City of Lies

by Sam Hawke

  He spoke as a man who knew he would see no more tomorrows.

  There was little to say to comfort him. I found, in any case, that when I tried to say anything, a vise clamped around my throat, and my eyes ran with tears that soothed and then stung as they dried. He loved me, in the purest way our culture valued the most, but my feelings for him were a thorned flower, painful and beautiful and scarring. No lovers I took knew me as he did, saw me as completely. I was a sister and not, beloved but alone. It had never hurt so much as now.

  Tain lay silent, blank eyes staring at the wall. His comfortable chamber felt stifling. The parcel at my feet that I had brought here from our apartments seemed to pulse with magnetic life, to the pounding rhythm of my heart. I forced myself not to look at it. I would stay here for Tain as long as he was awake. Outside, dusk had turned to darkness, and the exhaustion of his body fighting the poison had drained him. He would sleep soon.

  When he spoke again, his words were slurred. “I … didn’t do the right things,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on the wall at the other side of the room. I leaned in closer, bringing my hand to his hot forehead, unsure he was fully conscious.

  “Maybe none of us did,” I managed to say, my voice squeaky and tight. “But you saw me for me, and I always loved you for that.” My stupid eyes welled up again; my free hand swiped them away. Tain needed strength and comfort, not weakness.

  I sat there with him until he was asleep. Then I extracted my hand gently and stroked his cheek. I tried to say goodbye, but nothing came out.

  Everything felt a bit colder as I bent and picked up the parcel. I’d written a short message to Jov on the back of my notes for the speech; those I left on the chair. When Jov came back and read it, it would be too late to stop me. If anyone else found it first, Etan’s code would look like nothing but a series of lines and dots.

  No one paid me any heed on my way through the dark streets, down the hill toward the lake. The shores were deserted and unlit, and the overgrown grass tickled my bare legs like little wet fingers clutching at me. I stopped within sight of the south river gate tower, hovering by the ruins of the destroyed bridge.

  The river flowed into Bright Lake from the south and then out through the marshlands to the north. River gates controlled the waterway. With the army patrolling the entire perimeter of the city, an exit through that gate had been as unfeasible as any other, but now that most of the rebels were inside the lower city, only the eastern shore of the river was patrolled. If someone could leave via the river itself, they could perhaps make it to the west shore and out of range of the army unseen. At least that was my hope.

  My hands quivered as they extracted a rolled-up paper from the cording of my dress and nerves made my stomach clench. There hadn’t been enough time to plan this first part fully. Still, it was too late to back out now. Soon Jov would come back and find the note on the chair. The thought of my brother’s expression when he read it … I swallowed, placed the parcel between two rocks, and strode toward the tower with my chin high.

  The Order Guard Mago let me in. “What can we do for you, Credola?” he asked.

  I wiped my hair from my face, taking that moment to scan the room. Three guards, one near the gate wheel. Heart beating faster, I handed the paper to Mago, nonchalant. “New rosters.”

  Mago frowned, unrolling it. “I thought the roster was settled.”

  I shrugged, edging back around the curve of the wall, toward the gate wheel. “The Warrior-Guilder was handing them out earlier. I was coming this way so he asked me to pass it on.”

  He glanced up at me, eyebrows raised. But as he started reading, his confusion gave way to an angry frown. “What is this?” he muttered. “I can’t do dayshift. My cousin’s on days and someone’s got to look after my little Tash.” He shook the paper at me; I shrugged again, trying to look confused and innocent.

  As I’d hoped, the other two guards joined Mago in examining the roster. Soon all three were exclaiming in annoyance, pointing at parts of the document and swearing. I backed away, eased my hands behind me, and got a grip on the wheel. Eyes on the three guards, I pulled.

  Nothing.

  My stomach turned over. The lock, idiot. I took a step to the right and fumbled for the lock lever.

  “This is ridiculous,” the female guard said, rounding on me. “Whoever wrote this must’ve been drunk. We can’t do these shifts.”

  My hands froze behind my back. “I didn’t write it, sorry.”

  “Honor-down,” Mago said. “Look, there’re people rostered back-to-back here. What was wrong with the old roster?”

  The three of them bent over the paper again, and I tugged behind me. The lever moved with little protest. Biting my lip, I stepped back to my left and took the wheel again. Just a little, now, turning gently, one hand over the other.… Don’t make a noise.…

  That would have to do. I stepped back to the lever again and relocked the gate mechanism. It made a slight click as the lever fixed back in place and I froze as Mago looked over. “Credola, are you certain this is the current roster? It’s nonsense.”

  Breathing easier, I walked back over to the door, spreading my hands out. “I took it from a pile on the table,” I said, pitching my voice a bit higher, making myself sound a fraction younger, less certain. “The Warrior-Guilder pointed them out and said they were the rosters for the south wall.” I frowned. “There were lots of papers there.… Maybe I got it mixed up with an old one?”

  Mago blew out his cheeks. “I hope that’s the case, Credola. Pardon the slur, but the Warrior-Guilder’s gone mad if he thinks we’ll take this nonsense.”

  “I’ll take it back and check,” I volunteered. “Maybe it was my mistake.”

  I took the paper and bid them a hasty farewell.

  My breath came too fast as I slunk behind the ruins of the bridge again. Now, when it was too late to turn back, this seemed like a terrible idea. Tain hadn’t wanted to hear it when I’d suggested it, unwilling to risk another messenger. Heart hammering, I untied my dress cording and wound it around my hands, making neat coils even Jovan would be proud of, and laid the loops on the ground. I took off my dress and bound the oiled parcel against my back with the loops of cording. There, arms wrapped around my shivering body, paralyzed by fear, I paused. In the end, I wasn’t brave, no matter how much I wished to be.

  But Tain was as good as dead, and Jovan wouldn’t be far behind if the city fell. We needed dramatic action and this was the only idea that might work. My whole life I had wanted not just to contribute to something greater but—perhaps selfishly—to be seen to contribute. Not to be immediately forgotten by the people I met, or only to be thought of by reference to my limitations. I might never have done anything special or courageous in my life, but this could be the city’s only chance.

  I dropped down onto my belly, the soggy soil chilly through my thin undergarments, and watched across the lake for any sign I had been seen. There was at least one watcher on the wall on the west side, but their light was being used to monitor the top of the gate, not the water below. Hugging the shoreline, I crawled through the sand and mud toward the tower, low and slow.

  The water felt shockingly cold, tightening my lungs. My feet crept along the slimy bottom, silent and slow to minimize ripples, water lapping up to just below my nose. Close to the gate now, one of the most dangerous points because of all the guards on our side of the water. The water grew deeper as the tower rose out of its bank until my toes lost touch with the mud. Just like you practiced. I let my face drop lower underwater, swimming with just my eyes and the top of my head above the water, turning my face for breaths. The tower loomed up ahead, lit windows illuminating the lake with patches of dark green and silver, then beyond that, the great river gate. It became harder to move through the water with the turbulence underneath; though the surface looked sluggish, the water below rushed through, cold and strong, carrying the power of the river from beyond the walls. I had underestimated the strength of the cu
rrent on this side of the gate. From a boat, or from the shore, the river seemed barely to move as it trailed into the city.

  The hum of guards’ voices inside the tower, possibly still complaining about the false roster, reached me. But no one came to the window, and there was no movement from the guard on the other side of the water. I reached the gate and clenched cold fingers around the wide metal bars and chain links. The current buffeted me backward, flattening me out and bubbling around my face.

  Steeling myself, calming my breathing, I filled my lungs, tucked my head down, and dove. I kicked hard, fighting against the current to claw down the gate like an upside-down ladder. Even with my eyes open it was too dark to see anything. My lungs burned and my arms weakened quickly. I struggled, flailing. I was going to have to give up; I’d never make it below. I hadn’t raised the gate enough. I’d failed.

  Just as my shaking right arm lost the last of its strength, my scrambling fingers wrapped around a different type of bar: a solid, long one. A spike. Hope triggered a new burst of energy and I thrust myself under the bottom of the gate. For a moment I floundered, stuck halfway, tightness spreading from my chest to my throat and face until it felt like my head was going to explode. Then with one last frantic wriggle, I passed under. Now, instead of pulling me away, the water buffeted me against the grate. I scrambled hard, head spinning. The dark water seemed to stretch on forever.

  Finally my head broke the surface, and I sucked in burning air that hurt going in almost as much as not breathing. Gulping, forehead pressed against the bars, water slurping in and out of my open mouth, I hung there, steadying myself with desperate, grateful breaths.

  The river slapped and bubbled through the gate, ferociously loud. Light from the top of the tower spilled over the ramparts and lit part of the wall, but left the river inky dark. Lights flickered from afar on the east shore: a small encampment of rebels, guarding the south wall of the upper city. The opposite shore was an endless field of black. I eased my way west, toward the lower city, with numb hands and a thumping heart, watching the lights. If anyone saw me now, friend or foe, they would shoot to kill.

  The moon was still shielded by clouds. With another deep breath, I pushed off the grate, half swimming, half scrambling against the slick wall until the water turned thicker. My toes brushed mud. A surge of relief propelled me out of the last of the current and up to my ankles in the gooey riverbed. I scanned the shores again, searching for movement. Though my impulse was to get out of the water and onto dry land, I stood the least chance of being seen while in the water, for the moment, at least.

  The current still worked against me, but in these shallower parts of the river it was possible to walk against it. Moving along the bank at a crouch, progress seemed glacial, but speed could wait until I was safer. So I swam-crawled, counting steps like my brother to avoid obsessing about what came next. Once, something cold brushed against my thigh, causing an involuntary gasp and a mouthful of water. Another time, the clouds masking the moon shifted and everything around me was so clearly illuminated that it was necessary to submerge completely and trawl under the water, surfacing only to breathe, until the clouds moved again and the light dimmed.

  Eventually, at a decent distance from the lower city walls, I pulled up on the rocky embankment and slipped out. The air on my soaked, exhausted limbs felt icy, though it wasn’t a cold night. I moved silently through the medley of plants and rocks on the bank until I found a suitable pile of boulders and slipped in between them. Panting, I rested my back on the stone to recover my breath.

  I fumbled open the packet on my back and found with a warm rush of relief that the greased leather had done its job. Though the towel was a little damp, everything underneath seemed dry. I could have wept as I rubbed my limbs free of the last of the river water and donned the dry traveling clothes. My feet felt swollen and puffy in my shoes, and the clothes, pilfered from Salvea, didn’t fit properly, but for those few moments, leaning against the rock with my eyes shut and my body feeling warmer at last, I had never felt so comfortable.

  Okubane

  DESCRIPTION: Fleshy shrub common in agricultural areas, with silvery green leaves. Leaves are toxic to oku, lutra, and other ranging beasts and humans in large doses.

  SYMPTOMS: Twitching, itching skin, restless sleep from which it is difficult to wake.

  PROOFING CUES: Tingling in mouth and tongue, mild bitterness. No discernible smell.

  19

  Jovan

  Shit.

  When Hadrea came back to me a few hours later, I’d assumed she had managed to find some information about Batbayer’s whereabouts. I certainly hadn’t anticipated the scene that greeted me.

  The Doranite was tied to a chair, his mouth gagged with a colored cloth that looked suspiciously like one of Hadrea’s scarves. Her stride was broad and relaxed as she approached him and lifted the wicked knife swinging from her hip, half-masked by the folds of her Silastian-style dress. She felt its weight in her hand, her expression measuring, and looked between Batbayer and me.

  “Credo Jovan would like to speak to you,” she said to him, gesturing casually with the knife.

  I stared at her, torn between admiration that she had managed to do in hours what we had not managed in days, and frustration that she had forced us into an adversarial position with the man. I cleared my throat.

  “You sell narcotics,” I said, pulling up a chair in front of him. Hadrea jerked her head to the side; I took the message and set the chair behind him instead. He tried to crane his head around to follow me, but Hadrea was there, pushing his face back straight again.

  “You had best keep eyes on me,” she told him, her tone somehow all the more menacing for her lilting, seductive voice. His frame stiffened, then he nodded. Honor-down, how much has she already scared him? This was the Hadrea I’d seen first, the easy predator. She was a farmer. Where, and why, had she learned this side of her?

  I repeated my statement. “You sell narcotics.”

  “Mmph.”

  Hadrea leaned in close to Batbayer’s face, slid the knife under the scarf, against his cheek, then turned the edge into the cloth and sawed through. He spat out the rest of the scarf as she stepped back with a cold smile. Batbayer panted, craning around to look for me again. “Crazy bitch,” he said, but a tremor belied his apparent rebellion.

  “Credo Jovan is speaking,” she told him, as though she’d not even noticed his insult.

  “I don’t have to say a thing,” Batbayer said. His accent was faint; I guessed he’d spent most of his life in Sjon. “You untie me, do you hear? Untie me, you fucking—”

  Before he finished that sentence, she drove her elbow into the center of his body. He gasped as most of the air in his lungs was forced elsewhere. I winced, half-stood, then dropped again at the look she shot me. Batbayer wheezed pitifully. The memory of Tain lying in his bed, my sister hovering by his side, drained Batbayer’s spluttering of potency. I’d do what it took to get the answers to save the people I cared about, even if it meant resorting to unsavory techniques.

  Hadrea smiled again. “We are short of time, Doranite. We will need some more civilized words from you.”

  I cleared my throat again. “You do sell narcotics, because we’ve got some of them, Varina and Hasan admitted you sold to them. That’s against the law in this city.”

  He said nothing.

  “Here’s the thing. Keeping someone in jail at the moment is impractical. But we have excellent jobs for criminals. Clearing out the sewage system—it’s not just disgusting, but dangerous, because the tunnel entrances are exposed to the outside of the walls. Wall repairs—we dangle you down on a harness and you patch weak spots in the wall. You’re a target, but it’s a noble job. Keeping watch on Trickster’s Bridge to see if the rebels move within arrow range.…”

  Batbayer remained silent, but his shoulders rose and the muscles in his neck tightened. I’d gambled that he led a soft life, and the more dangerous and disgusting the task h
e was forced into, the more it would pressure him to cooperate. I plowed on.

  “But I don’t need to have you arrested, because lucky for you, I want something you have.”

  “For someone who’s so scornful of narcotics, you’re willing to bargain to get some?” His cold trill of a laugh broke off when Hadrea stepped closer again, knife raised.

  “I don’t want your product,” I said. “I want your knowledge.”

  Batbayer tightened his arms against the bonds, but she’d done an excellent job on the knots.

  “I don’t know how you make the narcotics. It’s possible the Chancellor could have been poisoned by an ingredient we’ve never heard of.”

  That surprised him. “The Chancellor? The Chancellor was a user?”

  “No,” I said, stepping around to face him. “Someone poisoned him, Batbayer. And it wasn’t a poison that’s in any of our records. But you use chemicals I’m not familiar with, and something you use—or have come across—could have caused what happened to him.”

  He licked his lips, glancing between me and Hadrea. “All right,” he said. “But you untie me, and you give me your word, on your honor, that no one else will find out about my … occupation.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  The twist of her lips showing her disappointment, Hadrea sliced the cording with a deft flick of her knife and stepped back as he stood, rubbing his wrists and glaring at her.

  “Now,” I said to the Doranite. “Start teaching me about drugs.”

  * * *

  It was full dark when I left Batbayer, my eyes and hands aching from hours of note taking. I slipped back into Tain’s rooms, hoping not to disturb him, the new knowledge burning in my head. Whole lists of ingredients and compounds and combinations of which Etan had known nothing, or at least nothing he had deemed worthy of teaching. Batbayer had taken me through the basics of how his merchandise was made, but there remained much more to learn. Many ingredients, he thought, were toxic. It baffled me to think about intelligent, learned people effectively paying to ingest poison for fun.