Karys slept badly. By the time the first rays of sunlight touched the dark sea, she was already locking her front door and setting off for the mender’s.
Ferain had not spoken much since the evening before, but the feeling of his presence—a certain coolness, a kind of weight attached to her shadow—served as a constant, unwelcome reminder of his intrusion. Karys’ self-consciousness left her irritable; she should not care, did not care, that this man had been inside her flat, seen her vulnerable, seen Sabaster. It didn’t matter, and yet she was annoyed all the same, particularly because she received the distinct impression Ferain was both aware of her discomfort and trying to be sensitive about it.
Her appointment with the mender was at six o’clock, which left plenty of time for her to reach the address. Marishka had tracked down a woman from Upside, a freelancer named Balusha. She would be expecting Karys at her residence.
A thin fog rolled over the slick grey cobbles of Old Market, and Karys’ footfalls sounded muffled and strange. It was quiet. In the distance, waves hushed into the harbour.
“Is that a Hound?” Ferain asked suddenly, causing her to jump. Her shadow lengthened as he peered toward the shaggy brown creature on the other side of the road.
“Stop moving like that,” she hissed. “People are going to notice. And don’t talk.”
“No one else is around.” Her shadow returned to its rightful place. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can hear me.”
“What gives you that idea?”
“I tested a few things while you were sleeping. Hounds were made with Ephirite-derived workings, right?”
She scowled. “What did you do while I was asleep?”
Her shadow waved one hand. “I tried haunting the people who live on the floor below you. Either they’re incredibly deep sleepers, or they can’t hear me.”
“You…” She took a deep breath. “Actually, never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Right, but the point is that it’s perfectly safe for me to talk to you. Probably.”
“Don’t feel obliged.” She approached the Hound and patted its side in greeting. It stretched languidly, its hind leg twitching. Its fur radiated a damp, sleepy warmth. “In any case, I can’t respond without looking like I’ve lost my mind.”
“So the human-worked transport modifications are passed on as inherited characteristics in a living animal?” asked Ferain. A wisp of shadow reached out and touched the Hound’s flank. “A whole new species, crafted by ordinary people. Almost like a Bhatuma-made creature. We have nothing like that in Varesli.”
Karys sighed.
“What? You don’t like Hounds?”
“They’re fine,” she said grudgingly, and clambered onto its back. “But the city is overrun with them. They’ll soon outnumber the roaches.”
“As infestations go, rogue transport workings don’t seem the worst.”
Karys made a noncommittal sound. When she gave the Hound her destination, it swayed and lumbered forward, apparently only half-awake.
“And there’s no system? You can pick any Hound, and it’ll take you wherever you want to go?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“They don’t like leaving Downside, and they don’t always follow instructions.” She had learned the hard way that travelling near the harbour was perilous—Hounds loved to swim.
Her shadow drew closer, coiling up beside her in the seating bowl.
“Come on, don’t you find them charming?”
“Yes, big headless furry abominations, very charming.” Karys moved to the right, away from him. “Ask at the embassy, maybe you can take one home with you.”
He laughed. “Tempting.”
The Hound took Karys up through Tomasia to the base of the scale wall. The four-hundred-foot sheer cliff face gleamed with the pale light of daybreak: a muted, pearlescent white whorled with gold. The wall was a Bhatuma relic, a monument of the past. For forty years, the Ephirite had hungered to tear it down, while the city council sweated through countless negotiations with New Favour to stop them. Without the wall, Psikamit would be split in two: Upside cut off from the harbour, Downside from the inland. It was possible to traverse the cliffs on foot, but doing so was dangerous, awkward, and enormously time-consuming. Using the wall reduced the journey to mere minutes.
Karys climbed down from the Hound’s back with a murmur of thanks. It nudged her hip gently, then wandered off in the direction of Scuttlers.
The faint hum of death pressed up against the Veneer, a low vibration at the back of Karys’ mind. The commons below the wall was cold; the deep shadow of the cliffs soaking the chill permanently into the cobblestones. Up against the wall itself, nine giant hands lay palm-up on the ground, pale as exposed fish bellies. As it was early, no one else was using the arcane Bhatuma elevators, and she could travel alone.
Well, mostly alone.
“As an adherent of the Ephirite, do you ever worry that one of those hands might just…” Her shadow tilted its own hand sideways in demonstration. “Make an example of you?”
Karys thought very hard about fifteen thousand cret, and did not reply.
The scale wall was not made of stone nor metal, but near-seamless planes of extremely hard shell. In sunlight, the surface grew blinding; visible from miles offshore, it haloed the whole city in reflected light. While the hands were of a similar colour, they were crafted from a much softer material, somewhere between fresh resin and rubber—a mimicry of flesh. Karys stepped onto the upturned palm of one of the platforms, and the hand’s fingers curled inward to cradle her. Then, slowly and smoothly, it began to rise.
Although she had made this trip countless times before, Karys’ stomach still dropped as the city fell away beneath her. Over the tight-packed rooftops of the low districts, the sea melded with the misted gloom, a blue so deep that it appeared black. Little lights flickered out on the ocean; the night-fishers drawing in their nets, sailing back to the harbour with the dawn.
“Do people ever fall?”
Her shadow touched the tip of the platform’s thumb. Ferain’s cheerfulness had faded; he sounded more sombre now, subdued. Above the dark expanse of the water, the stars were fading out.
“Sometimes,” Karys replied. “If they’re drunk. But less than you would think.”
“Do many jump?”
She frowned slightly. The whisper of death faded as the giant hand rose. “Sometimes.”
Her shadow shivered.
“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why I asked that.”
Karys said nothing. There had been a small quaver in his voice, like the thinnest fracture in a pane of glass.
The sky had turned coral by the time she reached the summit of the scale wall. Newtown, the district sitting closest to the cliff edge, was awash with low birdsong. It was peaceful; there were more trees, larger houses, broader streets—although the neighbourhood was by no means the wealthiest part of Psikamit, it was worlds away from Old Market. Karys knew the area well. Most of her easy, steady work took place here; unlike jobs in Downside, there was rarely any danger or complication, and pay was reliable. The commissions seldom varied: conferring with the deceased to clarify the terms of unusual wills, offering final sentiments to the bereaved, settling inheritance disputes. The residents of Upside had fewer qualms about contracting New Favour than the older, poorer neighbourhoods below them, but even they sometimes preferred more discreet and personal services. Karys was only too happy to charge them for the privilege.
Balusha’s house was a ten-minute walk from the scale wall, a single-storey building at the end of a quiet road. It appeared poorly maintained and unwelcoming; the shutters had cracked, paint peeled from the façade, and leaves stuffed the gutters. One of the windows was boarded over where the glass had shattered. Stubborn weeds poked up around the walls—yellow flowers and long tufts of knotgrass. Karys studied the exterior. If her house was any indication, it looked like Balusha might have fallen on hard times. As she watched, a light came on in one of the downstairs rooms.
“Seems like the mender is up,” said Ferain.
“Hm.” Karys straightened her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. “Do you remember the terms of our agreement?”
“‘My life for fifteen thousand cret.’” He sounded amused. “Eager to be paid?”
“I’m just making sure that there are no misunderstandings.”
“That’s fine. I won’t cheat you; you’ll get the money.”
Which was what he would say, but Karys only shrugged. She consulted her rusted old timepiece, and then put it back in her pocket. Close enough.
The front door of the house needed a new coat of varnish; the fine wood had turned grey and dull with neglect. Karys rang the bell, then took a step back. She felt jittery, tense with repressed nerves. If this went well, if everything went according to plan … There was a long pause, and then the door opened.
Balusha was tall and heavily built, with precise black eyebrows and salt-dyed hair. Despite the hour, she was already impeccably made-up, her eyes lined in purple and green. She studied Karys down the length of her nose.
“You’re Marishka’s resident deathspeaker?” she asked, dispensing with greetings.
“Actually, I’m independent.” Karys held out her hand. “Balusha?”
“I said six for the appointment.” The woman turned away from the door. “You’re early.”
The small foyer was tiled in grey and brown, the walls painted duck-egg blue and decorated with ugly miniatures of seabirds and fish. It smelled strongly of cooking oil. Karys followed Balusha through to the examination room on the right, which was brighter and cooler than the entranceway. A large glass cabinet dominated the far wall; inside it, Karys could see tools of the mender’s trade—sealed phials, worked metals, scalpels, tinctures, all neatly arranged and labelled. A bed covered in a yellow oilsheet stood on the right, a plain wooden desk and chair on the left.
“I’ve never treated a deathspeaker before,” Balusha said, brusque and efficient. “My knowledge of what modifications your master might have applied to your person is limited; my practice is more traditional, Bhatuma-based. Even if I’m unable to assist you, there is a thirty percent upfront fee for this meeting, which will not be refunded in the event—”
“Marishka has already covered the costs,” said Karys.
Balusha shook her head. “I’m sorry, cas, perhaps there has been a misunderstanding. Your employer only made a partial deposit.”
Karys could tell the woman was lying; the mender’s voice had jumped an octave. Not a great start. “I’m aware that you have been fully compensated, and I don’t intend to pay twice. If there is any misunderstanding, you are welcome to take up the matter with the Second Mayor directly.”
Balusha’s expression soured.
“Sit on the bed,” she said.
Karys sat. Balusha walked over to her desk, and pulled out a form from her drawer. She scrawled something at the top of the page, almost driving the pen through the paper.
“Age and family illnesses?” she said, not looking up.
“Twenty-nine, and none that I know of.”
“Existing personal body modifications, Bhatuma-derived, Ephirite-derived, or Ephirite-applied?”
“Only permanently wrought changes from my compact-holder, nothing active.”
“Those changes being?”
“He altered my mind so that I can perceive the Veneer and what lies past it. His workings were not attached to me, only applied to me.”
“Please explain.”
“The workings moulded me like clay, and the clay has set—but it’s still the same substance, rearranged.”
“Hmph.” Balusha made a longer note. “Nonreactive, then.”
The condescension of her voice grated on Karys’ nerves. “Yes.”
“Are you pregnant or experiencing sexual difficulties?”
“No.”
“Do you have any venereal diseases, or—”
“This is probably all irrelevant, anyway,” interrupted Karys. “The treatment I’m seeking is for someone else.”
Balusha’s gaze flicked up from the form, and she raised an eyebrow.
“And this person isn’t here now because…?” she said.
“It’s a sensitive situation, and I first wanted to be sure that you can help them.”
The mender huffed.
“They were injured by an entity known as a Construct,” continued Karys. “The attack left them … poisoned, I think. I saw the creature swallow and kill another man; he was completely dissolved in seconds. Like he had been turned inside out.”
Surprisingly, Balusha did not flinch. She chewed the inside of her cheek.
“But your friend’s exposure to the toxin was less extensive?” she asked.
“I think they were just scratched,” said Karys. “I halted the progression of the poison before it spread to the rest of their body. Would you be able to draw it out?”
The mender raised her eyes to the ceiling, thinking. She tapped her pen against her front teeth.
“It doesn’t sound like a poison or venom to me,” she said. “Too virulent, based on your description. More like a worked effect—a withering curse of sorts. Potent. You say this creature was called a Construct? I haven’t heard of them before, but they sound political. It would be very difficult for a deathspeaker to identify the perpetrator without bodily remains, correct?”
Karys nodded.
“A sophisticated way to disappear people,” muttered Balusha. She set down her form on the desk behind her, dropping the pen on top of it. “Removing an effect of that nature would be extremely complicated, even if the exposure was minimal. Without examining the patient, I can’t tell whether it’s within the scope of my abilities. I would have to see them.”
Karys had a sinking feeling in her stomach. “They’re currently in a form of stasis. If I brought them to you, that protection—”
“Stasis?”
“I placed them inside a time-locked space beyond the Veneer.”
The mender’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ve already told you that my Ephirite-based knowledge is limited,” she said. “But how do you plan to locate that space again?”
“I tethered the relic generating the time lapse.” Karys lifted her left hand to show the scar covering her palm. “With the working activated, the stasis remains—”
Balusha went rigid. “You bound this person to yourself?”
“No, I bound the relic that generates—”
The mender crossed the room and snatched Karys’ hand. Her fingers were cold and soft. Her eyes flicked across the impression left by the Split Lapse, and her face darkened.
“Oh, you stupid woman,” she said. “What have you done?”
Karys jerked her hand away automatically. “It was only a base Bhatuma-derived binding, nothing permanent.”
Balusha let out a short, vicious bark of laughter. “‘Nothing permanent’? Deathspeaker, you’ve sealed your little ‘stasis’ dimension from within—you’ve got a locked door with a melted key. I can’t help you. No one can help you, not unless they had the ability to counter any of the relic’s working authorisations, which is impossible without being able to examine the device that you physically subsumed. Nothing permanent? You’ve tied another person to your body; you’ve performed human fucking binding.”
There was a ringing in Karys’ ears. “No, I didn’t.”
“As good as.” Balusha shook her head. “You’re lucky that your victim hasn’t consumed you already. Get out. I want nothing to do with this.”
“Consumed me?”
“Out.”
Karys held her ground, although her heart rate sped up. “Your services have been paid for.”
“Then I’ll refund Marishka.” Balusha’s expression twisted. “You’re welcome to take the matter up with her directly, of course.”
“I have given you no reason to—”
“I cannot help you.” The mender emphasised every word. “Get out before I throw you out.”
For a second, Karys considered refusing. Balusha might be larger than her, but … She grimaced. What would be the point? The meeting was over; that much was clear. She pushed herself off the bed.
“Make sure you return the money,” she said coldly.
Balusha’s lips thinned, but she said nothing. Karys walked out of the examination room to the passage. As she left the house, she slammed the front door hard enough to startle the birds from the trees. Sparrows flapped into the air, twittering.
She moved quickly, her head down, her stomach knotted. A waste of time. Coming here had been a waste of time. Balusha had clearly misunderstood the situation.
“Karys,” said her shadow.
“Don’t talk to me.”
The mender had jumped to conclusions, that was all. She had said it herself—she didn’t know Ephirite workings, didn’t know how the Veneer functioned. Her theories were irrelevant. Karys had not done anything permanent; it had only been a simple temporary binding, and even an apprentice workings practitioner would be able to release—
“Karys, stop,” said Ferain.
She was halfway down the road and breathing hard, her skin flushed. “Leave me alone.”
“My father is a Bhatuma historian, and he studied the Split Lapse for years. If what the mender said back there is true, then his notes could be used to counter the relic’s workings.”
Her shadow’s voice was controlled, pitched low and clear, but its quiet intensity brought Karys to a halt. She stood in the middle of the street, her hands balled into fists, eyes fixed on the ground.
“Balusha may be wrong about everything,” said Ferain. “And even if she’s right about the way the Lapse is sealed, that doesn’t mean we’re out of options.”
The sun was ahead of her, but her shadow lay in front of her feet. The light reflected off the windows of the houses to either side.
“We need more information, that’s all,” he said. “We’re no worse off than when you woke up this morning.”
Karys nodded. Her heart slowed; the heat of her anger faded. No better—but no worse.
You’re lucky that your victim hasn’t consumed you already.
“All right,” she said. “More information.”