by D. P. Prior
They tagged along behind a man in a wide-brimmed hat and drab gray robe. He was handing out slips of paper to anyone who’d meet his eyes, weaving his way in and out of the central throng. As they passed a pavement restaurant sheltered by an awning, the man went from table to table leaving his slips for the diners. Some pocketed them surreptitiously, but others shook their heads or snapped their fingers at the waiters.
When they came out the other side of the awning, the man was waiting. He looked through narrowed eyes at Shadrak and Nameless then clasped Shader’s hand and gave a half-smile. He turned away and entered the open door of a three-storey house nestled between two shops. A balding man peered around the jamb, checked the street both ways, then shut the door.
Shader held the slip of paper he’d been left between his thumb and forefinger. There was a drawing on one side of a bird stabbing itself in the breast with its beak. On the reverse was written, O Oriens, splendor lucis aeternae, et sol iustitiae: veni et illumina sedentes in tenebris, et umbra mortis.
“What’s that he gave you?” Nameless said.
Shader passed it to him, but Nameless shook his head and handed it back.
The language, the imagery, reminded Shader of certain passages in the Liber. “O Dayspring,” he translated for Nameless. “Brightness of the everlasting light, Sun of Justice, come to give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.” Sun of Justice was one of the titles the Templum gave to Nous. Was it possible the Nousian Theocracy’s influence was felt even on distant Aethir? Or was this something else?
“Sort of thing Thumil used to spout,” Nameless said, “when he was drowning in his own vomit in Rud Cairy’s mead hall.”
“Scripture?” Shader asked.
“You don’t want to hear what I call it,” Nameless said.
Shader eyed the door, half-inclined to go and knock, half-aware he had other more important matters to attend to. He flicked a look to the skies to satisfy himself the mauve wasn’t getting any closer. He looked back at the house and stepped toward it. Surely it wouldn’t make much diff—
“Tavern!” Nameless cried, setting off at a staggered run. He pulled up sharp and slapped the side of his helm. “Shog, shog, and double shog. I forgot again!”
Shadrak was on him like a shadow. “Outfitters,” he said, pointing at the clothes store opposite. “My cloak, remember?”
“Ah, laddie,” Nameless said. “You’ve a fine memory on you. Here, hold this.” He handed Shadrak his axe, ambled over to the store, and went inside.
Shader’s gaze returned to the townhouse, but the moment had passed. Maybe the distraction was Nous’s way of telling him to get on with what they’d come here to do, before it was too late.
Nameless returned a few minutes later with a sky-blue cape trimmed with gold, and a hessian knapsack.
“You’re having a laugh,” Shadrak said, snatching the cape from him.
“Thought it was rather fetching, laddie. It has a hood. All we need now’s a tinkling bell and you’d earn a pretty penny as a prancing pixie.”
Shadrak stormed into the shop with the cape. Nameless chuckled and pulled out the concealer cloak so he could stuff it into the knapsack. Shadrak eventually came out, his pale cheeks flushed scarlet. He was fastening a black cloak around his neck as he approached.
“Now why was that so hard?” he said, accepting the knapsack from Nameless.
“Well, I just thought—”
“Well don’t.”
“It’ll draw the heat,” Nameless muttered at Shadrak’s retreating back. “And you still owe me a pint. Two, if you count the bag. I’m keeping a tally.”
Shadrak held up his middle finger and kept walking.
The street opened onto a crowded plaza, which was dominated by a three-tiered fountain sending up sparkling arcs of crystal-clear water. Sunshades had been set up all around the perimeter, where market stalls were bustling with trade and thick with the smells of fish, roasting meat, and ale.
Nameless turned the great helm to face a beer tent jostling with raucous patrons clutching frothing tankards as big as buckets.
“Oh, look,” Shadrak said, an impish grin crossing his face. “I’m right parched, I am. Reckon I might grab myself one of those.”
“You do that, laddie,” Nameless said. “I would join you, but I never touch the stuff these days.”
Shader studied the map and lifted his eyes to the broad avenue leaving the plaza on the far side. “Come on. It’s just off that road.”
“Look,” Shadrak said. “Another one of them weirdoes handing out slips.”
“More than one,” Nameless said, pointing out a hooded man weaving in and out of the customers gathered round a stall that sold cheese and olives.
The one Shadrak had spotted wouldn’t have stood out from the crowd at all, if not for the way he went from person to person offering pieces of paper. Maybe there was still time, Shader thought, checking on the sky. Wispy fingers of mauve seemed to be clawing their way toward the city walls, but when he blinked, he realized it was a matter of perspective. The discoloration was still some way off.
An old woman noticed him looking, touched her forehead and breast, grimaced, and lowered her hand.
“Don’t look good, mister. Enjoy the sun whiles it lasts, I say.”
Shader nodded, forced a smile. “Those men going through the crowd, who—”
An earsplitting boom rocked the plaza. Shader instinctively ducked and clapped his hands to his ears. All about him people were running and screaming. He spun a circle, trying to locate the source of the blast, but there was nothing to be seen.
Shadrak was staring up at the sky. “Just a clap of thunder. Don’t know what all the—”
There was a second boom, and this time the assassin swore and covered his ears. “What the shog is it?”
Out of nowhere, rain sheeted across the plaza. Shader sprinted for the shelter of a doorway at the edge of the square. Shadrak was close on his tail, but Nameless merely ambled after them at his own pace, seemingly oblivious to the rain pinging from his helm. Stalls were swiftly covered, and within minutes the square was empty.
“Funny thing about this rain,” Nameless said catching up with them.
“What?” Shadrak grumbled from beneath his hood. “It’s shogging wet?”
“It’s falling sideways.”
Lightning flashed, and a second or two later there was another thunderclap. A dust devil stirred up the center of the plaza, swirling to the height of a man before spinning into a covered stall and dispersing.
Leaving the shelter of the doorway, Shader led the way down the avenue. Fierce winds were gusting, and it was all but impossible to look at the map. Dust got blown in his eye, and he blinked it clear. Up ahead, above the rooftops, he caught a glimpse of the smoke-billowing tower they’d spotted earlier.
“Cotze’s Foundry.” He pointed it out to the others. “Must be near.”
“Want my advice?” Shadrak said. “Follow the geezer in the hat.”
A man in a long gray coat and a chimney-stack hat was picking his way along the sidewalk, completely unfazed by the weather. It was like he was in a bubble of sunshine and calm.
“That a wizard?” Nameless asked. “Don’t see their kind in Arx Gravis, but I don’t mind telling you, this codger has put a creep in my crotch.”
“Let’s follow,” Shader said. Besides Dr. Cadman and the Liche Lord’s lieutenants at Verusia, he’d no experience of wizards, either. They weren’t exactly common on Earth. About the only other magic he’d witnessed was from Huntsman and Sammy, and he still wasn’t sure that was magic. Then there was Elias and his music, of course. Poor old Elias.
They followed the man down a series of backstreets. The architecture started to change in subtle ways the further they got from the plaza, but after a while the difference was startling. Twisty narrow buildings leaned precariously over cobbled streets. Flying buttresses and arched walkways crossed overhead, and many of the bu
ildings had burnished turrets atop which flew flags of various designs: horse heads, skulls, green garlands, frogs, snakes, geometric shapes, pyramids of numbers. They passed a crooked house with a corrugated-roofed verandah. Two old men sat outside on rockers, absorbed in a game of cards. In front of another, an old woman leaned on a broom, scowling at the sky. She nodded as they passed, one eye roving other them, the other shut tight.
“The Academy?” Shader asked.
She cocked her head toward the far end of the street. “Left down Lovers’ Lane. Can’t miss it. Big bloody pile o’ bricks. All bleedin’ pillars and marble. Say, you watch yourself in there, boys. I mean, I tell you, her next door, she had a thing going with one of them student—”
“Thank you,” Shader said, not wanting to linger.
“Yeah, well, like I said, there was this student once. Nice to look at, if you know what I mean, but right sickly, he was. Anyhows, ol’ Mrs. Covey—”
“Madam,” Nameless said with a bow. He clapped Shader on the shoulder and led him on down the street, Shadrak muttering under his breath behind them.
The old woman waved her broom at them. “I was only trying to say—”
“Anyone ever tell you, you stink of piss, lady?” Shadrak called back at her.
“Why, you uncouth little runt. I’ve a good mind to—”
“Hag,” Shadrak yelled. “Gap-toothed crone. Shogging frog-eating—”
“That’s enough,” Shader said.
“It’s enough when I say it is. Witch!”
Nameless turned to face him. “Are you going to behave yourself when we get there, laddie, or do I have to leave you outside?”
“Scu—” Shadrak started, but then thought better of it.
The man in the tall hat was down the far end of Lovers’ Lane when they entered it. Shader redoubled his pace, but Nameless didn’t keep up with him.
“What is it?” Shader cast over his shoulder.
“Nothing, laddie.” Nameless waved him on. “I won’t be far behind.” His voice had dropped to a low monotone, each word chewed over and spat out with agonizing slowness.
Shadrak glided off into the shadows beside the dwarf. He’d do his own thing, no doubt. Shader had given up worrying about where he was.
He continued to the end of the lane, grimacing against the stench rising from the cobblestones. Rats scampered out of his way, burying themselves in moldering piles of refuse, or splashing through the dank water spilling from the gutters. Made you wonder what kind of lovers used this place. Maybe they should’ve heard the old woman out, after all.
The lane ended at a wrought iron gate flowing with intricate whorls and vinework. It stood ajar, and the hinges moaned as Shader pushed through. The cobbles of the lane gave way to a mosaic pathway between banks of trellises interwoven with ivy and dotted with violet petals. After a stretch, the pathway opened onto an ornamental garden skirting a towering edifice. Harmonious pairings of rockeries and fountains, flowerbeds and herb gardens did their best to soften the looming gray facade of the Academy.
Undeterred, Shader made his way to the broad stone steps leading to a colonnaded portico. Flying buttresses splayed from the sides of the building, like the legs of an enormous spider. Each story—there were seven in all—was surrounded by a stone balustrade, upon which sat gargoyles in various lewd poses. The windows were of stained glass, depicting men with the heads of beasts, retorts, crucibles, patterns of fire, water, air, and earth. Passing beneath the shade of the portico’s vaulted ceiling, he approached twin doors of polished oak, which stood open like an invitation.
Shader frowned back at Nameless, who was trudging through the garden, great helm dipped toward his feet. A cloud seemed to have settled over the dwarf, and all his movements were heavy and dull. Shadrak slipped into view behind him, turning this way and that, pink eyes glittering scarlet in the sunlight. And that’s when it struck Shader: The storm still raged beyond the garden, but here, all was tranquil and calm as a perfect summer’s day.
Inside, he was greeted by the smell of must and sulfur. To the right, the antechamber opened onto an enormous circular room with balconied levels rising all the way to the roof. Each was crammed with bookshelves, and the floor space of the lower level accommodated dozens of desks. Shining crystal globes were suspended from silver chains hanging down from the distant ceiling. There were people browsing the book cases, and still more bent over the desks, with stacks of books and papers before them. The man with the tall hat was leaning on a counter sharing a joke with the librarian. He looked round briefly, but Shader was already turning away.
On the opposite side of the antechamber, there was an impossibly vast hall dominated by displays of skeletons, some human, but most of giant beasts. Some were four-legged, with long sinuous necks, while others stood upright and had cavernous maws lined with sword-like teeth.
The antechamber continued past both rooms to a reception area. A young girl with pigtails looked up from the desk and studied Shader with doleful eyes.
“Master Are…” Who was it Aristodeus had told Nameless to ask for?
“Straight ahead, second door on the left,” she said. “They’re expecting you.”
Nameless’ footsteps echoed up behind. “I can hardly wait,” he grumbled.
“Good,” Shadrak said. “Pleased to hear it. Sooner we get this over with, sooner we can stick that bastard Gandaw and go home.”
The girl’s eyes widened for an instant but then resumed their scrutiny of the three.
“Thank you,” Shader said, and led the way along a carpeted corridor where raised voices spilled from an open door.
“… you’re missing the point,” Aristodeus was saying, every word punctuated by a dull thump.
“No, it is you who are missing the point: the point of your swollen-headed hubris!” The second voice was a lilting bass, stressing the consonants like a declaiming actor.
“That the door, you reckon?” Shadrak said with a thin smile.
“Have you no logic?”—Aristodeus’s voice again. “If your so-called magic is drawn from the dreams of the Cyn…” He trailed off as Shader moved to the doorway. “Oh, you’re here.” The philosopher shook his head and turned away. “Nothing like taking your time when everyone’s depending on you.”
HUNTED
Fist-sized hail hammered against the rooftop, and sleet spewed across the purple stain spreading above New Jerusalem. Reminded Shadrak of the rotting flesh of Councilor Milhard back in Sarum. Scut had been stupid enough to wear the silk shirt that arrived in a package outside his door. Must’ve itched like the Abyss, but by the time he’d ripped it off, the mottling covered his entire upper body. Albert had treated it with enough poison to wipe out a small village. It was chilling how the poisoner watched like an excited kid through the window and patted himself on the back for a job well done. Chilling, but kind of satisfying. Even for a politician, Milhard was a jumped up little twat with a thing for the boys.
Shadrak pressed his back into the chimney breast, making a tent of his cloak so that he could study the map he’d taken when they entered the city.
New Jerusalem was designed along a simple grid, all carved up neat into roads and intersections going north-south or east-west. Didn’t take no genius to find 71st. Soon as he did, Shadrak scrunched up the map and threw it to the street below. No need for it now; he only had to look at something once to have its image burned into his head. After navigating the Maze—the plane ship—New Jerusalem was gonna be a doddle.
His face tightened at the thought of the plane ship, and his eyes narrowed as he ran through the possibilities for the thousandth time. He couldn’t have just lost it, not with his memory. Either the Sour Marsh took it, or someone had found it. He wouldn’t have put it past the shogging Archon to have hidden it, to make sure the job got done.
A flash erupted in the sky, way back the way they’d come. Shadrak stood, holding onto the chimney so’s the gusting winds didn’t fling him after the map. Where the lig
ht had flared, the purple smudge was speckled with black. Impossible to tell how big the spots were from so far, but whatever was happening over the Perfect Peak, it weren’t good.
He slid to the edge of the roof on his ass and was reaching for the drainpipe when he saw a dark shape out of the corner of his eye. It was on an adjacent rooftop, standing, no thought for the storm.
Shadrak rolled from the roof, caught hold of the guttering, and shimmied along till he’d put the building between him and whatever it was watching him. Coz it was watching—so much for the the camouflage cloak he’d taken from the dwarf!—he was sure of that. Heaviness worked its way into his arms, and his fingers felt numb. His heart was slinging around in his chest, and an icy prickle crept up his neck. He hadn’t felt that way since… since he was a kid, when he’d stumbled across them ghouls picking over the corpse of a streetwalker and run for his life. The day he’d found the Maze. Stuff like that didn’t happen to him now. He was Shadrak the Unseen. He watched others; they didn’t watch him.
He dropped to a window ledge, found fingerholds in the wall beside it, and climbed down.
The street was deserted. Water spilled from overflowing gutters, and swirls of wind sent leaves and dust dancing into the air.
Something leapt from the rooftop and glided down to the pavement further along the street. It was black—all black, save for the shimmer of silver on its torso—with slender limbs and a long head. Shadrak caught himself staring, momentarily frozen. It had no eyes, no facial features at all. Quick as a flash, its hand went to its hip and came up firing.
Shadrak dived and rolled and ran. Air whistled past his ear, and then he flung himself headfirst at a window. His arm came up at the last instant, and glass shattered. He tumbled out of the fall, ignoring the stinging cuts crying out all over his body.