Tanith Lee - In the City of Dead Night.pdf - Tanith Lee - widez2

TANITH LEE

IN THE CITY OF DEAD NIGHT

Her new story for us merges traditional elements of both science fiction and fantasy into a

rich and evocative blend.

WE ENTERED THE CITY IN the hour after the first sunset. It was twilight. Thick bluish dusk,

like smoke, rose from the ground. Out of this, the cliffs of buildings towered to touch the

luminous sky, that was, and would stay, too bright for any but the fiercest stars to show.

Night could never come here. Here, night was done with.

"Don't be so awed by this," said Hassent.

I looked at him "No?"

"No. It's an old city, partly destroyed by aerial action, partly ruinous.

And after sunfall it lies between two suns, the second and smaller of which will rise in three

hours. That's all. The facts."

"Really."

He smiled. Oddly, in the half-dark, his own darkness was paler.

"Well, what would you say then, Aira?"

"There weren't always two suns."

"True. And?"

"Once there used to be night."

"But now there isn't, only twilight. Just perfect for scum like us to burgle in."

Why did we have this discussion? To pass the time, probably, while we rested on the

terrace-wall after the appalling climb up from the valley below. We had used ropes, of

course, and each of us was agile as a monkey, but it still took a long while and was

peril-fraught enough to satisfy even Hassent's irritating taste for dangerous, arduous

exercise.

From the terrace, we could look down straight through into the City. A vista was carved for

miles by a wide boulevard like the bed of a precisely ruled river. The strange smooth

buildings, rising either side, with their pointed windows that had the shape of fingers, ended

frequently in shattered tops, where the bombardment had hit them all those years ago. And

obviously, there was nobody anymore to light a lamp. From the valley, if one was unaware,

the City could pass for another feature of the surrounding mountains. It had done so often,

our Source had assured us. You had to know, and have a map. And then there was the

climb. But Hassent and I were used to climbs. Up the sheer towers of ancient palaces, along

the sloping insides of charming sewage systems .... We were thieves. The climbing, like the

robbery, was part of our job.

But the second sun filled me with concern. It lay now, just under the horizon, throwing upward

a preview of light the way the first sun, the real sun, does at dawn. The second sun was not

real. It had been made and raised and set to circle the City by magic. They-- the ones who

once lived here -- had called it the Great Lantern. Now these magicians were gone, bombed

out of residence by some of their numerous enemies from across the mountain range. But

the second sun, the Great Lantern, that remained, and went on rising (in the north), so here,

there could never be night. And -- what else remained?

I had said something like this to him, back in the desert, when we were at the last halt, and

sold off the riding-urts. We had a night (yes, because there was night, out there) on the town,

he with a pretty female pay-me, and I with a handsome male pay-me. We had also drunk the

wine-wells dry. And in the intimacy post-received pleasure and alcohol, I had let slip to

Hassent my doubt about the magics of this place--whether they were truly finished. But

Hassent had only said, "All gone. All that's left in the City is treasure beyond the dreams of

insanity. That's why we're going. And it's a bit late to coward out. We've spent all our

money."

Now, on the terrace, he said, businesslike, "Let's make a move, shall we?

So we hitched the ropes again and swung off over the inside drop, to where a flight of

broken steps hung in the dusk.

To descend was to go down into the gathered dark. The other way, the glowing green-blue

sky watched us indifferently. I looked it in the eye, coiled up my rope, and followed Hassent

down the stair.

WHEN I WAS a child in Sheemelay, the masters who taught me theft had also taught me

quite a lot of superstition. Tie always the left boot up after the right boot; lick your finger and

touch the stone of your marked building, to placate it with a bit of yourself. (Blood was better,

but then you had to be careful.) Over the years, especially once I partnered up with Hassent, I

had stopped, or tried to stop, some of this. Hassent had absolutely no time for it. He is a

pragmatist. "You take," he was fond of saying, "till it takes you." But old habits die hard.

The lower levels of the City, as we got down into them, seemed buried, as if in a cellar. The

effect was heightened by all the upper streets which rose above, and sometimes forded the

lower in the form of bridges. Several of those had been smashed by bombs. The surviving

masonry stuck out, and in the unending dusk seemed to have weird shapes, like the staring

heads of huge beasts with open jaws &

I said nothing about this fancy to Hassent. Five years of his company had enabled me to

imagine what he would say back.

There were gardens in the City. Some must have been there to begin with, parks with

curious tapering pines and thin stone statues. But the gardens had overgrown themselves

and spread, and elsewhere groves of weeds, bushes, and trees had sometimes seeded in

the walls and avenues. Even so, the City, beyond certain areas of rubble, drifts of dust, old

leaves, the ground-down shale of fallen marble, was tidy, spacious, and uncluttered.

After a while, we paused again under an archway, to consult the map.

Beyond lay a vast plaza. It was closely and immaculately paved except in one spot far

across, where bomb damage had caused two or three buildings to collapse. A fountain

stood at the square's center, pristine. As we lurked, peering over the map by the light of

Hassent's glow-worm torch, a snake hissed loudly from the square and a prickle of new

stars shot off from the fountain into the air.

"It's fine, Aira. Calm down."

"But--"

"Some of their gadgets still work here. We know that, we've been told that."

"I thought it was an exaggeration."

"Their second sun still works so why not a mere fountain?"

"Yes, I see." Did I? I watched the water-jet playing up its spangles at the sky. Was there

enough green light even so for it to glitter quite so eloquently?

"Now," said Hassent, "let's get our bearings. We came in over South Wall. Sun Two will rise

up there, in the mountains, when it does. That's north, then. And this plaza, I believe, is this

one on the map, with the building they call the Oratorium -- look, you see? -- that skinny

tower with its hat off -- so now we go that way."

It was tepid, but not cold. Yet sometimes little breezes blew, and they varied, some much

colder than the cool, some much warmer than tepid. Different atmospheres still existed here.

We walked out finally through the plaza's center, to avoid the fallen buildings. I gazed once

more at the fountain. The jet emerged from the mouth of a figure cast from some glassy,

half-transparent material. It was not human, nor quite anything else. I could not make out

what it was, really, although somehow it was disturbing. But Hassent was already about a

hundred strides away, so I left the fountain and went on. At the square's furthest edge, I

glanced back. And the water had sunk again, vanished. We must have trodden on some

hidden lever under the paving that started it off, perhaps on another one this side to shut it

down again.

If there were hidden levers for that, there might be some for less amusing things. I caught

him up and told him my idea. He smiled. He said, "It's all right, Aira. I remembered to tie my

left boot last."

Probably we walked for an hour more. I can judge time as a rule, even on this journey to the

City after I lost my timepiece playing Blackcard in Kulbin. But I do it by the sun, or the moon, I

suppose, or the infinitesimal slinking of the stars -- and here that would not be possible.

To reach the place we were aiming for, we had to trek ever deeper down, down into those

buried cellars of the lowest streets. Even if night had been extinguished here, the way still

got steadily darker.

I noticed he failed to light anything stronger than the torch.

We stopped at last, and had a swig of water laced with ginger-root spirit.

"There it is," he said.

"--," I answered, cautiously.

The building was low and long, and long again -- there seemed to be acres of it. The

Thesaury of the City. The bombs had never reached it, even all the way down here, where, if

they fell, as we had already seen, they had always caused maximum destruction. I thought of

the war-balloons gliding over, the deadly copper wires strung out, and the impacted electric

charges descending -- lovely as fireworks -- each an induced lightning-strike. Once, I had

had the dubious delight, in the course of my job as a thief, of pretending to be a server at an

orgy arranged for some military general. I recall his holding forth on the efficiency of these

bombs, invented a century before by the alchientist Xos. They have been used in many

spots, always to enormous effect. Now, outside the treasure house of the City, I considered

the City's own general survival. All told, it had withstood the onslaught unusually well. And yet

-- it was empty. None of the stories explained that. Of course, perhaps the living citizens had

simply fled or been captured. I wondered too, why the clever aerialist bombardiers had not

put out the second sun, while they were at it. Conceivably those electric bombs just could not

fly upward?

"Are you ready?" Hassent inquired.

I jumped. "...not quite."

"Come on, Alta. Stop looking like a curd-sick yurt. You're not usually as bad as this."

Normally I would have snapped back with something. I did not.

This low, the faintest glimmer of dusk was still floating like clouds between the pillars and the

finger-shaped door- mouths of the building we had come here to enter. I saw ghosts. It was

a trick of the eyes. But even so. They fluttered, in and out, up and down. Poor things, were

they thinking they were still alive, and wondering why the City was unlit and full of holes? Had

they forgotten?

According to the Source (that man Hassent and I had eventually, after months of scheming

and bribes, got to meet in Kulbin), this treasury was the one which held the greatest amount

of treasure. There were zi-rubies the size of a two- year-old child, electris in bundled rods

seven feet in length, emerald and qualium, and Plum-Breath, the fireless smoke- conducting

purple jade. Elsewhere in the City lay other caches, but nothing like this one. Nothing but this

one was worth bothering with, if you had actually managed to reach the City, scale the walls,

get in. Why then, I had murmured all those miles and days ago, had no one else, the Source

himself for example, ever gone there? He replied that quite a few had gone there, and

returned richer than a thousand kings. But they could only carry so much down the mountains

and the walls. And as there was such a lot, still plenty of it was left. As for himself, he thanked

me for my compliment, but he was too old for such a jaunt. We had cut him in, of course. We

left the usual pledge -- a vital piece each of our entry-exit ribbons, issued by the Royal

Kronarchery. The Source seemed frantically keen that we succeed. His map was of the

best.

"Hassent -- did anyone say there was -- anything- here?"

"Not apart from mounds of treasure. You heard it all the same as I did."

"But the Great Lantern is still operating. And that fountain --"

"Oh for the love of life, Aka! Forget the bloody fountain. Let's get on."

Just then, something cried in the City.

It sounded a long way off, and yet, partly due to the amphitheater effect of this lower depth, it

was all-present, everywhere around us. The cry was soulless, savage, yet desolate beyond

description. We both stood, paralyzed in the ringing pulse of it. And then it was over, and

only memory replayed it on and on inside the ear.

"There are no animals here," I said. I spoke incredibly softly -- not quite a whisper.

"Everyone says, no animals, no birds, come into the City. Not even mountain wolves or lilynx.

Not even eagles set down on the highest roofs -- or even fly over --"

"I saw crows flying about, when we were coming up from the valley -- something at least,

down inside the wall, flying over, black -- or maybe not. But anyway, you've said it. This thing

is outside the City. Up in the mountains. Crags echo. We just heard it." Hassent also was

speaking very, very low. If his darkness had paled, in the dim-out I would never see.

"Outside? You're joking. It's inside. With us. What was it?'

I was not asking Hassent. But anyway he said, "Some mechanism, could be. It didn't sound

animal really, did it, let alone human. Machinery, like the foun --"

Whatever it was, it chose that moment to cry again.

Hassent's words and voice were obliterated. Thought was obliterated. Only feeling

responded to the fearful sound.

It was unbearable. Heartless -- yet it was filled by a terrible agony wounded and agonized

yet it was raw with malevolence beyond expression. I mean, my expression. The thing which

cried expressed it only too well.

In the second aftermath, he and I stood like a couple more statues. Then Hassent shook

himself.

"Listen, Aira. Whatever it is, and it might just be nothing, it's miles off. Trust me, I'm good at

judging sounds, you know that. So our very best course--"

Before he had finished I had taken the hint. And we were running, both of us, light and

terrifically fast, toward the shelter of the treasure house.

Here is a confession.

When things get serious, I always find myself glimpsing back, with bittersweet nostalgia, to

my childhood -- which was only ten years ago, mostly, if I count adultness from when I was

fifteen. In those minutes as we ran inside the dusk within that City canyon, and threw

ourselves headlong up the pillars, and next at the low balcony rail of a tall window -- there

flashed through my mind quick images of my days in the Thiefs' School of Sheemelay. I saw

the teachers, the fellow pupils -- even the thick green quarrel trees in the courtyards.

Although, as with all such institutions, the school was reckoned to be a secret, everyone

knew. The town was proud of it. They also took a cut from the proceeds of the more

profitable First Steals. A trained thief anyway never robs on his own turf -- so the better

school a town has, the safer its townizens.

But, from thinking like this, I knew how afraid I was now. The last occasion I became so

nostalgic was the day in Yot, when I was nearly hanged ....

The window behind the railing had a kind of glass in it. It was the type of glass that is melded

all through to metal, opaque and shining like tarnished platinum. We could see nothing the

other side of it either, in the non-light. But Hassent produced his glass-biter, and scored in

swiftly, so a pane dropped away. We crushed through after, into the dark behind the dark.

All this while, there had been no other noise from the City. By which I mean, no other cry.

Once inside the Thesaury, Hassent and I froze again. We stood there, listening to the

hoofbeats of our hearts, hoping that was all we would have to hear. It was.

Nothing in the world now made a sound.

Maybe three minutes passed. Then he spoke.

"It's as black as night in here even if there isn't any night. I'm going to chance the sparkle."

"Hassent -- that's going to be bright. What if --"

"What if what ?"

"If something out there sees."

Hassent said, sensibly, "Fine. But how else do we find our way anywhere ?"

"Use the glow-worms."

"Not in here. Here's too big. And you know there might be guardians -- and catches."

This was definite. Even if there were nothing supernatural, there would surely be the sorts of

pits and snares all cities, if possessed of fabulous wealth, tend to leave lying about, the way

the ordinary householder leaves mousetraps.

"The sparkle," I said, "might activate just that."

"A light-reactive catch?"

"They were magicians, remember."

"Yes, but most of that has decayed. I mean, if it hadn't, we'd have been stumbling over it

everywhere already." And then, having consulted me and ignored my opinion, Hassent

switched on his sparkle. It sat up on his left shoulder like a tiny obedient moon, casting out

its bluish clarity. "Going to chance yours, then?" he queried.

I thought that was unnecessary, for all about us a wide hall had become visible end to end in

the single sparkle's rays.

"This is one of the outer Arrival Rooms," I said. "I remember from what we were told."

"Where they took the tribute in," he agreed, "and the tax from traders. And all those clerks

sat at all those benches over there along the wall, weighing the gems and bars, counting the

cash."

We looked at the benches, which were of marble. There were also marble stands and flat

upright desks, and curious balances of stone weights.

"The carving is complicated," I said.

It monopolized every surface. Curls and tendrils (leaves? hair?), out of which squinted

disturbing faces again, that were not quite human, not quite anything else, like the figure in

the fountain. They had, the faces, no necks, but little paw-like hands. The sparkle winked

slowly over their marble eyes, polished by age and the rubbing quality of pure vacance.

There was an uneasy melancholy about the carved faces, but this did not dispel the sense I

had of something more ominous. Like the cry we had heard, I thought, misery coupled here

with some dreadful other thing, a sort of evil so unlike anything that mankind knows or

makes -- as to be utterly beyond hope.

"I don't like this room, Hassent."

"Retie your boots," he said. "Lick your finger and rub it on the wall," he mocked. "Pee in the

comer. Say a Pleasetosaveme nine times --" Hassent juggled his eyebrows. "You're right,"

he said. "It stinks of something foul in here. Like a dead rat the size of a kronarch's palace.

Only, it isn't a smell." "No."

He reached out and took my hand, squeezed it, let go.

"What do you want to do, Alta? Go back?"

I considered. I am contrasuggestive, evidently, because now he had come round to my own

view so suddenly, I began to decide we were being crazy. Greed, no doubt.

"We've got this far," I said. "Let's --"

And then, oh then, out there It cried out again.

Hassent too made a small noise. The Arrival Room went black as he slammed off the

sparkle like a blow.

When the awful, awful threnody had finally died-- from the air, from our inner ears -- I heard

us start to breathe again.

"That was," he said, "nearer. Wasn't it?"

"I think so."

"What the Bear's Best Bits is it?"

"Something...very big.

"And lonesome."

"And malign --"

"-- beyond our worst-ever nightmares. Why," he added, with virtuous indignation, "did no one

tell us about this ?"

"Do you think it saw your light?"

Tanith Lee - In the City of Dead Night.pdf

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