Tetrarch (Well of Echoes) (78 page)

‘But …’ Flydd stared at the motionless seeker, ‘that’s not possible.’

‘I know, but she got me out of my cell without breaking Ghorr’s spell.’

‘
Or
setting off the alarm,’ said Flydd, bemused. ‘And now this. How was it possible?’

Had Irisis not been so exhausted, she would have laughed at his expression. ‘You’ll have to ask her yourself, but don’t expect to make anything of it. She did it under duress. I forced her, to save her brother.’

‘Ah, her brother.’

‘You know about Myllii?’

‘Of course. As soon as Ullii’s talent became apparent, the scrutators went looking for him.’

‘And did they find him?’

‘I don’t know. I was out of favour by then. But if they haven’t, they’ll spare no effort
after
this.’

‘And to get Ullii back too.’

‘Indeed. They’ll put our little seeker to very good use if they get their hands on her.’

The flight took six days. They curved west then south around the edge of the Great Mountains, since the air-floater could not rise high enough to pass above them. They floated over the plains and braided outwash streams flowing from a hundred glaciers; then, leaving the mountains behind, drifted south-west across the rift valley with its Great Chain of Lakes and its lines of volcanoes. Beyond, they passed south of a smoking Booreah Ngurle. The Great North Road was on their left, running across the downs of Borgistry. The southern section of the Worm Wood curved round in front of them, taking many hours to pass below, before finally they were over the undulating grasslands and scrub of Taltid.

The pilot took them across the fuming pits of Snizort at a great height while the scrutator looked down with his spyglass. Navigator Nivulee stood beside him with her own, preparing a map for later use.

‘Precisely where is the node here?’ asked Irisis.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Should I wake Ullii and ask her to look for it?’

‘Let her sleep. When we’ve seen enough we’ll go on to Gospett, which is about twenty leagues south of here, over the River Zort and the Westway. The perquisitor there will tell us what we need to know.’

The pilot came running. ‘Lyrinx taking to the air, surr.’

Flydd focussed his spyglass. ‘So they are. Go higher than they can fly. Head for Gospett.’

They were there in a couple of hours. Gospett turned out to be a walled town built of brown stone and orange brick, heavily fortified against attack by lyrinx. Wicked-looking javelards were mounted along the walls, and others set in tall towers clustered inside. The surrounding land was cultivated, though there were signs that more distant holdings had been abandoned.

‘How long can Gospett last, with Snizort so near?’ said Irisis.

No one bothered to answer.

The air-floater landed in the main street of the town, much to the excitement of a group of children playing a game with a ball made of bound rags. They gathered around in their hundreds until the scrutator came down the ladder and called for someone to take them to the perquisitor’s house, whereupon they melted away. Except one, a boy with a twisted leg, not able to dart off like the others.

Flydd grabbed him by the collar. ‘What’s your name, boy?’ he said in the common speech of the south-west.

‘Nudl,’ said the boy.

‘Noodle? Funny name for a boy.’

‘That’th what I’m called, thurr.’

‘Well, Noodle, I need someone to show me to the perquisitor’s house. Can you do that?’

‘No, thurr,’ said the boy.

‘Why the blazes not? Surely you know where it is.’ Flydd’s continuous eyebrow crumpled up like wet twine.

‘Too thcared, thurr.’

‘You’re afraid of the perquisitor? Why?’

Nudl hesitated. ‘Boys put me up to it, thurr.’

‘Put you up to what? You’re like a limpet, boy.’

‘Thank you, thurr. Throwing thtoneth on perquithitor’th roof, thurr. But one mithed and went through the window. Threatened me –’

‘Yes, yes, I understand! Well, Noodle, I am a scrutator and you know what that means?’

‘You eat children, thurr.’

‘I don’t eat children, Noodle, though I’m bloody well prepared to make an exception, just this once. Take me to the perquisitor’s house,
right away
!’

They were there in ten minutes. The house was a relic of better times, a spacious place of orange brick with a high brick fence all around. Wide verandas sheltered all sides but the south. The perquisitor answered the door. She was a small, slight woman, black of hair and with eyes the same colour. Her skin was palest amber, her features delicately proportioned, her manner reserved.

‘Well, well, well,’ said Flydd. ‘This is a pleasant surprise, Fyn-Mah.’

Fyn-Mah smiled, which was rare for her. ‘It’s good to see you, scrutator. And you, crafter.’ She nodded curtly to Irisis, for they disliked each other. ‘Let’s sit on the porch. It’s cooler. I presume, from the Council despatches case in your hand, that you
are
scrutator again?’

Bowing, he passed it to her. ‘Indeed I am. What are you doing here? And a perquisitor, no less.’

‘You can hardly act surprised, surr, since you recommended my promotion.’

‘These days any recommendation of mine is a dubious one. I didn’t know you’d been sent west, though I’m very pleased to see you.’

‘I’ve always had a special interest in the enemy flesh-forming art,’ said Fyn-Mah. ‘There are more flesh-formers at Snizort than anywhere in Lauralin, and their work is well –’

‘So I understand. You can brief me about that in private. You may also be interested in what we’ve got to say.’

‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ Fyn-Mah said, ‘and I hope it’s good news. In my last report –’

‘I was briefed before we left Nennifer. Let’s see what can be done.’

‘Whatever is done,’ said Fyn-Mah, ‘were well that it be done quickly. The lyrinx are readying for war. The final assault.’

‘We’ll also talk about that later.’

‘There’s someone else you’ll be pleased to see, surr.’ Fyn-Mah called down the hall. ‘And you too, Irisis.’

A man came up. Middle-aged and slim, he was dressed in brown homespun leggings and shirt, and grey sandals. Dark hair, cut short, stuck up all over his head. He had a chiselled jaw, prominent cheekbones and a gleam in his grey eyes.

The man put out his hand. ‘Scrutator. Irisis.’ He sat in an empty chair.

Irisis noticed Flydd inspecting the fellow surreptitiously. She was sure she had never seen him before. Ullii came trailing along the path, where she had been communing with the flowers. She wore her goggles and earmuffs. The man stood up. ‘Hello, we haven’t met. You must be Ullii.’

Now how had he known that?

Ullii extended her little hand. ‘Hello, Mr Muss.’

There was a long silence, then Flydd’s laughter came like a thunderclap. ‘Oh, well done. Eiryn Muss, the best prober in the business. That’s the first time anyone’s disguise has fooled me.’ He shook the fellow’s hand again. ‘Ullii, what a marvel you are.’

Irisis inspected the man again. The disguise, or rather transformation, was miraculous. There was not a trace of the fat, bald, shambling halfwit from the manufactory, nor the least mannerism to give him away. But Ullii did not require such things. She could distinguish every human alive by their smell.

Irisis smiled. ‘I dare say it would take more than a few bottles of turnip brandy now.’

‘Indeed it would, crafter,’ said Muss primly, ‘since I do not touch spiritous liquors.’

G
ilhaelith was led away, still trying to see the amplimet. Tiaan felt betrayed. He did not care a fig for her, and never had. He had wanted the amplimet all along, and everything else he’d said to her had been to make sure of it. She cursed herself for falling into the trap, once again.

Ryll fed her a bowl of what looked like green porridge but tasted like slimy compost. She could not feed herself, since her arms were trapped inside the patterner. She slept as if she had been drugged, waking with a fuzzy head to find a group of lyrinx gathered around the patterner three down from her. They had bowed heads, deferring to an ancient male whose skin bore a permanent red blush. His flaccid crest angled to the left and he wore a pair of spectacles. The small oval lenses only covered the centre of his eyes and were set in thick frames of leathery hide. Tiaan had not seen a lyrinx wearing glasses before. It looked odd.

The old male was speaking lyrinx, and though Tiaan did not know that language, it was clear that he was unhappy about something. Ryll and the other lyrinx had changed their skin to the colour of sand, as if they were trying to disappear against the walls, and their crests sagged.

The old lyrinx limped towards Tiaan, lifted her out and inspected her minutely. It had happened so often that she was hardly embarrassed at all. Her skin, irritated by the jelly, had gone blotchy. Behind the lenses, the pupils of his yellow eyes narrowed to slits. He swung around to Ryll, questioning him in a raspy staccato. Tiaan recognised her name several times, and once, ‘Tiksi’. She supposed Ryll was telling the old lyrinx her history.

The old creature grunted and his wings half unfurled. He snapped them down. ‘What have you done with the flying construct?’ he asked in her language.

Tiaan had been expecting that question. ‘I gave it to Querist Gan’l,’ she lied, making up a name at random. There were thousands of querists and he could not know all their names. ‘It was near a town south of here.’

Ryll muttered something in the old fellow’s ear. He grunted a question. Ryll went out, soon returning with the amplimet on its chain. As the old lyrinx took it, his crest stood up and bright red specks appeared at the tips. He pushed the amplimet away without touching it, his eyes glowing like molten toffee. In Kalissin the lyrinx had not known what the amplimet was. This fellow knew very well, and he was excited about it.

He rapped out a series of instructions in the lyrinx tongue, in which one word,
torgnadr
, was repeated several times. Ryll jumped. Liett ran down the row of patterners. The old lyrinx adjusted his chest plates as if they irritated him and went out, followed by the rest of his group. Ryll bent and began doing something to Tiaan’s patterner, below the level of her vision.

‘What’s going on?’ she cried.

‘We must begin.’

‘Begin what, Ryll?’

‘Making a torgnadr.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I … may not say. It is to aid us with the war.’

‘It’s not another monster like your nylatl?’ Just the name sent shudders of remembrance up her spine.

Ryll stiffened, closed his heavy-lidded eyes and opened them again. ‘Nothing like that. I have … I am forbidden to do flesh-forming.’

‘Coeland was not pleased with you after the nylatl escaped?’

‘The Wise Mother was furious, and so was Liett.’

‘So you did not get your heart’s desire after all?’

‘I am forbidden to mate, not that it matters now. No female would take a wingless travesty like me. My spoiled line must die with me, for the good of all. Ah, but still … ’ He cast a tormented glance down the row, where Tiaan could just see Liett, bent over and displaying her majestic buttocks.

‘Are you going to take flesh from me again,’ she said, ‘to make your torgnadr?’

‘Of course not! Torgnadrs are not flesh-formed. Besides, that practice is forbidden.’ He bent down to reach something near the floor, then slowly stood up, his eyes ablaze. ‘What do you mean
again
?’

Tiaan wished she had not spoken, but from past experience knew that the lyrinx would drag the truth out of her, so she might as well tell him straight away.

‘Liett took a small piece of my flesh to make her snizlet.’

‘What?’
At his bellow, Liett leapt up and stared in their direction, but on seeing nothing amiss she bent to her work again. ‘She would not dare. That is forbidden.’

‘I still have the scar,’ said Tiaan. ‘On the inside of my arm.’

In one swift movement, Ryll pulled her from the patterner and sat her on top, glistening with the clinging muck. Tiaan looked him in the eye and held out her left arm.

He felt the small circular scar with a fingertip. ‘This was not here when I saved you from the frozen river.’

‘She put it in her jar to grow the first snizlet. I think she used her own tissue as well.’

Ryll slid Tiaan back into the machine. Without further word he went out, walking proud and tall. Dangerous red slashes seared across his chameleon skin.

What had she done? When Liett came by a few minutes later, Tiaan pretended to be asleep. Shortly the troop of lyrinx reappeared, she was hauled out yet again and the scar inspected.

‘Tllrixi Liett!’ the old male roared.

Liett came running. There followed a furious exchange, the old lyrinx roaring, Liett shrinking down until her colourless wings rested flat on the floor. Her arms were stretched out and the old lyrinx stabbed a finger at a mark in her armpit. Liett was questioned in her own tongue. She answered in monosyllables, head bowed.

Finally the old lyrinx struck her once on each cheek, a ritual humiliation. She lay on her face even after he had gone. Ryll stood by, speaking softly in the lyrinx tongue. She groaned but did not move. He squatted beside her but she turned her head away. He lifted her in his arms, tenderly. As she sagged there, Liett’s eyes fixed on Tiaan, giving her such a baleful glare that Tiaan had to close her eyes.