“We still have some time to kill before evening falls,” Heron said, then nodded toward the alley that led deeper into the first level of the city. “We might as well go on a stroll and check things out.”
“Yeah, I’m just bummed out that Lemuel’s hidden archival treasure didn’t tell us more about the Maras and the asteroid belt,” I replied as we walked.
“I don’t know why I’m saying this, but I have a feeling it would’ve been too easy if we’d found all the answers tucked away inside some slum wall here,” Heron muttered.
“What do you mean by ‘too easy’?”
“It’s just that… It doesn’t look like this city will give away all of its secrets at once. Something inside me says we won’t get to the bottom of this as quickly as we’d hoped.”
“Do you think the Maras have something to do with it? With this feeling of yours, I mean?” I asked, looking around at the buzzing crowd of Imen moving up and down the road. The wary looks that they gave us made me think that we were definitely onto something, as far as the Maras’ behavior and mind-bending practice were concerned.
“Could be,” Heron replied, “but it would be just conjecture at this point, without any proof. And I’m not one to buy into shabby conspiracy theories. I mean, sure, I definitely don’t trust the Maras, and we both know there is something fishy going on here, but unless we can back our suspicions up with real facts, we’re just speculating.”
“I agree, but I’ve also been taught to listen to my instincts when pursuing a line of inquiry, and I think you should do the same. If your gut is telling you something, then please do share, so we can put our heads together and uncover whatever form of foul play the Maras are up to.”
Heron gave me an appreciative half-smile as we reached the end of the alley and turned left. Clay brick houses lined both sides of the road ahead, with small windows and charcoal slate roofs. This wasn’t the snazzier side of town, but it wasn’t a slum either. My guess was that the majority of Imen living here were of lower to middle class, most likely working service jobs higher up in the city. “We might as well check out the Spring Fair, since we’re out,” Heron suggested, and I replied with a brief nod.
There were more Correction Officers out and about, patrolling the streets in pairs. Since Patrick’s protection spell had failed to keep the daemons out, the guards were on high alert. I could tell, from the looks on their faces, that there was tension between them.
“Don’t they look gloomier than usual?” I muttered to Heron. He narrowed his eyes, paying attention to a specific pair that passed by. The sideways glances that they gave us sent chills down my spine. They made me feel as though we weren’t exactly welcome here, as if we were the intruders, and not the daemons that we were trying to protect everyone from.
“They must be on edge. Although we both know that some of these scowls have nothing to do with the failed protection spell,” Heron replied, his voice low. “They’re definitely keeping secrets from us, but unfortunately we cannot accuse them directly of withholding information, especially where the treatment of Imen is concerned.”
“Yeah, I know. Still… I would love to shake them up a little bit and get to the bottom of this,” I murmured, pressing my arms over my chest.
“Trust me, I’m right there with you on that one, but it will get the Imen in trouble if we go about it our way.”
We briefly looked at each other, exchanging knowing smirks as we made a left turn, then took the stairs up to the fourth level. The Spring Fair was a huge, open market, spreading over the entire neighborhood. The awnings were pulled all the way over the small square in front of us, and stalls lined all four sides. There was plenty of food on display, along with artisanal confectionery, baked goods, handmade sweets, oils, and syrups.
“This must be one of the food markets that we’ve heard about, part of the fair,” I said as we toured the place. The market was full of Imen, mostly females with their children, while the males were holed up in taverns nearby—I could hear them laughing and clinking glasses. It turned out they weren’t that different from the humans back on Earth.
“Wow, this is one of the few times when I actually wish I could eat something,” Heron muttered, his jade eyes wandering around the multitude of pastries, buttered breads, and jams on display.
“At least they have a rich culture in terms of gastronomy,” I replied. “I wonder how much of their true heritage has been deleted through mind-bending.”
“We have to be extremely diplomatic and discreet if we want to learn anything from these people. I don’t doubt that there are Maras eavesdropping, wherever we go,” Heron whispered in my ear. “Chances are that they’re listening as we speak.”
“So, what, I should let them intimidate us into not asking the right questions?” I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Nope, not at all.” He smirked. “If anything, I say we make ourselves heard, loud and clear, so they know that we are not to be played with. Although, I was hoping we’d already proven that by coming back from those gorges alive and in one piece—twice.”
I caught glimpses of dark shadows rushing through adjacent streets, but nothing too precise. Nevertheless, I knew that there were Correction Officers patrolling the area, and, as Heron had suggested, they were most likely following us.
“Maybe they’re not that easy to impress,” I quipped, and he chuckled. We reached the other side of the food market. The crowd buzzed, the Imen walking around filling their baskets with food and syrup bottles in exchange for handfuls of silver and copper pennies.
We didn’t even see Cadmus until I nearly walked into him. We both stopped, just inches away from him. I hadn’t expected to see him here, in these parts of the city, as he was one of Caspian’s most trusted lieutenants, and mostly assigned to the upper parts—specifically the top levels, where the Lords resided and did their business.
His expression was firm, and dark lines gathered between his brows as he frowned at us.
“Cadmus, I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said politely.
He gave us both a brief nod, keeping his hands behind his back and his chin up.
“I, on the other hand, knew exactly where to find you,” he replied bluntly.
“That really doesn’t come as a surprise.” Heron scoffed, glancing around. “This place is riddled with your people.”
“Lord Kifo did leave me in command, but rest assured that I cannot keep track of all of my officers. The Lords and other superiors from the five families also have authority over the guards.”
“What is it that you’re trying to say?” I asked, and he gave me a stern look.
“Watch your backs. You have aroused the interest of many, in a city that is still recovering from the explosions. There are eyes on you at all times. And none of them answer to me,” Cadmus said.
“I’m not following you.” I shook my head, not clear on what his message was.
“The city is not what it seems,” Cadmus replied, “and poking around things that have long been buried won’t do you any good.”
I realized what he was referring to. Someone knew where we’d been. Even worse, someone knew what we had been looking at. Was it just me, or were Lemuel’s archives not that big of a secret? Did Cadmus know? I couldn’t ask him directly—I would risk exposing the studio and its contents, if he didn’t know and was just fishing.
“You know, being so cryptic won’t do you any good,” Heron muttered, his gaze fixed on Cadmus. “I’ll have you know we don’t really care who’s looking, or who’s listening. We are here to do our jobs, and that involves asking uncomfortable questions, poking at people who would very much prefer not to be poked, and digging through the dirt until all your secrets come out and we discover everything about your city, your servants, and your practices—unethical or otherwise. Am I making myself clear?”
“Is that your way of telling me that you will not be intimidated?” Cadmus replied, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Heron
took a step forward, bringing himself close enough to invade Cadmus’s personal space, asserting himself as the challenging force. “You’re damn right we’re not going to be intimidated. If anything, the harder you come after us, the more it will hurt you when we strike back.”
They stood like that for about a minute, death stares and all, until Cadmus broke eye contact and gave me a brief smile.
“That’s good to hear,” he breathed, then walked away.
It took us a few moments to understand what had just happened. We both turned around and watched Cadmus disappear into the crowd of Imen. I then looked at Heron, raising an eyebrow.
“What was all that about?” I asked.
“I honestly have no idea, but the dude switched from hot to cold way too fast.” Heron shrugged.
“So, he was what… testing us? Trying to see if he could intimidate us? To what end?”
“Maybe he has something to tell us, but doesn’t know if we are ready to hear it. Or, worse, maybe he doesn’t know if he can trust us. I certainly wouldn’t trust someone who is easily frightened or derailed,” Heron said.
“Yeah, well, whatever it is, I’m damn tired of all these cryptic replies, of all their secrets and weird habits. Tired, in fact, doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I replied, my teeth gritting as I resumed our walk through the market.
Whatever came next, it most likely involved the Maras. With every day that passed, it felt as though we were getting both closer and farther away from the truth. It was bad enough that I was worried about Harper and her team, out there, infiltrating the daemon city… I certainly didn’t have any more patience for half-truths and Mara secrets that could very well get us in more trouble.
Cadmus was hiding something. Not that it was a surprise, but he had just made sure that we knew it. Sooner or later, we were going to meet again and expand on what had just happened. Specifically, on what he had just told us—in not very many words.
What did transpire from our brief exchange was that we now knew there were eyes on us at all times, that we had stirred the pot, and that, as we’d suspected, this city held plenty of secrets. And I was determined to uncover each and every one of them, until they led me to a way off this damn planet.
Whether it was the Maras, or the daemons, or whoever else who thought we should stay here indefinitely, it didn’t matter. All that mattered to me was that we get to the bottom of it, then hop in a light bubble and fly back home.
Fiona
(Daughter of Benedict & Yelena)
After a brief visit to the library, to check through the service records of the Lords’ mansions, I learned that Arrah’s father hailed from one of the neighborhoods on the third level. The servants’ places of birth were the few snippets of Imen information that I could find in that library.
I figured it was as good a place as any to look around, and see if I could find anything, or meet anyone who might know something about Arrah and her whereabouts. I spent a couple of hours walking through the narrow alleys, keeping my ears open. Sooner or later, someone could say something of interest to someone else—something of interest to me, at least.
Despite the Spring Fair, there were plenty of Imen out and about, most of them working in different stores and bars in the area. I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, keeping to the side streets and the shadows as I listened in on various conversations. There were plenty of rumors flying around—about us, about the daemons, and, most importantly, about the aftermath of the attacks on the Lords’ mansions.
The Imen were mourning the loss of their friends and extended family members who had lost their lives in the explosions. Some of them, specifically a group of young females, brought up Arrah’s name, along with her brother’s.
“She was always a strange girl,” one of the females said, shaking her head slowly, “but she certainly didn’t deserve such grief. It was bad enough that she never knew her father. To then lose her mother to daemons, her brother to prison… and now her whole life, her little home inside the Roho mansion, destroyed.”
“It just doesn’t seem fair,” another replied. “My mother went up to the South Bend Inn this morning to talk to her, to see how she was doing. You see, our mothers were good friends. But Arrah was nowhere to be found. Nobody knows where she went.”
“Speaking of which,” a third Iman girl interjected, “did you hear that her brother escaped from jail?”
I froze. Sure, the Correction Officers had been bound to discover that Demios was gone, but it still made me feel nervous. No one could have even guessed that I’d been the one to let him out. But when you have a conscience, no matter the endgame, you still feel a little guilty for breaking the rules.
The first one gasped. “How do you know?”
“My friend, Maia, is a servant in the Kifo mansion,” the third replied. “She specifically services Lord Kifo and his lieutenants, the ones in charge of the prison. She overheard them when one of the Correction Officers reported Demios missing this morning.”
“Oh my, do they think that has something to do with Arrah’s disappearance?” the second Iman girl asked. “What if they both ran away together? What if Demios got out, found his sister at the South Bend Inn, then left the city with her?”
“I hope they didn’t. It’s such a dangerous world out there.” The first girl sighed. “Now that we know the daemons are real… I would hate for something to happen to Arrah and her brother.”
“I don’t know,” the second one muttered. “Maybe they’re better off out there, beyond the gorges, in the western plains with the Free People.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Why not?” The second girl defended herself. “We’re all thinking it. Ever since our people started disappearing, we’ve all been thinking it. Maybe it is time for us to consider leaving. The tribes in the western plains would surely welcome us with arms wide open.”
“Shut up, Alla! Our lords don’t look kindly upon sedition!” the first Iman girl hissed. “You’ll get yourself and us in trouble with such thoughts!”
Several seconds went by, and I inched forward from my little hiding spot around the corner, just so I could get a better look at the three girls. They were dressed in simple, modest black dresses, their hair caught up in conservative buns. They were seated around a table outside a café, sipping tea. The fearful looks in their eyes told me everything I needed to know. The Maras clearly didn’t like it when their servants thought of leaving the city—and that was in direct contradiction to what Emilian had told us before.
“Get those ideas out of your head,” the first Iman girl said, her voice low as she scowled at her friend, who stared at the cobblestone beneath her feet.
“You don’t want to be heard by the wrong people. You know what happens when the wrong people hear you,” the third one added.
My stomach churned, as I realized then that the Maras were definitely hiding something with regards to their treatment of the Imen. We had been speculating before. We’d noticed the discrepancies and blanked-out memories. But this was the first time that I was hearing an Iman specifically warn another Iman about the Maras. Who else could they mean by “wrong people”, anyway?
While I had no new lead on Arrah, at least I had managed to confirm what we’d already suspected. This wasn’t exactly the artful and joyful democracy that we’d been told it was. It was starting to sound more and more like an authoritarian regime. My only question at this point was how severe it actually was.
What price did an Iman pay for leaving the city? What punishment was there for what the girls had referred to as sedition?
A thud startled me, and tore gasps from the Imen girls. I followed their gazes to a male Iman, who had collapsed in the middle of the square. Others gathered quickly around him, some crouching to touch his face and get a feel for his temperature, while murmurs arose from the growing crowd.
The Imen girls stayed put, their hands gripping the armrests of their chairs. They watched the entire scene u
nfold with deep frowns. My first instinct was to go out and check on the Iman lying on the ground, but a couple of Correction Officers beat me to it. I didn’t move, my eyes fixed on the two Maras.
They pushed the people away, then picked the collapsed Iman up and carried him down the stairs leading to the second level—they were taking him to the infirmary. The others watched, a mixture of fear and curiosity imprinted on their pale faces. None had the courage to object, and yet all of them showed genuine concern.
“He’s, what, the fifth one this week?” the first Iman girl from the café murmured.
“I don’t know… I’ve lost track,” the third one breathed.
“It’s been happening more frequently over the past few years,” the second Iman girl, the slightly more rebellious one, said, leaning against the back of her chair with a sullen expression.
“What could it be that’s making the slumber before death claim so many of our people in such high numbers these days?” the first one replied.
“We will never find out, and you both know it. I think the better question to ask is: what would it take for us to get out of here?” the rebel said. Once again, her friends glowered at her, warning her to keep quiet and not get herself in any trouble.
There were few people around them, but I saw at least one giving them a suspicious sideways glance as he passed by. As much as I would’ve loved to just go out there and talk to them, it was too risky—not so much for me, but for them.
The girls were right. The city had ears.
Hansa
We were about a hundred yards away from the meranium box in the east wing, based on Harper’s assessments and the distance we’d covered so far, carefully sneaking behind statues and curtains as we avoided daemon guards moving down the corridor. Jax had managed to snatch a couple more of those red lenses on the way—much more discreetly than I had managed in my previous endeavor.
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