The Rat and the Serpent

by Stephen Palmer

  I felt horror welling up inside me. “She’s no whore!” I cried, pushing Karanlik away. “Run,” I urged her, “run away, this is a thing too great for you.”

  “And you,” Karanlik gasped, clinging tighter to me.

  I faced the wraith. “I’ll never throw the ring away,” I said.

  “Take it out! Show it to me.”

  Despite myself, I located and displayed the trinket, as if compelled by a spectral force.

  “Now throw it down the nearest drain.”

  I found myself walking towards a gutter.

  “Stop!” came a new voice.

  I looked down the passage to see a tall silhouette against distant lamps. It was Zveratu. Swiftly, the old man walked toward me, raising both his arms as if to ward off the wraith. I turned, to see the wraith move, so that we two were caught between man and ghost.

  Zveratu spoke to me in firm tones. “Do not obey the wraith. Stand firm. You will deny the wishes of the wraith, keep the token and continue with the citidenizen test.”

  Black mist rose from the wraith as though indicating its fury. “Discard the ring token,” it demanded. “You will not be taking the citidenizen test.”

  I stood between them not knowing what to do.

  “Discard!”

  “Keep!”

  “Obey me!”

  That made Zveratu laugh. “We made a pact,” he told me, “deep under the streets of the Mavrosopolis. Keep your nerve, Ügliy.”

  I remembered that pact. Though it was all I could do to drag the words from my mouth, I clutched Karanlik and told the wraith, “I did make a pact before the semblance of my totem, and it can’t be broken.” I took a deep breath to add, “I don’t believe you can kill me. You can only haunt me.”

  This declaration emboldened Zveratu. Again he raised his arms, to tell the wraith, “I know you. Begone. You may not haunt this nogoth again.”

  The wraith gave a wail before dematerialising. The passage was emptied of terror. I relaxed.

  Zveratu strolled past me, twirling his parasol. “Do not think you cannot be haunted if you leave nogoth status behind,” he said, his voice returning to its usual croaking tone. “Now continue with the test, using all your skill and courage. Farewell.”

  I watched the old man walk down the passage, until his form was lost in the shadows at the junction with Divan Yolu Street.

  Karanlik sighed. “You have an ally, then.”

  “I know nothing about him, other than that he is a citidenizen who helps nogoths achieve their potential. He must be a good man.” I glanced at Karanlik, worried that she would take what I said next amiss. “There’s something that I must do—alone. Go back to the Tower of the Dessicators. I promise I’ll see you there later.”

  Karanlik was upset that we would have to part, but she agreed to my request. “Walk with care,” she said, before kissing me.

  I walked east towards the Gulhane Gardens, crossing the street divide then following the lane leading towards Raknia’s tower. There, I limped up the steps, to stand before her door, wait, then knock once.

  She must have known who her visitor was, for she wore a long dress of translucent muslin, a black belt at her waist, a tiny dove feather falling from each ear-lobe. Her hair was slicked back; her feet unshod. She held a goblet of raki in one hand.

  The coy smile was upon her face. “You’re always welcome,” she said, standing aside so that I could hobble in. She shut the door, and as before bolted it.

  I turned. I was not unhappy to be here, but things had changed since the test began. I watched as she drifted across to her table of liquor, languid as fog over the Phosphorus, to pour me a full goblet and place it in my hand.

  She caressed my cheek with one hand, sipping raki as she did. “Did you want me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “The wraith... that we thought we’d conquered. It haunted me again, but we got rid of it.”

  “We?”

  “Me and Karanlik... me and Zveratu. It was Zveratu who made the difference.”

  The smile vanished. “You and Karanlik,” she said.

  I shrugged. “She’s my assistant for the duration of the test.”

  Raknia seemed to have powers beyond my understanding. “Have you covered Karanlik?” she asked me.

  The implication of animals mating made me shudder. Suddenly bold, I replied, “I may have done—”

  “But you were going to come back to me.”

  I pointed at her, then at myself. “We didn’t leave it quite like that...”

  “Oh, but we did.”

  She stepped forward, taking my glass in her hand and tipping it so that I had to drink if I was not to spit it all over myself or over her. Then she made me take hers, and she repeated the trick. I felt heat in my stomach. Already my limbs felt loose, my head light.

  “Lie on the couch,” she said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I did as I was bid. I was unsure of how to proceed. I had only wanted to tell her about the wraith, more for her sake than for any other reason. Now I felt trapped. I let my head fall back upon a velvet cushion. I looked up to see the cobwebs on the ceiling.

  Raknia returned in different garments: a black leather bodice secured by straps and steel buckles, black silk bangles set with pearls, knee-boots that shone like oiled stone. She creaked as she approached.

  I felt both intrigue and apprehension. I rolled off the couch, stood up with the aid of my crutch and said, “What are you going to do?”

  “What are we going to do,” she replied.

  “I don’t know,” I muttered.

  But I wanted her, and she knew.

  Again I asked her, “What are you going to do?”

  She knelt before me and pulled aside my rags, exposing me. “I’m going to eat you,” she replied.

  I looked down at her. I was shivering, but not cold.

  She looked up at me, an expression of innocence on her face. I could only look at her breasts as they quivered beneath the bodice. “Do you want to be eaten?” she asked.

  I nodded. I took a deep breath. “If this is what it means to be a citidenizen, I’ll have it.” I wanted to laugh, but I suppressed the urge.

  She leered at me, as if I had finally succumbed to her, and I noticed how sharp her teeth were, and how bright. “But you’ll never be a citidenizen if you go with me,” she said. “Let me show you where you’re going.”

  I laughed; the raki had overpowered my mind. “Ah, but I am going to be a citidenizen,” I told her. “I’ve passed the first quarter.”

  Her face was before mine, one moment to the next, like teleportation. “You’ve passed?” she said.

  I wobbled on my crutch. “Yes.”

  She stared at me. “Prove it,” she demanded.

  I fumbled for the ring quarter, which she grabbed when she saw it. “See?” I said.

  She said nothing. She seemed crushed.

  “How did you know about that?” I asked.

  Next thing I knew I was lying beside her on the couch. “If you can pass the test,” she said, “you can do anything.”

  “It was Mazrebiler who passed me,” I replied.

  She thought for a few minutes, then said, “You a citidenizen... I suppose it could happen.”

  “It will happen,” I corrected.

  “Perhaps there have been changes,” she murmured to herself.

  I shook myself from reverie, like a dog emerging from deep water, and said, “I came here to tell you about the haunting.” I got up, taking my crutch and resting against it, whilst glancing at the bolted door.

  “You’re leaving me?” she asked.

  “Just for tonight.”

  “Not forever.”

  I had to grin. She would know it meant ‘yes’ and I would not have to say the word. “I want you to know that Zveratu banished the wraith until I become a citidenizen,” I told her. “We’re safe for the moment.”

  “Safe,” she repeated. She made the concept sound like heave
n.

  I realised then that I had been elevated from curiosity to friend in her estimation, or at least to something approaching a friend. Yes, she was weird, flighty, even perilous, and trust was not a feeling I knew in her presence; just a kind of bleak fascination. She was no ordinary nogoth.

  With that I left her, returning to Divan Yolu Street then making for my place in Blackguards’ Passage.

  On the following night I was invited to a tavern near the Forum of Arcadius, where other pre-citidenizens were drinking. Excited, I realised that the social niceties of citidenizen life were already showing through, that in truth I had moved to a status between nogoth and citidenizen. For nogoths knew no concept of invitation: all was territory and clashing. With Karanlik at my side and a glum-faced Raknia just behind me, I followed Gedik Pasa Street and the broad Urkeli Street to the Forum, locating the tavern just behind it. It was called the North Star.

  Apprehension took hold of me when I stood at the front door and listened to the noise of tankards and loud voices inside. Many nogoths visited taverns when hunting for food—it was the first place to try in some quarters—and all of them were thrown out like so many bags of rubbish. I knew that I still looked like a nogoth, yet I had been invited; and I knew many others like me must have been invited too. So I gathered my courage, and entered.

  The tavern was a whirl of faces and talk, but nobody even glanced at me. I understood that here everyone was assumed to have a place, and as if to prove my theory I saw the dark forms of cimmerians lurking in the shadows. This came as a revelation to me, a hint of ease and pleasantries to come. I relaxed.

  “Hey, you!”

  There was a man standing before me. He was drunk.

  I touched my chest and replied, “Me?”

  The man, burly and soot-begrimed, lurched towards me, causing me to take a few paces back. I bumped into somebody. I turned to apologise.

  “I said, hey, you,” the man repeated. “Look at me!”

  Now I noticed the steel bar in his hand. I glanced at the faces surrounding me. Then there was a blur of motion and agony in my face, a foul taste in my mouth, bright lights before my eyes. I fell to the floor, hitting my head on the tiles. The drunkard was kicking me; I rolled over, trying to protect my belly. There were shouts and screams. Some of the locals pulled the drunkard off.

  “Get the club!”

  “You got ’im?”

  “Oy—bit of rope, an’ quick!”

  I was too dazed to understand what had happened. I thought I was going to be sick. Then I felt hands under my armpits, voices at my ear, and I was hauled to my feet. There was somebody at my right side, offering me my crutch. I turned to see the face of a young man. “You all right?” His concern sounded genuine.

  Karanlik was at my left side. “Ügliy, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  I looked down at my rags. “I don’t think so,” I managed to say.

  The young man said, “But he must have!”

  From behind the bar a woman added, “Totally unprovoked!”

  What followed amazed me. The response of the tavern drinkers was extraordinary. Led by Karanlik and with Raknia in tow, they clustered around me, helping me to a corner, where I was sat in a chair and plied with goblets of watered-down raki, and even a mug of black coffee. Confused, I stared at them.

  “Find him a bandage,” somebody said.

  “Nah, it’s only bruised.”

  “Look at the man’s face. He’s out of it.”

  “Pour some o’ that raki down ’im throat. Heh heh!”

  The young man and the bar woman were present too. I looked at the array of drinks before me.

  Karanlik remained concerned. “You’re dazed,” she said.

  The young man said, “There are herbs...”

  I shook my head—slowly. “I’m all right,” I said.

  “You sure?” they asked me.

  I was beginning to get my memory back. The bar woman was right, it was an unprovoked attack, but there was nothing I could do about it. As a nogoth I was used to violence—it was part of life. And yet the attack seemed wrong in a way I could not quantify; it was wrong that a drunkard in this tavern of hopefuls should be allowed to beat an innocent for no reason. There was even a hint of annoyance in my thoughts, though I knew I could not allow it to dominate my actions. And yet—I was not a nogoth. I was a pre-citidenizen, and it could not be right that a drunkard be allowed to strike me. For the first time in my life annoyance was justified. It could even lead to consequences.

  I studied the people surrounding me. Raknia was standing apart, her arms folded, watching me with a look of expectation on her face. I let my head tip forward so that I was staring into my lap.

  “More raki,” somebody called.

  “More coffee,” another added.

  I knew injustice. But more than that, I knew I should have access to justice. A nogoth would shrug off the attack as part of street life, but I was something more, and something more had to be done.

  “This isn’t right,” I said. Raknia leaned forward, eager to hear my words over the tavern hubbub.

  “Not right?” Karanlik queried.

  “It can’t be right that a man can swing out at me because he’s drunk. I’m not just some baggage off the street.”

  “I’ll be a witness,” said the young man. He reached out to pat my shoulder, as if in solidarity. “I’m Zularayad,” he added.

  “I saw everything too,” said the bar woman as she returned to her post.

  I felt overwhelmed by this support. Karanlik said, “I saw exactly what happened.”

  “That’s good,” I said, “but witnesses aren’t enough.” I hesitated. “Yet they should be. I’m innocent, aren’t I?”

  Grinning, Raknia pushed her way forward, elbowing Karanlik out of the way so that she could sit beside me. She put her arm around my shoulder and said, “I think I see where this is going.” She glanced at Zularayad, adding, “I can guess who you are.”

  He stood up. “Me?”

  I asked Raknia, “What do you mean by that?”

  “Don’t you see?”

  For a moment I saw nothing, before the strangeness of her words made me think of the path I was on. The test! Could this be part of the test?

  “You do see,” Raknia said. She put a hand on my cheek and moved my head around so that we were face-to-face. Then she kissed me, lingering, slow. “I’ll see you soon,” she said. She gestured to the tavern door, adding, “Probably in the Forum of Arcadius.”

  She was gone.

  Karanlik took her seat at my side. “She’s not good for you,” she said.

  I looked at her, but made no comment.

  I thought I understood. The attack had been a set-up. A nogoth would ignore the violence, or, if he was important in some local group, or of a brutish disposition, he would get his revenge. But for citidenizens some other form of justice was required, a form more appropriate, less violent, less vengeful. I had always loathed the nogoth emphasis on revenge, and I realised there was a more civilised way. I had grasped it here at the tavern.

  Had I passed already?

  I looked at the people around me. My attacker had been detained, his hands tied together. The witnesses remained at my side.

  “I shall have justice,” I said.

  “Excuse me, but are you taking the test?” Zularayad asked me.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you must be. But you’ve not passed yet. You’ll have to confront your attacker in the Forum of Arcadius.”

  “Why?”

  “The smooth running of the Mavrosopolis. Citidenizens can’t be allowed to attack one another without taking the consequences. Luckily for you it happened in a crowded tavern.” He stood up, brushed down his clothes, then added, “Imagine how difficult it would be if you were attacked in a dark alley.”

  I nodded.

  “Go to the Forum hall to state your case,” Zularayad concluded. “They’ll take it from there.”

>   Then he too was gone.

  I took advantage of the drink and food at my side, before Karanlik and I departed the tavern and followed the short alley that led from Urkeli Street to the Forum of Arcadius, where I saw the great double doors that marked the hall entrance. I stepped through, to find myself in a chamber arrayed with pale and dusty tapestries, where stood various booths, each occupied by a figure.

  I approached the nearest booth. The old man inside looked up, returned his gaze to his scrolls, then, when I did not move, looked up again to mutter, “Mmm?”

  “I’d like to...” But I did not know how to phrase it.

  “We’ve got a grievance,” Karanlik said.

  “I’m taking the citidenizen test,” I added.

  The man glanced down at my crutch. “Really?”

  “Yes, really, and this is my cimmerian helper.” When there came no response I added, “You must believe me.”

  The man said nothing, but he took a fresh scroll, dipped his quill in a pot of ink and said, “Name?”

  “Ügliy.”

  “Grievance?”

  “I was attacked in the North Star tavern. There were witnesses and everything. My attacker is still at the tavern, his hands tied together.”

  “We will deal with the offender. Return here the night after tomorrow. Ensure that all witnesses and other supporters know.”

  “Is that a task for us?” Karanlik asked.

  The old man favoured her with a grimace. “Our responsibility is to judge,” he replied.

  We departed without further discussion. We had work to do.

  So came the night of my case. My apprehension turned to fear. Arm in arm with Karanlik I made my way to the Forum of Arcadius, returning to the booth that I had approached before, where I was given an identification token and told where to go.

  It was a large room filled with benches, tables and high seats, arranged at random, or so it seemed to me. An usher told me where to sit. Already present were Raknia, Zularayad and the bartender, along with many other people, citidenizens all in their ashen make-up, who looked bored as they whispered to one another behind raised hands. I noticed that one of the men seated in a high chair wore a black handkerchief over his head. The attacker was not present.

  The usher spoke to the man wearing the handkerchief. “Noble arcadian—all but one are now present.”