City of Bones (46 page)

Elen had her power, but abruptly her much-abused body ceased cooperating, and she needed the help of two lictors to climb out of the cistern.

Khat knew where he was before he opened his eyes. He was curled up on his side, his back against a ridge of burning hot stone. Up and down, along with north, were back where they were supposed to be, and the air was heavy with the searing heat of the Waste. The world felt wonderfully, gloriously right. He lifted his head, then pushed himself up, feeling bruises and scrapes and the protest of strained muscles.

They were on the top level of the Waste, some distance from the Remnant, and the sun was setting in a brilliant haze of red, orange, and gold. To the east the sky had darkened to violet and indigo, though no stars were visible yet. The rock of the top level stretched away in waves, marked by occasional upthrust crags or boulders, all turned the same mellow gold as the fading daylight. Sevan-denarin was standing only a few feet away, facing toward the sunset, the evening breeze pulling at his robes.

Slowly Khat got to his feet, stumbled, and managed to stay upright. They couldn’t have fallen far and survived; by his knowledge of the strange geography of the Doorway, Sevan must have managed to bring them out just above the ground. Looking at the old man now, Khat wondered what could possibly be going through his mind: after spending a thousand years in self-imposed exile, to suddenly be released into a world that must bear little resemblance to the one he had left behind. Khat cleared his throat and said, “Well, was it worth saving?”

Sevan turned, his face shadowed by the sun’s glare, and said, “It has its own beauty, in a strange fashion. Perhaps it was worth it.”

Then Sevan’s form seemed to collapse in on itself, and before Khat could move, there was nothing there but dust, scattered over the Waste by the evening wind.

Khat spent the night in a hollow in the wall of a small canyon, not far from the Remnant. It was not a good night, for a number of reasons. He needed to sleep, he needed to think about Sevan-denarin’s death, and he needed the time alone. The Waste wasn’t the best place for this, but it was all he had.

By morning his fever had returned, but so had enough of the will to live for him to start the long walk back to Charisat, with equanimity at least, if not enthusiasm. He kept to the midlevel for the shade, taking his time and foraging along the way. The fever wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but it was still enough to make him feel as if his head was stuffed with sand. The relapse had probably occurred earlier, but this was the first chance he had had to notice it.

At the end of the day he holed up for the night in the Fringe, within sight of Charisat. He wasn’t much looking forward to reaching it.

Stretched out on top of a wind-smoothed boulder, watching as the sunset turned the sky blood-red and the lamps of the distant city appeared against the growing darkness, Khat had the distinct feeling he had overstayed his welcome in Charisat. His memories of Kenniliar Free City were growing fonder by the hour, and the time alone had given him the chance to come to terms with the idea of visiting there again, at least for a while. He was half tempted to forgo Charisat entirely and strike out along the trade road now; Sagai would be mad to know what had become of the relics, and Khat did have quite a story to tell. If Sagai had managed to buy himself a place in the Scholars’ Guild already, the new knowledge might also let him elevate his status within it considerably.

But Kenniliar was a long walk, and while his fever didn’t seem to be getting any worse, it wasn’t getting any better, either. If he didn’t want to send himself into another three-day collapse, he would need a place to recover. He did owe the story to Arad-edelk too, for all his help, and it might be interesting to see Ecazar’s reaction. Khat smiled to himself, picturing it. And they might have some news of Elen, of what she would do now that Riathen was dead.

It made more sense to spend a few days in Charisat before starting the journey, and maybe for once he would take the sensible course.

The morning sun was just cresting the city when Khat reached Charisat’s docks. Handcarts rolled on the overhead walkways, wagons steamed at the piers, and the changeover from the night’s activity to the day’s was well under way. At the familiar stench of sewers and hot metal, he almost turned back.

He had climbed the pilings of a disused pier and started toward the ramps when furtive motion at the base of the colossus caught his eye. He hesitated, studying the levels above. The beggars were still asleep, and no one else—loaders, carters, or overseers—was moving with anything but early-hour lethargy. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, and was inclined to shrug it off. He was still unsteady, and his eyes, like his sense of smell, were still attuned to the Waste; it would take time to become accustomed to the city again. Still he took the long way around, going up the carters’ ramp at the far end of the docks.

Khat passed the base of the colossus and started up the street that led into the Eighth Tier proper. Not twenty feet ahead, three city dwellers were standing as if they were waiting for something. They were lower-tier, but not as ragged or badly undersized as the usual inhabitants of the Eighth. Reading the tension in their outwardly casual poses, he deliberately slowed his steps.

From behind, someone called his name.

Khat turned, already drawing his knife. At a careful distance down the street were four men. One was Kadusk, whom he knew as an enforcer who worked for Lushan, and two were dockworkers, armed with the long metal bars used to lever bales of cargo on and off wagons. The fourth was the filthy little informer, Ivan Sata.

Khat backed toward the wall. This he didn’t need. The street at this point was bordered by black rock walls, above which were warehouses, mostly windowless to prevent thieving, and there was no place to run.

The three men who had waited up the street came toward him, spreading out to block escape, as Kadusk and his dockworkers closed in. They were in full view of the gate to the Eighth Tier, and the vigils there watched with interest. Kadusk had chosen his moment well. This was far enough away from the docks not to constitute an impeding of trade, and Khat didn’t look enough like a citizen, even from a distance, for the vigils to stir themselves.

Ivan Sata was hanging behind the other men, watching eagerly but ever-careful of his skin. “How much did they pay you for me, Sata?” Khat called to him.

“Ten five-day tokens,” the informer replied. “I earned it. It’s hard work following you.”

Kadusk grinned. “He lost you for days, then picked you up on the Sixth Tier and trailed you down to the docks. Lushan went mad when we thought you left the city. Wouldn’t let us stop watching for you.”

Khat put his back against the wall. Ten five-day tokens wasn’t that much; he thought it insultingly low, considering the value of a dead kris on the Silent Market, but Ivan Sata had always been an idiot. He must have overheard Khat talking to Caster in the Arcade, but even Sata had probably had more sense than to turn the Silent Market dealer over to Lushan. Caster had friends who would skin Lushan and Sata in slow agony and feed them to spidermites for such an offense. It was too bad no one felt the same about Khat.

One of the enforcers feinted at him. Khat slashed back and ducked under a swing from a loading bar. The enforcer shook his injured hand, cursing, and the first droplets of blood landed on the dusty street.

Kadusk snarled at the others, and they closed in again. Khat ducked under another blow and smashed into the attacker, sending the man staggering back and almost clearing a path for escape. One of the others tackled him before he could take advantage of it, slamming him back against the wall. The breath was knocked out of him, stunning him for precious instants, and someone pinned his knife hand, trying to force him to drop the weapon. The man who had tackled him was still holding him, and with his free hand Khat grabbed a handful of greasy hair and twisted the man’s head back sharply. He lacked the leverage to snap the neck, but the man howled and let go of him. Khat tried to push himself up, but his vision blurred and the ground was suddenly unsteady. He slid down the wall, and the last thing he saw was someone’s fist coming at him.

He never lost consciousness completely. He dimly realized he was slung head down over someone’s shoulder, someone whose robes stank and who was not terribly careful about where he put his hands. Khat’s blood was pounding in his ears, and his stomach was trying to crawl up his throat. Splotches of darkness swam before his eyes when he made the mistake of opening them, though there wasn’t much to see; his robe had been pulled down to cover his head. The blows hadn’t been that devastating; Kadusk and his men had used their fists, fortunately, and not the loading bars, but hanging upside down wasn’t helping any, and he kept drifting, unable to break through into real awareness. His instinctive struggles to free himself from whoever was carrying him were ineffective and mostly ignored.

At this time the streets still wouldn’t be crowded, and even if a vigil did stop Kadusk all he had to say was that they were carting home a drunken friend. Then Khat heard the far-off bell of the Academia’s clock tower and realized they were on the Fourth Tier. That meant Lushan’s house, and that shook him back to real consciousness. Once he was inside, there was no hope of escape.

Lushan’s house was near the shops; if Khat could put up enough of a fight to draw attention, that might make it an impeding of trade and bring the vigils. It might also mean the Trade Inspectors again, but it would at least buy him some time.

Then the man carrying him stopped abruptly, the sudden change in motion sending Khat into another wave of dizziness. He heard a shout and a scuffle, and decided now was the time to take his chance. He linked his fingers and with doubled fists struck the man in the kidney.

The man cried out and dropped him. Khat hit the ground and rolled over, choking on dust and wincing at the brilliant sunlight. A short distance away two of the enforcers were on the ground too, moaning and holding their heads. A new entrant into the fray was fighting with Kadusk, holding him off with a metal pole from someone’s shop awning while the other two tried to get past his guard. Khat couldn’t get a good look at his would-be rescuer; the man wore desert robes and a long headcloth, and was moving too quickly for Khat’s watering eyes to focus properly. He knew who he thought it was, but that didn’t seem possible.

The man who had been carrying him had doubled over, but now straightened painfully up and started toward the fight. Khat twisted around and tripped him with an outstretched leg. The enforcer fell flat, and Khat scrambled forward and leapt on him, getting a stranglehold on his neck.

There was another shout, and someone grabbed the back of Khat’s robe and yanked him off the enforcer, sending him sprawling on the street again. Khat found himself looking up at an Imperial lictor subcaptain, who was pointing a rifle at him. “Don’t move,” the lictor suggested.

Khat decided not to move. The subcaptain took a cautious step closer, studying him carefully, then called over his shoulder, “This is the one, all right.”

They were surrounded by at least a dozen Imperial lictors. Kadusk and the enforcers who were still standing were being disarmed. Khat sat up a little, cautiously. It had been close. This was the court just outside Lushan’s house.

“This one, too.” A lictor pulled the man who had attacked the enforcers out of the group and shoved him towards Khat and his guard. This time, Khat could see who it was.

Sagai knelt next to him, one eye on the subcaptain, muttering, “Out of the pot and into the coals, as usual.”

“What are you doing here?” Khat demanded. “You’re supposed to be in Kenniliar.”

“Looking for you.” Sagai was exasperated. “Of course. Caster told me what you’d done to Lushan and that someone had informed on you, so I watched the house in hope of catching sight of you.” He let out his breath in a sigh. “I don’t know why I bother. It’s because the children are attached to you, I suppose.”

Khat didn’t know whether to be angry or not, considering that Khat himself wasn’t where he was supposed to be, either. “How did you get here?” They were both watching the lictor warily, but he didn’t seem inclined to shoot them for talking. Sagai was covered with road dust and had taken a couple of knocks in the fight; he looked just as shabby and disreputable as any caravaneer.

Sagai explained, “Two days into the journey it became apparent that you weren’t coming after us. We were only a day or so out from Kenniliar, and when we passed a caravan going back to Charisat, I thought of returning to look for you. Miram persuaded me she would be all right; she knows Kenniliar well, and has Netta with her. They should be at my uncle’s house by now.” Sagai hesitated, glanced again at the lictor, and lowered his voice even further. “I spoke to Arad-edelk and looked at the book. He had heard something from Elen about your adventure at the Tersalten Flat Remnant. I could hardly credit it.” He hesitated. “Was it true?”

“Every word. But I said if I couldn’t leave in time to catch up with the caravan I’d join you in Kenniliar.”

“Hell below.” Sagai was shaking his head in wonder, not listening to his protest. “Has it anything to do with why we are being arrested by Imperial lictors?”

“I don’t know.” Khat gave up on the Kenniliar issue. There was no point in arguing about it, anyway. “There are several possibilities.”

Some Trade Inspectors arrived, and started to argue with the lictors. They wanted Khat and Sagai as well for fighting near the shops and impeding trade, and not just the others. The lictors wouldn’t yield, and the Trade Inspectors collected Kadusk and his men and departed, angry at being deprived of their prey. Khat noticed Lushan hadn’t run out of his home to speak for his hirelings, and wondered what the broker was making of all this. Everyone else in the court seemed to be peering out of their windows, pointing and staring.

The other lictors were moving in around them now, and the sub-captain motioned for Khat and Sagai to stand. Khat needed Sagai’s help to get to his feet, but once there the swaying world seemed to stabilize, at least for a time. An inquiry as to where they were going might earn a blow to the head with a rifle butt, so Khat didn’t ask. There were only two possibilities, anyway. And when they passed the street that led to the High Trade Authority and the prison under it without pausing, that left only the First Tier.

* * *

When they reached the palace Khat was a little relieved to see the lictors were taking them upstairs instead of down. But they went further up than he had been before, until he wondered if they meant to take them all the way to the top, and just what was up there, anyway.

Eventually they reached the seventh level and were taken to a large chamber on the outer wall, with floor-to-ceiling windows, some screened by stone lattices but others with only a low parapet.

The subcaptain stationed a few of his men to guard them and departed, perhaps to report to whoever had wanted them arrested. Khat exchanged a baffled look with Sagai. At least they weren’t tied or chained up in some little cell underground.

The unimpeded sunlight heated the room, reflecting off the marble surfaces, but the breeze was stiff, and their captors didn’t seem to mind if they moved around. Khat went to the windows first; the view was incredible. The First Tier was laid out like a map below, and they could see the edges of the other tiers, all the way down to the Eighth, where the people and handcarts moved antlike in the streets.

“That is a long way down,” Sagai murmured thoughtfully.

Khat leaned out for a better look, and Sagai grabbed the back of his robe. The climb, Khat supposed, was theoretically possible. Each level of the palace stood out farther than the one above it, like a series of steps. But they were awfully tall steps to take without a rope, and they would be in full view of the tier below and anyone who happened to look out of the windows on this side of the palace. “We might do it once it’s dark,” Khat said softly, mindful of the lictors nearby. “If we’re still alive when it’s dark,” he added.