Alise Page 3

  When he dragged himself from bed, his head pounded and his body weighed twice as much as usual. After a quick wash and shave, he donned his dark green uniform. The coarse fabric made his skin itch, but the outer watch guards didn’t merit expensive uniforms made from soft wool. Only the inner guards who walked the marble halls wore finely woven cloth. Lady Alise liked to surround herself with expensive things, but if she only ever saw you from a distance, cheap would suffice.

  Ephraim laced up his heavy black boots, then picked up his rifle from its spot by the door and swung the leather strap over his head. He stepped out into the brisk autumn morning and descended the narrow staircase that clung to the side of the stacked boxes. A light frost made the handrail frigid to touch and in winter, exposed flesh would stick to the metal if you forgot your gloves. Other green-clad guards joined him, their boots ringing out on the metal treads. His head pounded with each step and reminded him how much he drank the night before. With relief, he stepped from the wobbly staircase onto the solid cobbles.

  A steady procession headed through the access tunnel hidden next to the rows of metal boxes the guards called home. The castle wall was twenty-feet thick, and there was a tunnel carved underneath to allow the guards quick access to the main courtyard. The ground sloped down at a steep incline. Then where it levelled out, each man paused. A few feet along sat an iron gate silently protecting the inner courtyard.

  The men stopped before a gleaming brass panel with buttons set into the stone. Each guard punched in their identification number and waited for the beep which signalled the opening of the gate. Only one man was permitted at a time through the passageway and up the incline on the other side, then the next man stepped up to report for duty and waited for the gate to close before keying his code into the panel.

  Ephraim’s turn came and he entered his identification number using the buttons. The green light flashed and a beep sounded in validation. Then the iron mouth opened to consume him as he moved through the oppressive tunnel. The enormous stones hovered overhead; the rocky undersides had been chipped away to create the tunnel. Even in the depth of winter, the air was hot and stale down here. Sometimes he wondered what kept the structure above from collapsing and squashing those below. He knew it was either something to do with the arc shape, or perhaps it was oremancer magic.

  A few more steps and Ephraim emerged into daylight. The expansive courtyard lay before him. Hundreds of feet of red bricks lay in a criss-cross pattern that ran from the foot of the surrounding wall to the castle stairs. The castle rose up to the sky and in height it almost challenged the mountains at its back. He heard stories that the tower at the very top of the highest point saw snowfall even in summer.

  In the seven years he had been in his lady’s service, Ephraim had never stepped inside the castle. He’d only heard rumours of the lavish interior—stories told of rooms papered in gold and diamonds cascading from the ceilings in frozen waterfalls. He heard tales of banquets of such excess that people vomited on the floor because they couldn’t eat all the food. Courtiers in the most expensive silks and dripping in gems paced the long halls as they vied for access to Alise and the favours that fell from her fingertips. Although courtiers lived on a constant knife edge, their lady could lift them up or topple them with a mere swipe of her hand.

  Ephraim heaved his shoulders and returned his thoughts to his task for the day. The men ahead of him diminished in size as they crossed the courtyard. Still in single file like ants, they followed one another without deviating from their path. As Ephraim walked, his gaze strayed to the ornamental fountain in the middle of the cobbled space. The size of a large swimming hole he remembered from back home, the pool had a low marble surround. In the middle, a rearing unicorn spouted water from its mouth and stood upon a plinth held aloft by marble mermaids.

  The whole confection was at least twenty-feet tall, and for years, he had trudged past it. Today, Ephraim stopped and looked twice. Something about the unicorn was different, and from a distance, it looked as though the mythical beast wore a strange hat. An object curved over the top of the statue and dropped down behind like a bizarre headdress. Only as Ephraim passed did he note the red-tinged water. He doubted the fountain flowed with red wine. He looked up and his second eyelid dropped to shade his vision from the harsh sun.

  Through the tinted lens, he saw the would-be assassin from the previous day now adorned the unicorn’s head. The beast’s horn impaled the man through the chest and his legs hung down its neck. The man’s head rested on the unicorn’s forehead and his arms dangled on either side like hideous earrings. With the skin peeled from his body and face, all that remained of the brave soul was a bloody kebab for the ravens to feast upon.

  Ephraim averted his gaze and blinked the second lens away. He had seen enough. Lady Alise used death as a form of entertainment to fill empty hours, although for her, this was a rather mundane death. It lacked the usual theatrics. She normally took a few days to devise something creative for her failed assassins—she liked them to linger in agony for as long as possible while their screams echoed around the courtyard.

  Ephraim was mildly curious why this man received such a hasty and poorly thought out end, but he wasn’t curious enough to ask questions. It didn’t pay to show too much attention to these sorts of things in case your interest was misinterpreted. Lady Alise might think he wanted to volunteer for a more gruesome fate.

  He crossed the courtyard and passed through a low door set into the wall. Narrow stairs wound upward to the very top. As a lowly guard at the castle, he spent his days pacing the top battlements. With a rifle on his back and binoculars around his neck, his job was to spot trouble before it came within a mile of the castle. He had paced the stone walk day in and day out for seven years, ever since he joined their ranks when he turned eighteen.

  Ten years ago, at the age of fifteen, he had fled his home and arrived in Darjee. That first day finished with him semiconscious in the gutter. Then for the next three years he survived on the streets, eking out an existence with Indi by his side. Finally, determined to make a better life for them both, he had signed on at the one place he knew would take him—the one place that survived on a constant diet of young men and women.

  The castle swallowed up young people, and he became one of the numerous faces who maintained order and routine for their lady. It was mind-numbing work, but it gave him a crib to lay his head at night, one hot meal a day, and a few coins at the end of the week.

  As he paced, he seldom needed to lift the binoculars to his face. Plains people were bred with enhanced long-range sight, the better to watch their grazing herds. The castle sat at the apex of a triangle—the city fanned out before it then spread either side of the narrow harbour channel.

  Nothing ever happened during Ephraim’s watch unless you counted the people who died in the middle of winter as they huddled against the wall. He was grateful he had yet to see any rampaging mob surge forward to storm the walls. He didn’t want to discover if he could turn his rifle on his fellow citizens.

  “Girats!” a guard called, and Ephraim turned his attention towards where he pointed.

  Girats, or giant rats, were vermin with the tenacity and size of hyenas. They lived in tunnels dug into the mountains and were normally nocturnal. These ones had ventured out to rummage through the castle’s midden pit.

  “Ugly things,” Ephraim muttered as he joined four other guards.

  Far below, the girats dug through the refuse looking for food scraps. They had short, wiry hair in shades of dark brown to black. A spikey ridge of mustard-coloured fur ran down their spines, and they had long snouts with sharp teeth and yellow eyes. A pack of the vermin could maul an adult man to death, and they had even been known to make off with unattended babies.

  At least the soldiers would get some target practice today. Ephraim unshouldered his weapon and balanced the barrel on the edge of the stone ledge. He took his time, picking a girat target and tracking its movement. When he was satisfied, he let out a gentle breath and squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet hit the girat in the head with a dull thwack and it keeled over without a sound. The vermin next to it looked sideways then carried on digging through food scraps.

  “Good shot,” one of the other men said as he made an attempt. He missed and blew apart potato peelings instead.

  The soldiers spent an hour using the girats for target practice until the vermin wheeled around and scurried back around the side of the castle wall.

  Fun over, the men resumed their pacing of the parapet. Ephraim walked back and forth from one side to the other. As he passed above the main entrance, the cries of beggars rose from far below. Every time a mechanical carriage emerged from between the gates, they held up bowls and begged for food or a few coins.

  Ephraim shook his head and kept pacing. The beggars would be cleared away soon enough. Lady Alise didn’t like them at her door. Soldiers would be sent to move them on or Castors instructed to drag them to the rubbish dump along with the rest of the refuse swept from the streets.

  Hour after hour, he walked back and forth. Each man was nothing but a tiny cog in Mecha City’s great machinery. Each step he took was a tick that turned a wheel. If he stopped, would the machine grind to a halt? Most likely, the man behind him would prod him with his rifle lest they attract attention from the captain. He sat in his office in a high corner tower from where he surveyed the toy soldiers on the ramparts. Infractions were not tolerated. Disobedience was dealt with swiftly and severely. If Ephraim deviated from the set routine, he would probably be tossed over the side. Another piece of refuse for the Castors to collect.

  Only when the whistle blew denoting a rest break could Ephraim trudge into the relief offered by their mess room. There w
as no real heat in the autumn sun, but there was an unrelenting boredom in being trapped on the narrow rampart with the same city expanse before him. The same mountainous background and the same stonework under every inch he walked. At least the midday meal offered a change of scenery and muted conversation to wash over his ears.

  The dining room was nestled inside the confines of the wall just below the rampart walk. A stairwell the width of a man descended into the space. Two long, narrow tables allowed fifty men at a time to be seated for a meal. A number of wooden benches each sat four men, and they were arranged down the length of the tables. The ceiling was low, which meant the room heated up quicker. That was fine in winter when the warmth seeped into cold bones, not so good in summer when the hall resembled one large oven.

  Apart from the light trickling in through the main door, there were no windows. Most of the light came instead from the glowing orbs attached to the ceiling, which emitted a dirty yellow light and cast a jaundiced look over the assembled men.

  The main meal was bread with either soup or stew. Ephraim took his bowl and lump of bread and found a seat between two other men. He took his time while attempting to cajole his stomach into thinking it was a fine dining experience. Just as their uniforms were second best, so were their meals. Outer guards weren’t fed as well as the inner guards. Those lucky men found real meat on their plates. Ephraim wasn’t sure what animal his stew had been in its former life, but he suspected it had been scraped off the street by a Castor. Tomorrow’s stew would probably be flavoured with lumps of girat they shot today.

  Whatever floated in his stew was still sustenance, and he needed to keep his body moving. He dropped his spoon in and took a large mouthful. Chatter was muted today as everyone cast nervous glances around them. The rogue guard hadn’t come from their unit but from one that patrolled a different section of the wall. Regardless, it was proof they never knew what the man next to them was plotting. A foolish action by one would ripple over them all.

  They all waited to discover the answer to one vital question—would Lady Alise only reprimand the assassin’s unit, or would her fury encompass all the perimeter guards?

  4

  Ephraim’s body ached by the end of his twelve-hour shift. As a child who grew up on a farm, he was used to hard labour, but it was the boredom that wore him down. When he and his sister minded their flock they would make up songs to pass the time. If he burst into song from the top of a parapet, he would have a short-lived career.

  He clung to those happy memories. Every day as he scanned the city, he hoped to spot Astrid somewhere below, waiting to be reunited with her brother. Dusk fell as he took the stairs downward and walked back through the tunnel. Lady Alise believed in wringing every coin’s worth of work from her guards, and they worked twelve hours a day, six days a week. Not that he complained. At least he had employment, food in his stomach, and a roof over his head.

  He let out a sigh as he trudged up the stairs to his crib. There had to be more to life. He had so little to bring him joy that at times he wondered what made him cling to this world. Then a familiar face appeared before him—his reason to live. Indigo. He had no need to find solace in Sunshine when a smile and touch from her made heat race through his veins.

  Ephraim hadn’t even lasted one day when he first arrived in Mecha City. He had been beaten up and robbed of all his belongings. The thugs emptied his pockets and took the pack with all his worldly possessions. The only thing they tossed back at him was his sister’s floral quilt. A purple-haired angel had found him semiconscious and clutching the blanket.

  Indi had less than him but she had helped him to safety in her squat, tended his wounds, and scavenged for food to feed them both. He fell hard for her that day, and the feeling only deepened with the passage of years. He would remake the world for her, if he had the courage or ability to do so. Instead, he kept his head down, took his meagre pay, and set it aside to fuel her dream of one day having her own dress shop.

  He climbed another level higher on the rickety stairwell and stared at the metal boxes with their tiny portholes. Each one was exactly the same as the others around it. Few soldiers earned enough to support a family unless they rose in the ranks. He had nothing to offer Indi except himself, and he was of no value to anyone. Ephraim unlocked the door and pushed inside. When he glanced around the small interior, the cold lump in his gut grew larger.

  For seven years he had laboured for Lady Alise. Even the roof over his head belonged to her. What happened to the boy who used to stretch out on a sun-warmed rock and imagine his future? He used to talk for hours with his sister planning a life full of marvellous things and exciting adventures. They had planned to journey to the city as a pair of musicians to earn fame and fortune singing for the wealthy.

  Then the day came when an airship swooped down and stole Astrid away as they watched the herd. The young boy had failed to stop the predators that dropped on them that day. The men with their swords and pistols had laughed and jeered at him as he swotted at them with his shepherd’s crook. He hadn’t even been worth of stealing alongside her—they had knocked him unconscious and left him to explain to his parents where their daughter had gone. If he found Astrid and they returned to the plains, he knew the elders would remove his tattoo and he might finally be worthy of Indi.

  A sigh heaved through his body as Ephraim took a seat at the small table. He spent the rest of the evening scribbling into his notebook trying to turn a boy’s anguish into lines of poetry. But the words rang hollow. He wanted to craft a song to Astrid that captured how the warmth of the sun had vanished that day, but at the end of the night, every line was crossed through. Eventually he gave up, tossed the pen to the table, and sought his bed.

  The alarm beeped far too early the next morning, even though it went off at the same time every day. Ephraim’s brain argued for staying in bed, while his body rose and ran hot water in the sink to wash. One day merged into another when there was little to distinguish them. He marked the passage of time by what he did in the evenings. Three nights a week he met the others in the Clockwork Sow. Three nights he stayed in his cramped crib trying to remember songs from his youth.

  That was how he counted down until his rest day and the one night he could hold Indi close and imagine a brighter future. They would have a full day together and he plotted where to take her that didn’t cost too much coin. Perhaps they could walk down to the harbour and paddle their feet in the water before winter froze the ground.

  Once he was dressed, Ephraim opened his kitchen cupboard and considered a more immediate problem. What to sustain him until his hot meal at midday? He cut two thick slices of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a chunk of salami. The bread was edging towards stale, but it wasn’t noticeable once he had the cheese and meat slapped between it.

  Out into the frosty morning he trudged, following the other ants that flowed down from the cribs and under the wall. Each man advanced as the beep sounded, and the gate swung open to admit the one in front. Ephraim punched his code and walked the silent tunnel. The harsh sunlight in the courtyard made him blink down the dark lens that protected his vision.

  “Did you hear about that one?” A soldier fell into step next to Ephraim and posed the question as they passed the fountain and its gruesome centrepiece.

  “Hear what?” He couldn’t help himself, at mention of the unfortunate assassin he had to glance sideways. The man hadn’t experienced a resurrection and still adorned the unicorn.

  “He was a castle guard,” Ephraim’s companion whispered and then fell silent.

  Assassins usually came from outside the castle. On a rare occasion, a brave individual from the provinces thought he was the hero who could bring about change. Those who worked inside the castle walls knew it was pointless. That a guard who took Alise’s pay had decided to turn on her was bad news.

  Ephraim wondered what the point was of the conversation. They all knew he had been one of them; you couldn’t keep a rumour like that quiet. “I’d heard he was a guard.”