Law of the Wolf Tower Page 4

  “Then there is you. You’ve had a deathly life here, Claidi, and what can you hope for or ever look forward to? Beatings, nastiness, endless uninteresting work. Perhaps a marriage with some suitably obedient servant, if even that’s allowed. You too, my girl, ought to be let out of your cage.” I hadn’t followed it all, not properly. My heart followed though, in rattling leaps.

  Was she saying what my heart thought she was?

  “You see, Claidi, you’re reckless enough, and young enough, and bothered enough. If I gave you the means to let Nemian out of the Pavilion and spirit him away from the House and the Garden, and into the hellish Waste… which is the world… would you?”

  Yes, heart, you hit the bull’s-eye.

  She said, “The Waste is more than we know. And you’ve said yourself Nemian is a lord. He comes from somewhere just as grand, grander, no doubt, than here. And he would take care of you.” Before I could think it through, I cried, “Why would he? I’m only—”

  “Only what? Only a lady’s maid?”

  I withered at her words. The truth of them made them less swallowable even than the food. Maid—I was a slave.

  Princess Jizania Tiger half turned and held out her wrist for the indigo bird to soar down to, weightless as muslin. As it perched there, she fed it peaches, which it tucked daintily into its beak.

  “Claidi,” said Jizania Tiger, “you recall that your parents were driven out in the first year of your life?”

  “Y—yes.”

  “They profaned a Ritual. A most serious one.”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t know what it was? No one has told you?”

  I shook my head. The bird scanned me and shook its head too, copying.

  But then Jizania Tiger told me that the first profanation had been that my mother was a princess of the House, and my father her steward, and that the second profanation was me— the fact that I was born, because no one is allowed to be born here save when permission has been granted, and n e v e r of mixed rank.

  “They saw fit not to exile an innocent baby,” said Jizania Tiger. “Instead they condemned you to a life of harsh service to the House. And Shimra, who was your mothers friend—a false one, evidently—gave you to her atrocious daughter, a human boil that someone should burst. These things I saw, but I’ve said how old and lazy I am, haven’t I? Besides, until now there’s been no way out. I must add: Nemian knows, since I’ve told him, that you are royal.”

  “Did he believe you?” I croaked.

  “Do you?” Do I? I don’t know.

  All I know is, she gave me every key I shall need to free him (she has, she said, a key to each lock of the House and Garden). And she’s told me how to do everything, and where to go, and that it’s my choice, all this. That I needn’t. But then, the Waste has flowers in it, and Nemian’s own house, whatever that is, is there, and also my parents, just possibly somewhere, if they survived. My courageous parents who fell in love and dared let their love make me.

  It’s all tumbling through me. Not just love—I feel I’m made of racing water and drums, and fired up by lightning.

  And you’ll have known all the time that I’ll do it. I’ll free him and go with him. Take the risk. Out there.

  Wouldn’t you?

  THE ESCAPE

  By moonlight, the Garden looked heavenly—I mean like heaven, whatever that is; we never had it properly explained. But obviously, a lovely and special place. I felt a moment of terror. This was what I knew, good or bad.

  She’d said I was reckless. I didn’t feel it, just then. I wanted to creep back to the room in the Maids’

  Hall and say Jizania had only just sent me away. Dengwi and Pattoo had the night duty with Jade Leaf, so even she couldn’t complain. She couldn’t anyway. The Old Ladies were so powerful.

  Jizania had told me she would say she had kept me in her apartment to serve tea—she only ever had

  “teas,” never breakfasts or dinners. Then she’d dozed off—“Naturally, old women always doze off,” said Jizania with a tigers smile. I had then stolen all the keys and run away.

  She would have to say that. They would think her careless and a fool, but clear of the crime of setting Nemian Free.

  She had added, though, that the next day, tomorrow, if there was no uproar—that is, if he hadn’t escaped because I hadn’t let him out—she would say nothing at all.

  But I could picture what she’d think of me—Claidi the cowardly spineless creep.

  Looking back on this now—I mean now it’s too late, since I did do it and there’s no going back—my nerves seem pointless.

  Let me describe how the Garden looked though. I want to put it down, because I’ll never see it again, will I? And the joke is: it was partly mine if what Jizania said about my mother was true.

  The trees rested like soft, dark blue clouds and tapering, pale, dark towers, asleep. The lawns were like grey velvet. Black shadows tabled across. Here and there, a rim of silver, moon on water. One fountain I could see ceaselessly curving over and over, a stream of liquid spangles…

  Somewhere a bird sang a brief little silvery song. They often do on warm nights. And from the river a hippo grunted.

  Then a lion roared. They didn’t mean anything by it, roaring. Just exercising their lungs. But loud.

  Above, all the stars. Would they be different over the Waste?

  Perhaps it wasn’t really fear I felt. Perhaps leaving this place that I hated—which had been so boring and vicious and frankly dangerous for me—I was sad, after all.

  When I’d left Jizania, I’d hidden, as you know, and written in this book. I already had all the keys and the wine for the Guards at the Pavilion and some things Jizania had told me to get from the Maids’ Hall.

  These included my strongest shoes, which I put on. I’d put everything else in a little bread sack from the kitchens. (Another theft. Several actually. I was even stealing Nemian from them, in a way.) She’d said I should start at midnight. The clock high up on the House sang out its thin strokes, the only hour it sounds anymore.

  I came down to the Garden and went along toward the Pavilion of Black Marble, approaching from the Upper Shrubberies.

  (Jizania had said that it wouldn’t do for me to go straight down from her rooms, the way we had earlier. I thought she was sensibly not involving herself any further. But now I wonder if she gave me a last chance to look around, to feel my nerves and my strange regret, to be sure.) Then, as I was walking through the hibiscus shrubs, I met a lion.

  We both stopped and gaped at each other. It seemed as surprised as I was.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. It was a lion. Of course, I’d seen them out before, but on leashes. Anyway, this one was perfectly friendly, or should I say indifferent. It shook its head and padded by, creamy in moonlight, and smelling of the white hibiscus flowers.

  When I’d gone on a bit further, though, I looked over from a break in the bushes, and on the Vine Terraces that run down there, lamped by the moon, two other lions (lionesses) were playing together, rolling over and crushing the vines and the fat grapes, so the air reeked of juice.

  On the night Nemian was to escape, the lions had also escaped. If necessary, this would make a splendid diversion.

  A coincidence? No, I thought not. Jizania had sent someone else on another errand… Hadn’t she said she had keys to each lock in the House and Garden?—that would include the lions’ enclosure.

  Doubtless this feat would also be blamed on Claidi. It occurred to me that my name might live on in history here!

  Then I could see the wall of the courtyard and the Pavilion cupola over the top.

  Well, I felt sick. But somehow I kept walking and found I’d knocked on the door in the wall. So there was no time to throw up.

  One of the Guards spoke harshly through the door.

  “Yes? What do you want?”

  “To bring you wine, respected Guard.”

  “Oh. Wine, eh.”

  Someone sounde
d pleased now. Then another one said, “Who sent it?”

  “Her Oldness, Princess Jizania.”

  The door was opened, and I pattered through, looking suitably timid and modest.

  There were five of them, sitting on benches under a lantern on a pole. They’d been playing cards. Behind them the Pavilion bulked, not a light showing.

  I gave them the two large wine bottles and handed them the two kitchen cups, all I could carry. They didn’t seem worried. One of them took a handy undoing-thing out of a pouch and uncorked the bottles.

  They passed them around, taking huge sloshing gulps, which was glorious. Jizania had drugged both bottles, I’d seen her do it, inserting a long needle through the corks and letting in some herbal stuff, drip by patient drip.

  It didn’t work instantly, unfortunately.

  “What’s in that bundle?”

  “Some things the princess sent for the prisoner.”

  “What things? What does he want with things? We’ll be stringing him up tomorrow, hopefully.”

  “Or we’ll behead him,” added a particularly jolly one. “Off with that goldy head.”

  “Too right, Jovis.”

  “Too goldy,” Jovis agreed with himself thoughtfully.

  I remembered it was his cannon that had brought down the balloon.

  “Here,” said Jovis to me, “come and sit on my knee, girlie.”

  “No, thank you,” I replied politely.

  They all laughed, and one kindly explained, “No, he’s not asking you, he’s telling you.” This sort of thing had happened now and then. I looked coy and half smiled at Jovis the shooter and would-be beheader.

  “I’d like to, respected Guard, but I have to get back to my lady. You know how it is.”

  “She wont miss you yet.”

  I fluttered sweetly, then said, ‘I’ll just go over and give the horrible prisoner these things she sent him.

  Then, well, maybe… just for a minute. I mean, I’ve always admired the Guards.“

  “Yes,” said Jovis, “all you girls like us Guards.” Pathetic, really—he believed this.

  But the wine was strong, and they were still gargling it down. They were getting extra stupid, having had a head start anyway.

  They waved me off to the Pavilion, Jovis promising me how nice it would be when I got back to him.

  As I reached the Pavilion, a lion roared—right outside the wall, it sounded like.

  The Guards chortled. “Lions re noisy’t‘night.” And one of them slumped forward and rolled off the bench. The other four looked at him, and it was good old Jovis who declared,

  “Carn’old’s‘wine.”

  I turned my back, more confident now, and called softly between the bars of Nemian’s cage. I used his name. The first time I had.

  At first, no answer. And behind me the Guards still toasting one another, not yet out cold.

  Then Nemian spoke to me from the center of the dark.

  “Claidissa?”

  My heart jumped. My heart has no sense, really.

  I coughed, recovered myself, and said, “Princess Jizania sent me.”

  “Claidissa,” said Nemian again.

  So I said fiercely, “Call me Claidi, please.” Because I couldn’t stand it. All this, and him, and this new name of mine.

  There was a clatter and bumping sound. I glanced back. At last.

  Nemian was suddenly right in front of me, up against the bars.

  “God,” said Nemian (another new name—some exclamation they use in the Waste?), “she did it, she drugged them. Its real then. You’re going to get me out. She told me you would. Clever Claidi.” So I undid the lock, and the bars unfolded, and Nemian stepped out into the moonlit, lion-roaring night.

  The Guards were in an unappealing heap. Jovis had his mouth wide open and was dribbling and snoring charmingly. Just what you’d expect of him.

  “There are lions outside.”

  “Oh, good,” said Nemian.

  “They’re very tame.” I hoped.

  ==========

  It wasn’t far, in any case. And we saw no more lions, only met a small lumbering badger. (I have a sort of feeling the lions just trotted about for a while, messed the Garden up a bit, and then rambled back into the enclosure.)

  I said before that under the Garden were systems of tunnels—where the heating mechanisms were located—tended by slaves. (I said, too, the slaves have a rotten time, worse than I’d ever had.) Jizania had told me how to get down into these tunnels, and how it was simple to go through if you only took the right-hand turning every time. Traveling like that, from the entry we’d use, we would finally come out beyond the walls!

  Thinking back again, I have to say I had no qualms about using these tunnels. Crazy. But it just seemed nothing could stop me—us.

  Nemian didn’t question me either. Jizania must have told him all the plan, before she put it to me. And he must have sat there in the Pavilion cage wondering and wondering if I’d have the courage to arrive.

  The way in was at a carefully overgrown rocky hill, with trees leaning at the top. I found the door in the ivy, unlocked it (I suppose Jizania must have copies of all these keys), and went in. Then I lit the first kitchen candle from my bread sack and put the glass bulb over the top to keep it steady.

  Nemian closed the door behind us.

  “Its every right-hand turn,” I said.

  “I know,” he said.

  “And she said that if we pass any of the slaves, take no notice.”

  “Well would I,” said Nemian, “of slaves.”

  Somehow that was disturbing, that he said this. I should have expected it. It meant, presumably, that princely Hermans home-place also has slaves, servants, maids—and they don’t count for much. Jizania had been very definite in giving him my “proper” name. “I’ve told him you are royal,” she’d said.

  But I couldn’t think about that at such a moment, could I?

  The tunnels were narrow, dark, and damp in spots, with water trickling down. Here and there they’d been shored up with planks. Here and there too, bricks had fallen out. Not organized picturesque decay, just age and neglect.

  After a while we did pass a kind of room, where a vast black furnace stood like a nightmare beast. It wasn’t going because the recent months have been warm.

  Later there was another, and a few little holes in the tunnel sides, and once two slaves were there, but they were fast asleep.

  In another area, a fox had gotten in and made a den. I saw her eyes glow as she glared at us in the candles light. Bones, too.

  After I’d lit the second candle, I began to feel exhausted. I was tired of being in the tunnels. And Nemian treading behind me—once or twice banging his golden head on low rafters or slabs of stone, and cursing—made me more edgy than excited now.

  Then I heard the river. Jizania had said I would.

  I looked down the passage for the last door the princess had given me a key to.

  But when we reached it, the lock was rusty. When I tried to work the key, I couldn’t, couldn’t.

  “Let me do it,” he said. His voice was impatient. This managed to make me feel unintelligent and weak and exasperated altogether.

  But he was flying for his life, after all. He’d been offhand about slaves probably for the same reason?

  I stood aside, and Nemian, instead of undoing the door as I’d tried to, threw himself against it.

  I was quite shocked when it gave way.

  It was an old door, rusty and rotted, and outside was the world.

  He walked straight out. I… followed him.

  “But,” I said stupidly, “the door—”

  “No one comes here,” he said.

  “But something might get in” I said, “from—out there.”

  “We” he said reasonably, “are out there.”

  We were.

  And in the dark, for the moon was gone, there looked no different from the Garden.

  The river ran, wide
and muscular and dully shining, with tall reeds like iron railings. Rocks piled around us, a lot of them about the door, hiding it quite well, which was lucky since he’d broken it open.

  (They’ll realize and go and mend the door. The Guards will keep a lookout until its safe.) I stared back, and away along the river. I saw the fortressed high walls of the Garden, black on blue-black sky.

  Never before had I been this side of them.

  My companion had sat down. He said, easily, lightly, “Did you bring anything to eat, Claidi?” Flustered, I produced the snacks Jizania suggested I filch from the Maids’ Hall kitchens and set them before Nemian. He didn’t seem greatly impressed, but he ate them.

  Then he lay back on the ground, and I realized he was going to sleep again.

  All this time, I’d thought perhaps going to sleep in front of us all in the Debating Hall had been an act, a sort of ploy to seem harmless. But now I think he really can just go to sleep at will, and he does.

  He’s asleep now. I put out the candle because I was nervous about being spotted—from the walls…from the Waste. But it doesn’t look like the Waste here.

  I watched him a while, but that seemed rude. He is very handsome. And—a stranger.

  In the end I lit the candle again, what was left of it, and wrote this. I’m bewildered, really. I don’t know where I am. Literally. Also, he looks wonderful, but I don’t know him at all. Its all unknown. And the future. Even myself, now.

  HELL?

  Next day, I saw the Waste. That was simple enough. The sun rose in front of me, red-orange, hitting my eyes and the rocks behind me. The river burned red. Some birds were calling, in a harsh different way.

  Nemian was still sleeping, like an enchanted prince in one of the library books of the House.

  Stiff and chilled, I got up and walked toward the river, and in a little while I walked along beside it, until the land curved upward to the sun.

  As I climbed this slope, I saw a shimmer on the air below the suns disk. And when I got to the hill’s top, I realized the shimmer to be other hills, far off. They were a parched whitish color. To my right the river coiled away through the hillside and vanished—was gone. Just a steaminess left behind.