by David Logan
Cuca was full of thieves and junkies, just as they had been warned, but it was also home to families. Children played in the streets. Streets that were littered with garbage, broken glass and excrement. The children laughed and shouted, just like children everywhere. Huge mounds of refuse were all about them. There was no rubbish collection in Cuca. The children played in and around the detritus that was home to skinny dogs, bloated rats and scavenging birds. Cascér had grown up in a place much like this. She saw a very young Pallatan girl, a toddler, playing with some other children of several different races. The Pallatan girl was wearing a bright dress that stood out against the squalor. Cascér smiled as she looked at the girl and thought back to her own childhood. She remembered playing in the streets with her brothers and friends when she probably wasn’t much older.
She walked on for a little way, looking out for the League’s compound, but she didn’t need to look too hard. The shanty town ended abruptly in a towering wall constructed from a mishmash of building materials; seemingly anything that could be scavenged had been used. Blocks of ragged stone made up the base. On top of that were sections made of weathered wood next to panels of rusting metal alongside blocks of untarnished falakite. Despite its random appearance, it was solid and secure. So secure in fact that there didn’t seem to be a way in. She walked around the perimeter. On the far side, Cascér found herself looking out at endless desert: rocky, dry and uninviting. She carried on until she was back where she had started. It was bigger than she initially assumed from looking at the front. It took her more than ten minutes to walk all the way around. She hadn’t come across anything that resembled a door.
Just to the right of where she had begun was a ramshackle outbuilding that had long been abandoned. Most of its roof was gone and it looked as if a good breeze might sweep the rest away, but Cascér thumped its walls and they appeared solid enough. She glanced around and couldn’t see anyone paying her any attention so she scrambled up on to the old shack. The moment she did this, everyone within view stopped what they were doing and looked in horror.
Who was this idiot? they were thinking. Doesn’t she know who’s behind that wall? Adults grabbed their children and quietly moved them inside, locking doors and closing window shutters as they went. Had Cascér looked around she would have noticed how the surrounding streets had suddenly emptied of life.
Cascér wasn’t looking behind her however. She stood on the corner of the shack’s wall and got her balance. The old building shifted a little beneath her but it felt sturdy enough. She reached up to her full height and could almost touch the top of the compound’s wall. Bending at the knees she launched herself upwards and her fingertips snagged on to the lip of the wall. Coarse wood bit into the skin of her left hand. Smooth falakite felt cold under her right. She found it hard to get much of a grip on the falakite and she could feel her fingers slipping back. Straining her upper arm muscles, she started to pull herself up.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ The voice came from down at ground level behind her. A gruff male voice speaking H’rtu.
Cascér stopped what she was doing and turned to look at the speaker. It was Rumanow. He had followed her. Cascér didn’t answer.
Rumanow hammered on the wall. ‘Get out here,’ he bellowed. ‘Got a snooper.’ He looked back up at Cascér and grinned. He waved his big hand at her. ‘Why don’t you come down here, girlie?’
Cascér could hear movement on the other side of the wall. Heavy footsteps, clanking metal, animal growls. Nothing appealing. She lowered herself down and then dropped the last little bit, finding her balance on the rickety roof of the outbuilding.
On the other side of the wall she could hear great locks being pulled aside and the mounting rumble of a vast gate starting to open.
She jumped off the outbuilding and landed firmly on the dusty ground in front of Rumanow. She rose slowly to her full height. Rumanow was considerably taller than her. His hand shot out and grabbed her chin. The suddenness of the action startled her.
‘So what were you doing?’ he asked. He looked her up and down. The slit that was his mouth stretched, showing dozens of small sharp teeth in blood-red gums. It was a smile. Sadistic and sinister. ‘I think you maybe should come inside with me and my friends.’
There was a low metallic groan and the creaking of rusted wheels as part of the wall started to open outwards. It was a door made up of an entire section of the outer wall, which was why Cascér hadn’t notice it before. She heard excited animal noises coming from behind it, impatient whines, claws scraping at the dirt in eagerness. She didn’t want to see what was on the other side of it. She looked at Rumanow, holding his gaze. He smirked. He could see her fear. Then Cascér brought her foot up with as much force as she could muster, right between Rumanow’s legs. The attack was so unexpected that Rumanow hardly made any noise. He croaked a little as he crumpled to the ground, his silver-grey skin turning purple. Cascér didn’t look back as she ran.
The huge door opened fully and a dozen League members strode out. Several of them had dog-like animals straining on thick chains, snarling and snapping at the world. They were called yadis and looked like a cross between a large hyena and a more muscular hauk tine. Their mangy striped pelts were a dirty mustard colour. Their jaws were full of crooked jutting fangs dripping with saliva. The League members were all Pallatans, all male, all big, powerfully built, bald and heavily tattooed. One had a fish tattoo on the crown of his head. He was the Pallatan that Junk had followed through the first doorway, way back when he was diving the wreck of the Pegasus.
The Pallatans stood over Rumanow, who was still incapacitated on the ground. The crowd parted as one of their group made his way through the others. He reached Rumanow and looked down. Rumanow caught his breath and looked up into the scarred face of his superior. His name was Jacid Mestrowe and he was the man who had killed Ambeline.
‘What are you doing?’ Mestrowe looked irritated.
‘Spy,’ was all that Rumanow could manage. That and a small jerk of his head, indicating the direction Cascér had gone.
Mestrowe growled in the back of his throat, as if Rumanow had interrupted him in the middle of something he would much rather get back to, and looked at his lieutenant, an even more scarred individual than himself. His name was Koba Orrant. His broad silver face was criss-crossed with old scars, and in place of a left arm, from the elbow down, he bore a trident.
‘Go,’ said Mestrowe. Orrant gave a silent signal to several of the League members in possession of the animals and they set off at a brisk pace, the dogs pulling them forward. They fanned out, heading in different directions to cover more ground.
*
Cascér ran as fast as she could, trying not to look back but unable to resist. She stumbled and tripped as she powered through the desolate, labyrinthine streets of the shanty town. She didn’t know where she was going, and too many streets she turned into were dead ends. She kept having to double back. She could hear the League members and their snarling animals coming after her. The Pallatans’ thundering boots shook the fragile buildings around her. She was becoming increasingly scared now and she hated that.
Another dead end. She turned and went back. She was lost. Unsure which way she had come to begin with. The sound of her pursuers closed in on her from every direction.
She turned a corner and her eyes grew wide as she recognized where she was. This was where she had seen the little Pallatan girl in the colourful dress. She thought back, retracing her steps. She knew how to get out. She ran along the street and turned left. She slid to a stop as she found three League members coming towards her, their yadis barking and biting at the air. They saw her. Sight of their quarry thrilled the beasts and spittle flew free.
‘HERE!” shouted one of the League members, one whose entire face had been tattooed. Cascér turned and ran the other way. But facing her were more League members with more frenzied animals, boxing her in.
She saw a gap between shac
ks and ran, throwing herself at it. She forced her way through somehow. The gap was a lot narrower than she was, but she refused to let such a trifling detail stop her. She pushed with all her might, squeezing through. Behind her the hounds were snapping at the opening, spraying foam up the edges of the shacks, desperate to be let loose. One by one they were unleashed and they pounded after her. The three beasts jostled for pole position, holding each other up just enough. Jagged hooks of metal and splinters of wood jutting out of the shacks on either side cut into Cascér until she stumbled out on the other side. Her body and face were streaked with bloody gashes. She grabbed a barrel overflowing with garbage and slammed it down at the exit she had just come out of. She heard the yadis slam into the other side. Felt their strong bodies pushing against it. She used a length of wood to jam the barrel in place and then she continued running.
She turned a corner and her heart sank. She found herself looking at the League’s compound. It was the last place she wanted to be. She had managed to come full circle. She considered her options quickly and decided that the desert was her best hope. She hurried onward, and as she passed the gate that led inside the compound she saw Rumanow leaning back against the wall, still in pain from her assault. He saw Cascér at the exact same moment she saw him. He clambered to his feet. Cascér didn’t slow down.
‘SHE’S HERE!’ shouted Rumanow. ‘I’VE GOT HER!’ As soon as Cascér got close enough she kicked out at Rumanow, aiming between his legs once more. She didn’t even slow down as he dissolved to the ground. This time he was crying.
Just a few short strides past the compound the ground turned from dirt to rocky sand. Before her was the vast stretch of desert. Her lungs were burning and her muscles screaming. She needed to stop, but she knew she couldn’t. She was totally exposed out here. There was nowhere to hide.
Back at the gates to the compound, the other League members had found Rumanow sobbing on the ground. Mestrowe lifted his head up.
‘Where?’ he asked. Rumanow could only look in the right direction.
Mestrowe let his head drop abruptly and led the others to the edge of the desert. The sun glared and he squinted as he looked out. It was hard to see anything in all the nothingness, but the longer he stared, the more his vision became accustomed to the situation and that was when he made out Cascér’s fleeing shape.
‘Orrant,’ was all he said. The man with the trident arm nodded to three of the Pallatans who had yadis. They let the animals off their chains and they raced out into the desert. Mestrowe didn’t care to see the outcome. The dogs would do what dogs do and then they’d come back. He headed back into the compound.
The three beasts darted over the sharp sandy-coloured ground. The saliva spilling from their jaws hit the dusty earth, leaving wet, black patches. They could smell their prey and gained on her quickly.
Cascér knew they were coming. She could hear their crazed snarls getting louder as her pursuers approached. Her strength was leaving her as quickly as the beasts were closing in on her. She looked over her shoulder. She could see them now. The animals were the colour of the sand and rocks. She could see their shadows more than them. She knew she had only seconds left. When they reached her, they would rip her to shreds. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to go. Nothing she could do. She stopped running and turned. She caught her breath a little and wiped away the sweat that was stinging her eyes. Then she scanned the ground around her and found two jagged rocks that she could hold comfortably in her hands. She waited.
The three beasts honed in on her. The strongest, most vicious of the pack, was a dozen strides ahead of the other two and he attacked first. He leaped into the air, fangs bared, claws spread. He wanted nothing more than to taste first blood. Cascér brought one of the rocks up hard and fast and struck him across the top of his snout. He tasted first blood, but it was his own. He hit the ground, yowling with pain and shock. This turn of events gave the other two a moment’s pause and they pulled up short. Cascér started running at them. Then the beasts stopped thinking and let instinct take over. They attacked. They bit and scratched and tore at her. Cascér beat them with the rocks.
23
Lasel and Junk paced the floor of the hotel room they had booked into. Cascér had been gone for hours and they knew something was wrong. Nothing could divert Garvan’s attention from the box, so they didn’t include him in their discussion about what to do. They had decided that, dangerous or not, they would have to venture into Cuca. Someone must know what had become of Cascér. They told Garvan they were leaving, but he didn’t acknowledge them. They opened the door and gasped. Standing in front of them was Cascér.
She staggered into the room. Her clothes were ragged and she was covered in blood, her own as well as that of the dogs. She made her way over to one of the beds and fell on to it. Her hands and arms were covered in cuts and scratches, claw marks painted her skin.
‘Jesus, what happened?’ said Junk.
Cascér explained as best she could in Hooskarian, and Lasel translated. She described the League’s compound and how she was spotted. She recounted the yadi attack and Lasel and Junk turned pale. Then she reached into her mouth and picked out a clump of fur from between her teeth. Junk and Lasel realized the fight wasn’t as one-sided as they first thought. The dogs survived, said Cascér, and limped off with their tails between their legs. Apart from one whose tail was out in the desert somewhere.
‘We need to get a doctor,’ said Junk, but Cascér shook her head when Lasel translated. She assured them she would be OK and just wanted a bath. She got up and headed to the bathroom. She paused in the doorway.
‘He’s there,’ she said in Hooskarian. ‘The man with the scarred face. The man you’re looking for.’ She went in and locked the door behind her.
*
The next morning, Cascér announced that she was leaving. Junk couldn’t blame her after what had happened, but she assured him that wasn’t the reason.
‘Then why?’ asked Lasel.
‘It’s a fortress. You would need an army to defeat them.’ She paused. ‘And I know where you can find such an army.’ Once Lasel had translated for Junk they both looked expectantly at Cascér. ‘You must go to Tremmelleer. It is an island east of Payana and it’s the only place to find Twrisks.’
‘Twrisks? What are Twrisks?’
‘The only army that could ever defeat the League.’ Cascér looked deeply troubled as she spoke. ‘What I’m telling you to do is the worst crime that could be carried out on a Pallatan. I’m betraying my own race by telling you this. And that is why I have to leave.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Junk. ‘What sort of army are they?’
‘The very worst,’ said Cascér through Lasel. With that, Cascér left. She said that she hoped their paths would cross again one day but she couldn’t stay any longer.
‘Who on earth are they?’ said Junk when she was gone. Lasel knew no more than he did. ‘How long will it take us to get to this Tremmelleer?’
‘By land-ship? Weeks.’
‘I’m not keen on that idea then. It’s taken me a very long time to get here. I don’t want to set off on a new trajectory, not now I’m so close.’
‘Sometimes …’ said Garvan suddenly. It was the first thing he’d said in hours. ‘… the final step is the hardest to achieve.’
Lasel and Junk stared at him. Garvan stared back.
‘So you think we should go to Tremmelleer?’
‘I don’t know.’ Garvan shrugged. He blinked a couple of times and then turned his attention back to the box.
‘Who are they? I mean, how do we get them to fight for us?’ asked Junk. ‘We can’t pay them.’
‘There’s always a way of getting money,’ said Lasel matter-of-factly.
‘All right,’ said Junk, ‘but even if we could get enough money together, it’d take us weeks to get there, weeks to get back, and on the way back we’d have to find a way of transporting an army.’ He shook his head. It all sounded so
impossible. Though the truth was, he wanted this to be over now.
‘It might work if Garvan ever figures out how to use the box,’ said Lasel. This was the final straw for Garvan. He roared his frustration and got up, kicking the table. The table disintegrated.
‘I can’t do it,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘I don’t understand it. I always work things like this out. I’ve never failed before.’ His cheeks looked flushed. ‘I always understand everything I want to understand.’
‘Come on,’ said Junk. ‘No one understands absolutely everything.’
‘No, of course not,’ agreed Garvan. ‘Just the things I want to understand. There’s plenty I don’t understand, but I have no interest in those things.’
‘Why don’t you go and get some fresh air or something?’ suggested Junk.
‘How would fresh air help me decipher this?’ asked Garvan. ‘Air isn’t a factor in the map. Unless it is.’ He thought about it for a moment. ‘No, it’s not.’
‘It clears your head sometimes,’ said Junk. ‘Gives you perspective. Maybe helps you think of something you’ve not tried so far.’
‘I’ve tried everything,’ said Garvan.
‘Not everything,’ said Lasel. ‘Not the right thing.’
Garvan couldn’t argue with that, so he went off for a walk. He promised to breathe regularly while he was out.
When he had left, Lasel went to have a bath and Junk was left alone. He picked up the box from the remnants of the destroyed table and crossed to a smaller table by the window. Garvan had left it opened out in its cruciform configuration. Junk traced the many interconnecting lines with the tip of his finger. He picked it up and turned it over. The hinged edges bent both ways and it all clicked together with a reassuring snap.
When he tried to open it up again he discovered, to his surprise, that the edges that had been hinged a moment before now separated and those that had been unconnected previously were now hinged. He tried to pull one of the sides free from the rest but it wouldn’t budge. The six square faces that made up the cuboid could change their configuration but always needed to be connected on at least one edge.
