by Ian Whates
The boy felt a jolt of excitement at hearing the barge was already there waiting for them, waiting for him, and it was all he could do not to run down the track to see it.
"Tom?"
He was checked by a woman's voice calling from the direction of the city, a voice which sounded oddly familiar. He turned to look back and saw two figures approaching. One he recognised as Thomas, recently installed on the Council of masters, the highest rung of Thaiburley's government. The other wore the green of a Thaistess, the representatives in the city of the goddess Thaiss, or so it was claimed. Tom had little faith in such things for all that his feelings towards the Thaistesses had softened following recent events. When he thought to look beyond the robes at the woman who wore them, Tom suddenly realised that he did know her.
"Mildra!" Here was the young Thaistess who had tended him in the aftermath of his hard-fought battle against one of the Dog Master's creatures.
She laughed, reminding him how young she was to be wearing the green of a full priestess and how patient and kind she had been in the face of his surliness and suspicion. "Is that a smile, Tom? Don't tell me you're actually pleased to see me, a Thaistess." Her grin robbed the words of any sting.
He looked down, sheepishly. "Sorry about last time, and right now I'm happy to see any familiar face." He said the words quietly, so that the prime master and Dewar, who were conversing with Thomas close by, wouldn't hear.
"Oh dear."
She didn't say it in a way that suggested he was being unreasonable or childish, or in any sense selfish. So the feeling that he was must have been wholly of his own making.
The young Thaistess positioned herself deliberately so that her back was towards the small knot of other people, standing between Tom and them as if to emphasise that this conversation was private. "Sometimes, when there are things that need to be done, it's easy to lose sight of the cost for those involved, of how difficult the things we expect from a particular person might be."
He understood what she meant. "I know the prime master means well and that he has the whole of Thaiburley to worry about, but…"
"But you don't really want to go on this journey."
"No." This was the first time he had admitted as much to anybody, and the word emerged as a whisper.
Mildra took a deep breath and then said, "Let me talk to him. It doesn't matter how important he deems this to be, he can't ride roughshod over your feelings and your needs like this. Not after everything you've already done for the city. We haven't actually set out as yet so it isn't too late to call the whole trip off. Leave this to me." She went to move away, towards the prime master and the others.
"Do you think it is? Important, I mean," he said quickly, stopping her.
The girl hesitated, before saying, "I won't lie to you, Tom; yes, I rather suspect it is."
"Wait a minute," the rest of what Mildra had said penetrated his thoughts, "did you say we?" He suddenly noted the bag she was carrying, a rucksack as green as her robe so that it tended to blend in with her clothing.
"Yes," and her grin was as broad as the Thair, "I was intending to go with you. Didn't anyone mention that?"
"No… no they didn't."
"Well, since you were going in search of the goddess Thaiss, the very heart of everything we teach and believe in, it seemed only natural that a Thaistess should accompany you. And as the youngest and, perhaps – how can I put this? – most flexibly-minded of my sisterhood, I was chosen."
"Oh." Tom found himself smiling. He didn't really know Mildra well, but she had shown herself to be a warm and generous person and had helped him when he'd most needed help. At some instinctive level he both trusted and liked her, despite her being a Thaistess. All of a sudden, knowing that she was going to be there as well, the trip didn't seem nearly so daunting. And there was still the lure of going on a barge…
"Mildra," he blurted out, before he could change his mind, "please don't say anything. Forget my moaning. If this journey really is that important, and if you're willing to go all that way, then I guess I am too."
She stared at him for a silent second, before asking, "Are you sure about this?"
He looked her unblinkingly in the eye. "Yes."
"Right," said the prime master, coming over to join them, "are we all ready then?"
"Ready," Tom replied, and was surprised to discover that he meant it.
The prime master watched with troubled heart as the small party disappeared towards the Thair and the waiting barge. There was so much at stake here, and he had just gambled with four people's lives despite having no real idea of the dangers confronting them. He felt himself to be a man involved in a game of chance in which the other players could see his hand while he remained blind to theirs and didn't even fully grasp the rules.
Evidently, he wasn't the only one with reservations. "Are you sure this is wise?" Thomas asked from beside him.
He raised his eyebrows. "Ah, Thomas, now there's a question."
"I suppose you're going to tell me that wisdom is grossly overrated."
"No, far from it. Wisdom is deserving of the greatest respect and is something we're in the habit of dismissing far too readily. It's merely my capacity for wisdom that I would question. Is this wise? Sending an ill-matched quartet quietly off into the unknown, without fuss or fanfare, without military escort or any of the Blade to watch over them?" He shook his head. "I really don't know."
"Then why are you doing this?" The young master's
frustration, his desire to understand, was apparent in every syllable. The prime master could still remember when he'd been that eager, in those long ago days before the weight of responsibility had taught him the value of hesitancy.
"To protect him, Thomas, to remove him from harm's way." Both knew he was referring to the younger master's namesake, the former street-nick Tom.
Thomas shook his head, clearly exasperated. "With all due respect, that doesn't make any sense. By sending him outside the city aren't you doing exactly the opposite: placing the lad beyond our capacity to protect him?"
"Perhaps," the prime master acknowledged.
He hesitated, wondering how much he dared share with Thomas. When all was said and done this was his burden, yet it made sense for someone else to know of his suspicions. Well-established layers of bureaucracy ensured the day to day running of this vast metropolis, yet ultimately the responsibility for everything that went on in Thaiburley fell on the shoulders of just a dozen people – the Council of Masters. Inevitably, all twelve were forever short of time and overstretched; it seemed unfair to trouble any of his established colleagues with his concerns, but Thomas was still finding his way and was not yet inundated with the demands of government which would swamp his attention soon enough. If the prime master were going to talk to anyone, he could do a lot worse than trust this astute and keen young man.
"You're right, of course," he said, "this is something of a gamble; but, I fear, a necessary one. If you examine all that happened in the City Below of late and look beyond the subversion of the street-nick gangs, you'll see that much of what went on was aimed at Tom, designed to either capture or kill him."
"But surely that's been dealt with and those responsible either captured or killed."
"It would seem so, and yet…" This was the moment; did he dare risk saying more? He took a deep breath and continued. "I'm not convinced we caught or even identified everyone involved. My fear is that the real mastermind managed to elude us and is still at large in the city somewhere."
The younger man studied him. "That's an unpleasant enough notion, but there's more, isn't there? Otherwise why not keep the lad safe in the Heights and assign a squad of the Blade to guard him? Whatever the threat is, it seems confined to the City Below."
The prime master smiled. The assembly members had enjoyed a particularly good day when they nominated Thomas as candidate for the Council of Masters. There was no doubting the sharpness of the young man's mind. "Yes, there's more.
Something is wrong, Thomas, fundamentally wrong. How else could a monster like Magnus arise and come within fingertips of reaching the rank of master?"
"And you think that the lad is capable of righting whatever's wrong, and that this expedition is the way to do so?"
"That's my hope, yes. Perhaps not solve everything, but at least show us where the real problem lies." The prime master shook his head. "So much was lost to us during the war. The city's data stores ravaged, much of the history and knowledge our ancestors took for granted gone forever… But there's something at the source of the Thair. The Thaistesses would have us believe that this is where their goddess lives. I'm not convinced that's literally true, but it might very well be symbolic of a deeper truth. Whatever is there is connected to the very core of all that Thaiburley is. Where better to seek answers? If this doesn't work, I'm not sure where else we can turn to, what more we can do.
"I don't believe an army could achieve this, nor the Blade in all their might, but between the four individuals in that little group there are some remarkable talents. I dare hope these might prove enough."
An awkward pause followed, while both men pondered their own thoughts. Then the prime master asked abruptly, "Do you believe in the goddess Thaiss, Thomas?"
Thomas blinked, clearly nonplussed, and he studied the older man, as if trying to decide whether or not the question was meant seriously.
"I only ask because if you do, even to a small extent, might I suggest you pray to her? Only I've a feeling that we and our four departing friends are likely to need all the help we can get during the days ahead."
Thomas went to answer but clearly thought better of it. Instead he simply turned to gaze at the broad ribbon of the Thair, its shifting waters sparkling in the sun, keeping his thoughts to himself.
THREE
The customer, Sander, took the small crystal phial gingerly, as if afraid it might sting him; though in truth it already had, financially at least. He had come to the apothaker in the past for the odd preparation, but none of them as significant as this. He really was a sorry excuse for a man, she reflected. Seemingly old beyond his years; spindly thin, tall and slightly stooped, with an unfortunately sombre expression which suggested he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders rather than merely the administrative concerns of a middling import business. He smelt of camphor and his complexion didn't do him any favours, either. Sallow cheeks were marred by a number of unsightly indentations, akin to stud marks, the legacy of a childhood illness. Doubtless they were barely noticeable in the full glare of the sun globes, but here and now in the apothaker's home the fickle illumination from candle and lantern conspired to highlight the pock marks so that they took on the semblance of mini craters; it was impossible not to stare at them. The old woman had to consciously avert her gaze, forcing herself to focus only on his eyes.
The man turned the small bottle slowly between his thumb and the tip of his forefinger, as if to examine the contents by the lantern's glow.
"And you're sure this will work?"
The woman smiled thinly. She had expected something of the sort: a plea for reassurance. But she wasn't in the mood, so offered harsh reality instead. "As sure as I can be."
He looked up sharply, offence manifest in his scowl. "But you said…"
"Sur Sander, nothing in life is entirely certain, as you well know. You accept a shipment from a supplier who has been sending you such packages for years, a man you know to be reliable, but you open it up to discover that on this one occasion the contents have turned rotten. This can happen, yes?" The man nodded reluctantly. "In that phial is a potion mixed of proven ingredients and instilled with the correct essence, a formula I know has worked on countless previous occasions and so should work again, but nothing can be guaranteed. If the girl you intend this for already despises you, then there is no power in the world that will transform her feelings into love. The potion might soften her heart a little but the rest would be down to your own endeavours. If, on the other hand, she is merely indifferent to you or better still is already disposed to liking you, there is no reason why true affection shouldn't take root in her heart and blossom."
He looked worried now. "She does like me, I'm sure of it," he muttered, sounding anything but.
"Well, there you are then. If that's the case, you have nothing to be concerned about."
He flashed her a fragile smile, looking far from reassured. The old woman stood, anxious to bring an end to the meeting, and proceeded to usher him towards the door. Her face bore a confident expression which disappeared the instant he was gone. She returned to slump into her familiar chair at the small table that dominated one end of the room, suddenly feeling her age. It didn't matter whether she was in the City Above or the City Below, men remained the same: malleable, insecure, and more inclined to listen to their hormones than their brains.
In her youth, in far finer surroundings than this, her looks and well-proportioned figure had proved formidable advantages; weapons which few men could resist for long. And she so enjoyed their capitulation. Now, since the scandal that had brought about her dramatic downfall and banishment to the under-City – not to mention the fading of her looks with the passage of unkind years – she had to rely on her wits and on other talents, while being forced to live out whatever time remained to her down here in the stinking bowels of the city.
The curtain at her back moved and Kara entered, to walk past and sit in the chair facing her.
"He's gone then?"
"Yes."
"Wretched, pathetic man; he makes my flesh crawl. The way he looked at me that first time…" She gave a melodramatic shiver. "I hate the fact that we have to deal with the likes of him."
The old woman laughed briefly and bitterly. "I wouldn't worry. I doubt the young girl whose head he's so desperate to turn feels much different. Most likely the potion, for all the essence you poured into it, will only make her pity him at best."
Kara was still young, tact a skill she had yet to master, which was why the apothaker took great care over which clients she presented the girl to. When dealing with Sander, she tried to keep Kara well out of sight.
The old woman first encountered Kara sitting on a stool at a street corner, selling freshly baked cakes and pastries made by her mother. Not yet a teen, she was already strikingly pretty despite being filthy and near-emaciated. High cheek bones, sparkling eyes, and a tumble of auburn hair transcended the outer coating of grime, but that wasn't what caught the apothaker's attention. She sensed in this young waif an inner fire, a talent not unlike her own but fiercer and stronger, far stronger. It seemed a tragedy that such a girl was destined to end up running with a street gang and embroiled in petty crime, or, more likely, whoring, as happened to so many in the City Below where there were far more people than there would ever be decent jobs, or even half-decent ones.
Following some extended bartering with the girl's mother – an old shrew with a keen eye for a profit – the apothaker secured the girl's services as her apprentice. In effect, she bought her. Yet she never once begrudged doing so, considering every coin to have been well spent. The girl was a revelation, her raw talent beyond anything the apothaker had seen before.
Kara rarely mentioned her father and when she did it was generally to the effect that he was drunk much of the time. These comments were invariably expressed in such an uncomfortable manner that the old woman suspected the man had abused her in some way.
With great patience she began to tutor her young protégée, teaching her to harness her emerging talent. Kara proved to be a willing pupil and took to the disciplines as if born to them, so that she was soon able to draw out the potential of distillations, powders and elixirs far more effectively than the woman herself could ever have done.
They had been together now for nearly two years, during which time the girl had entered her teens. Clearly destined to be a great beauty, she was already drawing attention from men who ought to have known better and boys who had y
et to learn to. With the onset of puberty her abilities blossomed and their partnership went from strength to strength; the old apothaker with her knowledge of chemistry and scientific process, brought with her from the City Above, the girl with her raw talent to manipulate and set potentials. The old woman's flickering abilities helped to guide the younger's burgeoning skills.
In addition, Kara loved her stories, loved to hear all she could of life in the City Above. If the old apothaker's experiences had been predominantly mundane in the living, they grew to be so much more than that in the telling. To a young girl condemned to live out her life in the slums of the City Below, these tales provided treasured glimpses of a magic kingdom forever beyond her reach, and she lapped up every syllable.