Darksong

by Isobelle Carmody

  ‘You don’t join the other side to defeat it …’ Faye finished the sentence for him gently. He sighed and said nothing. ‘Is there any way to undo it?’

  ‘Not without undoing my partner and probably sending myself and him to jail in the process. It seems easier to quit, in the end. Sort of evens the odds because I’d lose my job if I confessed anyway. You could say I’m self-administering justice.’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe I’m ready to walk away. You know, last night I got a call and I find this poor guy drunk and ranting because, for some reason he doesn’t understand, his nice little wife left home and became a prostitute. I went and saw the woman and she looked like a nice housewife dressed up in a prostitute’s clothes. Pupils like pinpricks.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why. A lot of nice little housewives hide their addiction until they can’t hide it any more.’

  ‘She was on something, but I didn’t get the feeling that she was anything but stone cold sober. She told me in this flat empty voice that there was no point in staying with her husband and children in a world like this. And you know the worst thing? I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I understood! And that kid last week … when they took him out of the court room, he looked back at me and I thought I would see hate in his eyes, but I saw what was in that woman’s eyes and what I see in my own eyes. Hopelessness. Acceptance.’

  ‘Johnny, you’re too rough on yourself …’

  ‘Ah, Faye, don’t make excuses for me. You always had more guts than I did, even when those gang kids picked on us back at school. You were the one who talked us or belted us out of trouble. You wouldn’t lie then and you wouldn’t have lied for your partner now. I ought to quit because I’m as guilty as the criminals I’m sent to catch.’

  ‘You do a lot of good, Johnny, because you’re not hardened. A mistake like this is what will make you a better policeman. More determined to do the right thing. Don’t let this make you give up or it wins.’

  The policeman gave the blonde woman a look of strange terror. ‘What wins?’

  ‘What?’ she asked, looking confused.

  ‘You said it wins. What did you mean, because, Faye, I feel that. I feel like something is loose in the world and it’s what I’m losing to. Not that kid or the crims. Something under them or behind them. I feel it waiting like a rabid dog outside a door ready to tear everything to pieces if someone lets it in, and we’re doing it. We’re letting it in …’

  ‘Johnny …’ the woman touched his arm, her expression concerned.

  ‘I know I sound crazy. I have these dreams you wouldn’t believe … Jesus, I’m a mess.’ He threw back the last of the coffee and then grimaced. ‘I ought to arrest you for peddling this,’ he said, making another ghastly attempt to smile.

  Faye didn’t smile back. ‘I know there’s something terribly wrong with the world, John. I see it every day, like you. In a way it’s easier for me because I’m not trying to catch anyone or punish them. I just offer a bit of kindness or bread or a burger or a bed for the night or a friendly ear. Why don’t you come with me sometime? You keep saying you will.’

  ‘I know … but Faye, I can’t think about anything until I sort this out in my head. I have to decide what to do …’

  ‘Sometimes all you can do is to go on and try to be better …’ Faye said, taking the now empty cup and tipping her own untouched coffee into the gutter. ‘You know what the Buddhists say? Don’t act until the universe makes you. Or something like that. Think about it. I’d welcome the help this week. Tabby’s down with some kind of flu.’

  ‘I’ll let you know,’ the policeman said dully. ‘Better get moving.’

  The woman watched him walk away then sighed and got back into the wagon.

  Ember was shaken awake.

  ‘What happened?’ Revel demanded, peering down at her. ‘I came as soon as the ship was secured. The white cloaks said you fainted.’

  Ember fought against the disorientation of tumbling through so many visions to note that she was half lying on a wide couch in a room with a dome-shaped roof and several narrow slot-shaped windows overlooking a shaded patch of green lawn. Then the meaning of Revel’s words penetrated. ‘They … the healers didn’t touch me did they? They didn’t try to heal me?’ If they had, they would know that she was dying. And what if they had removed the veil and seen her face?

  ‘Calm down,’ the shipmistress said. ‘I came in while some novices were carrying you here. One of them said that you had fainted because you were present when a rotworm poultice was applied to your brother before the belsirop took proper effect. What are you calling yourself, anyway?’

  ‘I told one of the white cloaks that my name was Gola,’ Ember said. ‘What about Bleyd?’

  ‘It was worse than I thought. The healer said that another few hours and there would have been no saving him, though it would have taken a week or two for his body to shut down. I told them that you had made a tentative booking with my shipmaster who had sent me to find out whether you still wanted the passage. They told me that your brother would not be fit to be moved for at least seven days, if then.’

  Ember was aghast but she asked, ‘If I wait, will you?’

  ‘That depends on what my father says. I will go and see him after the ship is completely unloaded. But if you feel up to it now, I will show you where there is a nightshelter quite close to here.’

  Ember was grateful that Revel had thought about accommodation for her, but there was one problem. ‘I have no coin to pay for a room.’

  Revel shrugged. ‘Mention my name and say I will pay for it.’ She lifted the a’luwtha from her shoulder to Ember’s, saying, ‘You can order food at the nightshelter, and new clothes might be wise in case a description is circulated of the missing visionweaver. The soulweavers will repay anything I spend on your behalf. Darkfall always pays its debts, so the saying goes.’ There was a cynical edge to her words.

  Just then, a group of young white cloaks filed into the passage through a door. They cast discreet glances at Ember and Revel as they passed, but one of them, a young grey-eyed woman, gave a cry of recognition and stopped. ‘Revel!’ The other white cloaks continued on down the hall.

  ‘Brona,’ Revel said, looking startled. ‘I did not know you had taken the healers’ vow.’

  ‘I did it just last week but …’ She looked after the other white cloaks, then leaned close and spoke softly. ‘Look, I have to go, but Revel, have you been to see your father yet?’

  Revel stiffened. ‘I have only just docked. What is wrong?’

  The other girl bit her lip. ‘Just go and see him.’

  ‘Brona!’ Revel cried as the young white cloak hurried away, but she did not look back. Revel turned distractedly to Ember. ‘I must go. You can find the nightshelter yourself. It is … it is only a few streets to the left. Fireflyte it is called. Come back here tomorrow and see what they have to say about … your brother. Do not tell them here where you are staying.’ She did not wait to hear Ember’s response.

  Ember had gone five streets before her pace flagged, but had seen nothing that looked like a nightshelter. Wondering if she ought to have walked down each street, rather than simply peering down it, she contemplated turning back. After all, the nightshelter might be set back from the road.

  Suddenly Ember’s skin prickled. She surveyed the street behind her with a dry mouth, but there was no movement. Only when she began to walk again did she notice a small child perched on top of a fence not far away.

  ‘You came from the white-cloak centre,’ the child said. ‘I saw you. Are you sick?’

  ‘I … I was visiting a friend,’ Ember said.

  ‘I have a cough,’ the child announced importantly, and proceeded to demonstrate.

  ‘I hope you get better soon,’ Ember said. ‘Do you know of a place called the Fireflyte nightshelter? I have heard it is near here.’

  ‘Oh yes. It is a very rough place,’ the imp added with an expression of such adult disapproval that it was clearly m
imicking an adult. Ember decided she had better go on before the owner of that expression came out. Oddly, the little encounter calmed her. Or perhaps it was simply that there were so many things to be worried about that she had ended up being unable to worry about anything at all. The sooner she found a room and entered it, the better.

  Kalinda shone hotly enough that Ember wondered why Vespi was generally described as possessing a moderate climate, unless this was unseasonable weather. She stopped to rest in the shade of a wall, feeling very thirsty and fearing that she had missed the nightshelter. Revel had said it was very near. An elderly woman backed out of the gate in the wall.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Ember began.

  The woman swung round and stared at her in fright, demanding, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’m sorry if I startled you,’ Ember said apologetically. ‘I only wanted to ask if you could tell me how to find a nightshelter nearby. It is called …’

  ‘I know what it is called,’ the woman snapped. ‘Do you think more than one of the foul places would be permitted in such a district as this? You will find it two streets along. Good day.’ She marched away briskly, her back ramrod straight.

  Ember followed her directions, remembering that the child had also suggested that the nightshelter might be unsavoury. But if that was so, why had Revel suggested it? In any case, rough or not, she literally had no choice but to go there. At last she spotted the distinctive generic nightshelter symbol painted on a board which indicated a path through a little park. On the other side of it was a pleasant square. The nightshelter stood amidst a cluster of small shops surrounded by expensive-looking mansions. A crowd of men were lounging against the steps of the place around the open door, all of them nursing mugs of cirul.

  Ember drew a deep breath, aware that her approach and appearance had been noted and would be gossiped about whether she entered or not. She prayed that the swathes of shawls and scarves and beads she was still wearing would be remembered, rather than the veil and the sombre, rather travel-stained tunic underneath.

  ‘Who have we here?’ one of the men asked another in a slurred voice, as Ember came along the path to the door. She ignored him and his cronies and mounted the steps leading into the place, noting with some alarm that the dark passage beyond the doorway was crowded with patrons.

  ‘Some sort of entertainer, given the gee-gaws,’ she heard a man behind her say as she paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimness. It was dreadfully hot and stuffy inside and it was little wonder some customers had elected to drink outside. Fortunately only the door end of the passage was clogged with drinkers. Once she had pushed through them, it was hot but less full. Through a doorway she saw a taproom with a square servery cut into the wall of the entrance passage to allow the bar workers to serve there directly. The smell of stale cirul was overpowering.

  ‘Help you?’

  The speaker was a tall matron with a long, ruddy face in which shrewd rather severe eyes seemed out of place. She had brought an impossible number of mugs hooked on her fingers to the bar and now she began to stack them.

  ‘Are you the hostess?’ Ember enquired politely, uncomfortably aware that people in the hall had drifted closer and were listening avidly. ‘I wonder if we might have a few words in private.’

  ‘There is no need for private words between two people who do not know one another,’ the woman said sharply. Her eyes flickered indifferently over Ember’s attire, but when they came to the unmistakable outline of the a’luwtha in its padded bag, the indifference gave way to kindling interest. ‘Songmaker looking for a billet, are you?’

  Ember opened her mouth to say no, then reflected that it might be wiser to agree. She could explain in private. She nodded and the sharp eyes raked over her again. ‘What name?’

  ‘Gola,’ Ember said.

  The woman frowned. ‘Never heard of you. Very well, you can have your room and your meals, and whatever you earn in tips from the customers for the night. You’ll find them a generous lot.’

  ‘More generous than you, Mistress Anousha,’ cackled one of the drinkers. ‘Few would have the gall to offer nothing to a songmaker, and engage her only for a single night.’

  The woman gave him a cold look. ‘I know my own business, Dake. You see to yours.’ She switched her gaze to Ember. ‘Last songmaker I hired turned out to have a voice like a strangling pelflyt. Her instrument was stolen and, like you, she walked in off the street looking like something washed up by the tide. If you choose not to send an agent or notes of reference, you take what you get until you prove yourself.’

  ‘I accept your terms,’ Ember said. ‘But I can not perform until tomorrow. I … I have made a long trip down from the mountains and I need to rest and rehearse before I can perform.’ Ember had no intention of performing and, with luck, she would have already gone by the following night.

  The proprietress shrugged. ‘You do look done in. All right, Songmaker Gola, you have tonight free. But tomorrow evening you had better give a performance worthy of the chieftain’s palace.’

  ‘You will have what you want,’ Ember said, confident that Revel would pay well for the room and any expenses she incurred.

  ‘Follow me then. I’ll show you to a room.’ The nightshelter hostess wiped her reddened hands on her apron as she forged a way through the crowd to a set of stairs on the far side of the room. Trailing after her, Ember was relieved to find that the noise of the public rooms was barely audible by the time they had got to the top of the stairs. The hostess led her to the last door in a narrow but spotless hallway, and rattled through a set of keys before fitting one to the lock. The door creaked but the room beyond it was large and clean, if sparsely appointed. There was a single, neatly made bed, a mirror on a stand and a table under a shuttered window where a bowl and a jug of water stood.

  ‘Midden is first door after the stairs,’ the woman said, pointing back along the hall.

  Ember knew that this was the moment when she ought to explain her real business, but she was suddenly uneasy about how the woman would react to her subterfuge. Better to leave things as they were until Revel arrived.

  The hostess made to depart, but stopped at the door and looked back, her expression stern. ‘Just so you know, I will not countenance any assignations here with customers. This is a respectable establishment and the people hereabouts would have my permit for the slightest wrongdoing. That is the price of setting up in a neighbourhood like this, full of nobles and would-be nobles. But I was right about it needing a nightshelter, as you can see by the crowd below.’

  ‘You need not worry that I will bring you into disrepute,’ Ember said calmly. ‘I need to bathe after my journey. Would that be possible?’

  ‘Of course. I know you entertainers like to pamper yourselves. It will cost you though. I will have the bath brought up to your room at once but it will take some time to heat the water. Would you like food in the meantime? We have stew and dumplings and a thick soup.’

  Ember supposed cynically that this was likely to be on the bill as well. ‘Just some bread and some honey and maybe kalinda fruit if you have any. And some chilled let milk.’

  ‘Let milk!’ The woman gave a barking laugh. ‘Well at least you won’t run up a cirul bill. I’ll have it sent up.’

  Ember went to the window and opened the shutters a crack. A small balcony overlooked a narrow lane which ran back from the square alongside the nightshelter. Leaving the shutter slightly ajar, she crossed to the bed, lay aside the a’luwtha and sat down. She was tired enough to simply remain like that, but a few minutes later there was a knock at the door and two muscular lads entered, staggering under the weight of an enormous metal hipbath.

  ‘Water coming, Songmaker,’ one panted as they shuffled out again.

  While they were still in the process of filling it, going to and fro with buckets of steaming water, there was another knock at the door and a young servitor entered bearing a tray laden with a bowl of soft cheese, a basket of fresh bread a
nd honey and a plate of sliced kalinda fruit. When he had gone, Ember drank the milk thirstily, then ate the juicy kalinda fruit, her spirits beginning to rise at the realisation that her immediate needs had been met.

  When she had finished, she examined the lock to the room and, finding there was no key, she dragged the heavy side bench under the handle. Only then did she remove her veil and unbandage her hair. Her head itched horribly and, removing her clothes, she relished the air against her over-heated skin. Climbing into the bath was bliss and Ember realised suddenly that she lived far more intensely on Keltor than on her own world. This was partly because she had experienced time free of the weight of knowing that she was dying. And now, though she knew the truth, there was the promise of healing on Darkfall to rescue her from despair.

  Dark Ember warned that if hope failed, she would suffer beyond imagining, but the bath had made Ember too contented to be frightened. She rinsed her hair then lay back watching it float out around her in a red-gold fan. A slice of sunlight crept across the wall and only when it had gone to the far wall, did she register that the water had begun to cool. But still she lingered in the bath, thinking about the visions she had experienced: Anyi creeping about in the palace, rescuing a blonde girl and whispering about ships and the Shadowman, Coralyn and Kalide discussing the Draaka; a brief glimpse of Alene at the soulweaver’s hut; and Glynn, too, which suggested the earlier vision of her falling to her death had been false. Unless the earlier vision had been of a later period.

  Ember realised something else that had not occurred to her earlier: in the vision, Glynn had been looking for information about Lanalor’s portal, which could indicate that Glynn was trying to get back to their own world – to her. Glynn’s devotion was something Ember had never questioned, not before she had learned that she was to die, or afterwards. Dark Ember rose in her mind reminding her loftily that in the face of such a terrible dying, one had the right to be selfish. Besides, she pointed out, the vision might have been false. Glynn might not even be on Keltor.