A Dream of the Heaven

Chapter 21 (Part 2 of 2)

Barcha held out a pouch as Imlon approached.

“Try some, kin?” he said, taking a leaf and putting it between his teeth.

“No, thank you,” replied Imlon.  “Shall we go?”

Barcha chewed and breathed out; Imlon did not recoil at the smell.

“Come on,” said the Pekderzhi, with a jerk of the head.

More so than on previous days, Imlon recorded every street they passed down and every turn they took.  He located the direction of the tavern precisely in his head and noted distinguishing marks on certain houses; a lamp here, a daubed picture there.  He could feel his thumping heart, the blood surging through his veins so that his fingers felt full and heavy, but it fed his mind as well.  He remembered everything.

Black rain drizzled out of the low cloud, pattering audibly on the windows of the unassuming house they now approached, hiding in an unassuming street.  Barcha led Imlon inside.  The candlelight was so meagre that he could hardly see the walls of each room, until they came to an inner chamber.  It was windowless, but thick candles and oil lanterns illuminated a large, polished table, chairs with padded leather seats and backs, and simple but elegant embroidery on the panelled walls.  Great shadows clustered in the corners and the air was burnt by fumes from the fuel, but Barcha, if this was his own house, clearly had more wealth than his drinking habits implied.

“Sit down,” he said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table from Imlon.  The astronomer heard movement behind him.  Glancing to either side, he saw the hulking outlines of two men standing over both of his shoulders, their quiet approach belying their obvious size.

“You needn’t worry about them,” said Barcha.  “You know what you’re here for, you understand why I need them.”

“Yes,” said Imlon.  If he looked straight ahead, he couldn’t see either of the bruisers.  Instead, he saw Barcha sit up straight, his hands clasped together.

“You wish to leave Pekderzhun,” he said.  His voice, his whole manner even, was not the same as that he used in the tavern.

“I do,” said Imlon.

“I can get you out.  I have the means and methods and I’ve done it before for others.  But you want to know how I manage it.”

“Yes,” said Imlon, choosing his words carefully.  “You understand that we can’t come to an agreement without some assurances.”

“Aye.  But you could be a Temple spy.  You could sell me out.  We can get past that, though.  One silver shiner.”

A noble – Imlon weighed up the price.  “You’ll get plenty of coin from me when the business is done."

“All the same.  One silver shiner, if you please.”

He could afford it.

“Good,” said Barcha as Imlon laid down the coin.  He leaned forward, half his leering smile hidden in shadow.  “You sure you still want to know?”

“Yes.”

Barcha nodded.

“You’ve heard about the heretics escaping the city recently?”

“Very briefly,” said Imlon.  “That was before the gates closed, was it not?”

“That don’t matter.  They got out, they can still get out.  There’s gatherings of them, groups of worshippers who don’t want the Temple seeing what they’re up to.  Every so often, some decide they want to chance their arm outside the walls in the marsh, away from the Temple’s eyes.  A lot of them have managed it in recent months.”