Night Gate (14 page)

It was a good idea, but before she could say so, the little narrow street ended at a broad avenue, and as if at some hidden signal, dozens of front doors opened simultaneously, and dozens of gray-clad men and women emerged. The doors closed behind them soundlessly and almost in unison, and Rage had a dazed vision of all the doors in Fork opening up at the exact same moment and hundreds and hundreds of gray-clad people pouring into the streets in a silent flood.

Glancing around, she was shocked to see the black Willow Seat Tower in front of her again. How could that be possible when she had been walking away from it? Yet there was no mistaking the tower. The streets must twist about very strangely for her to have come back so close to it.

Not daring to walk boldly along the avenue, she peeped out and sought another lane. When there was a gap in the flow of people, she darted across the avenue and ran down the lane, until once more it ended at a broad avenue. This happened three more times before she recognized a pattern. The avenues all radiated out from the tower, while the lanes ran around it like the concentric rings in a tree trunk. But no matter how far she ran along an avenue before entering another lane, there was the Willow Seat Tower again, the exact same distance away!

Finally she gave up trying to make sense of the city. It had been built in an enchanted valley, so perhaps ordinary rules didn’t apply. Taking any turn not filled with people, she walked and walked, always turning her face away from the Willow Seat Tower. But the black tower proved as hard to leave behind as the skyscrapers were to approach.

Then, all at once, she turned a corner, and there they were, the skyscrapers, right in front of her. They were not modern skyscrapers after all, but ancient-looking towers made from huge blocks of rough-dressed, greenish black stone, with only a few unglassed windows set high up. Each tower had a tall iron door at street level, with a long lever worked by a complicated mechanism of cogs and meshed teeth instead of a doorknob. Over the doorways were spidery markings that reminded her of a picture she had seen in a history book of the writing on the walls of Egyptian tombs.

As Rage stood dumbfounded, a woman in gray came rushing around the corner and cannoned into her.

“What on earth are you doing here?” the woman demanded crossly. Her eyes fell to Rage’s wrists, and in a flash she pounced. Rage found herself being marched briskly back the way she had come. In minutes they were approaching the black tower.

Rage began to struggle, though she could not bring herself to scream and draw the attention of all the silent walkers.

“Be still, child,” the woman snapped, tightening her already viselike grip. “You are out of Order. By the look of your barbaric attire, you come from one of the outer villages. I suppose, being a bit older, you just thought you’d slip away from the banding house and do a bit of exploring.”

Rage opened her mouth to tell the woman about the uncle she was supposed to stay with, but then she found herself being marched smartly
past
the door to the Willow Seat Tower!

Her relief that she was not going to be made to face the High Keeper was so great that she felt dizzy. She decided that she would not try to get away from the woman after all. She had no idea how to negotiate the strange, magical city, nor how to find information about the wizard. The banding house might be the very place to learn what she needed, especially if it was as easy to slip away as the woman’s words implied. Far better to go there than wander stupidly in circles looking for some sort of public place. Anyway, if she did wrench her hand free and manage to get away, the woman would just summon the blackshirts and they would begin to comb the city for her, perhaps finding Bear and the others as a result.

They had walked no more than fifteen minutes when the woman stopped at a wooden door in a high stone wall and rapped at it imperiously. A young woman wearing a white apron over her gray clothes appeared.

“This girl is unbanded!” Rage’s captor announced accusingly.

The young woman’s eyes fell to Rage’s wrists and widened. “I see, but what do you wish me to do? She was not registered here by the blackshirts. We are not expecting any new children before the next ceremony.”

“She ought not to be wandering the streets! Look how close she is to womanhood.”

“Her placement is the responsibility of the blackshirts,” the younger woman said stubbornly.

“I will tell the brigade captain that you said as much. No doubt he will investigate the lapse in Order,” the older woman snapped. “Meanwhile, the girl will remain here.” She gave Rage a push that sent her stumbling into the arms of the younger woman, and departed triumphantly.

Inside the dimly lit hallway, the woman took a small notepad and pencil from her apron pocket. “What is your name?” Rage told her, and she wrote it down. “You may have to sleep top-and-tail tonight. The banding house is growing smaller, and there is less space than usual.”

Rage was hardly listening. Instead, she contrived to drop a little behind as they walked so that she could ask Mr. Walker if he could stand to remain hidden a while longer.

“Not for too much longer,” he whispered in martyred tones.

“In here,” the woman said, and they entered a large, bare room with high, slotted windows that let in daylight, though Rage could not look out of them. Like everything else in the city, all of the surfaces were black and unpatterned.

The woman turned to Rage again. She was beautiful, with dark, lustrous hair smoothed into a bun and big, long-lashed eyes.

“My name is Niadne,” she said. “I am one of the banding-house attendants. Are you hungry, child Rage?”

“A little,” Rage admitted, puzzled that the woman did not ask how she had come to be wandering the streets.

“Nearly everyone is hungry when they arrive in Fork. And you have come very far. I don’t suppose you were properly provisioned for the trip?”

“Not really,” Rage said. “I didn’t know how far I was to come when I set out.”

“That is often the way of journeys,” Niadne said serenely. “Especially journeys that lead to Fork. But come. You must wash your face and hands before you eat, and perhaps I can find you a gray tunic. You will have a proper gray gown for the banding. You will need to be fitted for it today, since the ceremony is tomorrow night. We must also find time to cut your hair. The High Keeper does not like hair to be so wild and curly. Too witchy.”

Rage said nothing. She had no intention of being in the banding house long enough to have her hair cut.

Splashing her face and arms with warm, scented water, Rage was delighted to hear Niadne ask if there was anything she wanted to know. “I am aware that little is known of Fork in the outer villages,” her companion added.

Rage’s mind swarmed with questions, but she decided to begin simply, and asked if Niadne had been born in the city.

“I came from one of the villages on the other side of the river. Not an outer village like yours. But that is so long ago, it seems a dream.”

“I suppose you love Fork now?”

There was a silence. “No. I could not say I love it, but I have grown used to it here.” A hovering attendant handed Rage a simple gray shift and a pair of sandals, and watched as she stripped off her clothes to don them.

“These are queer garments,” Niadne said, examining one of the ripple-soled hiking boots curiously.

“Can I keep my old things?” Rage asked.

“Of course you may,” Niadne said kindly, which saved Rage having to try to think of what to do about Mr. Walker, who was still in her coat pocket. Niadne watched her bundle the clothes up very gently before saying, “You probably won’t ever wear them again, but there is no reason you should not keep them as mementos.”

“Why does everyone in Fork wear gray or white or black?”

“The High Keeper wishes us to live in harmony with one another. To do so, we must give up selfishly asserting our individuality, even in our attire.”

“What will happen after I am banded?”

“You will live in one of the childhouses, or if you have family here who claim you, you will be assigned to live with them. You will be given work to do and classes to attend each day, for idle hands make much mischief. But because you are older, and indeed almost a woman, an offer may be made for you. If that happens, you will go to live in the house of your future husband.”

Rage’s feelings must have shown clearly on her face. First they kept saying she was on the verge of womanhood, and now they were talking about marriage. She had barely begun secondary school! Niadne gave her a look of mild pity. “I suppose in your village girls and boys still choose their own partners, but here we are more efficient. The keepers will listen to proposals from boys or their fathers and then choose the most appropriate match for you.”

“I’m too young to get married,” Rage protested.

“You will not be wed immediately, but it is the High Keeper’s belief that women are better growing in the will of their husbands from an early age.”

All the better to stop them leaving Fork,
Rage thought, wondering if Niadne had any thoughts or opinions that were not given to her by the High Keeper. But she reminded herself that she was supposed to be finding out about the wizard, not making judgments.

“Where is the Endless Sea?” she asked baldly, sick of trying to find clever ways to avoid asking outright for the information she needed.

Niadne smiled indulgently. “There is no such thing. It is part of a myth about the River of No Return. The story claims that once the river leaves Valley, it pours into a vast sea that laps between all worlds.”

Rage’s mouth fell slack. The ferryman had claimed that the River of No Return was connected by magic to the very river from which the wizard had drawn Valley. But what if it did flow to the Endless Sea? Common sense told her it was more likely that the Endless Sea was an inn, but this was a world held in place by magic! Why shouldn’t it contain a river that flowed to a magical sea? In fact, where else would a river that flowed endlessly from a magical land go but into an enchanted sea?

“What is the matter?” Niadne asked.

Rage discovered that she had stopped halfway through putting on a sandal. “Nothing. I was just wondering about boats.”

Niadne’s eyes widened in outrage. “Who would speak to an innocent, unbanded girl about such dreadful things?”

Rage blinked, confused. “A boy on the road said I could see them here,” she said quickly. In her experience, boys said all sorts of outrageous things, only some of which were true.

“Oh, a
boy,
” Niadne said, looking both relieved and exasperated. “Well, it would be best if you forget what he said. Other than the river ferry, boats are only used by the blackshirts. I will not speak of the purposes to which they are put.”

“I just wanted to see them,” Rage said, twisting her face childishly in the hope that this would cause Niadne to elaborate.

Niadne just pressed her lips together in disapproval. “Your mother will have told you something of her own banding, but you should know that this High Keeper is very strict. He will not look tolerantly on mistakes. You must be very careful to move slowly and keep in Order with the other girls as you walk up to the Willow Seat, and do not speak to any of the other supplicants during the banding. The High Keeper does not like women to talk. He believes it is a flaw in womankind that we chatter rather than think deep thoughts. Do not speak to the High Keeper at all. And do not look into his eyes.”

Rage was surprised at how much she resented all of the rules made by the High Keeper. Back home, rules had always made her feel safe. It had not occurred to her that there might be bad rules as well as good ones, and she had obeyed them without question. The High Keeper sounded as harsh and mean-minded as the rules he made.
What would he do if I refused to obey them?
Rage wondered hotly, then realized she had spoken aloud.

Niadne regarded her gravely. “This is not a game, child Rage. The High Keeper might see your boldness as an omen. The best thing is not to be noticed. Make yourself utterly inconspicuous.”

Or what?
Rage wanted to ask, but she only said, “You can be sure I won’t speak to the High Keeper.” She had no intention of even seeing him. The more she thought about it, the more certain she felt that the River of No Return flowed into the Endless Sea. It made strange but compelling sense. She couldn’t wait to hear what Billy thought.

Niadne was still regarding her anxiously. “Can I have something to eat now?” Rage asked.

Her question wiped the lines of worry from the woman’s lovely face. “Children are always hungry,” she said happily. “Come.”

A little later, eating horribly sweet porridge out of a thick earthenware bowl, Rage studied the girls seated at her table. Most were a lot younger than her. Other than being slightly subdued, they appeared content to be in Fork. Maybe they took comfort from the company of their friends. From what she could gather, they had all come from their villages in twos or in groups, having been collected by the white-faced guardians.