The Hidden City (32 page)

So much for his work, his secrecy.

He reminded himself that she was a
child
. This did not have the desired effect. Looking at her—looking down on her—he could see both vulnerability and determination, and it was a combination that was unsettling in its familiarity. Her eyes, the standard brown of Southern descent, were wide and almost unblinking as she watched him turn key in lock; they burned, in their own way.

And he would have let them burn quietly, in the safety of his home, had she not introduced the two orphans. Arann, almost Rath's height and width, and Lefty, smaller than she. The ghost of a girl he had never seen was wrapped up in the mystery of Jewel. Finch, she had called her.

“This,” he said grimly, “is for Finch. I hope she's worth the risk.”

Jewel's eyes widened. She bit her lip. Pushed her hair out of her eyes—although it wasn't in them. All her nervous habits came and went in the moment between the lock's welcome click and the silent movement of the new door.

“I don't know,” she told him, as he stepped into the dark, lifting his hand so that the light reached its greatest height. He had called this room a storeroom, as had the building's owner, but he had chosen to store nothing in it. The floorboards, as the owner had implied, were in poor repair. Where poor repair meant they wouldn't hold the weight of anything heavier than a starving mouse. He tested the floor almost gingerly, regretting the lack of a pole.

“What don't you know?”

“If she's worth the risk.”

Rath shook his head. So much potential power in that child, and none of it understood. Not by Jewel herself. He let his breath leave him in a forced, loud exhalation, the only other sound in the room save for quiet breathing.

“She's worth the risk,” he told her, without looking back. “Stay to the side of the room; keep to the walls.”

“How do you know?”

“The floor is—”

“About Finch?”

“How could I not?” He countered, taking his own advice. “You had the vision,” he added. “We'll need rope here. Do you know where the rope is?”

“In your pack?”

“Not the one I was wearing. The older one.”

“The big one?”

“Yes. That one.”

He heard her leave, and waited, continuing his cautious examination of the floor. She returned quietly. Good girl.

“Rath?”

“Yes?”

“What did you mean? About how I could not know, I mean.”

“You're not going to let her go,” he replied evenly. It was hard to do it; he wanted to snap. But in the darkness, in the sudden danger of eroded architecture, he hoarded his impatience. “No matter what I tell you, no matter how much danger you'll wind up facing, you're not going to let her go.”

Her voice was a child's voice when she answered. “I can't.” It was also a whisper.

“I know. If I thought it would help, I
would
throw you out. You've been enough trouble as is.” Before she could stammer or freeze, he lifted the hand that didn't contain the light, cutting off her words. “But you've
also
saved my life.”

“We're even,” she began.

“In more than one way, Jewel. And I imagine, if you survive this, you'll save my life again.”

“Don't.” The bitterness was heavy. It added years to her voice. “I've never been able to count on—”

“I know. The holdings will kill me eventually.” He turned, then, exposing something he hadn't realized was hidden until this moment. “I accept that. I chose this life. But you? You
didn't
. Arann didn't, and Lefty didn't. And I expect you to survive the life you eventually
do
choose. Do you understand, Jay? Jewel?”

She didn't, quite. He could see it in the way the light played up the lines of her face. “No.”

“I know. I want you to learn whatever I can teach you because I want you to have the choice that I did.”

“And make the same choice?”

He could not answer the question. He would never answer that specific question, not directly. “And make the choice that seems wisest to you at the time,” he told her, but the words were thick.

She was a danger in too many ways. He longed, deeply, viscerally, to be rid of her. And he knew, at this moment, that it would almost kill him.

“Help me,” he said, trying to bury emotion, trying to deny attachment. “Those boards.”

She started toward them and he snapped her name; she froze. “Lie down,” he told her. “Lie as flat as possible. I'm going to tie the rope around your waist; if you fall, you won't fall far.” He knelt by the wall and placed the magelight on the ground, passing his hand over it and whispering the word that would brighten its glow.

She waited as he wrapped the rope twice around her almost negligible width, and knotted it with care. Then she did as he had bid; she lay flat against the creaking, unfinished planks. She didn't wait to be told to move; she moved, deliberately, toward the center of the floor, sliding on her stomach, the dust and damp the only scent in the room. Rath braced himself, one foot on the floor and one knee for balance; he also looped the rope several times around his right arm, and he spoke to her, not giving orders, but giving instead the slow encouragement of an even, smooth tone of voice.

The floor gave, as he expected, the boards suddenly tilting toward the darkness of the nothing beneath them. They creaked; something snapped. Jewel didn't fall, but she slid forward, her palms against rough grain. She'd have splinters for sure, but he could remove them later; splinters didn't kill. Infection, on the other hand, cost limbs.

The floor here was so damp it took a while for the boards to snap, and they didn't so much snap as disintegrate in sharp pieces. Jewel did fall then, and Rath felt the rope around his arm go taut, instantly cutting off all circulation. He heard the whoof of her breath as it left her in a rush, felt the rope twist as she momentarily struggled with the sensation of suspension.

When she stilled—as much as she could—she was a weighty pendulum with a slow arc. He inched forward, lowering himself to the floor and giving the rope some play. It, too, was rough, and it scraped the skin off his arms, pulling the pale cream of undyed linen against his skin. He reached for the magestone with his free hand.

“I'm throwing the light down,” he told her. “If you can catch it, that's good; if you can't, let it drop.”

“But what if it—”

“We have the money for another,” he told her, “and I'm not without backup.” Again, he kept his voice soothing and calm.

She impressed him; there was no panic in her voice when she told him she was ready. He rolled the stone toward the large hole she'd made in the floor, and managed not to wince as it followed the incline of that hole and disappeared, taking most of the room's light with it. The storeroom had no window wells, no external light.

Which, given the undercity, was what he expected; it was also how he worked. He could see the brightness of the light vanish, and listened for its fall.

The rope twisted against his arm; he was thankful that Jewel was still street-thin, a gangly child. “It's—it's hit ground,” she managed to tell him.

“How far down?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe ten feet?”

“I'm going to lower you down.”

“Good. Because the rope is crushing my stomach.”

He chuckled.

“Do we have to go up the same way?”

“We won't be able to. We'll come up—” He stopped himself. “You'll see.”

She said nothing, and he began to edge himself along the same floor that had buckled beneath her weight. The floors were actually worse than he'd expected, and he would have to have them replaced in their entirety, which meant strangers—even the ones he called friends—in his private space.

He'd worry about it later.

Now, he just hoped that the floor held him for long enough that Jewel made it down without injury. He listened as he moved, as he let more rope play out. The rope itself was a good ten yards in length, and far too bulky—but he'd discovered that this had its uses, and the more expensive rope made by the maker-born required both a public presence at the Guild and an assumption of some rank.

He wished for neither.

The rope went slack, and he felt his shoulders relax.

“I'm down,” she told him. “And I've got the light.”

“Good girl. Hold it, now; I'm going to come down after you, and I'm likely to hit the ground rolling.”

She understood what he meant, or at least he assumed she did; he crawled on his stomach to the same point that had swallowed Jewel, and the planks beneath him gave about two feet earlier. He was prepared for this, and he managed to make the fall a rolling fall.

Dragging a trail of dust and old cobwebs, he managed to gain his feet; Jewel had pressed herself into the walls to give him a clear path should he need it. Smart girl. Her fingers gripped the magestone too tightly, and he stood, showing her that he could, before they relaxed.

He was standing on packed, oiled dirt; the walls were of rough stone and were covered in fine, green algae. The earth wasn't much of a housekeeper. But this, this was what he expected. He motioned for light, and she brought it, stepping gingerly, the rope now loose around her waist and her almost nonexistent hips.

He smiled; the light touched his face, lending it no warmth. “I was right,” he told her. “This is the right place.”

He pulled another silver circle out of his inner pocket. “Compass,” he told her. “I've never navigated this entrance to the undercity, and not all of the pathways in were preserved. Let's hope this one was.”

She nodded, and fingered the knot he'd made. He shook his head. “Leave it,” he said firmly. “It's not a guarantee of safety, but we've another level to go before we're in the real maze. If you fall, I'll catch you.”

“And if you fall,” she said, just sharply enough that he tasted fear, “I'll fall with you.”

He shrugged. “Soft landing,” he told her, “if you can control yours.”

He began to walk, and Jewel, to follow. Neither spoke. The ceiling—such as it was—was adorned by the occasional tree root; they had to duck a couple of times, but this, too, was normal. Rath felt a sense of solitary peace, even with Jewel at his back. This, this was his home in some fashion. Dark, yes, and unknown. But not unknowable.

He'd found the maze some five years back. Perhaps he'd been looking for it. Its black caverns, its white buildings, its old facades—they seemed to call to him in their perfect silence, as if they were the tombs to which he would at last be brought. No one lived to be old in the holdings. Not when they lived Rath's life.

Had he not found the maze at all? He wasn't certain what he would have become. What he would have chosen to become, having left Handernesse, as his sister had done. But he had. And its secrets were
his
secrets, waiting at last to be spoken.

The hall, such as it was, was twisted; it was not of a uniform width, and there were at least two sections that had to be navigated with care. He turned sideways, edging between two dirt walls; Jewel, at least, did not have to make this contortion.

But he wanted to see her face; to see the wonder on it. He had witnessed it once, and it was a gift that he wanted again. Time and familiarity would destroy it, as it destroyed all mystery—but it had not yet begun to decay, and he could not resist a backward glimpse as he offered her his hand.

She took the hand; hers was trembling. She followed.

And he found, to his surprise, that this hall ended in steps. They were stone steps, but the stone itself was worn in the center; at one point, many feet had come this way, leaving slow evidence of passage only in the gentle slope of what had once been flat stone.

“This,” he told her softly, “is unexpected.”

“Is it safe?”

He nodded. “As safe,” he added, “as anything in the undercity can be.”

“What are we looking for?”

“An exit,” he replied. He could almost see her wilt, and he kept his smile to himself, although it was a fond smile. “We can look at buildings if you like; there will be one or two that we must pass through to reach where we're going.”

“Where?”

“You'll see.”

 

“Rath?” Jewel looked at his back. Linen caught light, and because it was pale, Rath seemed almost luminescent in the darkness that knew no sun.

“Yes?”

“Can I afford a stone of my own, if I find something worth any money here?”

“Yes. You can probably afford one now.”

“I can't,” she told him softly. “Not if I want to feed Arann and Lefty. Arann needs—”

“Clothing. Yes. And boots. But, Jay, you have more than enough for that.”

“It's not my money,” she said flatly.

“It's yours.” They'd had this argument before. “Were it not for your interference, there would be no money, because I wouldn't have been there to collect.”

She ignored the words. “And maybe Finch, too.”

“They will not
all
fit in your room.”

“My family fit four people in smaller rooms before.”

He shook his head. “As you insist. As long as they're not in
mine,
or spread out in the training room, I will not argue.”

She walked in silence for another long moment, taking the steps as if they were magic—and illusion, at that—and could disappear at any second, dropping her sudden weight. But she stopped once or twice to touch them; to feel their cold surface against her palms. To judge for herself the truth of his words.