A glyph [https://i.imgur.com/ZLENX3y.png]

Andra woke, and regretted it. Her head hurt with a sharp persistent pain, her mouth was dry, and her gut churned queasily. She lay crumpled on her side, her face pressed against hard stone, her body aching from the awkward twisted position.

How long?

The light above her was a blue gas flame. It could be night or day. She was still underground. Cautiously, she straightened her limbs and peered around.

Metal bars met her gaze. Beyond them, a gaunt grey wolf paced in tight circles inside its cage, round and round and round without cease. It glanced at her in passing, its amber eyes dull and hopeless.

Bars surrounded her on all sides and overhead. A thin layer of straw covered the stone floor. In one corner stood a bucket and in the other a pan of water.

She was in a cage. She gripped the bars, and pushed and pulled and shook them with all her strength. The metal didn’t move at all.

‘Andra,’ said a voice, her sister’s voice, coming from behind her.

She turned.

Cara sat hunched in the middle of the neighbouring cage, arms wrapped round her knees. Her hair was stringy and tangled, her face thin and pale. Her eyes had the same dead hopelessness as the wolf’s.

Andra’s knife had been taken from her while she was unconscious. She thrust her hand through the bars, forcing her arm through the narrow gap to the shoulder. Her fingertips brushed the bars of her sister’s cage. Cara remained out of reach.

Cara didn’t move. She lowered her gaze. ‘You followed me,’ she said. ‘I did not think you would come so far.’

Andra drew her arm back. She examined her prison again, inspecting every join and corner. There was a door in the front but she could not open it, or even shift it more than a fingernail width.

‘It’s no good,’ Cara said. ‘I have tried. You can’t escape.’

Andra hissed at her, and Cara turned away in silence while Andra finished her investigation. When she had thoroughly examined every inch of the cage, she tried her strength on the door again. She set her feet against the bars, braced her back and pushed until her heart pounded and her head span. It didn’t move.

Then she sat and puzzled over how the door was locked, and tried to reach the mechanism from different angles.

All to no avail. The cage was secure. There was no way out.

So she gathered herself and sat on her haunches to rest and wait. What she waited for, she didn’t know. But sooner or later, someone would come. There would be an opportunity to fight and kill, or to flee. Until then, there was nothing to be done, therefore she would do nothing.

When the time came, she would be ready.

L glyph [https://i.imgur.com/2vwU4yB.png]

The market was loud. On either side of the corridor, rival stall-holders cried their wares over the hubbub of the crowd. Lorie’s headache pounded a sickly counterpoint to the noise. Her eyes ached with tiredness.

Dad strode ahead with Sam at his side. Lorie clung to Nana’s arm.

‘You all right, dear?’ Nana asked. ‘You’re awful pale.’

Lorie forced a smile. ‘I’m fine.’

In the storeroom, the days had run together in grey sameness: the same gas-canisters to stare at, the same stone walls, the same unchanging light from the cold-lamp, the same pointless chores. At night she slept in fitful dozes, waking in panic to check nothing was burning.

Now she was out, surrounded by people and colour and light. The ornate brass gas lamps hanging from the vaulted roof blurred in her vision. Smells pressed in on her, strong stomach-churning reminders of food and too many unwashed people, mixed with flowery perfumes and unfamiliar spices.

They passed a stall piled high with second-hand clothes. A young norther couple pawed through the rags. Feet away, a beggar crouched on the floor, knotted hands clutching an empty bowl. His eyes were crusted with filth. Passers-by stepped around him.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Nana paused to look at vegetables. The potatoes were green, the greens yellow, the carrots grey and wrinkled. She sniffed. ‘See the prices on this. They should be ashamed on themselves. Rats wouldn’t eat this rubbish.’

The stall-holder glared at her.

They moved on. The corridor opened into a room as big as Sark’s town square, packed with people and stalls. Over their heads the ceiling soared upward into a dome painted blue in imitation of a summer sky. A huge bronze bell hung there, suspended by cables that looked far too thin to support the weight.

Nana joined a queue for bread. Sam was bobbing up and down and peering into the crowd as if searching for something.

Lorie eyed him. ‘What are you doing? Looking for someone?’

He grinned. ‘Maybe.’

‘Sam, you don’t know anyone down here.’

‘I might.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Hey, you’re a girl—‘

‘You hadn’t noticed?’

‘What I want to say is, what do girls like to talk about? I mean, like, if I had a friend, and she was a girl, and I wanted to talk to her?’

‘How should I know? What do boys like to talk about?’

‘Well, I dunno. Lots of things—’ He broke off, staring at her. ‘Oh! Do you have a boy you like? Do you have a boyfriend? Does Dad know?’

‘Shut up, Sam. I don’t.’

‘Liar. You go pink when you fib.’

Lorie looked away. ‘He’s just a friend.’

‘And a boy. So you do have a boyfriend.’

She bit her lip. She’d only thought of Phin as a friend. Though… he’d been in her daydreams a lot lately. Perhaps that didn’t mean anything — but then she remembered how they’d sat in the garden together, and his hand squeezing hers, and she wondered. Maybe his feelings were more than friendly. Maybe her feelings were more than friendly.

In Sark, she’d had boyfriends. Everyone knew the rules of the game: the hand-holding, and kissing, and whispering in corners. It was harmless fun. But she was older now and Phin wasn’t a boy from Sark. He was an Athanorese noble, an Anemari. He might play the game with different rules. He might not be playing at all.

‘Fine,’ Sam said. ‘Don’t tell me if you don’t want to. I won’t mention your business if you keep quiet about mine.’

She scowled. Not that it did any good. Sam grinned and stuck his tongue out, irrepressible as ever, so she turned her back on him and stared up at the grey-green bell.

Two levels above the dome, she thought, was the Great Market, where fashionably dressed city folk strolled among luxuries no undercity-dweller could afford. So near and yet a world away. Down here in the Lower Market, the stalls sold food and clothes, lamps and soap for the better-off

On the other side of the market the crowd milling round the stalls shifted, parting to give way to two grey-cloaked figures. They marched to the middle of the hall and ascended the black stone platform underneath the bell. At the top, they stopped and stood side by side, gazing over the market. Featureless steel masks hid their faces; their eyes were black holes.

Lorie swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. The crowd of shoppers had withdrawn from the black platform and the grey, faceless swordsmen, as if no one wanted to get too close. Otherwise the business of the market went on as normal, undisturbed.

A nameless emotion gripped her. The sight of those blank metal faces had triggered something. She didn’t know what, only that it was important.

She tugged her father’s sleeve. ‘Who are they?’

‘Grey Wardens,’ he said. ‘One of the eight ancient Orders of Athanor. They guard Holywell prison and they also keep time here in the undercity. They’ll ring the midday bell soon.’

‘Prison?’

‘Historically, the Wardens are responsible for treating cases of demonic possession. There aren’t many these days, but Holywell prison is where they’re confined when they do show up. The Wardens try to exorcise the demons.’

‘And can they?’

Her father shook his head. ‘Not often. Exorcism is chancy at the best of times. The victims usually end up dead, or as good as… Thankfully, demonic possession is rare. Few arcanists are foolish enough to summon demons.’

The masked, cloaked figures hadn’t moved at all, and their eyes were hidden, yet Lorie felt their gaze on her, cold and searching. It was irrational, she knew. There was no reason for them to notice her among all these people.

No reason at all.

Her heart thudded in her throat. She’d been ignoring the Voice, hoping it would go away. It seemed to work — at least, it had bothered her less. But it hadn’t left her. She could feel it now, hovering within her mind like a sly ghost.

— I’m not possessed, she thought fiercely. I’m not.

—Am I?

Nana had reached the front of the queue, and begun a heated discussion about the price of a loaf.

You have nothing to fear from the Wardens, said the Voice. Nothing to fear from anyone. You can protect yourself. It’s easy.

— Shut up. Leave me alone.

The Voice’s presence receded. Not gone, never entirely gone, but her thoughts were her own again.

Dad was frowning at her. ‘Are you all right?’

She swallowed. ‘Dad, I need to talk to you. It’s important.’

On the platform, the two masked, grey-cloaked men pivoted to face each other. They grasped the bell rope.

Her father patted her arm. ‘Of course, but later. I must go if I’m to meet Grace at midday.’

Si glyph [https://i.imgur.com/mHhTdaF.png]

As Simon crossed the market, heading for the south hall, the single low bong signalling midday rang out. Braced for the deafening sound, he pressed his hands to his ears. Slowly the echoes faded; suspended conversations resumed and shoppers got back to their haggling.

Grace’s response to his letter had been delivered yesterday by Danta. The crisp edge of the thick paper dug into his chest through the fabric of his shirt pocket. It was a short letter: just enough to tell him a time and place for a meeting.

The time was midday, and the place was one floor up, first level of the Lower Market, in the far corner beside the water fountain.

When he reached the spot, no one was there. Grace wasn’t in sight. Warm sulphurous water gurgled from a brass lion-headed spout into a marble basin, and shoppers came and went, paying him no attention.

He waited. Still no Grace.