So, who to rob? Wearing the Raud Gríma disguise seemed the best course of action. Then I need only lie in wait outside some portico to the Torc for a small group of courtiers to appear. Someone was bound to carry money. Would it be enough? I hoped so. If I had to, I would repeat the robberies as many times as it took, but of course each time I did, the risk of being caught grew.
I entered the apartments, relieved to see that no one was up. It was the dead of night, just after one o’clock. Mother Tora would be sleeping. I saw no sign of Sveinn. Had Reister come home at all? As I strode to my bedroom I allowed myself a moment of glee over the gossip I’d overheard at the party. The fact that wine had been stored in the warehouse had come out. I wondered if the authorities would investigate who the owner of the contraband was. Would they trace it back to Reister?
Pausing as I took off my jewels, I frowned. Would it be dangerous for me, if it did? In this new regime, they might well punish whole families for one member’s infraction. All the more reason to hurry with my plan.
The trouble was, everyone took cars to go anywhere in the metropolis. I would have to find a way to stop a car. In Raud Gríma’s day it was just a matter of jumping in front of a carriage with a flintlock, or perhaps riding a warhorse up alongside and wresting control of the driver’s seat in a daring leap. That wouldn’t work for me.
What I needed was more information. Where the narrowest, darkest streets were. What materials I might be able to use to create a detour to lure some car into one of these narrow, dark streets. How many Officers of Tyr patrolled the city at night, and what their routes were. Whether spies like the ones I’d spotted the night of the fire still crept through the streets. Whether I might have to contend with ruffians vying for my prey.
It made me smile, thinking of hunting silly courtiers as prey. I hadn’t made a single friend since I’d arrived—I thought I had, and now I knew better. Every one of them was false, shallow, and traitorous. Let them laugh behind their hands at unfashionable dresses and awkward manners. Let them send their children away so they could carry on with their trysts and their intrigues. Let them think they had all the power in Ódalnord. I would be hunting them soon. I’d give the ones I caught a good scare if I could manage it.
I pulled on a coat and grabbed my sack with the disguise already folded in it. If I hurried, I could start to get a good sense of what I was dealing with before dawn. Mother Tora and Reister would assume I was still with Liut, I hoped. How much did he tell my dear husband? I must act as quickly as I could. Discovery and failure hovered like flickering shadows, ever in the corners of my eyes.
Slipping through the back corridors that led into the robot servant quarters, I made my way out into the night again. Once I reached the same small alley as the night before, I changed into the costume, tying the red silk mask tightly over my face.
Wearing the Raud Gríma disguise liberated me from the constraints of my court life. Not only could I move like I used to when I wore trousers working on the property in Söllund, but knowing no one who saw me could recognize me gave me the urge to take risks, to be brave and free. I could be daring. I could paint messages on the walls of the buildings above ground like the messages I saw on the walls of the Undergrunnsby.
For the next three hours I prowled Helésey, studying the streets, committing their layout to memory. I stared down at the portico I thought must be closest to hotspots like the Perle. As I watched, sedans drove to and from the Torc through the portico. I made my way up hill from there, towards the palace, ranging side to side to see where the best spots were for an ambush. Several times I came upon the poor districts like the ones I’d seen when I first arrived. Men stood out in the night, warming themselves around burning barrels and tossing glass bottles that shattered. Best to give them a wide berth.
I didn’t see as many patrols of Officers of Tyr as I feared I might. Twice a car drove by the portico itself, and on one occasion in a poor district I saw a car ease through, which caused the people to disappear into the shadows.
A little while later, I heard a heavy rumbling and like them, I crouched in the darkness of an alcove in a building. Trucks rumbled by one after another—at least twenty. Not Officers of Tyr, this time—they were military vehicles. After they passed I tried to ascertain their origin, jogging for nearly an hour. If more trucks had not appeared, I might have given up, but they did, another line of a dozen. I kept on. I determined they came from a large, fenced base tucked in a dip in the elevation of the island. They drove out of its high gates like ants leaving an anthill. I considered robbing one of the trucks, but it looked too dangerous—they always seemed to move in convoys. And besides, I didn’t know what they carried. I could guess: supplies for the war against the provinces. But what could I do with a truck full of weapons or army rations?
Finally, I determined it was time to return home. Satisfied with the information I’d gathered, I descended into the Undergrunnsby to cut through the city more quickly. Having run through the sewers several times now, they were becoming less frightening—although the odors they harbored didn’t diminish. I was starting to recognize certain corridors from the words on the walls and the combinations of colors of paint. I might take Bersi through the Undergrunnsby, but I feared both for his safety and his ability to keep pace with me the whole way. Perhaps I would have to carry him—it bore consideration.
It was nearly six in the morning when I crept back into our apartments, but this time I was not as lucky as before—Sveinn was cleaning. He straightened when he saw me, his strange robot eyes turning and shuttering—it looked like blinking, but I gathered he did it when he was processing something he saw. “Good morning, Sveinn,” I said, pretending nonchalance.
“Good morning, Jarldis.”
“What a long night,” I said. “I shan’t require breakfast.”
“Very well, Jarldis,” he answered to my back as I hurried to my room.
Bad luck, I ruminated. He was sure to report the hour I returned to Mother Tora and Reister. Would one of them check with Liut? Had Liut been seen somewhere by Reister without me? How would I explain myself if they asked where I’d been?
Perhaps I could convince them I had another lover. After all, wasn’t their goal to turn me into some palace harlot, to tempt the konunger into taking me as a mistress? I supposed they wouldn’t like the idea of my seeing someone outside of their influence, but let them chew on the problem for a while. It would keep them from guessing what I was really about. I knew what I had to do. I would have to wait until later today, but I thought it would work.
~~~
When I received the bouquet of tulips I’d ordered for myself, I was disappointed that neither Mother Tora nor Reister were home. I made a point of pestering Sveinn about which vase he chose for them in the hopes he would report back to them about it. I admired the red flowers, so perfect they might have been designed by machines like the prints in the fabrics of my dresses. They were beautiful, but they also made me ache for the wild splendor of the gardens in Söllund.
My remark about running away seemed to have done the trick with Liut; I received no notes from him. It was time, I decided, to discover the location of Froddis Illugi’s school. I must see the place and determine how perhaps to breach its walls, in case I was refused access when I presented myself. My plan was to first try and retrieve Bersi openly enough—let Reister rage, we would be long gone by the time he found out. Of course, I knew he might well have anticipated such a move and forbidden me access to my son. If that was the case, I must have a secondary plan of attack.
Tonight I would rob some courtiers. Gods willing, the amount I won would be enough to buy passage on a boat. If so, tomorrow I would find a captain to hire and offer him some small deposit on the guarantee of full payment once we reached our destination. Tomorrow evening I would pretend to go to a party but recover Bersi instead. We would use the tunnels to reach a portico least used to travel to the Torc at night, and once through, escape in the boat.
/>
Joy bubbled in my breast at the thought of finally putting my plan into action. Finally seeing Bersi again. Part of me believed he had never existed, not really—he was just a lovely dream. How could anyone so perfect be real? But another part twisted with guilt knowing I had let such thoughts rule me for weeks, and in that time Bersi had suffered without rescue. I must remedy it. At last, I would do so.
Best not to talk to a palace robot about Froddis Illugi’s school, I decided. If Sveinn spied on me, the others might do the same. Although I couldn’t imagine they all reported to Reister. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do to take unnecessary risks.
I scoured our apartments until I’d collect four decorative trinkets from the tables and mantel—a little crystal globe, a porcelain vase, a bronze statue, and a picture frame with a portrait of Mother Tora. I exited the palace through the Grand Hall and made a show of heading for the Temple. Once there, I waited in the queue with the other petitioners and showed my donations to the Officer at the door. He directed me inside and I gave my gifts to another Officer at a counter.
“I pray for the health and welfare of my family in Asterlund,” I said to him. He nodded and I went on my way.
My efforts to create a reason for my foray into the city might be for naught—I couldn’t know who might be watching, after all. Still, I felt better for having done it, and particularly satisfied to have rid our apartments of the portrait of Mother Tora. I walked back in the direction of the palace, looking around for someone to ask for directions. I selected a young woman who carried a basket full of produce from the market.
“Excuse me,” I said, walking to her side. She blinked and took in my attire. Flushing, she bowed her head, saying nothing. “Can you direct me to Froddis Illugi’s school?”
She raised her face enough to look at me, then flushing deeper, she shook her head.
This wouldn’t do. I could not go about asking half a dozen people for directions to the school. One person might not have any reason to report me to some jarl or jarldis, but sooner or later I was bound to be unlucky. I had to ask a robot—they had the city memorized in them like a map, and would be able to point me directly. Still, asking one of them was much riskier than asking a person like the young woman who now hurried away from me.
It couldn’t be helped. I walked with more purpose, heading for the marketplace where I had seen so many robots before. Perhaps I would recognize some older model—less likely to work for the palace, and therefore less likely to have someone to report to who would care about my comings and goings.
I reached the marketplace in moments, and stood on the periphery watching the people and robots, trying to decide who to approach. Many of the people looked safe enough—but would they have ever heard of Froddis Illugi’s school? It must not be a very big school, or very famous, for that girl not to have known it. Unless she was too intimidated to speak to a courtier. I felt my cheeks grow hot. If that silly girl shook her head when in fact she knew the location of the school—well, what could I do? She was gone now, and I would never see her again. But if I did, I’d a mind to give her a good shaking.
This thought didn’t solve my current problem, however, and it would do me no good to stand here in indecision for long. My absence at the palace would be noticed and my excuse of a trip to the Temple would only cover so much time. I spotted a robot with small patches of rust at its elbows. None of the palace robots had any sort of visible wear.
I strode over to it. “Excuse me,” I said.
It stopped its inspection of the mound of cheeses on the table before it turned and faced me. Its eyes were like black cabochons staring blankly at me. They were unsettling, and I suppressed a shiver.
“If you please, which way to Froddis Illugi’s school?”
I held my breath as the robot stood still. Had I chosen one without the power of speech? Did it have instructions to ignore strangers? Would I never find that damned school?
“Froddis Illugi’s school is named The School of the Holy Hand, Jarldis,” the robot said in a male’s voice. I tensed at the honorific, but the robot must have judged it appropriate based on my dress, not because it recognized me—surely I was not so recognizable to a robot outside the palace. “It is located in the northwest quadrant. Follow the Avenue of Wheat to its juncture with Sunburst Street. Turn left on Sunburst Street, and follow it to the end where it meets the Boulevard of the Inns. Turn right, then when you come to Sacred Comfrey Street, turn left. You will see the school, for it takes up most of the street.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome, Jarldis.”
I suppressed another shiver and hurried to the Avenue of Wheat. If I remembered my lessons right, wheat was sacred to the goddess Sif, but she was already a minor deity long before the rise of Tyr. No doubt her sacred connection to the grain had been forgotten by most. The name of the school referenced Tyr, who had sacrificed a hand to chain the wolf Fenrir, and of course, comfrey was his plant. I wondered if the street had always been called Sacred Comfrey, or if the names of city’s avenues and boulevards had been revised to please High Vigja Galmr.
The school was far. It took me almost three quarters of an hour to reach Sacred Comfrey Street, despite the simplicity of the robot’s directions. Each stretch of street extended out interminably. I considered turning back a dozen times—how would I explain my absence for so long? But I had already come so far, I couldn’t bear to stop now.
Sacred Comfrey Street was not wide, nor was it as narrow as an alley. I turned the corner onto it with a sense of triumph and joy. At last. At last I was within reach of my son.
The street was cobbled and long stone planters lined the walls of the school that stretched almost from one end to the other. Comfrey plants grew in them, looking robust, and, like the uncanny lindens and comfreys of the Temple, these comfrey plants were covered in buds. They were not blossoming quite as vigorously as the Temple comfreys, I supposed. But they were further along than the season would naturally allow. The plants themselves had been growing there for some time. They were not new, I determined, no matter if the street had once had another name. I wondered, for a moment, how long Tyr’s rise had been going on. Perhaps the Conversion that took place only months before now represented only the capstone on a much longer construction of the new order. It didn’t matter, in the end, however. Whether the rise had taken months, years, or decades, I was still trapped in Helésey, trying to retrieve my son.
The walls around the school were high, but if I climbed onto a planter I might be able to hoist myself over.
I spent the next twenty minutes hunting for doors. The main entrance had the same oversized doors so popular in much of Helésey’s architecture. I prayed I would be able to walk Bersi out through them without fuss, but I doubted that would be the case. I found two side doors embedded in the grey wall. Locked. No openings. The hinges were on the inside, otherwise I might have had a hope of dismantling them.
It was when I was examining one such door that I looked up and caught sight of a pale face in a window. My heart stopped.
Bersi.
It couldn’t be. How could it?
But it was.
Bersi.
The word formed on my lips and I dug my nails into the heavy wood of the door. He looked down at me but seemed unmoved.
He doesn’t recognize me, I realized.
Cursing the paint on my face, the haircut, the ridiculous dress, all the feathers, I took a step back from the door and reached for him. He stood at a second story window, far out of my grasp, but I extended my arm as if I might clasp his hand. I could see the features of his dear face, and my throat closed with grief. He frowned at me.
“Bersi,” I gasped, pressing my hand to my mouth.
His frown deepened and he put a palm on the glass. And then I saw his lips form the word “Mama.”
“Yes, Bersi, it’s me,” I said. “Oh gods, it’s me. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my dearest. I’m here now. I’ll get
you out.”
All thought of a plan fled my mind and I raced to the front door of the school. But somehow, turning my eyes away from Bersi let reason return to me before I arrived. I could not get him out now. I was not ready. Tomorrow evening, yes. After I had the money. After I had passage on a boat. If I took him now, where would we go? Where would we hide? The Undergrunnsby? To be preyed upon by desperate people? No. I had to come back when the elements were in place.
I only hoped I had not upset him dreadfully. My poor, sweet boy. I had abandoned him for too long. Would he ever forgive me?
I hesitated outside the door for a moment longer, then hurried away, back towards the palace, wondering how I would get Bersi out if the direct approach didn’t work. I was fairly certain I could scale the outside of the wall, but what about from the inside when it was time to get out? Carrying him would only make that more difficult. I would have to find a way, however. Perhaps escaping out of the doors would be easier than breaking in. I hoped it was so.
My hands shook as I rushed through the streets. Bersi. My poor boy. How could I have let it go this long? What must he think? He must believe himself abandoned. The awful stone walls loomed grey in my memory. Bersi, who loved to chase the geese and play in mud puddles, locked away from the sun inside those walls. I couldn’t bear it.
~~~
“Where in the name of Tyr have you been?” Mother Tora demanded as I entered our apartments upon my return. I felt every muscle in my back tense. I had been gone too long, my absence noted.
“I went to the Temple,” I said, hoping that would be the end of it.
“The Temple?” Mother Tora said as if the concept was unfathomable.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve been thinking of my family in Asterlund. I’m concerned for them—the Conversion will reach that far eventually…”
Mother Tora scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “What utter drivel,” she exclaimed. “You must be the most ignorant slattern I have ever met! Why—”
But at that moment Reister entered from the corridor, and Mother Tora’s mouth snapped shut. My fingers curled into fists, partly from fear, but also anger. Reister had that pale look to him, with the red spots in his cheeks, that warned me he was furious. This tyrannical need to direct my every move was intolerable.
The City Darkens (Raud Grima Book 1) Page 19