The White City

by Simon Morden

  Slowly, it changed. She needed a way to fix it to her – some of the sail lines from the boat would be just right – but it was as good as it was going to get. She took the first handful of maps, and laid them gently at the bottom, then went back for more. The box gradually emptied as the bag filled.

  The compass went in on top, and she couldn’t help unwrapping it for a look before tucking it away again.

  The needle swung lazily around, and settled to point resolutely inland. If that was meant to be a sign, then she’d take it as one.

  She worked the thread tighter, and gathered the loose material in her fist. She lifted it up to test it. It turned out that a pile of loose papers weighed a fair amount, but much less than the crate they lived in.

  Now to cover her tracks. It took her three goes to get the chest far enough up against the side of the hull for her to get underneath it and finally topple it back inside. If that was difficult, she now had to put her shoulder to the prow of the boat. At first, it wouldn’t move, not even a little. She knew, frustratingly, that Dalip would have had the answer, but she was too tired to try and think like him, and all she could do was swallow down the rising bile, redouble her efforts and push all the harder.

  The keel rasped, and the cobbles rattled.

  She put both her hands against the wet planks, and like a miniature Atlas, tried to lift the world. The boat slid back down towards the sea with a jerk, and then stopped. A wave came in and raised the stern slightly, then it retreated. Mary slumped against hull, gasping. Another wave, another slight rise and fall of the boat.

  One last go. She waited, and watched, and pressed her back to the underside of the curved bow, and waited some more. Then the instant she felt the wood shift, she dug her feet in and heaved against them. She fell backwards, and tumbled into the surf, but the boat was back in the water. It bobbed and bucked, and with each cycle of wave peak and trough, it floated a little further away.

  She dragged herself back to shore, and watched for a few seconds more. The boat was now side on to the beach, and drifting towards the rocks.

  She didn’t know if it would work, but if she, the maps, and the boat had all disappeared by the time Crows got back, then of course he’d go and look for her.

  She wouldn’t be here to be found, though.

  Mary wrapped a cut line of rope around her waist, once, twice, and fastened it. The ends went through punched holes in the sail cloth, and tied tight.

  She was ready. She had no idea what waited for her at the top of the cliff, but it had to be better than whatever Crows had planned for her. All she had to do now was to put one foot up on the first stone step and begin.

  14

  The prow of the Ship of Fools nosed into the cove. Dalip, taking his cue from the other rowers, shipped his oar and held it upright. He looked behind him to see where they were heading.

  From the open sea, the island had looked little more than a hummock of green. Closer up, it was surrounded by wall-like cliffs. Simeon unerringly guided the ship towards them and a gap in the palisade appeared. He ordered the sail to be furled, and the oars broken out.

  Dalip rowed, like Elena and Mama rowed, inexpertly. But by watching and learning, he could keep stroke, and not crab his oar. By the time the opening narrowed to barely twice the width of the hull, he’d mostly got the hang of it.

  They raised their oars to allow the grey walls to slip by. The cliffs softened, and then sloping land met the sea at an arc of white sand. It was a hidden anchorage, safe from storms, and somewhere to rest: a pirate hideout, even.

  The oars went back into the square-cut holes in the bulwark, and they rowed cleanly and crisply towards the beach. The keel grounded – Dalip felt the gentle lift under his feet – and that was all there was to it.

  The oars were stowed away again, and the sea-chests. The deck was cleared, and even the mast demounted. It didn’t take long, and when it was done, the crew either jumped over the side or lowered themselves down into the thigh-deep water.

  Mama wasn’t so keen.

  ‘Where are we, and why are we doing this?’

  ‘This is shore leave, good lady,’ said Simeon. He batted his hat against his leg, and scrubbed some of the remaining salt off with his sleeve. ‘There are no portals here, and there is nothing else of worth to a geomancer either. As long as we are discreet, we may come and go as we please.’

  Mama went to the side and looked down. ‘Have you a ladder?’

  ‘We have rope.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get me some of that, or I’m going to be here all day.’

  Elena went first, and helped support Mama’s weight as she was lowered down. They waded ashore, and Dalip watched as the other crew wended their way inland.

  ‘Where are they going?’

  ‘There’s a hollow, where fresh water collects. There are huts too, and fire pits. And before you ask, no.’ Simeon looked sour. ‘We can’t settle here. One or two, perhaps, but there are no native trees here, and nowhere that’d grow houses or boats. The people who stayed would be marooned. That, Singh, is our problem in a nutshell. Everywhere we might rest our weary heads is so frightfully dangerous that we daren’t so much as close our eyes.’

  ‘You’ve got several of these secret anchorages, dotted about the coast?’

  ‘And in time, you’ll learn how to find them too. We use them for rest, mainly. This is no pleasure cruise, but a hard life, marked out in leagues and fathoms. I wasn’t always captain of the Ship, and I won’t be captain for ever. Someone else will pick up this hat one day, pop it on their noggin, and there’ll be a new captain to guide this motley crew.’

  Dalip had wondered about that, and saw his chance to ask. ‘So how do you do it? You don’t have a compass, or a clock, or a sextant even.’

  ‘Well, how do mariners in your age find safe passage to port?’

  ‘I don’t think you’d believe me even if I told you.’ But perhaps he was underestimating the man. ‘It’s a box, and it tells you where you are to within a few metres. Or feet. It talks to … artificial moons that circle the Earth far beyond the atmosphere. That’s how.’

  ‘There are,’ and Simeon smiled wistfully, ‘older ways that serve just as well. One is to simply know the coast, and recognise where you are. There’s the sun and the moon to help with the cardinal directions, and if you don’t stray too much off your patch, then you don’t stay lost for long.’

  ‘And if there’s a storm?’

  ‘You beach the boat if you can, run before it if you can’t.’ He slapped the ship’s timbers. ‘The tub’s good and seaworthy, and floats like a cork. It’ll take more than a storm to sink her.’

  The one storm Dalip had lived through had been a vicious, living thing, intent on taking a life. He didn’t want to face another any time soon, but the thought of being at sea while it raged was …

  Simeon saw his sceptical face. ‘Oh, it’s batten down the hatches and all hands on deck, splice the mainbrace and tighten the lines. But we’ve done it before, and we’ll do it again. Blow wind, and crack your cheeks!’

  ‘King Lear,’ said Dalip. ‘Act three. Scene two. Did it for an exam.’

  ‘Did you not do it for the love of it?’

  ‘There wasn’t really the time for that, I’m afraid. My loss, I expect.’

  ‘Come on, man. We’re here jawing, while the company makes merry without us. Over the side and to shore.’ Simeon launched his hat like a three-cornered frisbee on to the beach, and vaulted the side. He splashed down and waded ashore.

  Dalip, like Mama before him, frowned at the distance, but eschewed the rope and lowered himself down, arms, elbows, fingertips, then let go. He was wet up to his knees, that was all. The water was cool, and the sand soft.

  Simeon shook his hat out and settled it back on, and they walked the path trodden through the grass inland.

&nb
sp; ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said the captain, ‘about what you said.’

  ‘You should forget about it.’

  ‘There’s plunder to be had, and what sort of pirates would we be without a treasure chest to chase?’ He snapped off a spiky length of grass and chewed its fat, moisture-laden end. ‘I’m tempted.’

  ‘It’s just a bunch of maps. How long have the geomancers been trying to open a portal back to London?’

  ‘For ever. Since the first Adam stepped foot in Down. Here’s the rub, though: they’ve singularly failed because they fight each other rather than share their precious knowledge. This is our chance to steal a march on every man Jack of them, and put those damnable maps to work. Take them somewhere out of their reach and study them at our leisure.’

  ‘And as soon as word gets out, every geomancer in the land will be breathing down our necks.’

  ‘We won’t be on land.’

  ‘Some of them seem to be able to fly.’

  ‘They won’t find us, Singh. Do you know of any geomancer who’d willingly share the location of every single map in Down?’ He snorted. ‘They’d kill each other first. And if we’re quick, they’ll never even know.’

  ‘We’d have to fight Crows.’

  ‘We have to kill Crows,’ corrected Simeon. ‘But you’re forgetting one thing: the White City is the one place where magic doesn’t work. A gang of bloodthirsty pirates can overpower him as easily as they could you or me – easier, I’d say, because the dastard isn’t used to honest violence.’

  ‘He doesn’t like fighting. He does anything to avoid it.’

  ‘Then we have him. No mercy, a bit of cold steel, and his treacherous ways are over.’

  ‘You make it sound simple,’ said Dalip.

  ‘It’s a good deal less complicated than bearding the King of Spain.’

  Below them was the hollow Simeon had mentioned, where rainwater collected and crude circles of stone were spaced around it.

  ‘What will they think?’ Dalip nodded down at the crew. ‘Will they follow you?’

  ‘I can put it to them. The question they’ll put to me will be “is it worth it?” What do you say, Singh? Will any good come from taking the maps, or will we be engaging in such folly that we’ll be truly worthy of our ship’s name?’

  ‘I can’t answer that,’ said Dalip, ‘but the geomancers think so.’

  ‘Say I was a gambling man. Say I was willing to stake everything on this. Tell me what would happen if they were wrong.’

  Dalip puffed out his cheeks. ‘If they’re wrong, proving them wrong will mean, at the very least, they won’t be able to hold the idea of going home over people’s heads. On the other hand, if they’re right, we can offer a trip back to London to everyone who wants one.’

  ‘Those sounds like odds I can live with.’

  ‘But are they odds you’ll die for? And ask other people to die for? Look, I don’t know anything about the White City, where it is, how dangerous it is, who lives there, who runs it, or anything. I’m guessing you know a little more than me, but that doesn’t mean much.’

  Simeon wasn’t to be dissuaded. ‘I know how to find the White City, though I’ve spent half a lifetime avoiding it. In fact, I’ve spent so long running away, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a mission, a purpose in life. And by George, my dander’s right up. Maps or nothing. Death or glory.’

  ‘Tell me again how you got into debt?’

  ‘Pish. That was entirely different. I’m older and wiser now, and a damn sight more careful. I’m a captain by election, not some greenhorn lieutenant straight off Eton’s playing fields.’

  ‘And were you?’

  ‘Yes. As a matter of fact, I was.’

  ‘And Mary thought I was posh.’

  The men glanced at each other, both with one raised eyebrow.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Dalip.

  ‘I’ll treat the others, see what they say. But you have to appear to be of firmer mind than you are if this caper is to be put in motion: if I call on you, you’ll have to have your powder primed and ready to discharge. How’s your flint? How’s your steel? How’s your resolve? Ready to bring Crows to book, or will you neglect natural justice?’

  Dalip held his hands up in surrender. ‘I’ll do it, I’ll do it. Against my better judgement, but okay.’

  ‘Good man.’ Simeon slapped him on the back, making Dalip stumble forward. ‘We’ll do it tonight, when the fires are lit and their bellies are full.’

  They walked down into the hollow, and while Simeon made his way around the crew, Dalip found Mama and Elena by the side of the pool. Mama had her feet in the cool, clear water.

  ‘We have to drink that,’ said Dalip, sitting down beside her.

  Mama pointed to the swimmers over on the other side, and wriggled her toes. ‘My feet aren’t so much the issue. So what were you and Mr Simeon talking about?’

  Dalip looked around to see who was near. ‘Not now.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. You’ll know what’s happening, when it happens. But let’s change the subject.’ He took a deep breath and leaned forward. ‘Elena, are you all right?’

  She was the other side of Mama, knees up, arms tight across them, her head on her hands. She nodded. He thought that was the only thing he was going to get out of her, but she turned her face towards them.

  ‘Luiza was always the strong one. She pushed harder, argued more. She pulled me behind her, sometimes where I did not want to go. Our village was poor: we had hard lives, but we had family and friends. She wanted more than that. She wanted money and clothes and good times, and she would do what she needed to do to get them. In London, we were still poor and we still had hard lives, but we only had each other. She wanted to stay, so we stayed. Things, they got better, slowly. Our English, too.’ She wiped away a tear that was tickling across the bridge of her nose. ‘She is gone, and now I must make my own way in the world. I have to become strong, like her. This is what I choose.’

  ‘Don’t you worry yourself,’ said Mama. ‘We’ll take care of you. Right, Dalip?’

  He thought about them hunting down Crows: nothing but an open boat against a sea serpent.

  ‘Right?’ repeated Mama.

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ he said, and felt like an utter bastard when Elena sniffed and smiled back.

  Perhaps there’d be a way of them avoiding being on board when the time came – they could simply ask to be left on the island, because while Simeon said that it wouldn’t support all, it could be home for few people, for a short time. Or he could just put them ashore on the mainland, away from any portal, for the duration, and come back for them once all the dangerous adventure was over.

  He excused himself and went to help raise the roofs of the huts, and dig out the firepits. Once it was dark, the fires would be lit using bunkered wood, and fresh food cooked, and the mere idea of it made his shipmates excited. Even Dawson, who cracked a chip-toothed grin as he and Dalip wrestled with one of the hut centre poles.

  ‘Hot meat and grog,’ he offered. ‘It’s a good day.’

  By grog, Dalip assumed he meant some sort of home-brew spirit, because rum, and the sugar cane to make it with were conspicuous by their absence. And even the thought that a hot meal and getting drunk was the best Dawson had to look forward to was depressing, because if they didn’t go after Crows, that was all any of them had to look forward to. A life of sailing the same seas with a full watch, going ashore to grab supplies from a hostile shoreline, and only occasionally making safe harbour – and the only release would be death. They were free, but what were they doing with their freedom? There was nowhere to put down roots, and build up a society worth living in.

  ‘I know this will be a stupid question, Dawson, but where are the children?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

&
nbsp; ‘One person’s told me that their mother and father met here on Down, and had him, and Down was all he knew. But he was a liar. I’ve not seen a single child. Not here on board, not in the castle where I was – there were men and women, but no children.’ Dalip grimaced. ‘I know how babies are made, so …’

  ‘Well,’ said Dawson. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and scratched behind his ear. He kicked at the floor and slapped the centre pole hard enough to make it shiver. ‘There just ain’t any.’

  ‘Don’t people still,’ and he started to colour up, ‘do it?’

  ‘They do, when they can.’

  ‘But no one gets pregnant?’

  ‘Well, the men don’t for sure.’ He looked bemused by the question. ‘But neither do the lassies.’

  Dawson picked up one of the roof spars and rested it in the slot, and Dalip lifted its opposite number into place.

  ‘Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’

  ‘I suppose, but that’s not the oddest thing about Down, is it?’

  He was right. Of course he was right. It wasn’t.

  ‘Thanks, Dawson.’

  Dawson shrugged. To him, it meant nothing, but to Dalip it was another piece of information, to be reconciled with everything else, something he had to fit into the architecture of Down, along with the portals, the lines and nodes of power, the magic and the beasts. If the maps were a jigsaw, Down’s mysteries were too.

  What would happen, assuming it was possible, if he put them all together to make a Grand Unified Theory of Down. If the geomancers were right, they were so very wrong at the same time. The maps were only part of it – though a small, vital part – and in themselves meant little. Like fighting over a single cog when the rest of the mechanism was scattered.

  Dawson was waiting for him to put the next roof beam up, patiently, almost bovine in his acceptance of his building partner’s faraway look. Dalip hefted it and dropped it into place.