Unwrapped Sky

by Rjurik Davidson

  Parsyn turned to the Numerians. “Bring us refreshments, slaves.”

  Maximilian knew already that the Collegia were known to enslave Numerians and others from beyond the sea. But the sight of the slaves aroused his anger. He saw Nkando in them. And yet, he knew the Collegia’s support was essential. The seditionist policy was already agreed, and to break it would be to break ranks. Maximilian knew that as well as anybody.

  “How do you live each day, knowing that you own living men and women?” he said.

  “Anything that can be bought or sold freely,” said the Collegium man. “That’s the nature of commerce. Everything has a price.”

  Aceline spoke first. “You understand that we, of course, do not support such human bondage. We hope Caeli-Amur will return to a situation where all are real citizens, as in the time of the ancients.”

  “But surely there are other rights. The right of a man to buy whatever he can, with his own good earnings?”

  Maximilian bit his tongue. To break ranks would mean there would be no point in belonging to the group at all. Decisions must be made together, and once made, were binding on all. That was the point of the meetings in the Communal Cavern. Across the table he watched as Thom’s dark eyebrows quivered with rage. The artist was prone to passionate outbursts and, apparently to stop one of these, he clamped his own hand against his mouth.

  Ejan leaned forward. “None of this is relevant to the question at hand. A call has been made for a show of anti-House sentiment on Aya’s Day, two weeks hence. We ask that the Collegia and their members join us.”

  Surri of Collegium Litia, whose members were composed of independent fisherman and boatbuilders, leaned forward. “Our members are freemen. Consider the Collegia more a flexible web of individuals than a closed body. Still, we have our own watchmen—”

  “Death squads, you mean,” said Max. “Isn’t it true that what loyalty you claim is won by coercion?”

  Dumas shifted behind the table and ran his tongue along the inside of one jowl. “We can call on our members, if need be. But, if we do, then there must be a cost. We know that you seditionists have wild theories about the kind of Caeli-Amur you would see, should the Houses be overthrown. But any city after the Houses must allow for freedom of commerce: Anything a man can sell, we must allow. There must be no constraint on a man’s ability to buy or sell.”

  “Or a woman’s,” said Aceline.

  “Or a woman’s,” agreed Dumas.

  “Slavery, for example,” said Max.

  “Perhaps,” said Dumas, rubbing his jowls with one hand. “But more likely there are things which we have not yet realized might profit a man. At this point, the Houses only allow us a small autonomy, here hidden away among the slums in the Lavere. They allow us to unite the small traders and craftsmen. But much of the large-scale trading they control, Marin across the seas, Technis to Varenis, Arbor the South. We want to be able to import or construct anything we like, however much we like, to hire as many people as we like, whoever they are. Agree to that, and we will march on Aya’s Day, and at every manifestation of dissent after that.”

  Maximilian thought instantly of the consequences: everything under the control of the Houses now would now be free to exploit. Was that a better world? Certainly, it was not the one he had in mind, in which all things would be put to the use of the people.

  Aceline looked first at Ejan, who nodded, and then at Max, who stared blank-faced. “Agreed,” she said. “In two weeks, we will have the first of our demonstrations.”

  At this moment, the Numerian slaves entered with wine, fruit, and spiced flat-breads from a bakery somewhere on the Thousand Stairs nearby.

  “Let us celebrate!” said Dumas.

  As soon as they left Collegium Caelian’s complex, Max could hold his tongue no longer. “They are our enemies. Slavery is worse than the House system. This will be a regression.”

  “We use whatever we can to overthrow the Houses,” said Ejan.

  “Yes,” said Aceline. “One step at a time. First the immediate enemy, with whoever supports us against them. Then a second step, against the second enemy, shedding those who no longer walk beside us.”

  Maximilian admired Aceline’s strategic thought, but he thought Ejan to be purely a pragmatist. Here they were united against him. He argued that this would lead the path to a new system of cruelty, in which the rich would be served by a legion of slaves. Each time he mounted the argument, the other two replied as they already had. It was a question of strategy. They would defeat the greatest enemy first. Who knew, perhaps the Collegia themselves would come to change their minds.

  Thom finally burst out, “They are filth. Rotten like fruit on the ground—the skin looks fresh but if you eat the fruit, you’ll make yourself sick. That’s what we are doing. Mark my words!” He then burst into melodramatic tears, which took even Max aback. Aceline smiled at Max in embarrassment.

  “He’s right,” said Max.

  Once they were back at the hideout, they finally stopped arguing. There, Maximilian stood alone and watched the seditionists as they walked around the cavern. They seemed beautiful to him, all these people with one transcendental mission; all these people whose lives were greater than their individual interests and desires.

  As he stood there, Quadi walked over to him. As he nibbled on some spiced bread, he said, “Tell me, Maximilian, why do you record all these activities?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The recording device—why do you have it up there?”

  Maximilian looked up to see a round object placed on the top of one of the pillars in the room. “A recording device,” he said softly.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The scrying ball had remained on the top of the pillar watching everything, like a symbol for Kata’s bad conscience. Each time she considered moving it to Ejan’s workshop, she stopped herself. Now more than three hundred seditionists were crushed into the place, sleeping side by side, picking through the piles of belongings, calling to one another across the cavern. There was always someone up at night, moving about: workaholics and insomniacs. Hidden somewhere deep inside her swirled a feeling of dread. Every now and then awareness of the pillar rose up to the front of her mind—she did not want to be caught; she did not want Maximilian to know who she was—and as quickly as she could, she pushed it down. But the longer the ball stayed there, the more dangerous it was for Maximilian. She was bound to him, after their moment in the alleyway by the cliffs. When Maximilian had said it would not happen again, she had been filled with terrible bitterness. But then she had considered things. Of course, they were seditionists. Though others formed attachments, she knew Maximilian’s dedication. She had then begun to hope. Once the seditionist group was broken, then she might hide him away from the Houses. Then, perhaps, they could be together. Louis would not move the scrying ball, so she would have to do it.

  As she tidied her possessions around her mattress, Louis squatted beside her. His eyes moved about as if he were about to be attacked. “I think they know.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” said Kata.

  “I’ve seen Maximilian meet with Ejan and I swear he looked up at the ball. Josiane’s been prowling like a dog on a scent.”

  “You’re imagining things,” said Kata. But underneath, she knew what he said was true. The group was filled with suspicions now. Only days before, Aceline’s passionate lieutenant, Thom—his thick black beard giving him a slightly mad look—had clashed with the brooding Rikard, whom he accused of spying on A Call to Arms. Kata had no doubt about Rikard’s fidelity to seditionism, but as Thom shook Rikard, she had known that it would not be long before such fractures turned to violence.

  “Leave the scrying ball. Think only of our survival,” Louis pleaded.

  In the afternoon, Kata excused herself as the final preparations for Maximilian’s journey to Caeli-Enas were being completed. She felt cooped up in the hideout.

  Padding along the tunnels that led back to the
exit, she passed groups of seditionists carrying bags. She nodded to them. As she headed on, she felt one stop behind her.

  Turning, she said, “Giselle.”

  “Follow me.”

  Giselle led her back toward the hideout. Their lanterns threw shadows onto the rocky walls. Some seemed to move and shift into the shapes of animals or great distorted faces, looming large and then fading away again. Rather than passing through the hidden passageway, they continued on deeper into the mountain. Giselle passed several more forks in the tunnel and turned right into a dark opening. The only thing that Kata could hear was the soft sound of water trickling over rocks.

  They moved along the side of a cavern, where vast murals were painted on the wall in orange and black: a group of elephant-headed humanoids walked down a long pathway in the hills, their trunks brilliantly made into bas-reliefs by the ripples and ridges of the rock. Whether part of that same picture or another one Kata could not tell, sleek machines hovered in a blue sky.

  “Who painted these?” whispered Kata, quieted by the spiritual feel of the paintings. “I’ve never heard of such elephant-men. Is it possible they date back to before the ancients? A species before minotaurs and Sirens?”

  Giselle shrugged and sat on a ledge close to a large underground lake, the water dead still, only the trickling sound of water coming from far away in the dark. “Only yesterday I saw a minotaur in the city.”

  “You did?” The words leaped from her throat. “Where?”

  “He was climbing the Thousand Steps. Sometimes I wonder if those creatures brought all this on. All this trouble.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Tall, with the strangest head—something like a bull,” joked Giselle.

  Kata elbowed Giselle in the ribs and narrowed her eyes. But her mind rushed with thoughts and images. A flood of excitement and fear filled her.

  “So.” Giselle changed the subject. “Does Technis plan to strike?”

  Kata hesitated. Officially Marin was still Technis’s enemy; it was not long since the protracted wars between the Houses were open and vicious. “At some point, but not yet. Marin?”

  “Not until later,” said Giselle. “Marin has made the decision that as long as the greatest hatred is focused against Technis, they will allow the sedition. Perhaps Marin will finally rise to dominance.” Giselle picked a small stone and threw it into the water. There was a loud plop as it disappeared beneath the surface. “Now, are you going to lie to me all the time?”

  Kata looked at Giselle coldly. “What makes you think I’m lying?”

  Giselle pursed her lips. “Because you’re a liar.”

  Kata began to protest and stopped herself. What could she say? She was a liar. But who wasn’t, she wondered? Who didn’t keep little secrets or large ones? You had to keep secrets to survive; she’d learned that on the street.

  “It’s of no concern,” said Giselle. “I just want to know when Technis plans to strike. I want to make sure I’m safe.”

  “I’ll let you know,” said Kata.

  Giselle took Kata’s face in her hands. “I’m relying on you.”

  Everyone is, thought Kata. And they have all made a terrible mistake.

  Kata waited until late at night when the slumbering bodies of the seditionists were enshrouded by darkness, only a few lamps hanging from the distant gloomy walls. Finally, the room was filled with only the soft stirrings of the sleeping. Here someone rolled over; there another mumbled words from a dream.

  Kata padded softly to Louis’s mattress, which lay by one of the benches fixed in the center of the room. With a firm finger, she poked him. “Get up. If anyone awakes, I want you to distract them, or alert me.”

  “How?” He whispered as he pulled himself quietly to his feet, pulled on his pants and his shoes.

  “You’ll think of a way. Break something. Start screaming.”

  Kata stepped quickly and lightly through the sleeping bodies, like a cat in the night. Without hesitating, she scaled the black pillar, placing her hands in the little vents that ran horizontally along it. In seconds she had reached the top, some fifteen feet above the ground. She took the ball in her hand, placed it beneath her arm, looked down to prepare her ascent.

  A bright light illuminated her, a white ray in the darkness. Kata froze.

  “Well, well,” said a voice.

  Sleepers stirred at the beaming light and the sound of Josiane’s voice. Kata dropped to the ground. Still the light shone on her. She could sense Louis slipping back into the background, leaving her alone.

  Seditionists stood around the room while Kata remained fixed to the spot, her mind racing. They probably didn’t know what the ball was—at least not yet. That would buy her time to think of a reason. Perhaps she could claim that she just noticed it up there. But then why did she not retrieve it during the day?

  Other lamps were now being lit and seditionists were stirring or pressing in closer to her, eyes wide with anger and fear.

  “She climbed that pillar and fetched the ball.” Josiane spoke to no one in particular. She kept her lamp, shining a single beam through one open shutters, fixed on Kata.

  “What is it?” said Kata, her mind scrambled to deflect attention.

  Maximilian stood beside Ejan. His face was ashen. “It’s a recording device.”

  “What are you doing with a recording device?” asked Ejan.

  Kata looked around the room. “I saw a figure in the dark approach the pillar and I thought they were about to scale it. It was then that I saw the ball sitting there. Curious, I scaled the pillar to see what it was.”

  Ejan’s beautiful face was impassive as ever. “Oh, and who was this ‘figure’?”

  Kata surveyed the crowd gathered around her. She looked from eye to accusing eye. It sounded like an excuse. It was an excuse. There would be no escape in that direction. Her eyes settled on Maximilian, whose eyes were round in disbelief. To see him was like a blow to her stomach. She felt as if she would collapse there, among the crowd, under the weight of all the things she had lost. But that would only hasten her death—for death was what awaited her. It was a war, as Ejan had said many times. She looked into the ball: Could the officiate see what was happening? Would he send rescue?

  “So,” said Ejan. “Who was this figure?”

  Kata looked around at the crowd again. Desperation filled her as she saw the faces of the seditionists, of people she had come to care for in these recent weeks. Shame welled within her like nausea. She was bereft of principle, bereft of anything that mattered in this life. Yet some part of her wanted these seditionists to accept her as one of their own. Especially Maximilian, whose worried eyes lingered on her. Her eyes roved the crowd, knowing that there was no way out. This was the end for her. She had not even experienced one day in the villa she had dreamed of. But dreaming: that was all that it had ever been, her entire life.

  Ejan smiled malevolently. “Kata, this figure, this person you accuse. They don’t exist, do they? No, you’re trying to avoid the truth of matters, for you know that this is the end of you.”

  Kata’s eyes roved the crowd and finally settled on one face, staring from the back of the crowd guiltily. “It was him! I saw Louis approach and once he had done something with this ball, I examined it. It was him!”

  Louis yelped and looked on with horror. “No! No, it’s not true. I’m not an agent. It’s her: she’s an agent for House Technis. She placed the ball herself.” As he was panicking, words flooded from his mouth, one falling over the other like a stampeding crowd. “I have nothing to do with that ball.”

  “It was him.” Kata spoke with confidence. She saw a way out of this disaster, if she held her nerve. And holding her nerve was something she was practiced at.

  Silence reigned in the seditionist hideout. The weight of the moment seemed to hang in the air like a pall, connecting them all in a silent shroud of emotion and power. Everyone looked to be lost in thought: Maximilian, his face troubled; Ejan,
calm and cool; Josaine, shifting from foot to foot like an animal. Collette and Oewen and Aceline and Thom. Each of them seemed to be assessing the truth of Kata’s words. Could they trust her? Was Louis the agent, as she claimed? Each of them appeared to be rejecting the notion. Maximilian dropped his head and, still shaking it, looked at the ground. Ejan smiled coldly at her, Josiane took a step forward as if she were preparing to fight. And Kata realized that there would be no escape. They saw through her desperate gambit. They saw her as the liar she was. She prepared for the bitter last moments.

  “It’s true.” Through the crowd walked Giselle. “I, too, saw a figure in the dark approach the pillar. It was him. It was Louis.”

  Louis stood pale and trembling, seditionists stepping away from him so that he stood alone in the dark.

  Maximilian looked up, nodding suddenly and stepped forward. “I, too, will vouch for her. I trust her. She is one of us. But him, I cannot vouch for.”

  Ejan nodded. “To tell the truth, I have had suspicions about him myself.”

  Kata did not feel the relief she had hoped. Instead, she felt dread at coming events. She looked at Louis’s guilt-stricken and terrified face. I’m sorry, she thought to herself, at what the seditionists are about to do to you.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Louis was strangely passive as Thom and Josiane tied him to a chair in the center of the cavern. Once strapped down, he alternated between shivering silently and then bursting out with words that tumbled over each other. “I’ll do anything. It was wrong of me. I’ll become an agent for you. I’ll spy on the Houses. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.” Some internal wall had broken within him, and he no longer protested his innocence. He was not hard, like Kata.

  Around him, the entire group stood silently. No one could be exactly sure what would occur now, for Louis was the first agent to be discovered in the group. What would be the punishment for such a crime?