Aveline (8 page)

Hundreds of lights lined the walls of each
floor. Not torches – but lights that ran off of electricity. She
had heard rumors of the outer city possessing the once rampant
magic of electricity. The lighting was as bright as fire but
colder, cleaner.

Behind railings on each level, where clumps
of wealthy people gathered to look down upon the events of the
evening, she was able to glimpse doors leading to living
spaces.

“Each floor houses one to three families,”
her guide told her and pointed towards the individual levels
stair-stepping up the interior of the pyramid. The closer to the
top, the smaller the levels became. “There are thirty floors and
two hundred families living here, with the Hanover’s, who have been
in charge for four hundred and fifty years, at the very top.”

Three slaves jostled past
her, laden with plates of seasoned meat whose rich scent made her
mouth water. They hurried up the stairs leading to the second floor
and the village at the center of the pyramid. Music filled the main
floor, which still bore the word
CASINO
in large letters. The crowds
were too thick for her to see what lay beyond the walkways leading
into the first floor space.

Dazzled by the display of wealth, Aveline
did not know what part of the new world before her was the most
stunning: electricity, glittering gems, brocaded silks and fitted
suits, cloaks lined with valuable furs, towering statues edging the
stairs, or the full scale buildings in the village at the center of
the pyramid. Wealth unlike anything those in the inner city would
ever know was worn as casually as she donned shoes. One silk scarf
or turquoise button would provide her food and shelter for a month.
The four women in veils before her wore enough jewelry to feed the
inner city for a year, if not two.

Her guide, George, sighed. “I told you. You
need to try to fit in, if you can. Do not gawk.”

“Shallllll I tallllk like thissssss?” she
retorted, exaggerating his accent.

The slave who met her after her carriage
ride to the outer city was old enough for his hair to be white and
spoke with the same cultured lisp as the other outer city dwellers.
He had not seemed particularly pleased to see her and even now, his
gaze was skeptical. Rather than taking her to her new ward at once,
he had sent her in for a medical exam, where they injected her with
medicine to counter the numbing agent. She had then been scrubbed
down and given clothing traditional to the slaves: gray, cotton
shirts and pants, sturdy black boots and a dark gray cloak.

The clothing was more comfortable than she
expected.

“What is this?” she asked. She plucked the
sash he wore across his chest.

He pushed her hand away. “I told my master
you would never pass as one of us,” George complained.

“I’m not here to pass as one of you,” she
replied. “I’m here to do what I do best.”

“You do not touch another slave’s family
mark,” he said firmly. “This denotes who owns me. Every slave is
identified this way.”

She glanced down. “Why don’t –”

“It’s in your left pocket,” he snapped.

Aveline had yet to explore this pocket,
though she placed the envelope with her father’s treasure in her
right pocket. She pulled a green sash and a leather necklace from
the left pocket. She set about examining the necklace to determine
how much she could sell it for. The leather rope was simple, the
wooden locket round and clunky and decidedly worthless.

No longer interested, she pulled on both
sash and necklace.

“Not like that.” George
sighed again. He moved forward and expertly arranged the sash so it
was not twisted or wrinkled. “You
must
try to fit in!”

“Why don’t you have a locket?” she asked,
ignoring him.

“Because your locket is meant to look like
it belongs to someone from the street caste. It contains a special
concoction.”

“Really?” Her curiosity renewed, she picked
it up. “Is it poison?”

“I do not know what it is. My master
insisted you wear it. He gave specific directions for you never to
open it.”

Aveline smiled, and the older slave pursed
his lips.

“
On the streets, you can do
what you want. Here, every one of these people would kill to be on
the floor above them, and all of them want to be there.” He pointed
to the very tip of the pyramid. “You cannot behave with brashness
or thoughtlessness or disobedience and survive here for long. Some
of these families have been plotting their ascension for
generations and manipulating everyone who crosses their
path.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine,” she said and
shook her head. “These people wouldn’t last a day on the streets.
What do they have to worry about? Being served one pad of butter
instead of two?”

“Not all danger is physical,” he said with
impatience. “You were warned.”

Aveline snorted, amused he
thought to warn
her
about danger. What in this obscenely wealthy enclave was a
threat to the daughter of the assassin guild’s leader, the bearer
of the Devil’s blood? She began learning to use her first machete
when she was three. These privileged, overdressed, weakling snobs
had never seen a knife let alone knew how to use one. Not one
person in the pyramid, except for the occasional Shield soldier,
remotely posed any danger.

“What am I doing here?” she asked.

“What my master hired you to do.” Resigned,
George led her down a quiet hallway populated solely by slaves that
led around the base of the pyramid. He stopped at the first corner,
and they stood waiting.

Aveline watched the scurrying slaves, each
of whom wore a different color sash from the rest.

“If you find yourself in trouble, which I am
certain you will, come to me,” George said when they were alone.
“But otherwise, you will have to earn your place among the
slaves.”

“What?” she asked, shifting her attention
back to him. “Slaves are slaves, aren’t they?”

“There’s a hierarchy. You must adapt to our
way of life quickly.” He looked around then pulled out an elegantly
wrapped bundle from the depths of his cloak. “My master bade me
give you this along with a warning. You must only act in defense,
and only use what force is necessary.”

“I can do that.” Aveline accepted the long
bundle wrapped in soft, high quality leather. It was heavy and tied
closed by a matching piece of leather. Sensing he did not want
anyone else seeing it, she tucked it into her waistband.

“The slave quarters are below the main
floor. The stairs are in each corner.” George indicated the
stairwell beside the doors in front of which they stood. “The
kitchens and offices belonging to other members of the staff are
also in the basement. This is the slaves’ lift. Do not use the
other lifts or entrances not marked for slaves.”

As the said the words, the door before
opened to reveal a small compartment lit by a light bulb.

Aveline frowned, not understanding the
importance of the space. George stepped into it, and she followed.
Before she could ask what they were doing, the box lurched and then
began to climb swiftly.

Her breath caught and her stomach dropped as
she realized they were being carried upwards, towards the top of
the pyramid. Her attention went from admiring the fist-sized bulb
that managed to light up every corner of the lift to the scene
below them. She leaned against the front of the wooden box and
stared down at the village at the center of the structure. It was
filled with people, and the murmur of their talking echoed off the
walls of the pyramid.

When the lift stopped, the people below were
the size of insects.

“This way.” George said from behind her.

She turned and trailed him past four Shield
members and into a hallway whose floors and walls were made of
polished marble. The ceilings soared, and stately paintings in
heavy frames lined the walls, some taller than her. Glittering
crystal chandeliers blazing with brilliant, white light hung from
the ceilings.

The hallway opened up into an elegant,
circular shaped gathering area with antique furniture, sculptures,
more paintings and even larger chandeliers. George led her around
the area to another hallway and then onward to a dining chamber
featuring a table at least forty feet long. Aveline’s eyes fell to
the silver cutlery and delicate, porcelain place settings, and she
automatically calculated how much she could sell just one for, if
she managed to steal it without being caught.

Every room he led her into was more opulent
than the last, until she was certain she was walking into a dream.
They passed only one other slave wearing a green sash and none of
the apartment’s residents.

After seeing more spectacular chambers,
their path dead ended in a cul de sac flanked by four gilded doors.
George paused before the one on their right and turned to face
her.

“You must not, under any circumstances,
allow anyone to know why you are here, or that someone hired you
for a position other than as a slave.” His features were unusually
grim. “Especially not her.” He lifted his chin towards the door
before him. “She will monitor your activities closely, and you must
convince her you are nothing other than a dumb, mute slave. Can you
do that?”

“Yes,” Aveline said readily. Role playing
was yet another skill children living in the streets mastered at a
young age in order to manipulate passersby into giving them money.
“Did you say mute?”

“Mute.”

She sighed and nodded.

“Finally, do not lift your eyes from the
floor.”

George opened the door and entered an
antechamber with a gilded fireplace, more chandeliers and statues.
He went to the door on the right and tapped on it.

It was opened seconds later by a female
slave, who bowed her head and stepped aside. The parlor beyond the
door was large. Aveline was starting to become numb to the displays
of grandeur and wealth, but this room lit a spark of anger inside
her. Cups and goblets were inlaid with gems. Silk drapes were edged
with pearls, and items made of gold and silver were everywhere.

She had always known the outer city citizens
lived better than those of the inner city, but the divide between
those who could barely find food and this sparkling, golden, bright
world left her vowing she would steal as much as she could carry
when she left. What could anyone living in such a place ever fear
from anyone? Why had she been hired, when one gold plate would pay
for an army of guardians?

“Forgive my intrusion.” George bowed his
head to someone.

Aveline focused on a raven-haired woman of
exceptional beauty, dressed in silks and gems, who sat sipping tea
and nibbling a pastry from a table laden with more food than
Aveline had eaten in the past year. Different varieties of meats,
savory pies, bowls of vegetables, pastries, breads and rolls, and
other food covered every inch of a table. It was enough for several
families, but Aveline guessed it had been brought for one person
alone.

“What is it, George?” the woman asked
crisply.

“My master purchased a slave for his
sister.”

The woman tensed, set her saucer down with
great control and then rose, facing them.

Beautiful – and cold. Something about the
woman made the hair on the back of Aveline’s neck stand up. This
wealthy woman could not possibly pose any sort of danger, and yet,
Aveline’s instincts – molded by the need for self-preservation on
the streets – were never wrong.

“This?” the brunette asked, lifting an
eyebrow in delicate offence. “This is who my stepson chose to bring
into my home? A mixed slave?”

Mute,
Aveline reminded herself. It took effort to keep her eyes on
the floor when she wanted to slap the woman.

“Absolutely not. I will not have one of her
kind in my household!”

Aveline sneaked a glance at George, who
appeared unruffled.

“He did not believe you would approve of him
spending more than an ounce, and he insisted upon buying a mute,
dumb slave,” George replied calmly. “He believed this would please
you.”

Aveline held her breath, uncertain what the
woman would say.

George’s mistress glided towards them and
circled Aveline. Without warning, she reached out and pinched the
soft skin of Aveline’s inner arm – hard.

Aveline remained silent despite the
pain.

“Hmm,” the brunette murmured. “So she is
mute. But Tiana has enough slaves.”

“My master assured me this
mixed girl is meant to become her
personal
slave,” George persisted in a
low, respectful voice.

“Interesting timing, when he is not around
for several weeks,” she stated. The woman shifted her cold, intent
gaze to George, and she scrutinized his features long enough for
the tension to become uncomfortable. To his credit, George did not
so much as blink beneath her glare.

Aveline waited, uncertain what exactly was
causing the dissent between the two. That this Tiana did not need
another slave? The new slave being mixed?

The identity and importance of this family
was beyond Aveline’s experience to judge. She had been too enamored
by the sensation of flying from the bottom of the pyramid towards
the top to notice on what floor they stopped, except that it had to
be near the top, which meant these people were among the most
powerful and richest in the city.

She was learning hints about the masked man
who tracked her. But a man who lived in this golden world was not
likely to ever visit the inner city. Had he sent someone to do his
bidding?

Did it matter? A wealthy brother had hired
her to guard his wealthy sister. Aveline was starting to unravel
the mystery behind her assignment – and becoming more baffled in
the process.