The Canticle of Whispers (24 page)

“You sound like Crede,” Ben said, quietly.

Mark stared at her, too shocked to reply. Ben's eyes glinted in the dim, bluish light radiating from the stone walls.

“We told each other we were going down there to rescue a friend,” she said, softly. “But if we'd really wanted that, we'd have calmed her down. We'd have looked after her better. Crede's spent all this time treating her like a symbol, and now we're doing the same.”

“But … we need her,” Mark said, alarmed at how much Ben's words rang true.

“Yes, we do.” Ben knelt down in front of Mark, looking him in the eyes. “As a friend, not a savior. Lily started up the Temple Almshouse, but we've spread its message. Without all of us, it would never have become as important as it is. We kept it alive.” She put her hands on Mark's shoulders. “This isn't just her fight anymore. It's our city, our world.” She smiled. “When Laud finds her, and he
will
find her, shouldn't we be able to show her that we've made a difference, our way? Wasn't that what she always wanted? For everyone to be free, and make their own future?”

Mark smiled, tentatively. He wished he had Benedicta's confidence.

“I'll … try,” he promised, meaning it.

For a long moment, the two of them didn't speak. They sat together on the floor of the platform, listening to the rumble of the long chain above, raising them ever higher, taking them home.

“But…” Mark said, at last. “I'm not sure I can match Lily's resolve.”

Ben's smile grew sad.

“That might not be such a bad thing,” she said. “Maybe what we need is a little more flexibility. I mean, if there's one thing those ancient Librans had, it was resolve.” She sighed, turning away. “I still find it hard to believe that no one let the truth slip. Not once. All those years lying to their children, pretending that Agora was an ancient city … even a threat of death wouldn't have stopped me from talking.”

“I don't think it was about that,” Mark said, cautiously. “Don't you remember what the Oracle said? Those first settlers took that oath willingly. Maybe they were mad, but I think they really believed they had to keep the secret, to make their perfect world. They probably thought they were doing the best for their children, by giving them a better place to live and not burdening them with the truth.” His mood darkened. “It was like that in Giseth. It wasn't just the Nightmare that kept people in line—it was so much easier not to think. Not to wonder. Just to accept that you should live your life the way everyone else did.” He shook his head. “I suppose, when you're struggling to survive, who has time for history?”

Ben nodded, thoughtfully.

“Maybe we should keep it that way,” she said, stretching. “The last thing we want is something else to make people angry. Those street mobs are bad enough already…” she paused, putting her head on one side.

“What is it?” Mark asked, seeing a look of concern pass over her face.

“Mark,” she said, quietly, “can you hear something?”

Mark listened. He wished that he hadn't.

“Isn't that shouting, coming from above?”

Ben nodded, nervously.

“Sounds like a lot of people,” she said.

“Mmm,” Mark said, uncomfortably. “More than usual. A lot more.”

“But I'm sure the rocks are just echoing it, making it sound louder,” Ben said, hastily. “Just like back in Naru.”

“Yes, of course,” Mark replied, a little too quickly. “I'm sure that's it.”

Neither of them wanted to remember what the Oracle had said about shouts of terror on the streets of Agora. Certainly not now that light was beginning to filter down from above, and their journey to the surface was nearly over.

*   *   *

By the time they reached the Last's house, the noise had died away. But it wasn't a peaceful kind of quiet—there was a tension in the air.

That feeling only increased as they slipped down the corridors and out into the Virgo District. Mark was surprised to find that it was mid-morning—they had lost all sense of time in Naru. It was a beautiful day, bright and fresh, but the streets around the Last's house were deserted.

“So…” Mark said, keeping his voice low. “Which way back to the temple?”

Ben frowned.

“This way,” she said. “At least, I think so. I don't remember that stall being there…”

Mark looked more closely. The stall was very much out of place—a rickety, wooden construction perched on the corner of this elegant street. It looked like it had been thrown together in a few minutes.

“I'm sure I'd have remembered that,” he agreed. “Maybe we turned the wrong way?”

He approached the stall, trying to get a better look. There didn't seem to be any wares on display, apart from a large, brass hand bell. The proprietor, a surprisingly elegant woman with a pale, tired face, was staring glumly the other way. She looked tense, but harmless enough.

“Should we ask?” Mark whispered to Ben. Ben considered.

“I'll ask,” she said. “The receivers are still after you, remember?”

Mark agreed, slipping out of sight behind one of the nearby houses. He watched Benedicta approach.

“Excuse me,” she said, “I wonder, could you tell me how to get to…?”

The woman jumped.

“Oh, forgive me,” she said, stumbling over her words. “My nerves are all shot to pieces, but that's hardly a surprise. We must be vigilant against the…” she trailed off, looking Ben up and down. A note of suspicion crept into her voice. “I don't remember seeing you in this area before. Who is your mistress, girl? You're obviously a servant.”

“Actually,” Ben said, patiently, “I'm not. I'm just trying to get back to the Temple Almshouse in—”

Ben got no further. With a shriek, the woman grabbed for the hand bell on the counter beside her, and swung it wildly, its shrill peals shattering the peaceful morning.

“Receiver! Receiver needed here quickly! Oh, by all the stars come now!” she shouted.

Alarmed, Ben jumped back.

“What's going on? What…?”

In the distance, Mark heard the answering shriek of whistles.

“Run!” he shouted, and broke cover.

The two of them sprinted down the cobbled streets. The whistles were joined by cries of fear and alarm. All around, upstairs windows opened, and masters and servants alike joined in, shouting for the receivers. In the distance, they could see an approaching line of midnight-blue coats. Mark dodged down an alleyway, and Ben nearly barreled into him.

“The receivers … are they…?” Mark managed to gasp, too afraid and confused to make any more sense.

“I don't think they've seen us,” Ben panted. “We're nearly at the Central Plaza—that's the fastest way back home. At least…” she reconsidered, all of her confidence draining away, “it was when we left.”

Mark took Ben's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Run now, questions later?” he asked. Ben nodded.

“Definitely,” she said.

They dodged through the streets, the whistles fading into the distance. Every now and then, they passed another of the rickety stalls. It was obvious now that these stalls were watch posts—civilian volunteers ready to summon the receivers. But Virgo had always been a sedate district. Six days ago, when they had left Agora, there had barely been any receivers here at all. Now, it was all they could do to keep away from their patrols—every few minutes they spotted another blue coat, and were forced to duck into alleys or wait, breathless, behind abandoned carts. Every receiver that hurried past them bore the same haunted look, and no one seemed to have slept for days. But it was only when they approached the Central Plaza, only when they heard the sound of shouting carried on the breeze, that they realized that whatever had happened, it was far bigger than they had thought.

Mark and Ben crouched in the shadows of the Virgo District archway, and stared. The plaza looked like a battlefield. The stalls that normally covered it had been pushed together to form a crude barricade, curving in an irregular line across the plaza, stretching from the Taurus District archway to the Sagittarius Bridge on the other side of the wide marketplace. No, Mark realized with a jolt, the barricade wasn't limited to the plaza—it stretched out into the city as far as Mark could see. Agora had been slashed in two, and the Sagittarius District, their home, was on the other side.

On this side of the barricade, a detachment of receivers was patrolling up and down, tension written all over their frames. Mark couldn't see the other side, but from the noise, it sounded like there was a large and very angry mob, screaming a litany of curses, and crashing against the barricade.

“Blood for blood, a fair trade!” they were shouting. “The stone will strike anew!”

For a brief moment, Mark wondered what they meant, but then he shoved it to the back of his mind, along with all the rest of his worries. It was strangely easy to do, because none of this felt real. This city was his home; it couldn't just change like this, not when they had only been gone less than a week …

“Mark!” Ben whispered, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Look! I think I can see a way past the barricade!”

Mark followed her gaze, and nodded. Some of the broken stalls that made up the barricade had been piled up across and under the marble bridge that led to the Sagittarius District. It looked like it had been a rush job, and there were definite gaps in the barrier under the bridge. Large enough for them to slip through.

Just at that moment, there was a sudden cry from the other side of the plaza. A few ragged figures had struggled over the top of the barricade, and begun to rain down pieces of wood and stone on the startled receivers. For a minute or two, the receivers were thrown into confusion, before rallying to arrest the rioters. It didn't take long, but it was long enough for them to miss Mark and Ben, running across the other side of the plaza, and scrambling down the bank beside the Sagittarius Bridge.

Ben went first, and Mark followed quickly behind—squeezing past the debris, scraping his arms and legs on the unfinished marble under the bridge. The piles of wood groaned ominously, and more than once threatened to give way and plunge him into the river, but he made it to the far bank, and hauled himself up to where Ben was standing, staring into the distance.

“Come on,” he said, picking at her sleeve. “What are you looking at?”

And then, he saw the other side of the plaza.

Bonfires belched smoke into the sky, and around them, crowds of people shouted their defiance at the receivers. But what most caught his attention was the central fire. It was larger than the others. On it lay a life-sized effigy, dressed in a blue and gold Chief Receiver's uniform, burning to ash.

And behind it, clearly visible despite the smoke, were two people he recognized. One, he had expected to see: Crede's right-hand man, Nick, his massive frame looking all the more intimidating as he roared out curse after curse. But it was the other figure that shocked him.

Her hair was disheveled, her clothes plain, and he had never seen her with such a look of fury. But there was no mistaking Cherubina.

Ben grabbed his hand.

“You're right,” she said, “it's time to go.”

“But—” Mark stammered. Ben squeezed his hand tighter.

“You want them to see us here? It's time to
go
.”

And even more confused than before, Mark turned and ran from the plaza.

*   *   *

Mark and Ben hurried to the temple in silence. Near the plaza, the streets were swarming with people—angry people, fearful people. One or two had the same look of hard fury that Mark had seen in the rioters, and the majority of them looked scared. But the most disturbing thing by far was that no one appeared to be trading. As they ran on, the crowds thinned, and by the time they reached the familiar streets around the temple, they were alone again. All of the shops were shut, the hawkers absent. Even Miss Devine's shop, which usually had a few hollow-eyed emotion addicts loitering around, was closed and silent.

As the temple came into view, they saw that the guiding light was extinguished, and the familiar queue of debtors was nowhere to be seen. Mark ran up to the large, wooden door and tried the handle. It was locked.

“But … we
never
lock it,” Ben said, joining him. “Not during the day. The temple's doors are always open.”

Mark knocked on the door, but there was no response. Then he began to hammer on it, rattling the hinges, but still there was no response.

“Maybe the receivers attacked,” Ben suggested, frowning. “No, that makes no sense; they're all on the other side of the barricade, and you couldn't slip a whole squad past the rioters the way we came…”

“This isn't the receivers,” Mark said, darkly. “This is Crede's doing.”

“Quite right, Mr. Mark, in a way,” said an all-too-familiar voice.

Mark spun around. Beside him, Ben bristled.

Miss Devine stood in the doorway of her establishment, a trace of amusement on her face.

“Miss Devine,” Ben said, guardedly, “what do you want?”

Mark had never heard Ben sound so cold, but that was hardly surprising. Ben's sister, Gloria, had been one of the emotion seller's most loyal customers. That addiction had ruled her life, and ultimately led her to her death. But if Miss Devine was at all uncomfortable in Ben's presence, she did not show it.

“Very little,” Miss Devine replied, “although I must admit that your rather violent knocking did make me curious. I wonder where you two could have been. I haven't seen you for days…”

Mark opened his mouth, already concocting a cover story, but Ben cut him off.

“Ignore her, Mark. She's probably in league with Crede.”