The Shattered City
Page 42
This, then. This was what the Orphan Princel had brought them to. Topaz knew it was him, with his promises and his high and mighty manners. She had known from the moment she opened her mouth to sing that song, the one she was so proud of, with all the lambs clustered around her. She had felt it, the power running from one to the other to the next, building up around her, and when the mirrored ceiling had come down, causing the lamps and candles to gutter, she had known what had done it.
It was her, her song, their power, and it was all the Orphan Princel’s fault.
The skittering crawling thing had moved from her wrist to her elbow, stretching the skin, and Topaz could almost make out the shape of its feet, its little legs. Like a dream, but not a dream. Very much not a dream when you could feel a critter tickling you from the wrong side of your skin.
Topaz picked up one of the broken bits of wood that had splintered off the wall when the two beasties crunched through it. It was a long shard with a good old point right at the end. She thought about stabbing the Orphan Princel through the belly or the chest, maybe gouging out an eyeball. None of these things made her feel better about the fact that Bart was dead and it was half her fault.
She ran the point of the wood up and down the inside of her arm, where the crawling thing was still moving. She jabbed hard enough to bleed, and the pain was good. Something simple to think about. She jabbed again, wondering if she could kill the thing, or if she even wanted to.
She wouldn’t be alone, if she let it live.
Blood welled over the wooden point, and then something greyish pushed its way out of the ragged cut Topaz had made in her own arm. Small black eyes stared unblinkingly at her in the moonlight. It was cold and slithery, like a snake, only it had feet that it used to clamber out.
The critter eased its back legs out of the wound in her arm and ran up to her shoulder, along her chest, those little black eyes still staring, staring.
Her arm wasn’t bleeding any more. That wasn’t right, but there was plenty not right here to worry about.
‘Are there more where you come from?’ she whispered. The crawling thing gazed at her, and Topaz felt a push against her mind, almost like it was talking to her, showing the way. ‘Oh,’ she said in a small voice, and then she did it, all on her own. She changed.
Topaz was crawling, crawling, up walls and clinging to ceilings. She was a horde, lots of little pattering feet and she was hot, so hot, though everything she touched was cold.
She sure wasn’t Topaz any more, and here was another thing to hate that blooming Princel for.
She was not a lamb, not a demme, not even a person.
Finally she found her way back, and lay on her belly, naked and sweating and crazy itchy in her own skin.
Hot, cold, she didn’t know what she was. Topsy turvy upside down, confused about everything except for hate and misery. She had liked it better crawling. You didn’t care so much on all fours, with a tail to lash out at the world. Topaz could smell smoke. It tasted bad in the back of her throat, and she coughed as she pushed herself up.
‘Your first time?’ a voice said sympathetically. ‘Poor chicken. I remember that.’
Topaz sat up, looking wildly around the alley. It weren’t one she knew. She could be anywhere, far from the theatre.
A lady stepped out of the shadows so that the moonlight fell on her just so. She wore a frock that shimmered, and her hair was all glossy in that way that a stellar would take hours to get right. Her mouth was bright red with cosmetick, like blood. She was smoking with a fancy holder, and her eyes were locked on to Topaz.
At first Topaz wanted to cover herself with her hands, so this lady couldn’t see her naked. The look was snooty enough that she’d feel naked even if she was head to toe in a bearskin, so she didn’t bother. ‘What you talking about?’
‘Don’t play games with me, brat,’ said the lady, as pleasantly as before. ‘I saw you change. I know what you are.’
‘I didn’t do nothing,’ Topaz said, desperately afraid. ‘I didn’t ask for this. It’s not my fault. He made me!’
The lady moved, her pearls rattling and her heels clicking against the stone. She reached Topaz and held out a hand, so pale and smooth that Topaz didn’t dare touch it. A fine lady like this shouldn’t even know she existed, lest she was on stage entertaining her. ‘I want to help you,’ said the lady. ‘Let me help you. My name is Livilla. And do you know what? I’m just like you.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Topaz said in a shaky voice, but then the demme’s eyes went sort of yellow. Hound’s eyes.
She didn’t know she’d voiced that thought aloud until Lady Livilla corrected her: ‘Wolf.’
Topaz was a city brat; she didn’t know nothing about wolves. ‘I want to go home,’ she said, but there wasn’t a home. There was the fancy boarding-house room bought and paid for in Bart’s blood. There was the grotty rat nest that wouldn’t be home without the other lambs — and Topaz didn’t want to see any of them if they had made it there. They wouldn’t want to see her, neither.
They’d know, wouldn’t they? That the Princel had used them, that it was her song that had brought the ceiling down. It was her fault.
‘Let me look after you,’ said Livilla, and the smoke was rough but her voice was smooth and inviting. ‘Are you hungry?’
Topaz’s belly turned over before she could even think about the question. ‘Oh, aye,’ she breathed.
Livilla smiled, and if that was what wolves smiled like, then all the songs about them were true. ‘I have meat,’ she promised.
Topaz took her hand.
Topaz had spent market-nines sleeping in a rosy room much nicer than anything she’d had in her life — clean cotton sheets, fat pillows, and space to herself. But this den was something else. She was wrapped in a quilt so soft that it slithered against her skin, and the room was draped in black and scarlet, like a stage setting for a foreign boudoir. It smelled of smoke and perfume. She’d been fed a good chop and a cup of ciocolata before she slept. It still felt warm and sweet in her belly when she awoke.
‘There you are, then,’ said a voice. Topaz turned in a hurry, almost sliding out of the prissy bed. It wasn’t the fine lady who had brought her here, but a younger demme dressed in grey who sat on a similar bed all draped in silks and gauze.
‘Who are you then?’ Topaz asked rudely.
‘Bree,’ said the demme, eyeing Topaz as if she wasn’t impressed with what she saw. ‘I was here first, and don’t you forget it. There’s rules to these things. I’m top courtesa. If milady wants something, I’m the first to her side. You fetch and carry for me. Got it?’
Topaz blinked. What, was she in service now? There were worse fates for a theatrical that left the stage — stupid she’d been, not to ask what Lady Livilla wanted of her. She might have ended up whoring just as easily.
‘Mind you tell the others that, too,’ Bree added firmly. ‘I was here first.’
‘Others,’ Topaz repeated.
Bree rolled her eyes. ‘Go on, then. Go see for yourself.’
Topaz looked around for her clothes, but remembered too late that she had been wearing none when she arrived. There was a dress like Bree’s lying across her bed and she pulled it on, gasping a little at the high grade of the linen — not even stellars in the Royale wore anything like this, it was so fancy.
Bree flung the door open and then stood back to make way for Topaz. Holy blooming saints. Lady Livilla stood there, her arms and legs covered with all manner of critters. Birds, mice, rats. The room was full of them. Feraxes, hounds, even one bear that could have escaped straight from the Circus Verdigris.
‘Ah, Topaz,’ said Lady Livilla serenely. She shook all the critters off her arms and they clustered into groups, mice with mice, rats with rats … as Topaz watched, they shaped back into people. Small, naked, shivering forms.
Not people. Lambs. Her lambs. Eight or nine of them, all looking miserable and scared. Sarah, Merrick, Belinny. All of them, ’ce
pt for Bart, had made it here, to this strange place, with this lady and no windows. Why were there no windows?
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Lady Livilla said. ‘Between us, my lambs, we shall take the Creature Court once and for all.’ She smiled at Topaz, looking all sympathetic. ‘It doesn’t make any sense yet, my sweetling, but it will. I am going to rule this city. Let the daylight have their Duchessa. I want the nox, every inch of it, and you are going to help me take it.’
The Arches were empty. Ashiol climbed down via the Eyrie and made his way silently through the tunnels and streets. He had visited the Palazzo first, creeping in cat shape and walking out again, unchallenged, dressed respectably and carrying a ceramic urn.
The ground down here was softer than above, except for the concrete slab of the Haymarket. Ashiol was happy to pad barefoot through the undercity, making his way to the Angel Gardens.
Once upon a time, this place had been where the people of Aufleur grew their fresh food as they hid from the skywar that rained down upon them, before it disappeared into the nox and the daylight folk thought it safe to venture back above. There was animor in the earth here, rich enough that you could taste it on the back of your throat. Had to be, to let grass grow underground, let alone vegetables and the like.
There were no vegetables now, just grass and pale silver roses. The Angel Gardens had been a graveyard for as long as Ashiol could remember. Stones littered the place, each marked with a symbol of import. A cluster of them bore crudely sketched swords, the mark of the sentinel. Some had eyes, the mark of the Seer. The rest of the stones had creatures on them, all kinds of creatures, one for every fallen courteso, Lord or King.
There were no bodies here. In Aufleur, you burned your dead. The daylight folk were interred in the walls outside the bounds of the city. Most of the stones here in the Angel Gardens had been placed to mark where ceramic urns full of ash and charred bone were buried. Some stones marked with stars had been put there to honour those who were swallowed by the sky, and left no remains behind.
No one had put a stone down for Garnet; or if they had, Ashiol had never seen it. Too glad the bastard was dead, the lot of them. And now he was back.
Ashiol hurt all over. He could have used his animor to heal the wounds and bruises from his fight with Garnet, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. (Didn’t want to stop feeling it yet.) Priorities.
He found a stone with mice and stars carved into it and realised someone had set it here for Velody. They wouldn’t be needing that. He shoved the stone out of the way and dug his hands into the earth, pushing viciously at it with animor until the dirt churned under his fingers, producing a hole.
Once he had buried the urn, Ashiol took the stone into his hands and poured power against the smooth surface until the mice faded, and the stars were gone. He should carve an eye into it, because Heliora was the Seer, or swords because she had been a sentinel. He couldn’t bring himself to do either. Instead, he glared at the stone until it broke into pieces, crumbling under his hands like dry bread.
A cairn of broken stones seemed appropriate. It was not as if he was ever going to forget her.
‘Are you here?’ A voice broke through the silence. Ashiol darted back to hide behind a ridiculously huge boulder with a bear carved into its surface. He had recognised Garnet’s voice, and was not ready to face him yet. If he concentrated, he could dampen down his own animor, so that no one would sense his presence.
‘I’ve been waiting,’ said another voice. Poet.
Ashiol went from rock to rock, searching for them. Finally he spotted two silhouettes in the near-darkness, standing near an arbour of silvery roses and the lioness stone that marked Tasha’s passing.
Garnet wore a flashy suit of red velvet with a bright silk kerchief around his neck. ‘I had to dress appropriately. It took time.’
Poet laughed shortly. ‘Did the owner of that put up much of a struggle?’
‘Hardly at all. See, not a drop of blood.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’ Poet dropped the pretence of being casual. ‘My Power — do you have any idea what I have sacrificed for you?’
Garnet smiled that gorgeous smile of his, the one that made you forget how much you hated him. He reached out, touching the back of Poet’s head, ruffling his hair a little. ‘Beautiful boy. Do I seem ungrateful?’ Poet leaned forward with a broken sigh, and Garnet held him. ‘You don’t need to be the Orphan Princel any more,’ he whispered. ‘You don’t need that pretty theatre, or your fancy clothes — any of it. You have me.’
Poet tipped his face up, and Garnet kissed him, on the forehead and then the mouth.
Ashiol watched, stunned. This, he had not seen. This, he had not known.
‘Thanks to you,’ Garnet whispered, ‘I not only made it back, but in excellent time. We have two months, and there is much to do. Your sacrifice was worthy.’
Poet slid to his knees, looking exhausted. ‘They will try to stop us,’ he said softly. ‘Velody, Ashiol … I didn’t know I would have to sacrifice my theatre!’
Garnet stroked his hands through Poet’s hair as if he was a child. ‘Velody is mine already. Leave Ashiol to me as well. He’s weaker than anyone knows. Don’t fret, love. This will be the finest Saturnalia that the Creature Court — and Aufleur — has ever known.’
Ashiol shaped himself into cats and slid away into the shadows, as silently as he could go. His mind was racing with all that he had heard. Velody and Poet were in thrall to Garnet. No one could be trusted, not now.
He had a choice. He could leave the city in their hands, let the sky fall as it might. Or he could take it back. He could really be the Power and Majesty.
More than ever, he wanted Heliora, to hear her voice the futures, to hear her give him the hope he needed to survive. But Hel was gone for good, he knew that now. If he was going to take Aufleur back, Ashiol was going to have to do it alone.
If Garnet, or Velody, or Poet or any of the rest of them tried to stop him, the answer was simple.
He would have to kill them all.
GLOSSARY
Alexandrine Basilica — the largest church in the known world, constructed by the fourth Duc d’Aufleur, mad old Ilexandros. His successor, Duc Giulio Gauget, declared the Basilica to be an unholy abomination and stripped its rich furnishings to ornament his own Palazzo. The hollowed-out and falling-down Basilica is now used as a marketplace, and a merchant’s lot here is worth a small fortune.
Ammoria — a principality once consisting of three duchies: Silano (capital city: Bazeppe), Lattorio (capital city: Aufleur) and Reyenna (capital city: Tierce). When the city of Tierce vanished, Reyenna became one of the baronies of Lattorio.
Animor — the energy/power contained within the bodies of all full members of the Creature Court. Seers and sentinels do not hold animor, though they are touched/contaminated by it, which gives them a status between the nox and daylight worlds.
Ansouisette — a fashionable cocktail of aniseed and lemon liqueur.
Arches, the — ruined city that exists below Aufleur, where the city’s inhabitants once lived after being forced underground during the old skywar. Now inhabited by the Creature Court. Also known as ‘the undercity’.
Artorio Xandelian — former Ducomte d’Aufleur, son of Duc Ynescho Xandelian and Duchessa Givette Camellie. Artorio refused to marry in his youth, but at age thirty-three was prevailed upon by his father to marry nineteen-year-old Eglantine in order to produce an heir. A year later Isangell was born. Artorio died of the Silent Sleep when his daughter was thirteen.
Ashiol Xandelian — Ducomte d’Aufleur; son of Augusta and Bruges, stepson of Diamagne. Cousin to Isangell, Duchessa d’Aufleur. Member of the Creature Court; rank: King; creature: black cat.
Atulia — region to the north of Ammoria.
Aufrey — one of the twelve Great Families of Aufleur.
Aufleur — capital city of the duchy of Lattorio in the principality of Ammoria. Ruled by Isangell, the daylight Duchessa.
Avleurine — one of the hill districts of Aufleur; location of the Temple of the Market Saints.
Bridescake — ornate wedding cake traditionally covered in spring flowers.
Bruges Lanouvre — late husband of Augusta Xandelian; father of Ashiol (died when Ashiol was seven years old).
Burnplague — a spreading sky pattern of blisters that spit motes of light and acid.
Camellie — one of the twelve Great Families of Aufleur.
Camoise — country to the far east of Ammoria. One of many cultures that trades extensively with Aufleur. Providers of the exotic and expensive ‘real tea’, the best of which is Camoisean leaf.
Carmentines — bright scarlet flowers with long stems.
Cathedral of Ires — place of worship dedicated to the Crone Ires, who is venerated by the Irean Priestesses. Place where wills are lodged for safekeeping. The priestesses guard the wills and provide public readings after the client’s death.
Celeste — former Lord of the Creature Court who left with Lysandor during the tyrannical reign of Garnet as Power and Majesty.
Centi opera stands — portable stalls featuring puppet shows. Sometimes a young female performer, an ingénue, performs among the puppets.
Centrini — affluent mercantile district in the centre of Aufleur.
Cheapside — part of the market district of Tierce, where Velody’s family own a bakery.
Chimaera — a monstrous dark shadowy shape with claws, teeth and scales; an amalgam of every devil and forbidden creature imaginable. Only Creature Kings are able to take chimaera form; used in battle.
Church Bridge — traditional starting point for festival parades; finishing point is the Forum. One of two city bridges across the River Verticordia, the other being the Marius Bridge.