The Art of Hunting

by Alan Campbell

  It went on like this for hours. They talked about city defence, the reopening of the port to foreign trade, Losoto’s position in regard to provincial warlords, the forthcoming coronation and the reopening of the Halls of Anea. This last subject caused the greatest concern among the Losotan representatives, and Paulus and his uncle were hard pressed to allay their fears.

  Throughout it all Ianthe tried to appear regal, patient, interested, but eventually she couldn’t take any more of it. She made an excuse about seeing to some palace duties and then left to go for a walk.

  She found Howlish smoking a pipe outside the door.

  When he saw her, he grinned. ‘Well, you lasted longer than I thought you would,’ he said. ‘Are they still talking about whale oil reserves or have they moved on to dried fish?’

  ‘Actually it’s the tournament now. Paulus—’ She stopped herself. ‘Prince Marquetta seems quite animated.’

  The captain observed her for a moment. ‘You’ve seen this great snake in the garden?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  He bowed. ‘Why don’t you let me show you?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘There’s a temple inside,’ Howlish said. ‘Might be a good time to offer the old gods a prayer.’

  ‘Surely you don’t believe in the old gods?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll try anything once.’

  They left the palace and walked out into the imperial gardens, where ten thousand blooms exuded delicate scents and embellished the verges with a bold but stuttering pronouncement of yellows, pinks and white. There were stone fountains and statues of nymphs in quartz and loops of miniature hedge as green as the waters of Mare Verdant. Songbirds trilled in golden cages hung from an old yew.

  Two alabaster columns held open the mouth of the great petrified sea snake. Its maw was large enough to allow Ianthe and Howlish to enter walking abreast. Inside it was cool and lit dimly by hundreds of coloured gem lanterns hanging from the creature’s spine. Their footsteps echoed. A sinuous passageway led further inside the creature.

  Ianthe pressed her hand against the inside of the snake. It felt smooth and cool to the touch. ‘Feels like glass,’ she said.

  ‘It’s varnished,’ Howlish explained. ‘They have to keep applying the coats for years. If you ran down the inside of this thing, licking the walls as you went, you’d be as high as Jovram by the time you reached the tail. Or dead, anyhow.’ He chuckled and loaded his pipe again. ‘There’s an old tale about a man who was swallowed by one of these,’ he said, firming the tobacco into the clay bowl. ‘He lived in there for years, making his fire from the boats the serpent swallowed and eating the sailors aboard them. Sometimes he’d find the sailors alive and he’d have to kill them. And, when he cooked them, you could see the smoke come out of the snake’s nostrils. That’s how people came to think they breathed fire.’

  ‘They all died out?’

  Howlish lit his pipe with a match. ‘You’ll hear people who claim to have seen them,’ he said. ‘But it’s all grog talk. Nobody’s caught one of these things for five hundred years.’

  They wandered on, deeper into the snake’s body. The path meandered to and fro so that Ianthe could never see more than a few yards ahead. The gem lanterns in here were ancient and cast a particularly gentle light, their soft colours bleeding together – reds into yellows into greens – as they walked. The space around them became larger at the belly of the serpent only to grow narrower again as they neared the tail.

  The passageway ended abruptly at a pedestal carved out of a strange glossy red stone. It resembled two serpents coiled around each other vertically, a helical arrangement supporting a shallow bowl. The bowl held a small amount of clear liquid.

  ‘It’s ashko,’ Howlish said.

  ‘Ashko?’ She reached her hand towards it.

  Howlish grabbed her.‘A very powerful drug,’ he said. ‘While it might be fun, I don’t think your fiancé would approve.’

  She could see thin white lines on the back of his fingers, old scars from the Haurstaf lash. It reminded her that this man had once been a privateer. The Guild of psychics had once hired him, but they hadn’t spared his punishment. In that sense they had something in common.

  He stared at her hand a moment before releasing it. ‘Are you looking forward to the games?’ He said this amiably enough, but something in his manner gave the impression that he was troubled.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Really?’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that it was your sort of thing.’

  ‘It isn’t; I mean, the prince is eager to show me.’

  Howlish nodded slowly. He bit his lip and then raised a hand to his mouth, in a nervous gesture. ‘How much do you know about the Halls of Anea?’

  ‘Only what everyone knows.’

  ‘You know that they lie in a rift?’

  This surprised her.

  Howlish went on, ‘I used to work for Hu, you see.’ He hesitated, shot a glance at her. ‘The halls have been there for a long, long time – nobody really knows how long, but thousands of years. The Unmer’s ancestors unearthed them before they abandoned Losoto for Galea. And there’s those who say that it was something in the halls that made them leave.’ He scratched his chin. ‘When you go up to them, you’ll see for yourself. The entrance is like a door into the hillside – like going into a mine, except finely carved. More like a temple.

  And you think you’re going under the hill, it feels that way, but the truth is, you’re not even on this world any more.’

  ‘This rift is under a hill?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it doesn’t work like that. The door to the rift – the halls – that’s buried in the hillside. But the halls themselves . . .’ He shrugged. ‘They might be anywhere. Outside this universe, maybe. I don’t know. But I do know that they are far larger than most people think they are. That’s why Hu couldn’t flood them. There isn’t enough brine on this planet to do that.’

  ‘How large is it? Has it been mapped?’

  The corners of Howlish’s lips twitched. ‘Mapped? Oh, we found maps of the parts that have been explored. There are rooms in there . . . rooms Duke Cyr won’t show you, rooms full of ancient maps.’ He leaned closer. ‘Maps of great halls and corridors, stairs, tunnels, lakes and pits and canals – all carved, mind you. Every inch of it expertly chiselled from the stone on a scale that you wouldn’t believe. You could sail a galleon through some of the larger doors. And those parts of the Halls of Anea that have been explored extend much further than Anea itself – maybe further than it’s even possible to travel on this world. Some people think it goes on forever. Endless halls and endless darkness.’

  Ianthe frowned.

  ‘Exactly,’ Howlish said. ‘That’s the question that begs an answer.’

  ‘What question?’

  ‘Who made it?’ he said. ‘And why?’

  ‘That’s two questions. Well, who did make it?’

  ‘Giants . . . I don’t know. But I know why Hu sealed it up.’

  She waited.

  ‘People used to see and hear strange things all the time in there,’ he said. ‘Ghosts. Queer lights. Combatants went missing outside the arenas. Divisions sent to look for them went missing. And then armies sent to find those divisions went missing. There are tales of terrible things lurking in the further reaches of the halls.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Old gods, maybe.’

  ‘Oh come on, Captain, you know—’

  ‘I saw something,’ Howlish cut in. ‘Before Hu buried the entrance, I was in there. The emperor used to send criminals in with ichusae. I was . . . helping. It was only a glimpse, but . . .’ His eyes looked inward as he remembered, then he shook his head. ‘I saw a giant figure in the darkness,’ he said wearily. ‘It looked at me for an instant and then it slipped away into the shadows. I’ve never felt such a chill. Never felt like I’ve been in the presence of such evil.’

  ‘What was it?’

>   He didn’t reply at once. He was silent for a moment longer and then he said, ‘I’m telling you all this because . . . maybe you’ll be in a position to do something about it. The Unmer might seem to be in control of all this sorcery, all this power, but really they’re like children who’ve been given the key to an armoury. Your prince is much older than either of us, but he’s not infallible, Ianthe. He’s just a man like any other. And there are things in the Halls of Anea that should never be disturbed.’

  Granger looked up one last time through the circle of light immediately above his head, then dragged the round iron cover across it. It settled into place with a bang, plunging the sewer shaft into darkness.

  Siselo’s voice came from below. ‘You could have waited till I got the lamp out!’

  Granger grumbled something non-committal under his breath. He climbed down ten feet of metal rungs in utter darkness until his boots touched solid stone. At that moment, Siselo found her gem lantern and opened the shutter and light flooded into the narrow space.

  They were in a brick sewage tunnel running roughly north– south. A runnel of brown, stinking water rushed along a channel a foot below their ankles, but the ledge on either side allowed them to follow its course without getting wet. Granger could hear the sewage gurgling somewhere to the south, where he guessed it must either drop through a shaft, or pass into a basin. However, their light revealed nothing but curved brick walls receding into utter black. The smell made his eyes water.

  ‘This way.’ Siselo raised the lantern and scampered away, heading south.

  Granger sighed and followed.

  They wandered along that ghastly passageway for several hundred yards, and then turned to the right, into an identical conduit. This took them another fifty yards or so, after which they turned left into a narrower, orthogonal tunnel that was barely larger than Granger’s shoulders. This section of the sewer system looked older. Dozens of other channels branched off from the main conduit, but they maintained a straight course, all the while following the foul watercourse. After what must have been half a mile, Siselo stopped and examined a section of the brick wall near the floor. Then she lifted the lantern again and proceeded onwards.

  As Granger passed, he looked at the place where she’d paused and noticed a number of horizontal and vertical chalk marks on the brickwork. Evidently some sort of code. Before he could examine it in any detail, Siselo had carried the light onwards, leaving him behind in the gloom, and he was forced to jog to catch her up.

  It seemed to him that she was counting her steps now.

  A short distance beyond the chalk marks Siselo stopped and raised her hand. Granger halted behind her.

  ‘Tripwire,’ she said.

  She stepped over what could only have been the aforementioned wire, and then waited for him.

  Granger approached. By the light of her lantern he could see a very fine wire running across the tunnel, a foot higher than the ledge above the watercourse.

  ‘He set traps?’

  She smiled. ‘Actually, I set that one.’

  ‘You use explosives?’

  She looked offended. ‘Explosives are for children. I used void arrows.’ She turned away and hurried along the tunnel, taking the light with her.

  They changed direction three more times, by which time Granger had begun to doubt his own spatial awareness. He’d always had a knack for knowing where he was in relation to anywhere else, and he felt fairly sure they were still moving south. However, now he was less than completely confident: the sort of level of confidence on which one might bet one’s own life, if hard pressed, but not the life of another.

  Siselo continued to follow the marks on the walls. They negotiated two further tripwires, and – at the girl’s firm insistence – avoided a narrow beam of light that slanted down through the brickwork from a hole no wider in diameter than a pencil. Granger became used to the odour, which now reminded him less of human waste and more of stale rainwater.

  Finally Siselo stopped. In the tunnel wall beside them was a dark hole about two feet square. She shone the lantern down it, revealing a shaft that sloped steeply downwards. He listened and heard nothing but that peculiarly hollow subterranean silence. He sniffed. The air down there smelled no better or worse than the air up here. Siselo was looking at him expectantly.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘You want us to go down there?’

  She grinned and squatted down at the edge of the hole. Then she set down the lantern, swung her legs into the shaft, and lowered herself inside it. A heartbeat later she let go and dropped, vanishing from sight.

  ‘Siselo?’ Granger called after her.

  No answer.

  ‘Siselo?’

  After a moment he heard her voice calling back, but it sounded so very distant that he couldn’t even be sure what she’d said. He sat down on the edge of the shaft and slipped his kitbag from his shoulder. He dropped the bag into the shaft. It disappeared without a sound. Then he picked up the lantern and eased himself forward. The shaft dropped away below him almost vertically. His armoured boots scrabbled for purchase, but found none. The shaft was lined with rough red bricks, and yet the surface under him was smooth stone or concrete.

  Her voice carried up from a long way away. ‘Colonel?’

  Granger eased his body further into the shaft. Then he let go.

  He dropped at a frightening speed. Brickwork whizzed by his face in the light of his lantern. His stomach tightened into a knot.

  And then abruptly he realized he was slowing down. The slope under him was no longer so steep. It continued to level out. A second later, he emerged from the shaft and skidded to a halt on his back, his boots thumping into his kitbag. He was looking up at the ceiling of a cavernous space.

  Siselo was waiting for him. She giggled. ‘You should see your face.’

  ‘What is this place?’

  ‘Just a place.’

  They were in an enormous underground cavern filled with what appeared to be treasure. Granger was lying on a stone bench that protruded from the wall under the shaft exit. He swung his legs over and sat upright, raising the lantern.

  Everywhere he looked, he saw the gleam of gold. There were gilt settees and footstools and gilded tables, golden vases and pots and pails overflowing with coins and medals and jewellery. Ancient candelabra of different styles held hundreds of tallow candles which Siselo was now busy lighting with a taper. The cavern was undoubtedly natural, Granger decided, and yet the living rock had been decorated with numerous carvings. Some of the stalactites and stalagmites had been fashioned into elaborate spiral pillars, while others had been left in their natural state. Between these towering forms lay exquisite furniture, plumply adorned with cushions of yellow and emerald silk.

  Conquillas’s daughter continued to light candles. Granger got to his feet and swung his gem lantern around, marvelling at the rippling grey façades that swept up and over his head. The cavern extended for more than a hundred yards and terminated in a huge and outwardly swelling crust of white and pink quartz. There were doorways everywhere, often high up the walls and accessed by ladders.

  For all the wealth and luxury, there was no sign that this place had been used recently.

  ‘The trove market is that way,’ Siselo said, pointing in a direction Granger thought might be west.‘The way in is hidden, though. That’s where most of this stuff comes from.’

  ‘It’s stolen?’

  She scowled at him. ‘Stolen? Who do you think made all this in the first place? Humans?’ She scrunched her face into a comical leer. ‘No, I didn’t think so. We just reclaim whatever is useful and some things I like. Lots of trove, obviously, but Father keeps that through there, away from the quartz. You know how crystals affect some artefacts. And rain. Or even people, which is quite funny.’ She looked at him. ‘Did you ever wonder why some artefacts get attracted to certain types of people? It’s like how dragons have a sense for people. Like they read people. Oh, you have to swear not to tell any
body about this place.’

  Granger picked up a handful of rings from a wooden box and let then spill from his fingers. There was a fortune in this place, enough to buy a ship. A fleet of ships.

  ‘Colonel?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You can’t tell anyone about this place.’

  He nodded. ‘Right.’

  ‘No, you have to swear.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So go on and swear.’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘At last!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, you’re like my father. It’s so hard getting you to do anything.’

  ‘Where is your father?’

  ‘He isn’t here yet,’ she said. ‘I’d know if he was. But he’ll turn up eventually.’

  ‘How do you know he isn’t here?’

  She gaped at him, then pulled another face. ‘Uh . . . maybe because I’m not stupid.’

  Right, fine. Granger didn’t want to know. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent rest, and right now he was exhausted. Conversing with Siselo was just as wearisome as trying to talk to Ianthe. He dumped his kitbag and then lay down on one of the settees, feeling the plates of his power armour settle under his shoulders.

  There was a crack, and two of the settee’s dainty legs snapped under his weight. The underside of the seat struck the stone floor. Now he was lying with his boots above his head.