Down Station

by Simon Morden

  ‘You.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. His gaze left Mary, alighted on the geomancer, then was back on the bird. Which had gone, and only the coffee-coloured girl remained.

  ‘And me,’ she said.

  The geomancer was confronted front and back.

  ‘Mary?’ said Dalip.

  ‘It’ll take too long to explain. Is everyone else all right?’

  ‘They’re downstairs. If the guards get in, then … I don’t know.’

  ‘Then she has to call them off.’

  ‘She’s only going to do that if we threaten to hurt her.’

  The geomancer banged her stick against the floor. ‘Stop discussing me like I wasn’t here. You – you are my slave, and you – I should have killed you on the mountain-top while I had the chance.’

  ‘I refuse to be your slave.’

  ‘And …’ Mary frowned. ‘You weren’t on the mountain-top.’

  ‘You silly little girl. Are you really that stupid?’

  ‘Fuck you,’ was her automatic response. ‘And fuck your wolfman, too. You’re shits, the pair of you.’

  The geomancer lurched towards Mary, raising her stick to strike that foul mouth. She staggered as she swung, and she fell against a bench, upsetting the delicate brass instrument on it. It teetered for a moment, and she scrabbled to save it, all thought of violence lost.

  The effort left her sprawled on the ground at Mary’s feet. Mary looked down at her trying to rise, and she realised what the pattern of cuts and bruises meant.

  ‘You’re the—’

  ‘Dragon,’ said Dalip. ‘One of the servants told us. But you, you’re a …’ He flapped his arms uselessly. ‘You’re a bird.’

  ‘Yes, I am, when I want to be.’

  ‘You’re also not very dressed.’ He shook his head to clear his mind. ‘How do we prevent her from turning?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think we can. Perhaps I hurt her badly enough to stop her, for a bit.’ Mary snatched the geomancer’s stick away. It didn’t seem like it was a magic wand, or wizard’s staff, like she’d seen in films, but there was no point in risking it. It might just be a smoothed length of wood, but it might be as lethal as a loaded gun.

  ‘You did this to her? How?’

  ‘I came to find you, see if I could sneak into the castle and get you all out. She came at me as the dragon, tried to kill me.’ Thinking about it, even though she’d been utterly desperate and out of her depth, she’d been brave and resourceful, and in the end, despite her injuries, she’d won. Her chin came up. ‘I still beat her.’

  The geomancer hung on to the edge of the table and pulled herself up. The brass thing rattled and rolled.

  ‘You were lucky.’

  ‘I beat your arse good and proper. Now, call off the heavies.’

  ‘That would be very stupid of me. And I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Dalip,’ said Mary. ‘You should leave.’

  Everything close by that was loose, started to hum, chatter or buzz.

  ‘Mary, what are you doing?’

  ‘Finishing what I started.’

  ‘We can’t fight everyone.’

  ‘We don’t have to. We just need to fight her, and the whole place falls apart. Isn’t that right, your ladyship? This castle wasn’t built by you. Down gave it to you, and it can take it away just as easily.’

  ‘Mary, what are you talking about?’

  ‘She knows. She knows exactly what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Oh, I know far more than you do, girl. You caught me off guard before: not now. I know how to deal with you this time.’

  ‘You threw everything you had at me and you fucked up.’ Mary was still holding the stick, and she swung it at the geomancer’s head.

  The blow was blocked by the sudden interposition of the same brass apparatus that the geomancer had gone to all the trouble of saving minutes before. Rather than a skull being cracked, it was metal that bent and twisted.

  It fell, broken, between them.

  Then it was the geomancer’s turn. After the first flung object came from behind Dalip and nearly took his head off on its way to bludgeon Mary, he ducked back down into the stairwell.

  Mary squared up for the fight. She dodged the jar easily – its arrival had been telegraphed for longer than a drunken punch outside a kebab shop – and heaved the now-empty table up to be her shield.

  The wood shuddered and groaned, and the legs scraped towards her. The impacts came regularly, a continual barrage of heavy concussions that was going to leave nothing in the room intact. She knew that this was treasure the geomancer was wasting, destroying it all in an attempt to destroy her, but also to deny it to her when Mary inevitably triumphed.

  She let her pound the table for a few moments longer, crouching behind it as debris exploded in cogs and dust, then retreated a little way. She took a step to the side, then another, and blindly, everything was still directed at the table, taking the brunt of the geomancer’s fury.

  Quickly, quietly, she skipped across the room. She hadn’t done so much physical activity as this since she’d faced the dragon: the cuts on her back and the bruises in her flesh dragged and ached as she ran and jumped up on the big bed, leaping down on the other side. Something sailed past her ear, fast and bright, but it was only passing.

  She thought she should have a weapon of some sort, but even then, it wasn’t very street. She’d settle this like a true Londoner, with fists and feet and nails and teeth. As the geomancer orchestrated her destructive volleys like a demented conductor, Mary came up behind her and threw herself at her back, pulling at the wild blonde hair with one hand, and clawing at her face with the other.

  Mary’s knees punched down, and the geomancer went over. Her face smacked the floor, and there was a spray of blood, thick and red, across the stone flags. Oh, Mary knew how to do this, savage and relentless and utterly without mercy, yanking handfuls of hair and battering her face, half-letting her up only to shove her back down and keep going. There was no one to intervene: no police or social workers or care home staff to drag her away, trailing scraps of skin and cloth, to be forced into some Home Office-approved restraining position until she’d calmed down; not even other kids who’d cheer her on for the first few minutes and end up pulling at her arms because she was taking it just too far.

  She could keep on until she’d reduced her opponent to bloody ruin and beyond.

  ‘Mary. Mary.’

  She slowed, and then stopped. Something heavy – one of the wall coverings, thick and rich – draped over her shoulders, and she was gently guided aside. She sat with her back against one of the bed posts, while Dalip peered uncertainly at the geomancer.

  ‘You’ve,’ he said, dry-mouthed. ‘I mean, she’s really …’

  ‘I know,’ said Mary, and pulled the covering tighter. ‘What were you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. I talked Stanislav out of just killing her. I wanted to see if I could,’ he shrugged, and his hands fluttered, ‘reason with her.’

  The geomancer covered her ruined face with her ragged hands, and wept. Dalip clearly had no idea what to do and, if she was honest, neither did Mary.

  This was the woman who, a couple of nights ago, tried to cut her into strips with her sharp teeth and sharper claws. This was the woman who had turned her friends into slaves, and she didn’t know how that had gone: Dalip had clearly been changed by his experiences, because the shy, uncertain engineering student was nowhere to be seen. This was the woman who had forced Crows’ villagers out of their homes and staked out this part of Down as her personal kingdom, making a claim on everyone and everything in it.

  The geomancer was, despite the tears, or even because of them, not a good person. She was a boss, nails-hard, ruthless in the pursuit of power. She had her crew, too. There was noise coming from below –
shouts and cries and the sound of breaking things.

  ‘Go and get them to stop. Just tell them we have her, and it’s up to us to decide what happens to her.’

  Dalip nodded and went to the top of the stairs, stopping to pick up one of the damaged brass instruments. ‘Are you going to be okay with her?’

  She raised her weary gaze. ‘What do you think?’

  He shrugged and hurried away, his bare feet padding on the stone steps, and she was alone with the geomancer. The situation was now very different from last time. She could take her to the broken balcony doors and pitch her over the edge. If she could change before she hit the ground, she’d live. If not, then the castle and everything in it would be Mary’s. She might not even give her that chance, and simply finish her with something sharp, or heavy. The geomancer would, if left alone, heal and grow stronger until one day, Mary would be forced to do something.

  In her experience, that was the way it had to be.

  ‘Just … stop crying, okay? It’s over.’

  It didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse.

  ‘Look, I know what I’m supposed to do now. I’m supposed to take out the competition, move on to their manor and pick up where they left off. It’s what you did to Crows, and it’s what you expect of me.’

  At the mention of Crows’ name, the geomancer stiffened.

  ‘Oh, Crows. He might be a bullshitter, but he taught me a few tricks. The rest, I seem to be learning by myself. He’s gone now, though, with my map. And that hurt. I trusted him, like how we all trusted your wolfman: how come no one in this fucking place seems to be able to open their mouths without a lie coming out?’

  The geomancer slowly lifted herself from prone to sitting, wedging herself against the wall. The white and gold dress was tattered and torn: one sleeve was down by her wrist, and the other’s stitching had all but unravelled. Her front, bare chest and sculpted bodice, was stained scarlet from the copious nose bleed Mary had given her. She lifted a hand and scraped her hair away from her face enough to reveal one baleful red eye.

  She wiped her puffy lips with the back of her hand. Her teeth were white against the red.

  ‘Why are you letting me live?’

  ‘Because I don’t feel like killing you, right? You want to die? There’s the window.’ Mary glared at her. ‘This should have been different. You could have been nice to us. We would have answered all your questions. We’d have probably stayed here while we found our feet. Instead, you treat us like shit, then wonder why we don’t do as we’re told. You can fuck right off with that. You’re going to have to answer our questions now, and you’d better tell us the truth.’

  26

  Dalip found a stand-off at the bottom of the tower. The guards had forced the door, but those inside had barricaded the stairwell making it impossible for them to pass further.

  ‘Let me through,’ he said to Mama, and even though it was a squeeze to get by her on the stairs, they were both past the point of embarrassment. Elena was next, and it was no more nor less awkward. The front line consisted of Luiza and Stanislav, and Dalip peered between them over the jumble of furniture at the thwarted guards. He threw the geomancer’s broken toy into the midst of the snarling men.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Stanislav. He’d been cut on the forehead by some flying object, a raised lump with a gash at its centre had streamed blood down the side of his face and neck.

  ‘I’ve no idea what it was, but it should mean we can stop fighting for a bit.’

  ‘You’ve taken her, then,’ came the shouted response.

  ‘It’s over. She’s still alive, but she’s our prisoner now.’

  ‘You should have finished her,’ hissed Stanislav. ‘She is dangerous.’

  ‘Look, just …’ Dalip screwed his face up in concentration. ‘Shut up about that. We know what we’re doing.’ He returned his attention to the guards. ‘Leave the tower. Leave the castle if that’s what you want, we can’t stop you and we wouldn’t want to. Everything’s changed here – we’re not slaves anymore.’

  He could see the guards individually weighing up the balance of power: one by one, they left the downstairs room. There was no door to pull shut behind them – it was lying flat on the floor – but once the last of them had gone, the only thing stealing back through was the night.

  Mama huffed. ‘Well, that’s that. We’re free to go, right?’

  Dalip put his shoulder to the barricade, just to see how firm it was. ‘It’s a bit more complicated than that, and I really don’t have the words to explain it. It’d all be better if you just took a look for yourself.’

  Luiza offered him the long knife. He thought about declining, but he took it. It was a kirpan by any other name, and he hoped that he’d be able to get the geomancer to tell him what she’d done with his kangha and kara. And his pagh.

  The two serving women came with them, up the narrow winding steps all the way to the top. Mary had heard them coming, and was sitting on the bed, still wrapped in the tapestry.

  ‘Hey,’ she said.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘We need to clean her up. Find her some new clothes.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘We can’t just leave her like that.’ She gestured at the raggedy woman, who sat with her legs drawn up and knees hard against her chest. ‘Just because we won doesn’t mean we have to behave like shits.’

  ‘She tried to kill both of us.’ He stepped off the staircase and in to the room. Mama followed, cautiously, eyes wide.

  ‘So we’ll be careful. Good to see you, Mama.’

  Mama slowly turned, taking in the whole room, and eventually her gaze caught the slight figure of Mary.

  ‘Good Lord and Sweet Jesus,’ she shrieked. ‘Where’ve you been, girl?’

  ‘Out and about. I’m fine.’ She smiled. ‘I’m better than fine.’

  ‘What happened to your clothes?’

  Dalip had to stand back lest he got trampled by Mama.

  ‘They got wrecked. By her. When she was a dragon.’

  The others emerged. Mary nodded her welcome, taking a kiss on the cheek from Luiza and Elena. Mama drew back the wall hanging to inspect Mary’s back, causing her to wail and invoke God again.

  Stanislav stared for a moment at Mary, then fixed on the geomancer. He marched straight to her and grabbed her by one thin wrist, pulling her upright and leaving her legs struggling to find purchase.

  He pressed her against the wall, his hand around her throat, and slapped her, forehand, backhand, her head snapping one way, then the other. His fingers tightened, and she started to scrabble at her own neck, trying to prise him off.

  ‘Stanislav. Stop.’ Dalip started towards him, but Luiza was already moving.

  Stanislav’s hand fastened on the front of dress, hooking the cloth away from her already-bruised and blood-smeared skin and ripping it apart. Luiza jumped up on him, her momentum knocking him sideways and forcing him to let go. They landed together, all three of them: the geomancer was desperate to get away, Stanislav just as desperate to attack her, and Luiza clinging to the Slav like a burr.

  Mama interposed her bulk, shielding the geomancer and shoving hard at Stanislav. Now separated from his target, he half-rose and shook Luiza clear with a shrug of his broad shoulders. She landed with a squeal and tried to scramble back into contact, but Dalip got within range and brought Stanislav down.

  The man raged and frothed and bellowed, and Dalip could barely hold him, let alone control him. It was like riding a tiger, and not even his fabled grandfather had done that.

  Luiza threw her club next to him. She was right: it was either that or the knife. He snatched it up, got his arm around Stanislav’s neck and smashed the club against the crown of his head. The first strike seemed to have little effect. The second knocked him back flat against the floor.
The third was ill-timed and weakly done, and only the fourth, where he was able to get a better swing and connect with the wound already on Stanislav’s temple, stunned him.

  ‘Get him out of here,’ demanded Mama. ‘Just get him out before he does that again. And when he comes to his senses, tell him we do not do that – to anyone! That man is becoming too much of a liability to have around.’

  Dalip threw the club aside and dragged Stanislav by his collar to the stairs, then bundled him down them and into the room he’d first entered via the window. He slammed the door shut and put his back against it, bracing himself upright. He swung wildly between shock and fury.

  ‘What was that? What did you think you were doing?’

  Stanislav, sprawling half under the table that still held the specimen tray, groggily put his hand to his head where Dalip had coshed him.

  ‘Answer me!’ He thought of all the words that the other boys at school used, openly, between themselves. ‘You were … you were …’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ slurred Stanislav.

  ‘That, at least, is right. Mary – Mary can do magic now. The geomancer wasn’t a threat any more. She was beaten. She was our prisoner.’

  ‘She is still dangerous—’

  ‘No. She isn’t. It’s you who’s too dangerous. You’ve already killed two people tonight. One of them in cold blood. And then you want to kill the steward, and the geomancer, and then you, you were tearing her clothes off. That’s just not …’ All the long words had failed him. ‘That’s just not right.’

  ‘She is dangerous,’ roared Stanislav. ‘She needs to be, needs to be – subdued. Conquered. Looted. Like a city. Her walls must come down, yes? It is not enough to force her to her knees, she needs to remember why she is there.’

  ‘That’s—’

  ‘She was using you to fight animals to the death. Have you forgotten that?’

  ‘No, I haven’t, but—’

  ‘She deserves to be trampled into the dust. We were slaves! We were owned! She is beaten, but she is not humiliated like we were. Make her cower. Make her flinch when we raise our hand to her. That is all she understands, that the strong do what they want, and the weak have to suffer what they will.’ Stanislav sat up, back to the table. ‘She will try to kill us if we do not do these things. Break her will, and we will be safe.’