The City Darkens (Raud Grima Book 1)

by Martin, Sophia

  “Where were you?” he barked.

  “Out,” I answered, unwilling to grace him even with my false story.

  “Out, is it? And who gave you leave to go out?” Reister demanded.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. “I shall go out if I like.”

  “Who sent the flowers?” he snapped.

  Shock rendered me speechless. I had forgotten the tulips in all my scheming that day. No wonder he was furious. He thought I had another lover, one unknown to him. He thought he was losing control of me.

  The jubilation that bubbled up in my heart almost caused me to smile, but I couldn’t let on that I was playing with him. Instead, I blinked and looked down, as if he’d caught me out. “I don’t know,” I murmured.

  “I will not tolerate your infidelity, Myadar, no matter what you may have seen among the courtiers you’ve met,” Reister said, advancing on me. His back and legs were stiff like an aggravated dog’s. How strange to think that in truth, he did not object to my infidelity to him, but to Liut. I might not have very much experience with marriages other than my own, but I’d be willing to wager mine was quite unusual.

  I eyed him, my arms still tightly crossed in front of me. “I’ve no way to stop some admirer from sending me flowers.”

  When Reister’s arm swung back, I had just enough time to loose an arm to block its strike. The strength of the blow sent me stumbling into an armchair, however, and I sat down heavily.

  Reister strode to stand over me, and I cringed in his shadow. “Cease whatever this flirtation is, Myadar—for I hope that you haven’t betrayed me in some assignation. If I find that you have…”

  He let his words fade, but the intensity of his eyes on me did not waver. I felt them boring into me even as I stared at the floor, willing him to move on. At last, he did.

  ~~~

  That night I slipped out of a soirée of poetry recitation honoring Tyr and the new regents. The event was fortunate—we all sat in darkness in the Great Hall while poets performed on the brightly lit daises. I found it easy to creep away; no one questioned me, and I doubted anyone would notice I was gone.

  I donned my disguise in the usual alley and hurried to the entrance to the Undergrunnsby nearby. Urgency drove me. I could see Bersi’s face in the window, his mouth forming “Mama.” A hope began to germinate in my heart that I might accomplish all of it tonight: accost some party of minor nobles, secure the money, travel down to the Torc and ferret out a ship captain working late on his boat, and sneak back to the school, perhaps arriving in the early morning hours, to claim my son and escape Helésey forever.

  As I rushed through the shafts of the sewers I rubbed the bruise that formed on my arm where I had blocked Reister’s blow. His hypocrisy troubled me more than the soreness of the bruise, however. Striking me for a supposed flirtation, when he’d set Vaenn and Liut on me like dogs and still hoped to procure me like a harlot into the konunger’s bed.

  Once I had arrived in the vicinity of the portico to the Torc I had chosen for stalking, I set about the task of blocking the main avenue with debris from a side alley. In my night of reconnaissance, I had located stacked barrels rotting nearby—they had once been trash receptacles, no doubt, but they had long been abandoned. I pushed them down, dragging them, even as they came apart from decay, into the center of the street. I continued until the only logical choice for a car would be to turn down a specific alley. There, I created another obstacle using broken tiles from a nearby roof. Those might not stop a car, but if I was lucky it would damage its tires. I had a backup plan in case it didn’t. I had secured a jug of kerosene from our kitchen, and poured it out on the street before the tiles. I found another barrel, this one newer than the others, and destroyed it, using the force of my legs to break it apart, adding it to the puddle of fuel on the street. If my prey passed over the tiles unscathed, I would light the kerosene and trap it in the dead end alley that way.

  Finding a shadow in an overhang under a red neon sign that glowed in the dark, I crouched down to hide.

  After a time, I had to shift positions. My legs ached and my muscles twitched. I feared that no one had come out to the Torc tonight—had everyone gone to the poetry recitation? After all, it would be impolitic not to. But no; surely some young nobles who had yet to make names for themselves preferred to gamble or drink over listening to verses depicting Tyr’s battles and Eiflar-Konunger’s greatness.

  Of course, I was waiting for them to leave their revels for home. I chewed on my upper lip, tasting the cosmetics I had applied. If I could have gotten started earlier, or accomplished the task of preparing the streets more quickly—or if I could have somehow done it in advance without the risk of some robots clearing it all up before I would make use of it—I might have finished with this already. But it couldn’t be helped. I had to make sure I was seen at the recitation. I couldn’t block off the streets any faster than I did. I was just one person. So now I had to wait until some jarls and jarldises tired of their evening amusements and made their way home.

  Perhaps I would still slip down into the Torc afterwards to try and find a captain. By the grace of the gods, some mariner would be up and about—surely some sailors must suffer from insomnia, mustn’t they? And if I found no one, I would simply have to return during the day.

  I wanted to attempt to find a captain tonight, but every moment I stayed away from the palace was a chance my absence would be discovered. If I succeeded in robbing some nobles, the safest course would be to take the tunnels back as quickly as possible and try to make myself seen somewhere in my gown and feathers. The incident was sure to arouse the fascination of the court—some masked villain luring young jarls into a trap to frighten and rob them—and I would be safest if I was present to act as shocked as everyone else when I heard the news.

  A small scraping noise caught my ears and I turned to try and see what made it. The shadows vexed me. It had come from further down the alley where I planned to trap the nobles and I couldn’t see what had made it. Carefully I straightened and crept towards the origin of the noise, my eyes wide, trying to see.

  I reached the end of the alley. To the left a passage too narrow for a car cut through connected to another street, but otherwise, it was a dead end. I saw no one, and no animal either—no rats or feral cat to explain away the noise. The skin of my shoulders prickled and I searched the dark corners, but still, I saw nothing.

  The sound of a car’s brakes far off carried to me. Someone encountering my first barrier?

  I hurried back to the spot where I had been hiding and crouched again. At last a pair of headlights turned the corner, heading towards my piles of broken shingles. The sedan was moving fast. It shone black in the moonlight and reflected the red neon of the sign above my hiding place. Tearing through the tiles unhindered, it would soon come to the end of the alley. I lit a match and tossed it.

  The kerosene billowed into flame, catching the wood of the broken barrel and raging. To my shock, and alarm began to sound overheard. What piece of devilry was this?

  The car screeched to a halt and the driver’s door swung open. I stood, my dagger drawn, eyes wildly searching for the source of the alarm.

  The driver, a young man in black, walked towards the blaze, shielding his eyes. Another door of the sedan opened, and two women and a man came out.

  “What Lukan mischief is this…?” the second man said—he too searched for the source of the alarm.

  This was my moment, and now that it was here, I hesitated. I didn’t want to do this thing. I didn’t want to threaten them, and frighten them, and force them to give me their money. But I must. Calling Bersi’s face to mind, I clenched my jaw and thrust myself out of the shadows.

  Brandishing the dagger in front of me, I used the deepest voice I could muster to shout over the din, “Hand over your valuables!”

  One of the women gasped and clutched at the other’s arm. The second man moved between me and them, and the first whirled around
to face me.

  I slashed the air in his direction, taking a step towards him. “Your valuables, now! Your money!”

  He blinked at me.

  “Do it!” I bellowed.

  “Oh, Agvidar!” one of the women cried.

  “Get them back in the car!” the first man—Agvidar—ordered the second.

  I couldn’t allow that. I leapt between the men and yanked the arm of the woman who had cried out for Agvidar. She stumbled and I pressed the dagger to her throat.

  “No heroics,” I said. “I can kill her and still rob the rest of you.”

  The men held up their hands and the other woman, her hands trembling, pulled off her earrings and bracelets hurriedly.

  “The Officers are on their way!” Agvidar said. “The fire alarm will summon them!”

  “Your money!” I shouted back at him. The woman I held gave a cry and twisted weakly in my grip. The men delved into their pockets, then each tossed a billfold at my feet. The other woman held her jewels out to me, her hands shaking.

  “Please don’t hurt her,” she said.

  I pressed the dagger a little harder against my hostage’s throat. “Toss the jewels with the rest.”

  She did so.

  “Back away,” I ordered them. “Now!”

  They moved quickly.

  “Go to the other side of the fire,” I said.

  Agvidar hesitated as the others obeyed. I cocked my masked face to the side as I looked at him. “Have you no concern for her? Go!”

  He made a noise of frustration and followed the other two. When they were all three beyond the flames, I thrust the woman away from me.

  “When you speak of this, say Raud Gríma has returned.”

  I snatched the jewels and the billfolds, and ran for the back of the alley and the narrow passage. Despite the siren, I could hear the woman’s wrenching sobs behind me, and the voices of her friends as they rushed to her aid.

  My heart was split. I clutched the key to my salvation, to Bersi’s rescue, in my gloved hands, but the sound of the woman’s suffering twisted my triumph into shame. When I imagined this moment, I thought that I would enjoy frightening them, that I would be filled with elation at my success. It was not so. Despite the way the nobles had treated me at court, I could not enjoy their suffering now.

  Having circled around again, I ran for the nearest entrance to the Undergrunnsby. I told myself to forget what had happened. All that mattered now was that I had the billfolds and the jewels. I could pay for our passage.

  I heard the rumble of vehicles before I saw them—large trucks hauling tanks and hoses, barreling down a street intersecting the one I hurried along.

  I had never seen fire trucks before, nor ever heard of a fire alarm—these were new developments; in fact, I was fortunate they were not installed everywhere, or the result of my arson at Reister’s warehouse might have been very different. The sight of the trucks stopped me in my tracks. They cut off my progress to the tunnels; I had to let them pass.

  Then a smaller car followed the trucks, a red light flashing on its roof. After that, there were no more. I ran on, clutching the billfolds and jewels to my chest.

  I heard shouting down where the fire had spread to one of the buildings, and I paused to catch sight of the Officers pulling hoses from the trucks. Using them, they poured water on the conflagration—water from the tanks they carried. It disappointed me to know my fire would do no more damage. I might not enjoy tormenting silly young courtiers, but the sight of this damned city in flames would warm my heart.

  The car with the red light pulled away from the scene and headed right towards me. I gripped the billfolds and jewels more tightly and raced away down the street, but the driver must have spotted me, and the car turned to follow me. I sprinted down another street, realizing the sound of the siren from the fire seemed to be following me as well. It was coming from the car.

  I dodged into an alley, my legs pumping hard, and for a moment I thought I was free of my pursuer. Then the car appeared at the other end where the alley connected to another street. How it had moved so quickly bewildered me—until I realized it was a second car. I looked back over my shoulder. The first was behind me again.

  Stuffing the billfolds and jewelry into the inside pockets of the leather vest I grabbed the metal grating of a fire escape on the side of a building and hoisted myself up, feeling muscles I hadn’t worked since my days on the estate come to life. I climbed as fast as I could, and below me I heard the sound of brakes and doors slamming.

  “Stop!” men shouted over the cacophony of sirens. “Stop in the name of Tyr!”

  Cold sweat blossomed on my forehead as I reached the staircase inside the metal frame of the fire escape. I took the stairs two at a time. Explosions echoed and sparks flew as bullets hit the metal and stone around me. They were shooting guns at me. I was going to be killed, and then no one would rescue Bersi from that wretched place. I was going to fail him again.

  I flew up the rungs until I reached the top—just another ten feet away was the roof of the building. More bullets peppered the walls around me. One hit inches from my shoulder. I lunged and found purchase on the decorative molding on the wall—chevrons, like so many other buildings in the metropolis. I felt no pain though I gripped the wall through my gloves with all the iron I possessed, hauling myself up and onto the roof.

  The pitch was not overly steep but the shingles that covered it—much like the ones I’d strewn in the street—were brittle, and broke under my weight, sliding out from under my boots, threatening to take me with them. I ran to the apex and over it, losing my balance and landing on my backside as I did. The tiles cracked and I slid down them, trying to stop myself. It was a lucky thing that I wore gloves, for the broken tiles would surely have sliced my hands to ribbons.

  I managed to halt my descent, but below me I could hear shouting and another car with its wailing siren. Where were they all coming from? How did they all know to converge on me? Was it the fire alarm? If I could only destroy it, maybe no more cars would appear. But I couldn’t think of seeking out the alarm now. I had to escape.

  My only hope was to reach the Undergrunnsby and disappear into it before one of them spotted me. Standing still for a moment on the roof, I tried to get my bearings, but I had no idea where the nearest entrance to the tunnels was.

  Behind me, I heard the sound of shingles crunching. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed what my sinking heart knew—an Officer climbed onto the roof, and as he stood he was taking aim at me again. I bolted.

  Too soon the edge of the roof loomed before me. There was nothing to do but jump and hope I made it to the next roof. Mercifully, the next building’s roof was flat, and as I flew through the air, I scissored my legs to gain more distance in my leap. Landing hard, I thanked the gods again for the gloves—and the vest, for I rolled onto my shoulder but the leather protected me there as well. Whoever designed my disguise had done so wisely.

  No time to lose—I found my feet and darted across the flat roof to the next edge. Three bullets blasted the concrete inches from where I ran. I threw myself from the edge towards the next roof, but this time I didn’t make it.

  The next building was too far away. I slammed against its wall, my fingers clinging for anything, but faster than my mind could process I fell. As I did, my head must have hit some protruding sill or molding, because blackness engulfed me before I hit the ground.

  ~~~

  “Don’t move.”

  I must have disobeyed because I felt strong hands on my shoulders pushing me down. I tried to open my eyes but they would not respond. I tried to touch my face, but the hands on my shoulders released me to grab my wrists.

  My head pounded, but I noted the softness of whatever I was lying on. Where was I? A memory of the panic flooded me. The roofs. The Officers pursuing me. I clawed at the hands.

  “Myadar, stop. You’re safe. Don’t struggle.”

  Heedless, I tried to free myself from th
e person’s grip.

  “Myadar, you injured your head. You must not struggle. Lie still.”

  The voice was a woman’s. It didn’t fit. My heart pounded and I thrashed against the hands. There was a scent…

  “I can give her a sedative, but it’s not a good idea,” a man said. “The concussion—it’s better that she wakes, but she must calm down.”

  “Myadar, don’t be afraid,” the woman said.

  “Where am I?” I managed to push from my lips. “Why can’t I open my eyes?”

  “Your eyes are swollen shut,” the woman said. “You took a very nasty fall. You’re safe. No one knows we’re here.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Kolorma Svida,” she responded. Cloves. The scent of cloves.

  My head swam. The jöfurdis? How was this possible? Where was I?

  “I don’t understand,” I said, and my voice broke.

  “You mustn’t be afraid, Myadar,” she said again. “You are safe.”

  “I don’t understand,” I repeated. My limbs began to shake.

  “What’s wrong with her?” the jöfurdis asked. “Is it the concussion?”

  “She’s going into shock,” the man said, his voice taking on a tone of urgency. “I’d hoped the blood loss was not so severe… Loosen her clothing. Try not to move her head. Here, cover her with this.” I felt tightness from the vest ease and something soft but heavy covered me.

  “Easy does it, Jarldis,” the man said. “Breathe. Try to relax.”

  My stomach rolled. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Support her head, we have to turn her!” the man said.

  They rolled me onto my side—the nausea overwhelmed me and I vomited. They gently eased me onto my back, and the nausea abated somewhat. I felt something cold against the skin of my face, and for the first time, I realized that everything hurt.