A Play of Shadow (55 page)

Lamplight caught on ripples in the water, reflections dancing overhead as they passed under the bridge. Something followed them, submerged in that mix of silver and tarnish. Several somethings. But they were small and in the water and Bannan Larmensu worried more about the dense foliage that overhung the wall where an ambush could wait.

Lamplight and stone, water and cloud. He’d looked deeper
the once and wouldn’t, he thought with a shudder, do so again if he could help it. Unlike Marrowdell, here the world of dragons overlapped this one as though in a mirror. What was ground and river there twisted above, topsy-turvy, within what was cloud and sky here.

No wonder mimrol rained down.

No wonder they’d had to fall to cross.

The truthseer refused to consider the return journey.

The bridge marked the end of the lake and the start of a canal that flowed away between stone banks, walkways, and walls as far as Bannan could see. Another bridge arched across in the distance. Here and there, planters—of the same ubiquitous gray stone—brimmed with greenery but if any were flowers, this seemed not their season. Looking up, he caught glimpses of lights in windows. Buildings loomed beyond the foliage that tumbled over the walls, indistinct and distant.

Their guide kept a few paces ahead, the hem of his cloak sweeping the stone with each step. The hood was separate, Bannan noticed, and the fabric of both, though so dark a brown as to seem black, flowed like silk. The air being summer-warm, the lighter material made sense. Or the man’s raiment was designed to fold, quickly, into the smallest of bundles. A good disguise.

How quick, suspicion. How unavoidable, old habits.

How very welcome, both. What he’d learned as a farmer was of no use here. Jenn Nalynn walked beside him. She’d been shaken at first, and he couldn’t blame her, but rallied with courage. Now she looked around with the beginnings of wonder. Her first canal. First bridge. First city.

In no way did he blame her, but Ancestors Dazzled and Distracted, a city had its share of nonmagical pitfalls and threats. They’d need to stay together.

Then Bannan found himself distracted as the path widened, the wall replaced, here, by the formal entryway of a building, complete with tall paired doors and wide, shuttered windows. A sign hung over the doors, proclaiming this a private residence, and chains crisscrossed the doors, proclaiming it closed. Four columns stood waiting, the sort that would support an awning for shade. The awning was missing—not that Bannan could imagine a need for shade here.

For privacy from above, perhaps.

“This way.” The Naalish led them past the chained door to the opening to a narrow alley, hidden from view behind one column. Bannan had to turn sideways to fit and a horse couldn’t have passed through.

The kruar followed without difficulty.

Bannan reached his hand back for Jenn’s, more to be sure she was there than anything else. Her fingers squeezed his. Reassurance, that was.

Older stone formed the alley walls, damp and eroded, as though all effort to maintain the buildings to either side went to what faced the canal. Moss grew in cracks, interspersed with the waxy yellow of butter fungus. There were lamps, head-high, their glow dimmed by matted cobwebs. That they held oil was unlikely. Magic, Bannan decided uncomfortably, but whose?

“This feels like a trap,” observed a kruar.

The other replied, “Who here would dare trap a turn-born!”

Bannan felt Jenn’s hand tremble; she didn’t speak.

The house toad squirmed in his pack, and was that a patpat on his ear? Ancestors Witness. Did they plan to ride him the entire time?

Another squeeze on his fingers.

The alley ended in stairs, steep and laden with filth that must wash down in heavier rains. Bannan let go of Jenn’s hand to use his own along the walls. Better the dirt than to slip himself and fall on her.

They’d climbed one story, by his estimate, then part of another, when the hem of the cloak whisked away around a corner above. Bannan risked taking the four final steps two at a time, to spring a trap if one waited.

But what waited at the top wasn’t a trap.

It was another city.

The people of Channen were wealthy beyond her imagining, Jenn concluded, if they could afford to let their city fall into such decay.

Or were careless of its repair. After all, Devins and Roche were no great housekeepers themselves. If someone like them owned this magnificent stone staircase, a work of art in itself—

No, even the Morrills would keep the steps clear of mud and dead leaves, though they might neglect to brush webs from the lamps. Jenn slowed to take a closer look. Each was a different sort of fish, the light coming from a globe of glass where a belly would be, with fins and tail and head of a greenish metal. They were ever-so-clever—

“Jenn.”

At the top, Bannan was beckoning her to hurry. “Sorry,” Jenn whispered to the kruar behind her, rather embarrassed to be caught gawking, but this was the most amazing and glorious place—under the dirt—she’d ever seen.

Until she went up the remaining steps and realized she’d seen nothing at all.

At the top was a small walled landing, cluttered with debris that crunched or slid underfoot, and roofed in drooping leaves larger than any Jenn had seen before. To the left of the landing was an arched gate taller than Bannan, made of black metal bars with a charming inset of flowers, also of metal.

The gate was open, the truthseer holding it so, but Jenn barely noticed. She stepped from the gloom and filth of the landing onto what she recognized as glazed tile—the Ropps having two pieces they brought from Avyo and now used in their dairy—formed into a—a porch, she supposed, for they’d come out onto another level.

Rather, another world.

At first she struggled to make sense of where she was, given where they’d been. There was no water in sight. Instead, a broad cobbled road ran like a river between towering buildings. They leaned and tilted, as if in conversation. Or did the clouds that wreathed their roofs press down? In places, buildings met overhead, with the road going right through them, and in all were windows with bright curtains billowing through their openings, for there was a breeze here, the air cooler and drier. There were doors, too, most open to offer bewildering glimpses of what lay within, but no yards or gardens between.

If sight bewildered, sound was worse, for they’d come up in the midst of what had to be everyone in Channen.

Ancestors Crushed and Crowded. People were everywhere. Leaning out of windows, going through doors. Meeting on sidewalks. The cobbled road could hardly be seen for the wheels of elegant carriages and carts, and the smartly moving legs of horses. Everyone in a hurry, and everyone talking or shouting, and everywhere clatters and loud thumps and was that music or was it her heart beating so quickly she felt ill—

“This way, Dearest Heart.” Bannan took her hand, drawing her to his side. “Quickly.”

Though she’d never been exposed to so many eyes at once, no one seemed to notice as they walked over tiles to where an open door promised shelter. Seeing that, Jenn was proud not to break into a run.

Safe inside, she found herself in a room larger than any in Marrowdell, other than a barn or the mill. More lamps curled out from the walls, these polished and gleaming. At the far end of the room were three doors, the rightmost being only half a door, like a stall.

As was the floor, of wood that more rightly, in Jenn’s experience, should have been made into fine furniture and not a walkway for people.

And horses, for the kruar crowded in behind. They looked, if anything, more bewildered than she by their surroundings and Jenn felt a rush of sympathy. She supposed the expected arrival of horses explained the lack of furnishings, for there was nothing other than a set of familiar-looking trunks against a wall.

Arrangements, indeed.

The cloaked man closed the outer door, shutting out the din and them inside. Using two hands, he pulled off his hood.

Jenn found herself disappointed by her first up-close look at a full-blooded Naalish, though really, what had she expected? Most of Rhoth and all of Marrowdell had Naalish blood and this man might have been Anten’s older cousin, with a similarly blunt nose and high cheekbones. His skin was paler, but in a place called the Shadow District her tanned skin might be thought odd. His gray hair was longer than Bannan’s, swept neatly in a braid.

As for his expression? It was what Aunt Sybb would call a polite face, which showed nothing at all but pleasant attentiveness.

Bannan let go of her hand and touched his shoulder once more. “Our thanks.”

The Naalish echoed the gesture. “I must apologize,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry. “We’d not readied attire of the correct size or coloring. There will be a brief delay.” Jenn thought she saw a flicker of curiosity in the other man’s eyes, but he must have been well-schooled in the privacy of turn-born. “You will, I’m sure, wish to bathe.” His hand lifted to point to the middle door, then shifted to indicate the half door. “As usual, your mounts are welcome to hunt the rooftops. We ask only that they leave any banded birds alone.”

So he knew what they rode or had instructions, which was all well and good, and they needed a bath and wouldn’t new clothes be a delight? However, hospitality, as far as Jenn was concerned, ought to include something more basic. “Forgive me, good sir, but is there something to eat?”

Bannan half smiled. “My thought as well,” he agreed. “We’ve had a long journey.”

Oh, then curiosity flared, but the Naalish restrained himself. “Refreshments await by the bath.” As if they should have known.

Then he waited, as if they should know what to do next too, so Jenn lifted her head and walked straight to the door to the bath.

Hoping the tub wouldn’t be outside and in view of strangers.

The Naalish had taken their arrival in stride, a bland acceptance Bannan didn’t trust. Though he’d seen no lie in the man’s face, a delay to obtain clothing could be a delay for something else as well, including a message to bring constables or whomever else might care about strange turn-born in their city.

They were tossing the ’stones, they were. High and wide and wild. But the real truth was they couldn’t move about as they were. The turn-born who came here regularly to trade had put measures in place, as they had in Marrowdell, measures they’d use to their advantage.

Before Jenn could go through that door without him, Bannan reminded her, “The horses.”

She turned with a quick smile. “Of course.”

The Naalish not volunteering to assist with that duty, Bannan led the way through the half door, the kruar coming behind Jenn.

Behind the door was another empty room, with saddle racks on one wall. It was more landing than room, for one set of stairs led to a doorless opening that showed sky, while another led down into dark water. The kruar prowled around, nostrils flared. “Not a trap,” the young male concluded with an “I-told-you-so” air.

The mare’s lip curled. “There’s always a trap.”

“That’s the attitude,” Bannan said cheerfully, setting down his pack—and the toad. “Let’s get those saddles off.”

That brought their heads around. “‘Off?’”

“You can’t want to keep wearing them.” Jenn went to her mount, then turned to Bannan. “I don’t see a girth.”

He’d gone to the mare only to discover the same problem. The saddle appeared one of leather, simple yet well fitted, but there was no strap to undo.

The truthseer looked deeper.

Armor and crest of shimmering blades. What had seemed a leather saddle? A callus grown from the kruar’s back, like proud flesh on a leg wound. Exactly like, he realized, for the armor beneath had been cut away to expose the flesh. Bannan shuddered as he regained his normal sight. “I don’t understand,” he said numbly. “The kruar who came to Marrowdell wore normal harnesses. Why this?”

A red eye considered him. “We are nameless. The turn-born do not expect us to be faithful.”

“Or to return.” With a familiar dark humor. “We will prove them wrong. We aspire to the greatness of Scourge the Malevolent!”