by Meg Caddy
For a while, there was no pain. Her skin went numb. Then it started to tingle, and it was cool before it became icy cold.
Kaebha started to whimper. Before long, she was shrieking.
‘There is nothing you can do to stop this,’ Leldh said. He made sure she could hear him, spoke in the lull between each scream. He straightened. ‘Truthfully, I just want to see you writhe,’ he admitted. ‘It gives me the greatest satisfaction. This is the cost of insubordination.’
Kaebha’s bones ripped free of ligaments. They clicked under her skin. A terrible sound tore from her. Her backbone elongated.
Then all was sound, and smell, and agony.
Lycaea
Lowell Sencha was a mad fool. I could not stay his arm before he let the rock fly. It was the last thing I had expected from him. I grasped his wrist, yanking his arm back and pulling him behind me. Even as I did, I knew he was a dead man. No one attacked Hemanlok and lived.
Hemanlok strode towards us. All muscle and power. I should have waited for Moth and Dodge. I should not have brought Lowell into the Grinaja. I should never have returned to Luthan. I should have known Hemanlok would see through me, make me a pariah.
I faced him. Lowell, behind me, was silent. Not afraid, but angry.
‘Say it again, boy,’ Hemanlok drawled. His voice was lazy, but he was ready to strike. I heard Lowell take a breath and I cursed his audacity, knowing he was going to press on. Mad and brave.
‘You owe me.’ I spoke before he could, the burden shared between us. ‘You owe me, Hemanlok.’
Flick and Shard, standing a few paces behind their boss, cringed. Hemanlok was too close. He did not touch me. He towered. I thrust my chin up and tried to stare down the blind man. My legs felt heavy. My palms stung where my nails bit into the flesh. I had to clench my fists and press my lips to keep both from quivering. Hemanlok said nothing. The silence weighed on us, and I struggled against it. When I spoke again, it was through gritted teeth. Childish repetition of the words. I hated myself for sounding petulant and small.
‘You owe me.’
‘You always get others to fight your battles for you, girl?’
‘Do you? I don’t remember you walking into Caerwyn with me.’
His hand jerked back and I threw my arms over my head. If he struck me, the damage would be devastating.
‘I have spent weeks healing that girl’s head, Lok. If you cave it in, I’ll be terribly upset.’
Moth’s quiet voice spoke into the heart of Hemanlok’s anger. I lowered my arms. She stepped between us and put a hand on Hemanlok’s chest. There was no force in the touch, but I knew he would not be able to move past her. I heard the smile in her voice.
‘Calm, brother,’ she said. She always called him ‘brother’, as if their shared years of enslavement linked them by blood. ‘We have travelled a long way.’
‘Get your people under control, Derry.’
My shoulders eased. I heard Lowell’s breath resume behind me.
‘Will you take us below?’ Moth asked.
‘If you dinna, we’ll come along anyhow,’ Dodge added cheerily. I flashed him a grateful look. He and Moth were two of the few people who could diffuse Hemanlok’s sweltering rage.
I stepped around Hemanlok, forcing myself out of fear’s paralysis. I was no longer the child who had blindly followed the sightless Hemanlok into danger. I dragged danger behind me now. I dragged Lowell Sencha, too. He glared at Hemanlok. I was acquainted with anger, but Lowell carried himself with righteous anger. Hemanlok, if he felt it, ignored Lowell. He stormed down the street. Moth kept pace with him, speaking in a low voice. Dodge trailed a few steps behind. Lowell and I were left with Flicker and Shard, who had once been my family. They eyed me now with undisguised hostility. Lowell threw it back at them. Flicker sneered and turned, swaggering after Hemanlok. Shard watched me with ratty black eyes.
‘Is it you?’ he demanded.
‘Who else would bother?’ I retorted. His broken teeth sprang out in an ugly grin and he sprang after the others.
I punched Lowell in the arm. ‘That was the stupidest thing you have ever done, Wolf,’ I told him. ‘You have never been so close to death before.’
He rubbed his arm and shook his head. ‘He had no right to speak to you like that.’
‘No one tells Hemanlok how to speak. Not even Moth.’
‘Then his behaviour is unsurprising.’
‘Let’s walk.’ I was surprised at how grateful I felt. A mad fool, yes, but one who had put his head on the block for my sake.
Lowell fell into step beside me. I kept my attention on those walking ahead. Flicker was a few years my senior, and as lethal as she was condescending. Our affection for one another had always been complicated by her competetiveness. She had resented me for having the chance to go to Caerwyn. Now, I would gladly have changed places with her.
Shard, the short man with the bad teeth, would be close to forty years of age. He had been with Hemanlok since he was a ratty adolescent, and he would probably be with Hemanlok until he was a ratty old man. He had taught me how to pick a pocket, helped me tend weapons and sort information. He was not a good man, but he had always been good to me.
Hemanlok.
I wondered how much the Watcher knew. How much he could guess. He walked ahead, broad-shouldered and tall, clad in black. He was a man who knew exactly the impression he made on other people. He had spent years creating and maintaining the face he showed the world. He and Moth made a strange pair, walking down the street together. Her tattered yellow dress and his black coat. Her bird-like frame, his bulk.
‘Where is he taking us?’ Lowell asked in undertones.
‘Below.’
He shot me an exasperated frown and I shook my head. Navigating Luthan was a complex game of alliance and trust, and knowing when to keep your mouth closed. Lowell would have to wait for his curiosity to be sated.
The roads were narrow and twisting. The sounds of prisoners shouting grew louder as dusk fell, and we stepped around the heart of the Grinaja. I had to suppress a shiver. Familiar scents washed over me, uncanny in their strength. The moss, the stench of the prisoners, Flick’s perfume. I shrank back as a law-runner walked past us, then recognised her as Pallo Hoss. One of the many men and women who wore the lawman’s uniform but answered to Hemanlok. They had a tidy business, being paid both by the city and by the Rogues. Pallo recognised me, and her eyes widened, but she did not question us. Her job, as far as we were concerned, was to be as blind as Hemanlok.
We rounded a sharp corner and faced a narrow building. The windows were boarded, the door was locked; on one side was a brothel, on the other was an old warehouse. It was used for storing food taken from the docks to be distributed amongst the children in the Crims’ Orphanages. Hemanlok pulled out a key and unlocked the door. Flick sidled past Lowell and myself, standing guard at the end of the street while the rest of us went in. The narrow building looked as though it should smother us with dust, but the way was clear when we walked in. Hemanlok liked to keep his walkways in order. Lowell drew closer to me, uneasy. I had walked this path so many times, I did not have to think. My feet carried me down the rickety stairs, into the basement at the end of the hallway. Hemanlok pulled up a rug, unbolted the trapdoor, and lifted it. He swung himself down, making his way below with swift certainty.
‘Hollow’s eyes,’ Lowell murmured. It was the first time I had heard him curse.
‘Shut your mouth, blood,’ Flicker said, elbowing him aside as she joined us and went ahead. She flashed me a dark look before she climbed down.
‘Mind yourself,’ Moth cautioned Lowell. ‘The way grows slippery here. Watch your hands on the ladder.’ She lifted a smile to Dodge as well. ‘You too, clumsy.’
He winked at her and took the ladder. Moth gave Lowell an encouraging nod and left us with Shard.
‘I’m going last,’ the small man said. To secure the trapdoor. I realised I had expected to do it myself, and I fought back a
bite of unhappiness. It had always been my job. I set my teeth and went in before Lowell. Moth was right; halfway down, the rungs of the ladder became mossy and cold, slick with the damp. I was slow and careful. When I stepped away from the ladder, my feet splashed ankle-deep in water. Stale sea-water, by the smell, rather than sewage. The Grinaja was on the eastern side of the city, close to the docks. During high-tide these underground passages flooded. The first time I’d walked out of them, I waded through waist-deep water and as soon as I emerged in the Grinaja, Hemanlok sent me down again. My sodden clothes would have given me away.
I could hear Lowell slipping on the ladder, trying to grip it. He was slower than I had been, and Flicker snorted with impatience before he was even halfway to the tunnel level. There were faint splashes ahead; Hemanlok was already on his way home.
‘Faster, Wolf,’ I growled. I did not want him to seem a fool in front of them.
Finally, his feet splashed into the water. I took his arm and guided him to the narrow ledge at the side of the tunnel.
‘Here,’ I said. ‘Put your left hand on the wall and follow the curve of the wall to your left. Even if you lose sight of the others, keep your path. Come on.’
I watched Moth and Dodge as they walked a few paces ahead of us. Dodge walked in front, the ledge too narrow to accommodate both of them side-by-side. Moth stayed close to him. They were holding hands.
I released Lowell’s arm and he steadied himself on the wall.
‘How many people know of this tunnel?’ he whispered.
‘This one in particular? Just Hemanlok’s Own. And Moth, Dodge and myself.’ I forced myself to exclude my name from the Own. ‘Just under a dozen people. There are hundreds of tunnels, though. Beneath the whole of Luthan. This is the safest. Some of the others are dead ends, to throw off the lawmen. Others have traps and guards.’
‘Is your tongue always so slack?’ Shard spoke behind me. My shoulders jerked. ‘Hope you didn’t run your mouth off in Caerwyn, girl. We don’t really need the whole of Oster crawling through our tunnels.’
Anger ignited me. Hackles, teeth, the howl. I reined them back, but I could not rein back my human response. I swung around and slapped my palms against his chest, pushing him back. He lost his footing and slid into the water, rattling curses at me.
‘None of you can have cared too much,’ I snarled. ‘Otherwise someone would have come to help me.’
‘Lycaea.’ Lowell took my arm.
I left Shard and kept walking. My face was hot. Hope you didn’t run your mouth off in Caerwyn, girl. Three years of Leldh, and Cooper, and Kaebha. Of course I had. It had come to a point where I told them anything they wanted, anything at all, to make it stop.
I wondered if that had been what Hemanlok could sense about me. Whether he could smell the betrayal on my breath.
We reached a fork in the tunnel and took the left path. I did not remember the walk being so long. Three years had warped my memory of the route. I kept my head down and my mouth shut. I did not want another altercation with one of Hemanlok’s people. There would be plenty of time for it once we reached the Den.
We descended further. Winding stairs. More tunnels. New scents started to drift past us. My body registered them before my mind did. My breath quickened. My heart sped. I walked taller.
‘What is that?’ Lowell asked.
Home.
I could not say the word aloud. It came to my mind unbidden. Unwanted.
We stepped into the dim glow of Luthan’s secret district. The Debajo. The pull to Shift was stronger than ever. I choked it down, focused on my surroundings. The tunnel had widened into a cavern. It was one of a series, a whole network under the city, but this was the biggest. There were lanterns along the wall and buildings, many of them. Some carved into the stone, some wrought out of wood and brick. Men and women worked and lounged on the corners, drinking or smoking, or striking deals. Half-bloods, half-breeds, runaways and criminals. Anyone who needed to escape the glare of the sun and the lawmen.
I glanced at Lowell to glean his reaction. His eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. He took half a pace forward, then retracted his foot. A smile split his features; sudden understanding, sudden appreciation. His wonder was infectious. A grin itched my lips. I remembered seeing the Debajo for the first time. Peeling back the layers of Luthan and finding complete freedom, far removed from of the smothering threat of the Grinaja or the Ultimo. Running through the tunnels. Hassling local vendors and traders.
Dodge was already striding forward, clasping hands with a Tadghan man he knew. Moth smiled as people acknowledged her. Hemanlok ignored most of them, and they kept their respectful distance. I lowered my head. These people knew me. Had known me. I was unsure if I wanted to be recognised.
‘Keep moving, Wolf,’ I said. We followed the others through the great cavern, then took another narrow tunnel and came out into a second, smaller cavern. The buildings here were less dense, too; this was Hemanlok’s domain, and people knew to give him space. It was sparse and functional, like the man himself. One large building, half worked into the rock, served to house his Own. It jutted out from the wall, ugly and square, with only a few windows on the upper level. Metal stairs ran to the top level. At the side of the Den was a smaller building, for some of Hemanlok’s runners and clerks. He ran quite an operation. It accumulated enough paperwork to keep any scholar happy.
‘The walls could do with some painting, Lok,’ Moth commented, voice mild. ‘The place is starting to look tatty.’ ‘The boss is blind, Derry,’ Flicker drawled as Hemanlok unlocked the door. ‘Do you think he cares?’
The Healer snorted. ‘I know he’s blind. That’s why I’m informing him.’ She smiled and stepped through the door after Hemanlok. The others filtered in, and I forced myself to join them. Ran my hand along the door, and the internal wall. Smells I had never noticed before, and could not shake from my mind now. I put names to the scents. Donovan. Mitri. Salvi. Hywe. It was all I could do not to run through the Den and call their names. These people who had been mine.
‘Boss?’ A ginger-haired man stuck his head around a doorway, mouth full of food. ‘I spoke to Tollins – hello, Derrys, welcome back – and she said the Wharfer-gang still wants a bigger cut than they’re entitled to. They’re pushing this season. You want that I should…’ He trailed off. It was hard to meet his gaze. Mitri. Warm, wonderful Mitri, who had once sat up with me when I had a fever. Mitri, with his tricks and jests. He was almost ten years my senior, but I had been closer to him than I had been with anyone else in the Own.
He came into the hallway now, scratching the back of his neck as he stared at me. He swung to face Hemanlok.
‘Is it her?’ he demanded. ‘It is our girl?’
‘Yes,’ Moth said, before Hemanlok could reply.
Mitri crossed the distance between us and caught my shoulders. He searched my face.
‘I would hardly know you,’ he said. He pulled me into his arms. I wished he had been the one to meet us in the Grinaja. He smelled of spices and metal, of salt and sand. Mitri dealt with sailors and the wharf-gangs. He was the voice of the Own when Hemanlok was too heavy-handed for a situation. He rounded before I could stop him, and shouted through the Den.
‘Hywe! Salvi! Donovan, she’s back! She’s back!’
Hemanlok had mounted the stairs to his own quarters. He wanted nothing to do with this. Moth and Dodge were on his heel; it was clear Moth still had much to tell him. Flicker leaned against the wall, her arms folded and one eyebrow raised. Shard had his hands in his pockets. He had kept his distance since I pushed him in the tunnels, and rightly so. Neither of them spoke. Mitri swore impatiently and squeezed my shoulders.
‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the others. Stay here.’ He trotted through the Den.
‘Mitri’s more beauty than brains,’ Flick commented. ‘And that’s not saying much. Don’t expect us to all welcome you back with open arms, girl. I for one would like to know exactly how you spent yo
ur time in Caerwyn. How much you told them. What happened to the people we sent in after you.’ ‘And what happened to you,’ Shard added.
‘Perhaps we should question how you would be after three years of imprisonment and torture.’ Lowell put his hand on my shoulder. I was surprised by how much of a comfort he was. ‘We have travelled for weeks to get here. We have neither rested, nor washed. Is hospitality a thing only practised in the Gwydhan Valley, or have you heard of it here as well?’
Flicker pushed off the wall. Her dark eyes blazed.
‘You talk far too much for a stranger,’ she said. ‘Don’t make me take your tongue.’
‘Try it,’ I said to her.
‘This ain’t your turf any more, girl.’
‘Lycaea?’
Donovan’s voice interrupted our conversation. Mitri’s cousin was tall, but he was muscular and solid where Mitri was skinny. My anger at Flicker melted away when I saw the Pellish man. He had grown a beard since I last saw him, and had suffered at least one broken nose. He almost broke me with a hug. I had to wriggle free from his arms before they crushed me. He released me, then took my shoulders again and held me at arm’s length.
‘We have heard murmurs for weeks,’ Don agreed. ‘But the whole story can wait until tomorrow. Come through. You look weary and bone-thin. Wash, eat, rest. In such an order.’ He caught my hesitation and his smile softened. ‘We kept your room as it was,’ he said. ‘Flicker made us. Just in case.’ He caught Flicker’s hand and kissed it. Unsuited as they were, the two had been in love since I had known them. It was good to see one thing at least had not changed.
‘I did not,’ Flick snapped as she left the room. The muscles across my back eased. Perhaps I had not been so far from their minds as I had believed.
Lowell
The night we arrived in Luthan, I remember neither lying down nor closing my eyes. Sleep devoured me. I slept on a pallet on the floor, in Lycaea’s room. It was only when morning came I had the opportunity to lie in the quiet and take in the surroundings; to get some idea of who she had been before Caerwyn. Glass, smoothed by the sea, hung from the ceiling on coarse string. The room was cluttered with books and oddities; a carved ship furred with dust sat atop a chest of drawers, and what looked like a red flag was bundled over the bedpost, with a corner draping to hang by Lycaea’s face. Jars of shells and polished stones lined the crooked shelves, propped into place by pegs or chucks of wood. The room smelled of the sea, and of the bright mess of the Mercado. Not what I would have expected from Lycaea.