weapons-training made him twitch and start.
Stinking sweetness filled his nostrils, throat and
lungs.
"Messire." The young Katayan woman appeared at his
side. Her pale skin glimmered in the tunnel’s gloom. His dilated vision saw her
face clearly.
She shrugged the heavy greatcoat back off her
shoulders and swung it up to shroud him. "You’re shivering. Take it. Down here’s
the first time I’ve been warm since I came to your damn city!"
Hot humid air brushed his skin, leaving him
clay-cold. He reached up, tugging the coat about his shoulders. The taste of
copper lingered in his mouth.
The young woman, walking with a kick-heeled stride,
plunged her hands into the pockets of her plain black dress. "I thought it would
get colder, the further down we went."
The black Rat, outlined briefly at the mouth of the
tunnel, stepped down to the left and vanished. Falke heard his voice, with
Charnay’s; and then Zar-bettu-zekigal slipped her arm under his, and steered him
down two steps and out on to a sewer-quay.
The first oil-lamp, searing blue-white, hung in a
niche in the tunnel wall. Above it, the ceiling soared thirty feet. Below, the
brick went down in steps to the quay. Glass splinters of light pierced his eyes
from the ripples. Other lamps shone, further off; gleaming on the
filth- choked black quay and the massive tunnel that curved off to either side
into the distance.
Oily water glistened and shifted. The Katayan woman
coughed. "The stink –it’s like dead fish. Like the sea." Falke’s heel
skidded on the wet paving. He gripped her arm.
"Too much light. I can’t see." His clothes clung
wetly to him, and he huddled down on the top step, the greatcoat wrapped round
him, hands over his dilated eyes.
"Interesting." Plessiez’s voice came clearly. "The
oil has some way to burn yet. I wonder if these lamps are replaced at regular
intervals?"
Zar-bettu-zekigal’s voice said: "If it’s tidal,
we’re near the sea. Nearly outside."
Falke raised his head, shading his eyes.
"No. Sea-water comes in a long way. There are
hundreds of miles of sewer-system back of docklands."
The black Rat paced back, lightly alert, drawn
rapier shining in the lamp-light. His scarlet jacket, unbuttoned, gave him the
raffish air of a duelist; little trace of the priest now. Only Falke saw how he
shied away from black and silver phantoms.
"Charnay, you go two hundred paces up the tunnel,
I’ll go two hundred paces the other way; then come back and report."
"Yes, messire."
The brown Rat leaped down on to the lower quay and
walked off. Falke heard her humming under her breath. He looked up to meet
Plessiez’s puzzled expression.
"Stay here, messire, with the little one. No, Zari, you’re not coming. Stay where you are."
The young woman brushed dirt from her dress with
the tuft of her tail. "Of course, messire."
The black Rat padded soundlessly away. Falke
watched the lithe figure merge into the wall’s shadows; loping easily towards
the bend in the tunnel. From the opposite direction, a loud curse was followed
by the splash of some obstacle kicked into the water.
"Stay quiet!" He pushed his fist against his
mouth, muffling his outburst.
Zar-bettu-zekigal flopped down on the step beside him. "If someone hears her, that’s a good thing. We
want to get out of here."
His laugh caught in his throat. He put both hands
over his face, drew in a shaky breath; then took his hands away and clenched
them, staring at his trembling fists.
Her voice came quietly. "The acolytes frightened
me, too."
"It’s . . . more than that. More than cowardice."
He chuckled, painfully, back in his throat. "I am a coward, of course, but . .
."
The young woman’s sepia eyes darkened now, with the
concentration of a Memory. She put black hair behind her ears with both hands,
and shifted her hip so that she sat close to him. Falke drew unadmitted comfort
from the proximity.
"Only, having once seen that, you
Stinking sweetness filled his nostrils, throat and
lungs.
"Messire." The young Katayan woman appeared at his
side. Her pale skin glimmered in the tunnel’s gloom. His dilated vision saw her
face clearly.
She shrugged the heavy greatcoat back off her
shoulders and swung it up to shroud him. "You’re shivering. Take it. Down here’s
the first time I’ve been warm since I came to your damn city!"
Hot humid air brushed his skin, leaving him
clay-cold. He reached up, tugging the coat about his shoulders. The taste of
copper lingered in his mouth.
The young woman, walking with a kick-heeled stride,
plunged her hands into the pockets of her plain black dress. "I thought it would
get colder, the further down we went."
The black Rat, outlined briefly at the mouth of the
tunnel, stepped down to the left and vanished. Falke heard his voice, with
Charnay’s; and then Zar-bettu-zekigal slipped her arm under his, and steered him
down two steps and out on to a sewer-quay.
The first oil-lamp, searing blue-white, hung in a
niche in the tunnel wall. Above it, the ceiling soared thirty feet. Below, the
brick went down in steps to the quay. Glass splinters of light pierced his eyes
from the ripples. Other lamps shone, further off; gleaming on the
filth- choked black quay and the massive tunnel that curved off to either side
into the distance.
Oily water glistened and shifted. The Katayan woman
coughed. "The stink –it’s like dead fish. Like the sea." Falke’s heel
skidded on the wet paving. He gripped her arm.
"Too much light. I can’t see." His clothes clung
wetly to him, and he huddled down on the top step, the greatcoat wrapped round
him, hands over his dilated eyes.
"Interesting." Plessiez’s voice came clearly. "The
oil has some way to burn yet. I wonder if these lamps are replaced at regular
intervals?"
Zar-bettu-zekigal’s voice said: "If it’s tidal,
we’re near the sea. Nearly outside."
Falke raised his head, shading his eyes.
"No. Sea-water comes in a long way. There are
hundreds of miles of sewer-system back of docklands."
The black Rat paced back, lightly alert, drawn
rapier shining in the lamp-light. His scarlet jacket, unbuttoned, gave him the
raffish air of a duelist; little trace of the priest now. Only Falke saw how he
shied away from black and silver phantoms.
"Charnay, you go two hundred paces up the tunnel,
I’ll go two hundred paces the other way; then come back and report."
"Yes, messire."
The brown Rat leaped down on to the lower quay and
walked off. Falke heard her humming under her breath. He looked up to meet
Plessiez’s puzzled expression.
"Stay here, messire, with the little one. No, Zari, you’re not coming. Stay where you are."
The young woman brushed dirt from her dress with
the tuft of her tail. "Of course, messire."
The black Rat padded soundlessly away. Falke
watched the lithe figure merge into the wall’s shadows; loping easily towards
the bend in the tunnel. From the opposite direction, a loud curse was followed
by the splash of some obstacle kicked into the water.
"Stay quiet!" He pushed his fist against his
mouth, muffling his outburst.
Zar-bettu-zekigal flopped down on the step beside him. "If someone hears her, that’s a good thing. We
want to get out of here."
His laugh caught in his throat. He put both hands
over his face, drew in a shaky breath; then took his hands away and clenched
them, staring at his trembling fists.
Her voice came quietly. "The acolytes frightened
me, too."
"It’s . . . more than that. More than cowardice."
He chuckled, painfully, back in his throat. "I am a coward, of course, but . .
."
The young woman’s sepia eyes darkened now, with the
concentration of a Memory. She put black hair behind her ears with both hands,
and shifted her hip so that she sat close to him. Falke drew unadmitted comfort
from the proximity.
"Only, having once seen that, you
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