The Sunless Countries by The Sunless Countries

Author:The Sunless Countries
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780765320766
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

“WAIT HERE,” SHE told the driver. The sound of the car door closing echoed through the blackness of the alley, and as Leal hesitated the driver stuck his head out the window.

“You sure this is the right place?”

Leal checked the scrap of paper in her hand. “It’s the address I’ve got.”

“Obviously you got it wrong.” He glanced around uneasily. “What with the curfew and all, things that used to go on in the side streets have been pushed back, you know, kinda . . . squished into the corners. This sure looks like one of them corners to me.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll just make sure, then I’ll be right back, okay?” He looked nervous, but she knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Not with all her luggage piled in the backseat of his taxi.

It was four days since her meeting at the Ministry of Education. Four days of pacing; sitting in her window and staring; drinking too much tea; taking long walks. None of it had brought her an inch closer to a decision. Meanwhile, the tension in the city had grown, and time had ticked down to another deadline—this one introduced by a garbled phone message, only later clarified by letter.

She’d put it all off, and now, literally at the last minute, she had to decide. But she couldn’t do it on her own.

A jumble of warehouses and light industries crowded together where the market district abutted the edge of the town wheel. Casual pedestrians had no reason to be back here since it was as close to a cul de sac as you could get in a wheel. The building Leal stood outside was a fine example of industrial pragmatism, built of ribbed concrete slabs that wept rust stains from the iron bars holding it together. Tall windows parodied the ones in the rare books collection; there were none on the ground floor and the ones above were opaque with dust.

Long ago, Easley Fencher had scribbled his address on this scrap of paper, and Leal had kept it out of respect and some dim sense that it might be of use someday. Clearly, she couldn’t decipher Easley’s handwriting.

Maintenance shift was beginning; stocky silhouettes moved through the alleys, climbing up metal fire escapes and slamming open the creaking iron doors of the other buildings. During her own off-shift walks Leal had always stopped short of entering this district. She turned now to leave, trying not to seem too nervous to the departing workers. Then she stopped, surprised.

Faint piano music wafted from a canted window ten feet above the ground. Dim light glowed there, and not the white of gaslight but the softer amber of an oil lamp.

Leal glanced around, squared her shoulders, and walked up to rap on the iron-bound door. The piano stopped. A minute later a little window in the door slid aside; she heard an exclamation of surprise and the door was thrown open.

“Leal! What are you doing here?” It was Easley, wearing a flannel nightshirt that hung to his knees, and yellow slippers.

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