Part 19 (1/2)
Once outside the building Kat stopped, turning to M'gruth. ”Wait here, would you? See that the old woman gets home safely.” Night time in the under-City was not a place anyone her age should be abroad without protection.
M'gruth wasn't happy with the idea. ”You can't take him alone, Kat. You've seen him fight. He stood toe to toe with Chavver and held his own.”
”True,” Kat admitted. ”I've seen him fight. Tell me honestly, M'gruth, in a no-holds-barred sc.r.a.p between me and Chav, who do you think would have won?”
He shook his head, as if about to duck the issue, then he looked her in the eye and sighed. ”Truthfully... I don't know. You're both formidable. Chavver was a little stronger, you a bit quicker...” He shrugged.
”Exactly. I'm quicker, and Brent's never seen me fight. He's going to gauge me by what he knows of my sister.”
M'gruth didn't seem convinced. ”And you think that's going to be enough?”
”It will be, don't worry.” She smiled, placing a comradely hand on the larger man's shoulder. ”This is something I have to do, M'gruth. Alone.”
”I know,” he said after a pause.
”Just look after things this end for me. I'll see you before morning.”
With that, she turned and walked away. Thirty paces later she heard a series of m.u.f.fled sounds. Surely they weren't screams? No, couldn't be. They'd have to be really loud for her to have heard them from this far away. They certainly sounded like screams though.
Kat knew Mill Lane a stubby pa.s.sage which ran between Mill Street and the Whittleson Road, close to where the grand conveyor terminated at the Whittleson factory, but she'd never registered the presence of a tavern there. The buildings were two storey and the walls appeared to be grimy and dark, which added a claustrophobic sense to an alley which already seemed too narrow. There it was a small sign sticking out from above a door otherwise indistinguishable from any of the others. Through the flaking paint she could just make out the crudely painted image of an ox. This looked exactly the sort of place in which a person could hide away without being noticed. The tavern was not yet open, so, stopping under the sign, she dropped one hand to her belt close to a sword hilt and then rapped twice on the door with the other.
Kat was fully attuned to the rhythms and nuances of the City Below; she knew how the world worked and so summed up the man who answered the door in a flash, reckoning that bravery would not prove his strongpoint. He opened the door a fraction and poked his head out.
”Is it a room you'll be after, little 'un?”
Long lank greasy hair framing an angular leatherskinned face which was dominated by a pair of small, darting eyes, all preceded by what had to be the worst breath Kat had ever encountered.
”No,” she replied, pus.h.i.+ng the door further open, forcing the man back and doubtless surprising him with her strength. ”Information.”
He was retreating rapidly towards a small bar and presumably either a sword or staff that lay hidden behind it. ”I... I don't know nothing,” he a.s.sured her. ”Now stay back! I'm warning you, I've got friends among the razzers.”
Kat doubted that, doubted he had much in the way of friends anywhere. She laughed. ”Fine, you call your friends and I'll call mine: the Tattooed Men.”
He stopped in his tracks and stared at her, clearly rea.s.sessing who stood before him. He ran his tongue over his upper lip and then said, ”What do you want?”
”There's a man staying here, name of Brent; an outsider, from the East.” She wasn't sure why she'd added the last, except that the words of the odd man from the chophouse came back to her. ”Tall, thin, wears an unusual brown coat.”
”Hah!” The man laughed, showing a missing front tooth. ”Was staying here, you mean.”
”He's left, then?” Her heart sank. That had always been the danger that Brent had fled the city straight after Iron Grove Square.
”Oh, he's left all right, though not by choice. The razzers came and took him yesterday afternoon.”
The razzers? ”Some of your friends, were they?” He looked sheepish. ”Did they say why?” ”Some of your friends, were they?” He looked sheepish. ”Did they say why?”
”What, explain themselves to the likes of me? Probably the same reason they ever do anything, because somebody paid them to.”
True enough, but who else would be interested in Brent?
”So what's so special about this Brent anyway?” the man asked slyly.
”Trust me, you really don't want to know.”
Kat walked away from the White Ox with a mounting sense of frustration and anger. In a way this reminded her of the Pits, where she had been completely at the mercy of others. Once again she felt manipulated and used. There were things going on around her which she didn't understand, and whenever she tried to discover what they might be she found only more questions at every turn. It was time to regroup the Tattooed Men. Once she had them properly organised she intended to seek out a certain Kite Guard and find out what he knew, if anything. One way or another she was determined to get some answers.
NINETEEN.
Tom couldn't decide whether he should consider this a particularly large village or a small town. The houses seemed to be crammed into the canyon, straddling the river, with a wooden bridge connecting the crowd of buildings on the far side to the nine or ten that he and Mildra were approaching on this side. It was late in the day, and the prospect of spending a night with a roof over their heads added an extra spring to Tom's step.
The bright colours of the houses' walls and lowpitched roofs red bricks and tiles in places, blue painted ones in others struck Tom as strangely appropriate, as if they represented an attempt to bring brightness to this otherwise sombre setting, nestled as these buildings were between b.u.t.tresses of stark, grey rock. Likewise the triangular pennants in red, yellow and blue which fluttered listlessly from jauntily angled flagpoles somewhere towards the settlement's centre. There was a permanent sign planted in the ground on twin metal stakes immediately in front of the first house they came to. Tom ignored it; he couldn't read and had never seen any point in the written word so long as people had voices to speak with. Besides, he was more interested in the building itself. Now that he could see it close up, he was amazed at just how precariously the house perched on the mountain's side. Not just this one; all the buildings seemed to be situated in dizzyingly hazardous positions, and they were cl.u.s.tered closely together, as if to draw comfort from one another in the face of the mountain's might, or perhaps the river's, whose waters frothed and raged through the heart of the community.
They had an opportunity to experience that might from a new perspective, as they crossed above the torrent via the bridge. Despite the handrails and the bridge's apparently solid construction, Tom was never at his best when it came to heights and felt anything but secure. He had to continually suppress such thoughts as: What if one What if one of the boards is rotten and breaks beneath my feet? of the boards is rotten and breaks beneath my feet? and, and, should should the bridge really bounce this much at every step? the bridge really bounce this much at every step? He walked stoically forward, focussing on a particularly bright roof on the far side and refusing to look down. He wasn't about to test the blocks the prime master had placed on his vertigo to that extent. In surprisingly short time they were across, stepping onto solid ground once more beneath twin cords of gold and silver foil streamers, which struck Tom as yet another fruitless attempt to lift the community's collective spirit. He walked stoically forward, focussing on a particularly bright roof on the far side and refusing to look down. He wasn't about to test the blocks the prime master had placed on his vertigo to that extent. In surprisingly short time they were across, stepping onto solid ground once more beneath twin cords of gold and silver foil streamers, which struck Tom as yet another fruitless attempt to lift the community's collective spirit.
As ever, the local people accepted the arrival of two strangers in this remote and inaccessible town without any apparent surprise, and if Tom had thought Pellinum boasted a lot of garish tat, this place surpa.s.sed it. Children kept running up to them with charms and crudely painted hand-carved statuettes of the G.o.ddess Thaiss.
The town had a strange atmosphere, an air of expectancy, as if the whole community was holding its breath, waiting for something or someone. The pilgrims, Tom suddenly thought. He and Mildra had been told in Pellinum that they were early, and surely that was why this place existed: to cater for pilgrims who hadn't arrived yet. No wonder the place seemed to be missing something; it was. He went to tell Mildra this flash of insight but stopped himself.
The Thaistess had gone out of her way all day to be friendly and happy, as if to emphasise that what happened in the flower meadow hadn't changed anything as far as she was concerned, but now she seemed distracted, troubled. Tom initially thought she was offended by the kids' trinkets, which commercialised and even trivialised the beliefs she'd built her life around, but it turned out to be more than that.
”Did you see that sign as we entered the town?” Mildra asked as they took shelter from the street hawkers in a cafe. He confirmed that he had. ”And did you see what it said?”
”No, I didn't.” The last thing he wanted to do was admit to her that he couldn't read.
”Well, the top line read 'Pilgrimage End' and below that was written 'Welcome to the source of the Thair'.” She looked at him, clearly expecting a reaction.
”You mean we've arrived?” he asked, having frankly antic.i.p.ated more. ”This is where your G.o.ddess is supposed to live?” is where your G.o.ddess is supposed to live?”
”No,” she said, ”and that's the problem.” Mildra turned to the waiter who was delivering them drinks two plump earthenware mugs of doolhd doolhd, a recommended local speciality which consisted of warmed goats' milk infused with mint and mountain herbs. ”Excuse me, but could you tell us how far we are from the source of the river Thair?”
”Why, you're no distance at all, young pilgrim.” The man's face split into a broad grin, revealing a gold tooth which Tom found annoyingly distracting. ”Because the source of the sacred river is right here, in this very town!” Again the gold tooth glinted from beneath the man's moustachioed nostrils any upper lip he might have possessed was completely obscured by the whiskers. ”At the northern end of town you will find the great Temple of Thaiss, where you may meditate undisturbed for as long as you wish in a gallery overlooking the holy waters, before leaving your offerings, safe in the knowledge that they will be received by the G.o.ddess herself.” Drinks safely deposited on the table, he clasped his hands together in front of his chest at these final words.
”But that can't be right,” Mildra protested. ”The river continues on beyond this town, so how can this be the source?”
The man was shaking his head. ”I understand your confusion, dear pilgrim. You see, beyond this point the Thair becomes nothing more than fractured uncertainty a bewildering tangle of many streams and falls, like the roots of a tree, spreading out in all directions, fetching water from the peaks, all of which combines to form the blessed torrent that flows through our humble community. Trust me, Pilgrimage End; this is the first point where the Thair can be clearly identified and the flow of water is worthy of being called a river.”
”None of which makes this the source, surely.”The man's smile was beginning to look a little strained. ”The Thair has a thousand sources in the melt waters of the mountains, all feeding this, the true source, where the G.o.ddess Thaiss dwells in her temple. Rejoice, young pilgrim, for you have reached the end of your journey.” With that, he moved away to serve another customer.
Mildra looked far from satisfied.
”Perhaps we should pay a visit to this temple,” Tom suggested.
”The sooner the better,” the Thaistess agreed.
They each sipped tentatively at their lukewarm beverages. Tom smacked his lips after the first taste of the aromatic emulsion, trying to decide what to make of it. He concluded that while the taste wasn't entirely unpleasant tangy but mellow he didn't much care for the fatty feel it left in his mouth. All in all, Tom reckoned he could happily go the rest of his life without sampling doolhd doolhd again. Judging by the look on Mildra's face, the Thaistess liked the drink even less than he did. again. Judging by the look on Mildra's face, the Thaistess liked the drink even less than he did.