The Sunken City Trilogy

by Phil Williams

  Did she just enjoy hearing her own voice?

  Newbry’s camera showed the room from up high, a cleverly placed bit of kit. Letty squinted at the screen to read the projection of laws that demonstrated Val’s end goal: from punishing contact with humans down to ID and visa laws, regulating Fae movement across Ordshaw. It was probably laced with clauses ensuring Val never lost her title and the FTC never relocated, to boot.

  “It’s not subtle,” Letty said, more to herself than Newbry. “Talking and talking without actually saying anything, all the while hanging this bullshit behind her that basically says we’re locking our doors. Can’t Flynt just say look at what the hell you’re doing and be done with it? They got no sense at all, how crazy this sounds?”

  “And it’ll be with this Council’s blessing,” concluded Val, “that we address the Ministry of Environmental Energy. I am honoured that you entrust the delivery of this message, and the necessary means to secure it, to myself and the Stabilisers.”

  The councillors obligingly shuffled papers, all having access to more written down that hadn’t been said. Deidre and Smark were there, unhappily reading what was in front of them. Flynt craned forward; no one had printed a copy for him.

  “It’s a drop in the bucket,” Valoria said, looking his way, “but justice for Councilman Edwing is at the very top of my considerations. Followed by an impartial investigation into Tuesday’s attack and the Ministry’s more immediate movements.”

  One of her sycophants took the chair for a minute, praising her efforts, saying these terms would benefit the Fae for generations to come. A thin, older Fae Newbry named as Mullon. Not someone Letty recognised, except maybe from the broadcasts, meaning he’d been a nobody before these days where talking was enough to make people important. Finally, he gushed, their children could sleep easy. Letty watched Deidre for a reaction, the councilwoman frowning as she read. She looked like she wanted to speak, but didn’t.

  Smark, for his part, was statue-still, playing the penitent now.

  “As we know,” Valoria told the room, “the Ministry plainly have plans of their own, and the sooner we establish new boundaries the better. If I can put it to a show of hands –”

  “You’re not going to discuss it?” Flynt said. Councillors twisted to face him.

  Valoria put on a patient smile, which Letty could’ve kicked off her face. “We welcome your views, Flynt.”

  “Seems,” Flynt continued, voice high and anxious, “something we should discuss. You’ve got the means to secure this –” He gestured weakly towards the demands. “But we don’t need to discuss how else we might do it?” What?

  “Of all people,” Valoria said, “I thought you’d approve of this show of strength. For Edwing.”

  “You can’t say it’s for him,” Flynt said, going for defiant but coming off petulant. He looked ready to stand, unsure if he should. “It’s not right – you’ve got – what about moving?”

  The Council wore pitying expressions. He was fumbling.

  “This isn’t peace,” Flynt offered. Every extra word made him seem more uncertain. All the ammunition he had, the fact that Val was provoking humanity with the worst weapons, keeping the Dispenser from her people, that the notion of hiding was mad – he wasn’t saying a thing. And Deidre kept her head down, too shy to help. Flynt said, “Edwing, he didn’t want – wouldn’t want threats.”

  “And we all appreciated Edwing’s eloquent dissent,” Mullon responded, “but this is a matter for the Council, young man, and perhaps not the place for your concerns.”

  “Young man?” Flynt replied angrily. “What’s my age got to do with it?”

  “Apologies,” Mullon continued, bordering on sarcastic. “It is rather your grief.”

  “You puffed-up old bean –”

  Newbry cringed, and Letty felt the same. This wasn’t what they’d discussed, and she really shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “Can we stay on track?” another crusty councilman said, this one wearing a waistcoat and a toupee like a soiled mop. “Madam Governor, I think I speak on behalf of all the members of the room, when I say we trust your wisdom.”

  “You don’t speak for me,” Flynt said. “I see this better than you – it’s a cage we’re talking about! Not peace, imprisoning us – and using poison to do it –”

  “Perhaps,” a woman councillor said through her nose, “the Scout Chief should take leave –”

  “Balls!” Flynt stood. “You’re flying on an ugly wing! Edwing believed in that human! She was gonna help us, she still can, but you’re not even discussing it.”

  “That human that killed him?” Mullon boomed suddenly, taking personal offence. “Regardless of your troubles, Flynt, I will not hear such talk in this room!”

  “Who says she did it? Some of you must think differently? Smark –”

  The Waste Chief kept his eyes down, refusing to get involved.

  “We all know the humans to be a threat,” Mullon said.

  “The governor’s proposal is sound.” Back to Toupee. “With secure borders, we can focus on internal development. We can –”

  “Words,” Flynt said, “it’s bloody words to avoid the point.”

  “Yes, please,” Mullon said, all sympathy gone, “let the young man explain why we shouldn’t be talking using words!”

  Nods and sniggering followed. In the furore, Deidre tried to help, with easily missed quietness. “Surely there is a case for delaying to investigate?”

  This was what the FTC government had become? The language they were using, their trim suits – a perfect mimicry of the humans’ vile Parliament. And Valoria at the centre of it, watching smugly, letting them squabble, knowing it made fuck all difference except to ultimately stroke her ego. She owned this. As the volume escalated, she finally slammed a fat palm into her lectern, for quiet.

  “Your caution is appreciated, Flynt,” Valoria said. “Doubly so as we can see your brother’s passion lives on, here in this room. It is a passion the FTC sorely needs. But it’s time to take action. Can I see raised hands for the Ayes?”

  Ten hands shot up, Smark’s quicker than most. Deidre eyed the room with concern. She looked like she was going to raise her hand too, just to fit in. But she kept it down, with effort. Val said, “A clear majority, then. If the Council will take a recess, I will make the call.”

  “No – you can’t!” Flynt tried again, standing, panicking. The two closest guards were moving towards him. “Threaten the humans with poison and we destroy any chance we have!”

  Most of the councillors regarded him with annoyance, now, but Val’s face shifted in a more calculating way. Understanding the specific nature of Flynt’s concerns. She said, “It’s best we proceed without further interruptions.”

  The Stabilisers grabbed his arms as Flynt shoved back. They took his pistol and marched him towards the doors, his shouted complaints going unheard. Valoria looked to her right-hand man, Hearlon, and he followed the others. Letty swore under her breath as Val made a final announcement: “Today, our position is secured.”

  There was nothing in this they could share with the FTC public that would sway anyone. The phone was quiet, no last-minute save from Pax. No way to delay the threats Valoria was about to make or the laws she was ready to ratify. And worse, her people were taking Flynt.

  “What a cockspasm of a mess,” Letty said. “Can you jam her calls? Mustard gas the room or something?” Newbry’s blank face said she was on her own. She straightened out her gun belt. “Fine. Back to Plan A.”

  2

  With the Ministry crawling over the scene, Pax sat wearily on a low wall, waiting for the axe to fall. She was getting used to this sullen feeling that came after a period of intense life-threatening madness. She just wanted to peel back the tarmac and crawl under it to sleep. Instead, she contented herself watching the MEE at work, avoiding thoughts of the trouble she was in by wondering, distantly, about Letty’s plight. How was Pax going to help her from a windowl
ess prison? Or a coffin.

  Having apparently tracked their phones, there were three black cars in the road now, along with two ambulances and a police car. Landon had returned from his shootout to give uniformed officers and paramedics bland instructions about cordoning off the area and tending to the wounded. His suit jacket was torn at the shoulder where he’d been grazed by a bullet, and he had a profusely bleeding head wound that needed dressing, but Pax heard him dismiss the ferocious drama: “They’d probably never fired a gun before, any of them.”

  The backup MEE agents were hard-looking men with hunters’ glares. Pax wanted nothing to do with them, though she wished they’d been around earlier. Casaria was there, but he shot her only the briefest look before dashing inside. A body bag and two occupied gurneys were rolled to the ambulances before Pax caught sight of Sam Ward. She drifted out like a ghost, dusty, sweat-wrecked hair in strands across her face. After a few words with Obrington, who was grilling Monroe with one of the police officers, Ward wandered across the road to join Pax on the wall. She said nothing, eyes still focused on whatever she’d seen in there. Pax asked, softly, “Good gunfight?”

  Ward’s thin, humourless smile said it was far too soon. Dark rings had formed under her eyes and she hadn’t quite stopped shaking.

  They sat together in silence as Obrington chewed Monroe out, gesturing their way as he threatened the crime boss over any future problems. Pax doubted the Ministry could protect her from gangsters. Then, she needed protection from the MEE, too. The police were finally gifted Monroe, and drove him away cuffed with a Ministry car for an escort. He regarded Pax viciously through the window as they passed. She tried to ignore it, while Obrington approached, blocking out daylight.

  “One dead, another two in critical condition,” Obrington summarised, catching Ward’s concerned attention. Was it her or Landon who’d scored the fatal shot? “Three dead if you count the guy who throttled me earlier. And here you two are, like a couple of schoolgirls caught pinching pennies from the tuck shop.”

  Pax processed that slower than she usually would. It was an oddly flippant remark considering the gravity of the situation. She said, “Is this where you take me behind a dumpster and shoot me? Tell my parents it was a random mugging. They’ll claim they saw it coming.”

  Obrington didn’t answer straight away. He looked around, as though he needed to double-check exactly where they’d got to. The first ambulance was leaving, and one of his agents was carrying an armful of guns towards his car. “This has spread beyond something a few disappearances would contain. Now it’d be more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “Seriously?” Pax said, giving Ward a glance. “Not oh no, the Ministry would never do a thing like that?”

  “We do what’s best for the majority,” Obrington answered simply. “Mostly that doesn’t involve being deeply evil bastards, but not always. Especially difficult people can require special consideration. In your case . . .” His eyes lingered on Pax, the sentence unfinished like he wasn’t sure himself. “The chap who actually saw something down there will need extra attention. Otherwise, it’s a case of some gun-running lowlifes being locked away for shooting at government agents. They had serious gall; the gentleman thought he had friends in high places. Fortunately, it doesn’t come higher than us. But even so. Ward. How is it we find ourselves in this situation?”

  Ward gave him a look that said she was considering that question from afar. Pax said, “She didn’t know about them. I thought I could talk them down and I convinced Sam to help. To avoid bloodshed.”

  “Because you wanted to get hold of this before we did?” Obrington took the handwritten note from his jacket pocket.

  Inwardly wincing, Pax played it honest. “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d understand.”

  “We didn’t,” Ward came in, a tired fact. “How could we tell who to trust, after what happened with the Raleigh Commission?”

  Obrington’s face was as readable as a rock. “Third time today I’ve been told people are willingly keeping things from Management. What is it, exactly, you’re all so delicately hiding? Not this criminal enterprise.”

  Ward wasn’t ready to elaborate.

  He addressed Pax. “Plainly, with half of Ordshaw fawning over you, you are more in control than me. Agent Casaria got his career tied in knots over you. An intensely irritating housewife gave me an earful on your account. This woman here, with aspirations to head a government department, is covering for you. Why?”

  “It’s not something I asked for,” Pax said.

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion on it, did I? I figure you’re smarter than this. Both of you. I figure there’s a reason my gut says don’t believe this” – he indicated the piece of paper – “is what it appears to be. Likewise, I don’t like believing the Fae saying you’re a murderer. Is my gut right, or is it last night’s curry playing up?”

  Pax frowned. It wasn’t what she expected from him, and her dislike for the man made her reluctant to simply co-operate. But he was giving her a lifeline. She said, “I was set up, when I went to meet the Fae. And I was set up with these guys. Different people behind it, but the same reason. Neither of them want me building bridges.”

  “And the one we’re talking about here,” Obrington said, “would that be the sort of person that could pose, say, as a member of the Raleigh Commission?”

  “I think so.”

  “Back from beyond the grugulochs’ grave. So if this manipulative force is not really gone, what have you got against us culling the praelucente? Is it not, as you claimed, what our enemy uses to draw strength?”

  “We don’t know what they are, so it’s reckless to attack the one thing we know has value to them.” Pax let it out with what she realised was relief. Coming clean felt safer when she knew the guy might listen. “These things seem to exist in surfaces, and they warp how things appear, and they can create lifeforms. Beyond that, all we know is they’ve gone to a lot of trouble to hide their existence. We go on the attack, they hunker deeper down.”

  The ideas rotated behind Obrington’s eyes. “You’re talking about the blue screens themselves. A conclusion we reach because?”

  “I’ve felt them,” Pax said. “After I touched the minotaur, I picked up a sense for it. When I killed the grugulochs, I knew they were still there. They’ve abandoned the places Apothel used to meet them, but I keep feeling them.” It jogged her memory with a moment’s clarity. “You had another surge. In the last hour or so. I felt that.”

  As Ward gave Pax a concerned look, Obrington took out his phone and called to check, eyes on her all the while. The report from the office came back quickly: yes, there was a surge.

  “Somewhere in the east,” Pax said. “Moving this way?”

  Obrington relayed that and got clarification. Whoever was on the line suggested they were hurrying to check if there’d been any wider effects. Obrington put his phone away, staring hard.

  “It wasn’t just paranoia that we kept this quiet,” Ward said in a hushed tone. “I was concerned for Pax. That you’d want her trapped and tested. Or that they would target her.”

  Obrington’s eyes widened, deliberately looking towards bullet holes in the nearby truck, across to smashed windows. Landon was talking to one of the new agents, wiping an absent hand over his bloodied face. “That’s what this was, huh. Whatever bastard’s got its claws in your town, it wanted us to declaw you.”

  Pax’s gaze rested on the handwriting on the note in his hand, a perfect imitation of her own. He was right. The blue screens weren’t randomly stirring chaos like Lightgate; this was designed to get rid of her, specifically.

  “Why?” Ward asked of the world, slumping forward, elbows on her knees and head in her hands. Pax was unsure if she should pat her shoulder, offer a hug, something?

  Obrington asked, “What more do you know? They exist on surfaces?”

  He was taking all this remarkably calmly. Pax nodded. “They communicated through touch, scratches in walls
or whatever. When I encountered one, it couldn’t tell who I was by sight. But they’re linked to each other like a hive mind, I’m sure. They’re organised, somehow, able to communicate through some other means.”

  “As are you, evidently,” Obrington said. “Making you a little bit psychic.”

  Pax gave him a warning look, preferring that not to be true, but it was disarming how seriously he made the suggestion. “You guys know something about this? I’m guessing there’s more you’ve got hidden from the rest of us.”

  “That might be, but I don’t know jack about your blue screens and this grugulochs business. Might’ve been useful to know when I got to Ordshaw that this wasn’t yet a clean-up operation. What were you hoping to do next?”

  “Study their patterns,” Ward softly rejoined. “They expose themselves through novisan. When they feed, when they make things, when they transfer the energy.”

  “But they’re sticking close to the praelucente,” Pax said. “Maybe so we mistake their novisan fluctuations for its. They’ll find new ways to stay hidden, if they’re forced out from under its shadow. They infiltrated our government, hid their own existence –”

  “I got the picture,” Obrington said. “And you wanted to study this on your lonesome until you could be sure they’re not listening. Except you can’t ever be sure of that because you don’t know what they are. And here we are, with them targeting precisely the person thinking she’s got one up on them.”

  “You believe us, though?” Ward said, hopefully.

  “Does it make a difference? Beyond believing neither of you would be idiot enough to join these low-rent gangsters, the details aren’t important. You’re telling me there’s something still out there, suckling at your praelucente’s teat. They’re of the same energy, they’ll burn just the same when we fry it.”

  “We’ll send out a party invite, then?” Pax said. “Come to an all-you-can-eat and lock the doors? We don’t even know how they communicate.”

  Obrington gave her an unsettling look through his magnifying lenses. “You know why Management sent me up here? Me, specifically. Not a bookkeeper like Mathers. I see a thing needs doing and I find a way to do it. I don’t prat about overanalysing it.”