On the edge of panic, he lay for a long time staring up at the ceiling before he slowly began to remember who he was. The panic receded only partly as it took him almost as long to remember where he was.
The night had been a black and turbulent torrent, buffeting him between stark horror and manic elation. The high-pitched whine that had drawn him to the small opening in the wall had held him there, immobile, while it coiled itself through and around him until it was all he was. What he had been, all that had brought him to this point, was gone as if it had never happened. There was just the flickering darkness through which he was plunging, filled with the rich heady scent of prey. And their song – long and irresistibly alluring. Thoughts pervaded him that were incoherent and alien, save that they were alternately terrifying and rapturous, though there were faint remembrances among them that told him of a great loss, and a flight from a terrible, glittering foe. Dominating these however, was the dull ache of an endless empty exile in the barren darkness.
Pinnatte screwed up his eyes then opened them wide, as though trying to force the light of the solitary lamp into the lingering remains of that darkness. He was trembling. The events of the night, jumbling and fragmenting now at the touch of his wakening mind, were already slipping away from him. But events they had been. It had been no dream. Not only did he never dream, there was an undeniable reality about what had happened. For at times he had drifted apart from the will that had held him and drawn him into its killing frenzy. He had been briefly himself, aware of the horror of what was happening, aware of people – men, women, children – fleeing terrified and screaming through the darkness. The recollection sent a spasm through him. Waves of both delight and appalled disgust washed through him.
Shocked, he struggled into a sitting position, each movement helping to distance him from this unwanted flood. He looked round at the room, forcing himself to think of other things. This was his room now, chosen by him but given to him by Barran, no less. Yet even as he looked at the age-stained walls, he knew that terrible things had been done beyond them, terrible things that he had been party to. And too, he knew that they were continuing.
Still, it was of no account – for what was a little bloodshed along the way of his unfolding future?
The callousness of the thought jolted him again, and accusing echoes of the terror and the screaming cascaded into his mind. Yet even as they did, he realized that they were only of his mind. His body felt no such repulsion, no shame at what had happened. Deep inside, his body had relished what was happening. Even now, it longed – desired – for…
For what?
He pressed his hands to his temples as his inner conflict washed to and fro.
Slowly, a clinging presence slipped away from him. As it did so, the longing began to fade. And thoughts came to calm his mind. What had happened had been beyond his control. He had neither sought nor encouraged it. It wasn’t his fault! There was a feebleness about these that reduced them to the level of mere excuses, but they sufficed to make him feel more whole again, all turmoil sunk below his awareness.
It had been the creature, he knew, as the reality of the room finally closed about him, banishing the last of the shadows. Its touch was unmistakable. It had bent its knee in obeisance to him when it entered the arena and, once again, it had reached out and drawn him into its awful hunt. How such a thing could be was beyond him. As was the question why? But it had been so, nevertheless.
What would happen the next time he went to sleep? The thought did not carry the fear that it had done previously, but he still let it go quickly. This was the beginning of more than a new day, and sleep was a long way off. Plenty of time to worry about that later. He paid no heed to the hint of anticipation that fluttered in the wake of the thought.
He stood up, rubbing his hand. It was itching a little. Holding it up to catch the light, he saw that the remnant of the mark left by the Kyrosdyn was unchanged. It ended abruptly where the graze from his fall cut across it, a hint of its greenness colouring the edge of the dark red scab. He ran a finger around the mark. He could feel nothing. No pain, no swelling. What was it? What had the man done? Had he in reality done anything, or had it all been, as Lassner had said, a malicious trick to frighten him for his impertinence?
He smiled. It didn’t matter. Whatever the man’s intention had been, the mark had done him no harm, and while it had alarmed him at first, it had also brought him here – free of Lassner and the Den, and working for Barran. He clenched his fists in delight and offered the anonymous Kyrosdyn a caustic thank you.
The thought of Barran however, galvanized him. ‘If you do well, there’s a good fortune waiting for you,’ he had said. And all that was to be done, to start with, was the cleaning of a few mirrors – or whatever they were. But, dashing this excitement to one side, came Barran’s other words: ‘Come to me each morning.’
A different kind of panic took hold of Pinnatte. What time was it? Probably just after dawn, he hoped. That was when he normally woke. But after a night like the one he had just spent, who could say? And there was no hint of either light or noise from the outside to help him.
He left his room at considerable speed but slithered to a flailing halt as he came to the first branch in the passageway. He could well be late already, but if he got lost, rambling about this place…
He felt his future slipping away, like water through his fingers. ‘Slow down,’ he muttered grimly to himself, successfully invoking the habit that had saved him from many a pursuit.
Immediately, another old habit asserted itself and he began to search his various pockets for a piece of chalk. The street thieves of Arash-Felloren had a considerable repertoire of signs and symbols with which they adorned walls to communicate to their fellows – such and such a trader had employed new guards, or got a new dog, so and so would be away from his house for so many days, the Weartans were purging a particular area, and so on. Eventually finding a piece, Pinnatte headed back towards his room, still forcing himself to walk calmly. It became increasingly difficult as he opened each of three identical doors unsuccessfully before he found the correct one, and he let out a breath of considerable relief as he finally made a slight mark on the frame of the door.
That had been a timely lesson. He laid an affectionate hand on the wall. It felt familiar to him. The Jyolan was where he wanted to be, and he must not only learn such lessons if he was to have a future here, he must anticipate them. He looked up and down the passage and made a determined resolution. Notwithstanding any tasks that Barran gave him, he would learn about this place until he knew every last stone. The intimate knowledge he had of the many alleys, lanes, run-throughs, sewers and general escape routes in the part of the city where he worked, had been acquired over many years, partly by accident, partly deliberately, under Lassner’s tuition. Now he must start again. Exhilarated though he was at being accepted by Barran, he was not so naive as to imagine that the road to wealth which he saw lying before him would be free from difficulty. Apart from falling foul of Barran himself, if he wanted to make progress, then, as in the Den, he would have to compete with others, and the kind of people who worked for Barran would be different by far from his old Den-Mates. Violence would be lying in wait for him if he misjudged his step. For a moment, his face hardened as part of him looked forward to such a challenge. It was a response that would have surprised him only days earlier, but now it seemed quite normal.
Thus, in addition to ingratiating himself with Barran – as he had with Lassner – it was imperative that he explore this new terrain he found himself in. Here there were no walls to be nimbly scaled, no narrow openings that led into open cellars, no drops into the sewers. Here there were only interminable passages, twisting, turning, narrowing, widening, rising, falling, like the streets of the city itself writ small. And knowledge of these might one day save his life.
His new home duly marked, and his new resolution finally made, Pinnatte decided first to find the Mirror Room before seeking out Barran. This proved to be comparatively simple, the route being still fairly fresh in his mind from the previous evening, and the room standing alone at the end of a long passage. Nevertheless, he marked the way.
Having found it, he stood for a while staring at the door before tentatively reaching out to try the handle. Then he hesitated and knocked gently, three times. The soft sounds sank into the dead air of the passage. He was reaching for the handle again when it turned. He had taken a swift pace backwards and was trying to look casual when the door opened to reveal Barran. His new master had a bundle of papers in one hand while the other was out of sight behind the door. Though he looked both tired and suspicious, Pinnatte could sense an aura of suppressed excitement about him. He could also sense danger in the hidden hand.
‘You asked me to come to you for the key, sir,’ he said quickly, with an extravagant gesture which enabled him to take another discreet pace backwards in preparation for flight.
Recognition came into Barran’s eyes and he opened the door fully. The hidden hand was adjusting something behind his back. When it emerged, it was empty.
‘How did you know I was here?’ he asked.
Pinnatte chose the truth. ‘I didn’t, sir,’ he replied. ‘I was just finding my way around and I thought I’d see if you were here first. You did say it was an important place.’
Barran nodded then stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
‘You look tired, sir,’ Pinnatte risked.
‘That’s because I am,’ Barran replied tersely. ‘It’s been a busy time.’ He looked at Pinnatte narrowly. ‘You’re looking little better yourself, young man. Are you all right?’
‘Bit restless last night, sir. New master, new place.’ Pinnatte smiled broadly. ‘And I’m hungry now. I was going to find you, then try to get some food somewhere.’
Barran continued his inspection of his new charge for a moment, then, seemingly satisfied, opened the door again and motioned Pinnatte into the room. A table and two chairs had been added since he was there last, and the wooden panel was already pushed back to reveal the mirrors. The Eyes of the Jyolan, Pinnatte remembered Barran calling these strange objects. He thought of them as mirrors, accepting the word used by Barran, but they were not like any mirrors he had ever seen. All he could see of his reflection was the faintest hint, and that only when he searched for it. What he could see was what he had seen the night before: different parts of the Jyolan – with figures moving about most of them. The sight did not startle him as much as it had previously, but it still unsettled him. How could such a thing be? He was tempted to ask what the mirrors were used for, but they were so strange that he could think of no clear question. Besides, he sensed that Barran was in no mood for casual chatter.
‘You’ll need some rags and a bucket of water.’ Barran’s voice yanked Pinnatte back to the present. ‘And I think Ellyn’s got something she uses for cleaning glass.’
Pinnatte bent forward and listened intently as Barran explained how the mirrors were to be held and supported while they were being cleaned.
‘You must be very careful until we know more about how these things work.’
There was an ominous emphasis on the word ‘very’ that sharpened Pinnatte’s attention even further. Notwithstanding that however, once or twice he found his mind wandering. Having one of the most ruthless and powerful men in the city talking to him about such matters as dusting and cleaning, like a fussy old maid, was oddly disorientating. When he had finished, Barran put his hand on Pinnatte’s shoulder. Pinnatte remembered the weight of it from the previous evening and concentrated again.
‘You will take great care with this job, won’t you, Pinnatte?’
It was not a question, it was an order.
Later, Pinnatte sat in the room alone, the door locked behind him. Barran had taken him to the rooms he was using as temporary living quarters while work at the Jyolan was under way and Ellyn had given him a long look when he demanded, ‘That stuff for cleaning glass’, obliging him to repeat the question. She said nothing, but raised an ironic eyebrow when she finally gave him an earthenware bottle unearthed from one of several wooden crates. Pinnatte wilfully avoided looking directly at either of them during this exchange. Then Ellyn wrinkled her nose slightly and with a nod of her head towards Pinnatte gave Barran a significant look. He sniffed conspicuously and nodded in agreement.
‘Show him where he can get cleaned up, get him some decent clothes and feed him,’ he said brusquely.
It was thus an unusual Pinnatte who eventually sat staring at the Eyes of the Jyolan. He was cleaner, smarter, and easier on the nose than he had been for a long time. Rearranged dirt being one of his disguises, his erstwhile Den-Mates would have found him almost unrecognizable with a clean face. Occasionally he preened himself, and moved his head this way and that in an attempt to see his faint reflection in one of the mirrors, though generally with little success. In addition to being clean, he was also replete, Ellyn having fed him quite handsomely.
On his return to the Mirror Room, he had pursued his allotted task as bidden. At first he was extremely careful, holding the thick mirrors very firmly and applying his rag very hesitantly. However, after a few heart-stopping fumblings which left mirrors vibrating, their images streaked and blurred, he realized that they were far more robust than Barran had imagined. For in each case, the mirror settled back into its original position, its image unimpaired.
Cleaning them proved to be a harder task than he had anticipated however. The dust on them had been there a long time and was stiff and reluctant to move, as were his fingers after he had been working for a while. Nevertheless, he pressed on, engrossed, for as each mirror was cleaned, its surface had a quality of perfection about it, displaying an image with a clarity the like of which he had never seen in an ordinary mirror. So vivid were the sights he could see that he felt as though he should be able to reach out and actually touch them. And even though he began to grow used to the strangeness of what he was seeing, he found it difficult at times not to just sit and stare.
Eventually he pushed his chair back, stretched himself noisily and then flexed his fingers energetically in an attempt to ease the stiffness in them. It did not work. He was going to have to pace himself better. So far he had cleaned only one row and his arms and shoulders were aching, as well as his hands. It was going to take him a long time to finish them all. And some of the higher mirrors would be extremely difficult to reach even standing on the table.
Still, it did not matter. If Barran was unhappy about the progress he was making, he would be able to demonstrate both the intransigence of the grime coating the mirrors and the care he was taking. He decided not to mention, for the moment, how robust the mirrors actually were – that might prove to be a useful ‘discovery’ on some future occasion. For the time being, while he was doing this job, he would have legitimate opportunity to wander about the Jyolan – to fetch clean water, to find more rags, perhaps locate a ladder – all of which would enable him to find his way about the place. Something dark turned over luxuriously inside him at the prospect and the mirrors seemed to shimmer. He shook his head. He’d been here too long, he decided. And been working too intensely, just like when he’d been an apprentice thief, learning to pick pockets. Now was as good a time as any to start his exploration of the Jyolan.
Rooting under his jacket he retrieved the key, soundly secured in a hidden pocket next to his skin. Experienced in such matters, Pinnatte knew how to carry things safe from the sly touch of such as himself. As he stood up, a movement in one of the mirrors caught his eye. It was one that normally showed no activity. Pinnatte peered at it closely, resisting the temptation to rub the dust away with his hand. He found himself looking along a dimly-lit and seemingly empty passage – one of many such. But there was something there, he was sure. Something hiding, low and skulking. A shadow in the shadows.
A shape flitted past a lamp.
Though the movement was too quick for him to see any details, he knew immediately that it was the fighting dog which had escaped the arena at the Loose Pit. Instantly he was back with Rinter and Atlon and the guard in the passage where they had encountered the same dog. As then, powerful emotions surged through him, possessing him, dismissing all reason. This thing was prey! It had escaped once and, in so doing, had left a pain that could be healed only by its death. It must be taken now! Almost as if it had felt his presence, the dog froze, then suddenly dashed around a corner. Pinnatte felt something in him leap after it. He stepped back quickly, scanning the mirrors for other signs of the fleeing animal. It flickered past one and was gone again. Spinning round, he dashed for the door. His thigh struck the corner of the table with considerable force.
The pain scattered all other responses and he cried out and dropped on to one knee, massaging his leg frantically and cursing. Even as he did so he became aware of a clattering sound. It was the key! He saw it bouncing on the stone floor. The implications of losing the key flashed before him, stark and uncompromising, dismissing in its turn the pain in his leg. Quite unnecessarily, for the key had stopped moving, he lunged after it, sending himself sprawling full length across the floor as he slapped his hand down on it.
He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, before curling his fingers tightly around the key. His leg began to hurt again. Slowly he sat up and began rubbing it with the hand that was holding the key. As the worst of the discomfort left him, he levered himself on to the chair and carefully put the key back in its special pocket.
Still rubbing his leg, he cursed himself for a profound fool. What had he been thinking about, crashing around like that? The table had been knocked clear across the room, so violently had he struck it. What if the key had bounced into one of those damned grilles? He went cold. He did not want to think about it. The only solution to that would have been to take Ellyn’s advice and flee this part of the city completely – and very quickly at that!
As he became calmer, he asked the question again. What had he been thinking about? What had possessed him to behave like that? But he knew the answer. Indeed, as his thoughts turned again to the escaped dog, he could feel the presence bubbling inside him, threatening to burst out again. It was the creature. Some remnant of its night-time joining with him still lingered. But as the realization came to him, so did another, leaking up in some subtle way from the creature itself. This time, he was in control of it. He was master here. It would bend to his will, just as it had bowed to him in the arena. He knew now that it had drawn him into its killing spree because he was unprepared for it and because it was long starved of its true sustenance and near-frantic with excitement at finding him. Now however, the true balance of their relationship was established. A thrill passed through him.
Feed, he heard himself saying to it. Take your fill, I need you strong. Come to me when I call.
Then the presence was gone and he was more himself again. A little breathless, and with an extremely painful leg, he was Pinnatte, the one-time street thief on the way up. The joining with the creature no longer disturbed him; nor what it was doing. It was the way things were, the way they had to be. It was the inevitable working out of his destiny. Calmly, he picked up his buckets and rags and, carefully removing the key from its pocket again, left the room.
The area around the Mirror Room was, as usual, deserted, but he was soon part of the bustling activity that marked Barran’s intention of developing the Jyolan to its full. He noticed with some amusement that many of the people he was encountering appeared to be lost. He noticed too that he was barely using the marks he had made for himself. It was as though he had some natural affinity for the place. Almost as though he already knew it.
He made a few such journeys that morning, deliberately taking a different route each time, fulfilling his promise to himself to learn his way about the place as quickly as possible. With each excursion he became more at ease. While being lost in the Jyolan would be a legitimate source of panic for most people, it held no terrors for Pinnatte – it was more of an amusing challenge. There was an order here which he sensed and worked to, even though he could not have explained it to anyone or marked it on a paper. Once or twice he sensed the nearness of the escaped dog, and it gave him some pleasure to deny the will of the creature as it responded to him.
Returning again to the Mirror Room he put down the buckets and inserted the key in the lock. To his horror it did not turn. As he twisted it the other way, the door locked. His hands began to shake. He must have left the room unlocked! Surely not. He’d been as meticulous about locking the door as he had been about securing the key. He cursed himself even more roundly than he had when he banged into the table. He must concentrate on everything he did here. This was no Den, full of petty thieves. This was a place full of dangerous people, not the least of whom was Barran. He unlocked the door and pushed it open with his knee as he picked up the buckets. The image of a raging Barran filling his mind coincided with that immediately in front of him, and it was a tribute to his quick-wittedness that he did not cry out and drop both buckets. The Barran waiting for him however, was not raging, but actually looked rather amused by the flustered appearance. For Pinnatte was not quick-witted enough to prevent his mouth from dropping open.
‘I thought I’d left the door unlocked when the key didn’t turn,’ he blurted out, wide-eyed.
Barran shook his head and held out his hand. ‘Yours isn’t the only key,’ he said casually. ‘But give it to me now and come back in a couple of hours. I need to be in here for a while.’ He looked at the mirrors. Pinnatte had cleaned four rows.
‘You’re not working very quickly,’ he said with a frown. ‘I’d like this finished today.’
Pinnatte performed the demonstration he had prepared earlier, showing conclusively the difficulties he was dealing with and eventually wringing a grunt of acceptance and approval from Barran. He decided to risk taking advantage of it and pointed to the ring on which Barran had put the key.
‘That’s not a good idea,’ he said.
Barran looked at him quizzically. Pinnatte stepped close to him, pointed to one of the mirrors and said, ‘Look.’
‘What?’ Barran demanded irritably as he glanced at the mirror and back again.
‘This,’ Pinnatte replied, handing him the ring of keys. Before Barran could respond, Pinnatte was giving him sterling advice about how he should best carry the keys, and anything else that he valued, so that they would be safe from such as himself.
As he finished his lecture, Barran nodded knowingly. Then he snapped his fingers and said, ‘Look.’
Pinnatte started and turned even as he realized he was being caught by his own trick. Except that Barran’s trick was different, for as Pinnatte turned, it was into the edge of a knife against his throat. ‘Good advice for good advice, Pinnatte,’ Barran said quietly, bringing his face close. ‘I like your enthusiasm and your ideas. Don’t be afraid to tell me about them. But tell me softly and more circumspectly. And be very careful how close you come to people around here.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘Two hours,’ he said.
Pinnatte leaned against the door after he had closed it, breathed out noisily and put his hand on his chest as though to stop his heart pounding. Not for the first time, Barran’s simple purposefulness had terrified him, more by its mundane ordinariness than by any overt menace. He could see that he had indeed been given good advice for good advice, and it had taught him several lessons about life in this new world, not the least of which was to be more careful with his new master. But something else had happened, for even as Barran had released him, a manic rage had welled up inside him – a rage that had almost made him lash out at Barran for his insolence in handling him thus. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and it terrified him to think how close to being expressed it had come.
He moved unsteadily away from the Mirror Room. Cold thoughts formed to quell the heat of the rage as he walked, though they were no less alien to him. Some other time, they said. Patience is everything. Great forces are gathering within you.
With nothing specific to do, he began occupying himself by continuing to find his way about the Jyolan. In the course of this he succeeded in finding a bed and a couple of chairs which he dragged to his room. He also found a better room, nearer to both the Mirror Room and Barran’s quarters – the Jyolan was awash with vacant rooms – but he made no attempt to occupy it. It would be better to wait until a suitable opportunity presented itself for him to ask for it. He had no desire to walk inadvertently into any more ‘lessons’.
After a while, his room ordered to his satisfaction, he headed for the entrance with a view to buying food from one of the street traders. As he entered the main entrance hall, the scene of the events which had so advanced his fortunes, he began to feel uneasy. The feeling grew as he passed through the gates and moved towards the arch which opened on to the street. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes.
When he reached the arch, the light became intolerable and the heat struck him like a physical force. He could not move out into the street. Every part of him cried out for the subdued lighting of the Jyolan passages and its cold, enclosing stonework. If he moved forward, he knew the sunlight would burst into him, searing through to his very heart. And the air would be torn from his lungs, escaping into the vast, unbearable open sky – the sky which would ring mockingly with the echoes of his dying cries. As he stood there trembling, he sensed the creature somewhere, howling, lost.
Someone bumped into him. ‘Come on, shift yourself, there’s people with work to do here.’
The impact propelled him out into the street. He tried to cry out, but no sound came. Someone else bumped into him and cursed him. Then something made him open his eyes despite the awful daylight. The face carved into the keystone of the arch met his gaze, calm and serene, yet full of terrible power and purpose. His trembling began to fade. The Jyolan was his place, but then so was the whole city. From the Jyolan he would derive his strength so that, in the fullness of time, he would remake the city in its image. And until that time, he must walk in it, in its flawed, imperfect state. He had nothing to fear. He was awakening. Power was growing within him.
Slowly his breathing grew quieter and the street – his street – formed itself about him.
A hand took his elbow.
He spun round angrily, his hand raised to strike.
A Kyrosdyn stood in front of him. At his back were three bodyguards. Pinnatte held the man’s gaze and did not lower his hand. The Kyrosdyn faltered, as did the bodyguards before they remembered their duty. When they moved forward however, the Kyrosdyn raised his own hand to stop them.
Pinnatte felt the other man’s fear and his weakness. It both surprised and did not surprise him.
Then he recognized the Kyrosdyn who had placed the mark on his hand.