Children of Artifice

by Danie Ware

  Caph said, ‘I invited—’

  ‘Silence.’ The word was a thunderous bark; it made the memories on the walls judder as if they, too, hung in suspended fear, awaiting some momentous decision. Startled, Caph shut up.

  Kolmarch turned back to Proteus, spoke normally, ‘I asked you a question.’

  ‘I’m no messenger, sir,’ Proteus said, ‘The livery was simply to get me through the gate. I came to speak to Talmar, and to seek an audience with yourself.’

  His answer made Kolmarch pause, eyes narrowing. Caph found his awareness sharpening, understanding that Proteus was not remotely daunted, and had the word-skills and perception to play the old sod at his own game.

  ‘Might it not have been politic to use the door?’ Kolmarch asked, archly. ‘Rather than sneaking through my garden like a vagabond?’

  ‘You’re having a party, sir,’ Proteus said affably. ‘Turning up unannounced generally goes badly.’

  ‘So it does.’ Kolmarch said. Caph knew his father well enough to realise that he understood more than just the comment – he understood that Proteus was smart enough to fence with him, to test his boundaries.

  Apparently, however, he had little tolerance for bandying words with a dockworker.

  ‘Show me your tag.’

  With no hesitation, Proteus extended his wrist. Kolmarch walked over to examine it. He didn’t touch it – but took a long moment to observe the markings, the greenish stain about the wrist.

  ‘This is a forgery.’ He didn’t even sound surprised.

  ‘A fake?’ Proteus chuckled. ‘Then it’s a very good one, sir, it’s got me through the city gates for more than twenty years.’

  ‘Don’t play me for a fool. Where did this come from?’

  ‘Where they always come from, sir. It was issued to me on my seventh birthday by the office of the district council in Ivar.’ He looked at his own wrist, slightly puzzled. ‘Sir, if I knew a forger who could turn out this kind of kit, d’you think I’d be unloading barges?’

  Kolmarch didn’t bother to answer. ‘You’re out of your district with a faked identification, I’m sure you’re aware of the consequences. You have no right to be in the upper city, never mind present at house Caphen. You’re a threat to my property, and to my family.’ The words were cold, as if any interview was at an end. ‘I am within my rights to have you executed – but for the sake of my son, I will forbear.’

  ‘Don’t do this,’ Caph said.

  ‘If I were you.’ The words cracked savagely, somewhere between fury and pain. ‘I would keep my mouth shut.

  ‘Caphen,’ Proteus said. ‘I came here to see you, sir, to seek an audience for a purpose.’ His tone was still courteous. ‘Sir, I’m no thief, and I wish you no harm. But perhaps I do bear a message.’ He glanced at Caph as if making a snap decision, stepped forwards. ‘Are you aware that there is conspiracy rising against your Selection? I—’

  ‘Don’t be ludicrous.’ Kolmarch was contemptuous now, brutal.

  Proteus came back fighting. ‘Sir—’

  ‘I have no interest in games.’ The old man didn’t raise his voice, but the words were lethal. ‘I have not worked for fifty years to have some dockside scum-shoveller—’

  ‘Sir,’ Proteus said. ‘The threat is very real--

  ‘Did you bring me evidence? Perpetrators? Times? Dates?’

  Caph blurted, ‘It’ll falsify the readings. To what end, we don’t yet know, but it—’

  ‘The readings?’ The word was appalled; Kolmarch’s face flushed. He paused as if aghast, disbelieving at the sheer audacity of what he’d just heard. And then he rounded on Proteus, his fury blazing, convicted and righteous. ‘How dare you walk in here, thinking you can address me?’ Proteus rocked backwards. ‘How dare you come anywhere near my family, my son?’ Spit and scorn flew with the words. ‘Do you have any idea how many of you there have been? I’m surprised he even remembers your name.’

  Caph stood forwards, fists clenched, face white. ‘And you…’ Kolmarch rounded on him, his words blistering, ‘You divulge the ancient secrets of City Hall… to this? We finally trust you enough to show you the truth, to accept you into the Selection as a member of this family. And you betray me, you betray the house, you betray the city, in order to impress your latest conquest?’ His words shook with rage. ‘Talmar, you’ve disappointed me in the past, but this…’

  Overwhelmed, he could no longer articulate. He dropped into his chair, shaking, leaned his forehead forward into one long hand.

  Caph said, surprising himself with his calm, ‘I know who sabotaged the mines.’

  His father looked up through his fingers, obviously sceptical.

  Caph went on, ‘His name is – was – Thantar Vel Raife. He was at the Academy with Mother. She wanted him to fix my hands, but Ganthar got in the way.’ The bitterness was palpable. ‘He did it to try and stop us… oh by the hells…’ He stopped, staring at the desk, at the ink blotter and the pen in its brass holder. Understanding, as ever, had come way too late. ‘No he didn’t.’ He turned on Aden. ‘He did it because we’re the only people who can stop him. Our powers, Caphen’s powers, the strength and knowledge that the mines have given us, our metallurgy… he did it to stop us fighting him. Because we’re the only people that can.’

  Proteus had started to grin, but Kolmarch was looking up now. He spoke over both them, his voice as chill and sharp as a knife across their throats.

  ‘I’ve heard enough.’ He came back to his feet, fingers resting splayed on the table-top. ‘Conspiracy theories, indeed – Talmar, you leave me beyond words or comprehension. Is this all we are to you? Everything your Mother has learned and crafted, everything I’ve built for her, for you? It’s just there for you to throw away, when you’re bored and lonely and you’re—’

  ‘It’s not!’ Caph wanted to pick the desk up and turn it over, throw it in his father’s face. It was the barrier between them, the thing that had always stood in the way. ‘Why must you judge me, all the time? Why must you interpret everything I do as letting you down? I’m trying to help you – we’re under threat, Dad, City Hall, the mines, the Selection… Everything you’ve fought for, you did for Mum, you’re going to lose all of it unless you listen!’

  ‘This has gone way beyond plain disobedience,’ Kolmarch said. ‘You were told you would not see this man again. How many times have you flouted that rule? And now Darrah finds him in my garden?’ The loathing in the old man’s voice was tangible. ‘All you ever want is attention.’ The sentence trailed from anger into despair, into Kolmarch’s acceptance of his son’s utter lack of dignity or loyalty, acceptance of his ultimate betrayal.

  Proteus was looking at the old man, his face etched in shock. He said, the question gentle, ‘Is that really what you think of your son? That he sold you down the river to – what? – make me like him?’

  Kolmarch looked up, and his words were lethal. ‘He’s not my son.’

  *

  And there it was:

  Done.

  Caph stood outside the gate, his kitbag over his shoulder and his zanyar – the other one – in its case in the other hand. He’d left his actuators, couldn’t even bear to look at them, and now he stood in the empty roadway, looking up at the heights and towers that marked City Hall, the Academy, the University, the Theatre – the many places that he’d spent his youth.

  He’s not my son.

  Proteus stood beside him, saying nothing. There was nothing to say. Caph hefted the bag a little higher and allowed himself one last look at the house.

  On the upper floor, a light was just flicking out – his mother’s maybe, or Darrah, celebrating the moment of his triumph. Caph wished he’d been able to speak to Bec. When the houseguard captain had marched them both to the front doors, though, he’d just said, ‘I’m sorry. You know I don’t have a choice.’

  Caph had com
mented darkly, ‘You always have a choice.’

  And that was it, over. And now here they were, Caphen Talmar, Caphen no longer, and Proteus, this so-familiar lover that he barely understood.

  He had nowhere to go, no-one to call on…

  Done.

  And he’d tried – tried so hard. He’d surged forwards, raged at his father, struggled to get him to understand. He’d told as much of the story as he could piece together – Ganthar, Anatar, Raife. He’d talked about the mines, and what they’d shown him. Or he’d wanted to, but his father’s pure fury had overcome everything, every word, every plea. And some part of Caph knew – his whole adult life, from the age of seventeen when he’d first told them, it had all been leading up to this. His mother hadn’t cared, she’d merely crossed out the list of suitably eligible ladies and replaced it with a list of suitably eligible gentleman – Bec had joked that if he’d stuck his dick in the dog, Jularn would only have questioned its pedigree. But Kolmarch…

  His father had been another matter.

  Steadfast in the face of the old man’s wrath, Proteus had also tried, wading in to Caph’s defence – again – and talking about the alloy he’d found and what it meant. But they were utterly outmatched, two ships thrown by a storm of outrage and judgement and disbelief, and nothing they’d said had been heard. Everything was Caphen’s house, and Caphen’s future, and Caphen’s Selection. Caphen’s ambition had been fifty years in the building, and Caphen’s disappointment in his son was too ingrained – he did not even hear them.

  At the very last, Caph had said to him, ‘Please, Dad – you have to listen. I don’t know what they’ll do!’ But Kolmarch, beyond even temper, now, white faced and trembling with the depth of his son’s betrayal, had turned to take Caph’s precious zanyar down from the wall. He’d lifted it over his head, roared, ‘Get out! Get out of my house!’

  And even as Caph had reached for it, trying to stop what he knew would happen, Kolmarch had brought it violently down on the desktop. It had given a final, shimmering cry and been dashed to splinters.

  And Caph had stared, horrified, at the slowly tumbling pieces, the dangling tangle of strings. ‘You didn’t just do that…’

  As if the gesture had smashed him too, the old man had collapsed in his chair, shoulders shaking with something that may have been anger, or that may have been grief. He hadn’t looked at either of them as Darrah had opened the door…

  …opened it so fast the bastard must have been listening.

  The guard captain had escorted them both to the front doors with only enough time for Caph to pick up his kitbag – the kitbag still packed and laying, waiting, at the edge of his bedroom floor.

  And then there they were.

  Looking up at the house.

  Lost.

  *

  Proteus was quiet as they came to the edge of the upper city. He was very aware of Caph’s tension and loss – but equally, he still needed the man to tell him everything he could.

  Caph had said nothing; he’d walked like a wind-up toy, one boot in front of the other. Proteus had gone to take the zanyar from him but he’d hung onto it as if it was the last vestige of his sanity.

  The gates down to Thale were closed. They rose, severe in the moonlight, their elaborate iron glinting like decorated ice. In the wall itself, silent stone faces watched from grey-blind eyes, their mouths stretched open in centuries of agonised silence.

  Far below, the outer city lay quiet, its patterns of lights twinkling. The water glittered with the ruffle of the wind and the crater itself stood vast and dark and distant, uncaring for ten thousand years.

  Small against her backdrop of time, the greycoat lieutenant stepped forward. She recognised Caph and offered him a breezy salute. ‘Caphen,’ she said. ‘Congratulations. Skipping the party, are we?’ She glanced at Proteus and winked.

  Proteus grinned, all mischievous confession. ‘Keep it to yourself, will you?’

  ‘No problem. You boys have a good night.’ She stepped back to open the side-gate, grinned at them as they went through.

  This time of the evening, Proteus knew, news wouldn’t travel as fast as feet. Once the criers were up, though, they’d be racing the spread of the information and their progress through the gates may be much more difficult.

  ‘We need to move,’ he commented softly.

  Caph said nothing, he just nodded.

  They descended the long steps. Proteus was watching the sky; Caph was looking around him like a man dazed, at the Builders’ symbols carved harsh in the wall-side. On their other side, one of the long waterfalls tumbled endless; it plunged past them and way, way down into one of the many decorated, scalloped pools that lay along the inside curve of the Taar. The air was damp and the spray in their faces was cold.

  Unspeaking, they followed the water downwards. The steps became slowly shallower, and then levelled out completely as they met the cobbled streets and the round towers of Thale. The base of waterfall was a thundering cloud of noise.

  Still, Caph said nothing. They crossed the river and walked on; he moved like a sleepwalker, lumbering and numb.

  At last they crossed into a small, open square, a silent fountain at its centre. Metal lampposts offered sodium lighting; weeds grew in the cobbles. From somewhere, music flowed on the wind. Proteus made Caph stop by one of the scattered benches, but he wouldn’t sit down.

  ‘You okay?’ he said. ‘You haven’t said a word since we left.’

  Caph put the zanyar case down, shrugged the kitbag off his shoulder. He was quiet for a minute, then said, ‘Is your tag really a fake?’

  The question was bizarre, a randomly tumbled thought – but Proteus understood. So much had happened to this man, and he was trying to encompass it. He needed to focus on the small thing, so that the larger things could fall into place.

  ‘It’s a fake,’ Proteus admitted. ‘A very good one. Your father’s got some damn sharp eyes.’

  ‘You lied to him.’ Caph said. The sodium lights were making his ridiculous jacket shine. ‘You didn’t even flicker. You lie like… it’s just second nature.’

  ‘I will when it’s necessary.’ Proteus said. ‘Look, I know you can’t trust me—’

  ‘But you didn’t even flicker,’ Caph said, again. He seemed to be struggling with the concept. ‘How can you ask me to help you, and then lie to my family like that?’

  Proteus said, ‘Because I didn’t want a brand drawn over my face? Wouldn’t do me permanent damage, but it would still hurt like—’

  ‘You’ve just cost me everything—’

  ‘Then I guess we’re— Shit!’

  The fist in his jaw had knocked him backwards over the bench – he sprawled on his back in a clattering tangle of metal legs. Caph was stronger than he’d realised.

  ‘You cost me my family.’

  Proteus sat up, put a hand to his chin, moved it carefully backwards and forwards, wincing. ‘A kiss takes two people, Caph,’ he said, standing up. ‘At least it does if you’re doing it right.’

  ‘And how the hells would you know?’ Caph said. ‘Have you ever actually meant it?’

  Proteus took a breath, let it out. ‘I don’t want to hit you back. But if you try that again…’

  ‘Yeah, thanks. Patronise me why don’t you.’ They stared at each other, bristling. A single tarras scurried past their feet and was gone.

  With a snort, Caph dropped his gaze. ‘What did you really want? At the wharf? If all you’ve ever wanted my family’s name and skills, you should’ve made your pass at my mother.’

  Silence followed the comment. The music rose from somewhere to sunward, notes flawless and flowing. Proteus tried very hard to keep his expression concerned, and then gave up. With no warning, he let himself explode into laughter, his shoulders shaking.

  Caph stared at him for a moment, bemused, and then he, too
, started chuckling. A moment later, he broke into a full belly laugh.

  The air rang with relief; it echoed from the courtyard walls.

  ‘Hells,’ Proteus said, when he had enough breath to talk. ‘What a terrifying thought.’

  But it had done what the conversation had failed to do; Caph’s relaxation was tangible. Proteus took the sides of his face in both hands and kissed him, affectionate more than serious. ‘Why you didn’t hit Ganthar like that…’

  ‘I did,’ Caph said, wryly, forehead leaned against his own. ‘It didn’t do any good.’

  They stood in silence, reassured, until Caph pulled away.

  ‘Ad… Proteus,’ he still stumbled over the name. ‘I don’t know what Raife can do—’

  ‘You’re the metallurgist, Caph. And he’s afraid of you. Afraid of your family. You’re the one person who can tell me how they’re going to pull this off.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe I can work it out,’ he said. A flurry of birds rose from one of the roofs, circled and then settled again. Caph’s expression was set. ‘But my help comes with a condition.’

  ‘You pick a great time for games—’

  ‘You’re going to show me who you are.’

  ‘What?’ Startled, Proteus looked at him. ‘I can’t do that—’

  ‘Yes, you can,’ Caph said. ‘If I’m going to trust you, tell you everything I can remember, then that’s the price. You have to show me your real face.’

  The moonlight was clear and cold; the shadows it cast were so precise they looked like edges, like things that cut. It took Proteus a moment to understand what Caph was asking and his reaction was knee-jerk, pure fear. ‘No—’

  ‘You’ve seen my vulnerability,’ Caph said. ‘My fears and failures. Show me what you are.’

  ‘No-one’s ever seen me sleep,’ Proteus said. ‘I could manifest as some…’ he thought about Ebi’s casting, and shivered, ‘…hellspirit for all I know.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ Caph’s resolute expression somehow made him look like his father. ‘Show me.’ He held Proteus’s gaze, unrelenting. ‘And let me tell you what you look like.’