Tribute (21 page)

She scowls up at us, her face a snotty mess of frustration, rage and pain, then melts away into the crowd.

I stare at Aidan, aware that there are tear stains streaking though the dirt on my face and that my own nose is running. I sniff and wipe it with the back of my hand. ‘I'm sorry,' I say. ‘I'm so sorry.'

He ignores my words. His eyes are cold, his mouth grim. But he's looking at me.

And the next moment, when the world begins to swing round and round and my legs melt beneath me, his arms catch and hold me.

‘What's happened, Marcus? What has Floster done with Tabitha?'

I was woken half an hour ago in my old bed in Philip's rooms by the Hound. He told me I'd been asleep for a day and a night, gave me five minutes to dress and wash, another five to eat some bread and sour cheese, and said I was needed in the Council Chamber.

‘Tell me –'

‘You'll find out soon enough. And welcome back, by the way. You got out alive, which is more'n I feared. You didn't do so bad, Twiss says. And that's praise indeed from that little pain in the arse.' He smiles, pushes the chamber door open, and stands aside to let me through.

Six Council members sit at the table. The seventh place is taken by Otter. They glance up as I enter, but it's Tabitha I'm looking for.

She sits on a low bench in the centre of the room, so fragile and elegant that she could have been spun from the finest Tierce glass. Her back is straight, her head erect. Her hands are folded tightly in her lap and she's staring in front of her at nothing. Her eyes move incuriously to meet mine as I stumble to a stop a foot away from her. For the first time since our first meeting, Tabitha looks at me without fear or loathing. It's gone: all her fear, all her pain.

‘Zara.' Mistress Floster stands, beckons me to an eighth chair set at the Council table. ‘Come. This place is for you. You are a member of the Council now. Ours is a new alliance, and all of us must pass judgement and see that justice is done. We are about to vote to pass sentence of death on the traitor, Tabitha.'

‘Death?' My heart sinks like a leaden weight and I gaze around the circle of Council members. ‘Has anyone spoken for mercy?' I ask. ‘For her child's sake, if not for her own?'

Silence. Floster says nothing. I look from her to Mistress Quint, Philip, Otter. Silence.

At last Tabitha herself speaks. ‘My son,' she says. ‘Promise me to look after him, Zara. Promise me. You and the Maker. His name is Thaddeus. He's seven.' Tabitha keeps her head upright, eyes looking at nothing. Her voice shakes slightly.

I have to know. ‘Is he  …  is he Bruin's child?'

‘No. Benedict killed my husband, Titus, and took my son when he was four and a half years old. Three years I've lived knowing that fiend had my child. The Archmage sent a mage called Pyramus to me. He explained  …  what would happen  …  what Benedict would do to Thaddeus if I  … ' Her voice stumbles to a stop, then begins again in a whisper. ‘I never betrayed you, Zara. All those years, and I never told them you were a spy. I only told Pyramus what I had to – what he already suspected. But I betrayed Bruin. I loved him but I sent him to his death. They found out about the foundry. They  …  m-made me tell him when Bruin would be there. I had no choice. I'm happy to die now. I don't want live any longer. Only  …  my son.' Her voice chokes.

‘Where is he?'

‘They've taken him away. I–it's for the best. I knew him at once, of course. But I never dared hope  …  He remembered me!' She takes a deep breath, fighting to regain control. ‘He spoke my name. The Maker told me he had lost the power of speech.' She looks at me, pleading in her eyes. ‘I beg you, Zara. Don't blame my child for my sins. Promise that you will look after him.'

‘No one will hurt him, Tabitha,' I say. My insides feel numb and icy. ‘I swear.'

‘You must take your seat, Zara,' Floster says. ‘And join us in the vote.'

I need time. Time to think, to find a way. But Time has abandoned the silversmith. The woman's death is certain. A useless, stupid death.

Suddenly, I'm furious. ‘And who will kill her?'

I wait, but no one answers my question.

‘Otter?' I look at the Guardian and he gazes back at me: large, thoughtful, infuriatingly calm. Is there any emotion inside the man? ‘You know my father and his pretty ways. You can imagine the choice this woman faced. Are you going to volunteer to cut her throat?'

His face remains impassive. I wish I could tell what he was thinking.

‘Or will it be you, Mistress Floster? Will you order Marcus to garrotte her? Will that bring back the dead?'

I point at Tabitha, who sits hunched over, her head in her hands. ‘What danger does she represent now? Her child is returned. Benedict no longer has a hold over her. You were a mother. Would you have done differently?'

‘Yes.' Floster stares into my eyes, cold as stone. ‘I gave my children.'

‘And were they five years old when they died?'

Her mouth tightens. She doesn't answer.

‘You?' I glare at Philip. ‘Are you so eaten up with the desire to learn that you can't feel? Will you test your mechanical bow on Tabitha?'

The Seeker flinches.

‘Mistress Quint?' I search out the apothecary with my eyes. She sits with her plump hands twisted into a knot on the table.

‘You have the power to give life or death. To heal or kill. Will it be poison for the silversmith?'

Quint blinks. She looks away.

‘Knowledge Seekers, you call yourselves.' My burst of passion is fading. I want to believe in these people, but  …  I don't think I can.

‘If you kill this woman, it will be in the name of vengeance, not justice. I see no wisdom in this judgement. Know this: if you vote to kill her, I will leave.'

‘Where would you go?' Otter asks. He is as calm and unhurried as ever.

The answer comes to me at once: ‘Aidan and I will go to the Makers.'

He nods. ‘You've spoken your piece, Zara. Now sit down so we may vote. You get an equal vote with the rest of us.'

‘Those who vote death to the traitor, Tabitha, raise your hands,' Floster says, and raises her hand high. I look at the Hound, and he glances away.

Hammeth the blacksmith raises a burly arm. He leers at Tabitha, who sits white-faced, staring ahead once more.

The counter studies his own two hands, balancing one against the other, as though weighing out iron ore or gold. Slowly, carefully, he raises his hand. And is joined at once by a thin dark woman who I know to be Mistress of the Chandlers' Guild.

Four hands in the air.

‘And?' Floster snaps. ‘Who else votes for death?'

‘I vote she lives,' Otter says in his careful voice. ‘I need Zara to fight the mages. This woman isn't a threat now. And there is this: Benedict has made enough orphans in this world. I'm not anxious to help him in that work.'

‘Zara's logic is impeccable,' Philip says, after a short pause. ‘I vote the silversmith lives.'

‘I won't vote to kill Tabitha,' Quint says in a trembling voice. ‘I won't! I've tended her. She's nearly killed herself already with grief these past months.'

‘Well!' Floster says, her eyes blazing at me. ‘Four to four. We need a tie-break vote. Marcus –'

‘Will do whatever you tell him,' I interrupt. ‘Not Marcus.'

‘Very well then,' Floster says drily. But she's given in too easily, and I guess that she's thought of something. ‘I suggest we let the person most directly affected by this woman's treachery cast the deciding vote,' the Mistress of Thieves announces. ‘Marcus, go fetch Twiss.'

‘
No!
' I cry.

‘Why not?' Floster asks. ‘Does the Council agree? I say Twiss lost the most, so she should cast the deciding vote.'

All around the table, one head nods after the other.

‘But Twiss is  … ' I stumble to a stop. Twiss would kill Tabitha herself. The silversmith's fate is sealed. Twiss and I, we know how to hate too well.

‘Not Twiss,' I say. ‘Surely another Knowledge Seeker – an adult, not a child.'

‘Twiss is twelve. She's old enough to fight and die. She's old enough to cast a vote. I say it's fair.' Otter looks at me. There's a shadow of worry in his face now. Floster waves her hand and the Hound strolls from the room like a messenger for Lady Death.

I don't notice how long it takes him to find Twiss and bring her back. I struggle with a new sort of sadness. Sadness for Tabitha, for Bruin, for Twiss, and for myself if I'm honest. I want to fight alongside Otter, Philip and Floster. We defeated Benedict. It was only a battle, but he's never lost before.

Twiss is here, suddenly. She stands beside the Hound, facing us. Marcus must have told her why she's here, for her face is greyish and she looks older suddenly. Almost as old as she is. Twelve. Young to decide if someone lives or dies.

‘You get your chance to avenge your blacksmith, Twiss,' Floster says. I open my mouth to protest: she's not even trying to be fair! Otter catches my eye and shakes his head, and I sit back in my chair, defeated. He's right: it will do no good, but at that moment I hate Mistress Floster. I press my lips together grimly and watch Twiss.

‘What's your vote, child. Does the traitor live or die?'

Twiss opens her mouth. She's panting slightly and looks totally miserable. And suddenly I feel a flare of hope. Twiss licks her lips and stares around the faces of the Council. Her eyes meet mine last of all. We look at each other for a long time. I can't feel what she thinking. I don't try. Twiss frowns at me. Then, for the first time, she turns her head and looks at Tabitha.

‘It were the kid,' she says, in a shaky voice. ‘Me own mum died when I were three. I don't 'member her. I wish  … '

She glares at the silversmith. Tears are running down her face – Twiss, who never cries. ‘I hate you! You betrayed Bruin  …  and he loved you. But I know you never woulda done it if that bastard didn't have your kid.' She clenches her fists. ‘I'll kill him someday,' she hisses, her eyes black obsidian. ‘But I can't kill you. Bruin wouldn't want it.' Twiss raises her head and stares right at me. There's a puzzled frown on her face, and when she speaks, it's as though she asking a question: ‘I vote  …  for life.'

Summer is dying. The wind has a sharp edge. I shiver and pull the lacing on my woollen jacket tighter. Today the wind is driving the smoke of the charcoal burners away from the shanty town towards the mountains. It cleans the stink of the tanneries, lifts the hair from my neck and whips Philip's robes around his long legs as he oversees the packing of his papers and drawing materials on the back of a mule. The Tribute in charge of the animal rolls her eyes and sighs as she re-ties the ropes for the third time. Philip looks up, catches me watching, and a sudden grin blazes across his face.

‘Brilliant!' he shouts over the noise of the wind and the milling Knowledge Seekers. They sling packs on their backs, re-strap footwear, or merely stand blinking at the nearly forgotten sight of the sun. They all turn eventually to stare at the distant city and the stray wisps of black smoke that curl upwards until blown sideways by a sudden gust. Smoke that marks the beginning of a war.

Each face tells a different story: disbelief, fear of the unknown, joy, vengefulness, sorrow. Some, like Philip, cannot wait to be on their way. More have tears in their eyes. The last Knowledge Seekers of Asphodel are fleeing the city.

I'm going with them. I don't know whether I'm frightened or joyful. I seem to know so little these days. I glimpse Aidan, carrying his apprentice on his shoulders so that the boy's white shock of hair flutters above the crowd like a flag. I avert my eyes and stride over to Philip.

‘Does Otter know you've commandeered one of his pack mules and are loading it with useless drawings instead of food and blankets?'

‘Useless?' Philip splutters in protest, then sees through my disapproving expression and shakes his head at my teasing. ‘You know these plans are our bartering goods for the Makers. They will not take us in out of charity alone.'

A few short months ago, I would have protested that the Makers are our natural allies and will surely welcome us. Now I merely nod and ask the question on everyone's mind: ‘Do you think we'll make it to the Wall?'

‘I estimate the odds to be fairly even,' Philip says. ‘Your father's forces are still in disarray and the border patrols will be less efficient as a result. And we have Otter to guide us. But it's over two weeks' hard walking. Some of these people may not survive.'

I follow his gaze and see Tabitha. The thieves have refused to keep her. Mistress Floster has declared that all non-thieves must leave the catacombs. She is preparing for all-out war. A moat of space encircles the silversmith wherever she goes in the crowd. I know only too well what it's like to live among people who hate and mistrust you. It isn't the wind that sends a chill down my back this time.

Aidan reappears, still holding Thaddeus. He goes to stand beside the silversmith, lifts the boy from his shoulders. The Maker bends down to talk to his former apprentice. I'm pulled forward as if by magic. By the love I hear in Aidan's voice. I wish I were the child and not the mage. I stop a few paces away, not daring to go closer.

‘Thank you for bringing him back to me yet again, Aidan. He ran off to look at the mules. I fear he will get lost in the crowd.' Tabitha's voice is a mere whisper. She looks nearly transparent with fatigue.

As she takes her son by the hand, she glances up and sees me. A faint smile flits across her face before the accustomed sadness returns. ‘Zara!' she cries. ‘I am glad. I've been wanting to talk to you, to thank you – but you are so elusive. I owe you more than I can ever repay. And  … ' She trails off. The haunted look returns.

Aidan turns to look at me. His eyes fog over at once, and he glances away. It takes all my courage, but I move forward until I'm standing close enough to touch him.

‘You don't owe me anything, Tabitha.' I keep my eyes on the silversmith, only too aware of the Maker's nearness. ‘Except to go on living. It's what Bruin would want. But if you would like to give me something, may I keep Bruin's sword? I still have need of it.'

Her eyes widen. She draws breath. ‘Yes. Have the sword with my blessing, Zara of Asphodel. And, if it is truly what you seek, may the gods grant you another chance to use it.' She looks from me to the silent Maker. Aidan's head is still averted. Her face softens in sympathy, and she steps aside and bends to talk to Thaddeus.

I don't say anything. I simply wait for him to look at me. I wait a long time. Finally, he turns his head and looks me in the eyes. I see anger, revulsion, confusion. But also the flickering of love and longing.

Everything I want to say to him is in my face.

‘Thank you for saving my life.' He has to pull the words out. I can see and feel what it costs him. ‘And for saving Thaddeus. But  … ' His jaw is clenched and I can feel his anger sword-sharp between us. ‘You're his daughter. You're one of them. It can't be the same with us. Not yet. Maybe someday.'

It isn't no. A small, dry comfort for my heartache. It will have to serve.

As I turn to go, the high, excited voice of the child stops me. He has pulled away from his mother and now comes to stare up at my face with a searching gaze. ‘Are you the same one? Are you the woman in the glass cave?'

Tabitha follows. Her arms encircle her son protectively. His pale face is flushed with excitement.

‘A woman in a glass cave?' I shake my head. ‘I don't understand.'

‘Oh.' His face crumples with disappointment. ‘Only you look like her. I thought it was you, when you came to talk to us. You know, when we were fixing the big clock in the b-bad place. I thought maybe you got out too. And I wanted to thank you for looking after me. It was so scary in there.'

‘He's not stopped talking about it,' Tabitha says, the note of worry strong in her voice. ‘Thaddeus says he was in a sort of glass prison for a long time. And that there was woman who looked after him. Gave him food and told him stories. It must be a dream.'

‘It's not, Mother! It's true! It was like the catacombs, with lots of tunnels. And it was sort of dark and light at the same time. You do look like her,' he says again, frowning at me. ‘I wish it was you, because she said she was so very lonely before I came. And she's still there. By herself.' He twists around to cling to his mother.

‘I want to talk to you about this.' Aidan has taken my arm. It's the first time he's touched me since the night I fainted in the catacombs. My throat goes dry. The Maker propels me in front of him, through the crowd, away from the silversmith.

When we're out of earshot, he releases my arm and steps back. He's frowning. I'm trying, so very hard, not to feel his emotions. I don't want to. It isn't my right. And I'm afraid of what I will find. But I can't block it all. Not the raw anger and self-loathing. Not the tinge of revulsion. I glance away, blinking until the hurt can be borne.

‘Do you think he's mad?'

The words are so surprising that I turn back at once to stare at him, and my breath catches in my throat. He's so close. I can see star-shaped yellow lines threading the bright blue of his irises; darker strands of black and copper sprinkled through his straw-coloured hair. The Maker looks older, years older, than when I first met him. There is a faint line between his brows, two more etching a path from either nostril to the corners of his mouth. I long to smooth them away. Instead, I take a deep breath and find my voice. ‘Mad? Thaddeus?'

Aidan nods. ‘He's been through hell. Enough to make a grown man crazy, let alone a boy.' He takes deep breath.

‘He is not the only one who's been to hell and back. What about you?'

Aidan flinches, looks away. Too soon. Why am I so clumsy?

‘I don't think Thaddeus is mad,' I say quickly. ‘Something very strange seems to have happened to him. A glass prison? I confess it sounds odd, but –'

‘I was worried about what it would do to him  …  if his mother  … ' Aidan sighs. ‘When she was locked away by the Knowledge Seeker Council he cried for her all the time.' He looks miserable at the memory. Shoots a sideways glance at me. ‘Philip told me you saved her life.'

Something in Aidan's voice gives me courage. Our eyes meet, and my heart twists inside me.

‘What my father did to you –'

‘I don't want to talk about that!' His voice is uncompromising.

I must give him time. Offer Time's grace.

‘The boy's words seem odd,' I say. ‘But it's true that he seemed almost to recognise me when I first met him. What did he say? That he was inside a glass cave full of tunnels, like a labyrinth? And that there was a woman there with him. Someone who looked like me?'

‘A cave-like place with twisting glass tunnels, yes.'

And suddenly, I know. It can't be! But  …  I know. Blood thunders in my head. ‘
Oh, gods!
' I seize Aidan's hand. Clutch it tight and hardly notice his instinctive recoil. But the Maker lets me keep hold of him. And so I hang on to the possibility of love in the midst of evil as images uncoil in my head and meaning pounces on them.

The paperweight.

‘I think  …  Aidan, my sister might be alive after all!'

‘Your sister? I didn't know you had a sister.' He thinks me mad now too. Is he right?

‘Ita,' I say. ‘I told you about her. Only I didn't tell you the whole story. I didn't know it then. I didn't know she was my sister. Benedict told me. He  …  taunted me with it. All those years ago. I thought he had killed her. I thought she was dead.'

‘The Tribute child? Your Tribute child?' Shock chases all other emotions from his face. ‘You told me someone murdered her. Are you saying  … 
your father
? And she was his –'

‘His child by a non-magic woman. Yes. He gave her to me. And I taught her to read. He said her death was my fault. I hate him  …  I  …  but he was right. I can't forgive myself.'

I let go of his hand. I've explained everything now. Everything except the paperweight. He wouldn't believe it. I'm not sure I do.

He's staring at me like I'm a strange, unknowable creature. But then his eyes soften and I see pity. Pity is better than hate.

‘I'm so sorry, Zara. But why do you think she's alive? You think she's the one Thaddeus meant?'

‘I can't explain yet.' There is too much separating us. ‘I might be wrong.'

Slowly, carefully, he reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my right ear. His fingers linger, gently touch the side of my face. They leave a trace like silver fire on my skin. His mark. I look into his eyes. And wait.

‘I do feel something for you, Zara.' His hand drops away.

Aidan's eyes hold mine for another moment, then the Maker leaves, heading back towards Tabitha. I turn away to find Otter standing beside me.

‘Zara? It's time to leave. Are you ready?' His face is as impassive as ever, but he's watching me closely. I realise, for the first time, that the Guardian cares what happens to me. That
is
a surprise. So many surprises.

‘I can't go.' I look into Otter's eyes, shaking my head at the impossibility of abandoning Swift for the second time.

‘You have to.'

‘I'll stay here, with the thieves. Floster will let me.'

‘No she won't, and neither will I. You're too valuable to allow you to kill yourself. Benedict knows you're alive. He'll tear the city apart stone by stone to find you. Even the catacombs won't save you now. You're coming to the Maker cities if I have to tie you on a mule.'

‘You can't stop me!'

He just looks at me. ‘Tell me what's wrong.'

‘I can't!' I can't tell anyone. I might be mistaken. I might be mad. Did I imagine it all? I shiver as I think of the skill it would take to make a prison from a glass bauble. Of the magic required to shrink a human being to the size of a speck of sand without killing them. I shudder with horror at both the prison and its architect.

Otter is right. I can't stay. But I can come back. I will travel to the Maker city, and in the coming months I will work harder at my magic than I've ever done in my life, until I am as powerful an adept as my father. I will return to Asphodel, to my father's palazzo. To the place where I thought my sister died. I will hold the paperweight once more in my hands, and find the key to its secret.

‘It's all right,' I say to the Guardian. ‘I know I can't stay. Where's Twiss?'

Suddenly, I long to have the thief nearby. I need her. If I can ever tell anyone, it will be Twiss. She was there, in the library. She fought my father, as Swift did. I will tell her. Not today, but someday soon.

‘She's saying goodbye. To Floster and the middlings. Lording it up, no doubt.' He allows himself a brief smile. But his eyes are still watchful. He doesn't quite trust me.

The Guardian doesn't leave my side until Twiss arrives, wearing a woollen jacket miles too big and strutting in new boots. She carries her belongings on her back, as do we all, and a grin a mile wide on her face. She's practically bouncing with excitement and self-importance.

‘I'm a  …  a “emissary”, Zara! I'm the first thief ever to go to a Maker City!'

‘Yes.'

And, if we survive, I will be the first mage to set foot in a Maker city for generations.

Something makes me look up. There, high above us, I see a dark shape scything the sky – a solitary swift. A crescent of brown wings – the exact colour of her hair. She has come to make the journey with me. To keep the promise she made to herself all those years ago. I watch the swift circling overhead, and am filled with a sudden joy as sharp and clean as the wind that holds her.

Part of me soars high and enters the bird. I look down through the swift's eyes and see myself: a tall, thin girl in leather leggings and a woollen jacket. I carry a pack over my shoulder and Bruin's sword at my hip.