“Yes I think we all know what the Fallen used to be, but they’ve lived here peacefully for sixty years, the halos we created for them curb all their darker urges. That’s old hat, Inspector.”
Maeve adjusted her high collar with a finger. She was feeling suddenly a little hot and itchy in this office.
“I agree sir, I fully support the Fallen being here. By and large they are the least violent race I this entire city these days. Their island is basically one big monastery. But I have from a good intelligence source that there is a splinter group within them that has resorted back to more violent means of extracting souls.”
“Well where are they getting them? They’re not exactly an inconspicuous bunch. You’d think one might notice an eight foot winged creature gallivanting about the city plucking women from the streets, eh?”
“They’re being supplied with them. A black market in souls has arisen in the city and these girls are the fresh supply.”
For a moment Armand actually seemed interested. He put down his port glass and raised an eyebrow at her.
“So who is supplying them? Even Free Reign’s criminals have no association with the Fallen.”
“The name floating about sir, is Jonas Reach.”
Armand shook his head and slapped a hand onto the marble desk. He tutted at her and began to look out of the window.
“Jonas Reach hasn’t been heard of for years, Scurlock. I heard he was killed in a shootout with the Wing-Clippers over seven years ago.”
Armand considered this for the briefest moment and then dismissed it.
“There was no body found. It’s well known that when Reach was in prison he converted to worship of the Old Gods. It happens a lot amongst the lifers.”
Armand seemed to be taking another tack with Maeve now. He had travelled through irritation and was now toying with condescension.
“Yes I’m aware of it. But there’s a difference between some desperate escaped convict who found a vengeful religion in prison, to the presence of that actual deity within the city walls. If that’s what you’re implying?”
Maeve was desperate for a rillo. She wondered what it was like sitting in a huge perfectly clean office like this all day, signing off on cases you hadn’t solved. She nodded and continued.
“Sir, have you read this report about the attack in Zalenberg a while back? The one where our representative was killed by a man who claimed to be Jonas Reach.”
Armand shrugged.
“Yes I recall it. But there were so few survivors, no one confirmed it. That whole episode was a disaster.”
“But you know what was stolen that night? A precursor artefact of undetermined power that Zalenberg had unearthed in its mines. Unregistered. It went off the map sir.”
Armand took a beat to process this.
“And you think Reach has it.”
“I think it’s possible sir. I think this Plague Doctor is also trying to stop him, for undisclosed personal reasons.”
Armand sat breathing heavily through his nose for a few long moments. He seemed to be weighing up whether he should throw Maeve out of his office or not. Finally he spoke.
“So what’s your theory then, professor?”
Maeve did not hesitate.
“That Reach is here in Free Reign. That he is in cahoots with this Fallen cult and is supplying them with fresh souls in the form of these girls, as a means of payment for their protection from the Vigilante. If Jonas Reach is somewhere in Free Reign and he has this precursor artefact, he has the means to launch an attack on this city that could kill thousands. We know his history, he won’t hesitate to use it.”
Armand started at her unblinking again as if nothing of consequence had been said since she entered the room.
“Scurlock, I’ve always appreciated your enthusiasm and dedication to your job. But you need to find some kind of balance. I understand that your cases are usually not the headliners, but this is all too far-fetched. Perhaps you should just take the evening off and relax, have a drink and forget about all this.”
Maeve finally let the impatience sound in her voice.
“Why do I get the feeling that nobody wants me to solve this case?”
Armand raised his manicured hands.
“Nobody’s trying to get in the way of your work, such as it is, Scurlock.”
“Really sir? Because it seems like everyone I speak to is telling me to go and get drunk.”
Armand injected a level of calm authority into his voice.
“What are you Maeve?”
“What am I? I’m a warden. I’m paid to keep this city safe. What else would I be?”
He shook his head slowly and steepled his hands for maximum effect.
“No. You’re a regulator. You’re paid to maintain balance. To seal up fissures of rogue thaumaturgy that cause anomalies. To hunt down rogue cancer cells of sorcery that cause unwanted changes. Basically you do the weird unsettling stuff no one else wants to do. So I sympathize with you wanting to make something bigger out of your work than it is.”
Maeve’s cheeks reddened.
“And innocent girls being abducted from our streets isn’t worthy of attention?”
Armand let his own voice rise a few decibels.
“You know how delicate a balance this city is. It needs finesse, diplomacy. You’re running about like a mudgrunt that’s taken a knock to the head. It’s bad enough to have one crazed Vigilante leaving a trail of dead bodies all over the city walls.”
Maeve was up on her feet and leaned across the wide desk with her hands flat on its cool perfectly clean, report free surface.
“At least he doesn’t let bureaucracy get in the way. He doesn’t compromise and he doesn’t sit behind a desk. He’s out there up to his knees in it taking down the sorts of people who would see this city wiped off the maps.”
Armand leaned in too and his whisper was chilling.
“I’d watch your tongue, and choose your heroes a little more carefully, Scurlock. Your career can be cut very short indeed with those kind of words.”
Maeve held her ground and his gaze for a long moment, breathing heavily. Finally she sagged and sat down in the chair again. She never knew how to play the political game.
“I agree we need to find him and stop him, but I don’t think that this Plague Doctor is the real enemy.”
Armand poured himself another port and swiveled his chair until he half faced the window. He took in the view of the city as he spoke.
“If there was a device of that kind of thaumaturgic power in the city, they’d know about it on Candlehill. They’d sense it a mile off. As for Jonas Reach, half the wardens on station don’t even think he’s real. So you and your Vigilante might just be chasing a ghost.”
Maeve slowly nodded and spoke calmly.
“That much I’d agree with, sir. If we find the ghost we find him too.”
Armand spun his chair back around sharply. His eyebrow was raised accusingly but there was almost playfulness in his voice.
“Yes, I’m aware you’ve been researching Wraiths, Inspector. That sort of eldritch nonsense is fine in your spooky little department, but it’s embarrassing when you’re making external requests with that as a heading. Especially when you’ve chosen to bypass this office with them. I don’t like you going over my head, you should come to me directly with these requests.”
Maeve stared at the floor like a chastised schoolgirl.
“Apologies sir. I was pushed for time.”
Armand sighed and shuffled some papers from his drawer, skimming his eyes across them.
“Well as it happens someone up there must like you. Your request to consult an expert on death magic and this Wraith business has been granted.
Councilor Crawl himself has set it up for you and authorized it.”
Maeve’s eyes lit up and she could barely conceal the excitement in her voice.
“That’s good news, sir. Am I to return to Candlehill?”
Armand
mumbled his way to the end of the paper and then glanced up.
“I’m afraid not. You should probably dust off your riding leathers, Inspector. The man you are meeting is three hours hard ride outside the city. In Longforgotten.”
Maeve was already on her feet.
“I’ll leave right away sir.”
She gave a curt bow and then headed back towards the ornate bronze doors.
Before she left, her commander called to her.
“Scurlock. Everyone is watching on this one. This isn’t one of your creepy little magic puzzle cases. Try not to embarrass yourself, or the order.”
Maeve gave him the smallest of smiles.
“I’ll do my best sir.”
18.
THE VIGILANTE’S TALE PART 5
It was New Year’s Eve in the mountaintop retreat of Longforgotten.
The stars were so bright and clear it seemed possible to reach out and brush them with fingertips.
John Gaunt raced his Angeldart up the mountain path towards the town. The air whipped against his face as he veered around a corner with nothing but the sheer drop to spiny pine trees below him. Behind him his wife-to-be Izabella gripped tight to his leather jacket.
The bottled fire sprite that powered the engine ran rampant within its reinforced glass bowl and the stench of burnt thaumaturgy trailed in the smoke billowing behind him.
Gaunt’s headlamp goggles sent out twin beams of pale green light on the road ahead. He saw the clock tower of Longforgotten rising high above the trees.
The roar of the engine disturbed a colony of bats in the trees below that suddenly darted and flitted all around them as they sped through the night. Behind him Gaunt felt Izzy unwrap her arms from his waist and extend them up into the night air, feeling the nocturnal creatures brush nervously against her skin. She laughed as the creatures disappeared off into the night with barely a rustle.
“I never want to go back to the city again John. This is beautiful!”
Gaunt revved the Angeldart around a particularly tight corner and ahead the lights of the town came into view. As he spoke the cold wind whistled through his beard and tried to steal his voice.
“Me neither. So what do we do? You want to leave the army?”
Izzy pressed tightly against Gaunt and leaned with him as he rounded another bend.
“Maybe. We could become something else. Start again.”
Gaunt smiled.
“I could become a goatherd. You could stay at home and churn milk.”
Izzy leaned forward and bit his ear.
“You’d be a lovely goatherd. Let your beard grow out, wear a robe!”
Gaunt jerked his head playfully away and the twin beams of his eyes were cast up like a searchlight to the high bridge that crossed over into Longforgotten. Izzy grabbed his waist tighter in excitement.
“Why don’t you become a thaumaturge? That’s what this town is famous for. You could be a Mech-priest. Fix darts and exorcise the ghosts from machines all day. Get your hands dirty with magic.”
Gaunt gently nudged his elbow back into her ribs.
“Oh you’d love that wouldn’t you? Except for the vows of celibacy part.”
Izzy gently squeezed him as they approached the bridge.
“I won’t tell if you won’t, lover.”
The bridge to Longforgotten was one of the highest truss arch bridges in the world, linking the unassailable town of Longforgotten to the rest of civilization. The breathtaking mountain pass dropped away as the bridge jutted out over the precipice.
The bridge seemed to float over a sea of cloud, giving it an ethereal appearance much loved by painters and cinematographers the world over.
Gaunt’s dart roared out over the high span just as the first fireworks were spurting and fizzing into the sky above Longforgotten.
The dart purred to a halt in the centre of the bridge and they both looked up in admiration. The spires, domes and sloping snow covered roofs of the town were suddenly illuminated in shocking greens, blues and purples. Fireworks crackled and hissed. The shadowy ghosts of huge zeppelins that were tethered to the docking ports in the mountainside were given form for a few seconds as the light reached them, and then they vanished back into the gloom like deep sea leviathans.
Gaunt rested his head back on Izzy’s shoulder.
“It’s beautiful. Nearly a new year. We should get to the hotel then out into the square for the bells.”
Izzy kissed his oil stained cheek and nodded.
“How far from Free Reign do you feel just now, John? Living there sometimes I feel like the whole world is a city. Then you see this. It’s like breathing air for the first time.”
A huge tree of sparkling light exploded above them, illuminating the bridge and the steep rocky valley either side. Gaunt revved the Angeldart and purred across the bridge towards the town. He couldn’t wait to see Longforgotten again. It was one of the wonders of the modern age. It had been settled as a high mountaintop monastery hundreds of years before, a place to escape the world. During the dark years of persecution, it became a haven for sorcerers, technomancers and other magic users that had been hunted and driven from their homes. Over the centuries they stayed and the town developed a reputation as a centre of mechanical and thaumaturgic innovation.
It was beautiful and filled with magic and it was the place John Gaunt first took Izabella Istari when he promised to show her the world.
He would propose to her at midnight in the town square.
The ring was in his pocket.
She clasped him tight as the dart left the bridge and growled towards the main gate. All around the dark stone and metal archway balloons and lanterns were hung to celebrate the coming year. Even as they approached they could hear voices raised in cheer. The inherent sorcery of the place was tangible in the night air, like a constant low thrum.
Gaunt slowed the dart as they began to weave through the revelers that had gathered to drink and dance outside the main gate. He leaned his head back.
“I love you Izzy.”
No answer.
“Izzy?”
Gaunt felt her grip loosen slightly around his waist. He looked up at the fireworks and his face fell as he saw they had become bombs, a rain of ordnance pouring down upon the town. He heard Izzy’s voice behind him.
“I love you too John. But you have to wake up.”
“What? We need to get to the hotel.”
Izzy’s voice had become faint and distant. Her fingers slid from his waist.
“John, we aren’t here anymore. You need to wake up. You have things to do. Important things.”
“But I’m fine here…”
Izzy kissed his cheek with cold dead lips.
“I’m fine here too John.”
Gaunt’s eyes flickered open.
There were people moving around him. Blurred shapes and indistinct voices swam past his bleary eyes.
He tried to sit up but pain wracked his body and he collapsed and struggled to breathe.
“What’s happening? Where am I?”
His voice leaked from his parched throat as the driest cracked whisper.
Firm amphibian hands rested on his chest and behind his head, gently lowering him back onto the pillow. Gaunt managed to focus on a pair of moist, bulging red eyes and a patient smile on a wide mouth. He could smell pond algae and good earth. A smooth cultured voice soothed him.
“Captain Gaunt, welcome back to the land of the living. Please try not to move for now. You’ve been injured. You were unconscious and we are treating your wounds but you need to take it easy for a while. You are very lucky to be alive.”
Gaunt was wracked with a coughing fit that sent pain crackling through his
torso. His ribs felt like dry firewood snapping with each breath.
“I was…in Zalenberg...there was…the city was destroyed....”
The glutinous voice spoke again.
“Yes I heard about that. Bloody fool generals as always! S
itting in their high towers issuing orders. Never thinking of the man on the ground. The man taking the risks. The amount of soldiers I’ve seen injured due to simple breakdown in communication, I could tell you stories. Not very romantic or heroic, just bloody fool management.”
Gaunt’s vision started to clear a little. He was in a round room, light spilling in from a single window. The room was lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling and on a table was an assortment of round bottom flasks, test tubes and jars of coloured crystals. At the edge of the table, clattering its way around the frosted glass on sharp little legs was what looked like a bottled ice-sprite. Apart from the swampy odour of its occupant, the room smelled of furniture polish and disinfectant.
Gaunt took a deep breath and prepared for the pain as he sat up just a little. His eyes focused on the caregiver at the foot of his bed. As the man came into view, Gaunt saw that over a smart tweed blazer he wore the purple leather apron of a physician. The man’s round eyes blinked and he nodded politely with his long clammy fingers steepled together. “My name’s Beerbolme. I’ve been patching you back together Captain Gaunt. If you don’t mind me saying so, I’ve done a marvelous job.”
Gaunt peered around the room.
“I was dreaming…I was in Longforgotten. At New Year’s eve. Years ago.”
The Salientian padded over to the window on his webbed pads with the curious bouncing gait of his race. He swung it open and a fresh breeze swept into the room. As the light from outside bathed across his moist skin, Gaunt saw that his amphibious physician had distinctive yellow and black skin that was usually the hallmark of either the consummate healer or the master poisoner. Gaunt hoped it was the former but the pain in his body screamed that it was the latter. Beerbolme chuckled and his throat vocal sac ballooned rhythmically.
“Actually Captain, you are in Longforgotten. You were sent to me because I’m somewhat of a specialist in your type of injuries. Besides, the air here is far cleaner than in an eternal city like Free Reign. We’re renowned for the healing properties of our air up here in the mountains. This is a sanatorium of sorts for injured soldiers like you. You’re very weak. You’ve been asleep for a while.”
SMOKE AND BLADES Page 13