Chapter 337: A City That Hears Everything

Mireva refused to lead them anywhere until every false route in the plaza had been silenced.

Sairren wardens descended from the balconies and pressed narrow tuning forks against the bells. Each fork gave off a silver vibration that smoothed the light across the floor, erased the path toward the shelter, and sealed the dark stains beneath it.

The wardens worked without treating the monsters as servants. They approached every stain with weapons ready and never turned their backs on one until the bellkeeper confirmed that it had gone quiet.

"The bells do not give monsters orders," Mireva said as she watched them. "A starving thing follows the strongest promise of prey. Our route-song hides the living rhythm of our people and places a louder trail somewhere else."

Martin looked at the sealed stains. "Usually toward intruders."

"Toward armed intruders who enter through the dungeon gates. The trails do not distinguish honorable intentions. Neither do the monsters."

"That seems fair," Rias said. "Most players won’t stop when the system labels your wardens optional enemies."

The red marker above Mireva supported the point.

Once the plaza was stable, she led them into the upper city.

The Sunken Belfry had not been built around streets. Its people moved through the air. Hanging homes opened onto landing platforms instead of ordinary doors, and narrow bridges connected only the places where carrying tools or supplies made flight inconvenient. Silver guide wires stretched between the towers. Sairren touched them while passing, reading vibrations from districts they could not see.

Workshops occupied the open levels between homes. Echo-smiths shaped thin bronze plates by tapping them with tools small enough to resemble sewing needles. Couriers carried baskets against their chests so their wings remained free, while merchants hung strips of dried meat, pale cave fruit, and polished resonance forks from overhead rails. Nothing had been arranged for humans walking through the city. Martin and his party were the awkward ones using service stairs and supply bridges.

The wardens traveled above the party in short, silent glides.

Martin and the other players remained on the lower avenues with Angel. Her shell nearly filled several passages, forcing everyone else to walk ahead of her whenever the stone narrowed.

At the first bridge, Angel tried to follow them onto a route clearly built for bodies a fraction of her size.

The bridge groaned.

Martin turned around. "No."

Angel placed one foot on the first bronze support.

It bent.

"You are an island in training. Take the lower avenue."

Angel released a wounded rumble.

Mireva looked at the strained bridge, then at Martin. "She believes the city should become larger for her."

"She has expressed similar opinions about roads."

Angel withdrew her foot and slapped it against the plaza instead. The impact sent a tremor through the guide wires.

Sairren heads emerged from windows throughout the street.

Mireva’s ears tilted toward the vibration. "She called the bridge small and poorly raised."

Martin stared at Angel. "You understood that?"

"Not the words. The complaint required little interpretation."

Angel continued through the lower avenue with two scouts, looking entirely satisfied that someone had translated her properly.

Kumoe had become more interested in the Sairren language. Her curious head copied every chirp she heard. The middle head offered lower versions, while the right corrected both with impatient barks.

A young Sairren carrying a basket stopped beside them and chirped back.

The curious head answered proudly.

The Sairren opened her basket and offered Kumoe a strip of dried meat.

Alexandra glanced at Mireva. "What did she say?"

"Something close to ’I have not eaten since my last meal.’"

"That describes every moment of her life."

Kumoe accepted the food before anyone could debate the translation.

The middle head waited until the young Sairren began walking away, then produced her own careful chirp. Another strip of meat came out of the basket.

The right head watched both of her sisters and tried the same sound with far less dignity than she probably intended.

Alexandra covered her smile as the third piece changed hands. "You have corrupted all three of them."

The young Sairren looked pleased with herself. Mireva did not translate whatever she said next.

Elisebeth leaned closer to Martin. "At least the entire city isn’t staring at us anymore."

Her whisper traveled up the nearest guide wire.

Windows opened along three levels.

One of the scouts above them made a sympathetic clicking sound.

"I hate this place," Elisebeth muttered.

The city heard that too.

Mireva brought them to a circular workshop built beneath a bell large enough to cover the entire roof. Bronze diagrams filled the walls. Each showed three smaller relay bells surrounding a central pattern of shelters, foundries, food stores, and flight lanes.

An older Sairren bellkeeper waited beside the diagrams. Silver streaked his dark hair, and one wing membrane bore a long repaired tear. He did not offer his name. His attention stayed on Cassandra’s Condemned marker until Mireva explained what had happened in the plaza.

He struck the map with one narrow tool.

The western relay remained dark. The southern relay flickered between silver and black. Only the northern relay held a steady glow around the inhabited districts.

"The western bell failed first," Mireva said. "Its route-song stopped reaching the lower avenues yesterday. We closed those streets and moved everyone above them."

Rias studied the network. "And the southern relay?"

"It still carries our song. Sometimes it turns the song back toward us."

Cassandra followed the silver paths with Hungerline. The new sense showed direction without explaining the mechanism. Most trails flowed away from the shelters. One strand curled beneath the western relay and vanished into the stone.

"Something below the relay is pulling on its pattern," she said.

The bellkeeper made a low sound in his throat.

"He does not trust you," Mireva translated.

"He shouldn’t yet." Cassandra shared the visible Hungerline trace with the party and Mireva. "This is what I can prove. The rest remains an interpretation."

Mireva examined the route rather than Cassandra’s face. "The western relay can be reached through a listening hall. Muteclaws gathered there after the song failed. Sound draws them."

Elisebeth lifted one finger. "Before anyone says anything, I am capable of being quiet."

The bellkeeper looked toward the ceiling, where her voice still hummed faintly inside the bronze.

Alexandra covered her mouth.

"You’re laughing," Elisebeth accused.

"Silently."

The older Sairren struck the map again. A lower passage lit beneath the western relay, and Mireva copied it into the party’s route record.

Martin studied the distance. "We clear the monsters, Cassandra finds whatever is pulling the pattern, and your bellkeepers restore the relay."

"If it can still be restored," Mireva said. "Do not damage the bell because your system promises a reward for destruction."

"We won’t."

Mireva studied Martin’s shield and the three weapons cycling through his equipment slots. "That promise includes the man carrying a warhammer."

"Especially him," Rias said.

Martin looked at her. "You’re supposed to support me."

"I am protecting you from an expensive mistake."

Before they could leave, the great bell above the workshop moved.

No one had touched it.

The first note carried no sound. Silver light passed through the diagrams instead, turning every marked route toward the lower avenue.

Then Martin’s voice spoke from inside the bell.

"The lower passage is safe. Bring everyone down."

Angel rumbled somewhere beneath them.

Martin looked up at the unmoving bronze.

"I didn’t say that."

Mireva raised her spear.

"We know."