Principles of Angels

by Jaine Fenn

  A faint skittering sounded ahead, ahead and above. She played the torch across the ceiling, her shaking hand making the beam waver. The torch revealed a patch of darkness, and a fraction of a second later something small dropped out of the hole. She took a tentative step towards the object, shining the torch onto it. It was a knife, a jagged blade made of a dull grey material. She picked it up by the rag-wrapped handle.

  There was a shout from above, followed by a scatter of stones. She stepped back, dropping the knife into the pocket of her jacket.

  A couple of seconds later a scrawny downsider youth tumbled out of the hole and landed in a crouch in front of her, so close she could have reached out and touched him. Her first instinct was to run, but he was blocking the passage. She shone the light in his face and he threw up his arms. In his bandaged left hand he held a knife like the one which had preceded him down the hole, though he wasn’t making any threatening moves with it. Quite the contrary; he appeared as disorientated as she was. She lowered the light.

  For several heartbeats, they just stared at each other. Finally he uncurled, stood upright and said, ‘Now I don’t mean to be rude but who the fuck are you and what the fuck you doin’ down ’ere?’

  ‘My name is Elarn Reen. And who the . . . Who are you?’

  He grinned. ‘I’m Taro sanMalia. Yer Elarn Reen? Nual went to find you. Where is she?’

  ‘Nual? Yes, she did. I . . . I’m not sure what happened to her. I think she may be dead.’

  From the expression that flickered across the boy’s face, Elarn guessed he cared for Lia - for Nual. She wondered who he was - and why he wasn’t more surprised to see her here. She might have assumed he was a hallucination, except the blade had felt real enough when she picked it up and she doubted her subconscious could fill in this level of detail, right down to the smell.

  The downsider gulped and said, more suspiciously, ‘And what’re you doin’ down here, Medame Reen?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she answered honestly, adding, ‘Well, right now I’m running away from Consul Vidoran.’

  He nodded, and pushed past her back up the passage. ‘If yer runnin’ away from him, then you won’t mind if I kill him.’

  She pressed herself into the wall to let him pass. ‘Kill—I . . . No. I mean yes, kill him. But his bodyguard—’

  ‘Is just up there’ - he nodded back at the hole he had fallen through - ‘so we’d best not be standin’ here when that fire-curtain goes off again.’ He began to stride up the passage.

  There was something compelling about the youth’s certainty. Elarn started after him. ‘Listen, Taro. You obviously have some sort of unfinished business with Consul Vidoran, but I just want to get out of here, and preferably off Vellern altogether, though I’m not sure I can . . . Anyway, if you could tell me the best way out, I’ll leave you to do . . . what you’re here to do.’

  ‘Sorry, medame, I’m lost meself.’ The downsider’s longer stride meant he was already pulling ahead of her. He didn’t seem to need a flashlight to see where he was going either.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, a little plaintively. ‘I can’t go back to Salik. He tricked me. I think he means to kill me down here.

  Taro stopped and turned slowly. ‘Yer sayin’ he brought you down here to kill ya?’

  ‘Yes! At least that’s what I think. I don’t know - all I know is that he’s been deceiving me all along so he could get me into this place, and that he means me harm.’

  ‘Oh shit!’ Taro stared at her as though she was about to explode. ‘Shit and blood!’ He glanced at the knife in his hand, then back at her, and for a moment Elarn thought he was about to attack her. Then he grimaced and said, ‘You know, yer so right, Medame Reen. It’d be a real smoky deal fer you to run into Salik Vidoran. Or Scarrion. Or anyone. Aye, leavin’ the City would be a prime idea. Leavin’ right fuckin’ now.’ He looked around him, his dirty face serious with fear. ‘The tunnel forks ahead. You came that way; d’you remember which fork yer came down?’

  ‘The right, I think.’

  ‘C’mon.’ He started to run and Elarn followed. They stopped at the fork; the tunnels looked identical and Elarn was no longer so sure where she had come from. Taro checked down both tunnels and said, ‘I need t’go left to get to the throne room, so if you keep goin’ right you should get back to the surface.’

  ‘The throne room? What’s that?’

  ‘Not somewhere you wanna go, trust me. It’s where Vidoran’s headin’.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Think of me as yer diversion. Now go!’

  Elarn went.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The Minister had been right - and wrong . . . right that the Sidhe had given Salik Vidoran a weapon to disable the City, wrong that it was an object. It was a person.

  Taro wondered if Elarn Reen had any idea what she was. Nual may’ve known, at the end, but Nual was probably dead. He was on his own now.

  Perhaps he should’ve killed her back there, when he had the chance. But he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to; not just for practical reasons - Scarrion had badly bruised, perhaps broken, his right wrist - but because she was a stranger and, as far as he could tell, innocent. Besides, killing her might be part of the Sidhe plan, given that it was what she reckoned Vidoran wanted to do to her.

  So it was up to him to make sure Vidoran and the Screamer didn’t get the chance. They mustn’t find Elarn Reen again.

  He paused for a moment, drew a deep breath and then shouted, as loud as he could, ‘Come and get me, you fuckers!’

  With the light, they’d be able to see her. Without it, she might fall down a hole or walk into a wall. Compromise then. Elarn played the torch beam along the passage ahead - it looked straight enough, with only a few holes - then turned it off again. She started to grope her way forward, one hand on the wall.

  She froze at the shout. No, it was all right. That was the downsider, back behind her. He was leading them away.

  Just when she had thought she was beyond hope, she had found an ally, someone who appeared to want her out of here as much as she wanted to leave. She wasn’t going to consider the full implications of his urgency, or face the fear she had seen in his eyes when he had offered to sacrifice himself so she could escape.

  She strained to see ahead, murmuring under her breath, ‘Let the path go upwards soon, please let it go up soon.’ If only she had the faith to pray. If only she could believe there was a chance her prayer might be heard.

  The rough wall under her fingertips ended and she felt open space. Side-passage on the left. Taro had said something about bearing left, hadn’t he? And this current passage wasn’t going up. So, left here.

  It was a mercifully straight passage but the next section looked tricky, with holes every few steps and eerily-still cold air that made her nose itch. She had no choice but to keep the torch on. She pointed it up for a moment. There were still gaps in the roof, so she wasn’t on the top level yet.

  A couple of steps down the passage, her feet failed to come down. Or rather, she floated slowly back to the ground, her stomach sending nauseous warnings to her head. Gravity playing tricks again. She bounced her next step and flew slowly through the air to come down several metres along, uncomfortably close to one of the holes. Another two bouncing steps and she landed hard as gravity returned to full strength. The sudden jolt sent her heart leaping into her mouth.

  She needed to stay calm, take things slowly and carefully. The roar in her head was constant, but the scream was locked down for the moment. She had control. Things would be fine as long as Vidoran didn’t find her. She could worry about how to get back up to the City later. Right now, she needed to use the diversion the downsider boy was providing to get to the surface.

  Keeping the torch pointed at her feet, she edged along the passage. After a few dozen metres she risked a brief look ahead. The passage ended in a blank wall. She felt tears of frustration sting the corners of her eyes. Just whe
n she had thought she was getting somewhere, she had run into a dead end.

  Finally, the passage was sloping down.

  Taro had settled into a rhythm. He took it slow and steady, ready for the frequent changes in gravity or other hazards. He kept glancing behind, shouting to attract attention every now and again, stopping to check every time he came to a junction to see if anyone was on his tail, but it looked like he was alone.

  After spending so long trying to avoid the Screamer and his master, now that he needed to find them there was no sign of them.

  It might not be a dead end at all. The only way to be sure would be to play the torch over it . . . except if it was not a dead end, she risked giving away her position to anyone further down the passage. Keeping the torch focused on the ground directly in front of her, she advanced, slowly and carefully.

  The holes in the floor were becoming smaller, less frequent. That was good. And it didn’t look like a dead end any more. The angles of the walls just gave that illusion from a distance. Half a dozen steps from the end of the passage she turned the torch off and edged along the last few metres. This passage ended at another, wider one. A smaller passage doglegged away from the other side of the main passage.

  She stepped into the wide passage and looked around. Three metres ahead, a heavyset figure with blond hair emerged from another side turning. He had his back to her but as she watched he cocked his head to one side and started to turn.

  From somewhere ahead, she heard a distant shout, the downsider’s distinctive high tones.

  Without waiting to see how Scarrion would react Elarn dashed into the other side-passage and started to run.

  Ahead, the red light brightened and Taro felt the ever-present hum grow more intense. Strange energies stirred the roots of his hair. The air had a faint taint, tasting rather than smelling of blood, or cold metal. He was getting close.

  He rounded a corner and found himself facing a wall of red fire. The curtain of flame made his scalp itch and filled his nose with the scent of naked power as he squinted through. Beyond it he could make out a huge open space.

  That had to be the throne room. All he had to do was get to it.

  There must be more than one way in. He started to retrace his steps, but after a couple of dozen steps the hissing from behind him died. He stopped and turned slowly. The curtain of flame was gone. Beyond it, Taro glimpsed a dark shape in the centre of the open area.

  He turned and started to run back down the passage.

  The air cracked as the curtain sprang up again.

  Taro threw himself to the side, barely avoiding plunging into the curtain of flame. He slammed into the wall, hitting the rock with a wordless cry.

  Elarn ran blindly. She should turn the torch on, but that would mean stopping, and the assassin could be right behind her, could be about to reach out for her—

  The floor disappeared.

  Before she could scream she was tumbling. She tried to catch herself against the wall of the hole, to slow down, but her body wouldn’t respond. It was as though she was already dead and was watching herself fall in helpless terror, unable to intervene.

  The walls disappeared. She hit the floor.

  Taro stared at the wall of flame. Beyond, the glow of the throne room tantalised him. There had to be a way through. The Minister would never’ve told him to head for the throne room as a last resort if there wasn’t a way to get to it. He just needed to find it.

  Watching for a few moments, he thought the ruddy glow that lit the room ahead wasn’t constant. The only light down here came from the fire curtains, and they went on and off, so there would have to be openings into the room that didn’t have flames blocking them. There was probably some pattern to the way they went on and off, if only he could work it out.

  Standing by a curtain that’d just gone off might not be the best way to find a way in. Maybe there were some passages that didn’t have curtains at all. Either way, he wasn’t going to get anywhere by waiting here. He turned and started back up the corridor.

  Elarn came to with a frantic gasp. Pain shot through her chest. She was lying face-down in darkness. She hesitated before taking another breath, but her body demanded air and she inhaled with a whimper. She couldn’t let pain stop her. She had to get up, find the torch and keep moving.

  She pulled in one outstretched arm, feeling the bruised and exhausted muscles quiver in protest. Now, get the other arm under her, sit up—

  Something landed on her wrist, pinning it to the ground. Torchlight played over her face. Elarn squinted up, trying to pull her hand free.

  ‘Let’s calm down, shall we?’ Salik had one foot on her wrist. He sounded anything but calm.

  Elarn said nothing. Escape was no longer an option. She turned her head away from him, pressing her cheek into the rock floor. She felt him slip something over her wrist.

  ‘Up you get,’ said Salik, his voice brusque.

  When she didn’t move he hauled her into a sitting position. Stars whizzed through her vision and her chest felt like it was being crushed but she was too weak to resist. She let him manhandle her upright but when he stepped close to tighten the security restraints round her other wrist, she lashed out at him. He jumped back, then grabbed her hand and clicked it into the restraints.

  ‘Looks like we’re doing this the hard way,’ muttered Salik. He tugged her upright with the cord attached to the restraints and started to pull her along behind him.

  The first side-passage led away from the throne room. Taro retraced his steps to the junction. A quick check back showed the original fire curtain still in place, but as he turned away he caught a flash of white light. Someone with a torch was on the far side of the throne room. If it was Elarn, she was lost. If it was Vidoran or Scarrion, then there was a whole lot of space and fire between them. Either way, it was bad news for him.

  He sprinted back up the passage he’d originally come down and took the next side-passage, which traced a long sweeping arc upwards. A line of holes just deep enough to trip him up ran along the edge.

  Ahead, the red light grew again. A gap on the left-hand wall of the passage was filled by a curtain of light. Taro approached it cautiously. The light beyond was brighter and the direction felt right. This gap must lead into the throne room, though at a higher level than the first opening he’d found.

  He leant back against the wall and settled down to catch his breath. He’d wait a couple of minutes to see if the curtain went off, and if it didn’t, he’d move on.

  Vidoran dragged Elarn round a corner. A curtain of fire filled the passage ahead. Elarn felt a small satisfaction at finding their progress blocked, but Salik appeared nonplussed. She expected him to turn round, but instead he walked up to the curtain, looked through it and then pushed her back against the rock wall. This close the fearsome energy made the roots of her teeth sing and raised goose-bumps on her flesh.

  Salik turned off the torch, put it in his pocket and withdrew a dart-gun. In the red light of the flame wall he looked inhuman, the once-beautiful planes of his face transformed into the caricature of a seductive devil.

  Cold panic seeped through her. He was going to kill her here, in this anonymous passage.

  She closed her eyes. ‘Do it. Do it now.’

  Salik laughed.

  She opened her eyes. His gaze flicked between her and the curtain beyond his right elbow.

  ‘Do what, Elarn?’ He sounded bored.

  ‘Just . . . kill me.’

  He met her eyes, raising his eyebrows dismissively. ‘Ever the drama queen, Elarn, ever the drama queen. What makes you think you’re going to die?’ She got the impression he was keeping up the pretence of interest in her because it entertained him.

  Elarn hated him now, with the same mindless intensity she had loved him, for all the good that would do. He had a gun. She had cracked ribs, bound hands and no weapon—

  Except that she did have a weapon. Her jacket pocket was deep; the downsider’s knife might
still be in it. She slid her hands over to the right and extended two fingers into the pocket. To distract him from her actions she spoke as casually as she could manage, keeping eye contact all the while. ‘You can’t trust them, you know.’

  ‘Trust whom, Elarn?’

  He still held the cord attached to her hand restraints; she had to be careful not to tug on it as that would alert him to what her hands were doing. ‘You know who. The Sidhe.’

  ‘Finally worked it out, hmm?’

  ‘They can’t be trusted. They trick people.’ Yes, there it was, she could feel the rag-bound handle with one fingertip. But she’d never get the knife out while he was watching.