The Fade

19

Next time I meet Gendak, things get nasty.

I know that something's wrong when I see his face, even before I spot the chirurgeon standing in the room. There's another Gurta here too, older than Gendak, hair silver grey, skin dry and cracked around his rheumy eyes. He's dressed expensively, and regards me as if I were a particularly vile insect. A scribe lurks nearby, his quill hovering ready.

The guards strap me in tight, as always, but a dreadful sense of foreboding grows in me as they check my bindings.

This will be my last visit. After this, I'll be gone. The Elder is coming next turn; the guards talk about nothing else. I can only hope that chance isn't going to be so cruel as to stop me now.

Then it occurs to me. Maybe they know about the escape. But by then it's too late. I've been secured, and the guards have left.

~ They let their women fight and die in their wars ~ the old man croaks. ~ Disgustin g ~

~ Very few, Magister ~ Gendak replies. ~ This one is exceptional ~

~ She is exceptional only in that her conduct is even more shameful than most of her kind ~ the Magister snaps.

Gendak is clearly cowed. His expression is uncertain, remorseful. He doesn't say a word, but he looks at me, and it's like he's begging me not to blame him for what's to come.

I don't like this.

The chirurgeon is preparing a spike. I can see through the glass that it's full of some kind of liquid. Those bastards have drugged me twice already; there won't be a third time. I begin to turn my mind inward, furling it closed, concentrating. A lifetime of discipline has given me exceptional control over my body, including the ability to resist and eventually neutralise most poisons. It's one of the harder techniques of chua-kin training, but it's come in useful in my line of work.

~ Your methods are entirely too gentle ~ the Magister tells Gendak. ~ She has been playing for time ~

~ I was gaining her trust ~ he protests. ~ Such methods are slower but yield better results ~

~ Nonsense ~ he says. ~ She'll trick you, lie, betray you if she can. It's in their nature ~

Well, at least he got that right.

The spike is inserted into my inner elbow, and the drug spreads. It's gentle, insidious: it doesn't burn but it soothes. I can't entirely suppress the effects but I can stave the worst off as long as I keep my chants going. My body is working frantically to cleanse me, defying the drug's hold on my system.

~ Give it a moment to work ~ says the chirurgeon, as he leaves. ~ Then she'll tell you anything you want to know ~

So that's it. A concoction to loosen my tongue. Well, fuck you for not having the guts to just kill me, because this won't work, and you'll never get another chance.

Knowing what it is, I can concentrate on negating its effects. These kind of potions create a soporific blanket, putting the victim into a hypnotic and suggestible state. But my mind is anchored now, and though I feel like I'm floating in a dream, my thoughts are still clear enough to make out.

~ Ask her ~ the Magister demands of Gendak. The guards stand by, watching me closely.

He leans in, wets his lips, speaks. 'What is the name of your master?'

'Plutarch Nathka Caracassa Ledo, Magnate of Clan Caracassa, member of the Turnward Claw Alliance,' I slur. The words slip out past my teeth with frightening ease. I tell myself he already knows. This is only a warm-up.

'Explain your duties as Cadre.'

The scribe writes in the background; I can hear the scratch of his nib. I wonder what Gendak's getting at. We've been over all this. 'Whatever my master requires of me. Information… sabotage… theft. Assassination.'

'Did you ever act as his bodyguard?'

'Caydus or Jyirt are his bodyguards. But… sometimes I do it too. When they need… At functions and parties… he prefers the women there then… me and Vala and Quaday.'

'And you are loyal?'

'I'm a Bondswoman,' I say.

He glances at the Magister, then back to me.

'I'm going to say a name. You tell me if you have heard it before.'

I nod. My head lolls, not entirely faked.

'The name is Belek Aspa.'

The faintest tickle of recollection, but so distant that I can't hope to remember. I shake my head.

'You have never heard mention of this name?' he persists. 'Your master has never spoken it while you have been nearby? He trusts you, he would not fear to discuss secret matters in front of you.'

Now I'm curious. Enough to risk a query. 'Who's Belek Aspa?'

'I am asking the questions,' Gendak says.

And he does. He asks me directly about the size of the Eskaran forces, about my masters' intentions concerning the war, about chthonomancers and their Blackwings and how they power their craft, about Craggens and Ya'yeen and how they integrate with our society, about the mines and our technology and weapons manufacture. He asks me about our attitudes and beliefs towards the Gurta, he asks about fortifications in the Borderlands. He asks about the squabbles of the Plutarchs and the sway of politics. But I get the impression that the Magister lost interest the moment I said I'd never heard of Belek Aspa, and indeed he's soon obviously bored.

I'm grilled by Gendak endlessly, and I lie over and over again, giving him false locations, reinforcing myths, feigning ignorance. It's stunning what they don't know about us; almost as appalling as what the average Eskaran doesn't know about them. The scribe takes it all down. I enlighten them not one bit, and yet when they're finished they think they've gained the deepest of insights, a view into the heart of their enemy. The drug has been entirely cleansed from me by now, and my head is clear again.

The Magister leaves with a triumphant look at Gendak, and his scribe follows him. Gendak sits heavily in his chair, his pale grey eyes full of sorrow. We're alone. I'm not sure what to expect from him now.

'I did not want it to be this way,' he says. 'This was not my intention.'

I don't reply.

'I'm a good man, Orna,' he tells me, and there's a note of pleading in his voice. 'I'm a man of peace and learning. I wanted you to see that. I do not imagine you ever will, now.'

And still I don't answer. And I won't, either. Does he want sympathy from me? Understanding? Is he asking me to absolve him? Not going to happen. Because he might very well be a good man, he might have a noble heart and be learned and compassionate, he might have sons and daughters and he might love them and he might genuinely want to reach me; but he's still a fucking Gurta under all of that, so as far as I'm concerned, I'd like to bludgeon him to death with his own jawbone.

'You'll meet the Elder soon,' he says, almost to himself, as he gets up and makes for the door to let the guards in. 'You might consider that an honour.'

Perhaps he supposes I'm too groggy to remember his comment. Perhaps he genuinely believes I don't know what will happen. But I think this is his way of saying goodbye. I've heard the rumours. I know what kind of honour he means.

They're done with me now: they think they've milked me dry. I'll join the squalling freaks that the prisoners speak of, chained in the depths of the prison. One of the Elder's living experiments. A Cadre woman for him to play with.

Next turn, they'll come for me. If I'm not gone by then, I'll face the worst of all fates. I'm taken straight from there to the food hall. They've recently started feeding us before our shifts in the forge instead of halfway through or afterward. Another one of their random and annoying changes meant to divulge some insight into our behaviour or metabolisms or whatever. I have no idea what their real purpose is, or if there's a purpose at all, and I don't care. By next turn I hope to never have to think of it again.

I sit with Feyn, as usual. He knows something's up. I tell him about the interrogation. Charn comes over and sits down, tearing at a hank of lichen-bread with his teeth. A moment later, Nereith also joins us, sensing a conversation he doesn't want to miss. Their new closeness with Feyn and me has been noted by their companions.

'Time we cleared a few things up,' Charn says.

'Like what?'

'Like you haven't even told us the details of this plan of yours yet, and the Elder's coming next turn, and that's our time, right?' He's been worrying at this particular subject ever since I got back from my trip outside. Every time I put him off it frustrates him more. 'You think we ought to know what we're doing, since you're asking us to risk our lives?'

'I'm not asking you to do anything. Stay if you want,' I reply.

'You know what I mean,' he snarls, poking a finger at me. 'Take me, for instance. Surrounded by guards. Can't even go for a piss break without an escort. How you planning on getting me out of there without anyone noticing?'

'It's covered,' I assure him.

'You said that, so why the secrecy?'

I fix him with a level glare. 'Because there's four lives here at stake, including mine, and I've lived for a long time by not trusting anyone. Now I'll tell you all what to do just before next turn's shift, and it'll all run smoothly.'

'You believe that one of us would betray the others?' Feyn enquired.

'Could, not would. I'm not taking the chance.'

'And yet we have to trust you,' Charn sulks.

'I'm the one with the plan,' I tell him equably.

He gets up and goes back to his own table, where his welcome is muted. They're not so fond of him any more.

Nereith glances over at him, and back to me. 'I'm very interested to hear how you intend to solve that little problem he just mentioned.' He grins. 'Unless, of course, you're not.'

'You're not solving it?' Feyn asks me.

Nereith explains. He likes to show off how smart he is. 'It's impossible to get Charn out the same way we're going. As a blacksmith, he's too well guarded. He served his purpose, and now we're leaving him behind.'

Feyn looks at me, black eyes calm. The Khaadu's got me.

'This turn the fort is in chaos,' I tell Feyn. 'Last-minute preparations. By the time the Elder arrives, most of the chaos will be over. We're not going to wait until the next shift. We're going now.'

'You really are quite ruthless sometimes, Orna,' Nereith says, a hint of admiration in his voice.

'Shouldn't have tried to rape me, should he?' I reply with a shrug, and go back to my food.