The Canticle of Whispers by David Whitley Read Free Book Online Page A

the receivers will regret the lengths they’ve pushed us to! Remember, if you shake up a rat’s nest, you’ll be bitten for your trouble!”
    The whole room roared its approval, and as it did, a breeze stirred through the smoke, someone raised a lantern high, and Mark could see Crede.
    He was tall and ragged, with stringy blond hair and an imperfectly shaved face. Physically, he was not terribly inspiring—he looked like a man who had spent too many nights passed out on the floor. But his stance and eyes told a different story. Every movement, every second, spoke of a man brimming with passion. As Mark watched, the story that Laud had told came back to him. The story of the Wheel, Crede’s rival almshouse—of the things he was prepared to do to ensure a better life for those who sought his aid: theft, intimidation, even attacks on receivers. Laud had received a beating at the hands of Crede’s thugs, one of whom, Mark was sure, had been the one who had greeted him at the door. As Crede moved, the whole crowd shifted with him, riveted by his every gesture. And they listened as if their lives depended on it.
    â€œThe receivers are already learning their lesson, my friends! They cower in their parts of the city, patrolling outside the houses of the elite, so that the wealthiest will think that they are still safe.” He laughed, a short, cruel burst. “Soon they will not dare interfere again, and we can take to the streets, and ensure a fair deal for everyone. Because as long as the Directory remains in power, how can the ordinary man or woman get a fair deal for themselves? What value do they place on the lives of ordinary people? We believe that humanity is worth more than the market price!”
    The room erupted into applause. On his stool, Mark shuddered. He remembered those words. But last time he had heard them, they had been spoken by Lily. In an odd way, Crede reminded him of Lily—she had always been determined that the world should be more fair. But Lily had planned to do it with compassion, not by starting a war.
    Mark tore his gaze away to look around the room. The way Laud had described Crede’s operation made it sound like an army in the making, especially considering the way they antagonized the receivers. And it was certainly true that there was a sprinkling of people who, like Nick, looked as though they weren’t here for the speeches. But at the same time, most of the listeners were much more inconspicuous: men, women, even children, mostly poor from the looks of their clothes, and all captivated.
    â€œHey, you,” the barman grumbled. “You going to order a drink or what? Crede can set up shop here, but I need to make my living as well.”
    Hastily, Mark shrank away, trying to mingle with the crowd. As he did, he caught a glimpse of a small, dark-haired woman, watching silently from a doorway. For a second, he was sure that he had seen the woman before.
    â€œMiss Devine?” Mark said to himself under his breath. “This isn’t your kind of place at all…”
    Mark remembered Miss Devine, though he had met her only once. She was the neighbor of the Temple Almshouse, and officially a glassmaker by trade. But her real business was rather more strange—extracting and selling the emotions of others. When Mark had been a rising star of the Agoran elite, it had been fashionable to pass around a few tiny bottles of emotion at parties, and Miss Devine had been the best supplier. But what was she doing here? As far as Mark remembered, she was doing well, and hardly interested in the rights of the downtrodden …
    â€œAnd now, my friends, there is someone I want you to meet,” Crede pronounced at full volume. “Comrades, don’t think that our only support comes from lowly folk like us. Why, even some of the highest in the land have joined our cause, so moved are they by our plight! I present to you, Miss Serapha, the