Angel Arias (17 page)

Markes let go of her hands and put his arms around her, pulling her close. She didn’t notice the blood on his clothes and the smell of his sweat. He was holding her and she was glad. He tilted his head so that his face was closer to hers and she felt his breath against her skin.

Then it happened. His moist and warm lips found hers. The pressure from his mouth sent a jolt of pure happiness through her. Never had she felt so . . . perfect.

But unbidden images of Lenoir licking her thighs flowed into her mind, and her emotions were stamped upon by a torrent of anger that was sharper than a knife twisting in her breast. She gasped and stepped away from Markes.

Lenoir.

‘Naif? What’s –’

The internal door opened before she had to explain. They both turned to the light that flooded in. Jarrold stood there alongside another figure who was holding a lamp and had a string sack slung over his shoulder. The second boy was taller and thinner than Jarrold.

The pair stepped inside and closed the door.

‘This is Gurney,’ said Jarrold. ‘Naif and Markes.’

The light showed the boy’s face to be long and thin like his body and his chin bore a line of straggling hair; the beginnings of a beard. His expression was sombre but curious, his eyes full of a strange intensity. He struck Naif as . . . odd.

‘Markes? Emilia’s trothed?’

Markes squared his shoulders as if expecting an attack. ‘I was.’

But the boy simply nodded and turned his attention to Naif. ‘You came with Jarrold along the bridge.’ This time his voice held excitement. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

Naif stared back at him. ‘I guess so,’ she said, using the phrase Suki had taught her.

‘Then you made that house cave in.’

‘I-I slipped into a hole in the garden. It set off a collapse that didn’t stop. I didn’t mean to . . .’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘The risk was there. We’ll have to find another way down from that end now.’

He headed over to another, narrower door in the far corner of the workshop. ‘This way.’

‘The shop will be open for the afternoon soon. We have to hide somewhere else,’ Jarrold explained.

‘Where?’ Markes sounded tense.

Jarrold pulled a face but when Markes didn’t respond, he whispered in their ears. ‘Trust me,
fero
. Gurney hates the wardens too. They took away his eyeglass. He was drawing a map of the night sky, and they told his father he was being disrespectful to our Elders by questioning our beliefs.’

‘But what’s in there?’ asked Markes, staring at the door Gurney had gone through.

‘They keep bodies here too. Didn’t you know?’

Naif and Markes glanced at each other.

‘Won’t we be found in there?’

‘Gurney has a plan.’

They followed after Jarrold and found themselves in a cold room that smelled strongly of vinegar and other acrid solutions. Naif’s eyes began to water almost immediately and she placed her hand over her mouth to hide her gagging.

Within a few moments, she was shivering from the drop in temperature.

Four waist-high benches stood in the middle of the room. Each of them held a dead body covered with thin brown linen. One had the cloth pulled partway back, and the corpse had deep cuts in its chest. A jar brimming with thick dark liquid sat near the corpse’s shoulder and a tube ran across to its neck.

Blood.
Naif could smell it underneath the tang of vinegar.

‘Viga Mortgen fell into the plough. The horse didn’t stop.’ Gurney stood on the other side of the table.

Naif looked away, images of dead Lottie flooding her mind. Then there had been no blood, though, only the smell of death.

‘Come,’ said Gurney.

In a dark corner of the room was yet another doorway. This one was so low that Gurney had to duck to enter. She followed him quickly, as did the others.

The room was windowless and much smaller and cooler again; the walls made of heavy wood covered with slathers of dried mud. Inside it were rows of shelves lined with jars. Each jar was neatly labelled and the room was well swept and clean.

Gurney lit a lamp that rested on a writing desk filled with odd metal instruments. ‘This is the organ room. We store people’s innards here, and sell them to the Physiks for their research.’

‘Innards? You mean . . . the insides of the dead people?’ asked Markes, swallowing as if he might be sick. ‘In the jars?’

Gurney gave a peculiar smile, and Naif noticed then that his eyes didn’t both follow the same line. Her dead friend Toola’s little sister had been like that and she’d been made to wear an eye patch to hide the offensive sight.

‘Brains and livers and kidneys, guts as well. You don’t want to drop the ones with guts in them.’ He gave his strange laugh.

They all fell quiet for a moment or two and then Jarrold spoke up. ‘Only Gurney comes in here. He’s in charge of the . . . organs. We can talk safely, as long as we keep it low.’

Gurney took a cloth from one of the desk drawers. He spread the cloth on the floor, sat down on it and slipped the sack from his shoulder.

Jarrold sat as well, and motioned for Naif and Markes to copy him. As they huddled together in a close circle, Gurney spread food in front of them; bread, yoghurt and some cold meat. He also produced a bottle of water. He had a swig, wiped the top with his sleeve and passed it on. ‘Ma would’ve noticed if I’d taken cups.’

Jarrold politely passed the bottle on to Naif. She drank from it gratefully and tried not to think about strange Gurney’s lips on the neck of the bottle. She continued to shiver as she swallowed the water, partly from the cold, partly from the dead bodies and partly from her time alone with Markes. He’d kissed her. What did that mean? When he spoke of Emilia he seemed so upset. So cut with emotions. And what of Cal back on Ixion?

Naif didn’t know how to deal with her doubts and questions, so she put them aside and concentrated on what Jarrold was saying to Gurney and Markes.

‘There’s to be a meeting today between the Elders. In a secret place they called Oracion. We need to be there – to listen in,’ said Jarrold.

‘Do you think Emilia got it right? There’s no place in Grave called that,’ asked Markes, frowning.

‘Perhaps it’s outside Grave, then?’ suggested Naif.

Both Markes and Jarrold shrugged.

‘Then we know nothing.’ Naif wanted to cry with frustration and fatigue.

‘Maybe not,’ said Gurney. He stared with squinting concentration at the ceiling of the room as if there were a picture there. Or a hole in the roof to the sky.

‘Gurn?’ Jarrold spoke his shortened name softly, as if encouraging a shy child to speak.

‘I’ve heard the Reverends say that before. Oracion means lost prayers.’

‘Please, Gurney,’ said Naif. ‘If you know anything, we have to –’

His gaze fell upon her, wary and full of suspicion, and she looked away. He was odder than anyone she’d ever met and she suddenly felt unsure that he was as trustworthy as Jarrold said.

They fell quiet again, while Gurney got to his feet and circled around them, tapping softly on the urns carrying the insides of the dead. When he reached the shelf of glass jars he selected one and held it to his forehead. It was filled with human eyes that trailed nerves and tissue into the preserving brine.

Naif forced herself to concentrate on her bread, not caring to see his rapt expression as he pressed the jar against his flesh.

‘The Old Harbour,’ he said suddenly, causing them all to jump. ‘There’s a deserted church. It’s no longer consecrated. Any prayers said there would be lost.’

‘That could be it,’ said Jarrold, excitement creeping into his voice.

‘But why would they go all the way to the Old Harbour?’ asked Markes.

‘Because they don’t want anyone to know?’

‘You promised you’d tell me more, Naif,’ said Jarrold.

Naif looked at Markes and he nodded.

So she told them as quickly and simply as she could about what they’d seen in Danksoi. When she finished, she had another swig from the bottle and wet her lips.

‘Fross!’ said Jarrold with feeling. ‘That’s awful. So you think that the Ripers and the Elders are connected?’

‘That’s what we must know. My friends . . . our friends are there. We have to help them.’

Gurney didn’t speak but his eyes had taken on a sheen in the lamplight. Naif sensed his mind at work.

‘But how do we get back to the harbour unseen? Deope doesn’t stretch that far and the wardens will be on the streets looking for us.’

‘I would have gone to Ixion, except for the darkness. It’s not good for you, you know. It breaks down your body, lets disease in,’ said Gurney, lost in his own thoughts.

Jarrold banged him on the back. ‘Stay with us, Gurn. We need your help.’

‘You want to go to the Old Harbour?’ The vagueness left his eyes.

‘To where the church is . . . Oracion,’ said Jarrold patiently.

‘The Old Harbour is dangerous,’ Gurney said.

‘We came through that area when we arrived. We know some of the places you can hide,’ said Naif. She glanced at Markes. ‘Perhaps Liam will help us.’

‘Liam? Who’s he?’ asked Gurney, squashing a piece of bread in his fingers.

‘He lives in the Old Harbour. There are others too. They’re . . . different to us. But they will help,’ said Markes.

Will they?
Wondered Naif. Liam might want to help but would Glev let him?

‘Live there? Different? How?’ asked Jarrold.

‘You’ll see,’ said Markes. ‘But first, we have to get to the Raspart mausoleum near the Grave compound so that we can follow the storm drain back to the Old Harbour.’

Gurney got up and disappeared from the room. Markes and Naif exchanged glances and Jarrold shrugged.

‘He’ll be back,’ he said.

‘How did you become friends?’ asked Naif, curious at the connection between such different boys.

‘I was exploring the edges of Deope one night and found him watching the sky through his eyeglass. We agreed not to
blad
on each other. It sort of started from there.’

He stopped as Gurney ducked under the door and sat down again.

‘I’ve looked on the job sheet. The cart’s going to the Mortgen chamber close to the Rasparts. After that, the Convilles.’

‘You think we should go
in
the dead cart?’ said Markes.

‘Brilliant idea!’ said Jarrold.

Naif could see no alternative this time. The cart would be quicker. ‘How do we do it?’

‘Naif –’ Markes began to protest but she laid her hand over his.

‘We won’t make the meeting in time if we walk all the way,’ she said.

He fell silent.

‘The cart backs alongside the doors. The driver goes to the front of the shop to sign the carry papers. You can get into the false bottom then,’ said Gurney.

‘Will the driver look there?’ Naif asked.

He shook his head. ‘It’s just for those that can’t afford a coffin. The Mortgens have paid for the best.’

‘I’m going with them,’ said Jarrold.

Gurney looked surprised.

‘I’m not going home, Gurney,’ Jarrold said with feeling.

‘But what about Emilia? She’ll be alone.’ Gurney’s tone revealed more about his feelings for Jarrold’s sister than he ever meant to. He flushed when he saw their curious looks.

‘I’ll take care of Emilia,’ said Markes.

They all stared at him. His voice sounded strong again, more determined, and he lifted his chin to brook no argument.

Jarrold nodded in agreement but Naif’s heart sank. She was torn between sympathy and jealousy. Trying hard to cling on to the more noble feeling, she put her hand into the middle between them all, the way she’d seen Kero do with his gang, the White Wings, back on Ixion.

‘For our friends,’ she said.

They placed their hands solemnly on top of hers in a show of unity. Gurney was last to do it, barely touching his palm to their skin. Naif sensed a sudden preoccupation in him.

What is he thinking?

But she got no chance to study him further because he stood and brushed crumbs from his shirt.

‘Keep quiet for now and I’ll be back for you in an hour when the cart comes. I’ll lock the door from outside and take the key.’

Locked in? Naif wanted to cry out in protest. Not with the innards of strangers. But the words stuck in her throat.

No choice.

Markes dropped his face in his hands.

Only Jarrold seemed unperturbed by the situation. Naif wondered where he got his nerve. Even Joel, she thought, would have been troubled to stay here.

Gurney left without another word.

‘I say we stretch out and sleep. I’m beat and I reckon you’re not much better,
fero,
’ said Jarrold.