Tower & Knife 03 - The Tower Broken Read Free Page A

pattern chased her still. She recognised the young Tower mage Moreth buying a pastry from an old woman and she prayed to the HiddenGod his gaze would not turn her way. To her relief his attention remained on his food; he waved the treat below his nose, smiling, as he turned back to the Tower. The common folk backed away from him, drawing circles with their fingers in the way of Mirra.
    The house she sought would be on the other side of the Blessing, so she let her nose lead towards the smell of fish. She had often looked down upon the river, but from above it looked thin, a blue ribbon winding through a dry city. In fact it was wide enough for thirty pole-barges to float abreast, and for its high, arched bridges to hold hundreds of people, some standing still and watching the boats, others hurrying about their business. She took a lower path along the water, following the progress of the nearest barge, watching its poles push deep into the silt, their movements rippling along the Blessing’s surface.
    The next bridge loomed over her, an intricate work of red stone and copper, carvings of past emperors decorating each pointed arch. She climbed the steps to cross, dodging out of the way of one white-haired man carrying a sack of rice and another rolling a barrel; he clicked his tongue at her in irritation. Once on the other side she had a choice to climb the nine hundred great steps to the Holies, or to walk around the great rock to the western slope – not visible from the palace, but shown on maps to be a gentle, winding road to the great houses at the top. She had examined her route from the top of the palace before leaving, and she was glad of it, for the map was proving inexact. Now she embarked on a path her eyes had not explored, but upon turning west she saw with relief the carriage-road that led ever upwards towards the better neighbourhoods. This, the map had shown true.
    She wondered whether Austere Adam might be in the house at the top of the plateau, hiding Daveed from the palace. Why else would the Hidden God have shown it to her? Nessaket admitted she had underestimated the Mogyrk priest, thinking him no more than a zealot, when in fact he had managed to organise a rebellion right under the noses of the palace guard. Mesema would have to think of a lie that would gain her entry to the great house. Though Austere Adam had great influence, she had fought the Pattern Master and watched Pelar struggle against the pale sickness; he did not frighten her. Sarmin would not think her actions wise; she knew this. Perhaps it was better he did not know.
    On the plateau of the Holies she could see only streets and walls, interrupted by the occasional bench or statue. From the palace roof-garden Mesema had seen the graceful mansions and their lush enclosures filled with fruit-trees and jasmine, but at street level she saw only the dead leaves that had been blown over their high walls, dry offerings to the unwelcome. A breeze touched Mesema’s cheek, tugging her southwest, and she found the house, marked by its walls of pink granite gleaming in the sun. Their long expanse spoke of the size of the building within, but still it was not as large as one wing of the palace. She walked along the stone, her fingers running over carved figures of Pomegra. The front gate she had seen, carved of iron and higher even than the walls, but servants would use the back.
    The sharp cry of a baby pierced the stone. She stopped and listened, her heart beating in her throat. Perhaps Nessaket might have been able to say whether that was Daveed’s cry; she could not. But she steeled herself and walked to the back gate, which was carved with a filigree pattern in the Fryth style that gave it a light and airy look. There a guard stood lazily sucking ona pipe, and when she approached, he lifted it from his mouth and stared.
    ‘Please sir, blessings of the afternoon. I am looking for work. I was told to talk to the lord’s steward.’
    The guard