Shilly watched Chu closely as she directed them along a series of broad stone passageways that sloped upward at a steep angle. If the flyer were to make a bolt for it, it would be soon.
Four wardens dismounted to swing aside a heavy metal door and slam it shut behind the buses when they had passed. The air became stuffier and more full of fumes the further they went. Shilly imagined themselves burrowing out of the ground like worms. She had no idea what to expect of the surface. All she had seen of Laure from a distance was one towertop peeking over the vast stone Wall. Would its citizens be white like Skender and most other people in the Interior? Or would they have the same skin and eyes as Chu? Anything was possible so close to the Divide.
Another door, heavier than the others, required six wardens to push open. Banner almost ran over a skinny youth standing behind it, waving his arms.
“Stop!” he yelled. “You must stop!”
Banner obeyed. Shilly recognised the voice of the gatekeeper, even though it was much reedier than it had been when amplified by the metal of the hatch.
“You can't just drive away like this!” he protested, coming to stand over the buggy. His skin was a blotchy white and his blond hair stood in disarray. He wore a scruffy uniform of gold on black—with no robes, torcs, or tattoos visible—and looked about eighteen. His darting gaze took in the buggy and its passengers, and settled on Marmion as he approached from the rear.
“Why not?” Marmion asked.
“The Tithe…my supervisor…”
Marmion waved away the stammered protestations. “Chu. Who was that you mentioned before? A magistrate of some kind?”
“The Magister,” she said.
“Take us to him.”
“She doesn't take kindly to people just turning up on her doorstep.”
“I'm sure this good fellow will give us an introduction.”
The guard backed away, his hands waving in front of him and his eyes wide. “Oh, no. You wouldn't dare.”
“I'm afraid we have no choice. We're on a mission from the Alcaide and nothing must stand in our way.”
The guard's larynx bobbed. “I, er—”
“Come on. Misery loves company.” Chu scrunched over to make room next to her in the back seat. “We need you to show us the way out of here, anyway. I'm only going to get us lost.”
Moving slowly, as though unwilling to believe he was actually going along with it, the guard climbed aboard and sat down. His long-fingered hands gripped the metal frame tightly.
“Which way?” Banner asked, glancing over her shoulder at him as Marmion jogged back to his bus.
“Go—” His voice broke. He swallowed and tried again. “Go straight on. Turn right at the junction.”
“Thank you,” said Chu. “Do you have a name?”
“Gwil. Gwil Flintham.”
“Thank you, Gwil. I'm sure the Magister will understand.”
He couldn't possibly have gone any paler, Shilly thought, but he did.
Any hope that they might emerge into fresh air was soon quashed. The city stewed in a thousand odours, each stronger than the last. Many were completely unfamiliar, but some she recognised, buried deep in the mix: coffee, rich and warm at the back of her nostrils; camel and goat shit, and wet animal hair; incense and tobacco smoke; meat sizzling on a grill, making her mouth water; rot, and human everywhere.
The streets possessed no clear regularity, branching and re-branching without warning, and tending to tip from side to side as though the ground beneath had buckled and been paved without being graded flat. Every free space was used in one way or another, built upon or over to bewildering effect. Buildings teetered at odd angles, clumsier and shorter than the buildings of the Haunted City and made from plaster and brick, not glass. They had a lived-in, almost temporary air; she wouldn't have been surprised to come down the same street a week later and find half of them gone. Banners stretched across the streets between them, declaring street names, advertising products, warning of hazards. The brightly coloured fabric didn't move in the still, thick air. Their florid, hand-painted characters added to the garish nature of the streets, with their tiled walls and gilded window frames. Beads and bells hung from every doorframe. Chalk graffiti added embellishments to anything found lacking. The local alphabet was more angular and fragmented than the curling, spiralling script of the Strand, but Shilly didn't question the fact that she understood the signs as easily as the speech around her.
And the people! Shilly tried not to stare, but it was hard; the streets were crowded under warm, glowing lamps bright enough to dispel the stars above. Laure's citizens displayed a mix of all colours and shapes adorned in all manner of fashion. Some draped themselves in brightly dyed robes. Others adopted styles similar to Chu's, with women wearing pants and tight-fitting tops. Some men and women wore translucent veils across their faces; many sported tattoos and piercings of great diversity. Their voices blended in a rich mélange of accents, too complex and dissonant to disentangle as merchants argued with buyers, commuters squabbled over who had right of way, and uniformed guards did their best to keep order. Not since the underground metropolis of Ulum had Shilly seen such chaos.
Apart from pedestrians, there were bicyclists, carts pulled by animals and people alike, and the occasional engine-driven craft. The latter were noisy and battered, most likely traders from out of town, much the same as them. At least, she thought, they drove on the right side of the road, when the roads were wide enough for two-way traffic.
Gwil Flintham, their unwilling guide, called out directions to Banner as she negotiated the crush. No one paid them any mind, except to honk or yell when they got in the way. Only occasionally did Shilly catch a bystander staring quizzically at the blue robes and dark skins of her companions. When they saw her looking, they quickly turned away.
“Do you live near here?” she asked Chu, whose attention seemed to be elsewhere.
“Eh? I wish.” The flyer returned to reality with a jolt.
“Is it far? We could drop you there, if you need a change of clothes or anything.”
“Thanks, but I'll be fine.”
“Are you sure? We can pick you up later.”
“Really, it's okay.”
“Suit yourself.” Chu's voice had an edge that warned Shilly not to push any further. “What about Skender? Where's he staying?”
“I'll show you after we've seen the Magister. Old Urtagh'll probably throw out the regulars to make room for you lot, if you need it. Nothing brings in the business like a bit of novelty.”
“We won't be here for long,” said Shilly, “I hope.”
“You might not last the night if your friend Marmion gets the Magister offside.”
“He's not my friend. Far from it.”
“That seems to be the effect he has on people.”
“Take the next right,” said Gwil into Banner's ear. “There's a checkpoint. Your papers will be examined. Without paying the Tithe, you'll never be allowed to enter the Old Sector.”
“Really?” said Shilly, imagining Marmion's response to that news. “This should be interesting.”
The argument was short but heated. Reluctantly, the guard backed down, but only with the assurance that the wardens would have a Tithe exemption form in their possession on the way back. Marmion didn't ask what would happen if they didn't comply, and Shilly couldn't help a feeling of relief at having avoided the issue one more time. She didn't know exactly how the Tithe was extracted, but the idea of it made her feel queasy.
With a brisk wave of one arm, Marmion ordered the convoy through. The closer they got to the Magister, the cleaner the air became and the sicker Gwil looked. Around them, the streets broadened and became more regular; walls were made from the same sturdy grey stone as the Wall; edges became clearer, lines better defined. Shilly could tell just by looking that the suburb they had entered was one of affluence and influence. It was still crowded with buildings and apartments, but it possessed none of the overt flourishes
of the other areas she had seen; perhaps, she thought, the people who lived here didn't need to show off. There were only a few of them walking the streets, leading pet cats on leashes. In places, there were even trees—albeit strange ones with broad, floppy leaves and trunks that looked like they were wrapped in burlap.
“Is there any chance,” Gwil asked, “of being let go any time soon?”
“You know that's not going to happen,” said Chu. “We're both stuck, good and proper.”
“What are you worried about?” he shot back. “You're a miner. Laure needs you. The Magister eats guys like me for breakfast.”
Chu laughed low and humourlessly. “None of us are safe where the Magister is concerned. Believe me.”
Shilly was starting to be alarmed now. “Who is this woman? She sounds absolutely awful.”
“She is,” said Chu.
“They say she's two hundred years old,” said Gwil in a hollow voice. “She drinks a bowl of blood for breakfast and walks with a cane carved out of the Earth's black heart.”
At that Chu laughed more naturally. “You listen to too many stories.”
“There's nothing wrong with using a cane,” said Shilly, rattling hers between her feet. “Or being old and a bit odd.”
Gwil was not reassured. “I just wish I hadn't been on duty tonight. What have I done to deserve this?”
Shilly felt sorry for him, then, at being dragged into their misadventure.
“Stop here,” he said with grim finality, indicating a building that was so squat and broad it looked like a miniature version of the Wall. A metal fence surrounded it, sporting a gate shaped like two big eyes. “This is it.”
Banner pulled up at the curb outside and killed the engine. The two buses did the same. Barely had they pulled to a halt when two functionaries in yellow and black uniforms ran from the entrance to wave them on.
“You can't park here,” said one. “This is for official vehicles only.”
“We are on official business,” said Marmion, striding confidently forward and smoothing down the sleeves of his robe. “If you would be so good as to announce us to the Magister, that will help facilitate our speedy departure.”
“The Magister is in session,” said the man. He stared at the arrivals as though they were likely to vanish if he willed it hard enough. “Unless you have an appointment—”
“I'm sure we can waive that formality, too.” Marmion looked past the functionaries, at the gate and the building beyond. “Through here, was it? Shilly, Chu, Banner, and you, young fellow—” he clicked his fingers at Gwil, who jumped as if pricked from behind, “—come along. Let's see this done.”
“I'm truly sorry, sir,” said the functionary, barring Marmion's way. He didn't sound sorry at all. “I can't allow you through.”
“Of course you can.”
“No, sir. I cannot.” The outstretched hands of the functionaries blocked the gate completely.
Shilly, limping around the buggy to join the group waiting to enter, wondered what Marmion would do now. Would he back down completely, or resort to using the Change on the wrong side of the Divide? Either way, it would be fascinating to see.
He simply reached into his robes and produced a small, crimson envelope.
“Be so good as to give this to the Magister,” he said in a voice that was entirely too calm. “When she reads it, I'm sure she'll allow us through.”
The functionary took it in one hand and turned it over to look at the back. Shilly saw the seal of the Alcaide imprinted on the flap: a curved sword crossed over a tall drum in purple wax. The functionary whistled piercingly, and a third appeared from within the building. She took the letter and disappeared inside.
A tense silence fell. Marmion waited patiently with his arms folded. Judging by the puzzled looks, Shilly gathered that this was the first the rest of the wardens knew of the letter.
“You,” said a functionary to Chu. “Weren't you here the other night?”
“I was indeed,” said the flyer with a resigned expression. “Enjoyed it so much I'm back for a repeat performance.”
“You left your friend behind this time, I notice.”
“How very observant of you.”
“Stood you up, did he?” Chu turned away, and the functionary chuckled. “It didn't take him long to come to his senses. Stone Mages have got better things to do than hang around the likes of you.”
“That's enough,” said Marmion with an irritated look. “Are you employed to have fun at this girl's expense?”
“We see all sorts of people through here, sir,” the functionary said, unrepentant. “There are only so many different types in the world, I figure. You get to know them after a while. I've seen her plenty of times.” He indicated Chu with a disparaging nod. “She never comes just once. At first it's minor charges, small-time trouble. Then it's pleading for clemency from the Magister—and Her Nibs always gives them a second chance. Always regrets it, too. Before long they're back pleading for a third chance that never comes. And then…” The functionary shrugged. “We usually don't see them after that, unless it's on the gibbets outside Judgment Hall.”
“Is that so?” Marmion regarded him through sharp eyes. “Your powers of observation must be particularly acute to have formed such an opinion from so few meetings.”
“It comes with the job, sir. You learn to see patterns and—”
“Would you care to hazard a guess as to what sort of person I am?”
“You're a novelty, I'll admit.”
“And her?” Marmion pointed at Shilly, then Tom. “And him?”
The functionary looked nonplussed. “It's too early to tell, sir.”
“You mean you don't know?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, I hope you never will—and I hope in the future you'll keep your opinions to yourself. It serves only to make you look like a trumped-up fool who delights in picking on the weak. Do you want me to think that this is who you are?”
The functionary's face filled with blood and he took a step forward. “Now, listen—”
His companion took his arm.
“You're the one who should listen,” said Marmion calmly. “Jumping to conclusions is dangerous. It's always too early to give up on someone. A chance remains that they'll surprise you, no matter how unlikely it seems.”
Marmion looked up as the third functionary came out of the building. His calm smile returned. “Ah, here's your friend. With word to let us pass, I presume.”
“You can go through,” she did indeed say. “The Magister has granted you an audience.”
“Thank you,” said Marmion, sounding immensely satisfied. He bowed to the stunned functionaries. “It has been a pleasure. I'll see you again on the way out.”
His robe billowed behind him as he strode between them and through the open door ahead.
“The audience is with all of you,” said the third functionary. “Unless you're planning to wait here.”
“No way,” said Shilly, hobbling through the gate. “I'm dying to know what's in the letter.”
“Me, too,” said Chu, following her. Banner and Gwil brought up the rear, the young gatekeeper staring around him in startled wonder.
A similar feeling imbued Shilly. It's always too early to give up on someone. Marmion's words wouldn't leave her. She wondered if she was as guilty as the functionary of judging too hastily.
“Well, well.” The Magister crouched on her seat like an overgrown praying mantis, her long fingernails clicking as they tapped the ball of her black cane. She hadn't said a word throughout the introductions and Marmion's brief precis of the situation, nor through the testimonies of Gwil and Banner. The red trimming of her black robe hung motionless, like rivulets of frozen blood. “This has been quite a week for visitors from afar. One cannot help but wonder what we have done to draw such uncommon attention from our neighbours. Can you explain this to me, Sky Warden Eisak Marmion?”
He bowed with unaffected deference t
o the forbidding woman on her black throne. Shilly couldn't take her eyes off her. She radiated such incredible potency and vigour that, despite her age, she filled the room with her presence. Every gesture and expression was magnified out of all proportion. Even the sound of her breathing seemed loud and full of meaning.
The crimson envelope lay open on her lap. She let it sit there and did not refer to its contents.
“It was not our wish to inconvenience you,” Marmion said, “but circumstances have worked against us.”
“In my experience,” she said, “circumstances just happen. It's people who work against me.”
“Very well, then. We are brought here by the misadventure of one of our colleagues, whose trail led us to the edge of the Divide. There we attempted to capture him and the creature he brought into the world: a Homunculus of unknown provenance. Our circumstances changed when this young woman—” Marmion indicated Chu “—interrupted our best chance to protect Laure from the threat approaching it. We had no choice but to repair to this position and try again. I ask only that you assist us to help you correct this unfortunate happenstance.”
The Magister regarded Chu closely. Shilly saw the young flyer's spine straighten as though bracing herself for punishment.
But the Magister's gaze shifted back to Marmion. “What do you want? Be more specific.”
“A healer, first and foremost; accommodation, second. Freedom to move through the city, naturally.”
“And what of this thing you seek? Do you expect us to help you catch it?”
“If you're offering us assistance, we will accept it—provided that I remain in complete charge of any operations.”
The Magister's lips stretched like hide on a curing frame.
“Of course. You would expect nothing less.”
“Excuse me,” said Shilly, stepping forward. “There's something else we need, too.”
“Oh?” Impenetrable green eyes swivelled to focus on her, and she forced herself to stand firm.
“Two of us are trapped in the Divide. Three, now. We need to help them.”
“I am aware of their presence. Miners have brought back reports of people crossing the Divide on foot. I didn't believe them, at first. Few people would be so foolhardy. But with your arrival at our very gates, I had to give it some credence. Not to mention the storm-weaving that threw off a full day's work of atmospheric fine-tuning.” Marmion went to say something, but a taloned hand waved him silent. “Does this have anything to do with your young friend, Chu Milang—the boy looking for his mother?”
The Blood Debt: Books of the Cataclysm Two Page 23