The City Read Online Free PDF Page A

them. He squinted. All around were stone pillars, their capitals carved in the shapes of perched and watching birds. The room was very old and the stone stares of the carvings weighed down on him.
    There was no sign of the girl, but the woman sat on the edge of a wide wooden table. She had thrown her hood back, and her hair was dark red in the torchlight. He saw her face was young, but lines of experience were already gathering the corners of her eyes, which were the violet of flowers. An unsheathed sword lay across her thighs.
    ‘Where is this place?’ he asked her.
    ‘The Dwellers call it the Hall of Watchers. They fear to come here. They fear my colleagues and me.’ She laid her hand idly on the sword’s hilt.
    His dislike of her rose quickly again, and he told her, ‘If your colleagues are anything like yourself, the Dwellers probably fear sharp tongues more than they fear sharp swords.’
    She scowled at him. ‘First you ask for our hospitality, then you insult me?’
    He glanced around the room, as if uncaring of her words or sword. On another table lay a jug of water and a platter of meat and biscuits. His stomach lurched with craving. He let his eyes pass casually over the food. He would starve to death before showing his need to this odious girl.
    ‘You are thin-skinned and quick to anger,’ he commented mildly, as if it were of no consequence. ‘If you were one of my soldiers I would not let you bear a fruit knife, far less a sword.’
    The woman leaped from the table, blade in hand, but a soft voice said, ‘Indaro.’
    Bartellus looked round. A newcomer stood in a narrow archway half concealed by a wall hanging. Her long hair was white as ice, and her face was lined. Like the girl Indaro, she wore a close-fitting leather tunic. But while the younger woman wore leather leggings, like a cavalry officer, the elder wore a long midnight-blue skirt above shiny boots. Round her shoulders was draped a brown greatcoat. On her breast silver gleamed.
    ‘He is right, girl. You are too eager to take offence,’ she said. Indaro made no reply, but at a nod from the woman she stalked out of the room. ‘If she were one of your soldiers, general, she would be dead long since,’ the woman said when Indaro had gone.
    Bartellus felt his chest tighten. For all the horrors and deprivations of the Halls, he had become used to being an anonymous old man, no longer harried and chased.
    She walked across to the table and poured a glass of water. She handed it to him. She was tall and graceful and he wondered who in the name of the gods of ice and fire she could be.
    ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.
    She looked at him curiously. ‘Do you not?’ she answered. Then, ‘I am Archange Vincerus. What do you call yourself?’
    He hesitated. ‘Bartellus,’ he said finally.
    ‘A good name. And common enough. Particularly among our men at arms.’ She turned and picked up the platter of food and handed it to him. He took a biscuit and crunched into it. The surge of flavour and sweetness in his mouth made his head spin, and he slowly took a sip of water.
    ‘Archange. I know that name.’ He cursed his treacherous memory, in which his experiences swirled and drifted, ebbed and flowed, like mist over ice. ‘Who are you, lady, and why are you living in this sewer?’
    ‘I do not live here. I merely visit,’ she said sharply.
    Bartellus was suddenly tired of these women and their haughty ways. Why did he care what they thought of him? He took the platter of food and, sitting at the table, started to eat with unashamed need. She sat too and there was silence for some time as he devoured the meat and more of the biscuits. He drank two tall glasses of fresh water. It tasted like morning dew on grass.
    Then, ignoring his companion, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the high-backed chair. He found his mind was clearer. He allowed himself to think of those other two children, his sons, he had seen waving goodbye in a sunlit