Deep Echoes Page 4

  ~~

  The Southern Gate was like every gate protecting Sol's Haven, two enormous alabaster slates placed on hinges. A smaller door stood in its right half but this was for emergencies. Or it should be. When Maya spied it, the door hung ajar. Three guards leant around it, bored. Even the fuss being kicked up by the Council couldn't inspire them to take their task seriously.

  Maya observed this from behind a building, the tall shadows of the morning protecting her. She watched for the right time to act.

  “That poor Contegon, I bet I could console her,” the eldest guard said, grabbing his crotch. The other two, young and stupid-looking, laughed like this was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. They shook hands with the senior guard, who was overweight, bald, and soft as wool. “Am I right? Am I right?”

  Whooping like simpletons, the continued to make suggestive comments about Maya until a Messenger appeared, running beside the walls. Young, a redhead, she was plastered in sweat: this had probably been a long day for her already. Messengers were usually very observant so Maya leant back and watched the scene using a small mirror instead.

  The senior guard grinned as the Messenger approached, fat lips spreading across his face like a rash. “Hello there,” he said.

  The Messenger's running had been purposeful, determined. Her tone was not. “Will... will you sign here, please?”

  “Sure thing, lass,” the senior guard replied, his voice dripping with seediness. “Say, when I've looked after this waif from the Academy, maybe you'd like a bit of consoling?” He thrusted at the Messenger and then winked at the other guards.

  The guards laughed again as their elder scrawled his name onto the script. The Messenger did her best to show no emotion as she waited for the fat guard.

  “Good girl,” Maya thought, impressed.

  The Messenger reached for the paper when he was done. But the guard lifted the form away. “No, what do you say?” he asked, grinning.

  The Messenger looked at him blankly. “Please?”

  “Hmm. That didn't sound like you meant it. Try again, and say my name.”

  Maya's weapons suddenly felt heavier.

  Opening her mouth, the Messenger seemed unable to give this bastard such satisfaction. The other guards leant forward, wanting to hear the Messenger beg.

  “I said...”

  Maya couldn't watch this. She had to move now, whether the time was right or not. She deployed what was in her bag and stumbled into the street. “Help!” she screamed.

  The Messenger jumped. She and the guards turned to see a filthy form in rough robes and a long hood clutching a bloodied stomach. As horrendous as the sight was, the Messenger couldn't help but look relieved.

  The youngest guard, dough-faced and with a receding chin, moved to help Maya first. She hated doing it, but, to keep the pretence up, she almost collapsed into his arms. His face soured, and he gagged. “Fuck me behind the bar, what's wrong with you?”

  “Needle, show a bit more care!” the elder guard shouted as he ran towards them.

  The irony of him suddenly showing such concern for her was not lost on Maya. “I... was stabbed... the... Contegon...” she said, weakly. “In the... gut...”

  “By Sol, she's been hit in the bowels,” the guard said. “It's okay: we'll get you to someone who can help.” He sounded almost hysterical as he pressed his hand against the 'wound,' trying to stem the foul-smelling bleeding. Maya almost punched him on reflex alone.

  “We can't leave our post, though, boss,” Needle said. “Our orders, boss.”

  “He's right, that's what you just signed,” the Messenger said. “I can take her, but first we need to check her identity.”

  Maya froze, regretted coming to this girl's aid: her attention to detail, her sense of duty, had just forced Maya to fight. Maya allowed her head to loll, looked unconscious, but secretly she put a hand into her robes beneath the disguise and grasped a weapon. She didn't want to kill anyone, no matter how tempting the guards were as targets, so she chose a blackjack.

  “Wh-what?” Needle asked, reaffirming his grip on Maya.

  “She's right,” the other young guard said. “No one gets out without being seen, yeah?”

  The eldest guard nodded. “Fine. Needle, pull her hood back.”

  “S...”

  “What?” Needle asked, his hand hovering.

  “Sorry,” she said, then kneed Needle in the groin. He howled, crumpled. Maya was already on the elder guard when he hit the ground: the blackjack shot from her robes and crashed against his shoulder. Something snapped. He wouldn't be grabbing his crotch again.

  “Oh, f–” the final guard managed before Maya broke his arm. A clean break: it'd heal well. She kicked his legs out from under him and then booted the side of his head. He fell unconscious.

  Disappearing footsteps echoed around her. The Messenger had escaped. Maya had still had revenge on the girl's behalf on her mind: why else would she make the mistake of letting the best runner escape? She couldn't catch the redhead now so she'd have to run, hope she could hide or get out of Aureu before security redoubled.

  Maya was being sloppy, emotional. She had always thought of herself as controlled and calm but here, under real pressure, she had twice made mistakes. Rather than reflect on this, she fled, knowing it was better to learn these lessons when she was out of Aureu.

  5

  Snow left the Military Library smiling: he had finished with Sun Tzu and now other philosophers awaited him. More knowledge for another day, thoughts and genius from before the Cleansing that hoped to be absorbed, waited for their lessons to be learned. On mornings like this the library, squat and mundane, felt like a paradise. He turned back to look at it, loose bricks and boarded-over windows, and sighed. It would be easier to explain his feelings to others if the library wasn't in such poor repair.

  Then again, if it were better maintained, more people would come to it, and the books he wanted could be gone. So maybe it was for the best that his friends didn't understand, that his Mother was suspicious, that the library was his secret place.

  Early morning skies shone above him. His Mother... She would be out, seeing friends or shopping, so he'd have the house to himself. It would be a great day. A great week, even: the Advanced Squad's graduation granted him a reprieve from school, from his final year and thoughts of what would happen in the summer, when he'd be expected to get a job.

  Not that he knew what he wanted to do...

  His thoughts were interrupted by someone. “Hello, sorry?” they asked him. It was a girl's voice. She sounded out of breath, panicked.

  He turned and saw she was sweating lightly. Long, plain, but well-made robes gave her away as wealthy. She was pretty though, maybe eighteen or nineteen.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I'm... I'm being chased,” Maya replied, knowing she'd picked the right person. “Some moneylenders in Sol's Greeting... They, well, they certainly didn't want to have a friendly chat. I, I need somewhere to hide for a bit. Please, I can pay you.”

  The girl produced over fifty Circles, more money than Snow had seen outside of his father's till. A year's worth of allowance, casually lying in her hand, in the hand of a pretty girl who needed his help.

  “It'll be okay,” he said. “Come on, my house is just over there.”

  Maya followed, thankful that it was early: no one who might have recognised her was on the dusty streets of the Military Quarter. She had been lucky to find this young man, someone who had not heard about her escape. Curious boy though: a teenager, he had left the old library, alone, smiling. He couldn't work there if he was leaving at this time, so he must have been there to study. She almost felt guilty for what she was about to do.

  “Thank you for this,” the girl said to Snow, touching his arm briefly. Through the thick wool of his jumper, he felt electricity dance across his muscles. “I... I got involved with a guy and did some betting, and, well, I don't want Daddy to find out any of this. I just need to lay low fo
r a few hours 'til I can get to a bank and sort this mess out...”

  Snow swallowed and put his now-clammy hands into his pockets. “It-it's, my house that is, is just over here,” he said, pointing.

  His family had quite a large house because of his Granddad's station; the daughter of Scar would never live in a slum. And so they received a three-story, brick home in excellent repair, with a back garden and a lemon tree. Plenty of people, especially those at his school, lived in much worse states.

  And didn't he pay for it.

  “No one's home, so we've got the place to ourselves,” he said, changing his train of thought. He blushed. “Oh, not that I think, I didn't mean...”

  The girl smiled. “It's okay: I knew what you meant.”

  Snow's blush deepened. He looked away, concentrating on his waiting front door, and let her in.

  Carpeted rooms, painted walls, and varnished furniture. That was his house. He had to tread carefully in every room apart from his own. Even his Dad's workshop in the attic was delicate, needed Snow's full attention to control his adolescent awkwardness. Sometimes this felt more like a museum than a home.

  Stepping cautiously inside, he removed his shoes and listened for any sign that he and the girl weren't alone. None came. He was okay.

  The girl stepped inside and sat on the stairs to remove her boots. Well made, armoured almost, they took a bit of pulling to get off. In fact, it looked like she was struggling.

  “Do you need a hand?” he asked, hesitant.

  “Sure,” she replied with a smile. Then she extended a leg towards him and raised her eyebrows.

  Snow could not believe he was in his house, alone, with a strange and beautiful girl. And he was undressing her. Yes, it was only her boots, but still she... she...

  He hadn't even asked her name! Snow cursed his rudeness. Pulling one boot away with an almighty tug, he said, “I didn't ask your name. I'm Snow.”

  “Maya,” she replied. If he hadn't heard about her escape, there was no harm in being honest.

  “Pleased to know you, Maya,” Snow said, pulling her other boot off. She wore thick socks, serviceable and clean.

  “Could... could I get some water or something? I'm desperate,” Maya asked, biting her lip.

  “Y-yes, the kitchen's just back there,” Snow said. His heart pumped furiously, and he felt light-headed, hungry, scared. Snow didn't think Sol fulfilled these kinds of wishes... but Snow wouldn't doubt his benevolence.

  Maya stood and gave Snow a nervous smile. “Just... this way, yes?” she asked, leaning into him and pointing through the living room.

  “Y-yes, to your left,” he stammered.

  “Thanks.” She stepped away from Snow, leaving her scent with him, and went to the kitchen.

  He watched her go and then ran around in a flurry.

  First, he found his Mother's mirror, hidden behind the living room's bookshelves, so company never realised her vanity. He checked himself for embarrassments; tiredness in the corner of his eyes, stains on his teeth or spots with white crowns. There was nothing. He just looked like himself. He was glad he had bathed that morning.

  Next, he straightened his clothes out, ran a hand through his curling hair. There was little he could do to improve either in such a short amount of time, but he did his best. He took deep breaths, tried to calm himself. If something was going to happen he needed to be relaxed, much more so than he was now.

  He was centring himself as she returned.

  “Water?” Maya asked, offering him a glass and a grin.

  “Thank you,” Snow replied, trying to sound older, more in control. He took the glass and sipped quietly.

  “This is quite a house,” she said. Turning away, she admired the chandelier above them, the dried wax reaching down like beggars' hands. “Well put together. I wouldn't have expected somewhere like this in the Military District.”

  Snow took another draught of water. Maya did so at almost the same time. “Well, we're related to Scar...” he said, dropping his Granddad's name for... well, for the first time. It was an odd feeling, using his genes like that, but he wanted to impress her.

  Maya looked at the boy over her shoulder, genuinely interested. “Really? How closely?”

  “He's my Grandfather, on my Mother's side.”

  They both drank again.

  “That explains you being at the Military Library,” Maya said. “Will you follow in his footsteps?”

  “I plan to, yes,” Snow lied. He didn't know what he wanted to do yet. He wasn't a fighter and he didn't want to become a Commander through nepotism. But Maya seemed impressed by that so he stuck with the story, even if doing so made him feel a little... dirty.

  This shame gave him pause for thought. What was he doing here? He'd allowed a stranger into his house. Into his parents' house. His head felt a little dizzy as he realised the enormity of his mistake. There's a small dagger by the door, in case of burglars, and he could get to that if he needs. But he shouldn't be in this situation! What had he been thinking?

  He hadn't been thinking. That was his problem.

  “Brave. I like that,” Maya said with a smile that reached her eyes.

  Hopefully he wouldn't need it. Hopefully she was on the straight. He blinked slowly and smiled, nerves making his head swim.

  Snow drank. Maya drank.

  Suddenly, the world started to spin. The glass fell from his hand but did not shatter. His head pounded. Stumbling, he sat on the sofa behind him. “I-I...”

  “This really isn't personal, Snow,” Maya said. He looked up, vision darkening, blurring. “I'm sorry.”

  Snow's chin thudded against his chest. He slumped over, gone.

  6

  Maya left Snow to sleep off the sedatives. She'd brought them for herself, but she'd do without. Really, she felt sorry for him: what boy his age would say no to an older woman asking for help, asking to be taken to his home? It had been, in many ways, a cruel ploy, but she needed to change and get Identity Papers so she could leave Aureu. For that, she needed the full run of a house. How lucky she had been in getting this one.

  She went back to the kitchen, immaculate, porcelain tiles and polished stone. The sink was... pewter, maybe? And plumbing! In the Military District! She'd almost choked. Rather than continuing to admire the fittings, Maya washed the boy's glass out, not wanting anyone else to receive a dose or for any evidence to remain. If he wanted to lie, pretend this never happened, then he could.

  Urgency came over her. Something told her that early morning was a dangerous time to be thieving here, some little clue her subconscious had collected. Maybe the mother was visiting a neighbour and could be back soon, or the father owned a Lun-shift business. Either way, she ran upstairs, socks bouncing against thick carpet.

  It was a three story house, well-appointed. She found three bedrooms, each taken. Snow seemed like an only child, so it looked as though his parents didn't share a bedroom. Her guilt at doing this to Snow increased slightly. This wasn't a happy house. The father's room was plain, held just a bed. The mother's was extravagant: mirrors and wardrobes and scented candles around her single bed.

  An enormous vanity desk, all mirrors with candle-holders surrounding them, squatted gaudily opposite the door, so Maya could see herself as she entered. Make-up and... wine? Wine. Make-up and wine rested on its surface. She already hated this woman.

  A quick search of the vanity desk turned up Identity Papers. Privileged Identity Papers. Maya pulled them from the desk drawer and almost whooped: Wire, Snow's mother and daughter to the famous Commander Scar, was also a brunette. The sketch on the document portrayed her as angular, sharp, unwilling to smile. With a wide-brimmed hat and some patience, Maya could pass for Wire... but only if she cut her hair: Wire wore hers short. Maya's flowed down to her waist.

  Maya stood for a moment, looking at the drawing, willing that hair to lengthen. Anything other than... No, she couldn't be proud about this. She had to escape. Wire had enormous scissors on her d
esk, possibly cut her own hair, so it would be simple. All she had to do was slice. It was only hair. Only hair.

  “Fuck!” she whispered. Her hair was her one vanity: she'd amended all her robes to accommodate it, giving her enough room to move her head freely whilst making sure no one could grab her locks. A holdover from her mother, who had braided it every week when she was younger, it wasn't going to be easy to lose her hair.

  Maya pressed her hand against the cold iron scissors. They felt like they were made of fresh bone. Gritting her teeth, she picked them up and started to cut.