by Ian Irvine
Ryll stood over her. ‘Take your clothes off, please.’
‘What?’ she cried, her heart thumping.
‘Remove your clothes. You won’t need them here.’
‘Why not?’ she screamed. ‘What are you going to do to me?’
‘I’m not going to do anything to you.’
Her eyes flicked back and forth. Her skin felt as if hairy caterpillars were swarming on it. ‘No!’ she gasped. ‘You’re monsters. I won’t help you again.’
‘Take your clothes off, Tiaan, or I will have to remove them for you. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that. I know how … prudish you are.’
She shook her head.
He sighed. ‘I have the amplimet, Tiaan. I can force you.’
‘I got over withdrawal at Tirthrax. It means nothing to me now.’
‘We’ll see. Just what did you do there?’
‘I opened a gate from Santhenar to Aachan, so the Aachim could bring their constructs through. They’ve come to wage war, on you.’
He frowned. ‘We have more skilled questioners than I, Tiaan. They will get the truth from you.’
He did not believe her. That was good.
‘Your clothes! Hurry up!’
‘I won’t!’ She folded her arms across her chest.
Ryll bellowed. A small lyrinx came up the row and Tiaan recognised her too. Her thin, translucent skin and the magnificent, colourless wings distinguished her from every other lyrinx. Liett had never liked Tiaan.
‘Take her clothes, please,’ said Ryll.
Liett, recognising Tiaan, roared with laughter. ‘What’s the matter with her?’
‘She’s broken her back.’
The smile vanished. Liett examined Tiaan, then pulled Ryll away and spoke rapidly to him in their own tongue. Tiaan could read his expressions well enough to know that he was troubled. They debated for some minutes, after which Liett began to strip her.
One hand sufficed to hold Tiaan while the other deftly unfastened her coat and shirt down the front. Soon the boots, trousers and underwear had gone the same way.
The lyrinx looked her up and down. ‘What pale, helpless creatures you are without your clothes. Shall I put her in?’
‘Be quick!’ Ryll looked ill-at-ease.
Liett lifted Tiaan in one hand, her useless legs flopping back and forth, carried her to the cube and poked her feet into the top opening. The surface resembled gnarled bark dotted with brown nodules like wooden eyeballs. The peppery smell grew stronger, as did that other, uncomfortable odour.
The cube contained a thick yellow-brown mass. Liett let Tiaan go and she slid into it. It was cool with the texture of jelly, and rose to the level of her armpits. It felt horrible, clinging but slippery. Her skin began to tingle.
‘What are you doing?’ she cried. ‘What is this thing?’
‘You might call it a patterner,’ said Ryll, putting the amplimet around her neck and adjusting it so it hung lower, between her breasts.
‘It is going to pattern you,’ said Liett with a toothy smile.
‘No!’ screamed Tiaan, and kept screaming until the patterner next to her began to shudder and quake.
Tiaan saw an eye looking at her. Two eyes; another woman, no older than herself. The woman’s eyes went wide and she began to scream, a higher, more shrill sound than Tiaan’s. The same thing happened on the right.
Shortly the whole room was shuddering and screaming. The patterners must have been sensitive to it, for they began to judder violently.
Ryll ran to Tiaan and shook her by her bare shoulders. ‘Stop it!’
She broke off momentarily, but the other women kept on, and soon Tiaan found it easier to scream with them.
‘What are we going to do?’ Ryll shouted.
Liett yelled back at him but the racket was too loud. She ran out, returning with a bucket whose contents sloshed from side to side. Taking a dipper, she forced some through the bared teeth of the woman at the end of the line. She choked, stopped screaming and her head sagged to one side. Liett did the same to the next and all the others, up the line to Tiaan.
The room was quiet again. Tiaan looked Liett in the eye; Liett looked her back. ‘Well?’ said Liett.
‘I want to see Gilhaelith,’ Tiaan said miserably. ‘Unless he’s being patterned as well.’
‘He’s a male!’ Liett said scornfully.
‘Females are better for patterning,’ Ryll explained. ‘Only rarely have we found a useful male. If I bring him, will you cooperate?’
‘Yes,’ said Tiaan. For the moment.
Liett resumed her work, whatever that was. Ryll was away a long time. Tiaan resisted the impulse to scream as the jelly slid back and forth across her skin. Small sucker-like objects attached themselves all over, tugging at her skin as the gunk moved in slow swirls.
The door opened. Ryll had Gilhaelith by one arm; he looked frail beside the lyrinx. They came up the row. Tiaan’s heart beat wildly. What had he been going to tell her before the lyrinx captured him?
‘Tiaan!’ Gilhaelith staggered and fell against the patterner. ‘They caught you after all.’
‘I came after you. I’m a fool, aren’t I?’
He touched her cheek. Coming from him, it was more powerful than an embrace. ‘Why didn’t you flee when you had the chance?’
There was no sensible answer to that. ‘What are they doing to you, Gilhaelith?’ she said softly, expecting to hear some story as horrible as her own.
‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘They want me too much.’
‘What for?’
‘They’ve lost something in the Great Seep and I must find it.’
‘Don’t! I know the price of aiding them.’
‘Ah, Tiaan,’ he said, ‘if only you had not come.’
‘You were going to tell me something about my back.’
‘I wish I hadn’t mentioned it,’ he said bitterly. ‘I can’t do anything for you. You’ve given yourself into the hands of the enemy for nothing.’
‘I must know, Gilhaelith.’
‘All right, but it won’t do you any good. Far off, across the sea, dwells a great mancer who has devoted his life to the healing Arts. I thought he might be able to do something for you …’
‘At what price?’
‘Seven years service.’
‘It would have been worth it.’
‘That would depend on what kind of master he was,’ said Ryll from the background, ‘and what sort of service.’
‘It could hardly be worse than what you require of me, for no return,’ she flashed.
‘It could be very much worse.’
‘The matter is irrelevant,’ Gilhaelith interrupted. ‘Neither you nor I will ever be in a position to meet him.’
He was tall enough to look down into the aperture of the patterner and Tiaan saw that he was staring at her bare chest, only partly concealed by the jelly. It made her angry – even at a time like this, he could not see beyond the physical. The longing in Gilhaelith’s eyes was a painful thing to behold. He was practically shaking with desire. Had he really missed her that much?
Then she realised, with utter mortification, that he was not staring at her chest at all. It was the amplimet he wanted, and was determined to have.
Even as Ryll led him away, Gilhaelith kept looking back for it.
FIFTY-FOUR
Ullii woke with a headache and a profound feeling of loss. Somehow the fleeting touch of her brother had made things worse. It had been a touch, she felt sure. It was not just a dream. Ullii trusted her instincts. Myllii was out there somewhere and she was going to be reunited with him.
She wandered the echoing halls of Nennifer wearing her earmuffs, and her earplugs and noseplugs, all day. Her sensitivities seemed particularly acute in this place. No one hindered her. They were not troubled by the ‘little mouse’, as Ghorr so sneeringly referred to her.
Ullii liked the name. Mice knew how to hide and protect their secrets, and the secret of Myllii was one she p
articularly hugged to herself. Her brother was alive and looking for her. And he had her seeker’s talent. She was glad to know that. She wanted him to be just like her. Lacking her supersensitivity, he did not have the talent as strongly as she did. That pleased her selfish heart; a tiny reward for all she had suffered.
She could not find the scrutator or Irisis, though they were both still in Nennifer. She would have known had they been gone. The thought of Xervish Flydd leaving her in this place filled her with terror, and not only because of the Council, who would use her talent then cast her aside. If she remained here, Ullii knew she would never find her brother. She had searched the lattice as far as it reached, but could see no sign of him. He must be far away, and only Flydd and Irisis could take her there.
As she wandered the corridors that evening, a stone’s throw down the long hall the Council were trooping into their dining room for dinner. She heard Scrutator Halie mention Irisis’s name. The door slammed.
What were they saying about Irisis? Ullii had to know. A thought occurred to her, one that made her quake at her boldness. She was thinking about spying on the Council, a crime certainly punishable by the most hideous torments. She had never done anything like that in her life.
Dare she? She had to know what they were going to do to Irisis. She looked around for a place to hide, and watch. Across the wide hall from their dining room was an open door. Ullii slipped through it. Most of the room was taken up by a long table surrounded by chairs upholstered in crimson leather. Creeping under the table, she took out her earplugs.
Her hearing picked up Ghorr’s voice at once, even through the closed door of the dining room. Unfortunately it picked up every other sound as well. The clatter of cutlery was like the clashing of cymbals. The chatter of the scrutators resembled a squad of soldiers marching across a boardwalk. She could hear every chew, every swallow, every grunt and belch.
Ullii endured the cacophony during the interminable dinner, which consisted of eight courses, some so pungent that she could smell them through her noseplugs. When a servant hurried down the hall with hot napkins, the noise was so loud that Ullii almost wept.
There came a single rap, as of a knife on a table, and everyone fell silent.
‘We have much to discuss,’ echoed Ghorr’s voice clearly. He listed a number of items, most having no interest to Ullii, but at the end, ‘and what to do about the crafter.’
Irisis. Ullii listened intently, though it was a long time before she heard anything of interest. Ghorr was speaking again.
‘The device is finally ready. I will give it to Scrutator Flydd at dawn and he will immediately leave for Snizort.’
The debate went on for another hour before they turned to Irisis. Ullii’s ears were throbbing and her headache was worse than ever.
‘Ah, now we come to Crafter Irisis,’ said Ghorr. ‘Scrutator Flydd went to visit her last night.’
A low comment from someone; Ullii could not make out what was said.
Ghorr chuckled. ‘If Flydd could have broken the spell on the door he would have taken her. There seems no limit to the man’s villainy.’
‘It certainly seems that he cannot be trusted,’ said another. ‘As if we should be in any doubt.’
‘I’ve not trusted him since that incident thirty years ago,’ said Ghorr. ‘I voted that he be put down then, if you recall.’
‘And you were outvoted,’ said Halie, ‘as I recall. The man is a problem, I agree, but that is outweighed by his talent. He has served us well in the years since his … punishment. That he survived it shows his indomitable will. We need him until the war is won. After that –’
‘After could well be too late,’ snapped Ghorr.
‘If we lose the war, as is likely without the use of his talents, it will not matter.’
Several people spoke at once and Ullii could not make out what was said, then Ghorr again, with seeming reluctance. ‘As you say, he is a problem for another time. Irisis is a problem for now. I have finished my interrogation of her.’
‘What did you discover?’ came the voice of black-bearded Fusshte.
‘I don’t think there is any more to learn from her. There is no doubt that she killed the mancer on the aqueduct by manipulating the field. The woman’s body was torn apart by explosive anthracism. I’ve not been able to have our best artisans duplicate it on prisoners, but I was careful not to reveal too much. I’m sure it can be done, though, and that leaves us with a problem.’
‘One that’s already out in the open,’ said Halie.
‘Only Irisis knows, and Flydd, Jal-Nish and us. The soldier witnesses can be discounted. Flydd won’t spread it around; it threatens him as much as it does us. Jal-Nish likewise. That only leaves Irisis.’
‘And the seeker,’ said Fusshte in a tone that sent chills up Ullii’s back.
‘That squeaking little mouse,’ sneered Ghorr. ‘She can barely dress herself without bursting into tears. Spare me, Fusshte.’
‘Besides,’ said Halie, ‘we plan to use Ullii later on.’
‘Irisis must die,’ said Ghorr. ‘She’s too much of a risk. But not tonight. I’ll wait till Flydd is safely away. He might become uncooperative, otherwise.’
‘A pity,’ said Fusshte. ‘The woman is a great beauty, and of child-bearing age. And quite a lover, too, I’m told.’ He gave a lascivious snort.
‘Beauty is everywhere,’ said Ghorr coldly, ‘if that is all that you require. Irisis must die. Agreed?’
The scrutators voted. Most agreed. Several did not, Halie among them.
‘Tomorrow,’ said Ghorr. ‘After he’s gone. Keep an extra watch on him tonight. No, lock him in. I wouldn’t put it past Flydd to try again.’
Chairs were thrust back all at once, creating such a racket that Ullii had to push in her earplugs. She heard nothing else. She crouched under the table until they were all gone, making sure by the smell of each. Her heart was thumping. Irisis was going to be murdered.
Ullii flooded with memories of all the times the crafter had treated her kindly, most notably when she’d knocked down Jal-Nish after he had struck Ullii. That had been one of the greatest moments of her life: she’d realised she had found a true friend. Since then, Irisis had sometimes treated her unkindly in little ways, but that no longer counted.
Ullii wanted to help her friend, though she would not have dared had it not been for Myllii. She was too selfish – she had to be – and too afraid. She’d always been helpless. What could she do, if even the scrutator could not save Irisis?
The seeker spent another hour or two under the table. It was as good a place as any to agonise. Dare she try? She dared not. She dared. She dared not. As she was sitting there, a mouse emerged from a crack between wall and floor and scurried along the line of chairs, snapping up crumbs and other morsels fallen from the table. There was not much; the room had not been used since breakfast. Ullii smiled and felt in her pocket, where she had a piece of bread. She did not like large meals, preferring to snack through the day.
Breaking a corner off, she flicked it across the floor. The mouse skittered away, then came creeping back and swallowed the morsel before fleeing again. She flicked another piece of bread, not so far. This time the mouse did not run. She rolled out her hand, containing a larger morsel.
The mouse was more wary this time. It sniffed the air as it watched her with little pink eyes. She approved of its caution. Its whiskers twitching, it ran forward, grabbed the piece of bread and ducked behind the leg of a chair.
Very slowly she put out her hand with a length of crust held between two fingers. Ullii had often watched mice in her dungeon cell, and grown friendly with them. This one was young. An older mouse would have been more careful.
She consulted her lattice but of course the mouse did not appear in it. Animals rarely did. Only lyrinx – not that she thought of them as animals, the nylatl, and those flesh-formed monsters in the ice houses.
Claws dug into her fingers, painfully. Ullii had to restra
in herself. The mouse had climbed onto her hand and was nibbling at the crust, trying to get it out from between her fingers with its front paws. She held on for a moment, then let it go. The mouse took the morsel in its mouth, swallowed, and sat back on its haunches, staring at her. Its long snout twitched.
What do you want, little mouse? More bread? Then you’ll have to trust me. She slowly raised her hand until the mouse was level with her face. Its back legs tensed but it did not spring off. She twitched her nose. It twitched back. It must like her. ‘I have some bread in my pocket,’ she said softly. ‘Would you like it?’
She lowered her hand until it was level with her pocket. The mouse sniffed the fabric, thrusting its snout right against it. Ullii lifted the flap to reveal the opening. The mouse darted inside. She felt it munching at the bread. Ullii sat there while it ate, not wanting to frighten it. She loved the little scurryings and munchings it was making there.
It gave her courage too. If the mouse could be so brave, maybe she could. She crept out from under the table. The mouse tensed, relaxed. There was no one about. She looked through the door into the scrutators’ dining hall. The table had not been cleared. She filled her pockets with leftover bread and fruit, then made her way back to her room.
‘Well, mouse,’ she said, sitting on her bed. ‘What can we do?’
It poked its snout out of her pocket. She stroked its brow. The mouse ducked out of sight. Where was Irisis? Ullii searched her lattice and located the crafter, who was away towards the other end of the building, and lower down. The direction was precise but how to get there was unclear.
She went along the hall. The ceiling was nearly six spans above her head and Ullii felt like a little mouse herself, creeping along, ears cocked for anyone coming. She was afraid; there was nowhere to hide. But then, she didn’t have to hide. Nobody noticed her.
It took her a long time to get close to the crafter. Ullii felt as though she was walking though a series of endless rectangular tunnels. The lower floors were dark at this time of night. Irisis was that familiar black ball in her lattice, unlike others because it was impenetrable. It covered up a carefully concealed secret.