The Red Queen (97 page)

Swallow touched my arm and pointed to an opening in the wall right alongside the tunnel. Elated, I nodded and we made our way quickly from the end of the rail tunnel through the opening and out into an empty narrow street running along the wall in both directions. We stood for an indecisive moment, then Swallow nodded to the right, saying the sea was this way by his reckoning.

I took the opportunity to untuck the thin gown I had pushed into my trews before we had set off, so as to look like a man from a distance. I shook it and it fell to the ground, then, completing my transformation from man to woman, I pulled the scarf from my head and arranged it over my hair in the style Riyad had affected, twitching it forward so that it would shadow my face. Only then did I hurry after Swallow. He had slowed to wait for me, but I bade him go on and keep ahead of me. After we had gone a little way in this fashion, he slowed again and looked over his shoulder. ‘What sort of way of walking is this? It is impossible to talk.’

‘I do not know that Gadfians care much for the talk of women – some Gadfians,’ I added, thinking of garrulous Nareem and his love for Gretha.

‘Well, how am I to lead the way when I do not know the place?’ he demanded.

I looked up, taking my bearings from the position of the two towers and the high wall that was the northern Talon, and pointed ahead. ‘I think that we would come to the shore most swiftly by going this way, but we are also likely to run into the rail again, for it goes from that yard we came out in, directly out onto the Long Pier. Better to gradually turn a little more directly to the south, for then we ought to come out parallel to the shore and we might immediately see the Palace Island. But we can walk almost side by side until we see people.’

He set off along the path, which soon offered a lane running in the direction we were heading, which Swallow took, saying, ‘Do you really think Dragon made it all the way through Redport to the shore?’

‘Let’s see what we see,’ I said, thinking that if there were no one guarding the island, I would take the opportunity to search it for Luthen’s crypt. Yet the fact that the palace had been destroyed by the Gadfians in their search for the Red Queen’s sceptre troubled me because either it, too, had been destroyed or the crypt was hidden and had escaped their efforts, in which case how was I to find it?’

‘And if she is not there?’ Swallow asked.

‘You will escort me to the gate of Slavetown and then see what you can learn in the southern parts of the settlement, as we decided,’ I said.

‘I was only thinking that I would like to see this Infinity of Dragonstraat. I have a feeling I know something about it, but I cannot catch hold of the memory. Seeing it clearly might bring the memory to the surface.’ Swallow stopped at the end of the street, finding there were four lanes leading off from the same place. ‘It seems to me that if we go along this one, it will bring us to the shore.’

‘It does seem so, but these streets go their own way and often it is not the way you think. The curves are confounding,’ I said. Nevertheless we took the lane and it was narrow enough that I had to walk behind Swallow, but I stayed close enough for us to talk. If someone appeared, I need only slow down to produce a seemly gap between us. We continued through a tangle of streets that had Swallow muttering in irritation at such an impractical and unnecessarily complicated way to lay out a settlement. I realised that we were between two scythe streets, and that we would not be able to find our way anywhere until we got onto one of them.

‘Have you thought of the possibility that Dragon went straight to Slavetown to find Matthew?’ Swallow said, when we had finally reached a wider street, though not yet one of the scythe streets.

‘I do not think she would do that,’ I said.

He gave me such a puzzled look that I realised he must know nothing of what had passed between Dragon and Matthew. I had told Ana but maybe she had not shared it. I told him now, briefly, as we walked.

‘But why would Matthew spend so much effort in preparing for Dragon’s coming if he cares nothing for her?’ he asked.

I scowled at his obtuseness, which forced me to speak of matters that I felt to be private. But it was important that he understood the situation between them so I said tersely, ‘He feels responsible for her falling into a coma because he led her on even if he did not mean to. All of his efforts on her behalf probably stem from guilt, but that does not mean what he does is not vital and important. He knows from the one time we managed to make contact during dreams that I intended to bring Dragon here and he was determined to help her take her rightful place as queen. I daresay that determination helped him bear his long enslavement.’

Swallow nodded. ‘That is his story, but do you think Dragon dislikes Matthew so much for what happened so long ago that she would not seek his help?’

‘She remembers how he treated her, but I don’t truly know what she feels for him now,’ I admitted. ‘On the surface she is very cool about him. Underneath she still feels something for him, but whether it is love or hate only Dameon could say. Or Dragon herself.’

‘Complicated,’ Swallow said.

‘It seems to me that things are always complicated by love,’ I said.

‘Do you see it so?’ Swallow said. ‘I see it as being a wondrous intricacy that enriches life. That it is not simple is part of the joy of having it.’

There was something in his voice that caught my attention, but then we heard again the terrible groaning call of the trapped beast. The throbbing growl of it went on and on and then stopped. As we walked, I told him what I had learned about the beast from the minds of the men I had coerced.

‘Its cry reminds me of nightmares I used to have as a boy,’ he mused. ‘I wonder if it howls out of hunger and frustration or out of triumph.’

‘I hope we never find out,’ I said.

We came to the end of the street and I was relieved to find we had come to one of the scythe streets. I looked out, as fascinated as Swallow, because the bare, silent streets of the dark quiet hours had been transformed by daylight into busy thoroughfares. Every building and cobblestone glowed red in the sunlight, which was very hot, save in streets so narrow that it could only reach them at midday. Standing in such a street, hidden in shadow, I felt safe enough to gaze out in wonderment, for everything looked different in the daylight. Practically every wall was decorated with the crumbling remnants of brightly coloured frescoes, or patches of gaily-coloured tesserae, and there were many friezes, both patterned and more realistic. Yet all of them showed signs of wear that seemed to me to be from generations of passing time rather than a decade or so. But perhaps the neglect of the building had begun before the untimely death of the last Red Queen.

‘I wonder if Darga has found Dragon yet?’ Swallow said quietly.

I said nothing, seeing several swarthy men approaching with haughty imperious expressions, wearing long flowing robes of white and yellow and great ropes of polished stones. Chafiri, I felt sure, or maybe even High Chafiri. I suggested this to Swallow and he studied them closely as they passed.

‘Right?’ he asked when they had gone by.

Mouth dry, I nodded and Swallow veered to the right, leaving me to follow meekly, a little in his wake, head down, looking at people and buildings from the corner of my eye. No one looked twice at Swallow, save covertly, and I guessed people took him for the son of a Chafiri got upon a Redland woman. He had a natural swagger and confidence that gave him authority but he was not as dark skinned as the men we had identified as Chafiri, and he had no beard. He could pass for an Ekoni, but he would need the right clothes and I would have to find and coerce one of the Ekoni for him to gain enough information to carry off the role. Unfortunately I did not see how we were going to manage that, since they did not seem to move about alone or even in twos and threes. Of course that was when they were in their Ekoni attire. No doubt they moved about alone and in pairs out of their Ekoni trappings, but how to tell them apart from ordinary halfblood Gadfians?

We came at last to an infinity and I saw that in all ways it was the same as the Infinity of Dragonstraat, being two circles slightly elongated where they joined, but this was tiled in a less extravagant way and there were no towers, though there was a big well, which we made use of after making sure both men and women drank from it. It was while Swallow was drinking that a man began shouting. I turned and saw a bearded Gadfian man in swirling robes, prowling about a raised platform where a pale and rather sickly-looking Landman stood, stripped to the waist. The Gadfian was stroking his luxuriant beard and extolling the slave’s strengths and virtues in florid language, saying he was so newly arrived the ink was barely dry on his tattoo, and inviting people to bid. There were a good many Gadfians standing about listening, all men.

‘Let’s go,’ I said, disgusted, though another part of me did want to understand the workings of the slave trade.

‘Wait . . .’ Swallow said, and he moved towards the people gathered to listen to the slaver. I had no choice but to follow and I did so muttering curses under my breath. To my horror, Swallow led us right up to the edge of the crowd. I reached out to touch him, hissing into his mind that there were no women here. We would stand out.

‘Elspeth, look . . .’ Swallow had spoken aloud, but there was something in the tone of his voice that made me look towards the dais. On the other side of it, just beyond the crowd, I saw a Gadfian man walking with several blank-faced men. It took me a moment to realise the last of them, emaciated and clad in filthy rags, was Rushton, his dear face lined and scarred, his hair touched with grey at the temples.

My shock at seeing him was so great that I felt the world swim about me.

And Rushton stumbled almost as if he had felt my shock. The Gadfian man hurried to steady him, which even in that moment seemed oddly solicitous. Then the haughty-looking Chafiri man alongside Swallow turned to frown in disapproval at me, and Swallow immediately turned away, forcing me to follow. In moments, we were passing out of the open area. Swallow led me into the first lane we came to and we continued along it until we were alone, and could press ourselves into a doorway.

‘You saw . . .?’ he demanded.

‘Rushton,’ I said. ‘But he looked . . .’

‘What do you want to do?’ Swallow asked. ‘Do we follow him?’

I could have wept. ‘We have to find Dragon.’

Swallow stared at me incredulously. ‘Do you not love the man?’

‘More than life,’ I whispered. ‘But I am the Seeker and my life is not my own.’

He looked contrite but also baffled. ‘My apologies, Elspeth. But how can you bear to see him after so long, and then let him walk away?’

‘He lives,’ I said. ‘If Dragon claims her throne, he will be free.’

Swallow said, ‘Your will is truly stone, Elspeth.’

His words brought a rush of hot tears to my eyes, but I blinked them away fiercely. ‘Let’s go. We must get to the Palace Island.’

He nodded and set off again. I gazed at the bay, visible at the end of the scythe street, and I could see the opening between the Talons clearly for the first time. I tried to gather my wits, but I was still fighting tears. At least part of the tempest of emotion that possessed me was joy, for until I had seen Rushton, I had not truly known if he lived or died. The last time I had made contact with him he had been cast on an island in a storm, mortally ill. Yet he had sworn that he would try to live for my sake, and now I knew that he lived and was whole and in Redport and I would find my way to him ere I must leave to seek Sentinel. Swallow said my will was stone, but I knew that I could bear not to go, without at least holding him once in my arms.

‘He lives,’ I whispered, then I forced myself to set the memory of Rushton aside so that I could concentrate on what must be done. It took all of my will and a conscious drawing on the dark spirit power to manage it. As if he felt the struggle, Swallow glanced back once, and his expression shifted from puzzlement to pity, as if he saw my struggle in my aura.

By the time we had got out of sight of the infinity, I had mastered myself, and when we passed what was clearly a laundry, I ducked inside, hissing to Swallow to follow, and in a short time, I had coerced the women scrubbing clothes, along with their plump, smiling master. We emerged a little later, Swallow now clad in flowing white robes with a coloured tunic and green cloth cap. There had not been any Ekoni attire but I thought he would easily pass as the Gadfian halfblood trader to whom the clothing had belonged.

As we continued I noticed a good many Gadfian men moving about in couples or groups, often accompanied by Redland slaves, and very occasionally, by a Gadfian woman wearing hooded flowing robes. In some ways masculine Gadfian attire was very like to that of Sadorian men, consisting of loose trews and long tunics caught at the waist with woven sashes from which hung sticks or curved knife scabbards. So far as I could tell there was little difference between what they and the Chafiri wore, save the cloth of the Chafiri tunics appeared to be finer, and they did not cinch their tunics. All of them wore some sort of facial hair, often cropped closed and shaved and trimmed into ornate patterns.

Slavemen – and most of the slaves we saw
were
men – wore their hair long and loose. Slavewomen bound back their hair in braids and wore simple long tunics belted at the hip, and scarves draped over their heads. The few foreign male slaves I saw generally wore short kilts about their loins and were bare-chested, even as the miners had been, save for a thong or knotted scarf passed over one shoulder and caught at the opposite hip. These appeared to be a functional line from which to suspend various implements or small bags more than the decoration I had first thought them, though they were adorned by an eclectic muddle of small bits and pieces. Some of the paler Land slaves affected woven hats to shade their faces and necks. The Redlander slaves, men and women, were more numerous and better dressed in general.

The strangest thing I saw were wagons made of what looked to me to be bathing barrels with wheels, open at the back and lashed at the front to two narrow poles which passed through a harness secured around muliki. I knew them from Nareem’s mind but the little doe-eyed beasts were far more endearing than his mind had shown them to me, with their absurd and floppy hare ears. They were clearly very strong, for although people stood in some of the carts, others were filled and piled high with stones or furniture or bundles of other goods.