Page 86 of The Only Way Out Is Up

Impressed because, of course, it’s breathtakingly beautiful. From where we stand on the very edge I can see a vast sweep of parkland, broken here and there by little hills and a cheerful wandering brook. Beyond that is a genuine forest, trees packed together so tightly you can’t see past them. I’ve only seen trees in planters on Yesod; the sight of so many together makes them feel sinister, as though they were up to something.

A broad road leads inward, lined with more trees and boxy plants that take the place of fences. The houses are set back, each at the end of its own little lane. They’re enormous, obviously, but it’s a different kind of size; the buildings on Yesod are meant to be seen, to impress, while here they seem to have been designed to fade into the landscape. It’s as though the whole thing, houses and parkland both, were designed by the hand of the same master artist.

Which of course it was. And that’s where the disappointment comes in, because it’s all fake. Fake sky, tinted blue behind the sunlamps. Fake landscape. Fake stream, an extravagant waste of water. Even the inner wall, visible in the distance down the road, is painted in blues and greens to preserve the illusion. But to me that only calls attention to the fact that it is an illusion. At least in the Heap we accept the world we live in; the people here have constructed an elaborate duplicate of a world they’ve never even seen.

Ky stares out at the grandeur with a complicated look on her face. I can’t even guess at what she’s feeling, but her cheerful mask slips back into place as a handful of Arbiters approach. They wear plain uniforms here, no armor or weapons, but dog-sized runics prowl at their heels.

“Miss Tranto,” their leader says with only a slight nod to indicate his respect. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Ky says. “It’s good to be home.”

“The Council wishes me to express their pleasure at your safe return, and asks that you call on them at your earliest convenience.”

“Of course. For the moment, could I trouble you for a ride home?”

Another nod. “As you wish.”

A second Arbiter is already bringing up a small two-person carriage. At first I think it’s drawn by a labor runic like the vehicles on Yesod, but when it turns sideways I realize that the four-legged shape at the front is actually a permanent part of the vehicle. The whole thing is a runic, and the carriage part is simply its hindquarters. A set of stairs folds down of its own accord, and Ky climbs up. I follow, a little hesitantly. I’ve never been inside a runic before. The horse part starts clip-clopping down the road, and Star skitters along behind us.

“Is—” I begin, and Ky shakes her head firmly and puts a finger over her mouth. I cut off, giving her a quizzical look, and she points to the horse and then to her ear.

Of course. The runic can hear us, and for all we know it could be equipped to repeat everything we say back to someone. So we make the journey in silence, passing one sprawling estate after another. There’s no city on Hod, apparently, just the open parkland interspersed with these vast manors.

And there are runics everywhere. Some trundle through the fields, cutting the grass with scythe-like arms and snipping dead branches from the trees, while others scuttle up and down the road on missions of their own. Small, quick models deliver mail, while huge, lumbering crawlers carry bulky goods. Or even people—I see a big one shuffle by with a dozen men and women in plain brown-and-white uniforms. Servants, presumably, though why you’d need servants when there are runics to do everything is beyond me.

Our own runic finally turns into a driveway, following its gentle curve around to a house that seems large even by Hod standards. It’s long and low, with several wings stretching back and out of sight that enclose interior courtyards. Garden paths and beds of colorful flowers surround it, and the driveway ends in a circle around a spurting fountain. Everything looks neat and well cared for, which strikes me as odd, since according to Ky there’s been no one living here since her flight.

If Ky’s surprised, though, she doesn’t show it. She descends from the carriage with impeccable grace, in spite of her ragged clothing, and I get down behind her with the intense feeling of being an impostor. Star clicks over to my side, and I wonder if he’s feeling out of place, too. We wait as the main doors open and a small party comes out to greet us, an older man in a black-and-gray uniform flanked by several similarly dressed young women.

“Bradley,” Ky says with genuine warmth. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you, Miss Kycilea,” the man says. He’s balding and liver-spotted, with a thick gray mustache that droops down to his chin. His deep-set eyes twinkle with delight. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you’ve returned.”

“I’m glad to be back,” Ky says. She gestures to me. “This is Taj. He will be our honored guest, and he’ll need full access to the workshop and the rest of the facilities.”

“Of course, miss.” Bradley bows to me, another new experience. “Welcome, Master Taj. We will do our utmost to make your stay a comfortable one. Please inform me or any of the staff if there’s anything at all you require.”

“Um. Thank you,” I manage. For the first time I can hear my own accent, rough and uncultured. I glance at Ky. “What about Star?”

“Have someone take Star to the workshop,” Ky informs Bradley. “They can take your bag, too, Taj.”

I’m a little reluctant to part with my pack, which after all contains a fortune in sigils, but I suppose if there’s one thing I don’t need to worry about here it’s robbery. My little fortune barely signifies amid all this extravagance. One of the women takes my things, nose wrinkling slightly, and taps Star on the shell.

Go with her, I tell him. But shout if anybody tries to mess with you. I’ll come running.

[Unease: I will. And likewise.]

“And does my lady wish to rest?” Bradley says. “There have been a number of communications, but—”

“Later,” Ky says. “Bath first. No, food first. Then bath, then clothes. I’ll need you to find something for Taj.”

“I’m sure we can secure something suitable.” He gestures to the door. “If you’d follow me?”

Bradley spends the next twenty minutes or so apologizing on behalf of the chefs and bemoaning the short notice while I scarf down the best meal I’ve had in my life. There’s not a speck of mash to be seen—instead there’s wheat bread, fluffy and golden, and sliced meats I can’t even identify as anything except delicious. Fruits I’ve only read about in books, and some that I haven’t, come sliced and steaming on silver platters. I worry I’m making a pig of myself, but Ky eats just as voraciously and seems unconcerned about anyone’s opinion.

When we’re finally stuffed, we leave the dining room—the small dining room, Bradley calls it, with a polished table that could seat twenty—and follow another servant down a seemingly endless hallway, passing more rooms than I can count. Eventually we reach a set of particularly impressive double doors, which the serving woman opens with a bow.

“Master Taj will have the adjoining guest suite,” she says. “It’s still being aired out, but it will be ready in a few minutes.”