The Canticle of Whispers (5 page)

For a few moments, they ate in silence. Septima brushed crumbs from her lips.

“What are you doing here, Lily?” she asked suddenly, in a much more serious tone.

Lily knotted her fingers, wondering how much she should admit. Of course, she could swear them to secrecy, but if they traded knowledge here like possessions in Agora, she couldn't be sure that someone else wouldn't find the right price, and then Tertius and Septima would hardly be likely to keep her safe. They still seemed to look on her as a thing rather than a person.

“I'm looking for…” Lily trailed off. What exactly
was
she looking for? There were so many things that had been hidden from her: Her real purpose, as the “Antagonist”—one of the fabled Judges; the secrets that were hidden in the Midnight Charter, this document that seemed to rule her life. But these would have taken too long to explain. And anyway, she wasn't sure if she trusted these strangers enough to tell them this yet. And then, unbidden, the right answer came into her head. The answer that made her feel profoundly guilty, because it wasn't the first thing she had thought of.

“I'm looking for my friend, Mark,” she said. “He was kidnapped, and I need to find him.”

Septima stroked her hair, absently. Lily had expected some kind of reaction, but she seemed less interested by this than when Lily had been describing Agora.

“That doesn't sound like something that just anyone would know,” she said, thoughtfully.

“The Conductor might,” Tertius muttered, darkly. Septima shivered.

“Lily wouldn't want to ask him anything,” she replied, quickly.

“Why not?” Lily asked. “Is he someone important?”

“He's evil,” Septima said, with a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone.

“Brutal,” Tertius agreed.

“A fiend of a man. He's enslaved all of our friends,” Septima remarked, growing increasingly heated.

“He's the reason we're on the run,” Tertius added. “The reason we left everyone we know to trudge through these outer caverns.”

“Lucky for you,” Septima said. “We'd never have found you if it wasn't for him.”

“True,” Tertius said.

They sat in silence.

Lily shifted, uneasily. For a few moments, when talking about the Conductor, they had suddenly animated, sounding genuinely fearful. Now they were listless again, as though nothing had happened. It was almost as if their emotions switched on and off at will. The more time she spent with this pair, the less comfortable she became. But right at the moment, they were all she had.

She was about to speak again when she heard something far off. A distant echo. For a moment, fear gripped her—had they wandered back toward the Cacophony? But Tertius and Septima's reaction made it clear that the danger was of a far more immediate kind.

“The guardians!” Septima hissed. “I knew they were following us. We shouldn't have waited here for so long!” She glared at Lily, as though it were her fault. “Find somewhere to hide,” she hissed.

In a second, Septima snatched up the cloth, and she and Tertius doused the flames of their lanterns. Blinded in the sudden darkness, Lily felt her way behind some thickly clustered stalagmites.

She heard them before she saw them—the soft, steady tread of thick-soled boots. Then she saw an approaching light, and their shadows, dancing on the wall. She just had time to see Tertius and Septima, cowering in little alcoves on the far side of the tunnel, before she ducked back down behind the rocks.

She peered out. The pursuers didn't look too terrible. They were a small group, walking closely. Like Tertius and Septima, they were slim, pale, and androgynous, though they looked stronger than her new friends. The only difference she could see was that each one wore thick gloves that reached up to their elbows, and strips of cloth tied across the lower half of their faces. Lily narrowed her eyes. Those gloves looked scuffed, well used. Considering Tertius and Septima's reactions to physical proximity, she imagined that if these “guardians” were allowed to touch their targets, they must be feared indeed. As for her—she could probably escape from one or two, but there were ten in this group, and she kept her head down, until they had disappeared into the distance.

Tertius and Septima remained pressed against the tunnel wall until long after the guardians had gone. Then, in a sudden movement, Tertius heaved a great sigh of relief.

“That was close,” he said, breathing dramatically.

“You all right?” Septima asked, with genuine concern. Lily noticed her hand, hovering a foot from Tertius's shoulder.

“Fine,” he replied shakily. “Come on, Lily. This way…”

“Mm…” Lily said, distracted. Fortunately, Tertius and Septima didn't seem to notice as they set off that Lily chose to walk a good distance behind them.

For people who prized knowledge so highly, they didn't seem to be all that observant. Lily had been well hidden, but Tertius and Septima had barely had time to conceal themselves at all.

In fact, she was pretty sure that the pursuers had seen Tertius and Septima quite clearly. And they had stared right through them, as if they were invisible.

 

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

The Wheel

“
Y
EAH?”

The big man filled the door so completely that Mark was amazed he had fit through it in the first place. He stared down at Mark without hostility, but with an implacable knowledge that no one was coming through his door without permission. A smell of stale beer and smoke assaulted Mark's nose, but he couldn't see a single thing behind the man's bulk. Whatever was happening here, it was the last place Mark would have expected to find Cherubina.

For nearly two weeks, Mark and Cherubina had been living in a small, musty building in the Aries District. It was an ideal hiding place—drab, empty, and practically indistinguishable from the other gray houses around it. Even if they were spotted in the area, the receivers would have no idea where to start. The residents of Aries kept their own counsel—they weren't the sort to snoop.

Even so, they barely ever left their few cramped rooms. Receiver patrols were getting more and more common, and Mark still jumped when he heard their shrill whistles. They had the occasional visitor—usually Pete, Mark's father, bringing food for them. Neither Mark nor Cherubina could trade for food themselves; their signet rings would have been recognized instantly when the receivers checked the merchants' records. Those visits from his father had been one of the few things making these last days bearable. The others had warned the old jailer to be careful, but nothing would keep him away. Mark and Pete hadn't spent more than a day in each other's company for over three years, and they were determined to make up for it.

But those visits were brief, and usually it was just Mark and Cherubina, alone. Cherubina never spoke of her time in Snutworth's tower, and honestly, Mark didn't want to ask—so it had been down to him to keep them both entertained. And he had tried so hard to keep up their spirits, to assure Cherubina that the Directory had too much to worry about to chase them for long. But as the days passed, he ran out of stories, and patience. He wanted to be out there, trying to find Lily. And instead, he would look at Cherubina and see that every day she was a little less thankful for her rescue, and a little more sullen. He couldn't blame her—she had exchanged one prison for another. Before long, whole days could pass in silence—Mark pacing up and down, suffocating from inaction, and Cherubina sitting silently, stitching away at a series of increasingly mournful rag dolls.

In the end, Mark couldn't stand it any longer. He began to go for walks, just short ones, to clear his head. He was careful—he kept away from receiver patrols, and he was always back by the time his father paid a visit. Pete was worried enough as it was.

So when Cherubina had followed his lead and started to take walks herself, Mark hadn't been too concerned. Mark made her wear a headscarf to cover her distinctive curls, and he was glad to see her starting to feel less trapped.

But then she had begun to go out more and more frequently. She wouldn't tell him where she was going.

And then, just an hour ago, he had found the note.

Cherubina was out again, and as he looked to see where she had put the last of the bread, he knocked over her sewing basket—the one possession she had insisted was hers alone. The little piece of paper had fluttered to the ground among the spools of thread. It had a single sentence scrawled on it, and Mark had read it without thinking:

“Meeting at the Wheel—Taurus 8th, third hour after noon.”

Taurus 8th—today's date. He wanted to stuff the note back into the sewing basket and forget he had ever found it. This was none of his business, and he had plenty to worry about. If it had been anyone else, he would have left well enough alone.

But this was Cherubina. Until two weeks ago, she had never been outdoors without an army of servants.

He put on his jacket.

*   *   *

It didn't take him long to find the Wheel—a famous taproom in the depths of the Taurus District. But he had to admit that he hadn't expected the guard at the door.

“I'm…” Mark floundered, his confidence deserting him. “I'm here for the meeting.”

The huge man nodded.

“You're late,” he grunted. “Mr. Crede's already started.”

He stepped to one side, revealing a dark and smoky interior. Somewhere in the back of Mark's head, a warning note sounded. He was sure that he had heard the name “Crede” before, if only he could remember.

He looked up at the thug. For a moment, he considered asking what kind of meeting this was. Fortunately, a second later his common sense reminded him that he was supposed to know already.

“So, Mr.… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name,” Mark said, trying to sound polite. The man gave an unpleasant grin.

“Nick, and don't you forget it. Don't think you'll be getting any favors from the ‘Mr.,' though, boy. There's no pecking order here; everyone's equal under Crede.”

Mark noted the tension in Nick's huge arm as he held the door. Maybe not any social order, but Mark bet that if any disagreements came up, they'd be solved very swiftly, and directly.

“So … Nick, has my friend arrived yet? I promised to meet her here. You'd know her if you saw her, she's got these blonde ringlets…” Mark trailed off. Nick was shaking his head, and grinning that disturbingly predatory smile.

“Not for me to say. You going in, or not?” he said. “Everyone's welcome, but everyone goes without a name. Protection against spies. But of course, you know that. Whoever told you where to come must have filled you in, yes?”

Mark swallowed, he'd given himself away there. Nick might have been here as muscle, but he certainly wasn't dumb.

“Of course,” Mark agreed, hurriedly. “No problem.”

Shakily, he walked past the man, but as he did so, he felt a rough hand on his shoulder.

“Don't worry, boy,” Nick said, a little more kindly. “Doesn't matter why you came. Everyone here gets a fresh start.”

For some reason that was difficult to fathom, Nick's reassurance made Mark more uncomfortable than his threats. There was something in the way he said it that suggested this fresh start wasn't optional. Once you went through that door—you were one of them.

“Thanks,” Mark said, and stepped in.

To Mark's relief, the taproom beyond was much less sinister, although it was dimly lit and thickly crowded. Through the tobacco smoke, Mark groped his way toward the bar, with a thin and sour-looking barman serving pint pots of muddy beer. He sat on one of the barstools, and as his ears adjusted to the hubbub, he heard a voice from the far side of the room.

“… they hunt us down, force us to hide—like rats. But should we be cowed by this? Hah!” There was a sound, as if someone had banged a metal tankard on a table. “I say this. When, in a thousand years, Agora is naught but dust, and our last fine building has crumbled away, the rats will still be here. Multiplying until their hour has come. Don't be offended by being called a rat, my friends. They need nothing but each other, and they cannot be destroyed.”

Mark looked sharply into the corner, where he could just make out the silhouette of the speaker.

“The time is near, my friends,” the voice continued. “So near, we can taste it! And then, the receivers will regret the lengths they've pushed us to! Remember, if you shake up a rat's nest, you'll be bitten for your trouble!”

The whole room roared its approval, and as it did, a breeze stirred through the smoke, someone raised a lantern high, and Mark could see Crede.

He was tall and ragged, with stringy blond hair and an imperfectly shaved face. Physically, he was not terribly inspiring—he looked like a man who had spent too many nights passed out on the floor. But his stance and eyes told a different story. Every movement, every second, spoke of a man brimming with passion. As Mark watched, the story that Laud had told came back to him. The story of the Wheel, Crede's rival almshouse—of the things he was prepared to do to ensure a better life for those who sought his aid: theft, intimidation, even attacks on receivers. Laud had received a beating at the hands of Crede's thugs, one of whom, Mark was sure, had been the one who had greeted him at the door. As Crede moved, the whole crowd shifted with him, riveted by his every gesture. And they listened as if their lives depended on it.

“The receivers are already learning their lesson, my friends! They cower in their parts of the city, patrolling outside the houses of the elite, so that the wealthiest will think that they are still safe.” He laughed, a short, cruel burst. “Soon they will not dare interfere again, and we can take to the streets, and ensure a fair deal for everyone. Because as long as the Directory remains in power, how can the ordinary man or woman get a fair deal for themselves? What value do they place on the lives of ordinary people? We believe that humanity is worth more than the market price!”