Coldmaker(51)

I held up my hands. ‘It’s okay. I understand. Unfortunately not, but I promise that if anyone else sends me on errands, I’ll do them quickly.’

‘Okay, good, because tomorrow I want—’ Cam nearly dropped the music box, his eyes widening. ‘Wait!’

‘What’s wrong?’

Cam didn’t answer, skirting around me so fast I thought his robes might catch on the stone wall. My stomach knotted, wondering what might have set him off.

Then I saw it.

Cam had stopped in front of an Opened Eye, painted on the stone in gold. His hand snapped out to point at it, finger stiff.

I couldn’t believe I’d missed seeing the symbol earlier, considering it was so close to where I’d left the music box; although the gold colour blended almost flawlessly against the beige brick. The Eye was only more apparent now that the Sun was higher and spilling more light into the alley.

‘Did you paint this?’ Cam asked, his pointed finger circling the pupil. But his question was full of hope, not accusation.

‘No,’ I said quickly.

Cam’s eyes narrowed, searching me for the truth.

‘I swear,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t me. I don’t even know what it is.’

‘You don’t?’

I shook my head, oddly cross with myself for lying to him.

Cam looked at me, then, holding one finger to his lips, he reached under his shirt and drew out a necklace. The chain jangled down over his shirt, holding up the symbol’s twin. He looked down at the Opened Eye and then straight back at me. ‘Yeah. I don’t either. I have no idea what this symbol could mean.’

Then he reached into his chest pocket and pulled up the thin book he’d been reading, to reveal the Opened Eye inked on the cover.

‘No clue whatsoever,’ he said, drawing out the words, letting the book slide back in.

My throat went dry.

The second bell rang out overhead and Cam sighed, putting the necklace away. ‘Damn. I need to go, I’m going to be late. Sorry, Spout.’

I tried not to look at the golden Opened Eye on the wall, but it seemed to be calling me, even more so than the last time I’d seen it.

‘Listen, I know your people have every reason not to trust mine,’ Cam said, adjusting the box. ‘But you can trust me. We’ll talk more tomorrow.’

I gave the smallest of nods, my stomach still dancing from all the Cold I’d drunk earlier.

Cam walked a couple of steps, but he stopped, and turned back to face me. ‘I think I understand now. I mean I did already, but now I’m pretty sure she was right.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Mama Jana. When I went to her, she told me— You know what, forget I said anything.’ Cam waved with his elbow as he darted down the alley, music box carefully held out and red robes billowing. ‘See you later, Spout! Don’t have too much fun without me!’

Black smoke spilled from the roof of the Arch Road Cry Temple.

The oily cloud stood in a long plume, menacing against the already harsh sky. Every Jadan still left on their corner seized up, wondering if they’d be sent to snuff the flames out. I looked down at my uniform and deliberated how much sand I might be able to carry if I folded the bottom into a pocket.

The shops in the Market Quarter rarely caught fire – the poor Jadans stationed in the Blacksmith Quarter couldn’t say the same – and last time flames broke out there, many Jadans had left the buildings with melted bodies.

But the black smoke wasn’t just coming from the Cry Temple: all above Paphos, black trails marked the sky. Each Quarter had its own plume, which meant it wasn’t an accident. This couldn’t mean anything good.

Then came the Priests.

Usually the white-robed holy Nobles remained sequestered in the holy houses, manipulating the minds of young Jadans, but now they filed down the road in two neat rows, each of their hands wrapped around a silver pole, hoisting a Closed Eye overhead. They spun the poles in slow turns, rubbing their palms, the Eyes rotating and casting their judgement on us all.

As the Priests hummed a low chant, taskmasters began to emerge from every corner, swarming onto Arch Road. Their whips were out and cracking, shouting for the Jadans to return to their corners. The whips didn’t seem to care how quickly the Jadans were obeying. I was already on my corner, but I felt as if I could feel the sting of every lash, my hurried family members crying out. I longed to do something, but I was stuck.

The two lines of Priests flanked the middle of the street, pausing all at once as someone gave a shrill whistle. The taskmasters stopped their torment long enough to politely ask the Noble shoppers to stand to one side of the road, so they may commence whatever monstrosity this was going to be.

Then Jadanmaster Thoth’s voice boomed out. ‘Holy day!’

I could only see him in my peripherals, but his bearing was intense as he prepared his ink and pen. ‘Corners, slaves! Holy day.’

Whips cracked some more. Legs scrambled.

This was all happening so fast I had no idea what to make of it. The Sun was directly overhead, and everything was so clear. The white of the Priests’ robes was nearly impossible to look at straight on without wincing, and it felt as if the Sun was using the fabric to flood the street.

‘There shall be a day of Cleansing,’ Thoth bellowed. ‘In order to draw the poison out. Praise be to the Khat. Paphos shall once again be purified.’