The City Darkens (Raud Grima Book 1)

by Martin, Sophia

  No, it didn’t make sense. I clung to the idea that all Reister could possibly want was our presence at the coronation. After that he would have to let us go home. Surely that would be best for everyone. I couldn’t hope to carry off the image of a proper jarldis at court. Despite my insistence to Mother Tora that my clothing would do, I knew it wasn’t fashionable. I would only embarrass him if we stayed. I was no courtier.

  The trip over sea would take fourteen hours, and we had left the estate late in the evening. Mother Tora fretted aloud about the delay constantly. If we made good time we would arrive a few hours before the coronation, but this was not enough for her. She doubted my wardrobe with every breath, and once inside the yacht she insisted that I allow the robot, whom she called Sveinn, to unpack everything so she could inspect it. Her worrying was exhausting me, and after putting Bersi down in another cabin, I capitulated.

  “Lay each garment out on the bed,” she ordered Sveinn, who responded with a sharp nod. It—he—how strange to interact with a robot, but it was clear he was meant to be seen as male—opened one of the two trunks I’d hastily packed with Perna’s help, and began removing things one at a time, lying them briskly but gently on the bed. Mother Tora watched, her icy eyes taking in each item with narrow disapproval, even as Sveinn covered the whole of the bed and had to commence with a second layer. After a third layer the first trunk was empty. “Proceed,” Mother Tora said, waving at the second trunk. I pressed my lips together and crossed my arms over my chest. The night air outside had chilled my fingers and I couldn’t seem to warm them up.

  Finally Sveinn lay the last of the dresses and stockings out. He straightened to attention as Mother Tora gave a quick nod. Her eyes moved over the piled clothing and then slowly found their way to my face. Her eyebrows arched and she pressed her palms together.

  “It is just as I feared, Myadar. You haven’t a thing to wear.” She tilted her chin, gazing at me.

  I raised my own eyebrows and cast a glance over the three layers of clothes on the bed. “I don’t know what you mean, Mother Tora,” I said. “There’s the blue silk, the red and maroon velvet—”

  “Pah! My dear girl, you must be having a jest at my expense!” she exclaimed, stepping to the bed. She dug into the pile and yanked out the red and maroon velvet dress in question. “This thing might have looked well on your grandmother, had she ever come to court, but it will never do for the coronation!”

  “This ‘thing’ as you put it is made of the finest velvet—with hand-stitched embroidery on the bodice—”

  “Myadar! It belongs to a different age! You cannot possibly wear it, the court will think you’re going to a costume ball!” Two red spots had appeared in her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, and her breath came quickly.

  The drive had been enough to exhaust me—cooped up with her for six hours, worrying about Reister and the court and Bersi, wishing I didn’t have to go to Helésey at all and afraid Reister would find some way to force me to stay—and now I wasn’t inclined to be easy-going. I snatched the dress away from her and held it to my chest. “How ridiculous! It’s a lovely dress, and I shall wear it if I like. No one will think less of me or Reister.”

  Her mouth became a thin line and her eyebrows drew together. “You have no idea, you stupid Asterlunder.”

  “I don’t know how my origins have anything to do with this.”

  “Oh they don’t, only to show that you were raised without any notion of propriety! I suppose one wears whatever one fancies in Asterlund, then? Perhaps the idea of fashion means nothing there. But at court, one must heed it! You will be judged, and Reister will be judged by your appearance. You aren’t being asked to do much, Myadar. Just to present yourself properly!”

  “Not being asked to do much? For ten years I’ve cared for the estate, and half that time I’ve raised Reister’s son—alone! I suppose that’s nothing? And now you’ve come unannounced and demanded we pack up and leave at a moment’s notice, only to throw a fit about my clothes which, up until today, no one has shown any interest in at all. I suppose I was fine enough in my awful dresses when Reister came to visit, then? Why should it be any different now?”

  “I have never been so disrespected in all of my life!” Mother Tora exploded. “Reister shall hear of this, Myadar. You’ll wish you made a friend of me, I’ll warrant. You’ll regret you didn’t when you had the chance!”

  She charged out of the room, with a flick of her hand at Sveinn so that he would follow. I watched her, the chill in my fingers spreading through the rest of my body. I was terribly afraid that she was right.

  ~~~

  As dawn brightened the sky, I walked out onto the deck and leaned against the railing that encircled the bow. Ahead the island rose up out of the water, all buildings and lights. Around the outside of the island was a semi-circular docking ring that I knew from my childhood studies was called the Torc. Its height was dwarfed by the island, and one might have guessed that it was too narrow for people to stand within it, but I remembered its ceiling was high enough and its diameter wide enough to house full-sized buildings and a popular bazaar. It had an opening that only a very privileged few traveled through—most everyone had to dock at the Torc and then walk, ride a tram or drive in through one of a dozen passways connecting it to the island like spokes of a wheel. I wondered whether we would dock at the Torc, or if we were among those elite who would sail through and dock directly on the island.

  The dawn light was golden but somehow didn’t manage to dispel the overall gray of Helésey. The buildings each rose up in a different shade: charcoal, slate, concrete. The effect was cold and that, paired with the morning air, made me shiver.

  I woke Bersi once I determined that the ship’s staff had breakfast for us. His sleepiness wore off as soon as he’d eaten his first piece of bread and butter.

  “Can I go out on the deck, Mama?” he asked.

  “You’ll have to eat more than that, Bersi. I don’t know when we’ll have lunch and you’re sure to be hungry later.”

  “I want to look at the boat in the sunlight.”

  “You’ll have time after breakfast.”

  “I watched the waves last night through my porthole.”

  “I thought you went to sleep right away.”

  “I woke up again. Not for long, Mama, I promise. I wanted to see if there were fish!”

  “And did you spot any?”

  “No, but it was so dark! Maybe I’ll spot some now.”

  I managed to get him to swallow another piece of bread and butter and half a pear before he lost patience with sitting and began to whine.

  “Very well, sweetling, let’s go have a walk around the deck.”

  It had started to snow, and large flakes drifted on the wind, sticking to our cheeks as we looked around the boat. Helésey seemed no closer though an hour had passed since I’d woken Bersi up. I wondered if we were making good time. I felt no sympathy for Mother Tora’s anxiety over our late departure, but the prospect of arriving after the coronation had begun made me tense. I didn’t think Reister would be any warmer than he usually was if we arrived on time, but if we were late—if we embarrassed him—he was sure to be angry. My husband was almost a stranger to me and yet I had learned quickly enough to fear his anger.

  ~~~

  As it happened we did pass through the opening in the Torc, arriving at the royal docks with little fanfare. No sooner had we disembarked—Bersi gawking at the other yachts on the quay and the cars driving by—than Sveinn brought another sedan around and the boat hands loaded our trunks into the back of it.

  “With some luck we’ll be there with a half an hour to spare,” Mother Tora said, pursing her lips. “I shall never have dressed so quickly in all my days, I’m sure.”

  We all climbed into the car, which had two bench seats opposite each other in the back. Mother Tora settled herself across from us. Bersi had the pale look he got when he needed a nap.

  “How long is the drive, Mother Tora?”
I asked.

  “We may be delayed in the city streets. The number of automobiles seems to double every week. Barring that, however, we should be at the palace in twenty minutes.”

  “Come then, dear,” I said to Bersi. “Lie your head on my lap and rest your eyes.”

  “Mama, I’m hungry!”

  “I told you we mightn’t have lunch,” I said. From my purse I plucked a roll wrapped in a napkin I’d taken from the breakfast table. “Here, sweetling. Have this, and we’ll no doubt dine like royalty this evening.”

  Bersi devoured the roll and then obediently curled up with his head on my lap. I stroked his soft hair and the silky skin of his forehead. My little boy.

  The drive took almost forty-five minutes. I was glad for Bersi, who needed the sleep, but Mother Tora sat tense, twisting her black velvet gloves in her hands the entire time.

  At first I thought it was just the delay, as before, but while we drove I watched her gaze flickering as she stared out of the window, and I soon looked out as well. We drove through the city, and immediately as we left the royal marina, we entered dark streets of cobblestones with high buildings all around that seemed to lean in towards us. Between the buildings ran a tram on a high rail, and they dwarfed it so it looked no larger than a pen. I had never seen such tall structures before, and they unsettled me. They varied in shades of grey and in ornamentation—many had chrome trim or large glowing signs. Some had designs—triangles, chevrons, stylized lilies—stretching up their walls and around their oversized windows and doorways. Only giants would need doors so tall.

  Mother Tora’s unease had nothing to do with the buildings, of course. She tensed when we passed people. Out in the streets the daylight lacked warmth and people huddled against the buildings. After a moment I realized we were passing through some district of the poor—shanties were built up against the sides of buildings and flames flashed out of old, rusty barrels that men encircled. Trash littered the street everywhere, and painted words marred the walls. Children ran up to the side of the sedan raising pale hands in fingerless gloves, and I was glad that Bersi had dropped off so quickly. Their hollow, hungry eyes tried to see inside our tinted windows. I looked at their faces—their sunken cheeks—and my heart twisted at the thought of Bersi ever being so starved.

  No sooner had we left that district behind and traveled through some unpopulated streets than we entered another impoverished neighborhood. It looked very similar to the first. Mother Tora clutched her black gloves and pressed her lips together, her eyes trained on the people shuffling by on the sidewalk.

  “I had no idea Helésey had so many poor,” I said.

  She gave her head a sharp shake. “It’s only that this is the quickest way to the palace,” she said. “Ordinarily I would have Sveinn drive around these cesspits.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Is no one doing anything to help these people?”

  “Help them? My goodness, whatever for? That would only prolong their suffering, of course. Degenerates, all of them. No good would come of helping them, it would be unnatural.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, Myadar, you really have a great deal to learn. Promise me you won’t speak unless spoken to once we’re at court. You really must listen as much as possible to dispel some of this ignorance.”

  I shut my mouth then. I really didn’t understand her reasoning. Degenerates? They looked normal enough to me—if hungry and dirty. What was the matter with them? Why would helping them be “unnatural”?

  We drove out of the second poor neighborhood and entered a commercial district with various storefronts. After that we drove past a lively open marketplace full of people selling fruits, vegetables, baked goods, kitchen implements, and many other things in fabric-covered stands. And yet even here, among the finely dressed human servants shopping for their employers, and some steel robot servants doing the same, I spotted hungry children sneaking about, filching an apple here, a loaf of bread there.

  We left the marketplace behind and turned up a sloping street that took us among large estates surrounded by ornate walls and iron fences. Mother Tora visibly relaxed. We had entered the fine part of the city, I surmised, where the residents were rich, if not noble enough to live at court. The palace would not be far now.

  I gazed out of the window as we turned down a large avenue. I could see the palace: massive and looming, a ziggurat, tan concrete with gold trim and engraved designs on the walls. It had seven levels, each wider than the one above it, and three motorized staircases. I gaped—I had never seen moving stairs before, but it struck me that they were very necessary. The center staircase rose from the street to the third story—it was unthinkable to climb all of those stairs. The other two led to the first story, flush against the palace walls, connecting to the center stairs and making an upward pointing arrow.

  Just behind the giant ziggurat, a tower rose high into the sky. I stared at it. It was a prism: it had three sides, and seemed to be made entirely of glass. As we drew closer I saw the metal joints between the huge window panes. The vertical metal lines rose parallel but instead of horizontal breaks there were diagonals—in fact they looked like arrows pointing up as well.

  “What is that tower?” I asked.

  Mother Tora gave me a withering look. “It’s the Temple.”

  I considered asking for clarification and decided to wait. I’d had enough of Mother Tora sneering at my ignorance for now. It didn’t prevent me from taking in as much of the rest of the metropolis as I could, and a chill spread over my skin at the next sight I saw. This one I knew; it was ancient, and infamous.

  Grumflein towered amidst a clump of buildings to the east of the palace—tall buildings, but dwarfed by the prison that sprouted out from among them like a thistle. The building rose in a cylinder that narrowed more on one side than the other, creating a gradual curve, and then stopping as the top floors suddenly widened, looking for all the world like the head of a polearm from far away. I remembered from my childhood lessons that only the high-born resided in this head. I wondered what one had to do to wind up there.

  When we finally arrived at the palace, entering a portal for automobiles that led us through a deep shaft and spat us out into a cement courtyard inside, Mother Tora clucked her tongue, her eyes darting from me to Bersi, to her pearl-faced watch, to outside the windows.

  “I shall have no time to find you a dress, Myadar,” she fretted.

  “I have a dress,” I said calmly.

  She shot me a look, her eyebrows drawn down and her blue eyes glittering.

  “Well, there’s no help for it,” she muttered. “There simply isn’t time.”

  I chose not to respond.

  Sveinn brought the car to a halt, exited, and came round to Mother Tora’s door. Another robot appeared on the other side, and opened my door, offering me a hand. I roused Bersi, who blinked the sleep from his eyes and stared at the robot. This one was silver with bronze trim around his eyes and mouth. Bersi looked overwhelmed. I hoped he wouldn’t lose his composure during the coronation—that was bound to be full of even more new sights and he’d already had so much to take in. At least he had slept through our drive through the city. I wasn’t ready to forget what I had seen in the streets any time soon.

  ~~~

  Mother Tora appeared dressed in a cream silk gown with a beaded chevron pattern down the front. It fluttered shockingly around her calves. She wore a wide-brimmed, pink rose-covered hat, cream patent-leather shoes with straps around the ankle, and rose-colored gloves. Without delay she ushered Bersi and me through the giant doors of the Great Hall to find Reister—it was only moments before the coronation was to start. All around us faces turned to look, and then turned away, leaning in to each other, exchanging whispers behind gloved hands.

  I caught their eyes just as they shifted their glances—they took in my dress, the red and maroon velvet with the embroidered bodice, and my honey-colored hair, twisted into a bun at the nap of my neck, and thei
r mouths twitched. Understanding slowly dawned on me as I compared myself to them.

  The women all wore short gowns like Mother Tora’s. I was taken aback. Nowhere had I ever seen the like—my own dress all but , although it left my arms bare, and I noted how muscular mine were compared to the ladies of the court. The waistline of these gowns was always low and loose, unlike my own—my dress’s bodice hugged my torso. Not so with theirs—their gowns flowed and shimmered with beads and satin fabrics, and none were as fitted as mine. The colors ranged from blacks and browns to roses and creams, and the occasional green or blue. No reds. They all adorned their heads one way or another—many wore hats: small, tight ones, wide-brimmed ones like Mother Tora’s, some in between, some lace-veiled. A number of ladies wore beaded headdresses that resembled scarves, and another popular style was an ornate band with sprays of feathers or coils of pearls. My head was bare. And their hair! So many women had short hair. Only the older ones kept their hair in buns like mine. Some of the cropped-haired women had curls spilling around their faces like cherubs. Others had a straight fringe across their foreheads and angular points brushing their chins. Some had managed to train their hair into regular, perfect waves—still so short that their necks were exposed.

  That wasn’t all. They wore long necklaces of pearls and gemstones, often with geometric structures of glittering silver or gold. Bracelets, too. I wore no jewelry, thinking that the embroidery on my bodice was enough and that jewelry would look gaudy in addition. They had no such qualms.

  My gloves went up to my elbows—most of theirs stopped at their wrists. And I was surprised to see that many were fingerless, like those worn by the urchins I’d seen in the streets on the drive through the city. I wondered whether the children were imitating fashion, or fashion was imitating them. Either way, seeing these fingerless gloves on the hands of wealthy court women had a flavor of cruel thoughtlessness I didn’t like.

  Nevertheless, I understood now what Mother Tora despised about my dress, and what she meant about it being hopelessly out of fashion. And as I made my way through the crowd, I also understood that I had made a mistake in ignoring her. This moment would be the court’s first impression of me. And I might not care what they thought of me, but Reister most certainly would.