Tanith Lee - Claidi Journals 01 (17 page)

Roofs, layered on the sky, vanished in mist and cloud. Everything was so big. So smooth and burnished.

So clean and cold and dim and dark.

“Yes,” he breathed. “I’ve missed this place. Home. My home. Yours. And look there, over there, can you see?”

I gazed where he pointed and saw a tower that somehow managed to be even bigger than all the rest, and even smoother and dimmer and
etc.
On the top, a furious black stone thing crouched, snarling, one taloned paw upraised, and a flag in it, dark and limp in the rain.

So I didn’t need him to say to me, in his emotional and exalting voice: “
The Wolf Tower
.” Perhaps not unreasonably, since Nemian was important, and after all he’d said about a welcome, I’d expected crowds.

There weren’t any. Or only one.

The ship was guided in to the bank, and there, in a long stone porch that stretched from the Wolf Tower, with its de-mon wolf, were some people richly dressed and a group of others, obviously more slaves.

These other slaves lay down on the pavement, in ‘the puddles.

“Our” slaves on the ship lay down on the deck, even the one tying us up to the bank, once he’d finished.

The royalty approached the steps and looked down at us. They wore fantastic clothes, thick with gold and silver, more like
armor
.

But they were smiling and waving soft hands.

“Nemian… Nemian,” they cried, “darling…”

They all looked alike to me, in a funny way. A lot of them had golden hair just like his.

Nemian got ashore and walked up the steps. Then he turned and gestured back toward me, showing me to them. And they clapped and gave little shrill cries.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, so I just stood there like a twerp.

One of the men said, “Your messenger was here before you, Nemian, in good time. The Old Lady will come out.” Nemian colored with pleasure. (His grandmother, must be.)

“I don’t deserve it. I nearly failed you.”

“No, no, Nemian. We heard how things went wrong. And still you took success.” They beamed at me. Should I smile too? Or stay ever so dignified? Before I could decide, a horn wailed from somewhere in the tower.
They
all fell deadly smileless and silent. Their heads all turned toward the door that opened on the porch. It was a high oblong door, of two steely halves.

Two slaves emerged first, holding out their arms, as if to shoo everyone aside. They looked haughty.

Then she came out.

Instantly I knew her. Instantly again I didn’t. I wished I hadn’t drunk the wine.

She was tall, thin,
smoothed
like the buildings. She had their colors or noncolors.

No mistaking her eyes—black in her dry, elderly white face. They were glaring straight at me, as if to strip me to the bones.

The two haughty slaves yapped in chorus:

“Princess Ironel Novendot.”

And suddenly I knew who she reminded me of, for all her utter unlikeness: Jizania Tiger of the House I’d left behind.

THE LAW: FINDING

Looking around, for the thousandth time, I wonder if there’s any way I can use that window, or that one, or even the door. Or is there anything I can do? I think about the million and one times at the House I got into hot water and usually got myself out of it again. Maybe with a slapped face or bleeding beaten hands, but nothing too final. However, this is difficult. No, it’s impossible. Argul told me I was trouble, or made trouble, and he was absolutely right. I just wish he was here to say,
I told you so
. Although I don’t, really, wish he was here. I wouldn’t wish many people
here
.

Sorry, I’ll start again. You wont know yet what I’m going on about.

When did I first start to panic? Well, that was long before
this
. Really almost as soon as I saw the Princess Ironel.

She came walking along the stone porch with her black licorice cane tapping on the ground. Her hands were white claws.

She wasn’t beautiful like Jizania, and Ironel had all her hair—partly black still, or iron-colored—pulled back off her masklike face into a towering topknot stuck with silver pins.

As she approached, Nemian and all the others kneeled down—not one knee either, both knees.

And the slaves were flat, all but her slaves, who presently kneeled and bowed their heads.

But I stood upright, there on the boat-ship. Why? In a way, I was frightened of tearing the dress if I kneeled. (It seemed very flimsy material.) Or getting it dirty. I mean, it couldn’t be mine.
They’d
provided it, this lot. (Just as maids had been dressed by the House.) I did bow my head. But that was shame more than anything else.

And why was I ashamed? Second sight, maybe, like Argul’s mother.

Sort of cricking my neck, I saw Ironel Novendot raise Nemian and embrace him. It was a stiff and a cold embrace. It was as if one of the towers did it. But he seemed awfully happy. He kissed her claws.

“You found her,” she said.

“Madam, I did.”

“What is her name?” I heard the old voice rasp. (Me?)

“Claidissa Star.” (Me.)

“Yes,” said Ironel Novendot. “That is correct.”

The hairs rose on my scalp under all the curls and coilings.
What did she mean? He’d found
me? She
knew
me?

Then the appalling slaves on the boat were help-thrusting me up the stairs onto the bank and into the porch, and I was right in‘ front of her.

“You are welcome to the City,” said the old woman. She spoke—as he had—as if only this City existed, capital C. Like the capital H of the House. All lies, as now I knew. “We are very glad you’ve come,” she added. “I, certainly.”

She
. She didn’t look it. Her
eyes
, jet black with grey rings around the black. Awful eyes. But she
did
look like Jizania, in a way. Was it just her age? No—and anyway, how old was she?

“We will go in now,” she told us.

An order.

Everyone got up, simpering.

She turned back to me, sudden as something springing, and caught my face in a bunch of claws.

“Do you speak?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Good.” She smiled. Ah. Her teeth were false. They were wonderful. Pearls set in silver. She must save that smile for very special moments. (She does.)

==========

Just as I thought
Yd
go mad and scream, we reached another open hollow. To my horror, we went right up past it.

There were some more of these. When I’d given up hope, we came to a hollow and stopped. More slaves outside opened the gate.

Outside was a colossal hall. It seemed to go on forever on every side, and the ceiling too was high as a sky, or looked like it. It was painted like a sky too, only the paint had faded. Un-less they did it that way in the first place, grey, with grape-dark clouds. (Probably they did.) On the deep grey marble expanse of floor were spindly tables with things to eat and drink, tobacco, and open boxes of strange stalks and tablets. These were like the things Nemian had given me instead of food in the dust desert. I couldn’t see why they would be necessary here.

Nemian, though, took a handful of them and ate them. Then he took some wine from a slave. So did I, the wine, although I didn’t want it.

The old woman took only a glass of something that looked like muddy pond water, sucked it, and pulled a face like a kid who’d been given burnt spinach when she wanted an ice cream.

But she clasped Nemian’s arm. As they walked along the long, long floor away from the crowd—who all watched admiringly and went on simpering—she called, “You, too, Claidissa.” So I, too, went with them.

There were vast windows stretching floor to ceiling. They had glass in them, and eventually we stood at one, looking out over the City. (There was also something nasty bulging over the window top, twice my height again, over my head. Took me a while to realize it was one black
paw of
the evil wolf statue on the roof, curled down over the window. What a place!)

The City looked vile too. How could he be proud of it? Homesick for it?

Rain boiled among the stupid, too-high buildings. The depressing statues lurched and craned. Everything black or grey or like sour milk. Absolute rubbish.

Nemian and his gran had been murmuring things to each other. Not exactly loving, but sort of secretive and sneaky, somehow. They both had a sly, smug look. It didn’t suit either of them. He didn’t look so handsome. His face seemed to have changed. And glancing at me, abruptly he laughed. It was a cruel laugh. One couldn’t miss it. It was a laugh of heartless triumph.

I didn’t want to make a judgment. I’d done a lot of that and been proved wrong. I just stood there meekly.

Ironel Novendot said to me, also glancing sidelong, “And how is Jizania these days?” That was so much what had been on my mind, and I said at once, “Blooming.”

“Blast the creature,” said Ironel, snapping her pearls spitefully. “Wouldn’t she just!”

“I’m afraid,” I said sadly, “she forgot to send you her regards.” (Forgot a lot of things, I mentally added.

Like the fact she and you seem to know each other.)

But Ironel only sucked her drink again.

“One day,” she said to me, “you too will have to live on muck like this. Has he told you my age?” She waited. Old People often like you to be astounded by their ages. I said, “No, madam.”

“One hundred and seventy,” she informed me.

Well, I didn’t believe her. She wasn’t more than ninety-nine, I’d have said. But I widened my eyes and exclaimed, “A great age, lady.”

“You too,” she said, “will reach a great age here in our City. And you too will end as I am, drinking slops.” And she smiled again, pleased at the idea.

A curse?

No, it seemed to be simply a fact.

I went colder, far colder, than if she
had
cursed me.

Nemian said, “She doesn’t know yet, Grandmother.”

“Doesn’t she? Nice surprise for her then. How did you get her here?” Nemian shot me a little-boyish, rueful look. He seemed to be saying, I just know you’ll forgive me, Claidi. He actually said, “Well, madam, I lied to her a lot.”

“And with your pretty face,” said Ironel, happier by the second, “the poor little fish was hooked.” My mouth
didn’t
fall open. And I
didn’t
throw up on their shoes. I remain proud of both these things. I was so afraid, I felt as if I were floating in the air inside a ball of ice. Struck dumb, I couldn’t question them. So I stayed mercifully silent.

Nemian said, “When Jizania’s people shot the balloon down—
not
in my plan—I thought
I’d
had it, I confess. But luck was on my side. And Jizania stuck to her vow, once I’d shown her the flower. It’s just possible she might have forgotten if I hadn’t. Her mind isn’t as sharp as
yours
, Grandmother.” They smirked at each other.

Then Ironel said, “I must show Claidissa the garden of Immortal flowers.” I couldn’t work out any of it. Sometime one of these monsters was going to have to explain it all to me.

Not only had I been made a fool of, I was a fool to start with.

Strangely, I had then a sudden image of Argul. He’d never have been tricked by such people. He’d have known what was going on. But in such a situation, he would have been terrific, I just knew. This is hard to describe, but all at once, I seemed to myself to
become
Argul. I wasn’t Claidi anymore, but him, tall and strong, confident and clever. And brave.

I looked at them with Argul’s eyes, and I said, “This wine’s rather bad, isn’t it? Perhaps you’re just used to it. But really.” And I upended the glassful and poured it on their horrible floor.

They both
gaped
at me. What a sight.

At that moment, a bell rang.

Everyone looked—even they did. Through a gauzy curtain came two new slaves, bowing. And then this girl.

She was—I don’t know where to begin. I’ll try. If you took one newborn primrose and mixed its color in the purest cream, that was her skin, the exact shade and as smooth. She had black-blue eyes, slanting upward at the outer corners. She had
blue
—must have been black—hair that hung straight as sheet metal to the backs of her knees. She wore white, and the rain must have drenched her and then turned to opals.

“Ah, now,” said the old witch, Ironel. “Here’s Moon Silk.” This girl, Moon Silk, came along the floor, gliding on perfect moon-pale feet.

And Nemian gave a sort of strangled cry. And down his cheeks ran more rain, only this was tears.

He left me, he left his fearful granny, and he strode to the exquisite girl and raised her into his arms. He kissed her. It was… a
kiss
.

Despite everything, it startles me to have to report, I felt as if I’d been hit in the stomach.

And Ironel said, not needing to, as Nemian hadn’t needed to name this awful Tower, “How touching.

Lovers re-meeting. Nemian and his young bride. They were only married, Claidissa, a month before he had to leave us on his quest for
you
.”

==========

She
told me. (Ironel.) She must have loved it. I tried to be Argul, still, but he’d never have gotten in this mess. In the end I just had to be Claidi and listen and cope as best I could.

It’s soon told, though she went on and on, embroidering bits lovingly. Lingering. Watching me to see if I’d cry or jump about.

Before, she took me with her, alone, along the top story of the Wolf Tower. From various windows she pointed out ugly important buildings. The other three Towers, for example, in the three other quarters of the City. They are the Pig Tower, the Vulture Tower, and the Tiger Tower. You’ll probably see at once, the Tiger Tower used to be Jizania Tiger’s—where Jizania was
born
.