by Ian Whates
All the flatheads they passed, whether lounging or mobile, seemed as oblivious as ever to the two humans in their midst.
"Can't they see us?" Tom wondered aloud at last.
"Course they can. We're just beneath their notice," the girl replied.
Never once did he see any two of the Jeradine talking, which made him wonder how they communicated. "Don't they ever talk to each other?"
"Not so's I've noticed."
"Aren't you curious about that?"
"No, why should I be? I ignore them and they ignore me. Ty-gen's the only one I'm bothered about and he talks to me just fine. The rest can go swing. Now shut up with the questions, will you? Or I might just decide to dump you and forget about that crystal city after all."
"Go ahead. I'll manage."
"Course you will."
Despite his anger he kept pace with the girl, and kept quiet. Not for the first time, Tom found himself puzzled by the attitude of others. How could she not be curious? If he lived constantly with a mystery like this he wouldn't be able to let it rest, he'd have to find out. The boy regretted not raising the question of Jeradine communication with Ty-gen when he had the chance.
The area they were moving through deteriorated rapidly as they left the Jeradine quarter. This was still a step up from the Runs, but not by much. They walked down avenues of dilapidated buildings with broken windows and crumbling walls. The few people they passed possessed a desperate, furtive look which Tom was all-too familiar with.
He caught movement in the corner of his eye, against the wall of one of the abandoned buildings to his right. He looked closely, and saw one of the strangest creatures he had ever seen. His first impression was that it was all legs and eye. Long, slender and hairy limbs reached out above, beside and below the thing; three of them with a fourth vanishing around the corner of the building. Each limb ended in a clawed foot which had dug into the crumbling mortar of the house and fastened to it. At the centre, where the four limbs met, was a single large eye which dominated the small body supporting it. The whole thing was flush to the wall, splatted there as if someone had flung the creature at the building and it had stuck there in the flattened, splayed position it landed.
Suddenly a stone shot over Tom's head to strike the wall a fraction away from the eye. The creature scurried around the corner and out of sight.
"Brekkin' freak!" Kat called out.
"What was that?"
"One of the Maker's creatures."
Tom thought he understood. "We've got the dog master," he said. "Gets a dog and opens it up, then adds to it, using bits of other dogs, dead or alive, and mechanical oddments too, building something strange along the way. Looks a bit like a dog perhaps but isn't really, not any more. It's his creature. They say he sometimes includes bits of humans too."
Kat nodded. "Yeah, you've got it. Sounds like the Maker but he doesn't just stop at dogs: any creature you can think of plus a few he makes up along the way. Those spidery things seem to be his favourite at the moment, they're all over the place."
"Was that one spying on us, do you reckon?"
"Could have been, hard to say. The Maker likes to keep an eye on things and his creatures get everywhere."
Tom laughed at her choice of the word 'eye', but the girl didn't join in.
"It's nothing to laugh at. The Maker's a weird one and dangerous with it; not to be messed with, and his creatures are vile."
They carried on as before, but the girl seemed more watchful, more alert.
"So where are we now?" Tom asked at length.
"More questions?" but her retort lacked any real venom and she answered him readily enough. "This is Thunderhead territory. We're actually heading in the wrong direction at the moment, but it's the quickest way to get to where you want to go without crossing Blood Herons' turf. The Blood Herons and Thunderheads hate each other, a feud that goes back years."
"Thunderheads? What kind of name for a gang is that?"
The girl shrugged. "The nick who originally led them claimed he was caught out in a storm outside the walls on a visit to the Market Row one day."
That was possible, Tom supposed, though hardly probable. The average street-nick rarely went outside the walls, even during the occasional trip upstairs to the Market. More likely the kid had been told a story which featured a thunder storm and his imagination had taken it from there.
"We can head left here," she said as they approached a junction, "and start swinging round so that we're actually going in the right direction for a change."
Kat moved forward with confidence, but then he had yet to see her move in any other way. Until, that is, she strode round that corner.
The girl froze, holding out a restraining hand to stop him.
"Shit!"
He looked to see what the problem was. A group of street-nicks stood a little way along the street, four or five of them, one leaning with his back against a wall, the others in a crude semi-circle around him. Were they what had alarmed her? He couldn't see anything else that could have done. The nicks were deep in conversation and didn't appear to have spotted them as yet. Then he felt himself tugged back around the corner.
"What is it?"
"Trouble." She risked another quick peek. "You eyeballed the one leaning against the wall - big fella with sandy hair?"
"Sure."
"They call him Sharky; nasty bit of work. He's a Thunderhead, so are the two furthest from us, but the other two..." She shook her head, as if unwilling to accept what she'd seen.
"Go on."
"They're Blood Herons."
"So much for them being enemies."
"They are," she said hotly. "Or at least they were. I don't understand."
Tom failed to see what the problem was. "Alliances change quickly," he told her. "Feuds come and go."
She shook her head. "Not this one. It's legendary. Blood Herons and Thunderheads have been at each other's throats for years, ever since the Herons took the stairs from the Thunders, but that was just the start of it. Too much blood has flowed and too many nicks have fallen on both sides for those two to ever sheath knives - Stace, for one. That memory's still fresh, still burns. She was real popular with the Blood Herons, a mean bitch in a fight, but she had all the right moves and was built in a way that made even grown men sit up and take notice, and she knew it."
Kat was visibly upset. "Blood Herons and Thunderheads make up? Never!"
"So how do you explain those nicks being together then?"
"I can't. But I do know it's wrong. Something's happened, something big."
Tom was dismayed by the vehemence of the girl's reaction. It was a reminder of just how little he knew about this companion whom he was relying on as a guide. He guessed there was more going on here than met the eye, that these two gangs and the girl had a history, which was all well and good, but would it distract her now? Could he still trust her?
"What do we do then?" he asked, hoping to focus her attention on matters at hand.
"Keep heading the way we've been going," she replied. "Cut left a bit further along and hope we don't bump into any nicks."
"And if we do?"
"Brazen it out. If they are on the lookout for you, they'll be expecting to see a boy on his own, not one travelling with me."
"So why don't we just stroll past this group here then?"
"Cos they know me as a renegade, a loner. No point in raising questions unless we have to, right? Anything else you want to know, or can we get going?"
With that, they were off again, much to his relief. The girl strode forward with renewed purpose, forcing Tom into hurrying to keep up. She was muttering as she walked. "It's not natural. Must have been some killings at the top. Those two would never trust each other, couldn't be any peace while they were still in charge."
Tom stayed quiet, realising that none of this was meant for him, that the words were a reflection of some inner debate. He might as well not have been there at all, until, that is, the
girl turned and addressed him directly. "You're not from around here, kid, so you don't realise how unreal this all is but, trust me, it's weird."
He felt the familiar stirrings of curiosity, wondering why this turn of events caused her so much concern, but sensed this was not the right time to question her any further and, for once, managed to resist the temptation to do so immediately.
The tight-packed buildings made way on their right for a temple, one instantly recognisable as dedicated to the goddess Thaiss, indistinguishable from any other such with its squat, domed roof. An ornamental waterfall trickled down out front, before snaking its way down a short channel to a small pool. The waterfall was ceremonial, said to represent the goddess's home at the source of the Thair. Tom had no time for this or any of the other religions that proliferated in the under-City. By his reckoning, life was too grim to be by anyone's design. On the other hand, he knew people, fellow street-nicks among them, whose faith was unshakable.
A grey-robed acolyte swept the steps in front of the temple with a crude broom. She paused to watch them pass, neither smiling nor scowling but simply staring. Tom stared back, turning his neck to continue doing so until she dropped her eyes and returned to her cleaning.
Past the temple, they came to the narrow entrance of what was an alleyway rather than a street, a simple gap between buildings. The entrance had been blocked with a section of old wooden fencing, squeezed in at a slant, as if somebody had wedged it there in a half-hearted attempt to keep people out without really believing that anyone would want to go down there in any case.
Kat kicked down the flimsy barrier. "Come on, this should help us avoid that group at least."
He followed her down a narrow passageway that smelt of dampness, decay and urine. The walls on either side were coated in moist green slime and Tom did his best not to brush against them. He had touched worse in his time, but not by choice. Matters were made all the more awkward by constant obstacles; things that had apparently been abandoned here to clutter the floor, all of which they were forced to step over or around - half a broken crate, an old chair, remnants of broken pottery.
He concentrated on following the girl without touching anything and reassured himself that each step brought him a little closer to the alley's end. It was with a huge sense of relief that he finally stepped out from between the buildings into a broader street. Kat didn't pause, not even to make sure he was still with her, but instead turned right and continued to stride onward, leaving him to keep up as best he could. Tom realised that she was still heading away from the avenue where they had seen the street-nicks, even though the passageway must have brought them some distance past where the group had been standing.
She took the next left turn, only to bump headlong into a quintet of street-nicks coming the other way; four boys and one girl. Tom stopped dead in his tracks, looking to Kat for guidance. This was unknown territory and he had no idea whether it was best to simply nod hello and keep walking, to run for it, or even to stop and fight - though, given the odds, he presumed not the latter. Kat's body language suggested she was fairly relaxed so he did his best to act the same.
There were a few guarded greetings but no obvious tension. Only the girl eyed Kat with any hint of hostility, and it was she who said, "Got yourself a boyfriend, Kat?"
One of her companions sniggered. "Boy is the word. He's only a kid."
"Who'd have thought it, the renegade with a boy?"
"Wasn't even sure she was into boys."
Tom felt certain this was leading up to a fight, but Kat still seemed unperturbed. She smiled at him. "Take no notice. It's the gang mentality. Once one of them starts yapping they all have to join in, like a pack of dogs."
With that, she took hold of his hand, too swiftly and firmly for him to resist, and led him through the knot of youths, who gave way, all except one, a tall, mean-looking kid who stood his ground and glowered. Kat didn't say a thing. She just stared at him. After a few seconds he curled his lip and snorted dismissively, before stepping aside to let them pass.
Tom wasn't sure how he felt about the handholding at first, but then decided that maybe he could get used to it. Then he thought of Jezmina, and realised guiltily that it was a while since he had last done so.
"Keep walking, don't look back - and don't let go of my hand," Kat said quietly.
Tom was more than happy to oblige.
The further Tylus moved from the wall the more the quality of his surroundings improved, if not their smell. He turned right at what seemed the only viable point to do so, assuming his recollection of the maps held true, and walked into a street bordered by single storey brick-built buildings. The bricks were crude and looked improperly baked, but at least they were bricks.
An elderly man, gaunt and dressed in faded clothes which seemed overlarge on his emaciated frame, sat on the doorstep of the first such. He stared at Tylus with stony-faced indifference. The Kite Guard nodded and smiled in greeting and was about to ask if this was the right road for the guard station, when the man responded by opening his mouth in what might have been either a snarl or a grin - it was impossible to tell - revealing toothless gums in the process. Tylus kept quiet and hurried past.
The guard station proved easy enough to find in any case. It even had a sign over the door. Taking a deep breath, Tylus pushed said door open and stepped inside. He wasn't sure what sort of a reception to expect, but even so, the one he got surprised him. This was much smaller than any guard station he was used to, though it seemed to contain at least as many people. Compared with the Kite Guard's more ordered, restrained squad room, this was a scene of frenetic chaos, with people dashing everywhere, sheets of paper pinned to walls and huddles of guardsmen scrutinising objects of unfathomable purpose. It seemed he had arrived at a bad time, although perhaps this was normal and there would never have been a good one. The first officer he addressed barely glanced in his direction and clearly couldn't spare the time to actually talk, but instead directed him to the duty sergeant with a distracted wave of the hand. The sergeant occupied a large desk which dominated the back wall, not even having a separate office by the look of it.
The man was older than Goss and had a little more hair, but he seemed no more welcoming, at least to judge by the scowl with which he greeted Tylus.
"So, have the Kite Guard come to bail us out in our hour of need?"
"Erm, not exactly, sir, no. I'm..."
"Yes, yes, I know." The sergeant held up a restraining hand. "Had a message about you; I've got it here somewhere." He started rummaging around in a haphazard pile of papers and pulled out a creased sheet.
"Here it is." He smoothed the sheet out, held it up and peered at it. "Kite Guard Tylus, come to find some street-nick or other."
"Yes, sir!"
"Shouldn't be difficult, we've loads of the scrawny breckers running around down here. Take whichever you want. I wish you luck with your search, officer."
"Thank you, sir." Tylus felt a familiar sinking feeling, realising the sergeant had no intention of adding anything further. This was not going as he had hoped, but then what ever did? He continued to stand where he was, trying to find the right words.
"Was there something else?"
"Yes, sir. That is, I'm afraid I'll be needing some help from you and your department."
The sergeant gave a dry, mirthless guffaw. "Help? You need our help? Not a chance, son."
Tylus reached into his tunic. "I've a warrant here, signed by Senior Arkademic-"
"You think that matters to me?" the sergeant interrupted. "You're not in the Heights now, lad. This is the real world. We're in the middle of some major gang action down here, with killings every day and not enough men to even begin investigating them all, particularly since some genius up-City insisted on having a crack-down on 'corruption' in the force and made me discharge a quarter of my officers a little while back. Corruption? This is the City Below for Thaiss's sake, the whole place runs on corruption! So I don't care if you've g
ot a warrant signed by every breckin' member of the Council of Masters and a minor deity or two besides, I can't help you!"
Tylus's stomach dropped a little further. This was definitely not going to plan. For the first time since his interview with Magnus, he began to wonder whether being handed this mission was such a stroke of good fortune after all.
The squad room door burst open and a figure came charging in. He wore the typical brown and orange, mud and clay, uniform of the city watch.
"There's been two more," he called out across a room suddenly stilled.
"Whereabouts?" the sergeant called back.
"Near the canning plant. Two Sand Dragons, both older lads, lieutenants by the look of 'em."
The sergeant muttered something under his breath and then surged to his feet. "All right, show me exactly where."
"What about my assignment?" Tylus asked in desperation. "Senior Arkademic Magnus insists you help me."
"What's he gonna do? Fire me? Fire us all?" the sergeant snapped back. "It's chaos down here, where do you think they'd find anyone to replace us? Nobody else would be crazy enough to do this job."
Despite the words, he seemed to relent, casting his gaze around the room until it came to rest on a particularly young and sickly looking officer. "Richardson, get your arse over here, now!"
The lad scampered to obey.
"Right," the sergeant told him, "you're to put aside whatever you're currently working on and help Mr Kite Guard here, got it?"
Tylus saw the young officer's eyes widen in alarm. "But, Sergeant, I've got-"
"That wasn't a request, officer, that was an order. You'll just have to fit in your existing case load around whatever Officer Tylus here needs you to do. Clear?"
"Yes, sir." The lad's face now showed the sort of weary resignation that Tylus imagined his own must display in the presence of Sergeant Goss.
The sergeant turned back to the Kite Guard. "There. I know this is not what you were expecting but it's all I can spare you - more than I can spare in truth - so make the most of it, get busy and keep out of my way. Understood?"