Authors: Sean Williams
Sal didn’t want to put her through anything like that all over again.
But that couldn’t be all of it. He wondered if he was jealous, or afraid that he might lose a part of her that had always been his. That was irrational and demeaning of him, he knew, but he had to admit it, if it was true.
Tell Shilly,
Kail had shouted to Skender, just moments before the link between him and Sal had slammed shut. Kail the pragmatist, for whom the ends justified the means.
Tell her I’m sorry.
Sal just needed some time to work everything out.
With that thought echoing in his mind, he fell asleep.
* * * *
The Nephew
‘There is no greater mystery than
one’s own family ...’
THE BOOK OF TOWERS,
EXEGESIS 4:18
T |
he sand swirled in a whirlpool like water going down a drain. Instead of lessening, it only seemed to become thicker, denser, and more choking by the second. It stung Shilly’s face and got in her hair. Her mouth was full of it. When she tried to breathe, all she did was suffocate faster.
Finally, stillness enfolded her. The sand had stopped moving because it was packed in tight around her. Its weight was constricting, immovable. Her body stood trapped from the tips of her toes to the top her head. She was buried alive.
She couldn’t even scream.
After an unknowable time, she felt something change. The sand encasing her head shifted. The pressure fell away. Fingers scrabbled at her hair and light fell on her clenched eyelids. She strained for the air, yearning for freedom.
Released from its dry tomb, her head tilted back and her eyes opened. She saw a young, dark-skinned woman bending over her, looking down in horror at what she had uncovered. Shilly tried to tell her, No,
don’t be afraid. It’s only me!
But the words wouldn’t come.
As the sand poured in, sealing her back in her terrible grave, she screamed with despair as well as dread. The face bending over her was one she knew well. The woman responsible for trapping her again was none other than herself.
* * * *
There were better ways to wake up. Echoes of the dream haunted Shilly all morning as she queued to bathe and relieve herself, then queued again for the breakfast Urtagh laid on for his guests. The service was resentful — and would remain that way, she figured, until he could be certain of being paid —’ but the fare was good. She ate heartily, not knowing when she’d get the chance to do so again. If she was about to be condemned, at least it would be on a full stomach.
Not long after, a series of motorised vehicles arrived to take them to the hearing. One by one, groups of four were escorted out of the hostel by the guards and whisked off to Judgment Hall, where the Magister would see them. Shilly recognised the feeling in her gut as she waited for her and Sal’s turn to come. It was one that had become awfully familiar to her, years ago.
The taste and smell of sand seemed to follow her everywhere she went. At any moment she expected her mouth and nostrils to seize up, just like in her dream. Her palms were too sweaty to hold hands with Sal.
When finally their turn came, they were parcelled off with wardens Eitzen and Rosevear and shown outside. The sun seemed bright through a smattering of low cloud. The streets were less waterlogged than they had been the day before, but the stench was becoming worse in the humid air. She lifted the hem of her cotton skirt as she crossed puddles, trying not to think about what sort of disease-carrying dirt might be getting through her sandals and on to her toes.
The vehicle waiting for them was black and official. Guards bundled them into the back and locked the doors behind them. Two benches and just one small window greeted them. Sal helped Shilly to a seat and sat down next to her.
He took her new walking stick from her when she was settled and ran his fingers along the charms he had carved down its length.
‘Not so much, this time,’ she said. ‘We don’t want it to go off by accident.’
He nodded, looking sheepish but unrepentant.
The trip wasn’t a long one, but her stomach had settled into a continuous flutter by the time they arrived. The big breakfast no longer seemed like a good idea. A new set of guards opened the doors and let them out. She hopped out first, not waiting for her stick. Even the stench of stagnant water was better than being in that tightly enclosed space.
Think of flowers,
she told herself.
Think of ringing bells and glass jars full of pebbles. Think of kittens and birds in flight. Anything but sand and suffocation ...
Judgment Hall was an imposing structure, blunt and square like an ancient fortress. Gargoyles crouched high on its eaves —
just
gargoyles, not man’kin — and the shrivelled bodies of convicted criminals, drained of blood, hung in rows down one side. She blanched on seeing them, feeling more nervous and sick than ever. A number of people had gathered to watch the procession of outsiders coming to be judged. They didn’t cheer or jeer, but Shilly felt the weight of their scrutiny keenly. What did they make of her, this scraggly-haired young woman from the south with walking stick and muddy feet? At least on the last point they had no grounds to think her odd.
Inside, the hall was all right angles and circles, with ceilings stretching up to milky-coloured skylights and cobwebs too high for cleaners to reach. Porters led her and Sal through a relatively small antechamber to the room in which the hearing would take place. Circular, with a raised dais in the centre, it reminded her of the public hall in the Haunted City in which she and Sal had been sentenced years earlier. Her anxiety peaked at the sight.
I thought we’d put all that behind us,
she wanted to cry out.
How did it come back to this?
She told herself to take deep, even breaths and calm down.
Sometimes,
Tom had said,
a dream is just a dream.
She was taken to a seat at the front of the hall, settled down and counted Sal’s freckles to pass the time.
* * * *
‘It seems clear to me,’ said the Magister, perched on her throne in the centre of the hall like some twisted, arthritic crow, ‘that the failure here is yours, Warden Marmion. Failure to meet your Alcaide’s expectations; failure to understand the nature of the thing you were sent to find; failure to safeguard your own people; failure even to keep yourself from harm ... The list is long. I open myself up to accusations of pettiness by focusing on the ways you failed to comply with the laws of this city, but it would be a failure on
my
part to do otherwise.’
Her glittering green eyes scanned the accused, assembled before her. Chu, Gwil Flintham and quartermaster had been frogmarched into the hall once the visitors took their seats. Skender’s relief was palpable on seeing his friend. Shilly had waited for an audience to be led in after them, but the hearing was to be conducted entirely in private. She was glad of that, if little else.
‘No one would deny my dedication, Magister Considine,’ Marmion said in reply. ‘Nor my determination.’ His skin was like tallow, and Shilly feared he might collapse at any moment. Yet he persevered, sitting through the many witness statements and questions as though nothing could move him. ‘My record is not untarnished, but that can be said of many here. If I have failed, I have paid the price for it.’ He raised his bandaged arm, then lowered it back into its sling. ‘We each have our path to follow. I ask only that you let me follow mine.’
Shilly felt a new appreciation for the man at those words. He knew exactly what had happened to him at the base of the Wall. Skender, Shilly and Sal had come directly between him and the objective of his mission — to destroy the Homunculus. In doing so, they had crippled him for life, yet not once had he accused them of malice or carelessness. He had simply, and silently, pushed through his irritation to some deep reserve of character she hadn’t seen before.
She, crippled in a simple car accident, had blamed Sal for weeks.
‘Do what you want to yourself,’ the Magister asked. ‘That is your prerogative. Can I, however, in good conscience set you free to wreak havoc upon those who will next cross your path?’
‘With respect, Magister, the man’kin would have breached the Wall whether we were here or not. The flood would have come irrespective of our actions. It is not, therefore,
I
who brought havoc to your city. One could even argue that the greatest threat to Laure came about because of
your
actions, not mine.’
The Magister’s expression didn’t change, but Shilly felt the air in the hall become distinctly frosty.
‘How so?’
Marmion sighed, his weariness showing. ‘This charade pains me. Must I remind you of the contents of the letter I gave you, the first time we met?’
‘Of course not. I am far from senile. It contained an unsubtly worded warning from your Alcaide that trade between my city and the Strand depended entirely on his goodwill. Were he to remove it because I failed to treat his emissary with respect, we would suffer.’ The Magister’s fingers stroked the head of her black cane. ‘I endured this blackmail with more dignity than it deserved. Its efficacy has expired.’
‘Indeed.’ Marmion’s expression betrayed no suggestion that his bluff had been successful. The contents of the letter had truly been unknown to him, prior to that moment. ‘I therefore propose that we reach a new agreement. I won’t tell the Alcaide — or the citizens of your city — where the goods he purchased
actually
came from, and you will let us leave unhindered.’
The Magister laughed. ‘Let’s not tangle our tongues around the truth. Pirelius was a fool, but a convenient one. You’re a fool too if you think you can use him against me.’
‘Why not? Your puppet in the Aad, who kept you supplied with artefacts too dangerous for your own miners to retrieve or steal, was a brutal, sadistic monster. There are several people in this room who can and will testify to that effect, on both sides of the Divide.’ Marmion indicated Skender’s mother and her crutches, Kemp with a bandage around his throat, Skender’s many bruises and the smouldering trauma of Shorn Behenna.
‘We make what alliances we can, Marmion. Laure hovers on the threshold of viability. We do not have the choices or resources you do, in more prosperous lands.’
‘That I can understand. But to abandon this ally of yours the moment he comes under threat — how does
that
look? You may not have caused the circumstances by which his miniature empire crumbled, but you certainly didn’t help him out of them. You threw him to the flood with casual contempt.’
‘That was all he deserved. He was a monster, as you say.’
‘It’s the principle that counts, Magister.’
For the first time, the Magister’s confident mien seemed to crack. She shifted awkwardly on her throne and tapped her cane on the granite at her feet. All traces of her half-smile vanished.
‘I rule by virtue of my ability,’ she said, ‘not my popularity.’
‘Both are being tested, Magister Considine. There’s no denying that the yadachi saved Laure when the aquifer beneath it drained dry. No one would gainsay you that. But you’ve been isolated too long, and become too comfortable apart from the world. Now, with water flowing in the Divide, Laure may no longer be so marginal. New leaders will arise with new skills. Will the city remember the one who saw it through the long drought? Or will its citizens remember only the mistakes she made as the old world transformed into the new? Will they come to view her bloodworkers as saviours, or as leeches sucking the life out of their new prosperity?’
‘Empty rhetoric, Marmion. Get to the point, if you have one.’
‘It all contributes, Magister. The world is coming to Laure, whether you want it to or not. Events here have overtaken your regime. Your substantive crime, as I see it, is to have ignored the plight of an expedition of Surveyors from Ulum. You knew Abi Van Haasteren was in trouble, and you must have suspected that your ally Pirelius was responsible. You could have intervened at any time to have her released, but you did not. You put her life and the lives of those with her in jeopardy. You even blocked me when I tried to mount a rescue expedition, for fear of your petty deal being exposed. You hid behind the Surveyor’s Code like the coward you are. This is a charge that will stick when it comes before the Stone Mage Synod — which tolerates the existence of your yadachi in its territory, but does not love it. Could your authority survive such an affront? Who would trade with you then, when you treat your allies with utter disregard — even contempt? When you allow your greed to overpower all notions of decent humanity?’
The Magister’s lips had become thin white lines. ‘You dare,’ she hissed with all the venom of a desert snake striking soft flesh. ‘You dare to threaten me!’
‘I do,’ said Marmion, ‘and you know it’s more than just a threat. I will accept nothing less than an immediate release from custody. In return, we will forget what’s been said here and move on. You won’t hear from us again. Your dirty secret will remain just that.’
The Magister took in those seated before her. Shilly could tell what she was thinking — or imagined that she could. The Magister could silence Marmion, but there was nothing she could do about everyone else. They were too many to get rid of entirely, not without bringing down further accusations upon her. She was trapped like a scorpion in a corner. And she knew it.
Somehow, against all the odds, Marmion had turned the tables on her.
‘Get out of my sight,’ she said. ‘All of you.’
‘Does this mean —?’ Marmion started to ask.
‘It means that I have heard everything I need to hear. Now I must deliberate. You will be advised of my judgment in due course.’
The Magister descended from the podium and walked haughtily from the hall. The tapping of her cane was inaudible over the voices rising up from the gathering. Shilly watched her go, thinking that, for all her stubborn dignity, she looked like nothing so much as an old, tired woman. Mortality hung heavy around her, thicker than her black and red ceremonial robes. No stick could support her under such a weight.