As he worked, he thought of Rina. Wondered what she and the twins were doing right now. If he knew Rina she would have landed on her feet, she always did; she was probably running Carthage by now. And he wondered what she would think if she could see her husband on his hands and knees, pouring the shit and piss of forty people down this old drain in the back of the shop.
The buckets emptied, he wiped them with a scrap of outrageously expensive Carthaginian cloth, and threw it aside into a gathering heap. He made for the front door and pulled it open slightly — he always flinched when he did this, expecting to be buried by the infall — but the fallen snow had frozen to a hard wall that blocked the doorway almost from top to bottom, and he was in no danger. A few flakes drifted down from the looser, fresher stuff at the top, though, and this was what he had come for. He reached up with his mittened hand and scooped handfuls of loose snow into the buckets. This was the only way to get fresh water; the piped supply to the old cistern had, miraculously, worked for a while, but the water had soon turned foul, then failed altogether.
‘Thaxa!’
The whispered voice came from above his head. He dropped the buckets and stumbled back, heart pounding. ‘What? Who?’
A face appeared above the snow, from outside the door, surrounded by a hood from which grey-blonde hair curled. ‘Thaxa! It’s me!’
‘Xree? What are you — we thought you were lost! What happened to you? Where did you go?’
She lay flat on the snow, grinning, pleased with herself. ‘There’s more than one way out, you know. I wanted to check on the Archive.’
‘The what?’
‘In its new store, deep in the Wall. To see if it’s safe. Dry. No mice or ice or other problems.’
‘That’s insane.’
She frowned, evidently surprised by his tone. ‘Not at all. It’s a duty. I found that apart from a little ice on the walls-’
‘Why didn’t you come back?’
‘Well, I did get lost then. Found myself wandering around empty corridors.’ Now she looked as if she had been badly frightened, despite the front she was putting up. ‘Nobody to ask for help, of course.’
‘By the mothers, Xree, if you’d been found-’
‘So I thought, I know, I’ll go to the Wall front and find Thaxa’s shop, and get in that way. How clever! Wasn’t I?’
‘But were you followed? Oh, never mind, never mind — get in! Come on, climb through the snow, I’ll catch you.’
‘Yes. All right.’ She held out her arms.
But she was snatched back with a muffled cry, pulled out of his sight. He heard voices, a struggle, torn clothing.
‘Xree! Xree!’
He jumped up at the ice blocking the doorway. Of course he couldn’t climb its slick surface. He fetched a short ladder, used for accessing high shelves in the shop, propped it against the ice, climbed, and thrust his head through the gap at the top of the doorway and into clean, fresh air.
Dark shapes, looming over him. Hands grabbed him immediately, his shoulders, arms, even, agonisingly, his hair, and he was dragged out through the gap. He should have gone to get Ayto, he thought now, too late.
He was flipped on his back, in the cold snow. There were forms all around him — legs, hands reaching for him, a stink of blood and piss. They didn’t even seem human. It had happened in a heartbeat, from the security of the shop, to this.
He saw Xree; they had her on her back and were pulling at her clothes, her coat. He tried to roll that way. He bowled into them, two, three, four, and they staggered, stumbling in the snow. ‘Xree! Get away!’
The first kick was to the mouth, knocking him onto his back again. He felt broken teeth, agonising. Yet he raised his arms, tried to fight. Make them come to him, and give Xree the best chance she had to get away, to squirm into the shop, to get to Ayto. But he was weak, ineffectual, he always had been, and there was no force in his punches. His reward was more kicks, more blows.
Then they surrounded him. They got him pinned down, on his back, five of them, one on each limb, one sitting on his chest. He bucked and squirmed in the soft snow, but more punches and kicks rained in; he felt something crack in his chest, more horrific pain in his mouth that might be a dislocated jaw. And the cold dug into him, aiding his enemies. What little energy he had drained away, and he started to grow limp, blood filming over his eyes.
They pulled at his clothes, stripping him of his good coat, his waterproof leather trousers, his boots. Even his mittens went. These were Northlander citizens, he thought, as he was. Maybe he knew them. They might have been customers. Friends. Even relatives. And what would come next, when they had divided up his clothes? The taking of human flesh for the lack of alternatives is actually a logical outcome of our situation. He’d said that himself, in some polite forum in the Wall, or his shop. Drinking nettle tea. Not me. Not me.
When they had stripped him to his grimy underwear they pulled away. The cold of the snow against his bare skin was intense. He rolled, tried to stand in the deep snow, fell forward. Hands grasped after him, but they were still squabbling over his clothes, and he got away. The snow was deep, and as he tried to run his legs sank into it. He lunged forward and fell into a deep drift, the snow bright around him. Still he thought he heard their voices. He burrowed, bare hands working at the snow — by the mothers it was cold — he dug his way into the snow as a mole would dig into the earth. On and on, the snow compacting around him, heavy and dark, until his strength was all gone.
He gave up and lay quietly, breathing raggedly, pain flaring, encased in the snow. He could see nothing. Hear nothing. He lay still. Even their voices were gone now. The snow, pressed up against his bare, wet skin and packed all around him, seemed to suck away his heat. It occurred to him he must be only a few paces from the front door of his own shop.
The shivering began. He pulled his limbs to him, arms against chest, legs up, a child in this womb of ice, his whole body shuddering. He hadn’t been able to see if Xree had got away. Even if she had got into the shop the others might have followed her. But Ayto would have stopped them. Ayto was strong, resourceful. She would be safe with him. .
Perhaps he fainted, or slept.
The shivering had stopped. The pain in his chest and mouth was still there, but distant, somehow separate from himself. And his hands — he couldn’t feel his fingers, his toes. He tried to move them; there was no response.
The pain ebbed further. It wasn’t uncomfortable. He wished he was able to tell Doctor Ontin that; it would console his patients. It wasn’t painful if you just gave in to the cold. Ah, but Ontin had fled before the winter locked in, fled south to Carthage, where Rina had gone. .
There was ice in his mouth. Actually inside it. And on his eyes, he thought, he could no longer close them.
He listened to the deep, slowing beat of his heart, beat, beat. He thought he heard Rina, calling to him, and his children, Nelo and Alxa. And they became the three little mothers in their shrine deep in his house, his proud house with the linen shop that fronted right on to the Wall Way. Time to sleep now, whispered the little mothers. Time to sleep.
47
Snug in the old cistern, Crimm tried not to doze off during the day. But there was nothing else to do for long hours. It was so comfortable to lie back, he could hear the soft snores of the others around him. .