City Of Hope And Despair Part 3

Dewar bowed his head respectfully. "I'll do anything, prime master."

Then came the inevitable stick, which the prime master brandished with equal deftness. "I would require a small amount of your blood, of course."

Dewar froze. "My blood? Why?"

"Oh, nothing to worry about." The old man smiled and waved a dismissive hand. "Just a pinp.r.i.c.k on a finger, that's all. You'll barely feel a thing."

Dewar licked his top lip, a nervous habit he thought abandoned decades ago. "And why exactly would you need this blood of mine?"

"A mere precaution, which I'm sure will prove redundant. You see, the service I mentioned involves you safeguarding the life of a certain individual as they undertake a potentially perilous journey. In the unlikely event that you should have a change of heart while fulfilling your task and abscond, or, worse still, should anything happen to the person you're supposed to be guarding, well, with a drop of your blood there isn't a corner of the world you can hide in where I won't be able to reach you."

Dewar stared at the prime master. The man's smile remained as warm and guileless as ever.

The a.s.sa.s.sin had seen some of the things arkademics could do and didn't doubt that masters were capable of a great deal more. He sensed that here before him was a good, a decent man, but he didn't make the mistake of a.s.suming that this was an indication of weakness. Here was the person who was ultimately responsible for the whole of the city and everyone in it, who must be well used to making tough choices when such were required. After all, he hadn't hesitated in deploying the Blade to the under-City, where their very name was a dire curse.

The a.s.sa.s.sin was not about to dismiss the threat couched in the old man's soft-spoken tone as an idle one.

The prime master was speaking again. "I apologise now for taking such unnecessary precautions, but you do understand why I have to take them, don't you?"

Dewar's own smile was thin and humourless as he nodded in agreement. "Of course."

"Excellent! Oh, by the way, the person you'll be looking out for is someone I believe you're already aware of, a former street-nick by the name of Tom."

Dewar struggled to keep his face pa.s.sive, feeling simultaneously shocked and amused, and undecided about which reaction was the stronger. He had just been charged with safeguarding the life of the very lad he'd originally been sent into the City Below to kill.

As if that particular irony were not enough for any man to have to deal with, the prime master had another surprise up his sleeve, casually revealed to Dewar as he was leaving the man's presence, having donated a few drops of blood.

The prime master suddenly said, in the manner of a man who had almost forgotten to ask, "Incidentally, is there anyone among your network of informants in the underCity you would like me to keep an eye on in your absence? Anybody who you feel might otherwise be vulnerable?"

Dewar paused and looked back at this deceptively frail man, this cunning manipulator and consummate politician. The question left the a.s.sa.s.sin in no doubt that somehow the old man knew all about the retribution he had dealt the bargeman Hal on Marta's behalf. Dewar had left the slimy brecker bleeding his life away in an alley close to the runs; one more unsolved murder for the local razzers to puzzle over just another night in the City Below but he didn't doubt that someone of the prime master's abilities could identify him as the perpetrator should he be interested enough to investigate. Evidently, he had.

The a.s.sa.s.sin found himself strangely reluctant to answer. He had a choice here and it wasn't one he relished. Before making it, he was going to have to do something he'd been trying to avoid: a.n.a.lyse what he truly felt for Marta, if indeed he felt anything at all. She was, after all, a wh.o.r.e; a particularly pretty, young, and spirited one, granted, but still a wh.o.r.e.

He licked his upper lip again, much to his own annoyance, and said, as nonchalantly as he could manage, "Thank you, prime master, but not really, no." Then he added, as if he too were susceptible to afterthoughts, "Though, having said that, there is is one girl, now that you mention it; a tavern wench by the name of Marta she means nothing to me personally, you understand, but she's had a particularly rough time of it lately, and she did provide the information that led me to the Blue Claw, which in turn set events in motion. I do feel she probably deserves a certain consideration." one girl, now that you mention it; a tavern wench by the name of Marta she means nothing to me personally, you understand, but she's had a particularly rough time of it lately, and she did provide the information that led me to the Blue Claw, which in turn set events in motion. I do feel she probably deserves a certain consideration."

"Marta," the prime master repeated thoughtfully, as if memorising the name. "Very well. And she operates where?"

"Around the market area, at the fringes of the runs," Dewar replied, seeing no harm in playing the prime master's game but wondering what advantage he was handing the old man even as he did so. "As I say, no real matter, but since you asked..."

"No, quite understood. From what you say, the city owes this girl a considerable debt. I'll make sure she's safe in your absence."

"Thank you." Dewar felt completely off-balance, his thoughts rattled and fragmented, as if he had just been outcla.s.sed in a mental fist fight and was still reeling from a series of well-placed blows. This was a feeling completely alien to him, a man who took pride in his self-control. He forced his thoughts into order, and, as his mind began to regain some semblance of equilibrium, was suddenly appalled by his own words. He had just made himself vulnerable in a way he would never have believed. Did Marta really really matter that much to him? matter that much to him?

Apparently, yes.

Tom was finding sleep frustratingly elusive, perhaps unsettled by the gentle yet unfamiliar motion of the boat. Dewar seemed to suffer no such problems and, to judge by the regular rhythm of his breathing, had dropped off almost at once. But then Dewar had been busy almost from the first moment they came aboard, making himself useful to the crew by helping with this and that, while Tom had simply spent the day watching the river go by and waving at people on the banks. He would have helped, if asked, but had a feeling he would only have been in the way.

For him, this first day away from Thaiburley had been a wonderful, exciting, almost magical experience. He'd especially enjoyed it when they'd pa.s.sed other barges going in the opposite direction, particularly the first time one of the great vessels came surging towards them, looking from a distance as if it were going to meet their own boat head on. Only as the other craft drew nearer did the illusion evaporate, as it became clear the two boats would slip past each other with a good deal of water between them. The barges were invariably heavily laden, carrying loads either to or from Thaiburley, and so were restricted to the deeper channels towards the centre of the river; hence the illusion of imminent collision. Crew members would sometimes pause to acknowledge their counterparts with curt greetings and the odd good-humoured insult.

Much of the comment coming their way had to do with Kohn. The giant sat at the prow of the boat, the only area of deck large enough to accommodate him.

His sightless eye stared towards the riverbank and Tom wondered what he 'saw' and whether the experience was as enjoyable for the Kayjele as it was proving to be for him. Somehow, he felt it was, and he sensed in the giant a kindred spirit at a level he could never have put into words.

The most convenient place to position himself, where he wouldn't be in the crew's way, was close to Kohn, and the pair of them had spent long hours sitting beside one another, neither making a sound while they soaked up the experience and 'watched' the world go by. He found the great solid presence beside him oddly comforting, and began to regret some of the less than charitable thoughts he'd harboured concerning the giant earlier. After they had sat there for most of that first day, their silent communion growing, Kohn reached into his jerkin and pulled something out. It was a pendant, a great orange-brown stone, faceted and shaped like a teardrop, which hung around the giant's neck via a simple leather thong. Kohn leaned forward, holding the stone towards Tom without taking it off. The boy sensed that this was a display of trust, that Kohn was sharing a confidence. He reached out hesitantly and took the stone in his hand. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, almost as if generating its own heat, but Tom guessed this was because the pendant was habitually pressed against Kohn's body.

"It's beautiful," he said, because he couldn't think what else to say but also because it was, in a bold, brazen way. His response seemed to satisfy Kohn, who smiled, took the pendant back and slipped it inside his jerkin once more.

Tom wouldn't have swapped that river ride for the world, whatever the rest of the journey might bring. His fascination with the barges originally stemmed from a sense that they had just arrived from some exotic faraway place or were about to set off to visit one. He'd always been a little in awe of the hard, dour men who crewed the vessels and envied them their freedom and independence, though perhaps that particular a.s.sumption deserved some rethinking, certainly to judge by the amount of work he watched the crew get through that day.

The barges were essentially gigantic floating containers, with a point at the front and an engine at the back. No s.p.a.ce was wasted. Every inch not taken up with cargo storage was a fraction less potential profit, so all such areas were minimised. Steering was situated on a small part-covered platform built above the cramped cabin in which the family lived. And it was was a family, this crew. Man, wife and two sons. Not all were, as Tom well knew. Many were all male, with the crew hired, but not this lot. a family, this crew. Man, wife and two sons. Not all were, as Tom well knew. Many were all male, with the crew hired, but not this lot.

As you stepped from the deck down the five steps that led into the cabin, there was a small, black stove to the left, where all the cooking was done. Beyond that was an area that didn't look big enough for four people to sit and eat in comfortably, let alone sleep, yet they did, and somehow there were now going to be seven sleeping there. Boards had been moved, sacking and bedding produced even a curtain, which was pulled across to separate crew from guests; not men from women as Tom first a.s.sumed, which meant that Mildra was forced to sleep in the same small area as him and Dewar.

Tom didn't have a problem with the arrangements he'd slept in worse conditions than this but he wasn't sure the Thaistess had, though she made no complaint.

Kohn would have to make do with spending the night on deck where he'd spent the day; he certainly wouldn't fit down here.

After a prolonged and fruitless period of tossing and turning, Tom finally accepted the inevitable, rose from the section of floor which served as a bed, and felt his way to the stairs. He went as quietly as he could and managed to successfully avoid b.u.mping into Dewar beside him, so reasoned there was a fair chance he hadn't disturbed the others.

On emerging from the hatch, he was stopped in his tracks by sight of the sky. The breath caught in his throat and for long seconds all he could do, this lowly streetnick raised in the confines of the City Below, was stare at the myriad pinp.r.i.c.k lights that punctured the darkness, while basking in the pure wonder of it all.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind him.

The sound made him jump he'd been so absorbed that he hadn't even heard Mildra climb from the hatchway after him.

"Sorry," the girl said, though her mischievous grin suggested she was anything but. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"That's all right, I was just..." he gestured wordlessly at the heavens and shook his head.

"I know what you mean," the Thaistess said wistfully. "A wonderful sight; it's been years since I've seen the stars."

Tom never had, not even on the night he'd climbed the city's walls, when these flecks of light must have been obscured by clouds. Either that or he'd been too busy, too frightened and too excited to notice them.

"On a night like this, with a clear sky and without the ambient light from the city to mask them, they're quite, quite magical, aren't they?"

Perhaps that was it; perhaps there'd been too much light all around for him to notice these pinp.r.i.c.ks of silver brilliance above him when he'd gone up the walls.

For long moments the pair of them stood there, simply gazing upward, though Tom was aware of Mildra's presence at his shoulder, a distinctly feminine presence, for all that she was a Thaistess.

"Well," she said after a while, "first day's ended. How are you coping?"

"Not bad. Being on the barge helps. Something I've always wanted to do."

"Good." Then, after a further pause, the girl said softly, "You miss Kat, don't you?"

Not for the first time, Tom wondered whether Thaistesses could read minds. "A little," he admitted.

"I saw her fight once, you know."

Tom grinned, the words brought back memories of his own. "Yeah, she's really something isn't she?"

"I mean," the Thaistess continued, a little hesitantly, "I saw her fight in the Pits in the Pits."

"What? Tom was shocked. The Pits were anathema, a dark, shameful episode in the recent history of the City Below which most tried to forget. Even the street-nicks tended to avoid mention of the place. He'd never before heard anyone admit to actually having gone there.

"I wasn't always a Thaistess, Tom," Mildra went on, clearly uncomfortable at his reaction but also a little amused. "Before thoughts of joining the priesthood ever entered my head I was... well, it doesn't really matter, but I used to know this boy young man I suppose though most of the time he acted more like a kid than you do. Anyway, he used to enjoy going to the Pits, so I went with him. He loved it, watching the fights and all the blood. He'd gamble on the outcome of bouts, on who was going to survive and who would die first, and he'd flash his money around. Liked to think he was the big man but it was nothing more than brash bl.u.s.ter and posturing. That's what got him killed in the end acting tough in front of the wrong people." She drew a deep breath. "So, yes, I went to the Pits more than once."

Tom was fascinated despite himself. "What was that like?"

"In general, do you mean? Or seeing Kat?"

"Both, but tell me about Kat first."

"Well..." The Thaistess drew a deep breath. "It was incredible; she she was incredible. I've never seen anyone move so fast. She was only a child, a wiry slip of a thing, dressed in black much as she wears now I've no idea whether that was her choice or whether they made her wear black and she's never lost the habit. Three of them came into the arena together Kat and two men, both of whom were a lot bigger than her and a several years older, and yet she was calling the shots. They followed her without question. At first I thought this was some bizarre joke, an extra handicap imposed by the people who ran the place, but no, the men followed her because she offered the best chance of survival. was incredible. I've never seen anyone move so fast. She was only a child, a wiry slip of a thing, dressed in black much as she wears now I've no idea whether that was her choice or whether they made her wear black and she's never lost the habit. Three of them came into the arena together Kat and two men, both of whom were a lot bigger than her and a several years older, and yet she was calling the shots. They followed her without question. At first I thought this was some bizarre joke, an extra handicap imposed by the people who ran the place, but no, the men followed her because she offered the best chance of survival.

"The three of them walked to the centre of the ring, where the two men both bearing tattoos to show they were veterans of the Pits flanked the girl like towering bodyguards. There came this horrible, inhuman squealing, as if a pig was being strangled, then the gates at the far side of the arena lifted and an enormous borquill came charging out, bearing straight down on the three in the middle."

As she mentioned the borquill, Mildra glanced towards Tom inquiringly. He shook his head, never having heard of the beast.

"The borquill looks a bit like a wild boar but it's bigger," the Thaistess explained. "Plus there's a ruff of stiff, hollow hairs protecting its most vulnerable parts the neck and throat. These quills can be raised when the animal's threatened and the reason they're hollow is to allow the borquill to pump venom through them, which it stores in two throat sacs. The venom isn't strong enough to actually kill a man, but it doesn't have to be. If you get p.r.i.c.ked by one of those quills, you'll become drowsy and disorientated within minutes, and that's as much of an advantage as any animal needs when it has tusks as sharp as the borquill's.

"I don't know what I expected, the three in the middle to fight for themselves I suppose, or perhaps for the two men to step forward and shield the girl, but I certainly didn't expect what actually happened. It was the girl who came forward, snarling and shrieking insults at the animal, while the two men faded into the background.

"The borquill tore straight towards Kat, covering the distance in a flash. There looked to be no way this insignificant little girl could avoid being gored and ripped apart on those vicious tusks. Then, at the last minute, she simply skipped to one side. The move was so delayed and so deftly executed that the animal had no chance to adjust but simply charged past her, squealing in frustration.

"Kat was instantly goading again, waving her arms and yelling at the beast, which hadn't stopped running but turned in a great arc of scampering feet and churned-up dust to come charging straight back at her for a second time. Again she danced aside, delaying the move even longer, or so it seemed.

"By now the crowd were oohing and ahhing. The two men were still in the arena, but they might as well not have been. All I or anyone else there had eyes for was that huge, angry animal and this seeming waif of a girl who defied it.

"This went on for several minutes, with Kat nimbly dodging charge after deadly charge by the narrowest of margins. And she laughed! She was actually enjoying herself. We were cheering now, the crowd, even me. Every time the borquill shot past her a great roar went up.

"At last the beast slowed and then came to a halt, staring at its tormentor, tail twitching from side to side while steam rose from the brute's bristly hide and its great sides pumped in and out as the it panted for breath. While Kat kept its attention, perhaps not as energetically as before, but still moving and making enough noise to distract the beast, one of the men, all but forgotten until then, darted in from behind and slashed at the back of the borquill's legs. The poor animal let out its loudest squeal yet, one of the most heart-wrenching sounds I've ever heard. It tried to spin around but the injured rear leg gave way, causing it to stumble, and Kat was there, darting in to hamstring the other back leg.

"With the borquill crippled the contest was all but over. The three of them circled the injured beast, which was trying desperately to keep its feet and face them, before moving in to finish things off quickly; the famed quills were never even allowed to be a factor."

Mildra paused and fidgeted slightly, as if the memories had somehow overwhelmed her ability to speak of them. Tom was enthralled and said nothing, willing her to continue. Finally, she drew a ragged breath and did so. "The sounds coming out of the animal in those last few minutes were awful. I've never heard anything so plaintive, so pathetic. Even now, thinking of them chills me through and through."

Tom gave an involuntary shiver, and then wondered, "Did you actually enjoy enjoy watching things like that?" watching things like that?"

Mildra smiled at him. "It's just as well the prime master has shown you a new life, Tom; you're far too sensitive to be a street-nick."

Tom scowled.

"I didn't mean that as an insult," the woman said quickly.

"I know, but you're not the first person to say something like that." And what really stung was the private suspicion that the accusation might be true.

"To answer your question, when you hear people talk about the things that went on in the Pits they sound terrible and inhuman, which they were, but at the time, when you were actually there, it was very easy to get swept along by the excitement, by the raw spectacle of unrestrained combat and people fighting for their lives. The place was usually packed, and with everyone around you caught up in this wave of antic.i.p.ation, the startling thrill of people and animals fighting for their lives, the horror to think that this warrior you've quite taken to might not survive the coming bout... I suppose there was a sort of ma.s.s blood-l.u.s.t, but it was incredibly real and exciting and dirty and breathtaking an intoxicating, potent feeling that grabbed you by the heart and the throat and wouldn't let go. It was impossible not to succ.u.mb. When people gasped as their favourite was wounded or narrowly escaped death, that was a genuine reaction not some theatrical flourish. The whole thing was so intense, so... real. real.

"Intellectually I might be disgusted with myself, but the truth is that at the time, yes, some primordial part of me did enjoy the Pits, however much it shames me to admit that now."

They sat in silence after Mildra finished speaking, Tom having no idea what to say in response. He didn't know how old the Thaistess actually was, and didn't want to think how young she must have been then. His age? A little older? Not much, certainly. He shivered, feeling suddenly chilled. He must have been so absorbed by the Thaistess's story that he hadn't noticed the steadily falling temperature.

"Cold?" Mildra asked, reaching out to clasp his hand. Warmth flowed from her touch, making his arm tingle on its way to spreading rapidly through his body.

"I was, a little," he admitted.

"Once the sun goes down it can turn chilly surprisingly quickly." She stood and held a hand towards him. "Shall we go back down?"

Tom nodded, letting her help him up. Mildra's grip was firm and he was intensely aware of how smooth her skin felt and how delicate her fingers. He let go quickly, because part of him didn't want to let go at all.

After one more glance upward at the stars, he followed Mildra back to their quarters. He wondered afterwards whether the Thaistess had imparted more than just warmth when she clasped his hand, because this time he fell asleep almost immediately his head hit the pillowed sacking.

Dewar felt a great ambivalence towards his current situation. He had originally come to Thaiburley to lose himself within the vast multi-layered metropolis, to hide from a past which he knew would catch up with him at some point anywhere outside the city's walls. Yet here he was venturing half the length of a continent, exposed once more. All in order to be allowed to hide again. Life certainly didn't get any simpler with the pa.s.sage of time; leastways his didn't.

He felt no such ambivalence towards those who were travelling with him. One a scruffy street-nick risen above his station, the second a Kayjele a subhuman race whose intelligence barely rose above that of pack animals while the third was a Thaistess. As far as the a.s.sa.s.sin was concerned, Thaistesses came in just two flavours: those gullible enough to swallow wholesale a creed of ludicrous myth and ritualistic ox s.h.i.t, and those cunning and manipulative enough to perpetuate the same for their own advantage.

He had no intention of getting to know his companions at any level, all three of them were worthy of nothing other than contempt. This was a job, and not a particularly pleasant one at that. The sooner it was done with the better.

Dewar had crewed briefly on a cargo ship not dissimilar to the barges in the past part of an a.s.signment undertaken long before he ever came to Thaiburley. So he stepped aboard with a sense of confidence, noting in pa.s.sing where the fenders hand-woven b.a.l.l.s of rope hung from the barge's side and prevented the boat from knocking against the jetty and damaging itself. And he almost smiled at the slight sway of deck beneath his feet. Was that a twinge of nostalgia he was feeling? Ridiculous, yet being here stirred memories of a life now past and a home he could never see again.

Dewar guessed that this crew must have been pushed for time and struggled to make the rendezvous to pick up their pa.s.sengers, because they hadn't even covered the cargo yet. Large wooden crates stacked one upon another rose from the sunken hold to form an apparently solid block which stretched along almost the entire length of the boat. A narrow strip of deck, wide enough for a man to walk around but little more, bordered this ma.s.s of crating to either side. And that, in essence, was the barge in its entirety.

Famously, these vessels were flat-bottomed, to minimise their draft and maximise their capacity, but even so they sat deep in the water when fully laden like this, which meant that the river bank must fall away steeply here to allow the barge to come in so close. Just as well; Dewar would not have fancied the prospect of trying to cross in anything as small as a rowboat or lighter with Kohn sitting beside him. The giant's ma.s.s would surely have been enough to overbalance them.

The captain, who introduced himself as Abe, was a short, solid-looking man with a face as craggy as the scenery that surrounded them. He didn't waste any time but got underway as soon as the party was aboard and Kohn had been ushered to the prow, where there was s.p.a.ce for the giant to sit in a semblance of comfort.

Four pa.s.sengers, and four crew as well by the look of it. Abe's wife a matronly, grey-haired woman with a perpetual scowl that looked fit to curdle milk steered the barge from a small platform towards the boat's aft, while the two sons, neither of whom seemed long out of their teens, scurried around to secure the cargo. No hired crew here, all family.

"Can I help at all?" Dewar offered.

Abe stared at him. "I don't know, can you?"

"I've worked cargo before."

"Pitch in, then. 'Nother pair o' hands is always welcome."

Dewar would far rather keep busy than not. He joined the three men in getting the cargo clothed up. This consisted of lifting two vast, heavy sheets, infused with tar as protection against any rain, over the ma.s.s of crates, one from either end. They fetched the aft sheet first. Dewar took one side, Abe the other, while the two lads clambered on top of the crates. Even with four this proved back-breaking work and Dewar could only wonder how they would have managed with just the three of them. Eventually, both sheets were in place, which just left the ties strong ropes pulled tight against the cargo and cloths to keep both firmly in place two dozen in all, ranging along the length of the hold. Again they worked as a team, with Dewar now on top of the crates, pa.s.sing rope and holding it taut; Abe preferring to trust his son to tie the actual knots rather than a stranger.

With less effort involved, Dewar spared more attention to his surroundings. The river ran through a deep canyon. Sheer cliffs rising on either side. The course ran remarkably straight and he had to wonder whether it was entirely natural. Of course, diverting such a major river would be a remarkable feat for anybody, but would it be an impossible one for those who had built a city of nearly a hundred tiers into the very heart of a mountain?

By the time they'd finished the final tie and Abe had expressed terse satisfaction, the barge had emerged from the gorge and was moving through more open countryside.

They pa.s.sed fishing boats and then a village. Children ran along the bank, their shrill laughter carrying across the water like the distant whisperings of playful spirits. Dewar hardly noticed. He sat slumped against one side of the cargo, aching in muscles he'd forgotten he had. It was a long time since he'd attempted any form of labour as physical as this. Perhaps volunteering to help hadn't been such a good idea, particularly bearing in mind the journey ahead, but, on the other hand, he always said that the best way to strengthen any tool the body included was to temper it. The fire in his joints would doubtless do him good in the long run, or so he tried to tell himself.