He nodded despondently. “And a fat lot of good it does me. How in the Goddess's name am I going to get over there?”
“There is a way, but it's going to be tricky. When a miner finds something big in the Divide, too big for her to carry herself, she flashes for a heavy lifter from the city.”
“Flashes?”
“By mirror.” She waved that explanation away. “The heavy lifters are dirigibles with ropes and hooks designed to pick up just about anything from above. They're slow but reliable. Although they don't usually go that far, we could get across the Divide and return with your mother, and whoever she has with her.”
“That sounds good,” he said. “How do I go about organising it?”
“That depends on whether you have enough money to charter a lifter.”
“I might have, depending on how much it costs.”
She named a figure that made his head spin. For a brief moment he considered selling the buggy, which was locked securely in an empty camel stall under the hostel he'd booked into. But that was a mad idea; he had to get home somehow, once all this was over.
“Okay, so that's out.” She looked through the gap at her peers hurling themselves boldly into the sky. “There are only two other ways to go about it. The first and most obvious is to petition the Magister.”
Skender nodded. The Magister was the head of the yadachi, and had ruled Laure for thirty thirsty years.
“Do you think she'll help us?”
“That old vampire? Given my record and where you're from, she's more likely to throw us in the brig just for asking.”
“Great. So what's the second way?”
“We steal what we need and worry about the consequences later.”
“Are you joking?”
She shook her head. “I'm renowned for two things: the ability to fly and the inability to stay out of trouble. Neither requires much of a sense of humour.”
“You could've fooled me,” he muttered. “Looks like you're having a great time at my expense.”
“Hard though it might be to believe, watching you squirm isn't what I was put on the Earth for. It's just a consolation prize.”
He had to admit that she'd stopped smiling some time ago.
“Okay,” he said, resigning himself to the situation. “We try the Magister first. Whether you say it'll work or not, we have to give it a go. And if she doesn't see it our way—”
“We renegotiate. Right.” She took one last look at the other miners and their wings before making moves to leave the niche.
“Wait,” he said, gripping her forearm. “I can't believe you're seriously thinking of doing this—stealing a balloon and helping me rescue my mother. Aren't you in enough trouble already?”
Her eyes moved restlessly as they focused first on his left pupil, then the right, then back again. “You don't get it yet, do you? This isn't about you. I expect to be compensated. Handsomely, too. Otherwise you're right: there's nothing in it for me but more hot water.”
He didn't know what he'd expected, but her words disappointed him. “I'll make sure you get what you deserve,” he said. “Don't worry about that.”
“Good. Then let's get going. The air is thin up here. It's making me thirsty.”
Street-level frontage in Laure was at such a premium that most shops performed two or more functions simultaneously. Food vendors also sold coffee and tightly rolled cigarettes, and provided venues for wiry old people to play complicated-looking games involving tiles and dice. They served alcohol as well, as Skender discovered half an hour later—although he received the distinct impression that most of the business in the narrow bar Chu had taken him to was conducted out the back behind the kitchen, where money changed hands over flat paper packets whose contents he didn't want to know anything about, beyond a quick glimpse as they passed through. The black market thrived in Laure, which had laboured under strict rationing for as long as anyone could remember. Traders visited regularly, but never frequently enough to satisfy the populace.
“I suppose I'm paying for this as well as dinner,” he said as a waiter brought two stubby glasses and a bottle of milky liquid to their table. Chu muttered something in reply, then nodded thanks to the waiter and started to pour.
“What did you say?” he asked. It was hard to hear over the racket of the band. The instruments were unfamiliar to his ears, as were the tunes, but there was no denying the musicians’ enthusiasm.
“I said, shut up and enjoy.” She handed him a glass. The weathered leather of her jacket hung over the back of a chair. Under it she wore a grey tank top that revealed light brown skin covered in a fine patina of sweat. It was stifling in the tavern.
He loosened the neck of his robes and took the glass somewhat nervously. Personal experience had taught him that the alcohol content of a drink was inversely proportional to the size of the glass it came in. These glasses were tiny.
Chu knocked hers back with one gulp. Skender took a deep breath, and followed suit.
For a brief moment, he thought he might die. His tongue curled up and his throat burned. Water sprang from his eyes. His gut clenched.
“Do you like it?” she asked with a gleam in her eye.
“Wonderful,” he managed. “A couple more of those and getting across the Divide will be the least of my troubles.”
“That's the idea.” Chu refilled their glasses, revealing as she did so a procession of fine pink cuts up the inside of her left wrist. She didn't explain them. “We've made it known that we want to see the Magister. Now all we can do is wait for her to contact us.”
“How long will that take?”
“Could be a day or two.” She burped with enough gusto to drown out the band, then downed the second shot. “Might as well relax in the meantime.”
“On my savings.”
“You know you're getting your money's worth.” She indicated the glass in front of him with her chin. “Going to drink that, or are you hoping it might evaporate?”
He tossed it back with a grimace, fuelling the fire already burning in his belly. She filled the glasses a third time.
“Tell me something, Skender Van Haasteren. Tell me what your mother was looking for.”
“I don't know.”
“Oh, come on. You don't have to keep secrets from me.”
“No, really. I have no idea.”
“It must be something pretty important. Flying over the Divide is scary enough; going down into it takes a special kind of crazy.”
“She's not crazy,” he bristled.
“To most people, she'd have to be. You think the Wall is there for aesthetic reasons?”
The liquor was already making him feel dizzy. He could smell it over the stink of smoke and heavily spiced vegetables. It was coming out of the woodwork.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” he asked.
“No. I'm trying to get me drunk.” The contents of a third glass disappeared down her impervious gullet. “And I'm curious about your mother. Surveyors come through Laure every now and again. They're a quiet lot, for the most part. They do their thing and we do ours. Some of us—not me, of course—call them Ruin Rats because they're always scrabbling around in the dirt.”
Skender's taste buds were sufficiently numb to make a third hit bearable. “That's not very nice.”
“You know what people are like.” Chu rested her elbows on the table and her chin in both palms. “Scumbags for the most part, and those who aren't are complete bastards.”
“I'm sensing some negativity, here.”
She sighed. “Seagulls are rats of the sky. Isn't that what they say? Give someone a wing and that doesn't make them better.”
“And taking the wing off someone doesn't make them worse,” he said, hoping he was keeping up.
“Obviously,” she said. “I'll drink to that.” She poured them another round, spilling a substantial portion on the rough wooden tabletop. She didn't seem to notice. “Not everyone agrees.”
Her head
tilted back, exposing a long, elegantly muscled throat. Skender caught himself staring, and covered it up by drinking from his own glass.
“Is your father a Surveyor?” she asked him.
“No. He's a teacher, like his father before him.”
“Well, good for them. A teacher and a Surveyor. Some people might think that odd. Some people might say that like should stick with like, or else you're asking for disaster.”
Skender thought of his parents and their separate lifestyles. “Some people might be right.”
“Some people are arseholes, as well as scumbags and bastards.” Chu's sudden vitriol made him blink. “You shouldn't try to defend him.”
“Who?”
“Don't play the innocent. He knew what he was doing. It became clear once I'd lost my wing that I wasn't good enough for him any more. And why is that? I was good enough before, wasn't I?” She sniffed. “He's just an idiot. A rat of the sky. I'm better off without him.”
For a second, Skender was hopelessly confused. Then the mental clouds parted. “Oh, I get it. ‘Some people’ is someone specific.”
“And he could be very specific, when he wanted to be. Here I was thinking he helped me out because he liked me.” She blinked down into her empty glass. “God, I'm such an idiot.”
Skender stared at the crown of her head, at the whorls and flows of her rich dark hair and the paler skin beneath. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, or at least touch it, but the world was swaying alarmingly around him and he couldn't trust himself not to poke her in the eye by accident. He felt as dizzy as he had after his Blood Tithe had been taken. “I don't think you're an idiot.”
“Yes, but you're drunk. You'd say anything right now.”
“That's not true!”
“Then you aren't drunk enough.” She looked up and reached for the bottle. “Hey, this is almost empty. Let's get another one.”
She turned around to hail the waiter.
“I drink,” he protested, “that I've had enough to think.”
“Really?” Her laughter was pure and unrestrained.
“I mean—”
A hand came down onto his shoulder, startling him, and a rough voice spoke in his ear.
“The Magister will see you now, Mage.”
“I'm not—”
“Do as the man says, Skender.” Chu had turned back. Her expression was suddenly very serious. “Come on.”
She shrugged into her jacket and helped him to his feet. His legs were wobbling and he was grateful for her support.
“Where are we going?” he asked the man, a tall, triangular-faced yadachi with a beard that covered most of his face. His robe was as red as blood and he carried with him a heavy scent of cloves. Cold blue eyes regarded Skender with naked disdain.
“I've told you once,” was the only reply he got. “And I'm in a hurry.”
“Lead the way,” said Chu, gesturing to the door. “I assure you we'll keep up.”
The man turned his back on them and pressed through the crowd. The music continued unabated as they left the heat and stink of the tavern and entered the night.
Laure was a desert city, but one very different from the underground metropolises of the Interior. Its position right on the Divide left it technically part of the Interior but facing a raft of problems unique to such border towns. Skender hadn't had very long to research the history of the walled city before he left, but he did know that the yadachi weren't indigenous: they had originally been a roaming sect of Change-workers, struggling to survive in a world where neither sea nor stone were very strong and where most of the available reservoirs were already taken. Their particular solution to that problem had found fertile soil in Laure, so they thrived where both Mage and Warden would struggle.
Their yadachi guide took them at a brisk pace through winding streets, without once looking back. Skender and Chu walked one pace behind, catching each other when they stumbled. He was surprised to realise that she was exactly the same height as he. In the bar and on the rooftop, she had seemed much taller.
“He called me ‘Mage,’” he hissed to her. “What was that about?”
“Assumptions, remember?” she whispered back. “It doesn't hurt to encourage them, sometimes.”
“But I'm not—”
She put a hand to his mouth. “Don't argue. Being a Mage still means something here, and it's getting us to the Magister sooner rather than later. Every hour we save is one less your mother languishes in the Divide. Right?”
He couldn't argue with that, although he disliked her methods. Twisting his head to free his mouth, he glared at her and told himself to sober up, fast. It was all very well to be seeing the Magister, but it wouldn't do him much good if he couldn't string a coherent sentence together.
Being a Mage still means something here. He supposed that made sense. The rest of the Interior might ignore Laure's existence, for the most part, but the artefacts they sold had to be bought by someone.
Slowly, the architecture improved. Slumping walls and drifts of sand that had been allowed to build up in corners gave way to clear, bold lines and well-maintained sidewalks. The city's tapering minarets strained for the stars in the crisp evening air. Frosted circular windows glowed with warmth and light. Voices filtered faintly through thick stone walls. By dawn it would be very cold. Skender hoped to be safe in his bed well before then.
Their guide passed through a heart-shaped gate with a wide, sharp-tipped portcullis above their heads, and led them into a fortified building with no windows. Their footsteps echoed off ceramic tiles that gleamed by stone-light. Brass shields hung on thick chains from hooks all along the wide corridor they followed. It doglegged to the right and terminated in two broad white doors.
Their guide knocked twice, firmly. The doors opened. Skender and Chu were ushered into an antechamber larger than the tavern they had just left. Its walls were featureless, polished stone, except for the one facing the door, where hung a gleaming glass mural of restless blues and greens—colours rarely seen in the city's desert environment. Guards in yellow and black uniforms stood stiffly to attention in each corner. A single tall-backed chair rested between them on a square dais. Seated slightly askew in the chair was a striking woman with no hair at all and the biggest hooknose Skender had ever seen. Her eyes were a deep, potent green. She wore a black robe with red trimmings and rested gnarled white hands on the globe of an ebony walking stick. Her lips were broad and expressive, but only ever smiled on one side.
The incision on his left arm still itched but he refused to scratch it.
“It's late,” said Magister Considine. The room barely contained the rich harmonics of her voice, “and much demands my attention before I am allowed to retire. Be brief, I beg you.”
“Th—thank you for seeing us,” Skender stammered, affecting an awkward bow. “I'm not familiar with your customs here, so I hope I haven't offended—”
“Customs are for the lazy-minded.” She waved his apology away with one hand. Her fingernails were long and unpolished, like claws. They clicked against the knob of her walking stick as she brought her hand back down. “I prefer to get right down to business. I will not ask again, young Van Haasteren.”
“You know who I am?”
“Of course. I know everything in this city.”
“Then you know I'm looking for my mother.”
“I know she had business near Laure. All Surveyors declare their intentions when they encroach upon my territory. They learned the wisdom of doing so long ago, lest I mistake them for thieves.” Her eyes hardened. “The fate of your mother is no concern of mine. If the Divide has taken her, so be it.”
“I don't believe she's in the Divide,” he said. “She's in the Aad. If I can get there, maybe I can help her.”
“Maybe you can. I am not stopping you.”
“No, but I need more than your permission.” The liquor in his belly made him bold. “I need your help.”
“Is that so?” Magister Consi
dine shifted her sharp stare to Chu. “And no wonder, with this one swinging from your robe.”
Chu looked indignant. “He doesn't know our ways, ma'am. Someone has to guide him.”
“You both stink of smoke and araq. In your eyes, perhaps, you are making satisfactory progress.”
“We've been waiting for you,” said Skender, not liking the way the Magister belittled Chu in front of him.
“Close your eyes,” the Magister ordered him.
He blinked, blindsided by the request. “I'm sorry?”
“You heard me.” The Magister crouched over her stick like a predatory insect. “Do as I say, or this conversation is over.”
He closed his eyes.
“Now, tell me how many rings I have on my fingers. You have five seconds before my guards throw you out of the city.”
Skender thought fast. He hadn't consciously noticed any rings, but the image of her hands was impressed on his memory as clearly as if he was seeing it for the first time. There were thick black bands on the two longest fingers and a silver coil on her left thumb.
“Three,” he said. “You have a matching bracelet on your right hand, in silver and black, and a pin at the throat of your robe in the shape of a crab. On the—”
“Enough. You are who you say you are, then.” She clicked her fingers and he opened his eyes. “Now, tell me exactly what you want.”
“A dirigible,” he said, “a heavy lifter so we can travel to and investigate the Aad.”
The Magister nodded. “I thought as much. Perhaps you aren't aware that this city labours under unusual circumstances. A growing stream of man'kin pours down from the east; rumours of unrest come to us from our furthest boundary riders. We must take advantage of the opportunities this presents, yes, but we must also be vigilant for threats. Were these more usual times, I might have had an aircraft available for you to commission. Presently I do not.”
“But it wouldn't take long.” He glanced at Chu for guidance, nervous of how far he could push the Magister. Her face was expressionless. “We could be there and back in no time at all.”
“Or you could be delayed, or shot down, or captured. These are risks I must contemplate for the good of the city. I cannot allow your natural desires—with which I completely sympathise, believe me—to jeopardise those in my care. Find another means to rescue your mother. Perhaps I will be able to assist you then.”
The Blood Debt: Books of the Cataclysm Two Page 6
