The Dark City (15 page)

“Keep still. Keep still!”

“Galen . . .” He was shuddering, breathless.

“I know. They’re not following.” The keeper dragged him to a dim corner and crouched, while Raffi drew long shuddering breaths, sick with fear, listening to Carys explain. She wasn’t afraid, he thought bitterly. And yet he was the one with all the powers. All the defenses.

“Beggars,” Galen said grimly. “Or worse. We must get farther in. Right away from the gate. Then we can rest.” He looked down at Raffi. “Can you walk?”

Ashamed, Raffi pulled upright. Without a word, Galen turned away.

They traveled down three long streets, then a network of narrow alleys where the rats scrabbled, across wide squares, empty and silent, where only a broken fountain trickled. Deep into the city Galen led them, without direction, looking only for somewhere safe. On each side the doorways were black and sinister. Broken shutters creaked. For Raffi it was a nightmare of weariness and pain; the darkness was foul and in it moved voices and ghosts that strained at his senses, and beyond them was the memory of some great disaster, a horror that seeped and smoked from the very walls and ruins.

Finally, Galen stopped. He searched among the shadows and found a small room in the back of a building; once a house, with a courtyard of black weeds. They searched the place twice and found no one, but Galen wouldn’t be satisfied until he had blocked the doorway the best he could with splintered wood. Then, without a fire or bothering to eat, they lay down and slept.

Deep below his ear, deep in the earth, Raffi felt the city smolder and crackle.

17

Many lies have been told about the fall of Tasceron. The truth is that whatever weapon of chaos the Order tried to use against us blew up in their faces. As will all their follies.

Rule of the Watch

Journal of Carys Arrin Time unknown, Cyraxday(?) 18.16.546

It was a crazy plan. As soon as Galen came out with it, I knew we were bound to be caught, so I made sure I went first.

The Watchmen on the gate were thorough, and knew their job. I was out from under that wagon and dragged into the turret in seconds, and it took a great deal of argument to convince them who I was. I knew the passwords, of course, the name of a Watchlord, and I have my agent’s insignia on a chain under my clothes. Still, I had to bribe them in the end. And I didn’t tell them who Galen was, just that I was working undercover with two spies, who should be allowed to think no one knew about them.

It worked; we’re in, and Galen and Raffi don’t know. And yet the gate guards will have sold their knowledge on to someone higher, without doubt.

They’re both still asleep. The encounter with that nest of horrors scared Raffi—the shock of it, I suppose. The keeper works him too hard; he can’t be ready for all this yet. And on the ship it was Raffi who did the weather-warding.

That unnerved me. It’s quite clear the Watch have lied to us, and that makes me angry. The Order do have powers and they’re real. It makes me wonder how much else I don’t know. The Watch wants all relics—to destroy them, according to our teachers—and yet, I wonder. What if someone high up wants this power for themself?

This is heresy, of course. If anyone reads it I’ll be finished. There was a boy once, in the Watchhouse, I forget his name. We were about seven, and it was in the courtyard, the grim stony place they used to let us play in for ten minutes a day. Three of us were under one coat for warmth. He said, this boy, that his grandfather had told him that the Makers were real men, and that their power was enormous. And that he thought the Watch had been wrong to kill so many of the Order.

Someone must have reported what he said, because a week later he was taken away, and he never came back. Like a lot of others ...

“I DIDN’T KNOW you could write.”

Carys closed the journal with a gasp, and spun around. Galen was sitting up against the wall, watching her. For a moment she was lost for an answer. Then Watchtraining surged up in her; she shook her head and laughed. “You scared me!”

“I’m sorry.”

She slipped the journal into her bag. “My mother taught me, a long time ago. I don’t know how she learned—probably with one of the Order. There were many keepers when she was young.”

“Indeed there were.” Galen frowned, rubbing his stubbly chin. “But it seemed to be in a language strange to me.”

For a moment she looked at him. Then she said, “It’s in code.”

“Code?”

“I made it up myself. In case the Watch should ever get hold of it. It’s the story of my search.”

“Then we’re in there—the boy and I?”

“Only briefly.” She shook her head. “I’ve changed your names. No one would ever be able to read it.”

“I hope not.” He pulled the pack over and began to rummage inside. “They say the Watch have men skilled in codes and secret signs. If they caught you with it they’d force you to explain it.”

She nodded. “You mean get rid of it.”

He passed her some bread. “It would be wise.”

Wanting to change the subject, she said, “Shall we wake Raffi?”

“No. Let him sleep.”

They ate in silence, listening. A long way off something banged, and once Carys thought she heard voices, but the city was as dark and silent as before, the only sound a faint rushing, as if water ran nearby. She knew it must be late in the day, but outside the blocked doorway the blackness still hung.

“Does it ever get light here?”

Galen shook his head. In the tiny candle flame his hawk-face looked tired and drawn; he tugged the string out of his hair and raked his fingers through it. “Not since the Destruction.”

“What happened?” she asked, chewing the hard bread.

“You know. Or you ought to.”

“Tell me again.” She did know, but she was curious to hear how the Order told the story.

Galen gave her a hard look. Then he said, “The Order had its most holy sites here. Somewhere in the city, buried deep under layers of other buildings, were the secret places, the houses of the Makers. The House of Trees, the Nemeta, the Hall of the Slain. Where exactly they were is not known now. The Emperor’s palace was here too. In the last hours of the siege, when men were fighting in the streets and the Emperor knew the war was lost, it’s said he sent a message to Mardoc Archkeeper, to warn him. That was late on Pyrasnight, about eight o’clock. Two hours later the palace fell. The Emperor was killed at the Phoenix Gate—you know about that?”

She nodded, silent. The Emperor had been killed by accident, by some fool of a Watchsergeant. The Watchlords had thrown the man into the demon-pit at Maar in their fury. They had wanted the Emperor alive.

“And then,” Galen went on, his voice dropping, “late in the night, with the hordes of the Watch looting and spoiling the city, there was a great trembling of the ground. Buildings fell. Whole districts crumbled. Fires erupted underground. And from somewhere deep among the alleys and courts of the old palace, the Darkness came. They say it spread like ink over a map, blotting out the moons and stars, filling alleys, doorways, oozing out from cellars and pits and manholes in the streets, up sewers and drains.

“What it was, how it was released, no one knows now, or whether it was meant to happen. So much is lost, Carys!” He sighed, scratching his cheek. “The Archkeeper escaped. He was caught three months later and died under torture, but I don’t believe he told them where the Houses were. If he had, they’d be in ruins, and the Watch would be gloating. They want all the power they can get.” He spat, savagely, to one side.

Carys was silent. She took some more bread. “The Watch say Mardoc tried to bring the Makers back. That he had some relic which was so powerful that its explosion would make the city burn forever.”

“They would!” Galen watched Raffi stir and roll over. “But Mardoc got out. Something that big would have killed him.”

“And what about the Crow?”

She said it slowly, deliberately. Raffi, half awake, stared at her in astonishment; Galen slid his eyes to her.

“What about him?” he asked, after a cold moment.

Carys smiled, but Raffi knew she was uneasy. “All right. I suppose I should tell you. I listened at Lerin’s door.”

Galen’s hand clutched his stick; for a moment Raffi thought he would use it on her and scrambled up, gasping, “No!” but Carys only laughed scornfully. “I’m not your scholar, Galen. Don’t think you can beat me into silence.”

He stared at her, and Raffi caught the strange taints of anger and despair that wreathed him. Finally, in a voice choked with wrath, he said, “How much did you hear?”

“That the Crow is here in Tasceron. That you’d had messages. That you thought, if you could find him, he could destroy the Watch.”

She leaned forward, her hair glossy in the flame light. “That was all. I’m sorry, Galen, but I had to know what was happening! I’m here to find my father, and I don’t know where to start. But the Crow! With him we could do anything!”

The silence was terrible. Raffi pulled the blanket around himself and rubbed his face nervously with a filthy hand. Galen sat absolutely still, watching Carys with a bitter stare that made her hand creep toward the crossbow. When he spoke his voice was hoarse. “Never spy on me again, girl. Never.”

The threat was cold, and real. Chilled, she nodded. It took all her courage to say, “I want to stay with you. I want to help.”

But Galen got up abruptly. Taking his stick, he flung the wood from the doorway. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” Raffi asked.

“Out!” The keeper stared at him grimly. “To breathe!”

When he was gone, they both relaxed. Raffi drank some water from the flask and passed it across; kneeling up, he felt for the bread in the pack.

“Was I wrong to tell him?” Carys asked quietly.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. We’d have had to explain to you soon, I suppose. And he would have found out. He’s a keeper.”

“He hadn’t yet,” she said drily.

Raffi glanced at her, then away. “How could you listen at the door, Carys! We thought we could trust you!”

Looking down at the flask, she said, “You can. Of course you can.”

GALEN WAS A LONG time away. When he finally came back he said nothing about Carys or the Crow. Crouching, he crammed the blankets into the pack. “There’s a fountain not far from here, still running. The water’s tainted, but drinkable. And you can wash.”

His own hair was wet and his face clean.

“Then what?” Carys asked.

He gave her a bitter glare. “You’ll find out.”

They crossed a maze of small lanes, following the splashing sound, then turned into an open space among tall buildings, whose tops were lost in dark smoke. The fountain was astonishingly hot, the water steaming from spouts and holes among stones that had once been white, but were now streaked with soot. Carys and Raffi drank and washed their arms and faces, while Galen kept watch, eyeing the narrow streets intently. The water was pungent and sour, despite the green lichens that grew out of it.

When they’d finished and were pulling their coats on, Galen said, “Now listen to me. We’re making for the old citadel and the ruins of the palace. They should be somewhere to the south, deep within the city. It may take us days. The farther in we go, the more dangerous it will be. Watchpatrols for sure, but I suspect they’ll keep to the wider streets. Even the Watch will be wary of the others here.”

“Is there anyone?” Carys muttered, looking at the dim openings.

“Don’t be a fool. There are thieves, footpads, murderers, all the dregs of the world. And madmen—this place is haunted by them. Other creatures too—beasts swollen and warped by the great Destruction, made savage by the dark. It’s not called the Evil City for nothing.”

Carys pulled a face, then checked her crossbow. Galen drew Raffi aside. “Sense-lines. As many as you can.”

Raffi nodded unhappily. “The trouble is, the buildings—or the dark—something’s confusing me. There are too many echoes here.”

“Try! We’re depending on you now!”

Carys was watching them. Galen picked up the pack and slung it on. Then he stood upright, a tall shadow in the steamy gloom. “Keep close. And keep silent.”

They set off into a narrow alley that stank of decay and skeats—the packs of small wild dogs Raffi had seen once before. Halfway down, it was blocked with fallen timbers; crawling under these they found themselves at a crossroads. Six black lanes led away into gloom like the spokes of a wheel. Everything was silent.

With a quick glance at Raffi, Galen strode into the farthest left. A very quick glance. But Carys had seen it.

Through the next few hours, she came to see that it was Raffi who was leading them. Sensing direction in the eternal gloom of Tasceron was almost impossible—there were no moons and no sunrise, and the labyrinth of buildings was intricate and unknown. But a keeper’s soul was linked with the earth, deep with stone and tree and soil, and they felt the magnetic lines deep inside themselves. Or so they said. So Raffi knew where the south was. But did Galen? Once, when he walked straight past a turning and Raffi had to call him back, she saw something in his face that puzzled and chilled her. A wretchedness. Almost despair.