This was the first time Bahn had ever visited the tunnels. Like most ordinary soldiers he was glad to avoid them, and would listen to stories of the underground fighting with a mixture of horror at what those men went through and relief that he was not down there himself. He could not help but think of his own brother once living in these tunnels, passing each shift in tedium as a volunteer Special, knowing that at any moment an alarm might ring out, calling him to a desperate squalid fight in some pitch-black passageway no taller or wider than himself. His brother Cole had lasted two years in these tunnels before he had cracked under the strain of it, and had deserted the army and abandoned his family and everything else that he knew. He had never once spoken of his experiences below ground, not even to Bahn.
Coming to the end of a tunnel so low that Bahn had to stoop to avoid the sagging roof beams half-eaten with rot – a tunnel which zigzagged for hundreds of yards lit by lanterns strung too far apart for their light to meet, and sealed at every juncture by a heavy door that was opened and closed behind them by a Special, and with a hard-packed earth floor that dipped and then rose up again, heading beneath Kharnost's Wall then out beyond it, out beneath no man's land. At the end of the great tunnel, with that sense of weight pressing above his head like a sky of earth, Bahn found himself guided to a wooden stool set in the eerie confines of a listening post, a room just large enough to contain a pair of bunks, a desk, a bucket for crapping in, and two sweating Specials. He sat down with some uncertainty and pressed his ear to the opening of a conical device that resembled a bullhorn, itself in turn pressed against a wall of solid dirt.
In the silent depths of this place, Bahn listened to the dim and frantic howls of a man.
'Enemy sapper, I imagine,' one of the Specials explained. 'Trapped in a collapse somewhere.'
Bahn looked up and saw that he was grinning.
'Must be new at this, too, otherwise he wouldn't be shouting like that.'
The other Special looked up from where he sat whittling a length of wood. 'They always carry a bell with them, so, if they get trapped, they can untie the clapper and ring it for help. Uses up less air that way, than shouting.' He jerked his head towards the wall. 'He's panicked, though.'
Bahn eventually left them in their dingy cell of a room. On his way back, riding in the same small-wheeled cart drawn along two metal rails by a dwarf mule, an alarm sounded out. They had reached a crossing of tunnels where, from a passage on the left, came the clanging sound of a bell loud enough to spook the draught mule.
'Come on, now,' said the driver, attempting to sooth the frightened animal, just as a detachment of Specials ran across the junction before them, moving at a crouch and armed with punch-knives.
The mule shied up in alarm and kicked its hooves at the air. Failing to jump free of its harness, it only grew worse in its panic.
With hands held out, the driver went forward to calm his mule, clucking his tongue and speaking soft words to it. The mule snapped at him with its teeth, eyes rolling, then it began to shoulder-charge the wall, harness and all, colliding against it with dull thuds like a great fist smacking the ground. Bahn climbed out and stepped forward to lend a hand. It was clear they would have to restrain the animal before it broke its own neck.
Bahn could approach no closer, with the driver in his way. He retreated around the back of the little cart and squeezed along the other side of the tunnel until he had cleared it. He paused, a hand held up to protect his face, the mule's back legs kicking out next to him, splintering the wood of the rig and its own hooves along with it. No good this way, he thought. Need to get round to the front.
He leapt forward just as the animal dropped its legs again. But the mule sensed him coming and lashed out a hoof that caught him a breathtaking kick to his side. Bahn rolled to the ground, felt the iron rails biting into his back. He lay there desperately trying to find breath.
There was no calming the creature. In the end, the driver had to put an end to its life with his knife drawn across its throat, a grim determination on his face.
Merciful Fool, Bahn thought, some time later, his hand still clutching his throbbing side, his legs striding ever faster towards the beams of sunlight that blasted down the entrance-shaft like the welcoming hand of some benign god…
This is where my brother lost his mind.
*
Bahn felt too rattled to climb the hill to the Ministry and make his report immediately. His shift was over for the day, regardless, so he decided to leave the report until the morning, and instead stopped a passing rickshaw and gave the man his address as he climbed into the narrow seat, and took in the glory of the clear open sky overhead.
The streets were crammed with the usual bustle of traffic and commerce. The rickshaw wove through the throng with some difficulty, as its owner pulled Bahn along at a slow jog, shouting out when he needed a clear path. Heading through the Barber Quarter, they passed streets where Bahn had grown up as a youth, a poor but close-knit district of hairdressers and small-trades shops and crumbling tenement buildings, though lined now mostly with beggar carts and gossiping prostitutes, a sight he would never have witnessed during daylight hours before the war began. He watched the street-girls as the cart trotted past them, their flimsy garments concealing little from his roving eyes.
It was late in the afternoon when he arrived at their home in the northern quarter of the city, located as far from the Shield as one could get. With relief that his work was done for the day, he stepped off the rickshaw in the street in front of their townhouse just as his sister-in-law Reese was pulling up in her own cart.
How strange these occurrences are, Bahn thought, sensing something of Fate, of the Dao, in this coincidence, his brother still lingering so strongly in his thoughts.
Reese embraced him with a kiss to the cheek as he led her into their small two-storey dwelling. It was somewhat more spacious than the first home he and Marlee had shared above the public baths together, though it was still cramped. The house was empty, which surprised him for a moment, until he recalled that she and the children were visiting her own sister today.
He and Reese drank chee and chatted on the first-floor balcony, having not met since her last visit to the city.
'Where's Los today?' he enquired politely, thinking he should ask about her latest partner, at least for form's sake.
Reese merely shrugged. Bahn knew that Los could disappear for days without any word of his whereabouts. Gambling and whoring, Bahn supposed, from his vague impressions of the man. Los was of enlistment age, which meant he was either avoiding the draft or he had succeeded in buying his way out of it.
It was a shame, Bahn reflected, since the man would no doubt return to her when he was again out of money and with nowhere else to go.
'It will be time for your daughter's naming ceremony soon,' Reese observed with a forced smile.
'Aye,' said Bahn, trying to keep his breathing shallow. He had found that his bruised side did not hurt so badly that way.
'I'm keeping some foodstuffs aside for it. Some potatoes for pies, some peppers preserved in oil. It's all I can manage, I'm afraid.'
'That's kind of you,' sighed Bahn. 'Marlee doesn't seem to believe me when I tell her there is no extra food to be found anywhere.'
Reese nodded thoughtfully, staring into her cup.
'Something's bothering you,' he said. 'I can always tell.'
She didn't speak, so he continued and as he tried to think of what he should say next, it suddenly came to him what was troubling her.
'It's Nico, isn't it?'
Her eyes flinched and she looked away. 'He's gone,' she confessed.