Chimaera (56 page)

‘I won’t,’ she said.

They gathered on the sloping roof beside the thapter with all their gear: packs full of tools for breaking and entering, coils of rope, a small hand winch, weapons. It was as dark as a cellar full of coal and the roof was wet and hard to stand on.

‘Ready?’ said Nish. ‘Come on, Vim,’ he hissed in the direction of the rear platform. ‘Get a move on.’

‘Phar’s not here.’

‘What?’ Nish scrambled up the back. The stench lingered in the open turret but it was empty. Nish felt along the rails, encountered the ropes and ran his fingers down them. The ends had been neatly severed.

‘He must have had a blade hidden away, and jumped off as soon as we touched down,’ Nish raged. ‘Why didn’t anyone search him?’

‘We searched him,’ said Vim. ‘But, well …’

‘I know,’ said Nish. It was a disgusting job. There was no point blaming anyone. But it was not a good start.

‘I
dare say he’ll come back once he’s done his bit of pilfering,’ said Slann. ‘He won’t want to stay here.’

‘If he does I’ll kick his arse right out into the middle of the bay.’

They had to break in through the roof. It wasn’t difficult but pulling up slates in the dark made more noise than Nish liked.

‘If there are any lyrinx about,’ he said, ‘they now know we’re here. And they’ll see us even though we can’t see them.’

‘It’ll be a quick death then,’ said Slann, who had a melancholy disposition.

‘Though not a painless one,’ said Vim. ‘Better get down there, quick.’

He fixed a rope around a roof beam. They climbed down it and, after breaking though a ceiling, ended up in the top floor of the warehouse. It was empty.

‘Suppose the silk will be in the basement,’ said Slann, ‘and we’ll have to carry it up ten flights of stairs.’

‘Shows how much you know,’ scoffed Vim. ‘They wouldn’t keep precious silk in the basement where it’d go mouldy. It’d be up high, where it’s warm and dry. Naw, I reckon the place is empty.’

‘It’d better not be.’ Nish gloomily headed for the stairs.

Before long they were on their way up again. The warehouse contained nothing but rat droppings.

The thapter was still there, thankfully. Phar was not. They climbed in.

‘Empty,’ said Nish.

Tiaan did not look surprised. ‘Shall I go to the next one?’

‘Please.’ He sat on the floor and put his head in his hands. Nish had a pretty good idea what he would find in the second warehouse. Nothing. Phar must have been extracting a petty revenge, and now that he was gone they had no hope of finding the right warehouse.

The second warehouse took a long time to break into, but proved as empty as the first. Nish was in a sick despair by the time he returned. Tiaan said nothing at all, just carried them to the third.

Nish consulted the stars as they got out. It was three in the morning. Dawn was around seven-thirty. Plenty of time if the warehouse was empty. Not long at all if they found what they wanted and had to lift it through the roof.

The top floor proved to be empty. So did the one below that. Halfway down the stairs, Nish paused. ‘I can smell something.’

‘So can I,’ said Vim. ‘Frying onions.’

It had not occurred to Nish that there might still be people living in Thurkad. He’d assumed that the lyrinx would have driven them away, or eaten them all. But unless the enemy had become vegetarians, there were people below.

‘Where’s it coming from, do you think?’

Slann sniffed the air. ‘Can’t tell.’

‘Be as quiet as you possibly can. If they find us, they’re bound to want a ride to somewhere safe.’

Nish shuttered his lantern to a slit and crept around the corner onto the next level. He slid open the door, shone the light around and could have wept for joy. The whole floor was packed with rolls of cloth.

‘Come on,’ he hissed, running to the first stack. It proved to be cotton, and so did the second, but the third was silk. Beautiful silk.

Nish sorted through the rolls. It didn’t have to be the finest cloth but it needed to be strong. All the rolls at the top turned out to be too fine, no use for anything but scarves and nightwear.

‘The best stuff is right down the bottom,’ said Nish. ‘Pull that one out, would you?’

The soldier, whose name he could not remember, hauled at the roll. It did not budge. ‘We’ll have to shift the ones up top first.’

Vim climbed the end of the stack, which was a couple of spans tall, and began hurling rolls down from the top. They thumped onto the floorboards.

‘Don’t do that!’ Nish waved his arms frantically. ‘If there are people below, they’ll come up to see what’s going on. Hand the damn things down.’

They were all panting by the time they’d uncovered the bottom of the stack, and the dust was tickling their noses. Nish resisted the urge to sneeze. ‘Help me unroll this one.’

They spread it out along the floor. It was good strong cloth, better than anything they’d been able to obtain at Fiz Gorgo. There were no flaws, no rat or moth holes. He paced out the length and width, calculating, then rolled it up again.

‘We’ll need eight of these to make three airbags. Vim, Slann, take this one. Leave it upstairs at the rope and come straight back.’

‘It’s bloody heavy,’ said Slann, a weedy man, as they heaved it to their shoulders.

‘Just get on with it.’

They went out, the cloth sagging between them. Scarcely had they turned the corner when there came a cry of rage.

‘Hoy! Put that down, you. Neahl, Roys, they’re stealing our cloth.’

The other four soldiers pelted to the door. Nish drew his sword and followed with the lantern. Opening the shutter wide he flashed it down the stairs.

About three flights down, a crowd of at least thirty people, ranging in age from dirty children to withered oldsters, had gathered. A good few of them looked fit, though they were only armed with an assortment of knives.

‘What are you doing here?’ said Nish.

‘We live here,’ replied a snaggle-toothed old man.

‘But the lyrinx –’

‘Don’t bother us and we don’t bother them, any more’n the rats do.’ The oldster gave a squeaking kind of laugh.

‘Well, we’ve just come for some of this silk.’

‘Can’t have it,’ said the old fellow. ‘It’s our’n.’

‘You’re not using it.’

‘We will one day, now clear orf.’

‘We can pay you for it,’ said Nish, feeling the ground sinking beneath him.

‘Get lost! Can’t eat yer stinkin’ money.’

‘You fellows get your crossbows ready,’ Nish said in a low voice.

‘They are,’ a soldier replied. ‘Just give the word.’

‘Don’t shoot unless there’s no choice.’ Nish raised his voice. ‘Whether you accept the money or not is up to you, old fellow. We’re taking the cloth anyway – for the war.’

Fingering a small bag of silver out of his pocket, he tossed it down the steps. It landed halfway and burst, scattering coins everywhere.

The old fellow did not look down. Nor, to Nish’s surprise, did anyone else. Not even the children scrambled for the silver. The cold feeling in the pit of his stomach grew colder.

‘We don’t give a damn about the war,’ said the old man. ‘The lyrinx leave us alone.’

‘Raise your weapons, lads,’ Nish said softly. Then louder, ‘Come any closer and we’ll shoot.’ Nish drew back to give the soldiers with the bows a clear shot, though he still hoped that they could intimidate the crowd into running away. To the others he said, ‘Take it up, Vim and Slann. You two, get the next bolt.
And hurry!
’

Vim and Slann thumped up the stairs. The second pair of soldiers hefted their bolt of silk. The crowd were a quivering mass of indignation. Nish darted in and tried to pick up the third bolt. It was extremely heavy, and when he got it onto his shoulders the ends of the roll bent to the floor. He’d never carry it up the stairs on his own.

‘Don’t move!’ said the soldier on the left.

Nish staggered to the door. The old man was slowly creeping forward. ‘If you have to shoot, try not to hurt him,’ said Nish. ‘This is their home, after all.’

The crowd moved up behind the oldster. One step; two; three. They weren’t looking at the two soldiers. Every eye was on Nish.

‘No further!’ Nish shouted. ‘Soldiers, shoot if they go one more step.’

The old man looked Nish in the eye and kept coming.

‘Stop or we’ll shoot!’ said the soldier on the left.

The old man ignored him. The crossbow snapped, the bolt taking him in the middle of the forehead and hurling him backwards into the throng. A woman wailed. Children screamed. Two men took the oldster under the arms and dragged his body down the stairs into the darkness. The rest moved down to the limit of visibility and remained there. The soldier frantically reloaded his crossbow.

‘You bloody fool!’ Nish raged, dropping his roll. ‘I said don’t hurt him.’

‘And then you said to shoot if he went any further,’ said the soldier, as if that made it all right.

Vim and Slann came thumping down the stairs, followed by the second pair of soldiers. ‘What’s happened?’ panted Vim.

Nish told them.

‘Not good,’ said Slann. ‘I wonder what they’ll do now?’

‘I don’t dare think. Come on. Get the rest of the rolls up. We need another six.’

The soldiers went up with another three rolls of silk, the second pair dragging a bolt each. Silence fell.

‘It’s very quiet down there,’ said Nish. ‘I wonder what they’re up to?’

‘Running for their lives,’ said the soldier who had fired. ‘Vermin.’

Disgusted, Nish returned to the silk floor and began to drag the remaining bolts toward the entrance. He was lifting the third when the soldier who had fired clutched at his throat and toppled down the steps. The other soldier threw himself in through the entrance.

‘What was it?’ said Nish.

‘A slug from a sling, I’d say. Caught him in the throat.’

‘Do you think he’ll be all right?’

‘If the slug didn’t kill him, or the fall,
they
will when he gets to the –’

Slaughtering noises came up from the darkness. Nish looked around the corner. The lantern still glowed in the middle of the step. He ducked back hastily as another slug smacked into the side of the doorframe.

The soldier picked it up. It was a piece of tightly rolled lead sheet, about the size of a plum. ‘Enough to kill a man if it hits him in the right place. Are they coming?’

‘Couldn’t see anything.’

‘Makes it worse. Should I put the bow around the corner and send a bolt down at them?’

‘Might as well,’ said Nish. ‘Aim high. I don’t want to kill anyone else. Though I don’t suppose they’ll be so scrupulous now.’

The soldier fired. A yelp was followed by sounds of people fleeing down the stairs.

Vim and Slann came creeping down and sprang in through the doorway.

‘Where are the others?’ said Nish.

‘Roping the rolls and winching them up,’ said Slann.

‘All right. Let’s get these last three.’

Before they could load them onto their shoulders, something clattered on the steps and began to rattle and
sploosh
its way down again. Something else followed it, then a third object.

‘Sounds as though they’re throwing buckets of water at us.’

‘Why would they throw water –’

Nish smelt turpentine; then, with a
whoo-whoomph
, fire exploded up the stairs, licking in through the entrance and coiling around into the room. Nish’s dangling sleeve began to smoke. He hurled himself backwards away from the door, dashing the flames out against the floor. Vim’s hair was ablaze.

Nish whacked it out with his hands and they moved further away, staring at the flames which were roaring up past them. The three bolts of silk on the floor began to burn.

He tried to drag one out of the way but it was already well ablaze and the silk would be ruined.

‘Can we get up the stairs?’ called Slann, who was furthest from the door.

‘Not a chance. Nor down.’

‘If we close the door it’ll keep the fire out.’

‘For a while,’ said Nish, who already suspected they were doomed.

They kicked the blazing silk down the stairs and dragged the door closed. It was solid wood and would take a while to catch, but burn it would. Nish sat down on the pile of silk rolls. The others took seats as well.

‘Seems a stupid thing to do,’ said Vim. ‘Setting fire to the stairs.’

‘The fire would go up before it went down,’ Nish said wearily. ‘They’d have plenty of time to get away.’

‘But it’s their home.’

‘Plenty more warehouses in Thurkad.’

‘That old man Welmi killed must have been an important fellow.’

‘Must have been.’

‘Any chance the fire will just go out?’ said the soldier who had fired last.

‘These old buildings are dry as tinder,’ Slann replied. ‘If there’s a decent wind it could burn half the city down.’

‘Good riddance. Thurkad always was a stinking place.’

‘The outside of this building is stone,’ said Nish.

‘Makes no difference,’ said Slann. ‘Everything else will burn and the stone will fall down.’