Tarnished City

by Vic James

  ‘Darling Braby is the reason she’s here. Our lovely Lavinia is doing her days on Lord Brayburn’s estate, when they start up a little fling. He toys with her, gets bored of her, drops her.

  ‘Now, you or I might respond by feeling sad, maybe a touch used. Lavinia slashes the brakes on his wife’s car, which crashes doing eighty on the motorway, killing both Lady Brayburn and Braby’s dowager mother. She also beats his five corgis to death with a poker. Apparently it was the corgis that made him push for Condemnation, rather than just slavelife. Ah, a refill.’

  The attendant circulating with a bottle of champagne flinched as Jules wrapped his fingers around her arm. Luke saw that beneath her grey tunic, her hand and wrist were horribly bruised and covered with burns and contusions, some of which looked fresh.

  What had happened to her? Was it a kitchen accident? Luke might have thought so, were it not that he’d noticed some of the other attendants also bore visible injuries. One man limped, another was missing a couple of fingers, a third wore an eyepatch. Others were more freshly marked, with cuts and bruises. Was this where the horror happened – below stairs, where the servants lived? Did Crovan torture them down there?

  But why only them, when the other half of the Condemned lived upstairs, as extravagantly as any lord or lady?

  ‘Such a relief the seating’s rotated,’ Julian was saying. ‘I’ve been next to Blake for the past week. Not only is he an unspeakable pervert, he has absolutely no conversation.’

  Jules had conversation. Plenty of it. It turned out he wasn’t only closest to Luke in height and build – which was why Coira had swiped some of his clothes for Luke that first day – he was also close in age. He’d been an undergraduate when he was Condemned – at the behest of a powerful Equal lord who had wanted to put an end to Julian’s relationship with his daughter, a fellow student.

  In the outside world, Luke and Julian would have nothing in common. But here at Eilean Dochais, Luke couldn’t believe his luck at having a fellow inmate who was not only young, but also – like Luke himself – the victim of Equal injustice.

  Coira slipped back into the room, picked up the small brass bell that sat by the hearth, and rang it. Luke watched the quick, quiet way she moved. Jules was obviously watching, too, because he leaned over and whispered in Luke’s ear.

  ‘She’d be cute, if only she’d stop scowling.’

  Luke thought the scowling kind of suited her. But when she saw the pair of them, heads together and looking her way, the scowl deepened into something close to anger.

  Fine. She probably hated him for having a place at the dinner table while she was scurrying back and forth with plates and dishes. All the below-stairs residents of the castle probably hated Crovan’s ‘guests’. But Luke hadn’t chosen where he’d been put or how he was being treated. And he certainly wasn’t going to ask to be sent below just so Coira would stop giving him the side-eye.

  The bell had heralded Crovan’s entrance, and the guests all rose to their feet as he issued a clipped ‘good evening’ and seated himself in a chair pulled out by Devin. A procession of grey-clad attendants bearing steaming silver tureens entered through the service doors.

  ‘Cock-a-leekie,’ Julian said approvingly, picking up his spoon. On Luke’s left, Lavinia was content to inhale the steam.

  The rattle of metal against china drew Luke’s attention to the other side of the table. The server approaching Blake was having difficulty holding the dish properly. As she set it in front of him, broth slopped across his jacket and he snarled, twisting to deliver a vicious backhanded blow that sent the woman to the floor.

  Luke couldn’t believe it. He stood so fast he almost upended his own bowl. Only the width of the massive mahogany table prevented him from reaching over and hauling Blake up by the lapels.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he shouted. ‘You can’t just hit her.’

  Blake looked up, blinking his watery, almost lashless, eyes.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, new boy.’

  Then Coira was there, helping the woman up. She led her from the room, then returned and bent over Blake’s jacket with a cloth, wiping the satin lapel.

  ‘You’ll clean that properly later, bitch,’ the man snapped. ‘And if that happens again, you’ll feel it too. They’re your responsibility.’

  ‘Master.’ Luke couldn’t believe he was actually saying that word, but calling out Blake was worth swallowing a little pride for. ‘You can’t let him behave like this.’

  Crovan looked up. Dabbed his moustache with his napkin. His eyes were remote behind the lenses of his glasses, like specimens beneath a microscope slide.

  ‘Sit down, Hadley. We’re eating.’

  Blake shot Luke a look of gloating triumph. In disbelief, Luke looked up and down the table at his fellow ‘guests’. Mostly, their gazes were fixed on their plates. The few that were watching were doing so with a detached curiosity. Luke shook his head.

  ‘Is no one . . . ?’

  Nope, no one else appeared to be outraged – or even greatly surprised – by what Blake had done. Julian’s hand tugged at Luke’s jacket. The meaning was plain. Sit down.

  It made no sense. Okay, so the slap was a small abuse compared to what Luke had expected to witness in this place. But the opulent surroundings, the formalwear, the pretence that this was the world’s longest house party, only served to heighten the awfulness of Blake’s behaviour.

  Luke shook his head, and sat.

  One course followed another – venison casserole, then a dessert of baked cream with raspberries – but Luke found the feast difficult to choke down. What was he not understanding about this place? He was no nearer an answer when a chime rang out: Devin, tapping a wine glass with his butter knife to attract attention.

  ‘Please follow our master. One of our number has decided to leave us tonight.’

  A murmuring arose around the table. Luke was nonplussed. Decided to leave?

  ‘What does he mean?’ he asked Julian.

  ‘You’ll see. You’re lucky – it doesn’t happen often. I’ve been here three years, and this is only the third time. Come on, you’ll want a good view.’

  Julian hustled him along to the entrance hall, into which Luke had stepped on his first day. Candles were lit in the wall sconces. In the wall in front there was only one doorway, not two. Only one lintel, inscribed with two words: Ultima necat.

  ‘Where’s the other door?’ Luke whispered. ‘I saw it disappear when I came in.’

  ‘We can’t open it from inside,’ said Julian, taking a deep swig from the glass he’d brought with him, then gesturing at the blank wall, ‘so we don’t need it. That’s the only door any of us can open.’

  The guests formed a semicircle. Behind them, the servants, clad in their plain grey tunics, were filling the remaining space. It was the first time Luke had seen them all together, and their numbers were evenly matched with the guests.

  A hush fell as Crovan arrived, people moving back to let him through. The lord of Eilean Dochais came to a halt in the centre of the space – and as Luke watched, two people entered, hand in hand.

  His breath caught when he saw that one of them was Coira. The other was the woman Blake had hit at supper. She looked tired, and the fresh bruise blooming on her cheek was not the only visible injury. Coira squeezed the woman’s hand, and something eased a little in Luke’s chest as she stepped back, leaving the other standing alone in front of their master.

  ‘What was your crime?’ he intoned.

  The woman replied in a voice that was hoarse, like the scraping of a rarely opened door.

  ‘Eleven years ago I sabotaged the BB plant in Portisbury slavetown, before an official visit from Lord Lytchett and Lady Angelica Matravers. My plan was successful and Lady Angelica was killed.’

  Another act of protest in a slavetown, Luke thought, his heart jolting. So it wasn’t just Jackson and the Club in Millmoor that wanted to fight.

  But this woman had wanted to kil
l. The Club had never done that.

  Was that what it would take to make a difference? Was that the direction the struggle against the Equals had to take? He remembered his own fury with Crovan on the shore of the loch, the feeling that he could have knocked the man down and held him under. Would he have done it? Then Luke realized the identity of the woman’s victim, and it staggered him. Lady Angelica Matravers. Wife of Lord Lytchett – and, therefore, the mother of Bodina, who Luke had known in Millmooor as ‘Angel’. Despite her mother’s murder, Angel championed justice for commoners. It hardly seemed possible. When right and wrong were so tangled up, how could you ever pull them apart?

  Crovan looked at the serving woman. The candlelight danced in the lenses of his glasses.

  ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘My son had died from ill treatment in Portisbury. Because of that, I hated the Equals.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now I understand that you are our better selves. Now, I love the Equals.’

  She knelt on the ground, reached for Crovan’s hand, and kissed it.

  And the Equal did something more nauseating than anything Luke had imagined happening in this place – he touched his fingers gently to the woman’s forehead, like a blessing.

  ‘Your crime is gone. Your hours are done.’

  Luke felt sick. Who was this monster, to offer absolution to a woman he had abused?

  ‘Your hours are done,’ the assembled onlookers echoed.

  Crovan traced the bruise on the woman’s face, and beneath his fingers it faded away. He took her hands in his, unexpectedly gentle, and raised her to her feet. Luke saw her flex her fingers freely once he let them go. His touch passed lightly over her: shoulders, sternum, hips. Her exhaustion sloughed off, skin and eyes seeming to glow in the candlelight. She’d not been a beautiful woman, but Luke could see the beautiful things she’d been: strong and fierce and unafraid.

  ‘All hours wound,’ said Crovan, lifting his hand away. ‘Omnes vulnerant.’

  ‘Ultima necat,’ the woman said. ‘The last one kills.’

  She looked past Crovan, at the door. As she went to it, Luke couldn’t tear his eyes away. The latch lifted cleanly, and with a single pull, she swung the door wide.

  It was raining outside: a rare March shower. The night sky over the loch was purple-dark, and the air rushed in, cool and clean. Luke luxuriated in the freshness of it. He’d not set foot outside since arriving at the castle. How tempting it was, how easy it would be, to walk through that door right now.

  But though he couldn’t quite understand how, he was pretty sure he knew what lay on the other side of the Last Door. And it was nowhere you came back from.

  The woman glanced back over her shoulder – then stepped through unhesitating, her face upraised to the rain. Her life left her like a sigh, and she crumpled on the other side of the threshold.

  Luke could barely believe it. Where a split second ago there had been a woman, living and breathing, there was now just a huddled body. He stared at her, lying there.

  ‘I know, I know.’ Beside him, Julian sounded almost apologetic. ‘It’s pretty underwhelming, right? I keep on hoping for something . . . more, but they’re all like that. Still, we got our refill.’

  The young man tipped his head back and drained his glass.

  ‘To the eerily departed,’ Jules said, and hiccupped.

  How were they going to move the body? What happened if you put your hand through the Last Door? Unbidden, a memory came to him of the searing waters of Loch nan Deur.

  His first question was answered when Coira came and put her shoulder to the door to push it shut.

  ‘You’re just going to leave her there?’ Luke demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Or would you like to go out and bury her?’

  She gestured at the doorway. Luke’s skin prickled.

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘No. But it doesn’t seem right.’

  What about this place did? Nothing at all.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Coira said, closing the door. Luke heard the latch drop. ‘The eagles come.’

  Eagles. Luke shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘This departure gives me the opportunity to make an adjustment to our household,’ said Crovan, drawing all attention to him.

  ‘With Luke Hadley’s arrival, the dining table has become a little crowded. And now that we are one down below stairs, it seems the ideal moment.’

  Luke froze. Did that mean what it sounded like it meant? At his side, he sensed Julian taking a step back, moving imperceptibly behind him.

  Crovan looked slowly round at his ‘guests’. The tension in the room fizzed like Skill.

  This was it. This was where the week-long illusion that Condemnation meant dressing up and playing at being an Equal came crashing down. Luke would be going downstairs – and he’d be finding out exactly how the servants came by their injuries. Perhaps he’d even find others down there, men like Dog, caged and chained.

  Perhaps he’d join them.

  ‘Lavinia,’ Crovan said, and Luke nearly toppled forward as Julian’s fist thumped him between the shoulder blades. ‘I’m afraid our time together up here has come to an end. There’s nothing more I can do with you. I’m sure you’ll adjust to your move below. And if not, as you’ve just seen, there is an alternative.’

  The incomprehension on the older woman’s face was awful to see. Hands pushed her roughly from behind – one of the other guests – and she was thrust, stumbling, into the centre of the circle of onlookers.

  She realized what was happening then.

  ‘No!’ she screeched. ‘No, you can’t! Braby is coming for me soon.’

  Coira stepped forward and took Lavinia by the hand, shaking it gently to bring her to her senses.

  ‘No!’ It was a birdlike squawk. ‘Don’t touch me! Only Braby touches me.’

  ‘Not any more,’ said a voice from among the guests. Who had spoken? Was it Blake, with his loose mouth and watering eyes? Lavinia’s eyes darted around, terrified.

  ‘Stop it.’ Luke stepped forward, his legs and mouth somehow acting entirely without permission. ‘She’s frightened. She doesn’t have the strength to work hard. I’ll go.’ Crovan turned, the reflection in his spectacles sliding from candle-bright to stone-blank.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘That won’t do. You and I are barely getting started, Luke Hadley.’

  And as Lavinia began to sob, Luke felt cold all over, as if somewhere behind him the Last Door had just swung open.

  ‘Please,’ Coira said to Crovan, her arm around Lavinia’s shaking shoulders. ‘Can we lock the kitchen door tonight? It’s her first night. Give her a chance to get used to it.’

  ‘She knows all about it,’ said Blake. ‘She’s watched – she’s even taken part. Now it’s her turn.’

  ‘Nobody asked you,’ Coira said, whipping round, fury in her eyes.

  But Crovan was already shaking his head.

  ‘No exceptions,’ he said. ‘I’m amazed you keep asking. The door stays unlocked. Hadley, it’s time you and I talked. Meet me in the library in ten minutes.’

  ‘What?’

  But Crovan was already striding away.

  Coira was in Blake’s face, her finger jabbing.

  ‘If you go near her, I’ll kill you.’

  ‘Yes,’ drawled Julian, from Luke’s side. ‘Bit old for you, isn’t she? How old were Lady Towton’s daughters when you started giving them “extra tuition” on the side? Seven and nine, wasn’t it? Still, given the limited supply in here, I suppose you can’t afford to be picky.’

  ‘You can’t talk,’ snarled Blake, before stalking off.

  Julian sighed theatrically.

  ‘What on earth was that about?’ Luke said, looking from Julian to Coira and back again.

  ‘Let’s just say Blake wasn’t Condemned for murder,’ said Jules. ‘The murder of innocence, maybe. But look, Lord Arailt will explain everything. Why this place is . . . the way it is. What’
s expected of those of us who live upstairs.’ ‘Nothing’s expected,’ said Coira, her voice swollen with disgust. ‘Blake and the rest of you choose to do it.’

  She turned her back on the pair of them and led a trembling Lavinia away.

  ‘What does she mean?’ Luke asked Jules. ‘What are we expected to do?’

  Julian shifted uneasily. ‘That’s for Crovan to tell you.’ Which sounded ominous. Luke doubted it meant a bathroom-cleaning and bin-emptying rota.

  The library appeared deserted when Luke went in. It was almost pitch dark. Only a faint glow from around one jutting bookcase told him that Crovan was already there. He followed the glow of the Skill-light, and found Crovan in an armchair, a book open in his lap. The man took his time finishing a page before looking up.

  ‘Have a seat, Hadley.’

  Luke did. Was that the collar? He had almost – and the thought turned his stomach like a dodgy kebab – forgotten it was there.

  ‘Let me ask you a question,’ Crovan said. ‘Do you consider yourself to be a better person than us Equals? Do we seem unkind? Cruel?’

  ‘Of course. What you did to Dog. What Gavar Jardine to the mother of his child. The way you treat the servants here – I’ve seen their injuries. And the slavetowns – they’re horrendous, even though they don’t have to be. People would probably work harder in better conditions, so it’s not just cruel, it’s stupid.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Crovan made a noncommittal noise. Luke rubbed his palms down his trousers. They were sweaty and prickled with fear. He could have just lied, but what was the point? Equals could probably sense things like that, and it wasn’t as though Crovan would have believed a denial.

  ‘And you think you commoners are, therefore, morally superior to the Equals?’

  This question was less straightforward, but: ‘Yes, I would say so. Normal people aren’t perfect. We do terrible things. But you Equals don’t even seem to realize how monstrous the things you do are.’

  This conversation was awful. Every word out of his mouth felt like one step closer to a trap he would surely fall into. Crovan was studying him closely.