When The Petal Fell

15-1

15

Cierene stepped over the stinking, stagnant stream of water, holding her oil lantern out before her. She had already stepped into several things she had no wish to put a name to and the longer she stayed down here, the greater chance she had of stepping into worse. Even though the tunnel was high enough for even her tall frame to walk upright, she still found herself slouching, curling her back and dipping her head, hoping her hood would stave off the worst smells from infusing into her hair.

The Tweens was a place few people acknowledged. Neither in the Top-Side, nor in the Underside. It was a dark, ignored place. Made from miles and miles of twisting, interconnected tunnels, stretching from one end of the bridge to the other. From one side to the other and throughout the half-mile depth of the bridge. Its original purpose was for sewerage. The tunnels flowing in gentle slopes to the edges of the bridge, allowing the flow of sewage to spill from great holes in the sides, to pour down the thousands of feet to the waters below.

Over the centuries, after the Underside and Lower Docks started to grow and expand under the main structure of the bridge, the sewers ended up diverted to pipes grown into the cliff sides by ancient Stone Mages, sending the fetid waters down the thousands of miles to flow out into the waters away from the city and the Lower Docks. In the centuries since, the Tweens had expanded, themselves, with the old sewerage tunnels leading to more crude tunnels and rooms. Some rooms tiny, others as large and as cavernous as the largest temples.

It was to these tunnels, between the Top-Side and Underside (hence, the Tweens), where the true underclasses of the city found sanctuary.

The Top-Side had always seen the cream of people. The rich, the powerful, the workers that could afford houses with views of the skies. The Underside became the home to the lower classes. The labourers, the criminals, the poor and disadvantaged. The Tweens came to be home for those despised by even Undersiders. The sick, the races that, even in such a progressive place as Tarkar's Bridge, found themselves distrusted, feared, hated.

The Tweens gave a home to the Dragon-Kin, the Driadin, the Rat-Kin and, Cierene mused, possibly even more races that she, herself, had never seen. All the races that humans, Fae and even Kannai looked down upon. The misunderstood races.

She shouldn't be here, of course. The greatest courtesan the city had seen in decades, next in line for the role of High Gardener, courted for the position of President of the Chamber of Representatives, wading through filth, about to consort with Patrons knew what individuals. The scandal could last days. Maybe even a week before some noble or merchant found themselves in a compromising position.

She had no choice, however. After a couple of days neglecting her precious Seedlings, she had found something disturbing. No-one had seen young Brella since the day of their feast at the Court of Blossoms. One of those Seedlings that kept a running tally of everything she saw and heard, Brella's usual day included at least one piece of information passing on to the Court. Even if the information she gave was little or nothing, she spoke to the Court every day.

Paldre, the self-inserted leader of the Seedlings had first brought her odd behaviour to the attention of Gabria, noting that she hadn't appeared for their morning meet. Then another day passed, and another, and Cierene decided the girl needed finding. No-one had seen her, although she had, on occasion, spent nights in the Tweens.

One young Kannai, not in the employ of the Court, said she had seen Brella entering the Tweens a few nights before. Which brought Cierene here. Now.

"I'm looking for a young human girl. Ten years old. Short brown hair. She's called Brella. Have you seen her." The same words, repeated over and over again.