suddenly Arhl was alone on the roof, lying in the spot where he’d been all along, staring into the clear, flickering night sky. He sat up and looked about himself wildly.
“Remis!” he whispered, speaking the name as though the sound of it would bring her to him. When nothing happened, he frowned but continued to scan the darkened city, his breathing labored in the aftermath of the visitation.
iv.
The night was clear and still. Winds gathering earlier had swept away the clouds and then gone with them into stillness. The dark firmament twitched with light-residue. Remis watched a brighter trail weave its dim pattern and spend itself as soon as formed. “Now where was Telfith’s Street?” she whispered to herself, trying to remember. She had a vague recollection that it was near the southern docks.
She headed in that direction, assuming an easy running pace. Uncharacteristically, the City was quiet and still. As she entered Than-Rewi, the main road through to the largest bridge to cross over the City-dissecting Antelon river, she found its emptiness unnerving. Her boots were noisy on the hardened surface, creating strange and sometimes distant echoes that made her feel as though she were being followed. The first time a human figure appeared ahead of her—in all likelihood a worker headed home from the inner harbor docks—his featureless presence sent fear like ice into her heart.
When the Than-Rewi thoroughfare reached the Circle, she followed its eastern branch toward the Antelon crossing. This led her past the Yucartel Chambers where Family members and their political visitors slept peacefully—no lights burned in street-facing windows and the forecourt was empty. The ornately filigreed Law Courts, too, remained silent and apparently unoccupied, except for a partially visible guard, standing in the umbra of the stone archway that defined the Courts’ main entrance. Remis approached cautiously, trying not to startle him. “May I ask you a question?” she said, unsure of the protocol.
His eyes were not visible in the shadows under his plumed headgear. “What do you want?” his low voice rumbled.
“Directions to a street called Telfith’s Mast. It’s very important.” She felt absurdly concerned to justify speaking to him.
“Telfith’s?” His left arm rose. “Continue along here till you reach a square. There’s an open grassed area in its center—with a statue…ugly thing. Some hero or other. On the other side of the square, take the road veering south-west. Telfith’s leads off this road. Look for a large mast.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He leaned closer suddenly, so she could see his eyes. They were benign. “You shouldn’t be wanderin’ about down there this time of night. It’s not safe.”
“I’ll be careful.”
He grunted, then stood upright again.
* * * *
Some time later Remis entered an old-fashioned dirt-covered street, dark brick storage buildings squatting silently along its length. Further on there were more decorative façades indicating shops and an occasional tenement, but at this time of night the street was deserted. The Mast could be seen at its far end, over Telfith’s, the shipwright.
During the visitation, she had been shown an alley, opposite a painted sign. She walked further along, peering into the few alleys that disappeared into dark shadows off the street. At last she stopped beneath an old, weathered board, on which some careful hand had written ‘Telfith’s Mast’. There was an alley opposite. She turned and gazed into the tenebrous murk of the alley’s depth, straining her eyes to see through the gloom.
She couldn’t blunder in blind. The alley was so thin the overhanging shingles of buildings on each side effectively blocked out what diffused light came from the night-sky. Thick shadows made her nervous.
Standing before the alley’s mouth, Remis made a few discreet ritualistic gestures with her hands. She began to recite the Lunist-Kan Chant for night-vision—and after a moment, as her words focused the Deep Power in her, her eyes acquired a steely aura. Darkness slipped away for her, as though sucked into the surrounding brickwork. Now she could see what appeared to be a body lying at the alley’s rear, perhaps a hundred paces from where she stood. Beyond it the alley ended abruptly at a rough stone wall.
Maintaining clear vision by the continued recitation of the Chant, Remis walked slowly down the alley, concentrating power through the channeling crystal she wore around her neck—the cerenil that had been formed over the whole period of her magical training, a solid reflection of her own advancement. It took a lot of concentration, for the Chant drained her and demanded a large proportion of her attention. To minimize the weakness she felt stealing over her, she modified the spell, though this diminished the clarity of her vision. Darkness crept over the alley again, as though a gray twilight were falling. A grainy sheen further dirtied the stones and walls.
Lines of blackness that were probably some clinging vine covered the dead end stone-block wall ahead. Glimmer showed that its base was damp, watered by drainage from the roofs. Piles of refuse were scattered all around. They stank. The loose rocks and dirt beneath her feet seemed broken and decayed.
Her legs tingling with weariness, Remis stopped a pace from the body she had already seen from the distance. It was a man, sprawled on his back and naked, limbs twisted into a caricature of some epileptic spasm. The hilt of a dagger protruded from the corpse’s chest. She was too late to help him. She glanced around nervously, fearful of spying the murderer.
But the alley was empty apart from herself. She knelt. The shadows became deeper as her will faded. Her spell muttering continued as an undercurrent, blurred further by echo from the walls.
The first thing she noticed was that there was no blood around the blade in the man’s chest and none pooling on the ground beneath him—none that her failing vision revealed anyway. Admittedly the dirt was wet, but she saw no evidence of a thicker, bloody pooling. Where his heart should have been was a large dry cavity. His heart had been removed, it seemed, and without a drop of blood spilling out around the wound.
She reached forward, running her fingers over the man’s skin. It was as cold as the dirt he was lying on. Not an hour had passed since she received the Call and the caller hadn’t been dead then. How could he be so cold and bloodless now? This thing reminded her not of the phantom that had called her, but of the undead corpse that had raced through her dream—only this one did not move.
This was no time to ask such questions, she decided at last. Her sight had darkened to the extent that the alley was nearly as obscured as it had been originally. Remis’ muscles ached with the effort. Moreover, to be found bending over a murdered man in this part of the City was to be found guilty of the crime. She wondered what the guard at the Law Courts’ entrance would think, if he caught her here like this.
There was nothing she could do. But the experience required study and given her expertise, it was the dagger in the man’s chest—the murder weapon—that was most likely to yield some answers, however tentative. She had to study it. She could look into its substance and read its history. Ceasing her chant, she took the dagger by the handle and tried to pull it from the body’s chest. The corpse shifted, but the knife remained where it was.
Adjusting her stance in order to get better leverage, she placed both hands around the hilt and pulled. Still the blade refused to release the dead flesh. Full darkness had returned now, though she could see better in the dark than she’d been able to before utilising the chant. Details were lost and the dead man was a thick shadow, but she wasn’t blind.
She concentrated
