The Dark City

by Catherine Fisher

  “Through it and left, somewhere. Do you feel any danger?”

  “I told you, I can’t feel anything here. Just the dark, and heat somewhere, something smoldering . . .”

  They looked into the brick archway; inside it was black, with small gray lichens blotching the damp walls. Galen stepped in. “It seems empty. I can see to the end.”

  He took one more step and, with a sudden slash and clang that terrified each of them, an iron gate crashed down from the roof behind him, cutting him off from them. The tunnel rang with echoes. Somewhere ahead an eerie screaming rang out, wild and urgent. Raffi flung himself at the bars of the gate; he felt the Sekoi strain beside him.

  “It won’t move!”

  Fiercely, Galen was tugging and heaving at the metal grid. Behind him came shouts; the wailing rose to a howling of skeats.

  “Get out!” he yelled. “Take these! Quickly!”

  Hastily he thrust his hands through the bars; Raffi snatched the chart and globe, but then he couldn’t move, though the noise was piercing every nerve. “Galen . . .”

  “Run!” the keeper raged. “Get away. Get him out of here!”

  The Sekoi’s fingers grabbed him. “He’s right, Raffi!”

  “We can’t just leave him!”

  “You have to.” Galen’s grip caught his. “You’re the keeper now, Raffi. Find the Crow. That’s all that matters. Find the Crow!”

  The darkness behind him was moving; men, hounds, a crack of blue light.

  “The Watch!” Carys yelled.

  “Don’t worry,” Galen said. He pulled upright, his hawk-face hard in the glimmer. “The Makers are with me, Raffi. We’ll meet again. Now, get him away!”

  Carys and the Sekoi had to drag him, sobbing and yelling. Behind them, blows and howls rang in the black tunnel.

  The house of Trees

  21

  The Makers turned to Kest in despair. “What have you done?” they cried. “How have you betrayed us? Your distorted birds, your hideous beasts have marred our world.” So they took him and locked him underground for a hundred years, without food or light. And each time they looked in on him he was silent and unsmiling.

  Book of the Seven Moons

  “HOW DO YOU FEEL, SMALL ONE?”

  Raffi shook his head hopelessly. He was shaking and felt sick, though they had run through the streets till they thought they were safe. The Sekoi sat down by him. “Galen is a brave man,” it said kindly.

  “Yes.” Raffi’s voice was fierce. “I’ve seen him yell at a skeer-snake in the forest till it couldn’t face him. That was before . . . But he can do anything. He’s not afraid of danger.” Choked, he closed his fists.

  Its back against the ruined wall, the creature nodded. “It seemed to me that he sought death. He had a great loss to bear. Now he will be a martyr for the Order. That is a good thing, is it not?”

  Raffi nodded. “So the Litany says.” But his voice was small and reluctant, and the silence after it bleak.

  Carys flung down the pebble she’d been fingering. “That’s it. That’s enough!”

  “What?”

  “I said, that’s enough.” She stood up and marched over to them, kicking the rubbish in the cloister aside. “How can you sit there and talk like this! Galen is no use to anyone dead!”

  “They believe . . .” the Sekoi began patiently, but she waved at it angrily. “I know what they believe! ‘The blood of the Order benefits the earth’—all that nonsense! But I don’t! I say we should do something, not just sit here!”

  “We will,” Raffi said. He looked up, his face determined. “We’ll find the Crow. Just like he said.”

  “But what about Galen!” She dropped to crouch by him.

  “We can’t help him. The Watch will torture him.”

  “They will if we don’t get him out!”

  The Sekoi stared. “From a Watchtower? Don’t torment the boy. It can’t be done.”

  “Do you think I want to leave him?” Raffi muttered, despairing. “If there was any chance, Carys, any chance at all. But there isn’t! No one can get into those places!”

  She got up abruptly and walked to the edge of the cloister. Pinned on a row of broken pillars, a dead vine rustled. Owls hooted, far off in the stillness. Standing with her back to them, she said, “I can get him out.”

  After a second Raffi looked up. “What did you say?”

  “I can get Galen out.”

  Raffi stared at the Sekoi in bewilderment. It stood up. “Explain,” it said dangerously.

  Carys turned around. She forced herself to look at it, but its eyes were yellow and sharp, and she couldn’t face Raffi either.

  “I work for the Watch. I’m a spy, and I have been from the beginning.”

  There was a second of intense silence. Then Raffi said, “Don’t be ridiculous,” but his voice was cold and he stared at her in growing horror.

  She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I’m not. It’s true.”

  “You can’t be!” He jumped up so quickly the pile of stones behind him slid down. “You’ve been with us all along! Your father—”

  “I haven’t got a father.” She glanced at the Sekoi. “I was brought up in a Watchhouse. I came with you because . . . well, at first because I was hunting Galen.”

  “And then the Crow. You wanted us to get you to the Crow!”

  “Raffi—”

  “Don’t speak to me!” He turned away, then helplessly swung back. “You used us! All that time you lied to us? All you told us about your father . . . ?” Choked with anger, he gripped his fists; to her astonishment tiny green filaments of light flickered around his fingers. “Carys . . .” Then he laughed harshly. “I don’t even know if that’s your name! I don’t know who you are anymore!”

  She bit her lip. He looked as if his world had crashed to pieces. “It is my name.”

  “Did you betray Galen?”

  The Sekoi’s question was icy; the fur of its nape had swollen and thickened.

  “Of course not!” she snapped.

  “But someone did.”

  “No. It wasn’t like that.”

  “So you did betray him?” Raffi gasped.

  “I had to get us into the city! Let me explain!”

  “Why should I let you!” he raged. But then he sat down suddenly, as if his legs had given way, and his voice was bewildered. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

  Carys sat beside him. Her voice was dry and hard. “At the gate, when we hid under the wagons, I was caught. It was a hopeless plan. I told them who I was, that you were spies. They let us in. I swear I never said anything about relics, or keepers. I wouldn’t have. I wanted the credit of your capture for myself.”

  Ignoring his look, she went on. “The news was passed on. But listen, Raffi, I’m sure they don’t know who Galen is. That rat-trap was just bad luck; there are probably hundreds like that around the old citadel—aren’t there?”

  She glared at the Sekoi; it nodded, reluctant. “So we could get him out, Raffi; get him out before they realize who they’ve got!”

  “But why? Why do you want to get him out? Why don’t you go back to them and give them all the things you know—where the Sekoi live, the sky-road, Lerin, the Pyramid!” He sounded harsh, like Galen. “Haven’t you gotten enough from us, Carys!”

  “That’s not it. I don’t want Galen tortured.”

  “Might that not be because he may give them all the information you’ve worked so hard for?” the Sekoi asked acidly.

  “NO! Why won’t you listen! I like Galen. Like a fool I’ve gotten to like you all!”

  She stood up, pushing back her hair, angry with herself. “I know you can’t trust me now. If you want, I’ll go away. But first I’m going to get him out, Raffi, and if I have to, I’ll go by myself.” Picking up the crossbow, she checked it over, her hands shaking.

  Raffi stared at her. He felt bewildered, and utterly betrayed. He wished he could hate her, that it was that simple, but s
he was still Carys, still the same.

  He looked at the Sekoi. “What should we do?”

  “Your choice, small keeper. I’ll stay with you, whatever you decide.” It rubbed its furred face with one long finger.

  “She may be able to get him out,” Raffi said with difficulty.

  “She may. Or she may just be taking us back to them. More prisoners to her credit.” It gazed at her, narrow-eyed.

  Raffi stared down at his hands. He prayed, asking for knowledge, for the way to go, but his mind was as dark as the cloister, and the Makers were silent.

  Then, without knowing he’d decided, he stood up.

  “All right. We’ll take the chance.”

  Carys smiled at him but he ignored that; he looked away, furious with her. “If you betray us . . . I still don’t know if I should be trusting you.”

  “You never will know,” she said, “until you do. Galen would tell you that.”

  He took out the chart. “Where do we go?”

  “They’ll have taken him to the nearest Watchtower. Is it on there?”

  “There’s one marked.”

  “That’ll be it. Lead on, Raffi.”

  With a glance at the Sekoi, which shrugged, he turned uneasily away and crawled through the hole in the wall.

  THE STREETS WERE A NIGHTMARE of dark smoke. Neither Raffi nor Carys was as alert as they should have been; if the Sekoi hadn’t hissed a warning, the flock of draxi swooping over the turrets of one villa would have had them.

  Confused, struggling to think, Raffi found himself going back over everything that had happened, trying to see Carys as a spy—on the downs, on the ship—but it hurt him like a pain and he blanked it out, concentrating only on the streets, their crumbling names.

  Behind him, Carys was silent. She was angry with herself, defiant, reckless, hot. She didn’t care what they thought. But she’d show them. Only she could get Galen out, and she’d do it, because she wanted to, because no one would bring him in except her.

  In the alley opposite the Watchtower they crouched. At the end of the dark lane there was light, some hanging lanterns and a great fire that blazed on the cracked paving. Men were gathered around it; shadows, talking. Behind them, the great walls of the tower rose up into darkness, without windows.

  “Now what?” Raffi said.

  Carys eased the bow. “I go in. By myself. I’ll tell them some story—that Galen is vital to my mission, that I have to follow him to get . . . well, something important. I won’t mention the Crow.”

  Raffi laughed bitterly, but she went on. “The trouble is, even if they believe me, they may not let me bring him out alone. That’s where you come in.”

  “Us?”

  “If Galen and I get out, we’ll come down this lane. Hide somewhere, down under that broken arch. Let us go by; but if anyone follows, deal with them.”

  “Deal with them? We’re not the Watch.”

  She grinned at him spitefully. “You know the Order’s secrets, not me.”

  He didn’t smile. But as she walked away up the alley he blurted out, “Be careful,” as if the words hurt him.

  “And be discreet,” the Sekoi murmured.

  She turned and looked at its sharp yellow eyes and laughed. “Oh, I will.”

  GALEN EASED HIS LEG a little more and felt the heavy chain clink. He was dizzy and bruised; blood had dried on his face, and his shoulder was a mass of pain. He looked around carefully.

  For a long time he had wondered if they had blindfolded him, but gradually he had begun to see; there was a tiny window up a long shaft in the wall, and the gloom that came through it was barely light, but his eyes strained through it. He was in some enclosed space, not large. Stretching out his feet, he could feel the opposite wall; his back was against another. Carefully he tugged up the heavy chains and ran his hands over the stone; it wasn’t straight. Curved, as if the dungeon was circular. Above him was blackness; he said some words softly and they echoed, as if it was high enough to stand. The darkness smelled of rats, ordure, filthy straw. The stones felt slimy and cold.

  Galen smiled grimly to himself. He hurt, but he’d told them nothing, and he was sure they didn’t know who or what he was. And yet this was only the start. He knew enough tales of the cruelty of the Watch, but he wouldn’t think of them now. That would be foolish. Instead he straightened his back and closed his eyes. Simple chants came to him first, then all the prayers and litanies; he spoke them softly till it seemed to him the darkness was filled with words, as if they hung in the air like spirits. “And Kest was in the darkness a hundred years. How slowly sorrow entered him, how he mourned for the evil he had done, all the things of darkness he had brought into the world.”

  Galen stopped. The story was not the one for now. And he knew, suddenly, that he would need every ounce of strength and will to stand up to them, not to tell them all the secrets of the Order. Wincing, he dragged his fingers up to touch the awen-beads; the smooth surfaces rolled under his fingers.

  “I am as empty without as within,” he muttered grimly. Then he nodded. “Though maybe I have one chance. One chance Kest never had.”

  “WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?” The Watchsergeant pushed his way through the men. “What is it? Another prisoner?”

  “She says she’s a spy.” The men stood back, and the sergeant’s eyes narrowed. He saw a girl of about sixteen, brown-haired, dirty, a crossbow on her back. She fixed him with a straight look. “Are you in charge here?”

  He grinned. “Who wants to know?”

  Putting her hand down her neck, she pulled out something on a chain; tugged it over her head and gave it to him without a word.

  He held it to the light; she saw his face change. “Come inside,” he said somberly.

  Going in under the main arch, she noticed the defenses: armed guards, three metal gates, floor-spikes. If they didn’t let her walk out she’d be here forever. But she set her shoulders and held her head up. Why should she worry? She was one of them.

  They made her wait a few minutes in the courtyard. Then the sergeant came through a small arch and beckoned. He led her down a stone passageway and knocked on a door.

  “Come in.”

  The sergeant looked at her. Carys took a deep breath, put her hand on the latch, and went in.

  It was a small room with a crackling fire in the hearth, and the castellan was perched on the edge of the table. “You brought this?” He held the insignia up so that it glinted.

  “Yes,” she said, coming up to him.

  “What house?”

  “MarnMountain, 547.”

  “When did you leave?”

  “Three months ago.”

  “Your spymaster?”

  “Jeltok. Old Jellie, we used to call him.”

  He nodded, wheezing a laugh. “Oh, I know.” Getting up, he strolled to the fire, glancing back at her curiously. His sparse hair was graying; he was older than most of his rank. Shrewder too, she thought, with sudden misgivings.

  He coughed and spat into the fire, rubbing his chest. “Your mission?”

  “Surveillance. On a man called Galen Harn. A keeper.”

  His face glimmered with interest. “And?”

  She sighed, sitting suddenly in the only chair. “Watchman, I’ve come a long way. I’m hungry and cold. And I’m on your side. You don’t need to treat me like a prisoner.”

  For a moment he was still. Then he nodded, went to the door, and yelled. Carys took off the crossbow and laid it carelessly on the floor. It was no good to her here anyway.

  The man came back. “Food’s coming. I’m sorry—force of habit. Welcome home, Carys Arrin.”

  She looked up at him and smiled.

  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.