The Dark City

22

We have been used by one of our own.

He has mocked us all this time.

Litany of the Makers

RAFFI CROUCHED DOWN behind the remnants of the wall. “No sign of her.”

The Sekoi was silent, biting its nails.

Raffi put his hand in his pocket and touched the globe; it was almost warm and he pulled it out in surprise, but the glass was dull and dim. He held it to his eyes and stared in, trying to see something; then tried with his inner eye, but saw only darkness. It was the first real chance he’d had to examine it; Galen always kept it close. But it told him nothing.

The Sekoi looked up abruptly. “Listen, small keeper. I think we should go.”

“Go?” Raffi was blank. “Go where?”

“Anywhere. Out of here.” It knelt up, and he saw the pupils of its eyes were black slits in the dimness. Its hand caught his arm, the seven long fingers clutching tight. “All my instincts say this is a trap! She’s gone to them. She’ll bring them here! For us! Don’t you see, Raffi, I don’t think we dare trust her.”

A tiny pang of terror went down Raffi’s spine. He said hoarsely, “I can’t believe she’d—”

“She already has! Long before she met you!” It sprang up, a lean, agitated shape. “My people know of these Watchhouses. They take children young, feed them, teach them, train them. For years. How can all that be taken out of her? She is the Watch, she thinks like they think, hunts like they hunt. She’ll have seen things you can’t imagine—have practiced cruelties and spite. Her sorna—her soul—will have been changed by that! Don’t trust her, Raffi!”

Raffi sat still, though its fear terrified him, made him restless. “Yes, but what about Galen?”

“Galen is lost! And they’ll make him talk.”

“He wouldn’t.”

The Sekoi sat down. “He will,” it said softly. “Everyone does, in the end.”

Raffi couldn’t answer. The helplessness and doubt swept over him again; he had no idea what to do. They should go, should run, and yet . . . part of him wanted to stay, to believe she’d come.

“We need to get to the Crow,” the Sekoi urged. “The Crow was a great power. If he lives, he can help us. But we need to go now, Raffi, before she brings the Watch and they take the map and the globe! That’s all they need!”

Raffi stared at it. Then he got up again and gazed down the dark, empty street.

“THIS IS ALL VERY INTERESTING,” the castellan said, refilling her cup. “So this man Harn has knowledge of this relic . . . you didn’t say what it was, by the way.”

Carys smiled. “No. I’m not completely sure, and besides that—”

“You want to keep it secret.”

“My orders are to be as discreet as possible.”

He nodded. “I see. But look, Carys, we can get any information you want out of this man by our own methods. Not that he’d be much good to you afterward, of course. ” He sipped the sweet wine and looked at her. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

She pulled a face. “In a way it would. But it would break my cover—I’ve worked hard to be accepted by them, and now I think they trust me. No, I think it would be best if I helped him to escape.” She raised an eyebrow. “If you agree, of course. He’s your prisoner.”

He paused a moment, stoking the fire with fresh coals, then turned and picked up the insignia, dangling the silver chain over his fingers. “Who am I to stand in the way of the Watchlords?” He handed it back to her, and she slipped it on, feeling the cold discs slide against her skin. “But there’ll be a price.”

She looked up sharply. She’d been expecting this.

“How much?”

“Half. Half of the reward for the keeper, and the others, and half of whatever they give you for finding this relic.”

She thought briefly. “All right. I’ve no choice.”

“Nor have I. We need to work together.” He rubbed a hand through his stubbly gray beard. “Now. This escape will need to be convincing.” He thought for a moment, then stood up and went out, and Carys finished the wine in one gulp. Picking up her crossbow, she loaded it quickly and swung it under one arm. Then she picked some bread off the tray and crammed it into her pocket. When he came back she was waiting by the fire.

He looked pleased, and she knew he had his own plans ready. “The Watch must watch each other first.” That had been Jellie’s first lesson—all her life she had seen it; even in school, child had spied on child, reported anything, competed for the honor of it. She’d been one of the best. Now they’d be watching her, but that was all she had expected.

“We’re ready. Here are the keys.” He handed her a small ring. “I’ll show you a postern gate which will be guarded by one man—shoot at him and he’ll fall. It would be helpful if you missed; I’m short of men as it is.”

She took the keys. “How did I get these?”

“You’ll have to serve up that story. After all, you’ve been trained for it.” He coughed again, a raw bark. “I’ll be glad to get out of this rat-hole. The smog gets to you.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I hope so. I hope to buy promotion to some comfortable village. Somewhere the sun shines.” He laughed harshly. “When I get the money.”

Their eyes met. She smiled wryly. “Thanks for the food. Now show me the way.”

GALEN PULLED HIMSELF UP as the key rattled in the lock. With both chained hands he pushed the long hair from his face, and winced as the light fell over him.

“Galen!”

She was inside in seconds, crouched by him. He stared at her. “Carys!” Then, convulsed by fear, he grabbed her. “Is Raffi here? He’s not been caught?”

“No. No, he’s fine. Keep still!” She was unlocking the chains; they slithered off and he rubbed his bruised wrists with relief.

“But how did you get in here? What’s been happening?”

“I’ll explain outside.” She tugged the chains through the straw and grabbed his arm. “There’s no time now. Follow me close; don’t speak. Do what I do. Please, Galen!”

He looked at her as if he would say something, then nodded. She helped him up, but he pushed her off. “I can manage.”

“Good.” She put her head around the door. “Come on. This way.”

The steps led up, around a damp wall. She climbed soundlessly, Galen a tall shadow at her shoulder. He was stiff and sore, but he moved carefully and, glancing back, she saw his eyes were alert. At the top of the steps was a dim corridor, pungent with smoke; from a guard-room nearby the sound of voices and the rattle of dice echoed. They edged carefully by; Galen caught a glimpse of the men inside, their backs to him. Then he was running down a passage, into another, and all the time neither of them spoke.

Then Carys stopped. Finger to lips, she jerked her head and, stepping forward, he saw around the corner a man sitting on a bench eating lumps of potato from the tip of his knife.

Beside him was a small, half-open door.

Galen glanced at Carys. She raised the bow. He gave a harsh smile and shrugged. Carys was surprised, but she turned at once and braced herself. He saw the bolt quiver; with a sound like a crack it was gone. The man sprawled on the floor.

Leaping over, Carys had the door open; she turned back and gasped, “Leave him!”

Galen straightened from the body. He pushed past her to the door and peered around it. The night was black, the narrow alley stinking with refuse.

“Where?”

“Straight on!”

He followed her up the lane, leaping piles of rubbish, the rats scuttling before them. Ducking around corners, they came to a low arch and raced under it; in the shadow she swung around and racked the bow again hastily.

“You think they’ll be coming.”

“When they find out.” She glanced back, then tugged away from the wall. “Down here.”

Turning into a ruined courtyard, they crossed it and scrambled through a hole in the wall to a wider street. She turned left. “Hurry!”

They ran close to the wall, through the fog of darkness and the soft hooting of owls. Once Galen stumbled; picking himself up, he glanced back. Shadows moved in the entrance to the lane. He ran after her, his face dark.

They climbed over a roof-fall, then under a wide arch of stone.

“Come on!” She ran ahead but he caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “Wait!”

She looked back. “We can’t! They’re coming!”

“Where’s Raffi?” Galen hissed. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” She stared into the darkness under the arch. “He should be here! It was here I said . . .”

They could hear the Watchmen now; soft feet running.

“In the doorway.” Galen pulled her in beside him and peered out.

Instantly the side of his face was lit with color; a vivid green flash that dazzled them both.

“What was that!” Carys gasped.

The keeper grinned wolfishly. “We call it the third action of the inner eye. Don’t tell him, but he’s quite good at it.”

Gazing past him she was shocked to see the archway spitting flame and sparks; for a few moments it fizzed and crackled and then went black, and she could see the bodies of two Watchmen lying still.

“Are they dead?”

“Stunned.”

“How can he do that?” she marveled as the shapes of Raffi and the Sekoi came slithering up the broken street.

Raffi raced up to Galen and stood staring at him. “She did it,” he said in a choked voice.

Galen smiled grimly. “Indeed she did.”

Raffi touched the keeper’s arm hesitantly. “We thought you were lost . . .”

Galen shook his head. “Always keep the faith, boy,” he said gruffly. “Sometimes the Makers act in ways we could never imagine. Have you got the chart?”

“Here.”

“Then let’s go from here. Before more of them come.”

Following the list of streets, they twisted between houses and past palaces whose windows were empty, and through whose halls the wind moaned uneasily. Rain began to fall; a black, oily drizzle. The city was changing; they were coming to the oldest part, the citadel, and the ruins here were of great temples and palaces, shattered by the terrible destruction. The darkness grew deeper, and more silent; even the rats and owls were left behind, and all they heard now was the sound of their own running, soft footsteps pattering in alleys and doorways, as if the city was full of ghosts that fled endlessly.

After half an hour, Galen stopped them. “Here,” he gasped. “We rest here.”

It was a small window; climbing through they found they were in the kitchen of some villa. An empty hearth was black with soot, and one table still stood, huge and immovable in the center of the room.

Galen crossed to the wall and sat down, easing his leg with a groan.

Raffi crouched beside him. “Did they hurt you?”

“Not much. They were just warming up.”

Carys sat too, more slowly. She looked at Raffi, who bit his lip. The Sekoi stretched its legs out and scratched its fur. “Are you going to tell him, or shall we?” it said severely.

“I will,” Carys muttered.

Galen looked up at her. “I should thank you, Carys. I owe you my life. Maybe more, my honor as a keeper.” Gathering the black hair from his face, he knotted it in the dirty string and looked at her, his hawk-face grim and dark. “It’s a debt I’ll pay, if ever I can.”

“You may not want to,” she said.

He frowned. “Why not?”

She was silent, looking down. Raffi rolled the glass globe nervously in his pocket.

“I’ve got something to tell you.” But Galen looked at her so sharply that she couldn’t say it; for the first time in her life she felt afraid to speak. Lies leaped to her mind, convincing stories, excuses; fiercely she drove them away.

When she did speak, her voice was defiant. “Galen, I’ve been deceiving you. I’m not what I said. I’m a spy. For the Watch.”

It was out. His face did not flicker, his eyes black and keen. She looked away, but his answer made her jerk her head back in astonishment.

“I know,” he said.