City of Dreams and Nightmare (5 page)

“Less, I would think, given your various talents.”

“He won’t last five minutes in the City Below.”

“Oh, I think he might; after all, you’re going to be there to ensure that he does.”

“Am I?”

“Quietly, of course.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

Magnus turned to face his companion for the first time. He resisted the answer that sprang instantly to mind –
because I told you to
– and instead responded, “Because while that buffoon is blundering around drawing everyone’s attention, no one will notice the real hunter skulking in the shadows.”

Now the other smiled, an act that saw his bland features take on a darkly sinister animation.

“Ahh, that would be me, I take it.”

“Precisely. Find me that boy. Bring him to me.”

“I don’t get it. Why is this runt so important to you? So what if he saw you knife Thomas? You’re up here and he’s down there. What harm can he possibly do?”

“No loose ends!” Magnus snapped; then, as if relenting, added, “My elevation to the ranks of the Masters is so close, Dewar, I can almost taste it. The culmination of everything I’ve been working towards – I won’t let anything threaten that.” All of which was true, though it was only part of the answer. “He resisted me, Dewar,” Magnus added quietly. “Can you imagine that? First he hid within metres of me and I never knew he was there – which is something very few people could manage – and then he broke my command to halt. Even fewer are capable of that. And yet this kid, this grubber, this nobody from the City Below, managed it; he defied my will. I need to see this boy, to talk to him, to find out how that’s possible.”

The man called Dewar inclined his head, accepting the information. “Very well. I still think you should have let me take care of Thomas in the first place.”

Magnus shook his head. “I had to be sure. Thomas was far too valuable as a potential ally to simply be killed out of hand. Besides, he was no fool, and I knew that he would let his guard down with me, would allow me to get close enough. It would all have gone perfectly if not for that wretched street-nick, but no matter. This one I will leave in your capable hands.” The arkademic gazed back to the embers of the fire. After a handful of silent seconds, he signalled the conversation was over with a dismissive wave.

Dewar started to turn away, but paused and asked, as if it were an afterthought, “What about the Kite Guard?”

“Once he has served his purpose, do with him as you will. The City Below is, after all, such a dangerous place to be.”

If the earlier smile had caused the man’s face to seem sinister, this one made it look positively evil.

“Oh, and Dewar, just so there is no misunderstanding; if you should fetch the boy back alive, I would be delighted. Dead would be acceptable. Returning without him would not.”

The factotum raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise. “I took that much for granted.”

THREE

Before starting the final descent, Tom paused for a moment to gaze upon the City Below. At first he did this with simple and heart-felt relief, but then more practical considerations came to the fore, as he took stock of exactly where he was and searched for familiar reference points.

His grazed arm had been throbbing for some while and the sole of his left shoe had worn through completely, but Tom didn’t care. This was home.

His fears regarding the Swarbs and their intentions towards him had proven to be unfounded. Red took him through a bewildering sequence of dimly-lit corridors, chatting garrulously along the way. Tom walked beside him in sullen silence, making few attempts to respond. It was a reticence he subsequently regretted.

He was so preoccupied with his own misfortune that he remembered little of that march other than the lingering impression that this was a dour and unwelcoming part of the city. Finally, after travelling for some while and going through more twists and turns than the street-nick could follow, the big man stopped. Tom had no idea how far they had come, but guessed that it was a considerable distance into the metropolis and away from the wall.

“Here you are, lad,” Red exclaimed, standing to one side and gesturing.

They had arrived at a gallery, an open shaft which descended through the heart of the city; though it was impossible to judge how far it went in the gloom. Directly in front of them was the most peculiar looking set of steps Tom had ever seen – they were of dark wood and appeared to be grooved and simply looked wrong. However, they were still stairs and they still led downward. Was the Swarb letting him go? He looked at the big man uncertainly. Encouraged by a broad smile and a further impatient gesture, he stepped forward towards the stairs. As he did so, there came a soft whirring sound and the stairs started to move.

Tom jumped back in alarm, at which Red roared with laughter. Recovering from his initial shock, Tom peered forward at this latest revelation. The steps seemed to emerge flat from the ground in endless procession, steadily evolving a uniform, step-like configuration as they marched relentlessly towards the drop, before vanishing downwards between matching solid rails whose black cushioned tops were moving in apparent unison with the stairs. There was something bizarre and fascinating about the military precision with which the stairway emerged, evolved and descended. Tom could have watched this process for hours.

“It’s called an escalator,” Red explained. “Much nearer than any of the clockwork lifts and far more trustworthy, if you ask me. Doesn’t go all the way down to the City Below, mind, but it’ll take you a fair way – through some fifteen Rows. Don’t be tempted to jump off as you pass the different platforms, not unless you fancy a bit of an explore, but be warned if you do: the escalator won’t stop for you to get back on, only stops at all when it’s unused for a while. Then it goes dormant, like it was just now. Stepping back on from one of the side platforms takes some practice. You’re liable to come a cropper first time out and end up travelling the rest of the way down on your arse.

“Well, good luck, lad. Reckon this is the best I can do for you.”

Tom gulped, stared at the escalator and wondered whether he could find the courage to trust the thing.

“Go on, it won’t hurt you.”

He gave Red a weak smile and thanked him, then stepped boldly onto the moving stairway.

After a slight wobble, he clutched one of the handrails and managed to keep upright. This was easier than he’d expected.

From behind, he could hear Red’s laughter. “Well done! That’s the hardest part over with. Now just be ready to step off natural-like at the bottom.”

The wonders and surprises that awaited him as he descended through the city’s heart were many and varied, far more than he was able to fully take in, but few equalled the thrill of drifting serenely downward on the escalator.

Aware that the night was growing ever shorter, Tom was anxious to return to the City Below as swiftly as possible. In assisting him, Red had brought him deep within the city and the boy made no effort to reorientate himself, but instead simply sought the swiftest way down in the same arbitrary fashion that had taken him so far up the city’s walls.

Now, as he stood at the top of the stairway and gazed out at last across the City Below, it was time to get his bearings. He was high above the floor of the vast cavern which housed Thaiburley’s lowest level. The sun globes were beginning to warm up, granting this basement world its semblance of dawn. Far to the left, at the very edge of his view, Tom could just make out the start of the scrapland that was the Stain, where the detritus of generations had been dumped and left to rot.

In the middle distance he was able to see the black ribbon of the Thair, the deep dark river that provided the city with much of its power and water. The Thair which ran through the Stain was very different from the one that entered the city not so many miles upstream. Sluggish, depleted, and carrying with it the biological and industrial effluent of a city of millions, these were the waters that fed the most diseased and shunned corner in all of Thaiburley.

Things lived in the Stain; creatures that nobody cared to talk about or even think about.

With a shiver, Tom turned his attention elsewhere. To his right, the Thair’s banks were bordered by beetle-like installations that leached both substance and energy from the river. A little further along, he could make out the viaduct supporting the grand conveyor; the elevated moving road that carried goods to and from the Whitleson factories. With its series of tall archways, the viaduct resembled some multi-limbed creature stalking the streets. At its far end, towards the wall, stood the docks, where great barges and vessels were berthed, loading and unloading the foodstuffs and trade goods that were the city’s life-blood. Clustered around the docks were the Runs – an infamous shantytown of hovels where dock-workers, sailors, beggars, thieves and whores laid down to sleep, or otherwise in the case of the whores and their marks. At the far edge of the Runs, close to the Thair, was an area of the city claimed by the Blue Claw, one of the many street gangs that proliferated in the City Below. Only once Tom reached their territory would he truly be home; although how warm a welcome he could expect from Lyle and the rest of the Claw was debatable, since he would be returning empty-handed.

Having fixed the layout in his mind, Tom began the descent, making his way down a winding stairway that wrapped around what appeared to be a wide brick chimney. He guessed this was a delivery shaft, similar to those he was accustomed to seeing near the docks. It was through such links between the City Below and the rest of Thaiburley that commerce flowed; although what this particular one might carry, so far from the Thair and the trade vessels that plied it, he had no idea. Of more immediate concern was who might be waiting at the bottom.

Routes to the City Above were a lucrative source of business and sufficiently rare that they were coveted and often fought over. Somebody would be claiming this as their own and would demand tribute from anyone passing up or down. Tom had nothing to pay with. His ascent and descent had already been negotiated and paid for, but only through a very specific access, set into the city walls and close to his home turf. The one belonging to the Scorpions. This route would be claimed by a completely different gang and he didn’t doubt there was going to be a reception committee waiting below.

The only thing that offered any hope was the timing of his arrival. He had no idea what hours this particular gang might keep, whether they worked in shifts, were entirely nocturnal or whatever, but anyone who’d been active through the night would be thinking of bed right now, while anyone who worked a dayshift was likely to be still asleep, which meant a skeleton crew below, whose backup would be sluggish to respond; he hoped. If so, all he had to do was get past them and lose himself in the streets. He might just get away with it.

Tom’s spirits lifted as he made his way down the broad stairway. The tiredness that had dogged every footfall just a short time ago evaporated. Yes, these would be unfamiliar streets, and yes, there was almost certainly going to be a scrap, but he had finally made it back to where he belonged and after all that had happened, reaching anywhere in the under-City was a cause for celebration.

There were two of them waiting below, which was about what Tom would have expected. As he descended he studied them, when the corkscrew stairwell would allow. He’d already decided on the area to make a beeline for if it came to a chase. A small street market was beginning to take shape a short distance away; a few people were already stopping to barter, which increased the chances of confusion and escape.

The two street-nicks were sitting on the bottom step, playing a game of ‘flip’ to pass the time. They were shaking and then tossing what he assumed to be the traditional flat pebbles onto the ground before them. Not that Tom paid the game much attention; he was more interested in the boys themselves. They would be armed, of course, but not necessarily quick to draw blades when they saw it was just little old him coming down. One looked to be considerably larger than the other.

Ideally, a quiet approach was called for, perhaps vaulting off the stairwell early to head away unnoticed, but it was impossible to descend an iron stairway without making at least some noise. The pair were on their feet, waiting, by the time he made the final turn, their game abandoned. As he’d thought, one was short, a fair bit smaller than Tom, while the other was impressively large.

Tom put on his most disarming smile and tried to look relaxed, to saunter down the remaining steps. Their response was a suspicious scowl.

“First of the day,” the shorter of the pair said.

“Lucky me!” Still he offered the open, unthreatening smile.

“Stayed overnight in the market, didja? There’s passage fee to pay.”

“’Course. Who’s collecting?”

“The Blood Herons.”

Tom nodded as if that meant something to him, which it didn’t.

They stood either side as he came towards the bottom, both close enough to grab him should he try and run. The taller of the pair had yet to speak. No difficulty in guessing who was the brains and who the brawn here, and Tom knew which he considered the more dangerous. Instead of walking the final few steps, he threw himself at the smaller boy, swinging a punch to the stomach as he did so. Despite their apparent alertness, this sudden explosion of violence seemed to catch the boys flat-footed. Tom’s assault carried the smaller boy over and they landed with Tom on top. He knew that he had to finish this one quickly, that the taller Blood Heron was only a few paces away, so head-butted his opponent and was relieved to feel him go limp.

Tom rolled, away from the stairs and away from the larger boy. As he did so, he clawed up a handful of dust and earth. Despite being quick, he was barely on his feet before the big Blood Heron reached him. Tom flung the earth at the other’s face. Hands that had been stretched towards him changed direction as the boy yelled out and instinctively went to rub his stinging eyes. It gave Tom all the opening he needed. Instead of wasting time with a punch, he kicked out as hard as he could, landing his foot squarely in the boy’s groin.

The Blood Heron let out a howl of agony and collapsed. Tom had no intention of waiting around to see any further reaction; he was off, running flat out towards the street market he had spied from the stairs.

Despite the senior arkademic’s urgings and despite having worked through the night, Tylus found sleep elusive. Eventually he did manage to snag hold of the concept and wrestle it down long enough to gain an hour or so of blissful oblivion, but was all too soon awake again.

He dressed swiftly, a man with a mission; washed down a few snatched mouthfuls of dry and unsatisfying breakfast cake with a draught of bitterly dark ale, then set out. Initially the way was unlit, but it was only a short walk along a route he knew well, and the immediate approach to the station was blessed with electric lighting. Ceiling-mounted tubes of florescent gas flickered to life at his approach. He knew they were activated by sensors, another wonder of the modern age, but could never entirely shake the childhood image of invisible spirits flying before him and triggering the lights specifically for his benefit.

Armed with the senior arkademic’s warrant, Tylus entered the station with a confidence unknown since his very first days with the force. Brandishing the document, he gained access to the department’s most precious resource: the Screen. These wondrous devices provided access to a wealth of information about the city and its inhabitants. As far as Tylus was aware, the Kite Guard were the only arm of the civil defence or watch to be equipped with them, and even they had only one per station. All officers were trained in their use but only the chosen few were permitted access. Thanks to the warrant, Tylus now shared that privilege – temporarily, at least.

He worked quickly, anxious to be done before anyone had the wit to question his authority too closely. If one of his colleagues should muster the courage to contact Magnus, Tylus could find himself in trouble before the mission had properly begun.

He knew full well that the warrant was intended for use in the City Below, not to secure the resources of his own department. However, whoever drafted the document had been careless, failing to restrict its authority to the under-City, which enabled Tylus to push his luck. Not that he did so without misgivings. He imagined Magnus would take a very dim view of such wilful misuse of his authority, but the young Kite Guard reckoned it to be worth the risk.

He was finally exercising skills in which he had trained but had never previously been allowed to utilise: those of detection.

Summoning up the city’s schematics, which appeared on the screen in stark relief, he quickly found the section of wall where his encounter with the street-nick had taken place the previous night. Deft manipulation brought a different, flatter view of the city. A tracery of stairwells developed, highlighted in red as they flowed from the relevant section downward, a network penetrating the Rows like capillaries flowing through a body. Tylus set to work immediately. The boy had been descending the city’s walls, so it seemed reasonable to assume this was also how he ascended. A large proportion of the red traceries vanished, as the Kite Guard eliminated all the internal stairwells. The lad would almost certainly have chosen the quickest and most direct route he could find. More red lines disappeared. Only a few now remained and Tylus pursued these relentlessly downward, rejecting the least likely branches as they appeared. Once he came to the city’s lowest areas, the options dwindled dramatically: access to the City Below was limited, deliberately so, and eventually there were just two likely candidates for the stairwell the boy might have used to exit that basement world.