Tetrarch

'That's possible, though it lies below level ten, which is completely flooded. How could they have got down there? They're afraid of water and we've found no diggings. Anyway, there's no time for that now. The perquisitor is about to move on me. Despatches are coming in and Jal-Nish seems very pleased with himself.'

'What are you going to do?'

'I don't know, but when I fall, he'll have you in the cells within minutes. He wants you in his power, Irisis, even more than he wants to crush me.'

She twisted her elegant fingers together. 'I can't do anything about that.'

'How quickly can you be ready to flee?'

She touched the crystal in the artisan's pliance that hung about her neck. 'This is the only thing I cannot do without. In an emergency I could leave right away. I would like to have my artisan's toolkit, though.'

'Get it, anything else you require, and a weapon you can conceal. Wait for my word.'

'In the artisans' workshop?'

'It's too easy to seal that area off.' Flydd rotated his chair so he could see the door.

'There's a stair up onto the wall between the cistern and the privies.'

'But you'll be just as trapped on the wall. We can't risk it.'

'I'm not afraid to die, surr, if it's come to that.'

'I don't want you to die, crafter. I've that node job for you, and with the news we've just heard it's more urgent than ever. When I fall, Jal-Nish will abandon my work. He believes in military solutions, but that'll do us no good against the lyrinx.'

'He's done pretty well with those new crossbows.'

'In the mine! They're too heavy and unreliable to be used in battle, as he'll soon learn.'

'How would you get me away?' said Irisis.

'You can climb into the aqueduct from the top of the outermost cistern. Follow it up over the hill and across the valley. Stand up on the side and wave. If everything goes well, the air-floater will pick you up.'

'And if it doesn't?'

'I suggest you jump.'

Irisis swallowed. 'I'll wait in the clanker sheds. I can be checking the strength of the field there, and if necessary, get out the side gate.'

'It's a long run from there to the cisterns.'

'I'll manage it. Do you mean me to do this job on my own?'

'I've others already spirited away.'

'Is there a mancer among them?'

'Yes.'

'What about Ullii? She was going to help me read the node.'

'That's impossible now. I'd never get her away from the perquisitor. Get going. Jal-Nish will be here any minute.'

'But… you can't leave Ullii to the mercy of Jal-Nish.'

'She'll be safe enough. He needs her.'

'She'll be terrified out of her wits. She'll think we've abandoned her.'

'Do you think I don't know that?' he snarled. 'If I could do anything, I would. But I can't. Now clear out.'

She went. Flydd took another bowl of tea, called Pirse and gave her final instructions. She waited by the door. He was halfway through his ginger and rose-hip tea when the perquisitor appeared.

Flydd tried to still his racing heart. There were procedures for the demotion, and even the dismissal, of a scrutator, and Jal-Nish must follow them. He was not in mortal danger yet, though he would soon be.

The perquisitor's face, behind his mask, showed nothing; however, the eagerness of his stride suggested that he carried bad news for his enemy. He marched to the table and his single eye was ablaze.

'You're finished, scrutator!' Jal-Nish tossed a document on the table.

Flydd steeled himself to show no reaction at all. Reaching for the parchment, he unrolled it and checked the seals and signatures. There were six of each. Six of the eleven on the Council had signed it. Enough to doom him.

He read the document. He was suspended, pending a scrutator's quisitory, or inquisition. Jal-Nish had been appointed acting scrutator in his place. Having once in his life been before a quisitory, Flydd had no wish to repeat it. He still bore the scars, inside and out.

On the other hand, suspension was preferable to dismissal. He still had his rights as a scrutator, which were considerable. Had he been dismissed he would have become an outlaw, a non-citizen, and Jal-Nish could have done whatever he wanted to him.

Acting scrutator was a temporary position and conferred few of the rights of scrutator. Jal-Nish would have to justify his every action. Even so, the tables had been decisively turned. And, of course, if Jal-Nish got him alone he could have him slain and deny everything afterwards. No doubt that was his plan. Scrutators were as adept at covering up evidence as they were at ferreting out the truth.

Flydd tossed the parchment aside and his arm knocked the tea bowl off the table. It smashed with a loud crash. Pirse touched her cap and slipped out.

His eyes met Jal-Nish's. 'I don't think you've quite beaten me yet, surr.'

'An acting scrutator outranks a suspended one.'

'In certain circumstances.'

'These, to be precise.'

'What are you planning to do? Have me quietly killed when there are no witnesses around?'

Something showed in Jal-Nish's eye, though he tried to prevent it. 'I don't want you to die, Xervish. I want you to live and be ruined. That would only be just, considering the damage you've done us by your incompetence.'

A soldier came up, saluted and whispered something in Jal-Nish's ear.

'Where is the crafter?' said Jal-Nish.

'How would I know? Try her workshop.'

'We already have.'

'Irisis has many responsibilities,' said Flydd. 'She could be anywhere. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have the right to prepare my defence.' Irisis was in the vast clanker sheds, standing at the back hatch of one of the clankers, when the little aide appeared at the door. Irisis waved and Pirse ran across.

'Scrutator Flydd bids you run, at once.'

'Thank you. Get out of sight.'

Pirse ducked in between the row of machines. Irisis fleeted toward the side gate. She was just going through when the inside door was thrust open. A brace of soldiers stormed in, closely followed by the perquisitor.

'Crafter!' roared Jal-Nish. 'Stay where you are.'

She bolted through the gate. Which way? Left was closer to the cisterns but if the soldiers took a shortcut through the manufactory they would be outside the front gate before she reached it. She turned right, pounding for the corner. If she could get out of sight, they would have to search both ways.

Irisis just made it. On her left was the parade ground, at present empty. To her right was the long stretch of wall enclosing the barracks and winter training yard. Ahead were the gardens and orchards. They would be busy with workers at this time of year but no one there would move against her.

'There she is! Stop or we'll shoot, crafter.'

Stop and we'll shoot. Irisis kept going, weaving from side to side. She was a couple of hundred paces ahead, outside the accurate range of a crossbow, though that did not make her feel secure. A lucky shot could kill her at twice that distance.

Ahead, a rounded buttress curved around the corner of the training yard. The pack was thumping against her chest, her breasts were bouncing painfully and it was a long way to go.

A cluster of crossbow bolts screeched off the stone, carving grey streaks in the moss-covered wall. They had not been far away. She sidestepped, skidded and went down, sliding on her palms across the mossy paving. Gravel tore a gouge in the heel of one hand. Irisis scrambled to her feet, looked back and saw the other crossbowman aiming at her.

She scratched across the ground on hands and knees, trying to get around the corner. Bolts smashed into the buttress just in front of her, stinging her face with stone chips and grit. A piece stung her in the eye.

Rolling around the corner, she came to her feet and kept going. It was only a short distance to the next corner. On her right were the pitch, ore and firewood bins, to her left the slag heaps, the half-filled ancient holy well and, beyond, the ravine into which the wastes were dumped.