Geomancer (Well of Echoes) (30 page)

‘I thought you were going to jump …’

‘Don’t be stupid!’ she lied.

Nish jerked around, trying to see her. One of the supporting poles lifted right out of its rock socket. ‘Don’t move!’ she roared. ‘You’ll go right over. Stay perfectly still.’

She looked around. It was a long way to the manufactory – more than half a league. The best part of an hour by the time she got back here with help. If Nish lasted that long in his thin garments, she doubted that the structure would.

‘Muss!’ she roared, cupping her hands around her mouth. ‘Eiryn Muss.’

‘He won’t help!’ Nish said weakly.

‘Oh?’

‘I accidentally dropped a pebble on his head a while ago.’ He had the grace to look ashamed.

‘Bloody idiot!
Muss!
’

Some minutes later he came blundering up the path, brawny arms hanging loose. Irisis ran to meet him. ‘Muss, help me! Nish has gone over the cliff.’

‘Good,’ said Muss. ‘Very good!’ His halfwit eyes gleaming, he turned away.

‘Muss, please. He’s fallen into your moss farm. He’s breaking it.’

Muss followed her to the edge, looked down and gave an incongruous, high-pitched giggle. ‘Old one. No good now. Build new one.’

‘Please, Muss. I will pay you well.’

His blank face strained to express some emotion. An idiot’s leer appeared. What could she offer that would mean anything to him? ‘Bottle of brandy.’ Irisis held her hand out as if offering him one, then her other hand as well. ‘Two bottles.’

His eyes shone. A trickle of saliva made its way down his bearded chin. He licked his lips. ‘More!’

She could not imagine what he would value. He was some kind of pervert or peeping tom, she recalled.

‘Would you like to see my breasts?’ she said in desperation. She’d even sleep with him if there was no other way to save Nish, though it would be the most squalid transaction of her opportunistic life.

Such a look of disgust mixed with terror passed across Muss’s face as she had never seen before. Nish let out a choked gasp, writhed and the brittle withies broke. He went through head first but a branch end caught in the waistband of his trousers, dragging them down to his ankles.

He stopped with a jerk, hanging upside down, bare bum pointing at them. His shirt fell down over his head, revealing the healing lash marks on his back.

Irisis eyed his stocky body, discovering that she liked the musculature, especially his smooth, pale backside. So, evidently, did Muss, who was giggling and snorting beside her.

No time to waste. As Nish swayed back and forth, several poles lifted from their sockets. It would take little for the whole tangled structure to go over.

‘Come on!’ she hissed, shaking Muss by the shoulder. ‘Four bottles.’

Muss tore his eyes away from the glorious sight. They climbed down to the ledge. Irisis held the poles steady while Muss swung along the rickety frame and freed Nish. It took more time than it should have, but Irisis closed her mind to that. If Muss was taking liberties, she thought unsympathetically, it served Nish right for being so damn stupid.

Finally they were back at the top. Nish was white-faced and shivering. ‘Carry him back,’ Irisis said.

Muss threw Nish over his shoulder, steadied him with a paw on his backside and shambled off. Half an hour later the artificer was propped up on a bench in the refectory, next to the wall warmed by the great ovens, and warmed inside by a bowl of dried fishhead soup. Irisis went around the back and purchased four bottles of brandy from Flyn the miner, who kept an illegal stall behind the practice ground.

She gave them to Muss, who tore the cork from one bottle and poured half straight down his gullet. His eyes crossed, he reeled, giggled and said, ‘Good luck with hunt for crystal lady.’ Juggling his bottles, Muss wandered off.

She stood looking after him, wondering how the halfwit came to know that. Well, he was always snooping around, minding other people’s business.

As she entered the refectory, Nish smiled at her, uncertainly.

‘If you were my slave for the rest of your life you’d never repay what you owe me!’ she said furiously. That he’d saved her from killing herself was another black mark against him.

He sat up straighter, giving a cheerful grin. ‘Oh, I don’t know. While I was hanging back there, and you were letting Muss fondle my bum, I had an idea that may just save us both.’

U
llii crouched in her corner, shivering. The room was cold but she had thrown off her clothes. Her pants and shirt were made of finest lamb’s wool that a baby could have worn without difficulty, yet the fabric felt to be covered in tiny hooks that pulled at her skin with every movement.

She put her fingers in her ears. That kept out the cacophony which made it impossible to think. Even so, sound was everywhere. Ullii could hear the chomping of tiny borers in the floorboards. A mouse skittering in the ceiling was like a man walking in miner’s boots. She could even hear the faint movements made by a spider’s spinnerets, the clacking of its joints as it moved, the subtle twang of silken threads.

The smells were overpowering. Ullii knew when the furnace stokers changed from one pitch bin to another. The stokers did not notice, yet to her it was like the difference between apple and onion. She could even tell which way the wind was blowing from the smell of the air.

Easterlies carried the tang of salt, seaweed and fish smoking on the racks below Tiksi. Northerlies, a mixture of tar, ammonia and human waste from the drains. South brought the faint aroma of pine needles and resin, though only on warm days. Westerlies had no smell at all, for that way was only snow and ice and mountains forever.

Ullii knew everyone who had ever walked past her door, as a dog knows each creature by its smell. She could recognise at least a hundred people; some foul, some fair, some masking poor hygiene with sickly, cloying scent. One unfortunate wretch had teeth so rotten that she could smell him as soon as he came into the corridor.

Of all these she knew only the names of four. Jal-Nish had a sweetly foetid smell, with metallic overtones. She knew him well, having come all the way from Fassafarn with him. She shrank inwardly as soon as she detected the perquisitor. He pretended to care about her but she knew he did not. Jal-Nish wanted to be scrutator desperately and feared only two things -the wrath of his wife, Ranii Mhel, and displeasing the scrutator of Einunar, Xervish Flydd. His smell reminded Ullii of childhood memories better forgotten.

Ullii also knew Querist Fyn-Mah, soap-scented with rose petals. She must wash six times a day to have so thoroughly removed all trace of her own odour. Fyn-Mah spoke in soft tones, the least hurtful Ullii had encountered in years. She did care, in an efficient sort of a way, though not to the extent of inconveniencing herself. Fyn-Mah was wrapped up in her own torment.

The third person was Nyg-Gu, the woman who brought food and cleaned up Ullii’s messes. She had a strong complex odour, such that Ullii wondered if she bathed from one year to the next. The last was Irisis, who also smelt of soap and flowers but her own scent was stronger – ripe womanhood. Ullii did not know what to make of her. Irisis’s voice had harsh overtones, and she looked to have a temper, but Ullii saw warmth carefully hidden.

The scent that most intrigued her had no name. It was the young man who had appeared with Irisis, then returned to collapse on the floor. He had a musky, spicy aroma that warmed her in ways she did not understand. He also smelt of metal, oiled machinery and blood. She did not know his voice. And she had hurt him, which made him special in her eyes. Many people had made her suffer but she had not hurt anyone before. He had not struck back at her either. He was a very special man. Ullii wanted to see him again. She was waiting for him now.

Her mind wandered back to Fassafarn, where she had lived for most of her eighteen years. Ullii was not stupid, despite what people thought of her. Far from it. She could not read or write, but only because the glare from paper burned her eyes. Ullii’s life had been shaped by her experiences, and she’d experienced life as no other person on Santhenar had.

She had first met Jal-Nish twelve years ago, when as a child of six she’d been put up before the examiner. In normal times Ullii would have been classified as a moron and cast out on the streets, or shut up in an institution if they’d felt like prolonging her torment. But Jal-Nish was no ordinary examiner and those were desperate times. The examiners had been ordered by the Council of Scrutators to keep watch for children with unusual talents, especially those related to the Secret Art. Humanity was fighting for its very survival and no one knew which abilities might prove vital in the struggle against an enemy unlike any this world had ever encountered.

Ullii was as unusual a child as Jal-Nish had met. Sight and hearing and touch being overwhelmed, she lived mainly through smell and through another sense long since atrophied, or perhaps never developed, in ordinary people. She sensed the structure of things, and the forces that held them together or acted to pull them apart. Ullii could stand outside with her eyes screwed shut and describe the wind. She could see it in three dimensions like waves all flowing, ebbing and billowing.

More importantly, she could see the Secret Art like knots in a lattice, though one whose structure fitted no pattern anyone else could comprehend.

Ullii had often heard Jal-Nish talk about her unique talent. In her worst moments the feeling of being special was all that kept her going. He had referred her to one mancer after another, to see if any use could come of her abilities. Nothing had, for no one had the patience, or the vision, to understand Ullii. She knew instantly when someone wanted to use her. Ullii would go into a catatonic state that no amount of punishment could bring her out of. They could hurt her, and many did. It made no difference.

Ullii had not run away, because she could not survive in the outside world. She simply withdrew. Finally old Flammas, the last mancer she had been given to, put her in one of his dungeon cells and forgot about her. She was fed once a day, like the other prisoners, and every few days given a bucket of cold water to wash in while the cell’s filth was hosed into the drain.

It was the best thing that could have happened to her. Her cell was dark; little sound penetrated the heavy door. The smell was unpleasant but at least it was her own. And it was warm enough, so that she never had to wear the hated clothes. It suited her better than anywhere she had lived since she’d left her mother’s womb and found the world to be a sensory nightmare.

Ullii spent five years in that cell, living a life entirely of the mind. She grew into a woman there and suddenly her abilities blossomed. To fulfil her need for order, she began to construct a three-dimensional lattice of all the world within range of her unique sense. Physical objects like tower, dungeon, land and rock were poorly defined, but some life-forms made tangled shapes in the lattice that she might, with much effort, unravel. Occasionally she could identify them and they always turned out to be mancers or other powerful adepts. If they were using the Secret Art, or a device driven by such magical power, that knot in the lattice flowered especially brightly.

One day, trying to unpick a difficult and unusual knot, she uncovered an alien – a
lyrinx
. Times before she had sensed natures that frightened her, but none like this. It was terrifyingly different.

She began to scream, and kept on until Mancer Flammas was called to what he had forgotten years ago. He had to be reminded of her name, found that nothing could be done with her, and called Jal-Nish. Ullii was then sixteen, so she was taken to her third examination.

Jal-Nish coaxed out of her what the matter was and realised that he had made the discovery of the age, if a way could be found of using her. It gained him the perilous honour of perquisitor, but two years later he was no further advanced when came the dreadful news about Tiaan. Unwilling to leave Ullii with people who might break her to get at her talent, and thinking that, just possibly, she could be able to help, Jal-Nish had bundled her up and brought her with him.

The journey had been a torment for Ullii. She’d spent all the daylight hours in a silken bag suspended from the roof of a wagon, held in place with guy ropes. Even so, she’d been in sensory overload from the instant they’d set out. Her screams made the trip a hideous experience for all and Jal-Nish had to post a guard over her bag lest someone tumble it, with her inside, over a precipice while no one was looking.

Shouts and roars outside the door brought Ullii back to the room where she crouched in the corner, rocking on her bare feet. Of necessity, her feet and hands were the only parts of her not hypersensitive.

It was Irisis, talking quietly. Ullii knew the fascinating young man was out there too. She wanted him to come in so she could learn about him, for he did not appear in her lattice. Irisis did, though as an impenetrable ball. The door opened but a tidal wave of light roared in, stabbing her in the eyes. She covered them with her hands and curled up in a hopeless attempt to block the world out.