The Dawn Chorus

by Samantha Shannon

‘I’ve no idea. Why?’

  ‘Just wondering.’ She slung an arm around her knees. ‘Watch out for him, Paige. We could have an ugly fight on our hands if he gets involved.’

  ‘We’re not sticking around to fight anyone.’ My wrist gave another twinge. ‘I may not be sticking around at all.’

  Her dark gaze snapped to mine. ‘Don’t think that way.’

  ‘My chances of hurting Nashira are abysmal. Warden won’t turn me into the perfect dreamwalker by September. I only found out I had this ability a few months ago.’

  ‘You’re not trying to kill her. Remember that,’ Liss said. ‘You’re trying to show her up. Don’t get arrogant. Just do something to show them she’s not all-powerful.’

  I nodded, absently curling my fingers in and out of a fist.

  ‘The courtiers are dead. Tilda was the last,’ Liss said. ‘Cyril told me she went around midnight.’

  I closed my eyes.

  Liss had helped me choose who would receive the pills. Most of them had gone to those who had seen Warden heal her. Those who had the power to betray his treason to Nashira.

  In the end, it was the harlies who were hooked on purple aster that had paid for the shortfall. The fever had made them too weak to run the usual errands for Duckett, who had refused to deal the intoxicating flowers to them. The withdrawal and the fever together had already weakened them beyond saving by the time we had the medicine.

  ‘We’ll bury them after Nashira has seen the bodies,’ Liss said softly. ‘She needs to know that a few of us died, or she’ll suspect that we had a cure. And that it was stolen.’

  ‘Duckett never even contracted it.’ I gazed into the flames. ‘He knew Tilda and the others would be too weak to fight the fever without regal.’

  ‘He maintains his power by sticking to his rules.’

  ‘Most of the errands he makes up are pointless.’

  ‘In a place without coin, the canny make their own currency.’ She gave me a sidelong glance. ‘I hate his guts as much as you, but stay your hand, Paige. Lay a finger on him and he’ll squeal to Nashira, and you don’t want to draw her eye.’

  She spoke in the clipped tone she used whenever we discussed the imminent rebellion. It was hard for her to fight the instinct to keep her head down.

  ‘Liss,’ I said, ‘does Duckett sell you the fuel for your stove?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘On the night of the Bicentenary, we need to burn down the Residence of Balliol. It’s where they stay in touch with the Archon. If we don’t cut that line of communication, Scion will be waiting for us on the other side.’

  Liss looked back at the hand-carved box.

  ‘The other side,’ she echoed. ‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘We’ll need a lot of fuel.’

  ‘Any idea where Duckett gets it?’

  ‘While he was alone here, he stripped the colony of everything valuable and hid it all before the next lot of prisoners – my lot – arrived. We think his stores are buried in the woods somewhere.’

  ‘Maybe I should have a word with him.’

  ‘Paige, you mustn’t.’ Liss grasped my arm, eyes hard. ‘If you start asking for a lot of fuel, he’ll suspect.’

  ‘It’s not just fuel I want from him. He could have things we need to keep the red-jackets from interfering,’ I said quietly. ‘As for squealing to Nashira – does he have white aster?’

  Understanding sharpened her gaze. ‘Maybe.’ She let go. ‘I’ll find out. Until then, promise you’ll not say a word to him.’

  ‘I promise.’ I squeezed her shoulder. ‘How are you getting on with the new cards?’

  At this, Liss softened. ‘They work.’ She sat back and laid a hand on the box. ‘I never asked you, Paige. What did you have to do to get the Warden to take that sort of risk for a harlie?’

  ‘I said I’d stay. To start a war.’

  Her lips twitched. ‘You agreed to start a war … to get me a new set of cards.’

  ‘Well, to keep you alive. Why, do you never start wars for your friends?’

  Liss smiled enough for the skin around her eyes to pucker. When she smiled, I remembered how much longer she had been in this place. How much time had been stolen from her.

  ‘You really are nothing like the other syndies,’ she said. ‘I have to wonder how you fell in with them.’

  ‘Long story. I’ll tell it to you someday.’

  That strange, closed look returned to her face. She plastered it over with another smile.

  ‘Let’s have a cup of tea before you go.’ She reached for her cast-iron kettle. ‘Is the Warden still kind to you?’

  ‘He’s not unkind. He’s just … Warden.’ I tightened the blanket around my shoulders when a cold draught penetrated the shack. ‘He organised the theft of the medicine.’

  ‘I guessed.’ Liss went straight for the source of the draught – a small crack – and wadded a rag into it. ‘Does he still expect you to talk to him for an hour every night?’

  ‘No.’

  Because we talked as a matter of course now. During training, before I left, and the moment I returned.

  ‘I want to understand him. Why he wants to help us. If he gets caught this time, Nashira will do worse than scar him.’ As I spoke, I turned to her collection of herbs, unhooked the bag of silverweed, and passed it to her. ‘He likes music. Our music. He has a gramophone up there that plays blacklisted songs. Plays the organ in Magdalen, too.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of a Reph doing such a thing,’ Liss said, wary. Flames licked at the base of the kettle. ‘Did it seem … real, the music?’

  ‘Yes. It was beautiful.’

  Liss seemed to contemplate this for a while. The kettle began to steam, then to whistle.

  ‘I suppose humans can never fully understand each other, either.’ She poured. ‘He healed me. He protected you. He must care. But is he an outlier, or proof of what they could be?’

  The question hung between us. Liss handed me a cup.

  ‘Something to ponder,’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’ I wet my lips. ‘I wish I could—’

  ‘Good evening.’

  We turned. Julian had propped himself up on both elbows.

  ‘Jules,’ I said, relieved. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘All right,’ he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. ‘All right in comparison to what I last felt like, anyway.’ His dark brown skin was glazed with sweat. ‘What about you two?’

  ‘Paige fell asleep, too,’ Liss said. ‘You’d think the pair of you had contracted a life-threatening infection.’

  ‘Yeah, you’d think.’

  Julian shifted across the floor to sit between us. We both leaned in to him. For a while, the three of us sat quiet in the light of the stove, keeping warm.

  Soon enough, there would be no more nights like this. We would be dead or far away. I hoped we could stay together in London. Jaxon would never let two soothsayers into the gang (‘And just what am I supposed to do with these, Paige?’), but he could find them somewhere to live.

  ‘We have a month left,’ Julian said. ‘The harlies are with us now. I’ll start talking to more of the white-jackets.’

  ‘Liss thinks Duckett has enough fuel for the fires,’ I said. ‘If we can wipe his memory, he might be useful.’

  I told him about the part I thought Duckett should play. He listened with a sober expression.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘While Liss looks into it, you could ask the Warden about food. People need to be strong enough to run to the train.’

  ‘I will ask. Food is hard to come by, though, even for him.’

  ‘They’ll have to give at least some of us more.’ Liss huddled deeper into her shawl. Her jaw flexed before she said, ‘Me, especially. I’ll be sure to share my portion.’

  ‘No, Liss, don’t. You need it, or you’ll fall.’

  ‘I never fall.’

  That was true.

  ‘Let’s see what the Warden can do, if anything,’ Julian said. ‘Then we c
an decide how to ration food.’ A grin lifted his cheeks. ‘Speaking of food – what’s the first thing you’re going to eat when we get back to the citadel?’

  ‘Roasted chestnuts, hot off the pan,’ I said wistfully. He nodded his approval. ‘And I’ll take you both for a slice of honey pound cake at the best cookshop in London. My treat.’

  ‘Perfect.’ Julian wrapped an arm around me. ‘Liss?’

  It took her a while to reply. ‘I used to like clove rock,’ she said. ‘Ma gave it to me for a toothache once, and I loved it so much that I kept asking for it. She thought it was the funniest thing.’ She looked up at him, a smile on her chapped lips. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Ice cream.’

  ‘What flavour?’ I asked.

  ‘Cucumber.’

  ‘Och, no.’ Liss wrinkled her nose. ‘I remember that. It’s like eating … toilet water.’

  ‘I have to agree,’ I said. ‘Half-frozen toilet water.’

  ‘It has a delicate flavour.’ Julian clicked his tongue. ‘Neither of you has taste.’

  ‘Neither does your wretched ice cream,’ Liss muttered.

  I snorted. Julian pulled a face. ‘Well, we’re eating it,’ he said, drawing her to his other side. ‘We’ll savour the culinary delights of London, and then we’ll save it from the Rephaim.’

  As I rested my head on his shoulder, I thought of the syndicate, large enough to become a formidable army. I thought of Haymarket Hector, who would never believe my story, who had rotted the underworld with his cruelty and sloth. I thought of my own mime-lord, who had irrevocably divided voyants with nothing but his pen and his ambition.

  ‘We can try,’ I said.

  Liss looked at me with a slight frown, her smile fading as quickly as it had come.

  ‘I’d better get back to Magdalen.’ Feeling tired again, I stood. ‘Stay out of the way of the Rephs, and keep looking for anything that might be useful. I’ll come back in a few days.’

  ‘Be careful, Paige,’ Julian said.

  ‘Always.’

  I did up my gilet and brushed through the curtain, leaving them curled up by the fire like two birds in a nest.

  Whispers and glances chased me as I made my way out of the Rookery. Most of the harlies now knew I was the Pale Dreamer. Since the Rephaim knew the truth, I had allowed Liss to let it slip to her friends. She had thought it would reassure them to know that a high-ranking syndicate member was leading the rebellion.

  A few people had dealt me resentful looks. Still, most showed a respect that bordered on fear. Some of them tapped three fingers to their foreheads as I passed. Even those who had been captured a decade ago remembered the White Binder. And knew of his mollisher.

  In London, my alias was a vital weapon, my reputation a shield and a bludgeon against rival gangs. Here, it felt like a cheap grab for power – but if my presence encouraged even one person to place their trust in the rebellion, and to imagine that they might have some protection from the syndicate if it succeeded, it was worth a few weeks of disquiet.

  Dusk was just about to fall. As soon as I was out of the Rookery, the cold rushed into me. It was hitting me harder every day. So was my fatigue, as evidenced by the unexpected nap. The hunger, too, was unrelenting. Warden tried his best to get me at least one meal a day, but supplies across the colony were low.

  Just a few more weeks, and I could leave. I could fill my aching stomach every day. Warmed by the thought, I lifted my hood and cut through the cobbled square by the Old Library, past the ever-locked Room. There was no movement in there today. All was quiet.

  Well, not all.

  ‘Hello.’

  I turned at the sound of an unwelcome voice. David, the oracle, was slouching against the wrought-iron gates of the church, a cigarette in one hand, dark crescents bitten under his eyes. Unlike me – conspicuously shivering – he looked just toasty in his coat.

  Last I had seen him, it was when I had possessed him in London. To stop him killing Nadine.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I said, curt.

  ‘Smoking.’

  He held up his cigarette, which gave off the scent of mint. ‘How the hell do you even get those?’ I asked.

  ‘Benefits of being a red-jacket. Shame you lost yours.’ He took a drag. ‘Yellow doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘Blame whoever designed the wardrobe here.’ I pushed my hands into my pockets. ‘You know there are rats all over the Rookery. Shouldn’t you be holed up in a residence, feasting with the other bone-grubbers?’

  ‘Needed some fresh air. Not that it’s ever very fresh around here.’ He blew smoke. ‘So, tell me. How long have you been able to possess people?’

  ‘Why do you care?’

  ‘Just wondering. It was … something, 40. Not being able to control my own arms. I had a headache for days.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it. Will you be asking for payment in exchange for your forgiveness?’

  The corners of his mouth pinched. ‘You’re still angry about that.’ When I said nothing, he sighed. ‘Paige, if I could just—’

  ‘I’m not angry with you, David. I can honestly say that I never think about you.’

  ‘Very good.’

  I raised my eyebrows and walked on.

  ‘I meant to say,’ he called after me, ‘that I saw your friend. In the House. What was he trying to steal?’

  Any warmth left in my body flickered out. I cleared my expression before I faced him again.

  ‘Friend,’ I repeated, trying to sound impatient. ‘Who?’

  ‘The rottie who dusts for the Warden. Michael, isn’t it?’ David let a creamy plume of smoke decant from between his lips. ‘I can only assume he was after provisions. But for what?’

  ‘He was probably after food. There isn’t much to go around,’ I said. ‘Not that you’ll have noticed.’

  ‘See, I don’t think he was after food. Because considering he’s a rottie and you’re a yellow-jacket, you both look remarkably well-fed. At least compared to the others.’ He cocked his head. ‘The Warden is taking care of you both. He’s doing you a favour. That makes me wonder if you’re doing him favours in return. Favours that might involve the scarred ones.’

  ‘All I know about the scarred ones is what you told me.’

  ‘Maybe your rottie friend knows more.’ He gave his cigarette a tap. ‘There was a crime in the House. They found the blood-heir with a bullet in his skull, looking a little less divine. Clearly the work of a human.’ I kept my face blank. ‘I wonder what would happen … if I told Nashira her concubine has been sending his tenants there. To you. And to him.’

  That word, concubine, needled me in a way it never had. I pictured Warden in the tower, kneeling while a tyrant struck him. For the first time, my instinct was to spring to his defence.

  An instinct like that could get us both killed.

  ‘I imagine she’d haul us in for interrogation,’ was all I said to David. ‘Me. And Michael. And the Warden.’

  ‘I’m a red-jacket. My word could hold some weight with the Suzerain,’ he remarked. ‘I could pin it on the rottie. You could get a new keeper instead of the one everyone laughs at.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  The words snapped between us. David looked me up and down before he let out a huff through his nose.

  ‘Don’t lose sleep, 40. I have no proof. And I really don’t want to see you butchered.’ He lifted the cigarette back to his lips, never taking his eyes off me. ‘Still, I do wonder what you’re all up to in that tower. Perhaps a humble bone-grubber could help.’

  ‘You can’t help, because none of us are up to anything. I just want to spend what little I have left of my life as painlessly as possible.’

  ‘You, give up without a fight?’ A small laugh. ‘I don’t believe it, dreamwalker.’

  ‘I’m not giving up. Just meeting the æther gracefully.’ I continued on my way. ‘Goodbye, David.’

  I felt his piercing eyes on me until I turned the corner.

  Even
if I had called his bluff, David might report what he had seen. I could almost smell the survival instinct on him, strong enough to rival mine. Maybe he had sniffed out the possibility of escape, like the first traitor had.

  I shook myself. He would need proof, given the timing, and he didn’t have a scrap of it.

  Did he?

  Nashira had emptied the colony once before. She wouldn’t do it again, not before the Bicentenary. If the emissaries arrived and found themselves ankle-deep in a bloodbath, there would be no treaty.

  Surely.

  The sky began to spit as I walked past the ruined church. Raindrops opened rings in every puddle, polished the cobblestones, glistened in my hair. I entered the Residence of Magdalen just as the night-bell rang. The porter spared me a fleeting glance.

  There were always some Rephaite guards in the cloisters. I avoided them and half-ran up the steps in the Founders Tower, throwing down my hood as I went. I pushed open the door, only to find his chamber deserted, the gramophone wordless for once. On his desk lay a gilded vial – the vial that had contained his final dose of amaranth, not a drop left in it.

  He was close. Inexplicably, I knew it.

  I returned to the cloisters and listened. There was one place where he often went for solace now. When I heard faint strains of music, I followed them to the chapel doors and cracked them open.

  Inside the vaulted chamber, the organ thundered. Sound rang in every vault and corner. I closed the doors behind me and leaned against them, eyes drifting shut as I absorbed the tremors of the music, as they rang a thousand bells inside me. His last piece had evoked regret – it had been a call for death, for an ending – but this one was all mettle and beauty and defiance. Even though it was loud enough to make my ears ache and my chest vibrate, it calmed me.

  I remembered this melody from somewhere. It called to a part of me I had almost forgotten. Words, still unstrung from the notes, were honey-sweet on the tip of my tongue.

  For a long time, I let the warp and weft of the music knot itself around and through me. When I stirred from the trance, I made my way up to the organ loft, where Warden sat on the bench, as straight-backed as if it were a throne, playing by candlelight.

  He used no sheet music. All of this was from memory. Note after note soared from the pipes to the ceiling of the chapel. I watched his hands gusting over the keys, his leather boots keeping time on the pedalboard. He played like a storm in the shape of a man.