The Canticle of Whispers (2 page)

“Perhaps you could show me only the most likely suspects, Doctor?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I don't have time to interview every debtor that ends up in your…” she paused, obviously biting back an insulting term, “establishment.”

“I am afraid not, Inspector,” replied the doctor, in measured tones. “There have been several fresh outbreaks of fever in recent weeks, and I barely have time to note the patients' names, let alone remember them individually.”

Mark risked peeking over the edge of the blanket again. Poleyn was picking at one young woman's wrappings with long, elegant fingers, as though the debtor were something fundamentally unclean. Behind her, Dr. Theophilus ran his own fingers through his thinning brown hair. He was doing a surprisingly good job of appearing helpful, but Mark noticed that he was beginning to sweat. He wondered if the doctor had ever lied to the receivers before.

He caught Theo's eye. The doctor made a frantic signal with the hand behind his back, and Mark sank back beneath the blanket.

“Perhaps, Inspector,” Theo said, steering her away from Mark's corner, “you could tell me more about the case? I'm certain I would be able to help.”

“I'm sorry, Doctor, but absolute secrecy is vital,” the inspector sniffed. “These fugitives have stolen from the Director himself. They must be apprehended, and swiftly.”

Under the blanket, Mark suppressed a snarl. Yes, he supposed he had stolen from the Director of Receipts, the ruler of the city. But Mark had stolen nothing which that same man had not first taken from him. Once, Mark had lived in the tallest tower of the city—the Astrologer's Tower, former home of Count Stelli. Mark had been famous, a child prodigy, with a future that seemed endlessly golden, and Snutworth had been his loyal manservant—until Snutworth betrayed him, and sent him to prison. Now, Snutworth was the ruler of Agora, and Mark was hiding among the poorest of the city, trying to avoid the attentions of the law.

“Yes, of course,” the doctor said, a little too hastily. “But surely such desperate thugs would much prefer to take shelter at the Wheel, rather than here. They have better supplies, and would likely find an ally in Mr. Crede. I hear that receivers are far from welcome in that part of the city nowadays…”

“Investigations are being carried out in
all
likely areas, sir,” Poleyn interrupted. Theo had clearly hit a nerve there. “But for reasons I am unable to disclose, it is most likely that the fugitives would hide in this area.” She peered closely at Theo. “Are you completely certain that no suspicious figures have recently arrived? Perhaps a boy of fifteen summers, and a young woman with golden hair? She, at least, should not be difficult to recognize—she would be far cleaner and better fed than most of the rabble.”

Mark saw a flash of concern cross Theo's face, but he covered it well.

“Inspector, as you have said on numerous occasions, we cater to everyone here at the Temple Almshouse. If we turned someone away merely for being suspicious, our beds would be empty every night. Our doors are never locked.”

Scowling, Poleyn turned away, and Theo began to sort some sheets. Mark could see that he was studiously trying not to look at him, or at the cot by the door, where the other fugitive was trying to keep still.

Unfortunately, that was precisely where Poleyn was headed.

“I don't think I've seen this one before,” she muttered, pulling aside the blanket. The young woman looked up at her. From this angle, Mark couldn't see if Cherubina was keeping up the pretense. “Perhaps I should examine her more closely.”

“Be my guest, Inspector,” Theo said, trying to sound unconcerned. “I'm sure that her boils are no longer quite so contagious.”

Poleyn snatched her hand back, and despite everything, Mark found himself choking down a gasp of laughter.

This, on reflection, was a bad idea. Poleyn's attention snapped around to his corner.

“You know, of course, that harboring criminals is a serious offense, Doctor,” she said, padding over toward Mark. Hastily, Mark drew the blanket over his face again, but he could still hear Poleyn's voice—firm and resolute. “The Director has decided that it is time for a crackdown. Too many people are flouting the rule of law. This ruffian Crede is just the beginning, and we have no intention of letting the rot go any further.”

She was leaning over Mark now. Mark could smell her—a clean smell, almost disinfectant, quite a contrast to the rest of the cellar. Mark cringed back under the blanket, his mind racing, trying to come up with something that would force her away. They had been so close …

“Inspector, I really wouldn't…” Theo began, but Poleyn interrupted.

“I've had quite enough of that, Doctor. Quite enough. It's time to finish these childish games. I'm sure the Director will have many questions to ask…”

And then, with a sudden flash of inspiration, Mark flung back the blanket and grasped at Poleyn's lapels, groaning.

“Take me out of here!” he yelled, trying to sound as feverish as possible, scraping his hands, covered in flaking skin, across the sergeant's face. “They're keeping me sick, I tell you!” He rolled his eyes, pushing his lips next to Poleyn's ear, even as she tried to pull away. “You'll help me? Won't you? You'll save me from the medicine? They're all after me, every one!”

Poleyn raised her truncheon, and Mark fell back, whimpering, curling into a ball. Internally, though, he was entirely focused on the sounds of Theo steadying the startled receiver.

“Well, I did try to warn you,” Theo replied, with noticeable relief. “That poor young man—mind quite gone, I'm afraid.”

Carefully, still acting, Mark peered over the edge of the blanket again. Theo was wetting a rag in a wooden bowl, and offering it to the sergeant. “All part of his condition. A dreadful case. If I were you, I'd wash yourself where he touched you, just in case you develop any symptoms…”

With forced dignity, Poleyn took the rag and wiped her face. This time, though, Mark didn't laugh. Despite her distaste for the debtors, Theo had warned him that Poleyn was a highly efficient investigator. If she believed that her quarry was here, she would be back with a whole squad next time. True, the receivers themselves were only doing their job, but they reported to the Director.

And if the Director caught him, Mark wouldn't even have the right to a fair trial, because as far as the law was concerned, he didn't exist.

“Well, I think that is all of the current patients,” Theo said, soothingly. “Of course, if you wish to wait until this evening, I'm sure there will be a crowd. It looks like rain, and my assistant Benedicta is planning on an excellent stew. There might even be recognizable meat in it this time, if you'd care to join us…”

“That will not be necessary,” Poleyn said, brushing down her lapels with a look of disgust. “I am satisfied for the moment that the fugitives are not here, but you shall, of course, be receiving regular visits.” Poleyn put down the rag and drew herself upright. Though Theo was almost a foot taller than her, Poleyn seemed to look down on him. “I know what you are doing here, Doctor. How you offer shelter to the debtors and criminals. In happier times, I might have approved. But now…” Poleyn looked troubled, and turned away. “The Day of Judgment approaches, and we must all choose our sides…”

Despite the tension, Mark saw Theo reach out to her.

“Inspector,” the doctor said, gently, “is something distressing you?”

“That is none of your concern,” Poleyn muttered, hastily, as though she had said more than she intended. “Now, Doctor, I have other business to attend to…”

Looking shaken, Poleyn retreated to the stairs out of the basement. For a tense moment, Mark and Theo listened as she scattered the debtors on the floor above. And then, with an air of finality, she slammed the door.

The doctor sank down onto a stool, head in his hands.

“It's over,” he muttered. “Thank the stars.”

“No, thank you, Theo,” Mark said, sincerely, jumping out of the cot, glad to stretch after hours spent curled up. “Do you still have that cloth?”

Theo handed Mark the damp rag, and Mark began to scrub at his exposed skin, removing the milky film that they had painted on earlier. Before long, the signs of his “illness” were wiped away.

“I never thought hiding right in front of them would work,” Mark continued as he soaked the cloth in a bucket of clean water. “If you hadn't come up with this plan, the receivers would have found us, no question.”

“I'm still not entirely clear why they are hunting for you,” Theo said, miserably. “Or where you've been. Not a word! For over a year! Your father has been moving heaven and earth looking for you…”

Mark carried on washing, not quite sure what to say. How could he explain? He barely believed it, and he'd lived through it. He'd traveled through the unknown lands outside the city. He'd seen the vast mountains and dark forests, and the people there who lived in enforced harmony, and punished any deviation with violence. He'd been stalked by the strange, living Nightmare that kept everyone in line, and fought against the mysterious Order of the Lost at the heart of it all, who had captured him, and brought him back to Agora. That had been his life for the last year and a half. It was hard to know where to start.

“Are you going to keep that cloth all day?” said a voice from across the room. Irritably, the young woman with the boils sat up in her cot. Theo had done an amazing job—Mark didn't want to contemplate what he had mixed up to make them look so realistic. Sheepishly, Mark wrung out the rag and handed it over to Cherubina. She dabbed daintily at her face, dissolving the fake boils. She wrinkled her nose. “Now that the inspector has gone, do we have to stay down here in the basement all day?” she asked, unwinding the old shawl they had tied around her head to hide her distinctive blonde ringlets. “It isn't particularly fragrant.”

“Patience, Miss Cherubina,” Theo replied, cautiously. “I wouldn't move until Laud tells us that it is safe to do so. Inspector Poleyn well deserves her new position, and I am sure that she will send one of her men to watch the Temple for the next few days. I doubt that the Director is quite ready to call off the search.”

Cherubina blanched, and Mark winced. He had every reason to hate the Director. Snutworth had betrayed him, kidnapped him, and treated him like little more than a puppet. But Cherubina had been Snutworth's wife. She had lived with him for over a year, half-prisoner, half-prize. Mark could not imagine what that had been like. Certainly she did not want to talk about it, and when Mark had found her imprisoned with him in the Astrologer's Tower, Snutworth's home at the time, she had been all too eager to join in his escape. Of course, as far as the new Director was concerned, she had not run away at all—Mark had stolen Snutworth's property. That was how he thought, and he had the law of Agora on his side.

“Are you sure the debtors won't talk?” Cherubina murmured, clearly shaken. “A lot of them saw our arrival.”

Theo raised his head, looking tired.

“There is certainly very little love between the receivers and those who must take shelter in our almshouse,” Theo said after a moment's thought. “Still, I wouldn't count on their silence if the receivers start to use rougher methods of interrogation. You won't be able to stay here for long. Perhaps we can find a way to sneak you out.” Theo rubbed his temples, looking weary. Mark supposed that the doctor couldn't have been more than thirty, but he seemed to have aged starkly since Mark had last seen him. His hair had receded even more, and his tall, spare frame seemed to sag with the weight of worry. And Mark imagined that his sudden arrival a few hours ago had not helped with that.

“But … Mark said that you'd be able to take us in!” Cherubina exclaimed. “You're the only people we can turn to! I don't know anyone in this city, apart from Mommy, and she wouldn't keep me hidden. Not if her business were at risk…” Cherubina trailed off, sadly.

“It's all right, Cherubina,” Mark said, reassuringly. “I'm sure Theo can find somewhere for us…”

“Wait a moment there!” Theo said, firmly. “First of all, before anything else—you have to tell me what's going on.” The doctor met Mark's gaze. It was not an unfriendly look, exactly. Mark supposed it would take a lot to truly get on Theo's bad side, but it was a look that demanded answers. “I'm sorry, Mark. I'm glad to see you're safe, really I am. But you can't just …
deliver
yourself into our hands like this and expect us to risk everything for you without a little explanation.”

In the corner, behind the beds of the most feverish, Mark saw the shattered remains of the packing cases they had used to escape from Snutworth's tower. They had hacked them to pieces, shoving them down in the cellar before the receivers arrived. It had only been an hour ago, but it was all still a blur. He remembered Theo flapping around anxiously, and Laudate, Theo's friend and Mark's former employee, herding the able-bodied debtors out, with menacing instructions to keep what they had seen to themselves. He remembered Benedicta, Laudate's sister, helping Cherubina out of her own case, picking straw and sawdust out of the young woman's curls. He wished Benedicta was still here now, fussing and grinning as she welcomed them back. Mark had met Ben only once before, but that smile had stayed with him—the smile he had so little deserved and which she had given freely. Despite Ben's endless energy, the smile had a kind of calmness that was hugely reassuring. But she had run off, minutes after he had arrived, saying she was going to find someone, and after that, they had all been too busy preparing for the receivers to sit and talk.

“It's rather difficult to explain,” Mark admitted. “But I'll try.”