Angel Arias

by Marianne de Pierres

  Markes, reading over her shoulder, made a sound in the back of his throat.

  Suki. Naif swallowed hard and looked at Ruzalia. ‘We’re ready. Lower us down.’

  Charlonge hugged them both as they stepped onto the gantry. ‘Be careful.’

  ‘You too,’ said Naif.

  ‘Lower them now. Before the wind picks up again,’ said Ruzalia.

  He grabbed hold of the ropes on the other side of the gantry and Plank sent them slowly descending towards the cold lapping water of the Old Harbour.

  They stopped just above the stretch of grey sand near the long jetty where the barge came in. Markes jumped down first and waited for Naif to follow. She dropped more heavily than him and fell backwards.

  He went to help her up but she shook him off. ‘Let’s get to the warehouses; out of sight.’

  The sun was only a pale hint of light in the western sky as they crossed the cobblestone road and approached the dilapidated buildings which had once served as storage for the incoming trade.

  The Old Harbour had closed when Naif was still small. Joel had talked about it, telling her stories of people visiting from faraway places. That was before the Elders had ceased sea trade.

  Now all the supplies they could not grow themselves came overland and were stockpiled in Grave East, on the outskirts of the city. The Elders no longer wanted Grave people to have contact with outsiders. Joel told Retra that they feared the ideas the foreigners might bring. Merchants left their wares and were paid through a slot in the ramparts. When they left, gatherers went outside the wall to collect the produce.

  ‘Only one person talks to the outsiders now. He’s called the Assessor. He lives in a hut outside the walls and makes sure the merchants leave what they claim,’ Joel had told her.

  ‘Just one man?’ Naif had asked.

  ‘They say he’s worth ten men. That he’s strong and smart and unbeatable with a sword and stick. A giant.’

  ‘But there are no giants in Grave.’

  Joel had gotten annoyed with her then and told her to bite her tongue.

  The memory of that conversation followed her across the cobbles and along the outside of the crumbling warehouses. Had the closing of the Old Harbour and the change in trade been something to do with the Ripers and Ixion, she wondered. How long had Ripers been coming here, talking to the Elders?

  The realisation that she was really home made her lungs constrict, as though returning had robbed her of all breath. She tried to calm herself but her chest would not release the air.

  Markes took her arm, concerned. ‘Rest a moment before we go further.’

  He helped her through one of the broken doorways and waited while she steadied herself. After a moment or two, the gloom revealed the outline of some rickety stairs and a loft.

  Naif pointed upwards. ‘There – in – case.’

  Markes took the lead up the stairs and into the deep shadows at the back of the loft, where they stopped. Naif sank to the dusty floor, gasping.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked as he knelt alongside her. ‘Are you sick? We shouldn’t be in here. This dust . . .’

  ‘It’s not the dust,’ Naif whispered.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Being home. I’m just . . .’

  Markes reached for her hand and squeezed it.

  They both sat quietly. In the distance the airship engine rumbled, but closer, sharper, was the clack of boots on cobblestones.

  ‘Wardens,’ he said.

  ‘They must have seen the airship,’ whispered Naif.

  Markes’s hand became moist. Or maybe it was both their hands. ‘We can’t stay here; we have to get to my friend’s place in Grave North.’

  ‘If we move they’ll see us. And I don’t think I can run.’

  ‘Once they check the beach and find nothing they’ll think it’s gone.’ He tried to sound confident.

  ‘What if someone saw the gantry? Or our prints in the sand?’

  ‘Shhh!’

  They both fell silent again as the footsteps came closer. It was hard to tell how many men were outside; maybe half a dozen.

  ‘The airship had a floating gantry. Someone landed here,’ called a voice outside.

  Markes and Naif crawled forward and peered over the edge of the loft. Below, in the open doorway, the warden was illuminated by the lamp he held. He was dressed in knee-boots, a heavy greatcoat, and a three-cornered warden’s hat pulled low on his head.

  ‘Begin the search along the waterline and then these buildings. Put a watch along the paths to the city proper. Bring the hounds.’

  Hounds.

  Naif’s breathing tightened again. She’d seen them before, from a distance, pulling the wardens’ wheeled sleds, saliva flying from their huge mouths.

  Joel had hated them. ‘They’re terrible and hideous,’ he’d said. ‘Trained to crave the taste of blood.’

  She’d thought he was teasing her, until one day she’d accompanied her mother on an errand to the east side of the Seal Enclave and seen them chase down a young man. Her mother had covered her eyes from the spectacle and Naif hadn’t dared to ask what happened. Afterwards, though, her mother’s distress had haunted her.

  Now the wardens’ footsteps faded in one direction, leaving the doorway empty.

  ‘Need help you,’ said a voice from behind them in the deep wall shadows.

  Markes and Naif jumped.

  ‘Who are you?’ Markes demanded, fear making him sound angry.

  ‘Ask same,’ said the voice.

  Naif began to feel around on the loft floor, searching for a piece of wood or anything she could use to defend herself. Her fingers connected with what felt like a rusty container; heavy enough still to be carrying its contents. ‘Come closer so we can see you.’

  ‘You come close me.’ The voice sounded mistrustful.

  ‘We can’t see where you are.’

  ‘Problem you. Not me.’

  Markes shifted a little closer to the shadows.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Meet me halfway.’

  The person in the shadows didn’t reply, nor did he move.

  Markes shifted again until his legs disappeared into the darkness at the back of the loft. Naif wanted to pull him back to her.

  ‘Please come out,’ Markes said. ‘We are hiding. Like you.’

  Another silence was followed by a slithering noise. A face appeared in the gloom, hollow-eyed. The boy was not much older than them, if at all.

  ‘What are you doing here? No one lives in the Old Harbour,’ said Naif.

  ‘You come from sky. Pirate bring,’ said the boy.

  Naif’s hand tightened around the can. She leaned forward and touched Markes’s shoulder with her other hand. ‘The wardens will come soon with the hounds, Markes. We have to move on.’

  ‘Can’t hide from hounds,’ said the boy.

  Markes didn’t answer Naif, concentrating on the boy. ‘I am Markes and this is Naif. What’s your name?’

  The face retreated to the darkness.

  ‘Don’t leave yet. Are you hungry? Have some of these.’ Markes reached in his pocket and held out some of the bread that Ruzalia had given them.

  Without warning, an arm flashed from the dark and something curled around the bread, whipping it back into the shadows as quickly as it appeared.

  Naif started backwards from it, stopping only because her hand grazed the sharp edge of the loft.

  ‘Naif, give me your bread,’ said Markes. He didn’t turn, but stretched out his hand to receive it.

  ‘Markes –’

  ‘Please.’ His insistence surprised her. Markes had never been so firm before. On Ixion, he’d been either dreaming about his music or too numbed by the pods and beads the Ripers gave them.

  She dipped into her pocket and handed the bread over.

  Markes held out his hand again, palm flat, thumb tucked down, as if feeding an animal.

  The arm flashed out again, though less fiercely, deftly removing the food
from his hand. An arm without a hand or finger, only squirrelling tentacles.

  Footsteps outside. Loud. And then the chilling, hollow bark of a hound. Other hounds joined in a chorus that pierced Naif with terror.

  ‘Markes!’ Her chest tightened again. It was fear doing it. Fear of this place. Her home.

  The boy’s face appeared in the gloom. ‘Come. Show you way.’

  Neither of them moved.

  The boy moved out of the shadow. His head and body were human but his arm and hand were . . . Night Creature.

  He unfolded a tentacle to both of them. ‘Follow quick or hounds eat you.’

  A warm, suckered digit wound around Naif’s wrist and pulled her towards the dark. She quelled her instinct to recoil and let it guide her. Anything . . . anything was preferable to being taken by the wardens. She would never let that happen again.

  The dark that enveloped them was only a couple of body lengths deep. She bumped against Markes and their hands briefly touched. Naif wanted to speak but the hounds were in their building now, scraping at the floor, their barking echoing all around.

  The tentacle around Naif’s wrist tightened and she was propelled through a narrow opening in the wall so quickly that she banged her head and her hip on the rough edges of it.

  Markes followed after her, giving an involuntary gasp of pain. He was much broader and taller than her and could barely fit.

  When he’d squeezed through the gap, the tentacle unwound from her wrist and she heard a scuffling on the floor. Wood clunked softly against wood and left them in an even deeper darkness.

  ‘Hush!’ said the boy.

  Naif felt his tentacle caress her again. This time, though, he was holding something as well. It was rough hessian and the smell from it was putrid, like something dead a few days. She tried to push him away but his tentacle was strong and persistent, not withdrawing until he’d wiped the cloth over her.

  When he finished, she heard a rustling movement next to her and guessed the boy was doing the same thing to Markes.

  ‘Fish bag trick hounds. Wait now,’ the boy whispered when he finished.

  The three sat motionless and listened as the hounds yelped their way up the stairs to the loft, growling and snuffling along the wall.

  ‘Bring the lamp,’ shouted a warden.

  Footsteps on the stairs. Only two men this time, Naif thought. Where were the others?

  ‘Something’s been up here. Look at the marks in the dust,’ said one.

  ‘That’s from the hounds.’ The second warden had a calmer, less agitated voice.

  ‘No. These marks are too wide. Like bodies.’

  ‘You’re imagining things, brother.’

  ‘The airship brought trouble with it. And the trouble has been here. In this loft.’

  ‘If you’re right then I say the trouble has moved on and we keep looking. There’s nothing here now but dust.’ He pounded the wall with his fist, sending a vibration through the floor. ‘See.’

  ‘I tell you, brother,’ said the other one. ‘The hounds can sense something behind here. Feel the wall, it’s uneven.’

  They seemed so close that Naif could smell the hounds’ musty scent. She feared they would burst through the old planks at any moment.

  Perspiration chilled on her skin.

  The wardens tapped their fists against the wood again. Naif pictured them kneeling in their long coats and heavy boots, puzzling.

  The boy slid his arm right past Naif’s cheek and pressed the fish bag to the wall.

  ‘Put your nose here, Danno. Here’s what’s got the hounds excited. Something’s died here not long before.’

  ‘Surely smells of it, Lukas. Maybe you’re right. I’ve seen rats in the Old Harbour as big as the hounds themselves.’

  ‘All the more reason not to spend too long in the godforsaken place. Let’s search along the sea wall again.’

  Their footsteps and the growling receded to the stairs, and then gradually faded altogether.

  The boy lifted the loose board out. Daylight brightened the dark of their cubbyhole enough that Naif could see vague outlines of him and Markes.

  Suddenly he burst into rattling laughter. ‘Big rats like hounds. Hah, hah.’

  Naif wet her lips. ‘Why do you laugh?’

  ‘They see me. And mine. Think we big rats.’

  ‘And mine? There are more of . . . you?’

  ‘We are some. Lenoir says we must watch all-time. See you come. I follow.’

  ‘Lenoir?’ Naif gasped. As she spoke his name, a sharp, engulfing vision of the Riper’s dark hair and pale, beautiful face came to her. Her mouth went dry. Lenoir.

  ‘Follow now.’ The boy’s command dispelled her vision.

  He squeezed out through the hole and scurried across the loft.

  ‘Naif.’ Markes tugged her arm. ‘Come on. Before we lose him.’

  She crawled forward and turned herself sideways to fit through the gap. Markes followed her, legs first this time, twisting sideways to make his body as narrow as possible.

  The boy was already climbing swiftly down the stairs. Naif concentrated on following him – not staring at his deformed hand or puzzling how Lenoir knew him.

  Time enough for that. First they must get to Grave North and find out why Rollo had seen a Riper here in Grave. It held the key to everything. She knew it.

  The boy led them outside and along the cobblestones to the edge of the warehouse. They could hear the hounds roaming the waterline to the north and fear wrapped itself tightly around Naif’s stomach. With every step she imagined a hand clamping down on her shoulder, or a whistle blowing. She pictured her father’s face if the wardens captured her –

  ‘Naif, what is it?’ Markes was next to her, whispering in her ear. ‘You’re standing still.’

  She blinked. The boy had disappeared ahead, into a space between the buildings.

  ‘Shall we follow him or make our own way?’ Markes asked her.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m . . . I’m . . .’

  ‘I’m scared too,’ he said simply. ‘Being back here. Ixion has changed us.’

  ‘The boy said Lenoir told him to watch. What does that mean?’

  Markes shrugged. ‘I don’t know but out here we can be seen. We should follow him to cover at least.’

  She nodded and forced her feet forward.

  The narrow alley was long and encrusted with salt and soot. The boy waited for them atop a crate halfway along.

  ‘You slow. Is dangerous.’ His tentacles curled down, gripping the ends of the wood. As they watched he slid off the crate and nudged it away. Underneath was a grate, filthy with sludge. He plunged his tentacles into the gaps and pulled it aside. ‘There is drop.’

  He nodded at Naif and Markes, indicating that they should go before him.

  ‘I’m taller. I’ll go first,’ said Markes. He lowered himself down slowly until he disappeared.

  Naif peered in after him. She could just see his head and shoulders lit by some kind of glow.

  ‘I’ll catch you,’ he called up softly to her.

  ‘Hurry now,’ said the boy. ‘Hounds come.’

  The baying sounded closer again. Naif sat down on the edge and twisted around, lowering herself into the hole. Markes caught her and helped her onto a ledge.

  She stood still, panting, listening to the sound of water rushing past her. Droplets splashed onto her skin. The smell of saltwater overpowered all other scents.

  ‘I think we’re in a tidal drain. The water’s flowing straight out to the sea,’ said Markes.

  The boy came next. With quick agile movements he slid the grate in place after him. He dropped down near them and took a lit torch from the wall above Markes’s head.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Naif didn’t want to go any further with him until he told them that at least.

  The torchlight wavered as he started walking. ‘Liam.’

  Liam. It seemed familiar but Naif knew no one by that name. ‘Where are you going, Lia
m?’

  ‘Others.’

  He walked on, along the narrow ledge beside the drain, leaving them no option but to follow him or be left in the wet, cold dark.

  They hugged the drain wall, bending double in parts. Several times Liam got too far ahead of them and they called out, asking him to come back with the light.

  ‘You slow,’ he said.

  ‘It’s slippery,’ Markes replied.

  Liam nodded as if he understood but his expression was unimpressed. He stayed aloof and impatient until they finally reached another grate. Light flooded down through this one, illuminating the water rushing past their feet.

  The three of them were drenched with spray now, and Naif was shivering from the damp cold of the tunnel.

  ‘Up,’ said Liam.

  He scaled the slippery wall using the suckers on his tentacle fingers for grip. Pressing his mouth against the grate, he called out words that Naif didn’t understand.

  Soon after, the grate opened and a hand reached down.

  Naif looked at Markes. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘West of the Old Harbour, I think.’

  If Markes was right, the Seal compound – and her parents – were close.

  The tightness in her chest returned. ‘I can’t breathe,’ she panted.

  ‘It’s the fear doing it,’ said Markes gently. ‘Slow your breath. No one knows there are people in these tunnels. We’ll be safe.’

  Naif was soothed by his calm. On Ixion he hadn’t been like that. Or maybe the beads and the pods had robbed him of it. Whichever, she was grateful for it now. And grateful that he’d come. Without him, her courage may have deserted her on the beach.

  Liam’s head and shoulders reappeared through the hole. He dangled his arm down. ‘Come.’

  Markes lifted Naif so that she could grasp the boy’s tentacles. He curled them around her wrists and pulled her roughly to the surface. Markes followed, able to climb most of the way himself.

  When he was safely through, Naif began to absorb the soft light, grey walls and the strong smell of fish. She saw old wooden racks and sagging shelves covered in a layer of salt and grime. Without having been in one before, she knew this was a place to dry fish and salt it down for storage.

  In the Seal compound they ate fish every ninth day and on the tenth they fasted. Her brother Joel had hated Fastday. He always said that the Gods they gave thanks to had never done anything for him so why should he go hungry for them.