Babylon Steel (40 page)

Mantek is a dry-land portal. Never having seen one before, I stood amazed at the glowing arc that hummed and shimmered, that seemed to twine with voices just below hearing. The brilliant haze that filled it parted around mundane carts, hauled by beasts with their eyes and ears wrapped in cloth.

There were guards, but they were, like the temple guards, mainly ceremonial: fine uniforms, flashy weapons more polished than used. They paid me no mind at all. But I was still Tiresan enough to stand shaking and choking at the threshold; my feet seeming welded to the sand-gritted tiles, until I heard a shout behind me, and both the guards looked that way.

They’ve found me,
I thought, as I ran through in the wake of a departing trade-caravan, feeling for the first time that strange internal shudder, of both body and mind.

I had no idea what was on the other side. It turned out to be a much colder world than Tiresana. My main impression of it was that everything was grey. The buildings, the people. I didn’t stay – I ran for the next portal and the plane beyond, which was even colder. I spent my first few weeks freezing and half starved, grateful to get what clients I could, if only for the body heat, until I got work with a warlord’s personal guard, some good, if flashy, gear, and my first experience of fighting in snow and the way a corpse left overnight creaks in the frost as though protesting the cold.

I kept moving, selling my sword-arm or my body, whichever would get me fed and far away. I got sharp and silent and hard. Someone called me Steel, and it stuck.

I took a job as guard, with a caravan trading silks and pack beasts. Off duty, I’d fallen asleep. I slept a lot, those days, dull heavy sleeps like being buried in dust, ugly dreams jerking me awake. Mostly dreams of being back in the temple, in chains.

One night I woke terrified, smelling sand and heat and river mud, and grabbed one of the on-duty guards. “Where are we?”

He shrugged. “They call it Babylon.”

I looked out. There were a thousand stars blazing above me, but I didn’t know them. Babaska and her sword were gone.

Why I took the name, I don’t know. A memory, a whim.

But the place was too much like Tiresana. I stayed only long enough to collect my wages before I ran for the next portal.

I don’t know how many times I did that. If I’d known more about portals I might have been more cautious. Travellers who do a lot of portal-running, long-distance traders and the guards they employ, are tough, careful, and take a lot of precautions.

As it was, I was luckier than that level of carelessness deserved. I could have ended up dead, stranded, Faded. But I just kept running. For years.

I kept my head down and stayed out of trouble and was as lonely as a tomb in the deep desert. The lovers I took, whether it was a paid transaction or not, took the edge off the loneliness, and reminded me that I could feel something good.

But I was always looking over my shoulder, and I always moved on.

Eventually, having gone for four or five years without a sign of pursuit, I stopped jumping at every shadow. I began to weary of never having a place of my own, of the brief and broken friendships. I met up with Previous, and started to feel more connected, more human with every day in her company. Yet still, I kept moving. I would wake one morning and find some excuse to get going again, though in fact it was mostly just a feeling in my blood that it was time to move on. And she came with me, willingly.

We were staying in Larians, a pleasant enough city, when the feeling came again. My excuse was a merchant who I in no way took to, who was convinced that enough money would change my mind. I could have dissuaded him, but instead, Previous and I took a ship up the Druthain river, and through what turned out to be Portal Bealach.

We landed at Scalentine docks, where those of us without specific business on Scalentine were sent to the Reception Hall.

The Chief was there briefing the guards to keep an eye out for some troublemaker or other. He cast an eye over the new arrivals and saw me and Previous, leaning against the wall, both a little grey with portal sickness. He came over. “You speak Lithan?”

“Some,” I said.

“Good. Welcome to Scalentine. I’m head of the militia. We’re here to deal with trouble, so please don’t make any. There are clean, cheap places to stay in Harvest Street and the Barrel Downs. Stay out of an area called King of Stone, don’t get into any card games in the Sideways Road. If anyone causes you problems, find someone wearing this uniform,” he gestured at his own; brilliant red, with brass buttons.

“That shouldn’t be difficult,” I said, and saw that melancholy grin for the first time.

“You’d be surprised,” he said, “how hard it is for some people. You’d think they were avoiding us on purpose. You two are soldiers, yes?

“Mostly.”

“Killing people is frowned on. But we can always use trained fighters in the militia.”

He nodded, and moved away.

I looked at Previous. “What do you think?”

“Let’s try it out, eh? Stay here a while, see how it goes.”

We both found the place suited our minds.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“B
ABYLON,
” P
RINCE
A
NTHERAN
bowed over my hand. “This is a charming surprise. Please to come in, sit.”

His suite at the Moons in Splendourwas perfectly chosen: tasteful enough to make his rich visitors feel at home, without being so extravagant that they would be certain he was overcharging them. His servants were so smoothly unobtrusive, they might have been Fades, like Bliss.

“How is your son?” I said, settling myself into a chair which embraced me like a lover. I hadn’t been in surroundings this luxurious since I left the temple.

“Well, thanks to you. Though I have no doubt that even now, he is writing a poem about the cruelty and lack of understanding of fathers, which will be poorly hidden, so that I may find it and feel suitably chastened.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “I think he is fortunate in his father, my lord.”

“I hope so.” He shook his head. “I wish his mother were alive; I think perhaps she would deal with him better. She was a woman of most superior understanding. I am tempted to stop bringing him on these trips, yet he must learn the business, and left at home... ah, well.”

After we had been supplied with spice tea and a number of dishes of little salty delicacies, I said, “I hate to do this to you, my lord, but I wondered if I might call in that favour.”

He gave a brilliant smile. “How can you even ask? I feared, being the woman of fierce honour that you are” – I hoped he didn’t notice me wince – “that you would never do so, and the weight of it would hang over me until my dying day. Anything that is within my power, I will do.”

“That’s an extravagant promise, my lord, I hope you don’t have cause to regret it.”

“Babylon. You brought my son safely back to me.
Anything
I can do, I will.”

I’d been thinking about my next words very carefully indeed. I didn’t want to do anything to remind him that he’d made a potentially careless remark during one of our moments of intimacy: he would still, being the man he was, follow through on his promise, but he’d never forgive me for using such information against him, and it would
ruin
the Lantern’s reputation.

I took a deep breath. “I once heard, I can’t remember where, that it might be possible to travel with great speed, between the planes, without being held up by unnecessary paperwork.”

His hand paused in the act of reaching for a salted vine flower, then moved on.

“And if I should happen to have heard something similar, how would that be of help to you?” he said.

“I need to travel to Tiresana, extremely fast. Before the end of the” – what had Mokraine called it? – “the syzygy. I thought perhaps you could, possibly, assist me to do that.”

“Hmm.” He looked at me over the rim of his cup for a long moment, then put it down with a decisive snap. “Of course.”

I must have looked surprised. He spread his hands. “Babylon, I told you. Anything. And I will of course provide you with assistance. I would ask only that my name is not, now or in the future, connected with this in any way.”

“I understand.”

“However, I do not know Tiresana, I don’t believe I have ever traded there.”

My stomach went hollow. “Oh.”

“If you can tell me which planes it links to, however, perhaps I can help you.”

I forced my mind back. I’d been in such a panic... the guards at the portal had been skinny creatures with naked ratlike tails... I’d leapt at the first chance to leave, but I’d been on that plane for a few days at least... what the hells was it called? Kai or Nai or Flamp or some damn thing.

“No... it’s...” Something buzzed against the window. “Flai!” I almost shouted. Antheran looked startled. I lowered my voice. “It links to Flai.”

“Flai.” Antheran frowned at the air, then snapped his fingers. “Ah. Yes. We are in Twomoon. You are fortunate. At alignment, there is a way to get there quite quickly, if you are willing to risk discomfort. You may even be able to avoid having to do too much negotiating; there are many who wish to take these fast routes while they are open. Simply being open-handed and persuasive can speed things considerably.”

“I’ll remember.”

“Remember also that you will need to return before alignment is over, otherwise you will have to wait a year, or go the long way around. That could take several years in itself.”

“I’ll remember.” Though it crossed my mind that I might not have to worry about coming back.

“Only with knowledge can one be properly prepared,” Antheran said.

I could only shake my head in admiration. “You know, I’m not at all surprised you’ve managed to restore your family’s fortunes, my lord. If I wasn’t asking you a big enough favour already, I’d ask you to look at my accounts as well. You could probably turn us enough profit for Flower to sprinkle gold-leaf on the breakfast sausages.”

“Certainly, if you wish.”

“I wasn’t serious,” I said.

“I was. Accounts are of the greatest importance.”

“Not compared to this. I
have
to get there before the end of the Alignment.”

“Yes? Then we must deal with this immediately. And later, I will have someone look at your accounts. Though I do not recommend gold-leaf on sausage. It would be vulgar, and you are not vulgar.”

Leaving me open-mouthed at
that
fairly astonishing assessment, Antheran clapped his hands, and his servants were sent scurrying.

It was a bit like watching a storm wind fling bits of leaf and random debris past your window as you sit in comfort with a glass in your hand. I ended up with a set of directions, a bundle of currencies, and a sheaf of papers.

I
MOVED AROUND
my room, running my hands over the curtains, and the bedspread, half-consciously saying farewell to it. I would have to talk to the others. I didn’t know what I was going to tell them, though. The fattening moons rose in the sky. Twomoon began tomorrow, and in two days, according to Mokraine, the syzygy would reach its apex on Tiresana.

I could just leave it. They’ve gone.

But I couldn’t. For one thing, though they might have gone, they could come back, threaten me, threaten my crew.

And for another...

Bent figures, struggling under the weight of a litter. A dead boy, his cheek on his hand, on a blood-muddied field. Jonat’s eyes, wide and knowing and frightened.

Through the window I saw a figure approach the Red Lantern. And stop, and turn, and turn back. Even in my current state, I felt faintly amused. Plenty of people act that way, on their first visit. A few steps forward, a hesitation, a turn.

I realised it was a woman, stocky, wearing a short practical cape and breeches in dun-coloured leather. She got nearly to the steps, where Cruel, the bandage around her head giving her a piratical look, was lounging on guard. Then the woman looked up, and saw me.

I knew her, but it was a moment before I placed her. Mirril, the butcher. Somehow I didn’t think she was here as a client.

“Missus Steel?”

“That’s me.”

“I...” She glanced at Cruel, who gave her a smile like a polished blade.

“Look, it’s cold,” I said. “If you’ve something to say, you can say it as well inside as out in the street.”

She didn’t move.

A long wavering howl rose from somewhere over towards the Druthain, and Mirril jumped, her hands clutching at the edges of her cape.

I said, “I’m busy. If you’re too worried about being polluted by what goes on here to come in and talk in the warm, say what you’ve got to say and let’s get it over with, all right?”

“It isn’t that,” she said in a rush. “It’s just, I don’t know, if I’m seen here, you see, it’s...”

“You think actually walking through the door is more compromising to your virtue than standing talking to me on the step for all to see? I’m shutting the window now. You can come in, or not, as you please.”

She scurried up the steps. Cruel bowed her through the door extravagantly, and I took her into the Little Parlour. She looked around, her gaze going from the cushions, to a half-finished sketch of Essie Jivrais had left on the table, to the curtains.

“Not what you expected?” I said.

She shook her head. “This isn’t... I just wanted to say, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I cut you off, you’ve been good customers. But I’ve my daughter, you see.”

“If you think that I would ever, under any circumstances, allow a child to take part in this business, you can leave now.”

“I never thought that. It’s not that sort of place, everyone knows that.”

“So why? First off, why’d you cut us off, and second, why are you here?”

She blushed the dark, angry blush of a middle-aged woman not used to being caught out. “I got a chance at a good client. A big ’un. And I got a daughter to raise on my own, I can’t afford to turn down work.”