Strange Attractors (7 page)

‘They could have been out gathering herbs or…’ Grayson rubbed the back of his neck.

‘My scout waited three days.’

‘That would be a long excursion. What’s your guess?’

‘I think Rosette and Teg took off to find An’ Lawrence.’

Grayson nodded. ‘There’s your answer then, and it makes sense. I never worked out why she didn’t go in the first place. I can’t imagine her stepping aside like that, with the Sword Master missing.’

Hotha shook his head. ‘She knows she’s in no condition to travel the corridors, otherwise she would have gone with Kali, certainly.’

Grayson was about to question him further when Fynn jumped up, barking. There was a knock on the door. A message runner stuck her head in.

‘Maluka,’ Hotha and Grayson said as one. Fynn wagged his tail.

‘What’s got you all so jumpy?’ she asked. ‘I’ve only come to announce lunch.’ She spoke smoothly but her face was red, beaming. ‘We’re serving on the veranda.’

‘I won’t be long.’ Grayson thanked her and turned back to Hotha. ‘What were you saying?’

‘I was hoping Rosette had let you in on her plans,’ Hotha said, standing up, and touching the tops of the ink bottles as if they were delicate flowers.

Grayson walked him to the door. ‘We didn’t talk much about…her plans.’

Hotha looked surprised. ‘I’ll let you know if I hear anything.’

They shook hands and Hotha turned to go. Grayson felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. ‘Wait.’ He pulled him back. ‘What did you mean when you said she was in no condition to travel the corridors? Is she not recovered completely from cryo?’

‘Oh, she’s well recovered.’ Hotha stood in the doorway, his head tilting. ‘You don’t know about the restriction on corridor travel?’

‘If I did I wouldn’t be asking.’

Hotha grinned. ‘The pregnancy, of course. It’s a bit of a wild card, hopping about in the corridors while gestating. Didn’t she mention?’

Grayson willed his knees not to fold. He shook his head.

‘I’m surprised.’

‘It’s dangerous for her?’ He didn’t know how he was still standing.

‘Apparently it can be. She’s travelled the corridors so much this year, there’s no knowing when she conceived, or when the little girl’s due.’

‘The little girl,’ Grayson whispered.

‘We can’t have her going into labour in some other world or some other time.’

Grayson forced himself to nod. ‘Of course not.’

‘We’re all very excited about this. Aren’t you?’

‘Thrilled, of course.’

‘The line goes on.’

Grayson smiled. ‘So it does. Such a relief.’

Hotha thanked him again for his time and left. Fynn stayed behind, looking up at Grayson.

‘What?’ Grayson stared back. ‘I suppose you knew too? And Annadusa? Am I the last to hear the news?’

Fynn’s tail thumped on the floor, his brow twitching. Grayson returned to his workbench and took a swig from his waterskin before sinking into his chair.

‘Rosette,’ he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Shaea skirted the tall cliffs until she came to the old stairs. Who had built them, she had no idea. They were in ruins, wasting away, the corners rounded and whole sections broken apart. The ground was eroded
where water and sewage had run in torrents, making the steps stand out like teeth—an old jawbone of some giant herd beast, jutting out of the cliff. They were hard to climb, harder still to get down, but it was better than coming into the city by the main gate, especially with what she had in her pockets. Pilfering the dead was a hanging offence.

Halfway up the climb, she was on her hands and knees clinging to rocks buried beneath silt baked to a fine powder. The stairs had disappeared in this section and she was clawing her way up. Sweat trickled down her face as she scrambled. It was hard to find a grip and the bottom was far below, a deep ravine. If she went over the edge her body would break like a fine porcelain teacup, chips flying off in different directions. When she reached the top of the next step, she turned around and sat, brushing the black powder from her hands and knees. She stroked the polished surface of the step as if it were a workhorse.

It felt smooth under her calloused fingers, cool to the touch and soft like a baby’s hair. Xane had said the stairs were solid granite, hewed by master sculptors, the same ones who had made the statues at the city’s gate. She’d told him he was full of dung, that it couldn’t be true. Those statues had come as gifts from Dumarka when Corsanon first hosted the Fire Festival and that was back not more than five generations. Besides, the statues weren’t worn, not like these steps. The stairway beneath her had come from a much earlier time, from an earlier people. He’d laughed and said she was dreaming. Maybe he was right.

She grabbed her shins, tucking them into herself. The view from this height was extraordinary, a rare sight for eyes that usually rested on garbage pails,
pigswill and street filth. Even though her life had improved since Xane was taken on by the Stable Master, the furthest distance she usually gazed was down the next alley, or across a row of rooftops in the moonlight when she and Rall performed the lunar rituals. She pushed a long tangle back from her face and scratched her ear. Xane had made her life more bearable, though his absence erased that now. He was gone forever: no extra food and no coins. No Xane. How would she live?

She rubbed her eyes with balled fists. Would Rall come? Could the old witch make it down these stairs, even if she agreed to meet with the Entity? Rall had to be a great-great-grandmother by now. Her gait was unsteady and her fingers like gnarled twigs. They shook whether she used them or not; the tattoos on her hands were faded, indistinguishable from the dark veins and discoloration. She walked with a cane—when she could get around at all—and there seemed to be little strength in her limbs. Her back was hunched, her face sagging. After a lifetime of poverty there wasn’t much left of her. Only her mind remained open, sharp and expansive, like this view. ‘How in demon’s death will I get you to the portal?’

As Shaea resumed her climb, slipping several feet before finding a grip again, she realised the front gates would be the only way, preferably in a cart. She stood up for the next flight of stairs, keeping her centre of gravity low. On her left the water had cut a huge gorge. It still flowed, only a trickle at this time of year, all the way to the depths far below. Clods of dirt and rock broke loose when she passed. They tumbled over the edge but it was too far down to hear the splash when they hit bottom. She kept her eyes up, thinking only of her destination and her dilemma.

With the valuables she had in her pockets, she could hire a cart but questions would be asked. A street girl like herself, and a toothless old witch, would not have the money to travel. They’d be interrogated. Taken in. She couldn’t let that happen.

Maybe Rall would have an idea, or a vision. With food in her belly and a hot bath, Rall might have the energy for a glamour. She said she could still conjure one. Shaea thought it might be time to put that claim to the test.

The thought of washing with hot water made her smile. She’d always been filthy; it was her way of life. At first, there was no one to care for her enough to keep her clean, and later, when she could have done it herself, she chose not to. She stank like a latrine, her hair was infested and her body covered in scratches and scrapes. Her front tooth was chipped, her lips cracked, but her eyes were vivid, magnificent. She knew they were, because Rall said so. She didn’t lie about such things.

But Shaea and Xane had agreed to hide their looks. They’d concealed their lovely faces, their bright eyes and their lithe bodies under the armour of filth. Any appeal remained occult, and they found ways to live without using it. When Shaea looked at the girls and boys who sold their bodies on the streets—the ones who had food most days and a bed of sorts to sleep in, the ones who had water to wash with and kept their faces clean, hair untangled—she wondered if it had been the best choice. When she saw them in the morning after a bad night’s work, she knew it was.

Her grime was her best friend and it had been Xane’s too, until he got the apprenticeship. After that it shocked her to see him, fresh, neat, smelling of pine chips and newly cut hay. His hands were still calloused
but they were usually clean, even the fingernails. He’d filled out too, no longer looking like a rake with rags hanging off it. She knew he tried to hide his repugnance of her condition, and his guilt, now that he lived a different life, but it showed through all that cleanliness like a beacon.
It should have been me, shot in the neck. I should have died, not you, Xane. You had the potential.

Should?

Rall said there was no
should.
Funny, coming from such a haggard witch. She sighed, her pace slowing. Her repulsive appearance was her only companion in the world now that Xane was gone. What would replace it when she cleaned up?

By the time she reached the top of the steps, she was slick with sweat and black silt, the stink rising from her skin like the vapours off a tallow pot. She headed for the main drain, a mosaic tunnel that bore straight through the mountainside and into the city. It was dark, the tiles slimy, with only a distant glimmer of daylight at the other end to guide her. Sometimes it would be blocked with mesh to keep out the rats, but not today.
Thank the goddess.

She waded through the brown water towards the heart of Corsanon. It was waist high at one point but she was lucky. It didn’t get any higher, though the water was cold, the surface oily. Goosebumps rose on her arms and the weight of her treasures slowed her down as she trudged. Her skin was blue and her limbs shivering by the time she climbed out. She slunk away, keeping to the shadows, heading for her familiar alley.

Finding Rall was easy. The woman never ventured far from her spot on the corner—her begging place, she called it. It was near the bakery and served a dual purpose. Stale bread was tossed into the bins at
random times and Rall was always close to hand. She had to be. Her lameness made it difficult for her to compete for the crusts—often they were gone before she could stand. But she was a witch and that kept others from knocking her back. It also paid to beg near the exit. People with warm bread in their baskets and small coins in their hands were more likely to toss a halfpenny her way.

Shaea spotted Rall sitting on the footpath, her back against the brick building. She was chewing on a small bit of mouldy bread and seemed not to notice her approach. Shaea sat beside her, wet and shivering.

‘Get any yams?’ Rall said, tearing off a chunk of bread and handing it to her.

‘I’ve got more than that.’ Shaea jingled her pockets and the old witch’s eyes widened.

‘You’ve been pilfering?’

‘I have.’

‘Where?’

‘The fields below the quarry. There’s been a battle.’

Rall closed her eyes. ‘There’s news that goes both ways, good and bad. I felt it when I woke. What’s happened, girl?’

‘Xane’s dead.’

Neither spoke for some time.

‘As are others, by the sound of your pockets,’ Rall said. ‘Did you bury him?’

‘I did.’

‘My shovel?’

‘I can get you another.’ Shaea’s body shook and Rall put her arm around her shoulder. The traffic on the street increased, but most people passed by as if the two of them were invisible.

‘It’s not as I thought, but fate just the same,’ Rall said. ‘What else? You’re bursting with something.’

Shaea dropped her voice to a rough whisper. ‘I’ve found the portal.’

Rall hissed. ‘Are you sure, lass?’

‘I am, and I’ve got enough trinkets to get us out the front gates.’

Rall stiffened. ‘We can’t go like this.’

‘I’ve got enough gold to fix that, too. Come on.’ She stood, hauling Rall to her feet and propping her cane in her hand. ‘We’re getting a room, a bath and a meal, and then we’re getting out.’

When Rall looked back at her, there was a shine in her eyes that Shaea had never seen before. She shivered again, but this time not from the cold.

An’ Lawrence watched Rosette and Drayco disappear into the portal. He exhaled. It felt like he’d been holding his breath since she’d arrived. How he could care so much about someone who gave him constant discomfort, he didn’t know. Kali called it parenthood, but he shook his head at that. They’d both missed out on raising their daughter. He didn’t feel any more parental towards her than he did towards his other apprentices. He thought it was their chemistry, a strange brew. They were oil and water, trickster and fool, and he never knew which one of them was which. It changed all the time. Now that he had her safe in the corridors, he could concentrate on this rabble, and he could get the Lupin away from her. What was Kali thinking, mentoring them together? He wouldn’t have it.

‘Not you!’ he yelled to the Lupin who scrambled up the cliff face behind Rosette. ‘I need you here.’

Teg skidded to a halt and doubled back.

An’ Lawrence frowned. He had to admit he was impressed at the Lupin’s response—no discussion,
query, rebellion or flack. Nothing like Rosette. It almost made him feel guilty about keeping him behind. Almost. He knew there was a thin chance of getting them both out unscathed at this point. He had superior magic and sword skills but the odds were against them, at least one hundred to one.

Two
, Teg said, his mental voice undaunted.

Three
, Scylla added.

An’ Lawrence nodded. ‘Three to a hundred it is.’

The plan, Sword Master?

‘We’re going to blast these Corsanon warriors back to their city. Teg, get the stallion into the portal and guard the entrance. No one gets through. You got that?’

No one gets through.

An’ Lawrence knew it was a lot to ask. Teg would be an easy target for the archers in human form, the shape he’d have to take to manage the horse. If he was hit, his chances for survival were low. In wolf form, Lupins were near impervious. He ought to know: he’d battled the demons.