City of Dreams and Nightmare (18 page)

Johnson even spoke differently from the officers under him, having a more cultured accent, leading Tylus to wonder whether he was a native of the under-City at all, or whether perhaps he had been assigned here from the City Above. What misdemeanour could warrant such a fate? Perhaps the captain was simply from a better district, though it was hard to believe that the City Below boasted any such.

Their initial meeting had been an awkward one, neither certain of status, one a captain, the other a Kite Guard on special assignment from a senior arkademic – who outranked whom? They settled the dilemma without ever acknowledging there was one, by treating each other as equals. Tylus was amazed by his own audacity; this was something he would never have dreamed of doing mere days previously.

This second meeting promised to be no less trying than the first. The captain came across to where Tylus sat next to Richardson, who disappeared as the senior officer approached. It was immediately apparent that the captain wanted something.

“You’ve heard about the incident in the early hours?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Tylus. He assumed this was a reference to the sun globe falling and the subsequent fire, and had to wonder how anyone could have failed to hear about it.

“A terrible business.”

“Terrible.” It was the talk of the squad room. Officers had been called in from all across the under-City to fight the blaze, including their own station. A number of buildings had been gutted and the total of confirmed dead rose by the hour.

“Sun globes do not simply come crashing down of their own accord. Somebody must have brought this one down deliberately.”

The captain stopped, clearly hoping for a reaction. Tylus refused to give him one. By approaching matters in this circumspect manner rather than coming straight out and asking a direct question, Johnson had placed himself at a disadvantage. Tylus rather enjoyed the fact that they were no longer quite equal. “Really?” was his only response.

Johnson fidgeted a little more, and cleared his throat: a nervous sound which almost caused Tylus to grin, though he fought hard to keep his face deadpan. “The thing is, you see, the globe itself has been pretty much blasted apart in the explosion. We’re collecting the debris, of course, but it’s proving to be a long and slow process. Goodness knows how much we’ll be able to learn from whatever’s left in any case…”

“Hmm. Very frustrating,” Tylus said. He began to see what the captain was leading up to.

“What we really need to do is get up there and take a look at the roof, to examine where the globe fell from and hopefully learn something from that.”

Tylus was tempted to agree and assure the captain that he thought this an excellent idea, but decided that the game had been played for long enough. So instead he looked at the man levelly and said, “Captain, are you asking me to fly up there and take a look at the scene on your behalf?”

“Well, yes. It would certainly be helpful. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Tylus frowned. “My problem, captain, is that I’ve been sent here for a very specific purpose, and what you’re proposing isn’t related to that purpose. Indeed, it would require me to take time out from my assigned duties.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t wish to interfere with your assignment unduly,” Johnson said quickly, “but this wouldn’t take long. I’d hoped, in the interests of inter-departmental co-operation, that you might consider assisting us.”

“And I presume that I could count on your department to help me make up the time lost by providing me with assistance should I need it?”

“Certainly! Whatever you need; I guarantee it.”

Tylus smiled. “In that case, captain, in the interests of inter-departmental co-operation, I’d be delighted to help.”

“Excellent, excellent.”

“One thing, before we go. Have you any idea where I could obtain some rock climbing equipment?”

Johnson stared at him, startled. “I’m sorry, did you say rock climbing equipment?”

TEN

Tom came to with his head thumping. Somebody was pulling him to his feet – a tattooed arm. He stared into a face that he thought might be Rayul’s, though he still found it difficult to tell these tattooed men apart. Dust and small fragments of wood and stone fell from his body as he struggled upwards. More cuts and bruises but his head was the one that claimed his attention. He lifted a hand to his face, feeling his forehead, to be rewarded with a fresh lance of pain. His fingers found dampness, stickiness, and he stared at the red of his own glistening blood on taking them away.

Kat was there, agitated, anxious to move. “Come on,” she urged, her voice sounding distorted and distant. “The fire’s taken hold and it’s going to be a monster.”

He didn’t need her to tell him that, he could feel the heat for himself. The building they had taken refuge in the previous night was gone, as were those next to it, consumed in raging flames. Dark smoke billowed upwards, plumes that dashed themselves against the high cavern ceiling. He felt himself pulled again and was running, staggering in the wake of the Tattooed Men and Kat, who kept pace with him.

“Weird gang alliances, demon hounds and now exploding sun globes falling on us; you’re not the safest of people to be around, kid,” the girl muttered.

Tom couldn’t answer. It was as if the words were not intended for him at all but for somebody else. Nor would he have argued if he could, not even at her calling him kid again. Things were happening on all sides which he had no understanding of and no control over. He felt as if he were drowning, as if life was somehow racing ahead of him, dragging him along in its wake, buffeting him the whole while. Since he came back from the Heights everything had turned crazy. No, in fact before that – the murder and falling from the walls…Was there a connection? Was all that had happened to him since then a consequence of what he had witnessed on the walls? He didn’t want to believe that, yet it offered an explanation – the only one he could currently think of. The question was, if true, what could he hope to do about it?

They passed guard units rushing towards the blaze. Other people started to appear at windows and doors, most of them bleary-eyed, curious to know what all the fuss was about, woken by the explosion but not yet able to grasp what was happening.

“Run,” Kat yelled at them, and then, “Fire!”

The Tattooed Men joined in calling out warnings and soon they were not the only ones heading away, as people abandoned their homes and fled the spreading flames. A pair of fire carts trundled past, the strident peal of their bells all but drowning out the shouts of the attendant guardsmen who were frantically waving their arms and imploring folk to make way, while constantly sounding the carts’ handbell. The carts were laden with pumps and vast coiled hoses capable of tapping into well-points and sewers. They were pulled by teams of great grey oxen. Trained for such tasks from birth, the animals were hooded, their noses, mouth and eyes covered, with scent parcels stuffed into the muzzle section to disguise the smell of smoke and prevent them from panicking at the proximity of fire. So the theory went. Tom had always doubted whether the system worked in practice, but he wouldn’t be hanging around to find out on this occasion.

For once his curiosity lay dormant, buried beneath other concerns. His head continued to ache and he could still hear the explosion reverberating through his mind, as if the sound had slipped into his head through the ears and then been unable to find a way out again. He felt oddly detached and everything seemed a little surreal – a situation not helped by the stubbornness of his eyes, which refused to fully focus without the sort of extreme effort his headache hated. The fire carts’ oxen looked fuzzy and distorted, as if they were alien creatures parodying oxen, and the accompanying guardsmen’s shouts reached him as incoherent shrieks.

Tom followed behind Kat and the Tattooed Men as best he could, occasionally chivvied by the girl or by one of the men who might have been Rayul. Blue eyes, Tom noticed – not common here. They formed an anchor point, the girl and this tattooed man, something to concentrate on. He lost all clear sense of time and could not begin to guess at how long it took them to reach their destination, which proved to be a shop.

Afterwards, he would try to remember what the store sold, without ever being able to.

He shuffled into the shop behind Rayul, who nodded greeting to the gnarled man sitting hunched behind the counter. For some reason Tom saw the man with crystal clarity, or, at least, his perception of the man. He was gnarled in the manner of an old tree root from which fickle earth has been washed away by heavy rains, leaving it exposed to too much weather and too much sun. His leathery face showed the ravages of age and perhaps even pox, being severely marked by crevices of wrinkles. His scalp was only partially obscured by wispy strands of grey hair. He scowled at them from beneath long and wiry grey brows as they filed through.

Behind the shop front lay a single large room, an area which seemed to be filled with tattooed men.

“I’d better find Chavver,” Rayul said, “warn her about the fire and tell her we’ve lost the small house.”

“Oh, so you’re not going to mention the fact that I’m here then?”

If Rayul replied to Kat’s comment, Tom failed to catch it.

He was led to a bench, which he slumped down onto, head throbbing with renewed vigour. Activity surrounded him but meant nothing; he was aware of it only at the periphery of his thoughts, as something of no great relevance. He stared down at his hands, opened and closed them, then dug his nails into his palms, feeling the sting of pain as the nails bit, but nothing seemed to ease the throbbing in his head.

Soon after, he became aware of someone standing over him and looked up into the face of one of the Tattooed Men – no, a Tattooed Woman, though she was as bald as any of the men and bore a similar tracery of ochre body etchings.

“It’s all right, I’m just going to clean you up a little,” a voice said.

She lifted something to his face – a cloth, damp and warm – and proceeded to rub at him gently, wiping away the blood. He didn’t object, though he did wince when the cloth touched the wound, just above his hairline, sending fresh spasms of pain coursing through his head.

“Well?” Kat’s voice, as if from a distance.

“It’s the bang on the head.”

“I know that much.”

“What he needs is plenty of rest. Let him sleep it off.”

“Right, so let him go to sleep while the fire burns the building down around us.”

“Do you really think it’ll reach this far?”

“No idea, but I don’t fancy waiting around to find out, do you? Can you do anything to help him? Please.”

“Maybe, although rest would still be the best remedy.”

“Understood, but it’s not an option.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Shayna.”

He felt hands on either side of his head, fingers pressing gently at his temples, and the woman’s tattooed face loomed close. He tried to raise his own hand to ward hers off, but hesitated as a sense of warmth flowed through his mind and the woman’s tracery of tattoos seemed to glow until they shone. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the warmth in his head. It wasn’t unpleasant as such, just strange. Awareness slipped quietly away and he drifted into comforting sleep.

Tom woke up with a start, staring around, blinking away dreams that dissipated in an instant. He felt clearheaded and much more himself. His headache had virtually disappeared, leaving in its wake a vague sense of fragility and a tenderness around the wound itself when his questing fingers tentatively explored it. He felt so much better that he wondered, with a sudden jolt of concern, how much time had passed.

The room was a hive of activity. What most caught his attention as he looked about was the array of weapons, which seemed to be everywhere: long knives like Kat’s predominated, along with full swords, but there were also crossbows, staves and other things less easy to identify. They all looked sleek, new and well cared for. These were no street-nicks, he realised, but a heavily-armed warrior band.

A short distance away Kat stood talking earnestly with Rayul. She glanced over as Tom stirred, made her excuses and came across to him, concern evident on her face. “You all right?”

“Think so. How long was I out?”

She shrugged. “Not sure; a few minutes at most.”

Was that all? It had felt much longer. “There was a woman…”

“Yeah, Shayna. She’s a healer – a damn good one too. Took away the pain and cleared your head – that’s another one you owe me. She and I go way back.”

“How do you know…?”

He was interrupted by the arrival of another woman, or rather a girl; it was difficult to judge her age. She had long black hair, which was currently tied in a ponytail. Her face and arms were tattoo-free, although she was dressed in much the same style as the others: leather sleeveless tunic and a skirt that was formed by layered strips of leather extending from the waist. Her attire was distinguished from the others’ in being dyed much darker, virtually black.

She ignored Tom and stalked straight up to Kat, who stood her ground in the face of the newcomer’s aggression and obvious anger. The two girls glared at each other.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to come over and say hello,” Kat said.

The girl, presumably the Tattooed Men’s leader, Chavver, took her time in answering, maintaining the glare as if that in itself might be her answer. Finally, she said, “If not for Rayul, I would’ve sliced you open as soon as you stepped through the door.”

Chavver was larger than Kat; a little taller, with broader shoulders and muscular arms, bigger all round but, even so, Tom was struck by how similar these two seemed, both decked out in black as they were.

“You’d have tried to, you mean,” Kat replied. “You’re not good enough, you never were. The only reason you’re in charge of this lot in the first place is because I didn’t want to be.”

The larger girl snarled and whipped out one of the oversized knives that Tom was growing used to seeing by now; Kat’s twin blades were in her hand at the same instant.

“Enough!” Rayul stepped between them, pushing a hand out towards each girl. “For pity’s sake, both of you, aren’t you ever going to put all this behind you? What’s done is done, now move on for all our sakes.”

Activity in the room ceased, as everyone stared at the confrontation.

“You forget yourself, Rayul,” Chavver said. Rage still burned in her eyes and for a moment Tom thought she might press ahead with an attack anyway, going straight through Rayul if necessary.

“Now is not the time,” the tattooed man persisted, either oblivious or impervious to the threat. “The streets are on fire; it could reach here any minute. We must get organised and move out. You two can kill each other somewhere else, somewhen else, if you have to, but not right now and not right here.”

“He’s got a point,” Kat said.

With a final glare, Chavver thrust her knife back into its sheath. Only once she had did Kat do likewise. Rayul relaxed and exchanged a quick glance with Kat.

“This isn’t over,” Chavver said, before turning to her men, none of whom, apart from Rayul, had moved a muscle since the face-off started. “What are you lot staring at? Come on, get your gear packed. We leave in two minutes.”

Suddenly the room was filled with activity again as men scrambled around in final preparation, although, Tom had to admit, it certainly wasn’t chaotic. Each individual moved with an unhurried efficiency that spoke of frequent practice and long familiarity with their part in the process. It was just the combined effect of so much movement from so many people which suggested otherwise.

In what seemed no time at all the Tattooed Men stood ready, weapons stowed and packs on their backs. With a nod, Chavver led the way out through a rear door, the Tattooed Men filing out behind her. Tom, Kat and Rayul hung back and were the last to leave. Tom glanced around as they did so. The room’s walls were bordered with stacked boxes, presumably containing stock for the shop, but the place was otherwise empty. There was nothing at all to suggest that a large group of people had been staying there.

He remembered the weathered face of the elderly shopkeeper and wondered if anyone had told him they were leaving, and whether he would be able to make his own escape if the fire did come this way. Presumably so, since no one else seemed concerned.

Outside, the smell of smoke hung heavy in the air, but there was no immediate sign of the fire itself. They fell in at the back of the column, Kat chatting amiably with Rayul.

“Where are you headed?”

“The north corner.”

She frowned. “Why, what’s up there? And since when was the north corner part of the Tattooed Men’s range?”

“It isn’t, but it’s as far away from everything as we can get without leaving the city itself.”

“You’re running from something.”

“As fast as we can,” he acknowledged, “and if you had any sense you’d be doing the same.”

“What is it? What scares the Tattooed Men this much?”

He looked at her, as if weighing up the situation or his next words. “There are things going down, Kat; major things, deadly things. Watch the street-nicks, don’t trust them. They may not always be what they seem, not anymore.”

“What the breck does that mean? You’ve got to give me more than that.”

“We’ll be back once the dust has cleared, once we know how things stand. As for giving you more, I can promise you one thing: whatever comes out of this, the City Below will never be the same again.”

“Oh come on, Rayul, that tells me frissin’ nothing.”

“It tells you more than you deserve.” Chavver had joined them unnoticed and evidently caught the end of the conversation. “Rayul, take point.” With that, she effectively ended their hope of learning any more.

The tattooed man nodded, gave Kat a slightly sour half-smile and headed towards the front of the column.

“You!” Chavver pointed at Kat, who smiled back. Had Tom been in the other girl’s position, it would certainly have infuriated him. ”You can make your own way from here!”