The Song Rising

  ‘I’d like you to be a part of the Mime Order, Ivy.’ My voice resounded through the hall. ‘I’m giving you another chance.’

  She looked up. Maria cursed under her breath, while Glym shook his head and angry mutters rolled from above.

  ‘Underqueen.’ The Pearl Queen was quivering. ‘This is an extraordinary decision. For the sake of the gallery, may I confirm that you intend to give no punishment at all?’

  ‘Her confession was instrumental to exposing the grey market.’ The fury on the observers’ faces was already making me doubt my decision, but I couldn’t backpedal now. ‘Without it, the Abbess and the Rag and Bone Man might still have influence over this citadel.’

  Shouts rained from the gallery. ‘Who cares?’ I heard them say. ‘This bitch sold us out!’

  ‘Hang her!’

  ‘Let her rot!’

  These people were the ones who would spread news of my first trial as Underqueen. If they went away dissatisfied, the syndicate would soon rally against my verdict.

  ‘Ognena Maria deems her honest,’ I said, ‘and I see no reason why the accused would continue to have loyalty to the Rag and Bone Man – but there is a risk. She’ll remain under house arrest at one of our buildings, or in the company of a commander, for the next three months, at the very least.’

  The commanders seemed placated, if disgruntled, but the observers still clamoured for a harsher judgement. Ivy, who looked close to passing out, recovered enough to give me a small nod.

  ‘The trial is over.’ The Pearl Queen banged down her gavel. ‘Divya Jacob, the æther absolves you!’

  A roar of outrage went up. Glym sliced the ribbon that bound Ivy to the brazier. As it fell, Wynn hurried down from the stage, enveloped Ivy in her arms, and guided her away from the bellowing in the gallery.

  She had the right idea. Best to lie low while things cooled off. I was about to get up when a newcomer strode from the sidelines, ending the commotion.

  I recognised that easy gait, the heeled leather boots, the hooded cloak of forest-green silk. This could only be Jack Hickathrift, the new mime-lord of III-1, who was usually shadowed by a doting admirer or ten. He had taken over from the Bully-Rook after the scrimmage. Maria clicked her fingers to get my attention and pointed to herself.

  Jack Hickathrift bowed low. ‘My queen.’ His voice was soft and honey-smooth. ‘With your permission.’

  ‘Please,’ I said.

  He lifted an elegant hand and lowered his hood, revealing a smooth, chiselled face, white as milk. Thick dark-red hair coiled over one eye. The visible one was clear hazel, more amber than green, framed by long lashes. He smiled at the gallery.

  ‘Thank you, Underqueen. I saw you for the first time at the scrimmage, knowing you only by reputation before it,’ he said. ‘I thought I would be struck down by your beauty.’

  My face must have said it all. Nobody had commented on my beauty in my life, least of all in such a public setting.

  ‘You were struck down, if I recall correctly,’ I said, almost without thinking, ‘though I doubt my beauty was to blame.’

  Laughter echoed through the music hall. Jack Hickathrift grinned, showing that his perfect teeth had survived the scrimmage intact. He carried an array of bruises from the fray, like all the survivors, and it was common knowledge that he was now missing his left thumb.

  ‘Jack, you scoundrel,’ Maria said, in mock outrage. ‘Are you trying to seduce your way into the Underqueen’s good graces?’

  ‘I would never do such a thing, Maria.’ He placed a hand over his heart. ‘I’m far too in love with you.’

  ‘I should think so, too.’

  Wolf-whistles rang from the gallery. I sat up straighter and threw on a coolly amused expression.

  ‘Tell me, Jack,’ I said, ‘did you open your meetings with Haymarket Hector in this manner?’

  ‘I might have done,’ he shot back, unperturbed, ‘had Hector been as exquisitely lovely as you, my queen.’

  He had caught me by surprise at first, but now I relaxed into my chair, trying not to smile at his cheek. This was nothing but a performance, a power play. ‘For the sake of your ego, I’ll allow you to believe your flattery has worked,’ I said in a jaded tone. ‘What do you want?’

  More laughter. Jack winked.

  ‘I have come here to declare myself before any other can,’ he said. ‘I wish to rule I-4.’

  ‘You already rule a section.’

  ‘I have greater ambitions.’

  ‘And what makes you think you can control such a key territory?’

  ‘I survived the scrimmage in one piece. That should prove my strength. I ran III-1 for six years while the Bully-Rook soaked himself in drink and debauchery.’ He dropped on to one knee. ‘I will be devoted to you, Underqueen, and to your cause. I slew the Knife-Grinder in the Rose Ring to stop him striking you, knowing you would make us a good leader.’

  He had done that. I didn’t believe for a moment that it had been to protect me, but he also hadn’t attempted to fight me – not even when his mime-lord had been out for my blood.

  ‘Let me prove myself to you,’ Jack said. ‘Let me bring I-4 under control.’

  I looked to my commanders. Maria nodded vigorously, Tom gave me a thumbs-up and a grin, while the others appeared ambivalent, which I took to mean they had no serious objections. I would be left with the problem of who would rule the section he left behind, but I-4 needed a leader far more.

  ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Jack Hickathrift, I declare you mime-lord of I Cohort, Section 4, there to reign unchallenged for as long as the æther allows.’ Applause thundered from the gallery. ‘Who is your chosen mollisher?’

  ‘I might have to get back to you on that front, my queen. Not that I haven’t considered it,’ he added, ‘but I have, ah, a few options to contemplate.’

  ‘Hm.’ I arched an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure you have.’

  Jack went straight to I-4 to assess how it had changed since Jaxon had left. At my behest, he promised to give Zeke and Nadine an ultimatum: relocate to a Mime Order safe house and join us, or fend for themselves. Either way, they had to leave I-4. I had delayed the inevitable for too long.

  Several of my commanders had eyed me with displeasure as I stepped down from the stage. Over the last few weeks, I had learned that the Pearl Queen and Glym had the toughest approaches, and the utmost respect for tradition. Tom had a softer heart than he let on. Maria was fairly unpredictable, while Minty tended to do whatever she thought would cause the least offence. Wynn tried to protect the vulnerable.

  Usually, they produced a good mix of views, but only Wynn, out of all of them, had shown real approval of my verdict on Ivy. She had taken my hands and promised that my kindness would not go unnoticed.

  Elsewhere, kindness was not seen as an admirable quality. News would be spreading through the syndicate now, warning my voyants that their Underqueen was weak.

  It couldn’t be helped. Ivy had been through too much for one lifetime.

  Back at the hideout, Nick set about making supper while I tended to my injuries from the scrimmage. The slash along my side was itching as it healed, driving me spare. It blazed from underarm to hip in a trail of pink and red. A token from my old mentor. Warden had far deeper scars, his punishment for betraying the Sargas – punishment he would never have received if not for Jaxon. I had never seen them, but I had felt the wales of scar tissue that laddered his back. Jaxon Hall had left his mark on all our lives.

  One day soon, he would pay for it.

  I faced the mirror and sluiced the greasepaint off. Beneath it, my dark lips looked bruised, and my eyes were steeped in shadow. Weeks of living on broth and coffee had urged my bones against my skin.

  This was not a leader’s face.

  As I turned, something glinted in the mirror. I touched a finger to the necklace I wore, the one Warden had given me, with the pendant shaped like wings. It had saved my life after the scrimmage.

  Downstairs, Nick was at th
e wood-burning stove, stirring whatever was steaming in the pan, and Eliza was head down over a piece of paper. As soon as I entered, she looked up.

  ‘You,’ she said darkly, ‘are one lucky woman.’

  ‘Yes, I often reflect on how very lucky I am. Lucky enough to be detained by Scion and taken to a prison city for half a year. Let’s bottle my good luck and sell it. We’ll make a killing.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘Jack bloody Hickathrift flirted with you, and you’re not even a tiny bit hot and bothered. Do you know how long I’ve been in love with that man?’

  I sat down. ‘You’re welcome to offer yourself as his mollisher, but I think you’ll have to queue.’

  ‘No, thank you. I’d want to be his one and only lover,’ she purred.

  I raised a faint smile at that, but it faded when I saw what she was working on. A list, she told me, of everywhere the new Senshield had been reported as being used. Cash machines, phone boxes, Scion taxis, and the doorways to oxygen bars, hospitals, schools, supermarkets and homeless shelters had all been reported as potential death-traps. No voyant could go about the citadel for long without encountering something on that list.

  Nick handed us each a mug of tea and a bowl of barley soup. The wan light from the oil lamp made his face look pinched.

  ‘There’s discontent in the syndicate, Paige,’ he said. ‘They’re not pleased with the outcome of the trial.’

  Surprise, surprise. ‘Hector gave them a taste for bloodshed,’ I said, ‘but they don’t have a right to it. Ivy needs protection, not more punishment.’

  ‘I’m glad you weren’t hard on her. I’m just warning you that some of your voyants aren’t.’

  ‘Well, if they could handle Hector’s decisions, and heaven knows they were piss-poor, then they can handle mine.’

  ‘Your piss-poor decisions?’

  I gave him a look. He smiled a little, the first genuine smile I had seen from him in days.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You’re not funny. When’s Dani back from her shift?’

  ‘About one,’ Eliza said.

  I checked my watch. Half past eleven. The chances that Danica had been able to find anything out were minuscule, but she was the only one of us on the inside; and if anyone had the willpower to find out where the power source of Senshield was, it was Danica Panić.

  ‘Errai spoke to me after the trial,’ Nick said. ‘He said that Terebell wants to see you tonight – at midnight. I’ll go with you.’

  ‘Great. I can’t wait to be belittled for an hour.’ Among other things, I would have to ask Terebell for money. ‘Do you have the accounts?’

  Eliza unearthed the ledger and pushed it across the table. I scanned our streams of income. More like trickles, except for Terebell’s lump sums and syndicate tax. The only reason Hector had been effortlessly rich, I imagined, was because the grey market had raked in so much extra income.

  I closed the ledger. ‘Let’s make ourselves presentable. Eliza, can you check that the Unnatural Assembly have all handed over their taxes on the syndicate rent?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Terebell wanted to meet us at an abandoned building in Wapping. One of our local moto drivers picked us up from the corner of the street. We didn’t get far before the screens across the citadel came to life; an announcement from our glorious Inquisitor was imminent. I called for the driver to stop, and the moto swerved to the side of the road. Across the river, Frank Weaver appeared on the transmission screens.

  ‘Denizens of the citadel, this is your Inquisitor,’ he said. ‘For security reasons, due to a threat that cannot be discussed at this time, a curfew will be imposed in the capital from eight P.M. to five A.M., effective immediately. Scion employees on night duty are exempt, but must be in uniform and in possession of ID when they travel. We ask you to trust that this extraordinary measure has been put in place for your protection, and we thank you for your co-operation. There is no safer place than Scion.’

  He vanished, replaced by the anchor on a white background. All I could hear was my breath inside the helmet.

  ‘We’re going back,’ Nick said. ‘Now.’

  As the moto drove away, I could see people on the streets pointing at the screens, anger etched on to their faces, but they gradually began to trickle back to their homes.

  Our driver returned us to the docklands. My mind whirred like an overworked machine, drilling out every potential consequence of this announcement. Coupled with the hidden scanners, a curfew could do a lot of damage to the Mime Order’s ability to function.

  Eliza looked up from the taxes as we burst in.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Official curfew,’ I said. ‘Eight to five.’

  ‘Oh, no. They can’t have—’ She bolted the window. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be with the Ranthen?’

  ‘It’ll have to wait.’

  We set about locking down the building, with Nick doing the final check. Once he had secured the doors, he joined us at the table, where the enormity of the setback kept us all silent, lost in our own thoughts.

  As we sat there, I tried to devise ways we could work around a curfew. It would be especially difficult if Jaxon was advising Scion on our movements. He was aware of most secret routes, at least in the central cohort. I could send out scouts to seek new tunnels, paths he had never found, but there wouldn’t be many. His knowledge of London, built up over decades, was far greater than mine.

  The best way to get about would be through tunnels under the citadel, but the mudlarks and toshers would stop us from going too far underground. They were homeless Londoners, mostly amaurotic, who made their living by scouring the lost rivers, drains and sewers of the citadel for trinkets and artefacts to sell. They claimed most of the tunnels under London as their territory, treating the manholes on the streets as their doors, and there was an unspoken agreement that it was their realm. No syndies would venture down there.

  Someone or something hammered on the front door. We snapped to our feet, spools quavering around us.

  ‘Vigiles.’ Nick was already moving. ‘We can—’

  ‘Wait,’ I said.

  Two more crashes. Those weren’t human dreamscapes outside. Slowly, I released my clutch of spirits.

  ‘No. It’s the Ranthen.’

  Nick swore.

  I stepped across the hallway and cracked the door open, leaving it on its chain. Chartreuse eyes flashed – just before the chain tore away from the frame, and the door was flung wide.

  The impact caught me hard in the shoulder. I had barely absorbed it before a gloved hand seized the front of my jacket and pinned me against a wall, making Eliza and Nick shout out in protest. For the first time since the scrimmage, my spirit snapped out like an elastic band – only to ping off an armoured dreamscape and slam back into my body. Red-hot pain streaked up one side of my face and burrowed deep into my temple.

  ‘I see now,’ Terebell Sheratan said, ‘that you were a poor investment, dreamwalker.’

  Several of the Ranthen followed her into the hallway. Nick pointed his pistol at her hand. ‘Let go of her. Now.’

  The ache was swelling uncontrollably. I tried not to let it show, but my eyes watered.

  ‘If you were a Rephaite, I might excuse your lack of punctuality, but you are mortal,’ Terebell said. I made myself look her in the face. ‘Every second chips away at your lifeline. Do not try to convince me that you cannot tell the time.’

  ‘There’s a curfew,’ Nick said. ‘In effect as of tonight. We had to turn back.’

  ‘It does not supersede your duty to meet me.’

  ‘You’re being unreasonable, Terebell.’

  ‘Rich words for a human,’ Pleione said. ‘Your species is the very definition of unreasonable.’

  A storm of black flecks crossed my vision. As the iron grip tightened enough to leave bruises, I saw Warden come through the door. He hadn’t observed the scene for more than a second before the light in his eyes ignited, and he barke
d at Terebell in Gloss. She threw me, like I was nothing but a sack of flour, towards Nick, who caught me by the arms.

  ‘How dare you?’ Eliza said hotly. ‘Don’t you think she took enough punishment in the Rose Ring?’

  ‘You will not speak to the sovereign-elect in that manner,’ Pleione said.

  Eliza bristled. I pressed my hands to my forehead, willing the pain to disappear.

  ‘Paige,’ Nick murmured. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Do not affect illness,’ Errai sneered.

  ‘Please, Errai, just give it a rest,’ I forced out.

  ‘What did you say to me, human?’

  ‘Stop, all of you,’ Warden said curtly. ‘This is not the time for petty disagreements. The curfew, along with Senshield, will seriously restrict syndicate activity if we cannot produce a solution.’ He closed the door. ‘The Mime Order is a union of both Ranthen and syndicate. We pose a far greater threat to them together than divided. If you cannot see that, then you are all fools.’

  There was a tense silence. Every hair on my arms stood on end; I had never heard Warden speak with so much authority in the presence of the other Ranthen. Nick lowered his gun.

  ‘If everyone’s cooled off,’ I said, ‘perhaps we could begin the meeting.’

  Terebell swept into the parlour, shadowed by the Ranthen. ‘Bring wine, dreamwalker.’

  A flush crept into my face.

  ‘Paige, I’ll get it,’ Nick said, but I was already heading for the kitchen.

  She wanted a reaction; I wasn’t going to give her the pleasure. I reached under the sink and plucked out one of the bottles she had left with us for safekeeping. I filled five glasses, sloshing red wine all over the counter, and took a few gulps from the bottle.

  The alcohol scorched down my throat. In the hallway, Nick lurked like a security guard outside the parlour door. As we made to go in, Lucida Sargas barred our way.

  ‘Alone,’ she said.

  Nick frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘The sovereign-elect wishes to speak to the Underqueen alone.’

  Eliza squared up to her. No easy feat, as she was a foot shorter. ‘We’re Paige’s mollishers. What she needs to know, we need to know.’