by Paul Collins
‘Promise me you won’t attempt such a thing,’ Daretor said, gripping her shoulders. ‘With the machine we can visit any paraworld we want. Someone else will know the answer.’
‘The machine is my first priority,’ Jelindel said, and rubbed noses with him. ‘Good luck finding Zimak, and don’t take any unnecessary risks. Worse comes to worst, we’ll try something else.’
Daretor clutched her tightly then released her. ‘Leave the Farvenu alone,’ he insisted.
‘Willingly,’ Jelindel said. ‘Now to the finer detail.’
They arranged to meet either at a small fountain that had been shown to the Q’zarans earlier, or at QeSu’s bedchamber, if things went wrong. The Sargasso would sail with the morning tide, some two hours before dawn. If they failed to obtain the paraworld machine, they would try, with the help of Jelindel’s magic, to hide on the ship. Hakat could legitimately show up at the last minute, claiming he had drunk too much and dallied too long.
It was fortunate their plans had been well laid before this night. There was little time now to change or to improvise. Except for QeSu, they each knew what had to be done.
Daretor held Jelindel and kissed her lingeringly. Hakat and QeSu held hands shyly, and stared into one another’s eyes.
Jelindel brushed her fingers across Daretor’s lips. ‘Be careful,’ she whispered.
‘As always,’ he said.
Jelindel pulled away and nodded to Hakat. They would leave first.
Daretor gave them twenty minutes then – after he and QeSu had donned the clothes of kitchen workers – they exited. Outside, they immediately turned right, heading higher into the city. Zimak was being held by the Clan Kazor, a middle-ranking clan whose headquarters were roughly a mile from QeSu’s room.
They covered the distance quickly, passing few pedestrians, though a great number of Farvenu swooped overhead. Some dropped low and seemed to study them before flying off again. QeSu said their uniforms were responsible for the slight attention they were receiving. To the Farvenu, the lower species were little more than bright animals, like dogs or horses, with little reasoning capacity. The more docile and obedient, the less visible they became. Only opponents acquired status in their eyes. Enemies who fought back were considered honourable, even though they were quickly killed.
They came to the headquarters of Clan Kazor, and QeSu led Daretor around the side to the entrance intended for barbarian species. Daretor’s sense of honour would have demanded he enter the front gate as an equal, but he had grown wiser in Jelindel’s presence.
QeSu was puzzled by the fact that Daretor seemed to detest Zimak yet was risking his life to save him. She pointed out that if they failed they would soon be on the same menu, as entrees due to their diminutive size. Daretor thought about what QeSu had said.
‘Have you ever had a thorn in your foot for so long that it hurts more to remove it than leave it alone?’
QeSu laughed. ‘That’s what my ma used to say about my pa.’
There was a guard inside the entrance. He knew QeSu by sight and waved her in. She explained that Daretor was seeking work as a casual kitchen hand. Cleaners were of such lowly status that the guard barely glanced at Daretor, and certainly did not deign to speak to him.
‘Tell him to mind his manners and work hard,’ the guard said to QeSu. She promised she would do just that. Daretor bit his tongue.
Being almost invisible due to one’s lowly status had clear advantages. For one thing, if found in the wrong place, Daretor’s error would be put down to stupidity, rather than calculation. Free slaves did not scheme, and while they told lies, they were of little interest to those above them. Everyone, with the exception of those on the menu, was above Daretor.
They were soon in the kitchen. There Daretor was assigned tasks that anyone could perform, and was left to his own devices. Nobody checked up on him. Nobody kept an eye on him. It was just as Hakat and QeSu had predicted.
Daretor wanted to look for Zimak’s cell immediately, but QeSu would not let him. ‘You must be designated first,’ she said. When he looked puzzled, she added, ‘You must have a place where you belong. Then, if they find you elsewhere, you simply say you are lost. Everybody gets lost here. The building is designed for those who fly, and walk only on the perches up there.’
She pointed overhead. The rooms were oddly shaped in that the floors were smaller than the cathedral ceilings. Many rooms were huge caverns with the floors partitioned into rooms, offices, corridors, and such like, for the benefit of the pedestrian species. Up near the ceiling, jutting several feet from the walls, was a series of round beams, like those in a bird cage. Often Farvenu perched on these to chat or even strut from one to the other. Daretor saw a sleeping Farvenu and was amazed to discover that they slept upside down, clinging to perches like bats. It made them even more sinister.
Daretor was assigned to cleaning out huge pots, each one easily large enough to hold three men the size of Zimak. The fatty residue that clung to the insides filled Daretor with such seething anger that he was unable to go near them, let alone touch them.
Following QeSu’s advice, Daretor waited half an hour then left the scullery. Pilfering two meat cleavers from a chopping block, he made his way to a prearranged rendezvous and waited for QeSu. He was nervous and jumpy. As the minutes dragged he became more agitated. Could something have happened to her? Surely no one could have discovered their duplicity? Then he wondered whether he had been led into a trap by the girl. Certainly it was odd, as Hakat had often said, that no one seemed to be looking for them.
He had just decided that he must either go looking for QeSu, or escape this place, when he sensed a presence behind him. He spun and flung back his hand, ready to throw a cleaver. Only QeSu’s stifled gasp saved her. He promptly stuck the cleaver into his waistband. ‘Where have you been?’ he said tersely.
‘I needed to steal a tool from the soup chef. He keeps it on him at all times,’ she explained. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ he lied.
QeSu led him to a stairway that spiralled down for several levels. A corridor led into the cliff and was straight as an arrow for at least five hundred yards. The sheer engineering skill involved impressed Daretor, despite the fact that he loathed the engineers.
Two hundred yards in they turned left into another corridor, then right. Daretor tried to memorise the turns, in case he had to come back alone. QeSu nudged him, pointing silently at a bend in the corridor.
Around the bend was a guard station. Three human guards were normally positioned there, QeSu explained. They were armed with swords and pikes. Such guard duties were considered little more than precautionary: no one had ever broken out of the food pens, and certainly no one had ever tried to break in.
Daretor indicated to QeSu that he was ready. Together they marched around the bend and presented themselves to the guards. There were, in fact, four guards. One was visiting from another station, as bad luck would have it.
They straightened up when they saw Daretor and QeSu, but seemed in no way suspicious. QeSu immediately stepped forward. ‘I need to see consignment 787,’ she explained.
‘What for? He’s on the menu,’ said one of the guards, obviously bored.
‘Cook thinks he may have been regurgitating. Need to check his fat content.’ She held up a pair of pincers used to grip rolls of fat and measure their thickness.
The guard tossed QeSu a key, too lazy to go himself. ‘That way. A dozen pens along. Make it quick. The food wagon’s due any moment,’ he said.
The guards went back to their conversation. Daretor breathed a sigh of relief. This was too easy. That made him worry. It was too easy. But who was to say that this time luck wouldn’t go their way? Without a doubt, the mission to recover the dragonsight had, so far, been anything but uneventful. It was time White Quell allowed them easy passage.
Jelindel and Hakat gained entry to the headquarters of Clan Morla – the clan they had reconnoitred – with equal ease
.
For them, things would be very different. For one, they would not be dealing with human underlings and their domestic domains, but with the quarters of the Farvenu themselves. This would be trickier. Worse, the paraworld machine was kept in the clan chieftain’s quarters.
Jelindel had magic on her side. Getting to the machine would be relatively easy. The Farvenu would not be expecting her or her abilities, but she suspected that getting out might be a lot more difficult.
Hakat, as chief negotiator in the absence of Captain Helnick, had met many Farvenu chieftains. This was partly because the clan leaders did not trust their brethren. Hence anything to do with the transfer of money and the acquisition of profit tended to fall within the exclusive domain of the chieftain himself. Hakat had met the Clan Morla chieftain. His name was Faruk and they had sat in his private quarters, haggling over everything from a barrel of jellied pigs’ trotters to rare black Q’zaran pearls.
Hakat knew the way, Jelindel knew the spell, and surprise was on their side. As soon as they were inside, she used a semi-cloaking spell to render them inconspicuous – anything more potent would drain Jelindel too much. They quickly made their way to a long, sloping corridor that zigzagged upwards for at least half a mile. The angle was so steep that they were soon sweating heavily. Fortunately, it was a broad corridor and although they passed several pedestrians, nobody paid them any heed. The Farvenu flapping lazily overhead gave them even less attention.
At the top of the ramp was an empty office. They rested for a few minutes, then set out again. Hakat led the way up more ramps, along dark corridors, and sometimes through huge caverns unused for centuries. The path always led upwards. The chieftains habitually lived on the topmost level, the underlings in descending order beneath him. It was a very hierarchical society, in every sense of the word.
They came upon Faruk’s quarters sooner than expected. Hakat thought they still had one more level to go, but abruptly they were face to face with a ceremonial guard. She was a Farvenu, and instantly saw through Jelindel’s cloaking spell. The creature knew that the two humans were not meant to be here. With a speed that was frightening, her wings shot out to either side and backwards, propelling her forward so fast it almost proved their downfall.
Jelindel had been preparing a binding spell and, by sheer luck, she had just run through it. Even as the creature lunged, screaming shrilly, talons flashing, Jelindel struck. Before Hakat could cry out, the huge warrior tumbled to the floor, bound.
Hakat jumped clear as the Farvenu rolled beneath him. She writhed frantically for several moments, then lay still, glaring at Jelindel with a hatred and fury that seemed worse than the attack. Hakat leaned breathlessly against the wall, feeling weakened by the Farvenu’s hateful glare. ‘Evil spawn,’ he said, giving the creature a wide berth to get to the door. His lock-picking skills came to the fore. The locks in this area were simple, more for show than security. A moment later they were inside Faruk’s inner sanctum.
‘It smells of carrion,’ Jelindel observed.
Hakat went straight to a curtained alcove and pulled back a leathery hanging to reveal a series of barred recesses, no bigger than dog kennels. Hanging from the red-hued stone walls were long, thick chains with shackles.
‘Midnight snacks,’ Hakat said, making the sign of White Quell. ‘Can you get us past these bars here?’
‘We’ll see,’ said Jelindel. A moment later, two bands of blue light wrapped around two bars and slowly pulled them apart.
‘Such fantastic strength!’ exclaimed Hakat.
‘Not so, the iron is rendered soft by the spell.’
On a small table within the alcove sat a gleaming metal box the size of a small artisan’s pack. Hakat turned side on and squeezed in as far as he could. With effort, he hooked the box’s handle. Standing back from the alcove, he flipped open the lid and checked the controls. He turned a switch marked with a Farvenu symbol. A light came on and the contraption hummed softly. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It’s fully powered.’
‘Powered?’ asked Jelindel.
‘Er, it’s sort of fed, with sort of machine food.’
‘Can we go now?’
‘That we can.’
‘Stay,’ said a deep voice. They turned slowly to find two Farvenu studying them.
‘Faruk,’ Hakat managed to breathe.
The larger Farvenu grimaced, and then the creatures attacked simultaneously, wings thrown back, lunging forward and slashing with lightning speed. Jelindel spat out a holding spell, but not before a talon raked Hakat’s forearm, gouging a deep gash that oozed blood. Hakat screeched, clutching his bloodied arm. The two creatures were now frozen in midair, straining at the mage light that held them.
Jelindel was sweating as she maintained the spell. She had never encountered such brute strength before. By sheer muscular power the two Farvenu were slowly draining her magic. Then she realised that Hakat had already fled to the door. He had only stopped because the fallen guard had somehow manoeuvred herself to block the entrance.
‘Bind these two,’ Jelindel managed to mutter between clenched teeth. ‘The chains from the alcove …’
Hakat looked pleadingly at her. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets. ‘I can’t,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I can’t!’
‘They’re escaping,’ she hissed.
Hakat shook with indecision. Without the mage he would never reach the bottom level. To stay was to court death. Even now the Farvenu were drawing closer to Jelindel, daemonic creatures defying gravity, floating inches above the flags, drawing inexorably closer to the countess. Countess. Duty to the title swayed him. Count Juram’s daughter needed him. He walked to the alcove, eyes not leaving the Farvenu. Clasping the chains, he trailed them towards the floating creatures. Even as he clasped the shackles around the smaller Farvenu, Jelindel released the creature and it dropped to the floor. Jelindel concentrated on Faruk himself.
The released Farvenu spat and hissed and writhed like a demented thing. When it found it could not free itself, it sank into a kind of patient stupor, red eyes blazing. Jelindel could not tell if it was merely waiting for a chance at freedom, or if imprisonment rendered it torpid.
‘Now the others,’ Jelindel panted.
Hakat wound the chain around Faruk’s legs and hands, then he looped it around the creature’s wings for good measure. With scarcely enough chain, he manacled the female by the door. Not happy with his handiwork, Hakat stepped back quickly. There is not enough chain in the paraworld to hold these creatures, his brain screamed.
‘They won’t hold for long,’ he said miserably.
Jelindel muttered a binding spell and allowed the other, more difficult and tiring spells, to dissipate. She breathed out, then drew in the heady power of the first spell as it returned to her. Incarcerating three creatures even with simple binding spells was more debilitating than she had thought possible.
Faruk grunted when he dropped to the ground. After an initial struggle, he lay still. Jelindel approached him with great caution. She did not trust either the earthly bonds or the magical ones to restrain him fully.
‘Better bandage that arm,’ Jelindel said to Hakat. ‘Predators like these can probably smell blood a long way off.’
Hakat found a cloth hanging and tore it into strips. Meanwhile, Jelindel crouched so that she was at eye level with Faruk. His mesmerising eyes transfixed her. In them she read the promise of dreadful retribution.
‘Magic user, you are,’ he slurred. Saliva dripped from his incisors.
‘True,’ said Jelindel. ‘I can kill you with a word. And I will, if you don’t answer my questions.’
Faruk gave no indication that her ultimatum worried him.
‘You speak some of my language,’ Jelindel went on, ignoring the creature’s fetid breath.
‘Speak many tongues.’
‘You have been to Q’zar?’
Faruk grunted.
‘Your ancestors went there long ago?’
His eyes never le
ft hers. Jelindel stared impassively back, confident that her binding spell would hold till she released it.
‘Long ago,’ said Faruk.
‘When men were young?’
‘Before.’
‘Before men came?’
‘Dragons then.’
‘You fought dragons?’
Faruk smiled, grim but also admiring. ‘Dragons great enemies. Destroy many Farvenu. We go.’
‘When men came, Farvenu were there?’
Faruk blinked, bored with her questions.
‘Did your people know the language of the first men?’ Jelindel leaned forward, almost holding her breath.
‘We learned.’
‘Do you remember it? Was it passed down? Are there records of it?’
‘Who cares?’
‘I care.’
‘I don’t.’
She muttered beneath her breath and the binding around Faruk tightened. He grunted in pain but showed no other sign of discomfort. ‘There is a word in the language of the first men. I must know its meaning.’
Faruk opened his mouth in a parody of a grin. He laughed scornfully, as if she had said something stupid.
‘Children forget.’
Jelindel sighed. ‘Yes, we have forgotten. I think your people live a long time. It is easier for you to remember.’
‘What word?’
‘Hadirr. Do you know it?’
‘No.’ That scornful grinning laughter again.
Jelindel felt defeated. She doubted she could extract the information from this creature even if she had the will to torture it. She stood up.
‘Let’s go, Hakat. We have what we came for. Most of it.’ She strengthened the binding spell and eyed the chieftain. ‘This binding will hold for an hour. It will not harm you further.’
She and Hakat moved to the door. Hakat peered out, making sure the way was clear. He nodded and stepped over the bound body there. Jelindel followed him.
