by Joan Lennon
‘False alarm, false alarm,’ said the Tag Master, and waved them out again.
‘A minor adjustment,’ he said to Cam, and, taking a small diagnostic pad, he passed it a number of times over its wrist. Cam looked aside, refusing to acknowledge his existence.
Then it was done.
‘This has been difficult… for all of us.’ Ivory looked small, suddenly, and strangely far away, as if seen down the wrong end of a telescope.
She’s under terrible pressure, thought Madlen. She’s not as strong as I thought, thought Bryn. Mother! cried Cam.
‘I’d like you to go to your rooms now and rest. I have business to finish with the Master.’
Mystified, and suddenly weary, Madlen and Bryn followed Cam out of the room.
‘Tag Master.’
‘Lady.’
‘I want them on a private frequency – this one. You will take no action at any point without first consulting me. I will be assigning my own men to look after them.’
‘But Lady –’ the Tag Master’s bow somehow managed to be obscenely familiar – ‘I am your own man.’
Ivory shuddered. She placed the slip with the frequency code, and a purse of something heavy, on the table.
Then she turned and walked away.
‘I’m only going to say this once. I was wrong. She’s not mad. She’s evil.’
They had returned to Cam’s suite in silence. They’d eaten the food they were brought in silence. Then, when the dishes had been taken away, Cam spoke. They’d never heard it sound so cold and controlled before. So still.
‘But, Cam –!’
‘Wait, though –’
‘We haven’t time to argue,’ Cam cut them off. ‘The system allows a twelve-hour cooling-down period to allow the Tagged to become accustomed to what’s happened to them, let the adrenalin level out. We want to be well away from here by the end of that time. We stick to the original plan – we go to the Forgotten City – we try to find out what my… that dream meant.’ For a second the deadness in its voice wavered, then it was back in control. ‘First, we rest while we can. Then I need to get some things organized. And then…’ Cam held up its hand, palm forward. ‘It’ll be time for an unscheduled power cut!’
In the corridors of the London House:
‘Have you located them?’
‘Dalrodia, Preceptor.’
‘And still intact?’
‘Essentially, yes, Preceptor. The boy sustained an injury –’
Will he die of it?’
‘Unlikely, Preceptor –’
The figure swore, briefly but with venomous creativity.
‘– but I have arranged matters so that they should continue to be easy to find.’
The Preceptor gave a grudging nod. ‘That will do. Things now are coming to a crisis point in the Council. I may not be at leisure to speak with you again this side of the finish, so pay attention. The time for finesse is over. I need – I require – them dead. See to it:
Cordell showed no surprise. He inclined his head and turned to leave.
At the last moment, the Preceptor put a hand on his sleeve to detain him. It was an intimacy that was uncharacteristic – and unwelcome.
‘See to it,’ the Preceptor repeated, ‘but do not be seen…’
Cordell waited a moment, but there was nothing more. The Preceptor, reluctantly it seemed, let him go.
Kate leaned over Mrs Macmahonney’s shoulder. Mrs Mac was at her big Aga, staring intently into an enormous frying pan. The room filled with the smell of hot extra virgin olive oil.
‘Water.’
Kate hurried off and filled a glass from the tap. Mrs Mac took it from her, delicately dipped three fingers and flicked them over the pan.
The droplets immediately sizzled into steam.
‘Not yet,’ she murmured, and dipped her fingers again.
Again the water vanished. But the third time…
‘Got ‘em!’ said Mrs Mac triumphantly.
Three tiny perfect globes of water danced in place over the hot oil. The two women peered anxiously into the pan.
‘Still sitting tight – what are they waiting for?’ Kate started to say –
– when the three droplets began to move…
49
Out into the Night
The desert at night astonished Madlen and Bryn. They had only really seen it before off in the distance, in the battering glare of the day, under a brassy sky more like a lid than anything else. But now –
‘I never knew it was ever not hot on your World!’ said Bryn, snuffing up the dry, cool air appreciatively.
‘And the stars!’ exclaimed Madlen.
Away from the ambient light of the Area, the black sky exploded into brilliant speckles and sweeps of stars. The constellations were the same as those the other two were used to, but the brightness and clarity were… Other-Worldly.
‘It’s because there’s no moisture in the atmosphere,’ explained Cam, ‘so nothing much gets in the way.’ It paused, adding quietly, ‘I’d forgotten it was like this.’ For the first time, the deadness began to leave its voice.
Escaping the palace had been surprisingly easy. Cam had required supplies and sonks (Dalrodia’s desert beasts, used for riding and load-carrying), and what a high-caste required, it got. Then, just after dark, it accessed the power grid, programmed in ‘First Grade Maintenance Shutdown’ and pressed ‘Play’.
‘Thank goodness Ivory got sentimental about not taking your print off the programs!’ commented Madlen nervously.
Once they’d led the animals well past the perimeter, Cam turned to its siblings.
‘Right,’ it said. ‘Up you get.’
The other two looked alarmed.
‘No way! I’ve never ridden anything before! I thought we were going to walk!’
‘Hey, don’t forget I’m one-handed here!’
‘Have you ever sat on a sofa?’ Cam was not impressed by their panic. ‘If you can do that, you can ride a sonk.’
The animals certainly seemed harmless. They looked a bit like blobby mules wearing snow shoes and outsize hairy overcoats.
‘Look at it this way,’ said Cam, climbing aboard one. ‘It’s maybe four hours’ riding, all night to walk, and the Checkers will be heading after us the minute the power’s back up. Your choice.’
They caved in.
The Forgotten City dated from a time in Dalrodian history that seemed unimaginably distant to most of the World’s present inhabitants. Nobody knew for sure whether the petrified forest, which exists on the same site, came before or after the city. And did the iridescent fossil trees prove that the World had a different climate in its past, or didn’t they? Had there once been surface water on Dalrodia?
By the time they arrived, however, the three Questors couldn’t have cared less about any of it. They slid off the sonks, who appeared to be able to fall asleep where they stood, and unrolled their blankets in the shelter of a ruined wall. Cam made a fire with compacted fuel it had brought and was about to offer to heat some food when it was interrupted by snoring sounds. Madlen and Bryn were asleep, two blanket bundles in the darkness.
Cam smiled at them and did the same.
In the Forgotten City, a golden mole swam under the surface of the sand, listening for prey. In through a ruined window it surfed and across an indoor dune, then out of a doorway where no door had hung for millennia. Unaware of its approach, the desert cricket began its dry, scraping song. The mole surged and the night was quiet again, while the constellations continued their slow swirl across the sky.
Cam stirred. It was having a dream. As it lay with its cheek pressed against the ground it heard irregular thrumming, as if the earth had become an orchestra of drums, all played with muffled sticks. In its sleep it thought to itself, How interesting. The symbolism of the drum suggests the heartbeat of the World and yet I can definitely hear many beats, which might mean many Worlds…
The wind began to whisper. It sounded just like two
people talking. It could almost hear the words.
‘What if they’re bait? What if it’s a trap?’
‘They’ve never tagged their own before.’
‘Maybe they stole the clothes and the high-caste gear. Maybe they’re honest Tagged.’
‘Can we take that chance? I say kill them now, before the Checkers arrive.’
‘So you do think they’re trying to escape –’
‘Quiet!’
What does it mean? Cam wondered. What a wonderfully puzzling dream!
Then, all of a sudden, it woke to the feel of a cold blade against its throat.
‘Move,’ said a voice conversationally. ‘Or make a sound. Either suits me. Then I can kill you.’
50
The Deserted
Cam froze. In the dying firelight it couldn’t see more of the speaker than a black shape. Then a last bit of wood caught and flared – and Cam saw eyes glittering in the depths of a desert man’s hood.
‘What, no inadvisable screaming or attempts to overpower me and escape?’ The voice sounded disappointed, then perked up. ‘Never mind, the night is young.’
What sounded like an animal, but probably wasn’t, called softly.
‘Come on, then.’ He pulled Cam up, spun it neatly and tied its wrists behind its back. ‘Join your friends.’
As Cam began to stumble forward, someone coaxed the fire back into life. By its light, it saw Bryn and Madlen, bleary-eyed and bound like itself, standing uncertainly. And surrounding them, at the edge of the light, how many desert people? Half a dozen? Twenty? Whenever it focused on one of the hooded figures, they seemed to melt back into the dark, or shifted to another part of the shadows.
‘So. What’s the catch this fine night? What have we come upon, so far from all those cosy Holder cliffs and palaces? Here’s a picnic gone wrong, don’t you think?!’
Whoever was speaking was circling them in the dark, like hyenas circling a wounded animal, alert for the weakness that will win the battle for them. Cam tried to follow the voice, straining its eyes, turning round and slipping in the fine sand, until it realized it was being played with. Then it just stood, head up, and waited.
‘A high-caste emergent. With a tag. A high-caste woman. With a tag. And a high-caste youth – sands, you can’t be long out of emergence, eh? – with a tag.’
Cam winced at each ‘tag’, a reaction that did not go unnoticed.
‘What’s the matter, little one? Embarrassed because your loved ones put you up for tagging? Well, don’t worry. Embarrassment isn’t life-threatening. Neither is humiliation. Or shame. You can trust us on that.’
‘They’ve got nice clothes, Dair. Can we kill them now?’ It was Cam’s captor speaking.
‘What, before we’ve asked them if they mind?’ The voice that came from the other side of the fire was a woman’s and sounded weary. ‘That wouldn’t be very polite, would it, Vath.’
‘Oops,’ said Vath cheerfully. ‘Silly me. Do you mind? See? They don’t mind. Now can we kill them?’
The man he’d called Dair sighed. ‘This isn’t the Area, Vath. Nobody kills anybody until Ur clears it. You may be a newbie, but I suggest you learn the rules. And shut up till you have.’
He turned back into the darkness. Someone else had arrived and a low conversation passed between them. Then, with an abrupt movement, he threw back his hood.
‘It’s all right, they’re alone,’ he said. ‘Ailm’s done a full scout. We’ll eat, assuming our friends here had the sense to pack provisions, and then we move out. Keep them close meantime.’
There was some subdued bustle which ended in a meal that smelled… not bad. One of the men brought some for them.
‘Eat,’ he said, not unkindly.
‘I’m not –’ Madlen began, but Bryn nudged her sharply.
The man nodded in approval.
‘Never say no to food, Lady,’ he said. ‘You’d know that if you’d ever gone without.’
He made her feel ashamed, without quite knowing why, and she did as she was told.
Cam ate on automatic, all its attention on the troop around them. It tried to hear their soft conversations and learn their faces. Something was niggling at the back of its brain, something it couldn’t quite place – and then it could, so suddenly it jumped.
‘What’s the matter, little high-caste? Something bite you?’ It was obvious the troop had been studying them just as keenly.
‘That’s it – your names!’ said Cam. ‘You’re named after trees!’
Madlen and Bryn stared blankly. This obviously took the desert people by surprise as well.
‘Fancy the child knowing the old names for trees!’ exclaimed one.
‘But why?’ Cam insisted.
‘Well, see, we do it because irony is highly valued among us lot –’ began a man.
‘That’s cause it’s cheap!’ interrupted another.
An older woman spoke across the laughter.
‘We name ourselves after symbols of hope,’ she said firmly.
Cam scrambled to its feet, excited.
‘Then I have to tell you – there’s been a dream about you! My – the Lady Holder dreamed it. A dream about…’ Its voice trailed off into silence.
The desert people had turned away.
‘We’ve no interest in Holder dreams,’ someone said with scorn.
Cam sank slowly back down on to the sand.
Then, in the silence, somebody else asked a question.
‘Why did you come out here, child? What did you think you were running to?’
It was, at best, a neutral voice, but it sounded to Cam at that moment almost like kindness. So it gathered up its courage and began to tell them the story of the Quest. It told it well, but Madlen and Bryn, watching anxiously, couldn’t tell how Dair’s troop was reacting. Their faces were hidden in their hoods, or shadowed in the dim light. One thing was clear, though. The three were in their hands. The desert people could be invaluable allies in their search for the final Object of Power. Or they could just as easily slit their throats.
But, in the end, the gulf between one end of the caste system and the other was too great for their captors to feel any common cause across it. Cam was too obviously not one of theirs, and neither were its concerns.
If the big picture had got crooked, it was somebody else’s job to straighten it.
‘Now see the troubles you get into when you get ideas outside your place,’ a voice jeered.
There was some grim laughter.
‘You’d have thought messing up one World would be enough for ‘em.’
‘What do you think we can do about it, child – we’ve got nothing!’
‘What about the Corym, high-caste? Isn’t that mythic enough for you?’
‘Yeah – take ‘em a dream apple – you’ll have no trouble getting one. The Lady Holder’ll be glad to share – just ask!’
All around them, mocking voices in the dark. Cam’s head hung down. Madlen and Bryn were afraid it was crying, but before they could move to comfort it, it looked up.
Its face was deathly pale, but it was in control. It had been listening, and thinking hard, not weeping.
‘It’s not the Corym,’ it said quietly. ‘If it were, I would know. That much is clear to me. It’s just that…’
‘It’s just that what?’ someone prompted.
Suddenly Cam looked intensely young, and lost.
‘It’s just that nothing else is.’
And the tide of sympathy might have turned in the Questors’ favour – but at that moment the lookout hooted from the City’s edge and the focus of attention moved back to the realities of the known World.
‘Time we were gone,’ said Dair.
As the troop began to move about in the darkness, organized and virtually silent, Bryn turned to the woman guarding them.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
But before she could respond, Dair began to call out his orders in a soft voice.
&n
bsp; ‘Ailm, get their tags off and keep back as many as you need for a trap. We’ll let Vath exercise his blood-lust a bit, eh? Suil, Nuin and Onn, you take the high-castes. I want to get them to Ur by dawn. Coll, you bring the sonks on after. Let’s go.’
‘Stick out your wrists,’ said the woman, producing a fearsome tool, half-blade, half-pincers, from somewhere in her robe. ‘This’ll hurt.’
It did.
Once cut, she simply dropped the tags into a heap on the sand.
‘Checker bait,’ she said, and spat. ‘Come on.’
They followed her down an empty street and around the corner of a wall – and suddenly there was an overwhelmingly musky smell, deep grunting sounds and a sense of big bodies in the dark. The woman lit a small hand torch and they could see eyes glinting. Lots of eyes.
‘Ever ridden a camelion before?’ she asked casually.
‘I’ll take that one,’ said a man, pointing at Madlen. He then reached across and untied the nearest camelion. The thing snarled and swung its head round with terrifying speed. Madlen gasped at the sight of fangs glittering in the moonlight – but before the creature could rip the man’s face off, he had kicked it viciously, grabbed an ear and swung himself out of reach on to its back.
Madlen tried to back away.
‘I can’t do that!’ she squawked.
But the woman pushed her forward.
‘Forget it. If Onn can stop showing off for a second, you’ll find he’s quite in control. You just have to climb up and hold on. Nothing fancy.’
Madlen could see now that there was some sort of rein and bit system on the creature. Taking a shaky breath, she took a step closer.
At the last minute, Onn loosened his grip a fraction and the camelion instantly tried to get to her. Just before its teeth could connect, he reined sharply back again and leered down into her horrified face.