He had stared out through the window in utter amazement for the entire ride, completely ignoring the plush interior and beautiful décor. The other passengers knew he was a lower city dweller. His being with the prince kept their tongues behind their teeth, but he was perfectly aware of what they were thinking. He could see it in their eyes when they were disembarking as well. Not that this troubled him in the least. That was also the first day he had met the king. In fact, it had been the first day for a lot of things.
He tore his eyes from the city and concentrated on the road.
Security was intense around Troi. He would need to pass through six more checkpoints before actually entering; six more times of dealing with morons like the sentry at the border. He reminded himself he would need to find a suitable way to repay Xavier for his consideration.
The later it became, the more the sight of the approaching city teased out unwanted memories, as if the lights were digging deep into his soul and finding all of his pain simply for the sake of cruel amusement. He was now close enough to clearly make out the details. The outer buildings swirled up, intertwining with their neighbors in impossibly intricate patterns until the very tips of their spires exploded with mana streams of every color imaginable. Often it was difficult to distinguish one building from another as they wove together like vines guided by a celestial gardener. Those of the inner city shot up like great crystal formations of green and blue, escaping the darkness of the underground in order to favor the world with a glimpse of their magnificence. Light from their mana streams spilled from the upper levels and faded just beyond the tops of the outer buildings. It was like looking at a waterfall of magical energy feeding life into the whole of Vale. And climbing even higher than any of these was the royal palace itself, a gleaming white tower formed into a perfect cylinder that dominated everything else around it. To Drake, the simplicity of its design had always been the secret of its special allure: a solid core to hold together a fragile beauty. The highest point of this, completely obscured by cloud cover, was where the city’s power station was located. Not that he had ever been up there to see it for himself; only the high mages and the king himself were ever permitted to enter.
It was well past midnight by the time he made it through the final checkpoint and into the lower city. The massive tunnel sloped sharply downwards and the road was packed with traffic as he dropped to the first level. He was now directly below the upper city’s lush gardens, where the schools and most of the administrative facilities were located. But though there was plenty of brightness and daylight overhead, down here the sun never shone. The entire level was covered completely from end to end, as if to protect the top dwellers from possibly spoiling their day by looking down upon those who served them. Even so, there was no shortage of artificial light. There was never an outage, and despite the fact that those who lived here would never be allowed to move into the upper city, life was still pretty good; certainly when compared to the provinces.
People usually worked normal shifts and were paid enough to provide for their families, though never enough to advance their status. Most of the six levels were dedicated either to housing or some kind of important manufacturing. Almost all mana-powered devices were made down here.
Although the vast majority of top dwellers despised the lower levels, Drake had always taken the opposite view. Down here he’d found it much easier to imagine what the rest of the world would one day become. Top dwellers invariably lived in a stiff and proper way, but here people were free with their humor and wit, which meant there was always fun to be had. When he was still a rookie guard, he used to love going to the dance clubs with his co-workers. But one lesson he’d learned quickly was to make sure to change into his street clothes first. The royal guard was feared. Even hated by some. Most people would simply avoid them altogether, though inevitably someone would get drunk enough to voice their opinion and end up getting themselves arrested. That was the one thing you never did if you wanted to remain living in Troi – you always kept your opinion to yourself. Dissent was not tolerated. And it wasn’t as if he could simply ignore the matter if someone mouthed off, not if he wanted to get promoted. There was always someone watching.
The directions given to him at the last checkpoint were unnecessary; he knew Troi like the back of his hand. He had spent two years of his life patrolling these streets before moving up top. And he’d been good at it, too. He seemed to have a gift for sensing trouble before it actually kicked off. His partner had said it was due to his talent for magic, that this had given him an intuition most people didn’t possess. Though Drake had never been sure about the truth of this statement, he was grateful for the ability nonetheless. A perceived talent for magic meant that he would soon be considered for promotion to the upper city. There was only a handful of ways you could get there if you were not born to it, and that was most surely one of them.
He wound his way to the east side until he reached the office of the magistrate. By then, the ghosts of his past were close to overwhelming. One in particular was especially haunting him.
Don’t think about her, he scolded himself. But he couldn’t help it. The picture of her face in his mind, soaked in tears and looking at him with immeasurable sorrow, would not be denied.
He pulled into the parking garage and showed the attendant his identification. It was expired, but still good enough to get him through without a problem. At least Xavier had known when enough was enough.
After parking Cal, he entered the office through the garage-level entrance. The lift was available, but he always preferred using the stairs. A hawker never took the easy way if he could help it; such habits made you soft. At least, that was what he was telling himself. The real truth was, he didn’t want to get too accustomed to the conveniences of Troi. This whole affair might well end up being one huge disappointment. Given even a small amount of encouragement, the tiny shred of hope that he couldn’t quite shake off was likely to grow completely out of control. He’d already suffered enough the first time he’d been forced to leave. There was no way he wanted to feel any part of that pain again.
Upon reaching the lobby, he stopped for a moment to simply stare at the room. The floor was made from brilliant blue tiles, with the seal of the magistrate displayed proudly in the very center. As for the chairs provided for those waiting for their appointments, they were unrecognizable from the rickety and hard-to-sit-on offerings you found in the provinces. These were as plush and comfortable as anything you would see in a good class home. Holopics of the line of kings covered the walls – and in their proper order. His eyes lingered for a moment on the aspect of King Nedar, and then he continued to gauge his surroundings. The glass doors leading out into the street were etched with the Lion of Troi and noticeably clean of any dirt or fingerprints. An attractive young woman with honey-blonde hair and soft features was sitting behind the reception desk. Her bright yellow dress was neatly pressed and made from new material. Drake hadn’t seen a woman looking like this in….
He shook away the thought.
“Is the lift out of order?” she asked, as she noticed him standing by the stairwell.
Drake shook his head. “I needed the exercise.”
Her disapproving expression made him feel oddly uncomfortable. It was obvious from his worn jeans and threadbare t-shirt that he was not a city dweller.
“Can I help you?”
Drake pulled the slip of paper given to him at the final checkpoint from his pocket and placed it on the desk. The woman picked it up with the very tips of her fingers, as if implying that she might otherwise catch something from it.
“I see.” She nodded in the direction of the chairs. “If you care to take a seat.”
Without a word, Drake did as he was instructed. Part of him wanted to shout out that there was once a time she would have fallen all over herself to make him comfortable when he walked into the room. She might have even flirted a little, if she was bold enough. With a small sigh, he suppress
ed the impulse. Right now, he was exactly what she took him for: a vagabond from the outer provinces. Even so, she could at least show some manners.
After more than an hour had passed, a tall man in a deep crimson jacket with the lion of Troi stitched in gold on the lapel entered the lobby and approached Drake. He was holding a set of keys and a piece of paper.
“You are Drake Sharazi?” he asked.
This was definitely a top dweller; Drake could tell by the accent. “Yes. I’m Drake Sharazi.”
“The magistrate told me to give you these.” He handed over both items. “You are to wait at this address until you are contacted by Captain Mortimer. Do you understand?”
Drake looked at the paper. The only thing written on it was an address. “Did he say when I would be contacted?” he asked.
“A car will be waiting for you in the garage.”
“I have my own car.”
“I am aware of this. Arrangements have been made for its retrieval. You may take whatever you need from the vehicle, but you are to leave it with us.”
Drake gritted his teeth. He should have expected this. Xavier wasn’t about to let him run around without knowing where he was. Especially if he was being sent after the prince.
“I’ll need to disengage the security,” he said, trying to mask his irritation.
“Please do so. Now, if you will excuse me…”
Drake watched as the man spun on his heels and strode from the lobby. Damn it! He should have parked somewhere else. Oh, well. Nothing to do about it now.
He returned to the garage and saw that a truck was already backing up to his vehicle. Another car was waiting nearby. After grabbing his duffle bag and sword from the trunk, he turned off the security. Had they tried to take Cal with it on… He grinned at the thought.
Once alongside the waiting car, he presented his piece of paper to the driver. In return, the man handed him a sealed envelope bearing the stamp of the royal guard. Inside was a new identification card, though still bearing his old holopic.
After settling into the back seat, he stared at the ID. The image on his old one had been barely visible – faded away, just like everything else in his life. This one, however…
“Look at you,” he muttered. “Smiling like an idiot.”
The picture had been taken on the very day he became Captain of the royal guard. Prince Salazar had insisted he take a new one. To capture the joy of the moment forever, he had said. That was fine then. All it did now was mock him. He shoved the card into his wallet and looked out the window.
The broad walkways were already filling up with people. The deep gray metal of the buildings was a stark contrast to the splendor of what was to be seen just one level higher. Nonetheless, to Drake, these buildings held a measure of their own beauty. Each one reflected the street lighting in its own unique way, capturing colors and images that would otherwise have gone unnoticed. The distorted images of passers-by, like otherworldly spirits haunting the city, made him smile for a moment. This faded as his eyes rose higher. Only six stories were allowed on this level, the top one serving as a support for the upper city. In fact, all six levels had been designed primarily to keep the upper city standing. It was a perfect metaphor for the reality of life.
Brightly lit signs told him that they were now entering the market district. Each level had a market of its own, but here at this one you could buy some of the best food and drink in Troi. He briefly considered asking the driver to stop when he spotted a manga juice shop. The thought of a frosty mug of manga juice pouring down his throat was almost too much. A silly thing to long for, really. But he couldn’t help it.
They still had to go down two more levels before reaching their destination. Before long, the spiraling road leading down in this direction became ever more jammed with vehicles, prompting the driver to pull over into the emergency lane. Drake couldn’t help but notice the looks of envy and contempt from some of the occupants of other vehicles as they passed easily by. Being late for work even one time could be enough to get you fired. To reduce this risk, people usually did their best to live on the same level where they worked. Of course, there was always the possibility of a compulsory transfer, which could end up badly, especially if you couldn’t find someone in the reverse predicament. This made apartment swapping quite a common occurrence. Even now, Drake could spot cars loaded down with bags and furniture.
He tore his eyes away and leaned back in the seat. “Mind if I smoke?”
The driver shrugged.
Drake took the cigar he had snatched from Barnaby, lit it up, and waited a minute to savor the aroma before rolling down the window.
“Are you really Drake Sharazi?” the up-until-now silent driver suddenly asked.
Drake closed his eyes, thoroughly enjoying the taste of the tobacco. “Yes.”
“You know, not everyone thought you were guilty.”
Drake cracked open one eye and furrowed his brow. “Is that right?”
“Folks in the lower city, anyway. They think you were framed.”
“Why’s that?”
“It just didn’t add up. I mean, why would you do such a crazy thing?”
“I think everyone knows why.”
“Yeah. But that’s just it. That sort of thing goes on all the time. No one talks about it, but we all know it happens.”
“You do realize they had a holovid of the incident, right?”
“Yeah. I remember. But those things can be faked easily enough.”
Drake was finding it odd that this man would dare to speak so openly. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said. “What happened, happened.”
“I suppose. I just thought you should know that not everyone here believes you’re guilty.”
“Thanks. But I really think you should keep that kind of thing to yourself.”
The driver glanced over his shoulder, smiling. “You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”
Drake returned the smile and clamped the cigar between his teeth. “Nope.”
Having broken his silence, the driver now seemed keen to talk. For the rest of the ride he chatted almost non-stop about current events in Troi. Nothing was of particular interest to Drake. In fact, so little had changed, the man could easily have been recounting the days before his exile. Life in Troi had always been a series of routines. The only thing that was unusual was a mention of the rise in protests. Most people were afraid to speak out. But lately, it seemed, more and more were finding the courage.
“To be honest, I don’t know what they have to complain about,” the driver continued. “I mean, it could be a whole lot worse. At least here you don’t starve. And I hear tell they might start allowing people to spend some time in the gardens.”
“So what’s it all about?” Drake asked. “What are they saying they want?”
“Hard to say. The guards chase them off before they can do much. The ones they do catch aren’t heard from again. Exiled, I imagine.”
Or killed, Drake thought. “What do you think about it?”
“Hey, I just drive a car. Whatever their problem is, it’s none of my business.”
Drake could understand why the man would not want to become involved. Being a government driver was a great job. You would have to be a fool to risk losing it.
They had now reached the level they wanted, and with no lanes on the streets this far down set aside for emergency and government vehicles, the conversation stopped as the driver was forced to concentrate on navigating his way through the dense traffic. Under such circumstances, it could have taken them hours to get from one side to the other. Fortunately, their destination was not too far ahead after exiting the main highway.
They pulled up, and Drake immediately slid out from the back.
“Are they letting you stay?” the driver asked, as Drake shoved his sword inside the duffle.
“We’ll see.”
“Well, I for one hope they do.”
“Thanks.”
Drak
e waited for the car to move off before approaching the front of the building. Above the glass double doors was a number; that was all. No markings of any kind, nor were there any distinguishing features to indicate what purpose the building might serve. Just inside was a desk, behind which a young man in a blue jumpsuit was seated, thumbing through a stack of papers. He glanced up at Drake and let out an exasperated sigh.
“How many more of you are coming today?” he said under his breath.
Drake pulled out his identification and handed it over. “I was sent by –”
“The magistrate’s office,” he cut in. “Yes. I know. Why else would you be here?” After looking at the ID, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Says here you’re to be accommodated on the top floor.” He chuckled. “Not too many of you from the outer provinces get to stay there. You should feel privileged.”
“Should I?”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Of course. How many of you lot do you imagine are given a real apartment to stay in?” After tossing the ID card back across the desk, he sneered: “I must remember to call maintenance. It’s going to need a good scrubbing down after you’re gone.”
Drake tried to ignore the insult, but his anger got the better of him. He leaned in closer. “You’re from level six. Right?”
The man stiffened.
Drake grinned. “I thought so. I can tell by the way you slur your S’s. Being a reception clerk is a hell of a promotion for anyone from that far down. Your parents must be so proud.” He folded his arms and held his chin between his forefinger and thumb in an exaggerated pose of deep thought. “Let me see, now…your mom and dad both work in the sewage plant, right?”
The Vale: Behind The Vale Page 4
