Echo City (43 page)

If the entrance has been sealed … if the Blades are guarding it … if word has spread already of the deaths at the canal and there’s a clampdown …

There was so much that could go wrong, and in Malia’s eyes any fault would be his. But it was all he had left. His drive now—his aim, his reason for being—was to meet this new Baker and ask her for answers that
her
mother had never offered. And then …

The Bakers were freaks, monstrosities, more deformed than his simple physical differences. Their deformities were on the
inside
. To kill her would be everything he had lived for.

As they walked—Nophel in the lead, Malia a threatening presence at his back, and Peer, a gentle woman, bringing up the rear—Nophel considered just how much and how quickly everything had changed. After years as an outcast orphan, he had discovered that his mother’s line was not ended as he had believed. And not only that, but—

—
there’s another of my mother’s monsters loose in the city!

He looked forward to meeting this Rufus Kyuss—a man who, if what Peer claimed was true, had spent years living out in the Bonelands.
And how could he have done that, if not for my mother’s weird magic?
The Blue Water sang in his veins, a thrumming potential kept at bay for now by its antidote. In time, perhaps, he would learn to master it himself.

Closing on the Marcellan Canton wall, he sensed Malia growing ever more nervous behind him. Her hand grabbed his shoulder at last.

“Where are you taking us?” she asked, moving close. He was not used to such proximity; most people shied away from him. He smelled her breath, stale and spicy.

“Trust me,” he said. “It’s around the next corner. You’ll both know it, though you might have forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?” Peer asked.

“Just another part of the city passed into Echo,” he said.

The streets were busy here. A market was set up in the center of the wide road, with food stalls hawking their produce to those trying to make their way home before the sun set. The smells that vied for supremacy were mouthwatering, and Nophel realized that he had not eaten since leaving Dane Marcellan early that morning. But though his stomach
rumbled, now was not the time. He walked past the food vendors and breathed in their promise.

The building on the street corner was a tavern, its drinkers spilling out onto the sidewalks, where they sat at rickety tables talking loudly about fighting and fucking. Occasionally there were whispers of
Dragarians
. Two women were arguing, four men watched, and a tall fat man seemed to be asleep in the middle of it all. He wore the Scarlet Blades uniform, but he’d removed his sword and laid it across the table before him. Drunk though he was, scruffy, pathetic, and apparently sleeping, still no one dared approach. The Blades were truly respected, and Nophel felt a frisson of fear over what he had done.

They’ll hunt me
, he thought.
They’ll find out who lived in the barge, and they’re probably already hunting all of us
. But as they passed the tavern and he saw the entrance to the alley farther along the street, he realized the truth: The Scarlet Blades were the least of their worries.

He turned down the alley and walked quickly into the shadows between two buildings, one a three-story rooming house, the other a shop selling jewelry and trinkets. Malia and Peer followed without question, and that was good. They had to act quickly.

“Follow me,” Nophel said. “We can’t be seen, and these entrances are checked by special troops within the Scarlet Blades.”

“What entrances?” Peer asked.

“Follow.” Farther along the alley, Nophel kicked aside burst trash bags, spilling rotten food and thousands of broken and crushed trinket beads. They skittered across the alley floor, some dropping into drains, others gathering in cracks in the paving. Beneath the bags was a metal cover, and Nophel curled his fingers into the recessed handles. He pulled hard, straining, then the cover broke free from its surroundings with a wet sucking sound.

“Down,” he said.

“The Echoes?” Malia asked. “You’re taking us north through the Marcellan Echoes?”

“Nowhere near as deep,” Nophel said, and he almost smiled. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Malia and Peer swapped glances, and he saw an acceptance there, though unwilling on Malia’s part.
I have them
, he thought. The sense of power was not altogether unpleasant.

“What’s down there?” Peer asked.

“Bellowers,” Nophel said. “Quickly now. I’ll explain on the way.” He glanced back at the alleyway’s entrance, expecting at any moment to see the scarlet blur of soldiers rushing them. His heart thumped, and he followed Peer into the hole.

Nophel heaved the cover back over them and shut out the last of the light. It was as black as the Chasm. They waited for a minute, breathing heavily in the darkness, until Malia spoke.

“So I suppose you can see in the dark as well?”

“No. I can only turn invisible. Behind you to the left, there should be oil torches on a wooden shelf.” He heard Malia rustling and then the sound of metal against stone. Moments later a flint sparked several times and a torch came alight, its diffused glow filling the small corridor. Malia passed torches to Peer and Nophel, then stared him in the eye.

“This way,” he said.
She’s staring at me. What does she see?
But he knew what she saw: a deformed man with pustulating growths on his face and one good eye, who had worked for the Marcellans most of his life. She saw someone whose arrival had led to the death of her friends Devin and Brunley, the destruction of her home, and her being on the run from the Scarlet Blades.
The only thing she can’t see is who I really am
.

He had not been down here for more than a decade, yet the corridor still felt familiar to him. It was dark and hidden, damp and musty, and it smelled of older times; most of the places he had spent his life were like that. It curved left and down, and though they passed several doors standing ajar, he knew to continue onward. These doors led to empty rooms, where once people were supposed to wait while the Bellowers were primed.
I hope they’re still alive
, he thought.
After all this, if we find them dead and the pods smashed, the women will not be pleased
. Displeasing Malia was not something he wished to do.

The corridor ended at a wide metal door. Nophel worked the handle, pleased to feel it move. It squealed open.

“There’s a lamp system,” he said. “I’ll try to fire it up.” That also worked. With a series of soft pops, seventeen lamps fixed to the walls of the large chamber came alight one after another, each giving off thick black smoke for the first few beats as the flames scorched away dried oil. That worried Nophel, because it meant that no one had been down here for a while. But as long as the fluid tubes and distribution systems had maintained their integrity, he hoped that the Bellowers would still be alive.

“I’m not feeling happy about this,” Peer said. “What is this place?”

“Yeah,” Malia said, “enough of the fucking mystery.”

“It was built while my mother was still alive,” Nophel said. He headed across to a wide channel in the floor in which a large tubelike apparatus sat. “You’re aware of the Scopes?”

“Of course,” Peer said softly.

“They weren’t the only commissions the Marcellans gave the Baker. There are other things in this city even now, and many more that have died out. I know most of them. I’ve visited some. They … interest me. And these are called the Bellowers.” He pointed at the wall behind them, glad that the heavy curtains were still in place. “I’ll show you one.”

Malia and Peer stood behind Nophel as he drew the curtains open. He sensed their fascination and their fear; he still felt both those things himself. It would be unnatural not to in the presence of such a creature.

As the curtains slid aside, the Bellower awoke.

   Peer gasped and stepped back into Malia, desperate to run but not wishing to turn her back. The Watcher woman grasped her arms and held her tight.

“Wait,” she whispered into Peer’s ear. “Let’s give the ugly man a chance.”

It was huge. Perhaps it had once been human, but all facets of humanity had been chopped away by the Baker.
The Baker’s mother
, Peer thought,
not the Baker I’ve met
. But she was becoming confused over such matters, wondering whether there had ever been any real distinction between the two.

“It looks like it’s been dormant for some time,” Nophel said.

The thing’s face was huge, the height of three people and just as wide. Shadows around its bristly head indicated a deep hollow behind it.
And how large is the body on a thing like this?
Peer thought.
Do I really want to know? Could I even comprehend?
It had two small eyes—perhaps the size of her fist—which remained closed, though she could see their leathery lids moving as its eyeballs rolled in dreamy sleep. Its skin was wrinkled and hard like old dried mud, and small creatures dashed across it, trying to escape the light in crevices or up the several large nostrils that dripped slick fluid to the floor. Its mouth was a wide closed seam, almost as wide as the head. Peer dreaded to know what was inside.

“It’s monstrous,” Malia said. “Just …”

“It’s genius,” Nophel said. “I hated her, but she was a genius.”

“Hated?” Peer asked. He looked back at her, his face dark, the single eye glittering with what might have been anger, or tears, or both.

“I told you,” he said, “she abandoned me.”

Malia stepped forward past Nophel, her hand stretched out.

“Malia!” Peer said, but Nophel shook his head.

“It’s harmless,” he said. “And it’ll get us close to Dragar’s Canton quicker than any other way. I need to prime it.” He pointed to several thick pipes protruding from the wall on either side of the Bellower’s den. “While I work, ask your questions.”

“What is it, and what does it do?” Malia said. “That’ll do for a start.” Peer could hear the awe in the Watcher woman’s voice, and she was glad. Malia projected the image of a hard, bitter woman, but it was good to know she still could wonder.

“I don’t know the source of the Bellowers, other than who made them.”

“More than one?” Peer asked.

“Eight, all around the base of the Marcellan Canton wall. It’s a circuit. A transport system, designed for use by everyone, mothballed by the Marcellans after the Baker’s death.”

“They didn’t trust her anymore,” Peer said.

Nophel snorted. “Partly that. They knew she was allied to the Watchers, and—”

“We know all about that,” Malia said quietly. “No politics here. Just this.” She was touching the Bellower’s face, laying her hand on softly, lifting it away, moving to another place to touch again.

“They live much slower lives than we do,” Nophel said. He was connecting tubes to metal nozzles sunk into the ground, twisting connectors that squealed as they turned. “This one might have been asleep for many moons. I can tell you what they do, but that doesn’t mean I understand it. I’m not sure anyone does, now that she’s dead.”

“Nadielle will know,” Peer said, and Nophel glanced at her sharply. “The new Baker.”

“Perhaps,” he said, connecting another tube. “This is all done through fluids. The Bellower takes it in and expels it in a controlled motion. It’s called hydraulics.” He nodded back at the center of the large chamber. “We go in that pod, the pod goes in front of its mouth, and once the fluid is flowing, it pushes us along the route.”

“All around the Marcellan wall,” Malia said.

“From one Bellower to the next. At each junction we move to a new pod, into the mouth of a new Bellower.”

“Amazing,” Peer said.

“It’s horrible.” Malia stepped back from the face, wiping her hand against her trousers. “It’s monstrous, making something like this. Where’s its purpose? What are its thoughts?”

“I’m not certain it has any,” Nophel said, pausing for a moment. “The Scopes seem content to do what they’re made to do.”

“But they were people before, and now …”

“I never said what she did was right,” Nophel said. “Only that she was a genius. This new Baker does things differently?”

“Yes,” Peer said, but Malia only frowned, and Peer knew what she was thinking about. The Pserans, those flying things down there, others—all given purpose and form by Nadielle but denied the one thing that any living thing must naturally desire: freedom.

“It’s connected,” Nophel said. “And it’s awake.” He backed away, and Peer saw the Bellower open its eyes.

They were as black as soot, glittering with moisture. They
rolled left and right, but such was their uniform darkness that she could not tell exactly where they looked.

“It sees?” she asked.

“I’ve never really known.” Nophel walked along the wall a little, until he reached a series of large metal wheels. As he turned the first, the sound of rushing fluid filled the chamber, and the first of the thick tubes sprang upright as it was filled. The Bellower shivered and rolled its eyes again, and its whole body shifted in its massive hole. The ground shook.

It’s enjoying this
, Peer thought. But as Nophel turned the other wheels and the rest of the tubes started to pump fluid, she could not decide whether the creature was shivering in pleasure or pain. Its inhuman eyes gave away nothing.

Nophel moved to the pod and began to pull at a tall lever set in the floor beside it. Metal gears cranked, chains strained and buzzed with tension, and the pod shifted backward toward the creature.

It opened its mouth. The stench was horrendous, a stink so rich it was almost visible, and Peer pressed a hand over her mouth and nose.

“Smells like some of the taverns I’ve been in,” Malia muttered.

Peer laughed. She couldn’t help it, and it felt good. It came from deep in her gut, bending her over double, and it drove away circling memories of the dead Scarlet Blades, Gorham’s betrayal, the Baker and her monstrous creations. It
sounded
good as well, filling the chamber with something other than awed whispers. As she looked up at the Bellower, its eyes seemed to roll toward her, and its mouth opened that little bit wider.