Coldmaker(82)

At the end, I let the final words sit heavily in the darkness: ‘And Klaus closed his eyes, never to open them again. He was already on his way to see her.’

The silence stretched until I was convinced that she had fallen asleep. The topsheet gently rose and fell with her breath, and I felt a subtle pride at helping her ease into her dreams. I rolled over onto my back, looking at the still shadows on the ceiling, and thought of flight.

‘Mum always ended it with Klaus slicing his finger before the poisoning,’ Shilah said with her eyes closed.

I groaned. ‘And here was I, thinking she’d asked for any story—’

‘Oh, hush.’ She reached over and gave me another playful slap, the spot tingling after she removed her hand. ‘It’s a good version either way.’

‘Thanks,’ I replied.

She gave me a soft look. ‘Do you have any more?’

‘Stories?’

She smirked. ‘No, sand mites.’

‘How about you go to sleep?’

She turned and looked at the ceiling again. ‘I don’t like sleep.’

‘Everyone likes sleep. You should like it best. Quickest way to Langria.’

She sucked her teeth and turned my way. ‘Can we go five minutes without you trying to convince me not to leave?’

I chuckled. ‘Maybe.’

‘And sleep isn’t that great,’ she said. ‘Your ears don’t work when you sleep. I don’t like it.’

‘We’re safe in here.’ I felt my heartbeat start to quicken. ‘You have to trust me, Cam is—’

‘Do you have any more stories or not?’

I sighed. There was no point in trying right now.

We swapped stories for a few hours, and Shilah was the perfect audience, clapping and gasping at all the appropriate moments. It felt like being back in the barracks again, surrounded by Matty and Moussa, laughing the hours away. Shilah revealed herself through the tales she told. She was well-spoken, with a sharp tongue, and some of the swearwords she threw in could blush the red off a Rose of Gilead. She chose stories with adventure, and stretched those parts for as long as she could. From her inflections, I could detect a fondness for caravans and Peddlers.

Yet when I finished the story of Boaz and the Conquerors and her turn came up again, she seemed more hesitant than before. She sat up, crossing her legs underneath her. ‘Okay. I’ve got another story.’

I pulled myself up too, so our eyes could meet. ‘Tell me.’

‘It’s about the first Khat.’ She’d been holding on to the map this whole time, refusing to fold it up. Now the paper rustled a bit as her hands started to shake. ‘And it’s not pleasant.’

I nodded solemnly.

‘You sure?’ she asked.

I chuckled. ‘It’s just a story.’

‘I want you to be able to sleep tonight. And it can be hard to hear.’

I grabbed my ear and gave it a wiggle. ‘Good thing I’m awake.’

Shilah nodded, and cleared her throat nervously. ‘So, before we were slaves, when Cold was Cried everywhere, and every bit of land was green and prosperous, the whole World Cried looked like Langria, right?’

‘Yes, like the stories about Langria. Go on.’

‘And now the only Cold gets Cried to the Khat,’ she said, leaning in and lowering her voice. ‘Don’t you wonder why?’

‘The Cause,’ I said, thinking of the painting from the Paphos library, my fists clenching at the lie of it all.

She opened her palms and gave me a look that said by all means. ‘And what exactly was the cause?’

‘The Gospels say it’s because Jadans are unworthy,’ I countered, just to see where she was going with this. ‘Evil things we did. Killing each other. Greed over Cold. Things like that. Not that I believe any of it any more.

Shilah nodded. ‘Nobles kill Jadans every day. And no one has more greed than those who have too much. So why would they still get Cold if the World Crier punishes murder and greed? That doesn’t make sense.’

‘I agree,’ I said. ‘That’s why this place is what Jadans need.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Nothing,’ I said quickly. ‘Continue.’

She took a steady breath. ‘Sometimes I go to places. The kind of places taskmasters pretend they don’t know about. Neutral territory. Jadans and Nobles both go there. And they drink and gamble, and do other things.’

I’d heard rumours about the places she might be referring to, the Drifthouses, underground chambers where it didn’t matter who you were but rather what you were willing to do. It was in places like the Drifthouses where the Roof Warden got his Droughtweed supply. And where a Domestic might sneak out to earn extra rations. Fighting pits, gambling tables, rooms by the hour. Obey would just be a warm-up act in a Drifthouse. I nodded for Shilah to continue, petrified to find out what she might have been doing in a place so coarse.

Her eyes darkened and I almost felt compelled to look away. ‘And I overhear things. People like to talk when they can get away with it.’ She rolled up her sleeve and pointed to the tattoo on her arm. ‘Lots of people have these.’

Her words hung in the air for a moment.

‘What did you hear?’ I prodded.

She remained at a distance from herself. ‘That the first Khat made a deal with Sun. And that Sun led him to something hidden in the land, that Sun had put there right under the Crier’s Eyes.’