The Secret City

by Brian K. Lowe

  We stopped without warning and turned into a nondescript dwelling. I assumed it was Gaz Bronn’s house, although for the life of me I could not tell how he distinguished it from its neighbors. Nor was it the kind of home I would expect for a high-ranking official; it was a single story, dun-brown, and lumpy.

  Inside a further surprise awaited: the house was practically empty! As near as I could tell, it was roughly circular, with a central core from which walls seemed to sprout irregularly to create pie-shaped rooms. Of doors there were none; only curtains. I supposed that with the constant temperature, insulation was a complete non-necessity. The windows were small, perhaps reflecting the reality that there was not a great deal to see outside. But the furniture was sparse and rough, and contrary to my experience with exalted households, there was no one else about, not family nor servants.

  All of this I took in during the few seconds Gaz Bronn required to cross the floor and place himself squarely before the central support which appeared to hold up the entire building. There was a whisper of mental activity, and a door silently slid open, revealing a chamber large enough to hold a half-dozen klurath. Gaz Bronn stepped inside without glancing back at me, and I scurried forward not to be left behind, scarcely ahead of the closing panel.

  There was a momentary but distinct feeling of weightlessness, and the door opened again. Gaz Bronn pushed past me into a world far removed from that which we had just quit.

  We had emerged into a wide vestibule, subtly lit but bright enough for me to see that it was immaculately clean and paneled in wood. How far had the klurath roamed, and what dangers had they braved, simply to supply this kind of decoration? Spiky plants with brilliant blooms, such as I would have expected in the deserts of my native California, lined the walls to either side. The first Thoran I had seen in the city approached Gaz Bronn immediately, bowing his head and offering a silver bowl beaded with condensation. Gaz Bronn lapped at the liquid inside for several seconds.

  “Show the slave his quarters,” he ordered when he had finished. “Then escort him to my office. And tell Daela Pram I wish to see him immediately.”

  The Thoran stood mute until Gaz Bronn had stalked away, his manner markedly different than that of the klurath who had walked with me on the surface. He was a creature of masks, like any man. I hoped that the mask he had shown me originally was his true face.

  I looked down at the Thoran, who in the typical fashion was much smaller than I. Although his face was still downcast, I had the distinct impression he was taking my measure.

  “Keryl Clee,” I said by way of introduction, and waited for his response. When it came, it was shockingly swift.

  He backhand-slapped me across the face.

  I had no time even to recoil. It was the fastest I had ever seen a Thoran move; they were not usually disposed toward violent physical action. My face stung as I stared at him; it did not hurt a great deal, but I had to admit it hurt more than I would have expected from a blow from a Thoran.

  “Speak when you’re spoken to,” he said in what I can only describe as a gravelly tone, withal that it was more than half telepathy. Even then he would not raise his eyes to meet mine. “I am Hargreen, the kinlama’s mainservant. You will keep your eyes down and walk behind me. If a klurath enters your path, you will stand aside, with your head down, until he passes by. If you disobey, the fault will be mine, and you will receive more discipline.” And his hand shot out once more.

  This time I had sensed his intent before he acted, and I seized his wrist before the blow landed. I twisted with the merest emphasis and he hissed in pain.

  “I said, my name is Keryl Clee. I am the kinlama’s new manservant. It is his prerogative to discipline me, not yours.” I was going out on a limb here in describing my post and my position, but I had seen Hargreen’s kind before, and unless I demonstrated at the outset my contempt for him—as well as my physical superiority—he could make life very difficult. I had a feeling that Gaz Bronn was going to bend whatever rules he could to allow me as much autonomy as he could, for both our purposes, and placing myself under the thumb of his slave overseer would not further that plan. “Now,” I continued, “the kinlama has given you orders. I will follow your instructions so long as they pertain to the running of the household, but if you try that again, he will need a new mainservant.”

  I let him go and after a tense moment he turned his back and strutted down the hall in what I doubted was an unconscious imitation of his master. I followed, cursing the fate that seemed bound and determined to keep making me an enemy to people I didn’t even know.

  Chapter 24

  To Serve and to Protect

  Contrary to what I had seen on what I now considered “the surface,” even though it was itself a huge underground cavern, Gaz Bronn’s living quarters were bright, clean, and decorated in a modern, minimalist fashion. The white walls of the long corridors were largely blank, owing, I supposed, to the fact that the klurath were not a visual people. But the colorful desert plants were found in plenty, a hazard to my navigation, since Hargreen insisted on walking as closely to the wall as he could press himself, as if he fancied he could become invisible or blend in. Other Thorans passed up and down the corridors in greater numbers, all with their heads bowed, but their obsequy seemed less pointed. At intervals, klurath would walk down the center of the hall, paying us no attention, and it was at these times that Hargreen made his greatest effort to push himself as thin as possible. I quickly learned to follow his example, or earn a malicious glare.

  I wondered what would happen if we met other Thorans walking toward us—who would be forced to risk censure by leaving his proper place next to the wall? But after a few moments’ observation I saw that all of the Thorans walking in our direction hugged the left wall, and all of those headed the other way hugged the opposite side. Only when we caught up with someone walking in the same direction was there a conflict, and each time the others would make way for us, apparently in deference to Hargreen’s rank. He seemed to take pleasure in forcing others to step as far into the hallway as possible, although never when a lizard-man was nearby. However much they deferred to him, though, I could invariably feel their eyes upon my back after we passed. This was not a vague apprehension, such as you might get when walking past a cemetery; I could telepathically feel their curiosity. What was it that made them wonder about me so?

  After a few minutes Hargreen lead me through an unmarked door into a short bare corridor, thence into the slave quarters. I was shown the essentials—a bed amongst a dozen others and directions to the kitchen—given no time to acclimate myself or meet anyone, and swept up again and taken back to the public areas. He kept up a smart pace; he was trying to confuse me, thinking I could not possibly remember the right anonymous door or the turns he was leading me through. With the unerring sense of a born toady, he knew that Gaz Bronn meant me for something greater than any new slave should enjoy, and he intended to remind me of his own authority in every way, and at every turn, that presented itself.

  Inwardly, I chuckled. I had two advantages of which he was unaware: first, I had been in the Army. To say that I had been dealing with his kind since before he was born would be an historic understatement. Second, I knew the Library tracked every step I took and could retrace them at my request. Once I found a way to speak to the Librarian, he would have no trouble supplying me a verbal map to any point we had been.

  In the end, the only person Hargreen ended up inconveniencing was himself, since by hurrying he kept catching up to slower-moving slaves and he had to wait while they removed themselves from his path. Occasionally I would catch one’s eye and wink. Once or twice I received a eyebrow twitch in reply—but always with that sense of wondering underlaid.

  Still, I smiled inside. Of such small exchanges are friendships built.

  Hargreen stopped so suddenly I almost ran into him, as he intended. Since I knew that was what he intended however, I kept my distance and my dignity. It was surprising how e
asily I could read him; were his mental shields so porous because he was so secure in his position as first among slaves that he did not even try, or was it commonplace among the klurath’s servants—perhaps even required? Gaz Bronn had already noted the efficacy of my own natural shielding… I had to believe that this ability had something to do with his plans for me. More than ever, I wondered what they were.

  Perhaps I was about to find out.

  Hargreen had halted before a wooden door, rare in these hallways where most portals barely contrasted with the walls in color or composition. Nor did this door open automatically upon our approach. There was no knob, but otherwise it resembled very much the doors we used in the 20th century. Here, in this time and place, I knew immediately that such a door was a sign of great prestige. Hargreen rapped smartly on the door three times, then stepped aside, lowering his head. He stole a furious glance at me when I failed to follow suit, but the door was opened from the inside before he could do more.

  The lizard-man inside the threshold took no notice of Hargreen, nor, apparently, or my lack of subservience. He stepped back, I entered, and he shut the door in Hargreen’s face. I could almost make out the mental gnashing of teeth even through the wood.

  Unlike the hallways I had seen, the walls here were covered with dozens, if not hundreds, of square panels in various softly-glowing colors, mostly reds, yellows, and pastel greens. Gaz Bronn was standing behind a desk at the far end of the room.

  “Keryl, come in.” He waved me forward, a human gesture. I wondered if the klurath had learned it from us. “This is Daela Pram,” he continued, nodding toward the fellow who had opened the door. “He is my main assistant. He knows who you are; I have no secrets from him.”

  Daela Pram gave me nothing more than a short nod of acknowledgement, but since he did not seem to expect me to bow and scrape, I accepted what I could get. I was in no position to demand anything. In fact, I was unsure exactly what my position was.

  “From this moment on, you’re my bodyguard,” Gaz Bronn announced. “People will notice, but the ones who count already know I know. Ironically, the fact that I’m using a slave as my bodyguard will make them think I’m not taking them seriously.”

  “You’re not taking them seriously.” The passion in Daela Pram’s words spoke well of his employer. “Today’s assassination attempt was in secret; they just wanted you to disappear. Without you, there would be no one standing between them and Fale Teevat; the peace faction would be finished. But the closer the inlama comes to making a decision, the more desperate they are to keep you out of it.”

  “They’re not going to attack me in the street, Daela Pram.”

  “Then what do you need me for?” I broke in.

  Daela Pram waved a claw in my direction. “See? Even the human agrees with me!”

  I grimaced but let the remark go by. I had not missed Gaz Bronn’s use of “slave” a moment ago. He might have meant it as a term of art, but I could sense his underlying belief in its truth. I should not fool myself that we were friends, not yet. Three thousand years of conditioning were not undone so swiftly.

  Gaz Bronn did not pursue the matter. He waved toward a cabinet. “Keryl, your weapons are in there. Put them on. From now on, you follow me everywhere I go, unless I’m in conference with Fale Teevat, the inlama. He has his own personal guard, and no one else is allowed to be armed in his presence. I’m still not convinced the war party would try to assassinate me in public, but as you’ve seen, there are a lot of dark alleys up on the surface, and I can’t do my job from down here.”

  In the middle of retrieving my staff and my sidearm, t took me a moment to realize that by “surface,” he meant the cavern above. I had thought that his people must have abandoned it for the modern subterranean levels such as this one, but plainly I had much to learn about klurath society. It did explain why he thought he needed me. Klurath had keen senses, but eyesight was not among them. My vision would give any would-be assassin a lot to think about.

  I opened the cylinder on my Webley and checked the chambers. The gun was still loaded, and I snapped the cylinder back.

  “What is that?” Daela Pram asked.

  I held it out so they could see it. Daela Pram reached as if to take it from me, but I pulled it back. He stared at me, and I could feel the affront in his thoughts, but given my prior experience with Thorans, I was not about to assume that klurath knew how to handle a gun.

  “It’s called a pistol. It fires a lead bullet from this opening here at high speed. It’s very dangerous in the hands of a trained man, and even more dangerous in the hands of an amateur.” I was afraid my blunt attitude would not sit well with him, but I was unprepared for the reaction I got.

  Both klurath actually shrank back, their minds broadcasting a mélange of disgust, repudiation, and utter horror.

  “Gods, Keryl, put that down! Now!” Gaz Bronn ordered. Daela Pram was starting to get his thoughts in order and they were shading from horror to a fearful determination. He would attack me in a moments.

  I carefully holstered the Webley and took my hand away from it—but not too far away. When I spoke, it was with care and evenness. “Is there a problem?”

  I felt Gaz Bronn gathering himself.

  “Keryl, projectile weapons are banned in Jhal. No one has even dared to carry one for thousands of years. If anyone knew you were carrying one, they would tear you to pieces—human, klurath, it wouldn’t matter.”

  “You have to get rid of it. You can’t even leave it here,” Daela Pram insisted. “It’s got to be destroyed.”

  My hand went back to the pistol. “That is not going to happen. I can leave it where it is, but I will not give it up.” I almost said, “I will need it when I get out of here,” but I did not want to push it.

  Gaz Bronn held out a conciliatory claw. “Keryl, let me explain. Thousands of years ago, when we were still trying to learn how to live underground, there were factions. And there was fighting. One of the sides decided they had to win, no matter what the cost. They went crazy. They built a catapult system in their compound like the cannon we’d had on the surface, but instead of throwing rocks at each other, they threw them at the ceiling. They tried to break off pieces of the cave ceiling to drop on their enemies. It worked—but they ended up breaking off huge pieces of rock. Hundreds of klurath died. After it was all over and people realized what had happened, they joined forces and killed everyone in the compound. It was the inspiration for the unified government we still have to this day—and for banning all projectile weapons of any size or kind.

  “You have to understand, Keryl. This isn’t a law. This is practically part of our religion. The word cave-in can make grown men cower in fear. I could take that thing away from you, but then I couldn’t count on you as my bodyguard. I need your cooperation, and that is not something I have ever said to a human.”

  “And while I am watching your back, Gaz Bronn, I take it you will be watching for my friends?”

  “You see, Daela Pram, the humans are not the dullards you think they are.” If Gaz Bronn had any real hope of establishing peaceful communication between our races, he was going to have to work on his manners. “Yes, Keryl Clee, that is exactly what I’m planning to do. I can go places that you would never be allowed, and ask questions that would get you killed. But your people present an unusual opportunity; if I can find them, and free them, you can talk to them and convince them that the klurath don’t have to be their enemies. Then we can send them back, as a delegation. We don’t have to have war. Our people could walk the surface again!”

  “Kinlama,” Daela Pram said delicately, “perhaps it might be wiser to send some of the humans back, and keep the others here, so we can…learn from them?”

  Gaz Bronn’s head bobbed slowly. “You may be right. We will have to think about that.” He turned abruptly to me. “But that’s a detail for another time. Right now we have to find them—and we have a war to prevent. Enough to keep us busy today. And in the meanti
me, you can hide that thing here.” I saw I had no choice but to agree. He opened an armoire and I was impressed by the number of edged weapons neatly arrayed inside. I chose a short sword and placed the Webley in its holster on the empty peg. Closing the armoire, Gaz Bronn stalked toward the door and Daela Pram hurried to open it. When I did not move, he gave me a pointed look.

  I stepped up behind Gaz Bronn, but it was good that no one chose that moment to attack him, because my mind was not on my duty—I was distracted, rolling over and over in my mind my newly-crystallized understanding not only of my position here in Jhal, but of Maire’s and Timash’s and all the others as well.

  We were only humans. Even if Gaz Bronn were to free us, we would merely graduate from slaves…to hostages.

  Chapter 25

  Armed Amidst Enemies

  Hargreen was still standing there when we emerged from Gaz Bronn’s office, head bowed as though he had maintained that posture the entire time. Daela Pram hesitated for a second, mouthing some instructions too low for me to hear. Hargreen shot me a look, but I ignored him to hurry after Gaz Bronn. I might be incurring his dislike for no reason, but I could not serve two masters, and should anything happen to the kinlama—or his goodwill—my stay in Jhal would take a sudden and dramatic turn for the less pleasant. Given the choice between testing my relationship with Gaz Bronn and annoying Hargreen, I knew which to choose.

  The two klurath stalked quickly down the corridor, Gaz Bronn deep in conversation, Daela Pram deep in listening. Following my new understanding of etiquette, I remained on the side, matching strides with them, but slightly behind and several feet to their flank. After a few moments, Gaz Bronn seemed to come up for air and stopped, his head swiveling about until he saw me.