City of Light & Shadow (30 page)

  The Prime Master wilted into his chair as the door closed behind the last of them, glad to be left to his own devices. It meant that he could relax and not bother with the charade that there was nothing wrong with his health. Jeanette knew, or at least suspected. They skirted around the subject, not mentioning it by mutual consent. Thankfully, there was plenty to occupy the minds of his fellow councillors, and he benefited from the myth of his own durability – people assumed that he would go on forever and were blind to any indication that he might not.

  With a sigh, he stood up and shuffled from the makeshift meeting room into his home proper. The pain was becoming increasingly hard to manage, and he'd all but lost the use of his left hand, while the right was growing progressively arthritic. He dropped into his favourite chair – the comfortable leather one behind his desk – and pulled his left glove off, to stare at the hard, scaly skin beneath. Soon, perhaps within a few hours, any semblance of a living, breathing epidermis would flake away to leave the hard white bone of his self-grown tomb. The speed with which bone flu progressed varied from victim to victim, but the Prime Master felt increasingly certain that he wouldn't last the night, which meant he couldn't afford to fall asleep. At least, not in any natural sense.

  Slowly and very precisely, having only his right hand to call upon, he removed the stopper from the decanter on his desk and poured himself a glass of red wine. Next he took out a small bottle of clear liquid from a drawer, placing it beside the glass. He stared at the two vessels for a second, appreciating the asymmetry of their size and shape which still somehow managed to complement each other. With a snort, he decided,
not yet.

  He would savour one final glass of good untainted wine before he attempted the fatal dose. This was simply delaying the inevitable, perhaps, but he was only human and he kept hoping that Tom would yet win through and save the day. It was a slim hope, he knew that, but it was what he'd been reduced to. His talent was failing him. Abilities he'd taken for granted since he was a young child were gone.

  Long sight was now beyond him, and when he'd lost contact with the last of the Blade sent to guard the boy his frustration was complete, his confidence shattered; but he hadn't despaired. As time passed, though, and nothing changed, his lingering hopes grew increasingly forlorn. The point was fast approaching where it would be too late for him in any case, even if Tom did succeed in cleansing and replenishing the core. At least if he went now he could do so believing there was still a chance that his beloved city might be saved.

  He was frustrated by the clumsiness of his stiff fingers – his own body betraying him – but persevered with the attempt to pick up the glass, until he was able to take a sip, savouring the deep full flavour and the liquorice overtones. If this was truly to be his final drink, he could have chosen a lot worse.

  The small bottle on the desktop monopolised his gaze. He set the glass down beside it once more and started to compose himself in preparation. Despite the city's predicament, at a personal level there was much for him to feel content about. He had done a great deal in his life and seen so many things. More than most men, certainly. And here and there he'd been able to make a difference; a positive one, he liked to think. That thought provided a crumb of comfort to carry with him into the darkness. His greatest regret was that he hadn't found the right words to say goodbye to the one person he most wanted to. He hoped she'd understand, and that she could forgive him. For leaving her again.

 
 

 
 
 

They passed through an area where the walls and ceiling were blackened by the fierce passage of now-dead fires and the flooring became bubbled and uneven underfoot, as if it had melted and flowed in the raging heat before resetting in newly irregular patterns upon cooling. The walls remained sound, however, and while a number of the ceiling lights were dead, enough still functioned for them to see where they were going; until, that is, they came to the section where the lighting had failed entirely.

  The three of them stood side by side, staring uneasily into the gathering gloom ahead.

  "If ever there was ever a place that offered the perfect site for an ambush, this is it," Kat observed.

  No one chose to argue.

  "I take it there's no way around, we have to go through this section?" she added.

  Tom nodded. "Afraid so." They hadn't passed any intersecting corridors in a while and the pressure of the core's proximity wouldn't be denied. It had become a growing ache in his head, driving him on.

  "Okay then, I'll go first." Somewhere along the line Kat seemed to have taken charge, but then she'd been doing much the same for pretty much all her life and if her leadership was good enough for the Tattooed Men it was certainly good enough for him.

  "Jayce, you take the rear, with Tom in between us." She drew one of her swords. "We'll stick close to the left side of the corridor, weapons in our right hands, fingers of the left brushing the wall all the while. That way we can be certain one of us won't go stumbling off in the dark and get separated. Listen out for the person in front or behind you, make sure you can always hear them. If at any point you can't, say something, and don't be afraid to answer."

  They proceeded as Kat had described, Tom clutching his knife ferociously, having accepted he was never going to be a swordsman during the trek along the Thair. All the while he worried that he might trip on something in the dark, fall forward and stab Kat. Of even greater concern was the thought that behind him Jayce might do exactly the same and stab
him.

  They were tense moments, those spent in total darkness. Tom didn't need Kat's encouragement to listen out for the others. He strained at every step to hear his two companions, to draw comfort from any confirmation of their presence, and he suspected both of them were doing the same. Thankfully, the period was brief. A single light flickered erratically in the ceiling ahead, dispensing irregular pulses of illumination in a stop-start manner that strobed their world with twilight, allowing Tom to glimpse Kat's movements in broken jerks. As they drew nearer, the light grew starker, her presence sharper. She glanced back and grinned reassurance, though none of them spoke. Then they had passed beneath this isolated beacon of light and were walking forward again into greyness and shadow, until the dark swallowed them once more.

  That flickering beacon proved to be a harbinger, however, and their return to total darkness was a brief one. More lights appeared ahead, this time neither isolated nor flickering. First a pair with little space between them, then a continuous line, restored once more as normal service resumed. They abandoned the wall and were able to walk confidently again. Tom saw clearly where the last lick of sooty blackness stained the wall and then stopped. All three of them had made it, they'd come through the pitch black corridors without attack from Rust Warrior, Demon or even rebel kids, though Tom had no idea how they would have coped if any such had materialised. He saw his own relief mirrored in the eyes and smiles of both his companions. Kat even chuckled.

  Her good humour didn't last long. Their nervousness at walking blindly might have passed but the tension of their situation mounted at every turn. Kat's sword had been returned to its scabbard but her hand never seemed to be far from its hilt.

  "Where
are
they?" she muttered.

  Tom knew how she felt. The lack of recent opposition was growing almost sinister. Perhaps there were no more runaway kids, perhaps they'd passed through the main strength of the Rust Warriors, but where were the Demons? The very future of their race depended on Tom's failure, so why weren't the denizens of the Upper Heights – the core's avatars as the Prime Master had called them – flinging themselves against him in feather-winged droves?

  It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea how many Demons there actually were. More than the few they'd seen to date, surely, but if the primary functions of this elusive race were to defend the city's roof – which hadn't come under attack in centuries, if ever – and to provide a physical manifestation for the core, would there need to be that many? Probably not. So if the Blade had accounted for a few and he'd seen to another – with a little help from the kayjele – these could very well represent significant losses. Perhaps that explained why no more attacks had come. Perhaps the Demons were saving themselves for one final effort at a time and place of their choosing.

  "Your logic is sound," said the goddess, who now walked beside him again. "The specific number of each generation varies, but there are usually around a score and never more than three dozen. You're close to the core now and an attack
will
come, make no mistake. Stay focussed. Whatever happens, you must stay focussed." With that she vanished, as abruptly as she had appeared, to leave Tom staring at Kat.

  "What?" she asked, noting his attention.

  "Nothing."

  "No, you saw something didn't you. I'm not letting you get away with 'nothing' again. What did you see?"

  "The goddess," he said on impulse, tired of hiding the fact.

  "Sorry? As in Thaiss herself?"

  He nodded, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

  "You mean like a visitation, a religious vision or whatever?"

  "Something like that, yes."

  "Wow, that trip up the Thair really messed with your head, didn't it."

  "Trust me, you don't know the half of it," he assured her.

 

The pounding in Tom's head, the lure of the core, grew to dominate his thoughts. They were right on top of it, he could sense it. The very last he anticipated was a dead end – the first they'd encountered. They were no longer in any of the residential areas – Tom felt certain they'd left those behind a while ago. The corridors had become bleaker, blander and more functional, as had the doorways, which were far fewer and, where present, were simple utilitarian oblongs, lacking any hint of adornment or personalisation. Even so, it came as something of a shock when the corridor simply ended in a blank wall.

  "The core's ahead of us, just the other side of this wall," Tom muttered, unable to keep still. "I know it is."

  Jayce had stepped forward and was feeling the surface of the wall, standing on tiptoes and reaching up to run his fingers along the ceiling join, as if hoping to find a gap that might indicate the presence of a door. It was obvious his search had been in vain even before he stepped back, pursed his lips and shook his head.

  Kat had been staring at the wall intently, as if it might offer some clue under close scrutiny. Clearly it hadn't as she sighed and said, "We'll have to go back, then."

  Tom shook his head. "It would take too long. We're here. Now."

  "With just a solid brick wall to get through," Kat pointed out.

  "Perhaps I can visualise the core enough to take us there," Tom said, almost to himself. He'd caught a vague glimpse from the Prime Master's mind but wouldn't really want to rely on that.

  "Then why have we just traipsed halfway across the brecking city?" Kat exploded.

  "Because I
can't
really visualise it." He was pacing in circles, the need to get past this wall gnawing at him.

  "What happens if you try to visualise it but can't?"

  "I've no idea," he admitted.

  Kat shook her head. "It's a no go then. We can't take the risk."

  Tom knew she was right. He didn't much fancy the idea of trying only to end up stuck in some limbo because he couldn't see the destination clearly enough, or worse still risk materialising halfway through a brick wall or whatever… but there had to be a way, he simply wasn't seeing it.

  Jayce thumped the wall with the flat of his hand. "It's solid," he said. "This is going to take some knocking down if it comes to that."

  "There must be
something
…" Tom stepped forward to run his hands across the barrier that was keeping him from his goal, almost as if he doubted Jayce's findings, though in truth he did so merely for want of anything better to do and to stop himself from pacing.

  The moment his fingers touched the surface he felt a surge of energy, which seemed to run rapidly through his arm and ripple outward to encompass his entire body. Right then, he didn't need the goddess's guidance or the homing instinct the Prime Master had stimulated, he could
feel
the core burning in his mind. It was as if a switch had been flicked somewhere inside him. He, the core, and the wall, they were all connected by a stream of energy, which flowed constantly between them. They were a circuit, which had sat dormant and waiting, broken until his hand touched the wall and closed the loop, enabling the energy to flow.

  "Tom!"

  He barely heard Kat's exclamation and certainly didn't need it to tell him what was happening. He could feel the wall accept him, welcome him even. It was as if this inanimate barrier chose to step aside and usher him within. The wall melted from sight. He felt it fade beneath his fingertips, disappearing as it simply took itself elsewhere. As easily as that they were granted access to the core.

  Tom hadn't known what to expect. The Prime Master had described the core's portal as a "platform", which meant nothing to him. In the event, it proved to be exactly as the name suggested: a large, flat section of disconnected flooring that stood proud of the main floor and seemed to hover in the air unsupported. Quite why it did so, other than as a statement of its import, was beyond Tom.

  He barely noticed the platform however; it was the far wall, from which the dais projected, that demanded his attention.