The Blood Debt (47 page)

Skender looked incredulous. ‘Really?’

‘Of course. Wait until you’ve been with someone as long as us. Then you’ll know what it’s like to have scars no one else can see.’

Sal could tell that Skender was disappointed. He understood that. Love wasn’t supposed to be painful, and in the stories Sal had been told as a kid it didn’t seem to be. Yet there were times he’d thought that, if he’d known just how vulnerable it would make him, he might have stayed in the Haunted City with Highson and devoted himself to a life of celibacy.

He was glad he hadn’t.

‘It’s worth it,’ he said, clapping a hand on Skender’s shoulder. ‘Believe me. Shilly’s just trying to give you a scare. Don’t let anyone talk you out of something like this — least of all yourself.’

‘Thanks.’ Skender looked equal parts relieved and terrified.

‘I agree,’ said Shilly, ‘and maybe it’ll be Chu — even though that’d mean you’re
really
following in your father’s footsteps.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, you know. He’s not exactly the adventurous type, is he — and who did he marry? A Surveyor. I bet they see each other, what, once or twice a year? Now you’re flirting with a flyer from the other side of the Interior. It’s a recipe for exactly the same disaster.’

Skender looked aghast. ‘I didn’t ...’ he stammered. ‘I mean, that is —’

‘Wait.’ Sal held up his hand. Behind their conversation, the song of the yadachi had changed. Instead of the usual wailing tune, the weather-workers had adopted a newer, more complex tonality that called and echoed across the rooftops. Rhythms developed in one place then faded, only to spring up again in another, far removed from the first. Intricate counterpoints wove through the towers like tangled threads. ‘Listen.’

‘I hear it,’ said Skender, his head cocked. ‘It sounds like they’re talking.’

‘Maybe they are,’ said Sal, scanning the sky visible from street level. Nowhere did he see the blood-red robes of the city’s weather-workers. ‘Are you sure they couldn’t have seen us?’

‘No,’ said Shilly. ‘This has nothing to do with us.’

As she said the words, a strange new noise rose up over the city. It sounded like a giant cow lowing, but its pitch was much too deep to come from a living throat. Its volume increased until Sal could practically feel the air vibrating.

‘What is it?’ asked Skender, his hands over his ears.

Shilly shook her head in confusion as more tones joined the cacophony. Sal realised then that it was giant horns blowing, sounding powerful calls over the city. There was no melody or beat, just one growing chord containing notes high and low, as dissonant as a hundred voices yelling at once.

People ran by with looks of fright on their faces. Skender grabbed one and repeated his question.

‘What is it?’

‘The alarum,’ came the reply from a thick-moustached man with flour on his hands. ‘It only sounds when the city is in danger!’

‘From what?’

‘The man’kin are attacking!’ The baker hurried off and ran into a house on the next corner. The sound of his door slamming was audible along the street.

‘Man’kin attacking?’ Skender looked puzzled. ‘The Magister wouldn’t raise such a panic over Mawson, would she?’

‘I very much doubt it.’ Sal thought of the man’kin migrations in the Divide and the way the Aad had been taken apart, and he shivered.

Shilly looked up the street then back the way they had come. Her expression was one of deep concern. ‘I think we need to find out what’s going on outside.’

‘When we catch up with the others —’

‘We’ll probably be arrested.’ She studied Skender a moment. ‘You’ve got the city map in your head, right?’ He nodded. ‘There must be a way onto the Wall. I bet we can see everything from up there.’

Skender looked uncertain. ‘I don’t know, Shilly. If the man’kin are really attacking, then the Wall is the
last
place we want to be.’

‘That depends on how you look at it.’ She glanced at Sal, who nodded. ‘Standing here all day isn’t going to help anyone, that’s for sure.’

‘All right.’ Skender thought for a moment, rubbing a hand through his thick brown hair. His fingers left brown smudges on pale skin. ‘Yes. Let’s keep going the way we were for a bit, and then take a right instead of a left. That should put us on the right road.’

‘How far?’ she asked.

‘A fair hike. Half an hour’s walk at least.’

Shilly irritably tapped the ground with the tip of her cane. ‘Too long.’

‘We could hail a lift,’ Sal suggested. ‘Do you have any local money, Skender?’

Skender turned out his pockets, resulting in barely enough spare change for a game of two-up.

‘It’s okay,’ he said in the face of their disappointment. There was more than a hint of resignation in his voice. ‘I know what to do.’

* * * *

‘A Stone Mage?’ Shilly said in disbelief as the cab rattled its way through the streets of Laure. ‘They’ll believe anything here, obviously.’

‘Well, I
am
a Mage,’ said Skender defensively. ‘Almost.’

‘And I’m
almost
sure that charm you performed was just an illusion. What happens when our driver realises you’ve cheated him?’

Skender shushed her in case the man steering the cab heard her over the combined racket of the alarum and the engine. ‘Yes, that’s all true. But he wanted proof, and it was the best I could think of. Hopefully he’ll be well away from us when it wears off.’

Skender avoided Sal’s speculative gaze and tried to get comfortable on the worn leather seat. In lieu of a fare, the driver had wanted a charm to fix a spreading bald spot. Lacking time for the usual restorative tattoos — which rarely worked anyway — Skender had simply fooled him into feeling hair where there wasn’t any. It wouldn’t be long before his fingertips revealed the trick.

And now, somehow, Shilly had made him feel
guilty
about it.

He forced himself to concentrate on their travel instead. The cab was rattling through side streets toward the outskirts of the city, where it had been built up along the sides of the Divide. The Wall itself was sacrosanct, as far as development was concerned; no one built there. Every other surface around it was encrusted with housing blocks and apartments, all craning for a better view over the city. Remains of the original settlement, the Old City that had subsided after the coming of the Divide, were visible among the newer buildings: stubby, round-edged structures with slits for windows and low roofs. From a distance, a strange mould seemed to have covered the ochre stone from top to bottom in squiggly patterns.

Skender was glad they hadn’t walked. The roads were increasingly winding and steep — a fact he hadn’t truly appreciated from the air. They hung on to straps and each other as the cab’s spluttering alcohol engine strained to maintain walking pace up the steepest stretches. Skender stuck his head out at one point to look back the way they had come. The expanse of the city lay below them, smudged brown in the wake of the sandstorm. The heavy lifter was nowhere to be seen. Only a couple of flyers circled over the towers, braving the aftershocks of the unnatural weather. Skender didn’t envy them.

‘Any word from Marmion?’ Shilly asked.

Sal shook his head. He had tried to contact the warden through the Change to let him know what they were doing, but Marmion either couldn’t or wouldn’t reply. When they tried Skender’s mother, her response had been curt.

‘Can’t talk. Yadachi waiting for us at the hostel. Keep your eyes open, and don’t worry.’

They were on their own. Skender’s doubts rose sharply. Obeying his mother’s request was going to be difficult, if not impossible. What those bloodsuckers were doing with her and Chu and the rest of the wardens just didn’t bear thinking about.

The cab squeaked to a halt three-quarters of the way along a service road leading to the top of the Wall, the driver protesting that he dared go no further while the alarum was sounding. Skender thanked him as they got out and stretched their legs. His tailbone was numb from the constant bouncing. Shilly mimed brushing, as of an errant fringe, and the driver gratefully mimicked her actions, thinking he was adjusting his new locks. She gave him a thumbs-up, then turned and shot daggers at Skender.

‘I give in,’ he said as the cab spluttered back down the hill. ‘I’ll send him the proper fee later.’

‘How?’

‘His registration number was on the dash. There’ll be records somewhere.’

‘Good enough.’ She pointed up the road with her cane. ‘Let’s keep moving.’

They hurried up the steep slope, the powerful lowing of the alarum goading them on. ‘I don’t know what you think we’re going to do up here,’ he said, daunted by the height. It felt like weeks since he and Chu had retrieved the wing from storage at the very base of the Wall. ‘Dropping rocks on their heads isn’t going to bother man’kin terribly much.’

‘It might make them think twice.’

‘It might just make them angrier.’

‘If you’re not careful, I’ll drop
you
on them instead.’ She tugged at the curls of her short hair, taking her frustration out on herself. ‘Honestly, Skender, I don’t know what else to do. But I know I’m not going to just sit around and wait for someone else to fix the problem. It’s not that I don’t trust the Magister to do it right — it’s just that I don’t trust her to do it
well.
If you know what I mean.’

Skender thought he did. The sharp-taloned woman occupying the throne of Laure was bound to have numerous tricks up her black sleeve. That only made him more nervous. He was certain she wouldn’t lose any sleep if a couple of out-of-towners got caught in the crossfire.

‘Hold up,’ said Sal as they rounded a corner. The way ahead was blocked by a heavy gate and several Laurean guards looking menacing in their uniforms.

‘A welcoming committee,’ said Skender.

‘I think not.’ Shilly barely broke step. The guards arranged themselves in a line across the gate as the trio approached, their expressions a mixture of cautiousness and forbidding determination.

‘Stop right there,’ said the leader, a broad-shouldered woman with a red fringe poking out from under her close-fitting helmet.

‘It’s okay,’ said Shilly, coming to a halt in front of her. ‘We’re only here to observe.’

‘No one’s allowed through. It could be dangerous.’

‘We can look after ourselves.’

‘Spare me the arguments. I’ve heard them all before.’

‘This happens every day, does it?’ Shilly didn’t back down from the guard’s unblinking regard. ‘We might be able to help.’

‘How?’

‘I’m not going to lie and tell you we’re something we’re not,’ she said with a glance at Skender, ‘but we’re more capable than we look.’

‘You’d have to be.’

‘And someone we know is out there, in the Divide. Don’t we at least have the right to find out if he’s okay? You can come with us if you want to make sure we’re not up to no good. Give us a break, will you?’

Behind the guard’s bluff demeanour, Skender thought he detected a hint of uncertainty. But orders were orders, and she clearly intended to follow them.

‘Sorry. You’ll have to leave. Come back after the emergency is over and you can have a look around.’

‘Listen,’ said Shilly, taking a step forward and poking at the woman’s breastplate with her right index finger, ‘if you think we’re just a bunch of stupid tourists with nothing better to do than —’

Strident honking and the chugging of an engine behind them interrupted her. Skender turned to see a battered two-seater cab approaching along the road. A blond youth hung out of the passenger side, waving a flat leather case in one hand. The driver stopped honking when it was clear he had gained the guards’ attention, and slid to a gravelly halt in front of them.

The youth hopped out of the vehicle and hurried to where the guards stood in his path.

‘Make way, make way!’ he yelled, producing a piece of paper from the case and thrusting it into the face of the woman confronting Shilly — the guard blinked, startled, and took it from him. ‘My name is Gwil Flintham and I come with the authority of the Magister! These people are to have the run of the Wall. They are not to be interfered with. Is that understood?’

‘Uh —’ The guard frowned at the form, with the regal seal of Laure prominent at top and centre. Skender didn’t have time to read what it said — it was snatched back too quickly — but it had the desired effect. ‘I guess you’d better go through, then.’

She gestured and her contingent of guards fell back. The gate swung open with a deep groan.

‘Thank you,’ said the mysterious Gwil Flintham with a short nod. ‘Wait here. We’ll call if we need anything.’

Skender kept his lips carefully buttoned as they bustled through the checkpoint. He could feel the eyes of the guards on them. Only when the gate clanged shut and he was certain they were out of earshot did he dare whisper to Shilly, ‘Who is this guy? Do you know him?’

She made introductions with an amused gleam in her eye. Gwil Flintham, former gatekeeper and recently assigned to keep an eye on Marmion and his gang, looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to faint or crow with delight.

‘When we received word from you,’ he explained as they walked the last hundred metres to the top of the Wall, ‘Marmion didn’t know what to do. Yadachi were waiting for him and everyone at the Galah. The Magister herself was on her way to deal with them; it looked pretty bad. Still did, when I last saw. But we couldn’t leave you out here on your own. You wouldn’t get very far without the right kind of authorisation, and I was the only one who could leave the hostel. So I faked the paperwork and came after you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sal.

‘My pleasure.’ The gatekeeper’s eyes were wide and his cheeks were bright pink splotches in otherwise pale skin.

‘We’d better move quickly. If the guards back there check on us, we’ll be in big trouble.’

‘We’re going as fast as we can,’ said Sal.

‘I know. But still...’

They came to a series of broad stone steps that wound backwards and forwards up to the top of the Wall. Natural rock blended by degrees into massive, granite slabs that could well have outlasted the Cataclysm. By the time Skender reached the summit of the stairs, he was in awe of the masons responsible. Each corner was carved with a delicacy that belied the weight of the slabs; the seams were almost invisible, such was the perfection of every edge. Tiny, ornate seals no larger than his thumbprint had been carved into the centre of each block. Time hadn’t worn them away, but the meaning of the complex figures eluded him.