The Fall of Ventaris (The Grey City)

by Neil McGarry

  She shrugged. “Well, if you insist. I wonder where should I start ‘peddling my little story.’ Perhaps at the Vermillion? Minette loves a good tale, and she always gives as good as she gets. I’d be surprised if she didn’t know someone who’d seen you hanging about House Eusbius, or meeting with the good preceptor afterward.” She sipped her wine, trying to appear casual. Although it was true there was no direct link between Tyford and the flow of weapons to the Deeps, there was more than enough evidence to tie the old thief to Amabilis...or would be, if she fruned it right. Guilt by association was a very real thing on the Grey. At his age he might not care, but Tyford had lived a long time keeping himself out of trouble.

  Tyford chuckled. “Godsdammit, girl.” He drained his cup in one draught and set it aside. “You got me. I must have taught you more than I knew.” He rubbed his forehead with one gnarled hand. “I never should have gotten involved with that bastard in radiant’s robes, but he had a mark back from Ventaris-knows-when, so what could I do?” He sat forward, placing his hands on his knees. “So now I either pay for your silence or slit your throat. I’m guessing you’d prefer the first. Well, so would I. Could chase you around this place with a knife, I suppose, but you’re quick, and strong for a woman, and I’m not young anymore. Who needs that nonsense?” He sighed. “So what’ll it be? You want your silver back? You’ll have gotten the best teacher in the city for free.”

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Tyford. You have been a good teacher, and you earned that money. Every penny.” She smiled. “But I do have another problem you could help me with. A rent problem.”

  “A rent problem...” he began, confused, then his bushy eyebrows lowered. “That’s a three-story building, girl, and even in Wharves it’s worth fifty times what you’ve paid me to teach you. More.”

  She shrugged. “It’s either that or we get to the chasing. And I have a knife too.” She sat back, crossing her arms. “So do we pick up our blades, or do I come back with a scholar, to handle the paperwork?”

  Tyford watched her for a long moment, his Nerrish features hard with anger. Then he relented. “The damn scholar,” he said, defeated, “but not here. I’ll meet you at one of those booths in the market square and we’ll sign over the deed. And then I don’t want to see you again, or hear your name, or even remember you ever walked through that door. Gods above,” he lamented, pouring himself another drink, “but I hate this city.”

  * * *

  “No,” Castor said, and all her plans fell apart.

  They were in her office, the day before the Fall and only hours before she was to execute the final stage of her plan. Everything was in place: Lysander had corralled the cats, and Gloria Tremaine had — after painfully close inspection — agreed that Jana’s cloth met with her approval. All that remained was to fill Castor in on the part he would play. She’d met him with the intention of laying everything out, but his coldness upon his arrival had caught her short.

  Then he’d demanded to know precisely what she was up to.

  It was her questioning that had aroused his suspicions, her bizarre request for descriptions of the empress’ previous dresses, of previous Falls and how they had gone. Why would she need to know such things? What was she up to?

  And when she told him, he told her no.

  “What do you mean no?” she’d said, feeling weightless. “Castor, no one else knows about those tunnels, and for good reason. I need you with me, and no other.”

  He rose from his chair and paced restlessly to the window, which was unlike him. From outside had came the sounds of voices, the creaking of wagons, and the tromp of feet on cobblestoned streets. Duchess had spent so much time dealing with the high and mighty that she’d nearly forgotten that the common folk also celebrated the Fall of Ventaris, if less extravagantly than their betters. The Shallows bustled with people shopping for food, laundering good clothing, and hanging folded parchment suns from door posts and shop windows.

  Finally, he turned to face her. “The Atropi aren’t worth this.”

  She looked at him. “They tried to ruin me.”

  “And in return you’re destroying the Empress’ dress?”

  “I’m destroying the Atropis’ dress. There’s a difference.”

  “Violana won’t see it that way, and neither will the court.” He shook his head. “Yes, those old women struck at you, but this is too strong a riposte. It’s the same mistake you make at weapons practice. When you feel threatened you go on the offensive, but this...this is like using a battering ram to kill a bumblebee.”

  “The only thing I’m battering is the pride of a few nasty old women who went looking for trouble,” Duchess countered, taken off-guard by his reaction. “Why do you care what happens to the Atropi?”

  His face went hard as stone. “I don’t. But I wore the White for years, protecting the honor of the imperial family. Yes, I dishonored the color I wore, but I won’t do the same to the family — ”

  “Family!” she shouted, making him flinch. “Don’t talk to me about family. Do you know what the Brutes were going to do to Lysander if they got ahold of him? Do you know what they were going to do to me?” She was on her feet now, ranting. She didn’t care. “They were going to destroy Jana’s most prized possessions, they were going to cost me everything I’d risked, everything I’d done. And you don’t want to embarrass three old women?”

  And now he was shouting back, his cold composure gone with hers. “Old women? This is the empress! Matriarch of the line I swore to protect, whose life is my honor and my — ”

  She couldn’t hear any more. “You and your blessed honor. I rescued you from the cell where your damned honor landed you! I told you when you returned to me that your days as Pollux were over. Pollux was a White. Pollux swore on his honor. And even Pollux couldn’t keep his damned word.”

  As soon as it was out of her mouth she regretted it. Castor’s face was still as stone, but in his eyes she saw that she’d struck a blow deeper than any she’d ever managed in their sparring. His mouth twisted. “You know nothing of what happened,” he spat. “Nothing of — ”

  The softness of her reply cut him short. “Then why don’t you tell me?”

  He sputtered. She’d never seen him like this. “Tell you...”

  “Tell me, Castor. You never speak of it. Never speak of what led you to me. Led you to this life I resurrected you into.”

  She could not believe it, but she could almost see tears forming in his eyes. “You don’t deserve to — ”

  “Oh, I do,” she said, straining to keep her voice calm. “For all I’ve done for you? All I’ve gone through for you? I deserve that at least.”

  She thought he would leave, then — walk away without another word. She could see on his face pain, anger and despair. Then he sighed. “It was not a mistake,” he said at last. He sat down, placed his hands on his knees, and seem to shrink into himself. “I broke my word. For her. I know that. But it was not, ever, a mistake. Not her. And when she told me of the child. My child...” He looked up and the plaintive look on his face broke her heart. “And he was not a mistake either, never. And for the first time I can remember I was happy.” His hands balled into fists. “And then I lost his mother, and all I had was him.” His knuckles went white, his face flushed. “Regardless of the empress, regardless of the White, regardless of my word: I take care of my own.”

  Duchess felt her anger melting like fog in the afternoon sun. “As do I, Castor. And perhaps where you come from people...men can rely upon merely honor to do so. But I’m afraid it works differently down the hill. Especially for women. I have to be twice as tough to get half the respect. My enemies have already struck one blow, and the only way I can protect me and mine from a second is to make sure I’m feared. After the Fall, the Atropi are going to fear me.”

  He looked at her a long moment, then stood. “I think I fear you. And in this, I can’t help you.” The sadness was still in his gray steel eyes. “You told m
e that to be Castor I had to take on a new life. I am not sure I am ready for it. I take care of my own. And that includes the imperial family.” And there it was. Even after all that had happened to him as Castor, some part of him was Pollux. Was still a White. It was an illusion he needed to hold.

  “Very well,” she said at last, feeling shaky, feeling lost. “Then I have no further need of you.”

  He looked as stricken as he ever looked, his mouth half-opened as if to reply. He nodded, brow furrowing, turned, and walked out the door.

  What could she do, after all, being who he was, being who she was? She would let him have his lies.

  * * *

  Duchess sat at her desk a long time after Castor had departed. Part of her wanted to wash down her troubles with wine, but she knew that, tonight of all nights, she’d need her wits about her. And she was out of water, damn the gods.

  A tentative knock at her apartment door pulled her out of her black thoughts, and for a moment she harbored hopes that Castor had seen the error of his ways and returned. Those hopes were dashed when she found Jana waiting on her doorstep.

  “Jana, I...is everything all right?” Although she’d visited the weaver at the soon-to-be shop many times, Jana had thus far never returned the favor.

  The Domae woman nodded. “I was out buying lamp oil” — she held up a clay jug — “and since that brought me to the Shallows, I thought I might come and see where you live.” Despite her earnest expression, Duchess felt instantly suspicious. Although the actual opening of the shop was weeks away, there remained an incredible amount to be done: weaving enough cloth to act as initial inventory, setting prices, and preparing the shopfront. So much work, in fact, that Jana was unlikely to roam into the Shallows for a purchase she could easily have made in Wharves.

  “Then come in and see,” Duchess said as pleasantly as she could manage. Thus far, Jana had taken care of the work and Duchess the worry, and Duchess was not ready for those roles to change. Besides, she still had preparations to make, and the day was passing.

  She gave Jana the penny tour, and as they went they spoke of trivialities, of cloth and weaving supplies, of the new shop, and even the weather, but Duchess could tell there was something else the weaver wanted to say. When Jana had seen and approved of the apartment, Duchess cleared her throat expectantly.

  “Yes, you are busy today, I know,” said Jana, responding to Duchess’ unspoken dismissal. “But there is one thing...”

  “Yes?” Duchess pressed at her closed eyes with her fingers. She didn’t have time for this. There was so much to do, and with Castor now gone...

  “I am worried,” the Domae said flatly. Duchess opened her eyes to find Jana regarding her somberly.

  “Worried?”

  “About you.”

  Duchess sighed, smiling wanly. “That’s very sweet, Jana, but I’m — ”

  “Tired. And worried. I have seen it since the attack by the...Brutes, you called them. And since the night we spent in the Foreign Quarter things have gotten worse. And I fear that my cards only made you more fearful.”

  Jana had a way of putting her finger gently on the problem, Duchess noted uncomfortably. “Yes, I have been worried, but it’s nothing you need concern yourself with. You’ve enough on your plate. I know I’ve been too busy to really help, but soon — ”

  “What?” From anyone else such sharpness would have rankled, but something in Jana’s tone defeated resentment. “You will...explain? Will you do that soon? Will that be after you explain how blackarms become thieves rather than stop them? And will you tell me what this has to do with me, or our shop?”

  Duchess had no reply. So much had happened that she didn’t know where to begin. She shrugged helplessly, uncertain what to say.

  After a moment, Jana sighed. “I am sorry. It is up to you what you tell me and what you do not. But I am worried for you. We have done so much, made so much. There is so much to be happy for. So much to look forward to. But you do not see it. I have a family now — ”

  “And I am happy for you, Jana.” Duchess sighed herself. She could not remember ever feeling so tired. “Being in the guild. I know how important — ”

  “I did not mean the guild.” Jana’s gaze never wavered. “You will do what you have to do. I understand this. Just know,” she said, placing her hand on Duchess’, “that you are not alone.” And then she was gone.

  Duchess sat silent for a long time, thinking over what her new friend had said. Then, realizing the time, she got up to finish what Castor’s departure and Jana’s arrival had interrupted. She went through her rucksack one last time, then headed out into the Shallows, ready for the evening’s work.

  As she went, she felt a lightness that had not been there. For, she knew, with or without Castor, she was not alone.

  * * *

  The last time she’d entered the sewers she’d been fleeing from danger. Now she was heading straight for it. Well, not straight, precisely. The tunnels that honeycombed the great hill were as twisted as the roots of old trees, and buried deeper.

  She’d said as much when she first saw the maps the scholar’s daughter had drawn from the originals in Terence’s study. “There are miles of tunnels under the city,” Darley had told her, as they conferred in an alley near Market Square. “No one’s mapped them all.” She glanced about uneasily. “If you memorize these you should be able to get around just fine. If you forget, you might never see the light of day again.” And that had been that.

  The maps had been accurate so far. She’d entered the tunnels in Wharves, where the lock on the heavy grate was built to resist the prying of thugs and not the careful tickling of thieves. From there she’d made her way to a main tunnel — the very one, she thought, she’d taken the night of the baron’s party, but this time going up the hill instead of down. She was armed with a small lantern instead of a stolen dagger, which made the going easier but no more pleasant. The sewers smelled just as bad as she remembered.

  If all went well, sundown would see her inside Meadowmere Manse, ready to launch the final phase of the plan she’d concocted with Gloria Tremaine. The guildmaster’s help had been crucial. Duchess had naturally not revealed that the Atropi had removed the dress from the workshop — that would have given the game away — but Tremaine had told her where the dress would be the night before the Fall. That meant a stealthy trip into Garden District and a danger that made Duchess light-headed. And now she had to face it all without Castor.

  She came to a junction and by the light of her lantern consulted the maps once more. The left fork was wider, but that would only take her under Temple District and away from her destination. She turned right, pausing only to fumble a piece of chalk from her pocket and scratch a mark on the wall. In case Darley’s notes turned out to be wrong she’d need a guidepost to find her way back, although if Lysander came through she’d wouldn’t need either.

  “If you’d asked me six months ago to get ten angry cats into Garden District at night, I’d have called you mad,” he’d said when she’d put it to him. “So either I’m developing my own insanity or just getting used to yours.”

  “You’re sure you can do it?”

  He’d flapped a hand. “I already have a plan, and no, you can’t hear it. But I need some money to make it work.”

  “How much money am I paying for this plan I can’t hear about?”

  “A florin should do it.” She’d grimaced, but he was undeterred. “Revenge costs, and so does this plan. Which, by the way, is no less unlikely than yours.” He gestured at the maps Darley had drawn. “Let’s say these tunnels will get you into Garden. How will you get out?”

  She’d shrugged. “Same way, I suppose, although I don’t fancy passing that necropolis even once, much less twice in a day. But I can’t very well just stroll whistling past the gate, can I?”

  “Not very well.” He’d furrowed his brow in thought. “That is, unless you’re with me.”

  She’d blinked. “Do you have th
e blackarms on your payroll? Or are they just clients?”

  “Funny. If I can get a bunch of spitting cats into Garden, I think I can get one Shallows girl out.” She’d opened her mouth to protest but he flapped a hand. “I’ve been moving around up the hill since I was old enough to undo a man’s breeches in the dark with one hand. I’ve got this. You do your job, and I’ll do mine.” He’d given her a look, and that had been the end of it.

  She smiled a bit at the memory; she sometimes forgot just how wise he was in the ways of the city. Grey she might be, but Lysander was golden, and that sometimes counted for more. She wished he were here now, for no matter how dark and daunting the sewers might be, what lay ahead was even worse. The Ossuary was no place for her to venture alone, and yet she had no choice. The only path that took her into Garden led through that forbidden place, and she must either dare to pass it or else give up her mission altogether.

  She tightened her grip on the lantern and pressed on through the wet dark.

  * * *

  The tunnel that gave on to the oldest of the Domae tunnels was closed by another gate with another lock, but this one held up to her picks no better than the first. She stepped through and pulled the bars to, checking her lamp oil. If she lost her light now, she might wander in the dark for days before finding her way out...if she ever did. She consulted her maps once more and then followed the passage roughly north.

  She wished she could go into Garden through the gate, with Lysander, but there was no way. Even during the day the blackarms would stop and question anyone who appeared out of place, and that most definitely included her. They were even known to conduct searches of those who would enter the wealthiest district in the city. Lysander would be caught only with a cage of cats and some odd-smelling herbs, but any search of Duchess would reveal lockpicks, knives, and any number of larcenous accoutrements. She might as well write “thief” on her forehead. The only way past the gate was to go under it.