I could run no more. I walked as fast as I was able down the corridor, until I found one door standing suspiciously open. Looking inside, I could see a very narrow passage, the width of a single person and devoid of daemonlight lanterns. Yet the passage was illuminated dimly by what seemed to be openings along its right side. I entered, holding the sawn-off in front of me.
Twenty paces in, I came to the first opening. It was a rectangular inset, vertically aligned, and too small for a person to pass through. Leaning in, I put my face to the opening.
A massive hall hundreds of feet across was bathed in buttery daemonlight below, full of golden statuary and carmine wall hangings. I was somewhere high up near the vaulted ceiling. Countless zhuìlì hung in the air, caught in languid rotation as if trapped in a sluggish eddy. On a raised dais stood ten thrones, each one tremendously tall, and upon each of the ten thrones sat long, bony figures – tall figures! – clad in flowing silken robes and absolutely motionless. From my great vantage, it was hard to make out details of their features. Below them, acrobats wheeled and turned somersaults and the faint strains of music from a clutch of players reached my ears, faint yet unmistakeable. Some of the throned figures had their faces tilted upwards, toward the floating lanterns, and others watched the acrobats vacantly, unmoving.
Abandoning the window, I moved as quickly as I could down the tight passage. It curved to my right as if hugging the arc of the vaulted ceiling. I came to another inset window and peered through it. Closer now, the Autumn Lords were easier to make out. One of them seemed to be staring directly at me, but surely that was only a coincidence. And where was the thing we had called Fantasma?
I was about to pull away from the opening and go on in search of the creature when suddenly, below, one of the throned figures surged into movement, hopping from its seat and falling upon one of the acrobats, mid somersault, amid cries of ‘Chiang-shih! Chiang-shih!’ As the Lord flew through the air, I was reminded of the attack on the Chambers of Waiting Dawn gallery the night before. He landed squarely on the acrobat, bearing the poor girl squealing to the floor, and bit at her neck with what I could see now were sharp teeth. And his size! Only with the Autumn Lord on top of the Tchinee performer did I realize how much larger he was.
The Autumn Lords were vaettir.
My stomach sank such that I felt as though my descent to hell had begun, my love. Worse than the firing of swivel guns on the Malphas. The whole centrepoint of the world had moved.
Guards rushed in as acrobats and musicians scattered. There was a great chatter as they surrounded the silken Lord that feasted on the acrobat’s blood. The girl’s screams died and the guards, bearing crescent-bladed poleaxes, surrounded the vaettir and waited. The other Autumn Lords remained still – watching zhuìlì bob on the arteries of air, bemused. They were stuporous, in a languor. I realized these creatures were old, ancient, and tired of the world. The most innocent of things could attract and fix their interest. Hence the elaborate and colourful ornamentation, the paper lanterns and fireworks, the barred windows and doors. The people of Kithai worship the Autumn Lords as gods made flesh, but they fear them too. And well they should.
After a long while, the vaettir lord unfurled itself from the acrobat girl and slowly staggered back to its seat, blood dripping from its open mouth. It sat back down on its throne and tilted its head back, staring at the brightly lit ceiling and zhuìlì, and stilled. Two guards picked up the body of the girl. The others backed away from the dais, calling out for the acrobats to resume their gyrations. They did so, tentatively at first and then regaining vigour as if spurred on by desperation or fear. Most likely both.
Horrified by what I saw, my mind turned back to the boy. I turned and, holding my gun in front of me, followed where the passage led, passing more windows and coming to a small opening large enough for a man to pass through that led to some sort of suspended scaffolding alongside the vaulted ceiling’s circumference, for maintenance and replacement of the hanging daemonlight fixtures. There was a small wooden door there, standing open, as obvious as an arrow.
I took a step out on the scaffolding, suddenly vertiginous. At least a hundred feet above the floor, my heart froze and I found myself immobile. I could not move forward, only back out. There was a boom from outside the room and more yelling. Looking around, I spotted the thing that we called Fantasma, crouched not far from me, looking down at the scene below, the jian held loosely in its hands. Sensing I was there, it turned its face to me slowly, still grinning. The blood on its jaw had dried and its visage struck me as pure malevolence and mirth. It was the mirth that truly frightened me.
It turned back to the scene. The guards below were running to the great doors that stood barred. There was yelling from without the room, and more banging. Something was happening beyond the confines of the hall.
With a high-pitched keening – a laugh, I realized – Fantasma leapt from his perch before I could take aim. Indeed, I had almost forgotten I held my shotgun, so stunned and alarmed I’d been at finding myself on such a high and exposed precipice.
Fantasma arced through the air, snatched a daemonlight hanging lantern and swung farther out into the room, changing trajectory and releasing, pulling into a ball, arm out and sword flashing, and landing with a hiss on the dais with the vaettir Autumn Lords.
With one fell movement, so fast I had only the impression of what happened rather than any true visual experience, Fantasma lopped off the first lord’s head, leapt up onto the back of the next throne and drove the jian deep inside the next vaettir’s body cavity through the hollow of the neck.
The Autumn Lord that had feasted on the blood of the acrobat took the sword through the eye. The next lost its head.
The guards began yelling, screaming in high jangling phrases. There were more bangs and deep booms from outside the hall – someone was trying to get in and from the alarm being raised, it did not seem Tsing Huáng’s men and the guards of the Winter Palace had sent them an invitation.
Fantasma had slain eight of the vaettir lords before any of them could be roused enough to engage with the assassin in their midst. The first of the remaining Lords screeched horribly and leapt out of its throne toward Fantasma, matching speeds, yet the thing that had once seemed to be a boy whipped about like a snake, and the Autumn Lord’s arm had detached from its body, spraying blood. And it was curious, my love, that I could feel such emotion, joy even, at seeing the Autumn Lords perish, even though it was by one of their own hands.
The last Autumn Lord changed tack, leaping up and backward, snatching at one of the carmine wall hangings with its clawed hand and then quickly hauling itself up the wall like a lizard scaling the face of a rock. Fantasma howled, mouth bloody and jagged; dashed forward and ran sideways along the wall, so quickly its forward momentum did not allow gravity to take hold, until it too reached a long tapestry and scaled up the wall as well, faster than imaginable.
The Autumn Lord vaulted away from the wall hanging and grabbed the daemonlight globe hanging from the ceiling. For a moment I did not understand what was happening, it was all moving so fast as the vaettir climbed higher.
But it was coming to me. If it reached where I stood, the vaettir lord would kill me in passing, a single blow, wrenching my head around backwards with one powerful twist of a clawed hand, or just tossing me from this great height. When it passed, I would die, this I knew.
Fantasma pursued, armed with a wicked grin and a bloody sword.
Swinging back and forth from the light, its silken robes hung like a bell ringing, the Autumn Lord gained momentum and then released, flipping through the air. It landed on the scaffolding with a great shudder and in a wild instant I feared the wooden platform would shear away from the stonework of the wall and both of us would plummet to the floor.
It must have been thinking the same because it did not move immediately. It just rose to its full height – ten, maybe eleven feet, oh so very tall yet not as tall as the stretchers in Occidentalia.
When it turned, my gun was up and out, centred on its chest. Even so, it was almost too fast for me.
I pulled the trigger.
As the despair of Hellfire filled me, the silver and holly shot of the Imp round was travelling several hundred miles an hour, such dizzying speed that the Autumn Lord, in all its alacrity and ferociousness, could not outrun or dodge. The shot exploded in its chest, blowing it backward and off the edge of the platform, where it wheeled blindly and fell, clawing and screeching.
Fantasma landed then on the scaffolding, a lesser thud. I was awed that we had lived in such close confines with the creature, this leering vicious thing. How many times had this ‘boy’ rested its head on my breast? Placed its hands on my stomach as if awed by the life contained within? Was it only the hunger of the vaettir that stirred it and gave it life?
Again, it smiled at me, its blood-brown lips peeling back from its teeth. It raised the gore-slicked sword in a mockery of a salute and flipped backward into the air as I fired my second and last Hellfire round at Fantasma.
I did not wait to see if Fantasma dispatched the remaining Autumn Lord.
I ran.
Secundus and Sun Huang were already up and pacing the room when I returned, the latter barking orders at serving men and women. The booms were audible even through the walls of this building inside a building. They started when they saw me and Secundus raced over. My alarm must have been writ large on my features.
‘What’s wrong, sissy?’ Carnelia asked.
‘There were two guards. Dead,’ I said. Yes, Fisk my love, I am able to lie with some facility at times of stress. I could not let them know I was the hand that shot the Autumn Lord. ‘And some banging and booms from rooms deeper inside the building.’
Tsing Huang exploded with a flurry of foreign sounds and Min responded in kind. Tsing hopped up, trotted to the outer door – the one we had entered through – and, collecting all but two of his guards, dashed off, away.
Once he was gone, I said, ‘We have to leave. Right now.’
‘What?’ Tenebrae exclaimed. ‘Why? Where is the boy?’
‘Fantasma is no boy. He is—’ I thought about him, his actions, his movements. ‘He is vaettir. I know it sounds strange. I know!’
They exploded with questions. I held up my hands. ‘And there’s more. The Autumn Lords. They are dead.’ I didn’t explain to them that they too were vaettir. I thought that if we lived through the next few moments there would be time enough for stories.
‘The Autumn Lords, they are dead? Truly?’ Sun Huang said, his face grave and intense.
‘They are. Slain by Fantasma. It was—’ I struggled for a word. ‘Brutal. But there’s more. There was yelling and loud noises from outside the hall of the Autumn Lords. Someone was trying to get in. Guards maybe. I don’t know.’
Sun Huang tugged at his bottom lip. He cocked an eye at me. ‘Did you have anything to do with their deaths?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No.’
He said nothing for a long while. Then finally, he said, ‘Livia is right. We must flee. The Autumn Lords were the balancing point for all of Tchinee society—’
As I opened my mouth to respond, the floor shuddered and there was a deep boom somewhere off in the building.
Sun Huang said, ‘Come. We must go. Swiftly. I can get us out of this building, but beyond, in the Winter Palace itself, it will be much more difficult.’
Out in the halls, the white-haired old man led us swiftly down passages and corridors I had not seen before. At one point, he halted and said quietly, ‘Wait here. Come with me, Shadow,’ and after a few breathless moments, they returned nearly staggering under the weight of our guns, knives, and swords.
As our party took up our weapons, Sun Huáng said, ‘Someone is in the Winter Palace. I heard guards yelling for reinforcements. We cannot trust that those we encounter here will be allies. Indeed, you as Rumans will all certainly be considered suspicious.’ He bowed his head. ‘Yet, I have agreed to be your host – and protector – and I will let no harm come to you as long as I breathe, should even my kin come to molest you.’ He waited, watching us, letting that sink in, that he was willing to kill his countrymen to keep us safe. A rare man, Huáng.
‘Come, we must flee.’
Down stairwells, through smaller cramped passageways – much like the one leading to the scaffolding catwalk – we hurried until we came to a small wooden door, heavily barred. After a moment, with both Secundus and Tenebrae helping, Sun Huang unlocked the door and we exited the building into the tremendous confines of the Winter Palace.
Sun Huang listened quietly for a span of time before leading us into the dark. The sound of metal on metal, screams of the dying, and the occasional report of Hellfire sounded in the hall. My terror lay stuck in my throat like a palpable thing. We passed through the dragonback wall gate, running into a group of rough-looking men, not in the livery of Tsing Huáng or any other August One, that I could tell. They bellowed harsh words and tugged at weapons at the sight of us.
Sun Huang moved like light flashing. With a quick sidestep and lancing movement of his hands, his sword was free of the scabbard and flashing out at the guards.
‘Behind me!’ he said, slashing the nearest guard across the face.
I fumbled for my sawn-off but realized I’d emptied it back in the hall of the Autumn Lords. Tenebrae, not heeding Huang’s command, jumped forward, firing his Hellfire pistol into the guards and slashing with the jian that he held in his left. Two guards fell away, though others could be heard yelling as they approached. They were not going to let us leave unharried.
Sun Huang moved through them and I understood why he was named The Sword of Jiang. It was as if he was dancing, yet his movements were simpler than any dance. He moved like a martial seer might, already knowing how his opponent would attack. This man, he speared through the belly; this man, pierced through the thigh in a major sanguiduct; this one struck through the throat. The ground grew black and shiny with blood; the air filled with the scent of faeces and fear.
Carnelia drew her sword, as did Secundus.
‘Don’t be fucking idiots,’ I said, grabbing their shoulders and tugging them back. Lupina held a large cooking knife and looked for all the world as if she knew how to use it. I imagine you don’t come of age in the Hardscrabble Territories if you can’t protect yourself. ‘If you have Hellfire, get it to hand and stay by me.’ I took two steps back.
Tenebrae, for his part, was quite deadly. And Min whirled about like some deadly dancer, felling men twice her size with parries and snake-like strikes. Between Tenebrae and Min, they accounted for a good number of the ruffians before they drew back to recoup and call for aid.
‘Monkey-boys,’ Sun Huang said, looking closely at one of the dead. ‘The Palace is under attack. Fantasma was of our party. By now Tsing will have set his guards to either kill or capture us. We have not much time. We must reach the Garden of Windows before they can. Otherwise, we will be trapped inside the Winter Palace. Go,’ he said, pointing. ‘That way. Min, you lead. Shadow and I will trail.’
‘I would fight with you, sifu,’ Carnelia said, raising the jian he’d given her.
Sun Huang touched her cheek softly. ‘I know you would, child. And well. But you must remain safe. I would not have you in more peril.’ When he drew his hand away, there was a smear of blood on her cheek. ‘Min, lead,’ he said.
‘Follow me,’ said Min, and she moved into the dark beyond the torches and daemonlight on the dragonback wall.
We hurried interminably through the dark. At times I thought I could go no farther and during those times I would call for a stop and our group would obey, though I could tell Min was as impatient as Lupina was solicitous. She had taken to standing very close to me and at any moment of instability the dwarf woman would take my arm and drape it over her shoulders, bearing as much of my weight as she could.
After what seemed like hours, we came into the Garden of Windows – that s
un-filled room with lights and mirrors in the roof, full of ferns and greenery. There it was that Sun Huang and Tenebrae caught up with us.
‘A large group,’ Tenebrae said, panting and breathless. He bled from a cut on his arm but otherwise seemed fine. Sun Huang’s robes were spattered with blood, none of it his own. ‘They come quickly. Too many for us. We killed as many that we could identify as having Hellfire as we could. Go to the steps before the main entrance and we’ll make our stand there. Carnelia, you’ll finally get to use that beautiful thing.’ He pointed with his chin at her sword.
A hundred guards burst into the Garden of Windows before we made it to the entrance steps, howling and chattering and calling out.
As we took our positions behind Sun Huang and Tenebrae, the contingent of guards rushed forward. Sun Huang shouted at them.
Min, who also had drawn her jian, said, ‘He tells them he is the Sword of Jiang and is not afraid of giving death. Or receiving it.’
The guards drew back. Secundus, lifting his pistol, began firing. The guards rushed forward, some with the crescent-bladed poleaxes, some with swords, some with bludgeons. Sun Huang flowed between them, blade flashing, leaving toppling bodies in his wake. Tenebrae, his Hellfire ammunition exhausted, engaged with three men bearing swords. More guards swarmed around them, and Min and Carnelia began striking.
Then there was the sounding of horns and from behind us, at the top of the steps near the entrance to the Winter Palace, a hooting coming from many throats. Turning, I looked behind me, and streaming down the steps were men clad in brown shirts and trousers, wearing ridiculous button hats, hefting clubs and daggers and spears.
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