City Of Hope And Despair Part 19

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.

She grimaced and said, "How does right now sound?"

"Fine by me."

Pilgrimage End struck Tom as rather a pompous t.i.tle for such an oddly structured town. True, there were some some level surfaces, where streets and paths had been created, but the terrain undulated dramatically, with buildings on one side of a given street liable to have doors higher than those on the other. Small flights of steps were used everywhere to try and bridge the differences, yet there remained a sense that this was a rag-tag collection of buildings which happened to have been built in the same place rather than a proper town. At least it wasn't all that big, and, despite the unconventional geography, they had little trouble in finding the temple. level surfaces, where streets and paths had been created, but the terrain undulated dramatically, with buildings on one side of a given street liable to have doors higher than those on the other. Small flights of steps were used everywhere to try and bridge the differences, yet there remained a sense that this was a rag-tag collection of buildings which happened to have been built in the same place rather than a proper town. At least it wasn't all that big, and, despite the unconventional geography, they had little trouble in finding the temple.

This was very different from any temple of Thaiss Tom had seen in the City Below, or the one they'd encountered lower down at the lagoon. Situated at the north most edge of the town, it was evidently the largest building in Pilgrimage End and, Tom suspected, the gaudiest. The facia in particular struck Tom as horrible. Gold and red pillars fronted imposing arched wooden doors that were themselves painted gold; currently thrown open so that they looked like great golden wings framing the doorway. The temple stood on three levels, each smaller than the one above it, like some elaborate celebratory cake.

A flight of stairs led up to the imposing doorway, which, in effect, opened into the building's second storey. To either side of the doors, the wall was divided into a series of panels, each intricately decorated and gilded. As Tom came nearer, he could see that some of the detailing here was astonis.h.i.+ng. At the top of each panel a line of powerful looking animals were depicted, carved in miniature and facing outwards on a series of plinths, all designed to appear as if they were holding up the top of the frame that surrounded each panel. There were lumbering beasts that resembled oxen but with large flapping ears and noses ridiculously extended and curling to disappear under their bodies, great snarling cats with heads thrown upward and tails lying flat along their backs, claw-footed spill dragons with jaws spread wide, all where a simple small support would have sufficed, or just a plain unadorned wall. Even the tiny plinths supporting the beasts were embellished with meticulous scrolls and motifs. Tom had never seen such elaborate decoration.

The building was topped with a bright golden-yellow roof, its edges artfully scalloped so that each point coincided with one of several ornamental half pillars, also golden, built into the wall of the upper storey. The latter at least Tom could forgive, since the roof was in keeping with much of the rest of the town, but gold pillars?

Inside, the temple floor was paved in polished tiles. Despite the two doors being flung open, the end of the broad pillared chamber which they found themselves in seemed dark due to a lack of windows, especially beyond the fringes of the doorway's illumination. The far end, in contrast, was ablaze with light. As they walked nearer, Tom could see why. In addition to the broad expanse of gla.s.s windows that formed the temple's furthest wall, the floor also contained a number of gla.s.s panels, through which could be seen the rus.h.i.+ng torrent of the Thair. Tom took an involuntary step back, as he realised that the temple had deliberately been designed to jut out over the river.

They weren't the only visitors. There were some half dozen genuine pilgrims present, a couple simply standing, gazing at the torrent below, while most were on their knees, clutching beads or simply clasping their own hands before them, all bar one with heads bowed and eyes closed. A priest in white robes approached them. He looked to be fairly young but was shaven headed, which made it hard for Tom to be certain.

"Can I help you?"

Mildra smiled and bobbed her head respectfully. "Dear brother, I am the Thaistess Mildra, who has travelled the long journey from the city of Thaiburley to bring greetings and to renew my order's faith with our mother, the G.o.ddess."

Had she declared herself to be Thaiss incarnate Tom doubted the priest could have looked more astounded. He immediately went in search of "the Blessed Mother", whom Tom a.s.sumed to be the head of the holy-sorts around here, inviting Mildra to follow. Trusting the Thaistess and having less desire to get involved in a round of religious greetings and pleasantries than he would leap into the freezing Thair naked, Tom chose to stay where he was.

Curiosity overcame his caution, and Tom edged forward to peer down through one of the floor windows, making sure not to disturb any of the pilgrims in the process. The sight of the frothing white torrent directly below was certainly impressive, but, he suspected, no more so than the view available from the bridge dissecting the town. Of course, he couldn't confirm this, since he'd made a point of not looking down when they'd gone across. As he edged along the window's side a little further, he was able to see that a series of broad steps had been carved into the rock, leading down to the Thair, presumably from the ground floor of the temple beneath. More pilgrims were there, and a pair of white robed, shaven-headed priests. Some ceremony seemed to be in progress, with the priests lifting water from the Thair in an ornate golden bowl and tipping it over kneeling pilgrims.

Looking back at this happening behind and beneath him provided Tom with an odd and interesting perspective, but he was more focused on the implications of what he saw. It struck him that the river itself was being treated as divine here; people acted as if the Thair was a G.o.d in its own right, not merely a channel for the influence of the G.o.ddess as the Thaissians in Thaiburley believed.

He was itching to hear Mildra's take on this observation, but realised he'd probably have to be patient for a good while yet before doing so. How long was an audience with "the Blessed Mother" supposed to take, in any case? Not as long as he'd feared, apparently. Having watched the ceremony below reach its conclusion, and the priests and acolytes climb up the steps and out of his view, Tom crept away from the windows and examined the intricate carvings of the temple's inner walls. As detailed and expertly realised as those on the outside, though not as garishly painted. He was just resigning himself to a long wait, when Mildra reappeared, accompanied by the same priest. They smiled at each other with apparent equanimity and even warmth in parting, but Tom knew Mildra well enough to sense how shallow an expression hers was.

For once he curbed his impatience, at least until they were out of the temple and back in the streets again.

"So?" he said at last, when the Thaistess still hadn't volunteered anything.

Mildra stopped in her tracks, glared at him while taking several deep breaths, and looked fit to scream. "This place is really trying my patience."

She said it with sufficient vehemence to draw a startled look from the storekeeper whose shop they'd stopped beside. The man was busy stacking empty wooden crates along the side wall, but hurried back to the front as if to avoid what he presumably took to be an argument.

"Thought you were a bit quick with her blessedness."

"Huh! She'd have had me there all day if she could. She wanted me to take part in ceremonies and hymnal incantations, which, from what I could gather, are so pompous and elaborate it's a wonder they ever have time to actually think about the G.o.ddess herself." More deep breaths. "I don't understand this place, this town, so close to the holy source and yet the people here all seem to be out for what they can get, with cheap trinkets and souvenirs, talk of offerings to the G.o.ddess... What G.o.ddess? She isn't in their precious temple, that's for sure. I think the 'offerings' are claimed by the priesthood, not the G.o.ddess at all."

"The priests then, they're false as well?"

"No, no." She shook her head, as if frustrated by her inability to express herself. "They strike me as devout, dedicated and holy people, but the faith they follow, the way they express it, seems so... misguided, so gaudy and materialistic. Whatever happened to the simplicity of wors.h.i.+p?"

Tom felt increasingly out of his depth. Never having wors.h.i.+pped or even believed in any deity, he wasn't sure how to respond to this.

"Oh, I don't know," Mildra said. "It's just that coming here, so close to the source of everything I've always believed in, I expected this to be incredible, an uplifting, inspirational experience... And it isn't. Not in the least."

Tom couldn't bear to see Mildra like this, on the verge of questioning beliefs so central to who she was. "Maybe things will be different when we find the true source," he said. "Remember, this isn't it. We're going on from here."

"Yes, you're right." Her shoulders sagged a little. She looked at him, and smiled. "Thank you. The sooner we leave this place, the better."

As if to emphasise her point, a c.o.c.ky voice said, "Well what have we got here? Couple of pilgrims come to pay tribute, by the look of it. Which is good news all round."

Tom looked up, to see three youths standing a few paces away, close to the shop front. The largest brandished a stout stick, while one of the pair flanking him stood toying with a knife, as if to do so was the most natural thing in the world. Tom cursed under his breath. He'd become so absorbed in the conversation with Mildra he'd let his guard down.

"Yeah," the third kid said, sn.i.g.g.e.ring, "'cos we're here to collect."

"We don't want any trouble," Tom said.

"Course you don't."

"We've just been to the temple," Mildra said. "We don't have anything to give you."

"See, Jed," the sn.i.g.g.e.rer said, "they're on the way back. We should have got them on the way going, like I said."

The big lad, presumably Jed, shrugged. "Doesn't matter. They still gotta get home, so they'll have coin, food, stuff to barter with, enough for the journey at least."

"Oh yeah, so they will." And with that, the trio started towards them, the stick-wielding Jed to the fore.

"Stand back!" Tom drew his sword, not at all rea.s.sured when the sn.i.g.g.e.rer laughed out loud and the others grinned, with no sign that the weapon worried them in the slightest. Jed's stick whirled around at dizzying speed, to sweep down and crack Tom on the hand with bruising force. He cried out at the sudden pain and promptly dropped his sword.

The stick twirled in the lout's hand again, coming around in an arc which Tom just knew would end on his head. He reached sideways to grab hold of the wooden crates, ignoring the agony in his right hand which throbbed where the stick had hit it. He half dragged and half threw the top two crates at the three local boys. Seeing his intent, Mildra did the same with the next stack.

"Run," Tom yelled, acting on his own advice. Mildra turned to run beside him as the crates tumbled over in their wake.

Angry shouts pursued them as they charged down narrow streets and raced up steps, ducking beneath a line of was.h.i.+ng strung across an alleyway, hurdling a stool placed in front of a doorway, nearly bowling over a pair of startled elderly women who were suddenly in front of them as they tore round a corner. Tom felt like laughing; he could almost imagine he was back in the streets of the underCity again, running rings around incompetent razzers.

Except that Mildra had never been used to running anywhere and despite the vague sense of familiarity these were not Thaiburley's streets, not the streets he knew.

"Tom," the Thaistess said, stumbling to a halt, "I can't go on." She held her sides and bent forward, doubling over and gasping for breath. "Sorry. You keep running... maybe they'll ignore me."

Maybe, but he wasn't about to take that chance.

A clatter of running footsteps behind them heralded the arrival of two of the youths; while at the same moment a shout came from ahead, where the stick-bearing Jed had appeared, effectively cutting them off. Naturally they'd know these streets better than Tom; their turf, not his.

Tom grabbed hold of his exhausted companion's hand and urged her forward. "Come on, Mildra, just a few more steps, you can do it." He dragged her in his wake as he ran towards Jed.

Tom had taken on plenty of bigger kids in his time and would far rather face one opponent than two or three, irrespective of size. He didn't look back, didn't want to know where the other two were. His attention was focused on this one, the leader, the kid with the stick, Jed, who was charging towards them even as they stumbled towards him, so that the gap closed in no time.

Tom eased Mildra down into a sitting position, in the process palming a couple of small stones from the ground. Then he stood, drew his knife and waited as the lummox came forward. His hand still throbbed but he didn't care. He felt a whole lot more comfortable now than he ever had when holding the sword.

No, not his turf, not the streets he knew, but for once on this trip it was his kind of fight.