City of Dreams and Nightmare (29 page)

SIXTEEN

Tom was dismayed when Kat announced she was leaving. “You’re hurt,” he pointed out. “At least wait until we get to the temple and let them see to your wound.”

She glanced down at the cut in her side, from which blood still seeped. “This? This is nothing. I took far worse in the Pits.”

“Yes, but–”

“Look, Tom, you don’t need me anymore. I reckon the Blade can see you home safely enough from here, assuming there’s still a home to go to, of course. The whole city’s going to hell in a death cart, in case you hadn’t noticed. And there’s something I’ve got to do, something which won’t wait.”

He realised exactly what that meant: Rayul, and revenge. “I know, but…”

“See you, kid.”

Before he knew what was happening, she leant forward and kissed him on the cheek, the corner of her mouth brushing the corner of his lips in the process, then she turned and was running, her side not seeming to restrict her at all.

He lifted a hand to where he could still feel the surprisingly cool touch of her lips on his face. He wanted desperately to follow but knew that if he was going to he should have gone immediately, that by hesitating those few seconds it was already too late. Kat was around a corner and out of sight. He would never be able to catch her. In desperation, he turned to the Blade, who had stood silently by and let her go.

“Shouldn’t you have stopped her?” he asked.

One of the statuesque figures peered down at him. “No, we were sent to fetch you. The girl is irrelevant.”

Not to him she wasn’t. It was only then that Tom unfroze, running to the corner, to stand at the mouth of an otherwise deserted alley.

“Kat!” he yelled into the silence and the emptiness.

The Blade were beside him again. “We must go. There are people waiting.”

What did Tom care who was waiting? Let them wait. Kat had gone, had left him. Nevertheless, he turned without a further word and went with the Blade, one of them in front and one behind as before, and he felt small and insignificant and, above all, entirely alone in the world.

“Sorry to disappoint you, kid, but I’m not the Maker.”

The girl continued to eye him with malice and suspicion but at least she hadn’t attacked yet. She moved like a trained fighter, and Dewar couldn’t begin to imagine where someone as young as this had learned to do that. No ordinary street-nick, that much was certain.

“Someone’s beaten you to it, beaten us both to it. That stench you can smell, that’s the Maker, or what’s left of him.”

She didn’t rise from her fighter’s crouch, but reached out to touch a piece of nearby wreckage, wiping dust from her fingers afterwards even as he had.

“These?”

“His creations, destroyed in the attack, I’d imagine.”

“Who?”

“The dog master.” Why was he wasting time on this girl? Because she interested him, he realised. “He’s the one who pointed me here when I knocked on his door and then had one of his creatures try to kill me when I found the Maker’s body.”

Her gaze flicked past him, down the corridor, taking in the other wrecked devices.

“Wait here!” and she slid past him.

He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her jog down the hallway. She was slim but well-muscled – a lithe and wiry frame rather than merely slender – and she moved with a grace that was impossible not to admire: quite beautiful. Add to that her abundant confidence and the proficient way she handled her blades and the result was a highly intriguing individual.

She didn’t go into the room, merely looked in from the doorway and then came back. “Not recent,” she commented.

“No,” he agreed, “a good few days ago.”

“So this dog master…”

“Is behind everything and has seen to it that the Maker takes the blame,” he finished for her.

She seemed to reach a decision and sheathed her knives. “Kat,” she offered.

“Pleased to meet you, Kat, I’m–” As he spoke, he lunged, grabbing both her arms and slamming them against the wall. As he held her there, pinned, he remembered Jezmina’s ambush – the first one, which hadn’t involved hitting him over the head – and on impulse he leant forward and kissed this enigmatic girl, clamping his lips to hers. Only for an instant, then he leapt back before she had a chance to react, to bite or to knee him.

Even as he landed, one of her knives appeared, its tip levelled at his chest, but his own was out just as quickly, levelled at hers.

They stood there at impasse, him grinning and her seething.

“Dewar,” he finished. “And if you want to find the dog master, you’re going to want me alive. I’m the man who can take you there.”

With that, he very deliberately withdrew his blade and sheathed it. After a moment’s hesitation, and with obvious lingering reluctance, she did the same. “If you try anything like that again you’re a dead man, and I’ll find the breckin’ way myself.”

He smiled. “Fair enough.”

The palm of her hand struck him across the cheek, too quickly for him to react and too powerfully to be deemed a mere slap. His head was jerked sideways by the force and his cheek warmed instantly with tingling pain.

“That was just to prove that I meant it.”

“I believe you,” he said, gingerly rubbing his cheek.

“Now, are you gonna take me to this dog master or are we just going to stand here trying to score points off each other?”

“Follow me.” He headed to the door and out into daylight, the girl directly behind him. At first he was on tenterhooks, conscious of her footfalls and wondering if she would seek any further retribution for the kiss, but the slap seemed to have satisfied her for now.

If he were ever going to team up with someone, he would take this girl over the Kite Guard any day. “Where did you learn to fight?”

“In the Pits.”

He stopped and stared at her, tempted to ask if she meant it, but it was obvious from her face that she did. The Pits? And she was so young. No wonder she looked tough and competent. Normally, kids whose parents died, or who were thrown out because their families could no longer afford to keep them, ended up drifting into one of the street-nick gangs or into whoring, but there had been rumours that some found their way into the Pits. Anyone who fought in that place and was still around to talk about it would have to be able to handle themselves, but for a teenager, a mere kid, and a girl at that, to have emerged alive from the Pits was incredible.

“I thought the survivors from that little hellhole sported tattoos to show what they’ve been through.”

“That’s right. All except me and my sister.”

She had managed to surprise him again. The two sisters who ruled the Tattooed Men were legendary, so much so that he never even believed they existed until now. The pair were said to be the greatest warriors ever to emerge from the Pits. “You’re one of those two.”

“Yeah, now can we forget the questions and get on with this?”

“Sure, kid, whatever you say.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not a kid.”

No, on reflection she certainly wasn’t. In fact, Dewar wondered whether she ever had been.

This temple of Thaiss was identical to all the others scattered around the under-City, complete with waterfall and the familiar small pond. The water was crystal clear, Tom noted in passing. The Thaissians were the most popular and numerous of the cults and religions in the under-City, and not even the cockiest of street-nicks were likely to wash or urinate in the sacred waters, just in case.

The Blade led him into the building, where the Thaistess waited. Her hood was drawn back but her hands were hidden in the sleeves of her robe, meeting across her stomach. She was considerably older than the priestess met earlier in the day, deep wrinkles marking her face, though she still stood straight and proud. There was nothing soft or welcoming in her eyes, which held a harder edge than Mildra’s had ever shown. She nodded to the Blade, noting Tom’s presence with a cursory glance, and then turned to lead them into an inner chamber, considerably larger than the one in which he had fought off the Maker’s device and its influence earlier that day.

Two people waited there, both seated, one human and the other, against all expectation, a Jeradine. The latter stood up as the party entered and stepped towards them.

“Tom, what a pleasure and a relief to see you again,” said a familiar flat and monotone voice.

“Ty-gen?”

Tom would never have believed he could be so pleased to see a flathead. Even though he had only met him briefly, the Jeradine had been kind to him and it was a relief to see any familiar face at that particular moment. Not that Tom would have recognised him if he hadn’t spoken.

Tom felt as if he might cry, from a combination of relief, despair, confusion and exhaustion, but he held the tears at bay, refusing to be the kid that Kat so often accused him of being.

“Where is Kat?” the Jeradine asked.

“She had something to do,” Tom replied, the words coming with difficulty. “I think she’s gone after the Maker.”

“On her own? Let us hope she is careful.” Ty-gen looked back towards the person he’d been sitting with, an elderly man with a kindly, smiling face, which was a marked contrast to the Thaistess’ countenance. “Tom, I would like you to meet an old friend of mine. This is the prime master.”

“We meet at last, Tom.” The voice was as open and friendly as the face.

Tom stared. “The prime master?”

“Yes, for my sins.” The twinkle in the man’s eye broke through Tom’s gloom and he smiled despite himself. He could hardly believe this, could hardly comprehend all that had happened in the past two days. Surely life had no further surprises to throw at him after this.
The prime master!

“The boy is not well,” the Thaistess said, her voice as frost-laden and severe as her appearance.

“Oh?” The prime master looked genuinely concerned. “Would you object to the Thaistess examining you, Tom? She’s very skilled.”

He nodded acceptance, too daunted to refuse. The woman deftly ran fingertips over his body, from the crown of his head to his knees. He stood stock still, as petrified as he had been at any time that day. While she conducted the examination, the prime master questioned him about his injuries.

“My side started hurting when I was running,” he explained, “and my head…” How could he explain what he had done, when he didn’t even understand it himself?

“When you destroyed the Maker’s creatures?” the prime master supplied for him.

Tom nodded, surprised that the man knew about that. Then he remembered the insubstantial eye he had imagined seeing during the fight; perhaps it was real after all. Had they been watching him and Kat all along?

“He has a hairline fracture to a rib,” the Thaistess said, ignoring Tom and addressing the prime master as if reporting on some damaged piece of furniture – exactly the sort of attitude that had caused Tom to mistrust religions and their priests for so long. “It might have been damaged earlier but only really made itself known when the boy was forced to run. As for the head, I can ease his pain but would not trust myself to tamper with its cause.”

The prime master smiled. “I’m sure Tom will be grateful for whatever help you can give, won’t you, Tom?”

He looked into the man’s face, finding sincerity and encouragement there, and he nodded, if a little reluctantly.

“You’ll have to lie on the divan and remove your shirt,” the Thaistess said, addressing him directly for the first time.

Tom hesitated. He remembered the warmth and pleasure of Mildra’s healing touch well enough, but this was not Mildra, and he didn’t trust this sour-faced woman.

“Come on, boy, I won’t bite.”

Tom wasn’t so sure,

“You can trust her, Tom,” Ty-gen said.

Tom crossed to the long seat on which the prime master and the Jeradine had been sitting when he entered and, gritting his teeth, pulled off his shirt and lay down, wincing at the renewed pain that shot through his side as he did so. He looked up at the Thaistess as she approached, steeling himself against her touch.

“Kat was all right when she left you?” Ty-gen asked.

If they had been watching, surely they knew the answer already; unless they stopped watching once the Blade arrived. Perhaps he had imagined that eye after all, or perhaps Ty-gen was only asking in order to distract him, to try and put him more at ease.

“Fine,” he replied. No she wasn’t; she had been anything but fine, but the glib response came readily to his lips and, besides, it was easier than explaining.

This Thaistess’ hands felt older than Mildra’s – rougher-skinned and less gentle in their touch – but he still experienced the same sense of pleasant heat emanating from them as she pressed them to his body. The warmth enveloped the sharp, caustic pain, dulling its edges and slowly whittling the hurt away, until only the warmth remained. She lifted her hands and the comforting glow began to fade, but not all at once, the sense of well-being lingered, even as he felt the now familiar touch of fingertips at his temples. A new source of gentle heat spread through his skull, purging it of pain and leaving him wonderfully clearheaded for the first time since lashing out at the Maker’s creatures.

“Thank you,” he said to the Thaistess as she withdrew her hands.

She smiled – the first remotely kind expression he had seen cross those austere features.

The boy stood up and pulled on his shirt.

The prime master spoke to him again. “Now, Tom, I assume you’re wondering what’s been happening to you over the past few days.” Tom nodded, since that was exactly what he had been wondering for much of the time. “I can explain it all to you, where your abilities come from and why they make you so special. But first, there’s something I’d like you to do for me.”

He might have guessed as much – no one ever did something for nothing, not even, it seemed, the prime master of all Thaiburley.

“Don’t get me wrong,” the man continued, as if reading his thoughts, “one doesn’t depend on the other, I’m not attempting to make a deal here, but your help is needed urgently.

“You see, the attack on you and your friend by those street-nicks was not an isolated incident. All over the City Below the nicks, who seem to have fallen under the Maker’s sway by the thousands, are on the rampage. The Blade can defeat them physically, but not mentally. Only you can do that. We need your help to save all those nicks, Tom, to purge them of the Maker’s influence.