The Rat and the Serpent (12 page)

“I saw everything too,” said the bar woman as she returned to her post.

I felt overwhelmed by this support. Karanlik said, “I saw exactly what happened.”

“That’s good,” I said, “but witnesses aren’t enough.” I hesitated. “Yet they should be. I’m innocent, aren’t I?”

Grinning, Raknia pushed her way forward, elbowing Karanlik out of the way so that she could sit beside me. She put her arm around my shoulder and said, “I think I see where this is going.” She glanced at Zularayad, adding, “I can guess who you are.”

He stood up. “Me?”

I asked Raknia, “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t you see?”

For a moment I saw nothing, before the strangeness of her words made me think of the path I was on. The test! Could this be part of the test?

“You do see,” Raknia said. She put a hand on my cheek and moved my head around so that we were face-to-face. Then she kissed me, lingering, slow. “I’ll see you soon,” she said. She gestured to the tavern door, adding, “Probably in the Forum of Arcadius.”

She was gone.

Karanlik took her seat at my side. “She’s not good for you,” she said.

I looked at her, but made no comment.

I thought I understood. The attack had been a set-up. A nogoth would ignore the violence, or, if he was important in some local group, or of a brutish disposition, he would get his revenge. But for citidenizens some other form of justice was required, a form more appropriate, less violent, less vengeful. I had always loathed the nogoth emphasis on revenge, and I realised there
was
a more civilised way. I had grasped it here at the tavern.

Had I passed already?

I looked at the people around me. My attacker had been detained, his hands tied together. The witnesses remained at my side.

“I shall have justice,” I said.

“Excuse me, but are you taking the test?” Zularayad asked me.

“Yes.”

“I thought you must be. But you’ve not passed yet. You’ll have to confront your attacker in the Forum of Arcadius.”

“Why?”

“The smooth running of the Mavrosopolis. Citidenizens can’t be allowed to attack one another without taking the consequences. Luckily for you it happened in a crowded tavern.” He stood up, brushed down his clothes, then added, “Imagine how difficult it would be if you were attacked in a dark alley.”

I nodded.

“Go to the Forum hall to state your case,” Zularayad concluded. “They’ll take it from there.”

Then he too was gone.

I took advantage of the drink and food at my side, before Karanlik and I departed the tavern and followed the short alley that led from Urkeli Street to the Forum of Arcadius, where I saw the great double doors that marked the hall entrance. I stepped through, to find myself in a chamber arrayed with pale and dusty tapestries, where stood various booths, each occupied by a figure.

I approached the nearest booth. The old man inside looked up, returned his gaze to his scrolls, then, when I did not move, looked up again to mutter, “Mmm?”

“I’d like to...” But I did not know how to phrase it.

“We’ve got a grievance,” Karanlik said.

“I’m taking the citidenizen test,” I added.

The man glanced down at my crutch. “Really?”

“Yes, really, and this is my cimmerian helper.” When there came no response I added, “You must believe me.”

The man said nothing, but he took a fresh scroll, dipped his quill in a pot of ink and said, “Name?”

“Ügliy.”

“Grievance?”

“I was attacked in the North Star tavern. There were witnesses and everything. My attacker is still at the tavern, his hands tied together.”

“We will deal with the offender. Return here the night after tomorrow. Ensure that all witnesses and other supporters know.”

“Is that a task for us?” Karanlik asked.

The old man favoured her with a grimace. “Our responsibility is to judge,” he replied.

We departed without further discussion. We had work to do.

So came the night of my case. My apprehension turned to fear. Arm in arm with Karanlik I made my way to the Forum of Arcadius, returning to the booth that I had approached before, where I was given an identification token and told where to go.

It was a large room filled with benches, tables and high seats, arranged at random, or so it seemed to me. An usher told me where to sit. Already present were Raknia, Zularayad and the bartender, along with many other people, citidenizens all in their ashen make-up, who looked bored as they whispered to one another behind raised hands. I noticed that one of the men seated in a high chair wore a black handkerchief over his head. The attacker was not present.

The usher spoke to the man wearing the handkerchief. “Noble arcadian—all but one are now present.”

“Bring in the miscreant,” came the reply.

I did not know what a miscreant might be, but I realised when another usher brought in my attacker. The arcadian turned to me, to say, “Why are you here, Ügliy?”

I stood up. “That man attacked me. I’m not a nogoth, I’m a pre-citidenizen, and I don’t think it should be allowed for men to be beaten. I don’t think there was a reason for it.”

The arcadian said nothing. My gaze never faltered.

“Ask him,” I insisted, pointing out my attacker.

Still nothing.

I wondered if I should now make my case. If this was the second part of my test I had to ensure that the people watching knew how I felt, what I thought, so there could be no doubt that I had grasped the essentials. In a clear voice I said, “It’s unjust for a pre-citidenizen...” I faltered. That was not definite enough. “It’s unjust for a citidenizen to be attacked by a drunkard and for that drunkard to escape his deed. There should be consequences. I realised that in the tavern. I’ve assembled everybody who saw what happened to me. I want this man to be recognised as my attacker, and I want you to know that I’m not happy with what happened. I know it was wrong.” I paused, glanced around the chamber, then added, “Something’s got to be done.”

I sat down. With a sigh, Karanlik hugged me.

The arcadian looked at the usher, then raised one eyebrow. The usher stood, to point out various people and say, “Arcadian—these are the witnesses.”

One by one everybody who had seen the attack told the arcadian what they knew, so that by the time the fifth witness was preparing to stand the arcadian waved his hand and said, “Enough witnesses, we take the point.”

The usher said, “There are no witnesses for the accused and he has nothing to say.”

The arcadian nodded. “This is what I think,” he said, gesturing at the attacker as if waving away a bad smell. “You assaulted Ügliy without any reason at all. All these witnesses saw what you did, so there can be no doubt that it happened. You are guilty of the attack. Do you understand?”

There was a shrug in reply.

The arcadian turned to me. “You were right to bring this case to my attention,” he said. “Well, then. Either we kill him or you do. You have the choice.”

I stared. I heard myself say, “What?”

“In the Mavrosopolis the penalty for an unprovoked assault is death. We offer you the choice. If you are delicate, we will kill him, if not, you can do it.”

Karanlik leaped to her feet. “No! That can’t be right.”

My thoughts were spinning. I knew now that I must be undergoing the second part of my test, but I knew nothing of its form, of when it had begun or when it might end. I felt as if the world was falling away from me. I reeled. I wanted nothing to do with penalties of death. But, as panic departed, reason returned. There was an imbalance between the assault and the penalty that, deep down, I knew must be false.

“Wait!” I cried. “That is all wrong. An assault does not mean a killing.” I looked to the floor, composed myself, then said, “I refuse both options.”

The arcadian’s eyes narrowed. “You do?”

I stood firm. “I do.”

The arcadian nodded. “You think mercy is a good quality, then?”

“I do. Only a nogoth would kill in revenge.”

“And you are not a nogoth?”

“I’m becoming a citidenizen.”

Silence fell across the chamber. The arcadian’s face was grim when he said, “I do not think you can claim that.”

I replied, “I
will
complete the test.”

Karanlik stood up, and as if to emphasize her support for me she took my hand in her own.

The arcadian said, “What then should we do with your attacker?”

I faced the sullen man. I said, “You were wrong to attack me, but as long as you realise that all this is the consequence of your violence there’s nothing more to say. I don’t think killing you—if that is an option—or even punishing you is right. I think you should go away and consider what you did to me.” I shrugged, turned to the arcadian, then said, “I’d let him go.”

The arcadian dismissed everybody in the court, then took me into a separate room. Karanlik followed a few paces behind. The arcadian told me, “You are correct to think that you are taking the second part of your test. The man who attacked you was a citidenizen entrusted with the task of assaulting you, and the case you brought was the test itself. Had you reverted to nogoth mores, or ignored the option of bringing your grievance, you would have failed. But the Mavrosopolis protects those who serve it. You understand that?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“However, I think letting the man off was a mistake, though, of course, killing him was never a possibility. Consider this, Ügliy. What if other, more complex mischiefs were also brushed aside? Then the concept of consequence that you relied upon would be negated in the minds of the miscreants.”

I thought for a few moments before replying, “If the citidenizenry is what I believe it to be, then the miscreants themselves will stop their mischief, if only because they wouldn’t want to ruin something so special.”

The arcadian said nothing. Judging by his expression he was surprised, even astonished by what I had said. I waited in silence.

Then the arcadian roused himself, fumbling in his pocket to retrieve a silver trinket, which he handed to me. “You have passed the second part of the test,” he said. He stood up. “You are an interesting man, Ügliy, and I for one regret that you cannot be a citidenizen.”

My reply was fierce, fired by defiance and delight. “I will!”

The arcadian turned to walk away. “When you are ready, you two are free to find your own way out of the Forum.”

For a few minutes we sat still and silent, while I contemplated the insistence of authority that I was bound to fail the test. Karanlik looked at me without flinching, admiration in her eyes. At last I roused myself to say, “Perhaps there is something in what Atavalens said.”

“Atavalens?”

“I won’t succeed because I’m a cripple.”

Karanlik rested her head on my shoulder. “You’re not a cripple to me,” she said.

I was unsure what she meant, and my mood, which had plunged from elation to gloom, did not impel me to enquire further. I took the first ring fragment and fitted its hooks into the receptacles of the new piece, to create an arc of silver. I stared at it, then crushed it in my fist.

“No,” Karanlik insisted, “there has to be more to this baiting. They’re just testing you, finding out where your limits are.”

I shook my head. “I should feel joy that I’m half way through the test, but I don’t.” There were tears in my eyes as I raised my gaze to the ceiling.

“I’m thinking back to the hundreds of times I watched citidenizens walking past me in Blackguards’ Passage. Not one of them was crippled, they all had eyes to see, they all had two arms, ten fingers. I am imperfect.”

“I don’t believe you mean that.”

I glanced at her. “You really think they are testing me?”

“I do.”

Though I still felt disillusioned I attempted a smile then stood up, clacking my crutch upon the floor. “There’s no getting around this,” I remarked, indicating my withered leg.

Karanlik led me out. The corridor before us led down to the entrance hall, and I followed her along it. I felt that there were now two distinct paths before me: to justice with Karanlik at my side, to unknown pleasures with Raknia. At that moment I wanted to walk both paths.

There came a sudden hiss behind me, then a blow to the back of my head. I cried out, turned on my crutch, saw a figure walk by.

It was the tavern attacker. He said, “That’s what happens when there’s no witnesses, you
cripple.
”

I stood shocked. I did not reply. Karanlik watched the man walk by, then turned towards me, a look of enquiry on her face. “What did he say?”

I rubbed the back of my head.

Karanlik ran forward and said, “What happened?”

I watched the receding figure. Unbidden, the words that I had spoken to the arcadian returned to my mind:
if the citidenizenry is what I believe it to be, then the miscreants themselves will stop their mischief.

“Ügliy, what happened?” Karanlik asked again, taking my hand in hers.

“Nothing,” I replied. “Nothing happened.”

“What did that man say to you?”

“Nothing.”

Karanlik shook her head. “I heard him muttering.”

I began walking again, clutching her hand in mine, both for comfort and to break the moment. “He said nothing that we need to worry about.”

That was true, and yet false also. The second part of the test was over, the silver fragment proof of that, but the citidenizenry had been shown up as rather less than what I believed it to be. The dilemma of my test lay stark before me: accept imperfection with community after my ascent from nogoth poverty, or live on the sidelines with people like Raknia. There was no third option.

11.6.583

Part two of the citidenizen test is complete.

It was laughably simple. With my charming cimmerian assistant I overcame the slight hurdle that it represented, to acquire my second silver quarter.

Oh that the second half will be so simple.

Of course it will not be. I hope for naivete in higher stations, but something in the citidenizen masters is cold and brutal. I loathe them. They are but white maggots in a black, black heart. They will turn into smelly old flies, not fine old people.

It infuriates me that I know all this before I have even lived one day as a citidenizen. Is this part of the test? Is the implication that there is no hope part of the process of wearing me down—eroding me!—or do they wish to inform me of the true nature of the citidenizenry? I do not know and I wish that I did.

The second quarter of the citidenizen test related to the concept of law. Nogoth mores are the mores of the gutter—revenge, tough leaders, violence and trickery in equal proportions—but citidenizen mores are finer, working on the principle of justice. I was slighted and I had to take my case to the Forum of Arcadius. In this way I was taught the notion of correct behaviour and correct response. It was not a difficult lesson, but again it brought home the bureaucratic nature of the judicial system, with all its officers and papers and interminable waits, and its twisting corridors. I do not like what I see. It ought to be changed. How come nobody has done it already? Two answers await this question: one, that nobody has thought of such change, which is a palpable absurdity, two, that such change is impossible, which, though absurd, is nonetheless worryingly plausible. I will go with the first answer, since the second is too awful to contemplate.

I, then, am the first person to consider change in the Mavrosopolis. Ridiculous! This means that the doctrine of erasure is anathema to me. I must hold this thought deep and secret in my mind, for if any citidenizen came to know it I would be returned to the gutter.

I am glad that I have no talent for sorcery, since sorcery is the most conservative of the arts. I have heard it said that spells spoken by sorcerers today were phrased in exactly the same words five centuries ago. I have heard that, despite the forward roll of the years and the subtle changes in society, the words, the language, even the intonation of spell casting has not altered. I wonder, is this is the source of the concept of anti-erasure? They are surely linked, even if they are not actually, materially and philosophically related.

Are we, in fact and in ethical persuasion, merely mimicking the extraordinary conservatism of sorcery? Is inhumanity the price we pay for the existence of spells?