The City by Stella Gemmell

but he had already received offers to work, and he could not go on refusing them. Turn down work when you can do without it, and the gods of ice and fire will take notice, and there will be no work when it’s needed. That was his philosophy.
    The hard decision was whether to take the child with him. There would be danger for her wherever they went, but danger for her alone here too. An old midwife had offered to care for the child, but she could afford her no protection if the patrols came or, if the gods cursed them, reivers. Bartellus had asked Old Hal if he would take Emly under his protection but the old man had laughed and shaken his head. And the girl had skills that a hunting party could use: her eyes were sharp and she was low to the ground so she could spot things others could not; she was light and could go where others could not.
    So one morning, as the dark light filtered down through the lofty roof of the Hall of Blue Light, Bartellus and Emly set off again. There were four others, and they were heading towards the WideawakeSluice. This was a major floodgate which filtered off surplus river water. An expedition went there most days when the streams were high. It was fresh stormwater and the pickings were easy. It was also a place where Dwellers congregated, trading news and gossip.
    The party of six made good time and they only paused once, at the Eating Gate. The leader, a skinny leathery woman called Ysold, pointed down into the gate’s mechanism and Bartellus saw that one of the great rolling barrels which chewed up passing debris was now missing.
    When they reached a place where they could talk again, Ysold edged up to him as they walked.
    She winked up at him. ‘Information,’ she said craftily.
    Bartellus frowned.
    ‘There is money in information,’ she told him. When he continued to look baffled, she went on irritably, ‘The Eating Gate is breaking up, man. It is weakened. Next time there is a storm perhaps another barrel will break free. Soon there will be nothing to stop all the rubbish in the City being swept down through the Halls. The lower tunnels will start to block up, then the upper levels, then the Halls themselves. Soon the entire City will be flooded.’
    ‘Does no one maintain the gate?’
    She shook her head. ‘Time was when they sent regular teams down to repair it. Then, many years ago, they stopped. I don’t know why.’
    Bartellus looked at her wonderingly, this tough old woman with beady eyes, wrapped in an old blanket with holes for her arms. How long had she lived here? He knew there was no point in asking. She would say what they all said: ‘Time out of mind.’
    ‘But someone would pay for information like that. Someone in power,’ she said.
    She nodded at him, emphasizing her point, but he shrugged. When
he
was someone in power he had no interest in what went on beneath the streets of the City. If someone had crawled out of a drain and told him of a missing barrel in a mechanism which chewed sewage he would have sent them on their way with a flea in their ear and perhaps a hard kick to the backside.
    But, ‘It is important information,’ he told her pleasantly. ‘Yet I would not know who to tell.’
    It was true. The emperor’s palaces were awash with administrators. The armies could not move without teams of scribes creatingwagonloads of paperwork. New roads and bridges were built only after a thousand counsellors had made work, and wealth, for themselves. The long, and increasingly fragile, supply lines which brought food and materials into the City were the subject of continuous debate for palace officials, administrators and, of course, the generals.
    But who considered what went on beneath the streets of the City? In that other City, which continued to give its own vital service daily – unseen, unconsidered, essential.
    Ysold frowned at him. ‘The emperor, of course,’ she told him eagerly. ‘Someone should tell the Immortal.’
    Then, seeing the party was