He sighed and looked away. It was time to be getting back.
AHEAD THE LAND rose to meet the floor of the Above. Only at one point, in a narrow dip between the rock face and the road below, was there room to pass, and then only at a crouch.
Ben let out a breath, then sent the remotes through.
The town was below them, beyond the gap, less than a mile away now. Ben looked about him, seeing how the four daymen stood there, cradling their lasers, their heads turning, searching the darkness all around them.
Behind them, less than half a mile back, were two, maybe three, hundred of the Myghtern's men, while ahead . . .
Ben watched the screen as the first of the remotes threaded its way slowly through the gap, hugging the ceiling. As it emerged he caught tiny glimpses of red—evidence of men hiding behind rocks—but they were at a distance; closer at hand the land was empty.
Strange, he thought. Himself, he would have circled the gap.
He switched to the second remote, then had to shield his eyes as the screen flared with a sudden, intense light.
He cried out, the afterimage of the explosion imprinted on the back of his eyelids even as the sound of the detonation rumbled through the Clay.
Blinking, he switched back to the first remote, but the screen was blank. The remote . . . somehow they'd destroyed the remote.
Even as the thought struck him there was a second flash, a second rumbling detonation.
"Stay," he said to Crefter, putting his hand on his shoulder as he moved past him. Then, crouching next to Kygek, he pointed to the gap-
"Go through," he said. "Blonegek will cover you."
Kygek glanced around at him, then, after a moment's hesitation, nodded. Ben turned, calling up Blonegek.
"Follow Kygek in," he half whispered. "Keep five paces back. If anyone goes for Kygek, blast them, okay?"
"Okay," Blonegek answered. Then, at a dogtrot, both men headed for the gap.
Ben watched, biting his lip. It was over. It had been over from the moment they had targeted the remotes. If they had the technology to do that, then they could pick off five intruders easily enough. Besides, the remotes had been their eyes—now they were blind. The advantages were all now with their enemies.
He sighed, sad that for once nothing would get back. For him to die, and for it not to have been recorded, that was a great disappointment.
Ben turned, looking to Crefter and Scaf, then, standing, he signaled for them to follow him. Pressing the tracing signal at his neck, he moved toward the gap, his laser searching the darkness up ahead.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The King under the City
IT WAS MORNING in the Myghtern's city. Thorn stood at the open casement window, looking out across the ancient town. High above him the floor of the Above was _____ bright with reflected light. In the street below, a line of lamps blazed in the darkness of the Clay. The cathedral was below him to his right, the river a long, dark scar beyond.
"Are you ready?"
Tak stood behind him in the wood-paneled room. He had come in without a sound; stealthily, like a shadow.
Thorn turned and nodded. "Where are we going?"
"You have an audience. But first the Myghtern wishes you to see his city."
The room in which they stood was bare but clean. Everything was in a state of good repair. The wood of the walls had been scrubbed and polished; the bunk was old but sturdy and the pure white sheets were laundered. A newly woven mat covered the bare-board floor.
Thorn looked to Tak. "Okay. Let's go."
Outside, in the narrow alley, Thorn stopped and looked up at the wall-mounted lamps. "Morning," he said softly, then laughed. Beside him the Myghtern's man smiled tightly, then beckoned him on.
The alley opened out onto a broad main street. BOSCAWEN STREET, a sign halfway up the wall read. He stood at one end of it, looking west, the cathedral's spire jutting up above the buildings to his right. At the far end of the street, straight ahead of him as he looked, a giant silvered pillar rose straight out of the earth and soared to meet the floor of the Above some two hundred ch'i overhead. There were few people on the street—far fewer than he'd expected—and those who were scurried away quickly at the sight of Tak.
He walked slowly down the broad street, looking from side to side at the elegant Georgian buildings, Tak silent beside him. He already knew there was something wrong here—something out of place—but the feeling grew in him until he stopped and looked back, trying to fathom what it was. There was glass in the windows. Doors in the frames. Good, solid doors. He looked up. The old slate roofs were in good repair, the guttering mended. And the huge, twelve-paneled window frames were painted.
Thorn went across and ran his finger along the edge of one shop window. Yes, paint.
He looked through the glass, saw goods laid out on a trestle table. It was a shop. He almost laughed. A shop! In the Clay! Then he shook his head, frowning. None of this belonged here.
He walked on, quickening his pace. Behind him he heard Tak grunt, then follow.
Where the street opened out onto a square Thorn stopped, looking across at the pillar. There was a broad flight of steps at the base of the pillar and above the steps, clearly evident in the lamplight, the outline of a gate.
He stood there a long while, staring at the pillar. A gate. Here, at the very center of the Myghtern's capital. A gate!
Tak came up and touched his arm. "Seen enough, trader?"
Thorn nodded. More than enough.
"Then let's go down to the Chapter House. We'll make you presentable before you meet the Myghtern."
Thorn tore his attention from the pillar. Tak was smiling broadly—a proprietorial smile compounded of pride and delight at Thorn's evident surprise.
"Come, then. The Myghtern awaits you."
They walked down through the old county capital toward the cathedral. There, beside the huge nineteenth-century building, was the Chapter House.
"Here," Tak said, businesslike now, leading him through a side door and down a narrow flight of steps. They went through an old oak doorway and into a long, low-ceilinged room where three old men— none of them bigger than a child—sat at a long bench sewing. They looked up briefly, then returned to their work. Electric lamps burned in the ceiling overhead.
"The Myghtern is a mighty ruler," Tak said with a fierce, defiant pride. "You must come to him in silks, not rags."
Tak opened a cupboard door to his right and took several outfits from the rail, handing them to Thorn. "One of these should do."
Thorn looked at the garments draped over his arm, surprised by their lavishness. Velvets and silks. Leather belts and silver buckles. There was wealth here: more than simple commerce could account for. He glanced up at Tak.
"Try them on," the small man urged. "Quick, now. The Myghtern is waiting."
Thorn set them down on the bench, then quickly slipped out of the rags he was wearing. Moments later he stood there, dressed like an ancient courtier in crimson, mauve, and green. Tak nodded, satisfied, then went to the cupboard again, reaching up to pull down a big crimson-colored box.
Thorn went very still. It was not what the box contained, but what was embossed into the side of the box. That motif—the Han symbol Peng surrounded by the letter C—was the trademark of a company that dealt with only the elite of the Above—the "Supernal" themselves. Tak smiled and handed him the thigh-length kid leather boots.
"Take great care of these, trader. They are only loaned to you, not given. All here belongs to the Myghtern."
Thorn pulled them on, then stood before the mirror Tak held up for him, seeing how the clothes transformed him. As if he had stepped back a thousand years or more. Tak laughed and showed his perfect white teeth.
"Now then, trader. It is time."
The mirror was set aside. Tak straightened his own clothes and then turned to face Thorn again.