The Misrule series Box Set

by Andy Graham

  He remembered Stella’s advice and struggled to his feet. James was working his way around the walls, taking larger and larger samples of rock. He took some from high veins that he could barely reach, others from red streams which dived into the gravel foaming across the floor. Each time the rock reacted the same way, leaving dull patches amongst the now brightly pulsing seams.

  There was an odd cackling noise. It was the echoes of Nascimento imitating something or someone. The sounds he and the others were making were distorted in the underground space. Was this what a mine sounded like? Would the noises have woken the evil spirits the miners worshipped in Stann Taille’s story, the devil under the mountain the Donian feared? Or would they work as a talisman against them?

  He’d caught Brooke leaving more food tubes behind. When Ray had asked why, she’d said ‘for the Others’ and not elaborated further. Ray was beginning to wonder if they all should have done the same, and whether he should have let James take the food Brooke had left.

  The sci-captain made another cut into the rock. “Are you sure you should be doing this?” Ray called over. “That buzzing noise is getting louder.”

  “There is no noise,” James replied, puzzled. “It’s in your head. Maybe it’s your ghosts talking to you.” He winked and shook his hands theatrically in the air. The scalpel he was holding reflected shards of light across the walls, tracing patterns like fisher gulls hunting.

  “You’re a funny guy. Like eavesdropping, do you?”

  “You and Nascimento weren’t talking quietly and there’s not much else to listen to down here.” He made another incision in the wall. “Ghosts don’t exist. It’s not possible and has never been proved. Not by anyone rational, anyway. And as for atomic warrior skeletons.” He sniggered and turned back to his work.

  Ray limped away from the man. Better that than hitting him. Nascimento had his jacket off, sweat gleaming on the serpents tattooed on each shoulder as he attempted to lever up the barrier with his baton. Orr watched, eye twitching. Aalok and Brooke were picking their way further into the cavern, leaving the objects on the large rectangular rock untouched.

  Maybe it’s an altar to the Donian devils, the thought surfaced unbidden.

  “C’mon. Pull it together,” he said. “This is not how a corporal of the 10th Legion behaves.” Ray eased more of his weight onto his left leg. “I buried the child scared of a bitter old man and his stories a long time ago.”

  James was stowing a chunk of crimson rock next to the others in his pack. Its pulsing slowed until they were all throbbing in time with each other.

  “Can you carry some back for me?” he asked Ray. “It’s too heavy for me to take any more myself.”

  “How much more do you want?”

  James held up his rock hammer as an answer. “We need samples to study and sell.” He smiled at Ray’s shocked expression. “A private investor is interested in this stuff. He’s prepared to pay well for whatever we can bring back.”

  “We were told this was a military operation, government research.”

  “It is, but the military is massively underfunded, you know that. A little bit extra here and there helps us all, keeps people like you and your family fed.” He shrugged. “And who isn’t above a bit on the side occasionally? You gonna help or do I need to order you?”

  “You gonna pull rank on me after all?”

  “Welcome to the real world, Legionnaire,” James said with a mocking grin.

  Ray’s hands tightened on his rifle. “Very good, James. Very good.” He looked from James’s pack to the wall, and frowned. “You have eight samples now?”

  “Nascimento told me you couldn’t count, guess he was wrong.”

  “So why are there only seven marks?”

  James double-checked the canisters. “You’re right.” The sci-captain pressed the wall lightly where he had made the first cut. The rock under his thumb fizzed. The second, deeper cut was shallower than it had been. Translucent fluid stuck to the edges of the knife marks.

  “Incredible. A regenerating source of energy. It would solve everything!” James’s laugh was laced with greed. “Old Shaw was only part-right about gwenium — dense, bright and relentless.”

  Ray’s answer was cut off by a shout. He spun round and stopped dead, breath catching in his throat. A cold spike of adrenaline drowned the pains in his back and leg.

  “I don’t believe it,” James whispered.

  “The tribes were right,” Ray blurted out, knuckles white on his rifle. “There is a devil under the mountain.”

  36

  A Subterranean Sun

  Ray’s training as a nameless sub-private in boot camp and EBT kicked in. It overrode the instincts threatening to undermine him. He moved towards Brooke and Aalok, weapon poised but down.

  A lanky figure shuffled out of the shadows. Wrapped in scraps of clothes, its flesh was a mess of angry weals. Shiny scabs ran around its wrists. One foot ended in something that looked like a hoof.

  Nascimento moved up next to him. “In the name of everything that was holy, what is it?”

  Ray flanked the creature. Orr mirrored him on the other side. The light steadied and the background buzz faded. The only sound was a distant drip of water from far back in the cavern.

  “We mean you no harm,” Aalok said. He took his helmet off, the movement jarring in the stillness. The buzz started again. The red seams resumed their slow, rippling rhythm. “Do you understand me?”

  The thing moved closer, a low rumble coming from its chest. Aalok and Brooke stood their ground. Watching. Assessing.

  “We do not want to fight,” Aalok said as he and Brooke laid their weapons down. “We are friends.”

  Its head tilted to one side. Odd bony lumps poked out of its skull like a bull calf’s horns. As its eyes fixed on the captain’s face, Brooke gasped. “No. That’s not possible. It can’t be him.”

  The thing looked around at the legionnaires, its eyes lingering on Ray. It reached out a sinewy arm and pushed Aalok on the shoulder. The light shove staggered him. Nascimento had his heavy knife in hand. Orr gripped his baton two-handed, like a bat, toggling its power switch back and forth. Aalok gestured and they lowered their weapons.

  The creature waved at something behind the legionnaires. Pus leaked from a crack in the corner of its mouth.

  “Sir?” said Brooke, voice soft. Urgent.

  Aalok had already stepped forwards. “We’re here to help.”

  The thing shifted from foot to foot like an impatient child. It turned Aalok round, pushing him in the back. James clutched his scalpel like a dagger. The other hand gripped his useless pistol. Aalok’s relaxed, easy pose was a marked contrast to the awkward posture of the thing in front of him. The captain whispered something to Brooke. She nodded, still unable to wrench her eyes from the man-like figure. “We’ll go,” Aalok said, slowly. Clearly. “Corporal Brooke will get the men. We’ll leave.”

  Brooke picked up their rifles with deliberate movements and backed away around the altar as the legionnaires gathered together. “We’ve got what we came for. Move out.”

  “How?” asked Orr. “We haven’t been able to budge that door.”

  “Get it open, Sub-Corporal!”

  “Do you have any ideas, ma’am? ’Cos I’m piss out at the moment.” Sweat ran out from under his helmet into his thick eyebrows.

  “Hey.” Nascimento nodded over their shoulders.

  The creature shuffled forwards, dragging one foot behind it as it moved over to the barrier. It worked its fingers into cracks between the door and floor. Muscles tensed along the length of its back and legs. Its heels drove down into the floor and exploded out of the half-crouch, hurling the barrier towards the ceiling. With a deafening clang and a shower of dust, the barrier stopped, stuck in mid-air.

  Nascimento let out a low whistle. “A power clean to die for. Told you strength fixes everything.”

  The odd figure stood back from the door, standing to one side like a sentry,
the sores on its forearms weeping. As the clanking faded up into the mountain tunnel, Nascimento backed out of the exit. Brooke paused in front of the creature. It put one maimed hand on her shoulder. There was a rush of movement from the legionnaires. She waved them away. “It’s OK. I don’t think he’s going to hurt me.”

  The thing stroked her on the cheek and the skin on his knuckles split.

  “Who is he, Brooke?” asked Aalok.

  “I . . . I’m not sure, sir, but I think we should leave.”

  “Move out,” Aalok said.

  “Not now, I can’t leave this!” James pointed at the walls with his rock hammer. There was a rumbling from the door as the creature growled deep in its chest.

  “Leave it,” Ray said. “You’ve got samples, let’s go while we can.”

  Brooke and Nascimento stood outside waiting, eyes fixed on the monster. Orr was halfway to the exit, spinning his baton in his palm.

  “No! Wait. Just think.” James grasped Ray’s arm, his voice strained. “Think what we could do with this. This is the find of a lifetime. We could go down in history. The more we have, the better.”

  Ray pulled his arm free. “Not your discovery, gwenium, remember?”

  The throaty rumbling from the door got louder.

  “Think of the money. I’m sure we can cut you in on it.”

  “You can cut me in on your deal?”

  Orr’s baton clattered to the ground.

  “Just one more sample!” James begged.

  “Let’s go, sir.”

  “I outrank you, Corporal Franklin.”

  “Captain Aalok’s orders. He outranks you down here. Unless you’d like to stay down here with that thing?”

  The expression on James’s face flipped between anger and fear. Taking a last look around the chamber, he stuffed his tool roll into his pack and followed Ray, still clutching his rock hammer. They circled towards the heavy barrier hanging over the exit. Ray fought back the superstitions that sniped at him from the corners of his imagination.

  “Looks like your ghosts are real after all,” whispered Nascimento to Ray when he reached the big man.

  As one captain ushered the other out, James lurched backwards, pulled off balance by the swollen hand grasping the top of his pack. Ray stepped back through the door, going to one knee. His rifle came up to his shoulder. The flash of pain in his back barely registered. He heard a thud as Nascimento sprawled to his right.

  “Your rifles don’t work,” Brooke snapped.

  “That thing may not know that.” Nascimento replied.

  “I’m sure he does, and he’s not a thing!”

  “Easy! Easy, everyone.” Aalok’s tone was firm but quiet. “James, what’s in your pack?”

  “Gear, sir.”

  “What else?”

  “The rock samples.”

  “Take your pack off.”

  “Sir?”

  “I don’t think our friend here wants you to leave with those samples.”

  James’s eyes widened. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “You have your orders. I have mine. My priority is my people. I’m not going to attack something that’s not a direct threat and turn it into one. Get samples from the shallower tunnels.”

  “We tried. The seams are too small. They degrade too quickly. We need more. I need more!”

  Aalok’s voice lowered, its intensity drowning out the volume of the other man’s protests. “Now, James.”

  The other man’s eyes darted from side to side. “OK, OK, OK! Just make it let go.”

  The creature released its grip and Ray’s mouth went dry.

  “The fucking thing understood you,” Nascimento said.

  “Can you speak?” asked Aalok.

  A blackened tongue tried to wrap itself around an answer that refused to be spoken.

  “Come with us. We can help,” Aalok urged.

  It shook its head.

  “Brooke, can you make it understand? Is this one of your people’s legends?”

  “No. I— I don’t think I can help, sir.”

  James’s teeth rattled as the creature tugged at the heavy pack. The sample Ray had refused to take fell from a partially-zipped pocket.

  James shrugged his shoulders free. “This is a mistake. This is the end of your career, Captain. I know people!”

  “Orr, get him out of here,” Aalok said, his eyes never leaving the blood-streaked ones in front of him. Orr took James’s hammer from his hand and pushed him to the exit.

  The pack was ripped open, the glow from inside spilling across the creature’s face, moulding the red bruises into soft curves. Picking out the canisters, it cradled them in its arms and headed towards the depths of the cavern. The buzzing noise around them dimmed as the sound of shuffling feet faded.

  Ray straightened out of his crouch. The monster walked around the stone altar. Its burned flesh blurring in the glow from the red-stone cobwebs embedded in the mountain. As the thing disappeared, Ray became aware of a myriad of different sensations and thoughts. The sweat clinging to him under his clothes. The ache in his back. The smell of Brooke’s skin. Behind him, the others were leaving the cavern, Nascimento muttering about preferring his atomic skeletons in 2D and James whining.

  Crimson rock high above Ray’s head crackled at him. How many other surprises lay hidden in the dark places of the world? How many other stories were waiting to be dug up and discovered? He pivoted on the spot, heel grinding in the dust, soaking in the sights he hoped he would never see again. He couldn’t wait to see the stars above Tear and tell that bitter old fool of a grandad a story he’d never forget. He’d start with— Ray froze. “No!”

  James’s rock hammer crashed down into a seam near the door. Lights exploded round the impact, hissing away from the blow. It fell again and again. A heart-sized lump of rock was prized out of the wall, slow trickles leaking out of the gaping hole.

  “Drop it!” Aalok yelled. He and Brooke sprinted back through the exit.

  “I heard them talking, sir,” Orr snarled, sweat running down his cheeks. “They’re going to make money out of this rock. Out of us. I want in! Why is it the suits and the stars always get to live off our hides?”

  The lancing seams of crimson rock blazed, steam rising from the walls. Ray snapped down his visor. Aalok pointed a finger at Orr. His reply was lost in a bellow of anger from the depths of the cavern.

  The door slammed shut like a guillotine. Nascimento barely managed to throw himself out of the way. The buzzing noise sawed at Ray’s ears like rabid wasps. Shards of rock fell down from the ceiling. The walls trembled and the roaring grew closer. The legionnaires spread out as the angry, scarlet light glared down at them — a subterranean sun demanding its sacrifice.

  37

  Noise, Noise, Noise

  One wall of the VP’s apartment was covered in glass dials, brass levers and circular stopcocks. The dials had been salvaged from the wreck of the previous life of the building, and had been polished and repurposed to measure minor details: air pressure, temperature, volume and so on. It was a theme the developers had continued throughout the Brick Cathedral, where most of Effrea’s worthy and wealthy lived.

  Professor Lind and his daughters had homes there, as did several fading entertainment stars, who were wheeled out, often literally, at Midwinter to mime along to the anthem. A former health minister, who had been instrumental in privatising every hospital and clinic in the country, owned the entire floor below the VP. Bethina Laudanum had an apartment, so did Chester. Neither woman spent much time in the Brick Cathedral. They officially cited security and privacy reasons, though the VP suspected the four chimneys towering over the building were too phallic for Chester’s taste.

  Many of the other flats were unoccupied. Those that owned them used them as status symbols, a bolt hole to take lovers, or just for something to spend their money on. That suited him well. He had a curious mind and was a light sleeper.

  The VP had procured a skeleton sw
ipe card for the building. It was possible to learn a lot from what people owned; you learnt even more from what people kept hidden. The vacuous, former health minister, for example, had an expansive collection of high-strength medicines. Chester, as she now called herself, had a taste for good quality alcohol. It was better than the official spirits and not as rough as the quietly popular bathtub brandy found in the Kickshaw. He had helped himself to some of her stash this evening. Why not? He outranked her. Besides, he wasn’t sure that stealing something illegal was technically against the law.

  But what soured the alcohol on his tongue was that David Prothero had a flat here. It necessitated public pleasantries which made the VP feel he had lice. To add to his unease, the skeleton swipe didn’t work in Prothero’s door and the fool had removed his security cameras. The VP was working on fixing both problems. If there was one thing he was adept at, it was managing problems.

  He sucked more of his stolen alcohol through his teeth and swivelled his chair to the window. The General’s apartment faced the VP’s. On a mist free night like tonight, there was a direct line of sight from his place to hers. The spectacle of her private parties was entertaining. Tonight, he hoped it would be enlightening.

  A flash of movement on the desk-screen caught his attention. A man, wearing nothing but a stained white vest was sitting on the bed in a sparsely furnished cell. Blubbery skin teased the edges of his top. He yelled up at the dragonfly lens above him, hands clamped over his ears, face distorted. The VP turned up the volume for a few seconds, listening to the alternate pleading and threatening that was partially masked by the white noise.

  “Noise, noise, noise,” the VP said, a satisfied smirk dancing on his face. “An annoying buzz in my ears that never goes away, and never shuts up. That’ll drive a man mad. Do you know that?” He hit the mute button. The noise was getting to him, which was, he conceded, the point.