by Roger Taylor
What would happen the next time he went to sleep? The thought did not carry the fear that it had done previously, but he still let it go quickly. This was the beginning of more than a new day, and sleep was a long way off. Plenty of time to worry about that later. He paid no heed to the hint of anticipation that fluttered in the wake of the thought.
He stood up, rubbing his hand. It was itching a little. Holding it up to catch the light, he saw that the remnant of the mark left by the Kyrosdyn was unchanged. It ended abruptly where the graze from his fall cut across it, a hint of its greenness colouring the edge of the dark red scab. He ran a finger around the mark. He could feel nothing. No pain, no swelling. What was it? What had the man done? Had he in reality done anything, or had it all been, as Lassner had said, a malicious trick to frighten him for his impertinence?
He smiled. It didn’t matter. Whatever the man’s intention had been, the mark had done him no harm, and while it had alarmed him at first, it had also brought him here – free of Lassner and the Den, and working for Barran. He clenched his fists in delight and offered the anonymous Kyrosdyn a caustic thank you.
The thought of Barran however, galvanized him. ‘If you do well, there’s a good fortune waiting for you,’ he had said. And all that was to be done, to start with, was the cleaning of a few mirrors – or whatever they were. But, dashing this excitement to one side, came Barran’s other words: ‘Come to me each morning.’
A different kind of panic took hold of Pinnatte. What time was it? Probably just after dawn, he hoped. That was when he normally woke. But after a night like the one he had just spent, who could say? And there was no hint of either light or noise from the outside to help him.
He left his room at considerable speed but slithered to a flailing halt as he came to the first branch in the passageway. He could well be late already, but if he got lost, rambling about this place…
He felt his future slipping away, like water through his fingers. ‘Slow down,’ he muttered grimly to himself, successfully invoking the habit that had saved him from many a pursuit.
Immediately, another old habit asserted itself and he began to search his various pockets for a piece of chalk. The street thieves of Arash-Felloren had a considerable repertoire of signs and symbols with which they adorned walls to communicate to their fellows – such and such a trader had employed new guards, or got a new dog, so and so would be away from his house for so many days, the Weartans were purging a particular area, and so on. Eventually finding a piece, Pinnatte headed back towards his room, still forcing himself to walk calmly. It became increasingly difficult as he opened each of three identical doors unsuccessfully before he found the correct one, and he let out a breath of considerable relief as he finally made a slight mark on the frame of the door.
That had been a timely lesson. He laid an affectionate hand on the wall. It felt familiar to him. The Jyolan was where he wanted to be, and he must not only learn such lessons if he was to have a future here, he must anticipate them. He looked up and down the passage and made a determined resolution. Notwithstanding any tasks that Barran gave him, he would learn about this place until he knew every last stone. The intimate knowledge he had of the many alleys, lanes, run-throughs, sewers and general escape routes in the part of the city where he worked, had been acquired over many years, partly by accident, partly deliberately, under Lassner’s tuition. Now he must start again. Exhilarated though he was at being accepted by Barran, he was not so naive as to imagine that the road to wealth which he saw lying before him would be free from difficulty. Apart from falling foul of Barran himself, if he wanted to make progress, then, as in the Den, he would have to compete with others, and the kind of people who worked for Barran would be different by far from his old Den-Mates. Violence would be lying in wait for him if he misjudged his step. For a moment, his face hardened as part of him looked forward to such a challenge. It was a response that would have surprised him only days earlier, but now it seemed quite normal.
Thus, in addition to ingratiating himself with Barran – as he had with Lassner – it was imperative that he explore this new terrain he found himself in. Here there were no walls to be nimbly scaled, no narrow openings that led into open cellars, no drops into the sewers. Here there were only interminable passages, twisting, turning, narrowing, widening, rising, falling, like the streets of the city itself writ small. And knowledge of these might one day save his life.
His new home duly marked, and his new resolution finally made, Pinnatte decided first to find the Mirror Room before seeking out Barran. This proved to be comparatively simple, the route being still fairly fresh in his mind from the previous evening, and the room standing alone at the end of a long passage. Nevertheless, he marked the way.
Having found it, he stood for a while staring at the door before tentatively reaching out to try the handle. Then he hesitated and knocked gently, three times. The soft sounds sank into the dead air of the passage. He was reaching for the handle again when it turned. He had taken a swift pace backwards and was trying to look casual when the door opened to reveal Barran. His new master had a bundle of papers in one hand while the other was out of sight behind the door. Though he looked both tired and suspicious, Pinnatte could sense an aura of suppressed excitement about him. He could also sense danger in the hidden hand.
‘You asked me to come to you for the key, sir,’ he said quickly, with an extravagant gesture which enabled him to take another discreet pace backwards in preparation for flight.
Recognition came into Barran’s eyes and he opened the door fully. The hidden hand was adjusting something behind his back. When it emerged, it was empty.
‘How did you know I was here?’ he asked.
Pinnatte chose the truth. ‘I didn’t, sir,’ he replied. ‘I was just finding my way around and I thought I’d see if you were here first. You did say it was an important place.’
Barran nodded then stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
‘You look tired, sir,’ Pinnatte risked.
‘That’s because I am,’ Barran replied tersely. ‘It’s been a busy time.’ He looked at Pinnatte narrowly. ‘You’re looking little better yourself, young man. Are you all right?’
‘Bit restless last night, sir. New master, new place.’ Pinnatte smiled broadly. ‘And I’m hungry now. I was going to find you, then try to get some food somewhere.’
Barran continued his inspection of his new charge for a moment, then, seemingly satisfied, opened the door again and motioned Pinnatte into the room. A table and two chairs had been added since he was there last, and the wooden panel was already pushed back to reveal the mirrors. The Eyes of the Jyolan, Pinnatte remembered Barran calling these strange objects. He thought of them as mirrors, accepting the word used by Barran, but they were not like any mirrors he had ever seen. All he could see of his reflection was the faintest hint, and that only when he searched for it. What he could see was what he had seen the night before: different parts of the Jyolan – with figures moving about most of them. The sight did not startle him as much as it had previously, but it still unsettled him. How could such a thing be? He was tempted to ask what the mirrors were used for, but they were so strange that he could think of no clear question. Besides, he sensed that Barran was in no mood for casual chatter.
‘You’ll need some rags and a bucket of water.’ Barran’s voice yanked Pinnatte back to the present. ‘And I think Ellyn’s got something she uses for cleaning glass.’
Pinnatte bent forward and listened intently as Barran explained how the mirrors were to be held and supported while they were being cleaned.
‘You must be very careful until we know more about how these things work.’
There was an ominous emphasis on the word ‘very’ that sharpened Pinnatte’s attention even further. Notwithstanding that however, once or twice he found his mind wandering. Having one of the most ruthless and powerful men in the city talking to him about such matters as dusting and cleani
ng, like a fussy old maid, was oddly disorientating. When he had finished, Barran put his hand on Pinnatte’s shoulder. Pinnatte remembered the weight of it from the previous evening and concentrated again.
‘You will take great care with this job, won’t you, Pinnatte?’
It was not a question, it was an order.
Later, Pinnatte sat in the room alone, the door locked behind him. Barran had taken him to the rooms he was using as temporary living quarters while work at the Jyolan was under way and Ellyn had given him a long look when he demanded, ‘That stuff for cleaning glass’, obliging him to repeat the question. She said nothing, but raised an ironic eyebrow when she finally gave him an earthenware bottle unearthed from one of several wooden crates. Pinnatte wilfully avoided looking directly at either of them during this exchange. Then Ellyn wrinkled her nose slightly and with a nod of her head towards Pinnatte gave Barran a significant look. He sniffed conspicuously and nodded in agreement.
‘Show him where he can get cleaned up, get him some decent clothes and feed him,’ he said brusquely.
It was thus an unusual Pinnatte who eventually sat staring at the Eyes of the Jyolan. He was cleaner, smarter, and easier on the nose than he had been for a long time. Rearranged dirt being one of his disguises, his erstwhile Den-Mates would have found him almost unrecognizable with a clean face. Occasionally he preened himself, and moved his head this way and that in an attempt to see his faint reflection in one of the mirrors, though generally with little success. In addition to being clean, he was also replete, Ellyn having fed him quite handsomely.
On his return to the Mirror Room, he had pursued his allotted task as bidden. At first he was extremely careful, holding the thick mirrors very firmly and applying his rag very hesitantly. However, after a few heart-stopping fumblings which left mirrors vibrating, their images streaked and blurred, he realized that they were far more robust than Barran had imagined. For in each case, the mirror settled back into its original position, its image unimpaired.
Cleaning them proved to be a harder task than he had anticipated however. The dust on them had been there a long time and was stiff and reluctant to move, as were his fingers after he had been working for a while. Nevertheless, he pressed on, engrossed, for as each mirror was cleaned, its surface had a quality of perfection about it, displaying an image with a clarity the like of which he had never seen in an ordinary mirror. So vivid were the sights he could see that he felt as though he should be able to reach out and actually touch them. And even though he began to grow used to the strangeness of what he was seeing, he found it difficult at times not to just sit and stare.
Eventually he pushed his chair back, stretched himself noisily and then flexed his fingers energetically in an attempt to ease the stiffness in them. It did not work. He was going to have to pace himself better. So far he had cleaned only one row and his arms and shoulders were aching, as well as his hands. It was going to take him a long time to finish them all. And some of the higher mirrors would be extremely difficult to reach even standing on the table.
Still, it did not matter. If Barran was unhappy about the progress he was making, he would be able to demonstrate both the intransigence of the grime coating the mirrors and the care he was taking. He decided not to mention, for the moment, how robust the mirrors actually were – that might prove to be a useful ‘discovery’ on some future occasion. For the time being, while he was doing this job, he would have legitimate opportunity to wander about the Jyolan – to fetch clean water, to find more rags, perhaps locate a ladder – all of which would enable him to find his way about the place. Something dark turned over luxuriously inside him at the prospect and the mirrors seemed to shimmer. He shook his head. He’d been here too long, he decided. And been working too intensely, just like when he’d been an apprentice thief, learning to pick pockets. Now was as good a time as any to start his exploration of the Jyolan.
Rooting under his jacket he retrieved the key, soundly secured in a hidden pocket next to his skin. Experienced in such matters, Pinnatte knew how to carry things safe from the sly touch of such as himself. As he stood up, a movement in one of the mirrors caught his eye. It was one that normally showed no activity. Pinnatte peered at it closely, resisting the temptation to rub the dust away with his hand. He found himself looking along a dimly-lit and seemingly empty passage – one of many such. But there was something there, he was sure. Something hiding, low and skulking. A shadow in the shadows.
A shape flitted past a lamp.
Though the movement was too quick for him to see any details, he knew immediately that it was the fighting dog which had escaped the arena at the Loose Pit. Instantly he was back with Rinter and Atlon and the guard in the passage where they had encountered the same dog. As then, powerful emotions surged through him, possessing him, dismissing all reason. This thing was prey! It had escaped once and, in so doing, had left a pain that could be healed only by its death. It must be taken now! Almost as if it had felt his presence, the dog froze, then suddenly dashed around a corner. Pinnatte felt something in him leap after it. He stepped back quickly, scanning the mirrors for other signs of the fleeing animal. It flickered past one and was gone again. Spinning round, he dashed for the door. His thigh struck the corner of the table with considerable force.
The pain scattered all other responses and he cried out and dropped on to one knee, massaging his leg frantically and cursing. Even as he did so he became aware of a clattering sound. It was the key! He saw it bouncing on the stone floor. The implications of losing the key flashed before him, stark and uncompromising, dismissing in its turn the pain in his leg. Quite unnecessarily, for the key had stopped moving, he lunged after it, sending himself sprawling full length across the floor as he slapped his hand down on it.
He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, before curling his fingers tightly around the key. His leg began to hurt again. Slowly he sat up and began rubbing it with the hand that was holding the key. As the worst of the discomfort left him, he levered himself on to the chair and carefully put the key back in its special pocket.
Still rubbing his leg, he cursed himself for a profound fool. What had he been thinking about, crashing around like that? The table had been knocked clear across the room, so violently had he struck it. What if the key had bounced into one of those damned grilles? He went cold. He did not want to think about it. The only solution to that would have been to take Ellyn’s advice and flee this part of the city completely – and very quickly at that!
As he became calmer, he asked the question again. What had he been thinking about? What had possessed him to behave like that? But he knew the answer. Indeed, as his thoughts turned again to the escaped dog, he could feel the presence bubbling inside him, threatening to burst out again. It was the creature. Some remnant of its night-time joining with him still lingered. But as the realization came to him, so did another, leaking up in some subtle way from the creature itself. This time, he was in control of it. He was master here. It would bend to his will, just as it had bowed to him in the arena. He knew now that it had drawn him into its killing spree because he was unprepared for it and because it was long starved of its true sustenance and near-frantic with excitement at finding him. Now however, the true balance of their relationship was established. A thrill passed through him.
Feed, he heard himself saying to it. Take your fill, I need you strong. Come to me when I call.
Then the presence was gone and he was more himself again. A little breathless, and with an extremely painful leg, he was Pinnatte, the one-time street thief on the way up. The joining with the creature no longer disturbed him; nor what it was doing. It was the way things were, the way they had to be. It was the inevitable working out of his destiny. Calmly, he picked up his buckets and rags and, carefully removing the key from its pocket again, left the room.
The area around the Mirror Room was, as usual, deserted, but he was soon part of the bustling activity that marked Barran’s intention of d
eveloping the Jyolan to its full. He noticed with some amusement that many of the people he was encountering appeared to be lost. He noticed too that he was barely using the marks he had made for himself. It was as though he had some natural affinity for the place. Almost as though he already knew it.
He made a few such journeys that morning, deliberately taking a different route each time, fulfilling his promise to himself to learn his way about the place as quickly as possible. With each excursion he became more at ease. While being lost in the Jyolan would be a legitimate source of panic for most people, it held no terrors for Pinnatte – it was more of an amusing challenge. There was an order here which he sensed and worked to, even though he could not have explained it to anyone or marked it on a paper. Once or twice he sensed the nearness of the escaped dog, and it gave him some pleasure to deny the will of the creature as it responded to him.
Returning again to the Mirror Room he put down the buckets and inserted the key in the lock. To his horror it did not turn. As he twisted it the other way, the door locked. His hands began to shake. He must have left the room unlocked! Surely not. He’d been as meticulous about locking the door as he had been about securing the key. He cursed himself even more roundly than he had when he banged into the table. He must concentrate on everything he did here. This was no Den, full of petty thieves. This was a place full of dangerous people, not the least of whom was Barran. He unlocked the door and pushed it open with his knee as he picked up the buckets. The image of a raging Barran filling his mind coincided with that immediately in front of him, and it was a tribute to his quick-wittedness that he did not cry out and drop both buckets. The Barran waiting for him however, was not raging, but actually looked rather amused by the flustered appearance. For Pinnatte was not quick-witted enough to prevent his mouth from dropping open.
‘I thought I’d left the door unlocked when the key didn’t turn,’ he blurted out, wide-eyed.
