The Fade

~ What else do they have? ~ the Overseer is saying.

~ They have many cuts of lizard, Overseer Arachi. A supply cart arrived recently from the lava plains ~

~ Do they have fintail? ~

~ Master, they are preparing a stew of fintail and wrack-cap as we speak ~

~ That sounds delicious. Bring some to me ~

~ For the love of Maal, I obey ~

She draws another gesture in the air with her hand, then bows and puts her palms over her face as if veiling herself. She leaves, pauses, looks back.

~ Yes? ~ the Overseer asks.

~ Master, I heard noises. As if someone was knocking at your door ~

~ Well, there is no one here now ~ he replies.

~ Of course. It is my mistake. Many apologies ~

With that, she departs. The Overseer stands in the doorway, watching her go. Maybe something lascivious there, maybe the affection of a man for a pet. I can't think. My arms and legs are trembling. Agony digs jagged claws into my shoulders, buttocks, thighs. My fingers are going numb and my hands feel like they're going to rip from my wrists.

Go inside, you bitch-fed catamite, or I'll come down there and kill you!

It's an empty threat. He dies, our escape is ruined. But it gives me the strength to hang on for the grinding, vast moments until he steps back and closes the door behind him.

I swing my legs under me and drop soundlessly to the floor. A dozen monstrous cramps hit me simultaneously, and it's all I can do not to groan as my tortured muscles howl at their abuse. But all pain passes, and this is no exception. I'm left panting and sore on the floor of the corridor, but I'm alive, and I'm out.

When I'm capable, I get to my feet and touch the folded package of servants' clothes, bound flat against my back, checking it's still there.

So far, so good. But we're a long way from freedom yet.

23

I forgot the most cardinal of rules in the spy game. Never underestimate anybody. Nereith was staring at us across the food hall the whole time I was talking to Charn. I thought he was seething with suspicion. The reality was much simpler. He was lip-reading.

The four of us sit in the shadows of our cell, facing each other, our hunched backs excluding the others. Faint light spills from above, casting shadows down the hollows of our faces. The rough walls of the cave drip with moisture. Everything smells of sweat and shit.

Charn holds out his hand, concealing what's inside. I take it. The cold weight of a key. I study it surreptitiously, keeping it shielded from sight. It's rough, but it looks like it'll work. A simple skeleton-key arrangement. There's no design on the bow and the blade is the tiniest bit out of alignment, but as long as the teeth are accurate it should be fine. And it's a pretty good job, given the circumstances.

'How did you get it out?'

'They hardly bother checking me. I'm trusted. I put it in my mouth.'

I flinch inwardly. That was a risk we didn't need to take. All it took was for someone to speak to him and we'd have been spitted. I'd told him to hide it in his buttocks. He found the idea offensive. Interesting how the idea of raping me seemed acceptable enough but even the suggestion of something tubular near his arse makes him get squeamish.

I let it drop. No point arguing about it. He got the key. I stash it in a secret pocket inside my trouser belt, designed for the purpose. Someone doing a casual pat-down wouldn't even feel it there. Besides, they don't bother searching lowly slurry-trough workers.

Feyn is a little weak, but his arm has been stitched up. I feel uneasy about exposing Feyn to the attention of one of those Gurta butchers. I don't want them to start getting ideas about seeing the insides of a SunChild.

'What we just did wasn't easy,' I tell them. 'If we keep our heads, we can all get out of here.'

'I'd like to know what you plan to do now,' says Nereith. His voice is very low, the chesty growl of a threatened animal.

'You'll know soon enough,' I reply. 'Before we go any further, I'd like to be sure who I can trust. The more people in on this thing, the more likely someone's going to screw it up.'

He takes the point. I'm deeply uncertain about him. He's got me in an awkward position: I owe him for saving the last operation, and he can make things very difficult for us if I refuse to include him. Some prisoners make bargains with the guards, trading information for favours. Anyone caught doing it tends not to survive very long, but desperation can make traitors of the most honourable men. I'm not sure about the Khaadu. I'm not sure what he'd do.

'I know about you, Massima Leithka Orna,' he says. 'And I know you've heard of Silverfish.'

That interests me. 'I've heard of Silverfish.'

'I haven't,' says Charn. He doesn't like to be left in the dark. Nereith makes a gesture to me, inviting me to tell him.

'He operates out of Veya, as far as I know, but he's got tendrils in all kinds of places. Very secretive. Nobody has seen him, to my knowledge. The only contact is through his lieutenants.'

'This man is a criminal?' Feyn asks, in his naively charming sort of way.

'Criminal, businessman; it's the same thing where I come from,' I reply. 'He's kind of a figure of legend in the Veyan underworld.' I look back at Nereith. 'Certainly a name you don't want to conjure with unless you mean it.'

'It's true that bandying his name around is unwise,' the Khaadu says. 'But I'm sure he would consider it worthwhile, if it helped one of his people escape from Farakza.'

'You work for him?'

'I gather information,' he said. 'Rather like you, Orna, though my methods are more passive than yours. I'm a spy, of sorts, in that I'm paid to keep my eyes and ears open. Silverfish needs to know what is happening in Khaad, as in the other regions of Callespa. I'm the one who finds out.'

'Then how did you end up here?'

'I was captured by a Gurta scouting patrol on my way to Veya. The information I carried was too sensitive to trust to a messenger.' He bares his teeth in what I assume is wistful regret. It's hard to tell. 'My news is useless now. I've been here too long.'

'What were Gurta patrols doing between Khaad and Veya? That's hardly near their battle lines.'

'They were a scouting patrol,' he repeats, deadpan. 'They were scouting.'

I study him for a moment. Deciding what to do about him. He takes the advantage.

'The way I see it, we have several problems. First is breaking out of the immediate prison section, within the fort. You've taken care of that one. I assume you intend to sneak up to the Overseer's office when he is on his rounds, and make your way from there?'

I nod. That much is obvious. 'We never see him arrive or leave except on inspections, even though our shifts change all the time, so we can assume there's another way out of there. From what I know of the floor plan, I'm fairly certain that it leads out of the prisoners' area.'

'Agreed,' he says. 'Then you face the next task. Moving around the fort without being caught. Even as renowned a thief as yourself could not manage that without foreknowledge of the layout or a disguise. Your skin and eyes would give you away. The only disguise that might work is that of an Eskaran slave.'

'One of their scholars told me they keep some here.' I almost say I've heard the guards talking about them too, but I stop myself. Habit keeps me from revealing unnecessary information. They don't need to know I speak Gurtan.

'They do,' he says. 'But you don't look like one. How will you get the disguise?'