'He manufactures luxury rugs, among other things,' Casta told me with a tinge of weariness. 'Foolish industry when there's a war on, though against the odds he's doing very well at it.'
'Don't be jealous!' Liss pouted, then told me: 'She's so jealous.', like I didn't know.
Casta's eyes turned hard and I braced myself for an argument, but Liss was off again before things could turn nasty, crowing about an upcoming society ball I was going to miss because I'd be knee-deep in someone else's intestines on a distant battlefield.
I relaxed a little. I hated it when the twins argued. They always tried to drag me in as arbiter, and that was a dangerous place to be. They might have been my friends, but as the younger siblings of my master they also held the power of life or death over me. I wouldn't put it past them to use it in a fit of whimsy. I loved them both, but I was always just a little careful.
'There he is!' Liss interrupted herself with a kind of breathy, suppressed scream.
I turned to the stage and found my son, Jai, resplendent in the uniform of the Eskaran Army Officer Corps. I clutched Rynn's thick arm and felt myself melt at the sight.
Jai resembled me more than his father. His features were feminine, sensitive rather than blunt and broad, and he was slenderly built. But he had Rynn's wide, dark eyes and thick black hair, which he wore scraped back over his skull and glistening with oil. He'd always been small, even as a baby, for which I was deeply thankful. If he'd been Rynn's size he'd have broken me on the way out. Rynn's mother is wider than she is tall. You need specialised equipment for that kind of job.
Jai was staring fixedly ahead, the picture of rigid discipline, like the other graduates of the Bry Athka military school in formation alongside him. A hush spread as the Warmaster stepped onto the stage.
My grip tightened on Rynn's arm as the first words were spoken. He was really going through with it.
Oh, my boy. How had I let it come to this? I caught up with Jai after the ceremony, but not before the Dean of Engineers from Bry Athka University did. He was already offering regretful congratulations by the time I arrived. Rynn had been stolen by a minor member of Clan Caracassa, eager to show off one of their Cadre. My husband was far more physically impressive than me, so he got to squirm while I ducked away and left them all to it.
Reitha stood with her hand resting lightly in Jai's. She'd only caught the end of the ceremony, having been delayed by her master in the study of the breeding patterns of some surface creature I'd never heard of. She gave me a conspiratorial smile as she saw me approach. We both knew what the Dean was like.
'Massima Leithka Orna,' he said. Bushy grey-and-black eyebrows ascended an ancient and wrinkled forehead. 'A pleasure, a pleasure to see you again. I was just telling your son – fine boy, fine boy – I was just telling your son that the military's gain is the University's loss. And a terrible loss, too. This boy's mind…' Here he paused to tap the side of Jai's head with a withered finger; Reitha barely suppressed a laugh as Jai flinched away. 'We must preserve a talent like this, we must use it for the betterment of our kind. What wonderful machines he might make! But youth will be obdurate, yes? Young boys will march to war.'
'Well, I know Jai is very flattered by the interest you've shown in him,' I replied. 'But I think his mind is made up. Besides, he's taken his commission now. The term of service is five years.'
Voids, just saying that made my stomach plummet.
'Bah! In this world, there's nothing that can't be done with a word in the right ear.' The Dean drew me aside and took a letter from inside his robe. 'If Jai should decide the military's not for him, we would be happy – honoured – to accept him into the faculty. This letter should open any doors that need opening.'
I tucked the letter into the sleeve of my dress, careful to ensure that neither Jai nor Reitha saw it. The Dean knew what he was doing. Jai would feel obligated to refuse an offer like that, but I had no compunctions about keeping hold of it for him. Just in case. Five years was a long, long time.
Impulsively, I gave the Dean a kiss on the cheek. He'd never know just how grateful I was for what he'd just done.
'Now, now,' he chuckled. 'No need for that.'
Reitha stepped over and took the Dean by the elbow, leading him away with gently irresistible force. 'You haven't met my master, have you, Dean? He teaches in the Faculty of Surface Studies. I must introduce you. You know, being a naturalist and being an engineer aren't so different…'
Jai's gaze followed his lover as they slid into the folds of the crowd. 'What did the Dean say?'
'He was hoping I could persuade you to change your mind.'
'Mother, please don't,' he said.
'I won't,' I told him. We'd had that conversation a hundred times.
'It's over, anyway. I made my choice. There's no going back.' He stopped, then said it again, staring into the middle distance. As if only now realising what he'd done. 'No going back-'
'Congratulations,' I said. The word felt too stiff, too formal. Clumsy.
He focused again and gave me a rueful look. His eyes wanted me to stop him but his pride wouldn't let it happen. He wanted me to make it all go away, like I could when he was a child. Begging my protection from something I couldn't protect him from. It dug into me like a spike.
Then he embraced me, and I held him. The uniform felt wrong on him, the fabric too coarse, too starched. But beneath it was the warm body, the blood and the heart that I made. You couldn't ever let that go. Not really. He was still mine, even though I felt I was abandoning him.
'Write to me,' I murmured.
'I will,' he said. 'I'll use the code. Then they can't censor my letters.'
I laughed, surprised. It had been years since we used the code he invented. A game between mother and son. Our little secret, one we never let his father in on. An echo from a childhood that felt like it was receding moment by moment.
'You still remember it?' he asked.
'I remember,' I said, then clutched him tighter, squeezing him to me. 'I remember.' Later, I made my way out of the hall to a corniced balcony overlooking the ocean. Beyond the glow of the city, past the reach of its powerful shinehouses, waves tossed and swelled in the darkness. Out in the distance tiny clusters of lights floated, disembodied. Ships, making their way backspin towards Mal Eista or Jurew or Vect. The sea was rough, stirred by deep currents and a sharply switching wind, the breath of the earth drawn into stony lungs by enormous systems of convection and pressure which I only dimly understood. Constellations of luminescent lichen and algae streaked the roof of the immense cavern, far above.
Closer by, a pair of Ehru were signalling to each other in a cascade of colours, their tentacles hovering above the water. It was them I was watching, wondering about their language, their thoughts, their behaviour. There was a kind of romance in those vast, mysterious creatures. I admired their aloofness. The Ehru plied the seas and waterways of Eskara and lands beyond, but for all their obvious intelligence they had no interest in communication with our kind. The only contact they had was with the Chandeliers in the deep lakes.
Reitha told me she'd once witnessed several Ehru and two Chandeliers having a conversation, and the lightshow had been the most stunning thing she had ever seen, rivalled only by Callespa's nightly aurora for sheer overwhelming beauty. It made me think I'd chosen the wrong profession. Maybe I should have been studying to be a naturalist like her. Then I remembered that I didn't have a choice, and I remembered why, and my mood soured a little.
I heard Rynn join me on the balcony. He never could move quietly. That was why our masters sent people like him and Frask and Beltei to the front lines, to be the crushing head of the hammer-blow, whereas on the few occasions I was on the battlefield at all it was to conduct surgical strikes. I'm subtle, he's not.
'It's done now,' he said, a hand on my shoulder. He was wary, otherwise he would have put his arm around my waist. He treated me like a bag of snakes sometimes, never sure if something was going to find it
s way out and bite him.
'He thinks he's made it up to you,' I said, a slight edge to my voice. 'Whatever it is.'
'We made the choice long ago. So did he. Be proud of him.'
'I am proud of him,' I said. 'And I'm scared for him. He's going to war, Rynn. I know how the Gurta are.'
'And I don't?'
'Not like me.' I felt cheap for playing that card, but it had been a long time since it worked on Rynn anyway.
'The war will be over before Ebb Season. Not even the Gurta have the heart for it any more, and people are sick of fighting. It's bad for business.'
'It's good for some. Our Clan, for one.'
'What are you really scared of?'
Blunt enough to work. 'He's our son, Rynn,' I said. 'He's not like you or me. We're Cadre.'
'You can't protect him. He wouldn't let you.'
'But we could have stopped short of sending him off to a battlefield, ' I replied acerbically. The rest didn't need to be said. I didn't want to let him join the military school. I didn't like the way his father pressured him. And I didn't do enough to prevent it.
'It'll be alright,' Rynn said, because it was the best he could offer. And then I felt his arms slide around my waist and his huge chest pressing against my back, and I sighed and relaxed into him.
'It'll be alright,' I agreed, softly. Because the alternative was too terrible to bear.
32
The city hid deep in the earth, far from the day.
It sprawled across the vastness of the cavern, innumerable lanterns and softly glowing windows crowding the swells and dips of the stony landscape. A plague of lights crept up the cavern's sides, and hung from the ceiling in clusters of stalactite dwellings, grim chandeliers of rock. Dimly reflective veins of metal and patches of ghostly, luminescent lichens shone like distant nebulae, occupying the void which the lights had not yet overtaken. Here in the endless dark, the tribes of Eskara had created a starfield, and they called it Veya, the Underhome.
I knew the city well: its plazas and alleys, its bridges and monuments, its bars and dens and secret societies. I knew where the pitmen brought their exotic beasts to fight for money; I knew where a person could sell a little of their soul for a skinmark of subtle power; I knew the cut-joints where they made dirty fireclaw potions for the dweomings in the slums. I'd visited the clubs where the aristocracy smoked and drank and made their deals. I'd walked through the sculpture-graveyards in the Greyslopes, their forms heavy with meaning, incomprehensible to anyone but the secretive race that created them. I'd watched a starving child give up his life in his mother's arms while she was too insensible to care.
The city cradled me. Here, among the many, I could be as alone as I wished or as involved as I liked. I stalked Veya like a predator prowling its territory, seeking to know every part. I investigated restlessly, sometimes silent and aloof, sometimes plunging into the society of others. To know the city was to have control over it.
The riverbank was bright and busy, even at this time, when most of Veya was asleep. Sharp-featured men and their elegant consorts sat in the forecourts of expensive bars, sipping from delicate goblets. Courtesans haunted the tables of those men and women who dined alone. The air was full of the scent of cooking fish and the perfumed oil of the lanterns.
I leaned against the rail that separated the promenade from the steep embankment to the river. On the neathways side stood one of Veya's five shinehouses, casting its pale glow high and far. The dwellings of the wealthy coiled and bulged and slid along the water's edge. Some were fashioned like breaking waves, others as swollen seed pods or spiral columns. Stone and wood and ceramics blended into each other in a carefully planned tangle. The architects of Veya were nothing if not creative. This city was glutted with art.
I spotted my contact coming along the promenade. He had that look about him: a man who had mastered his territory, a man who knew the city. There was no need to swagger. People just sensed it, and deferred. Muggers chose other victims, not really understanding why. Merchants spoke to him as an equal, even though he was obviously not rich or important.
'Keren,' I greeted him, as he joined me at the rail.
Keren always looked battered and scruffy, as if he had just hauled himself out of bed. Somehow the fact that he didn't trouble about his appearance only strengthened his aura of weary dangerousness. Two small, implanted silver tusks protruded from just below his bottom lip. A thick head of shaggy black hair hung untidily over his face. His low forehead and grizzled cheeks were skinmarked with curving patterns.
'Orna,' he replied. He studied a freighter that was approaching from upriver, surrounded by a rippling island of light. It was being escorted by a half-dozen militia sloops.
After a moment, Keren made a vague motion towards it. 'Trade goods. Rumour is, Jerima Vem has twenty sacks of powdered bonecane on there, out of his warehouse up in the Shivers. The den-runners round the Ashenpark are chewing their hands off wanting to get at it, but it's sewn tight. Vem's bribed or threatened every harbourmaster from here to Bry Athka.'
'I heard,' I replied.
He nodded. 'Makes you wonder. If he's moving that much bonecane, how come everyone knows? Vem's not so careless with his information. Smells like a decoy to me. Or a trap.'
I looked sideways at him. 'It is.'
He grinned. 'What you know, Orna?'
'Vem's going fishing. He's after Silverfish.'
Keren barked a laugh. 'Silverfish? He thinks Silverfish would fall for something like this?'
'Exactly. Vem's intelligence network's a joke.'
'So how'd you find out?'
I turned my cheek to show the Bond-mark there: three diagonal stripes. 'Ledo's keeping Jerima Vem very sweet right now. Makes it easier for certain information to come my way from time to time.'
Keren grunted. 'Forgot. The marriage, right? Never could keep track of aristo politics.' He was already calculating how this information could be useful, who he could tell, what kind of leverage he might gain. 'What've they got against each other?'
'Vem and Silverfish? That I don't know. Silverfish has been plaguing Clan Jerima lately: interfering with shipments, leaking sensitive information, stealing from him, that sort of thing. Vem wants him off his back. So he came up with a tempting target.'
'It's too tempting.'
He pushed off the rail suddenly, and walked into the forecourt of a bar. The bulky guard – placed there to prevent the detritus of the street from sifting in – paid him no attention. Keren lit a cigarillo at a brazier and returned, wreathed in the sweet, cloying scent of smokevine.
We stood together in silence. As always, Keren offered a cigarillo to me, and as always I declined. I waited while he finished. Keren wouldn't be disturbed during a cigarillo, nor would he speak of anything important until he was done.
'Found your man,' he said as he flicked the butt away, sending it skittering across the promenade.
'Where?'
'Back streets off the Grand Plaza.' He gave me an address. 'This evens us up, okay? For the other thing?'
'We're even,' I agreed. We always played this game, tallying favours and debts. Some people wanted money, but Keren wasn't that way. He traded information for information, with anyone and everyone he could. He wanted to know it all. I respected that hunger.
We took our leave and headed in different directions along the promenade. I was glad to be alone again. I needed time to centre myself, to let all traces of sensitivity and sentiment bleed out of me. For what I intended to do, they would only get in my way. The address Keren had given me was on the fifth floor of a building in a maze of narrow, knife-slash streets. Here, in the area around the Grand Plaza, dwellings were stacked high and pressed together hard. Balconies of wood and ceramic faced each other, close enough to jump between. Curved windows with webbed frames and tinted glass glowed green in the heights. Jabbered conversations and laughter swelled and faded, the voices of unseen couples wandering arm-in-arm, somewhere in the labyrinth.
I made my way up a zigzag stairway, passing alcoves in which doorways were set. At the top, I found the door I wanted. It was identical to the others, polished and set in a carved wooden arch. A bell tolled faintly in the distance.
Warm light crept beneath the door. Good. He was in. I pushed back my coat to expose the hilt of an obsidian shortblade, and knocked. There was a pause, and movement within.
The door opened. A middle-aged man, his body bulky and strong. Hired muscle. He went pale as he saw the Cadre sigil on my shoulder.
'Careless,' I said, and shoved the door open. I grabbed him in a nerve-claw, rigid fingers digging into the flesh of his throat, thumb driven under his chin. Wracked with paralysing agony, he could do little to resist as I propelled him roughly into the living area. There I threw him against a writing desk with a crash, scattering rolls of parchment and shattering a vial of ink.
There were four in the room, including the man I'd just assaulted. One was Ekan, the man I'd come to see: doughy, face run to fat, expression betraying surprise. The rest were thugs.
Ekan had taken precautions.
The two remaining thugs came at me from either side. One had snatched up an iron candle-holder as a club, the other had a dagger. I went for the knife-wielder first. The thug stabbed clumsily: a small-time heavy with an unlicensed blade. I slid inside his reach, grabbed his wrist and drove my knee upward into the elbow, inverting it with a wet snap.
I pulled the man across me as my next attacker swung, protecting myself with the body of my opponent. There was a dull thud as the candle-holder struck the shoulder of my unwilling shield. I wrapped an arm round his neck and broke it, tossing him aside, then sprang for the thug with the candle-holder.
He took another swing. I dodged it and punched rigid fingers into a nerve-nexus to make him release his weapon, then I headbutted him in the bridge of the nose. Didn't expect that from a woman. There was barely time for him to yell before I delivered a short, brutal punch to his solar plexus, winding him. He staggered backwards, doubled over and gasping for air.
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