Chapter 6
The sensation of success was strange to me, akin to the throat burn of raki or the sweet fizz of sherbet. Though I knew I deserved it—that I really had it—I felt unworthy of it, as though I had acquired success through luck, not skill. This unease was made worse when the wraith haunted me a second time.
As before, I was passing time in Blackguards’ Passage, enjoying a few moments to wonder what I might be like when I reached the citidenizenry. Karanlik was at my side. The wraith appeared at midnight, confronting us as we sought scraps of food. Karanlik screamed and clung to me. I wobbled, then grabbed a window sill to stop myself falling over.
“Ügliy!” came the moaning voice of the wraith.
I said nothing, staring at the apparition, as all my work with Raknia in the unnamed street was shattered.
“What warning did I give you?” the wraith asked me. “Did I not say, if you continue with the citidenizen test I will return to haunt you until your heart bursts. Wasn’t that what I said?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“And now you have a quarter ring to call your own. You will throw that ring away, now, before my eyes, and if you do not I will burst your heart, and that of the whore at your side.”
I felt horror welling up inside me. “She’s no whore!” I cried, pushing Karanlik away. “Run,” I urged her, “run away, this is a thing too great for you.”
“And you,” Karanlik gasped, clinging tighter to me.
I faced the wraith. “I’ll never throw the ring away,” I said.
“Take it out! Show it to me.”
Despite myself, I located and displayed the trinket, as if compelled by a spectral force.
“Now throw it down the nearest drain.”
I found myself walking towards a gutter.
“Stop!” came a new voice.
I looked down the passage to see a tall silhouette against distant lamps. It was Zveratu. Swiftly, the old man walked toward me, raising both his arms as if to ward off the wraith. I turned, to see the wraith move, so that we two were caught between man and ghost.
Zveratu spoke to me in firm tones. “Do not obey the wraith. Stand firm. You will deny the wishes of the wraith, keep the token and continue with the citidenizen test.”
Black mist rose from the wraith as though indicating its fury. “Discard the ring token,” it demanded. “You will not be taking the citidenizen test.”
I stood between them not knowing what to do.
“Discard!”
“Keep!”
“Obey me!”
That made Zveratu laugh. “We made a pact,” he told me, “deep under the streets of the Mavrosopolis. Keep your nerve, Ügliy.”
I remembered that pact. Though it was all I could do to drag the words from my mouth, I clutched Karanlik and told the wraith, “I did make a pact before the semblance of my totem, and it can’t be broken.” I took a deep breath to add, “I don’t believe you can kill me. You can only haunt me.”
This declaration emboldened Zveratu. Again he raised his arms, to tell the wraith, “I know you. Begone. You may not haunt this nogoth again.”
The wraith gave a wail before dematerialising. The passage was emptied of terror. I relaxed.
Zveratu strolled past me, twirling his parasol. “Do not think you cannot be haunted if you leave nogoth status behind,” he said, his voice returning to its usual croaking tone. “Now continue with the test, using all your skill and courage. Farewell.”
I watched the old man walk down the passage, until his form was lost in the shadows at the junction with Divan Yolu Street.
Karanlik sighed. “You have an ally, then.”
“I know nothing about him, other than that he is a citidenizen who helps nogoths achieve their potential. He must be a good man.” I glanced at Karanlik, worried that she would take what I said next amiss. “There’s something that I must do—alone. Go back to the Tower of the Dessicators. I promise I’ll see you there later.”
Karanlik was upset that we would have to part, but she agreed to my request. “Walk with care,” she said, before kissing me.
I walked east towards the Gulhane Gardens, crossing the street divide then following the lane leading towards Raknia’s tower. There, I limped up the steps, to stand before her door, wait, then knock once.
She must have known who her visitor was, for she wore a long dress of translucent muslin, a black belt at her waist, a tiny dove feather falling from each ear-lobe. Her hair was slicked back; her feet unshod. She held a goblet of raki in one hand.
The coy smile was upon her face. “You’re always welcome,” she said, standing aside so that I could hobble in. She shut the door, and as before bolted it.
I turned. I was not unhappy to be here, but things had changed since the test began. I watched as she drifted across to her table of liquor, languid as fog over the Phosphorus, to pour me a full goblet and place it in my hand.
She caressed my cheek with one hand, sipping raki as she did. “Did you want me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “The wraith... that we thought we’d conquered. It haunted me again, but we got rid of it.”
“We?”
“Me and Karanlik... me and Zveratu. It was Zveratu who made the difference.”
The smile vanished. “You and Karanlik,” she said.
I shrugged. “She’s my assistant for the duration of the test.”
Raknia seemed to have powers beyond my understanding. “Have you covered Karanlik?” she asked me.
The implication of animals mating made me shudder. Suddenly bold, I replied, “I may have done—”
“But you were going to come back to me.”
I pointed at her, then at myself. “We didn’t leave it quite like that...”
“Oh, but we did.”
She stepped forward, taking my glass in her hand and tipping it so that I had to drink if I was not to spit it all over myself or over her. Then she made me take hers, and she repeated the trick. I felt heat in my stomach. Already my limbs felt loose, my head light.
“Lie on the couch,” she said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
I did as I was bid. I was unsure of how to proceed. I had only wanted to tell her about the wraith, more for her sake than for any other reason. Now I felt trapped. I let my head fall back upon a velvet cushion. I looked up to see the cobwebs on the ceiling.
Raknia returned in different garments: a black leather bodice secured by straps and steel buckles, black silk bangles set with pearls, knee-boots that shone like oiled stone. She creaked as she approached.
I felt both intrigue and apprehension. I rolled off the couch, stood up with the aid of my crutch and said, “What are you going to do?”
“What are we going to do,” she replied.
“I don’t know,” I muttered.
But I wanted her, and she knew.
Again I asked her, “What are you going to do?”
She knelt before me and pulled aside my rags, exposing me. “I’m going to eat you,” she replied.
I looked down at her. I was shivering, but not cold.
She looked up at me, an expression of innocence on her face. I could only look at her breasts as they quivered beneath the bodice. “Do you want to be eaten?” she asked.
I nodded. I took a deep breath. “If this is what it means to be a citidenizen, I’ll have it.” I wanted to laugh, but I suppressed the urge.
She leered at me, as if I had finally succumbed to her, and I noticed how sharp her teeth were, and how bright. “But you’ll never be a citidenizen if you go with me,” she said. “Let me show you where you’re going.”
I laughed; the raki had overpowered my mind. “Ah, but I am going to be a citidenizen,” I told her. “I’ve passed the first quarter.”
Her face was before mine, one moment to the next, like teleportation. “You’ve passed?” she said.
I wobbled on my crutch. “Yes.”
She stared at me. “Prove it,” she demanded.
I fumbled for the ring quarter, which she grabbed when she saw it. “See?” I said.
She said nothing. She seemed crushed.
“How did you know about that?” I asked.
Next thing I knew I was lying beside her on the couch. “If you can pass the test,” she said, “you can do anything.”
“It was Mazrebiler who passed me,” I replied.
She thought for a few minutes, then said, “You a citidenizen... I suppose it could happen.”
“It will happen,” I corrected.
“Perhaps there have been changes,” she murmured to herself.
I shook myself from reverie, like a dog emerging from deep water, and said, “I came here to tell you about the haunting.” I got up, taking my crutch and resting against it, whilst glancing at the bolted door.
“You’re leaving me?” she asked.
“Just for tonight.”
“Not forever.”
I had to grin. She would know it meant ‘yes’ and I would not have to say the word. “I want you to know that Zveratu banished the wraith until I become a citidenizen,” I told her. “We’re safe for the moment.”
“Safe,” she repeated. She made the concept sound like heaven.
I realised then that I had been elevated from curiosity to friend in her estimation, or at least to something approaching a friend. Yes, she was weird, flighty, even perilous, and trust was not a feeling I knew in her presence; just a kind of bleak fascination. She was no ordinary nogoth.
With that I left her, returning to Divan Yolu Street then making for my place in Blackguards’ Passage.
On the following night I was invited to a tavern near the Forum of Arcadius, where other pre-citidenizens were drinking. Excited, I realised that the social niceties of citidenizen life were already showing through, that in truth I had moved to a status between nogoth and citidenizen. For nogoths knew no concept of invitation: all was territory and clashing. With Karanlik at my side and a glum-faced Raknia just behind me, I followed Gedik Pasa Street and the broad Urkeli Street to the Forum, locating the tavern just behind it. It was called the North Star.
Apprehension took hold of me when I stood at the front door and listened to the noise of tankards and loud voices inside. Many nogoths visited taverns when hunting for food—it was the first place to try in some quarters—and all of them were thrown out like so many bags of rubbish. I knew that I still looked like a nogoth, yet I had been invited; and I knew many others like me must have been invited too. So I gathered my courage, and entered.
The tavern was a whirl of faces and talk, but nobody even glanced at me. I understood that here everyone was assumed to have a place, and as if to prove my theory I saw the dark forms of cimmerians lurking in the shadows. This came as a revelation to me, a hint of ease and pleasantries to come. I relaxed.
“Hey, you!”
There was a man standing before me. He was drunk.
I touched my chest and replied, “Me?”
The man, burly and soot-begrimed, lurched towards me, causing me to take a few paces back. I bumped into somebody. I turned to apologise.
“I said, hey, you,” the man repeated. “Look at me!”
Now I noticed the steel bar in his hand. I glanced at the faces surrounding me. Then there was a blur of motion and agony in my face, a foul taste in my mouth, bright lights before my eyes. I fell to the floor, hitting my head on the tiles. The drunkard was kicking me; I rolled over, trying to protect my belly. There were shouts and screams. Some of the locals pulled the drunkard off.
“Get the club!”
“You got ’im?”
“Oy—bit of rope, an’ quick!”
I was too dazed to understand what had happened. I thought I was going to be sick. Then I felt hands under my armpits, voices at my ear, and I was hauled to my feet. There was somebody at my right side, offering me my crutch. I turned to see the face of a young man. “You all right?” His concern sounded genuine.
Karanlik was at my left side. “Ügliy, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
I looked down at my rags. “I don’t think so,” I managed to say.
The young man said, “But he must have!”
From behind the bar a woman added, “Totally unprovoked!”
What followed amazed me. The response of the tavern drinkers was extraordinary. Led by Karanlik and with Raknia in tow, they clustered around me, helping me to a corner, where I was sat in a chair and plied with goblets of watered-down raki, and even a mug of black coffee. Confused, I stared at them.
“Find him a bandage,” somebody said.
“Nah, it’s only bruised.”
“Look at the man’s face. He’s out of it.”
“Pour some o’ that raki down ’im throat. Heh heh!”
The young man and the bar woman were present too. I looked at the array of drinks before me.
Karanlik remained concerned. “You’re dazed,” she said.
The young man said, “There are herbs...”
I shook my head—slowly. “I’m all right,” I said.
“You sure?” they asked me.
I was beginning to get my memory back. The bar woman was right, it was an unprovoked attack, but there was nothing I could do about it. As a nogoth I was used to violence—it was part of life. And yet the attack seemed wrong in a way I could not quantify; it was wrong that a drunkard in this tavern of hopefuls should be allowed to beat an innocent for no reason. There was even a hint of annoyance in my thoughts, though I knew I could not allow it to dominate my actions. And yet—I was not a nogoth. I was a pre-citidenizen, and it could not be right that a drunkard be allowed to strike me. For the first time in my life annoyance was justified. It could even lead to consequences.
I studied the people surrounding me. Raknia was standing apart, her arms folded, watching me with a look of expectation on her face. I let my head tip forward so that I was staring into my lap.
“More raki,” somebody called.
“More coffee,” another added.
I knew injustice. But more than that, I knew I should have access to justice. A nogoth would shrug off the attack as part of street life, but I was something more, and something more had to be done.
“This isn’t right,” I said. Raknia leaned forward, eager to hear my words over the tavern hubbub.
“Not right?” Karanlik queried.
“It can’t be right that a man can swing out at me because he’s drunk. I’m not just some baggage off the street.”
“I’ll be a witness,” said the young man. He reached out to pat my shoulder, as if in solidarity. “I’m Zularayad,” he added.
“I saw everything too,” said the bar woman as she returned to her post.
I felt overwhelmed by this support. Karanlik said, “I saw exactly what happened.”
“That’s good,” I said, “but witnesses aren’t enough.” I hesitated. “Yet they should be. I’m innocent, aren’t I?”
Grinning, Raknia pushed her way forward, elbowing Karanlik out of the way so that she could sit beside me. She put her arm around my shoulder and said, “I think I see where this is going.” She glanced at Zularayad, adding, “I can guess who you are.”
He stood up. “Me?”
I asked Raknia, “What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t you see?”
For a moment I saw nothing, before the strangeness of her words made me think of the path I was on. The test! Could this be part of the test?
“You do see,” Raknia said. She put a hand on my cheek and moved my head around so that we were face-to-face. Then she kissed me, lingering, slow. “I’ll see you soon,” she said. She gestured to the tavern door, adding, “Probably in the Forum of Arcadius.”
She was gone.
Karanlik took her seat at my side. “She’s not good for you,” she said.
I looked at her, but made no comment.
I thought I understood. The attack had been a set-up. A nogoth would ignore the violence, or, if he was important in some local group, or of a brutish disposition, he would get his revenge. But for citidenizens some other form of justice was required, a form more appropriate, less violent, less vengeful. I had always loathed the nogoth emphasis on revenge, and I realised there was a more civilised way. I had grasped it here at the tavern.
Had I passed already?
I looked at the people around me. My attacker had been detained, his hands tied together. The witnesses remained at my side.
“I shall have justice,” I said.
“Excuse me, but are you taking the test?” Zularayad asked me.
“Yes.”
“I thought you must be. But you’ve not passed yet. You’ll have to confront your attacker in the Forum of Arcadius.”
“Why?”
“The smooth running of the Mavrosopolis. Citidenizens can’t be allowed to attack one another without taking the consequences. Luckily for you it happened in a crowded tavern.” He stood up, brushed down his clothes, then added, “Imagine how difficult it would be if you were attacked in a dark alley.”
I nodded.
“Go to the Forum hall to state your case,” Zularayad concluded. “They’ll take it from there.”
Then he too was gone.
I took advantage of the drink and food at my side, before Karanlik and I departed the tavern and followed the short alley that led from Urkeli Street to the Forum of Arcadius, where I saw the great double doors that marked the hall entrance. I stepped through, to find myself in a chamber arrayed with pale and dusty tapestries, where stood various booths, each occupied by a figure.
I approached the nearest booth. The old man inside looked up, returned his gaze to his scrolls, then, when I did not move, looked up again to mutter, “Mmm?”
“I’d like to...” But I did not know how to phrase it.
“We’ve got a grievance,” Karanlik said.
“I’m taking the citidenizen test,” I added.
The man glanced down at my crutch. “Really?”
“Yes, really, and this is my cimmerian helper.” When there came no response I added, “You must believe me.”
The man said nothing, but he took a fresh scroll, dipped his quill in a pot of ink and said, “Name?”
“Ügliy.”
“Grievance?”
“I was attacked in the North Star tavern. There were witnesses and everything. My attacker is still at the tavern, his hands tied together.”
“We will deal with the offender. Return here the night after tomorrow. Ensure that all witnesses and other supporters know.”
“Is that a task for us?” Karanlik asked.
The old man favoured her with a grimace. “Our responsibility is to judge,” he replied.
We departed without further discussion. We had work to do.
So came the night of my case. My apprehension turned to fear. Arm in arm with Karanlik I made my way to the Forum of Arcadius, returning to the booth that I had approached before, where I was given an identification token and told where to go.
It was a large room filled with benches, tables and high seats, arranged at random, or so it seemed to me. An usher told me where to sit. Already present were Raknia, Zularayad and the bartender, along with many other people, citidenizens all in their ashen make-up, who looked bored as they whispered to one another behind raised hands. I noticed that one of the men seated in a high chair wore a black handkerchief over his head. The attacker was not present.
The usher spoke to the man wearing the handkerchief. “Noble arcadian—all but one are now present.”
“Bring in the miscreant,” came the reply.
I did not know what a miscreant might be, but I realised when another usher brought in my attacker. The arcadian turned to me, to say, “Why are you here, Ügliy?”
I stood up. “That man attacked me. I’m not a nogoth, I’m a pre-citidenizen, and I don’t think it should be allowed for men to be beaten. I don’t think there was a reason for it.”
The arcadian said nothing. My gaze never faltered.
“Ask him,” I insisted, pointing out my attacker.
Still nothing.
I wondered if I should now make my case. If this was the second part of my test I had to ensure that the people watching knew how I felt, what I thought, so there could be no doubt that I had grasped the essentials. In a clear voice I said, “It’s unjust for a pre-citidenizen...” I faltered. That was not definite enough. “It’s unjust for a citidenizen to be attacked by a drunkard and for that drunkard to escape his deed. There should be consequences. I realised that in the tavern. I’ve assembled everybody who saw what happened to me. I want this man to be recognised as my attacker, and I want you to know that I’m not happy with what happened. I know it was wrong.” I paused, glanced around the chamber, then added, “Something’s got to be done.”
I sat down. With a sigh, Karanlik hugged me.
The arcadian looked at the usher, then raised one eyebrow. The usher stood, to point out various people and say, “Arcadian—these are the witnesses.”
One by one everybody who had seen the attack told the arcadian what they knew, so that by the time the fifth witness was preparing to stand the arcadian waved his hand and said, “Enough witnesses, we take the point.”
The usher said, “There are no witnesses for the accused and he has nothing to say.”
The arcadian nodded. “This is what I think,” he said, gesturing at the attacker as if waving away a bad smell. “You assaulted Ügliy without any reason at all. All these witnesses saw what you did, so there can be no doubt that it happened. You are guilty of the attack. Do you understand?”
There was a shrug in reply.
The arcadian turned to me. “You were right to bring this case to my attention,” he said. “Well, then. Either we kill him or you do. You have the choice.”
I stared. I heard myself say, “What?”
“In the Mavrosopolis the penalty for an unprovoked assault is death. We offer you the choice. If you are delicate, we will kill him, if not, you can do it.”
Karanlik leaped to her feet. “No! That can’t be right.”
My thoughts were spinning. I knew now that I must be undergoing the second part of my test, but I knew nothing of its form, of when it had begun or when it might end. I felt as if the world was falling away from me. I reeled. I wanted nothing to do with penalties of death. But, as panic departed, reason returned. There was an imbalance between the assault and the penalty that, deep down, I knew must be false.
“Wait!” I cried. “That is all wrong. An assault does not mean a killing.” I looked to the floor, composed myself, then said, “I refuse both options.”
The arcadian’s eyes narrowed. “You do?”
I stood firm. “I do.”
The arcadian nodded. “You think mercy is a good quality, then?”
“I do. Only a nogoth would kill in revenge.”
“And you are not a nogoth?”
“I’m becoming a citidenizen.”
Silence fell across the chamber. The arcadian’s face was grim when he said, “I do not think you can claim that.”
I replied, “I will complete the test.”
Karanlik stood up, and as if to emphasize her support for me she took my hand in her own.
The arcadian said, “What then should we do with your attacker?”
I faced the sullen man. I said, “You were wrong to attack me, but as long as you realise that all this is the consequence of your violence there’s nothing more to say. I don’t think killing you—if that is an option—or even punishing you is right. I think you should go away and consider what you did to me.” I shrugged, turned to the arcadian, then said, “I’d let him go.”
The arcadian dismissed everybody in the court, then took me into a separate room. Karanlik followed a few paces behind. The arcadian told me, “You are correct to think that you are taking the second part of your test. The man who attacked you was a citidenizen entrusted with the task of assaulting you, and the case you brought was the test itself. Had you reverted to nogoth mores, or ignored the option of bringing your grievance, you would have failed. But the Mavrosopolis protects those who serve it. You understand that?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“However, I think letting the man off was a mistake, though, of course, killing him was never a possibility. Consider this, Ügliy. What if other, more complex mischiefs were also brushed aside? Then the concept of consequence that you relied upon would be negated in the minds of the miscreants.”
I thought for a few moments before replying, “If the citidenizenry is what I believe it to be, then the miscreants themselves will stop their mischief, if only because they wouldn’t want to ruin something so special.”
The arcadian said nothing. Judging by his expression he was surprised, even astonished by what I had said. I waited in silence.
Then the arcadian roused himself, fumbling in his pocket to retrieve a silver trinket, which he handed to me. “You have passed the second part of the test,” he said. He stood up. “You are an interesting man, Ügliy, and I for one regret that you cannot be a citidenizen.”
My reply was fierce, fired by defiance and delight. “I will!”
The arcadian turned to walk away. “When you are ready, you two are free to find your own way out of the Forum.”
For a few minutes we sat still and silent, while I contemplated the insistence of authority that I was bound to fail the test. Karanlik looked at me without flinching, admiration in her eyes. At last I roused myself to say, “Perhaps there is something in what Atavalens said.”
“Atavalens?”
“I won’t succeed because I’m a cripple.”
Karanlik rested her head on my shoulder. “You’re not a cripple to me,” she said.
I was unsure what she meant, and my mood, which had plunged from elation to gloom, did not impel me to enquire further. I took the first ring fragment and fitted its hooks into the receptacles of the new piece, to create an arc of silver. I stared at it, then crushed it in my fist.
“No,” Karanlik insisted, “there has to be more to this baiting. They’re just testing you, finding out where your limits are.”
I shook my head. “I should feel joy that I’m half way through the test, but I don’t.” There were tears in my eyes as I raised my gaze to the ceiling.
“I’m thinking back to the hundreds of times I watched citidenizens walking past me in Blackguards’ Passage. Not one of them was crippled, they all had eyes to see, they all had two arms, ten fingers. I am imperfect.”
“I don’t believe you mean that.”
I glanced at her. “You really think they are testing me?”
“I do.”
Though I still felt disillusioned I attempted a smile then stood up, clacking my crutch upon the floor. “There’s no getting around this,” I remarked, indicating my withered leg.
Karanlik led me out. The corridor before us led down to the entrance hall, and I followed her along it. I felt that there were now two distinct paths before me: to justice with Karanlik at my side, to unknown pleasures with Raknia. At that moment I wanted to walk both paths.
There came a sudden hiss behind me, then a blow to the back of my head. I cried out, turned on my crutch, saw a figure walk by.
It was the tavern attacker. He said, “That’s what happens when there’s no witnesses, you cripple.”
I stood shocked. I did not reply. Karanlik watched the man walk by, then turned towards me, a look of enquiry on her face. “What did he say?”
I rubbed the back of my head.
Karanlik ran forward and said, “What happened?”
I watched the receding figure. Unbidden, the words that I had spoken to the arcadian returned to my mind: if the citidenizenry is what I believe it to be, then the miscreants themselves will stop their mischief.
“Ügliy, what happened?” Karanlik asked again, taking my hand in hers.
“Nothing,” I replied. “Nothing happened.”
“What did that man say to you?”
“Nothing.”
Karanlik shook her head. “I heard him muttering.”
I began walking again, clutching her hand in mine, both for comfort and to break the moment. “He said nothing that we need to worry about.”
That was true, and yet false also. The second part of the test was over, the silver fragment proof of that, but the citidenizenry had been shown up as rather less than what I believed it to be. The dilemma of my test lay stark before me: accept imperfection with community after my ascent from nogoth poverty, or live on the sidelines with people like Raknia. There was no third option.