ideas.’

  Regina giggled.

  Constance reached for Ianthe. ‘Let me see them,’ she said.

  Ianthe turned away.

  Constance gave a snort of disapproval, then grabbed for Ianthe’s spectacles. Ianthe pulled away and tried to shove the other girl back. Constance grabbed a handful of Ianthe’s hair. Ianthe lashed out wildly with the back of her fist.

  Constance recoiled, and stood there for a moment – an expression of shock forming on her pretty face. She touched a thin scar across the bridge of her nose, and her fingers came away bloody. ‘You broke my nose,’ she said. ‘You broke my nose!’

  Ianthe fumbled to adjust her lenses. She didn’t see the other girl charge at her until it was too late. With an angry shriek, Constance pushed Ianthe into the pool.

  Freezing water engulfed Ianthe. The shock of it took her breath away. She thrashed about, struggling to right herself, then broke the surface, heaving for air. And all at once she felt herself begin to slip under again. She opened her mouth to call for help, but swallowed water and gagged.

  Constance smiled at her from the bank.

  Ianthe slipped under the surface of the pool again. Her nose filled with water. She kicked and flailed her arms madly, trying desperately to reach air. Her heavy Haurstaf robes seemed to drag her down. For an instant her face broke free and she sucked in a breath before the waters closed around her once more. She felt something solid smack against her head and grabbed it. Suddenly she felt herself being pulled along.

  Aria was using a branch to drag Ianthe through the water. Ianthe held on fiercely. She reached the edge of the pool and clung on to the rock, breathless and shaking.

  Constance laughed.

  Ianthe tried to pull herself out of the water.

  Constance crouched over her. ‘You can’t get out here,’ she said. ‘This is our area. Go around the other side of the pool.’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ Ianthe said. She struggled to climb up, but the blonde girl held her firmly down.

  ‘You need to learn your place,’ Constance snarled, forcing Ianthe back down into the cold water. The scar across her broken nose looked livid and angry. ‘Peasants don’t belong in the Guild. You’re not fit to clean the drains.’ She wheeled around and flashed her teeth at Aria. ‘Give me that stick.’

  Aria hesitated.

  Constance struggled with Ianthe as she tried to stop her from climbing out. But Ianthe, in her desperation, managed to force her way up past the smaller girl. Constance broke away, snatched the branch from Aria, then swung it round hard.

  It struck Ianthe a stinging blow across the cheek. Dripping wet, she turned and fled towards the rocky steps, where Constance’s companion, Regina, waited.

  ‘Stop her,’ Constance yelled.

  Regina moved to block Ianthe’s way, and Ianthe tried to push past.

  ‘Grab her.’

  Regina seized the hood of Ianthe’s robe.

  Ianthe lost her footing on the wet rock. Suddenly the glade whirled around her. She fell backwards and struck her head on something hard. A moment of darkness and confusion passed, and then she heard someone breathing heavily close to her ear, grunting, gasping.

  ‘Leave her alone.’

  ‘In the water.’

  Fists grabbed Ianthe’s robes. Someone pinned her arms down. Regina loomed over her, her hair dishevelled, her face flushed. Constance wore a savage grin on her face. They began dragging her back towards the pool. Terror gripped Ianthe’s heart, and she kicked and punched and screamed, ‘No!’

  Something strange happened. Ianthe sensed Constance’s perceptions, as she always had, and yet in that instant of fear and struggle she caught a rare glimpse of the mind behind them. It was as if the world had flipped abruptly. Instead of simply peering out through the other girl’s eyes, she found herself engulfed by the whirlwind of Constance’s emotions. Hatred, desire, envy. Ianthe’s own consciousness lashed out instinctively . . .

  Her cry seemed to hang there in the silence of the glade. And then Ianthe became aware of the thumping of her own heart, the frantic sound of her own breathing. Shakily, she sat up.

  Constance was lying a few feet away, unmoving, a trickle of blood coming from the corner of her lef
t eye. Regina lay curled up on the ground beside her, with her face clamped behind her hands. She was wailing softly like a young child. Aria sat on the ground behind them, gazing at the two stricken girls with wide, fearful eyes.

  ‘What did you do?’ she said.

  Ianthe got to her feet and ran.

  ‘You do not summon me, Mr Maskelyne.’

  Maskelyne looked up to see Briana Marks standing at the open doorway of his suite. ‘Did I summon you?’ he said, feigning confusion. ‘Honestly, I can’t now remember why.’

  She shook her head, but failed to entirely hide her smile. ‘Are you comfortable here?’

  The suite occupied two floors of one of the palace towers and boasted fine views across the mountains and valley from its garden terrace. Elegant dragon-bone furniture rested on moss-deep carpets. Crystal chandeliers hung from silk-draped ceilings. Maskelyne had counted seven couches, twelve armchairs and no fewer than twenty-two mirrors bouncing light from window to wall. His bed was big enough to accommodate ten people. ‘Comfortable enough,’ he said, ‘although the bed feels cold at night.’

  ‘Your wife will remain in Port Awl until your case is decided,’ Briana said. ‘And that won’t happen until we determine Ianthe’s worth to the Guild.’

  Maskelyne grunted. ‘You intend to hold me here until you decide whether or not Ianthe has talent? What difference does it really make? She’s unharmed. Is this justice, or are you simply waiting to see if you can lawfully acquire leverage?’

  ‘There are worse places to be.’ Briana strolled over towards the glass doors leading to the terrace. ‘That’s one of my favourite views,’ she said. ‘You can see the Culche Pass from here, Mian Morre and the Folded Wings. Don’t you think the four mountains opposite look like a dragon’s spine?’

  ‘I find the view somewhat spoiled by the acres of burned forest, razor-wire and concrete bunkers surrounding the palace,’ Maskelyne replied. ‘Do you know that a cockerel crows every morning in one of the camps? The sound is always followed by a single shot, and then silence. I can’t help but wonder if it’s one, trained, bird, or if there’s a supply of them.’