So here I was, an hour later, in the arse end of the city, as far down as you can go without hitting the ’Pit, and in a far worse area than I’d found Lise. If I recalled correctly I was just yards from one of the ports where the ’Pit had been sealed, keeping the dead and dying from infecting everyone else. This was truly the bottom of the shit-pile, as evidenced by what I was trying not to step in.
I should have slept first, really. I’d been knackered before the spell and I was worse after. My thumb throbbed like buggery. But there was a girl down there, in that dank and awful place. My flesh and blood. Just a small girl, alone and afraid in a room with who-knew-what. If I was a religious man, I’d have prayed. Instead I told myself that sleep was for idiots and went where Dendal told me.
The walkways down this far were corroded and shaky, but it wasn’t far to fall. In fact it was about six feet to the bottom of everything that was called Mahala. I didn’t come down here often. Maybe I was just as snobby about what was below me as everyone in Heights or Clouds or Top of the World. Everyone likes to have someone to look down on. But if you hit this place, all you could look down on was rats – and not by much, because they were better-fed than the people round here.
Dendal had given me an address and a name. Someone who could help me get into the ’Pit, though how or why Dendal would know someone like that, who knew? I’d seen him leave the office precisely once in the three years I’d been working there, when Lastri was sick and he’d taken her some food.
I lurked somewhere out of the way, under a dripping overhang of crumbling concrete, and took a look around. The air was dull and gloomy, as it always was in Boundary. The sun was rising, peeking over the mountaintops to shine on the godly in Top of the World, but it probably never made a direct appearance this far down. The sun rarely got further than Trade, fifty or more levels above us, and the only lights here were the fitful beams of dirty yellow Glow globes that should have been replaced years ago. All they really lit up was the damp running down the walls.
When I finally moved, I walked warily and kept my hand on the butt of the pulse pistol in my pocket. I needn’t have worried. The allover and coat that looked like a Specials uniform did its trick. In places like this, fear was better than any weapon. Especially when I was going to see a man who didn’t show on the records, or at least on any record I could find. Tam Ratana. I’d never had to use his services before, but I’d heard of him in hushed whispers and Dendal had pointed me this way.
I reached the doorway I was after, a blank face in the pitted, dark body of the building. The windows to either side were crudely boarded up and decorated with some inventive language the scavenge-rat teens had undoubtedly thought highly amusing. I gave the door a solid knock. It was firmer than it looked, with a faint ring of reinforcing metal. After an age, and a couple more knocks, something clicked behind it. Someone must have seen something they liked, because there was an extensive scrape of locks and bolts before the door sprang open.
I couldn’t see much in the dim light beyond but I could smell plenty, enough that I was glad I hadn’t bothered with breakfast. I gripped my pistol tighter in my pocket and edged in. The door swung shut behind me and locks and bolts rattled home again. It was only when I turned that I saw the little man lurking behind the door. I put my back to the wall of the corridor, more from habit than any actual worry. He seemed spry enough, but the lines, droops and general sagginess of his dusky skin and the gnarled roots of fingers clubbed with rheumatism made me put his age at least eighty. He gave me a piercing look, but he didn’t seem in the least bit frightened. I must have been losing my touch.
“Tam Ratana?”
He gave a bobbing nod, and I was reminded of the little birds you used to see in the upper parks, where the sun shines straight on to your skin and isn’t second-hand, bounced off innumerable mirrors and concrete pillars before it reaches you. Of course you only got to see the birds, and the sun, briefly before the guards threw you out for being “from Under”.
“What do you want?” Tam’s voice was scratchy, like the rustle and scrunch of walking on gravel. It gave no hint of how he might feel about me being there, no anger or confusion or even curiosity. Muffled steps ran and petered out further down the corridor. He wasn’t on his own in this place. I’d planned on getting some more information on just who this man was before I did anything else, but now I thought straightforward honesty might be the best policy.
“Dendal sent me. I’m looking for a kidnapped girl. My niece.”
He smiled, completely unsurprised, his mouth wide and gummy. He crooked one knotty finger at me and headed off down the corridor, seemingly unaware of, or unconcerned by, the target his back made. I followed cautiously, past a dark opening on my left, full of the sound of someone trying not to be heard and failing. The person who had made those muffled steps earlier? I forced any nervousness from my face and carried on behind Tam but kept a discreet watch. No one fell into step behind me.
Then we were out of the dark, dank corridor and into a fuggy little room, full of old-fashioned, overstuffed chairs and bright rugs worn almost to rags underfoot. A musty, organic kind of smell, not unpleasant, assaulted me and I was reminded of a back-street shop my mother had taken me to when I was no more than five, before the ’Pit had been sealed. Before she got sick. A dark, secret kind of place where women had talked in whispers to the proprietor and swiftly hidden whatever little brown packets he had sold them.
Tam indicated I should sit. Bundles of dried plants – herbs, I thought with astonishment – hung from the ceiling to dry. My mother had always dried her own, but even when I was a child it was a rare practice. There was so little room to grow frivolities such as herbs and since then the synth had killed most of them.
Speaking of synth, its deadly tang underlay the sweet-smelling herbs. Not just a tang, but full-blown synthtox, there in the corner. A body reeking of it. A thin, frail body that could have been a man or woman. Not much hair to speak of, fluttering eyes big and black in a face that was drained of everything. I looked away.
As I sat, two girls, young, gangly teenagers from the look of them, hurried away in alarm into the darkness of an opening at the far end of the room. They had dusky skin and dark hair, but there was a pallor underneath that suggested that hadn’t seen even so much as the little sun I got in a long time. Their eyes fixed on me and the younger seemed almost paralysed with fright, until the other dragged her away. I thought I saw a strange mark on the inside of her wrist, a tattoo of some sort maybe, and caution sprang up in me again. There were gangs around here that no one from above Boundary would survive meeting. Then they were gone, and Tam’s watchful eyes were on me.
“Why have you come here?” There was a faint hint of accent, a flavour of somewhere that wasn’t here.
“You’re the man who knows how I can get to where I need to be,” I said, carefully neutral in tone, mindful of who else might be here, watching and listening. I’d never met anyone from this far down that was worth knowing. I took out the picture and showed it to him. “I’m looking for this girl.” Amarie said her little piece. By now it was starting to poke at my spine. “Daddy, look at me, I’m a princess.”
He looked at the picture carefully, watching it through three times before he handed it back with a shrug. “Lots of girls go missing every day in a city this big. You should know that, Mr Dizon.”
I wondered how he knew who I was, but then Dendal had surely told him I was coming. “I deal in runaways and bounties, not kidnappings. As far as I’m aware, there are few enough of them.”
He smiled knowingly and the skin on my shoulders began to itch. “Used to be there were few of them. Lately, a lot more. Too many, and the guards won’t, can’t, touch them.”
“Why not?” But I knew. Always the same answer to questions like that.
The knowing smile pulled back into an unnerving grimace that might have been intended as reassuring, but only succeeded in showing his gums and the small brown stubs that were all that was left of his teeth. “They take them to the ’Pit. Not a guard alive that will go down there, Mr Dizon. Unless they’re Specials.”
No wonder Dench didn’t want anything to do with it. I’d have been off the job in a second if it hadn’t been Perak’s girl we were talking about. No, it wasn’t that. That pretty girl in the picture, far from all the cynicism in me, far from pain or sadness or fear. The child I had been once, before life had its way, scored its lines into me with savage glee. Or she had been, and I had to hope she still was, inside. That it wasn’t too late. A pretty girl who loved her father and now sat in a black box, sobbing. I felt a flicker of anger. Perak back in my life not five minutes and here I was, shouldering everything again.
I’d spent a lot of time and effort making sure that didn’t happen. Runaways and bounties: little responsibility, lots of lovely cash. The runaways wanted to be gone and ninety-nine times out of a hundred they could take care of themselves as well as I could. If I didn’t find them, they were just another kid turning adult, trying to make their way. The bounties – well, if I didn’t catch them, tough luck for the guards. If I didn’t take a job, or didn’t see it through, they weren’t my responsibility. But I couldn’t walk away from this, and not just because Perak was my brother. I swore vividly in my head.
“Who takes them to the ’Pit?” I asked. “There’s supposed to be no one down there. They cleared it out before they sealed it.”
Tam laughed, looking like a wrinkled gnome who’s found he can make any wish come true with a wink of his eye. “That’s what the Ministry say, but when do they ever tell the truth? They sealed a lot of them down there, the dregs they wanted to do without. They thought the synth would kill them soon enough, and they’d be rid of all those too undesirable, too feckless and faithless to live in their brave new clean pious city. Only it’s not brave or clean, is it? They left them there to die, Mr Dizon. And when they didn’t die, or not all of them, the Archdeacon found a use for them.”
Left them there to die of the synth. I shook my head in shock, but it was likely true. In the ’Pit, who knew? It was sealed, but the tainted run-off from Upside was likely still filtering through: the water had to go somewhere. Now here was Tam, saying that people lived in that horror? The thought made me squirm. Not least because it looked like that was where I was headed.
“Why would they take girls down there?” I asked. “And how can I get her back?”
Tam grinned at me, but it wasn’t a pleasant one. “I can get you down there, so you can look for your niece. Papers that will get you through the Ministry checks. I can give you a name once you’re in there, a man who might help.” His head bobbed up and down as though it were on a string. “For a price. And there’s no one else can do that, excepting the Ministry.”
There it was. He was right. For all my contacts, I’d never even known there was anyone down there, never mind how to get there, and Tam was offering me a way in. A chance, the only one I was likely to get.
“How much?”
In the end, it was easy. I should have known really. Tam got a young lad to show me where, and it was right under my nose, only more cleverly disguised than Dwarf’s shop. Under a dripping stairwell that had been propped and patched so many times you couldn’t see the original, a door lurked in the darkness. A maintenance door, it looked like, with a stout padlock and a small sign that said danger, alchemical storage and a picture of someone blowing themselves up. Hidden in plain view. It took the lad under a minute to pick the padlock and then I was in.
Right up to my neck.
Inside was a space about the size of a roomy coffin, which seemed appropriate. A dirty yellow Glow globe twitched on and off erratically with a highpitched whine that did nothing for my state of mind. Across from me stood another door.
Tam had told me what to expect and I didn’t like the sound of it. At all. But needs must when Namrat has you by the balls and is ready to twist them off with a grin and a wink. There was a complicated button, lever and pulley arrangement by the door and I pushed it. While I waited, I fiddled with the false papers Tam had given me, along with a pin that I’d stuck to my coat. The pin was shaped like a tiger, with black stripes done in enamel. So they’d know I was Ministry, Tam had said.
The inner door ratcheted open, each clink and clank echoing damply and twisting my nerves to breaking. It was a long way down, and a long way down is something I try to avoid. I stepped into the compartment and tried not to think how far, or how this thing worked and whether it ever got any maintenance. Or whether whatever held it up was rusting, corroded by synth and… Stop it. I took a deep, not quite steady breath and pushed the button/lever thing on the inside. The world fell away from my feet.
I was thrust downwards at what seemed to be an excessive speed that made my insides want to come out through my ears and had me thinking that maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to believe in a god or two so you could pray to them at times like this, when all you wanted to do was either cry or crap yourself.
The compartment finally shuddered to an abrupt halt that made my knees crumple. The door swished open and I pulled myself together enough to step out purposefully into a clammy chamber where dark liquid dripped down the walls and steamed sullenly in pools on the floor. Synth-tainted water. Stronger than I’d smelled it in years.
Two soldiers stood facing me, armoured and armed to the hilt, their eyes hidden by dark visors on their helmets. Ministry Specials, from their uniform and insignia, though the helmets were new. One stepped forward smartly and looked at my papers. I was immediately reassured that Tam had been worth the money. The soldier snapped off a salute so sharp you could have shaved with it, and there was a hungry awe in his voice when he spoke. “Any instructions, sir?”
I allowed myself a small smile and tried to look as arrogant as possible. “My first time here.” I took in the badge on his shoulder. A reverend, on guard duty? Saluting me? Thank you, Tam. “I’m not really sure what I want as yet, reverend.”
“Sir, the” – he licked his lips before he changed tack, as though he’d almost said something he shouldn’t – “your department has special privileges, sir. I’ll arrange transport immediately, sir.” That was a heck of a lot of “sir”s.
The reverend was as good as his word. In less than two minutes I was led away by an unctuous individual called Kerd, a small, slimy little man with hair to match, dressed in a tatty holy-green robe, who didn’t so much walk ahead as flow.
As we left the chamber behind, I could hear the heavy clank of chains, and almost swore out loud in surprise as a bulky cage appeared at the rim of the ledge in front of me. Kerd opened a battered gate and ushered me in. The floor was slick with the same fetid liquid as the chamber, and I tried not to wonder whether the soles of my boots were up to the challenge, or whether I’d just exposed myself to a lethal dose of synth. It took my mind off the long drop underneath me.
We rattled our way down through a shaft and after a moment or two of blackness there was the ’Pit, laid out below me in all its gaudy decrepitude, glittering in a constant drizzle from the roof that refracted the light like prisms.
The buildings shone with light from rend-nut oil – which was warmer than Glow light – and alleys swam with shadows. There were no walkways clogging the air, but a series of cages moved in a jerky dance around the sealed-off roots of Mahala. As we descended I could hear the life of the city. Music! I hadn’t heard any real music in years: the Ministry disapproved, considering most lyrics to be seditious, so it was only allowed on high days and holidays, and then it was bland and vacuous hymns about how the Goddess was so lovely and nice. They made me want to throw up.
Here, songs blared constantly from broken windows, the old-fashioned music that had had a brief resurgence just before the ’Pit was sealed, all heavy throbbing beats and wailing words, a desperate outpouring of anger against the synth. It still sounded as angry now, the rage of it pounding in my veins. It made me want to laugh despite the gap between my feet and solidity.
We clattered down smoothly, the clamour from all the cages dulling to a soothing background noise that I soon learned never stopped, along with the rain – run-off from Upside that leaked through the only place it could, into the ’Pit. We neared the level of the street and the pulse of the city surrounded us – shouts, screams, bursts of song. I’d never heard anything like it.
Upside there were no streets as such, only walkways that often swayed and bounced with the steps of shoppers, a few small parks and the tiny zoo that housed the few last horses, dogs and cats that had once numbered in millions; poor inbred things that bore little resemblance to those that had lived before. Upside, Over-Trade at least, people didn’t want to get close enough to touch, unless they were behind closed doors. Under-Trade, people were too wary to touch, unless money changed hands. There was nothing up there like this, a pushing, shoving, good-natured, heaving humanity. It was glorious.
Below me was an endless parade of people, shuffling about their business on a solid street. On the ground. Men and women shouted out against the blasts of music, their heads covered with flamboyant hats against the constant drizzle. There were heady wafts of steamy, spicy food, and glittering lights from shops trying to tempt people in. I watched it all through the curtain of diamonds that the rain had become, aware of a vibrancy I’d never noticed Upside, as though the people here were prepared to wrench every last drop of blood out of life. Small groups of children wove their way through the giants above them. The only places children ran Upside were in the parts so bad that they ran with a gang and a lot of knives.
The cage ran down another shaft and into a heavily armoured compound. Two of the guards followed us and Kerd smiled at the look on my face as he let me out of the cage. “I’m sure you’ll have time to sample all the delights the ’Pit can offer. Now, first, have that pin off, but be ready to show it when asked.”
He led me through a small maze of buildings to a solid-iron gate five yards tall. Half a dozen sharp-looking guards stood with new guns ready as he opened the small doorway set into the gates and took me through. “Have to keep the port safe, we don’t want any of these going Up, and you need to be careful where you go too, as a Ministry man. Too many places down here aren’t very welcoming. Not surprising, all things considered, but best to be wary. If you leave the hotel at all – and I don’t recommend it without guards – then keep to the main streets, and keep your wits about you. You aren’t Upside any more.”
Then I was in it, inside the animal of the crowd, and I was almost swept away before he took hold of my arm.
“This way, sir.” He led me down a short alley lit with a kind of soft yellow light I’d never seen before that made all the shadows seem friendlier in the damp. Another cage, this time with a dark-haired boy in there, no older than ten. He gave us a sharp little nod and his hand flew round on a series of ratchets, and then we were up again, this time rattling along three yards above the ground. For once I wasn’t bothered about the drop – I was too busy gawking.
Around us, hundreds of cages jerked their way in a complicated dance through alleys, across streets, around the ancient, giant towers that supported the upper reaches of Mahala, over smaller, cobbled-together buildings. Above us a web of cables strung themselves between turning discs. We hurtled towards one and I didn’t even have time to wonder what the hell was going to happen before the mechanism that attached us to our wire swung around the disc, and with a flick of his wrist the boy sent us hurtling at right-angles to the way we had come.
Misty rain tingled against my face as we swooped through this garish, noisy, people-ridden, beautiful city. Boundary as it should have been. It was the most exhilarating ride I’d ever had, and I was sorry when we reached our destination. We were in a quieter area, but there was still a bustle on the streets, a never-ending choke of people. Kerd led me past more security, into a building that looked in good repair, and when we walked in and I saw the blue and gold of a vaulted roof, the thick carpets and the quiet, luxurious splendour, I silently thanked Tam once again.
With a quick salute and a knowing smile, Kerd and the guards left me to the devices of the hotel. A young boy, dressed in impeccable white and gold, led me away and handed me a numbered key. The lift was smooth-riding and bizarrely sumptuous, all brass icons of the Goddess, saints and martyrs, etched mirrors, thick carpet and soft scents. More like an old-fashioned temple than a lift, so it quite took my mind away from the drop under me.
When I tried the key in the properly numbered door, I found a huge room with carpets you could swim in and a bed almost the size of my room at home. A bath big enough for four dominated the next room, and when I tried the taps, hot water came in a torrent. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used a bath and not a shower. Maybe never. I had to shake myself.
I couldn’t stay here. This was a hotel used by the Ministry, and whilst I had the pin, I’d be found out if I stayed too long. Still, maybe for tonight… No, this wasn’t what I’d come for. I gave myself a mental slap. I’d order some food because it was way past my breakfast time and I was famished, find out how to get where I was going, and go.
Before I could do anything else a discreet bell dinged at the door. I peeked through the spyhole and there was food, accompanied by the same young boy who’d given me the key. I raised my eyebrows but opened the door, my hand on the pulse pistol in my pocket just in case. The boy came in, dark-haired and -eyed, with a skin almost blue-white in its pallor, like most of the people I’d seen here. He quickly laid out the food on a table.
Steak. Steak! Where in hell did they get it from? Upside it couldn’t be had for love nor money, but then this was the Ministry, and I supposed they had influence, and money, even here. Not just steak either, but real vegetables, not some reconstituted grey mush. Even the gravy was enough to have me salivating. I couldn’t take my eyes off the food, and waited impatiently for him to be done and leave me to it. The boy didn’t look at me as he set it out, and it was only when he went to leave that I saw who’d come with him.
One of the most stunning women I’d ever seen, a sultry brunette with eyes like black diamonds. Her silky dress slid over her legs as she walked, promising that her skin was as soft as the material that clung to every curve. I realised now why the bath and bed were so big, and why Ministry men came down to the ’Pit. Fact-finding missions, my arse. Up above, anywhere above Trade, there was too much damn piety for this. Under-Trade, too much pox. Here, it would seem, it was something they could indulge in without being caught, or catching anything in return. This was my kind of place. And this was most definitely my kind of woman.
Briefly, I couldn’t decide which was more tantalising, the sight of her or the aroma of steak that drifted up behind me. I wasn’t here for fun, I told myself sternly. I was here to find—She made for the bathroom, and with a wriggle of her shoulders the dress slid from her smooth skin to land in a puddle on the floor. I told myself I imagined her nervous smile, the odd way she looked at me, the little hints of something not quite right, when I heard the gush of water. Sod the steak, it could wait. I followed her into the bathroom. Well, it would be rude not to, wouldn’t it?
In the end I let her have the steak, even though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had real meat. It was her blank-eyed look that stopped me from doing anything except let her soap my back. Don’t get me wrong, I like women: they’re a pleasing distraction from the grey grind of work, though I’ve never been tempted to make it more permanent. I’ve had more than my fair share of escorts, mistresses and flings. Often concurrently. I’ve even been paid in kind a time or two. But they’d all been willing participants. This girl had coercion stamped in subtle glowing lights behind her eyes. It was in the way she moved, the hesitant look to make sure I wasn’t angry, the hint of a cringe when I moved too fast.
I like to think I have at least some standards, though I can think of plenty of women who might disagree with me there. But in my line of work I’ve seen a dozen beaten wives like this, two dozen beaten children. Was it any wonder I was such a cynic? And they all tried to hide it the same way as this girl, beneath lowered eyes and hesitant moves. None of them could help the look that was there if you wanted to see it – the same veiled, cowed look that made me want to choke.
The look of relief on her face when I handed her the soap and presented my back made me squirm in disgust. She hid it well enough that I’d come that close to not noticing, to just jumping in, and on her. I would have done, would have missed the subtle clues and thought no more of it, if I hadn’t seen the mark on her wrists. The same mark I’d seen on the girls at Tam’s place. Not tattoos, I saw now, but a swirling mark burned into the thin, tender flesh just under the thumbs. A brand, like they used to brand cattle back in the days when there were some, and maybe it meant the same thing. Ownership.
So I reined myself in for once, tried to hide my disgust, which would only shame her worse, let her soap my back, fed her the steak and sent her on her way. She was so grateful, I didn’t mind the loss of the meat and I made do with the vegetables and gravy. Even that was a treat, ten times better than anything I’d eaten for years.
I dressed quickly and tucked the pin inside a pocket, just in case. It wouldn’t prove popular out there, I was sure. In other circumstances I’d have gone out and lost myself in the decadence around me, found a woman or two without brand marks and a bottle of something strong and had myself a damn good time. But I had a responsibility, people depending on me, maybe for their lives. Already it seemed to stifle me, and I’d barely begun.