‘Is this an atmospheric phenomenon?’ he asked Ada, not quite concealing the note of hope in his voice.
‘No,’ she said softly. ‘Look, you can see how it’s erupting from the surface of the moon.’
Kavan looked back down the path behind him. Thousands of pairs of eyes were turned to the sky, yellow and green and red lights shining in the darkness.
Then he turned back to the sky. A long flare of light trailed from the moon into the darkness. What was going on?
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do heard the Copper Market well before he entered it. The noise of so many robots speaking and shouting; the ringing of metal being beaten into shape; the cackle and lowing of animals: the sounds echoed through the narrow streets of the mid-city.
He entered beneath the bone arch and found himself amongst the seemingly random collection of close-packed stalls and booths that had been gathering here in Sangrel for hundreds of years. Commanders had come and commanders had gone, but the Copper Market had sailed on through time untouched by higher events. There were stalls here whose position had been handed down from maker to robot for generations; there were traders whose lineage went back to the time that Sangrel had been carved from the rock.
Originally, this had been the place where copper was traded, but as the fame of the market spread, so other stalls had been set up, until the Copper Market had become the principle place to buy and exchange goods for all of southern Yukawa.
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had entered the market by the livestock gate, and he found himself jostled by two skinny cows pushing their way through the crowd. Their owner, an iron robot carrying a long wooden stick, fell to his knees before Wa-Ka-Mo-Do in horror and supplication.
‘Peace,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, signalling to the Copper Guard to remain still. ‘They are fine animals,’ he said to their owner.
‘Thank you, oh my master.’
‘This is a breed prized for its leather, is it not?’
‘Yes, my master.’
The robot remained kneeling before him, eyes fixed on Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s feet.
‘You had better retrieve your animals before they cause some damage,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and he went on his way into the crowded square.
There was so much to see here. Birds with clipped wings fluttered and squawked in cages, lizards baked in the hot sun. A frantic bellowing sounded, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do turned to watch a cow being carefully cut apart. Two strong robots held it in a metal grasp whilst a woman drew a knife beneath its throat. Rich red blood squirted over her body, it dripped from her elbows onto the stone ground. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked down to see that he had been walking in the sticky fluid: red metal footprints tracked his progress through the market.
There was a sudden commotion, the sound of someone shouting, and laughter spread through the crowd. The noise reminded Wa-Ka-Mo-Do of home, it was so long since he had heard people laughing like this, and he moved to see what had happened, the Copper Guard clearing a path for him as he went. He came upon a woman scolding her child, holding up the bodies of four dead animals by their tails. Rats, he thought. What use a robot would make of their skin and bones he didn’t know, but poverty found a use for most things.
‘No!’ she was shouting. ‘They’re animals. Animals! You can’t swap their heads around!’
The crowd laughed all the louder as the child tried to stick the heads of the dead animals back on their bodies. They laughed at the woman, at her frustration at losing stock, but the laughter died away as they saw Wa-Ka-Mo-Do standing there in their midst.
‘Madam, he made an honest mistake,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, but already the crowd was dissipating. The woman fell to her knees before him, and at that moment Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah appeared at his shoulder.
‘Honoured Commander, I have found you at last!’
‘Greetings, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.’
‘Honoured Commander, if I may say, it does not do to be too approachable to your subjects. Not ever, but especially not now, when they talk and plot against you.’
‘Against me, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah?’ He laughed. ‘I have only just arrived here!’
‘They plot against the Emperor, and so by default, against his representative here. Honoured Commander, the people here are angry. Rumour sweeps the city and the surrounding lands.’
‘The people here seem quite content, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.’
‘The people here haven’t lost their jobs in the mines and the fields. The people here still have goods to trade.’ For just a moment, the frustration sounded in Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah’s voice. ‘My apologies, Honoured Commander, I speak out of turn.’
‘No, not at all. It’s your duty to keep me informed. Now, lead on. What is it you wish me to see?’
A shadow passed over Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah’s face. ‘Not out here, Honoured Commander. For the moment, you are merely taking a walk in the market, inspecting the produce. Follow me, and I will show you.’
Puzzled, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do followed Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah out of the livestock market and through the tanner’s quarter, where he saw slowly turning drums filled with chromium sulphate and animal hide.
‘I knew a robot with a nose who walked through here,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, in an attempt to appear nonchalant. ‘She said the smell was terrible!’
‘Really?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, looking at a rack of pale blue skins, drying in the sun.
They passed into the Copper Market proper, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do halted for a moment, struck by the scene.
The stalls here were older, but more substantial. They were made of iron decorated with a fine filigree of copper. And set out on them, glowing pale pink, looking so pure it made Wa-Ka-Mo-Do ache to touch them, were ingots of copper. Beautiful, clean pink copper.
‘What couldn’t a robot make with such metal?’ he said in awe.
‘Oh, indeed,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, ‘but not now. This way.’
They passed on, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looking about him at the pure ingots of iron and aluminium and gold and feeling the pull of them throughout his electromuscles.
They came to the poorer part of the market, the northern end, built up against the walls and cliffs that rose up to the high city where Smithy Square and the Copper Master’s house were built. The light here was dimmer, the stalls crowded closer together. The wares on sale were of poorer quality, the robots that thronged the narrow ways were of poorer construction. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do watched a young woman searching through a selection of scraps of tin and poor alloys, hunting for the best-quality metal. Her body was cheaply made, dented and scratched. In that she resembled the other robots who walked here. Fires glowed pale red, lit by poor coal, and black smoke drifted by. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was aware of how the robots here gazed at him. There was still fear, yes, but there was envy too. Envy of his strong body, envy of who he was. And underneath it all, resentment.
‘We’re here,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do saw he had been led to very edge of the market. The old stone walls of the city rose high up above him, partly rockface, partly bricks. Caves and rooms had been cut out of these walls, and robots had set up more stalls and forges and storerooms within them. Despite the bustle of the market, the area in front of one of the caves stood empty. There was a leather curtain draped across its entrance, and it was to this one that Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah was leading Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.
‘What is it?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.
‘It is best that you see, Honoured Commander.’ He pulled aside the curtain, just a little, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do stepped into the darkness beyond.
A silver robot moved towards him, drawing her blade. She let it fall when she saw who it was.
‘My apologies, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. I did not immediately realize it was you.’
‘Peace, La-Ver-Di-Arussah.’ Wa-Ka-Mo-Do recognized her insult: she was implying that he dressed himself in the manner of a peasant.