The Poison Master Page 22

  “That's enough!” Alivet stood up and banged her head on the ceiling.

  “Yes, that is enough,” the shiffrey agreed, as though Alivet had been wholly cooperative. Iraguila touched Alivet's shoulder and gave her a warning shake, but Alivet thought she had obeyed the governess for too long already.

  “Just tell me if you can help me,” she snapped at the shiffrey. “And then let me be gone.”

  The shiffrey withdrew into her rags, hissing to herself. Alivet heard Iraguila give an exasperated sigh, but then the shiffrey said, “Yes, I know this thing, this substance with which you are infected. Mayjen, distilled from one of the oldest plants, the mayjen ivy that used to fill the world before humankind ever came to Hathes.”

  “Can you do anything about it?” Alivet demanded.

  “I can sing to the spirit of the substance. I can coax it from your veins—but only if it wants to be free of you.”

  “What do you mean, if it wants to be free?” Alivet rounded on Iraguila Ust. “You said you were certain she could cure me!”

  “I did not want you to entertain more doubts than you already did,” Iraguila said flatly.

  “The mayjen is an old ally, an older enemy. It may not wish to be free: you are its carrier, its eyes-upon-the-world,” the shiffrey informed her.

  Alivet was beginning to understand. “It is not just a poison, is it? It's a drug.”

  “That is so. Used correctly, it can bring true visions. Used unwisely, it can kill.”

  “It seems likely to kill me,” Alivet said, “unless you can convince it to do otherwise.”

  “Then sit,” the shiffrey said, indicating the ground before it. Alivet looked at Iraguila Ust, but the woman's face was expressionless. Alivet sat gingerly down in front of the shiffrey. The sharp fox's muzzle arrowed above her head. From this angle, it could have been a skull, with the lines etched along the bone, the eyes gliding within their sockets. There was something mechanical about the shiffrey, something unnatural, yet the creature had that sour, organic reek. Alivet looked down and saw a curling claw protruding from beneath the shiffrey's robes. She thought of a witch in a fairy tale, the devourer of small children.

  “Close your eyes,” the shiffrey commanded, “and bow your head.”

  Neither option was appealing. Alivet leaned forward, but kept her eyes half-open. She could still see the shiffrey's muzzle weaving above her.

  The shiffrey began to hum beneath its breath, a high, eerie note. Against her will, Alivet's eyes snapped shut, as though a bright light had flashed to blind her. There was a ringing darkness inside her head; the sound made by the shiffrey seemed to fill it, reverberating against the sides of her skull. Her head felt as though it was about to burst.

  Through a veil of pain, she imagined it splitting into a thousand petals and falling to the ground. She remembered the strange black flowers that grew in the heights of the parcverticale, seemed to see faces within their depths, knew them for the minds of the captured. Her veins sang like taut wire.

  It was with a distant surprise that she realized she was hal lucinating, deep beneath the pull of an unknown drug. Slowly, harshly, the shiffrey's consciousness began to invade her own and Alivet gasped. It was intrusive, with no regard for her feelings or her will. She tried to fight back, but the shiffrey was stronger, battering her way into Alivet's mind, ramming along human nerves. Alivet had a sudden impression of something utterly alien: emotions that she could not comprehend, thoughts and preoccupations that she was incapable of grasping.

  And now there was something else, rising up inside her head, a shining presence. She glimpsed a dark double face above a serpent's body, gazing in opposite directions. This must be the mayjen, the spirit ally that embodied the drug. And now the voice of the shiffrey was addressing it, wheedling and obsequious, flattering the mayjen and beckoning it to a better place, a higher mind. The double faces of the mayjen frowned. It turned first one countenance, then another, and Alivet saw that it was both male and female.

  It asked a question, the terms of which Alivet did not understand. The shiffrey replied, softly and glibly. Alivet retreated to the depths of her own head and watched them from a distance. She could see the inner presence of the shiffrey now, and it looked nothing like the creature's outward form. The shiffrey was slender and beautiful, with a fine-boned face and a fall of pale hair. Only the round silver eyes were the same, anomalously repellent in the perfect face. The shiffrey put its head on one side, cajoling and seductive. Slowly, cautiously, the mayjen began to glide toward it, scales rasping against the surface of Alivet's mind and causing ripples of pain to run through her.

  “Come with me,” the shiffrey said to the drug. “Your brothers and sisters await you; I can show you many things. Do not be afraid, do not be wary. I speak only truth.”

  Alivet would never have believed such an appeal, but the mayjen was the spirit of a drug and not a human being. It had different concerns. It glided forward, following the retreating figure of the shiffrey. This time, there was no harshness, no pain. The shiffrey left Alivet's consciousness so gently that it was a moment before she realized that she was gone.

  “There,” the shiffrey said. A twiglike hand was placed beneath Alivet's chin, lifting up her head. “Now you are healed. It is gone.”

  Alivet took a long, shaking breath. The splitting headache was receding, yet she felt no different. She said so.

  “The mayjen is a subtle poison, a cautious drug. It prefers to have little effect until it strikes. That is why it is a good threat: it renders the victim still capable of action, yet it will kill them. But you need not worry now. I have subsumed it, drawn it from you.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “It is within me. Once its spirit is gone, so is its efficacy. I can contain such spirits inside myself, safe and enclosed, until the time comes to send them forth, back to the plants from which they came.”

  “Thank you,” Alivet said, shakily. The thought of being free from Ghairen's yoke was exhilarating, a relief so great that she almost crumpled against the shiffrey's side. “I'm very grateful.”

  “There is something else. Something you must know about your tormentor.”

  “About the mayjen? Or about Ghairen?”

  “Ghairen. We have been watching him, through the good counsel of our friend Iraguila Ust.” The shiffrey glanced up at the governess. Alivet thought she saw the shadow of a smile on the woman's face. “Ghairen has told you nothing less than the truth, Alivet.”

  “The truth?”

  This was not what she had expected to hear, but the shiffrey continued, “He seeks to oust the Lords of Night, to drive them from Latent Emanation. He seeks to free your world of their sway, but he plans this so that Latent Emanation can come beneath the control of those who rule Hathes: the Soret. Ghairen has powerful allies, at the highest levels of Hathanassi society. You must stop him, if you are to save your world. Believe me, you are better off with the Lords of Night than Ghairen's masters. But if you can make the substance that Ghairen seeks, and use it wisely, then you can be rid of both.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Alivet asked. “Why are you helping me? Surely you're taking a risk, if Ghairen is as powerful as you say.”

  “I am telling you so that you may avoid our fate. My people were glorious, once. We took the form in which you saw me, inside your mind. We were tall and beautiful and strong. We built cities: the ruins that you see around you now. We had technologies that rendered life gracious. Then the humans arrived, brought out of the darkness by those who wished us ill, and swept through us with poison and death. Our children were born crabbed and small, our cities were leveled. We were driven out to the barren hills or permitted to stay as domestic servants. This was over a thousand years ago. Since then, we have been as you see us now. But some of their kind have grown enlightened, and seek to help us. Iraguila is one such. We do not have the strength to save what remains of our people, but we may be able to help others. Thus I have told y
ou what Ghairen is planning, in order that you and your world may not endure the same fate.”

  “What do you recommend that I do?”

  “Find the substance for Ghairen. But when you have done so, you must take it and flee. Go back to your world through the portal. Administer the poison to the Lords of Night. Alert your people to the plans of the Poison Master. Make sure that he will be prevented from returning to your world. Then you will be free of both Ghairen and the Lords.”

  The shiffrey spoke earnestly. The stiff whiskers around her jaw trembled with agitation, and she wrapped her filthy rags more closely about herself. Alivet could not bring herself to be surprised. The news fit everything that she had suspected about Ghairen. Now that the curse of the poison was lifted, she could set about his downfall, but it was already beginning to occur to her that she might accomplish that of the Night Lords, too. What was that old expression, killing two birds with one stone?

  Alivet scrambled to her feet. The headache caused by the shiffrey's invasion was retreating and she was eager to return and rest before morning. The thought crossed her mind that once they were away from the alchemist's domain, she might manage to evade Iraguila Ust and slip into the hinterlands of the city, but Iraguila and the shiffrey were her only allies, so unless she could find somewhere to hide, she could die from the cold. Besides, if Ghairen was as powerful as the alchemist said, then he would surely have her hunted down and she could rely on no support from anyone else. It might be better to remain in Ghairen's household, have him suspect nothing, and keep him under her own watchful eye. Alivet bowed to the shiffrey.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  “Defeat Ghairen,” the shiffrey replied, “and that will be all the repayment I ask.”

  Iraguila Ust tugged impatiently at Alivet's sleeve.

  “We must go. Dawn is not far away; we must get back while it's still dark.”

  Alivet was quick to agree. As she bent to pass under the door of the ruin, she turned and looked back, wanting to say good-bye, but the shiffrey had already vanished into the shadows.

  “Remember her,” Iraguila said, softly. “She has done us a great favor.”

  Alivet, filled with new resolve, nodded. Iraguila led her back through the growth of the lower levels, but instead of returning to the heights, they passed out through a tall side door. Alivet was once more standing outside, under the cold night sky.

  “We will return a different way,” Iraguila informed her. “I do not wish to risk going back the way we came—it's too close to first light.”

  This time, she led Alivet to a dock running along the side of the parc-verticale. There was a knot of people gathered on the dock and Alivet hung back.

  “It's all right,” Iraguila said quickly. “They are friends.”

  Each member of the group was hooded and robed, clad in sweeping dark-red garments. Before she could protest someone slipped a robe over Alivet's head and girdled her around with a mesh. It cut into her ribs, and it was, she reflected, a good thing that she had become accustomed to the corset. She could hardly see through the heavy folds of the hood.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Be quiet!” a voice hissed. It was not that of Iraguila Ust; Alivet could not even tell whether it was male or female. “We go to the cell, and then the temple.”

  This did not sound encouraging and Alivet was about to say so when she glanced around to see Iraguila's pale face floating in the depths of her hood.

  “They will get us back into the poison clan's tower,” Iraguila whispered. “Do as they say.”

  “But who are they?”

  “They are Sanguinants,” Iraguila said, as if this explained everything. “Our principal religious order: the Adorers of Blood. They are among those who travel to morning worship. This is why I do not wish to take the other route—there are too many people around at this hour.”

  “But we weren't all that long in the parc-verticale, surely?”

  “You were under the will of the alchemist for three hours,” Iraguila said, disapprovingly. “I grew quite cold and stiff waiting for the healing to be over. Now we must go. Do as the Sanguinants do. Say nothing.”

  Leaving Alivet to digest this startling information—for the healing had seemed to take only a short time—she strode away to where the Sanguinants were assembling. Alivet fell in behind them as they moved away: moving two by two, murmuring as they walked. Alivet kept her head down and tried to look pious. What did “Adorers of Blood” mean? Alivet decided that she would prefer not to know. There was a brief rocking motion as they stepped onto one of the barges and were whisked away. Alivet stood patiently, her hands folded in front of one another in the manner of the other Sanguinants.

  Why were these people helping Iraguila Ust? Perhaps these were the people of conscience of whom the shiffrey alchemist had spoken. Maybe they objected to the injustices served upon others by Ghairen and his ilk. In any case, Alivet was disinclined to scorn their assistance. If Ghairen was planning to wrest her world from the Lords, she needed all the help she could muster.

  The journey was brief. Soon, Alivet looked up to see that they were passing beneath a great metal portal, etched against the sky. Liquid poured from either side, forming cascades that hissed and frothed into the canal. The barge became unstable and rocked, but the Sanguinants remained rigidly upright. By dint of moving from one foot to another, Alivet managed to retain her balance, but her companion reached out a hand and helped to steady her. Alivet was grateful for this small show of sympathy. The wharves between which the barge was gliding were massive, carved from gleaming red stone. Rows of steps led up toward a series of platforms and Alivet saw that a group of several dozen people were gathered along the higher levels. The barge rocked to a halt.

  Still moving two by two, the Sanguinants marched onto the wharf and up the steps, but before they had reached the crowd on the higher levels, a great booming note rang out across the city. Alivet looked up and in the growing light saw a figure with a curling horn. Once more the note sounded. The Sanguinants climbed higher, moving swiftly. Alivet heard their feet pattering like small hooves against the stone steps. As they reached the first platform, the horn roared out and Alivet's neighbor seized her by the arm and turned her around. Moving as one, the Sanguinants poured over the lip of the platform toward the tower. Alivet went with them, her eyes fixed firmly on her feet.

  The crowd seemed expectant, even anxious. They shuffled closer toward the temple gate. A robed figure, whom Alivet realized to be Iraguila, seized her arm and propelled her forward. Angrily, Alivet pulled free. A wind arose, driving through the gate and across the platform. The crowd gave a strange, small cry. The wind smelled of frost and as it touched Alivet she raised her arms protectively against her face. When she lowered them, hoping no one had seen, the sleeves of her robes were white. Her face felt pinched. She tasted the snap of a tiny icicle between her teeth.

  Then the wind died and the platform was as before. The Sanguinants gave a collective sigh, a mournful sound in the half light. Turning, Alivet saw a spark on the far horizon, between the towers. The sun was rolling over the edge of the world. Light flashed out to strike an answering note from the high gates above them, turning them red as blood.

  “What was that?” she whispered in Iraguila's ear.

  “The Sanguinants disdain the sun. Every morning, they pray that it will not rise.”

  Now that the sun was coming up, flooding the city of Ukesh with radiance, the Sanguinants were hurrying away as if they could not bear to be touched by the light. Alivet and Iraguila went with them, swept through another great gate and into a labyrinth of red corridors. The Sanguinants, in their crimson robes, reminded her of corpuscles, sailing down the veins of some vast organism. And what did that make her, the unwilling intruder? Was she a virus, a microbe come to infect the world of Hathes and heal it of its sickness? Or would she simply be swallowed by that societal entity: consumed and neutralized by a poison of Ghairen'
s devising?

  It occurred to her that he might have infected her with something other than the mayjen poison, some other toxin lurking within her bloodstream ready to prey on her mind and strike her down. But surely the shiffrey alchemist would have said if that had been the case? After all, if she were to be deployed as the instrument of the shiffrey's vengeance, then they would want to keep her alive. But Alivet did not like the thought of being so used, even in such a noble cause. The shock of the shiffrey's revelation of the woes committed against them by humans was starting to wear off. If Iraguila thought that she could control Alivet, now that the debt of healing was repaid, then she would have to learn differently. Whatever the wrongs suffered by the shiffrey—and they were surely terrible—Alivet's main consideration had to be Latent Emanation and her sister.

  What about Celana? her conscience reminded her. Alivet had come to feel sympathy for the girl, an unsought obligation that nagged at her like a toothache. Perhaps there would be something she could do for Celana, too.

  “Here!” Iraguila said, in Alivet's ear. She pulled Alivet to one side. The corpuscular stream of Sanguinants flowed around them and was gone, leaving only three people in their wake.

  “This is how we shall return to the Poisoners' Tower,” Iraguila explained. “My friends have been summoned to see a resident: this is why we had to visit the alchemist last night, to fit in with their appointment. From the resident's quarters, the stairs lead to Ghairen's own apartment.”

  “Why have they been summoned?” Alivet asked.

  “I do not know,” Iraguila replied, evasively. Alivet was certain that this was untrue, but she did not want to argue with the governess. Perhaps to allay any suspicions Alivet might be entertaining, Iraguila explained.

  “The Sanguinants see themselves as the blood that powers the city. They undertake a constant round of prayer and worship, from sunrise to sunset and then on to midnight, to keep the spiritual heart of the city beating. They also act as the city's enforcers, to purge social toxins from the bloodstream of Ukesh. The poison clans supply the means by which they do so.”