‘Claiming the empires are losing their hold’s one thing,’ Caldason said, ‘proving it’s another.’
‘I can only cite instinct, and the evidence of daily experience. There’s a brutality in the air. Don’t you feel it?’
‘More than usual, you mean?’
‘I can’t blame you for mocking. But look around. Disorder’s growing, and at the edges things are drifting into anarchy. We could take advantage of that.’
‘You talk of striking a blow, but you haven’t told me
how
. Do you wonder I have doubts?’
‘No. But perhaps you’ll feel differently when you learn more.’
‘I don’t think we’re going to know each other long enough for that, Karr.’
The patrician eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Maybe we will. I have a… proposal for you.’ He took in Caldason’s wary expression. ‘If you’ll hear me out.’
Reeth considered, then gave a small nod.
‘I need to get back to Valdarr,’ Karr explained. ‘I’ve no protection, human or magical. If you could -’
‘No.’
‘You said you’d listen.’
‘I’ve heard enough. I’m not a wet nurse. I don’t join causes or form alliances. If you want protecting, Kutch here can sell you a shielding spell.’
Rightly or wrongly, the boy took that as a criticism of his effort during the ambush. He was hurt by the comment and it showed in his face. The others didn’t seem to notice.
‘I’m not trying to sign you up to anything,’ Karr said. ‘All I ask is that you see me there safely. After that we go our separate ways.’
Caldason shook his head.
‘You were going to Valdarr anyway, Reeth,’ Kutch intervened.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Why were you going?’ Karr ventured.
Caldason said nothing.
Kutch, feeling reckless after his reproach, dared to answer for him. ‘Reeth meant to seek out Covenant. Though I’m not sure he believes it exists.’
‘Covenant?’ Karr said. ‘It exists all right.’
‘See?’ Kutch reacted gleefully. ‘I
told
you so.’
‘What business do you have with them, Caldason?’ Karr wanted to know.
The Qalochian frowned darkly. ‘Personal business.’
‘Of course. That’s your prerogative. But if it’s magic that concerns you, and you won’t or can’t deal with officially sanctioned practitioners, there are none better than Covenant. Though it must be said that dealing with them has its dangers.’
‘Everything to do with magic has dangers.’
‘True. It’s part of the social glue in an unjust culture. It would be more fairly distributed under the new order I’d like to see.’
‘I’d do away with it altogether.’
Karr looked startled. ‘Really? And they call
me
a radical.’ He would have pursued the issue, but Caldason’s expression bode ill for further debate. Instead he declared, ‘I can put you in touch with Covenant. It would take my kind of contacts. You stand little chance unaided, believe me. So why not a trade? In exchange for leading you to Covenant, you’ll accompany me to Valdarr.’
‘And me!’ Kutch broke in. ‘I’ve got to have somewhere to go too. I can’t stay here.’
Karr seized on this. ‘For the boy’s sake, Caldason, if nothing else.’
The Qalochian looked from one to the other. At length, he said, ‘I’m a wanted man. That has implications for anybody travelling with me.’
‘I’m prepared to take that risk.’
‘Once we get to the city, Kutch would be on his own. I’d need an assurance he wouldn’t just be abandoned.’
‘I’ll see that he’s all right. You have my word on that.’
‘Let’s understand each other. If I get you both to Valdarr, my commitment ends and we part.’
‘So you’re saying yes?’
Caldason sighed. ‘I suppose I am. But don’t take it as meaning I support your cause or whatever this plan is you’re brewing. I’m doing it for the boy.’
Kutch beamed. ‘Great!’
‘Don’t get too excited, we’re not there yet.’
‘Thank you, Caldason,’ Karr said.
‘Save your thanks. You might end up regretting this. As I’ve said before…’ He eyed Kutch. ‘…people around me tend to die.’
‘Your enemies certainly seem to.’
That brought to the surface something Kutch had pushed from his mind. He rose to his feet. ‘Gods, Reeth, I forgot! Your
arm
!’
Karr joined the chorus. ‘Yes, your wound! We’re sitting here talking and -’
‘Easy.’ Caldason waved them back. ‘Don’t get into a panic on my account.’ With no particular urgency he rolled up first the sleeve of his jerkin, then the stained shirt sleeve beneath. His arm was caked with blood. He spat into his hand and began wiping the gore away. The exposed skin was unbroken. There was no wound. ‘I said it was nothing.’
Kutch gaped at the unblemished flesh. ‘But…’
‘Sometimes things look different in the heat of a fight,’ Caldason told him.
‘I could have sworn you took a blow,’ Karr said, puzzled.
‘A trick of the light maybe. It’s of no concern.’ He rolled down the sleeve. The action implied a finality, a closing of the subject.
Karr and the apprentice exchanged a look. Neither felt like arguing with him.
‘Now get yourselves ready,’ Caldason said. ‘We’re leaving.’
9
Serrah Ardacris didn’t care.
It didn’t worry her that her stolen boots were the wrong size and hurt her feet. Or that her clothes, snatched from washing lines, scavenged from rubbish tips, were mismatched and ill-fitting. It was only of vague interest to her that for two days she had eaten scraps, drunk rainwater and slept fitfully in doorways.
Serrah hadn’t gone anywhere near her quarters, of course, or attempted to contact anyone she knew. She understood how the Council for Internal Security worked; what was possible, what their resources were. So she kept moving. Dirty, exhausted, mending too slowly from her beating, she hobbled as much as walked Merakasa’s packed streets.
She was in a curious, befuddled frame of mind, her head full of fluff and dim stars. She felt discorporate, as if observing herself from afar. She was cautious of watch patrols and paladins. But perversely, part of her hoped she’d run into them and make an end of it.
Although she was largely indifferent to her condition, two genuine fears prowled at the edge of her consciousness. One was that she would turn a corner and see Eithne. Or something purporting to be her. In fact, twice she thought she had, and each time her insides gave a giddy lurch before she realised the error. Never mind that she knew her daughter to be in her grave.
Serrah’s other dread centred on tracker glamours. The thought of bloodhound spectres and homing revenants penetrated her daze and iced her spine. She wondered whether her former masters wanted her badly enough to justify the expense.
As she roamed, her grasp on reason ebbed and flowed. When the tide was out she had to fight down the urge to scream aloud or pound her head against a wall. To see if anybody noticed. To verify her existence.
In lucid moments she dwelt on the identity of her rescuers and their motive, like a dog worrying a well-chewed bone.
She wandered out of a prosperous area and into a poor one. From citizens parading in finery to beggars with outstretched hands; from bedecked carriages to pigs rooting in the streets. A surprisingly short distance separated the credible, quality magic of wealth and the questionable, second-rate charms of penury.
Here the underprivileged relied on costermongers hawking low-cost spells. Shoddy merchandise smuggled from foreign sweat shops where child labourers toiled in dangerous conditions without proper magical supervision.
There were the counterfeiters’ stalls, too. When people couldn’t afford to be particular they gambled on fakes. Sometimes the imitation glamours worked. Other times they disappointed, even harmed. Occasionally they proved fatal.
The touts and bootleggers were unlicensed traders, and the penalties for such illegality were harsh. For protection they employed lookouts. Some paid roughnecks to create a diversion should law enforcers happen by. Mostly they guarded their safety with bona fide magical defences; dazzle glamours, ear-splitter banshees, deception clusters and the like.