Tribute (10 page)

It's the right thing to say. Twiss grins with pride. ‘I am, ain't I? That's working the bellows for Bruin. He used to say I was the strongest scrawny bit of nothin' he'd ever met  … ' Her voice tails off and her hand moves to grip my arm, imprisoning it. ‘Why'd you leg it? That were stupid. You'd just get yourself lost down here and starve to death.'

‘I wasn't trying to escape.' I sigh. ‘Just bad memories. I don't want to talk about it.'

Her eyes narrow and she opens her mouth; then shuts it and shrugs. ‘Just don't do it again.'

As we walk back in silence, Twiss's hand locked on my arm, I decide to ask her the question that's been nagging at me since she first brought me to the catacombs.

‘Where are the parents, Twiss? All you middlings – where are your parents?'

Her fingers tighten, cutting into my bare arm, and I know I have guessed correctly.

‘You lot!' she hisses. ‘They died, didn't they? Mages killed 'em. Every one. Middlings raise themselves – we're mum and dad to the little 'uns and they raise up the babies in their turn.'

‘Your parents?' I ask.

‘I 'member my dad. He were killed when I was eight. I don't 'member my mum but  …  I miss her the most.' Her voice is hoarse with longing.

My throat goes tight and I take a deep breath.

‘That's stupid, ain't it?' she asks, hesitant. And I know she's never talked of this to anyone before. ‘Missing me mum when I never knew 'er.'

‘No,' I say. ‘No, it's not stupid at all.'

We walk the rest of the way back in silence.

‘The Mistress wants you.'

Floster's Hound looms over the middlings. We're at breakfast. I'm sitting next to Twiss with a bowl of bread and a hunk of slightly mouldy cheese. The middlings have grown used to my presence and Twiss seems to take pride in having a pet mage. But I don't think I'll ever get used to the crowded den, the noise and smell. Or to being a giant among scrawny, undersized children.

Now I blink up at the Hound. Like the other adult thieves I've met down here, I can seldom read his feelings. Not being able to sense their emotions is like being blinded.
What does Floster want?

Her messenger points at Twiss. ‘And you as well.'

Twiss grimaces and shoves the last of her bread into her mouth.

The Hound jerks his head towards the door and we scramble up and follow him out. My right foot has gone to sleep. It feels like a block of wood, then explodes with pins and needles. I stumble and nearly fall. The Hound pulls me upright. His hand is clamped around my arm and I can't pull it away. My heart lurches in my chest and my throat goes tight. I don't look at him, but I can smell him: he smells of wood smoke, earth and oiled leather  …  and danger. I sense it clearly when he touches me. Something has happened – and this man knows what it is.

‘Let go.' I lift my eyes and when they meet his, he drops my arm. He dips his head mockingly.

‘Apologies  … 
Lady
. Let's not keep the Mistress waiting: patience isn't her strong suit.' His face is sardonic, his eyes arrogant; every move of his body is smooth, controlled  …  threatening. It's like turning a path and finding yourself face to face with a hill leopard. As I follow him, I realise I'm frightened. I glance at Twiss, walking beside me, and she shrugs and shakes her head. She doesn't know what's happened either.

‘You will tell us the truth,' says the Mistress of Thieves.

Seven faces look back at me. I feel the Knowledge Seekers' emotions; the room is full of a poisonous fog of suspicion and hatred. These people are alien and I am wholly alien to them.

Once more my father's voice rings through my head, insidious, certain, damning:
Kine are not human, Zara. Do not make your mother's mistake. We must rule over them, as the gods decreed, or their jealousy and fear would overwhelm us. Our race and theirs cannot live in peace and fellowship. To think otherwise is not merely weak, it is dangerous.

He's wrong. I know it. But it is the hardest thing – to live among those who think you inhuman. It is beyond loneliness. The whole of me aches with a monstrous dark hurt. This place sits near the edge of madness. I must take great care not to slip over the precipice.

Twiss catches my eye and frowns her question: Do I know what's going on? I give a tiny shake of my head. The child moves closer to me. Suddenly I am in my father's library, Swift cowering behind me. I thrust away the memory and, as I do, I realise that Twiss has moved to my side not in fear, but as my would-be protector.

Tightness grows in my chest. I press my lips together and try to shut off my emotions. I can't afford distractions: something has happened and it bodes ill.

Floster sits upright at her place behind the long table. Her head with its cropped grey hair is tilted in enquiry. She hoards words as though they were gold secs: never using more than she must. She's waiting for me to speak.

The Hound glides past her to lean against the wall. He watches me too. A long knife in a leather sheath hangs at his hip, its wooden hilt wrapped in narrow bands of sweat-stained leather. My eyes keep flicking back to it. Time's grace! I'm locked in a room with a thief wearing iron.
They can't hurt me!
My mage marks are still there, under the layer of cosmetic. I am Zara, daughter of Eleanor. I'm almost an adept. Someday I will be as powerful as my father.

This is not someday.

Philip, leader of the Knowledge Seekers, sits, as before, beside the Mistress. He scares me more than Floster. His blue eyes, deep set under sandy brows, flick from Twiss to me and back, never resting.

The tension in the room is angry and vengeful.

‘No more lies!' says the Mistress.

With a jolt of surprise, I realise Floster is talking to both of us. Twiss's shoulders hunch as she realises the same thing.

‘Your
father
 … ' Floster glares at me, pronouncing the word as though the taste of it fouls her mouth. ‘The Archfiend's latest works are true to his nature. Two hundred and thirty-seven guildsfolk murdered. Their heads decorate every gate in the city. Their houses are burnt to the ground; their children sold into slavery.'

Images of suffering form in my mind. Sickness twists my stomach. Asphodel will be a place of evil and fear for every kine now. And as I scan their faces, Death stares back at me from the eyes of the Knowledge Seekers. It seems my father's handiwork is like to kill me as well.

Floster presses her lips together. Hatred rises from her like the reek of a midden. ‘Not one of them was a Knowledge Seeker, as Benedict knows full well. We got every Seeker left alive out of the city that first night. These folk were their kin: fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers. Friends and neighbours, even.'

‘Our spy informs us that Benedict has called the battle mages back from the Wall, leaving only a skeleton force to oversee the Tribute army.' Philip speaks for the first time. ‘These mages have been set to work terrorizing the city. Guards patrol every quarter of Asphodel; there is a permanent curfew, night and day. People are allowed out of their houses at midday for two hours only.'

I barely have time to register the fact that the Knowledge Seekers still have a spy in the city when the Mistress speaks again.

‘The city's shut up tighter than a gnat's arse.' Floster's eyes grow even harder. ‘But your father hasn't had it all his own way. I lost three of my best archers but they took out seven mages between them.'

Even though I'm at war with my own, horror shudders up my spine. Was it anyone I knew? An Academy student? One of my tutors? I shudder: a flint arrow in the back is every mage's nightmare. Our shoulder blades twitch with thinking of it.

‘We're trapped here,' Philip says, his voice full of suppressed frustration. ‘All us Knowledge Seekers. Only thieves may leave the catacombs. This city beneath a city is overcrowded and riven by fear and suspicion  … '

But I don't hear him any more. It hits me:
I'm trapped too, like the Seekers!
How will I avenge Swift, or rescue Aidan? I promised to save him but if I'm trapped in the catacombs, I might as well be dead.

‘I can help!' The words blurt out of my mouth before I can stop them. ‘I can fight!'

I look from face to face, read refusal in their eyes. ‘The Archmage is my enemy too!' I'm shaking with fear – but even more from frustration. These people were meant to be my allies!

‘If your father got hold of you, he'd open up your head, find out about the catacombs and we'd all be dead.' Floster's voice is contemptuous.

Part of me, the part that is like Swift – keen to learn, to know the secrets of the world – that part pricks up its ears. Thieves have long been a thorn in the side of magekind. They are a puzzle, a mystery, a frustration. A mage cannot read the mind of a thief. We tell ourselves it's because they're little more than animals. But I've long known that's nonsense: we can fly with a merlin, run with a hare, hunt with the mountain cat. So why are thieves different?

‘Teach me to shut my mind like you do,' I retort to Floster. ‘Like a thief. I can learn: I'm an adept  …  well, almost. But I'm the only magic user you've got. I can be a powerful weapon against Benedict. Are you going to let me rot down here because you're scared? I want to fight!'

Even as I speak the brave words, a small treacherous voice in my head asks:
But,
can
you fight?
Aluid's face, sinking into the slurry, flashes in front of my eyes, and I shudder. I couldn't kill him. When the moment came I couldn't kill – not even to save my own life.

‘At least I can protect your fighters,' I blurt, seeing Floster's mouth open to refuse. ‘Or  … ' and I have a moment of inspiration, ‘ …  I can spy for you inside an animal – in a hawk or pigeon, for instance. I can give you hidden eyes and ears. A spy over the city  …  or in the corridors of my father's palazzo itself!' I think I see a quickening of interest in Floster's eyes, but before I can explain about mind magic, she shakes her head.

‘It takes months to train a middling to be not-seen-not-heard. We haven't got months. And I doubt any other than a thief could learn. Not even an “adept”.' The word is mocking in her mouth. ‘You'll help in other ways.' Floster pauses. ‘I can always see what your father will give me not to cut your throat.'

Utter despair as I watch my last chance slip from sight. ‘He'd give you the knife!'

‘I think not.' Foster's voice is coldly confident. ‘Benedict isn't a god, though he wants to be. He isn't immortal and you're the only child he has. Or like to. Mages don't breed well. No, he'd pay dear to have you living so he could scour your mind clean and fill it with his own thoughts.'

I close my eyes until the wave of revulsion passes. Floster is waiting when I open them, like the merlin, hanging in the air over her prey. She's scored and knows it. It's true: mages fall into and out of bed with each other as often as they change clothes, but a pregnancy is a rare and celebrated event.

‘And you're the only hostage I've got. Which makes it cussedly awkward if you turn out to be the traitor.'

The word hangs in the air.

I stare at Floster, and feel understanding fall into place in my brain with a clunk.

‘Traitor?'
A husky young voice grunts the word in disbelief.

I'd almost forgotten Twiss. Now she lurches towards Floster, her dark eyes wide with shock.

‘Someone ratted  … ?' The child freezes. Her face turns the colour of greystone. ‘Who?'

‘That is what we intend to find out,' Philip says. ‘Today our spy in the city managed to contact us. They confirmed what we had suspected – the foundry workers were betrayed. It would seem that there is a traitor amongst us. It can't be one of those who knew about our pet mage or she wouldn't be here now.' He considers me. ‘Unless  … '

Eight pairs of eyes stare at me, foreign as the eyes of reptiles or birds. With a shock that makes me sway I realise that Floster's comment wasn't a joke. They think I have betrayed them to my father!

‘I  …  I  … ' All blood seems to have evaporated from my legs but I'm the only mage in the room so that can't have happened. ‘I've worked for you for years! I want my father dead. Why would I tell him about the foundry?'

‘When you were a middling, you joined us because you were mad at your daddy. But you're older now. You realised it wasn't play-acting.' Floster sounds like one of my tutors explaining elementary magic to a rather dim student. ‘Bruin's foundry was going to give us iron: swords, knives, pike ends. When it came to it – to letting us live or your own kind die, you went back to blood.'

My mouth drops open in stupefaction at the wrongness of it all. For a moment I can only splutter at her calm matter-of-factness.

‘Well, that's convenient!' I manage at last. ‘Did your spy accuse me? Have you got any actual proof?'

Floster's face might have been carved from stone. She doesn't answer because she can't. They have nothing but hatred and suspicion. I look from the Mistress to Philip, sitting upright and watchful beside her.

Bitterness wells up. ‘Of course! So much easier if I'm the traitor rather than one of your own.'

Something flies at me. Screaming and hissing, Twiss jumps on my back and wraps a rope-like arm around my throat. It tightens into a noose. I can't breathe. I stagger and drop to my knees. Fingers claw my hair, yank my head back.

‘Filthy, lying mage! You never tried to help Bruin! You set him up!' Twiss is shrieking in my ear. She gives me no air to answer.

Floster is shouting but I can't hear what she's saying over Twiss's screams and roaring profanities. I only hear blood drumming in my head. Time itself slows to watch me die.

Someone is tugging at Twiss, lifting us both off the ground. But the girl holds my neck with Death's own grip. She means to kill me. Thank Time she hasn't got iron, like the Hound, or I'd be dead already. Stars explode in my head but the pain begins to fade. I'm dying.

I can stop Twiss with a thought. But it might kill her. I don't want to die  …  do I? If I die now I fail Swift again. I abandon Aidan.
I hear my Tribute child's voice in my head, calling me to protect her  …  to save Aidan. But I can't  … 

The strangling arm loosens, is tugged away at last. Twiss wails in despair and takes a fistful of my hair with her. I gulp air and it feels like swallowing coals. I gasp and retch, my sides heaving.

The sound of a slap concusses the air and leaves sudden silence, broken only by a horrible rasping noise, which I realise is me, trying to breathe. I kneel, head bowed, every muscle in my body quivering. I've never been nearer Death and she retreats reluctantly. Almost, I wish to call her back. To rest. To stop. If Twiss, who knows me better than any other kine, believes I could betray those people to their deaths, what point is there?

The floor is amazing when I finally open my eyes. Every particle of dirt vibrates. Every grain of mud – a hundred distinct colours of brown. I raise my head on a stiff, reluctant neck and look at Philip and the other Knowledge Seekers, their faces showing a range of emotions from shock to enjoyment. Last of all, I look at Twiss.

The Hound holds her wrapped in strong arms. Floster must have climbed right over the long table. Her eyes bulge dangerously. Her hand is raised to strike Twiss again, but the child looks the most shocked of all  …  although I cannot see myself, of course.