by Meg Caddy
I lay somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. We were underground, so there was no way of telling what the time was beyond how far the candle on the dresser had burnt down. Early hours of the morning, I estimated. I could hear people moving around in the other rooms, but there seemed no urgency to rise. After weeks on the road, the pallet was a luxury I wanted to enjoy. I tried not to stir too much, for fear of waking Lycaea. She had been reluctant to share the room, I could tell. It was not, I think, that she did not trust me; it seemed she just wanted time to be in the place she had once called home.
Shortly after I awoke, I heard Lycaea swing her feet onto the floor and walk past me to splash water from a bowl over her face. She brushed her fingers along the shelves, flicked her nail against one of the jars. She left the room, letting the door click softly behind her. I gave her time to wander the building – the Den, I reminded myself – on her own. Then, when the candle met another mark, I pulled myself to my feet and washed my own face in the water-bowl. The last night I had spent indoors was back in the Valley. Now we had stopped moving, the grief had shifted from hot pain to a stubborn melancholy, always lodged somewhere behind my ribs. I tried to imagine bringing Kemp to Luthan, or showing my mother around the Mercado. Bringing my father through the tunnels.
Even as I tried to conjure the images, I knew they did not fit, could never fit. They were like me. They belonged in green hills.
‘Wolf, wake up,’ Lycaea called through the door. ‘Moth’s cooking.’ I pulled open the door and she shouldered past me. ‘Thought you’d like to know,’ she said. ‘Go on, let me change my clothes.’ Her hair, much of it grown back now, was still hay-spiked from sleep. She kicked aside a trunk. ‘Look at this place. Don’t know how I lived in such a mess.’
‘I like it,’ I told her.
‘Go eat. Straight down the hall, and on the right. You’ll be able to smell your way there, I guess.’ She closed the door. I followed her directions, and the smell of frying bacon and mushrooms. Moth had a talent for occupying kitchens, and this seemed to be no exception. When I walked into the room, she had herbs spread out along the bench and a pan over the hot coals. I frowned at the hearth and chimney.
‘Underground?’ I asked.
‘Hop out of the way, dear.’ Moth moved past me and set the pan on a wooden slab. ‘There are wind-tunnels above us, and vents cut into the stone from here to there. Smoke gets swept right out. They’re not safe to walk in, of course.’ Kemp, smothered by black clouds. ‘How did you sleep, dear?’
‘A roof, and a soft bed. It is what I have been dreaming of.’ I leaned against the table and watched Moth. I had learned years ago not to interfere with her cooking unless she asked for help. She made the space her own, and I would not intrude upon that. I could tell she was enjoying the well-equipped kitchen and abundant food after our difficult journey. Sometimes she paused to breathe in the scent of a herb, or to taste something. I could smell bread in the oven. I wondered how long she had been awake.
‘Did you speak to Hemanlok last night?’
‘At great length. I explained to him the situation. I think he is waiting to have things out with Lycaea, though.’
‘He was cruel to her.’
Moth sighed. ‘Hemanlok has forgotten what it is like to be human,’ she said. She ladled bacon from the pan onto a plate, then brought the pan back to the hot coals and tossed mushrooms onto it. ‘He has no concept of what it is for a human to be imprisoned, or frightened, or tortured. He has no understanding, in particular, of what those things will do to someone who is little more than a child, as Lycaea was when she was locked away. He senses great change in her, and he is disappointed. Lycaea, on the other hand, cannot forgive him for not coming to rescue her. Not tearing Caerwyn apart with his bare hands to get her out.’ She shook her head. ‘They need time. Time to lick their wounds, fight it out with one another and forgive. Things will be much better now she is home.’
‘Not for long,’ I pointed out as Dodge joined us in the kitchen. ‘There is still Caerwyn. Leldh. Kaebha.’
‘Hm.’ Worry creased her brow. She went to the oven and removed the loaf. It was just risen, so she must have been awake and working for quite some time. I shook my head.
Moth cut the bread and handed me a steaming slice. ‘Eat, dear.’
Others filed into the kitchen, and I came to know the different members of the Own. Shard, casual and lazy. Mitri, the charming con-man. His cousin Donovan, from the island of Pelladan. Flicker, who had married Donovan the year before, making the greatest mismatch I had ever seen in a couple. They could not even share a soul-bond to smooth the ragged edges of their thoughts. I could not think how they managed.
Finally there were two men I had not met the night before: Hywe and Salvi. The former, to my shock, was a man of the Valley. I scented it even before I saw him. He sent me a dark look and kept his distance. Few people left the Valley to live elsewhere. I imagined he must have had a good reason. The second man, Salvi, was languid, uninterested.
All of Hemanlok’s Own treated Moth and Dodge with a casual familiarity. There were even two rooms in the building set aside for them; one to sleep in, and the other as a work room. The latter was filled with manuscripts and vellum for Dodge and healing materials for Moth. The Rogues of the Own seemed genuinely fond of them. Mitri waltzed a laughing Moth around the kitchen as Hywe peppered Dodge with questions about Tadhg. The Valley was not mentioned. Either they had found all they needed to know from Hemanlok or the Derrys, or they were being tactful and waiting until one of us raised the issue. I hoped they already knew. I did not want to explain my loss to strangers.
Lycaea joined us a short while later, clad in a grey shirt and black breeches. They would have looked well on her, had they sat better; they were too big, and made her face look even smaller and more angular. It was improved, though, by the sudden grin sparking across her features when she stole bread from Donovan’s plate. The big man pulled a face and gave a tolerant smile.
‘You need to put some fat on those bones,’ he teased. ‘Look at you.’
‘She has muscle now, though,’ Mitri chimed in, poking Lycaea’s arm. She swatted him away, but she did not seem to mind. I caught a glimmer of a smile on her sharp features.
‘Enough mountain-climbing will do that, I suppose,’ she muttered.
‘You kept up your training?’
Lycaea glanced at Dodge, guilty, and grimaced. Dodge snorted. ‘Sort of,’ he answered for her. At her troubled frown, he grinned and nudged her with his elbow. All was forgiven, on his part.
‘Boss’ll knock you into shape,’ Flicker said. She looked pleased by the prospect. Lycaea ignored her, spooning mushrooms onto the bread.
‘What did you do to the mushrooms, Derry?’ she asked through a mouthful.
‘Fried in bacon fat, dear.’ Moth glanced over her shoulder at Lycaea and smiled. ‘What do you think?’
‘Feels unhealthy.’ Lycaea swallowed and thought about it. ‘Tastes good.’
‘So,’ Donovan said, as I finished eating. ‘What do we need, Lycaea?’
‘Boss’s permission,’ Flick said sharply, before Lycaea could answer. ‘We ain’t doing a thing until he says we are. This ain’t our fight. Some dogs up north get themselves killed, what’s it to us?’
‘Flicker, mind yourself, please.’ Donovan lowered his head, embarrassed. None of them met my gaze, but for Lycaea. She narrowed her eyes and returned her attention to Flicker.
‘What’s it to you?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps I should explain. Daeman Leldh entered the Valley searching for me – and wiped out the Gwydhan Valley in a night. One night, Flicker. I’d be surprised if he lost more than ten soldiers. He’ll find Luthan more difficult, and many of your people will die if he attacks, which he will. There is nothing Daeman Leldh hates more than Watchers, and waer, and half-breeds. Rogues and misfits. Our people.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He knows about the Debajo. He knows how to get in. He knows about the vents, he knows which tunnels he
could flood, he knows everything. If he strikes Luthan, he strikes the heart of Luthan. He strikes us all.’
Silence stretched across us. I could only imagine how difficult it was for Lycaea to admit such things. I admired her steadiness. Her voice, though quiet, did not waver or falter once.
Flicker, disgusted, stood and left the table. Salvi, Shard, and Hywe left with her. Donovan and Mitri remained as they were. Donovan looked torn.
‘What we need,’ Lycaea went on, as if nothing had happened, ‘is the support of Kirejo, firstly. We need manpower, legitimate power as well as the hands of the Rogues. We need the Wytch and her people. And we need as many sailors, thugs, and fighters as we can get. We need them to have weapons, and we need them to be fed and sustained over the journey to Caerwyn.’
‘How much time do we have?’
‘As soon as we can mobilise Luthan’s forces, we need to move. There’s not a lot of time.’
‘I can talk to the Wharfer gang, and some of the sailors,’ Mitri offered.
‘You ain’t doing any such thing. Not yet.’
I had to fight a cringe at Hemanlok’s sudden comment. For a big man, he moved softly. I had not heard him enter the room. He strode past Lycaea, throwing something to her. She instinctively caught it.
‘Training room,’ Hemanlok said. ‘I want to know who I’m dealing with.’
He left the room and Lycaea held the bow-staff in her lap.
‘He’s going to beat me bloody, isn’t he.’ It was not a question.
Moth winced. ‘Probably,’ she admitted.
‘Brilliant.’ Lycaea dragged herself out of her chair and followed Hemanlok. I rose and cleaned my plate, then started after her. Moth caught my shoulder.
‘Best leave her this time,’ she said. ‘It will be humiliating for her.’
‘Is he going to hurt her?’
‘Not badly.’
I sighed and helped Moth and Dodge to clear away the breakfast food. I was unsure how much a training session with Hemanlok would help Lycaea. I worried it would damage any confidence she had gained. I did not want to see her slide backwards.
When the kitchen was clean, I walked through the corridors of the Den and stood outside the training room. Through the open door, I could see Lycaea and Hemanlok. Their staves met, clacked together rapidly. Even with my limited experience, I could tell it was not going well. Lycaea was constantly on the defensive. In just a few moments, she was flat on her back, and he hit her across the stomach.
I turned away. Moth was right. Lycaea would not thank me for interfering, or for witnessing another moment of weakness.
At midday Lycaea emerged bruised, and bleeding from a split lip. She dodged Flicker’s sneers, avoided my concern and busied herself instead making plans with Moth and Dodge. It was hard not to comment, but I knew I had to hold my tongue. This was her home, and her pride had already been beaten down.
We sat around a large table – not in the kitchen, but in a circular common-room with a high ceiling. The chairs were comfortable and cushioned, but from the table, the papers and shelves, and the behaviour of the gang, it was not a room designated for leisure. Maps were tacked on the wall, showing both Luthan on the surface, and the intricate tunnels and caverns of the Debajo. When I studied the latter, I saw script labelling different sections.
‘What is this?’ I asked Lycaea. She came over and pointed.
‘We’re here,’ she said. ‘See? Own. Over here, near the coast, is Wharfer Turf. The Wharfer gang operates there, and it’s their responsibility. Up here is Isteri Turf – a group of women from Manon run it. There are about six more gangs.’
‘And they’re each responsible for the caverns in their area?’
‘Also for the upkeep of the tunnels running to their caverns. And we have some responsibilities on the surface as well. Keeping the entrances secret, bribing the right lawmen, keeping tabs on powerful people who work in our area.’
‘Who organises this? Do all the Rogues answer to Hemanlok?’
‘To some degree. Each different group has its own leader, but they all follow the same code. If they break it, then they do answer to Hemanlok and the Own. Hemanlok put all this into place years ago.’ She did not say ‘centuries ago’, but I knew she meant it. ‘It’s a ragged sort of justice, but it works for us. Sometimes Rogues step out of line, but it’s never for long.’
I did not want to imagine what happened to Rogues who crossed Hemanlok. I changed the subject. ‘So how does the surface match up?’ I dragged my finger across the wall to one of the other maps. ‘We walked such a long way through the tunnels. Are we still below the Grinaja?’
‘No. We’re to the west of the Grinaja, beneath the citizens’ district.’
‘The Ciadudan?’
‘Yes.’ The questions put her at ease; I could tell she was glad to be distracted from her bout with Hemanlok. ‘Actually, we’re directly beneath an inn called O’Shea’s. Popular with the seafarers. I used to sail with the owner, Malley, when we were children. He’s a friend to the Rogues. There’s a tunnel at the back of Own Turf leading straight there. It’s how we’re going to get to the surface when we go to speak with King Kirejo.’ Her lips twisted into a wry grin. ‘His most royal and benevolent majesty.’
The jest was lost on me. I was unsettled. ‘Wait. We?’
‘Yes. You, Dodge, and myself.’
‘Why me?’ Panic was rising in my throat.
‘King Kirejo loves Dodge Derry’s stories. And Dodge is far more eloquent than you or me, so he’s coming along whether he wants to or not. You, on the other hand, are coming because you are a man from the Gwydhan Valley. You are an eyewitness and a representative of your people. Don’t look so panicked, Wolf. Just be grave and thoughtful and tell Kirejo the truth.’
‘He is a king.’
‘Oh, hardly.’ She waved a hand. ‘His brother was supposed to take the throne, but he died in a shipwreck before he came of age. Kirejo never had the spine to be a king. He does whatever Hemanlok wants him to do. He’s only started to show resistance in the last few years, since he married. His wife actually has half a brain, so she’s more of a challenge.’
‘Will they help us?’
‘I don’t intend to give them much choice. We might not speak for Hemanlok just now, but there’s no reason they need to know that. I intend to frighten them into supporting us.’
I ignored the questionable morality of this particular tactic, and spoke with care. ‘We do not speak for Hemanlok or his Own, but do they support us? Will they support us, when it matters?’
‘He is yet to decide,’ she replied, voice stiff. ‘Best hope so, Wolf. We have no chance of victory without him.’
I took a chance and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘He will see sense,’ I told her. ‘Keep trying. There is only so long he can ignore the threat Leldh poses to Luthan. No matter the rift between you, I doubt he would see this city reduced to ashes, or the Debajo unearthed.’
‘Perhaps.’ She relented into a smile. It caught me off-guard, as it did every time, seeing the ghost of a happier person. I released her shoulder, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. ‘How do we prepare to meet a king?’ I asked.
‘Well, you can borrow some clothes from Hywe,’ she said. ‘You’re roughly the same size, and you’ll need to dress with care. Well enough so Kirejo takes you seriously, but not like a city-man. If Hywe has nothing, Moth can alter some of Mitri’s clothes for you.’
‘Is Hywe from the Gwydhan Valley?’
‘Thereabouts,’ she agreed. ‘He is a waer himself.’ Her face closed over, but over the weeks her disgust for our people seemed to have lessened. I did not believe her internal struggle with her true nature was ending, but at least she was coming to see us in a kinder light. ‘He lost control when he was young, and they cast him out. I think he hurt someone. I never had the whole story for him.’ Her voice turned sharp suddenly. ‘Don’t ask him.’
‘I was not planning to,’ I promised. ‘It is not my c
oncern.’
‘Good. Because they won’t hesitate to beat you senseless if you push them. Donovan and Mitri are gentler souls, but the others have all done their share of damage across the years. Hemanlok never took anyone in out of charity, and most of the people he takes in are criminals.’
‘Were you?’
‘Back then?’ Her face softened. ‘Not really. I was lucky. Hemanlok had some conflict with my mother, and took me in to get some leverage over her. It worked in my favour. She was not a good parent.’ It was not the first time I had heard mention of Lycaea’s mother. I was beginning to draw some conclusions. ‘I was quick, though. Quick and willing. I would have followed Hemanlok anywhere. He values loyalty.’
‘Then he owes you some.’
She was startled, then amused. ‘Yet another thing you should keep to yourself. Come on, Wolf. We need to get you presentable for a king.’
Hywe was unwilling to do us any favours. Two days later, I was wearing Mitri’s altered clothing, tugging at the shirt, uncomfortable and anxious. Moth straightened my collar and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Try not to be nervous, dear,’ she said. ‘He is a man with a metal hat, and no more. He has not half your wit or common sense. Let the others do the talking; he likes Dodge, and he fears Hemanlok’s people, Lycaea included. Both are advantages to us.’
‘The man is a fool,’ Lycaea put in. ‘If he refuses to help, we can always knock the metal hat off his head.’ She tugged a coat on. ‘Are you ready? We don’t have all day to waste.’ She was already striding towards the door. Moth gave me a gentle push, and I followed Lycaea. Dodge met us outside, his eyes alight with excitement.
