Hidden Sun Read online

  Jaine Fenn

  Hidden Sun

  Shadowlands Book I

  Social Robotics

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  For Dr Iain Nicholson, for explaining to a naive young arts student how the universe actually works.

  Chapter 1

  Rhia looked up, and listened. Distant chanting drifted in through the study window but the house itself was silent. Probably just one of the cats, knocking something over downstairs.

  She pulled the lamp closer and bent over her workbench again. The second lens was a tight fit but she mustn’t force it. A smear on the inner surface of the glass now would be damned hard to clean off later. Her motions slow and careful, she eased the lens into the cradle of leather straps.

  The lens dropped into place, and there it was: her sightglass, complete. The tube of dowelling and waxed paper was only the length of her forearm, but it was the culmination of many years’ work.

  Time to test her invention. Smiling to herself, she straightened and looked over at the wooden ladder leading up to the observation platform. One advantage of the drought: the sky would be clear. Both Moons were up, so she could start with them. She unclipped the sightglass from the vice.

  A sound outside: heavy footsteps thundering up the wooden stairs. Her head snapped round. Surely the servants were not back yet–

  “This way!”

  Not the servants. And coming closer. She grabbed the sightglass and ducked down behind her workbench.

  The study door flew open.

  Peering through the workbench’s legs, Rhia saw a heavy build and stained street-clothes; from here only the lower half of the man’s face was visible. A stranger. A stranger in her house. “In here,” he called over his shoulder. The light from his horn-fronted lantern showed a crooked nose, no doubt broken in a fight.

  Rhia’s breathing deafened her. Surely he must hear that. She must stay calm. Stay calm, and hide until help comes. But no help would come. Everyone was at the rain-vigil.

  A second man entered. He was shorter, so Rhia had a full view of him from her hiding place. His long face reminded her of a horse – no, with those close-together eyes more like a donkey. Both men had large packs on their backs. Thieves! Lower-city thieves, taking advantage of noble houses left empty by the extended restday devotions.

  The two men looked around, getting their bearings. Broken-Nose swept papers off a shelf near the door – Rhia winced as the stack of celestial tables cascaded to the floor – and put his lantern down.

  Why come this far up the hill, why risk robbing a house so close to the palace? Rhia had a ridiculous vision of shadowy hordes of ne’er-do-wells creeping through the upper city, targeting every townhouse.

  “You sure no one’s here?” said the donkey-faced man. He gestured towards the workbench. Rhia’s heart jumped. “They’ve left a lamp lit.”

  Broken-Nose shrugged. “For the vigil?” He scratched his chin. “Or maybe she just does that. Meant to be pretty kooky, this Countess Harlyn.”

  This was no random criminality. They knew whose house they had invaded. This was about Etyan, and the girl. About what her foolish brother had done. Might have done.

  This, after three months of uncertainty, was retribution.

  No. Stay calm. Stay hidden. Remember to breathe. Quietly.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got, then,” said Broken-Nose.

  He ambled over to her sandclock on its little table, staring at it like he’d never seen one before. Which he probably hadn’t. Seeing him in profile Rhia realized the pack on his back already had something in it, a small but heavy item. Stolen from downstairs, no doubt.

  Donkey-Face wandered over to her desk and began picking up papers. Rhia hoped his hands were cleaner than they looked.

  Broken-Nose called to his companion. “Any luck?”

  “Nah.” Donkey-Face stabbed the papers with a bony finger. “We need to start looking in drawers and cupboards.”

  So, they were here for something specific. Maybe this wasn’t about Etyan after all. The thought raised her spirits, and anger challenged the fear.

  Broken-Nose was surveying the cabinets and shelves around the walls. “There’re books and shit like that all over the place.”

  “It won’t be books.”

  What won’t be? What are you after, damn you?!

  Donkey-Face turned and joined his companion in a silent appraisal of the packed study. Then he paused. “Aha,” he said.

  Rhia followed his gaze. No! No no no no no. Not that.

  Donkey-Face strode over to the heavy ironwood chest beside the door.

  Even as Rhia straightened, her mind was screaming at her to Stay calm! Stay hidden! Striding out, lamp in one hand, sightglass in the other, she remembered the moment she had turned on the worst of the childhood bullies. He’d been amazed and run off. Same thing now. Show them you mean business.

  “Get. Out. Of. My. House.”

  Each word was loaded with righteous fury. Donkey-Face turned. He did look amazed, Rhia was pleased to note. The fact that she wore men’s clothing and didn’t have her mask on probably helped.

  “Now!” she added, in case he hadn’t got the message.

  Movement off to one side. Oh yes: there were two of them.

  But she had the fury now. When the man lunged at her from the left she lashed out without looking, without thought.

  The blow connected; she’d hit him with the object held in that hand. The sightglass! Doweling snapped, leather flapped. The lens flew free.

  Broken-Nose staggered back with an oath. The crash as he hit the table hurt her ears. Sandclock, table and intruder went down. Broken-Nose’s cry of surprise became one of pain.

  Rhia didn’t see him fall. She was concentrating on holding Donkey-Face’s gaze, trying to drive him off by force of will. She had started this. She had to finish it.

  Donkey-Face’s left eye was watery, a little red. Even from here she could smell him: fresh ale and stale sweat. He broke her gaze, his attention flicking to the lamp in her hand. She’d grabbed it half thinking to use it as a weapon, but doubted it would be much use against such types.

  Rhia glanced down. Yes, the man had a knife on his belt. Yes, his hand was creeping towards it. She must be mad. These men were criminals. But she couldn’t back down. Speaking with slow care she said, “If you lay so much as a finger on me, my cousin the duke will hunt you down and have you skinned alive.”

  Donkey-Face said nothing, but his hand paused. His gaze twitched between her hand and her face. To her left, Broken-Nose groaned and began to move. “I mean it,” added Rhia when the silence stretched. Donkey-Face’s odour gave way to a new and more pleasant smell, a sharp-sweet scent she knew but couldn’t place.

  Donkey-Face looked across at his companion and shook his head, No.

  That’s No as in Don’t attack her, Rhia decided. But logic said they would. Why not, two armed men against one woman? Sometimes she hated logic.

  Out the corner of her eye, Rhia saw Broken-Nose climbing to his feet. Blood dripped from his torn cheek.

  She went back to staring down Donkey-Face. Run away, damn you! She wasn’t sure how much longer her nerve, or her legs, would hold out.

  Then she realized what the smell was.

  Risking breaking Donkey-Face’s gaze, she looked over at Broken-Nose. His filthy breeches had new stains on them. His backpack hung flaccid, and dripped into the redolent puddle he now stood in.

  Rhia dropped the tangle of doweling, leather and waxed paper in her left hand, trying not to wince as the remains of her sightglass hit the floor. Her gaze flicked between the two intruder
s.

  They met her eyes. No one spoke.

  Still staring at the two men, she transferred the lamp from her right hand to her left, the side next to Broken-Nose. Then she smiled. At least she hoped the expression she pulled her face into would pass for a smile.

  The three of them stood there, frozen. Rhia’s guts had gone watery and her knees wanted to knock together. She ordered her body to tense up, to not move, not show weakness. Except for breathing. She had to keep doing that.

  Finally, Donkey-Face nodded at his companion. Rhia tensed. Donkey-Face said, “Not worth the risk.”

  “But–”

  “No.” Donkey-Face cut him off. “Not worth it.” He gestured at Rhia’s left hand.

  Broken-Nose grunted as realization dawned. He was soaked in lamp-oil and the crazy noblewoman held a naked flame. The man paled under the blood and grime. He looked to his friend, then lurched into motion and limped over to him.

  “Go now,” said Rhia. The command came out as a whisper. She tried to find the anger, hoping the pair believed her sanity had cracked. Because if she did throw the lamp at Broken-Nose, none of them would get out of here unscathed. “Go!”

  Donkey-Face turned, pulling at Broken-Nose’s arm.

  “Go on!” she cried, louder now. “Get out!”

  Broken-Nose turned and staggered after his companion.

  Rhia stood, unmoving, lamp still raised. Two sets of footsteps sounded on the stairs: one swift and light, the other heavier, slower. Both going away.

  When silence returned she placed the lamp on the workbench. Her stomach was trying to claw its way up her throat. She swallowed hard once, twice, until the urge to vomit passed.

  Then she walked across her study, leaned out the window and shouted for the militia at the top of her voice.

  Chapter 2

  “This time, my girl, you’ve gone too far!”

  Dej stared past the crèche-mother’s left shoulder. You got a good view of the citrus groves from Mam Gerisa’s office.

  If previous “little chats” were anything to go by, this would be the point when the crèche-mother gave a big, dramatic sigh, making it clear how disappointed she was, how much she cared. But she didn’t. She leaned forward and put her hands on her desk. “Did you even realize the knife was a parting-gift?”

  I had my suspicions… which you’ve now confirmed. Dej’s bottom lip twitched. She bit it.

  Mam Gerisa threw her hands up. “I despair, I really do. I’ve come to accept that items go missing around you, but this is different. To take a parting-gift… Such unacceptable behaviour is worth two full days of contemplation.”

  Dej’s gaze swerved to the crèche-mother’s face. Two days in the hole? Unfair! But she’d never owned up before, and she wouldn’t crack now. That bastard had deserved it.

  Mam Gerisa continued, “Your time in the contemplation room will start immediately after breakfast tomorrow. For now, get back to your chores.”

  I’ve still won this, thought Dej when she got up to leave. But as she reached the door the crèche-mother called after her, “You do know that nothing you do will change your friend’s fate, don’t you?”

  She was on irrigation duty for the late afternoon shift; these days, she seemed to spend half her time in the fields hauling water. It was hard work, so Min was excused. Dej caught up with her in the supper queue that evening.

  Min linked an arm with her and said, “So, was it the old she-goat?” Dej had been summoned from siesta by a house-servant and a trip to the crèche-mother’s office was the obvious reason.

  “Oh yes.” Dej examined her nails, such as they were. “Apparently someone stole Pel’s parting-gift.”

  “Really?” Min managed to sound shocked.

  The girl and boy standing in line in front of them turned and gawked at Dej.

  Dej met their gaze. “What?” The pair were middle-years; Dej didn’t know their names.

  The girl turned back rather than cheek an elder, but the boy shook his head and scowled before turning away. Dej had an idea why.

  “We’ll talk later,” murmured Min in her ear.

  After dinner everyone went outside as usual, to gossip, stroll or play games. Min and Dej took up their new favourite spot, a bench against the wall of the herb garden that caught the evening light; until recently it had been claimed by Jen and her cronies.

  Min lowered herself to the bench. “The she-goat didn’t put you in the hole, then?” Min didn’t have to ask whether Dej had confessed to stealing Pel’s knife; they knew each other better than that.

  “She’s planning to. Two days, starting tomorrow morning.”

  “Two days?” Min shook her head. “It’s not worth it, Dej. He’s not worth it.”

  “You didn’t hear what he said about you!”

  “You did tell me.” Min was amused.

  Dej didn’t see the joke. Bad enough that Pel wouldn’t admit to having got Min in this state; Dej’d already planned to get back at the bastard before she overheard him talking to his mates outside the kitchen while she was on scullion duty. The little shit had sniggered and snorted as he compared her friend to a ripe fruit, and then to a rutting pig. She was glad she’d taken his most prized possession. “I don’t know how you can be so calm.”

  Min put a hand on her swollen belly. “Must be her influence.”

  “You’re sure it’ll be a girl?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Min had always been the self-assured one, but this new Min was like some pre-Separation saint. Even the dorm bully left Min, and by extension Dej, alone now. Perhaps they’d both be this serene once they had their animuses. “Have you heard anything more?” Dej blurted. “About what’ll happen to you, afterwards?”

  “After she’s born, you mean?”

  Dej nodded.

  “I don’t even know where they’re sending me yet.”

  “But you could come back when you’ve had the baby?” Min was half a year older than Dej, so they might go to their bondings separately, but they’d meet up again afterwards, in the skyland, once they’d become their true selves. Dej was sure of that.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Min turned to her. “You need to think about yourself, Dej.”

  “I am. You know me: selfish to the core.”

  “Yeah, so selfish you’ll risk time in the hole for me. I love that you’d do something like that.” Min never referred directly to Dej’s misdemeanours. “But you made your point. Don’t suffer for it.” Min took her hand.

  Dej relaxed everywhere except the hand Min held; that she squeezed. It wasn’t a sex thing, whatever some of their bitchier dorm-mates said about the two of them. More like the shadowkin idea of sisters. She hated thinking about life without Min. “You’re right. I suppose.”

  “Often. But not always. I’ve got terrible taste in boys.” Pel hadn’t been Min’s first. She’d grown up as pretty as Dej was plain, and knew how to deal with the attention that drew. She called going with boys her own “little bit of naughtiness”, referring to Dej’s light fingers and the trouble – and fun – that led to. Except stealing just got a cane across the knuckles, or time in the hole. It didn’t ruin your life.

  “Can we not talk about that?”

  “All right. How about a song?”

  Dej straightened, and glanced around to check no one was in earshot. Then, pitching her voice low, she began to sing the one song she knew from beyond the crèche’s gates, a tale about a fickle lover that she’d once overheard the yam-trader singing.

  Min joined in whenever the repeated set of four lines with the simplest tune came around. Her voice was nothing like as clear and sweet as Dej’s but that wasn’t the point. They were singing together. Dej had only heard part of the yam-trader’s song, and had made up more words since, some of them less than complimentary about their tutors and crèche-mates. She’d added a verse just for Pel last month. It still made them both giggle.

  Singing felt as good as stealing. Not for the f
irst time Dej wondered why it was as strictly forbidden, when it caused no harm.

  She moved on to other songs she’d composed herself, most without words, or with simple words based on her life here at the crèche. Min sang along with the parts she knew.

  When the Sun dipped below the garden wall Min said, “Best get back inside.”

  Dej stood, and offered an arm to help her friend pull herself up. “I’ll see you at the dorm,” she said. “Got something I need to do first.”

  Chapter 3

  “How terrifying!” The Lady Alharet Heptar Trevane, grand duchess of Shen, leaned closer, covering Rhia’s hand with her be-ringed one. “Though knowing you, you weren’t even scared.”

  “Oh, I was scared,” said Rhia. “But I was angry too.”

  “Of course…” the duchess sat back and flicked her fan at the plate on the lacquered table between them. “You must keep your strength up, my dear.”

  Rhia took a second butter-and-candied-peel biscuit; her favourite – as Alharet well knew. Not that she could eat much in this damn corset.

  “Do you have any idea what the ruffians were after?” asked the duchess.

  Rhia kept her tone light. “I’m not sure. Some of my papers, perhaps.”

  “I see how that would anger you.”

  Unlike many at court, who tittered at Rhia behind fans and spread fingers, the duchess accepted her eccentric interests. Rhia wondered, not for the first time, if Alharet knew about the natural enquirers. “So much in my study is irreplaceable.”

  “And your sandclock was broken.” Thanks to the last traces of the duchess’s Zekti accent, her questions sometimes sounded like statements.

  “Yes, it was. But I can get a new one.” Unlike the contents of the ironwood chest. The bottom quarter contained Father’s notes, valuable mainly for sentimental reasons, but the chest also held correspondence from her fellow enquirers; centuries of accumulated wisdom from dozens of shadowlands. And, unless she missed her guess, the intruders had planned to set fire to her study once they had filled their backpacks with the enquirers’ papers, in order to hide the theft.