Tale of 2 Cities: Diminishing returns
When you play with time and space, something's going to break.
Note: to allow more time for editing and revision, my weekly fiction post is now going out on Sundays. Thank you for staying with me for this serial!
The story so far…
The fastest way to discover a society’s values is to blaspheme against them. Lilian’s about to find that out the hard way - and it’s not even the biggest problem on her list. She’s trapped in a timeless, secretive city and the soldier squad she has trusted up to now is lying to her. Meanwhile, Jem and Kinley are racing through the city sewers on the advice of a talking skull. The trio need to untangle the history of Aeon so they can break the time loop in Gowan’s Tower whilst staying one step ahead of the mob. If they succeed, Aeon might explode. If they fail, they are condemned to a hellish eternity. What they have not yet realised are the consequences in store for their city on the other side of the river: Alinakard.
You can read last week’s post here, or start from the beginning with The City On The Other Side. There are links at the bottom of each post that will jump you straight to the next chapter.
Clink. Scrape. Clink-clink. Lilian followed the guards up the narrow stairs the thin iron cuffs keeping time with her feet. The guards had clipped them to a shoulder-height railing and tugged her along with a hook on the chains. Unlike other cities, Aeon kept its prisoners and courts on the third floor of a sumptuous civic building.
Lilian had been hurried past the open doors of the debating chamber, up the back stairs, chained all the way. A few citizens had laughed or shaken their heads as she went past, but most of them had ignored her, intent on their errands.
She ended up in a narrow gallery running the full length of the wide, white courtroom with an ornate iron grill between her and the rest of the proceedings. There was very little furniture. A long bench for her and the other prisoners, a chair for the judge, a sloped desk and a seat for the clerk. The whole layout reminded her of the fight court. Everything took place within an ornate, ridged stone circle, which nearly took up the entire room. The accused stood in the centre, weighted by their chains, which were affixed to the floor. On the right-hand side stood the city guards, with (she hoped), their witnesses and a careworn woman with a blue sash over her scholar robes. On the left-hand side stood a man in a blue mask covering the upper half of his face. The judge and clerk were seated at the south end in resplendent gold jackets, whilst above them all, coming and going in the upper galleries, were the citizens of Aeon. Sunlight flickered down from the glass ceiling, inlaid with painted scales, weighing a sword and a feather.
That was not the biggest shock. Once the crowd had shifted, she could see the faces of the men currently on trial. They were the three soldiers who had fled the fight court, leaving her to rescue Afizere and his squad from the demonic pit.
*
Kinley banged his head and swore again. The storm tunnels were not big enough to stand upright and there was no light, forcing him to grope his way along and try not to fall over. The water was mostly mud and debris, but it still stank and his outfit was a simple white robe, now soggy up to his knees. Occasionally, he ran into Jem, who was in a better state thanks to her waxed river jacket and skirt. Behind them, he could hear the mob, but it was a faint clanging and catcalls, rather than serious pursuit.
“Here we are,” said a voice from Jem’s elbow. “We’ll be fine after this.” It was their talking skull, sounding remarkable chipper for the situation.
Jem stopped, causing Kinley to jerk backwards. He heard something rattle and Jem grunted with effort. “It’s locked and there’s no key,” she grumbled.
“That’s because the key’s in your mind,” retorted the skull. “I built it to unlock with magic, so you didn’t have to fumble with keys and torches.”
Jem shifted and Kinley could imagine her lifting the skull to eye level, to convey her indignation. “We don’t know any magic!” she half-yelled. The skull gave its reedy laugh. “If the graveyard gossips are right, you’re Gowan’s heir so of course you know magic. How do you think he did it all in the first place?”
“What?” Kinley interjected sharply.
“Gowan harvested every scrap of magic he could get his hands on for the bloody machine and my father used the rest for the fight court,” the skull explained. “But there’s still the odd speck down by the river and that’s what will open this door.”
Jem exhaled. “How?” she asked.
“Close your eyes and think of a spinning top. Crowd out every other thought except that one, until it fills up your mind and you can feel it hum upon your fingers. Then reach out and find the same vibration in the lock.”
There was a long pause. Kinley listened to the drip and plink of water and a last clang from the mob. He wondered how many were waiting outside the storm cover, hoping to catch himself and Jem emerging.
Jem gasped and something made a sharp ‘tchok,’ followed by the rasp of hinges.
“Well done,” the skull commented.
“How did you know it would work?” Jem asked, moving forward again with small sloshing sounds.
“It runs in the family. I’m Gowan’s grandson, offspring of his apprentice and daughter. Pleased to meet you, great, great, great grand-niece.”
*
Lilian glanced at her fellow prisoners. One was an old man, wrapped in sacking and stinking of drink. He was snoring. The other was a young girl - barely out of childhood - carefully arranged in layers of filmy fabric that gave the impression she was dressed in a cloud. The effect was topped off by three interwoven silver necklaces and a braided beehive hairdo.
“What’s happening?” she whispered to the girl, who sniffed, then shrugged. This caused a complicated rustle in her dress. “They’ve been accused of stealing a boat,” she whispered back with shocked glee. “Outsiders, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Lilian echoed back faintly. “Why are you in here? Shouldn’t you be in the upstairs galleries?” The girl looked more likely to commit a crime against fashion than one against the city.
“I’m here to appeal against a marriage bond,” the girl explained. “I’m supposed to be with the Amata lineage, but the Hespridians are trying to claim a prior pledge.”
“Really?” Lilian replied with manufactured outrage. She watched the proceedings out of the corner of her eye. The masked man and woman with a sash were conferring with the judge, too quietly for her to hear. The soldier she had mentally nicknamed as Claw-face looked ready to explode.
“Aha, yes. Because my Uncle was stupid enough to show me off to them as a baby…”
“It’s not fair!” yelled Claw-face. “We’re just tryin’ to get home! We don’t wanna be here!”
Everyone fell silent. Lilian jumped up and pressed herself against the iron grille.
The judge barely looked up.
“You already have two prior judgements against you and no one in your favour to attest to your character. The stocks have not worked, so I have no choice but to sentence you to…”
“Wait.” Claw-face was gasping now, like a desperate fish. “What if I could show you I was sorry? What if I gave you my squad’s hideout?”
Lilian stiffened. Behind Claw-face, his friends were desperately nodding. Anything to avoid being thrown in the river, which was Aeon’s combined death sentence and disposal method in a one-handed shove.
The judge stared at them with deep suspicion. He was a clean-shaven man with a balding head, reminding Lilian of a disappointed vulture.
“That would be valuable," he conceded. “But it does not solve the problem of what to do with you afterwards.”
The blue-masked man leaned forward to whisper something urgently into the judge’s ear.
“That’s my uncle Aridius,” the girl whispered behind Lilian. “He must’ve been voted in as City Shield this week. I wonder if he will keep them?”
“Keep them?” Lilian asked, whirling around.
“Yeah. Sometimes Shields can post a bond and take reformed criminals to serve their household. For a fee, of course. If they can’t pay, the criminals have to work off the debt.”
Lilian shook her head. Despite being a different world, the machinations of nobility remained the same. It looked like Aridius had just scored free labour.
“Very well,” proclaimed the judge. “If we find your comrades’ hide-out before sundown this evening, your sentence will be changed to servitude. Begone!”
There was a bustle, a blur of activity and Lilian found herself pulled out and chained in the centre of the room.
Aridius nodded at her, before glancing at his wax tablet. “Welcome scholar Lilian. I’m here as your shield, and Domina Augusta here is the City’s sword.” His teeth flashed again, reminding her of a shark. “I’m sure this will be a quick affair.”
“It’s all a misunderstanding, I’m sure,” Lilian replied smoothly. She felt oddly naked, participating in a game where she didn’t know the rules. It looked like Aridius was the equivalent of the defence counsel at home and he couldn’t wait to take a bite out of her.
“Hardly,” Augusta interrupted. She turned to the judge. “Magistum, the scholar here made her way into the archives on false pretences, using the name of the traitor Legata and besmirched our dear Philosopher by comparing him to demons.”
The judge raised his eyebrows.
“That’s not true!” Lilian objected. “I wanted to research the origins of the fight court and how they have shaped this remarkable city. I thought there may be clues in the similarities between the tower-”
“See!” Augusta exclaimed. “She damns herself in front of us!"
“May I speak, Magistum?” Aridius asked, cutting across Augusta.
“Go ahead,” the judge replied with a sigh. “Make it quick.”
“Anyone with active malice would conceal their words and blame the archivist. Instead, the scholar displays both keenness and ignorance; not guilt. I believe she is capable of reform.”
“She should be expelled into the river,” Augusta spat out. “Such sedition, especially paired with beauty, will turn the heads of our youth. She cannot be in a position of trust where she can utter such thoughts and be believed! There is more harm in the tongue of a false scholar than in the hands of a street thug.”
The last sentence was said in rote fashion, making Lilian’s heart sink. If they were falling back onto taught prejudices, she didn’t stand a chance.
“Then strip her of her ribbons and let her earn them back as a secretary,” Aridius argued. “Aeon needs its historians as much as its street sweepers. We cannot afford to throw them away like rotten grain.”
“And you need more hands in the weight room,” Augusta countered scornfully. “This is a law court, Aridius, not a recruitment centre.”
The judge looked at Lilian directly. “First offence?” he asked non-commitially.
Lilian nodded.
“Then she is to labour here in the court archives for the next year, the fee to be agreed with the clerk and her conduct to be reviewed at the end of that time.” He held up his hands to forestall Augustas’ squawk. “No teaching until then. We can’t afford to drown every maid of fertile age, Domina.”
Aridius gave a small bow and Lilian found herself whisked off the stand into a small antechamber. There, the three runaway soldiers stood, disconsolate, chains clipped to a vacant desk. There was no more room for Lilian, so the guard gave her a nod and untied her hands. “Don’t go anywhere, otherwise it will be the river for sure,” he said.
Lilian gave him a grateful smile and a small curtsey. As soon as he had left the room, she was in front of the desk, glaring at the three men.
“What?” Claw-face asked truculently.
“You need to tell me everything, now,” she snapped back, dropping her pretence at sweetness. “Starting with why you came in the first place and what Sergeant Jere is really after.”