City of Hope and Despair (7 page)

  "Sorry," the girl said, though her mischievous grin suggested she was anything but. "I didn't mean to startle you."

  "That's all right, I was just…" he gestured wordlessly at the heavens and shook his head.

  "I know what you mean," the Thaistess said wistfully. "A wonderful sight; it's been years since I've seen the stars."

  Tom never had, not even on the night he'd climbed the city's walls, when these flecks of light must have been obscured by clouds. Either that or he'd been too busy, too frightened and too excited to notice them.

  "On a night like this, with a clear sky and without the ambient light from the city to mask them, they're quite, quite magical, aren't they?"

  Perhaps that was it; perhaps there'd been too much light all around for him to notice these pinpricks of silver brilliance above him when he'd gone up the walls.

  For long moments the pair of them stood there, simply gazing upward, though Tom was aware of Mildra's presence at his shoulder, a distinctly feminine presence, for all that she was a Thaistess.

  "Well," she said after a while, "first day's ended. How are you coping?"

  "Not bad. Being on the barge helps. Something I've always wanted to do."

  "Good." Then, after a further pause, the girl said softly, "You miss Kat, don't you?"

  Not for the first time, Tom wondered whether Thaistesses could read minds. "A little," he admitted.

  "I saw her fight once, you know."

  Tom grinned, the words brought back memories of his own. "Yeah, she's really something isn't she?"

  "I mean," the Thaistess continued, a little hesitantly, "I saw her fight
in the Pits
."

  "What? Tom was shocked. The Pits were anathema, a dark, shameful episode in the recent history of the City Below which most tried to forget. Even the street-nicks tended to avoid mention of the place. He'd never before heard anyone admit to actually having gone there.

  "I wasn't always a Thaistess, Tom," Mildra went on, clearly uncomfortable at his reaction but also a little amused. "Before thoughts of joining the priesthood ever entered my head I was… well, it doesn't really matter, but I used to know this boy – young man I suppose – though most of the time he acted more like a kid than you do. Anyway, he used to enjoy going to the Pits, so I went with him. He loved it, watching the fights and all the blood. He'd gamble on the outcome of bouts, on who was going to survive and who would die first, and he'd flash his money around. Liked to think he was the big man but it was nothing more than brash bluster and posturing. That's what got him killed in the end – acting tough in front of the wrong people." She drew a deep breath. "So, yes, I went to the Pits more than once."

  Tom was fascinated despite himself. "What was that like?"

  "In general, do you mean? Or seeing Kat?"

  "Both, but tell me about Kat first."

  "Well…" The Thaistess drew a deep breath. "It was incredible;
she
was incredible. I've never seen anyone move so fast. She was only a child, a wiry slip of a thing, dressed in black much as she wears now – I've no idea whether that was her choice or whether they made her wear black and she's never lost the habit. Three of them came into the arena together – Kat and two men, both of whom were a lot bigger than her and a several years older, and yet she was calling the shots. They followed her without question. At first I thought this was some bizarre joke, an extra handicap imposed by the people who ran the place, but no, the men followed her because she offered the best chance of survival.

  "The three of them walked to the centre of the ring, where the two men – both bearing tattoos to show they were veterans of the Pits – flanked the girl like towering bodyguards. There came this horrible, inhuman squealing, as if a pig was being strangled, then the gates at the far side of the arena lifted and an enormous borquill came charging out, bearing straight down on the three in the middle."

  As she mentioned the borquill, Mildra glanced towards Tom inquiringly. He shook his head, never having heard of the beast.

  "The borquill looks a bit like a wild boar but it's bigger," the Thaistess explained. "Plus there's a ruff of stiff, hollow hairs protecting its most vulnerable parts – the neck and throat. These quills can be raised when the animal's threatened and the reason they're hollow is to allow the borquill to pump venom through them, which it stores in two throat sacs. The venom isn't strong enough to actually kill a man, but it doesn't have to be. If you get pricked by one of those quills, you'll become drowsy and disorientated within minutes, and that's as much of an advantage as any animal needs when it has tusks as sharp as the borquill's.

  "I don't know what I expected, the three in the middle to fight for themselves I suppose, or perhaps for the two men to step forward and shield the girl, but I certainly didn't expect what actually happened. It was the girl who came forward, snarling and shrieking insults at the animal, while the two men faded into the background.

  "The borquill tore straight towards Kat, covering the distance in a flash. There looked to be no way this insignificant little girl could avoid being gored and ripped apart on those vicious tusks. Then, at the last minute, she simply skipped to one side. The move was so delayed and so deftly executed that the animal had no chance to adjust but simply charged past her, squealing in frustration.

  "Kat was instantly goading again, waving her arms and yelling at the beast, which hadn't stopped running but turned in a great arc of scampering feet and churned-up dust to come charging straight back at her for a second time. Again she danced aside, delaying the move even longer, or so it seemed.

  "By now the crowd were oohing and ahhing. The two men were still in the arena, but they might as well not have been. All I or anyone else there had eyes for was that huge, angry animal and this seeming waif of a girl who defied it.

  "This went on for several minutes, with Kat nimbly dodging charge after deadly charge by the narrowest of margins. And she laughed! She was actually enjoying herself. We were cheering now, the crowd, even me. Every time the borquill shot past her a great roar went up.

  "At last the beast slowed and then came to a halt, staring at its tormentor, tail twitching from side to side while steam rose from the brute's bristly hide and its great sides pumped in and out as the it panted for breath. While Kat kept its attention, perhaps not as energetically as before, but still moving and making enough noise to distract the beast, one of the men, all but forgotten until then, darted in from behind and slashed at the back of the borquill's legs. The poor animal let out its loudest squeal yet, one of the most heart-wrenching sounds I've ever heard. It tried to spin around but the injured rear leg gave way, causing it to stumble, and Kat was there, darting in to hamstring the other back leg.

  "With the borquill crippled the contest was all but over. The three of them circled the injured beast, which was trying desperately to keep its feet and face them, before moving in to finish things off quickly; the famed quills were never even allowed to be a factor."

  Mildra paused and fidgeted slightly, as if the memories had somehow overwhelmed her ability to speak of them. Tom was enthralled and said nothing, willing her to continue. Finally, she drew a ragged breath and did so. "The sounds coming out of the animal in those last few minutes were awful. I've never heard anything so plaintive, so pathetic. Even now, thinking of them chills me through and through."

  Tom gave an involuntary shiver, and then wondered, "Did you actually
enjoy
watching things like that?"

  Mildra smiled at him. "It's just as well the prime master has shown you a new life, Tom; you're far too sensitive to be a street-nick."

  Tom scowled.

  "I didn't mean that as an insult," the woman said quickly.

  "I know, but you're not the first person to say something like that." And what really stung was the private suspicion that the accusation might be true.

  "To answer your question, when you hear people talk about the things that went on in the Pits they sound terrible and inhuman, which they were, but at the time, when you were actually there, it was very easy to get swept along by the excitement, by the raw spectacle of unrestrained combat and people fighting for their lives. The place was usually packed, and with everyone around you caught up in this wave of anticipation, the startling thrill of people and animals fighting for their lives, the horror to think that this warrior you've quite taken to might not survive the coming bout… I suppose there was a sort of mass blood-lust, but it was incredibly real and exciting and dirty and breathtaking – an intoxicating, potent feeling that grabbed you by the heart and the throat and wouldn't let go. It was impossible not to succumb. When people gasped as their favourite was wounded or narrowly escaped death, that was a genuine reaction not some theatrical flourish. The whole thing was so intense, so…
real.

  "Intellectually I might be disgusted with myself, but the truth is that at the time, yes, some primordial part of me did enjoy the Pits, however much it shames me to admit that now."

  They sat in silence after Mildra finished speaking, Tom having no idea what to say in response. He didn't know how old the Thaistess actually was, and didn't want to think how young she must have been then. His age? A little older? Not much, certainly. He shivered, feeling suddenly chilled. He must have been so absorbed by the Thaistess's story that he hadn't noticed the steadily falling temperature.

  "Cold?" Mildra asked, reaching out to clasp his hand. Warmth flowed from her touch, making his arm tingle on its way to spreading rapidly through his body.

  "I was, a little," he admitted.

  "Once the sun goes down it can turn chilly surprisingly quickly." She stood and held a hand towards him. "Shall we go back down?"

  Tom nodded, letting her help him up. Mildra's grip was firm and he was intensely aware of how smooth her skin felt and how delicate her fingers. He let go quickly, because part of him didn't want to let go at all.

  After one more glance upward at the stars, he followed Mildra back to their quarters. He wondered afterwards whether the Thaistess had imparted more than just warmth when she clasped his hand, because this time he fell asleep almost immediately his head hit the pillowed sacking.

Dewar felt a great ambivalence towards his current situation. He had originally come to Thaiburley to lose himself within the vast multi-layered metropolis, to hide from a past which he knew would catch up with him at some point anywhere outside the city's walls. Yet here he was venturing half the length of a continent, exposed once more. All in order to be allowed to hide again. Life certainly didn't get any simpler with the passage of time; leastways his didn't.

  He felt no such ambivalence towards those who were travelling with him. One a scruffy street-nick risen above his station, the second a Kayjele – a subhuman race whose intelligence barely rose above that of pack animals – while the third was a Thaistess. As far as the assassin was concerned, Thaistesses came in just two flavours: those gullible enough to swallow wholesale a creed of ludicrous myth and ritualistic ox shit, and those cunning and manipulative enough to perpetuate the same for their own advantage.

  He had no intention of getting to know his companions at any level, all three of them were worthy of nothing other than contempt. This was a job, and not a particularly pleasant one at that. The sooner it was done with the better.

  Dewar had crewed briefly on a cargo ship not dissimilar to the barges in the past – part of an assignment undertaken long before he ever came to Thaiburley. So he stepped aboard with a sense of confidence, noting in passing where the fenders – hand-woven balls of rope – hung from the barge's side and prevented the boat from knocking against the jetty and damaging itself. And he almost smiled at the slight sway of deck beneath his feet. Was that a twinge of nostalgia he was feeling? Ridiculous, yet being here stirred memories of a life now past and a home he could never see again.

  Dewar guessed that this crew must have been pushed for time and struggled to make the rendezvous to pick up their passengers, because they hadn't even covered the cargo yet. Large wooden crates stacked one upon another rose from the sunken hold to form an apparently solid block which stretched along almost the entire length of the boat. A narrow strip of deck, wide enough for a man to walk around but little more, bordered this mass of crating to either side. And that, in essence, was the barge in its entirety.

  Famously, these vessels were flat-bottomed, to minimise their draft and maximise their capacity, but even so they sat deep in the water when fully laden like this, which meant that the river bank must fall away steeply here to allow the barge to come in so close. Just as well; Dewar would not have fancied the prospect of trying to cross in anything as small as a rowboat or lighter with Kohn sitting beside him. The giant's mass would surely have been enough to overbalance them.

  The captain, who introduced himself as Abe, was a short, solid-looking man with a face as craggy as the scenery that surrounded them. He didn't waste any time but got underway as soon as the party was aboard and Kohn had been ushered to the prow, where there was space for the giant to sit in a semblance of comfort.

  Four passengers, and four crew as well by the look of it. Abe's wife – a matronly, grey-haired woman with a perpetual scowl that looked fit to curdle milk – steered the barge from a small platform towards the boat's aft, while the two sons, neither of whom seemed long out of their teens, scurried around to secure the cargo. No hired crew here, all family.

  "Can I help at all?" Dewar offered.

  Abe stared at him. "I don't know, can you?"

  "I've worked cargo before."

  "Pitch in, then. 'Nother pair o' hands is always welcome."

  Dewar would far rather keep busy than not. He joined the three men in getting the cargo clothed up. This consisted of lifting two vast, heavy sheets, infused with tar as protection against any rain, over the mass of crates, one from either end. They fetched the aft sheet first. Dewar took one side, Abe the other, while the two lads clambered on top of the crates. Even with four this proved back-breaking work and Dewar could only wonder how they would have managed with just the three of them. Eventually, both sheets were in place, which just left the ties – strong ropes pulled tight against the cargo and cloths to keep both firmly in place – two dozen in all, ranging along the length of the hold. Again they worked as a team, with Dewar now on top of the crates, passing rope and holding it taut; Abe preferring to trust his son to tie the actual knots rather than a stranger.