The Blood Debt Part 43

A shadow pa.s.sed over her, and she glanced upwards to see the heavy lifter sailing cautiously across the Wall, inspecting the waters before the daylight completely faded. She thought of Kail and the Homunculus and an unknown number of man'kin who had been caught in the deluge. She didn't know if the flood was a natural accident or part of some macabre design, but she was certain she wouldn't be the only one looking to apportion blame. Somehow, she swore, the dead would be honoured.

Her attention returned to Marmion's wrist and the small work that would save his life.

The Brother.

*A thousand years ago, when the G.o.ddess trod this Earth, the Change was stronger than it is today. All were rich in it, but few possessed mastery over it. From the chaos emerged two heroes, wise and true, who led their people to victory over madness and misrule. Between them they sundered the Change, so all would possess some and none possess all. The Mage claimed the red earth and fiery sun while the Warden took dominion over the deep ocean and stirring breeze.

Since that day peace has reigned. The G.o.ddess help us should they ever be reunited.'

THE BOOK OF TOWERS, FRAGMENT 141.

D.

awn painted warm colours over a tense and exhausted city. After a night of plugging leaks and shoring up foundations that had taken the brunt of the flood, the worst was finally over. Water surged along long-forgotten and poorly sealed tunnels; the yadachi turned their song onto the Wall and the foundations of the city, fine-tuning its natural resilience. Streets filled with water, but the stone barriers held. The torrent remained at bay. Thousands of people who never thought they would be troubled by too much water breathed easier.

Sal wasn't one of them. His problems hadn't ended with the safeguarding of the city - and his contribution to that had been minimal, once the flood had arrived. Barely had he finished healing Marmion when a new set of guards had arrived with instructions direct from the Magister herself. They had taken him, s.h.i.+lly and Skender into custody. Where Gwil Flintham had got to, he didn't know, but there had been no one to bail them out that time. As unimaginable forces a.s.sailed the Wall, they were frogmarched back to the Black Galah and placed in custody with the others. Only Marmion escaped that fate, and then only temporarily. Taken away by the yadachi for emergency medical treatment to his injured arm, enabled by the Blood t.i.the he had given, he had returned six hours later, unconscious and bound heavily in bandages from the elbow down. Nothing remained of his right hand but a padded stump that stank of antibiotic salves.

Sal sighed, feeling responsible for the grievous injury. Yes, Marmion had tried to murder the Homunculus - and yes, Sal had done his level best to save Marmion's life, despite their differences - but no one deserved mutilation. That in the end it had been Skender who had blown someone up, not Sal, didn't a.s.suage his nagging guilt.

Get over it, he told himself. You didn't drag Marmion down there. You didn't place his hand on the chopping block. Even if he tries to blame you, you know he's as responsible for what happened as you are. Telling yourself otherwise is just a twisted sort of hubris you should have grown out of years ago ...

The wind carried with it a plethora of new smells, fair and foul. He had come out onto the roof of the hostel to watch the coming of day, unable to sleep and needing s.p.a.ce to be on his own. The guard standing outside the room he shared with s.h.i.+lly had been reluctant to let him go, until Sal explained that he had nowhere to run to and no reason to run without s.h.i.+lly. That much was the truth.

Getting onto the roof couldn't have been easier. A steep flight of stairs terminated in an access hatch and a short ladder. The roof itself was mostly flat and tiled in red. He picked a place at random and watched the light of the sun creep across the sky, turning the water in the streets yellow. The view was impressive. He could see man'kin on rooftops closer to the Wall, doing much the same as him. Their stone eyes stared blankly at him. The city's population had accepted the stony refugees as a necessary evil, just so long as they abstained from demolis.h.i.+ng the buildings around them. An uneasy truce remained between the two very different populations.

*The weather-workers are quiet,' said a voice from behind him. *What do they call them here? Yadachi?'

Sal turned to see Highson Sparre easing himself slowly out of the hatch. He got up to help and was surprised at the lack of flesh on his real father's arms.

*What are you doing up here? It's cold, and I thought -'

*I'm not dead yet, Sal; I've just been sleeping too long. The guard told me where you were. I'm sorry I wasn't awake to meet you when you arrived.'

*That's okay. I completely understand.' Sal helped Highson down onto the tiles, then sat next to him. His father had been out cold when he and the others had returned to the hostel. s.h.i.+lly had seemed disappointed by that, but wouldn't let him be disturbed. Sal hadn't pressed the point.

They enjoyed the view for a moment. Immediately after the deluge, Sal had seen people filling reservoirs while they had the chance. Now, however, a century's worth of refuse had burst out of the city's underground places, disturbed from desiccated graves. He didn't want to think about what such filth might contain, and hoped the city had sanitation measures sufficient to deal with it. Somehow, he doubted it.

*Yadachi, yes,' he said, belatedly remembering Highson's question. *They've been singing all night. I guess their job is done for the moment.'

Highson nodded distantly. His eyes gleamed in the light. The beginnings of a peppery beard spread like a stain over his brown-skinned features.

*I want to tell you,' Sal's real father said, *that I'm sorry.'

*For what?'

*For dragging you all the way out here.'

*Don't be ridiculous. You were in trouble. We had to come.' It was easier to parrot s.h.i.+lly's logic than confront his own conflicted feelings.

*But it shouldn't have happened that way. You were safe in Fundelry. I've jeopardised everything we worked for. If you're caught now, it's my fault.'

*First we've got to be caught. Then let's worry about who's to blame.'

Highson nodded, grief writ deeply in the lines around his eyes. A squad of guards on clean-up duty splashed by below, sending ripples along the street. The fingertips of Highson's left hand rubbed the rough edge of a cracked roof tile as though trying to get rid of a stain.

*Did s.h.i.+lly tell you what I did? Why I called the Homunculus?'

*She told me.'

Highson nodded again. He seemed relieved.

*Sal, I want you to know -'

*Don't say it. Don't tell me you're sorry again, or that you loved my mother. I already know that. And don't tell me that you were just trying to put things right, because it's too late for that. Bringing my mother back wouldn't have fixed anything. I didn't know her, and she didn't love you. The man she loved is dead, and nothing you can do will bring him back, ever.' He irritably blinked back the beginning of tears. *I don't think she would've thanked you.'

*No,' said Highson, *but I don't regret trying. And that's what I was going to say. I had to make the attempt. To let the opportunity go would have been too much for me to bear. Her death was so pointless. She deserved better. I needed to try to make it better, before I could truly let her go.'

Sal studied his father for a moment. Highson wasn't meeting his gaze. The muscles of his jaw and throat were tight, making talking an effort.

*You said you'd redeemed yourself last time,' Sal challenged him. *How long will this go on?'

That earned him a flash of irritation. *What do you mean?'

*You saved me from the Syndic five years ago. You said that was to make up for what happened to my mother. And now here we are one more time, except this time you're guilty of theft and at least one man has died. What's to stop you doing something stupid like this again? The G.o.ddess only knows what you might bring out of the Void, given another chance. Or what Marmion might do to stop you trying.'

Highson's face set. *I don't care about Marmion.'

*You should. He's come to arrest you. I hope you realise that much.'

*He can try.'

*He might succeed, given your present condition.'

*You wouldn't help me?'

Sal glanced down at his hands. There was a long silence.

*I'm not going home, Sal. Not yet, anyway.'

Sal looked up to find his father staring at him. He remembered his naive hope that Highson might come to Fundelry to recuperate.

*You're going to try to escape.'

*It's not escape I want. I want to see this thing finished.'

*What thing?'

*The Homunculus. Whatever it - they - are.'

*When you say finished -'

*I mean resolved. Not dead.'

That was good. Sal didn't want another Marmion on his hands. *The twins were down in the Divide when the flood hit. The chances are they're already dead.'

*I doubt it. If the desert couldn't kill them, why would a little water?'

*Are you sure about that?'

*As sure as I can be. I made the body they're in, after all.'

Sal nodded, imagining the Homunculus tumbling and tossing in the giant surge of water as it raged through the Divide, battered by detritus caught up in the flood's path. He couldn't conceive of the violence it must have endured - but if it did endure, he could see it striving for the Divide walls, reaching for handholds on the raw rock, and clinging there until the initial fury subsided. Then crawling its way out of the water like some supernatural c.o.c.kroach, and from there resuming its implacable journey.

His brother ...?

And suddenly he was wrenched back to the last time he and his father had spoken in private, as they walked down into the caverns beneath the Haunted City, where the Way would take them back to Fundelry.

*There's one other thing you should know,' Highson had said to him. The memory was as fresh as yesterday. *I knew you were there, Sal. I knew I had a child growing inside the woman I loved. I gave you away, for her sake - and yours, too.'

*Was it hard?'

*Unbelievably. Even then I think I had an idea of what you could be, given the chance. But I wouldn't be there to find out. Your mother was never supposed to be found; no one was ever supposed to know you existed. That was supposed to be the end of it.'

*But it wasn't.'

*No. And that still feels strange to me. All my life I've put thoughts of you from my mind. I couldn't let myself wonder where you were, what you were doing, what you were like. I couldn't hope that I might meet you one day and tell you the truth. I certainly never thought I'd be in this position.'

*What position?'

*Helping you escape from my family, and Seirian's. It's like the past is repeating itself. I'm letting you go again. Only now I've seen you, come to know you - my child, Seirian's son - it's so much harder to let you go.'

Sal had never known how to feel about that. Somehow Highson had found the strength or courage, or whatever it had taken, to let Sal go a second time. He hadn't pursued him across the Strand, for fear of the Syndic following; he had never been in touch. Highson Sparre had vanished out of Sal's life as though he had never existed at all. Was that really the only way it could have gone?

For the Homunculus, everything was different.

*Before I heard about your situation,' Sal said slowly, *I felt something. A tear in the world. It nagged at me, made me nervous. I didn't know what it was at first, but then Tom came and told us what he knew. You brought something out of the Void Beneath, and it seemed logical to a.s.sume that this was the tear I had been feeling. The hole you opened to let the Homunculus into the world.'

Highson went to say something, but Sal waved him silent.

*That's what I thought. I know now that I was wrong. The tear wasn't how the Homunculus came into this world. If it was, I would have stopped feeling it ages ago, when it healed over. So the hole has to be the Homunculus itself. It's a rip in the fabric of things - a rip that's getting bigger, the longer it's here. I can still feel it, out there, somewhere.'

Highson nodded. *I don't know anything about rips or tears, but I know we have to work out why it's here and what it wants. It saved me - once in the Void and then again in the desert. I'm bonded to it now. It owes me an explanation.' He took a deep breath. *I can't go anywhere until I've got it.'

Sal felt incredibly weary. *Then I guess I'll have to help you.'

*No, Sal. You've done too much already.'

*I can hardly leave you here at Marmion's mercy, can I? And I'm not letting you go off on another mad march across the country. Not on your own. There might be no one to rescue you at the end of that journey.'

*Marmion thinks we're already there - that the Homunculus is going to come back to Laure, where it's been heading all this time. Don't you agree?'

Sal thought of what he had seen in the last moments before his connection with Kail had snapped, and shook his head. It wasn't the time to tell anyone about that. *I think,' he said, *that if the Magister decides to formally charge us with something, the point will be completely moot.'

Highson nodded, looking puzzled at first, then letting the subject go. His gaze drifted back out to the city's drowned carriageways and paths. A handful of miners were circling in the quiet morning air, examining the damage. The eagles hadn't returned to the top of Observatory Tower.

Sal felt bruised and empty inside, as though part of himself had been forcibly ripped from him. What that part was, he didn't know for certain: the memory of rejection; or perhaps the wounded pride that had clung to that memory for five years; or something else entirely. But its absence ached in him. He felt hunched over, persistently askew although he tried to sit straight.

*It's going to take them a while to work out whether to be happy or not,' Highson said.

*Who?'

*The people who live here. They wanted water, and now they've got it. But at what cost? How will they make their living with the Divide flooded? I don't envy them the next few months.'

Neither did Sal. But, looking at his father rather than the view, he understood that Highson was lying.

Word came at lunchtime that the Magister would conduct a hearing the next morning in order to decide the fate of the visitors to the city. Sal, already chafing at having been cooped up for so long, didn't know how to take the news. On the one hand, he was glad that the wheels of Laure's bureaucracy were turning quickly. On the other, he was nervous of what the Magister's decision would be. If it went well for them, they could be freed by noon. If it went badly, they might never see the sun again. Or worse.

In order to keep himself occupied, he sought out the hostel owner and asked for a favour.

*What do you people want now?' Urtagh exclaimed, hands raised in a dramatic gesture, the veins in his ruddy jowls primed to pop. *More food? My best wine? My daughter? And why not? You've cast my business into disrepute. The guards have sealed the doors so paying customers can't get in. Take what's left, why don't you? I'm already ruined!'

Sal soothed him. *You'll be compensated. Don't worry. The Alcaide's pockets are deep.'

*You say that now. How are you going to pay your bill if you're locked in a dungeon?'

*Is that all you can think of? What about the extra business that's going to come through here with the Divide flooded? People will be able to cross anywhere now, not just at Tintenbar and the Lookout. There'll be a fis.h.i.+ng industry, tourism, and trade. You'll make up your losses in a week!'

Urtagh was only slightly mollified. *Okay, okay. How can I help you? I'm all out of playing cards.'

*I want a stick. A straight one, tall enough to walk with.'

Urtagh eyed him grumpily. *What for?'

*Just put it on the bill. I'll charm that smoky fireplace of yours if it comes within the hour.'

It came in half that time, not the best piece of silky oak he could have hoped for but perfectly straight and just the right height. When he had finished with the fireplace, Sal unfolded the pocketknife he kept under the false bottom of his pack and began to carve.

*Don't act so disappointed,' said Marmion in a peevish voice. *I may not look like much, but it's going to take a lot more than this to put me out of action. Stubbornness runs in my mother's side of the family.'

Marmion glanced down at where his right hand used to be, then back up again. His eyes were red-rimmed but determined. Only the greyness of his skin indicated that he had been on the threshold of death at least twice in the previous day, according to his healers.