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The door was abruptly ten paces closer. Still out of reach. But closer.
‘Once, in a long-distant state, there was a horse that galloped across land and sea … ‘ Irene began. She remembered the story well enough from Aunt Isra’s gathering. It was a standard myth, and that was part of its power. She kept on walking as she recited the story, and the door still stayed the same distance away: too far for her to reach, but close enough to tantalize.
Finally she came to the end. ‘From world to world he rides, from the gates of story to the shores of dream, until the world is changed and the horse is freed.’ She let the words hang in the air for a moment. ‘Until the horse is freed, the story says, which means that there must come a point when the horse is freed. And it must mean that the horse can be freed.’
The door jumped forward again in another blink of perspective. It was right in front of Irene now, almost close enough for her to walk through, but every step kept it one pace ahead of her.
Cold sweat trickled down her back. It’s listening to me. I’d better be able to give it what I’m promising, or this particular narrative is going to get very messy, very fast.
‘Of course,’ she went on, ‘in this story the heroine doesn’t necessarily know exactly how to free the horse. But the horse can usually point her in the right direction. Removing a collar, for instance, or undoing a bridle. And of course there’s usually a reason why the heroine wants to free the horse. You only get a kind-hearted heroine who unties the horse just because it looks unhappy in certain stories. I don’t think this is one of those stories.’
The door stayed at the same distance from her.
‘So, the story … ‘ Irene stopped walking. Without the sound of her footsteps, the corridor was even more ominously silent. ‘The young woman was in a strange land, and she looked around for help, for …’ It should have been her true love - that would have been one of the standard modes for a story of this type - but that wasn’t true of her and Kai. Even if there was wishful thinking on that subject. But that didn’t matter. She couldn’t risk a lie. Not if she was speaking in the Language.
‘The king’s son had been stolen, and she had come across land and sea to find him, in borrowed shoes and a borrowed dress, with no true friend at her side.’ The words stung in her mouth, true in their way, yet also just a story. It was like eating sherbet and feeling it pop in her mouth and rattle in her skull and ears. Her head was buzzing with it. ‘And she said, “I shall rescue him from the prison where they have kept him, and together we shall flee from his enemies and stop a war.” But she was sore afraid, for the whole city would rise to pursue them, once the king’s son was free from his prison.’
It was harder now. Irene had never tried this before, never thought of trying it before. But the Language was a tool, and her will was behind it, and this place was fragile, weak, easy to force. She wasn’t telling any lies. She was just telling the truth in a different way. ‘And as she walked down to the sea, she saw a chained and bridled horse, and said, “Would that I were as swift as you, so that we could escape!” And then the horse spoke to her, saying …’
It was as if she’d been playing a violin solo before, and now the rest of the orchestra came in on the beat, in a sudden weight of music that pushed down on her and shuddered through her body. She flung out her arms to either side to brace herself on the walls of the passage, struggling for breath as the crushing pressure seemed to catch at her chest, forcing her to breathe in its rhythm. The air in the passage shivered like the surface of a drum.
‘FREE ME FROM MY BRIDLE AND REINS,’ the voice shuddered around her, so loudly that she could barely make out the separate words, ‘AND I SHALL BEAR YOU OVER LAND AND SEA TO YOUR OWN HOME.’
Irene was opening her mouth to say yes without even thinking about it, carried along by the flow of the story, but then she dug in her mental heels and struggled to form different words. She had to set up this bargain to get what she needed. Once it was struck, there would be no chance to go back and renegotiate. Although the Train was still and unmoving, the sound of spinning wheels and clanging engines echoed in her ears, as if it was straining to haul some distant weight. ‘Most noble horse,’ she finally forced out. ‘I thank you for your offer. I beg that you allow me to go and find the prince and, when I return with him, I will free you. And you will bear us both back to the land from which we came.’
She’d been afraid of chaos contamination before. She’d been touched by it in the past, had it running in her veins, and it had nearly crippled her before she’d forced it out. What would it do to her, if she made a bargain with this creature?
‘YES …’ the voice breathed around her, in a vast exhalation that physically tore at her hair and clothing, dragging her forward so she could no longer keep her balance, but went stumbling through the doorway before her into the next carriage. Her back, her wrists and the pendant round her neck all seemed to be burning. Her Library brand, Silver’s bracelets and the pendant from Kai’s uncle - each objects of power in their own way - were struggling with the new bond she had willingly undertaken. She wasn’t in a train carriage, she was falling into darkness, and she was burning … I have to limit this. Irene was on her knees, but she couldn’t quite remember why, and she was shaking so hard that it was physically painful. ‘And then we will part and go our own ways,’ she rasped, her voice strange even to her own ears, ‘free of all obligation, and with no further bonds between us!’
The pressure lifted a little, and any release was a blessed relief: Irene’s perceptions became functional again. She was almost in pain, but not quite.
She stole a glance down to her wrists, where the gold chains of the bracelets showed under the cuffs of her dress. No physical burns. The sensible part of her mind hadn’t really expected any, but she had to be sure.
There was now a mask lying on the carriage floor in front of her. It was one of the white full-face masks, with the eyes outlined in black and gold, and lips painted on in red.
Irene picked it up. The black ribbons for fastening it trailed limply from her hand. ‘Why this?’ she asked.
‘SO THAT THE RIDER MAY NOT SEE YOU,’ the great voice whispered. It seemed to be making an attempt to modulate its volume, and Irene could only be grateful. ‘GO NOW, RETURN WITH THE KING’S SON, AND SET ME FREE …’
If this goes any further, I’m going to have so much stuff hung on me that I’ll look like a Victorian Christmas tree with extra gingerbread. But it would be useful to have a new mask to conceal her face. Without too much hesitation, Irene raised it to her face and knotted the ribbons behind her head.
Nothing unusual happened. It didn’t feel strange. Really. At least, no more than any new mask would. No odd prickles or excessive heat or cold. Nothing at all. She was probably just being paranoid.
‘I need to get to work,’ she said, surprised at how prosaic she sounded after all that shouting. ‘Thank you for your pledge.’
Beside her the carriage door swung open onto the outside world, and the noise of the crowd and the city came flooding into the carriage like a living thing, with the sound of distant bells tolling the hour making the hubbub seem almost musical.
Irene abruptly realized that the sun had set, and the sky was dark. The crowd was still present, but now it was lit by torches and oil street lamps. She swore to herself. It was evening. She’d lost half the day. And she still had to find Kai.
There was one thing she hadn’t tried. She sidled through the crowd till she could find a shadow to loiter in, then reached into her bodice to pull out the pendant, dangling it from its chain. ‘Thing of dragons,’ she murmured, ‘guide me towards your master’s nephew.’
The pendant began to spin. It was like an unfocused compass needle confused by a magnet, turning without stopping, as if one more revolution would help it find the right direction. As it spun faster, it began to whine: a thin high noise like a mosquito, but slowly lowering down the octave towards normal hearing. Its motion grew choppier, jerking at the chain, but still unable to settle on a direction, and Irene could feel a growing heat from it.
‘Stop!’ she whispered hastily, before the pendant could destroy itself due to the place’s chaotic nature, or draw attention from the Ten, or both. She let it dangle for a moment to lose its heat before slipping it back into her bodice.
Damn it to hell. That wasn’t going to work, and hunting across Venice for the Carceri was no longer an option: there simply wasn’t the time. She was going to have to intercept Kai at the opera house, and pray she could handle the Fae who’d come to see the show.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
