Fade to Black (8 page)

There it was. He was right. For all my contacts, I’d never even known there was anyone down there, never mind how to get there, and Tam was offering me a way in. A chance, the only one I was likely to get.

“How much?”

In the end, it was easy. I should have known really. Tam got a young lad to show me where, and it was right under my nose, only more cleverly disguised than Dwarf’s shop. Under a dripping stairwell that had been propped and patched so many times you couldn’t see the original, a door lurked in the darkness. A maintenance door, it looked like, with a stout padlock and a small sign that said danger, alchemical storage and a picture of someone blowing themselves up. Hidden in plain view. It took the lad under a minute to pick the padlock and then I was in.

Right up to my neck.

Inside was a space about the size of a roomy coffin, which seemed appropriate. A dirty yellow Glow globe twitched on and off erratically with a highpitched whine that did nothing for my state of mind. Across from me stood another door.

Tam had told me what to expect and I didn’t like the sound of it. At all. But needs must when Namrat has you by the balls and is ready to twist them off with a grin and a wink. There was a complicated button, lever and pulley arrangement by the door and I pushed it. While I waited, I fiddled with the false papers Tam had given me, along with a pin that I’d stuck
to my coat. The pin was shaped like a tiger, with black stripes done in enamel. So they’d know I was Ministry, Tam had said.

The inner door ratcheted open, each clink and clank echoing damply and twisting my nerves to breaking. It was a long way down, and a long way down is something I try to avoid. I stepped into the compartment and tried not to think how far, or how this thing worked and whether it ever got any maintenance. Or whether whatever held it up was rusting, corroded by synth and…
Stop it
. I took a deep, not quite steady breath and pushed the button/lever thing on the inside. The world fell away from my feet.

I was thrust downwards at what seemed to be an excessive speed that made my insides want to come out through my ears and had me thinking that maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to believe in a god or two so you could pray to them at times like this, when all you wanted to do was either cry or crap yourself.

The compartment finally shuddered to an abrupt halt that made my knees crumple. The door swished open and I pulled myself together enough to step out purposefully into a clammy chamber where dark liquid dripped down the walls and steamed sullenly in pools on the floor. Synth-tainted water. Stronger than I’d smelled it in years.

Two soldiers stood facing me, armoured and armed to the hilt, their eyes hidden by dark visors on their helmets. Ministry Specials, from their uniform and insignia, though the helmets were new. One stepped forward smartly and
looked at my papers. I was immediately reassured that Tam had been worth the money. The soldier snapped off a salute so sharp you could have shaved with it, and there was a hungry awe in his voice when he spoke. “Any instructions, sir?”

I allowed myself a small smile and tried to look as arrogant as possible. “My first time here.” I took in the badge on his shoulder. A reverend, on guard duty? Saluting
me
? Thank you, Tam. “I’m not really sure what I want as yet, reverend.”

“Sir, the” – he licked his lips before he changed tack, as though he’d almost said something he shouldn’t – “your department has special privileges, sir. I’ll arrange transport immediately, sir.” That was a heck of a lot of “sir”s.

The reverend was as good as his word. In less than two minutes I was led away by an unctuous individual called Kerd, a small, slimy little man with hair to match, dressed in a tatty holy-green robe, who didn’t so much walk ahead as flow.

As we left the chamber behind, I could hear the heavy clank of chains, and almost swore out loud in surprise as a bulky cage appeared at the rim of the ledge in front of me. Kerd opened a battered gate and ushered me in. The floor was slick with the same fetid liquid as the chamber, and I tried not to wonder whether the soles of my boots were up to the challenge, or whether I’d just exposed myself to a lethal dose of synth. It took my mind off the long drop underneath me.

We rattled our way down through a shaft and after a moment or two of blackness there was the ’Pit, laid out below
me in all its gaudy decrepitude, glittering in a constant drizzle from the roof that refracted the light like prisms.

The buildings shone with light from rend-nut oil – which was warmer than Glow light – and alleys swam with shadows. There were no walkways clogging the air, but a series of cages moved in a jerky dance around the sealed-off roots of Mahala. As we descended I could hear the life of the city. Music! I hadn’t heard any real music in years: the Ministry disapproved, considering most lyrics to be seditious, so it was only allowed on high days and holidays, and then it was bland and vacuous hymns about how the Goddess was so lovely and nice. They made me want to throw up.

Here, songs blared constantly from broken windows, the old-fashioned music that had had a brief resurgence just before the ’Pit was sealed, all heavy throbbing beats and wailing words, a desperate outpouring of anger against the synth. It still sounded as angry now, the rage of it pounding in my veins. It made me want to laugh despite the gap between my feet and solidity.

We clattered down smoothly, the clamour from all the cages dulling to a soothing background noise that I soon learned never stopped, along with the rain – run-off from Upside that leaked through the only place it could, into the ’Pit. We neared the level of the street and the pulse of the city surrounded us – shouts, screams, bursts of song. I’d never heard anything like it.

Upside there were no streets as such, only walkways that
often swayed and bounced with the steps of shoppers, a few small parks and the tiny zoo that housed the few last horses, dogs and cats that had once numbered in millions; poor inbred things that bore little resemblance to those that had lived before. Upside, Over-Trade at least, people didn’t want to get close enough to touch, unless they were behind closed doors. Under-Trade, people were too wary to touch, unless money changed hands. There was nothing up there like this, a pushing, shoving, good-natured, heaving humanity. It was glorious.

Below me was an endless parade of people, shuffling about their business on a solid street. On the
ground
. Men and women shouted out against the blasts of music, their heads covered with flamboyant hats against the constant drizzle. There were heady wafts of steamy, spicy food, and glittering lights from shops trying to tempt people in. I watched it all through the curtain of diamonds that the rain had become, aware of a vibrancy I’d never noticed Upside, as though the people here were prepared to wrench every last drop of blood out of life. Small groups of children wove their way through the giants above them. The only places children ran Upside were in the parts so bad that they ran with a gang and a lot of knives.

The cage ran down another shaft and into a heavily armoured compound. Two of the guards followed us and Kerd smiled at the look on my face as he let me out of the cage. “I’m sure you’ll have time to sample all the delights the ’Pit
can offer. Now, first, have that pin off, but be ready to show it when asked.”

He led me through a small maze of buildings to a solid-iron gate five yards tall. Half a dozen sharp-looking guards stood with new guns ready as he opened the small doorway set into the gates and took me through. “Have to keep the port safe, we don’t want any of these going Up, and you need to be careful where you go too, as a Ministry man. Too many places down here aren’t very welcoming. Not surprising, all things considered, but best to be wary. If you leave the hotel at all – and I don’t recommend it without guards – then keep to the main streets, and keep your wits about you. You aren’t Upside any more.”

Then I was in it, inside the animal of the crowd, and I was almost swept away before he took hold of my arm.

“This way, sir.” He led me down a short alley lit with a kind of soft yellow light I’d never seen before that made all the shadows seem friendlier in the damp. Another cage, this time with a dark-haired boy in there, no older than ten. He gave us a sharp little nod and his hand flew round on a series of ratchets, and then we were up again, this time rattling along three yards above the ground. For once I wasn’t bothered about the drop – I was too busy gawking.

Around us, hundreds of cages jerked their way in a complicated dance through alleys, across streets, around the ancient, giant towers that supported the upper reaches of Mahala, over smaller, cobbled-together buildings. Above us a
web of cables strung themselves between turning discs. We hurtled towards one and I didn’t even have time to wonder what the hell was going to happen before the mechanism that attached us to our wire swung around the disc, and with a flick of his wrist the boy sent us hurtling at right-angles to the way we had come.

Misty rain tingled against my face as we swooped through this garish, noisy, people-ridden, beautiful city. Boundary as it should have been. It was the most exhilarating ride I’d ever had, and I was sorry when we reached our destination. We were in a quieter area, but there was still a bustle on the streets, a never-ending choke of people. Kerd led me past more security, into a building that looked in good repair, and when we walked in and I saw the blue and gold of a vaulted roof, the thick carpets and the quiet, luxurious splendour, I silently thanked Tam once again.

With a quick salute and a knowing smile, Kerd and the guards left me to the devices of the hotel. A young boy, dressed in impeccable white and gold, led me away and handed me a numbered key. The lift was smooth-riding and bizarrely sumptuous, all brass icons of the Goddess, saints and martyrs, etched mirrors, thick carpet and soft scents. More like an old-fashioned temple than a lift, so it quite took my mind away from the drop under me.

When I tried the key in the properly numbered door, I found a huge room with carpets you could swim in and a bed almost the size of my room at home. A bath big enough for
four dominated the next room, and when I tried the taps, hot water came in a torrent. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used a bath and not a shower. Maybe never. I had to shake myself.

I couldn’t stay here. This was a hotel used by the Ministry, and whilst I had the pin, I’d be found out if I stayed too long. Still, maybe for tonight… No, this wasn’t what I’d come for. I gave myself a mental slap. I’d order some food because it was way past my breakfast time and I was famished, find out how to get where I was going, and go.

Before I could do anything else a discreet bell dinged at the door. I peeked through the spyhole and there was food, accompanied by the same young boy who’d given me the key. I raised my eyebrows but opened the door, my hand on the pulse pistol in my pocket just in case. The boy came in, dark-haired and -eyed, with a skin almost blue-white in its pallor, like most of the people I’d seen here. He quickly laid out the food on a table.

Steak. Steak! Where in hell did they get it from? Upside it couldn’t be had for love nor money, but then this was the Ministry, and I supposed they had influence, and money, even here. Not just steak either, but real vegetables, not some reconstituted grey mush. Even the gravy was enough to have me salivating. I couldn’t take my eyes off the food, and waited impatiently for him to be done and leave me to it. The boy didn’t look at me as he set it out, and it was only when he went to leave that I saw who’d come with him.

One of the most stunning women I’d ever seen, a sultry brunette with eyes like black diamonds. Her silky dress slid over her legs as she walked, promising that her skin was as soft as the material that clung to every curve. I realised now why the bath and bed were so big, and why Ministry men came down to the ’Pit. Fact-finding missions, my arse. Up above, anywhere above Trade, there was too much damn piety for this. Under-Trade, too much pox. Here, it would seem, it was something they could indulge in without being caught, or catching anything in return. This was my kind of place. And this was most
definitely
my kind of woman.

Briefly, I couldn’t decide which was more tantalising, the sight of her or the aroma of steak that drifted up behind me. I wasn’t here for fun, I told myself sternly. I was here to find—She made for the bathroom, and with a wriggle of her shoulders the dress slid from her smooth skin to land in a puddle on the floor. I told myself I imagined her nervous smile, the odd way she looked at me, the little hints of something not quite right, when I heard the gush of water. Sod the steak, it could wait. I followed her into the bathroom. Well, it would be rude not to, wouldn’t it?

In the end I let her have the steak, even though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had real meat. It was her blank-eyed look that stopped me from doing anything except let her soap my back. Don’t get me wrong, I like women: they’re a pleasing distraction from the grey grind of work, though I’ve
never been tempted to make it more permanent. I’ve had more than my fair share of escorts, mistresses and flings. Often concurrently. I’ve even been paid in kind a time or two. But they’d all been willing participants. This girl had coercion stamped in subtle glowing lights behind her eyes. It was in the way she moved, the hesitant look to make sure I wasn’t angry, the hint of a cringe when I moved too fast.

I like to think I have at least
some
standards, though I can think of plenty of women who might disagree with me there. But in my line of work I’ve seen a dozen beaten wives like this, two dozen beaten children. Was it any wonder I was such a cynic? And they all tried to hide it the same way as this girl, beneath lowered eyes and hesitant moves. None of them could help the look that was there if you wanted to see it – the same veiled, cowed look that made me want to choke.

The look of relief on her face when I handed her the soap and presented my back made me squirm in disgust. She hid it well enough that I’d come that close to not noticing, to just jumping in, and on her. I would have done, would have missed the subtle clues and thought no more of it, if I hadn’t seen the mark on her wrists. The same mark I’d seen on the girls at Tam’s place. Not tattoos, I saw now, but a swirling mark burned into the thin, tender flesh just under the thumbs. A brand, like they used to brand cattle back in the days when there were some, and maybe it meant the same thing. Ownership.