The Tower Broken(26)

Since that first night when Tuvaini opened his secret door, Sarmin had been learning the art of influence. He took Tuvaini’s dacarba that night and he wore it still, as a reminder that he ruled over every man and woman in Cerana. He had no qualms ruling over the court, but he shrank from doing the same to his wife, even to protect her. With Mesema he did not want to be the emperor – but nonetheless his weapon was sharp and ready.

They had walked a third of the way back to the palace in silence, the dark of the Ways pressing against them, when he asked, ‘Why did you come to see me, Grada?’

‘Satrap Honnecka was nearly turned out of his carriage as he passed the Maze today. His guards got him out safely. Now he prepares to flee to his own lands.’ She thought a time. ‘There are seven times as many Mogyrks in the Maze than came with Marke Kavic or escaped from the palace.’

‘Our citizens are converting.’

‘In all our searching we have not found Austere Adam, yet he has found many Cerani. He looks for the hungry, the poor, the desperate, and turns them to his purpose.’

‘Untouchables.’

‘Many like me, yes. For a time they contented themselves with starting fires in the Maze, but now they turn their eyes to the wealthier citizens, and the city entire. The attack in the marketplace frightened everyone. Eventually all will flee, except for the Mogyrks.’ She paused. ‘The Knife cannot cut them all.’

‘What do you suggest, Grada?’

She walked for a time in silence. ‘I suggest you do not make them hate you.’

Twice the palace had been attacked in Sarmin’s time, once by Helmar, once by rebellious slaves led by Adam. Each time too many sacrifices had been made. Now the workings of the government, the council’s faith in his ability to rule, the balance of his own mind – they all risked collapse under the strain of a third attack. ‘Grada,’ he said, stopping to catch his breath, one hand against the dark wall, ‘you must find Adam and bring him to me.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ she said. They had reached the door to his halls and he drew Tuvaini’s dacarba from his belt to work the lock. When it clicked open, he turned back to her, to say goodbye, to hear her voice one last time, to remember that bond that had once existed between them – but she had already shuttered her lantern and slipped away into the dark.





12



Farid


Farid sat against the wall, watching the floor in the flickering candlelight. It had taken him a few days – he thought it was days – to realise the stains were blood, then another to begin to see shapes in the light and dark of them. He watched the stains as a child watches clouds. That one looked like a mango; that one, a monkey. And beneath them, the whorls and eyes of the wood itself, drawing him in.

It kept him from looking at the unfinished pattern scratched into the wall. That pattern left him wanting more, like a song with no ending or the touch of an apple’s skin against his teeth. He had traced its shapes for many hours, followed its lines to their abrupt ends, and yet he had no sense of what it was supposed to contain. He had decided to ignore it. Adam had left him that puzzle, and to finish it would only please the austere.

He was a Cerani fruit-seller. His father would have come up the river already, his boat full of mangoes and lemons. He would already have heard of what happened in the marketplace. He probably thought Farid dead.

There was a shuffling outside the door, and then a burst of sunlight that made him squint. So it was day; he had guessed night because the baby next door had gone quiet.

Adam squatted at the threshold, watching him, and it struck Farid that the man was always near to the ground, like a cat preparing to strike. Adam balanced his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. Farid noticed dark shadows under his eyes. ‘You have been calling water to yourself,’ he said.

‘I had to. If I didn’t, I would die.’

‘How did it feel?’

Farid did not reply. He did not want Adam to know how good it felt. He listened, trying to gauge how many men might be guarding the hallway.

‘I showed you the pattern only once, but you built it again, with nothing but your fingers.’ Adam looked at the scratches on the wall. ‘Most of my students take weeks to memorise that pattern, and they are all chosen for their excellent recall.’

‘I’m not your student.’

‘No, no you are not.’ Adam sighed and looked at someone in the hallway, who handed him a platter of bread and cheese. ‘I think you must be hungry.’ He put the food down on the floor. ‘Though the end is near, we must take care of ourselves.’

‘The end?’