Angel Arias Page 14

  ‘I saw her face and I know her.’

  ‘We can’t go back, it’s too dangerous. And we’re running out of time,’ said Naif. ‘There’s a secret meeting of the Elders in a few hours. And Ruzalia will be back tonight before the moon rises.’

  ‘I told Markes what Em found out from Father,’ said Jarrold.

  ‘Why are they meeting in secret?’ asked Markes.

  ‘It has to be about the Ripers.’

  ‘What if it’s about something else? We promised Ruzalia we’d find out about the beads. We can’t go back to her without knowing.’

  ‘What are beads?’ asked Jarrold.

  ‘The Ripers give them to you on Ixion. They make you feel . . .’ Markes tapered off.

  ‘Strange,’ Naif finished for him. ‘You act strangely when you take them.’

  ‘Sounds cool,’ whispered Jarrold.

  Naif thought of the slavering demons she’d imagined. And how she’d danced for Markes, embarrassing herself. ‘Not really.’ Naif turned to Markes. ‘Do you know where Oracion is?’

  ‘No. I’ve never heard of it.’

  Naif couldn’t see either of their faces in the gloom but Markes’s voice sounded shaky.

  ‘Gurney will know,’ said Jarrold. ‘He lives close by. I know a way there where we won’t be seen.’

  ‘Can he be trusted?’

  But the wardens’ whistles started up outside before Jarrold could answer.

  Jarrold led them through several alleys to a penned area full of bleetles and rang-chicks.

  ‘The hounds won’t be able to scent us through here.’

  They scaled the back of a low-roofed produce building and walked across it, descending further along.

  Naif wished Jarrod had been with them when they’d arrived. He knew the city so well.

  Markes struggled to keep up. He was bruised and covered with cuts and weak from lack of food or water.

  ‘Jarrold!’ called Naif.

  The boy looked back. Markes had dropped a way behind and Naif was caught between them.

  ‘You have to slow down. He can’t keep up,’ she whispered as Jarrold came back to her.

  He went straight to Markes and hooked his shoulder under his friend’s arm. The older boy tried to push him off but Jarrold was stocky and strong and having none of it.

  ‘It’s not far, fero. Just this alley and one more. Be clever for once.’

  Markes cuffed Jarrold across the back of the head but then leaned into him gratefully. Naif went to his other side and the three continued down the alley.

  Jarrold stopped them just short of the end.

  ‘Go and see if anyone is about,’ he said to Naif.

  Reluctantly, she let go of Markes to creep forward and peer around the corner. At one end of the next alley was a dead end full of crates and sheets of wood. The other side led to the back entrance of a building and, eventually, a sett street.

  The building’s back entry was a splintered double-door affair, made even less appealing by the strong smell of horse manure. Naif saw piles of droppings at intervals along the alley, and the moving black layer of dung beetles crawling atop them.

  ‘The alley’s empty,’ she said over her shoulder.

  ‘The doors are unlocked. If you go and open them, we’ll come.’

  Naif did as he told her.

  The iron latch was heavy and took all her strength to lift. Once she shifted it though, the two doors fell easily open on well-oiled hinges.

  Jarrold and Markes stumbled across the alley and straight inside.

  Naif pulled the doors closed, then turned.

  Markes was lying on a large workbench. Jarrold was nowhere to be seen.

  She looked around. ‘Where’s he gone? Where are we?’

  ‘The Deadtaker’s,’ said Markes. ‘Can you find me some water?’

  Naif searched the room slowly, feeling her way. The walls, even in the gloom, were plainly lined with coffins of all sizes. She’d never seen inside one before, except in Toola’s burial chamber, and then she’d been thinking only of her friend.

  Under one of the work benches she spied a wooden keg. She turned the small tap and fluid trickled onto her fingers. A sniff told her that it was water so she tipped some chisels out of a container on the bench, poured some water into it and took it to him.

  After a sip or two he seemed less distressed, and after several more was able to sit up.

  Naif leaned close to him so that they could whisper.

  ‘What did the wardens do to you?’

  He closed his eyes and shuddered. ‘I told them where you were. I tried not to but they . . . they . . . used the prodders and . . . other things . . .’ He shuddered. Tears trickled down his face and splashed onto her hand.

  She put her finger to his lips. ‘I know what they do. I would have told them too.’ Naif didn’t blame him. Strangely, she felt closer to him now that he’d tasted the wardens’ punishment.

  He wiped his face dry with the back of his hand. After a moment he spoke again. ‘Emilia helped us.’ His face was so pinched that she wanted to reach out and stroke his cheek; soothe the lines around his mouth.

  ‘Yes. She talked to her father. Then she snuck out and told us what she’d learned. She was frightened.’

  ‘She’s always frightened,’ he said bitterly.

  ‘Why does her father go to her room at night?’ Naif asked.

  Markes put his face in his hands and his whole body trembled. ‘Emilia and her father . . . it’s not right what he does. I-I didn’t know what to do when I found out . . . how to stop it. So I left.’

  Naif felt a cold shiver of realisation. ‘You mean her father . . .?’ She couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. Such a thought was unbearable.

  Unthinkable.

  ‘I mean I’m a coward for deserting her.’

  ‘No!’ said Naif. ‘What could you have done?’

  ‘What I’m going to do this time. Help her.’

  ‘You . . . must care for her a lot?’ Naif said softly. The words were hard to say but suddenly necessary. Their future was so uncertain and she had to know.

  ‘We were . . . are friends. She’s clever. When we first met she was so cold and distant but over time it got better. She trusted me. We met alone sometimes in the clock shop.’

  ‘Jarrold and I escaped through there. She gave us the key.’

  Markes shifted position, bringing his knees up and resting his hands on them. She saw the bloody marks on his forearms where the wardens had cut him.

  ‘She’s not like she seems. Underneath she’s sweet.’

  ‘Like Cal on Ixion?’ Naif couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.

  He looked at her but in the gloom she couldn’t quite make out his expression. ‘People are sometimes really different from what you first think. You have to give them a chance. Like you.’

  ‘Me?’ she said, startled.

  ‘You seemed so timid and . . . closed off. But you’re not like that at all really. You’re strong and brave, and when it’s important you say what’s on your mind. But you don’t waste words. I like that.’

  Warmth surged through her body. She moved a step away from him to offset the charge of emotion she felt.

  ‘Would you have stayed and married Emilia if . . . if not for her father?’ she asked.

  He took his time before answering. ‘I suppose so. But I didn’t . . . it didn’t happen that way. I went to Ixion and met you and Cal and now . . . I just want Emilia to be safe. I left her because I didn’t know what to do.’ He levered himself slowly off the bench. ‘Your brother and Dark Eve stand up for what they think is right. So do you. This time I’m going to stand up for Emilia.’

  Naif nodded, though she doubted he could see it in the dimness. So she walked back and placed her hands on his. ‘I’ll help you.’

  He gripped her hard. ‘Why would you do that?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I know what it’s like . . . to be controlled. To be frightened.’
/>
  ‘Like now?’

  She let out her breath. ‘Like now. But like before as well. At home. When the warden came. I was scared of what he’d do to me. I washed with my clothes on.’

  Markes let go of her hands and put his arms around her, pulling her close. She didn’t notice the blood on his clothes and the smell of his sweat. He was holding her and she was glad. He tilted his head so that his face was closer to hers and she felt his breath against her skin.

  Then it happened. His moist and warm lips found hers. The pressure from his mouth sent a jolt of pure happiness through her. Never had she felt so . . . perfect.

  But unbidden images of Lenoir licking her thighs flowed into her mind, and her emotions were stamped upon by a torrent of anger that was sharper than a knife twisting in her breast. She gasped and stepped away from Markes.

  Lenoir.

  ‘Naif? What’s –’

  The internal door opened before she had to explain. They both turned to the light that flooded in. Jarrold stood there alongside another figure who was holding a lamp and had a string sack slung over his shoulder. The second boy was taller and thinner than Jarrold.

  The pair stepped inside and closed the door.

  ‘This is Gurney,’ said Jarrold. ‘Naif and Markes.’

  The light showed the boy’s face to be long and thin like his body and his chin bore a line of straggling hair; the beginnings of a beard. His expression was sombre but curious, his eyes full of a strange intensity. He struck Naif as . . . odd.

  ‘Markes? Emilia’s trothed?’

  Markes squared his shoulders as if expecting an attack. ‘I was.’

  But the boy simply nodded and turned his attention to Naif. ‘You came with Jarrold along the bridge.’ This time his voice held excitement. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

  Naif stared back at him. ‘I guess so,’ she said, using the phrase Suki had taught her.

  ‘Then you made that house cave in.’

  ‘I-I slipped into a hole in the garden. It set off a collapse that didn’t stop. I didn’t mean to . . .’

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘The risk was there. We’ll have to find another way down from that end now.’

  He headed over to another, narrower door in the far corner of the workshop. ‘This way.’

  ‘The shop will be open for the afternoon soon. We have to hide somewhere else,’ Jarrold explained.

  ‘Where?’ Markes sounded tense.

  Jarrold pulled a face but when Markes didn’t respond, he whispered in their ears. ‘Trust me, fero. Gurney hates the wardens too. They took away his eyeglass. He was drawing a map of the night sky, and they told his father he was being disrespectful to our Elders by questioning our beliefs.’

  ‘But what’s in there?’ asked Markes, staring at the door Gurney had gone through.

  ‘They keep bodies here too. Didn’t you know?’

  Naif and Markes glanced at each other.

  ‘Won’t we be found in there?’

  ‘Gurney has a plan.’

  They followed after Jarrold and found themselves in a cold room that smelled strongly of vinegar and other acrid solutions. Naif’s eyes began to water almost immediately and she placed her hand over her mouth to hide her gagging.

  Within a few moments, she was shivering from the drop in temperature.

  Four waist-high benches stood in the middle of the room. Each of them held a dead body covered with thin brown linen. One had the cloth pulled partway back, and the corpse had deep cuts in its chest. A jar brimming with thick dark liquid sat near the corpse’s shoulder and a tube ran across to its neck.

  Blood. Naif could smell it underneath the tang of vinegar.

  ‘Viga Mortgen fell into the plough. The horse didn’t stop.’ Gurney stood on the other side of the table.

  Naif looked away, images of dead Lottie flooding her mind. Then there had been no blood, though, only the smell of death.

  ‘Come,’ said Gurney.

  In a dark corner of the room was yet another doorway. This one was so low that Gurney had to duck to enter. She followed him quickly, as did the others.

  The room was windowless and much smaller and cooler again; the walls made of heavy wood covered with slathers of dried mud. Inside it were rows of shelves lined with jars. Each jar was neatly labelled and the room was well swept and clean.

  Gurney lit a lamp that rested on a writing desk filled with odd metal instruments. ‘This is the organ room. We store people’s innards here, and sell them to the Physiks for their research.’

  ‘Innards? You mean . . . the insides of the dead people?’ asked Markes, swallowing as if he might be sick. ‘In the jars?’

  Gurney gave a peculiar smile, and Naif noticed then that his eyes didn’t both follow the same line. Her dead friend Toola’s little sister had been like that and she’d been made to wear an eye patch to hide the offensive sight.

  ‘Brains and livers and kidneys, guts as well. You don’t want to drop the ones with guts in them.’ He gave his strange laugh.

  They all fell quiet for a moment or two and then Jarrold spoke up. ‘Only Gurney comes in here. He’s in charge of the . . . organs. We can talk safely, as long as we keep it low.’

  Gurney took a cloth from one of the desk drawers. He spread the cloth on the floor, sat down on it and slipped the sack from his shoulder.

  Jarrold sat as well, and motioned for Naif and Markes to copy him. As they huddled together in a close circle, Gurney spread food in front of them; bread, yoghurt and some cold meat. He also produced a bottle of water. He had a swig, wiped the top with his sleeve and passed it on. ‘Ma would’ve noticed if I’d taken cups.’

  Jarrold politely passed the bottle on to Naif. She drank from it gratefully and tried not to think about strange Gurney’s lips on the neck of the bottle. She continued to shiver as she swallowed the water, partly from the cold, partly from the dead bodies and partly from her time alone with Markes. He’d kissed her. What did that mean? When he spoke of Emilia he seemed so upset. So cut with emotions. And what of Cal back on Ixion?

  Naif didn’t know how to deal with her doubts and questions, so she put them aside and concentrated on what Jarrold was saying to Gurney and Markes.

  ‘There’s to be a meeting today between the Elders. In a secret place they called Oracion. We need to be there – to listen in,’ said Jarrold.

  ‘Do you think Emilia got it right? There’s no place in Grave called that,’ asked Markes, frowning.

  ‘Perhaps it’s outside Grave, then?’ suggested Naif.

  Both Markes and Jarrold shrugged.

  ‘Then we know nothing.’ Naif wanted to cry with frustration and fatigue.

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Gurney. He stared with squinting concentration at the ceiling of the room as if there were a picture there. Or a hole in the roof to the sky.

  ‘Gurn?’ Jarrold spoke his shortened name softly, as if encouraging a shy child to speak.

  ‘I’ve heard the Reverends say that before. Oracion means lost prayers.’

  ‘Please, Gurney,’ said Naif. ‘If you know anything, we have to –’

  His gaze fell upon her, wary and full of suspicion, and she looked away. He was odder than anyone she’d ever met and she suddenly felt unsure that he was as trustworthy as Jarrold said.

  They fell quiet again, while Gurney got to his feet and circled around them, tapping softly on the urns carrying the insides of the dead. When he reached the shelf of glass jars he selected one and held it to his forehead. It was filled with human eyes that trailed nerves and tissue into the preserving brine.

  Naif forced herself to concentrate on her bread, not caring to see his rapt expression as he pressed the jar against his flesh.

  ‘The Old Harbour,’ he said suddenly, causing them all to jump. ‘There’s a deserted church. It’s no longer consecrated. Any prayers said there would be lost.’

  ‘That could be it,’ said Jarrold, excitement creeping into his voice.

  ‘But why would th
ey go all the way to the Old Harbour?’ asked Markes.

  ‘Because they don’t want anyone to know?’

  ‘You promised you’d tell me more, Naif,’ said Jarrold.

  Naif looked at Markes and he nodded.

  So she told them as quickly and simply as she could about what they’d seen in Danksoi. When she finished, she had another swig from the bottle and wet her lips.

  ‘Fross!’ said Jarrold with feeling. ‘That’s awful. So you think that the Ripers and the Elders are connected?’

  ‘That’s what we must know. My friends . . . our friends are there. We have to help them.’

  Gurney didn’t speak but his eyes had taken on a sheen in the lamplight. Naif sensed his mind at work.

  ‘But how do we get back to the harbour unseen? Deope doesn’t stretch that far and the wardens will be on the streets looking for us.’

  ‘I would have gone to Ixion, except for the darkness. It’s not good for you, you know. It breaks down your body, lets disease in,’ said Gurney, lost in his own thoughts.

  Jarrold banged him on the back. ‘Stay with us, Gurn. We need your help.’

  ‘You want to go to the Old Harbour?’ The vagueness left his eyes.

  ‘To where the church is . . . Oracion,’ said Jarrold patiently.

  ‘The Old Harbour is dangerous,’ Gurney said.

  ‘We came through that area when we arrived. We know some of the places you can hide,’ said Naif. She glanced at Markes. ‘Perhaps Liam will help us.’

  ‘Liam? Who’s he?’ asked Gurney, squashing a piece of bread in his fingers.

  ‘He lives in the Old Harbour. There are others too. They’re . . . different to us. But they will help,’ said Markes.

  Will they? Wondered Naif. Liam might want to help but would Glev let him?

  ‘Live there? Different? How?’ asked Jarrold.

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Markes. ‘But first, we have to get to the Raspart mausoleum near the Grave compound so that we can follow the storm drain back to the Old Harbour.’

  Gurney got up and disappeared from the room. Markes and Naif exchanged glances and Jarrold shrugged.

  ‘He’ll be back,’ he said.

  ‘How did you become friends?’ asked Naif, curious at the connection between such different boys.