The Fragile Tower - Book 1 of the No.1 magical fantasy series

The Fragile Tower Chapter 15 - The Great Gate

There was a line a hundred or so long at the gate, and Grace and Afi took their places at the end of it in tired silence. There was nowhere to sit, and no shelter here from the wind. Worse still, the long shadow cast by one of the verticals of the gate fell over all of them. It was going to be a long and freezing wait.

"Do people always have to wait this long to get in?" Grace asked him in a murmur.

Afi shook his head, and his expression was a little troubled. "There are usually just merchants and a few supplicants coming to and fro."

"Why supplicants?" Grace asked him. "Like, poor people?"

Afi gave a quiet snort through his nose. "Like rich people. The Queen accepts donations, and uses her magic where the people who can afford it ask. The poor are turned away."

Grace shook her head, disgusted. "I thought she liked to take people in? To help them?"

"Only a very few," Afi said, stonily. "And only to give herself the illusion of generosity."

His voice had an edge to it, and she saw the elderly couple in front of them in the line turn around, an anxious expression on their faces. Afi nodded at them, doing a good impression of nobleman's son, all considered. The couple nodded in return and turned back to face forwards. Grace hoped they hadn't heard what Afi had said.

"Something's changed since I was last here," he went on, more quietly. "There shouldn't be this many people asking for help. This is only one gate out of seven."

Grace craned her neck to peer along the line. There were a dozen palace guards clustered in the sun that poured through the gate, their bright scarlet uniforms almost festive. But even from this distance Grace could see that their expressions were taut and suspicious. Something had made them anxious.

This wasn't the first sign of something wrong. The shop Afi had taken them to had been locked up, and the tailor within had to be persuaded by the sight of Grace's bag of copper in order to let them in. He had smiled and simpered as he brought out fabrics and measured them both, which had been done using a small floating globe of light which tickled as it ran along their arms and backs and legs.

Afi had asked the tailor if there had been anything happening in the city, mentioning some strange rumours. The man had paused in his fabric-cutting, but then insisted that nothing had changed. Everything, he said, was just fine. But he had been more than a little nervous, and Grace hadn't missed how many times he glanced outside the extravagant windows.

Even as the middle of the day approached and they set out in their new finery, the streets in this district had been almost deserted. Such a contrast to the poor district, where she supposed desperation must have driven them onto the streets.

Grace had checked her reflection in the first four shop-windows they had come across, more than a little disconcerted by the strange image she saw there. Offered a choice of styles, she had insisted on a short skirt with leggings underneath rather than a full length dress. There was no way she could use her kick-boxing effectively if she was in long skirts, and the closer they came to the tower, the more she felt in need of every advantage.

But the skirt was full, multi-layered, and consisted of black and purple lacy fabrics in asymmetric arrangements. Little pieces of ribbon hung down and fluttered, and the tailor had insisted that the only thing to go with this was an ornate corseted bodice in black with purple details. He had finished the outfit with a long coat of black velvet and heeled black boots, and Grace was left feeling like a cross between a burlesque dancer and one of the goth-girls who stalked High Peaks in packs. She still hadn't adjusted to it, nor quite come to comprehend how quickly he had created this outfit with more of the glowing lights he called Help Hands.