by Tim Lebbon
They sat on the wall until dawn, and Peer was already starting to suspect that Nophel was mad. He had brought them here in those sickening Bellower transports, twisting their stomachs, crushing their insides, bruising their limbs, and promising that his Unseen friends could get them into Dragar’s Canton. And while it was true that she had seen him fade away, she thought perhaps that was a madness rather than a gift.
He talked to himself as the sun rose across the Northern Reservoir to their right, and what he said never made any sense.
Malia was seated beside Peer on the bench, asleep. Her head tilted forward, chin resting on her chest, and every now and then she snored gently, startling herself into a new position. Since the journey through the Bellower tubes, she had been quiet and withdrawn, not the hard, forthright woman Peer had grown to know in a few short days. Tiredness was some of it, but there was also a quiet shock about the Watcher woman now. She had been shown things about the city that she had never suspected.
The rising sun splashed from the reservoir and smeared across Dragar’s Canton’s domes. They were perfectly engineered, and looked almost impossible rising beyond the northern finger of Crescent. There was little detail to them that enabled her to judge their size, but the things around them gave scale: flocks of red sparrows fleeting here and there, almost lost against the structures; trees sprouting around their bases where rainwater runoff made the ground particularly fertile; and the dry canal marking the canton’s southern perimeter, little more than a vague line from here yet reputedly filled with all manner of traps and stinging things. The Dragarian domes were the most astonishing things in Echo City, and yet, lifeless and still, they were all but ignored.
“When the sun rises fully, we’ll need to get away from here,” Peer said. “If we’re seen loitering, there’ll be questions.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“You’re just sitting there! You have been all night.”
“I’m trying to find my way back to them,” Nophel said, leaning in close. Peer was sure she caught a whiff of rot from the man’s distorted face, and she saw several smears of dried fluids from where some of his boils had burst. She had to keep reminding herself that he had saved their lives.
“Look harder,” Peer said. “The Blades will have our descriptions by now, and when one of their own is killed …” She let the sentence trail off, because it did not need finishing. They won’t take us into custody.
Nophel sat up straighter. “Hit me,” he said.
“What?”
“Strike me. I don’t yet have control over this, but last time it manifested was in self-defense.”
“I really don’t think—”
Nophel gasped, turned away from Peer, and then she saw his shoulders slump as he relaxed. His head nodded forward, and for a moment she thought he’d fallen asleep or worse. She glanced back at Malia—still asleep. She almost laughed.
“And neither do I,” Nophel said. “But, Alexia, we need your help.”
“Nophel?” Peer asked. She stood and backed away, scanning around the disfigured man to see who or what he might be talking with. There was no one there. Nophel glanced at her.
“No, she’s safe.”
“Who are you—”
“She’s a Watcher,” he continued, nodding at the sleeping Malia.
“Malia!” Peer said. She glanced back and forth along the wide head of the Marcellan Canton wall, at the benches and walls and small towers that marked the stairwells leading down. No one was there with them, but that would change soon. If Nophel was planning something, now would be the time. “Malia!”
Malia snapped awake and stood, drawing her short sword with a comforting hiss of metal on leather.
“Don’t be scared,” Nophel said. “She’s here.” He pointed beyond the end of the stone bench, to a place where the paved stone surface seemed shadowed with moisture. “And she recognizes you, Peer. She says to say sorry. Your torture is a weight on her mind.”
“My torture?”
“She …” Nophel paused, head to one side. “Three years ago. She was the guide for the Blades who took you.”
“What’s happening?” Malia asked.
“We have to follow,” Nophel said.
“I can’t even see her,” Peer said.
“But I can.” He stood and smiled into space, reaching out one hand and clasping the air. “Really, you can trust them,” he said quietly. “Somewhere private, and I’ll tell you what we need.”
“I can’t even hear her,” Malia said. She was still wielding the sword, but there was no threat in the air.
“Could we, in time?” Peer asked. Nophel nodded, evidently pleased that she’d acknowledged what was happening.
“I think so,” he said. “I hope so.”
“So we follow you?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t have much time,” Peer said. “If you want to take advantage of the lead the Bellowers gave us, tell your Unseen friend to hurry.”
“She hears you well enough.”
She hears and sees us; we hear and see nothing, Peer thought. It was not a good place for trust to begin. But the sun was rising, time was passing, and she felt urgency plucking at her heart. Perhaps the time for caution was over.
Peer nodded. “We should go.”
* * *
“I was watching you for a while. There’s something strange about you. Those other two were like every other person we see and covet, their flesh glowing with substance. But you … A friend came and told me you were back, and I thought you’d come to join us. Thought you’d given in. But, instead, you’ve done something different. The Blue Water’s effect is about you—I can smell it, taste it, and I haven’t smelled or tasted anything in a while—but you’re not Unseen. They follow you following me, and they can’t hear a word of this, can they? They really can’t.”
“Not now they can’t,” Nophel said. “But maybe I can change that.”
“How? Why?”
He thought about that as they followed Alexia’s slight gray form around the central staircase column. They were almost back down to the street, and he could hear Peer’s and Malia’s nervous footsteps behind him.
“What’s she saying?” Malia asked, but Nophel shook his head without turning around. He had the advantage here.
“Because I need the Unseen to help us,” Nophel said. Alexia laughed a little, a gentle coughing sound that was barely audible. He guessed she did not laugh very much.
“The man beneath the domes,” she said.
“What do you—”
“Somewhere private,” Alexia said, and she spoke no more. She led them across a narrow street and into a bustling square, where traders and food vendors were jostling for space. She barged through without a care, and anytime she shoved into someone, it was Nophel they laid eyes on when they turned around. He was familiar with the expressions he saw—brief anger, turning into fearful disgust. No one would punch him even if they wanted to, for fear of dirtying their hands.
She’s doing this on purpose, Nophel thought, angry at Alexia’s behavior. But he supposed she had reason to feel jealous. He was flesh and blood again, after all.
They entered a building with one tumbled wall and a fire-blackened façade. Alexia had no need to be secretive, but Nophel signaled for the others to halt, making sure they were not observed. Alexia called something tauntingly from inside the open door, but Nophel could not quite hear her words.
The coast clear, the three of them entered the ruined building. It had been a large home once, but fire had gutted the insides, leaving only scorched walls standing. Timber floors were burned away to expose the sunken basement beneath, and, looking up, Nophel could see dawn sky through the remains of the roof. But he could make out no other Unseen, and for that at least he was glad. She had brought them somewhere deserted to talk, not a place where he would be surrounded by fading, sad remnants. He had no desire to be reminded of what he might become.
But I’m different, he tho
ught. Even she noticed that. He looked down at his hand and willed invisibility, but all he conjured was Alexia’s nervous question.
“Lost the talent, Nophel?”
“Not all the time,” he said, and thought, Has she ever seen anyone like me?
Alexia was looking at Malia with undisguised dislike, and at Peer with uncertainty.
“Why should I trust them?”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
Alexia regarded him for a few moments but did not reply.
“You mentioned the man beneath the domes?” Nophel said.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have.”
“Peer,” Nophel said, “could you describe Rufus?”
“Where is she?” Peer asked, and Nophel pointed. “Touch her face,” Peer said. Nophel did so.
Peer came forward and narrowed her eyes. “I see … shadow.”
“Now that you know she’s there, you see more than most,” Nophel said, and Alexia reached out quickly to touch Peer’s face.
Peer pulled back, startled, and pressed her hand flat across her mouth.
“Rufus is tall,” Malia said. “White hair. The greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Wears strange clothes—light and strong but not leather. And if they haven’t taken it from him, he carries a shoulder bag with unusual things inside.”
Alexia was frowning at the description, and Nophel knew that she recognized it. So without any prompting from Peer and Malia—and without pausing to consider whether it was a good or bad idea—he told the Unseen who Rufus was and where he came from.
A loaded silence gripped them all. Nophel expected Malia to berate him, but she did not. He thought Alexia might laugh dismissively, but she simply stared at him.
It was Peer who broke the silence. “So you see why we have to get him back.”
“And I should help why?” Alexia asked.
Nophel told the others what she had said, but already the answer was with him, obvious in his flesh and blood.
“There’s a cure when you thought there wasn’t,” he said. “When he gave it to me, Dane Marcellan called it White Water.”
Alexia did not act surprised, nor did she ask why a Marcellan would cure Nophel and not anyone else, but anger burned bright in her eyes. “Now that you’ve told us, the Unseen will look for it themselves.”
“And knowing that, Dane will keep it where you can never find it.”
“You think he’ll listen to you?” Alexia asked, and Nophel knew just how far removed she was. It did not concern him that he was using her—there was very little guilt, even knowing that the chance of procuring the White Water for them was almost nil. But the fact that she actually believed there was a chance was a mark of her utter desperation. Accepting help from such a woman would be a great risk. He looked back at Peer and Malia, saw that they knew what he had offered, and then nodded.
“Yes. He listens to me. Help us, and I’ll help you all.”
“All,” Alexia said softly. “There aren’t many of us left. Only those like me, who hang on. Who still see themselves as part of this city.”
“And that’s how you know about Rufus?” he asked, probing for more information now that she did not seem so defensive.
But perhaps Alexia was not as damaged by her curse as he thought. She smiled at him—and at the others, as if they could see—then played her final card. “Your blood,” she said. “Whatever was given to you is in your blood.”
“Go on,” Nophel said softly.
“A trade,” Alexia said. “Think about this: You know what we are and where we can go, because you were one of us for a time. We have days to fill. The city hides fewer secrets from us than from most other people, but the enigma that has intrigued me and those close to me for so long is apart from the city—Dragar’s Canton. We know the best routes in, the best out, the ones they guard and those they don’t. And when they use guards, we know how best to distract them. We know some of the domes’ insides, though they’re not easy to know. The Dragarians suspect, but they’re a superstitious people, and they consider us as phantoms of phantoms. So we’ll lead you in and help you find your man, and we’ll help you bring him out. But first you must offer some of your blood.”
“They want my blood,” Nophel whispered.
Malia advanced on him, drawing her short knife.
“No!” Peer said.
“Only a little,” Nophel said, holding out his arm. “Only a little.”
The Unseen watched hungrily as Malia’s blade opened a vein. Then she cupped her hands and let the blood collect.
Malia left the room, but Peer had to watch. She wanted to understand. She had seen some of what the Baker could do—the Bellowers and Scopes, belonging to generations of Bakers past; the new Baker’s Pserans and chopped fighters—but none of it compared with this. If she had not been educated enough to know that there was no such thing, she would have called this magic.
Blood dribbled from Nophel’s nicked arm, but instead of splashing to the floor, it collected in midair, a small patch at first, and then a spreading, shifting pool. A few drops passed through and hit the burned floor. Most did not.
How will they do it? she wondered. Drink? Or will they have to …
Her question was answered for her. The Unseen began to appear. Contact with Nophel’s blood seemed to be enough. Barely a shadow at first, her hands manifested from nowhere—faint images that quickly grew more solid as they extended into arms, body, head. Alexia’s amazed face appeared out of nowhere, and she looked up at Peer in fear.
“I see you,” Peer said, and Alexia dropped the blood pooled in her hand. She stepped back, bloody hands held up to ward off an attack that was not coming. She’s been invisible for too long, Peer thought, and it’s driven her mad.
But Nophel calmed her, stepping in close, and the Unseen shook where she was backed against the soot-covered wall.
“How … how do you …?” Alexia asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Last time I faded was when—”
The Unseen looked at her hands, frowning, and in moments she started to fade again. Then she snapped back to reality, and this time when she looked up at Peer, all the fear was gone. In its place, power. She smiled, but Peer could not smile back.
“You can control it?” Nophel whispered.
“Malia!” Peer called. “You can come in now.” As the Watcher entered, she caught sight of the phantom in the corner, Alexia’s smile just fading away to nothing.
“That is wrong,” Malia said.
“Yet it works. You’ll help us?” Peer asked.
“Yes.” Alexia’s voice came in from a distance, fading away more finally than an echo.
Nophel was wrapping a strip of cloth around his arm, stemming the flow of blood. He looked pale, nodding into the darkness as he listened to words that were little more than faint whispers to Peer.
“She’s going to get more help,” Nophel said, distracted. “She says it’ll take three of them to get three of us in.”
“But you’re one of them,” Malia said.
“She doesn’t see it that way.” He tried tying the cloth but it slipped off, and Peer went to help. She tied the ends across the small wound, noticing him wince as she pulled tight, and she wondered how much pain he’d gone through every day of his life. His facial growths were raw, one of them seeping a pinkish fluid.
“How does she control it?” Peer asked.
“I don’t know.” He stared into the corner where Alexia stood unseen. “Will you help me?” he asked. Peer heard no response, but Nophel smiled uncertainly.
“When are we going?” Malia asked.
“As soon as she returns with the others.” Nophel stared at the bloodied cloth, nodding his thanks to Peer.
“That’s some powerful blood,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“I had no idea.” He turned away and sat against a wall, head back, eyes closed. “She’s gone.”
Peer paced the
room, passing close to Malia every time but saying nothing. The Watcher woman was checking her weapons. A tension hung in the air, but none of them could break it.
Almost magic, Peer thought again. What else could there be in Echo City that none of them had ever seen or heard of?
Later, Alexia’s appearance in the doorway surprised them all. She was almost strutting, reveling in visibility, and she stood in the center of the room.
Nophel sighed, stood, and untied the cloth from around his arm.
“We’ll go straight after this,” the woman said. She looked at Peer and Malia, eyeing them up and down, dismissive and superior. “I wonder if his blood won’t act the other way?”
“I’d rather stay seen, thank you,” Malia said, her voice poison.
“Me too,” said Peer. “I don’t think I could …”
“Slinking through the shadows,” Malia said. “Like beasts.”
Alexia raised an eyebrow. “And you’re asking for my help?”
“No,” Peer said. “He is.” She nodded at Nophel, the man who had brought them salvation, and Alexia’s expression softened.
“I have an idea,” she said, bringing out a small ball of twine. “I’ll talk you through the plan while we’re tying this.”
Nophel broke the dried blood over his wound. Fresh blood flowed. Two other Unseen faded in, amazed. The room felt smaller. And Alexia started to explain how they would infiltrate Dragar’s Canton.
As they left the ruined house, Peer could feel their sense of salvation. It was as palpable as the smell of roasting from a nearby market. The three Unseen exuded it, each of them visible for now so that they could experience the simple joy of being noticed. Alexia was connected to Nophel by a wound length of string—Peer had not understood the sense in that, but he’d seemed happy—and she was walking with a short, thin man who had yet to speak. His eyes were open with a child’s awe, and she wondered how he had been seeing the world before now. His Scarlet Blade uniform was faded and dirty, he stank, but his enthusiasm was infectious, and as they followed the wall’s route across the north of Marcellan Canton, Peer allowed herself to believe that they might be able to achieve this.
You follow us, Alexia had said. When we get close to Dragar’s, we’ll travel Unseen; the string will connect us, and we’ll be far enough ahead to spot any trouble before it happens. We know the routes in and out, and each of us has been there several times. Keep the string taut. If you feel it go slack, that means we’ve stopped and there’s trouble.
