Coldmaker: Those who control Cold hold the power

A Jadan can always be purchased outright by a Noble, but this comes at a high price, and most Nobles are happy borrowing any Jadan they see fit.

I had three more years of Street duty left, and I wanted them to last as long as possible. My corner was one of the most vibrant in Paphos, and I served under one of the finest Jadanmasters.

Moussa ran ahead of me until he took a sharp turn in the direction of the Bathing Quarter. I kept onwards towards the heart of Paphos, the Market Quarter, snaking my way across my favourite rooftops and deserted alleyways. After five years on Street duty, the pads of my feet were hardened and leathery, immune to the heat of stone. As tough as my heels had become, however, my toes were still susceptible to bites, so I made sure to keep an eye out for forked tongues rising in the gaps. It was rare to run into a Sobek lizard, as they usually didn’t stray far from the boiling water channels pulled off the River Singe, but it was important to stay vigilant. The lizard’s poison couldn’t kill, but errands were quite difficult with a splitting headache and hives.

I speeded up as I spotted two other Street Jadans from another barracks in a nearby alleyway, crouching over a pile of billowing smoke. One of them was holding a sizable shard of glass against the sunlight, focusing the ray on some smouldering boilweed. Both mouths were sucking in large breaths, wafting the fumes towards their faces with sooty fingers, stifling coughs. They’d have to smoke quickly if they were going to make it to their corners in time, but they didn’t seem too concerned.

Some Jadans claim the boilweed makes errands pass like a pleasant dream, and taskmasters’ whips feel like soft kisses. I’d tried the smoke once, but it just made me feel sick, and the residual cough had earned me more than one slap on my throat.

Sweat gathered on the lobes of my ears and I cursed myself for wasting water; every drop counted in this hotbed of a world. I was the only one of my friends who still had the problem. Spout was about as accurate a nickname as any.

Keeping the safe route into the Market Quarter took me longer than I would have liked, but fortunately the day was still early, and the warning bells hadn’t yet rung. Most of the Nobles I would serve today were still asleep, cool under their thin sheets, the richest being fanned by their personal Domestics.

I jumped from a low roof onto the edge of a shop and bounded onto Arch Road. I scrambled over to my corner and pressed myself against the wall. Placing my hand at my sides, I fell into my best slave stance: shoulders rounded, chin down, a slight bend at the hip.

The wall of my corner was slightly pronounced at the top, offering me a few fingers of luxurious shade. Keeping my chin tucked, I watched the other Street Jadans out of the corner of my eye, slipping out of the surrounding alleyways just as the morning bells rang out. I was happy to see the Jadans I knew still on their respective corners, none of them having fallen at the hands of a taskmaster yet.

The final ring was our cue to begin the ‘Khat’s Anthem’. I cleared my throat and launched into the song along with everyone else.

The Crier’s might upon his name

Worthy of the Cold

Dynasty forever

Service for your soul

Blessed be our master

Who keeps us from the sands

His holiness the Khat

Who saved life upon the lands

Holy Eyes have long forsaken

Those of Jadankind

But the Khat is made of mercy

For those blind to the Cry

He keeps us from the darkness

He gives us hope and grace

Long live the Khat and all his sons

Who saved the Jadan race

Jadanmaster Geb skipped onto Arch Road just as the song finished, a big smile on his face. As always, his robes looked new; these ones a jolly shade of green, bright enough to be seen all the way from Belisk. He wore a head wrap of matching green, meticulously tied to hold back his long hair enough to show off his dangling emerald earrings.

There was a reason Geb often had enough Cold to buy such extravagant outfits. From what I understood, Jadanmasters received bonus Cold for keeping their slaves obedient and swift. Since we all appreciated his kindness, there was something of an unspoken pact among the Arch Road Jadans to work hard to make him look good. Even though Jadanmaster Geb was from a High Noble family, and didn’t technically need to work, every Jadan on Arch Road welcomed his presence. Taskmasters didn’t appreciate his softness, or the fact that his skin was darker than most High Nobles, but Geb was confident enough not to care.

He checked us off one by one in his ledger, and stopped in front of me, bending over and slapping me lightly on the cheek. ‘Salutations, Spout.’

‘Sir,’ I said, happy to bask in his shade.

‘I appreciate your promptness, as per usual,’ he said, and I could tell that he meant it. ‘I challenge that if all Jadans were as dutiful as you, the commerce of Paphos would run smoother than silk through fingers. May this birthday be filled with swift and important errands.’

Even the fact that Geb called us ‘Jadans’ rather than ‘slaves’, or ‘Coldleeches’, or ‘The Diseased Unworthy’, spoke a lot about his character.

‘Thank you, sir. That means a lot, sir.’

He nodded, walking off with a skip in his step to check off his other Jadans. I had to work hard to keep the smile off my face.

After the first hour of morning passed, the street began to fill up with hordes of Noble shoppers. Out of my peripherals I caught them passing back and forth, chirping about the deals of the day. Merchants yelled from their doorways, waving silky dresses and big hats. Women held white umbrellas and wore sun-gowns made of thin fabric that flowed down their legs like water, whilst men wore crisp suits, so white that I almost had to shield my eyes. Sometimes when a Noblewoman got too close I’d catch the intoxicating scent of perfume, and I kept my nose ready for every whiff.

The moustached vendor at the nearest watercart passed out flavoured water to Nobles in exchange for small goods. Most traded food or make-up for the water, but I saw one Nobleman trade away a wooden doll. Fine pieces of woodwork were rare, but some Nobles liked to overpay traders to show off their wealth.

Another Noble habit I’d never understood.

The second bell of the day rang, and then the third, and still no one had chosen me for any errands. I was usually happy keeping to my corner, relaxing in the shade my little overhang offered, but today, idle time allowed my thoughts to wander to the Idea.

I began to sweat, straining towards safer topics.

I’d had the Idea for some time now, but I’d never had the Cold needed to make the particular invention work. Now that I had the three Wisps, my main excuse was gone, and I needed to come up with something else that might dissuade me.

The Crier might turn a blind eye to me having the Cold, but using it for my own benefit would surely be my downfall.

Just then something in the alley across from my corner caught my attention. Most Jadans used the alleyways to get around for errands, and I usually ignored the shadowy movements perforating the lively bustle of Arch Road, but this dark outline was different, as it was keeping completely still. Jadans on errands could get lashes for dawdling, so I tried ignoring the stationary figure at first, but something about the stance resonated with me louder than the morning bells. My curiosity grew stronger than my caution and my eyes began to rise.

A gasp nearly exploded from my chest.

It was the girl. The Upright Girl.

Her posture was like the beginning of a cautionary tale about obeying the Crier’s rules. If any taskmasters caught her standing that still and that straight they’d have the Vicaress break her back in a hundred places and string her crooked body from our road’s namesake Arch.

The girl’s face was perched out of my view, and I had to get a better look, so I chanced raising my head just a nudge.

Long hair flowed down her shoulder in a single braid, knotty yet still nicely sheened. Usually only Domestics wore their hair long, considering it would be torturous out in the streets, catching the heat and bundling it against your head. I couldn’t make out the details of her face, but the sun shed light on her feet, highlighting fresh wounds staining her ankles.

Had she followed me all night and morning? How else could she have found me?

The shout of a passing Noble startled me, and I slammed my eyes back to the ground. When I looked again the girl was retreating, her rigid back slicing into shadow.

Chapter Four

The hand fan on the shelf was the exact shade of pink I needed.

I held up the smeared parchment the High Noblewoman had given me, just to make sure, and found the stain of lip grease to be a perfect match.

She was going to squeal with delight.

The handle of the fan was made of ornate pearl, engraved with curling song words. The blade looked to be both sturdy and wonderfully frayed. This had to be one of the nicest pieces in Paphos, and I had visions of Jadanmaster Geb earning commendations for my wonderful find.

I breathed in the air in Mama Jana’s shop, warmer than I remembered.

Most shopkeepers didn’t let us in if the room was chilled, claiming the crushed Cold was wasted on Jadan lungs, but Mama Jana was a good-natured woman who treated me as if I was more than a pair of dirty feet, and I brought her business whenever I could. She was a lowborn Noble – meaning she got the minimal Cold rations delivered from the Pyramid weekly, unlike the bounty bestowed on the Khat’s immediate relatives – and she could use all the trade I could muster.

The shop was unassuming, its entrance deep in the alleyway off Mirza Street, but this modest façade hid a feast for the eyes and the purse, and was the first stop for many Street Jadans. Its walls were concealed by stacks of goods, overlapped in disarray, jumbling together cheap headdresses, thin sandals, fine beadwork and leather waterskins. Often I imagined combing through these mounds with my Claw Staff, its orb sounding to alert me to items pre-dating the Great Drought. In this fantasy, I’d then smuggle the treasures back to my barracks, and take them apart, examining their craftsmanship for hours.

At the front of the shop was an entire area dedicated to the Closed Eye: racks of Closed Eye necklaces, Closed Eye candles, Closed Eye paintings, Closed Eye parasols, Closed Eye robes, and even a full suit of armour with the Closed Eye branded into the chest. There was a giant Closed Eye Khatclock, but its hands were broken and it was kept in the back of the shop. Most Nobles sported the holy symbol somewhere on their bodies, a reminder of the Jadan fate from which they were saved, and a symbol of their closeness to the Crier. I’d never seen Mama Jana wear one, but there was plenty of Cold to be made in religious tradition, so the shop was kept well stocked.

Mama Jana removed the pink fan from the shelf and set it on the glass counter, stretching out her aged back.

‘For this beauty? One Shiver, four Drafts, four Wisps,’ she said, tapping out the different Cold amounts with her brightly painted fingernails as was her habit. I noticed, however, that a few of them were chipped, and that her voice sounded more annoyed than usual. I checked under my feet to make sure I hadn’t dragged in too much sand.

She clucked her tongue, noticing my dismay. ‘How much did the Wisp-Pincher give you?’

‘Sadly the High Noblewoman didn’t give me enough,’ I said, knowing that I had to keep my tone fully respectful for my masters, even in the privacy of Mama Jana’s shop. I let my head sag, holding the lips of the velvet bag open for her to see.

‘One Shiver, five Wisps!’ Mama Jana exclaimed with a dismal shake of her head. ‘And some snooty clod expected a festival piece? Is your High Noblewoman wanting that I should come out and fan her myself? Has the Sun baked her head empty? Why have you brought me this nonsense, Spout? You know better.’

‘Sorry, Mama Jana,’ I said, letting myself bend forward, my heart sinking. The last time I’d found an item this perfect, Jadanmaster Geb had sneaked me a stale crust of bread at midday rations.

I stuffed the greased parchment back into my pocket, figuring I’d have to try Gertrude’s Windmakers instead, even if Gertrude made Jadans stand at her window, offering us half the quality and twice the attitude.

‘Thanks anyway,’ I said, my eyes trailing to the row of lip pipes she had displayed on the counter, making a note to myself to keep an eye out for a chipped pair as a gift for Moussa on my next nocturnal expedition.

I bowed, letting my eyes gloss over the new assortment of belts in the corner. It was always good to know your stock when the Nobles came demanding.

‘Spout,’ she halted me, as I prepared to walk out the door.

I stopped, my ears perking up. ‘Yes, Mama?’

‘What about if I had a job for you,’ she said, tapping her fingernails against the glass counter, giving the fan a wave.

‘Always, Mama Jana.’ I bowed again, stepping forward and holding out my hand for one of her Noble tokens. ‘Let me just finish this errand and I’ll come back and—’

‘I should get priority over some nitwit,’ she said, playfully swiping my hand away with the pink fan. ‘Besides, the job is here. And if you can do it, I’ll give you the fan for what you have in that purse.’

I nodded, keeping my eyebrows from rising. That was quite the deal.

She gave me a long stare and then shuffled over to the door, turning the sign to closed. The beads jangled as she drew the dense gold curtains over the window, shutting out a disappointed Jadan face that had just arrived.

With the only light coming from candles, the place took on a different look. Flickering darkness gave the objects around the shop a mysterious hue that made me believe some Ancient wonders really did live beneath the piles.

She moved to a nearby table stocked with gold-rimmed eyeglasses and ruby-studded crowns. Hunching over, she picked up something cumbersome, straining to bring it over to the counter.

Even in dim light I recognized the contraption immediately.

Cold Bellows.

One of my favourite inventions, and since Mama Jana was drawing attention to it, I had a feeling I knew why the air in the shop no longer tingled.

‘This hunk of beauty is broken,’ she said, gesturing to the space around her, her wrinkled face pinched with annoyance.

I put on a sympathetic expression, although in truth I couldn’t imagine the bliss of working inside a Cold room every day. I’d have given up some of my choicest tinkering fingers to have swapped places for even a few days.

She motioned to a table that was empty except for a thick hammer and a metal screen. ‘I’ve been having to crush Wisps by hand for days now,’ she said, wiggling her fingernails, showing off the cracks in her polish. ‘Dreadful stuff.’

I felt my stomach clench, looking at the door to make sure no taskmasters were trying to peer through the beads. I could get in a lot of trouble if anyone found out I had an affinity for tinkering. In the eyes of the Khatdom, the only thing worse than a disabled Jadan was a Jadan with too much ability.

Mama Jana patted me on the shoulder, her jagged fingernails scratching my skin. ‘Quit your worrying. No one will see you.’

I gave a nervous nod, the sweat beading on my forehead.

‘I’ve kept your secret this far, child.’ Her voice was tender. She spun the crank on top of the Bellows, which offered no resistance, meaning that the machine refused to crush whatever piece of Cold she’d stuck inside. ‘Can you fix it for me?’

‘I don’t know,’ I replied in a small voice. ‘I’ve never even held Cold Bellows before.’

She reached under the counter for her stunning wooden tinker box, which she placed before my eyes, opening its lid to reveal the fine set of iron-handled tools that gleamed in the candlelight.

‘I believe it’s time to change that,’ she said, swatting air over her face with the pink fan. ‘So, do you want to finish your errand or not?’

Back on my corner, I held my arms high and waited, my token in one hand, and the fan in the other. I kept the pink blade extended to block the harsh light of the sky, enjoying a rare moment of complete shade. If any taskmasters gave me trouble about blocking the Sun I could tell them my specific instructions. ‘All Jadans look alike to me,’ the High Noblewoman had told me with a haughty scoff. ‘So do make sure to keep the fan open so I can spot the pink.’

I was happy to oblige.

My limbs still felt shaky after my fingers danced inside the Cold Bellows, a sensation which wouldn’t be going away anytime soon. The fix had been simple enough – just a gear out of alignment – but cracking apart the shell of the machine was like having a conversation with its Inventor himself. When it came to learning from the tinkering minds I usually only got to peek through cracks, all my understanding resulting from such furtive pursuits, and even though it was Mama Jana who now got to enjoy the Bellows, I was the one brimming with gratitude.

I kept my head down and watched the parade of fancy Noble feet pass under my eyes. I spotted shoes with fine glass clasps, shoes with polished leather, shoes decorated with petrified scarabs, and even a large pair I could have sworn had a few Wisps concealed in the heel.

Wisps.

My mind shot back to the Idea. If I could have turned around and slammed my head against the wall to banish the thought, I would have. Pursuing such a thing would be like begging for the Vicaress to pierce my innards with her fiery blade.

As the day passed, Arch Road had become filled with hordes of High Nobles, all looking for ways to rid themselves of their fortunes. Purses swung low with amounts of Cold which could keep my entire barracks alive for weeks. Jadans ran about too, keeping themselves pressed against the city’s walls and alleyways, their errand tokens raised above their heads. The three taskmasters stomping along the end of Arch Road kept their heads constantly raised, looking out for any breaches of Street rules.

Bell four rang out, and right on cue my Noblewoman began approaching. I recognized her by her pudgy ankles that didn’t quite fit into her rare mahogany sandals. That extent of her girth was a sign of status so high I assumed she might be on speaking terms with the Crier himself.

I wanted to puff my chest out with pride, having earned her exactly what she wanted. And not only that, but I’d acquired the fan by doing something I would normally have begged to do.

I could already hear Jadanmaster Geb’s praise in my ears.

Until the strangled feet stopped under my nose, and the legs went stiff.

‘I said red, you little shit! Red! Red! Red!’ the Noblewoman screeched, voice shriller than nails on glass. ‘Red! Are your eyes as worthless as your people?’

I seized up, nearly dropping the fan. My stomach tightened, knowing what I was in for. This was one of those Noblewomen.

‘Taskmaster!’ the woman yelled, spinning side to side, pudge on her neck jiggling. ‘Taskmaster!’

I fumbled in my pocket for the parchment she’d stained with the lip grease, keeping it in my hand for proof. I knew better than to argue, but I could still hope that Jadanmaster Geb would get here before a taskmaster, and see the truth.

Her ankles disappeared further out onto the street, leaving my line of my vision. ‘Taskmasters! Right now! This Jadan has wronged me! Tears to my ancestors, I’ve been wronged!’

I tried to swallow away my fear, but my throat was too dry. Foot traffic in the street slowed as many of the Nobles readied themselves for the entertainment. The jangle of Closed Eye necklaces reached my ears as onlookers held the shut lids in my direction. The three taskmasters began to race down the street, excited to get to play with their whips, but they were all stopped short.

‘May I ask what the problem is, madam?’ Jadanmaster Geb’s green shoes stepped into view.

‘You don’t look like a taskmaster,’ the High Noblewoman said after a pause, a sneer in her voice.

‘Ah. This truism resonates well, as I am a Jadanmaster,’ replied Geb calmly. ‘And I am in efficiency and disciplinary charge of the slaves on Arch Road.’

‘You look more suited to be in charge of pretty sun-dresses.’ She tittered. ‘Although with skin that dark, maybe Jadans do suit you even better.’

‘I can assure you, madam, that I am High Noble. Now again, what seems to be the problem?’ he asked, ignoring both slights. There was a distinct crispness to his tone. Geb was quite adept at recognizing those who threw fits just to stave off boredom.

‘I told it to get me a red one!’ Her words were full of self-righteous pain. It was almost as if I’d stolen her child and tried to raise it as a Jadan. ‘Does that look like red to you?’

Geb’s shoes turned towards me. I couldn’t plead my case, so I made sure to hold the parchment stain-side out.

‘On first viewing of this parchment I find that the stain is clearly pink,’ Geb replied, understanding my intention. ‘And exquisitely matches the colour of the fan. A magnificent find.’

‘I know, but I said—’

‘The stain is decidedly pink,’ Geb repeated calmly. ‘Is this parchment what you gave Spout as a basis for the errand?’

‘I don’t know where it got that!’ The lie was delivered with such force that for a moment even I almost believed her. ‘Now I want punishment. Get me a real taskmaster with a whip!’

The three taskmasters inched their way forward, but Jadanmaster Geb outranked them, and when he gave them a halting raise of his palm, they stopped. He pulled out a piece of parchment that I recognized as a writ of return. ‘I’ll have Spout exchange it at once.’

‘No.’ The High Noblewoman’s feet waddled my way and the fan and token were snatched from my hands. The impatient Sunlight smashed into my face. ‘I don’t have time for that. The ball is at bell six and I need it now. This Jadan leech has wasted two of my Shivers!’ – another lie – ‘And if I have to suffer for its idiocy then so does it. Punishment.’

A pause and a sigh. ‘What is it you wish?’

‘I want him in the Procession.’

Dread flooded through me, making me go weak at the knees.

‘The Procession is only for Jadans who break one of the first three Street rules,’ Jadanmaster Geb said with calm authority. ‘This … infraction doesn’t qualify. How about a more appropriate punishment?’

‘What if I go and find the Vicaress myself?’ she asked, venom in every word.

‘Be my guest,’ Geb said, shrugging so high his shoulders tapped the dangling green earrings. ‘My guess is that she’s at the Pyramid, as per usual. But I imagine she’ll impart similar sentiments to mine, and I wager you’ll be late for your ball.’

‘Fine. Then whippings,’ the High Noblewoman said, delight coating her voice. ‘But beat the water out of it, then. I mean, look at its forehead! Obviously it has too much! Greedy little Jadan leech.’

A whipping was almost tender compared to what Jadans had to endure in the Procession. I was seething with frustration, but I couldn’t help feeling some small relief.

‘How many lashes do you request?’ Geb asked.

‘Until he faints,’ she declared to the street.

The audience seemed satisfied with the request, and I could feel dozens of eyes on me.

‘Is that all?’ Geb asked, unsheathing a punishing rod that was also somehow matching green.

‘Yes.’

‘Fine. You might want to stand back. Look up, Spout,’ Geb commanded in my direction.