Once we reached the buried gates of the city's respective entrance, picking our way cautiously across past the giant, decayed threshold, we stopped there, eyeing the still piles of rubble. Then Tanen said:
“You have a newsboy?”
“An odd concept, I suppose.”
Our surveillance spread to the farther nooks and crannies, assessing the layout of it all. In the back of my mind reared the image of a loose wardog, escaped from its nocturnal shackles. The image slunk through the sunniest crannies of my mind, a shimmering taunt. It could be here, anywhere.
I heard nothing over the misshapen towers, mounds and hillocks. Nothing echoed in the sunken chasms and ravines.
“Hm. Odd...yes. But a decidedly resourceful way to survive in these times,” Tanen admitted after that moment of thought.
I peeled my eyes off the rubble and turned them on him. “This is where we part ways,” I said.
“Where are you going?” he wondered as he took it all in. To the naked eye, it was nothing but an unmanageable disarray.
“The barber's alley.”
“You have a barber too?”
“Just...the sign, really. It's stayed mostly stationary, even though the shop disappeared.” We shouldn't have been talking.
He accepted this readily enough, but for a moment I was cast back into the past, to the essentially imaginary realm of bustling streets and businesses running as usual. There would have been teeming market squares, preening parlors, manor tea parties and luncheons – men tipping their hats in the streets and women gossiping and strutting about like peacocks in the latest fashions. I could scarcely muster the images. They had faded like old paintings from generations past. That was a lost world.
Livelihood was a lost art.
“Well...I hope you find it well,” Tanen offered in way of parting.
I struggled a moment with what to say. I did not like him, but there was no need to say something condemning as I sent him off into the cruel wilderness never to be seen again. And that, when there was a wardog abroad.
Although, I thought to remind myself, wardogs were always abroad. For us, a beast that scavenged during the day was something new to be reckoned with, but for someone like Tanen who would have no shelter around the clock, he would be dealing with the creatures of the night as well. A wardog in the day was nothing overly relevant. After all, it was just one. By night, he would be at the mercy of the masses.
“Do you have light?” I asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“For the wardogs.”
“I am not a wizard, as you pointed out. I cannot just charm light from my fingertips.”
“I suggest you comb the rubble for a source, then – a candle, a lantern; something. There is a wax shop that was overturned down Ash Lane.” I pointed. “You can see the street sign pitched on its side there. Take the lane as it crumbles until you come to the hill of mirrors. The shop will be on the left – it's buried, but there is a makeshift opening half protruding from the rubble. You can get down inside from there. The room is on its side, essentially, but sometimes I find candles there. If things haven't changed since then.”
He took this in, only a hint of bemusement on his face for the unorthodox manner of the instructions. It wasn't every day someone received directions such as these.
“Good luck,” I said.
Hesitating only a moment, he nodded, and then I was off. Only after I'd trudged a few good paces in the opposite direction did I steal a glance over my shoulder, where he was just then turning with resignation to commence on his journey down the twisted path I had assigned.
I turned back to my own path and squared my shoulders toward my goal, skirting a sharp, crippled hazard and hoisting myself onto the giant, fissured slab that created a more or less level road in my bearing. I made a game out of walking along the crack that snaked all down its length, fancying that I was a damsel of the circus and it was satin slippers against a high wire rather than boots against old stone.
The image crumbled quickly, though, trashy stains sullying the satin of my slippers and the tight rope fraying into a jagged void beneath me.
Fantasies were fleeting here. They all died quick deaths.
The slab sloped up gradually until I was traversing another level of the city, and then it broke off and fell away and I got down to pick my way over the debris. Ahead of me, two black buildings stood with the front of their bases erupting in an upheaval, tilted back as if two horses rearing up on their hind legs. It was an impending angle, as if any moment they were to come crashing down – but whether or not it would be toward me as horses or the way they were leaning was debatable.
I sifted my way carefully between their giant, rearing bases, eyeing the jagged, broken windows that ran up their lengths. Out from a few, old, tattered curtains spilled over the sills and down the sides. They were burnt and stained, floral patterns decayed like rotting gardens on the breeze.
Past these buildings, the broken land sloped down into a nestled village of sorts, where a cluster of smaller, makeshift buildings made up a more or less orderly arrangement. It was only once you realized some of them were on their roofs and some of them lay on their sides that it became clear it was a fortuitous landing ground for the common disarray.
I made my way down into this topsy-turvy village, walking carefully along the main, buried road until I found the side lane that led to the barber's shop, or where it used to be. Now there was only the barber's sign strung across the maw of an alley, crude and lopsided, like an old board meant to nail a door shut. It was eerie seeing this remnant of civilization cast so, ripped from glory but tacked up by chance as if it...meant something.
I stepped under the sign, where it bobbed slightly overhead in a faint breeze. The alley made a sharp turn up ahead, and I hugged the wall to take it, cautious, but around the bend lay only what I had come there looking for.
Johnny's lanky silhouette was cast at the end of this new length, waiting for me. With more confidence, I treaded toward him, business on my mind.
I was also glad to see him well after watching him disappear into the ill-tasting gloom following my warning of the day-savvy wardog.
“Johnny,” I greeted as I came to his side.
He stood with his shoulders raised and hunched against his turned-up collar, hands in his pockets. But he had a way of making the cold look casual. He always had.
Then I realized it wasn't very cold, especially nestled here in the alley.
He nodded. “Vant.”
“The usual renewal,” I said as I reached into my pack and withdrew his sack of goods.
He slipped it discreetly into his own pack, until a cough sent his hand quickly to his mouth and the rest of the sack spilled to the bottom of the larger one.
A twinge of concern arched through me.
“It'll be by,” he assured me by way of sealing the deal, but I felt odd about simply turning and leaving him just like that, signs of instability ignored in my wake.
“Are you ill?” I asked, taking in his form again.
“It's nothing,” he dismissed, but I could see the dark circles under his secretive eyes now. And, even though he didn't move, he seemed to shrink deeper into his coat. Perhaps he only looked smaller.
“Pollution runs wild out there,” I warned, as if he didn't know that.
“It's just the elements,” he insisted.
I gave a whisper of a shrug, not buying. “The elements are cruel.”
He sniffed. “The paper doesn't stop for the elements, Monvay.” Then quieter, but more firmly; “The paper doesn't stop.”
I hesitated a moment, but nodded in understanding. He was like a knight delivering a message for his king, he was. A devoted messenger. And the paper was like the wheel of our world. He had taken it upon himself to turn it, and turn it he would. He would not let the people down. He was the voice that they clung to.
A little resignedly, I reached into my pack and withdrew the papers I had bro
ught to return. I handed them to him for re-use, letting respect glint in my eyes.
“I'll be seeing you, then,” he said.
“Take care of that,” I bade regarding his condition, and at his guarded nod I turned to leave. Lingering wouldn't do either of us any good. Johnny was made of stubborn stuff just like the rest of us were. I could only trust he knew how to take care of himself out there.
Out here.
I paused, and looked back over my shoulder. He raised a quizzical brow.
“Have you seen it?” I asked. “The wardog?”
“Not a sniff,” he replied.
I breathed in relief, but it only tasted sour as it settled in my gut. For there was something to be said about the discomfort of not knowing such a status, rather than the dread of confirmation.
*
After the task of threading my way back out of the great maze I had immersed myself in, I found a surprise waiting for me at the gates of the city.
Tanen.
What did he want?
There was something in his hands, I saw as I came closer. It looked a bit like a corset, but gray – or silver? What on earth was he doing clutching a corset in his fool hands?
Wearily, I treaded up. I didn't speak my questioning thoughts, but rather let my idle stance press him for an explanation.
“I found the candles. Thank you,” he said.
I nodded.
“And this, for you.” He thrust the garment contraption at me.
“What is it?” I asked warily, unable to tell even now that it was before me.
“An...undergarment,” he identified with a bit of his own bemusement, twirling it delicately as if admitting its nature made him unsure of how to handle it. “Reinforced for protection.” And with that, purpose returned to his face, and his grasp on the entity was sure again.
And then I could see it – the makeshift chainmail wired over the fabric that looked like it might have come from one of the curtain-oriented fireplace screens I had seen in my time, and the extra boning, an array of metal pieces, that lined the outside.
“Armor?” I asked in disbelief – skepticism? – as I identified it.
“So you won't be caught ill-prepared again.”
I considered it, dangling from his patient hand. “You just...found this?”
“Hardly,” he said with a frown. “I made it.”
My brows rose. “In the time it took me to run an errand, you made this?”
“You don't really think I could have just found something like this, do you?”
I opened my mouth, but it fell shut again. The lad had a point. I thought back, retracing my steps through the city, as if trying to disprove that he could possibly have had the time. It did take a chunk of time to navigate the city's layout, though, I admitted. It wasn't as if I just trotted down to the barber's shop and trotted right back. Negotiations with Johnny had been brief, but there was certainly an element of journey about the trip there and back.
Was I to just...take it, then? Suddenly, I felt awkward. Uncertainly, I reached for it, if only to inspect it more closely.
It clinked gently into my hands, and I turned it over, assessing his handiwork.
“Corset, fire screen, and various metals,” he explained. “A bit make-shift, but functional.”
So I was right about the fire screen. How had he cut it? Not feeling partial to admitting his expertise, I resisted asking.
“I don't know why you went to the trouble,” I said instead. I did not tell him I was impressed. “Don't you have your own survival to think about?”
“This is how I survive. I use my resources on the spot. I thought if I showed you, you might realize you could use me.”
This was a ruse to get reinstated in my expired good graces? I should have known. Resistance bubbled up inside me. An instant, vehement 'no' sprang to my lips, surprising even me with its finality. With an effort, I swallowed it. There was no sense in being ruled by what I felt. I had to be smarter than that. I knew I had to be smarter than that.
And the weight of craftsmanship in my hands was an undeniable testimony to his point. My thumbs drifted over it in tentative thought, but I didn't try to keep the disinclination from my eyes as they flicked back to him.
“You think you can just charm your way into the ring of security that we've spent so long establishing? We slave to proof those walls against breaches. We keep everything out, Cathwade. That's how we survive. A breach would unravel the foundations that we cling to.”
“And you've done well,” he approved. “But you could do better. No one is ever going to rise above this age if we don't fight back. We have to harness it. You're surviving, but things aren't getting better. You're still a victim. We are all still victims. What if things get worse? You'll be overrun. No one is ready for that.”
His point was humbling, but not in a way that convinced me. My eyes downcast in grave thought, I responded, “There's a reason no one is ready for that. Much worse, and the prospect itself will destroy a man.”
“It doesn't have to,” Tanen denied. “We can claim an advantage. We have to adapt, not just cope.” He nodded at the garment in my hands. “Put it on, and you'll feel it. That there are powerful resources you haven't tapped yet. That you can become something, instead of clinging to what you are. Instead of clinging to the fragile achievement of humanity. You are doing nothing but clinging to a level of existence that is completely vulnerable.”
I considered him more fairly – unconvinced, still, but I had lost the scoff.
“You've done well adapting to the primitive lifestyle you have been thrust into,” Tanen said. “But in this” – he indicated the craft once more – “is born a whole new way to live off the land.”
He was right, wasn't he? Never had there been so much potential to 'live off the land'. We used it for survival, surely – it wasn't that we ignored the heaps of resources piled up there for our convenience – but we had never taken advantage of the potential to craft anything imaginable. The Serbaens knew how to use their hands in conjunction with the earth, and to a miracle-working degree – but they weren't inventors, none of them. They had an earthly harmony about them, not an innovative brilliance, and I had always been too occupied doing what I could to ensure we survived on what the rubble had to offer. I did not know if I had the mind for what Tanen was suggesting, but I certainly had never had the time.
He was gaining appeal as the missing piece of a dire puzzle.
But I didn't want to admit that.
I struggled for a moment, arguing with myself. There were a great many demons to be tackled in my opinion of him. If I admitted he was right, I would be inviting him back into the place I had been protecting by shunning him. He would hurt the people that I loved. He could not live in harmony with them. He would be a thorn to the peace, maybe worse.
But I recalled Letta's patience with him, and a dangerous thought occurred to me; what if we could change him? Suddenly I wanted him to see – see that they were no different, that they were as beautiful as him – and he was quite beautiful – and he as wretched as they. That they felt and loved and fought and...died. That they faced tragedy, and it hurt just as much as whatever he had been through. And one person's pain was as good as another. Exactly the same. No difference. No color. Just its raw, transcendent qualities that everyone could relate to.
He would taste my authority if he stayed. He would learn his place among them. I could make the rules. I could break him.
With that candleflame of my own ruse lit, I came to a decision. “What else can you make?” I asked, and a twinge of a smile lit his face – as if in triumph, but he didn't know what he was in for.
E l e v e n –
Spidery Demons
I didn't feel like myself as I stood before Manor Dorn with Tanen at my side. I'd brought him back.
Curse me.
“Are we to go in?” he prompted after stewing silently about beside me, when giving me a moment to process doorway prot
ocol didn't do the trick.
There was nothing else I could do to prolong this stalling act. I had held his instatement at bay as long as I could over the course of our journey back, but now there was nothing left standing between us and that frightful position I had laid out for him. My betrayal stood at the precipice of being put into motion. All I need do was kick it off the cliff.
I wished I could kick it off the cliff altogether.
But it was time to admit to myself what I had done.
Perhaps I shouldn't have been so quick to lay out the rules and conditions of his stay as we made our way back from the city, so I would have that to do now, before admitting him. But I had been unable to keep from drilling them into him as we commenced together, lest he get the idea that I was entirely too impressionable, too easy. I was not some gullible mot he could take for a ride. He would not be taking advantage of my hospitality, certainly. I had assigned a grueling number of tasks to his responsibility, to make sure he understood he would bloody well be earning his keep. To his credit, he had accepted them without any protest.
And now we were here, with nothing more I could hold against him. I had half hoped he would put up some spoiled fuss regarding everything I charged him with taking over, so I could toss him back out on a failure to qualify for a position in our house. But he hadn't given me anything else to latch onto.
Sucking in a steadying breath, I reached for the door and cast it open.
The hinges creaked inward, baring the homey shadows of the interior. I could scarcely bring myself to step over my own threshold, and face those who would pay the price of my actions, even though I knew they would be nothing but welcoming.
Curse them too. Tanen did not deserve their indulgence.
But the weight of the corset was symbolic under my arm, pressing into me with the promise of advantage. He would equip us with what he promised, I swore. He would make this worth it. And if he didn't, I would revert right back to the primitive savage I knew how to become in the face of desperation, and he would taste the wrath of the Albino way he thought he knew how to channel. He may have charmed me with the armor I carried under my arm, but by no means had he harnessed me with it.
A Mischief in the Woodwork Page 8
