The Blood Debt (11 page)

The night seemed to close in around her, full of suffocating silence. She shivered, thinking of Larson Maiz, frightened to death by the thing Sal’s father had brought into the world, whatever it was. ‘It came this way?’

‘And recently, too. The wake has been getting stronger the closer we come to it. We’ve been measuring the width and the way it varies depending on the landscape and vegetation it passes through. It seems to spread further when there’s less around it — the earth and living things interfere with it, reduce its strength. We had no idea how strong it would become in the Broken Lands, and that was our mistake. While Kail followed the wake on foot, the rest of us were using the roads to cut in front of it, head it off. We must have just missed it. We crossed its path without warning, just over that hill. The buses died immediately, sucked dry of the Change. We lost contact with Kail. We were stuck.’

‘Did you see it?’ asked Sal.

‘No.’ Marmion shook his head. With his thoughts focused on something other than the two of them, the Warden seemed much less defensive, although never truly comfortable. ‘Nor did we see your father. We could only sit and wait for Kail to find us, in the hope that he could get the buses going again. He couldn’t. He’s never seen anything like this before. Neither has Banner. Hopefully, she and Tom can get us moving again soon, otherwise we’ll have to continue on foot, thereby losing our only advantage.’

His voice was full of frustration, which Shilly could understand. To have been so close to the Homunculus and then have it snatched out of his grasp must have been galling. And now she and Sal had appeared, adding to his problems.

‘Who is Kail, exactly?’ asked Sal.

‘Habryn Kail is a tracker from Camarinha. They get a lot of strange things spilling over from the Divide up there, and he knows the spoor of most of them. Or so he says. Seems to me there’s not much skill in following something that leaves a trail two metres wide and travels in a perfectly straight line.’ Frustration turned querulous. ‘You two, travelling on your own, would probably catch it quicker than we would with all our impedimenta.’

Shilly took pity on him. ‘But what would we do when we caught it? I presume you have some sort of plan.’

Marmion, barely visible against the stars, bent down and picked up a stone. ‘You’re still feeling the wake, right? This is several hours old. Can you imagine what it must be like standing next to the Homunculus?’ He issued a sound that might have been a snort. ‘None of us are keen to jump uninformed into that situation. Until we can see it, even from a distance, and maybe work out what it wants, we’re as much in the dark as you are.’

The Warden threw the stone into the blackness. It clattered and skittered away.

Shilly could appreciate his position. No living thing could get rid of the Change entirely as, by definition, that which didn’t change couldn’t be alive, but it left the exact nature of the Homunculus still very much in question.

‘No plan, then,’ she said.

‘Not as such,’ he said, as sombre as the dead night around them. ‘Still want to help us?’

‘Sounds like you’re going to need it.’

The revving of an engine came from the impromptu campsite. Light spilled across the rugged ground, catching Marmion for an instant then sweeping elsewhere. An afterimage of the Warden remained frozen in her eyesight briefly. He didn’t look especially relieved by the latest development.

‘Let’s get back,’ he said. ‘I want to follow Tom’s progress.’

They followed him out of the Homunculus’s wake. The background levels of the Change swept over them again and she felt Sal physically relax beside her.

She wasn’t so easily reassured. The little they had learned about the Homunculus only served to make her more worried, not less. What else could it do, if it put its mind to it? Where was it going, and why? What would they find waiting for them when they caught up with it? And where was Highson amongst all this craziness?

The only thing she was certain of was that they were caught up in the world again. She thought of Fundelry, and her heart ached.

* * * *

The Quartermaster

‘The Age of Machines never ended; the

magic that drove it simply stopped working.

Since then, Humanity has learned a new

magic and built new machines
—
and so we

will do again, should the Cataclysm strike

a second time.’

THE BOOK OF TOWERS,
FRAGMENT 129

 heavy pounding at his door woke Skender from a deep sleep. At first he thought the sound came from inside his head, and he rolled over with a groan, cursing himself for drinking too much the night before. Memories of Chu and Magister Considine faded in and out of focus. He was unsure how much of it was real. Perhaps he had dreamed the whole thing.

The hammering persisted. Staggering to his feet, he crossed the tiny room and opened the door.

‘For you.’ A dark-skinned youth thrust a thick envelope into Skender’s hand.

‘Uh, thanks.’ The messenger didn’t wait for a tip. Skender shut the door and retreated into his room, turning the envelope over in his hands. It was marked with a large, important-looking seal in red wax and had his name written in ornate fashion on the front.

He didn’t need to open it to know what it was. Its prompt arrival suggested that his memories were as accurate as ever.

‘Curse it,’ he muttered, collapsing back onto his bed and wishing he were dead. His eyes felt hot and heavy. The leftovers of dinner — aromatic meatballs and spicy vegetable wraps — formed an acidic, oily residue in his stomach that simply didn’t bear thinking about.

There came another knock at the door.

‘Go away!’ he said. ‘Haven’t I suffered enough?’

‘Hardly,’ returned a familiar voice. ‘I’ve barely started on you.’

He groaned and hauled himself up. Chu stood outside his door clad in her flying uniform. Her bright, laughing eyes took him in with one up-down sweep.

‘Nice underwear. And skinny is good for flying. You could use a bit of muscle, though. We’ll work on that this morning.’

He retreated from her relentless energy and fell face-forward onto the bed. ‘I’m not planning on doing anything this morning, except quietly dying.’

‘Nonsense.’ She followed him into the room and shut the door behind her. ‘You’ve got a mother to rescue.’

‘She can wait.’

‘What about me, then? Don’t you want to show me what you’re made of?’

‘You already know. I’m a stone-boy, and I’ll drop like a stone if you push me off that tower.’

‘Maybe, maybe not. There’s only one way to find out.’

He could feel her looking at him, and pictured her with hands on hips, lips pursed in prim amusement. All trace of the previous evening’s gloomy backlash had apparently vanished.

‘Why are you so bloody perky?’

‘I’m a morning person. And I figure that if I do right by you, it’ll look good on my record. How could the Magister turn me down then?’

He groaned. Nothing had changed. He was still a pawn; a means to her selfish end.

She hauled him back onto his feet. ‘Come on. Brush your hair and clean your teeth. Fill a water bottle. We’ll rustle up some breakfast and then start training. It’s not like we have forever, you know.’

He gave in. She was right, and unstoppable. The chance of getting any more rest with her around was nonexistent. He might as well submit and get it over with. And maybe, he told himself, he’d feel better after one of those noxious potions the locals called coffee.

‘Is this what I think it is?’ she asked, picking the envelope off the bed as he struggled with the lacings of his robe.

‘Open it and see.’

She did so with one deft swipe of a fingernail and withdrew the thick sheath of papers, flattening them out on her lap. A corner of something black poked out of one side.

‘“Name: Skender Van Haasteren the Tenth. Address: the Keep. Age: sixteen.” Hey, that’s the same as me. I thought you were younger.’

‘Just naturally immature,’ he said. ‘Look, why don’t you take it? I’ve got no use for it.’

‘It doesn’t work that way.’ Her eyes scanned the rest of the form. ‘Excellent. I was hoping they’d do that.’

‘What?’

‘They’ve given you a standard miner’s licence, probationary for three months. You’re subject to the same regulations I was.’

‘So?’

‘That means you’re rated to carry a passenger.’ She folded the papers and put them in the envelope, which she stuffed in a pocket at the back of her pants. ‘Ready? Good. Let’s use some of that Interior coin of yours to fill our bellies. And then, my friend —’ she clapped his back loud enough to make his head ring, ‘— you and I are going to soar like birds.’

* * * *

The first stop after breakfast was a small storage facility near the base of the Wall. Skender was acutely conscious of the fact that the Divide was just a stone’s throw away as he followed Chu down steep staircases and along circuitous lanes, angling further and further downhill. The memory of sky retreated until barely a glimmer of natural light filtered down through the layers of awnings, overhangs and walkways.

Laure, he was beginning to realise, was a city that had been built over, over and over, since the Cataclysm. Once the Wall went up and protected the land inside it from the depredations of the Divide, reconstruction had been vigorous and long-lasting as people moved from the tilted buildings of the Old City and created the New. Bridges and ramps overlapped streets, which in turn wound around stairwells and buried accessways. The air was thick and heavy down there, drenched in many different scents, perfumed and pungent both. They were headed for the very bottom.

‘I know it doesn’t look like much, but it is secure,’ Chu said as they came to a series of small, locked metal doors, none of them matching, at a dead end that looked like it was a home for stray cats. The ancient cobbles were buried under years of accumulated grime and rubbish.

Chu pulled a key from a pocket and used it to open the third door along. Inside was her wing, neatly folded and collapsed like a moth in a cocoon. She told him where to grip, and together they lifted it up. It was as large as a person, yet surprisingly light. One person could have lifted it easily, but two definitely made the task easier.

He carried the rear end as they retraced their steps through the city. The light grew brighter, and the wing seemed to come to life. Faint traceries of colour appeared on the thin fabric, shifting and blending like oil on water. Its many struts and control surfaces were a translucent amber colour and flexed smoothly under his fingers. What he had assumed at first to be wood and canvas turned out to be something very different indeed. It looked organic rather than man-made, as if its many pieces had assembled naturally. But as well as its beauty, he saw where it had been damaged. The skin had torn away from the struts in several places; the central, largest strut was kinked in the middle, like a hunchback. Instead of a newborn butterfly waiting to inflate its wings and take to the sky, it seemed more like an injured bird, huddling around itself for protection.

‘Where are we taking it?’ he asked Chu.

‘The armoury.’

‘Is it far?’ Although lightweight for its size, the folded wing was growing heavier with every step.

‘Remember that tower we looked at yesterday? The one you reckon you’ll drop like a stone from?’

Skender rolled his eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘The armoury is on ground level.’

‘Why is it called the armoury? Do you carry weapons when you fly?’

‘Why would you? When you’re above someone, all you really need is a rock and a good eye. And you’re usually too busy flying to fight anyone. We’ve just always called it the armoury. It’s where we go to be kitted out for mining.’

‘Will I have to wear a suit like yours?’

‘Don’t you like the look of it?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ On her it looked good, but the thought of wrapping all that tight leather around himself made him sweat in advance.

She laughed. ‘You only have to wear it if you want to; otherwise, we can tie your robes to your legs so they won’t tangle. That’s sure to impress the girls.’

‘You know that’s the least of my concerns.’

‘I doubt it. You
are
sixteen, after all.’

‘So are you.’

‘No argument there. I’m wearing the leather, aren’t I?’

He shifted his grip uncomfortably. ‘Tell me how you damaged your wing.’

‘Ah. Well, it was a dare. Someone said I couldn’t steal an egg from the nests at the top of Observatory Tower, and obviously I had to prove him wrong.’

‘Obviously. What was his name?’ he asked, wondering if this was the same ‘some people’ she had been complaining about the previous night.

‘Kazzo Niclais. Do you know how high Observatory Tower is?’

‘Not exactly. I’ve seen it, though.’ There was no way he could miss it. The tower speared upward from the centre of the New City and stood at least twice as high as any of the other buildings. It was circular, externally featureless, and tapered slightly as it rose. Just below the top was a fat sphere, like a fish egg impaled on a pin, which he assumed contained the instruments that earned the tower its name. What the yadachi did with them he didn’t know; bent the weather to their collective will, or tried to, he assumed. ‘Bird’s nest up there?’

‘Safest place for hundreds of kilometres,’ she said. ‘Safer than the mountains. The only predators are each other. The eggs are supposed to be particularly potent, medicinally,
masculinely
speaking — if you know what I mean.’

‘I get the idea.’

‘Even the broken shells that fall naturally from the nests fetch a fair price on the black market. So there were sufficient incentives to give it a go.’

‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me.’

She glanced at him, sharply, perhaps wondering if he was mocking her. He wasn’t. ‘We’re a competitive bunch, miners. There’s hardly anyone over twenty, for a start, and there are a lot of boys, because they’re stronger and have a natural advantage. That’s a bad mix. When you’re a girl trying to make her way, you have to take these things seriously because everyone else does — even if it’s completely stupid. Even if it means trying to capture a stationary target at speed in high winds, when the slightest mistake would mean falling a horribly long way to your death.’