Tribute (12 page)

He's dressed like a thief, in dark leggings and tunic. His hair is hidden under a leather cap, but I know his face too well to be mistaken.

I'm frozen with shock. It must be that stillness that saves me. That and my dark clothes. Torch in hand, Otter strides past, a thoughtful frown on his face. A moment later I realise that if he had glanced to his right he would have seen my staring eyes, their whites glowing in the torchlight. But it isn't until my father's man has vanished into the earth maze that I think to close my eyes. Twiss would scoff in scorn. Twiss  …  Floster; they belong here in the darkness. But Otter? My legs give way and I slide down to sit slumped against the wall.

Is Floster the traitor?

The idea is unthinkable, but once thought, I can't shake it off. What other answer can there be? Otter was visiting the Mistress. He came from her chamber. A meeting in the night; a meeting hidden from the community; a meeting of conspirators. It can't be otherwise. Slowly it comes to me:
I'm in deadly danger.
If I'm found here  …  if Floster were to suspect what I know  … 

I'm running down the corridor towards Philip's rooms before I have even thought to get to my feet.
Who can I tell? Who will believe me?
I'm trapped now as I have never been! Dead and buried underground.

I hurtle on, only half aware of where I'm going until I outrun panic and slide to a stop. I'm panting, sweating. And a new fear slides like a cold knife into my stomach. I've taken a wrong turn in my headlong flight. I've strayed. And am lost.

‘How far do you think the catacombs go, Swift?' My voice is a scratchy whisper, but it sounds loud in this dark, winding tunnel.

I've walked for miles. For hours. Time's grace knows how long. Wearily, I recall my first terror, the heart-thudding, choking fear, when I realised I was lost in the catacombs. But extreme fear can't last. I didn't die of fright. No  …  I shall have to stumble on and on through the winding labyrinth, my only company the grinning skulls and dismembered bones stacked in the cubbyholes lining the tunnels, until I die of thirst.

I tried sending a thread of thought to explore each passage I came to, but the magic ate up my energy too quickly. So I decided to simply turn right at each junction and hope to eventually find a way back to the thieves' den or out of the catacombs entirely.

My feet are cold, slippery with blood where flints embedded in the dirt have cut them. My mouth feels like I've swallowed fur. The walls around me gleam damply in my mage light, but the clay smells sour and I shudder to think I may soon have to try to suck the moisture from it. The ache in my legs becomes pain, but I don't dare sit down to rest in case I fall asleep and never wake up.

‘Shall we turn right for a change?'

Swift doesn't bother to answer, let alone laugh. Well, it was a poor joke. We stumble into yet another tunnel.

Part of the wall detaches itself and reaches out dark arms to catch me. I dodge and smash at the creature with a fist of air. It's a golem, animated clay, come to smother me. My father has sent it. And I'm hallucinating. But mad or not, I shan't let it catch me. And I run on stumbling, wooden feet.

‘Zara! Stop!'

The voice sounds familiar, but it's a trick and I wobble faster. Not fast enough: inhumanly strong arms grab me from behind. Panic gives way to fury. ‘Let go!' I bellow and reach into my magic to blast the creature.

It flies away, but its arms hold me in a death grip. The tunnel shakes with the force of our collision as we slam into the wall. Somehow, in the moments of shock and pain, I realise the body I'm sprawled across is warm. I have a second to think:
How strange!
before I slip into silk-cold water. The water spins faster and faster as it slides down an endless drain of darkness, taking me with it.

I wake to two nagging certainties: my head hurts and I need to pee. But if I stand up to search out a chamber pot my head will most definitely explode. So I have to lie here and cross my legs. And try to remember  …  and then memory drops back into my head with a kick like a donkey and I groan and wish I could forget again.

‘She's awake.'

‘Go get the Mistress.'

I don't open my eyes. As long as I keep them shut, nothing can have happened. But that is foolish. I'm nearly seventeen, not seven. And I'd rather face Floster with an empty bladder and some dignity. I crack open one eye, then the other. The light hurts. My head feels like someone has played courtball with it.

A woman stares down at me. Mistress Quint. Her black-bead eyes shine with curiosity and a possessive satisfaction. ‘There now,' she says, rubbing her hands together and smiling. ‘I told the Mistress you would wake, and with nothing more than a headache for your trouble. Hurts, does it? But you haven't split your skull, just given yourself a bad bump.'

I lever myself up on my elbows and wince at the pain stabbing my head, my neck. ‘Ow!'

‘Oh, good!' She sounds so happy I squint at her in amazement.

‘
Good?
'

She nods, swaying back and forth like a child's wobble doll. ‘I've never had the chance to attend a mage. It's selfish, I know, but I can't help feeling it very fortunate that you hurt yourself. Not seriously, of course – just enough so I can study you. And good, yes  …  good because your blood and humours seem to work just the same as those of human beings. And so I can confirm that you are
not
a demon. No  …  not at all. Despite the old tales.'

‘Never mind that.' The woman is mad but I have my own urgent preoccupations. ‘I need to use a chamber pot. If  … '

‘Excellent! Please, let me assist you.'

She holds my arm as I sit up and slide my legs over the side of the bed. I close my eyes until the wave of nausea passes. When I stand up, Quint steadies me, keeps me upright as I hobble to the curtained cubicle, which hides the chamber pot in its wooden chair.

‘I can manage, thank you,' I say firmly as I detach her arm. The look of dismay on her face startles a painful splurt of laughter, for it's as plain as her nose that the apothecary wants to watch me pee to make sure I do it the same as kine. I draw the curtain with a shaking hand, and when a few ticks later I push it open, Quint is standing in just the same spot, frustrated curiosity all over her round plump face.

Before she can rush past me to examine the contents of the pot, the chamber door opens and Mistress Floster sweeps into the room like a winter wind. I look into her eyes and any desire to laugh dries. Oh dear Time
.
She comes with a guard of two thieves. Both are armed with iron.

‘Get her back in bed. She's about to fall over.' Floster's words are cold and calm and her eyes never leave mine. They are full of careful, directed fury.

What happened in the catacombs? Does she know I suspect her  …  that I saw Otter? How can she, unless he was the one  … 
Time's grace!

Quint pushes me back onto the bed and wraps a woollen blanket around my shoulders, tucking it under my chin and chucking like a mother hen. For I'm shivering violently. Who was the man I attacked in the catacombs? Was it Otter? Is he dead?

‘Well?' Floster stands at the foot of my bed, staring down at me with unforgiving eyes. What does she know and what does she guess? I decide the safest thing is to pretend to have forgotten everything. Then I can't have seen Otter.

‘I don't know what  … ' I begin. ‘I-I don't remember very much.' I can see she doesn't believe me.

‘Then I'll have to explain. You left these rooms against my orders. You then went off and lost yourself in the catacombs and when Marcus attempted to rescue you, you attacked him.'

Marcus?
It wasn't Otter. Or a golem  …  although that might have been better. I have used magic on a thief! On Floster's right-hand man no less! I put a hand to my aching head and groan.

‘I-I don't remember,' I lie. ‘Just something horrible, coming at me out of the dark. I panicked. I'm sorry  …  is he  … ?'

Her jaw tightens and she looks at me like she'd like to grab the pike from her guard, spit me on it and roast me for her supper. ‘He's not hurt  …  much. He always did have a hard head.'

A fond, slightly sad smile flickers over her face and disappears as quickly as it came. I can almost see her push her feelings aside. Her cold eyes consider me and I'm very, very relieved she doesn't know that for one brief tick I read her emotions. She loves him! Floster and the Hound. Oh Lord Time. No wonder she's furious with me. I not only disobeyed her, I nearly killed her lover.

‘I remember leaving –'

‘You wear my safe-sworn, mage. But I can take it back. Why did you disobey my orders?'

‘I'm wasted locked away down here!' I sit up, ignoring the pain in my head. ‘You've had time to plan, to get an animal. Why are you waiting? I've told Philip everything of use I know. He doesn't need me now. I wanted to find you. To convince you that I can work as a spy without endangering anyone.'

Reluctantly, I add: ‘I needn't go into the city. The closer I am to the animal the easier, but I don't need to be in the same place. I might even be able to do something from the part of the catacombs nearest the palazzo.' As much as I long for a sight of the sun, for the touch of a mountain breeze on my face, the important thing is freedom to fight – to save Aidan. ‘When I'm above ground you can post a guard with me. If there was any danger of capture they could  … ' I wince.

‘Cut your throat.' She smiles. ‘Yes, I had thought of that already. But  … ' Her eyes narrow. ‘The survival of my tribe depends on the catacombs remaining a secret. You might not, when the time came, want to die. You might prefer your father's mercies. You might kill the guard or turn the iron to rust. The instinct to live is strong, often surprising even the one on the point of death. And  …  mages are not to be trusted. Therefore I'll choose the time and place carefully.'

I sense freedom slipping away and grow reckless. ‘Or do you have another reason for the delay, Mistress?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Call Philip here. I will explain my meaning in front of him.'

‘What do you know, mage? What have you  … ' She breaks off. I see realisation dawn. Oh Time, will she kill me out of hand now? Before I can tell her secret? Surely not in front of Quint, who stands to one side, nodding her head to and fro, watching us with shining button eyes.

‘Welter, find Philip the Seeker and bring him here.' This to one of the guards, who turns and leaves at a run. ‘No one else, only Philip,' Floster says to me. ‘When Philip arrives, Mistress Quint, you're to go and tend Marcus.'

Quint pouts, but leaves without fuss when the door opens a few minutes later and Philip enters.

‘Ah, you're awake, Zara. Good. You have worried me. Most irresponsible.' But he smiles, looking down at me with something I'm shocked to see is akin to fondness. Or perhaps only the possessiveness a Seeker shows towards his tools. But even so, the artist is genuinely pleased to see me alive. It's so unexpected that I feel oddly close to tears, so I turn and look at Floster.

‘Well,' she says. ‘Go on. Tell the Seeker what you saw last night. The thing that made you run away like an unbreeched middling and lose yourself in the tunnels.'

‘Someone visited you,' I begin. ‘Someone who should not be here.' I'm confused now. Surely Philip can't be part of the conspiracy. Is Floster innocent after all? But then, what was Otter doing outside her chamber? I rub my aching neck and frown at the Mistress of Thieves. And she nods and raises an eyebrow.

‘Otter. My fath— Benedict's Guardian. I saw him in the corridor outside your chamber. Dressed in thief's clothes, but it was him. I wasn't mistaken.'

‘You weren't. It was Otter.' Floster seems to enjoy my confusion.

I stare at Philip. He frowns and sighs. ‘Well, that is unfortunate.'

‘Unfortunate?' My mouth drops open. Doesn't he understand? ‘Otter is my father's man! Guardians are trained  …  if you can call it that. Their minds are invaded until they lose themselves. They become an extension of the will of the mage they protect. If Otter was here  …  if he was meeting with
her
 …  then, don't you see? She must be the traitor.'

‘Someday I must tutor you on deductive reasoning, Zara.' Philip's voice is abstracted, as though everything I've just said is unimportant.

‘I don't understand  … '

‘Otter works for me,' Floster says.

‘No, Mistress.' Philip shakes his head. ‘The Guardian works for himself. But he is our ally.' This to me.

‘I don't believe it!'

I look from Seeker to thief. They're convinced they're right. But I know Benedict. My father's machinations run deep. What can he mean by this? Otter is his creature, I'm sure of it. I am a mage; I know what they don't – the horror that is the life of a Tribute child picked to be trained as a guard. The cleansing of young, flexible minds. The harshness of the physical training. I know how many fail one or the other and are culled, like runts in a litter of piglets.

But Otter found you with Aidan
, a voice in my head argues.
He didn't betray you then. Perhaps Floster is right.

No!
Otter is my father's Guardian. That's all I need to know.

‘You can't trust him!' I cry. ‘My father has planted him here. I know it. You don't understand. Guardians can't betray their mage. It's  …  impossible. They would die, or go mad. It can't happen!'

‘If you're right, Benedict knows about the catacombs. So why hasn't the Archmage sent his army to wipe us out?' Floster shakes her head. ‘No, mage. I am not mistaken. It isn't Benedict who holds the upper hand here – it's me. Otter will help me drive the fiend from Asphodel!'

Her voice rings loud and harsh; I wince as the noise pounds my aching head. I was wrong: Floster isn't a traitor. So I will live  …  for now. But what of Otter? And does he know I'm alive?

‘Don't tell him  … ' My voice fades and I lean back, wincing. The pain in my head beats like the drums of a hundred troubadours inside my skull. Why hasn't my father invaded? Too many questions  …  and I'm too tired to make my fuzzy brain work.

Suddenly Quint is back in the room. ‘She must sleep. You've overtired her!' The apothecary's voice is querulous and bossy. I watch the bustling, round woman drive out Philip and Floster and her guards, shooing them before her like straying chickens. Tomorrow  …  tomorrow I will understand. I'll figure it all out.