Reaper's Gale

  As with Letheras, so with empire.

  Rautos Hivanar set out, to walk a dying city.

  Five men meaning no good were camped out in the old Tarthenal cemetery. Frowning, Ublala Pung strode out of the darkness and into their midst. His fists flew. A few moments later he was standing amidst five motionless bodies. He picked up the first one and carried it to the pit left behind by a huge fallen tree, threw it in the sodden hole. Then went back for the others.

  A short time later he stamped out the small fire and began clearing a space, pulling grass, tossing stones. He went down on his knees to tug loose the smaller weeds, and slowly crawled in an expanding spiral.

  Overhead, the hazy moon was still on the rise, and somewhere to the north buildings burned. He needed to be done by dawn. The ground cleared, a wide, circular space of nothing but bared earth. It could be lumpy. That was all right, and it was good that it was all right since cemeteries were lumpy places.

  Hearing a moan from the hole where the tree had been, Ublala rose, brushed the dirt from his knees and then his hands, and walked over. Edging down into the pit, he stared at the grey forms until he figured out which one was coming round. Then he crouched and punched the man in the head a few more times, until the moaning stopped. Satisfied, he returned to his clearing.

  By dawn, yes.

  Because at dawn, Ublala Pung knew, the Emperor would lift his cursed sword, and standing across from him, on that arena floor, would be Karsa Orlong.

  In a secret chamber – what had once been a tomb of some kind – Ormly, the Champion Rat Catcher, sat down opposite an enormously fat woman. He scowled. ‘You don’t need that down here, Rucket.’

  ‘True,’ she replied, ‘but I’ve grown used to it. You would not believe the power being huge engenders. The intimidation. You know, when things finally get better and there’s plenty of food to be had again, I’m thinking of doing this for real.’

  ‘But that’s just my point,’ Ormly replied, leaning forward. ‘It’s all padding and padding don’t weigh anything like the real thing. You’ll get tired walking across a room. Your knees will hurt. Your breaths will get shorter because the lungs can’t expand enough. You’ll get stretch marks even though you’ve never had a baby—’

  ‘So if I get pregnant too then it’ll be all right?’

  ‘Except for all that other stuff, why yes, I suppose it would. Not that anybody could tell.’

  ‘Ormly, you are a complete idiot.’

  ‘But good at my job.’

  To that, Rucket nodded. ‘And so? How did it go?’

  Ormly squinted across at her, then scratched his stubbly jaw. ‘It’s a problem.’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘Serious.’

  ‘How serious?’

  ‘About as serious as it can get.’

  ‘Hmmm. No word from Selush?’

  ‘Not yet. And you’re right, we’ll have to wait for that.’

  ‘But our people are in the right place, yes? No trouble with all the riots and such?’

  ‘We’re good on that count, Rucket. Hardly popular sites, are they?’

  ‘So has there been any change in the time of execution?’

  Ormly shrugged. ‘We’ll see come dawn, assuming any criers are still working. I sure hope not, Rucket. Even as it is, we may fail. You do know that, don’t you?’

  She sighed. ‘That would be tragic. No, heartbreaking.’

  ‘You actually love him?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Hard not to, really. I’d have competition, though.’

  ‘That scholar? Well, unless they’re in the same cell, I don’t think you need worry.’

  ‘Like I said, you’re an idiot. Of course I’m worrying, but not about competition. I’m worried for him. I’m worried for her. I’m worried that all this will go wrong and Karos Invictad will have his triumph. We’re running out of time.’

  Ormly nodded.

  ‘So, do you have any good news?’ she asked.

  ‘Not sure if it’s good but it’s interesting.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ublala Pung’s gone insane.’

  Rucket shook her head. ‘Not possible. He hasn’t enough brains to go insane.’

  ‘Well, he beat up five scribers hiding out from the riots in the Tarthenal cemetery, and now he’s crawling around on his hands and knees and pinching weeds.’

  ‘So what’s all that about?’

  ‘No idea, Rucket.’

  ‘He’s gone insane.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied.

  They sat in silence for a time, then Rucket said, ‘Maybe I’ll just keep the padding. That way I can have it without all the costs.’

  ‘Is it real padding?’

  ‘Illusions and some real stuff, kind of a patchwork thing.’

  ‘And you think he’ll fall in love with you looking like that? I mean, compared to Janath who’s probably getting skinnier by the moment which, as you know, some men like since it makes their women look like children or some other ghastly secret truth nobody ever admits out loud—’

  ‘He’s not one of those.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Well, I suppose you would know.’

  ‘I would,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, what you’re talking about is making me feel kind of ill.’

  ‘Manly truths will do that,’ Ormly said.

  They sat. They waited.

  Ursto Hoobutt and his wife and sometime lover Pinosel clambered onto the muddy bank. In Ursto’s gnarled hands was a huge clay jug. They paused to study the frozen pond that had once been Settle Lake, the ice gleaming in the diffuse moonlight.

  ‘It’s melting, Cherrytart,’ he said.

  ‘Well you’re just getting smarter day by day, dearie. We knowed it was melting. We knowed that a long time coming. We knowed it sober and we knowed it drunk.’ She lifted her hamper. ‘Now, we looking at a late supper or are we looking at an early breakfast?’

  ‘Let’s stretch it out and make it both.’

  ‘Can’t make it both. One or the other and if we stretch it out it’ll be neither so make up your mind.’

  ‘What’s got you so touchy, love?’

  ‘It’s melting, dammit, and that means ants at the picnic.’

  ‘We knew it was coming—’

  ‘So what? Ants is ants.’

  They settled down onto the bank, waving at mosquitoes. Ursto unstoppered the jug as Pinosel unwrapped the hamper. He reached for a tidbit and she slapped his hand away. He offered her the jug and she scowled, then accepted it. With her hands full, he snatched the tidbit then leaned back, content as he popped the morsel into his mouth.

  Then gagged. ‘Errant’s ear, what is this?’

  ‘That was a clay ball, love. For the scribing. And now, we’re going to have to dig us up some more. Or, you are, since it was you who ate the one we had.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t all bad, really. Here, give me that jug so’s I can wash it down.’

  A pleasant evening, Ursto reflected somewhat blearily, to just sit and watch a pond melt.

  At least until the giant demon trapped in the ice broke loose. At that disquieting thought, he shot his wife and sometime lover a glance, remembering the day long ago when they’d been sitting here, all peaceful and the like, and she’d been on at him to get married and he’d said – oh well, he’d said it and now here they were and that might’ve been the Errant’s nudge but he didn’t think so.

  No matter what the Errant thought.

  ‘I seen that nostalgic look in your eyes, hubby-bubby. What say we have a baby?’

  Ursto choked a second time, but on nothing so prosaic as a ball of clay.

  The central compound of the Patriotists, the Lether Empire’s knotted core of fear and intimidation, was under siege. Periodically, mobs heaved against the walls, rocks and jugs of oil with burning rag wicks sailing over to crash down in the compound. Flames had taken the stables and four othe
r outbuildings three nights past, and the terrible sound of screaming horses had filled the smoky air. It had been all the trapped Patriotists could do to keep the main block from catching fire.

  Twice the main gate had been breached, and a dozen agents had died pushing the frenzied citizens back. Now an enormous barricade of rubble, charred beams and furniture blocked the passage. Through the stench and sooty puddles of the compound, figures walked, armoured as soldiers might be and awkward in the heavy gear. Few spoke, few met the eyes of others, in dread of seeing revealed the haunted, stunned disbelief that resided in their own souls.

  The world did not work like this. The people could always be cowed, the ringleaders isolated and betrayed with a purse of coin or, failing that, quietly removed. But the agents could not set out into the streets to twist the dark deals. There were watchers, and gangs of thugs nearby who delighted in beating hapless agents to death, then flinging their heads back over the wall. And whatever operatives remained at large in the city had ceased all efforts at communicating – either had gone into hiding or were dead.

  The vast network had been torn apart.

  If it had been simple, Tanal Yathvanar knew, if it had been as easy as negotiating the release of prisoners according to the demands of the mob, then order could be restored. But those people beyond the compound wall were not friends and relatives of the scores of scholars, intellectuals and artists still locked up in the cells below. They didn’t care a whit about the prisoners and would be just as happy to see them all burn along with the main block. So there was no noble cause to all of this. It was, he now understood, nothing but bloodlust.

  Is it any wonder we were needed? To control them. To control their baser instincts. Now look what has happened. He stood near the front door, watching the pike-wielding agents patrolling the filthy compound. A number of times, in fact, they’d heard shouted demands for Tehol Beddict. The mob wanted him for themselves. They wanted to tear him to pieces. The Grand Drowning at dusk on the morrow was not enough to appease their savage need.

  But there would be no releasing Tehol Beddict. Not as long as Karos Invictad remained in charge.

  Yet, if we gave him up, they might all calm down and go away. And we could begin again. Yes. Were I in charge, they could have Tehol Beddict, with my blessing.

  But not Janath. Oh no, she is mine. For ever now. He had been shocked to discover that she had few memories of her previous incarceration, but he had taken great pleasure in re-educating her. Ha, re-educating the teacher. I like that one. At least Karos Invictad had been generous there, giving her to him. And now she resided in a private cell, chained to a bed, and he made use of her day and night. Even when the crowds raged against the walls and agents were dying keeping them out, he would lie atop her and have his way. And she’d fast learned to say all the right things, how to beg for more, whispering her undying desire (no, he would not force her to speak of love, because that word was dead now between them. For ever dead) until those words of desire became real for her.

  The attention. The end to loneliness. She had even cried out the last time, cried out his name as her back arched and her limbs thrashed against the manacles.

  Cried out for him: Tanal Yathvanar, who even as a child had known he was destined for greatness – for was that not what they all told him, over and over again? Yes, he had found his perfect world, at last. And what had happened? The whole damned city had collapsed, threatening all he now possessed.

  All because of Karos Invictad. Because he refused to hand over Tehol Beddict and spent all his waking time staring into a small wooden box at a two-headed insect that had – hah – outwitted him in its dim, obstinate stupidity. There is a truth hidden in that, isn’t there? I’m certain of it. Karos and his two-headed insect, going round and round and round and so it will go until it dies. And when it does, the great Invigilator will go mad.

  But he now suspected he would not be able to wait for that. The mob was too hungry.

  Beyond the walls there was quiet, for the moment, but something vast and thousand-headed was seething on the other side of Creeper Canal, and would soon cross over from Far Reaches and make its way down to North Tiers. He could hear its heavy susurration, a tide in the darkness pouring down streets, gushing into and out of alleys, spreading bloody and black into avenues and lanes. He could smell its hunger in the bitter smoke.

  And it comes for us, and it will not wait. Not even for Karos Invictad, the Invigilator of the Patriotists, the wealthiest man in all the empire.

  He allowed himself a soft laugh, then he turned about and entered the main block. Down the dusty corridor, walking unmindful over crusted streaks left behind when the wounded and dying had been dragged inside. The smell of stale sweat, spilled urine and faeces – as bad as the cells below – and yes, are we not prisoners now, too? With bare scraps for food and well water fouled with ashes and blood. Trapped here with a death sentence hanging round our necks with the weight of ten thousand docks, and nothing but deep water on all sides.

  Another thought to amuse him; another thought to record in his private books.

  Up the stairs now, his boots echoing on the cut limestone, and into the corridor leading to the Invigilator’s office, Karos Invictad’s sanctum. His own private cell. No guards in the passage – Karos no longer trusted them. In fact, he no longer trusted anyone. Except me. And that will prove his greatest error.

  Reaching the door he pushed it open without knocking and stepped inside, then halted.

  The room stank, and its source was sprawled in the chair opposite the Invigilator and his desk.

  Tehol Beddict. Smeared in filth, cut and scabbed and bruised – Karos Invictad’s prohibition against such treatment was over, it seemed.

  ‘I have a guest,’ the Invigilator snapped. ‘You were not invited, Tanal Yathvanar. Furthermore, I did not hear you knock, yet another sign of your growing insolence.’

  ‘The mob will attack again,’ Tanal said, eyes flicking to Tehol. ‘Before dawn. I thought it best to inform you of our weakened defences. We have but fourteen agents remaining still able to defend us. This time, I fear, they will break through.’

  ‘Fame is murderous,’ Tehol Beddict said through split lips. ‘I hesitate in recommending it.’

  Karos Invictad continued glaring at Tanal for a moment longer, then he said, ‘In the hidden room – yes, you know of it, I’m aware, so I need not provide any more details – in the hidden room, then, Tanal, you will find a large chest filled with coins. Stacked beside it are a few hundred small cloth bags. Gather the wounded and have them fill sacks with coins. Then deliver them to the agents at the walls. They will be their weapons tonight.’

  ‘That could turn on you,’ Tehol observed, beating Tanal Yathvanar to the thought, ‘if they conclude there’s more still inside.’

  ‘They’ll be too busy fighting each other to conclude anything,’ Karos said dismissively. ‘Now, Tanal, if there is nothing else, go back to your sweet victim, who will no doubt plead desperately for your sordid attention.’

  Tanal licked his lips. Was it time? Was he ready?

  And then he saw, in the Invigilator’s eyes, an absolute awareness, chilling Tanal’s bones. He read my mind. He knows my thoughts.

  Tanal quickly saluted, then hurried from the room. How can I defeat such a man? He is ever ten steps ahead of me. Perhaps I should wait, until the troubles have passed, then make my move when he relaxes, when he feels most secure.

  He had gone to Invictad’s office to confirm that the man remained alone with his puzzle. Whereupon he had planned to head down to the cells and collect Tehol Beddict. Bound, gagged and hooded, up and out into the compound. To appease the mob, to see them away and so save his own life. Instead, the Invigilator had Tehol in his very office.

  For what? A conversation? An extended gloat? Oh, each time I think I know that man . . .

  He found an agent and quickly conveyed Invictad’s instruction, as well as directions to the once-hidden room. The
n he continued on, only faintly aware of the irony in following the Invigilator’s orders to the letter.

  Onto a lower level, down another corridor, this one thicker with dust than most of the others, barring where his own boots had scraped an eager path. To the door, where he drew a key and unlocked the latch. Stepping inside.

  ‘I knew you’d be lonely,’ he said.

  The lantern’s wick had almost burned down and he went over to the table where it sat. ‘Thirsty? I’m sure you are.’ He glanced over his shoulder and saw her watching him, saw the desire in her eyes. ‘There’s more trouble in the city, Janath. But I will protect you. I will always protect you. You are safe. You do understand that, yes? For ever safe.’

  She nodded, and he saw her spread her legs wider on the bed, then invite him with a thrust of her pelvis.

  And Tanal Yathvanar smiled. He had his perfect woman.

  Karos Invictad regarded Tehol Beddict from above steepled fingers. ‘Very close,’ he said after a time.

  Tehol, who had been staring dazedly at the puzzle box on the desk, stirred slightly then looked up with his mismatched eyes.

  ‘Very close,’ Karos repeated. ‘The measure of your intelligence, compared with mine. You are, I believe, the closest to my equal of any man I have met.’

  ‘Really? Thank you.’

  ‘I normally do not express my admiration for intelligence in others. Primarily because I am surrounded by idiots and fools—’

  ‘Even idiots and fools need supreme leaders,’ Tehol cut in, then smiled, then winced as cuts opened on his lips, then smiled more broadly than before.

  ‘Attempts at humour, alas,’ Karos said with a sigh, ‘poorly disguise the deficiencies of one’s intelligence. Perhaps that alone is what distinguishes the two of us.’

  Tehol’s smile faded and suddenly he looked dismayed. ‘You never attempt humour, Invigilator?’

  ‘The mind is capable of playing countless games, Tehol Beddict. Some are useful. Others are worthless, a waste of time. Humour is a prime example of the latter.’

  ‘Funny.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I was just thinking. Funny.’