“Help me with this and I’ll tell you.” Mogart was shoving a timber shutter from his shop doorway, and Hope added her strength and guided it into its housing. Mogart huffed and puffed, turned to his cart and began uncovering boxes. Hope saw vegetables, a few wrinkled fruits and some pale fish, probably caught from the river last night. He would claim they were from fisheries on the Western Shores, of course, but Hope knew the difference. Fish from the Shores did not taste of shit.
“Anything nice?” she asked again.
“What?”
“Anything nice?”
“It’s all nice, whore!”
Hope laughed and shoved Mogart into the shop ahead of her. The place stank as if it had not been cleaned out for many moons-which was probably the case-and Mogart was not the most hygienic of people, but Hope liked him. He had traveled some in his youth, working from mine to mine in the Widow’s Peaks and the mountains of Long Marrakash. He had stories, most of which she had heard many times before, but he was also adept at keeping his ear to the ground. His feigned deafness served him well, as did his age and unkempt appearance. People with secrets never seemed to consider him a threat, and they often talked freely before him, in his shop or huddled in corners of the Dead Sea Tavern, where he spent his evenings.
“Anything for me this morning?” Hope asked absently, picking out the least rancid fruits for Rafe’s breakfast. Old habits die hard, and even though everything had changed since yesterday, Hope still sought knowledge.
“Oh Mage shit, I think you’ll like this one,” he said. “Red Monks in Pavisse! One passed right by the Dead Sea last night! I didn’t see it myself, of course, but three of the others were just coming in and they watched it pass. Didn’t know what it was, but from their description, I knew. I knew! And down at the river this morning, old Mad Jennson told me he saw a demon in red just before dawn. Red Monks, Hope, what in the name of Kang Kang do we get next? You know, there’s talk that…”
But Hope was no longer listening.
She dashed from Mogart’s store and headed up the street, dodging people, barely hearing the protestations behind her. She realized that she had left with a handful of yellow apples, so she threw them down behind her in the hope that the trader would see. They had to flee, and she did not want Mogart’s last thoughts of her to be Thief!
She opened the front door and ran downstairs to her basement room. He’s gone, she thought, he’ll be gone and there’ll be no sign of where. He’s only just got here in my life and now he’ll be gone. But Rafe was still there, dressed now, sitting on the bed and looking up with fear in his eyes.
“We’re leaving!” she said.
“But Uncle Vance-”
“He’s already dead. There are Red Monks in Pavisse, son. They’ll be looking for you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re everything they want to eradicate!” she said, immediately sorry for her harsh words but too panicked to apologize. “Your things, get them.”
“I have no things.”
“Give me a moment,” she said, dashing to a cupboard for her shoulder bag. She grabbed a few items from the table, barely thinking, certainly in no mind to decide what could be helpful and what would merely add weight.
“Where are they?” Rafe asked quietly, cool fear in his voice. She stopped, breathing heavily, realized that she was probably terrifying him even more.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Someone I know almost saw one near here last night. Hopefully it’s gone now, but we have to get away. We have to, Rafe! You can trust me, son, I mean it. Whatever you think of me, what I am, what I do and have done, I swear on my ancestors’ graves that I want to help you. I’ll do anything within my power to stop you from coming to harm. I know you’re confused and scared right now, but you’re also very, very important.”
Rafe stared at her. “I heard those voices again when you were out,” he said.
He’s admitted it! Hope thought, amazed, but now was not the time.
“They’re urging you to leave,” she said. “They can advise, but I’m here, and I can help. And I’ll do my bloody best. Now come on, we have to go.”
“Where?”
Hope shook her head, exasperated. She should in be awe of him, but his ignorance only made her impatient. “Son, I have no fucking idea. Away from here. We can think about a destination after that.” Where should I take him? she thought. Is there somewhere he needs to be? Or do I only have to keep him safe until…
But until what she did not know.
“Quick!” She waved him out. He passed her and started up the stairs to the outside, and Hope looked around her room for one last time. She had spent so long here, wishing for this moment, and now that it had arrived all she felt was an awkward sadness. She could not pin the emotion down-it certainly was not sorrow at leaving-but still it bore into her. Perhaps it was merely a hint of what was to come.
Before she closed the door she knocked a handful of pots from a nearby shelf. They shattered and spewed glass shards, spiders and scorpions across the floor. Unlike the spiders she often kept in a sac in her pocket, these were deadly breeds, their eggs gathered from the four corners of Noreela, nurtured by Hope, maintained to provide her with this defense. She slammed the door quickly and listened at the wood, just able to make out the mutter of feet on the wooden floor inside. The sounds ceased quickly as the creatures found places to hide. They would be there waiting for the next person to go inside.
That was it. She had left. She would never venture inside again. She had once seen the dreadful results of a slayer spider’s bite, and it would take much for her to risk one herself.
Rafe was waiting for her at the top of the steps. She pushed past him, opened the front door a crack and peered out. She glanced left and right, left again, and realized that she had never been this terrified before. Never.
“It looks safe,” she said, but even as she spoke she wondered whether safe would ever ring true for her again. “Come on.”
As they slipped through the door, Rafe held on to her hand and squeezed tight. Hope paused and felt a lump form in her throat. Stupid old woman, she thought, but she could not hold down the feeling of pride his trust inspired.
She led Rafe out into the busy streets of Pavisse.
Tim Lebbon
Dusk
Chapter 15
IT WAS NOTreally a tunnel, not in the true sense, but rather a shortcut between streets. Kosar and A’Meer were never immersed in complete darkness. Most of their journey was in half-light, shady passageways barely illuminated through cracks in the ceiling from basement rooms, where even now people were stirring themselves from slumber. In some places the passageway had true design-steps cut into the bedrock, brackets rusted on the walls where lamps had once hung-but in other places it took on a random effect. Sometimes their route was little more than an unintentional void between building foundations, the rough walls showing where builders had cut corners, the floor piled with rubble and other refuse, crawling with rats. The tunnel was spanned here and there by huge spiderwebs, many of them carrying silk-spun packages as big as an adult furbat. A’Meer pushed through these without pause, and at these moments Kosar was glad that she was in the lead. He never saw a spider. He wondered where they had all gone.
Here and there they heard voices, and once they must have passed under a narrow road; above them, just visible through mud-clotted slats in the ceiling, shadows passed quickly by, and shoes cast dust down into their eyes. The scent of cooking followed it down; fresh bread, and meats frying on a street skillet, breakfast for those who could afford it. Kosar’s mouth watered at the thought, but then he remembered the house they had just left and the mess coating the walls and floor of the upstairs room. His stomach rumbled and he felt sick.
Kosar tapped A’Meer on the shoulder. “Not far,” he whispered. “I think we’re under the outskirts of the hidden districts. If we look for a way out anywhere soon, we’ll be where we want to be.”