Rojan Dizon 02 - Before the Fall (17 page)

Before I did anything else, I put some clothes on. Naked in public isn’t only embarrassing, it’s sodding cold as well, especially that close to winter. An extra layer between me and the world made me feel better, too, gave me something to hide behind.

I glared at the desk, daring it to try something but it behaved for once. I laid the two hairs across the blotter that was covered in doodled arty nudes, or, as Lastri called them, the perverted recesses of my disgusting mind encapsulated in ink.

Two hairs. Not much but enough, I hoped. I’d worked with less before, but it was going to hurt. I knew it was stupid, even as I clenched my bad hand into a fist. I was in no fit state for anything, but I had to know where she was, or at least that she was far enough away that she posed no threat for now.

I didn’t get much—Up, she was going Up. Fast, too, constantly moving so I couldn’t get a good fix. Not unless I pushed harder, so I did and knew it for the mistake it was almost instantly. The song started, running through my brain like the sweetest drug ever. I was on my own, no one here to get me out if I should fall, but it sounded so good…If I fell, then no one would know it was Abeya we were looking for, killing mages, only Tabil, and I couldn’t trust him. She’d come back to try for Pasha again, for Dendal. I used the little discipline I’d managed to hoard over the years and pulled out at the last possible moment. Back in the here, I was kneeling on the floor with my face scrunched into Griswald’s fur. I stayed there a while until I had the strength to stand up, and turned over what little I’d learnt. Up, going Up. A snatch of conversation heard underneath the song. Abeya’s angelic voice twisted into something new—“Your poison didn’t work. If you’d told me what was in the bacon, I could have—”

Not much to go on but she was Up, out of the way for now, and getting further. That complaint, too—the bacon had been poisoned, but maybe Abeya hadn’t known it, not then at least. Maybe not known I was a mage then either, though she had her proof now. So who
had
known about the poison? Who’d given her the bacon?
Don’t ask me where from
, she’d said, and I’d known it was from the Ministry, that they were the only people who were likely to have access to it.

I needed more to go on, needed to know who she was talking to, but I’d had enough of pain for the day. Black was at the edge of my vision even now waiting for me to try and it wasn’t even dawn yet. Plenty of time to go mad later.

After staring at the hairs for a while I decided that cowardice was the better part of valour or at least the better part of not going batshit, folded them into an envelope and shoved it in my pocket. Given the choice of the pain-free or the pain-full method, sense dictates not dislocating anything you don’t have to. Besides, trying any more magic while I was in that state was asking for trouble, no matter how tempting it would be to give up and fall in. Most of all, Abeya was going Up, taking her killing knife away from Pasha and Dendal and, just as importantly, me. I had time. A bit at least. Room to breathe, to work out what the fuck was going on before I followed her. Forewarned is forearmed, or something. Though I’d rather have a gun.

First I checked on Dendal, Lastri and Allit. The three of them were throwing up at regular intervals and the way their eyeballs had turned bright green was enough to show me that, yes, the bacon had been poisoned. Tincture of rend-nut, works a treat on rats. If I’d eaten all the bacon—and I
would
have eaten it all if I’d been left to my own devices, because the existence of bacon is the one thing that may persuade me there is a Goddess—I’d be dead. Which would at least have spared me the green-eyed glare that Lastri managed, in between retching up green froth. A glare that said she knew I’d done it on purpose and there would be retribution, oh yes. I made a mental note not to eat or drink anything she might possibly have touched. For about the next decade or so.

I was safe enough for now, though, because she could barely move. I called in her burly neighbours, impressed upon them the importance of not letting anyone in,
especially
if they were female and angelic looking, and left.

My next port of call was Guinto—maybe Abeya had gone to him for help, or for absolution. Abeya was further up than his temple, but who knows if she’d stopped by to say hello to Dad on the way? Given magic was a bad plan just then, with him was the logical first place to ask for information. I was kind of looking forward to it, in a sadistic way. Mister Holier-Than-Thou had been harbouring a murderer, and I was pretty sure he knew it, too, encouraged it, maybe even directed it. Someone certainly had. For all his sermons on tolerance, he certainly hated pain-mages enough, and I had a burning urge to let him know I hated him back.

Maybe I should have waited for Pasha or gone to get him, but I didn’t want to face him right then, or subject him to another one of Guinto’s guilt trips when he had enough to be dealing with, so I went on my own. Dawn was breaking somewhere above me, probably. It was hard to tell down there, except the darkness lightened enough that I could see my hand in front of my face and the night people—muggers, beggars, street whores, drug dealers and anyone unlucky enough not to have even a hovel to call their own—began to find a dark place to hole up for the day. There might be a curfew, but the sorts of people who lurked on the walkways round here at night didn’t care about that. They didn’t care about anything much, poor bastards, not any more. The Inquisition might even come as a relief.

The Glow tube at the end of the street was on its way out, the Glow fading as it bled out its last, lighting up no more than a couple of feet around it. Making everything else seem darker, and the night people only ragged shadows. I gripped the pulse pistol harder, my finger hovering near the trigger. It’s always been rough down here, always been a place for those who can take care of themselves, but lately the squeeze on Under, the hate and fear and hunger, had made them bolder. The guards barely bothered any more, or, if they did show up, came mob-handed.

I jittered my way to Guinto’s temple, always feeling that eyes were watching me, that someone was stalking me. Abeya perhaps—maybe she hadn’t gone as far as I’d thought, or she was even now on her way back down. Maybe I was being incredibly stupid, out on my own in a dark city with a killer loose, one who’d already tried to kill me once. Maybe so, but sitting in my office waiting for her to come back would have been just as stupid. I told myself that, and very nearly believed it.

By the time I was on the right level and at the end of the right street, my good hand was numb from gripping the pulse pistol so tight. My bad hand was just numb. In places anyway. The other bits were a big, angry throb. At least I’d have juice handy, if I needed it. I was hoping I might get an excuse to zap Guinto. It probably wouldn’t help, but I’d feel better. The black tittered at the thought and I squashed it—no matter how tempting, Guinto wasn’t worth losing my sanity over.

The temple shone with light, a brightness that lit the dark and made it look welcoming. I didn’t trust it. Let’s face it, I don’t trust anything that’s Ministry. Ever. Years of hard experience have led me to that, and it hasn’t sent me far wrong before. I stood in the doorway a few moments, squinting against the light of a thousand candles, and wondering where Guinto had got them. How he could afford them.

When my eyes adjusted, I went in. A few hardy parishioners had braved the curfew and the Inquisition to come and pray. Their low murmurs of supplication as they chanted at the feet of statutes or murals twisted my stomach. Fools, poor deluded fools. I felt sorry for them, too—perhaps this charade was all they had, all that stood between them and giving up. It didn’t stop me thinking they were idiots, though.

Guinto wasn’t in the main temple. Not surprising given the early hour, so I made my way past the statues towards the door at the rear. Something made me glance up at the mural of the Goddess. Not the nice, flowery, kittens and sunshine one—I stuck my tongue out at her, and felt both better for it and pretty stupid—the Downside version.

Blood and death and sacrifice and a tiger that looked as though it could jump out of the picture and eat you. I didn’t like, or believe in, this version of her any better than the bland one, but I suppose you could say I respected it. A bit anyway. It didn’t hide the true, bloody nature of life behind sparkly sunbeams. It didn’t pretend. I liked that about it, about her when you saw her depicted that way. She was still imaginary but at least she wasn’t lying about what anyone could expect out of life, or death.

I was about to pass by when I saw it. Not surprising I’d missed it before; I hadn’t been paying all that much attention, and it was tucked away behind Namrat and his big, shiny,
hungry
teeth which kind of drew the eye in a weirdly fascinating way.

The group of men and boys was small, as though at a great distance behind the Goddess. They looked like a later addition, too—the painter had less skill than whoever had done Namrat, that was for sure. I could feel those tiger eyes watching me, almost feel his hot breath down the back of my neck. This group was done in a much plainer style, but I could still recognise them. Still recognise me. Not the disguised me either, the real me. I peered closer. Whoever it was hadn’t done me justice—I was way better looking than that.

When my vanity calmed down a little, I recognised some of the others. Azama, the previous Archdeacon, architect of wholesale torture by pain-mages, my father, and very, very dead. Taban was there, too. At least one of the boys I’d seen in the mortuary. Dwarf, looking even uglier than he had in life. Pasha, with his monkey face and angry, dark eyes, Dendal’s monkish air. I touched a finger to the mural. The paint was wet on Pasha, Dendal and on me.

“I see you enjoy the mural, even if you don’t believe.” Guinto’s voice, all smooth and oily behind me, made me jump so I smudged mine, Dendal’s and Pasha’s faces. Made me feel a bit better, because this looked very much like a list to me and we were the only three on it still alive, and that was more by luck than judgement.

I straightened up. “Not enjoy, exactly. Where’s Abeya?”

That put a crack in his voice. “In her quarters, as she’s been all night. Please, leave her alone. She’s been through quite enough without having to deal with someone like you.”

I cranked up a smile. “And which particular bit of me is it that she shouldn’t be dealing with? The bit that thinks all priests should be drowned in their own self-righteousness, or the bit that makes her sneak out of her quarters, seduce me and then make a fucking good go of murdering me? That part of me isn’t too keen to deal with her, to be honest.”

Although, even then, other parts would. No, it’s not logical. It’s probably pathological like Lastri says. Knowing that, or that it had been sheer loneliness on my part and some twisted urge on hers, didn’t change it.

Guinto was good—I couldn’t tell if he was surprised, appalled, or guilty as hell and covering it up. I wished I’d brought Pasha with me. Not that he’d read the mind of a priest, but it would be nice to have someone on my side.

Guinto slid a glance over his parishioners. One or two looked at us furtively—I hadn’t made any effort to be quiet—but he smiled in his unctuous priest way, made a sign of blessing in the air and they bent their heads again.

“Maybe you should come through,” he said at last. His voice was still smooth and oily, but there was an undercurrent of something. Guilt possibly. Priests are always guilty of something and I had every inclination to believe he was, too. He was Ministry, that was enough for me.

He led me through to his office, as spartan and neat as it had been before. “Please, sit down,” he said, though he didn’t sit himself. “Your sister is showing signs of waking.”

I shut my eyes against the relief, against the release of the darker thoughts that I’d kept at the back of my mind. “Good. Thank you.” That thank you hurt worse than my throbbing hand. “Abeya?”

“Allow me a moment.” A smile, as oily as his voice. “I promise not to try to abscond.”

Another door hidden in the mouldings and cracks in the plaster at the rear of his office. They were everywhere, and I’d never noticed. Kind of the point, I supposed. Guinto left the door open and I could see into the rooms he shared with his adoptive family, through another door he opened into what I recognised as Abeya’s room. When he came out again, he looked thoughtful and scared and angry.

“What did you do to her?” His indignation was almost pitch-perfect.

“Nothing. It’s more what she did to me. Have you seen the new additions to the mural?”

“I—no.” He sat down behind his desk and ran a hand over the smooth wood, as though comforting himself. “Where is she?”

“That’s what I came to ask you. I thought she’d come back to you.”

His twitched his lips in a sardonic smile. “She’s not stupid, you know. If she really did try to murder you—”

“And Pasha. Was possibly planning to murder Dendal, too. And I’ve got good reason to believe she murdered those boys. Taban. All people on their way here or on their way back from here, except Pasha, Dendal and me, and Pasha’s one of your more faithful parishioners. All mages.”

“She—oh.” He rubbed a hand over weary eyes. “Yes, I see. Why would she come back here if you knew it was her?”

I shrugged, offhand. It had been a long shot but she’d been pretty irrational. Well, most murderers are, wouldn’t you say? “Maybe she thought you’d save her.”

“Save her? Yes…yes I suppose she might. I would, too. If I knew where she was I wouldn’t tell you. Even if she hadn’t—after you left, we argued.”

“What about?” Like I couldn’t guess, but I wanted to hear him say it.

Guinto sat up straight and smoothed his robes. “I told her about you, Pasha and Dendal being pain-mages. She didn’t know—I’d taken pains to keep her away from your office, that sign. You’re…” His voice dropped to a shocked whisper. “Unnatural, sinful.
Unholy
. You should pray to the Goddess to help you resist, to stop you in your madness, to atone for everything. You’ll destroy us, all of us.”