by Simon Kewin
It was the man's chance to escape. He didn't need to be encouraged. He turned and sprinted through an arched gateway and out of the courtyard.
After he'd run a few dozen paces, the undain lord lifted a silver pipe to his lips and blew. A metallic wailing noise blared. Cait understood, then, what this was. A hunt. A man hunt.
Beyond the white walls she could see the prey fleeing through the palace's grounds, leaping low hedges, racing toward a distant copse of trees. Was he an undain, altered to run fast like those that had pulled the cart? Was that how this sport worked?
She still had the seeing-stone about her neck. She pulled it to her eye. The spark from the darting figure was just visible; this was a living man, not an undain.
She wondered where he'd come from. Her own world? Did Genera supply victims for the undain lords and ladies to hunt? She wondered who the man was, what he'd been. Someone like Tom outside the library, perhaps. Someone homeless and friendless who wouldn't be missed.
Revolted, she pushed open the doors that led onto the balcony and stepped into the sunlight. She wouldn't stand by and watch while they hunted this man. She knew all-too well what it was like to be pursued. And this was no sport. Between those magnificent, magical horses and the pack of snarling dogs, what chance did the man have?
She stood dazzled for a moment. The cold magic coiled within her. But it was faint still, barely a whisper. It wouldn't be enough. What exactly was she going to do? Call down politely? Ask them to stop? The thought was ridiculous.
She grasped the handrail and stood there, impotent, shaking with fury. She had to think of herself. Giving herself away wasn't going to help anyone. And perhaps, somehow, the man would survive, evade the dogs and those incredible horses. Although she knew, also, it wasn't true and that she was only trying to make herself feel better.
As all this passed through her mind, the sullen boy looked up at her. Nox and the undain lord were distracted, watching the running man, readying themselves for the chase. But the boy wasn't interested in that. And now he'd seen her in the bright sun, gazing down upon them.
There were bruises on his face, and one of his eyes was black. Had he been injured in the cart crash? She didn't recall his face being hurt. She thought he'd call out, tell the others she was awake. Instead he stared at Cait, something like a smile playing across his damaged face. She still held the stone in her hand, and she put it to her eye. The boy blazed with red light. He was as alive as she was.
The undain lord blew another blast on his pipe and spurred his eight-legged mount into motion. Nox followed, apparently as comfortable on a horse as he was on a motorbike. The boy, however, stayed where he was, watching Cait. His hair shone gold in the sunlight.
The undain lord called over his shoulder to the boy, some harsh syllables Cait couldn't understand. The boy delayed a few moments more, then nodded his head at Cait. He turned and plodded after the other two, making no effort to catch up.
Ahead of him, Nox and the undain lord spurred their steeds into a gallop. They clattered through the gateway and into the palace's grounds in pursuit of the fleeing man, now a distant dot in the fields.
Cait retreated into the shadows of her room. She'd been foolish to reveal herself. She couldn't make any more mistakes. Ran must be dead and Nox had shown where his true allegiances lay. Now it was all up to her. She didn't have much hope. But she damn well wasn't going to give in. And perhaps she could flee while Nox and the undain were off hunting.
She wished she could turn herself into a crow as her mother had done. Become a bird and fly away. She had no idea how to attempt such a thing. Perhaps she could climb down to the courtyard and escape that way? There had to be plenty of handholds in all that ornate cake-icing carved bone.
No. She was too weak for anything like that. Dizziness whirled inside her. She'd succeed only in falling and breaking her neck.
In the end she tried the other door and found, to her surprise, it wasn't locked. She expected there to be guards outside, armed undain of some description. But there was nothing. A long corridor stretched in both directions, the polished white walls decorated every few yards with tapestries. The ceiling was delicately carved into organic swirls. There was no one in sight.
She picked up her phone and a few other essentials and set off, keeping to one side of the corridor, ears straining for a sound of someone approaching. Apart from the croaking of birds from somewhere she could hear nothing.
She reached the top of a sweep of curving stairs. Two figures knelt part-way up, polishing the steps. The seeing-stone told her what she'd suspected. Undain. They hadn't noticed her. As with those in the courtyard, these had lacy white veils covering their faces, obscuring their features.
Would they react if they saw her? She thought about retracing her steps. But there might not be any other way down. This might be her only chance.
She peered over the banister. The floor was a long way down. For a moment the dizziness lurched through her. She gripped the handrail. She had to do this.
She descended, warily watching the two undain on the stairs. They didn't look up. As she approached they moved aside to let her pass. Then, when she'd gone past, they carried on again, polishing and scrubbing silently.
Several times as she descended the nausea overcame her and she had to grab the banister to stop herself toppling forward. Once she had to sit on the stairs with her head in her hands and wait for the world to stop spinning. She passed more slaves toiling away, men and women and children, but none bothered her. None even dared look at her. Once or twice she tried the seeing-stone, but there was no spark there, no life.
Finally she made it to the foot of the stairs. The floor was another mosaic of bone fragments, white and cream and sepia, this time forming a picture. Some battle scene of dragons whirling in the sky, breathing white fire upon a cowering army. Distantly, she could hear kitchen sounds, the clank and clang of pots and pans. The smell of cooking meat was in the air, making her stomach heave again.
Across the floor stood a high set of double-doors, gold metal with white inlay. She stepped across the ancient battle, wary of being visible down side-corridors, sure some alarm would sound. From gold frames about the walls, painted figures stared down at her with disapproving frowns.
Again, she expected the doors to be locked, but the large brass handle turned as she pulled and the doors swung open. No one cried out. No footsteps came running.
It didn't make sense. Were they really going to let her walk away? Or was there some magical barrier to keep her inside? Some sorcery she didn't understand?
Only one way to find out. She stepped over the threshold.
The light was blinding, reflecting off the relentless white walls and terraces. Squinting, she set off across a paved level to another flight of stairs. Beyond, the manicured gardens stretched toward green fields and distant woods. Perhaps she'd be able to get far enough away before they discovered she'd escaped.
She weaved between delicate fountains and bone statues set among formal flower-beds. Many more of the undain tended to the plants. Again, none of them paid her any attention.
The gardens filled the air with their sickly scents. Huge flowers with rubbery, fleshy petals leaned over her as she stumbled by. Ahead, a gate set in a square hedgerow led into the fields. She was nearly free.
Then she tripped over a low line of stones edging one of the beds. She tried to right herself, but her legs had turned to rubber. She fell. A sharp pain thudded through her head and then the world went dark again.
She came round to the sound of horse's hooves clattering nearby. Her head throbbed. She must have struck something. She put her hand to her scalp, feeling carefully. Her fingers came away wet, the pain sharp where she touched the wound.
She peered into the blinding sky. A tall figure sat astride a horse, an indistinct shape against the light. She tried to rise but couldn't.
The figure leaned forward and his face became visible. That ancient, beautiful face,
that long silver hair. His eyes shone like polished steel as he studied her.
“Hello, Cait,” said the undain lord on his eight-legged horse. He spoke with an odd accent, the vowel-sounds twisted, but his words clear. “Did you decide to go for a little walk?”
7. Feasting
Two hours later, Cait sat at a grand banqueting table in a hall of the palace, wondering what was going on. The sumptuous room about her blazed with light. Gold-framed mirrors decorated the walls, breaking up the relentless polished white, their reflections of each other making the space confusing to the eye. Enormous chandeliers filled the air above her head, each holding thousands of tallow candles. Their bobbing flames provided a quiet chorus of hisses.
Her head throbbed from where she'd struck it. Between the nagging pain and the light it was hard to think straight. She didn't appear to be a prisoner. She hadn't had chance to talk to Nox yet, but it didn't look like he'd betrayed her. The undain lord – introduced to her as the Duke of Greygyle – had been treating them as though they were honoured guests.
Still, while Nox may have been right about the local undain nobility, she wasn't actually safe was she? When Danny talked, when the undain found out the truth, things would be very different. They had to get away soon, without attracting attention.
The Duke sat beside her at the head of the table. Nox was opposite her while the golden-haired boy – called simply Lugg – was next to him. The boy was, so she'd been told, the Duke's son. The table was enormous, easily fifty feet long, but no one else was there, apart from more servants hovering in the background and occasionally swooping in to fill a glass or deposit a dish.
More food than they could ever eat was being laid out on steaming silver platters. Cait's stomach growled. Although, in truth, there wasn't actually much she could eat. It didn't look like the undain were big on vegetarianism.
The dish in front of her contained four whole piglets, their bodies baked brown and arranged in a tableau of playful fight. Steam billowed from them, heavy with the scents of burned flesh. Next to them was a whole swan, cooked and painstakingly re-feathered so that it resembled the living bird once more. Upon its back sat five cygnets, also cooked and re-feathered, laid out in another mock still-life scene. Their eyes were all black gems, glinting in the candlelight. It was like one of the hideous stuffed-animal scenes they had in museums. Only this one she was expected to eat.
She wasn't brave enough to tell the fearsome undain she didn't touch meat. Somehow she didn't think he'd understand.
Nox, meanwhile, clearly had no such qualms. He lifted an entire roast piglet onto his plate and carved at it, the crisp flesh crackling. Cait looked away and reached for a dish of something that might have been fine threads of pasta.
Nox nodded in approval at her. “Spiced peacock tongues. Delicious.” Juices from the piglet dribbled down his chin as he spoke.
The boy dropped a few slices of meat onto his own plate, but he wasn't eating. He sat with his head bowed, idly pushing the food around and occasionally nibbling at a morsel of it. The bruise around his eye was livid purple, the whole side of his face swollen. Occasionally he glanced at them, but a scowl from the Duke quickly cowed him, and he lowered his gaze.
The Duke wasn't eating at all, watching over them in silence. A pallor the colour of ash had come over his features. He'd been film-star beautiful just a few hours ago, but now he looked sunken and weary as if he'd been through some terrible exertion. The lines of his bones showed throw his skin, making the raw shape of his skull visible.
A large silver contraption, something like an ornate tea-urn, was carried in by four veiled servants and set on the table in front of him. The device was highly polished, with battle-scenes like those on the mosaic engraved upon it. Distorted images of the room were reflected in it. No one spoke and the Duke closed his eyes, licking his lips as if relieved some long wait was over.
The servants turned little wheels on the contraption, and a louder hissing noise began within it, along with a faint bubbling. Finally, one of the servants unwound a rubbery tube connected to the urn and handed it to the Duke with a bow of her head.
The Duke's hand trembled as he took the tube and sited it onto a silver band around his wrist. He nodded, and the servants turned more wheels on the shining urn. The hissing sound increased and the rubber tube pulsed as liquid flowed through it. Neither Nox nor Lugg said anything or even watched, as if the whole thing was utterly normal.
After a few moments the Duke sighed from combined relief and pleasure. His features were suddenly handsome once more. His wrinkles faded as Cait watched, his skin smoothing over as the deathly grey was replaced by a youthful glow. Only his silver eyes retained a hint of his age and former decay.
The Spirit pumping into his body had brought him back to life. The Spirit leeched from people in her own world, most likely. She had to stop herself from standing and yanking the tube from his wrist or smashing the urn to the floor. She had to continue their subterfuge. It was their only hope.
Finally, Greygyle disconnected the tube from his arm and the veiled servants removed the Spirit paraphernalia from the table.
Greygyle licked his lips and sat forward. “So, Cait, I hope the food is to your liking?”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. It's … good.”
“Excellent. It's rare the servants have to produce a feast for guests. If their efforts are not to your liking I'll have them replaced.”
Replaced. She suppressed a shiver. “No, it's fine, really,” she said. “I'm still getting my appetite back.”
“Of course,” said Greygyle. “And tell me, what news is there from the City of Ghosts? Is everything in the capital prepared for the invasion?”
The City of Ghosts? What was that? Another thing she'd never heard of. “Uh, The City of Ghosts?”
“Forgive her,” said Nox, jumping in. “Sometimes she is a little slow.” He turned to Cait, an indulgent smile on his face. “Duke Greygyle is referring to the court of King Menhroth of course. The Bone Palaces. The White City.”
“Of course,” said Cait. “The City of Ghosts is fine. Everything is … just as white as ever.”
The Duke nodded but didn't reply. His eyes narrowed as he studied her for a moment.
“You speak English well,” said Cait to change the subject.
A flicker of amusement crossed the Duke's face. “Many of us take pleasure in learning tongues from the other world. From your world, I mean. You could say I'm rather an aficionado of your culture. I have an extensive library of English literature. I must show it to you.”
Great. Now he sounded like one of her teachers trying to convince her reading a book would somehow be good for her. “Oh yes. You must. What books do you read?”
“Oh, you know. The classics. Anything and everything I can get my hands on. Although I prefer real life stories. Not all those fantasy tales people write. I fail to see the point in such rubbish. They make it all up.”
“I thought all books were made up?” She was engaging in polite conversation with one of the undain nobility. How had it come to this?
“I visited your world once,” said Greygyle, ignoring her question. “Many years ago. A sightseeing trip. Fascinating. The way people live. Of course, this was long before the Baron of Albion was in charge of our lands there.”
“The … Baron of Albion?”
“I mean your father, of course.”
She flicked a glance at Nox, who smiled warmly, nodding his head slightly in encouragement.
“Of course,” she said. “It's just I don't … I don't normally call him that.”
“My apologies for my daughter,” said. Nox. “It's so hard to foster the necessary respect in the young, don't you find?”
So that was his story. He was her father. Great. He was a bit young wasn't he? Maybe the undain weren't good at judging age by appearance any more. And she couldn't contradict him. She had to go along with the story, maintain the pretence.
Nox
was loving it, though. OK, so he hadn't betrayed her, but still. The thought of him as her father made her flesh crawl almost as much as the cold stare of the Duke.
“Your father tells me you two are looking for a place to build a villa?” the undain lord asked. He still wasn't eating. Presumably they didn't need to eat.
His gaze sent another shiver through her. She hoped it wasn't obvious. She put all her effort into trying to sound light-hearted. “Yes. We're looking for somewhere to live. That's right.”
“Well, plenty of space out here,” said the Duke. “Lots of land. We're a long way from the An and all its distractions, but there is much beauty to be found in our hills and valleys. These lands are at peace now. My advice would be to stay in the south. The farther north you go, the wilder the country becomes. Here we have good connections to civilization. There's even talk of building a Spirit pipeway so we don't have to rely on deliveries by cart.”
She caught the brief look of malice the undain lord cast toward his son as he spoke. Lugg didn't meet Greygyles's gaze.
“But I must apologise for our poor welcome,” the Duke continued. “Our household is much reduced. Normally all the seats at this table would be filled.”
“Are the rest of your family away?” Cait asked. “Will they be returning soon?”
“Oh, no. They're all still here.”
“I'm sorry, I … I don't understand.”
A spark of fury blazed in those grey eyes, just for a moment, and Cait thought she knew how Lugg had ended up with his swollen face and blackened eye.
“My kin and household rest in the family crypts,” said the Duke. “Lying in torpor to survive the dearth. I'm afraid our supplies of Spirit have been temporarily interrupted. You receive our hospitality at a fallow time. We are honoured you made this diversion in your itinerary, of course, but it is fortunate you are both as you are. I fear we would struggle to be the welcoming hosts were you ascended.” The words were polite, apologetic. None of it fooled Cait. This was simply the latest punishment meted out to his son. The boy had been beaten and now he was being humiliated.
