Wolf Tide Page 6

  Feeling a tide of Poor Little Orphan Me about to engulf her, she got up and returned to the changing room to dress. Please, St Pelago, I just need a friendly ear. A shoulder to cry on. She made her way up the marble steps (ow, ow, ow!) to the foyer.

  A nickering laugh echoed.

  Quick as a flash Anabara ducked into an archway. Great. Old Pel was still having fun with her prayers: here was a shoulder to cry on. Silk-clad, perfumed with civet and endlessly, fatally, sympathetic. But Anabara had learnt the hard way that short of shouting your secrets into the Minstery’s great bass wind flute, there was no better way of broadcasting them than by confiding in grandmama’s equerry.

  She peeped out. Yes, there went Enobar, with another pretty boy in tow. Dammit! It was that stuck-up little git, Toby Buttery! A thought struck her: had Enobar—that fount of all gossip—got wind of her library contract and blabbed? Was that how Carraman’s were keeping tabs on her doings up on the Mount—pillow talk? I will fecking kill Enobar. She seethed till they had disappeared into the men’s quarters. Then she crept from the bathhouse.

  Outside the noonday glare made her eyes ache. She stopped at the Messenger Booth and wrote a note to Uncle Téador, to be delivered at once, then continued home. There was that gull again. It wheeled round, then came in to land on the dome of a tiny shrine. One of the city’s many; squeezed into a crack between the houses on either side. Anabara must have walked past a hundred times without a second thought. She peered in through the arched doorway. It was no bigger than a sedan chair. A one person shrine. On impulse she made the sign and went inside.

  The stone seat was cold. A votive candle flickered. Above it was a mosaic of St Pelago preaching on a pile of tiny skulls. Telling the Gull people that the Lord of Light asked only for their love. It was artisan-made, a crude piece of work compared with the bathhouse mosaics, built in memory of some long-dead Larridy ironmonger. The Saint glared at her with mad little stone eyes.

  ‘Stop that,’ she told him. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

  Was she expecting some kind of vision? Her mother, like Uncle Téador, had been a great visionary. But visions tended to come after long periods of meditation—not Anabara’s strongest suit. More Gull than Galen in her bloodstream. She’d always been better at scrapping than praying. Yanni had grown up in the Minstery precincts, of course, and being 13 years older than her, he’d known their parents, been shaped by them. She had no memories, no real sense of what they were actually like. They were as holy and two-dimensional in her mind as their frescoes.

  But here was a question: would she have been a better person if her father’s mother had not stomped up the hill and demanded an equal share in her son’s orphaned baby daughter? Woo! The clash of the grandmothers! Granny Gull had died not long after. Anabara couldn’t remember her. There was no telling how different it might all have been, but for Granny Nolio’s intervention. I might have been another Rodania, unlocking the secrets of the universe with the mighty key of my intellect.

  St Pelago nailed her with his ironmonger gaze. He doubted that.

  Nah, you’re right. I’d still be me. No visions for the likes of Nan Nolio. Pointless sitting here waiting for one. But she still couldn’t face going home. The Fairy lurked like a poisonous spider in the corner of her mind, all the more terrifying because she couldn’t see him. Her hand went to the strange amulet. She closed her fingers round the knobbled stone. Perhaps her mother had done the same in moments of hesitation, or despair. This whole thing is too big for me, she thought. I can’t do it.

  But you can do the next thing.

  Anabara froze. Was that her own mind answering her? Or had the thought come from outside—from the Saint? She stared at him. He stared back. How could you tell? But it was true: she could bring herself to go home. She could face the Fairy. Do the next thing. Yes, and then the thing after. And then the one after that. That was all anyone could ever do, come to think of it, even the greatest of all visionaries.

  It’s really very simple, she told the mosaic Saint. It’s all just made up of tiny little pieces. One after another after another. And in the end, there will be a picture.

  Please let there be a picture.

  She creaked to her feet and left the shrine. Above the gull mounted on white wings, high, higher, then off into the blue.

  Well, that massage must have done the trick, astonishingly. The following morning she woke free from aches and pains. Even her blistered hands were nearly healed. Bizarre. But the Day of Rest was over. The time for talking had come.

  So Anabara talked. She talked about her business. She gave a potted history of the City of Larridy. She talked about the University and the Minstery. She talked about the role of the City Guard, the set-up at the library, the heritage problems.

  The Fairy listened. Or she hoped he was listening. He might have been off in the marzipan mines of Tara-doodle for all she knew. Lord, would she ever get used to this absence of expression, this stare that made you feel like a total feather-head?

  ‘So.’ She made her tone business-like. ‘Any questions?’

  ‘Yes. What are we waiting for?’

  Anabara flushed with indignation. ‘We’re waiting for my cousin, actually. He works for me. Does the accounts, handles the admin side of things.’

  Damn, Gull timekeeping was not going to look snappy and professional here. (When does the meeting start? When everyone’s here, eh.) But then she heard footsteps, and there was Loxi—with a huge pile of books.

  ‘Man, am I the best book-finder in the world, or what? Woo!’ He dumped them on her table with a grin. He hadn’t spotted the Fairy sitting in the shadows. ‘They were falling over themselves not to look racist. Couldn’t give me the books fast enough. I deserve a raise, me.’

  ‘Hey, well done!’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Loxi, I want you to meet—’

  She got no further.

  Loxi dropped like he’d been scythed. ‘Don’t let him kill me!’

  ‘What? Get up, you soft lump!’ She turned to the Fairy and switched back to Galen. ‘Paran, I am so sorry. Loxi, come out.’

  But he stayed curled under the table, whimpering in terror.

  She cuffed him. ‘Listen to me Loxi, he won’t harm you. It’s in the deal. You’re my kinsman. He can’t harm you.’ She was ready to cry with mortification. She turned to Paran again. ‘I’m sorry. He’s not normally… he’s had some bad experiences.’

  ‘Fetch me a drink of water, Gull,’ said the Fairy to Loxi.

  What the hell was this—some kind of bizarre Fairy ritual? ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s foresworn.’

  ‘Impossible! When? How?’

  With a hiss the Fairy bared his fangs.

  ‘Oh my God, Loxi, get him a drink. Quickly!’

  She had to fill the glass at the pump, clamp Loxi’s fingers round it, haul him across the room by his ear. There wasn’t much water left in it when finally Loxi held out the glass. The Fairy took it, drank. He set the glass down. Then he took a step towards Loxi.

  Out like a snuffed candle. The Fairy caught him as he fell.

  ‘What happened? What the—? Oh dear God!’ shouted Anabara. ‘What have you done to him? You’re not supposed to harm my family! He’s my cousin! Shit! Don’t ever bare your teeth in my sight again!’

  ‘Hush!’ He stood holding Loxi—all six foot of Gull warrior—like he was a child’s raggedy doll. He murmured something in his own tongue. Then he blew into Loxi’s face. The black lashes fluttered.

  No! Was he charming him? Into—? Another old tale sprang into her head. Oh Pelago, Auntie will kill me. ‘Put him down!’

  ‘He’ll sleep while the charm works.’

  ‘What charm? Make it stop! No! What are you trying to do to him?’

  ‘Sweeten his memory, nothing more.’ He blew again. ‘The rivermen used him cruelly.’

  It all fell into place. ‘That was you he found in the grain hold?’

  ‘I wondered if I dreamt him. He pushed a wet rag throug
h the bars for me to suck on. He promised to come back with water. But they caught him.’

  Pelago! She made the sign. ‘What did they do to him?’

  ‘They tied him to the cage and went for their master.’

  ‘The one with the… eyes?’

  ‘The same. He ordered his men to thrust your cousin into the cage, so they could watch the sport. He explained to the boy all the things Fays like to do. How long it would take him to die. Your cousin wept and begged in terror. So of his kindness the master offered a choice of bed-fellow: himself, or the Fay.’ The Fairy paused. ‘I’ll tell you more if you wish.’

  She shook her head. Pressed her fist to her mouth. Poor, poor Loxi. ‘Please put him down.’

  ‘Ah, look—the charm works.’ Loxi smiled in his sleep. ‘I should warn you, your thoughts are daubed a yard high on the wall of your mind.’

  ‘What thoughts?’

  He laid Loxi on the hearth rug and smoothed the hair back from his forehead. Then he stood. Expressionless as ever. ‘Don’t worry. I have not charmed your kinsman into a mollyboy.’

  She shut her eyes. I’m not prejudiced, I’m not! she wanted to shout. ‘Look, no offence to your heritage. I mean, come on, half my Galen friends… But it’s not part of Gull culture. It just doesn’t happen.’

  ‘Truly? I wonder at that.’

  ‘Believe me, it’s totally alien. In the old days the village elders would stick mollies in barrels of broken glass and roll them down Skuller. That was the punishment.’

  He stared. ‘I no longer wonder at it.’

  After a pause she said, ‘That was hundreds of years back, obviously. There’s no law against it any more. But Gulls are very traditional people, that’s all I’m trying to say.’

  A sob shook her. That’s why that monster made Loxi ‘choose’. He knew it would destroy his pride. Well, let me daub this on the wall of my mind: I’ll get him. So help me, St Pelago—one day he’ll face justice for what he’s done.

  But if the Fairy perceived her vow he made no sign. Perhaps he didn’t care? Of course he doesn’t care, idiot. They’re incapable of empathy with humans. Not like us, not like us, remember? Although he’d seemed almost gentle just now. Yeah—right after he’d bared his fangs at us! Over a poxy glass of water! What was she supposed to think? This was like a nightmare game of death chess, with secret rules but no clues. Her hand went to the amulet.

  Instantly the Fairy’s eyes were her.

  Her pulse leapt. ‘This? It was my mother’s.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You knew that?’

  ‘It’s in your thought.’

  ‘Tscha!’ In letters a yard high. ‘Do you know what it is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well? Are you going to tell me?’

  ‘No.’

  She laughed in surprise. You bloody are, mister! ‘I insist you tell me the truth.’

  ‘Have a care. You put me in a double bind—I promised to do you no harm.’

  ‘The truth will harm me? Oh, what is this thing? Get it off me!’ Her fingers scrabbled at the clasp. But then she steadied herself. Her mother had worn it. The Patriarch himself had fastened it round her neck. How could it be evil? She scowled at the Fairy. ‘But I want to know. I just hate not knowing stuff.’

  ‘Well, I hope you will bear that trial,’ he replied, ‘since I should hate to cut off my right ear.’

  ‘What?’ she shrieked. ‘I never specified any such thing!’

  ‘I am well aware of that. It’s the default penalty.’

  She gripped her hair in both hands. ‘This is a total fecking nightmare.’

  ‘Indeed it is. I have never encountered so botched and reckless deal in my life.’

  ‘Hey, the circumstances weren’t exactly brilliant, if you remember!’ she burst out. ‘I deserve a bit more recognition round here!’

  There was a long silence. Like he was performing some complex calculation—totting up the Favours Received column, balancing it against Trouble Caused. The result appeared to be: No, she deserved nothing.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘your cousin wakes.’

  Loxi stirred.

  ‘Hey, Loxi.’ She nudged him with her toe. ‘Shift your arse.’

  ‘Hmmm?’ He opened his eyes. Frowned. ‘Man, what happened?’

  ‘You passed out, you lummox.’

  ‘I did?’ Then he caught sight of the Fairy and sat bolt upright. ‘No!’

  The Fairy knelt. Stared into Loxi’s face. ‘You’ve fulfilled your promise. All’s well.’

  Loxi nodded, eyes round.

  ‘Will you shake hands?’ Another nod. Loxi reached out a trembling hand and the Fairy clasped it. ‘Those were dark times. We will not dwell on them any more.’

  Loxi nodded again.

  ‘See?’ said the Fairy. ‘Your worst fear came for you, but you’ve lived to tell the tale. The world will seem brighter now. Come, on your feet. There’s work to do.’

  ‘Yes, right, so here’s the plan,’ said Anabara, to remind them she was boss. ‘We head up to the Library now, where you can hand in the books, Loxi. Then I introduce you to the scholasticus,’ she turned to the Fairy, ‘and he’ll tell you about the security issues, at great length, probably. Oh, and there’s a mimic charm somewhere in the vault that he wants us to get rid of. Meanwhile, I will be making a few enquiries. There’s something weird going on with this contract. I get the feeling I’m being set up. Any questions?’

  ‘How are you planning to explain my presence?’ asked the Fairy.

  Planning! Lord, I don’t know—with some lie or other. ‘I’ll just say you’re my new associate.’ What if they ran into some jumped-up Papers, Please! Guard, though? Well, she couldn’t worry about everything all at once. Her fingers brushed the amulet. Just do the next thing.

  Loxi edged away from the Fairy. ‘What’s the situation with Carramans, eh?’ he whispered.

  ‘Use Galen or Commons,’ she whispered back. ‘We need Paran to understand us, eh.’ But even as she was saying it, she was seized by the conviction the Fairy could follow every word.

  ‘Are Carramans still on to you?’ Loxi asked in his lazy Gull-accented Galen.

  ‘I don’t know. But I reckon I’ve found out how they’re getting their information!’ Her eyes flashed. ‘A little shite I was at school with called Toby Buttery, he works for Carraman’s, and he’s going with Enobar. Enobar? Candacian-Galen demy. Grandmama’s equerry.’

  ‘Heard of him, yeah.’

  ‘Enobar, the town-crier. Honestly, I could kill him.’

  ‘Or I could,’ suggested the Fairy.

  The room turned into an echoing cavern. Beside her Loxi moaned.

  ‘No! It’s just a saying.’ Her heart boomed like a death drum. ‘I didn’t mean it literally! No killing anyone—got that? Saints in heaven, I love Enobar!’

  ‘Ah,’ said the Fairy. ‘Then I will forbear.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Loxi—head between your knees.’ She shoved him into the nearest chair.

  The Fairy stared down. ‘He’s very tender-hearted.’

  Is he? Or could it be you that’s a Grade A fecking psychopath?

  All in all, the day was shaping up rather well.

  CHAPTER 8

  They got to the Precincts without further incident. Loxi kept several yards between him and his new colleague. Still, no moronic bigots spat at Paran and called him a dirty Fay, so she wasn’t obliged to kick any heads in. They entered the library. Loxi handed in the pile of books. The scholasticus fluttered his hands in delight, then he turned his attention to Paran.

  Loxi edged away to round up more volumes. But before he could escape, Anabara grabbed his arm. ‘So he’s a Fairy. Just get over it. You’re showing me up.’

  ‘He stares at me, him,’ he muttered. ‘Like a gannet watching a sandwich.’

  ‘All Fairies look like that,’ she hissed, ‘it’s just their bone structure.’

  When she returned to the main desk, the scholasticus was
parading his linguistic prowess. Anabara struggled to follow the rapid Fairy dialect he was using. The echo minced round the vault, two seconds behind. The students were smirking. Pity to disable the charm, really. She scanned round, wondering where it was hidden, and caught sight of the Zaarzuk. He winked at her from the top of ladder. Consulting bound volumes of The Journal of Advanced Clinical Psycho-Medicine? Very likely. Enjoying the view down blouse fronts was her bet. She turned her back and made herself focus. The scholasticus was still going strong. Here and there she caught the odd word—books, very difficult, old—but most of the conversation was beyond her. Conversation? Monologue. The Fairy was giving him the gannet treatment.

  But then there was a pause. The scholasticus repeated his question. Something, something, papers?

  ‘Ah, yes, about that,’ she began.

  But to her amazement, the Fairy drew a booklet from his pocket. My God, it was never a Freeman Pass?

  The scholasticus took it. ‘Let’s see: This is to certify that the Fairy (artisan class) known as Paran a’Menehaïn,’ he read, ‘is hereby granted the freedom of the City Isle of Larridy, in the Federation of Mainland States, to reside and work within the borders thereof.’ He skimmed to the end, checked the dates, the official border seal and the bearer likeness, then handed it back. ‘Well, that seems to be in order.’

  Order, order, order! bleated the echo.

  The scholasticus glared up at it. ‘I’ll be delighted to hear the last of that.’

  Prat, twat!

  Anabara snorted. A herd of pigs chased round the vault. She patted her chest. ‘Sorry. Got a cough.’

  ‘I’ll check the exterior charms first, Doctor.’ And the Fairy was gone before the scholasticus was halfway through his ornate valediction.

  Anabara hurried after him into the library cloister.

  ‘Paran, wait.’ He turned. ‘Show me that pass.’