by Jaine Fenn
Then she walked out.
As she hurried down the corridor the duke was coming the other way. Irked at this latest contrivance, she was tempted to bustle past him, but he opened his arms and said, “How are you, dear cousin?”
“I am well. A little busy, though.”
“Then I won’t keep you long.” He nodded at the pair of couriers trailing him. “Catch up with us in a moment, please.” He offered his arm. Rhia took it. She would not get away without some sort of exchange. At least he had ensured they would not be overheard.
“That must have been hard for you.” His sympathy sounded genuine. And it probably was; she was being unfair to Francin. She was one of the few people he let down his guard with – a little at least.
“It was. It was as though she didn’t know what she’d done.”
“She might not, fully. I heard a doctor of the mind refer to such a condition once. He called it – now let me make sure I pronounce this correctly – compartmentalization.”
“So one part of the mind does not know what is going on in another part?” Perhaps Alharet’s final claim to be her friend might even be true, as the duchess saw it. Which made things worse, in some ways.
“Quite so.”
“What will happen to her, Francin?”
“For now, she will remain in her rooms, with all the comforts she is accustomed to.”
“Will there be a trial?” Part of Rhia was appalled at the idea of her damaged friend being put through such an ordeal. Part of her wanted Alharet to pay for her duplicity, for the pain she had been willing to cause those close to her. Compartmentalization in action.
“I think we have had enough of such proceedings for now. Perhaps if more evidence comes to light… but there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. The expedition to the red valley is setting off today.”
“That didn’t take long to organize.”
“Well, this is a historic discovery. I believe there is even an apposite aphorism for such prompt action, something about striking while the iron is hot. Regarding that, I wondered what your enquirer friends have to say regarding iron? I’ve consulted our coppersmith but iron appears to be an altogether trickier metal to work with.”
“Analyst of Durn has written on the extraction and processing of many metals, although I only have a few of his papers.”
“Might he be able to provide more, if you ask? I am assuming this enquirer is a man, for which I hope you will forgive me.”
“He is. And yes, I am happy to write to him for more details.”
“As a purely intellectual enquiry, of course.”
Rhia smiled to herself. Durn was halfway round the world, yet Francin did not want anyone there to know about the iron. Everything he did came down to politics.
She thought that was it, and opened her mouth to say farewell, but Francin held up a hand.
“Just one more thing, if I may. I’m hoping the map you provided will allow my men to find the valley, but if not, do you think we might prevail upon your skykin friend as a guide?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“I believe she left for your estate yesterday?”
“She did.” Not that Rhia remembered telling Francin this.
“And I believe she and your brother are planning to set up home in the umbral?”
“So they say.” Crises often brought people together, for a while, and she would not begrudge Etyan – or Dej, for that matter – the happiness they had. For now. She did however hope this would not be a lasting attachment. And now was the perfect time to mention her concerns in that area. “Francin, you do know that if I marry, I may no longer be able to pursue my enquiries freely.”
“That depends on who you marry.”
“Please don’t tell me you have someone in mind!”
“Not at the moment. But do not worry about the future of your House, or your studies. I will take whatever action is necessary to protect both these things.”
He knew her value. And so, now, did she.
When she got back, the townhouse was under the same silence she had become accustomed to. Markave was resting in his room; he was able to walk unaided now, though Rhia had no intention of letting him return to his duties until he was fully healed. She waved off Nerilyn’s offer of food, but took a pitcher of water up to her study.
She rummaged through the ironwood chest, and extracted the treatise she had mentioned to Francin. She would re-read it in bed tonight, and write to Analyst of Durn tomorrow.
First she would continue her observations, as she had done every night since her return from the skyland. She had confirmed her fever-dream revelation in the cave: the Maiden was growing increasingly gibbous, filling out like a Maiden who had lost her maidenhood.
But before she could put her startling theory about the nature of the universe to the enquirers, she must make and record many more observations, and start to pin down the mechanics of this new model of the heavens. She had no love of numbers, but acknowledged their place in backing up observation. Her back to the new sandclock, she took the tables she would need tonight from her ironwood chest, and unwrapped her sightglass.
She had work to do.
Chapter 69
“You shouldn’t have come.”
The injured skykin spread his hands. “I was out of other options.”
He looks like a man out of options. Sadakh’s ghost was cutting and accurate in her appraisal, as ever. However the skykin had lost his eye, it was a recent injury. “How did you get to the city?”
“I went to the location in the umbral where we pick up the food you pay us with. The shadowkin waiting there brought me here, but says he expects additional payment.”
“I’ve no doubt he does.” Though most loyalty was for sale, that of his now-dead agent had been absolute. His ability to pathfind and his web of contacts amongst both races had combined to make that unimpressive-looking individual Sadakh’s greatest asset outside the priory. “And you’re sure my messenger didn’t survive?”
“He died in the landslide, along with most of my people.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And he was, both because the deaths of strangers gave him no pleasure, and because the clanless as a group had been a useful resource. He and the injured clanless sat in a back room in the launderers’ house. Sadakh had been due to visit yesterday but put it off; instinct, and his ghost, told him he would find bad news here. The day had brought one piece of good news: Ikharon confirmed that he had dispatched copies of Sadakh’s treatise to all nearby enquirers, with a strong recommendation that he be awarded the post of Meddler of Zekt.
Today brought no such joy. “And you say the boy was heading for Shen?”
“Yes. I went to get help from our settlement, to go after him. We arrived back at the valley just as the soldiers were taking him and his sister south.”
“I assume these soldiers outnumbered your party.”
The skykin refugee shifted on the wooden stool. “They had horses, and weapons.”
“And Shenese livery?”
“They were not Zekti. And there’s something else you need to know. The boy, he was changed.”
Sadakh went cold. “Changed, how?”
“It was almost as though he’d become part skykin.”
Sadakh said nothing. The skykin looked uneasy. His ghost spoke up: This one is a broken seer, like you.
Whilst the skykin’s account of the botched kidnap had not been detailed, Sadakh knew enough. And he did not want to spend any more time in this person’s company. He stood. “I will see that you leave with all the food you can carry.”
Even before he opened the door to the warm and fetid room, Sadakh knew his fears were justified. The room was kept sealed, but a fly had got in; he could hear it buzzing around. And he could smell the corruption.
When he lifted the lid on the heavy stone vessel, the smell got worse. The dead skykin’s head had started to rot a couple of weeks ago, but the bath of his blo
od which he kept it in had been enough to sustain the animus. Not any longer. He did not have to reach into the soft matter inside the skull to know the creature was dead.
At times like this his ghost’s voice would have been welcome, but she was silent. He should have expected that.
He could eat the dead animus. But at best it would prolong his life by a few months. And it was possible it would just kill him.
But all was not lost. On the contrary: his experiment had worked. He had living proof of that, and he now knew where the individual who held the key to his success might be found.
Out loud he assured himself, his ghost, and the world, “I will not give up.”
Return to the Shadowlands in
Broken Shadow
April 2019
Acknowledgments
This story took a while getting where it needed to be and had a lot of help along the way.
Thanks firstly to the Tripod writers group – currently Mike Lewis, Jim Anderson, Marion Pitman, Andrew Bland and Mark Bilsborough – who saw way too much of this novel. Thanks also to the One Step Beyond writers who gave feedback on various aspects of the book and to beta-readers Sue Oke, Alys Sterling and Jacey Bedford, who went through the whole first draft and gently pointed out just how much needed changing. For technical advice, some of which I actually listened to, my thanks to Dr Dave Clements and most especially to Dr Mark Thompson.
Thanks too to my lovely patrons, whose ongoing support helps me keep writing even in the lean times, most particularly to James Anderson, Chris Banks, Shirley Bell, John Dallman, Gemma Holliday, Cathy Holroyd, Dave Mansfield, Sara Mulryan, Pete Randall, Martin Reed and Teddy. If you’d like to join them, please check out patreon.com/jainefenn.
I’m grateful to Marc Gascoigne and the Robots for taking a punt on this book once I’d licked it into shape. Last but not least, thanks to my husband Dave, who never lost faith and remains the centre of my personal universe.
About the Author
Jaine Fenn studied linguistics and astronomy before becoming a full time writer. Her first book, Principles of Angels, started the Hidden Empire series of character-driven space opera novels. She won the BSFA Shorter Fiction Award, and now divides her time between original fiction, teaching creative writing, and writing for tabletop and video games. She lives in Devon.
jainefenn.com • twitter.com/jainefenn
Social Robotics
Get all the news by joining our mailing list, the New Robot Army
Follow us on Twitter
Like us on Facebook
Gaze in awe at Instagram
By the Same Author
Hidden Empire
Principles of Angels
Consorts of Heaven
Guardians of Paradise
Bringer of Light
Queen of Nowhere
Downside Girls
The Martian Job
ANGRY ROBOT
An imprint of Watkins Media Ltd
20 Fletcher Gate,
Nottingham,
NG1 2FZ • UK
angryrobotbooks.com
twitter.com/angryrobotbooks
Shadow people
An Angry Robot paperback original 2018
Copyright © Jaine Fenn 2018
Jaine Fenn asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
UK ISBN 978 0 85766 801 1
US ISBN 978 0 85766 801 1
EBook ISBN 978 0 85766 802 8
Cover by Andreas Rocha.
Set by Argh! Nottingham.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Angry Robot and the Angry Robot icon are registered trademarks of Watkins Media Ltd.
ISBN: 978-0-85766-802-8
