Changer’s Moon dos-3

by Jo Clayton

  They emerged into an empty stable, her nose as well as her eyes testifying to its long disuse, the floor swept clean, not a wisp of straw, the stalls empty; there wasn’t a nubble of grain about nor any water in the trough.

  As Tuli was inspecting the stable, Rane was pushing the hidden door shut and having trouble with the latch. It wasn’t catching. Finally, with a snort of disgust, she stepped back and slammed the flat heel of her boot on the outside of the door just above the latch, hissed with satisfaction as it stayed shut.

  Tuli chuckled.

  Rane shook her head. “Imp,” she murmured, then she touched Tuli’s arm, led her to a door beside one of the stalls. “I haven’t had to use this way before,” she said. She wasn’t whispering, but kept her voice so soft Tuli could barely hear what she said. “Nor has anyone else, from the look of it.” She stopped before the door, frowned at Tuli. “In those bulky clothes you’ll pass easy enough for a boy, Moth, but keep your mouth shut or you’ll have us neck down in soup. We’ll be going to the third floor of this building. No problem about who we are until I knock on a door, then it’s yes or no, the knocking and the name are enough to sink me if something’s wrong. You keep back by the stairhead. Roveda Gesda is the name of the man we’re going to see. If I call him Gesda, you can come and join us, but if I call him Roveda, you go and go fast, get the macain and go back to the Biserica, tell them what we’ve learned so far and tell them our friend in Sel-ma-Carth has gone sour. That’s so much more important than anything you could do for me that there is no comparison I can make.” She reached out and touched Tuli’s cheek, very briefly, a curiously restrained gesture of affection. “I mean it, Moth. Do you understand?”

  Reluctantly Tuli nodded.

  They went up a flight of stairs, down a long and echoing hall, up the flight at the far end of the hall, back down another hall, up a third flight. The building seemed empty, the doors to the living spaces so firmly shut they might have been rusted in place; the air in the halls and in the enclosed stairways between them was stale and had a secretive smell to it, a reflection more of Tuli’s state of mind than any effect of nature. The third floor. Tuli waited behind a partially opened door while Rane walked alone down this corridor and knocked at another.

  After a tense, moment the door opened, swung out. Impossible to see who or what stood there, impossible to guess whether it was good fortune or bad for them. Rane spoke. Tuli saw her lips move, but the words came down the hall as muffled broken sounds, nothing more. Rane canted her head to one side, a habit she had when listening. She spoke again, more loudly. “Gesda, I’ve got a young friend with me.” Tuli heard the key name, pushed the door open and stepped into the hall. Rane saw her hesitate, grinned and beckoned to her.

  Roveda Gesda was a wiry little man, smaller than Tuli, his age indeterminate. His wrinkled face was constantly in motion, his eyes restless, seldom looking directly at the person he was speaking to, his mouth was never still, the wrinkles about it shifting in a play of light and shadow. A face impossible to read. It seemed never the same for two consecutive moments. His hands, small even for him, were always touching things, lifting small objects, caressing them, setting them down. Sometimes the objects seemed to flicker, vanish momentarily, appearing again as he set them down.

  Tuli settled herself on a cushion by Rane’s feet and endured the sly assessment of the little man’s glittering black eyes. She said nothing, only listened as Rane questioned him about the conditions in the city.

  “Grain especially, but all food is controlled by the Aglis of each district and the garrison settled on us. We got to line up each day at distribution points and some…” the tip of his tongue flickered out, flicked from corner to corner of his wide mobile mouth, “some pinch-head fool of a Follower measures out our day’s rations.” He snorted. “Stand in line for hours. And we got to pay for the privilege. No handouts. Fifteen tersets a day. You don’t got the coin or its equivalent in metal, too bad. Unless you wearing Follower black and stick a token from the right Agli under the airhead’s nose.”

  “Carthise put up with that?”

  “What can we do? Supplies was low anyway.” He glared down at his hands. “What with storms and Floarin sending half the Guard, Malenx himself heading ’em, to strip the city and the tars north of here-grain, fruit, hauhaus, you name it, she scooped it up. Needs meat for her army, she does. Once a tenday we get meat now, soon enough won’t have any. Stinkin’ Followers butchered all the macain and oadats and even pets, anything that ate manfood or could make manfood. Smoked it or salted it down. Sent a lot out in the tithe wagons. With the snow now that will stop but folk won’t be able to get out and hunt in the hills, a pain in the butt even getting out to fish and having to give half what you catch as a thank offering. What I mean, this city’s lower’n a snake’s navel.” After a minute his wrinkles shifted and he looked fraudulently wise and sincerely sly. “Some ha’ been getting out, those that know how. Awhile back we had us a nice little underground market going. Snow shut down on that some, but some a the miner families are out there trapping vachhai and karhursin; better we pay them than those foreigners and sucking twits. Tell you something too, not a day passes but some Follower he goes floating out face down in shit. Even the aglis, they beginning to twitch and look over their shoulders. Trying to keep a tight hand on us, they are, but I tell you, Rane good friend, the tighter they squeeze the slippier we get.” He grinned, his eyes almost disappearing in webs of wrinkles, then he shook his head, suddenly sobered. “Folk getting restless. I can feel the pressure building. Going to be an explosion one a these days and blood in the streets. One thing you say about Hern, you pay your tithes, keep quiet, he let you go your way and don’t wring you dry. Where is he, you know? What’s he doing? He weren’t much but he keep the lice off our backs. Rumor says no Sesshel Fair come spring. That happen, this city burns.”

  He shifted around in his chair, sat with his elbow on the chairarm, his hand masking his mouth. “Always been folk here who want to stick fingers in other folks’ lives, tell ’em how to think, how to talk, tell ’em how to hold mouth, wiggle little finger, you know; they the ones that got the say now, and by-damn do they say.” He shifted again. “What’s the Biserica doing? Do we get any kind a help? Say a few meien to kick out the Guards. Maybe a few swords and crossbows. The Followers, they aren’t much as fighters, no better armed than we used to be. Course we had to turn in our arms. ’Nother damn edict. I wouldn’t say there aren’t a few little knives and you name it cached here and there, owners forgetting the hell out of ’em. Still, some bows and a good supply of bolts wouldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t have to get them inside the walls, me and my friends could see to that.

  “Got five norits in the Citadel, they sticking noses everywhere. Maiden knows what they looking for, how much they see. One thing, they caught Naum peddling black-market meat. Whipped him bloody in the market square, took him to the House of Repentance. Lot of folk smirking like they something, watching all that. Well, he not easy to be around, but they don’t need to enjoy it that much. I ain’t seen him since. Me, I been lucky, you might say.” He fidgeted nervously, One foot tapping at the reed mat on the floor, the shallow animal eyes turning and turning as if he sought the cobwebs of Nor longsight in the corners of the room. “It’s hoping they won’t sniff you out.”

  Rane shifted in her chair, her leg rubbing against Tuli’s arm. Tuli glanced up but could read nothing in the ex-meie’s face. “Any chance of that?” Rane held up a hand, pinched thumb and forefinger together, then widened the gap between them, raised an eyebrow.

  Fingers smoothing along his thigh, Gesda shrugged. “Don’t know how their longsight works. Can’t judge the odds they light on us. Here. Now.”

  “A lottery?”

  “Might say.”

  “The artisans’ guilds?”

  “Disbanded. Plotting and stirring up trouble, the pontifex, he say. Head Agli here, what he calls himself. Me, I’m a silversmith. We don’t think we disband
ed, not at all. No. Followers like lice in guild halls but we keep the signs and the rules, we do. Friend of mine, Munah the weaver, he… hmmm… had some doings with me last passage. From things he say, weavers same as silversmiths. Guilds be here before the Heslins, yeah, even before the Biserica, ain’t no pinchhead twit going to break ’em. They went secret before, can be secret again.”

  “Followers in the guild halls, how bad is that? Do they report on you to the Aglim?”

  Tuli listened to the voices droning on and on. The raspy, husky whisper of Gesda, the quicker, flatter voice of Rane with its questions like fingers probing the wounds in Sel-ma-Carth. Talk and talk, that was all this adventure was. That and riding cold and hungry from camp to camp. Especially hungry. She stopped listening, leaned against the chair and dozed off, the voices still droning in her ears.

  Some time later Rane shook her awake. Gesda was nowhere in sight and Rane had a rep-sack filled with food that plumped its sides and made the muscles in her neck go stringy as she slid the strap onto her shoulder. Tuli blinked, then got stiffly to her feet. “We going? What time is it?”

  “Late.” Rane crossed the room to the door. “Shake yourself together, Moth.” She put her hand on the latch, hesitated. “You have your sling with you?”

  Tuli rubbed at her eyes, wiggled her shoulders and arms. “Yah,” she said. “And some stones.” She pushed her hand into her jacket pocket, pulled out the sling. “Didn’t know what might be waiting for us.”

  “Good. Keep it handy. Let me go first. You keep a turn behind me on the stairs, watch me down the halls. Hear?” Tuli nodded. As Rane opened the door and stepped out, she found a good pebble, pinched it into the pocket of the sling. She peered past the edge of the door. Rane was vanishing into the stairwell. Tuli went down the hall, head turning, eyes wide, nervous as a lappet on a bright night.

  At the foot of the stairs she opened the second-floor door a crack and looked out. Rane was moving quickly along the hall, her feet silent on the flags in spite of the burden she carried.

  A door opened. A black-robed figure stepped into the hall in front of Rane. “Stand quiet, meie.” There was taut triumph in the soft harsh voice. “Or I’ll fry your ears.”

  Tuli hugged the wall, hardly breathing as she gathered herself. She caught the sling thongs with her right hand, held the stone pinched in the leather pocket with her left, wishing as she did so that she knew how to throw a knife. The sling took long seconds to get up to speed and though she was accurate to her own satisfaction, there was that gap between attack and delivery that seemed like a chasm to her in that moment. She used her elbow to ease the door open farther, moving it slowly until she could slip through the crack.

  “Not meie, Norit.” Rane’s voice was cool and scornful as she swung the sack off her shoulder and dropped it by her foot. Tuli crept farther along the hallway, willing Rane to move a little, just a little and give her a shot.

  “Spy then,” the norit said. “What difference does the word make? Come here, woman.” The last word was a curse in his mouth.

  Tuli started the sling whirring, round and round over her head, her eyes fixed on the bit of black she could see past Rane’s arm. Come on, Rane, move! Damn damn damn. “Rane,” she yelled, hearing her voice as a breaking squeak.

  Rane dropped as if they’d rehearsed the move. With a swift measuring of distance and direction, a sharp explosion of breath, Tuli loosed the stone.

  Rane rose and lunged at the norit. As he flung himself down and back, the stone striking and rebounding from the wall above him, Rane was on him, taking him out with a snake strike of her bladed hand to his throat. Then he was writhing on the cold stone, mouth opening and closing without a sound as he fought to breathe, fought to scream, then he was dead. When he went limp, Rane was up on her feet, sack in hand, thrusting her head into the living space he’d come from. She vanished inside, came out without the sack and hurried back to the norit.

  Breathing hard, almost dizzy with the sudden release from tension, Tuli ran down the hall. Rane dropped to her knees by the nor’s body. She looked around. “Thanks, Moth.” She began going through the man’s clothing, snapped a chain that circled his neck and pulled out a bit of polished, silver-backed crystal, a small mirror no larger than a macai’s eye. She threw it onto the flags, surged onto her feet and brought her boot heel down hard on it, grunting with satisfaction as she ground it to powder. Then she was down again, starting to reach for the fragments. She drew her hand back. “Moth.”

  “Huh?”

  “Get his knife. Cut me a square of cloth from his robe big enough to hold this. Hurry,” she said, her voice whisper-soft.

  When Tuli handed her the cloth and the knife, she scraped the fragments onto the cloth without touching them, tied the corners into knots over them, still being careful not to touch them with her flesh. With a sigh of relief she dumped the small bundle on the nor’s chest. “Help me carry him.”

  “Where?”

  “In there.” She pointed to the half-open door. “No one lives there.”

  After they laid him on the floor of the small bare room, Rane put her hand on Tuli’s shoulder. “Would you mind staying here with him a minute? I’ve got to warn Gesda.” Tuli swallowed, then nodded, unable to speak. “I won’t be a minute.” She hurried out.

  Tuli wandered over to the shuttered window. Little light crept in between the boards. Unable to stop herself she glanced over her shoulder at the body, thought she saw it move. She blinked, looked away, looked quickly back at him. He had moved. His head was turned toward her now, white-ringed dead eyes staring at her. Tuli gulped, backed slowly to the door. Her shaking hands caught hold of the latch but she scolded herself into leaving the door shut and watching the corpse, ready to keep it from crawling out the room and betraying them. Her first shock of terror draining off, she began to be interested, feeling a bit smug. Anyone else would still be running, but not me, she thought, not realizing that a lot of her calm was due to her gift for seeing into shadow, nothing for her imagination to take hold of and run with; she’d automatically shifted into her nightsight, that sharp black and white vision that gave her details as clearly as any fine etching.

  The body humped, the arms thumped clumsily over the uneven flags, the booted feet lurched about without direction or effect. She frowned. That weird, ragdoll twitching reminded her of something. “Yah. I see.” It was just as the Agli had moved when her father and Teras had hung his naked painted body like a clowndoll in front of Soдreh’s nest in Cymbank, just as he twitched when Teras jerked on the rope around his chest. “Gahh,” she whispered. “Creepy.” The mirror fragments on the corpse’s chest, they were doing that; the other norits, they were calling him. Maiden only knew how long before they came hunting. She started to sweat.

  The latch moved under her hand. She yelped and jumped away, relaxed when she saw it was Rane. “Look,” she whispered, “they’re calling him.”

  Rane frowned, flinched nervously when the body humped again, slapped a dead hand down near her foot. “Shayl!”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Rane skipped away as the hand started flopping about almost as if it felt for her ankles. She looked vaguely around. “Moth,” she whispered, “see if you can find a drain.”

  “Huh? Oh,” Tuli looked about, saw a ragged drape, pushed it aside and went through the arch into the room beyond. Nothing there. Not even any furniture. A familiar smell, though, the stink of old urine. Another curtained arch, narrower than the first. Small closet with assorted holes in the floor, several worn blocks raised above the tiles, a ragged old bucket pushed under a spigot like the tap on a cider barrel. She turned the handle, jumped as a gush of rusty water spattered down, half of it missing the bucket. “Hey,” she murmured, “what city folk get up to.” When the bucket was filled, she managed to shut off the flow. Grinning and very proud of herself, she raced back to Rane. “Through here,” she said.

  Rane carried the bundle with thumb and forefinge
r, holding it as far as she could from her body. She dropped it down the largest hole and Tuli dumped the bucket full of water after it. She filled the bucket and dumped it again. “That enough?”

  “Should be.” Rane straightened her shoulders. “That’ll be on its way downriver before the other norits can get a fix on it, if what I’m told is accurate.” She spoke in her normal tones but Tuli could see the beads of sweat still popping out on her brow. “If we leave that body here, everyone in the building will suffer for it. We’ve got to move it.”

  Tuli followed her back to the first room. “Where?”

  Rane glared down at the body, put her toe into its side and shifted it slightly; Tuli watched, very glad the pseudo-life had gone out of it when they got rid of the mirror fragments. “Out of here. Somewhere. Damn. I’m not thinking.” She ran her fingers through her stiff blonde hair until it resembled a haystack caught in a windstorm. “Have to get him completely out of the city and far enough away or they’ll animate him. No way to burn him. I’m afraid I jammed the panel we came through. Umm. There’s another entrance to the old sewerway a few streets down. Maiden bless, I hope we don’t have to take to the streets carrying a corpse. Keep your fingers crossed, Tuli; pray I can get the panel open. Let’s haul him down to the stable first, then we’ll see. Get his legs.” She stooped, heaved the sack onto her shoulder, got a grip on his and lifted.

  Rane pushed and pried about with the norit’s knife, kicked it again, but the panel stayed stubbornly shut. She came back to the body and scowled at Tuli. With hands that shook a little, she dug into Tuli’s jacket pocket, pulled the knitted helmet out and dragged it down over Tuli’s head. Then she took a long time getting the stray locks tucked under the ribbing. She stepped back and sighed. “Moth, it’s dark out there.” She nodded at the windows rimed over with ice. “Might be snowing some, norits snooping, Followers, Maiden knows what you’ll find out there. I’d rather do this myself, but your eyes are made for the job, and you’ll stand out less. Take a look at the street. I’ll stand, back-up this time. See if anyone’s about, see if it stays clear. Anything looks funny, get back fast. You hear?”