Coldmaker(52)

I hadn’t heard of a Cleansing before, and from the looks of my kin, neither had they. The Gospels commanded a Procession each month, but that was the only big event in Paphos I could recall in my lifetime.

The Noble shoppers all seemed elated at this little bit of fun. They gathered together in happy clumps, pulling out their Closed Eye necklaces, chattering excitedly.

Then came the sounds of the chains.

The line of Jadans was marched down the road. The Priests dipped their poles inwards in order to make a looming steeple under which the chained would have to walk. Some of the Jadans were whimpering, shackles chafing their ankles. Every one of their faces looked confused, as if they hadn’t expected to end up in this crowd. And there seemed too many of them. Even in the Procession the numbers never got this high. Dozens upon dozens of prisoners were marched into place on the steps of the Temple.

Black smoke continued to pour out of the chimney. The scent in the air changed. It became stale and murky, and the street smelled of rot.

Thoth marched down Arch Road and gave all the cornered Jadans an unusable symbol. When he got to me, not only did I get the ink on my forehead, but he made me stick out my tongue so he could draw one there, digging the tip of his quill as deeply as he could.

For the next half-bell, we waited in silence, my mouth tasting of blood and ink. I was too shocked to make any sense of this. Looking over at the Cry Temple, I could almost see the toxic air rising from the shackled Jadans.

Then came the light of the dagger.

The Vicaress flowed down Arch Road like blood over glass, moving slowly and deliberately. The flames of her blade gave off the same black smoke as the Temples. The smell of death intensified.

‘The Blasphemy continues,’ the Vicaress said, forgoing her usual song as she swept over to the Cry Temple. She walked alone, no young girls dressed in white or Rose of Gilead petals within sight.

One of the Priests dressed in an elaborate white gown, peaked at the head like the Pyramid, stood behind the Vicaress’s left shoulder and shouted out what she said in a voice loud enough for all of us to hear. ‘The Blasphemy continues!’

‘First the girl affronted the Khat by dropping the Shiver. Now the mark of Evil has been seen on the walls of Paphos. Trying to convince you of something that is simply untrue.’

So it was the Opened Eye that had caused this. Had one of the taskmasters seen me with Cam? Was the Vicaress going to snatch me off my corner and put me in front of the rest of the chained?

‘Five of the markings have been spotted in this Quarter alone,’ the Vicaress continued. ‘The Sun is trying to corrupt your minds, unworthy children. But fear not. I will cleanse this city, so you may once again survive in the merciful arms of the Khat.’

She lifted her palms towards the sky.

‘You may have seen the Opened Eye, the Trickster’s Mark, the Firemaker’s Brand.’ The Vicaress raised her dagger high. ‘But I shall remove the Sun’s words from your ears. I will drive the lies from your heart!’

And that’s when I knew that the Vicaress had to be a fraud. She had no direct access to the Crier, she couldn’t possibly. If she was cleansing those who’d seen the Opened Eye, then I would be among the chained. I’d looked at it more than once – I’d even carved one – and here I was, still on my corner, watching innocents get punished. That was the shattering of the last link in the chain of doubt. Maybe I couldn’t invent the outlandish things I dreamed of, but I would make things. I would make dozens of things. Hundreds. I’d tinker until my fingers bled. As long as I lived, I’d squeeze my mind for Ideas until it went black.

The Vicaress advanced on the first Jadan on the Temple steps. She lowered her fiery blade, her blue eyes hardening as she muttered incantations in a language that seemed made up.

The head Priest couldn’t replicate the sounds she was making, so instead he started another low hum that the rest of the Priests copied.

Then came the screaming.





Chapter Seventeen


Mother Bev tried her best to stand tall, but so many years of a proper slave stance had left her back one giant crook.

‘This is not the Crier’s will,’ Bev said, straining to address us all. ‘The Gospels are one thing, but this has gone too far.’ She coughed, obviously not used to speaking so loudly. ‘They are making up their own rules now.’

Voices rose in the chamber, some in agreement, some in fear. The Cleansing hadn’t only happened on the streets. The Vicaress had made sure her wrath had spread to the Builders, Domestics and Patch Jadans as well. Priests had run rampant around Paphos, with weapons of their own and carrying out vicious acts of her Cleansing. But considering the white-robed holy men weren’t as precise with a blade as the Vicaress, the Jadan death toll was far higher today. Many of the survivors had even been chained to their own dead-carts and made to carry their fallen kin out to the sands.

Our barracks alone was missing two members. We still weren’t sure if Miggy and Cariah were on dead-cart duty or stacked in the dead-carts themselves.

‘Today was an act of savagery,’ Mother Bev said. ‘And it forces us to respond with savagery of our own.’

Slab Hagan’s massive body loomed beside her, waiting patiently to provide his counter-argument. ‘We must obey the Crier. We must be grateful for life.’

Mother Bev looked as if she was about to breathe fire. ‘Grateful? For what should we be grateful? For the starvation? For the torture? For the—’