Broken Devices

by Karen Myers

  “The longer we stay here, the weaker we will be,” he said. “We should ambush our jailer on his next visit.”

  He’d suggested it before, with little success, but this time more heads nodded—everyone’s but the sleeping Char Dazu and the oblivious Ijumo.

  Accordingly, they all casually drew themselves up to attention at the noise outside the door well in advance of their evening meal. Even Ijumo roused himself blearily.

  The jailer was not alone this time. A chained wizard of Kigali appearance accompanied him.

  He gloated in the open doorway, his feet spread confidently. Najud could feel the man’s personal shield inside the group one, and knew there was little they could do, even united, to break through that.

  “I need a volunteer,” the chained wizard said. When he met with silence, he chuckled. “Actually, I don’t. Let’s see who would be least missed.”

  Najud felt his probe as it went by, and could follow it by the flickers of discomfort on the faces of his fellow-captives.

  The man’s focus fell on Ijumo. “Not doing too well, are you? So should it be you, from a sometime-ally, or you,” he swung his head to stare at Mrigasba, “from a sometime-enemy?”

  He spat and turned back to Ijumo. “Easy enough decision. If I don’t spend you now, you might lose all your value. So, Ndano, it’s your turn to do something useful for Kigali.”

  Mrigasba leaned over his neighbor as if to prepare him and Najud saw the slight movement of his hand, concealed by his body from the two at the doorway, that shoved Ijumo’s shackle all the way shut to preserve their secret.

  The jailer kicked Mrigasba out of the way and unlocked Ijumo’s shackle, then hauled him up to his unsteady feet.

  Even in a fever, with an expectation of disaster, Ijumo took his time to brush off the dust and resettle his disordered clothing and smooth his hair. He bowed tremulously to his companions and straightened up as best he could, then followed the jailer and the chained wizard out on his own two feet. The door clanged behind him.

  Char Dazu burst out, “We should have done something.”

  “Like what?” Mrigasba muttered.

  Najud said quietly. “He went like a warrior,” and Gen Jongto nodded his head.

  “A good man,” Vylkar said, judiciously.

  “Are they going to kill him?” Char Dazu asked.

  Vylkar replied, “Always best to assume the worst and be prepared,” and Char Dazu turned away from the cool voice.

  Uncomfortable truths. Vylkar may not be a warm man, but he sees clearly enough.

  Najud swallowed and set himself to wait for the arrival of the dinner jailer, and another chance.

  The preparations were going well, Tsek Anbu thought.

  His biggest concern was the whereabouts of that teken from Zannib, whatever she was. His last certain information was from the morning, when she’d reported to Tun Jeju and then vanished with the maps.

  It was distressing that she had found… something in her overflights, but his own tekenwen assured him she hadn’t returned overhead all day—probably waiting to do it again in the darkness, and they’d be ready for her this time. The reports from Chalen Tep made it clear how she spent her morning. At least, they knew the Rasesni and Ndane lupjuwen had been there, looking over the joints, and he assumed the foreign teken had been with them.

  He smiled to himself, alone for the moment in his reception room at the Tsek family compound. The foreign lupjuwen were no match for his three tekenwen, nor were the rest of them, wasting their time in that irritating guild. Only the other tekenwen concerned him, the ones that had wandered into that gewengep from the countryside and the city slums..

  He slapped his knee, no one present to watch him give vent to his feelings about the failure to exterminate them while they were weak and unwarned. He’d made his displeasure abundantly well known to his allies. Serves them right that they lost so many. Too bad it didn’t get me what I wanted.

  Not all of it, anyway. The captives were useful, and he’d start demonstrating that tonight.

  If he could only keep Tsek Uchang and his mother under control. His father’s plan had worked to set the foundation, but he hadn’t lived long enough to try and manage the spoiled, touchy, grandiose creature his young relative was becoming. His cousin had enough sense to restrain her son, when she could, but that was proving more difficult by the day.

  He just couldn’t see beyond his immediate interest. The impatience of youth—it might still derail his plans. The young fool thought Tun Jeju dead was better than Tun Jeju discredited. He liked the opportunity to reduce his obstacles to bloody wrecks rather than to make them work, willingly or not, for his own benefit.

  Well, tonight should satisfy him, then—keep his mind off immediate succession. There were a lot of other heirs to eliminate first, and it was safer to do it bloodlessly if he could. The emperor’s favor could do what an army could not, if the bastard would only cultivate it.

  What an ingenious arrangement.

  Penrys stood with the hundreds of other people from the lower towns in the long and orderly lines that waited for the hoists to bring up the next load of passengers for the festival in Juhim Tep.

  Three cables of rope and wire passed over a triad of pulleys deployed from sturdy arms that reached out from the towers that stood near the edge, each cable reportedly capable of bearing the entire weight of a fully-loaded double cage system, according to the conversations around her, as the experienced elders informed their juniors.

  What sparked her admiration wasn’t just the scale of the system, one of three on the southern point of Tegong Him, with two others on both the west and east faces, but the way each was joined to a second cage as a partial counterbalance. A bullock-driven screw system applied force to either the descending cage, if it was lighter than the ascending one, or to the rising one if it needed a brake to keep from being overpowered by a heavy descender.

  The principles were clear to Penrys, but she marveled at the ability to build on this scale. One of the strengths of empires, thinking for the long term with public works. Were the builders well-paid, and disappointed when the job ended? How long did it take?

  She wondered if any of the hoists had ever broken its cables, but she didn’t want to speak unnecessarily and possibly attract attention to herself with an accent.

  When it was finally her turn, she filed into place and listened to the cries of mingled amazement and terror from her thirty or so fellow passengers, many of whom were visiting the upper city for the first time. It was a much more perilous feeling to be held in a reinforced wooden cage suspended hundreds of feet from the ground than to be freely flying over it. If the cage fell, her wings would be of no use to her, trapped inside with everyone else.

  She swallowed and concentrated on what she knew about the layout of the streets in the upper city.

  By the time she found the square where the Festival of Lights ceremony would be held, darkness had descended upon the city, and the braziers at street corners and the torches carried by officials provided what light there was.

  The shops surrounding the square itself mounted torches from their balconies that blazed in sufficient quantity that the crowd packing the public space could see well enough. People jostled each other to get as close as possible to the two platforms erected along two adjacent sides—the stage for the festival performances, which occupied most of one of the narrow ends, and the viewing platform for the emperor and his family and guards which almost abutted the corner with the stage, at one end of the long side of square. Unlit torches with shields at their back lined the ground in front of the performers’ stage, to provide directed illumination once they were needed.

  From where Penrys stood, almost at the edge of the stage, the emperor’s platform was directly across the narrow end of the square from her. Canvas on frames extended behind the stage platform on her left to hide the preparations from the audience.

  The square itself was a milling mass of people in
holiday dress. All classes seemed to be there, both well-dressed families clustered together as well as poorer folk trying to get as close to either platform as they could. Around any part of the edges unoccupied by the two platforms, vendors sold food and drink to the eager crowds.

  Penrys backed away into the darkness as best she could while still keeping an eye on both platforms. She planned to leave the ceremony while everyone was distracted so that she could quarter the streets on her own looking for the wizards. But she’d never attended a Kigali event like this, or seen the emperor, and she couldn’t resist just being a spectator, for once.

  Horns in the distance announced the arrival of the emperor’s party, and a respectful silence fell upon the crowd. Penrys turned to watch, with everyone else, as a procession of palanquins in yellow or amber silk, tassels dangling from each upcurved corner of their roofs, halted at the steps to the viewing platform and guards surrounded the passengers as they were handed out. The palanquins themselves, with their bearers, were collected on either side of the emperor’s platform, as an extension of his presence.

  Even with everyone bowing deeply, Penrys was frustrated at being too short to see the emperor and his court well, and she stepped up on a curbstone, before belatedly bowing like everyone else to keep from standing out. As a thin, elderly man in yellow robes ascended the steps, surrounded by taller and brawnier guards, she stepped down again without looking away, and stumbled over a storm drain grate that brought her to her knees.

  “Yrmur!” she cursed, and placed her hands on the grate to push herself up, but fingers rose out of the darkness below to touch hers and startle her into rigidity.

  “Jarghalti?” Even as a whisper she recognized it.

  “Munraz! What…?”

  *I’ll tell you afterward. It’s unlocked, but I can’t open it while people are watching.*

  She stood up cautiously, and faced the platforms like the other people, keeping one foot in contact with the grate. Invisible fingers clutched it.

  *What happened?* She narrowed her reach as much as possible to keep their conversation shielded and private.

  Munraz told her of his escape from Kit Hachi and explained his delay.

  Penrys listened to the story and the destruction of her plans that went with it. She’d heard the rumor of the existence of a tunnel network but she didn’t trust that she could join Munraz and use that as a way off Tegong Him. Who knows how many there are, or where they go, or if we can get out when we want to, even if her student could pick the lock here? We could starve down there or, more likely, run into other trouble it they guard parts of it, as they surely must.

  She said none of this to Munraz, though, wanting to encourage him for his initiative even if it was imprudent. *It was wise of you to stop when you did, and wait to see what the situation was. You must be hungry, though.*

  *And thirsty.* She could hear the real need behind the reply.

  *Wait—I’ll be right back.*

  She stepped outside the square for a moment to buy two skins of ale and a net bag holding eight meat pasties, “for the family,” as she told the sellers.

  Striding casually back to the grate, she positioned herself so that her feet stood just beyond the grate’s hinge and the back of her robes reached the curb and masked the latched side as much as possible.

  *Open it up just a little and use my robe to conceal it. I’ve got something for you.*

  *I can smell it!*

  His eagerness brought a smile to her face. Growing young men. I bet he’s ravenous.

  Her position on the edge of the stage platform was unpopular—too small for the larger groups, and too poor a view of the performance that was to come. In the near perfect darkness, it wasn’t too hard for a stealthy hand to emerge and take her purchases, one by one, and lower the grate back down, unobserved.

  *Don’t eat it all at once, your stomach may need time to adjust.*

  There was no reply. Too busy eating, Penrys thought, and she rolled her eyes.

  Now that that crisis was resolved, she mulled over her larger plans. She’d intended to slip away while the focus of so many was drawn to the ceremony, so that it might be easier to walk the streets to scan more closely all those interesting collections of wizards and shields she’d seen last night. But if she took Munraz with her, an obvious Zan, it made her precautions to pass for a Kigalino pointless, and she didn’t see any easy way to hide him.

  Equally she didn’t see how she could leave him behind to wait for her. What if something happened to delay her return? Or worse…

  She sighed. She’d have to linger after the crowds left and then help him, maybe support him as though drunk, with her sleeve for partial concealment. But would that work on the cages, when everyone stood at close quarters?

  Well, it couldn’t be helped. Maybe they’d just have to brazen it out. He could be a Zannib visitor, come to see the sights and headed back for the embassy, and she the servant paid to guide him. That was worth trying.

  Nothing could be done until they could lift the grate and get him out of the tunnels without anyone noticing, so they were going to be stuck here for a while. Sorry, Naj-sha. I’ve got to deal with the responsibility at hand first.

  If Munraz had stayed with Kit Hachi, he’d have been back at the embassy by now, and me free to see if the captives are here. He meant well, but… Two full days now—anything could have happened to them.

  And if Naj-sha isn’t coming back from this?

  Her fists clenched and she berated herself for indulging in pessimism, but her rational thoughts couldn’t fully rule her emotions.

  The crowd, which had resumed its loud buzz of excitement, hushed, and Penrys stepped up onto the curb again to look at the emperor’s platform. The men and women in yellow silk were clearly members of the family. Some of them wore a darker color of yellow, almost an amber, but Penrys didn’t know what the distinction indicated, except that the yellow-robes sat to the front, surrounding the emperor on his elevated chair, and the rest were placed further back.

  The platform was surrounded on the back and sides by a solid rank of guards, and on the ground in front, where they wouldn’t block the view, a double rank of guards maintained a distance between the platform and the spectators. The guards looked like wasps to her, in their black robes with yellow slashes and insignia. Courtiers and officials of some sort sat on either side of the imperial family, wearing elaborate robes of all sorts, barring only solid yellow—that seemed to be reserved to the dynasty itself.

  The emperor stood. He was slender and elderly to Penrys’s eye, but not frail. He spoke firmly—something about the victories of the light against the darkness and the blessing that resulted for all of Kigali, bringing strength to the empire and comfort to all Kigaliwen.

  His voice didn’t carry well to Penrys over the noises closer at hand—the final preparations of the stage troupe hidden by the canvas-covered extension behind the platform. A few props were already positioned on the visible stage—a painted wooden tree, nearest to Penrys, an ornate bench, and a table on the far side with objects under it, hidden from the audience by a cloth around three sides.

  The performance was a series of brief tableaux, narrated by an announcer in a loud singsong voice, to the accompaniment of raucous instruments concealed behind the stage. Penrys was surprised by the style of the thing—she had expected something more refined for the emperor’s pleasure—but then it struck her that this was probably a rural style, something traditional for the common folk whose holiday this must be.

  With that conclusion, she listened more carefully to the story being told. The master of light was a thin fellow in a bright silver mask, dressed in robes of orange, yellow, and white. He was kind to the poor, firm with the misguided, and eager to contend with the mistress of darkness. This latter was a woman, dressed in black and red. Her mask was black, its features outlined in gold in a ferocious scowl.

  In the various scenes, sometimes the Light was ahead, and sometimes t
he Dark, and the audience cheered the one and booed the other. In what seemed to be the final crisis, Penrys watched, quite as absorbed as the spectators, while the master of light was tied to the prop tree, a captive of his enemy.

  Something seemed not quite right—she thought the knots almost seemed real rather than a stage illusion—but she was distracted by the actions of the mistress of darkness who reached under the table from behind and pulled out a sword. That, too, seemed more solid and weighty than she expected, but before she could quite formulate her thoughts, the woman in black flourished her sword in the air and tore off her outer robe. She was dressed in bright red, in Zannib style, and when she reached for her throat and tore off the last bit of black, Penrys was shocked to see a familiar chain.

  Dimly she heard the confused murmurs of the audience behind her.

  She froze as the woman approached the captive master of light from the side and wielded her sword with delicacy, slicing cleanly through his throat. Screams erupted from the crowd as those closest to the stage confirmed it was real blood that pumped out of the sagging body.

  When the woman yanked the mask off her victim, Penrys recognized in horror the Ndant features of Ijumo.

  The announcer flung something down to the center of the stage which burst loudly and raised a cloud of smoke, behind which he and the mistress of darkness ducked while the crowd erupted in chaos.

  The explosion seemed to have been the prearranged signal for the fireworks that capped the event, for behind her Penrys could hear the whistles and explosions that launched over the southern cliff face of Tegong Him, and see the colored reflections at the far end of the square, where the guards were tightly clustered around the emperor’s party while people fled in all directions.

  She couldn’t move. She was mesmerized by the stream of blood that had flowed down the sagging body and the rivulet that moved along the surface of the platform in her direction, seeking an exit. It seemed to her that it was headed directly her way, as if to accuse her of delay and uselessness, as if there would be enough blood that it would flow down the platform past her and down the storm drain, past Munraz, and then through the tunnels and on down the side of Tegong Him, a red flow that could never be stopped. Red flowing down and down.