Geomancer twoe-1

by Ian Irvine

  Tiaan let out an involuntary cry. He was gone. She would never know him.

  She blew out the lantern, tucked the register under her arm, and slipped out. At the corner she edged around, then ducked back. A bulky shadow was moving about further down. It looked like the matron.

  Darting to the night lamp, Tiaan blew it out. She flattened herself against the wall and edged down the corridor. Before she was halfway to the stairs she heard Matron slip-slopping along, muttering to herself.

  ‘More trouble than she’s worth, fat old cow! Time to put her out the door. She’s got enough gold stacked away to pay for the wretched war, and then demands half of this new indenture. Skinny little thing won’t survive a year. Hell, she’ll probably go mad again in a month and then where’ll I be? Clients won’t pay a nyd for that.’

  Tiaan went very still. Had Marnie, who was as rich as the legendary magister of Thurkad, extracted more coin after Tiaan was indentured here? She felt betrayed.

  She held her breath as the old woman came shuffling past, wheezing. ‘Useless maid! I told her to check the lamps.’ She stopped just past Tiaan. ‘That’s funny. Is anyone there?’

  Tiaan’s heart was crashing around. Surely Matron must hear it. But she moved off again. Tiaan scuttled the other way, round the corner, heading for the stairs. Had she remembered to close her door? She did not think so. Too late now.

  The top of the stair was dimly illuminated by a lamp in the foyer. Peering over the rail, she saw the door guard at the foot of the steps. There was no way to get past him.

  Hurrying into the darkness she ran straight into a huge potted jesmyn on a stand. It fell and the pot smashed with a noise that must have been heard throughout the building. The register went flying. She groped for it in the dark.

  ‘What was that?’ cried the guard, thumping up the steps.

  Tiaan could not find the book. As he came to the top step she pulled the gown up around her hips and ran, her breasts bouncing painfully. At the end of the corridor a hall went in either direction. She turned left, only to bang into a wall in the darkness. She scampered back the other way, rubbing her nose. If only she had not dropped the book.

  This corridor was not lit and once past the junction Tiaan had to slow down. The corridor narrowed. She crept forward, her foot went down a step, she stumbled and just caught the rail as she fell.

  Tiaan lay on the step, getting her breath back, until she heard shouts and the guard pounding up the corridor. At the bottom of a narrow service stair was a warren of rooms which she identified by feel – laundries, linen presses, pantries, storerooms, then a vast kitchen lit by the glow of a pair of iron ranges that were never allowed to go out.

  Dough was rising in covered bowls – Tiaan could smell it. The bakers would appear shortly to produce the fresh breads, cakes and pastries for the day. The door to the outside had a complicated lock she might not be able to pick. The pantries and storerooms offered no refuge – as soon as the cooks appeared they’d be in use. Tiaan felt panicky, like a criminal on the run.

  Matron’s voice bellowed orders, not far away. Tiaan ducked into the laundry, lit by moonlight through a high, barred window. It contained a row of coppers for boiling the washing and a vast rectangular bin full of dirty clothes, mostly scanty nightwear and bed linen. This door was also locked. Tiaan was probing it with her pick when someone ran into the kitchen. Cupboards were pulled open and slammed again. The laundry would be next. She dived into the clothes bin and burrowed down to the bottom.

  It reeked of perfume, massage oil, sweat and other more offensive odours. One sheet was drenched in sickly sweet sherry. At the bottom, at least a span down, she encountered the tiled floor. Tiaan wormed into the corner furthest from the opening and waited.

  It was hot; the bin backed onto the kitchen ranges. Sweat trickled down her back.

  ‘Not yet!’ a man’s voice said sharply. ‘Mathys, do the laundry. Hysso, check the pantries and cupboards. I’ll go through the kitchen. Lock every door as you come out. Matron, put someone in every corridor. As soon as she moves, we’ll find her. Mathys?’

  ‘I’m working!’ said a petulant young woman’s voice.

  The room search was a series of long silences punctuated by rattles and bangs. Tiaan wondered if the servant had gone or was waiting silently for her to emerge from some hiding place.

  After one long interval there came a thud and the laundry pressed down on her. Mathys must have climbed into the bin. Was she pulling all the washing out? If she did, there was no chance of avoiding discovery. Tiaan would have to knock her out. She would do anything short of murder to get away.

  The weight eased. Tiaan was not game to move – even under all these clothes the servant girl must feel it. It became brighter, as if she was inspecting the bin with a lantern. A sudden, heart-stopping panic. What if she dropped it? The filmy nightwear would catch fire instantly.

  Tiaan felt her moving away, walking up the other end of the bin. The movements went on for ages, then a little thump as she jumped back out.

  ‘Mathys!’ came Matron’s angry shout.

  ‘In the laundry, Matron.’

  ‘Haven’t you finished yet? Lazy slut of a girl!’ A slap, a cry broken off. ‘Did you check the laundry bin?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the girl sullenly.

  ‘You took all the washing out?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mathys lied. ‘I was just putting it back in.’

  ‘Leave it – there’s still a hundred rooms to search. Come on, and lock that door behind you!’

  The door slammed. The lock clicked. Tiaan waited in case it was a ruse. After five minutes, when there had been no further sound, she judged it safe to come out. Emerging as slowly as a butterfly from a cocoon, she found the room empty. Creeping to the back door, she attacked the lock. It proved more difficult than the other. The mechanism must not have been oiled in ages. She forced too hard and the prong of her fork broke off.

  Easing it out with the other, Tiaan tried again. It was tense work; if she broke this prong she’d be finished. However, after some minutes, the lock clicked. She eased open the door, letting in a blast of frigid air. She had to have warm clothes, and food if she could possibly find any. She was cut off from both by the locked door. Was she game to pick it and go back in?

  A distant angry shout convinced her not to try. She would have to go hungry. Tiaan hacked a woollen blanket in two, folded it over half a dozen times and bound it around her feet with strips torn from a sheet. She put on eight nightgowns, one over the top of another, hoping that enough layers would compensate for their individual flimsiness.

  Tiaan hunted for another blanket but could not find one. She made do with three sheets wrapped around her, tying them at the waist with another strip of linen. A flint striker, on the shelf above the coppers, caught her eye. She tied it into her sash. It could well save her life. She took a handful of tinder too. Tiaan pulled the door closed and, mindful of her previous failure, bent to lock it.

  That proved even harder, but finally the door clicked. She scurried away, gravel crunching underfoot. It was freezing outside – puddles from the earlier rain had iced over. Layers of filmy cloud hid the setting moon. It must be around four in the morning.

  Daylight was around seven-thirty so she did not have long to get out of Tiksi. She crept up the side of the building, walking on the paved edges of the gardens, and out the carriage entrance. The front door was open, the doorman standing in the light talking to Matron. A carriage waited nearby. The horse’s breath steamed, as did a pile of manure behind it. Slinking into the shadows, Tiaan made her way up the street.

  There was no one about – even the rare drifters who spent summer nights sleeping in doorways and under bridges would be in shelter on a night like this. Tiaan headed toward the western gate, avoiding the smoggy haloes surrounding occasional street lamps.

  Not long after, a closed carriage clopped past. It looked like the one she’d seen outside the front door. Pressed back under a leafle
ss bush, Tiaan doubted that she had been seen. The driver, swathed in greatcoat and fur hat, stared fixedly ahead, no doubt desperately wanting to get home.

  It was strange being out alone at this hour. Everything had a misty, unreal air. Fog crept up the street, assuming shapes reminiscent of dream or nightmare. Shadows waxed and waned as the moon drifted in and out of hurrying clouds. The staid buildings of Tiksi joined together to form fairy castles or hellish dungeons.

  Tiaan was not frightened. There was little crime in Tiksi, since everyone above the age of six worked at least twelve hours a day. The mist and shadows were her friends.

  Approaching an intersection, she heard the clump of hobnailed boots. She ducked under a hedge, holding her breath as a watchman paced by. He walked like a man who had been on the beat too long, looking neither left nor right.

  A sudden gust lifted her robes, replacing the layer of warmth with freezing air. Her exposed arms were aching. Tiaan hurried on. She had to get on the mountain road well before dawn. As soon as it was light, the carriers would move out with their daily loads. No doubt there’d be a reward for her and it would be difficult to escape a hunt up there. There were few paths and, at this time of year, little chance of survival off them. Dressed like this, no chance.

  She made it to the western gate unnoticed. A sudden flurry of sleet caught her out in the open. It wetted only the outer layer of her clothing, and her hair, but ice water began to penetrate her blanket boots.

  The gate, when she reached it, posed a greater challenge. The guard was pacing up and down. She could see no way to get past him.

  TWELVE

  Tiaan waited near a small well, across the way from the open guardhouse. Though a brazier glowed inside, it must have been freezing in there. No doubt that was why the guard was marching so vigorously. It gave her an idea.

  The pattern of his movements did not vary. He walked fifty paces up the road inside the wall, striding furiously, turned, paced back, looked across to the gate and continued for another fifty paces. Each time, his back was turned for less than a minute, not enough to climb the gate.

  Tiaan needed a diversion. Taking the bucket off its hook, she hid it in the shadows across the street. As soon as the watchman turned away she scampered to the guardhouse, her blanketed feet making no sound on the cobbles. Inside was no more than a cupboard, a row of hooks on which hung two oilskin coats, and a pair of boots below them. She spilled hot coals from the brazier into the pocket of one oilskin. It began to smoke. She knocked the other coat down, tipped the brazier onto it and was about to dash out when she heard the guard tramping back. Thud-click, thud-click as a metal heel-piece struck the cobbles.

  It had taken too long. Tiaan crouched down, praying that he did not see the smoke rising from the oilskin, or come in to warm himself. If he did she was undone.

  The footsteps stopped opposite the gate. Tiaan prepared to defend herself, hopeless as that was. She held her breath. Silence.

  The footsteps resumed, thud-clicking away. Tiaan blew on the spilled coals; the oilskin burst into flame. She dashed out, hid across the road in the shadows, then made a noise vaguely like a cat screaming.

  The watchman checked, looked around, and continued his pacing. By the time he came opposite the gatehouse the oilskins were blazing as high as the ceiling. He ran inside, cried ‘Bloody cat!’ and raced for the well.

  His curses when he could not find the bucket would have disturbed the corpses in the cemetery outside the wall. Pelting down the street, the guard hammered on the front door of the first house. ‘Fire! Fire! I need a bucket, quick!’

  Tiaan scuttled across to the gate, lifted the bar, rested it on its bracket and closed it behind her. She gave it a hard shake. The bar fell into place.

  Outside, free at last, she ran up the track in the direction of the manufactory and did not stop until she had turned the corner, out of sight. Sitting on an ice-glazed rock she wept for joy. The moon glowed through the mist like a distant lamp through frosted glass. The trees were mere outlines, black as ink. A shooting star carved a fiery path across the sky before bursting into fragments that swiftly faded. It seemed to be pointing west. Was that an omen?

  Knowing that her troubles were only beginning, she continued on.

  The moon had fallen behind the mountains. Dawn was some way off. The stars, when visible through the racing mist, gave off just enough light for it not to be called pitch dark. Tiaan trudged up the path, following little more than instinct. She was freezing cold, dampness having seeped through the layers of clothing long ago. The wind stuck to her skin as if she wore a single layer of gauze. One blanket boot was already wearing through.

  She kept on until the black sky was touched with the faintest blush in the north-east. The blankets were soaked, her feet in danger of freezing. Turning off the path, Tiaan went up the hill, avoiding places where she would leave tracks. The crest was bare save for a broken watch-tower of crumbling green slate and the moss-covered skeleton of a mountain pony. Down the other side she found shelter among up-jutting rocks and twisted trees. There was little risk of a fire being seen here.

  The sun came up as she was gathering firewood, casting long conifer shadows that, low down, blurred into the mist. It was eerily beautiful. Tiaan warmed herself by the blaze until her foot coverings were dry. She was thinking about her father, wondering about his Histories, how he had lived and died and how he came to meet her mother. Had it just been a transaction in the breeding factory? She could not think so.

  That set her puzzling about the bloodline register. Why did they need such a detailed record, if the idea was simply to produce as many children as possible? The mating details were clear – never more than one man in the same month. It did not seem to agree with what she knew about the place. But what if, she thought idly, the breeding factory was a place where children were bred with particular talents? Had her father been chosen on that basis? What a horrible thought!

  It was lovely putting her hot boots back on. After heaping snow on the fire, she returned to the path. Another hour went by. It was nearly midday. The blankets were wearing thin again. Brushing wet ice off a log, she sat to remake her boots. Tiaan had just finished the first when she heard raised voices. A search party? She rolled off the other side of the log, hoping that the shadows would be enough to hide her.

  Something cracked. She had broken the ice on a puddle and freezing water seared her side. She crouched behind the log, cursing her ill-luck.

  Shortly a group of people ran past, as if fleeing for their lives. Since they were going downhill they could not be searching for her. They must have come from the manufactory or the mine. In the fog she did not recognise any of them, though one wore a carrier’s cap and another an escort guard’s uniform.

  Tiaan ducked her head as they passed, though she need not have. They looked neither right nor left. What could the matter be?

  After a few minutes she judged it safe to come out. Her wet sheets had frozen. She cracked off the ice, re-bound her other foot and headed carefully up the track.

  It wound around a buttress of crumbling granite, turned sharply into a chisel-shaped gully, crept across a shear zone where the rock had weathered to greasy clay speckled with quartz gravel, then carved out the other side again. In the gully the path was shaded by tall pines. She edged through the gloom. Whatever they had been running from, it could not be far away.

  There were Hürn bears in these mountains, vast creatures ten times the weight of a man. Also wildcats of various types ranging from the panther-like carchous to the stubby-nosed and bewhiskered ghool. Wild dogs were a threat to solitary travellers, particularly the tigerish rahse and the pack-hunting mickle. However, attacks by any of those creatures were rare, especially in the autumn of a good year, when there was easier hunting than armed and vengeful humans.

  On rare occasions there had been bandit raids near the coast, though never this high. On the other hand, the metal mine had been producing well lately, particularly the
precious white gold, platinum, which was easily carried and easily hidden.

  Tiaan had just come out of the forest into sunlight when she caught the tang of blood on the wind. It could be no further than the hairpin bend up ahead or she would not have smelt it. That area was exposed, for a recent landslip had carved most of the trees off the point. Ducking into the forest, she climbed the side of the ridge. At the crest, a good hundred spans above the path, she went right, following the ridgeline until she reached the top of the landslide.

  Tiaan made sure that she was upwind. The point was concealed behind a large boulder. Tiaan crept down. On this barren rockslide even a dislodged pebble would give her away. Reaching the boulder in safety, she edged around the left-hand side until she had a clear view of the road.

  None of her suppositions had been correct. It was neither bears, beasts nor bandits. Far worse! A brand-new clanker, just completed by the manufactory, lay on its back with its metal legs in the air. The back half of the machine had been crushed under a boulder that had been rolled down the hill. No doubt the people inside were dead. She hoped Ky-Ara had not been the operator. Tiaan tried to recall his face but got the young man from her dreams instead. She put both firmly out of mind.

  There were at least six bodies on the road. Pawing at one of them was what could only be a lyrinx. Her heart began to pound. Tiaan was shocked at the size and brutal power of the beast. It stood well over the height of a tall man, a massively muscular creature that seemed to be all claw, tooth and long, armoured body. Its wings were folded. It had a huge crested head, the crest jade-green, indicating a mature female. It could have taken on a Hürn bear and won. And, she reminded herself, they ate people.

  At the same time, something seemed not quite right about the lyrinx – there was a slight awkwardness about it, as if it was not quite at home in its powerful body.

  A pair of lyrinx were methodically tearing the armoured side out of the clanker, opening it up like a lobster at a dinner party. Armed with no more than metal bars they created an opening big enough to squeeze inside. Bags and boxes were tossed out, ripped open then abandoned.