City of Stone and Silence
Page 29
“Perfect.” I find myself looking at Shiara with new respect. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by not screwing this up,” she says.
I nod. She steps out, strategically loosening her robe a bit to show more of the sheer garment underneath, and runs toward the door. I hear Toshoda bark a challenge.
“I saw something awful!” Shiara says, a touch of simper entering her voice. “One of those monsters, on the stairs!”
“Here?” Toshoda says. “Impossible.”
“It was there!”
He goes with her, of course. If he’d been any guard of mine I would have reprimanded him for not asking questions like “what are you doing up in the middle of the night?” and “why didn’t you sound the alarm?” but I got the impression that his duties in the Cresos stronghold were more ceremonial than real. I hide in the shadows of the doorway as the two of them hurry past, Toshoda carrying a lantern, Shiara walking closer to his side than strictly necessary. She knows her business, that’s for certain.
When their footsteps fade, I creep out and pad to Catoria’s room. There’s no light leaking under the curtain, so I draw it carefully aside. Like the rest of the ziggurat, some effort has been made to make the chamber look like a proper Imperial bedroom, with a low table and a sleeping mat atop woven floor panels. Nothing can really disguise the fact that we’re inside a giant stone step-pyramid and not an airy, wooden-walled manor, though. By the faint light from the hall, I make out Catoria’s shape, a lump under the thin sheet.
I’m quiet, but apparently not quiet enough. When I’m halfway across the room, she sits up suddenly, long hair unbound and falling around her face. She’s almost invisible in the shadow, only two pinpricks of reflected light showing her eyes. I hear her draw a breath.
“Who’s there?” she says. But she says it quietly, which makes me think she’s already guessed.
“Isoka,” I say. “Please don’t scream.”
“Oh.” Her voice is small. “Are you here to kill me?”
“Nothing like that, I swear by the Blessed One. I just want to talk.”
“I was going to say that if you were here to kill me, I probably would scream, regardless.” She shuffles the sheet aside. “Do you mind if I light the lamp?”
“Go ahead.”
A fat spark of Myrkai fire jumps from Catoria’s finger, and the lamp brightens, illuminating the room with a wan glow. Catoria gets to her feet and holds it up to see me better.
“So you’re not here to kill me,” Catoria says. “If you’re willing to risk breaking in here, why not go straight to the access point? That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“I considered it,” I admit. “But I figured you would have people on watch, and I don’t want to kill anyone if I can help it.”
“I thought I had people on watch outside my room,” Catoria says. “But I take your point. You took an awful risk, though, just to talk. I thought we went over things this afternoon.”
“I would rather your uncle not be involved.”
“My uncle doesn’t make the decisions,” Catoria says, steel in her voice. “I do. If you think that I will change my mind just because he’s not here—”
“It’s not that.” I take a deep breath. “I have to show you something.”
Catoria arches her eyebrows.
“I spoke with Gragant,” I say, crossing the room to stand in front of her. “And Shiara. I know … how you feel about Silvoa.”
“I very much doubt that,” Catoria says. “Silvoa betrayed me, and she died. There’s little else to say about it now.”
“I don’t think she betrayed you,” I say. “And…”
“Don’t tell me she isn’t dead,” Catoria says. Her voice is thick. “Prime sent us her head.”
Rotting scumsucker. I grimace. “She’s dead. But she … was … an Eddica adept, and so is Prime. Silvoa’s … still here.” I shake my head. “I know it sounds crazy.”
“It is crazy,” Catoria snaps. “Dead is dead. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“I said that, when I came aboard Soliton. But Eddica is the Well of Spirits, and I can’t deny that it has power.” I take a deep breath. “She wants to talk to you.”
Catoria’s expression hardens. “I believe I will scream after all.”
“Please. Just … give me a moment.” I dig in my pocket, and produce a jagged length of broken conduit.
Silvoa herself had promised me this would work. Eddica energy runs through the conduits, tying them to the Harbor system. That energy is … sticky, for lack of a better word. Break off a piece of conduit, and it remains part of the system, at least for a while, its connection slowly fading away. It should be enough.
Rot, I hope it’s enough.
There’s a shimmer in the air. Silvoa’s translucent form materializes, wavering like fog in a strong breeze. It’s blurrier than I would like, her face the vaguest smear of features. Her voice, when she speaks, comes as though from a great distance.
“Hurry, please,” she says. “This takes a lot of effort, and Prime will find me soon.” The figure glances around. “Catoria? Oh, spirits of the ice. You’ve grown.”
Catoria blinks. She’s looking at Silvoa, but her eyes are still narrowed. Eddica energy is harder to see for those who can’t touch the Well, and I don’t know if she can make out more than an outline. She gives no sign she’s heard the projection’s quiet words.
“She says you’ve grown,” I fill in.
“So only you can hear her?” Catoria says. “Very convenient.”
“You can see her, can’t you?”
“I see something. You’re an Eddica adept, too. I’m sure this is only a parlor trick for you.”
Actually, this kind of parlor trick is well beyond my capabilities, but I can’t convince her of that. I look at Silvoa, who pauses, thoughtfully.
“Tell her,” she says, “that I remember what Gragant said to me, the first time we met.”
I repeat this, and Catoria’s brow furrows. “And?” she says.
I listen. “He said, ‘Are you going to eat that?’”
Catoria’s lips twitch in a half-smile. “We were fighting a blueshell. It had nearly gotten the better of us before he joined in, and once it was dead we were all lying around on the deck gasping for breath. And he…” She shakes her head. “He told you that.”
“He didn’t,” I say, despairing. “Please. Ask something only Silvoa would know. We don’t have much time.”
“I…” Catoria turns away from me, hugging herself tightly, and she’s quiet for a long moment. Without turning, she says, “When did she and I first kiss?”
Silvoa looks down at her. Even in her blurred form, I can see her pain. When she answers, it’s barely audible.
“In this room,” I say. “The night before she died. Just before she promised you she wouldn’t go off on her own.” I swallow. “She says she’s sorry about that. So sorry. She thought—”
“I don’t care what she thought,” Catoria says, choking back a sob. “She promised me she would stay. That we would be together. And she left me.”
“I did,” Silvoa says. “I was certain Prime would listen to me. I was … not stupid. Hoping to talk instead of fight is never stupid. But maybe … not careful enough.”
“You sound like Meroe,” I say, with a slight smile.
“What is she saying?” Catoria says. “Is she—”
Without warning, Silvoa’s projection doubles over as though she’s been struck. There’s a grating burst of white noise, and then another voice, much louder. Prime.
“Dear girl,” he says. “You’ve been very naughty, I see. How unfortunate. You know what that means.”
And Silvoa screams, high and piercing. Catoria can hear this, and she claps her hands over her ears. I drop the conduit, and the projection vanishes, but the sound seems to linger, echoing through the room.
“That was … her.” Catoria stares at the twisted bit of metal on the floor, slowly lower
ing her hands.
“It was,” I say.
“And he … has her.” Her hands interlock, knuckles taut and white. “He’s hurting her.”
“She says that it’s … not as bad as it seems. Now that she doesn’t have a body.”
“Now that…” Catoria blinks, eyes swimming in tears. “Oh, Blessed.”
“We can help her,” I say. “You can help her. If we take over the Harbor system, she’ll be free.”
There’s a long silence.
Catoria looks up. Tears are running down her cheeks, but her eyes are fierce.
“What do you need?” she says.
19
TORI
The Black Flower is shut up tighter than the Imperial treasury.
Borad Thul’s pleasure palace has been turned into a fortress. Every window has been boarded up, and the main doors are firmly closed and barred. The hordes of eager pleasure-seekers are gone, and no sound of music and merriment comes from inside. Lights burn in a few upper windows in the main building.
“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Hasaka says.
“Tori knows what she’s doing,” Garo says, with a glance at me. I try to hold a confident expression.
Tori hopes like Rot she knows what she’s doing. The anger inside me flickers for a moment, threatened by fear. But I only have to think about the Immortal captain in irons, that defiant smile, to rekindle my rage.
“Do it,” I snap.
Jakibsa, standing beside us in the street, raises his mangled hands like he’s about to conduct a symphony. Blue light shimmers around the big doors. For a moment, wood and iron are pitted against raw magical force. Then the doors slam open, the bar shattering in a spray of splinters.
Behind it are a trio of guards with crossbows. Jakibsa snatches the weapons from their hands before they can fire. When the thugs go for their swords, Garo steps forward, igniting his Melos gauntlets. Their eerie light outlines the scene in flickering green.
“Who in the Rot are you?” one of the guards manages to croak.
“I’m here on behalf of the people of the Eleventh and Sixteenth,” Garo says. “We’d like to talk to Borad Thul, please. Would you go and fetch him?”
Two guards look at the third, who nods and hurries back into the complex. One of the others follows. The last, standing in the ruined doorway, looks around at us and sneers.
“You’re going to regret this,” he says. “Thul doesn’t forget an insult.”
“Let’s hope we get the chance to make it up to him,” I say, with admirable calm.
It’s not long before the flunky returns, frowning. “Master Thul will see you two,” he says, pointing to me and Garo. “The rest of you will wait.”
“That will serve,” I say, before Garo can object. I glance at Hasaka. “If we don’t come back, you know what to do.”
He swallows and nods. Garo dismisses his Melos gauntlets, and the dark-suited guards escort us inside. The halls of the Black Flower are quiet now, no pretty young men or willowy girls hanging around looking elegant, and no customers to ogle them. The guards hustle us up the stairs, down the hall past darkened doorways, and across to Thul’s office with the horned whale on the door.
Inside, Thul is waiting where I’d first seen him, iceling-blond hair shining in the lamplight. Unlike that first encounter, a pair of guards wait behind him, not the liveried thugs from downstairs but leather-armored mercenaries. They watch closely with carefully bored expressions. Thul himself affects nonchalance, but my Kindre senses are open and I can feel his unease.
“Miss Gelmei,” he says. “Surprised to see you here.”
I stare at him, this narrow-eyed, venal man, and try to contain my anger. Everything that has happened—the raid, Grandma’s death, and Kosura’s torture—is, in some sense, his fault. The only thing that keeps my rage at a slow burn instead of a white heat is the knowledge that, if fault is being assigned, a lot of it is mine. I piled the kindling in the stove. Thul just struck the match.
Still. I run the edge of my power across his unsuspecting mind, and he shivers as though from a draft. You had better tell me what I want to know.
Monster, goes the chant in the back of my head. Monster, monster, monster. But it’s getting easier to ignore.
I take a deep breath. “You seem to be lying low, Master Thul. Business not going so well?”
He shrugs. “Wise man takes shelter during a blizzard, Nan always said. Mobs don’t make for good customers. And when the guards move back in, heads are apt to get broken. Better to stay quiet.”
“Very wise. I can imagine this must be difficult for you.”
“I’ve survived before. Will again.” He frowns. “What I can’t figure is why you would come back here.” He glances at Garo and sneers. “Thought you lot had a revolution to run.”
“We do,” Garo says. “And we need your help.”
“There are ways around the walls,” I say. “I know there are. Tunnels, secret exits. For aristos who can’t be bothered to get home from places like this before the gates shut. To move people between wards without the guards noticing. We want them.”
I watch his mind. There’s no guilt there. Suspicion, satisfaction. His sneer turns into a grin.
“Even if that were true,” he drawls, “why in the Rot would I give you something like that? To put my head on a spike next to yours?” He barks a laugh. “Your sister understood how things work in the Sixteenth. We keep order, take our profits, and as long as the Guard get their cut nobody looks too closely. The wheel keeps turning, and we all get our share. But how long do you think they’d turn a blind eye if I helped a bunch of rebels?”
“If you don’t help,” I say, as calmly as I can, “those rebels might start to wonder which side you’re on. There’s no guards between the mob and your doors.”
Rage rises in his mind, and his voice goes harsh. “Don’t you rotting threaten me, you little whore.” I feel an answering anger in Garo, and put a restraining hand on his shoulder. The two mercenaries tense, and Thul laughs again. “Oh, go ahead. Try it, noble boy. You know your girlfriend here is the scrapings of the gutter, don’t you?”
“I know everything I need to know about her,” Garo grates.
“As for your mob, they don’t frighten me. I have friends in this district. Deep roots. People know this will pass, and when it does I’ll still be here.” He spreads his hands.
“Ordinarily, I think you’d probably be right,” I say. My heart is pounding, but I affect disinterest. “But we took a prisoner after we stormed the Immortal safe house in the Eleventh Ward, and she had some interesting things to say.”
I feel his emotions flare, crimson anger shading into ugly, yellow-green anxiety. Gotcha.
His expression remains dismissive. “So?”
“So she told me what prompted the raid on Grandma Tadeka’s hospital.” I lean forward. “It was a tip that you provided. A report of our conversation.”
This is a lie, sort of. Without breaking her mind wide open, I couldn’t extract that information from the stubborn Immortal captain. But I’d had a hunch, and when I’d questioned her about it the truth had been clear in her emotions. I have no idea why Kuon Naga and his Immortals are interested in me, but they came looking, and they did it after Thul passed along that I was trying to find out about Isoka’s disappearance.
“They were offering good coin for information about you,” Thul says. An edge of worry creeps into his voice. “I didn’t know what they’d do.”
“I’m sure you thought they were only going to protect me,” I snarl.
“Business is business, girl. Your sister—”
“Shut up about my sister,” I snap. “And I very much doubt the people of the Eleventh Ward will see it as business. I don’t know how many friends you have, how many roots, but I’m willing to bet that Grandma Tadeka had more. If I bring our captive out to tell what she knows, this filthy place will be burning down around your ears before you can rotting blink.”
“You want to tell your thugs here to get rough,” I say. “Before you do that, you should know that my friends outside are very clear on what needs to happen if we don’t come out of here. It’ll be spears and torches at your doorway by sundown.”
“You…” Thul growls. “You little…”
“I suggest,” Garo says, “that you watch your tongue.”
* * *
The tunnel is narrow, and stinks of shit.
It’s one thing to know, intellectually, that Kahnzoka boasts a large and intricate sewer system. A dozen small streams that once ran down the hillside have been captured, diverted into cisterns to provide drinking water, while their beds were hidden under bricks and earth. Waste washes down the hill in a disgusting tide, spewing into the ocean from hidden outflow pipes. The system is hundreds of years old, steadily patched, expanded, and repaired under a long succession of emperors, although I doubt any emperor ever devoted much personal attention to the problem.
Thul, or his predecessors, obviously had. Or, at least, to a related idea: if ancient rivers and human waste could pass unnoticed under the ward walls, why couldn’t people?
Many of the secret ways he’d grudgingly surrendered had been cleaner than this one, since aristos returning home from a late night of rutting and smoke were hardly likely to want to trudge through a sewer. But this forgotten tunnel offers something none of the others do—not just a way to circumvent the wall, but passage into the gatehouse itself. The Ward Guard, it seems, aren’t above illicit comforts.
I try to breathe shallowly, sticking close to Garo’s back. I do my best not to think about what’s coming.
We’d had a serious argument as to whether I should be here at all. I’m not a fighter. As far as he knows, I’m not even mage-born. This isn’t like the march on the Immortal safe house, where we’d hoped to convince them to surrender. Garo and the others are going down into the tunnel, and when they come out, people are going to die.