The Kallanon Scales (24 page)

It was he and
Saska alone in his valley, building the Keep with many dreams and
hopes. That was happiness. Tangible. So ephemeral. Like this peace
here. Tangible, and gradually it dissipated with every step taken
across the bridge into the outside world.

Standards
cannot be measured- sentience is based on difference, after
all.

~ Awl

Xen III

K
rikian found Xen III so alien he
wanted to leave immediately.

Neither his
knowledge nor the tales visitors imparted prepared him for what he
found. A gigantic dirty dome covered a metropolis the size of
Valaris continent. There were many domes spread like boils on this
diseased crust.

He gagged the
moment he materialised in Matt’s dinghy apartment, senses assailed
with rotting refuse, unclean odours, stale smoke and recycled air.
Matt pointed him to a dirty toilet, where he gagged more. He
emerged to find Matt waiting.

“Sorry, Krik,
I should’ve warned you.”

Krikian waved
an unsteady hand. “Not your fault and I doubt anything could
adequately prepare me. I will be fine now.”

“Yeah, you get
used to it.”

Gods, not me,
but Krikian nodded.
“What now?”

“I have contacts willing to do anything for money, but it
takes time to track them in this underbelly, time we have not. I
suggest we speak to one who can find what we need
and
track the crew. Most
of the gems are for him”

“Fine, let’s
find this nefarious individual.”

“We need
disguise you, Krik, you are so wholesome you will stick out.” Matt
rummaged in an old closet. “Hide your golden glory under that.” It
was a woolly cap and Krikian shuddered as he reached for it. “And
pull that on.” A long overcoat of indeterminate colour and vintage.
Matt straightened and sent his companion a thoughtful gaze. “Your
breeches and boots should pass muster, but dirty them a bit, and
your face and hands.” Krikian shuddered at the thought of the
germs, but did as bid. Matt was in denim and T-shirt and threw a
similar coat on, saying, “It gets hot out there, but I’d rather
wear this than brush shoulders with sweaty pigs.”

They bent to
lift the ropes and chains, slinging them over shoulders, and Matt
checked the pouches tied to his waist. He led the way into the
cesspool of a domed existence.

It was a
cloying humidity caused by too many bodies in a confined space. The
air circulated every six hours, and for a brief two minutes a
measure of coolness set in. Xenians set their watches by it and
waited out the next five hours and fifty-eight minutes for relief.
Everyone paused when the giant fans come on and froze to enjoy that
feeling of otherness.

They missed
the last switch-on, which Matt explained as they walked, but
Krikian could not imagine it.

Buildings rose
like grimy mountains. There were no streets, only encrusted strips
where a way carved through the labyrinths, dimly lit and dangerous.
The faraway dome was rarely seen.

One could get
lost in the maze forever, as one could wander eternally without
seeing the same strip twice. When one did catch sight of the dome,
one had to look away. It was opaque and huge strings of slime hung
motionless from the ceiling.

It was a press
of flesh and fetid breath. Everyone shouted and spat and cursed.
Within two steps of the narrow stairs, Krikian witnessed his first
murder and Matt dragged him away. They were beset upon and ropes
and chains vanished into the netherworld.

Matt gripped
Krikian and forced him away. “Let it go, we have our lives.”

“How did you
manage to stay sane in this?” Krikian knuckles were raw from
protecting himself.

Matt dragged
him into a recess and there they took a moment. “Luck. I need to
get my bearings.” He studied their surroundings and twisted right
at the next branching.

“Luck has
nothing to do with it,” Krikian muttered as he followed.

Matt grinned
over his shoulder, amazed by the Valleur’s fortitude, and nearby
someone hissed, a desire for Matt’s perfect teeth.

Matt charged
down another strip. “They’ll kill us! Run!”

Krikian had
enough. With a vicious snarl, he faced their pursuers.

Matt skidded
to a halt and shouted, “They’ll kill you!”

They will not,
Krikian thought and
raised his hands. He blasted the criminals into the far reaches of
the tunnel, and wiped his hands theatrically. He turned a maniacal
grin on Matt and told him to lead on.

“I guess not,”
Matt muttered in the uncommon silence and hurried on, feeling for
once a lot safer on the streets of Xen’s biggest dome. He was awed
as well, not having witnessed sorcery before ,and found it chimed
into psyche as a welcome friend.

The nightmare
went on, with Matt losing his way twice. The Valleur witnessed
three additional murders and each went as unremarked. The Xenian
always found the route; it meant Matt had a good sense of recall
and direction, a clear eye and mind, which would stand him in good
stead for the approaching journey.

Krikian
divined that was part of Torrullin’s intention - to garner a sense
of the man’s true personality.

Dim dome light
darkened as night fell. Burning globes brightened into dangerous
pools of light. One became a target by becoming visible.

The dirty dome
was cast into shadow and then obliterated, and Matt became frantic.
He glanced at his watch frequently and studied his surroundings
with greater care. A mind-numbing roar sounded and everywhere
people froze.

The fans came
on.

“Krik, we’re
near the lower fan and that means the square we need is close.”

They exited
between two buildings and the promised square was, miraculously,
large and open all the way to the faraway dome. No bridges, no
spans. The dome was invisible now, but there came an immediate
sense of release.

The roaring
became a monotonous hum and then came the cooling of the air and
Krikian could not help it; along with every Xenian, he paused to
enjoy the change, and Matt pulled at him.

They hurried
into a windowless building. A fortified edifice.

A burly
individual blocked them. “No entrance!”

Matt severed a
pouch from his waist. “We request twenty-four hour asylum and a
meeting with your boss.”

It halted the
man. He eyed the pouch and snatched it off Matt’s palm. He hefted
it and grunted. Eyes boggled when he saw what it contained and he
glanced around and behind … and glared greedily at Matt.

“The rest
belongs to your boss. That one is for you and I’ll say nothing of
it, but don’t push me.”

The man
nodded. “Welcome to our paradise.” Unlocking the great steel door
he guarded, he ushered them through, locking it again. He led the
way along a dark passage, leaving them to follow by touch and
sound. At the end, he unlocked a similar door and stood aside. “Ask
for Jack.”

He yanked the
door closed, abandoning them on the other side.

Gently curved
walls, spiralling stairways, large arches, airy chambers in blues
and greens, soft, pale furnishings, fresh fruit on a low silver
table, white cushions artfully strewn.

There, a
chamber, a huge bed, there, a bathroom, in lilac and blue, clean,
sweet smelling.

Matt was
open-mouthed. He heard tell it existed, but had not credited it. He
looked up to a dome, but not of the metropolis, a small one painted
with pastel flowers, little mirrors reflecting light from below,
bringing the picture to life.

“Yes?” A
soft-spoken voice interrupted and both men swivelled to see a
small, pale man exit a far chamber. He seemed to float closer in a
white robe, leather sandals, and carried - incongruously for Xen -
a bunch of freshly cut flowers.

Matt was
nervous. His earlier confidence leeched away. “Jack?”

There was
hardness in pale eyes that revealed a man not easy to fool. “I am
Jack,” he said in the same calming tones. “What may I do for
you?”

“We request
sanctuary,” Matt repeated, voice hushed as if raising it would be
sacrilege, “and a meeting with your boss.”

“And what have
you to offer this establishment in return?”

Matt reached
in and brought forth a second pouch. The man inclined his head,
indicating the low table. Matt put it there and retreated.

Jack neither
moved in the direction of the pouch nor bothered to look at it.
“Please,” he murmured, “feel free to make use of the ablution
facilities. Would you like something to drink? Coffee,
perhaps?”

When they
declined, he approached the table to place flowers in a waiting
vase and retrieved the pouch. He glided away and left them
alone.

The silence
was unnerving after the noise of the day.

“Krik?” Mat
murmured.

The Valleur
scrutinised everything without moving position, gaze running from
furniture to the shadows on the walls. They were watched, but the
devices that enabled it were cleverly concealed. He shrugged. The
bathroom beckoned. “I guess we clean up.”

After the
filth of the day, there could be no greater gift, proving to
Krikian how spoilt he was, and to Matt how much he hated Xen.

Midway through
their ablutions, a knock sounded. Matt opened the door to find a
girl of about thirteen with eyes downcast.

He had the
feeling she would bolt if he spoke too loud. “Yes?”

“Jack sent
these,” and she held out a pile of folded clothing. “You are to
hand me your soiled clothing.” She blushed, for Matt was half-naked
in a loosely held towel. Krikian, behind him, had the presence of
mind to move out her immediate view. Her eyes were the most
startling blue. “Um, leave them in the bath.” She retreated,
cropped hair quivering.

After dressing
in all white cotton pyjama pants, knee-length silk robes, and a
pair of sandals each, they left the bathroom. On the low table was
a pot of coffee, a tray of sandwiches, too good to pass up. Sitting
on cushions, they ate. They were as hungry as Jack’s foresight
spoke of. The young girl slipped past, returning with their dirty
clothes, but ignored them.

Krikian said,
“Have you been here before?”

“No. I have
seen it from the outside, but that tells the same sorry tale as the
rest of the crap in this dome.” There was an underlying current to
his tone, as if he worried about saying too much.

“This is the
home of the man we seek?”

“Before today I’d have said
base of
operations
.”

“Who is this
character?”

“Dall Mossen,
the
crime lord of Xen III. He owns this dome city,
purely because nobody dares anything to the contrary. The
civilized, clean, spacious domes leave him be. They hope to curtail
his activities to this metropolis.”

“Why is it
this way? Domes should be equalised.”

“Please,” Matt
sneered, “no one wants to mix with the great unwashed. The
vengeful, poor, lazy, nasty and the ugly come here to hide, to
escape, prey on others, to live out their perversity in anonymity,
and get ensnared in the web, and once in find it hard to leave.
They lose self-worth and turn to crime, the only means of survival
here.”

“You got out,
overcame the disadvantages.”

“I wasn’t born
in this dome, and I didn’t come to it for any of the reasons
listed. I hesitate to explain that, knowing we’re being listened to
…”

“Your
companion is a spy, Valleur,” a voice said. They swung around to
find a tall, slender man, robed in blue, standing at ease. His hair
was dark, almost black, long and wavy. He was pale and clean-shaven
with piercing blue eyes, the colour enhanced by his robe. His hands
hid in the folds and he came to rest braced, his feet bare.

Matt rose,
leaving Krikian to do as he thought best. “Dall Mossen, it is an
honour to meet you.” He stood seemingly at ease, untroubled by the
accusation, but Krikian in the act of rising caught the tension in
him, the readiness to spring.

Dall Mossen
smiled with even, white teeth, but his eyes remained unchanged.
“Why do you seek asylum, spy? Surely your paymaster would come to
your aid, or has he again proven unworthy? Do you think I shall
allow you to go free? Even if you paid for the privilege?”

Matt did not
dare answer. Refute, and he was a dead man; admit, and he was a
dead man.

Dall Mossen’s
eyes moved to Krikian. “A Valleur. I admit I never thought to see
the day. What are you doing here?”

“I am with
Matt.”

“You are a spy
also? No, I do not see that, the Valleur have never been as
underhanded.”

“Not strictly
true.”

“Shut up,
Krik!” Matt hissed.

“Honesty,
Matt, is always the right way.”

“And what does
honesty force you to reveal?” Dall Mossen asked.

“The Valleur
did use spying as a tool in our war on the human race. A long time
ago, and we have since learned different lessons.”

“Such as
honesty?”

Krikian
inclined his head with a brief smile.

The crime lord
turned his gaze back to Matt. “Do you hold to that morality?”

Matt
swallowed. “I do now.”

“Ah. A change
of heart.”

“No, a change
of circumstances. My heart is the same.”

“And why do
these changed circumstances bring you to me? To confess?”

“If you need
confession, I shall gladly offer it.”

The three-way
scrutiny went on a few seconds longer before the crime lord spoke
to Krikian. “What brings you to Xen and, more specifically, into my
home?”