The Rat and the Serpent Read Online Free Page A

quality of street life, and therefore it stands to reason that no such obstacle exists that has stopped others. Yet where is progress?

Chapter 2
    It was an hour after nightfall when, with trepidation, I approached a tower on the junction of Gedik Pasa and Divan Yolu Streets. There I saw a flight of black steps, a single lamp at the top, a half open door, and above that dozens of windows and balconies topped with a conical roof: the Tower of the Dessicators. Earlier, I had made a parasol from cloth and wood fragments found in the gutters of Blackguards’ Passage; this I put into the bin at the foot of the steps, knowing it would be there when I returned. An unspoken nogoth custom.
    I was nervous, aware of my naiveté, but more aware of my crutch, which I knew would mark me out even in a group of novices. I was in two minds. I had sworn the oath, but doubt remained. For some minutes I looked up through softly falling soot, studying the lamp, the solidity of the door, the pale windows above it. Then I sighed, and with heart thumping I began to hobble up the steps.
    In the entrance hall I saw a man sitting on a black velvet couch; burly, swarthy, smoking a clay pipe and writing with a feather upon a scroll. He looked in surprise at me. He was a citidenizen—kohl around his eyes. There came a single word. “Yes?”
    I stood as straight as I could. “Good evening. I am here to become apprenticed to a dessicator group.”
    The man looked at my crutch, then at the torn breeches covering my legs. “Is that so,” he said, returning his gaze to the parchment.
    There was silence. I thought the man must be checking a list, but after a few minutes there was no further word, so I said, “Yes, I am here to join up.”
    Again the man looked me up and down. “What?”
    “I was told to come here. My name should be on your lists.”
    The man smirked. “Is that so,” he said once again.
    There was a hint of desperation in my reply. “Yes!”
    Muttering, the man leaned over the back of the couch and extracted another scroll from an alcove in the wall behind him. “And do you know your name, nogoth?” he asked. The bitter sarcasm dripped from his tongue.
    “Ügliy.”
    “Of?”
    “Blackguards’ Passage.”
    An expression of surprise came to the man’s face. “Well, there is an Ügliy here, but it can’t be you.”
    “Why not?”
    The man gestured at my withered leg. “Look at you. You must know it would be impossible for you to become a citidenizen. Why are you bothering to go through with the apprenticeship?”
    “Why should it be impossible?” I asked.
    “Look at you.”
    I felt angry, but I knew I must not let it show. “Nonetheless, I am presenting myself and I am the Ügliy on your list. You must let me join.”
    The man shook his head, uttered a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh, then pointed to a door and said, “Through there. You’ll be in Musseler’s group. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, cripple, when they tell you your chance of passing the test is no chance at all.”
    I approached the door, then opened it. I saw a room lit by candles, ink-stained drapes on the walls, a dais at the far side, six people sitting on chairs before it. They all turned to see who had disturbed the silence.
    The first thing I saw was white hair and black eyebrows: the panther shaman. He frowned at me, but there was confusion in his eyes too. I was no less baffled. The other people were unknown to me, three women and two men, the women unkempt, the men unshaven, except for the panther shaman, who had washed his handsome face and dusted the soot off his clothes. The two henchmen were not present.
    The panther shaman stood up. “What do you want?” he asked me.
    “I was told to join this group,” I replied.
    “You?”
    There was a clunk from behind the dais. I said nothing as from a concealed door a giant of a man emerged, his muscles bulging under his garments, his face pale like the moon, his eyes kohl-lined, his lips