City of Demons (11 page)

As they followed Mandarack across the deserted market, leaving behind the sickening reek of perfume soured with demon blood, the obvious wealth of the city impressed itself upon the new Bane. A market day here could bring all the Midlanders within a week's journey, all with money for Torrick's lords.
What would happen now
, thought Garet.

“Salick, if the demons have returned to the Midlands and Old Torrick, won't the people here have to give up trade for farming?”

Salick looked at him curiously. “Why would that be? Trading has always gotten them what they wanted. Besides, everyone knows that Torrickmen are too lazy to farm.”

“Well,” Garet reasoned, “trade will end, or at least be hurt by the loss of farms in the Midlands. What they're unloading at the docks must be the last of the spring wheat planted last fall; the fall harvest of summer-planted wheat may rot in the fields if people dare not travel too far from towns like Bangt.”

Dorict agreed. “That's the truth, Garet. And they'll get little help elsewhere. What surplus Shirath and the other cities grow is stored for their own use or traded North for fish and tin.”

“But who here knows how to farm?” Salick mocked. “You can't take a miner and tell her to grow wheat!”

For once, Garet refused to retreat into his customary silence; if Salick could argue with Mandarack, he could do the same with her. “If they want to eat next year, they'll have to,” he retorted and then went on more thoughtfully, “or they might take some of those homeless farmers we saw at Bangt. Or at Three Roads.” He felt a sharp pain in his chest as he thought of his mother and sister crowded into those rough tents. But in fact, he had no way of knowing if his father had even decided to leave the farm and take his family to live behind those wooden walls. They might still be isolated on their farm, easy prey for demons. Thankfully, Salick interrupted his thoughts.

“It's a good idea, Garet. I'll mention it to the Master when we're settled in the hall.” She looked at him with a certain surprise. “You've got a good head on your shoulders...”

“For a poor Northerner farm boy?” Garet was surprised at the resentment in his voice, but he was tired of being an outsider and was still distracted by his thoughts about his family.

“That's not what I meant.” Salick's voice became as dry as her master's, and Garet realized he had offended her by rejecting her rare show of approval. “I was going to say that you had a good head on your shoulders for someone who has never had a reason to use it.” She turned on her heel, and Garet knew that their relationship had just taken a giant step backwards. “Keep up now. We don't want you lost on your first time in a city,” she called over her shoulder as she strode off after Mandarack.

Garet stood for a moment, cursing himself for lashing out at the very people he now depended on. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Don't worry,” Dorict whispered. “She'll forgive you when she's had a chance to think it over. Salick hates to admit mistakes, but she's fair-minded for all her pride.” The young Bane trotted off after Salick, the saddle bags bouncing on his shoulders.

With a sigh, Garet ran after him, catching up at the far wall of the market. The party now entered a narrow lane running between rows of narrow, two-storey houses. Ropes strung across the street from the upper stories fluttered with drying sheets, tunics, and stockings. Small children dashed madly under their feet, crossing from one house to another as if they owned them all. Older siblings chased after their little brothers and sisters half-heartedly, if at all. As the Banes passed by, these minders grabbed their charges to force them into wobbly bows and curtsies. Mandarack nodded back with the same dignity and regard he had shown the dock master. The younger Banes copied him as well as they could. Giggles erupted behind them, and the endless chase resumed.

After many twists and turns, the lane opened onto another square, much smaller than the market plaza. A fountain with a broad, round curb squatted in the middle of the courtyard. Women of all ages crowded around it, washing clothes, yelling at their friends, and shouting for their children to-come-get-the-basket-and-smartly-now! They rivalled the longshoremen on the wharves for their noise and energy. Mandarack, Salick beside him now, led the others past the cheerful din to the biggest building in the square.

Built of the same rough stone as the walls, the Torrick Banehall took up the whole west side of the courtyard. Red paint peeled from the door frame; half its second storey windows were boarded up; at their feet lay a cracked roof-tile. Mandarack looked grimly at the rundown building.

“This is disgraceful!” Salick exclaimed. “Every Banehall and every Bane is insulted by this.” She stopped as Mandarack raised his hand.

“This is not our Hall, Salick,” his voice was harsh, “but, under Heaven, things will soon change here. They must!”

“Hadn't you already stopped here on the way into the Midlands?” Garet asked Dorict, too mindful of Salick's present annoyance with him to risk asking her.

“No,” the boy replied, staring distastefully at the rundown building. “We were in too much haste and passed by Torrick at night on horseback. You save no time taking a barge against the current!”

The door burst open, shedding a few more chips of paint, and Marick bounded down the steps. The sheepskin package was gone. “Master! I spoke to Hallmaster Furlenix and a cart is ready to take us back tomorrow. There's beds for all of us and better food than we've had lately, and you're to make your report to the Hallmaster before you go to your bed!”

Salick bristled at the impertinence of either Marick, the Hallmaster, or both. Even Dorict narrowed his eyes in anger at the order given to their master. Marick waited, obviously enjoying the effect he had created. Mandarack only gave a slight snort and answered, “Very well, Master Marick.” The usually dry voice held a hint of banter. “Perhaps you could conduct us to our duties.”

With an elaborate bow, Marick led them into the Banehall. The interior was as shabby as the outside. Mandarack stopped in a spacious room just inside the door. They faced a staircase leading up to the second storey. To the right, a hallway with rows of doors on either side stretched to the end of the building. To the left, an opening led to a dining hall, where Garet could see very young black-sashed Banes laying out plates and bowls.

“That's servant's work,” Salick hissed. She looked at Garet, her anger at him forgotten in her general disgust with the Torrick Banehall. “Garet, you are to do no such work while you are here. No first level Bane should have the time or energy for the setting of tables!”

“Am I a Black Sash, Salick?” he asked carefully, hoping for an answer and not another eruption.

“Yes, Garet, you are a Black Sash,” Mandarack answered in her stead. “And, as Salick has instructed you, you will not do servant's work, even if you are told to by the Master of this Hall!”

“But you should get some proper clothes,” Salick said, and looked to Mandarack, who nodded before he walked off down the hallway. Salick looked around for someone to help them. The hall was deserted. The Black Sashes had finished their work and run up the stairs. Her face reddening, Salick opened her mouth to shout when a voice called out.

“Don't yell! I'm sorry I've left you standing here, but everything has been in an uproar for the last month.” A short young man wearing a sash of muted gold trotted out of the hallway. “Please forgive us, Green, but this place is currently held together with string and spit, as they say.” He grinned at them and introduced himself. “I am Boronict, and I'm at your service.” His head bobbed up and down in a quick acknowledgement of his guests.

Salick introduced herself and the younger Banes and, somewhat impatiently, requested rooms, water to wash with, and a set of clothes for Garet.

“Of course,” the young man said. “Please follow me!” He led them up the stairs into a warren of halls and rooms, most of them, it seemed, unused. He directed Salick to a dormitory for female Banes, but Marick spoke up quickly when the Gold turned to the three boys.

“Don't worry, Boronict. I've already found a place for us.” He shepherded the other two past the surprised young man and down another hallway. Stopping at a narrow door, he pushed it open on squeaking hinges and pulled Garet and Dorict inside. “I found this while waiting for you snails. Now, this is comfort!” He flopped down on a sagging bed, sending up a fountain of dust from the mattress.

Dorict dropped the packs on the floor, creating another cloud. “Marick, why did you bring us to this rat hole?” A row of beds took up one wall. A small hearth and a curtained window faced the door, and a jumble of mismatched dressers, desks, and wobbly chairs took up the rest of the space. The stocky Bane wrinkled his nose at the musty smell of the long-abandoned room.

“Use your head for something other than eating, Dorict! Boronict would probably put us in with a bunch of lowly Black Sashes.” He grinned at Garet. “No offence,” he said, making a great show of adjusting his own blue sash. “And if he did, we'd probably have to go to early practice tomorrow. And we'd probably have to fight our way to the best beds.” He swept back the curtains and the late afternoon light flooded the room through cracked window panes. “In here, we can at least be near each other.”

“A comfort, I'm sure,” his friend replied and pulled a mattress off a bed to beat the dust from it. “Garet, open those windows before we choke to death.”

Garet did so, then helped the younger boy kick and punch the mattresses, taking the opportunity to ask more questions. “Dorict, I know that a Black Sash is lower than a Blue, and that a Red Sash is the highest.”

Marick interrupted. “Not really. A Banehall master has a red sash with black borders.”

Dorict ignored him. “That's right. Black sashes are for beginners just entering the Banehall.”

“That's so they can wipe their hands on them after dinner and not look messy. Blacks are usually just kids,” Marick explained.

Dorict continued ignoring him. “Blacks study the basics of demons, some have to be taught to read and write. That takes a while. They also have to get in physical shape for the next stage.”

“Much harder for some than for others, I'm sure,” Marick observed.

His overweight friend was hitting the mattress harder than necessary, but didn't lose his train of thought. “Blue Sashes train in basic weapons and tactics. When they're proficient, they become Greens.” A silence followed. Dorict and Garet turned towards the youngest Bane, expecting another comment, but Marick merely grinned and stuck his tongue out at them.

Scowling, Dorict resumed his explanation. “Greens help Golds with patrols and learn how to track demons outside the walls. Golds, like Boronict, patrol the fields and wards. When they're good enough, they might lead teams to make kills, but mostly they assist the Masters.” He glared at Marick, waiting for either sarcasm or silence. The young Bane replied with a rude gesture.

“Garet,” Dorict growled, “please take this fool out to find your uniform before I see how much dust I can beat out of him!”

Marick bowed; he liked nothing better than getting his usually placid friend's goat, and led Garet out the door. They went down several halls, turning and twisting until Garet was totally lost.

“Marick,” he complained, “do you really know where you're going?”

“Of course. I used to live here, you know.”

Garet stopped in surprise and put a hand on the Blue's shoulder. “Then why are you now at Shirath Banehall?”

“Had to leave,” the cheerful Bane answered as he resumed his trot along the hallway. “Misunderstanding with the Masters here.”

As they reached the end of the hall and stopped at a massive iron-studded door, Garet mused that it would be very easy to arrive at a misunderstanding with his chaotic little companion. Pushing open the heavy door, Marick and Garet entered a large, low room lit weakly by the angled light from its high windows. Every surface—tables, side boards, and chairs—was covered with the Banehall's stores. Pots and pans tumbled onto the floor to fight for space with stacks of linen writing-sheets, piles of paired boots, and twisted wreaths made of different coloured sashes.

Marick approached an older master sitting behind one of the burdened tables. As they neared him, Garet was shocked to see that the right side of his face was furrowed by deep scars. The old wound sealed his eye socket and his right sleeve was pinned and empty.

“Marick, is that you?” the old man inquired waspishly. He glared at the boy from his good eye. “How did you get back here?”

“I'm just passing through to Shirath, Master Senerix,” the young Bane assured him. “This is a new Bane, Garet. Master Mandarack wants a uniform for him.”

The glare remained on Marick. “If Mandarack is his master, than Shirath can cloth him.” He took up his quill and continued writing on the sheet in front of him.

“Of course, Master,” Marick said agreeably. “But if the Hallmaster comments on Garet's lack of proper clothing at dinner tonight, should I direct him to you for an explanation?”

Senerix stopped writing but refused to look up. After a moment, and very unwillingly it seemed, he rasped out, “Very well, but from the used piles.” The quill pointed to a far corner. “If Mandarack wants new clothes, he can provide them himself.”

Garet stiffened at the rudeness of the man and steeled himself to make some reply. What grated most was Senerix's total dismissal of him. He didn't enjoy being the topic of a conversation when he should have been a participant. However, Marick obviously knew the old man too well to challenge his petty victory and, after a hasty bow, dragged Garet over to a pile of hand-me-downs in various stages of disrepair. He kept Garet over on Senerix's blind side and began a loud, rambling lecture about the generosity of the Torrick Banehall while they rummaged through the pile. Another Bane, a Green, came in with a new pile of sheets to drop on Senerix's desk. The sheets slid over onto the floor, and Senerix spluttered angrily at the young woman.