The Deep and Shining Dark

by Juliet Kemp

  He needed to get rid of them. That was why he was here. And Urso – and the new cityangel – was the only hope he had left.

  He couldn’t exactly save Kia from herself. He couldn’t rescue Beckett. The only thing that he could still do was to fix his own problem.

  Jonas let his head fall back against the wall. He felt sick.

  The door snicked, and Jonas looked up. He didn’t immediately recognise the man who stood in the doorway, head tipped slightly to one side, eyes narrow. But he had a look of…

  “Cato?”

  “You’ve met Marcia, then,” Cato said, and came in, closing the door behind him. “Which I’m guessing means that you are indeed the Salinas lad who Daril said was with her at that party. Good. I want to talk to you.”

  He leant against the door and continued to look at Jonas with a faint smile. Something inside Jonas leapt in – hope? There was something about Cato’s expression… But Cato was working with Daril and Urso. There was no reason to believe he would be any help at all.

  “What do you want?” Jonas said, when the silence became too much for him.

  “I want to know what Urso has on you,” Cato said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Cato lifted a shoulder. “Urso said or did something to get you here. I don’t believe it’s noble patriotism. It’s personal. What is it?”

  “Why should I tell you?” Jonas folded his arms.

  “Because maybe I have another solution for it that doesn’t involve screwing over Marek and Salina simultaneously.” Cato frowned. “Although I don’t know why he would want you here in the first place. He was awfully coy about the matter.”

  Jonas stared at him. “Why do you care? You’re on their side.”

  “Well,” Cato said, consideringly. “I was, I suppose. They were paying me, after all. But the thing is, it turns out, after all, that I am not all that enthusiastic about an unfettered cityangel with no tie or binding to Marek, and I’m not terribly keen on Daril as overlord either. He’s started annoying the hell out of me.”

  “But… Then what have you been doing?” Jonas definitely did not understand the direction this conversation was taking, but that little flicker of hope was growing. Cato was, after all, the other sorcerer in Marek. Maybe the new cityangel wasn’t the only option after all.

  “What I’ve been paid good money for,” Cato said. “Look, mostly I don’t give a flying fuck who is ‘in charge’. The Council, Daril and his chums, whatever. Those at the top, whoever they are, don’t give two shits about those of us over in the squats. Which is something you should probably bear in mind yourself, kid, while I’m on the subject. So. Daril was paying me. That’s it.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, it turns out that I do care about Marek, and magic, and the cityangel. Foolishly, I assumed the new one would just step into the old one’s shoes. Turns out it’s not that simple.”

  He kicked a heel against the wall. “I hate being wrong. Also, I strongly suspect that Urso has been making trade bets on chaos in Marek, and chaos does not appeal. Not at that scale. I don’t care who is in charge. I do care whether there’s blood on the streets. And I care even more if Urso says that that’s not the intention and is betting against himself.” He smiled beatifically at Jonas. “Now. I’ve just said enough for you to go out of that door and denounce me to Urso and Daril. Or, you could tell me your little secret, and we’ll see what arrangement we can come to.”

  “Why don’t you just pull out?” Jonas said.

  “Well. Urso might try to manage without me, at this point, and he might even do it, especially with your help. Sabotage from within is more certain. Also, if I’m convincing, I might still get paid.”

  “With my… Hang on,” Jonas said. “I’m not a sorcerer!”

  Cato eyed him. “Well. Not yet, you’re not, not quite. It’s in there, though. And – there’s something, already. Something you know about yourself. Want to tell me what?”

  “I’m not a sorcerer!” Jonas said, but he was remembering that moment in Cato’s room, and the way the flickers had been getting stronger.

  “You have power,” Cato said. “You can deny it as much as you like, but that’s just going to make life harder on yourself. Or you could tell me a bit more about what’s going on with you, and maybe I can help. Just an idea.”

  Jonas couldn’t think about the idea that he had any magical power, right now. Cato couldn’t possibly be telling the truth. He couldn’t be.

  “You’re talking about betraying the people you’re working with. Why should I trust you?” he said, instead.

  Cato flinched, very slightly, and tried to hide it. “A good point. I cannot give you better reason than to say: I vow, on the honour of my House. Even if it has disowned me.”

  His face was sombre. Against his best inclinations, Jonas was convinced. And anyway: Urso would probably tell Cato all about it, if Cato just asked. Jonas took a deep breath, and for the second time that day, told someone he barely knew about his flickers.

  Cato heard out Jonas’ halting explanation with a thoughtful frown.

  “Well,” he said. “I can see why Urso wanted you along. It might not be exactly what we call sorcery, but it’s something, right enough. And you say it’s getting stronger? Fascinating.”

  “Urso said the cityangel – the new one – can help,” Jonas said.

  Cato blinked, and his eyes went wide. “The new one. I thought you simply weren’t listening just now, but – you already knew? Then Marcia already knew? Well now. I wouldn’t put it past my beloved sister to show up here after all.” He showed his teeth in something that approximated a smile. “But let’s assume otherwise, for safety’s sake. So. Urso might be correct, it’s always possible, but in my professional opinion, the likelihood of the new cityangel being either willing or able to help you is slight.”

  “I don’t want help. I want rid of them. Could it do that?” Jonas asked.

  Cato looked taken aback. “Get rid… ? Ah yes. Salinas. Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “Well – maybe. If it wanted to. And was patient enough not to get rid of a lot of other stuff too. I’m not sure I’d want to trust the insides of my skull to it, myself.”

  Jonas’ heart sank.

  “The good news,” Cato said brightly, “is that I reckon I can. If you’re really sure you want to. We could talk about it, after the dust settles.”

  “Could you right now?”

  “Not without kit, and a bit of research, no. I’d want to double-check a few things. Also – this isn’t a charity, messenger-boy. We’re doing a deal. You help me screw Daril over and ditch this cityangel. I’ll help you. After.”

  “What happens when you ditch the new cityangel?” Jonas asked. Did Daril know about Beckett?

  Cato scowled. “I have to go looking for the old one in a hurry. If it’s even still around. Who knows what those idiots did to it. One thing at a time, hey?”

  Jonas hesitated. Should he tell Cato about Beckett, or not? He still didn’t wholly trust Cato. But, on balance, he thought he trusted him more than he did Urso. And he was pretty sure that he did believe Cato about the cityangel. Cato might have other plans as well, but – he’d put himself in Jonas’ power, by telling him all this.

  The flicker took him by surprise. It was a tiny one this time, barely half a second, and though it rocked him backwards with its power, it didn’t hurt so much this time.

  Cato, winking at Reb, dropping his hands…

  Cato was watching him intently. “That was one, wasn’t it? What was it? What did you see?”

  Jonas ignored the question. “The cityangel’s with Reb and your sister,” he said.

  The bone-deep relief that showed on Cato’s face didn’t look like something he could have faked. “Oh. Marcia, bless you and your interfering ways. Of course the cityangel’s with her. So if we can shove a stick into Urso and Daril’s wheel, we can sort that out afterwards.”

  “We couldn’t just – let them do whatever it is they’re doing, then
fix it after?” Jonas asked. Surely it would be the safer, not to mention easier, option.

  Cato shook his head. “Firstly, the whole point of this exercise today is to hand over a significant amount of power to the new one. Power which, I might add, it can use entirely unhindered, which is one of the aspects of this whole thing that seriously gives me pause. Secondly, we’ll then be in the throes of a coup already, and that’s more than likely to get messy. Cut the whole thing off, much tidier. So. Are you with me? I’ll remove your flickers, if you want that, once we’ve sorted this little mess out.”

  Jonas swallowed, and made a decision.

  “You have a deal. I’m in.”

  k k

  Cato left again after a somewhat unsatisfying discussion which seemed to Jonas to rely a lot on Cato’s repeated assurance that he, Jonas, would know what to do when the time came, and that further detail was not only unnecessary but impossible.

  He hoped to hell that he’d made the right decision.

  But on the assumption that he had – Cato had talked about the old cityangel. There, Jonas could help – if he could get word to Reb, Marcia, and Beckett. The obvious solution would have been to ask Cato to do it. But Jonas still couldn’t quite bring himself to hand everything over to Cato. What if it was all a setup? And in any case, was Cato all that much better placed to get a message out unseen? Jonas might be locked in, but this room had paper, ink, and a window onto the street. And he was a messenger.

  Hastily, he scrawled a note to Reb, telling her about Urso and the cityangel, about Kia and the embassy; though missing out his deal with Cato. He folded it so it would stay shut, pulled his stick of charcoal out of his pocket, and scrawled his initials across the fold.

  He opened the window, put his head out, and then swore viciously as he looked around. He’d assumed that it was a window out onto the street, but it gave out onto a central courtyard. If he dropped a message here, no one would see it. He pulled back a little and eyed the window thoughtfully. It was small, but he was skinny. He always had been, and he’d hardly been eating any extra while he was in Marek, on messenger earnings. He put his head out of the window again and looked upwards. The stone was pleasingly and reassuringly rough, and it was only a single storey up to the roof. A nice wide outside windowsill, too, an old style, and a helpful one.

  He tucked the message into the front of his shirt, and began wriggling through the window. Hopefully no one would come into the room while he was on his way out. He got his shoulders through – that was the worst done – and turned himself round to face the wall as he got the rest of himself through. The windowsill was wide enough to back his arse onto, and as he gingerly rested his weight on it, it didn’t so much as creak. From there, he could grab the top of the window-frame, lean backwards, and pull his leg through to get his foot onto the windowsill. And once he was standing on the windowsill, getting up to the roof was nearly automatic.

  He made his way over the roof, towards the street, where a parapet stuck out from the roof, and he could lean over it to look into the street. He’d thought he’d just have to drop the message, but almost immediately he saw a messenger, dodging through the crowds.

  “Hey!” he shouted, and the messenger turned to look up.

  Storm and fire. Asa.

  “Jonas?” they asked. “What are you doing up there?”

  “Long story,” he called down. “Family stuff. I need this…”

  They were nodding already as he waved the piece of paper, and he let it fall into their hand.

  “Urgently,” he added.

  They exchanged salutes, and Asa was off again.

  That was a relief. Any messenger would have delivered it, with his mark on it. But it felt like a good omen, to see Asa.

  Well then. He’d warned Reb, told her where to come to put a stop to all of this. That was all he needed, surely? He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him, earlier, just to be out of the window and away. But he was out, now, and he could just – take himself off, out of all of this mess. No need to do what Cato wanted, nor yet what Urso wanted. No need to be involved in any of it.

  And then what, for his flickers? He’d have let down both of the people who might offer him help, both at once. Then again, if he went back, he’d have to choose one of them to let down, and what if he made the wrong decision? Perhaps he should just give up this whole business. Go back aboard ship, keep his secret, tell his mother he’d dealt with it. Just – keep that secret, for the rest of his life.

  He felt cold at the thought of how long he’d have to live that lie.

  And Cato was right. Whatever Urso was planning wasn’t a good idea for Marek or for Salina. He could walk away from that, right enough, but… And then, after, Cato would help him. Cato had promised to help him, and somewhat to his surprise, he trusted Cato rather more than he trusted Urso, whatever he’d heard of the sorcerer’s reputation.

  He gave one last longing look at the roofs around him – escape – then turned and began to climb back up and over the roof, back to the window of that little guest-room.

  SIXTEEN

  The trouble with trying to make a plan was that Reb had no idea what to do next.

  The new cityangel was in place, but it wasn’t keeping the magic part of the deal; and Reb very much doubted that it intended to keep the apolitical part of the deal, either. Certainly Daril thought otherwise. Beckett seemed certain that they could still do something, that it wasn’t too late, but either wouldn’t or couldn’t explain to Reb exactly what that was.

  Beckett was, however, absolutely certain that something was going to happen that used the festival in some way; and the festival was ramping up right now, building up to the festivities in Marek Square in a couple of hours.

  “Marek Square, then?” Marcia said. She scowled. “I suppose the obvious place is the Guildhall, but I honestly cannot imagine how Daril could get into Guildhall on Mid-Year with enough space to do anything useful. The place will be absolutely heaving.”

  “Presumably anything that disrupted the official part of the celebration would also disrupt the focus of the power,” Reb said, chewing at her thumbnail. “Does that rule out the Guildhall?”

  Beckett, pacing up and down the room, waved an impatient hand. “The officials are not important. It is the people.”

  “Well, Marek Square will be full of people, right enough,” Reb said. “And there’s plenty of buildings round there. Plenty of places to hide themselves.”

  “Then we go there,” Beckett said. “And see what we can find.”

  “They’re not going to be stood in the middle of Marek Square invoking the cityangel,” Reb said. “Not unless they intend to make a pretty show of it and put out a hat. We can hardly just break into every building around the square, either.”

  Beckett looked as though they might be considering doing just that. A muscle was jumping in their clenched jaw. Reb wasn’t actually sure what she could do, if Beckett did just decide to storm out and start trying to solve this by main force. Beckett might not have their old powers, but if they were truly angry…

  “I may be able to find them, from closer by,” they said instead, after a moment, and Reb breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

  Which still left the question of what to do when and if they managed to track Daril, Urso, and Cato down. Interrupt whatever they were doing, presumably, but given that Reb’s magic was somewhere between unreliable and non-existent right now, and that in any case it depended on the cityangel they were trying to take down, she had no idea how to do that.

  Standing around here wasn’t getting them anywhere, though.

  “Fine,” she said. “I guess we might as well go and see what we can do.”

  “This isn’t a plan,” Marcia said, frustrated. “This is making it up as we go along.”

  Reb turned round. “If you’ve got any better ideas, by all means share them!”

  Someone knocked on the door. They all looked at one another.

  “It
does not feel like a threat,” Beckett said softly.

  The knocking was louder the second time. “Hello?” someone called.

  Reb sighed and went to open the door.

  The person outside wore a messenger’s armband. They had dark brown skin, and spiky-short dark brown hair, they had bare feet, and they weren’t much older than Jonas.

  “Message for you,” they said, holding out a piece of folded paper, their Mareker accent strong.

  Reb saw a smeared charcoal messenger mark on it, which she couldn’t quite make out, and her own name and address. She frowned. The only messenger who would be contacting her, surely, was…

  “You know a Salinas lad called Jonas?” the messenger asked.

  Reb hesitated for a second, then nodded.

  “He gave me this. From a window up by Marek Square.” They frowned. “Look, is he in trouble?”

  “Marek Square…” Beckett said from inside, slowly. “Jonas is at Marek Square? And he wishes to contact us?”

  The messenger peered over Reb’s shoulder. “Hey! Aren’t you Tam’s friend, from the other day? What’re you doing here?”

  “Jonas brought me here,” Beckett said.

  “So, let’s not discuss this further on the doorstep,” Reb broke in hurriedly. “Let me find…”

  She tucked the message under the elbow of her bad arm, and dug in her pocket for a coin. The messenger waved it away.

  “Uh-uh. I want to know what’s up with Jonas.”

  “If Jonas needs help, we will help him,” Reb said, trying again to give her the coin.

  “There must be something funny going on,” the messenger said. “Or he’d have delivered it himself. And he didn’t look happy, not at all. I want to know what’s wrong.”

  Their voice was rising. A couple of people turned to look as they passed, and Reb winced. The messenger spotted it, and raised their voice a bit more, their jaw set firmly. “I want to know what’s happened to Jonas.”