The Fade kj-2

by Chris Wooding

  The thug who had opened the door was back on his feet, lunging, hoping to take me off-guard. Not a chance. They were nothing but street-brawlers, pugilists at best. They had no defence against the subtler fighting arts. I dropped under the punch, caught his arm and used it to throw him over my shoulder. He might have been heavier than me, but weight can be used against you. The thug crashed to the floor hard, and I punched him in the throat, crushing his larynx.

  I rolled off, coming to my feet, stanced ready for another attack. None came. I drew a shortblade, walked calmly to where the surviving thug was still gasping for breath, and cut his throat. Afterwards, I turned my gaze to the last man in the room.

  'You know what this is about, Ekan,' I said.

  Ekan was already on the verge of tears, half-insensible with terror. 'Listen… no… you don't-'

  'I'm not interested,' I told him. 'You were warned.'

  'We can go!' Ekan blurted, eyes shining with sudden hope. 'We can leave. You won't ever hear from us again!'

  'You should have listened,' I replied. 'The Caracassa family takes a bleak view when people try to undercut their prices.'

  'No… no…' Ekan was begging, eyes fixed on my blade, which was dripping spots of blood onto the floor. 'I'm just an apothecary, I'm… I'm just an apothecary! I need to make a living like everybody else!'

  'You make it selling cheaper versions of my master's products,' I said.

  'They were my products! My potions!'

  'You copied them from us, Ekan. You know it. I know it. If I let you get away with this, I'll have a dozen more of you to deal with by season's end. I've got better things to do with my time.'

  'Leave him alone!' shrieked a new voice: Ekan's consort, appearing in the doorway. A slight blonde woman, fiercer than her size would suggest. 'Leave him the fuck alone! '

  I looked from the consort to the sobbing child hiding behind her leg, clutching at her gown. Eyes flitting between the dead men in the room and her cringing father.

  'Don't swear in front of your daughter,' I said.

  Her face twisted in hatred. 'Mindless bitch! Doing your master's bidding like a slave! He'll stop! He'll stop selling them!'

  'I'll stop!' Ekan pleaded. 'We can leave. We can leave right now, nobody has to know!'

  'I'd know.' I motioned at the little girl. 'Take her away. She shouldn't see this.'

  There was a moment of balance. I felt the situation teeter and tip. Ekan deflated, and something died in his eyes. I'd won. He'd accepted his fate.

  'Go,' he said to his consort. He was trembling. 'Go on. It'll be over in a moment.'

  Biting back tears of bitter fury and helplessness, the consort retreated, pushing the child ahead of her. The door slammed, and the girl began to wail in earnest.

  I pushed Ekan around so that he faced the desk, forced his forearms flat onto it. I swept aside the tally charts and accounts that he'd been keeping. That done, I stabbed my shortblade into the desk and drew out a thick strip of leather.

  Ekan stared at it. 'What's that for?'

  'Tourniquet,' I replied. I bent closer. 'Which is your least favourite hand?' It was a long way to travel home on foot, but I walked everywhere if I could. I enjoyed the peaceful emptiness in the air, the roomy, quiet streets. The last bell of the turn had just sounded, the pause for breath before the city stirred again. Soon a new turn would begin, down here where there was no day or night, and the streets would begin to fill.

  The Tangles were on the poleways edge of the city, up against the wall of the cavern. Here, dwellings were not built but carved into the gigantic roots of mycora, the immense fungi that grew on the surface, their discs spreading shade across the plains. Reitha talked about them often. Like much of the world above, their existence was only dimly comprehended by those races than hid in the endless passages of the underground. The surface was an alien place, of little interest to most. All they saw of mycora were the enormous root-systems that burrowed vast distances through the earth and rock. In the Tangles, the roots had broken through the cavern wall in a slither, and the rich had built their homes in them.

  The Caracassa mansions were a mountain of dimly glowing windows, fashioned in many shapes, tracing patterns along the length of the roots. Ceramic domes and stubby towers rose from the cradling grey arms of the mycora. Small gardens and courtyards were carefully integrated into the organic flow of the structure. The whole edifice appeared to have been poured rather than built, a towering cone fashioned from points of light, imposing and beautiful in the dark.

  The tips of two roots formed an enclosure at the base of the mansions, framing gates of solid brass, their surface rich with detail. They stood open, attended by four guards in red-and-black Caracassa livery, carrying double-bladed pikes. The guards knew me by sight, and let me pass with a curt acknowledgement.

  I made my way across the enclosure, where gardens of crystalline plants and multicoloured fungi were laid to either side of a driveway. A small block of stables lay off to one side. Servants were cleaning a rickshaw nearby, preparing it for departure.

  Inside, the mansions were warm and snug in contrast to the unwaveringly cool temperature of Veya. The corridors were large and tunnel-like, lined with polished panels of rootwood and dimly lit with lamps that hung from the ceiling. Paintings and objects of art were everywhere, including several of Rynn's grandfather's smaller sculptures. Red-robed handmaidens whispered past me, their faces hidden by veils. It was too late for much of the household to be awake.

  I headed through corridors and up spiral stairways to my family's chambers. When I got there, they were in darkness. I went to the large round window that overlooked the living area, and gazed through the swirling metalwork to the city below. We were high up here, and the view over Veya was mesmerising.

  I thought about what I had just done. My duties for my master were manifold, but intimidation and punishment were the tasks I liked the least. Still, Ekan knew the rules.

  Potions – tonics for all ills, in a society whose people ran on chemicals – were a relatively small part of Clan Caracassa's industry. Their usual business was the manufacture of medicines and unguents tailored for frontline troops: healing salves, anti-infection medication, hunger suppressants, painkillers, rage enhancers. But even so, Ekan had to be stopped. His little racket might have been insignificant now, but there was no space for tolerance or conscience in my line of work.

  I was Cadre. I was selected for this task because I was the best at it. It was my duty to serve. That was all there was.

  I went into our bedroom. Something massive shifted in the shadows. Rynn turning over beneath the sheets. He mumbled something in a register too low for me to hear.

  'It's me,' I said.

  He woke a little more.

  'Where've you been?' he muttered.

  I walked over to the bed, shedding clothes as I went, and slid in beside him. He encircled me drowsily.

  'Out,' I replied, but he was already asleep.

  33

  I returned from our family-vacation-cum-manhunt more restless than when I left. Jai was back at military school and Rynn had been tasked with bodyguard duty for an important official on a Borderland visit, so there was nobody to greet me on my return. Not that I minded; I do alone very well.

  Ledo had told me about a particularly elusive apothecary called Ekan who was undercutting his business with cheap potions. I'd asked Keren to track the man down while I was away, and upon my return I found a message from him. He had something. I sent him one back, requesting to meet him later that turn.

  While I waited for his reply I had time on my hands, so I wandered the Caracassa mansions restlessly, eager to be getting on with something. The matter of Jai's upcoming graduation filled me with unease, so I traced familiar routes, seeking old reminders, finding comfort in reminiscence. In time, inevitably, I came to the central atrium of the mansion, and to the greatest sculpture that Rynn's grandfather ever produced. His greatest sculpture, and his greatest mistake
.

  It was a circular courtyard, dominated by the enormous monument in the centre. The sculpture rose out of a round pool, from which stone channels led to ornamental fountains. Lush fungal gardens were arranged around the atrium, a profusion of yellow, purple, green and pink. I found I could identify them all, from the tiny sprays of puffballs to the different species of dwarf mycora, with their many-branched stems and flat caps spreading high overhead.

  The discovery pleased me. Must have picked up their names from Reitha. I was getting to be quite the amateur naturalist.

  There were people here, lounging beneath the arbours or walking slowly. Others sat on the elaborately wrought balconies that ringed the chamber, to provide a better view of Venya Ethken Asta's masterpiece. The chamber echoed with the quiet susurrus of voices.

  I traipsed idly along, enjoying the feel of the place. Paths were pleasantly lit by lamps. Powerful lanterns hung in the upper reaches of the chamber, their shinestones glowing, magnified manifold through glass shaped by master artisans. Light, like heat, could be controlled: by coloured panes, by angles, by the arts of the chthonomancers that ignited the shinestones and made them burn like miniature suns. It was as important to architects and designers as wood or stone or metal.

  I found my favourite spot to contemplate the sculpture. It was a bizarre piece, shapeless and organic in form. Many types of stone and ore were fused together to create patterns which led the eye. Here, a bright red cluster of prismatic vanadinite; there, a long vein of blue-green chrysocolla. Bubbles of botryoidal malachite warred with scratches of silver and frills of celestine. And in among them, rarer minerals, raised from the depths of the earth where only the Craggens could go. At first sight it was ugly and chaotic, but its form had a mesmerising quality that drew viewers in. It was easy to become lost in the swirls and jags and curves. There was a puzzle there, a challenge hard to resist.

  It meant something different to everybody, but to me it meant more than to most. Here were the shackles that bound the man I loved. Rynn was in Bond to Clan Caracassa just as I was. His grandfather, Asta, had borrowed the money from Caracassa to create this colossal piece for an eminent merchant; but when the patron was bankrupted by the machinations of the Eskaran markets, Asta found himself impoverished, all his money tied up in a half-finished sculpture that no one wanted. Caracassa claimed the lifedebt for three generations, and his first task was to finish the sculpture he began.

  Rynn was the last of his debt. I was only Bonded for the tenure of my lifetime. Had things been different, our son would have been born free. But that wasn't how it worked out in the end.

  'Beautiful,' came a silken voice by my left shoulder.

  'Disgusting,' said another on my right.

  I turned with a smile. Liss and Casta, the twins. As opposite as day and night. They had both changed the colour of their skin since I had last seen them. Now Liss was as pale as her brother Ledo, ghostly and wan; but Casta was a deep grey-black, like coal.

  'We missed you,' Liss said, and kissed me on the lips.

  'I missed you too,' I replied, turning to receive Casta's kiss. 'Both of you.'

  Liss was all in white, thin layers of gauzy fabrics drifting around her, shredded at the hems. She had contrived to look tattered, despite having spent a small fortune on the outfit. Casta wore black and red, and her hair was like magma.

  'Now tell us about your vacation!' Liss cried.

  'Rynn tells us nothing,' added her sister.

  'We could make him, but where's the fun?'

  My vacation. Ah yes. I'd barely got there before I'd been called away to Mal Eista to chase down and kill a man called Gorak Jespyn. The tricky fuck had been a nightmare to catch. I never did find out what he'd done to Clan Caracassa to deserve his fate.

  Liss had linked arms with me and was tugging me away from the sculpture. She was already off on another subject. 'Have you eaten yet?'

  'We didn't make it to breakfast,' Casta said.

  'I'm hungry!'

  'You're always hungry.'

  'Well, now I'm more hungry. Did you eat?' This last was addressed to me.

  I was laughing. I always enjoyed the twins' verbal onslaughts.

  'What are you laughing at?' Liss asked, laughing too. 'She's laughing at us, Casta!'

  'She's cruel,' Casta said, with a wry twitch of her lips. 'I always said that.'

  'Is it true? Are you cruel?'

  'No,' I replied, still laughing. 'No, I'm just glad to see you both.'

  'There!' Liss said triumphantly to her sister. 'She's not cruel, she's happy.'

  Casta slipped her arm through mine, so that each twin had one. 'I still say she's cruel.'

  'Oh, I'm cruel,' I agreed. 'Cruel enough to demand your company for the next few hours.'

  'That is cruel,' Casta said.

  'And so impertinent!' Liss chimed in. 'When we're so important and she's just an… an errand girl!'

  'Errand girl!' I cried in mock-outrage.

  'Teasing, my love,' Liss said, kissing me on the cheek. 'Your will is our purpose. Let's go.' We took a crayl-drawn rickshaw through the Tangles. The twins had a new favourite club called The Black Circlet, a broad, round building encircled by mycora roots. It stood above the main throughway of the Tangles, looking down on the traffic. On its far side, towards the cavern wall, was a lush garden of precious rocks and vines and waterfalls.

  The club was frighteningly exclusive, but the twins were known all over Veya. We were ushered in and seated without having to say a word.

  A robed handmaiden memorised our orders. I asked for a stimulant cocktail, as I'd snatched only a little sleep on my journey down from the subsurface: the lifts were uncomfortable and noisy, and I'd had too much on my mind. The twins, alerted, began to lay into me about how haggard I looked. I bore it all good-humouredly, and told them how vile they were, which they loved.

  'Why don't you write to us while you're away? We could come and see you!' Liss demanded at one point. Casta watched me owlishly, interested enough to keep quiet for a moment.

  'Why don't you write to me?' I countered.

  'Ah, this and that,' Liss replied, as if that was an answer.

  I felt momentarily saddened. It was true they bore a great affection for me, but I knew what they were like. They flitted from delight to delight, and out of sight was out of mind. My letters would go unanswered, not because they didn't care, but because they were utterly selfish. They would have been in paroxysms of happiness at hearing from me and then forget to write back.

  'Well, you're here now,' Casta said, as our drinks arrived. 'That's all that matters.'

  'I heard the news,' I commented, as the cocktail began to lift away the veils of tiredness from my mind and muscles.

  'The news?' Casta and Liss said together.

  'I hear you're to be a consort, Liss.'

  Liss squealed and grabbed my hands across the table. 'Yes! Isn't it exciting? Casta hates him, of course. But she's just jealous.'

  Casta said nothing. Liss seemed to have forgotten the unfortunate fate of Thulia Iolo, the last suitor that had dared to approach her. But then, she never really believed Casta had had a hand in that. She thought it was an accident. I suspected otherwise.

  'So who is it?' I asked.

  'Don't you know?'

  'I have my suspicions.' I did know, but I also knew she wanted to tell me herself.

  She laughed and squirmed, clapped her hands and giggled like a little girl.

  'Oh, come on now,' Casta murmured.

  'It's Jerima Dew,' Liss announced.

  'Jerima Vem's son. Thought so,' I said. Clan Jerima: a powerful merchant family in Veya, into textiles and a little narcotics on the side. Strange choice for a match on my master's part. Clan Caracassa were members of the Turnward Claw Alliance, who were pushing for the continuation of the war against the Gurta. As a manufacturer of battlefield medicines, Ledo profited heftily from conflict. Clan Jerima were in the Folded Wing, who were agitating for peace. They we
re growing in power as people sickened of the war, but they were the natural opponents of the Turnward Claw Alliance. A Caracassa marriage into a Folded Wing Clan sent mixed signals to the allies of both parties.

  I gave her my congratulations, but she became suddenly casual, examining her cracked fingernails. 'Anyway, Ledo thinks it's a good idea, so-'

  I knew Liss too well to be wrongfooted by her mercurial temperament.

  'What do you think?' I asked.

  Liss shrugged and made an indefinite noise. 'But won't the ceremony be fun?' she enthused.

  'The ceremony!' Casta hissed.

  'She's just jealous,' Liss stage-whispered at me.

  'You'd turn your back on your own sister!' Casta accused. I realised I'd made a mistake in mentioning the issue. Casta wasn't joking. The mood had turned suddenly ugly.

  Liss appealed to me. 'She goes where she wants! She leaves me lonely for turn after turn sometimes. But when I do something without her she won't have it! She's-'

  'Don't try and get Orna on your side!' Casta snapped. 'She's not interested in your whining.'

  Liss shrank. 'She's so mean, so mean sometimes,' she said, apparently to herself. 'I don't know how I stand it.'

  'Oh, don't.'

  'Well, you are.'

  'It's yourself I'm saving you from.'

  'You're not saving anything, and you can't stop me!'

  'She thinks I can't stop her,' Casta said to me.

  'She thinks she knows what's best for me!' Liss cried.

  'It's been like this ever since she agreed,' Casta said, tossing her hair and glaring away across the club.

  'She just can't bear to see me happy,' Liss countered.

  'She won't be happy,' Casta replied, addressing thin air.

  'Well, I won't be lonely any more when she's away,' Liss said, and then burst into tears. Casta, all ill feeling forgotten, immediately hugged her twin and kissed her repeatedly until her tears dried.