Above the Snowline (10 page)
On occasion Comet did use our house for overnight stops, and our madame, ‘Lady’ Spelt (a jaded old harlot if there ever was one) said he found the Concubine of use because us girls asked no questions and pestered him only in the way he wanted to be pestered. No more, no less. Spelt had let him have a free ride when she was young - so she could say the Concubine had been patronised by an Eszai - and he came back again and again, so it turned out to be a sound investment.
The footsteps halted and a powerful sound of wings swooshed down past the window. I rushed to the shutters but saw nothing but darkness. A second later, loud knocking sounded from the porch and the dog started barking madly.
‘Lady’ Spelt hurried to unbar the door, and every single one of us rushed to the stairs. Ana and I looked down the stairwell. Girls on the two floors below were peering over the banisters and peeking between the rails, all in their lace, diamantés and stockings. The more adventurous arranged themselves sitting on the steps or leaning on the post, showing a lot of leg and trailing their feathers.
In came Comet, folding his wings behind him. He was
gorgeous
. Tall and thin, with a taut body and wonderful cheekbones, jet-black hair cropped very short and ragged, and lots of bracelets which, y’ see, was probably the new fashion. He was wearing army clothes, not the fine suits you expect immortals to wear in the Castle, but a dark jacket and trousers, and a leather knapsack embossed with his Wheel. We were all taking note, but he spoke, very assured, to Spelt in a low voice and we couldn’t hear. Oh, I burned for him, and how! I wanted him more than anything in the world and thought I’d die if I couldn’t have him.
gorgeous
. Tall and thin, with a taut body and wonderful cheekbones, jet-black hair cropped very short and ragged, and lots of bracelets which, y’ see, was probably the new fashion. He was wearing army clothes, not the fine suits you expect immortals to wear in the Castle, but a dark jacket and trousers, and a leather knapsack embossed with his Wheel. We were all taking note, but he spoke, very assured, to Spelt in a low voice and we couldn’t hear. Oh, I burned for him, and how! I wanted him more than anything in the world and thought I’d die if I couldn’t have him.
I loved the mystery, y’ see - that we’d never know what secret Imperial business he was about. He would stay a night and then leave, bound for exotic places to parley with the king in a marble palace, or with bigwigs, nabobs and hoitytoits in the city, which I told myself I’d visit one day. But I never will, you know, because I never have enough money.
Spelt nodded and was making a tick in the ledger when in bounded something - so quick it was hard to see - but it skidded to a halt on the floor behind Comet’s boots. It was a girl, but in shape like nothing I’d ever seen. I thought it must be one of the orphans who sometimes came begging for a crust or who throw themselves on our mercy wanting to join the house. The doorman tried to drag her out but Comet placed his hand on her head. ‘No! She’s with me!’
Spelt, who was clutching the ledger to her chest in astonishment, pulled herself together and motioned the doorman away. He went out, casting a glance behind him. Through the fanlight we could see his big shape in the porch, which worried us ’cause he normally stood out of view.
Spelt put her pen down and called, ‘Wagtail!’
Well, I was so envious of Wagtail I could have killed her. She was the girl Comet, having seen us all on display once, had picked out and often asked for when he didn’t want the rigmarole of choosing again. The others gossiped it was because her name was the only one he remembered, but I believed it was because she’d shown the biggest rack of tits on the line-up. She was filthy and had no shame whatsoever - she’d do anything. She read magazines the subject of which would make
my
hair curl, but hers was quite straight.
my
hair curl, but hers was quite straight.
Wagtail descended the stairs in a most slinky walk, legs scissoring, bum swaying, head tilted with a slow smile. So much make-up plastered her face she seemed to be wearing a mask. Net tights led down to little patent-leather pumps; her blue silk bodice was wired into an hourglass shape and striped with coral lace. Long strings of fake pearls bounced off her breasts. She blinked underlined eyes and smiled with baby-pink lips.
Comet looked her up and down and cast a speculative eye over the rest of us. We fell into poses as his gaze passed over. Then he indicated the waif-woman by his feet. Spelt nodded and called my name.
My
name! I couldn’t believe it! Was the Messenger to be my client? I was so heated and flustered, Spelt had to call again, a note of anger in her voice. Ana pushed me, for I was rooted to the spot. The others pulled away with jealous hisses and I followed Wagtail downstairs, primping my hair and tweaking my bra as I passed through the shadows in each storey. Then I reached solid ground in the hall and walked towards . . . the never-dying Emperor’s Messenger, looking carelessly up.
My
name! I couldn’t believe it! Was the Messenger to be my client? I was so heated and flustered, Spelt had to call again, a note of anger in her voice. Ana pushed me, for I was rooted to the spot. The others pulled away with jealous hisses and I followed Wagtail downstairs, primping my hair and tweaking my bra as I passed through the shadows in each storey. Then I reached solid ground in the hall and walked towards . . . the never-dying Emperor’s Messenger, looking carelessly up.
Wagtail was stroking his wing and murmuring in Awian. She led him to the ground-floor suite. The urchin would have followed but Wagtail shut the door firmly in her face.
Spelt said, ‘You take Dellin,’ and gestured at the poor thing. I saw it was a woman older than I’d thought, who looked skinny, in thick white clothes.
‘What? Do you want me to sleep with her?’
‘Zoysia, you daft mare! Look after it. Give it dinner or something, but get it out of the hall, instant!’
I bobbed down on my high heels - to put myself on her level - saw her cat eyes and recoiled in surprise. A Rhydanne! Really a Rhydanne! And, judging by her get-up, she was a wild one. But of course Comet would be with another Rhydanne, I thought. Maybe she was his girlfriend.
I spoke to her, but she gave a deep sigh and muttered in her language. I guessed she’d never even been in the country before. So Comet was happy to leave a foreigner who didn’t speak Plainslands, and who was dragging the most frightening spear, alone in a knocking shop?
Spelt cried out behind me, ‘Go on, lazy! Take it down to the kitchen! I don’t want the pub party tripping over it! Comet said to watch it well till tomorrow, and tell him immediate if it gives you the slip.’
I beckoned her and she sprang to her feet. As I led her down the hall she flapped her arms, pointed at the door where Comet had gone and conveyed amazement with an expansive shrug.
‘Yes, he can fly. Were you shocked? I’m not surprised.’
She pointed at the winged girls, out at the night sky and flapped again, questioningly.
‘No. Only Comet can fly,’ I said, fluttering my hands in appropriate gestures. ‘Is your name Dellin?’
‘Dellin,’ she agreed quietly. Then, by god, she took some horrible, old crawling piece of meat from her pocket and started chewing on it. I led her down to the kitchen, my heels clacking on the greasy stone, and she began to scurry - no, I mean,
zoom
- about, investigating everything. I wrapped myself in a spare dressing gown hanging on the door for the purpose, sat down at the table, slopped some gin into a tin mug, lit a cigarette and watched.
zoom
- about, investigating everything. I wrapped myself in a spare dressing gown hanging on the door for the purpose, sat down at the table, slopped some gin into a tin mug, lit a cigarette and watched.
She moved like a man, directly, always purposefully with an object in mind. She pulled open all the drawers, cupboard doors and the oven hatch. I wished she could carve up her energy and give us all a slice.
I drew on my cigarette and she stared in horror. ‘Want one?’ I asked, and threw the box on the table, but she ignored me and laid her spear and kit on the floor in front of the range. She dragged the table and chairs around them to build a sort of lair. I blew out smoke and thought she would actually be quite pretty if she was made up and if she had some less disgusting clothes. It was true, y’ see: in a good light or with pressed powder her face would be elegant. Her skin was very clear. I bet she hadn’t had so much as a grain of sugar in her life. Her colour was somewhat pallid, but with a little foundation she’d look like a normal woman. Her chest was flat, but if she put on some weight and wore the right neckline that wouldn’t matter too much. And if I taught her not to move in such a masculine way but how to loiter a little, I could make her extremely sexy.
She seated herself triumphantly inside the den, opened her mouth and pointed into it.
‘Food? Yes, there’s some left over. There has to be,’ I said conversationally. ‘Cook leaves at six but we work all hours.’ I used a towel to grab the handle of the oven compartment, pulled open the heavy door, and brought out a risotto all burnt onto the baking dish. I ladled some of the raisiny, mushroomy rice onto a plate, dolloped a generous helping of cauliflower cheese next to it and spooned on beans from a pan on the cooker top. Dellin crawled out from behind her barricade, knelt on the floor with her elbows on the table, sniffed at it and shuddered.
‘This is good Fescue fare,’ I told her and fetched her a fork, but when I turned back she was already wolfing it with her fingers. She ate two platters full in front of my very eyes, then opened her rucksack and produced horrible, gross bits of meat, ate most of them and dumped the rest in the corner. She slurped wine from some sort of smelly bag. Wine from the Castle itself, I guessed, more excellent than I would ever taste! Then she retired under the table and watched me with intense curiosity.
Woodcock the gigolo sauntered in and seated his big self at the table. ‘What’s your game?’ I asked.
‘Just wanted a look at her.’
‘Oh yes. I should charge admission. Roll up! Roll up! Come see the savage!’
‘She’s not just a savage; she’s a woman,’ he pointed out.
‘A woman who doesn’t want your services.’
‘As I thought, she’s a rare one. Have you spoken to her?’
‘She only speaks Rhydanne.’
‘As far as you know,’ he said, and tried her with Awian, but nothing doing.
‘Did she build that den with the chairs?’ he said.
‘Yes. I suppose they do that in the mountains to lie in wait for victims.’
‘Or it’s to make her feel safe in our kitchen.’
Dellin opened her mouth and repeated, ‘Feel safe.’
‘My god!’
‘Is she just imitating? Or does she want to talk to us?’ He tapped the bench top. ‘Table.’
‘Taible,’ said Dellin, dutifully.
‘Table.’
‘Tay-bull.’
‘Good enough. Chairs.’
‘Chairz.’
‘She does have an accent. Chairs.’
‘Chairs!’ Dellin mimicked.
‘She’s from Darkling,’ I said, rather struck by how romantic it was.
‘Spear,’ said Woodcock.
‘Spear. One spear point. Steel. Yes!’
‘She knows more than she’s letting on,’ I said.
‘The Awians would have sold her that. And the knife.’
‘Nife!’
‘Fair enough . . . Plate.’
‘Plate.’
After ten minutes of this I became bored and left Dellin with the gigolo. I climbed the dark cellar steps and at the top, enough light filtered in from the hall to cast my shadow all the way down to the kitchen. It dimly illuminated the decrepit wood panelling.
I put my palm on a panel directly in front of my face and pushed it left. It clicked onto a greased runner and slid aside easily. I slipped the panel below it aside in the same way and the one below and the one below that, until I had an opening one panel wide and as tall as I was. Behind was a passage. I peered in to see the tiny pinpricks and shafts of light shining through from the ground-floor suite. I kicked off my shoes because they made too much noise, turned sideways, sucked in my stomach and slipped in.
Once inside there was enough room to turn straight and walk naturally, y’ see. I edged along, feeling the crunchy ancient lumps of plaster and flakes of whitewash under my stockinged feet. The yellow light slid over my bare skin, shining in dots and lines from wormholes, splits and the edges of panels that didn’t quite meet. The dust tickled my nose so I pressed the collar of my dressing gown to my face and, horripilating at the thought of spiders, I pulled my other hand back into the dressing gown sleeve and waved the drooping cuff ahead of me to ward them off. At eye level a chalk arrow indicated a crack larger than the others. I peered through and there was Comet. Comet and Wagtail . . . and Cisticola!
I watched them avidly until a ‘Hist!’ from the mouth of the passage made me glance round. ‘Hey, sister. Get your fat butt out of there!’
I shuffled carefully away and crept back down the passage to the hall. All eight whores were queuing outside the passage and along the hall, waiting their turn to spy on him. The first two giggled and slipped inside, and the rest stared at me cattily.
I retreated to the kitchen. Woodcock was still there, chatting merrily to Dellin. ‘She’s very fast,’ he said to me approvingly.
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