he said, still pale, shaking his head slightly. “Peer, it’s a trick. It has to be. How can you be sure?”
“I saw him walking in across the Bonelands.”
“When?”
“Yesterday, not long after you left me at the wall.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Impossible.”
She was annoyed at Penler’s reaction, and confused. He was the intellectual, the philosopher of Skulk, banished because of his great ideas. And yet here he was doubting instead of questioning, falling back on indoctrination instead of considering the fantastic possibilities that stared him in the face. He shook his head slowly, and she had never seen him looking so old.
“Penler, just listen to him, the way he builds his words, the way his voice twists around them—Echoian, but like none I’ve ever heard.”
Penler was still shaking his head.
“Look in his bag! See what he carries, the strange things he’s
brought
. Do you know what this means?”
“Do you?”
“Yes, of course! It changes everything, and—”
“Do you really believe this city can survive change?” he asked. “This city, built on the past?” And suddenly she knew what was wrong.
He
does
believe
, she thought,
and that’s why he’s so afraid
.
“Penler …”
A tear escaped his left eye and dribbled down his cheek. His face crumpled for a moment, then he seemed to gather himself again, wiping away the tear and standing up from his chair. Never once did he take his eyes off the man in his room.
“You believe,” she said.
“I never had any doubt,” he whispered, “but I never thought it would be in my lifetime.”
“He can’t stay in Skulk,” Peer said.
“I know. But for now can I just …?”
Peer reached out and brought the old man to her in a hug. He held his breath before hugging her back, his gasp warm and stale against her neck. She had not held anyone this close for a long time.
“I was going to get some breakfast anyway,” she said. “But can’t you leave Skulk with me?”
“Not me,” he said, shaking his head against hers. “Not now. I’ve been here too long, and too many people know me. I’d slow you down. But I can help.”
Peer pulled away so that she could look at him again. His eyes were moist, but she pretended not to notice. “How?”
“Oh, you know me. I have something about me.”
“There’s no such thing as magic, Penler.”
He looked at the man from the desert again, as if to dispute her words. “Tell that to the magician’s audience,” he said. “Now go. Breakfast. We need a feast.” He pressed five shillings into her hand and then walked past her into the room.
Peer watched Penler and the visitor for a beat.
He wants him to himself for a while
, she thought, and she could hardly blame him. Such a great man would have so many questions.
Outside, Skulk’s morning air seemed fresher than usual, cleansed by the previous night’s rain. Or perhaps it was the smell of potential.
She bought breakfast from a street vendor—fried chickpig in fresh bread sandwiches, a large carafe of five-bean, and a selection of dried fruits—and on her return to Penler’s house she passed a body in an alleyway. The woman was lying on her back, her dusty eyes staring at the dawn-smeared sky andher slit throat gnawed at by rats and rockzards in the night. She was naked, and carved across her chest and stomach was the serpent sigil of one of Skulk’s most powerful, brutal gangs.
Peer averted her eyes and walked on. It shamed her, but there was no way she could get involved. The woman must have offered some slight against the gang, and they always left their murder victims where they were for three days and nights before sending their lowliest members to clear away whatever was left. They liked to send a message, and anyone interrupting that message was likely to end up the same way.
It’s so easy
, Peer thought, and she felt a moment of terror the likes of which rarely visited her.
One wrong move, one sideways
“I saw him walking in across the Bonelands.”
“When?”
“Yesterday, not long after you left me at the wall.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Impossible.”
She was annoyed at Penler’s reaction, and confused. He was the intellectual, the philosopher of Skulk, banished because of his great ideas. And yet here he was doubting instead of questioning, falling back on indoctrination instead of considering the fantastic possibilities that stared him in the face. He shook his head slowly, and she had never seen him looking so old.
“Penler, just listen to him, the way he builds his words, the way his voice twists around them—Echoian, but like none I’ve ever heard.”
Penler was still shaking his head.
“Look in his bag! See what he carries, the strange things he’s
brought
. Do you know what this means?”
“Do you?”
“Yes, of course! It changes everything, and—”
“Do you really believe this city can survive change?” he asked. “This city, built on the past?” And suddenly she knew what was wrong.
He
does
believe
, she thought,
and that’s why he’s so afraid
.
“Penler …”
A tear escaped his left eye and dribbled down his cheek. His face crumpled for a moment, then he seemed to gather himself again, wiping away the tear and standing up from his chair. Never once did he take his eyes off the man in his room.
“You believe,” she said.
“I never had any doubt,” he whispered, “but I never thought it would be in my lifetime.”
“He can’t stay in Skulk,” Peer said.
“I know. But for now can I just …?”
Peer reached out and brought the old man to her in a hug. He held his breath before hugging her back, his gasp warm and stale against her neck. She had not held anyone this close for a long time.
“I was going to get some breakfast anyway,” she said. “But can’t you leave Skulk with me?”
“Not me,” he said, shaking his head against hers. “Not now. I’ve been here too long, and too many people know me. I’d slow you down. But I can help.”
Peer pulled away so that she could look at him again. His eyes were moist, but she pretended not to notice. “How?”
“Oh, you know me. I have something about me.”
“There’s no such thing as magic, Penler.”
He looked at the man from the desert again, as if to dispute her words. “Tell that to the magician’s audience,” he said. “Now go. Breakfast. We need a feast.” He pressed five shillings into her hand and then walked past her into the room.
Peer watched Penler and the visitor for a beat.
He wants him to himself for a while
, she thought, and she could hardly blame him. Such a great man would have so many questions.
Outside, Skulk’s morning air seemed fresher than usual, cleansed by the previous night’s rain. Or perhaps it was the smell of potential.
She bought breakfast from a street vendor—fried chickpig in fresh bread sandwiches, a large carafe of five-bean, and a selection of dried fruits—and on her return to Penler’s house she passed a body in an alleyway. The woman was lying on her back, her dusty eyes staring at the dawn-smeared sky andher slit throat gnawed at by rats and rockzards in the night. She was naked, and carved across her chest and stomach was the serpent sigil of one of Skulk’s most powerful, brutal gangs.
Peer averted her eyes and walked on. It shamed her, but there was no way she could get involved. The woman must have offered some slight against the gang, and they always left their murder victims where they were for three days and nights before sending their lowliest members to clear away whatever was left. They liked to send a message, and anyone interrupting that message was likely to end up the same way.
It’s so easy
, Peer thought, and she felt a moment of terror the likes of which rarely visited her.
One wrong move, one sideways
Similar Books
