Rail didn’t look at them. He had long ago learned to shut out the sight of other people’s misery. He had grown up in ghettoes, after all, and this place was no better. It could do him no good to sympathize.
Is it worth it? he thought to himself. What’s the point of pretending to be free if you starve?
Kilatas might have been beneath the gaze of the Patrician, but it was also beyond his help. Though Rail hated to admit it, the foul nutrient gruel that the Protectorate provided for the ghettoes had stopped him going hungry more than once. Here, there wasn’t even that. He had heard people whispering about Kilatas in the ghettoes like it was some kind of promised land, where their poor oppressed people could find dignity. But there was no dignity in scratching out an existence like this.
No wonder they wanted to leave. Between the Protectorate stealing away their loved ones and the hopelessness of their situation, he could understand why they would want to believe in another place where things weren’t so terrible. He could understand even that they would risk their lives for it. Humankind wasn’t meant to be crushed this way. Sooner or later, they would find a way out.
Even if that way out led only to death.
His mind full of dark thoughts, Rail walked on. Eventually the path took him down to where the cavern floor was more of a gentle slope than a cliff, and buildings sprang up everywhere. There was more life in the eyes of the people now. They called to each other and made jokes, and the children played. Nearer to the shipyards, they felt nearer to the heart of Kilatas, closer to its purpose. For Kilatas wasn’t a place where these people intended to live out their lives. Kilatas was a place they intended to escape.
Rail picked his way down dirty trails until he neared the shipyards. They were visible from everywhere in the cavern. Towers of scaffold surrounded half-constructed hulls, swarming with men and noisy with the tap of hammers. There were three ships being built here, none of them very large. Something the size of a Protectorate Dreadnought was too much for the limited resources that they had to hand. Instead, they were cobbling together craft, only concerned about one thing: would it float?
The docks, where the shipyard met the edge of the lake, were crowded with dozens of strange vessels, wheezing things that looked like they might fall apart at the first hint of a storm. Chimney stacks leaned, paint was peeling and boards were split. Some of the older rustbuckets were daubed in fading graffiti. Some had engines, some paddle-wheels, and some sails. But all of them floated.
Rail looked out across the lake, which glimmered with dazzling patches where the sun shone through the gaps in the western wall. Only a few small vessels moved on the water, catching the fish that slid in through underwater tunnels. Most of the craft in the docks had never left them. They were built for one journey only. The journey out.
But as yet, there was nowhere for them to go. The wall blocked the route to the sea entirely. They were trapped in that underground lake.
This whole place was built on a foolish dream, Rail thought. No wonder Moa had been so keen to bring Vago here. No wonder she was so keen to come home. She lived for dreams.
Shaking his head at the stupidity of it all, he walked through the shipyards and on. He was stuck here, at least for the moment. And until Moa woke, here he would stay.
It was while Rail was away that Vago came to see Moa.
He had been watching the cave mouth for a long while, from far across the town. His exceptional eyesight allowed him to spy on them from a distance. The two guards that accompanied him sat around looking bored. Eventually he saw Rail leave, and he set off towards it at some pace. The guards followed, jogging to keep up with him.
Rail thought that Vago didn’t care about what had happened to Moa, but he was wrong. Vago cared a lot. He just had no idea how to express it. At first he had tried to pretend it wasn’t happening; but that was foolish, and he had learned to stop doing that. Now the problem was Rail. Vago got the impression that Rail blamed him for what had happened. Vago wasn’t really sure what it was he felt at the moment, and it confused him. But he knew that being around Rail made things worse, and he disliked the thief-boy anyway.
He had thought about leaving, turning his back on them all and heading off in search of his maker. It seemed a good way to avoid the turmoil of his feelings. But though the need for answers tugged at him, he couldn’t go yet, even if the guards would let him. Not while Moa lay in that cave.
When he got to his destination, he had to bend down and fold his wings to fit into the cramped space. He pushed the drapes aside. The guards waited outside while he went in, letting the drape fall again behind him.
Moa was curled in her cocoon of blankets, lying on the floor. Vago hunkered down next to her, watching her face.
She came awake with a jolt, then lurched away violently at the sight of the golem’s monstrous features looking back at her. Vago recoiled in surprise, cringing as if fearing to be beaten.
Moa gazed wildly about, disorientated at finding herself in a strange place. It took her a few moments to establish that she was in no immediate danger, after which she calmed. She sat up, ran a hand through her matted hair, and groaned. Vago had backed against one wall of the cave, unsure if he had done anything wrong.
She noticed the golem’s discomfort. “Sorry, Vago. You’re just not the face I expected to see.”
Ugly is what you are, thought the golem, remembering Ephemera’s words.
There was silence for a moment, before Vago said: “You’re awake.”
She grinned. “Seems so.”
“Why aren’t you dead?”
Her grin faded at the edges a little. “What?” she said.
Bits and pieces were coming back to her now, memories falling into place. The probability storm, the factory, being carried in Vago’s arms. The smell of his dry flesh. Then . . . then what? Then blackness.
“A Revenant,” Vago said. “A Revenant got us.”
“Both of us?”
Vago nodded.
For a time she said nothing, just sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sighed. None of it seemed real to her. It hadn’t really hit yet, how close she had come to dying. It had been a turn of the card, a flip of a chit, a roll of the dice. Luck had seen her through this time.
“Why aren’t I dead?” she asked, dazedly.
“That’s what I was asking you,” the golem replied.
“Well, I don’t know.” And she didn’t want to think about it now. She looked around. “Where are we? Did we make it?”
“We are in Kilatas.”
“We’re here?” she cried, then made a face as the exertion dizzied her.
“What is this place?” Vago asked, surprised to find that he was interested.
“This is a town for people who believe there’s something out there,” she said. “Something outside Orokos. Something beyond the horizon. Kittiwake started this so that one day, all of us could sail away from Orokos for ever. One day we’re going to work out a way to get past the Skimmers that stop any ships from leaving, and we’ll escape! This place is a prison, Vago. Nobody understands that. It’s a prison, and we have to get out of it!”
She was exciting herself with the thought. Just being back in Kilatas was enough to spark the old passion in her.
“My father was a fisherman, back before they stopped anyone fishing without Protectorate approval. He was there when Kittiwake found that bird, a bird from outside Orokos, like the one around your neck. He was with Kittiwake when she decided to build this place. We were one of the first families to live here. I grew up in Kilatas, until. . .” She tailed off.
The golem regarded her strangely. “Why did you leave?”
“They took my mother away,” Moa said. Her voice was matter-of-fact. She had cried all the tears she ever would about that. Now it only left her numb. “She shouldn’t have left Kilatas, but she went to visit so
meone. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She shrugged. “Just chance. Nothing anyone could do. After that, my father just sort of snapped. One day he got in a rowboat and went rowing out to sea. The Skimmers got him. I think he wanted them to.”
Vago didn’t know what to say. He thought he should feel sympathy, but he couldn’t decide what sympathy felt like.
“I couldn’t stay here after that,” Moa went on, scratching distractedly at the blanket around her knees. “Bad memories. I wandered for a while. I went east to find my uncle, but he had long gone and nobody knew where. Instead I found Rail. Or rather, Rail found me.” She sighed and stopped worrying at the blanket. “I’d always intended to come back, but somehow it never happened. Until now.”
She was suddenly tired of her tale. She looked at Vago, shook her head slightly. “It’s all random. There’s no point fighting it. My being here, at this moment, is the product of so many stupendous coincidences and moments of good and bad luck that you can’t even imagine it. It’s the same with everyone. How can anyone believe there’s any sense and order in that?” She gazed down at her knees again. “Being touched by a Revenant didn’t kill me. What are the chances?” Then she raised her head, and gave the golem a wan smile. “What’s your excuse?”
Vago shuffled his feet. “I don’t know.”
“Oh,” was all to that. She tried to sit up straighter, but the effort made her lightheaded.
Vago felt he should venture something more. “That Revenant . . . it didn’t hurt me. It actually . . . it made me feel good. Instead of killing me.” He looked uncertain. “The Revenant came through me to get to you. I think I . . . absorbed it. You were brushed by what was left. Maybe that’s why you lived.”
“Then you saved my life,” Moa said.
“But I don’t know how I did it. . .”
“Still. . .” Moa said. “Thank you.” It seemed a pitifully inadequate response, but Moa was too tired and drained to offer anything else. The golem gazed at her for a time.
“I think I was made to be a killer,” he said.
Moa put her hand on the back of his. It was cold. “I know,” she said. “I saw you. It’s OK.”
Vago was shocked, not only at her reaction, but at the fact she was voluntarily touching him. “Aren’t you scared?” he asked.
“Of you?” she said, and laughed softly. “I’m not scared of you, Vago. We’re both outcasts, you and I. We should stick together.”
Something melted inside Vago. He adored this girl, worshipped her with the unconditional admiration of a puppy; and to hear those words from her lips was something more precious than he could imagine.
At that moment Rail came back, sweeping the drape aside with barely a glance at the guards, and saw the two of them there. Moa cried his name and he fell to his knees and embraced her.
Vago felt his momentary joy turn to splinters of ice in his breast. Stupid of him, stupid to think that she really cared about him. Rail was who she cared about. Rail. And Vago, freakish and ugly, couldn’t compete with that.
Suddenly forgotten and ignored, he stealthily left the cave, his thoughts thicker and darker than blood.
Two days after Moa had awoken, Kittiwake returned, and the three newcomers were summoned.
Kittiwake’s shack wasn’t much grander than any other in Kilatas. It was a low building of rough stone and mortar with a metal roof, set on a slope so that it looked out over the shipyards. It was only with a thief’s eye that Rail noted how secure it was, its walls built strong and with few blind spots. A pair of guards stood outside, not particularly watchful. They were there as a deterrent to anyone who might think that the house was worth breaking into.
Upon being shown in, Rail decided that it really wasn’t. There was very little, at least in the main room, to tempt a burglar. There was a tatty rug and a few chairs, some half-melted and unlit candles, and a table that stood off-centre, grainy and full of knots. A cheap painting of a busy street, with the Null Spire in the background, presided over all.
The din of the shipwrights from overhead faded to a background medley as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The room was cool and its roof rang faintly whenever anyone spoke. The light shone through a grimy window, past which workers walked to and fro.
Vago was here, skulking in a corner. He had been avoiding both Rail and Moa since she had awoken. He had a great deal to think about, and the need for answers was burning at him. He had made a promise to himself, to search for his maker and seek out the answer to why he was created. He couldn’t put it off any longer. Moa was safe now, and she appeared content enough. He didn’t feel he was wanted here. Soon it would be time to do what he had to do.
Moa gave him a quick smile. He glanced at her, then resumed the intense study of the painting he had been making when they arrived.
Kittiwake came through a doorway at the back of the room and embraced Moa. There was little warmth in it, and even Rail could see the distance between them. Moa had known Kittiwake since she was a baby, but only as a friend of her father’s, someone to admire. Though Kittiwake would do anything she could for the daughter of her friend, she and Moa had never been close.
“I have to admit I’m surprised,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d be coming back.”
“Me neither,” Moa replied.
If Kittiwake had been expecting any elaboration, she was disappointed. She shrugged. “Well, so much for pleasantries. What are you doing here, Moa? Who is your friend?” She looked over at Vago, flicked a hand at him. “And what the freck is this thing?”
“We need your help,” Moa said. And she expained about Anya-Jacana and how they had cheated her, how they had been chased out of the ghetto and met Vago. Of the journey, she said little, and she mentioned nothing about the artefact. Rail had been very clear to both her and Vago that they shouldn’t say a word about that. Not until they had time to work out what to do with it.
“Just get her to let us stay here,” he had said. “We need to hide for a while until the heat dies down.”
Kittiwake didn’t probe too far. When Moa was done, she asked Vago for his version of events. Vago told her what he knew about himself, which was very little, and which was nothing new to Moa and Rail. There was only one thing he didn’t tell: the name of his creator. Tukor Kep. The man whom he had seen looking in on him through the curved window of a tank, the tank in which Vago had floated. Where he had first come to life, perhaps? He wasn’t sure. But that memory was his own, and he would not share it.
Kittiwake regarded them all suspiciously. She had a hard face, made to inspire respect rather than admiration. Her hair was white, streaked with black, and tied back in a severe ponytail. Her clothes were similarly practical: drab and hardwearing, with high black boots that were scuffed and worn. She wasn’t tall – only the same height as Rail – but she projected a presence that made her seem much larger than she was. She had an absolute and unquestionable confidence which other people responded to. This woman had founded Kilatas, made it out of nothing, and kept it going with the strength of her vision. No matter what Rail thought of her plans, he couldn’t deny that she had something about her that made him want to please her, to win from her a nod of respect. It wasn’t difficult to see how so many people had become swept up in her scheme. Even Moa would have stayed, if not for the loss of her parents.
“May I see your bird, Vago?” she said eventually. Vago hesitantly took it from around his neck and passed it to her, his long arms craning over the distance between them. She turned it over in her hands, studying it. It was stiff and cold, and even through the preservatives it was beginning to decay a little.
“It’s true, I’ve never seen anything of its kind before.” she said. “You have a good eye, Moa.”
“Father made me study all the birds. After the one that you found. I think he was always hoping that another one might come along.?
?? She waited while Kittiwake examined it.
“You were right to bring it to me,” she said. “It’s not from here. It’s from another land.”
Moa squealed with delight, and even the stern-faced Kittiwake cracked a grin. Vago merely looked bewildered, and Rail’s eyes were sceptical. But he knew better than to voice his doubts now.
“I told you!” Moa cried, grabbing Rail’s arm. “I told you!” Then she spun away from him and hugged Vago. His body shape – and the fact that he tensed up – made it awkward. “You beautiful thing, see what you’ve done!”
Vago still had no idea what he had done, so he kept quiet.
“I’d like to have a few people look at this, just to be sure,” Kittiwake said. “This is hope for the people of Kilatas, Moa. I want to make certain of it before I tell them.”
Vago started, making half a movement to grab it back from her before stopping himself. “It is mine,” he said.
“He’s very attached to the bird,” Rail said dryly.
Kittiwake gave Vago a chilly stare. “Listen, golem. Kilatas is a place for ghetto folk. Nobody knows what you are. If this bird was the reason Moa brought you here, then that’s the only reason you’re here, and it’s the only reason you’ll be allowed to stay. Do you understand?”
Vago glared at her silently.
“You’ll get your bird back,” she said. “I won’t hurt it.”
The golem’s fingers clenched slowly, but he didn’t say another word. Kittiwake called in one of the guards from outside, gave the bird to him, and instructed him to take it to a man called Ortolan. She cast a look over at Vago, who hadn’t taken his eye from the bird, and then added: “Be careful with it. I want it returned in the same condition.”
The guard retreated, and the door was closed again. Vago shuffled uneasily. He was a prisoner here, and he wasn’t certain how to react. These people were just like everyone else he had met: they viewed him with mistrust at best, horror at worst. They thought of him as a dangerous animal, something less than them. Only Moa treated him as an equal.