‘No, nothing like that has awakened yet.’ Then she shook her head. ‘But it will come.’
‘And can you defend us?’Nenanda asked. ‘We will see.’
Skintick hissed under his breath and then said, ‘Now that’s reassuring.’
‘Never mind,’ Nimander replied. Wincing, he tightened his grip on the reins and with a slight pressure of his legs he guided his horse into the city. The others lurched into motion behind him.
Coming to Kallor’s side Nimander followed the old man’s gaze down the side street and saw what had so captured his attention. The ruin of an enormous mechanism filled the street a hundred paces down. It seemed to have come from the sky, or toppled down from the roof of the building nearest the outer wall-taking most of the facing wall with it. Twisted iron filled its gaping belly, whereflattened, riveted sheets had been torn away. Smaller pieces of the machine littered the cobbles, like fragments of armour, the iron strangely blue, almost gleaming,
‘What in the Abyss is that?’ Skintick asked.
‘Looks K’Chain Che’Mallc,’ Kallor said. ‘But they would offer up no gods, dy-ing or otherwise. Now I am curious,’ and so saying he bared his teeth in a smile not directed at anyone present-which was, Nimander decided, a good thing.
‘Aranatha says the entire city is sanctified.’
Kallor glanced over. ‘I once attempted that for an entire empire.’
Skintick snorted. ‘With you as the focus of worship?’
‘Of course.’
‘And it failed?’
Kallor shrugged. ‘Everything fails, eventually.’ And he set out for a closer examination of the ruined machine.
‘Even conversation,’ muttered Skintick. ‘Should we follow him?’
Nimander shook his head. ‘Leave him. If the city is a temple, then there must be an altar-presumably somewhere in the middle.’
‘Nimander, we could well be doing everything they want us to do, especially by bringing Clip to that altar. I think we should find an inn, somewhere to rest up. We can then reconnoitre and see what awaits us.’
He thought about that for a moment, and then nodded. ‘Good idea. Lead the way, Skin, see what you can find.’
They continued on down the main street leading from the gate. The tenements looked lifeless, the shops on the ground level empty, abandoned. Glyphs covered every wall and door, spread out from every shuttered window to as far as a hand could reach if someone was leaning out. The writing seemed to record a frenzy of revelation, or madness, or both.
A half-dozen buildings along, Skintick found an inn, closed up like everything else, but he dismounted and approached the courtyard gates. A push swung them wide and Skintick looked back with a smile.
The wagon’s hubs squealed in well-worn grooves in the frame of the gate as Nenanda guided it in. The compound beyond was barely large enough to accommodate a single carriage on its circular lane that went past, first, the stables, and then the front three-stepped entrance to the hostelry. A partly subterranean doorway to the left of the main doors probably led into the taproom. In the centre of the round was a stone-lined well-stuffed solid with bloating corpses.
Skintick’s smile faded upon seeing this detail. Dead maggots ringed the well. ‘Let’s hope,’ he said to Nimander, ‘there’s another pump inside… drawing from a different source.’
Nenanda had set the brake and he now dropped down, eyeing the bodies. ‘Pre-vious guests?’
‘It’s what happens when you don’t pay up.’
Nimander dismounted and shot Skintick a warning look, but his cousin did not notice-or chose not to, for he then continued, ‘Or all the beds were taken. Or some prohibition against drinking anything but kelyk-it clearly doesn’t pay to complain.’’Enough,’ said Nimander. ‘Nenanda, can you check the stables-see if there’s feed and clean water. Skintick, let’s you and I head inside.’
A spacious, well-furnished foyer greeted them, with a booth immediately to the right, bridged by a polished counter. The narrow panel door set in its back wall was shut. To the left was a two-sided cloakroom and beside that the sunken entranceway into the taproom. A corridor was directly ahead, leading to rooms, and a steep staircase climbed to the next level where, presumably, more rooms could be found. Heaped on the floor at the foot of the stairs was bedding, most of it rather darkly stained.
‘They stripped the rooms,’ observed Skintick. ‘That was considerate.’
‘You suspect they’ve prepared this place for us?’