Bone Season 01: The Bone Season: A Novel (10 page)

“Yeah, when I was thinking about you.”

With a glower, Cyril snatched the plate and scarpered. I made a grab for his shirt, but he was faster than a flimp. The girl shook her head. She had small, quick features, framed by matted black ringlets. Her red lipstick stood out like a fresh wound against her skin.

“You had your oration last night, little sister.” Her voice carried a burr. “Your stomach wouldn’t have taken it.”

“I ate yesterday morning,” I said. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh at being called
little sister
by this tiny girl.

“Trust me, it’s the flux. It’s janxed your brain.” She glanced around the room. “Quick. Come with me.”

“Where?”

“I have a crib. We can talk.”

I didn’t much like the idea of following a stranger, but I had to talk to someone. I went after her.

My guide seemed to know everyone. She touched hands with various people, always keeping an eye on me to make sure I was still behind her. Her clothes appeared to be in better condition than those of the other performers: a flimsy bell-sleeved shirt, trousers too short for her legs. She must be freezing. She drew back a ragged curtain. “Quick,” she said again. “They’ll see.”

It was dim beyond the curtain, but a paraffin stove kept the shadows at bay. I sat down. A pile of stained sheets and a cushion made a rudimentary bed. “Do you always take in strays?”

“Sometimes. I know how it is when you arrive.” The girl sat down by the stove. “Welcome to the Family.”

“I’m part of a family?”

“You are now, sister. And it’s not the cult kind of family, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just a family formed for protection.” Her fingers worked at the stove. “I’m guessing you came from the syndicate.”

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t. The centrals didn’t need my sort.” A faint smile touched her lips. “I came here during the last Bone Season.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Ten years. I was thirteen.” She extended a callused hand. After a moment, I shook it. “Liss Rymore.”

“Paige.”

“XX-59-40?”

“Yes.”        

Liss caught my expression. “Sorry,” she said. “Force of habit. Or maybe I’m brainwashed.”

I shrugged. “What number are you?”

“XIX-49-1.”

“How do you know mine?”

She poured a little methylated spirit into the stove. “News travels fast in a city this small. We can’t get any word from outside. They don’t like us to know what’s going on out there in the free world. If you call Scion ‘free.’” A blue flame leapt up. “Your number is on everyone’s lips.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you hear? Arcturus Mesarthim has never taken a human to his residence. He’s never shown interest in humans at
all
, in fact. It’s big news here, sad to say. Happens when you can’t get the penny papers.”

“Do you know why he chose me?”

“My best guess is that Nashira has got her lamps on you. He’s the blood-consort—her fiancé. We stay out of his way. Not that he ever leaves that tower.” She attached a billycan onto the stove. “Let me get you something to eat before we talk. Sorry. It’s been years since we’ve eaten at tables, us harlies.”

“Harlies?”

“It’s what jackets call the performers. They don’t like us much.”

She heated up some broth and poured it into a bowl. I offered her a few rings, but she shook her head. “On the house.”

I took a sip of the broth. It was odorless and translucent, and it tasted vile, but it was warm. Liss watched as I scraped the bowl clean.

“Here.” She passed me a hunk of stale bread. “Skilly and toke. You’ll get used to it. Most of the keepers conveniently forget that we need to eat on a regular basis.”

“There’s meat in there.” I gestured to the central room.

“That’s just to celebrate Bone Season XX. I made this skilly from the juices earlier.” She poured herself a bowl. “We rely on the rotties to keep us from starving. This junk is all from the kitchens,” she said, nodding to the stove and billycan. “They’re only meant to cook for red-jackets, but they sneak us food when they can. Having said that, they’ve been less willing to help us since one of the girls was caught.”

“What happened?”

“The rottie got beaten. The voyant she was feeding got four days of sleep dep. He was raving by the time they let him out.”

Sleep deprivation. It was a novel punishment. Voyant minds functioned on two levels: life and death. It was tiring. Being kept awake for four days would drive a voyant mad. “Who brings the food into the city?”

“No idea. Maybe the train. It runs from London to Sheol I. Nobody knows where the entrances to the tunnel are, obviously.” She shifted her feet closer to the stove. “How long did you think the brain plague lasted?”

“Forever.”

“It was five days. They let the rookies go through hell for five days before they give them the antidote.”

“Why?”

“So they learn their place as quickly as possible. You’re no more than a number here unless you earn your colors.” Liss helped herself to a bowl of broth. “So you’re at Magdalen.”

“Yes.”

“You’re probably sick of hearing this, but consider yourself lucky. Magdalen is one of the safest residences for a human.”

“How many are there?”

“Humans?”

“Residences.”

“Oh, right. Well, each residence is a small district. There are seven for humans: Balliol, Corpus, Exeter, Merton, Oriel, Queens, and Trinity. Nashira lives at the Residence of the Suzerain, where you had your oration. Then there’s the House, a little way south, and the Castle—the Detainment Facility—and this dump, the Rookery. The street is called the Broad. The street that runs parallel is Magdalen Walk.”

“And beyond that?”

“Deserted countryside. We call it No Man’s Land. It’s rigged with mines and trap-pits.”

“Has anyone ever tried to cross it?”

“Yes.”

Her shoulders were tense. I took another sip of skilly.

“How was the Tower?”

I looked up at her. “I didn’t go to the Tower.”

“Were you born on a boon or something?” When I frowned, Liss shook her head. “They collect voyants for each Bone Season over ten years. Some of them are in the Tower for a decade before they get posted here.”

“You’re kidding.” That explained the poor sap that had been there for nine years.

“Nope. They’re pretty cokum when it comes to keeping us tame. They know all our weak points. How to break us. Ten years in the Tower would break anyone.”

“What are
they?”

“No idea, except they’re not human.” She dabbed some bread in the skilly. “They act like gods. That’s how they like to be treated.”

“And we’re their worshippers.”

“Not just their worshippers. We owe them our lives. They never let us forget they’re protecting us from the Buzzers, and that slavery is ‘for our own good.’ We’d rather be slaves than dead, they say. Or victimized outside by the Inquisitor.”

“Buzzers?”

“The Emim. That’s what we call them.”

“Why?”

“We’ve always called them that. Think the red-jackets came up with it. They’re the ones that have to fight them off.”

“How often?”

“Depends on the time of year. They attack a lot more in winter. Listen out for the siren. A single blast summons the red-jackets. If the tone starts to change, get inside. It means they’re coming.”

“I still don’t understand what they are.” I tore up some bread. “Are they anything like the Rephaim?”

“I’ve heard stories. The red-jackets like scaring us.” The firelight played across her face. “They say the Emim take on different forms. Just being near them can kill you. Some say they can rip your spirit straight out of your body. Some call them rotting giants, whatever that means. Others say they’re walking bones that need skin to cover themselves. I don’t know how much of it is true, but they definitely eat human flesh. They’re addicted to it. Don’t be surprised if you see a few missing limbs out there.”

I should have been sickened; instead I was numb. It just didn’t seem real. Liss reached over to adjust the curtain, concealing us from the people outside. A stack of colored silk caught my eye.

“You’re the contortionist,” I said.

“Did you think I was good?”

“Very good.”

“That’s how I earn my flatches here. Lucky for me I picked it up quickly—used to busk near the penny gaff.” She licked her lips clean. “I saw you with Pleione last night. Your aura was a talking point.”

I didn’t say anything. It was dangerous to talk about my aura, especially when I’d only just met this girl.

Liss studied me. “Are you sighted?”

“No.” That was true.

“What were you arrested for?”

“I killed someone. An Underguard.” True.

“How?”

“Knife,” I said. “Heat of the moment.” False.

Liss looked at me for a long time. She was full-sighted, typical of soothsayers. She could see my red aura as clearly as my face. If she’d read up on the subject, she’d know which category I fell into.

“I don’t think so.” Her fingers drummed on the floor. “You’ve never spilled that much blood.”

She was good, for a soothsayer.

“You’re not an oracle,” she stated, more to herself than to me. “I’ve seen oracles. You’re too calm to be a fury, and you’re definitely not a medium. So you must be”—recognition dawned in her eyes—“a dreamwalker.” Her gaze returned to mine. “Are you?”

I held her eye contact. Liss sat back on her heels.

“Well, that solves it.”

“What?”

“Why Arcturus took you on. Nashira has never found a walker, and she
really
wants one. She’ll want to make sure you’re protected. Nobody will touch you if you’re his human. If she thinks there’s the slightest chance that you might be a walker, she’ll do you right down.”

“How so?”

“You won’t like this.”

I doubted anything could surprise me now.

“Nashira has a gift,” Liss said. “Did you notice that weird aura coming off her?” I nodded. “She doesn’t just have one ability. She walks several different paths to the æther.”

“That’s impossible. We all have one gift.”

“You know reality? Forget it. Sheol I has its own rules. Accept that now and everything will be easier.” She pulled her battered knees up to her chin. “Nashira has five guardian angels. Somehow she gets them to stay with her.”

“Is she a binder?”

“We don’t know. She must have been a binder once, but her aura’s been corrupted.”

“By what?”

“By the angels.” When I frowned, she sighed. “This is just a theory. We
think
she can use the gifts they had when they were alive.”

“Not even binders can do that.”

“Exactly.” She glanced at me. “If you want my advice, you’ll keep your head down. Give no inkling of what you are. If she finds out you’re a walker, you’re bones.”

I kept my expression neutral. Three years in the syndicate had inured me to danger, but this place was different. I would have to learn to duck new threats. “How do I stop her finding out?”

“It’ll be hard. They’ll test you to expose your gift. That’s what the tunics mean. Pink after your first test, red after the second.”

“But you failed your tests.”

“Luckily. Now I answer to the Overseer.”

“Who was your keeper?”

Liss looked back at the stove. “Gomeisa Sargas.”

“Who is he?”

“The other blood-sovereign. There are always two, a male and a female.”

“But Arcturus is—”

“Betrothed to Nashira, yes. But he’s not of ‘the blood,
’
” she said, with a note of disgust. “Only the Sargas family can take the crown. The blood-sovereigns can’t be a mated pair—that would be incestuous. Arcturus is from a different family.”

“So he’s the prince consort.”

“Blood-consort. Same thing. More skilly?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.” I watched her drop the bowl into a tub of greasy water. “How did you fail your tests?”

“I stayed human.” She offered a small smile. “Rephs aren’t human. No matter how much they look like us, they’re not like us. They’ve got nothing
here
.” Her finger tapped her chest. “If they want us to work with them, they have to get rid of our souls.”

“How?”

Before she could answer, the curtain was torn back. A lean male Rephaite stood in the doorway.

“You,” he snarled at Liss. Her hands flew to her head. “Get up. Get dressed. Lazy filth. And with a
guest
? Are you a queen?”

Liss stood. All her strength was gone, leaving her small and fragile. Her left hand shook. “I’m sorry, Suhail,” she said. “40 is new here. I wanted to explain the rules of Sheol I.”