Beasts of Tabat (28 page)

He turns, a dark-haired, dark-skinned man, the purest of Old Continent blood. Next to him stands a Water Human wearing one of the elaborate canvas suits held up with a clockwork frame that allows him, or her, to survive in the open air. The machine is like a tank with legs. Plates of glass affixed in the sides allow glimpses of the Human inside, colored blue and scarlet like a singing bird, with stripes of turquoise, black, and mottled gold, a profusion of fins and frills like drowned fans. Not for the first time, I wonder how one water-based race has managed to define itself as Human while all the rest are considered Beasts. That must have taken some fine-grained negotiation.

“I have a package to pick up for Abernia Freeholder,” I say.

He frowns but appears to recognize the name. “Very well, I see.” He says something in rapid Southron to a passing sailor, who nods and speaks to a passing, younger sailor, who darts off to speak to a cabin boy. The boy disappears into a hatchway.

I stand in silence with the Captain and the Water Human. I unobtrusively look over the latter. It’s been several years since I last interacted with one, but it doesn’t look as though the basic equipment has changed. Spindly metal legs telescope in and out at need—currently half-slouched but still holding the six-sided tank upright.

This one’s coloration speaks of the coral reefs around the Southern Isles, as does the cargo being bundled onto the dock: bales of cotton, kegs of rum, crates of muscovado sugar, and citrus fruits. I catch a flash of fins, long-spined and poisonous. They’re hell to fight, fast and covered with deadly barbs.

Noticing my scrutiny, the Water Human speaks. Its voice emerges from the brass-and-jingle affixed at the top of the tank to intercept the words that bubble from its mouth before it pauses to suck air from the metal tube at its side.

“Do not look at us. You interrupt our business.”

Even for a race noted for its pugnacity, that’s abrupt and rude. I quirk an eyebrow even as the Captain rushes in with explanation and reassurance.

“She is running an errand for a friend. She will be gone once she has her package.”

He turns to me. “You are Bella Kanto, the Gladiator, are you not?”

I nod. The cabin boy emerges. Rather than pass the package back by the same chain, he hands the canvas-wrapped parcel, about the size of a doubled lunch bucket, directly to the Captain, who takes the package and without glancing inside, hands it to me.

It’s unexpectedly heavy for spices. I start to unwrap it, but we both glance around at the sound of a shout.

A hurdy-gurdy shrieks out a brassy song on the boardwalk, a crowd of sailors and dockworkers gathered around it. Two listeners have faced off—a slight boy in Temple robes and a crab-hunched dockworker, arms long and muscular. As we watch, the dockworker plants his palms in the middle of the youth’s chest and pushes him backward. His arms windmill as he goes sprawling in the midst of several overturned barrels full of thumb-sized, silvery fish and a crescendo of gulls descends to gulp at the bounty.

A whistle blares and two Peacekeepers come stamping up. More people gather to watch. The youth lies on his elbow, shaking his head with a dazed and glazey look. Then a bell shrills. Odd. To have called a Sniffer, the Keepers must have sensed sorcery somewhere about. The Captain tenses at the sound.

“There may be some matter here and there of tariffs, as always occurs,” he says, even as he glides towards the plank, towing me and leaving the slower moving Water Human far behind. He gives me a merciless, humorless, close-lipped smile. “’Bye now.”

Releasing my hand, he steps backward, disappearing among the crowd swarming along the pier.

“Cap’n!” comes a panicked shout as a sailor onboard the
Jasmine
witnesses the vanishing, but he does not reappear. The blue and buff Peacekeepers are moving through the crowd, rounding up anyone who looked out of place.

Something is wrong, I can feel it. The charms around my neck twinge, and one even sends out a spray of sparks as it fails against some working.

I swear and waver. Sorcery means all sorts of possible harm. The innocent bystanders need to be cleared.

“Get out of the way, you fool!” I shout at the youth. He sits by the side of the road now, cross-legged in a puddle of flapping minnows, rubbing his scruffy hair. Looking up, he scrambles out of the way of a steam wagon.

The Peacekeepers flank an elderly man, his face pale with fear of the Sniffer, a construction of wires and claws that walked as though it thought itself Human. How has it arrived so quickly? It must have been close by.

Blue sparks chase up and down its frame, and the air is scented with a sulfurous smell. As I watch, it turns, its long arms flexing, the cone of its face unblinkingly fixed on … me.

The package’s solidity is fixed firmly under my arm. What has Abernia gotten me into?

I should surrender. I should just give it to them and explain.

But imagine the headlines in the penny-wides, the spoofs on plastered news bills. I cannot be associated with sorcery. They’ll think that’s how I’ve won so long.

If I run, I can ditch the package somewhere, get rid of it, and come out of this clean. I take the same swift, decisive action that has so often stood me in good stead in the arena, ignoring the charms, the magic all around me, somehow focused on me.

I run.

* * *

I’ve had nightmares like this before, chased up and down the streets of Tabat, trying to find succor, no harbor in sight. I run up Pin and Needle with the Sniffer at my heels, the slower Peacekeepers behind it. If I can get out of sight of them, I can hide the package and whatever contraband that I’m now sure it holds.

The Peacekeepers are quick and untiring, but I have the advantage of nimbleness of both foot and mind. I slip through cracks, make split second turns, take the stairs behind the Dizzy Theater, then scramble up some scaffolding to circumnavigate the police booth at the corner of Spray and Spume. At the top of the hill, I pause, panting. I start to unroll the canvas, but a Peacekeeper whistle shrills, and again I scramble out of the way.

At first I’m amused, rehearsing how I’ll tell the story over drinks. But a growing certainty clutches at my heels, even as the thickening charms slow me, make me clumsy, and slip bad luck and stumbles in my path. They are relentless, inescapable.

Eventually I will be caught.

How can they know where I am most likely to run to ground, where I stop to catch my breath or bearings? It’s as though the Peacekeeper corps has some mind reader at their disposal. Finally, I dart around the corner of an alleyway and find myself face to face with three scowling Peacekeepers.

I’m not too worried at the sight of them. After all, the Duke’s Guard are here to keep the peace, and many of them are former Gladiators. They’ll sort things out before the Sniffer can reach me with its claws.

They press forward, trusting in my respect for the uniforms they wear. They’re right to do so. I do respect them, do stand down with impatient grace, knowing that they will take me before the law, which will act as it should, as it always has, to protect the innocent and punish the guilty.

And which, I wonder, am I?

The panic thickens my thoughts and makes me a creature of reaction and panic. I should have checked the parcel before I took it. That was basic common sense. My mistake was that of a silly third year student. I sigh, drop the package and the irises, and hold my hands before me so they may be manacled.

The Sniffer comes running, launches itself at my mid-back. I feel its approach even before I hear it and side-step, hands still out. It lands in a clatter of claws, flailing to round on me while avoiding the Humans. The closest man loops a collar over its neck and it goes abruptly still, although fiery coals still burn in its cog-lashed eyes.

I think surely they will open the package here and now, but they hand it, one to another, a careful chain that fills me with trepidation. They apparently have some idea regarding what is inside it, an idea that fills them with dread and horror, and makes them turn their faces away from me and speak in hushed whispers. I try to jolly up to my two guards, but they ignore all my attempts at pleasantries.

They leave the flowers lying in the street to be run over by steam wagons and trodden on by careless feet.

* * *

The jails are to the southeast of town, downwind of the Slumpers, where the air is thick with smoke and stink. They take me and the satchel into a room where an officious sergeant records my statement, and then the statements of the arresting officers.

“Very well,” the sergeant says, and finally motions the officer with the satchel forward. He lays it on the desk with a flourish. Another whispers in the sergeant’s ear. His bushy eyebrows ascend like caterpillars wiggling their way up in the hope of becoming butterflies.

“Wickedness!” he breathes. His hand trembles as he fumbles with the satchel’s catches. He cracks it open, and a foul smell comes from its depths. I can barely make out a series of fist-sized lumps. The stench is dreadful; the officers and I gag. The sergeant retches and closes the case.

“Throw those windows open,” he says, drooling bile. “Take her ladyship off to a holding cell and this—this to the evidence chamber, the one that locks. Send a messenger to Magister Rosen that there is a case to be heard, one that the Duke will take an interest in.”

“But,” I begin, incredulous, only to find myself hurried out of the room, elbows painfully clenched by guards on either side.

They throw me in a cell that is barely broom-closet sized. I can sit on the stone shelf built into the wall but cannot stretch out my legs or arms. An unused chamber pot crouches under the shelf.

The stone is cold and hard. After a while my back burns, so I constantly shift back and forth, standing, sitting, standing, sitting.

I contemplate a crack running along the stone. Is it an opening or an abyss? I become aware that I am shivering: deep, bone-rooted tremors that shake me to the core.

This cannot be happening to me.

I am Bella Kanto, after all.

***

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Teo’s Last Chapter

Teo knew the Dryad standing in the antechamber of Murga’s tent as soon as he went in. She was the one who’d been on the ship with him, who’d attacked the Mage so he could run free. He gaped at her. How had she come here?

If she recognized him, she made no sign. She stood slumped and weary, as though so tired she could barely draw breath.

Teo said, “You’re the one, aren’t you? From the
Lily
, I mean?”

She looked confused. “
Lily?
” she rasped.

“From the boat. We were on the boat together.”

Her face cleared. “The boat. Yes.”

“How did you get here?”

“I was in the menagerie,” she said. “They helped me escape.” A shudder racked her. “I saw the furnaces. I will see them gone now.”

“Close the flap, boy,” Murga said harshly. “You are going to see something new.”

Magic. Murga was going to work magic. On him, or on the Dryad? But he shivered and did as he was told, closing out the evening air.

“You came back to the city to help overthrow it,” Murga said to the Dryad. “I will help you find a way to avoid rooting, to escape your tree shape, and continue aiding me in that work.”

Her voice was dull as old leather. “The urge to root is very strong. I am dry and ready to lay down.”

“Sleep,” Murga said, passing his hand over her eyes. He caught her as she fell. Teo stood back, uncertain what to do.

“Hand me that purple chalk on the table,” Murga said. He cast a glance at Teo.

“I … this is wrong,” Teo stammered.

“You’re in too far now, boy. You’ve been taking Abolitionist tracts for me about the city.” Murga’s grin was the most ominous thing Teo had ever seen. “And you brought me what I needed for this spell earlier.” He pointed at a mass of bright blue cloth on the desk. “Bring me that.”

It was the cloak of one of the acrobats. What was inside was still warm, and the blood seeping through the cloth stained Teo’s hands as he unwrapped it to show the two hearts it contained.

“Shifter blood is best, but Human blood will do,” Murga said.

“They worked for you, but you killed them,” Teo stammered.

“They were Human and not to be trusted, boy,” Murga snarled. “Far more will die before I’m done.”

Shaking, he helped Murga draw the line around the Dryad. “What are you going to do?”

“First she must become her tree,” Murga said.

“You told her you were going to make it so that didn’t happen.”

“Not precisely.” Murga glanced over at an axe and saw in the corner. “But I will make a form for her, of her own living wood—something like a golem. She will be a fearful warrior when her time comes.”

He knelt beside the unconscious Dryad, muttering under his breath.

The body twitched and sprouted. Arms lifted, becoming branches, and as each limb sprouted, Murga hacked it away until only a stump stood there, as tall as Teo. Murga lifted a saw that glittered in the dim light and began to shape it into planks, passing each length to Teo to stack in the corner for the next step.

Hours went by. Hours of Teo passing Murga implements as directed and holding the wood so that he could work it. His bones ached with fear, but there was no escape, only the rasping of the saw, the whine of bending wood, and the smell of crushed greenery.

When he was done, the Dryad was a boxy thing of new-hewn wood still weeping with sap, pegged together with glittering spikes of crystal and bone. Tiny letters, in a script Teo could not read, ran across every plank, inscribed with painful care as Murga muttered, dipping his quill in a vial of ink mixed with sap and blood drawn from his own wrist.

Finally he stood. Teo didn’t move from where he crouched near the desk. He wasn’t sure his cramped muscles would be able to move.

“A fearful warrior,” Murga said, looking down at her. “A fearful warrior indeed.”

He rounded on Teo. “And what marvel will I make of you, boy? I’ll steep you in magic—even now, having been drawn into this spell, you’re closer to what I want you to be, what sharing my dreams will make you.” He moved to the desk and extracted a glittering strand from a drawer. He held it up.

Teo’s eyes fixed on it. His coin! Or his sister’s really, but of those in the tent, surely Teo had better claim to it than Murga.

Murga smiled and tucked it in his pocket. “You’re an unexpected gift, boy. The Gods must have sent you.” He surveyed what the Dryad had become. “She will kill, and the Human Mages will be blamed for it. Soon there will be riots. And blood.”

* * *

Teo’s head pounded as he stumbled from the tent when Murga finally dismissed him to go fetch chal. Murga had his coin, and surely that, in the hands of a Sorcerer, meant the man had power over him.

And he meant to destroy the city and all the people going about their daily lives. It wasn’t right.

Bella would know what to do.

Surely she would know what to do.

* * *

He raced through the streets, dodging slower moving, startled pedestrians, circumventing steam wagons and bakery carts, scrambling up the Tumbril Stair. The day was bright, so bright that everywhere around him sunlight gleamed on melting snow and ice.

Icy droplets flew as he splashed through an icy puddle on Bella’s street. He drew up, looking at Abernia’s house. Two Peacekeepers stood on the front porch while another two were carrying a chest out to the wagon that stood before the house. Abernia was on the porch as well, hands on hips, face unreadable. A second story window was open, the bard and a companion hanging halfway out to watch the proceedings. As Teo stared, another pair of Peacekeepers exited, carrying the suit of silver and crystal armor that had stood in Bella’s quarters.

Teo hadn’t thought his heart could beat any faster, but now it did. Soldiers! What did it mean? He ducked through an alleyway and circled back to the garden. The fence was tall, but he managed to scramble over it, collecting a few splinters in his palms. He brushed at them as he picked his way through the muddy ground with a cautious glance up at the Fairy nest in the tree far above him.

He eased the door open and crept inside, listening as hard as he could. Footsteps went up and down the front staircase. He wavered, uncertain what to do.

Abernia swept into the kitchen and pulled up at the sight of him. “You!” She cast a glance over her shoulder. “You need to get out of sight, boy. They know you’re promised to the Moon Temple. You’re one of the things they’ve been hunting for.”

“How … how do they know?” he stammered.

Her lips turned downward. She hesitated, and then said, “I told them.”

He took a shocked breath.

She stepped forward, but then stopped as he recoiled. Her hands twisted her apron.

“It was nothing against you. Someone paid me well to find anything Bella was doing which she might get in trouble for, and you were part and parcel of that. But there’s no need for them to cart you off. You can’t stay here, though.”

She moved to the cupboard and began sorting through things, filling a basket, but then she stopped as a thought struck her. “Here. Pack it with the food you like. I’ll be right back. I’ve something else to give you, you might as well take it. If someone starts coming back here, go down to the cellar.” She vanished up the back stairs in a flurry.

Teo didn’t waste time in packing up some of the fish biscuits and a small round of cheese. He remembered doing this at home before he left. It seemed a thousand years ago.

Abernia came back down. In his hand she carried a birdcage, which she thrust at him. He took it automatically, then almost dropped it when he realized a Fairy buzzed inside.

“It’s Miss Bella’s, but she wouldn’t want it taken off to the Duke’s menagerie,” Abernia said. “It needs mending but you can set it loose once it’s hale enough. Filthy thing.”

“But what’s happened to her? To Bella?”

Abernia glanced towards the front of the house as there was a shout and a crash. “She’s been arrested for sorcery. It’s some mistake, I’m sure, but they’re finding every charge they can throw at her, and all her goods are being confiscated.”

Another crash. She waved him at the door, then changed her mind and hugged him.

“I’m sorry, Teo,” she said. “They’ll be watching the house.” She fumbled at her apron and then held a few coins out to him. “Good luck to you.”

He left through the back, basket in one hand and cage in the other.

As he went through the side gate, a hand closed over his shoulder.

“There you are,” Murga said.

He blurted, “She’s been arrested! You caused this!”

“Oh, certainly,” Murga said. “I could not work against the city till the heart of its magic was gone. Now I’ll see this city overthrown. I’ve plenty of allies in that, even some unwitting ones.” His fingers tightened on Teo’s shoulder.

He leaned down to whisper in Teo’s ear. “And when I’m done, Beasts will rule Tabat and be slaves no longer.”

* * *

Murga dragged Teo back to
The Autumn Moon
and his tent.

“You are valuable, boy,” Murga told him. “But whether or not you’re alive has very little effect on the overall price. You’re more convenient alive, but that could change if you were to pose sufficient trouble.”

His shadow bobbed up and down on the canvas of the tent wall as he paced, turning at the end of every few strides to go back the other way, each time fixing Teo with a gaze that felt as though it skewered him to the floor. It was not a kindly examination, but rather a dispassionate one, as though Murga were looking at a stump or vine or some physical aspect of the landscape that might pose him some inconvenience if not handled correctly.

He stopped pacing and stroked his chin with long fingers, drawing them to a point as though shaping an invisible goatee.

“What to do with you to keep you safe until I’m ready to use you is the question. Do you like dogs, my boy? My fine Shadow Twin of a boy?” He didn’t appear interested in Teo’s answer, though, for he turned away to pace again back and forth, his shadow resuming the march along with him.

Teo didn’t mind dogs, certainly, but he was not particularly fond of them either. Still, they seemed no more offensive than any other animal used to watch one’s belongings. The only one he had truly interacted with was Scholar Reynard’s dog, Cavall.

He wondered why Murga would be asking such a thing, but even as he was wondering that, Murga wheeled to point a finger at him. Orange fire flickered on his fingertip and leaped to crawl over Teo’s form. He felt it sink into him, changing him, making some bones stretch and others contract, skin changing into fur. It was like shape-changing, but wrong, not like falling into another form but being forced into it. He looked down to regard his paws. Murga had asked if he liked dogs just before turning him into one.

Teo flung his head back and howled out his confusion, bewilderment, and sorrow. Who would save him now, with Bella Kanto gone?

***