The Dark City (20 page)

Raffi stared at her. He felt bewildered, and utterly betrayed. He wished he could hate her, that it was that simple, but she was still Carys, still the same.

He looked at the Sekoi. “What should we do?”

“Your choice, small keeper. I’ll stay with you, whatever you decide.” It rubbed its furred face with one long finger.

“She may be able to get him out,” Raffi said with difficulty.

“She may. Or she may just be taking us back to them. More prisoners to her credit.” It gazed at her, narrow-eyed.

Raffi stared down at his hands. He prayed, asking for knowledge, for the way to go, but his mind was as dark as the cloister, and the Makers were silent.

Then, without knowing he’d decided, he stood up.

“All right. We’ll take the chance.”

Carys smiled at him but he ignored that; he looked away, furious with her. “If you betray us . . . I still don’t know if I should be trusting you.”

“You never will know,” she said, “until you do. Galen would tell you that.”

He took out the chart. “Where do we go?”

“They’ll have taken him to the nearest Watchtower. Is it on there?”

“There’s one marked.”

“That’ll be it. Lead on, Raffi.”

With a glance at the Sekoi, which shrugged, he turned uneasily away and crawled through the hole in the wall.

THE STREETS WERE A NIGHTMARE of dark smoke. Neither Raffi nor Carys was as alert as they should have been; if the Sekoi hadn’t hissed a warning, the flock of draxi swooping over the turrets of one villa would have had them.

Confused, struggling to think, Raffi found himself going back over everything that had happened, trying to see Carys as a spy—on the downs, on the ship—but it hurt him like a pain and he blanked it out, concentrating only on the streets, their crumbling names.

Behind him, Carys was silent. She was angry with herself, defiant, reckless, hot. She didn’t care what they thought. But she’d show them. Only she could get Galen out, and she’d do it, because she wanted to, because no one would bring him in except her.

In the alley opposite the Watchtower they crouched. At the end of the dark lane there was light, some hanging lanterns and a great fire that blazed on the cracked paving. Men were gathered around it; shadows, talking. Behind them, the great walls of the tower rose up into darkness, without windows.

“Now what?” Raffi said.

Carys eased the bow. “I go in. By myself. I’ll tell them some story—that Galen is vital to my mission, that I have to follow him to get . . . well, something important. I won’t mention the Crow.”

Raffi laughed bitterly, but she went on. “The trouble is, even if they believe me, they may not let me bring him out alone. That’s where you come in.”

“Us?”

“If Galen and I get out, we’ll come down this lane. Hide somewhere, down under that broken arch. Let us go by; but if anyone follows, deal with them.”

“Deal with them? We’re not the Watch.”

She grinned at him spitefully. “You know the Order’s secrets, not me.”

He didn’t smile. But as she walked away up the alley he blurted out, “Be careful,” as if the words hurt him.

“And be discreet,” the Sekoi murmured.

She turned and looked at its sharp yellow eyes and laughed. “Oh, I will.”

GALEN EASED HIS LEG a little more and felt the heavy chain clink. He was dizzy and bruised; blood had dried on his face, and his shoulder was a mass of pain. He looked around carefully.

For a long time he had wondered if they had blindfolded him, but gradually he had begun to see; there was a tiny window up a long shaft in the wall, and the gloom that came through it was barely light, but his eyes strained through it. He was in some enclosed space, not large. Stretching out his feet, he could feel the opposite wall; his back was against another. Carefully he tugged up the heavy chains and ran his hands over the stone; it wasn’t straight. Curved, as if the dungeon was circular. Above him was blackness; he said some words softly and they echoed, as if it was high enough to stand. The darkness smelled of rats, ordure, filthy straw. The stones felt slimy and cold.

Galen smiled grimly to himself. He hurt, but he’d told them nothing, and he was sure they didn’t know who or what he was. And yet this was only the start. He knew enough tales of the cruelty of the Watch, but he wouldn’t think of them now. That would be foolish. Instead he straightened his back and closed his eyes. Simple chants came to him first, then all the prayers and litanies; he spoke them softly till it seemed to him the darkness was filled with words, as if they hung in the air like spirits. “And Kest was in the darkness a hundred years. How slowly sorrow entered him, how he mourned for the evil he had done, all the things of darkness he had brought into the world.”

Galen stopped. The story was not the one for now. And he knew, suddenly, that he would need every ounce of strength and will to stand up to them, not to tell them all the secrets of the Order. Wincing, he dragged his fingers up to touch the awen-beads; the smooth surfaces rolled under his fingers.

“I am as empty without as within,” he muttered grimly. Then he nodded. “Though maybe I have one chance. One chance Kest never had.”

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?” The Watchsergeant pushed his way through the men. “What is it? Another prisoner?”

“She says she’s a spy.” The men stood back, and the sergeant’s eyes narrowed. He saw a girl of about sixteen, brown-haired, dirty, a crossbow on her back. She fixed him with a straight look. “Are you in charge here?”

He grinned. “Who wants to know?”

Putting her hand down her neck, she pulled out something on a chain; tugged it over her head and gave it to him without a word.

He held it to the light; she saw his face change. “Come inside,” he said somberly.

Going in under the main arch, she noticed the defenses: armed guards, three metal gates, floor-spikes. If they didn’t let her walk out she’d be here forever. But she set her shoulders and held her head up. Why should she worry? She was one of them.

They made her wait a few minutes in the courtyard. Then the sergeant came through a small arch and beckoned. He led her down a stone passageway and knocked on a door.

“Come in.”

The sergeant looked at her. Carys took a deep breath, put her hand on the latch, and went in.

It was a small room with a crackling fire in the hearth, and the castellan was perched on the edge of the table. “You brought this?” He held the insignia up so that it glinted.

“Yes,” she said, coming up to him.

“What house?”

“MarnMountain, 547.”

“When did you leave?”

“Three months ago.”

“Your spymaster?”

“Jeltok. Old Jellie, we used to call him.”

He nodded, wheezing a laugh. “Oh, I know.” Getting up, he strolled to the fire, glancing back at her curiously. His sparse hair was graying; he was older than most of his rank. Shrewder too, she thought, with sudden misgivings.

He coughed and spat into the fire, rubbing his chest. “Your mission?”

“Surveillance. On a man called Galen Harn. A keeper.”

His face glimmered with interest. “And?”

She sighed, sitting suddenly in the only chair. “Watchman, I’ve come a long way. I’m hungry and cold. And I’m on your side. You don’t need to treat me like a prisoner.”

For a moment he was still. Then he nodded, went to the door, and yelled. Carys took off the crossbow and laid it carelessly on the floor. It was no good to her here anyway.

The man came back. “Food’s coming. I’m sorry—force of habit. Welcome home, Carys Arrin.”

She looked up at him and smiled.

22

We have been used by one of our own.
He has mocked us all this time.

Litany of the Makers

R
AFFI CROUCHED DOWN behind the remnants of the wall. “No sign of her.”

The Sekoi was silent, biting its nails.

Raffi put his hand in his pocket and touched the globe; it was almost warm and he pulled it out in surprise, but the glass was dull and dim. He held it to his eyes and stared in, trying to see something; then tried with his inner eye, but saw only darkness. It was the first real chance he’d had to examine it; Galen always kept it close. But it told him nothing.

The Sekoi looked up abruptly. “Listen, small keeper. I think we should go.”

“Go?” Raffi was blank. “Go where?”

“Anywhere. Out of here.” It knelt up, and he saw the pupils of its eyes were black slits in the dimness. Its hand caught his arm, the seven long fingers clutching tight. “All my instincts say this is a trap! She’s gone to them. She’ll bring them here! For us! Don’t you see, Raffi, I don’t think we dare trust her.”

A tiny pang of terror went down Raffi’s spine. He said hoarsely, “I can’t believe she’d—”

“She already has! Long before she met you!” It sprang up, a lean, agitated shape. “My people know of these Watchhouses. They take children young, feed them, teach them, train them. For years. How can all that be taken out of her? She is the Watch, she thinks like they think, hunts like they hunt. She’ll have seen things you can’t imagine—have practiced cruelties and spite. Her sorna—her soul—will have been changed by that! Don’t trust her, Raffi!”

Raffi sat still, though its fear terrified him, made him restless. “Yes, but what about Galen?”

“Galen is lost! And they’ll make him talk.”

“He wouldn’t.”

The Sekoi sat down. “He will,” it said softly. “Everyone does, in the end.”

Raffi couldn’t answer. The helplessness and doubt swept over him again; he had no idea what to do. They should go, should run, and yet . . . part of him wanted to stay, to believe she’d come.

“We need to get to the Crow,” the Sekoi urged. “The Crow was a great power. If he lives, he can help us. But we need to go now, Raffi, before she brings the Watch and they take the map and the globe! That’s all they need!”

Raffi stared at it. Then he got up again and gazed down the dark, empty street.

“THIS IS ALL VERY INTERESTING,” the castellan said, refilling her cup. “So this man Harn has knowledge of this relic . . . you didn’t say what it was, by the way.”

Carys smiled. “No. I’m not completely sure, and besides that—”

“You want to keep it secret.”

“My orders are to be as discreet as possible.”

He nodded. “I see. But look, Carys, we can get any information you want out of this man by our own methods. Not that he’d be much good to you afterward, of course. ” He sipped the sweet wine and looked at her. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

She pulled a face. “In a way it would. But it would break my cover—I’ve worked hard to be accepted by them, and now I think they trust me. No, I think it would be best if I helped him to escape.” She raised an eyebrow. “If you agree, of course. He’s your prisoner.”

He paused a moment, stoking the fire with fresh coals, then turned and picked up the insignia, dangling the silver chain over his fingers. “Who am I to stand in the way of the Watchlords?” He handed it back to her, and she slipped it on, feeling the cold discs slide against her skin. “But there’ll be a price.”

She looked up sharply. She’d been expecting this.

“How much?”

“Half. Half of the reward for the keeper, and the others, and half of whatever they give you for finding this relic.”

She thought briefly. “All right. I’ve no choice.”

“Nor have I. We need to work together.” He rubbed a hand through his stubbly gray beard. “Now. This escape will need to be convincing.” He thought for a moment, then stood up and went out, and Carys finished the wine in one gulp. Picking up her crossbow, she loaded it quickly and swung it under one arm. Then she picked some bread off the tray and crammed it into her pocket. When he came back she was waiting by the fire.

He looked pleased, and she knew he had his own plans ready. “The Watch must watch each other first.” That had been Jellie’s first lesson—all her life she had seen it; even in school, child had spied on child, reported anything, competed for the honor of it. She’d been one of the best. Now they’d be watching her, but that was all she had expected.