Саймон Морден - The White City

Mary had forgotten that her escape was his captivity. She burned, and started to walk away.

‘It’s all a bit academic, though, isn’t it?’ he said at her retreating form. ‘We don’t know, we won’t until we try to find out. And I’d rather know than not.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She was, too.

‘I’ll wake Mama and Luiza. It’s time.’ His bare feet brushed through the grass of the clearing, leaving her with the crate of maps.

She knelt next to it and undogged the hasps that held it closed. She creaked the lid open, just a little way, so she could glimpse the jumble of paper inside. There was so much of it, and they’d barely looked through any of the sheets, let alone tried to work out how, and if, they might fit together.

She lowered the lid again. Crows seemed to be fast asleep, but a single black bird perched on the tree above him, staring down at her, its eyes bright with reflected fire. Mary scowled at it and, with a flutter of dark wings, it was gone.

The sea stretched out ahead of them. A couple of green-topped islands sat some miles offshore, indistinct with haze, and the distance precluded seeing any further out. However far it actually was, it was going to be a long way.

‘The choice we face is to either go around or go across,’ said Crows, looking down at Dalip from the higher branch of the tree where they’d climbed. ‘But boats are rare on Down, and good sailors rarer. So we may not have a choice at all.’

Dalip, on the branch below, could see nothing of the other side of the bay. He was assured it was there, but it couldn’t be proved. It looked, as with all horizons, like the edge of the world.

‘But if you’ve been to the White City once, you’ve gone this way before,’ he said. ‘What did you find then?’

‘That the sea has its own dangers. The same boat can be used for fishing or piracy, and sometimes they are used for both. Catching fish is little different from catching men.’ Crows stared back out across the stretch of rolling green forest they had yet to navigate. ‘You must consider the merits of walking.’

‘Can’t you magic up a boat?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘That is not how it works. And even if it was, you would not trust one made by me.’

‘There’s always Mary.’

‘You may ask her yourself. She will give you the same answer.’

‘So what did you do? You didn’t walk to the White City, did you?’

‘I swam,’ said Crows. ‘I walked into the sea and changed.’

‘You wouldn’t be able to carry us, or the trunk. Mary couldn’t either.’ Dalip reached up to brace his hand to steady himself against Crows’ branch. He’d wanted to see for himself, but now that he had, it added very little to Crows’ initial report. And the only reason Crows was up there was because Dalip was: he had his flock of black birds to do his seeing for him.

If they couldn’t find a boat large enough for them and the trunk, and someone with the skill and the inclination to take them across, that would be that. They’d have to trudge along the shoreline, dodging inland when they reached estuaries◦– he, Mama, Luiza and Elena at least◦– and who knew how long that would take?

Or how much time they had.

‘There’s no sign of any smoke,’ Dalip said.

‘Some do not light daytime fires, for fear of attracting rogues.’

‘It doesn’t make it easy for us to find them, though.’

‘That is the point. We are the rogues they fear.’

Dalip looked up sharply. ‘They’ve no reason—’

‘This is Down, not London. They have every reason to fear us, just as we have every reason to fear them.’

‘If we act decently towards them…’

Crows was limber and lithe. He lowered himself down level with Dalip and looked him in the eye. ‘We might have hundreds of miles and weeks of travel on land, across hills and valleys. Who knows what lies between us and the White City, and what we might encounter. Another Bell, another Stanislav? I wish it was otherwise, but your honour will not shorten the journey by a single step.’

‘Well, what alternatives are there?’

‘We take the first suitable boat we find. It is simpler, and we are many. They will be few.’

Dalip pulled himself closer to Crows. He was aware of his own scent, of freshly dug earth and sharp sweat. Crows always seemed sweeter, somehow: clean and slightly spiced.

‘I don’t know how long it takes to build a boat, but it has to be months, if not the better part of a year. We can’t steal someone’s boat. That’s…’ and he tried and failed to think of a word other than just plain wrong.

‘Our need is great, my friend.’ Crows touched Dalip on the shoulder, barely holding on to the trunk with his other hand. A few weeks ago, Dalip would have felt physically ill just watching the man capering high in a tree, let alone climbing up himself.

Let alone throwing himself off a cliff.

‘I know what we need, but that’s no excuse.’

‘Oh, I know it is no excuse. But it is expedient. What if Mama cannot walk all the way to the White City? We would, at some point, be faced with another choice: whether to leave her and carry on without her, or all stop and make the best of it, wherever we might be. Perhaps she would be agreeable to that, because we are very accidental travelling companions, and there is no reason we have to stay together.’

‘We can’t leave Mama behind.’

‘Then,’ said Crows, ‘we must consider matters plainly. This is all I suggest: if we are fortunate enough to find a boat then a long journey, full of uncertainty, might be avoided.’

His logic was impeccable, up to the point where theft was involved. ‘Crows. We can’t—’

‘If it was put to a vote, which way would it fall? Mama with her sore feet, and Luiza◦– there is something of the night about her. Quiet Elena might not be swayed, but Mary is no stranger to a little light-fingeredness.’

Dalip glanced down. Though it wasn’t far to the ground, the others were out of earshot. It was just him and Crows.

‘This is a test of character,’ he said. ‘Just because we can do something, doesn’t mean we should.’

‘I am not suggesting it for mere devilry.’ Crows pressed his lean fingers against his own chest. ‘Our situation is such that it outweighs the obligations of decency.’

‘That’s very convenient. It’s only a short step from there to putting me in the pit to fight animals.’ Dalip felt his blood start to rise. ‘I won’t start down that road because I know where it ends. Honour actually means something to some of us.’

Crows swung back, and pursed his lips. ‘I will leave you to explain your decision to the others. But consider this, Dalip Singh: your honour did not kill your friend Stanislav. Your cunning did.’

He slipped down the tree trunk, sure with his handholds even where his feet were left dangling. He landed lightly on the leaf litter, his black cloak momentarily rising about him like wings, then he was looking up at Dalip, his high cheeks and broad smile nothing but an invitation to trust.

Dalip looked away, out over the land, over the ocean. There was nothing but the natural landscape. No sails cracking in the wind, no white foam breaking around a wooden hull, no tell-tale finger of grey smoke. He traced the line around the bay as far as he could see. It was, granted, a very long way, and he’d have to walk every single step of it, and then further into the unknown.

Crows was right: Down was dangerous and unpredictable. But it was also wide and glorious and empty, and it was people like Crows that made it difficult. That, and the occasional storms that seemed to demand a sacrifice as they passed by. Was that going to make being here nothing but a series of seemingly reasonable compromises until he became as wicked as Bell or as sly as Crows?