by Ian Irvine
Maelys peered around a column. The armoured soldiers were at the top of the narrow path now, moving gingerly, for they were big, broad-shouldered men and their armour scraped against the wall as they moved. The air-dreadnought was hovering; fortunately it could come no lower since the airbags extended further than the width of the crater. More soldiers came over the sides, swinging back and forth on long ropes, though there was nowhere safe for them to settle but the edge of the pavilion far below, and they were having trouble manoeuvring them down.
She ducked across to the downward path. ‘Lead the way, Jil.’
Jil was just standing there. ‘You have no boots.’
‘There’s no time to fetch them.’
‘You must have shoes, or you’ll go lame. Run; it’ll just take a minute.’
A minute would be too long. Maelys looked around wildly. How could she delay them? She sprang up, wrenched one of the lanterns off the wall, blew it out and hurled it up the path. It smashed about halfway up, though it wasn’t light enough to see if it had spilled its oil.
She ran to her room, grabbed boots, socks and her little pack, hurtled back to the pavilion and started down after Jil.
‘Faster, fools!’ roared Vomix. ‘They’re getting away.’
The leading soldiers broke into a trot. They were only a minute behind. Jil was moving slowly now, for it was so gloomy here that the path could barely be seen. Maelys hadn’t gone far when glass crunched up above and a voice roared, ‘Look out!’
The second soldier, who was halfway down, had slipped on the oil. His feet went from under him and he began to slide down the path on his back, roaring in fear. The soldier below him realised his peril and began to run down the slippery path, desperately trying to get ahead, but the second soldier, sliding ever faster, swept into him from behind, knocking him off his feet. They went over the edge in a tangle of thrashing arms and legs.
The remaining soldiers stopped and began to mutter to one another. Vomix’s voice came echoing down from the air-dreadnought, a cold rage that made Maelys shudder.
‘After them. If they get away, you’ll be impaled!’
Lanterns were lowered on ropes, casting the crater into bright light and deeper shadow. The soldiers continued, slowly and carefully. Maelys tried to put them out of her mind as she felt her way down.
Jil was waiting at the top of the Pit. Strips of its floor were illuminated as brightly as a moonlit night. Her brother stood beside her, looking around sleepily. He had a shock of tangled brown hair and a quizzical expression, and appeared about seven years old.
‘I don’t see any way out,’ said Jil.
Maelys took a turn around the walls, feeling with her fingers, then spiralled in, looking for a concealed passage or door. Her foot struck something yielding in a strip of shadow and she smelt blood and offal – the two dead soldiers, still tangled. Thankfully, darkness hid what the fall had done to them. Fragments of beetle-shell armour crunched underfoot as she backed away.
Maelys found nothing that resembled a door, cave or opening of any sort. If the escape way had been rendered invisible she could do nothing about it. The only other alternative was the Pit.
‘It must be down there,’ she said, putting on a confident air for Jil. ‘I’ll go first.’
Jil nodded stiffly. Her eyes were huge and she was holding her brother so that he faced away from the corpses.
‘Come on!’ Maelys went down the rope ladder in a rush, turning aside at the bottom to leave space for Jil and Timfy. As she scanned the Pit, she could feel a number of dark possible futures swarming in the corner of her eye. Perhaps they came quicker the second time. She tried to rid herself of the grim images, but they wouldn’t go.
The curved walls were solid. So was the floor, apart from the fuming Mistmurk, and even had Maelys not been warned about it she would have kept her distance. It had a dangerous, corrosive look, with roiling fumes bursting out of it at intervals, sometimes belching high like miniature thunderheads, at other times creeping across the floor as though the vapours were too heavy to rise any higher.
Something came crashing and smashing down, to burst upon the beam above the Pit. Shards of crockery, as if from an enormous pot, rained through the sump. A fragment fell into the Mistmurk, making it fizz and seethe. A soldier shouted, from not far above them, ‘That’s enough! They’re down in a hole in the floor. We’ve got them trapped this time.’
Jil was squeezing Timfy to her chest, her face frozen. He squirmed as if he wanted to be put down; he didn’t understand the danger. Maelys was beginning to panic again. She forced it back, still finding it impossible to believe that Nish would have run away and left her here to die.
‘I don’t know where they could have gone,’ she said to herself.
‘They went down the hole,’ said Timfy. ‘See?’ He pointed at the Mistmurk.
She crouched down. A few threads torn from dark cloth were moving in an air current, caught on a splinter of glass just outside the wavering edge of the Mistmurk. They were the colour of Monkshart’s cloak.
Maelys met the girl’s eyes. There was a question in them. Above, a horde of soldiers was clattering down the stairs. ‘I’m prepared to take the risk,’ Maelys said.
Jil nodded stiffly. Maelys caught hold of her upper arm and together they jumped into the Mistmurk.
TWENTY-SEVEN
In an instant, the taphloid became burning hot between her breasts. Maelys jerked it out on its chain, holding it away from her in the darkness. Her skin crept as if she were covered in crawling ants, then began to burn as if it were peeling off. A wavering aura flashed into existence around her, then she felt a burst of excruciating pain and the aura felt as though it were being forced back inside her. Maelys cried out, snatched at the taphloid, which was no longer hot, and squeezed it hard for a moment. The aura faded and took the pain with it.
The boy began to moan; Jil shushed him. They were jerked sideways, then upside down, though they didn’t actually seem to be falling. Maelys couldn’t see anything now, even when her hand brushed against something soft and slick. She had no idea what had happened.
They hung in nothingness for about twenty heartbeats, then began to fall so quickly that the wind whistled around Maelys’s ears. As abruptly, their motion slowed and they drifted onto an angled rubbery surface covered in little round knobs, bounced twice and slid down the slope for a good few spans before coming to rest.
Letting go of Jil’s hand, Maelys grasped the taphloid again. It was cool, and it felt different. There still seemed to be some kind of life or presence within it, but it wasn’t comforting now. The taphloid felt loaded; dangerous. She put it back into her cleavage, which stung, for the skin was blistered there.
The crawling sensation disappeared and she began to distinguish a maze of transparent paths, tunnels, bridges and stairs leading off in every direction, including straight up. They were in a labyrinth in which every path was intertwined with every other one, but each was also in ceaseless, jiggling motion.
No matter where she looked, nothing was still. It made her dizzy to look at it, and there was no way of telling the correct path, for none looked clearer, stiller or more solid than any other. Even the slope they were sprawled on appeared to be moving, though it felt stable beneath her. The hole they’d jumped through, the Mistmurk, could no longer be distinguished.
Beside her, Jil began to retch and tried to crawl down the barely tangible slope. Maelys held her back. ‘Jil, if we’re separated, we’ll never find each other again.’
Jil brought up a thin green trickle and groaned. Maelys’s stomach heaved in sympathy but she held it down. Timfy was on his feet, his eyes wide and mouth open in wonder. What was he seeing? It could be different for each of them; it probably was.
She took their hands. ‘We’ve got to get away in case the soldiers come after us.’ And they would. No matter how terrified they were of the Mistmurk, they’d be more afraid of incurring the God-Emperor’s displeasure.
Feeling fo
rwards with one foot, Maelys began to make her way down the sloping path, and with every step the three-dimensional maze shifted and wavered. She fought down the nausea until they reached a small unseen depression, then stopped, trying to work out if any path or direction were more real than the others. Unfortunately they all looked the same. Her ears popped and the rubbery ground quivered as if from a heavy impact, then another and another, though she couldn’t see anything.
A man’s voice spoke, shivery and echoing. It couldn’t be far away though it appeared to come from all directions at once. ‘Where have they gone?’
Jil opened her mouth to scream. Maelys hastily covered it with her hand. ‘Shh! They’ll hear.’ She stared around her, trying to see where the soldiers had come through.
‘What the blazes is this place, Sergeant Tink?’ said another voice. ‘Vardo, what’s the matter?’ A liquid choking and gurgling was followed by an angry curse and the smack of a fist against flesh. ‘Disgusting pig! Why didn’t you turn the other way?’
‘What’s the matter?’ said the first voice, the sergeant.
‘Vardo threw up all over me,’ said the second. ‘The swine always did have weak guts.’
Two more pops and the floor quivered twice. ‘Here come the rest,’ said Tink. ‘Spread out and start looking for them, but don’t lose sight of each other.’
‘Cursed place,’ said the second soldier. ‘And curse the mancer who created it. Curse them all.’
‘Shut your mouth,’ hissed Sergeant Tink. ‘Seneschal Vomix will be here in a minute.’
‘I hope he can see better than I can,’ muttered the second man.
‘A mancer of his power will see straight through this maze,’ said the sergeant. ‘They won’t get away this time.’
There were more pops, more quivers. Maelys’s dizziness was getting worse. She thought ten people had come through the Mistmurk, or perhaps eleven, but the voices faded and though she could still hear them she couldn’t make out what they were saying. The confusion of the maze was getting worse. People could go mad in here.
Timfy began to cry. ‘Shh!’ Maelys whispered.
‘What’s that?’ said Vomix’s unmistakeable voice, mucous-thick and sibilant.
‘A whining brat,’ said the sergeant. ‘Down there … I think.’
‘No, they’re this way,’ said Vomix, and he was closer. ‘What’s the matter with that man, sergeant?’
‘The maze scrambled his wits, surr. Can’t stop hurling his guts.’ Tink chuckled mirthlessly.
‘Get rid of him and call more men down.’
Maelys heard stumbling noises, more cursing and vomiting, and a mad cry. The sergeant said, hoarsely and slurring a little, ‘That’s three down, surr. This place is twisting the brains inside my head. I can’t send them back, Seneschal Vomix, surr.’
‘Why the devil not?’
‘The hole closed over and I can’t tell where it was.’
Vomix let loose with a series of vile oaths. Jil, who was swaying from side to side, put her hands over Timfy’s ears. Maelys noticed that there was blood on his lip. ‘What’s the matter with him?’ She pointed to his mouth.
‘What have you done, Timfy?’ Jil whispered, straining to focus. ‘What’s that in your hand?’
It was a small crystal bottle, the kind used for perfume or potions, with the top broken off. Maelys reached out for it but Jil said, ‘It’s Monkshart’s. I’ve seen him with it.’
‘What’s it for?’
‘I don’t know. Did you drink it, Timfy?’ Jil’s voice went squeaky.
‘Just a little taste. It was horrible.’
Maelys and Jil exchanged glances. ‘I don’t see why it would be poison,’ said Maelys, ‘and if he only had a little bit …’
‘You don’t know what they’re like.’ Jil’s eyes were wide and staring. She squeezed her brother so tightly that he cried out, then upended the broken flask against her fingertip and raised her finger towards her mouth, though she was so uncoordinated that it took three attempts to reach it. She licked her finger and shuddered.
Maelys did know, but there was no point adding to Jil’s torment by saying so. She took the flask, which had a strong fruity smell, so cloyingly sweet that it made her salivate. As she took another sniff, the shifting maze solidified a fraction and her dizziness faded momentarily. Could it be –?
‘Down there!’ slurred the sergeant, his voice coming from one direction, then another. ‘Seneschal, this way!’
Maelys turned around twice, but couldn’t see anyone. Suddenly a huge soldier burst out of a fold in the fabric of the maze behind Jil, swaying from side to side, his head whipping back and forth as if that were the only way he could see clearly. He grabbed Jil and Timfy but staggered and fell to his knees. His eyes were rolling in circles; chunks of vomit clotted his iridescent chest armour, but he didn’t let go.
‘I can see,’ Jil mouthed.
Maelys hesitated no longer. She had sucked down three or four thick, intensely bitter drops when someone thumped onto the floor behind her and a hairy, bony hand snatched the phial. Another hand snaked around her side and caught her by the left breast, but instantly the taphloid grew hot and he jerked his hand away with a gasp of pain.
‘What did you do?’ whispered Jil, staring at Maelys.
She shook her head; she had no idea.
Her vision began to clear. Seneschal Vomix was dancing around in a circle, shaking his hand furiously. ‘You little cow!’
‘What’s the matter?’ said Tink.
‘Bitch has a very odd aura. Touched mine and it seemed to turn inside out. Ah, that hurt.’ He studied his hand, which appeared to be swollen. His yellow eyes were looking in two directions at once. He swayed, held the phial up and blinked at it, slowly and owlishly. Maelys tried to slide away but his boot came down on her foot, pinning her to the path.
He sniffed the phial. His eyes widened and he tried to shake the potion onto his palm, but the phial was empty. With a roar of rage he made to hurl it away, but thought better of it and broke it against his boot. Picking up the pieces, he carefully licked the potion off the inside of the largest. After a good few seconds his eyes uncrossed.
Handing the remaining shards to the big soldier, Vomix bade him do the same, though the sergeant was so far gone that his tongue was bleeding in four places before he’d finished.
‘That’s the last of it, unfortunately,’ said Vomix. ‘Better hope it’s enough to get you and me out, Sergeant Tink.’
‘What about my men?’ said Tink.
Three soldiers were slumped on the ground further up the slope; others could be heard stumbling about, making increasingly incoherent noises. Maelys prayed that they’d collapse as well.
‘They’ll have to follow as best they can, though the maze madness will take them all, I’ll warrant.’ Vomix didn’t sound as though he cared. ‘Can you see?’
‘Better than ever,’ said Tink. ‘I can see double!’ He laughed hysterically. ‘What about you, surr?’
‘I’m all right.’ Vomix swayed, scowling at Maelys, who was still trying to get her foot free, then thumped her in the side with an elbow. She felt a rib creak. Dizziness hadn’t affected his aim. ‘Bitch took the last of it.’ He tore off her pack, pawed through it, pocketed the golden bracelet and tossed the pack to one side. She wrenched her foot free and lunged for the pack. He kicked it out of sight. ‘Know you, don’t I?’
Maelys’s blood ran cold.
‘I remember now,’ he said slowly. ‘An insolent brat who didn’t know her place. It was on the road to market – what, six years ago. Or seven? Where was that?’ He pretended to think, but Maelys was sure he knew and was enjoying tormenting her. ‘Oh yes, on the road down from the manor of that upstart family, Clan Nifferlin. You must be Maelys, the rude little girl who compared my face to a boar’s arse.’ He reached down for her but thought better of it. ‘You brought your clan to my attention that day, and doomed them as surely as if you’d pissed in the face of the God
-Emperor.’ He snorted like a pig.
‘I was just a little girl,’ she croaked. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. That can’t be why …’
‘You drew my attention to your clan, Maelys of Nifferlin. I took a closer look and didn’t like what I saw – a concealed, illegal talent for the Art, allied to an arrogant and rebellious nature that made Nifferlin a threat to the God-Emperor. I plucked the troublemakers one by one until only three stupid old women survived, and the little girl, and you. I was going to have you for myself.’ He reached down to twist her nipple but again jerked his hand back. ‘But the five of you vanished and not even the wisp-watchers could tell what had happened to you.’
Vomix seemed to be trying to recall those times. ‘How could five people vanish so utterly? Your mother and aunts had no talents; my torturers tested them thoroughly.’ He let out an evil snort. ‘And I don’t think it was you. To ride a flap-peter you must have a talent, but that’s not the kind that can conceal an escaping family.
‘Ahhh … odd incidents spring to mind at the ruins of Nifferlin – searches that found nothing though the soldiers swore to seeing things. You were still there, hidden by the fifth person – the blonde girl. Oh, I especially like extracting secrets from pretty little girls. The God-Emperor will make me a high lord this time.’
Maelys’s blood was clotting in her veins. No wonder her mother and aunts had treated her so badly – the downfall of Clan Nifferlin had been all her fault. All doubts about right and wrong, or doing her duty with Nish, disappeared. She’d doomed her clan; only she could save what was left of her family. Neither Vomix nor the sergeant could be allowed to leave the maze alive. And if she did get out she must do whatever it took to make up for that childhood stupidity.
‘Not if you let Nish get away,’ she whispered, trying to distract him.
Vomix thumped her on the back, though not hard enough to do any damage. She noted that he was being careful not to touch her with bare skin. ‘He won’t, because you’re going to lead me to him.’
‘I don’t know where he is. He’s run away.’ She immediately wished she hadn’t spoken; Vomix might see no further use for her, or the others.
