Wolf Tide Page 13

  No, a small person could not. The charm was a dense as a ten inch thick velvet curtain. ‘Let me pass,’ she urged. ‘I am a favourite of the Chieftain’s son. Tadzar Dal Ramek is my friend.’ Not a flicker. ‘I am a servant of the Way. My uncle is the Patriarch. Let me pass.’ Nothing. Maybe the stone warrior couldn’t understand Commons? What had Dal Ramek told her? I talk horseflesh and he lets me pass. That was a non-starter: the only thing Anabara knew about horses was that they had a biting end and a kicking end, and a bit in the middle you sat on if you were a complete lunatic.

  Perhaps an appeal to the statue’s macho Zaarzuk pride? ‘You are so strong! Please rescue me!’ she begged. Nope. Dammit, she was going to have to find Dal Ramek and persuade him to take her in. And frankly, the last thing she needed right now was to find herself trapped in a dark tunnel with a horny…

  Now there’s a thought. She hesitated. Well, it was worth a try. She stepped in close, pressed herself against the statue, put her lips to his ear. ‘If you let me pass, I’ll show you my titties.’

  The charm melted, the statue swiveled on his pivot and she slipped through and scampered up the tunnel. Sucker.

  The air smelt of old stone. She felt for her little daylamp, gave it a twist. Low tunnel walls appeared in its faint glow. Hewn out of the rock of Larridy. You could still see the rough pickaxe marks. How far she was from the Stacks themselves was impossible to tell. She tried to picture the Precincts. Quarter of a mile?

  A map. Yeah, that would have been a smart idea. If one existed. Fingers crossed, the Stacks were laid out in a simple grid pattern. What had Dal Ramek told her? A maze of tunnels. That sounded like a labyrinth, maybe charmed to incorporate extra dimensions and maximize the space. A wave of fear. There was a real danger of getting trapped in some other fold of reality and never getting out again. Nobody knew where she was. Why, oh why hadn’t she told Mooby what she was doing?

  She squared her shoulders. Come on, how complicated could it be, if dick-brain Dal Ramek had managed not to get himself lost down here? Just keep your head, and everything will be fine. The tunnel took long zigzags down. No other tunnels branched off. So far so good. Down, zig, down again, zag. On and on. The air was getting warmer all the time. And then as she zagged again—light. She’d reached the Stacks.

  There was no sound. She edged closer. The last twenty yards of tunnel were paved, the walls smooth. A narrow archway opened on to a corridor. She stuck her head out, right, left. Nobody. Just a long vista of dressed stone arches curving away out of sight, uphill to the right, downhill to the left. Lit at regular intervals by old-fashioned flame torches, Fairy-engineered to burn without flickering.

  Suddenly she understood: it was a small scale replica of the City Isle. This corridor was an underground Skuller. Anabara smiled. Not so hard for a Larridy lass to navigate her way about. The only crucial thing was to remember where the escape entrance was. The arch she was standing in was identical to its countless neighbours. You would never spot the tunnel. Hmm, a clever person would have planned ahead and brought a stick of chalk.

  She put the daylamp away and searched her pockets in vain for something to scratch with. A fragment of stone? She glanced down. Tscha, look at that—a horseshoe chalked on the floor. Dal Ramek. Not such a dick-brain after all. The only question now was which way had he turned to find those lights, those Fairy ghosts: uphill or down?

  As she stood weighing her options, a flickering movement. In the corner of her eye. Like something she might have imagined. Her heart boomed in the silence. Only one thing moved like that: a Fairy. She waited. Nothing stirred. Maybe she had imagined it.

  ‘Paran?’ she whispered. ‘Is that you?’

  A grey figure peeled away from the stone. Yes, it was him, the sneaky creepy bugger.

  ‘For God’s sake! You scared the life out of me! What are you doing down here?’

  He came towards her, steps dragging. Was he injured? Now he was close she could see his eyes were dead and blank.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  He curled back his lips and hissed at her. The canine fang sockets were empty.

  Oh dear God!

  It was not Paran at all. It was a slave. And in his hand was a long-bladed hunting knife.

  CHAPTER 15

  Her hand clutched the amulet. ‘Stop!’

  The creature paused. Light glanced off the blade.

  ‘Don’t kill me!’

  For an endless moment they stood frozen like that. Anabara’s legs quaked. Yanni. She was going to die without being reconciled to him. The black pebble eyes, they were locked on her right hand. The amulet! Some power in it the creature sensed? She unclenched her fist to reveal the stone.

  A tremor rippled through the Fairy. It fell to its knees. Turned the knife hilt towards her.

  She stared in disbelief. What did it think she was? Some powerful warrior queen? Quickly, before it realised its mistake.

  ‘How dare you threaten me! Drop the knife!’ It fell with a clank on to the stone. ‘You’re a slave?’ Nod. ‘Whose slave? Why are you here?’ Nothing. ‘Do you understand Galen?’ Nod. ‘I command you to speak! Why don’t you answer me?’

  The creature opened his mouth. She peered, then flinched back. Nothing but a stump! Oh God, they really did do that to them. ‘Show me your hands.’

  He held them out. The flesh had covered the manacles completely. All she could see was a ridge, like a fat worm under the skin. ‘You’ve been a slave a long time?’

  He nodded. Raised both hands, fingers splayed.

  ‘Ten years!’

  He held them up again. Twenty. No! Thirty. Then three.

  ‘Thirty three years!’ Nod. ‘That’s terrible! Why are you down here? What do they make you do?’

  He mimed opening a book. Then pointed upwards.

  ‘You work for the library? Impossible! The university doesn’t own slaves!’ It couldn’t be true. Let it not be true! But she knew it must be. That’s why the scholasticus wouldn’t let her down here. His darting eyes, his panic.

  ‘How many slaves work here?’ He held up a hand. ‘Five! Who is your master—the scholasticus? No? The Master of Stacks?’ A nod. ‘Does he… does he treat you well?’

  He made a hissing sound in the back of his throat.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ The slave watched as if tears were the weather. A squall that would blow over. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Does he at least feed you properly?’

  Another hiss.

  That the university was embroiled in this! Unbearable. And there was nothing she could do for him. She had no cutters to liberate him, nothing to ease his suffering. Wait—the chestnuts. Did they eat sweetmeats? She pulled out the crumpled paper poke.

  ‘Here. Have them. It’s all I’ve got. I’m sorry.’

  The creature snatched. She turned away, revolted. He ate like a cat, choking and bolting the chestnuts down.

  What was she going to do? Could she take him back out with her? No, they’d realise the truth had been discovered and kill the other slaves to cover their tracks. How high up the university hierarchy did this go? The scholasticus knew, that was for sure. What about the rest of Chapter? How many people that she loved and respected were turning a blind eye? Thirty-three years—it had been going on in her parents’ time! Dear God, did grandmama know?

  Suddenly she remembered Mooby’s theory about the Breaking Camp. She looked back at the kneeling slave. He’d finished eating. Ah, his eyes were brighter now! A memory broke the surface: that’s what had happened to Paran that first night, after she’d given him milk to drink.

  ‘Tell me—is this where they bring Fairies to enslave them?’ she asked. ‘Is this where the Breaking Camp is?’ Please say no. Don’t let it be true.

  But the Fairy nodded. He mimed a long spiral, down, down.

  ‘They come in through this tunnel?’ Nod. ‘Does the Master of Stacks run the camp?’

  He shook his head, then rubbed his thumb over first and se
cond fingers.

  ‘They pay him? Who? The Tressy slavers? Golar?’ Nod. ‘Are there any slaves there now? No? But more are coming?’

  Yes. He held up a finger.

  In one day’s time. At Wolf Tide, just as Mooby had predicted. What to do, what to do? She’d found out enough. She should get out now while she could, and report back to Mooby. But she couldn’t bear just to leave him like this.

  ‘Listen, I’m going to put a stop to what’s happening here.’ The slave clenched a fist and punched the air. Her heart lurched. Be careful what you promise him—you don’t want to end up foresworn. He began gesturing urgently. ‘What is it?’

  He was pointing to her, to himself, then upwards. He hissed and drew a finger across his throat. Now he was imploring her with clasped hands. What did he want? He repeated the sequence. Suddenly she saw: command me to kill the Master of Stacks!

  ‘No! I want him brought to justice.’ He nodded, bared his zigzag teeth. Was that meant to be a grin? What had she said? Justice. He thought she intended to kill him herself! Better to let him think it. Wait, should she permit self-defence? Or would he just twist that to his own ends? I can’t handle this! she thought. This terrifying responsibility. One false move—But she had to. Think. Think like a Fairy. What did they understand? Vengeance.

  ‘I have a score to settle. My parents were murdered. You must save the Stack-master for me,’ she said. ‘Unless he tries to kill you. You may strike back to save your own life. Do you understand?’

  He nodded.

  But what if he was lying? Instinct told her he was not. Somehow—who knew how?—by possessing the amulet, she had usurped the role of slave-master. Her authority now trumped the Master’s—or the slave would have killed her for sure. She should go. But was she forgetting something? Was there a loose end, some glaring omission that would cost lives in the future? The Fairy watched her, waited.

  ‘Stand up.’ He gestured to the knife. ‘Yes, you can keep it.’ He got to his feet and stood, knife in hand. ‘Help will come,’ she told him. ‘The Guard will come. Don’t kill any members of the Guard. They are my friends.’ Again she wavered—what if they were collaborators? Pelago, guide me, I’m doing my best. ‘I must go. Tell me—are there any more ways in and out?’

  He nodded. Three more. He pointed to the arch, then held up seven fingers. Then again, seven.

  ‘Fourteen? No?’ Maybe he meant seven times seven. ‘Forty-nine? Every forty-nine arches, there is a tunnel out into the City?’ Nod. ‘Where in the City do they come out? What are the passwords?’ But he did not know. He’d probably never seen the City. ‘Farewell, friend,’ she said in Fairy.

  He fell to his knees again, pressed his forehead against her feet. ‘Don’t do that. Get up!’

  He stood and raised a hand.

  Five? ‘Five what?’

  He held the knife against his throat. His eyes beseeched her. He made choking sounds. A lurch of horror: he was trying to speak. But she couldn’t make out the mangled words. Then her blood ran cold. Release me. If no help came in five days, he was begging for permission to kill himself. ‘No, I can’t let you do that!’

  He clutched her hand. Then froze. Cocked his head, just as she’d seen Paran do. Someone was coming. Fear seized her. She tore herself from his grip, started to run, then at the last moment, turned back.

  ‘Yes,’ she sobbed. ‘I grant you my permission.’

  Up the stone passage she fled. Zig, zag. Zig, zag. Her daylamp bobbed in the dark. Its glow was getting fainter with every passing moment. Now and then she paused, stifled her ragged gasps and listened. No pursuers. Higher, higher. Surely she was almost there? Another turn, and yes, a gleam. She stopped a few yards from the exit and caught her breath. Light filtered in round the stone Zaarzuk. It was a one-way charm, thank God, only armed to block intruders. She leant on his right shoulder and he pivoted silently. She stumbled back into the alley. The statue slid back into place behind her and resumed his guard.

  My beautiful home city. She blinked in the brightness. A perfect golden apple—but its core was heaving with maggots. She sat down on the edge of the trough and put her head between her knees. What was she going to do? She tried to quell the mounting panic. Mooby would be tied up in the Slackey all morning. Who else could she turn to? The Vice Chancellor? The Dean?

  She knew how it would go: they’d close ranks and protect the university’s reputation at all costs. They’d keep the Guard out of it, conduct an internal enquiry, sweep it all under the carpet. There would be no justice for the poor Fairies. The Master of Stacks would ‘retire’ with a fat fee to ease his going. The Breaking Camp would vanish and reappear who knew where. The library slaves would be handed over to Border Control and replaced by human assistants.

  Well, that’s not how it was going to happen. She was not going to be party to this. So what to do? Mooby she trusted, but what if the traitor in Mooby’s squad found out? If word of this new discovery was leaked, how long before some tragic accident happened to her? Then a worse thought occurred: supposing the slave was forced to betray her, now she’d vanished with her powerful amulet? What if the Master of Stacks already knew, and was at this very moment sending word to Golar? Fears burst out like a jabbering pack of goblins again. Butros. He would be able to advise her. Please God, he’d be in his Chambers and not in Court!

  She took a series of cuts through narrow alleys. Pigeons burst clapping from alcoves. Footsteps. Someone was after her! The rooftops would be safer than the crowded marketplace. She was about to spring up on to a convenient wall when someone called her name.

  Linna.

  ‘Hey! Slow down.’ Her cousin was panting as she hugged her. ‘Been chasing you, girl. Didn’t you get my note? Got the devil on your tail, or something?’

  ‘Work. Something urgent’s come up, eh. Need to get hold of Butros.’

  Linna looked steadily into her eyes. ‘I’ll walk with you. Got something to say.’ Linna linked her arm through Anabara’s. No, definitely not good. Linna wasn’t going to let her escape. ‘About Loxi.’

  ‘Aw God. It’s not my fault!’ wailed Anabara. ‘I’m not the boss of him. He’s seventeen. He can live where he wants, eh. Can I stop him?’

  ‘Na, ah. Save the wheedling for Auntie Laitolo, you,’ said Linna. ‘So it’s true then? Wearing silk shirts and hanging out in molly bars with the Galen girlyboys?’

  Shit. Molly bars? ‘Tscha, it’s nothing. Probably Enobar dragging him out for a drink, that’s all. You know what he’s like with anything cute in trousers.’

  ‘Uh huh. Right.’

  ‘I swear! Here’s the thing: Loxi wants to go to university. That’s what this is all about, eh. Of course he’s hanging out with Galens. Discussing ideas. Philosophy and stuff.’

  ‘Philosophy, my arse.’

  ‘Look, Linna, it’s a different world up here, you know that, you’ve lived here. Tell Auntie it’s all fine, eh? Please, I haven’t got time for this now!’ She tried to pull her arm away, but Linna was a big powerful Gull lass.

  ‘Na, ah. Look at me.’ Anabara obeyed. ‘What are you mixed up in, girl? Down in the village there’s rumours of slaving and Tressy traders. Murder. Yeah, yeah, I’m not working for you any more. Plus I’m pregnant, so you can’t tell me nasty scary stuff because I’m supposed to be all booties and bonnets. Hello? I still have a brain. I can still think, eh.’ She gave her a shake. ‘Talk to me.’

  ‘Linna, I can’t.’

  Another long searching stare. ‘All right. But remember this: you ever need a place to hide, we’ll hide you. You’re one of us, don’t you forget it. Your own folk will look out for you, eh. Always. No matter what.’

  Tears surged up. ‘Thanks, Linna.’

  ‘Mother says you’re to spend Wolf Tide with the family. Ah, ah! Just passing on the message. I’m up here now to buy firecrackers and toffee apples for the kids. Auntie Laitolo isn’t far behind me, so consider yourself warned. Go, go.’ She planted a kiss on Anabara’s cheek and shoved h
er off in the direction of the legal quarters. ‘Kick Butros’s arse for me.’

  A lackey showed her into Butros’s chambers. She waited in a leather armchair. Ebony shelves floor to ceiling, rank upon rank of calf-bound legal volumes. Document pouches with purple silk tassels, brass-trimmed dispatch boxes. She felt too sick to snoop, even. Not that there’d be any point—it would all be charmed to within an inch of its life. A gilt clock ticked, measuring the time in gilders per second. Butros was in some top-secret high-powered legal consultation. Would he interrupt it for her?

  The door opened. A swirl of red silk, a breath of chypre.

  ‘You have five minutes.’ Butros sat. ‘And if this “desperately important matter” turns out to be your St Dalfinia bathhouse membership, I’m going to put you across my knee and spank you.’

  ‘Well, it’s not, you pervert.’ She told him what she’d just discovered.

  He was silent. She watched his fingers drum on the chair arms. ‘This suggests a long-standing criminal conspiracy of frightening proportions. What makes you certain the alleged slave wasn’t lying?’

  She pointed to the amulet. ‘This. He could sense its power. He thought I was a warrior queen, or something.’

  ‘Of course he did! Because warrior queens all wear tacky silver lockets. That’s how they recognise one another at queening conferences.’

  ‘Only it’s not a locket, it’s an ancient Fairy artifact.’ She came close. ‘Look.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

  ‘Feel.’

  He took the stone in his long fingers. Froze. ‘Shit. That’s a perception charm! Where the hell did you get this?’

  She sat back down. ‘Uncle Téador gave it me. It was my mother’s. But I think Paran charmed it.’

  ‘Oh, please.’

  ‘Butros, I’m sure you’re wrong about him. No way is he just a lowbred worker. He’s mended the library’s ancient stained glass charms. He has! Go and look. Plus he charmed the Guard when they came and searched my house.’