The Fade

Now I'm curious. Enough to risk a query. 'Who's Belek Aspa?'

'I am asking the questions,' Gendak says.

And he does. He asks me directly about the size of the Eskaran forces, about my masters' intentions concerning the war, about chthonomancers and their Blackwings and how they power their craft, about Craggens and Ya'yeen and how they integrate with our society, about the mines and our technology and weapons manufacture. He asks me about our attitudes and beliefs towards the Gurta, he asks about fortifications in the Borderlands. He asks about the squabbles of the Plutarchs and the sway of politics. But I get the impression that the Magister lost interest the moment I said I'd never heard of Belek Aspa, and indeed he's soon obviously bored.

I'm grilled by Gendak endlessly, and I lie over and over again, giving him false locations, reinforcing myths, feigning ignorance. It's stunning what they don't know about us; almost as appalling as what the average Eskaran doesn't know about them. The scribe takes it all down. I enlighten them not one bit, and yet when they're finished they think they've gained the deepest of insights, a view into the heart of their enemy. The drug has been entirely cleansed from me by now, and my head is clear again.

The Magister leaves with a triumphant look at Gendak, and his scribe follows him. Gendak sits heavily in his chair, his pale grey eyes full of sorrow. We're alone. I'm not sure what to expect from him now.

'I did not want it to be this way,' he says. 'This was not my intention.'

I don't reply.

'I'm a good man, Orna,' he tells me, and there's a note of pleading in his voice. 'I'm a man of peace and learning. I wanted you to see that. I do not imagine you ever will, now.'

And still I don't answer. And I won't, either. Does he want sympathy from me? Understanding? Is he asking me to absolve him? Not going to happen. Because he might very well be a good man, he might have a noble heart and be learned and compassionate, he might have sons and daughters and he might love them and he might genuinely want to reach me; but he's still a fucking Gurta under all of that, so as far as I'm concerned, I'd like to bludgeon him to death with his own jawbone.

'You'll meet the Elder soon,' he says, almost to himself, as he gets up and makes for the door to let the guards in. 'You might consider that an honour.'

Perhaps he supposes I'm too groggy to remember his comment. Perhaps he genuinely believes I don't know what will happen. But I think this is his way of saying goodbye. I've heard the rumours. I know what kind of honour he means.

They're done with me now: they think they've milked me dry. I'll join the squalling freaks that the prisoners speak of, chained in the depths of the prison. One of the Elder's living experiments. A Cadre woman for him to play with.

Next turn, they'll come for me. If I'm not gone by then, I'll face the worst of all fates. I'm taken straight from there to the food hall. They've recently started feeding us before our shifts in the forge instead of halfway through or afterward. Another one of their random and annoying changes meant to divulge some insight into our behaviour or metabolisms or whatever. I have no idea what their real purpose is, or if there's a purpose at all, and I don't care. By next turn I hope to never have to think of it again.

I sit with Feyn, as usual. He knows something's up. I tell him about the interrogation. Charn comes over and sits down, tearing at a hank of lichen-bread with his teeth. A moment later, Nereith also joins us, sensing a conversation he doesn't want to miss. Their new closeness with Feyn and me has been noted by their companions.

'Time we cleared a few things up,' Charn says.

'Like what?'

'Like you haven't even told us the details of this plan of yours yet, and the Elder's coming next turn, and that's our time, right?' He's been worrying at this particular subject ever since I got back from my trip outside. Every time I put him off it frustrates him more. 'You think we ought to know what we're doing, since you're asking us to risk our lives?'

'I'm not asking you to do anything. Stay if you want,' I reply.

'You know what I mean,' he snarls, poking a finger at me. 'Take me, for instance. Surrounded by guards. Can't even go for a piss break without an escort. How you planning on getting me out of there without anyone noticing?'

'It's covered,' I assure him.

'You said that, so why the secrecy?'

I fix him with a level glare. 'Because there's four lives here at stake, including mine, and I've lived for a long time by not trusting anyone. Now I'll tell you all what to do just before next turn's shift, and it'll all run smoothly.'

'You believe that one of us would betray the others?' Feyn enquired.

'Could, not would. I'm not taking the chance.'

'And yet we have to trust you,' Charn sulks.

'I'm the one with the plan,' I tell him equably.

He gets up and goes back to his own table, where his welcome is muted. They're not so fond of him any more.

Nereith glances over at him, and back to me. 'I'm very interested to hear how you intend to solve that little problem he just mentioned.' He grins. 'Unless, of course, you're not.'

'You're not solving it?' Feyn asks me.

Nereith explains. He likes to show off how smart he is. 'It's impossible to get Charn out the same way we're going. As a blacksmith, he's too well guarded. He served his purpose, and now we're leaving him behind.'

Feyn looks at me, black eyes calm. The Khaadu's got me.

'This turn the fort is in chaos,' I tell Feyn. 'Last-minute preparations. By the time the Elder arrives, most of the chaos will be over. We're not going to wait until the next shift. We're going now.'

'You really are quite ruthless sometimes, Orna,' Nereith says, a hint of admiration in his voice.

'Shouldn't have tried to rape me, should he?' I reply with a shrug, and go back to my food.

20

I sleep in my underwear on the stone floor of the junk room, so as not to crease my dress. I was never very prissy about comfort, even before I got used to sleeping in a cave, and my ribs and thighs have toughened from lying on my side on the hard ground. At least it's warm. The river of spume rock heats the cavern well; either that, or we're deeper beneath the surface than I thought.

I wake to near-total darkness. I had to replace the lantern in case it was missed, and I didn't want to bring light into the room for fear that it would be seen from the yard. I dress and arrange my hair by feel. Not easy, but the way it falls naturally is good enough.

I spend the time until my return making preparations. I've been counting the bells, even in my sleep. Simple awareness training. I have to hope they won't change my group's shift to work the forge, or I'll be noticeably out of place on my return. It's a real likelihood, given the randomness of our schedule.

I find a vantage point and spend most of the turn watching the comings and goings of the carts and wagons in the courtyard. The traffic is sporadic, but there's almost always one or two there, being unloaded or waiting while their drivers water their chila. They're in no hurry. The guards chat to the drivers, the workers chat to each other instead of unloading, everyone smokes. Small stacks of crates have accumulated, waiting for someone to take them away. I guess they're machine parts and weapons from the forge. Our work, ready to be picked up and taken to the front to be used against our people. I wonder what other prison industries they have going here.

By the time I leave, I'm satisfied that getting out of the main gate on a cart is possible. Nobody checks carts at the gate; they do it on the bridge over the river, where there's a wider thoroughfare. The yard is cluttered and carts are left unattended for long periods of time. I'm sure that, by the time the Elder gets here, this will all be immaculately ordered and clear, but until then, it's a mess. That helps me a great deal.