Rats and Gargoyles

by Mary Gentle

  "They forget. Traveling through the Night, they forget."

  One cried shrilly. Another laughed. All children, all under the age of three; they ran, suddenly, in the bright sun–running off along the quay, up to the airfield, down towards the promenade, scattering like a school of fish.

  "No shadows."

  "What?" He looked where Claris pointed, at a small girl who plumped down trying to unpick threads from the mooring-rope: the hemp wider around than her small wrist. He saw only a tiny rim of black about her feet.

  "They grow ’em in a few minutes." Zar-bettu-zekigal stood on the tips of her filthy toes, peering up at the deck. The flood of children swept around her like a tide. Andaluz saw her reach out absently from time to time and touch a fair or dark head. He glanced around for Charnay. The brown Rat stood staring to and fro along the quay.

  "He might have recognized me if he were here . . ."

  A silence breathed off the tarred planks, muffling the creaking of the mooring-ropes. The voices of the children, not yet having speech, cried like distant gulls. Andaluz took out a kerchief and dusted his nose with some energy, wiped the corners of his eyes, and squinted up at the sun-drenched Boat.

  A figure appeared at the top of the gangway, walking slowly down to the quay. A tall man, thirty or so, with long black hair; his bony hand holding the paw of a brown Ratling. Andaluz, glancing down, saw neither had a shadow.

  "Sir, I greet you."

  Their eyes met his, and Andaluz inclined his head, falling silent. A shadow of night still lay in their gaze. He stepped aside, bowed. The man and the Rat child walked past without a glance at Claris, Zar-bettu-zekigal or Charnay.

  Another man appeared from the deck, then a sunhaired woman; two black Rats, fur dulled with the salt breeze; a young man with cropped black hair. Andaluz felt his pulse thud, once, before he recognized it as only a chance resemblance.

  "I’ve waited a long while." He looked at Claris. "I can wait, it seems, a little longer."

  "If we’re not needed, sir, may I suggest that we would be safer back in the Residence."

  The disembarking humans and Rats momentarily separated him from his clerk. Andaluz turned, brushed shoulders with Zar-bettu-zekigal, who stood gazing up at the pennants streaming from the mainmast.

  "Lady, if you’re going back into the city, may I offer you a ride in my coach?"

  "Right!" She spun around, pivoting on one heel with dappled tail out for balance. Her grin shone in the sun. "I need to get back to the square in Fourteenth’s north quarter. So does Charnay. Can you drop us off there?"

  Forming a tactful evasion, Andaluz began to speak, and cut himself off as he saw her gaze go over his shoulder and her sepia-brown eyes widen.

  A voice shouted: "Zar’!"

  Andaluz saw the recognizable Katayan speech sink home into her as an arrow does. Caught with one heel resting on the stone quay, weight on the other bare foot, tail coiled down, she for a moment looked all child, bewildered as the embarkees from the Boat. He waited a second to see if he would have to catch her as she fainted.

  Zar-bettu-zekigal whispered: "Elish?"

  "Necromancy . . ."

  The White Crow said: "You heard me, Eminence."

  The Lord-Architect reached down one oil-black hand and touched her dark red hair, frowning. She saw Lucas’s head turn, and his startled expression.

  The black Rat, Plessiez, murmured urbanely: "I fail to follow you. What would a Cardinal of Guiry know about such heresies as necromancy? Come, come, you know as well as I do: there is a weak magia of the dead played with the discarded shells of souls, that is, bodies; but it has no power, and so is not worth speaking of."

  "And if souls died like bodies?"

  The Cardinal-General appeared frankly angry. "What nonsense. I won’t listen to blasphemy. Under our masters the Decans, the dead travel through the Night and return on the Boat; there is no other death."

  The White Crow held his bead-black gaze.

  "I’m a Scholar-Soldier, your Eminence, and while we travel you and I should talk."

  The black Rat suddenly laughed. His sleek jaw rose, light gleaming from his fur. The black feather on his head-band swept the heated air.

  "A Scholar-Soldier! Oh, come now. On this day of all days, to present me with some mythical human organization—"

  "This day?" The White Crow hooked her elbow over the steel rungs of the nearest ladder. She leaned back easily. "Your Eminence, today’s the Feast of Misrule. When servants beat their masters, Apprentices give orders to Fellowcrafts, Rat-Lords serve feasts to their human slaves, Cardinals tend humble priests–and the Thirty-Six Decans, it seems, leave the solving of cosmic riddles to poor, blind, stupid human scholars."

  She wiped her mouth, dry with the day’s air; grinned at him with sweat-ringed eyes.

  "And the Rat-Lords loose a plague amongst the human population of the heart of the world. Your Eminence, please. I do know about these things."

  Expecting no honest answer, she shivered when he inclined his head, his glittering black gaze still holding hers.

  "Do you? Well, then, madam scholar. What can it alter, now, for it to be known?–There is unrest. Order must be restored. With so many humans passing onto the Boat to begin their journey through the Night, they will be weakened beyond opposition to the King. Do you see?"

  The White Crow absently lifted her free hand to her mouth, sucking dusty rose-scarred fingers. "Truly, Eminence?"

  The sleek Rat, black fur almost blue in the intense sun, shrugged lithe shoulders and gripped the hilt of his rapier. "Madam scholar, what I have done I have done with my King’s authority, and my own full knowledge. Now, if you will be so kind as to excuse me, I must finish the matter."

  "No. I won’t excuse you."

  Her mouth curved up, a smile unwillingly rising; and she flipped her arm loose from the side-ladder, took the black Rat by the elbow and ushered him a dozen steps into one of the protruding sections of the upper platform that served as a shield against forward attack. She glanced back, seeing them out of earshot of the others.

  He made no resistance, meeting her gaze with contained amusement.

  "Well, madam scholar?"

  "Master-Captain, as it happens." She grinned. "White Crow is my name."

  Above, the sky tilts towards midday. The weight of its heat lies heavy on her shoulders. The White Crow breathed a deep scent of oil, dust and harbor wind; shuddered with an instinct that presaged some manifestation of a demonium meridanium.

  "Eminence, how can I convince you to talk to me? I’ve spoken to the Candovard Prince, and to others. I could probably give you the names of those who attended a meeting in Fourteenth Eastquarter’s Masons’ Hall, and tell you what was said there."

  She shifted, aware of the straps of her pack digging into her shoulder. The hilt of her sword-rapier scraped the metal carapace; the black Rat raised a furry brow.

  She said: "Someone had to be supplying the raw materials."

  All his lithe body stilled.

  "Materials?"

  "I’ve been asking myself questions while I was riding, your Eminence. Such as: What was a priest of Guiry doing with bones in an Austquarter crypt? I’m a Scholar-Soldier; I know that there have been four true deaths in the heart of the world. I may have known that before you did; I’ve been in the city a while."

  Some fragile accord, born of the hot sun and urgency and the knowledge of crisis, hung unspoken in the air between them. The black Rat nodded, approving.

  "Master-Captain, you are a true practitioner of the Arts."

  She reached for the talismans at her throat, gripping them as if she could squeeze chill into her flesh.

  "I guessed at where the bodies might be. In the city crypts. Where else do you put a corpse? And what other kind of corpse would give you the raw materials for necromancy? Hence this plague-magia. There’s more to it, yes, but I believe what I’m saying is true."

  He smoothed down the Cardinal’s green sash with a de
mure humor. "Yes, Master-Captain. I think that I, also, believe that what you say is true."

  The White Crow touched his arm. Sun-hot fur burned her fingers.

  "Eminence, tell me. You need to. I know. Don’t ask me how I know. Not all the talents of a Scholar-Soldier are easy to analyze."

  The lean bulk of him blocked the sun, brought a certain coolness to her. The tender flesh of his nostrils flexed, vibrating wire-thin whiskers; and his voice, dropped to the threshold of audibility, contained a grating endurance.

  "Can you take the weight of it, do you imagine?"

  She shrugged.

  "Messire, when one arrives at our age, it’s with a baggage of emotional debts–and they’re rarely repaid to those whom we owe. Others have taken the weight for me in the past. I’ll do it for you now."

  He looked away, squinting at the bright sky. "You are older than me, I think."

  "Am I?"

  "Old enough to forget. What it is to win–you forget that. I can tell by the look of you."

  Wiry muscles shifted under the sleek pelt as he straightened, hind feet in the balanced stance of the sword-fighter. The blue sky glimmered beyond his sparkling gaze.

  "I can have anything I want." Plessiez laughed, musing. "Luck put the Austquarter crypt in my way, and yet I have years enough of study to know what use to put it to. Luck put Guiry into my hands, and I had wit enough to take it. And if luck gives me a lever with which to move the Thirty-Six Themselves–well, why shouldn’t the universe give me what I want?"

  The black Rat exhaled. She smelt his breath, musky and metallic.

  "So. I take a great part in this, and as great a responsibility. And, if I am honest, greater ambition–but I perceive you are aware of the goads of ambition yourself." He looked back at her, nodded once. "Oh, yes. It’s apparent, if not relevant. And, to fall to the matter in hand, there have been others in as deep as I."

  The White Crow shut her mouth, which she had not been aware hung open.

  "True. There were two other leads I’d have followed, if I’d had the time: a Reverend tutor of the University of Crime, and a priest from the Cathedral of the Trees." She paused. "Messire Cardinal, I don’t know you, and I wish I did. I would like to know if you know what will happen, now, with your plague-magia. "

  Softly he stressed: "Not mine. Not mine alone."

  "No . . ."

  They stood in silence for a moment. The black Rat snorted quietly, and gazed at the Guards manning the siege-engine with immense satisfaction.

  "I have some conception of what approaches. But what is one to do? We have strange masters. And one may sometimes hope to outwit them." Amusement, amazingly enough, in his voice. "Madam, having come so far and so fast, and through such strange occurrences, I am ready to credit the existence of an Invisible College. Tell me, if you hazard a guess, what is to happen now?"

  Fragile accord bound them for a moment in the sunlight.

  "I’ve . . . been away. Eminence, this is how it seems to me." Her acute gaze flicked towards him. "I think noon will see another true death. Caused by that magia which you, and perhaps his Majesty? yes–which you have scattered under the heart of the world . . ."

  He motioned with one hand, as if to say "Go on."

  The White Crow took off her hat and fanned herself with the brim, and replaced it on her head. The sun burned hot on her hair. "Only I don’t know, messire, if you know all of what that magia is intended for."

  A sardonic stare met hers: as curious, and as cynical. The White Crow swallowed. Her shirt clung to her breasts, wet under the arms, her own sweat rank in her nostrils.

  "I spoke with the Lady of the Eleventh Hour," she said. "We all speak with Decans, your Eminence. Me with mine, you with the Decan of Noon and Midnight, The Spagyrus."

  "The Order of Guiry’s relations with The Spagyrus have always been most . . . cordial." Cardinal-General Plessiez straightened. "That really is enough, Master- Captain, unless you have practical advice for me."

  "You know what another death of the soul could do?"

  "I conceive some idea."

  "Truly?" She stared. "You knew what you were doing?"

  A chill entered the Cardinal-General’s voice. "I believe I did."

  Their fragile accord parted as spider-thread parts in a summer breeze.

  "I can’t believe that anyone—"

  The siege-engine shook, motor roaring.

  The White Crow gripped the jutting shield-wall. Plessiez’s warm body brushed hers as he grabbed at the same support. She twisted to stare over her shoulder. The Lord-Architect had vanished: the engine-trapdoor stood open.

  "No–I permit it!" Plessiez snapped an order; the Guards remained at their stations. The motor coughed a cloud of blue smoke and groaned as the wheels gripped the cobbles. Noise increased, plateaued. The beaked rams swiveled as the siege-engine ground to point north-aust.

  The White Crow regained balance, the weight of pack and sword heavy on her. "You’ll allow this?"

  The siege-engine thrummed, gathering speed. Streets flowed past. She rocked with the velocity. Ahead the sky turns ashen with the first finials of the Fane-in-the-Twelfth-District.

  "It is no great detour. I have the time–and, possibly, I admit, the necessity–to indulge my expert engineer. I regret," the Cardinal-General’s voice rasped, pitched to carry over the metallic clash of gears, still with a mockery in it, "I regret what you will find when we leave you, madam. It has been so for five days, for all of us; even for your kind–the Fane is closed to all entry now."

  Zar-bettu-zekigal pushed past Andaluz, dodging the Boat’s speechless passengers; and he shaded his eyes against the glare. A Katayan woman of medium height and in her middle twenties walked down the gangplank, peacock-blue satin coat and white breeches gleaming in the sun.

  Her shadow lay on the plank, sharp-edged and blue.

  "Elish? Oh, what! What are you doing here? How come you’re on the Boat? You haven’t been through the Night!"

  "I did die, little one. I’m back now."

  Short black hair fell in curls over her pale forehead, a lace cravat foamed in ruffles under her chin; and she whisked a tail as black as her hair through the slit in the satin coat. "Father told me the courtseers predict ill fortune for you. I came to do what I could. How else could I get here and not spend a year traveling, except on the Boat?"

  "Elish!"

  Zar-bettu-zekigal flung her arms around the older Katayan woman, hugging her violently. The older woman patted her back. She raised her head, and Andaluz saw her smile as she met his eyes. He straightened his doublet and executed his best formal bow.

  "Madam, I take you to be from the South Katayan court? May I, on behalf of the Candovard Embassy, welcome you here, and offer you any assistance that you may need?"

  "Sir, I thank you. I—" The Katayan woman pried Zar-bettu-zekigal’s head out of her lace ruffles. "Zar’! Behave. What have you got yourself into now?"

  Still with her arm about the woman’s waist, the young Katayan faced Andaluz. "This is my best full-sister, Elish-hakku-zekigal. Elish, this is Ambassador Andaluz; he’s Lucas’s uncle. Oh, dirt! You don’t know Lucas. Or messire the Cardinal. We have to talk! I’ve been working as a Memory. Messire Andaluz, may my sister come in the coach with us?"

  Andaluz smiled. "Of course, child."

  "We’ll have to take Charnay up to the square with us. Charnay! Get over here, you dumb Rat. And then there’s the Hyena–Elish, you have got to meet her, she’s wonderful!"

  The black-haired Katayan smiled tolerantly.

  "Another one of your true loves, Zar’? Messire Ambassador, I apologize for my sister. I would be extremely grateful for your hospitality; there are matters that I wish to discuss. I have some informal status as plenipotentiary envoy from South Katay."

  Andaluz lifted his head, scenting on the breeze something at once sweet and nauseous. It faded. He looked around at the sun and the sea and the white marble of the docks, deserted now but for the last tra
velers on the Boat, walking away into the city. The brown Rat had her snout lowered, listening to something that the clerk explained with short abrupt gestures. Andaluz saw both of them glance up the steps towards the airfield sands.

  "You’ve walked in on a critical moment, Madam Elish-hakku-zekigal. I think the wisest thing that I can offer you and your sister is the protection of the Embassy Compound."

  "Oh, what!" Zar-bettu-zekigal stepped away from her sister, planting her fists on her narrow hips. "I have to find the Hyena and Messire Plessiez. I’ve got work to do!"

  "I really would advise—"

  A screech ripped into his ear. Andaluz jerked around, one hand automatically clapped over his left ear, blinded by the sun off the lagoon-harbor. A blaze of red and yellow flapped in his face. He stumbled back.

  A new voice called: "Careful! You’ll frighten him! Here, Ehecatl; here, boy."

  The brilliant-feathered bird scuttered in the air, circled, and fell to perch on the shoulder of a woman who stood halfway down the gangplank. Andaluz brushed furiously at his guano-spotted doublet and breeches.

  "Madam, I really must protest!"

  "Really? Then, please don’t let me stop you." The woman tapped her way down the gangplank, leaning on a bamboo cane.

  Andaluz looked down at her as she approached. Skin shining a pale ochre, braided hair shining white, she stood barely as tall as his collar-bone. Lines wrinkled about her eyes as she smiled up at him, a woman some years short of sixty.

  "Sir, I apologize. The journey’s been hard, and I fear I’ve not arrived in time. Elish, help me with my baggage, please. I have two trunks on deck. Can you and your–sister, is it?–fetch them down here?"

  The young Katayan gaped, then followed the elder with trepidation up the gangplank and leaned over to grab two cases, careful not to set a foot on the deck of the Boat. Andaluz rubbed his mouth thoughtfully, managing to conceal a chuckle.