‘But once we get the formula right . . . Don’t forget, this is only to see if we can activate the life form. Regeneration and palaeomancy and the like. We’ve got something else in development, but there are a few essentials you need to get in place before you gamble. We’ve only got one of those specimens, so it’s a bit like doing trials beforehand.’
The creature suddenly sprinted across the platform and into the shadows above, knocking over some crates and sending rusty relics spilling onto the floor with an enormous racket. Two others from their group ran after it across the platform, the first time Brynd had noticed them, and disappeared through a hatch and into another room. Howls came from the distance.
‘Fuck,’ Jeza said, and she and Diggsy ran forward to try to clear up the mess on the floor.
Brynd sauntered up to them and watched.
‘Oh they’re everywhere,’ Jeza said. ‘We’ll have to clean up later.’ She stood up in a huff, with her hands on her hips. ‘Later, yes. First let me show you the warehouse, commander, since you’ve come all this way.’
‘I’d appreciate that, thank you. Then we could perhaps have a chat about logistics and then I’ll leave you in peace.’
There was another racket and a curse from the other room.
‘I doubt there’ll be much peace for a while,’ Jeza muttered.
*
Jeza showed Brynd their new ad-hoc facilities, which entailed opening up more rooms of the surprisingly deep factory. She lit a few lanterns on stands in the centre of one particularly large room, which he did not need to help him see, but they did cast a warm glow across the rows and rows of shelves.
Sitting upon them were hundreds of pieces of glistening armour.
‘We cleaned this area up,’ Jeza announced, ‘and dusted down these units, and they were great for storing more pieces of armour. We’ve been making all of this since you left and we probably have just over a thousand complete sets now. We would have made more, but I didn’t want to over-commit – you know, in case you didn’t want any more.’
‘This is impressive. Over a thousand?’
‘Yeah, and we can make more really quickly. It’s simple, once the kit is set up. We should probably discuss how many you’re going to need and by when, because I’ve a few private clients that have been discussing other forms of work and I’d really like to plan our workload. We’ve come a long way in a few weeks.’
‘I’ll say,’ Brynd said. ‘Is there any chance of exclusive contracts . . . ?’
‘We do a lot of things here, commander. I wouldn’t want the guys to just make armour all day long. They’ll soon go their own ways – they can be a fickle bunch, but I love them for it. To keep them sane, they’ll want to work on other things.’
‘I understand,’ Brynd said. ‘Tell me – these so-called private clients of yours. Why would they be after armour?’
‘Strictly speaking it’s not armour, sir, but other creatures.’
‘This could be a matter of great importance to the Empire,’ Brynd stressed.
Jeza shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, commander, but as much as we generally loathe them, we want to operate like many of the other cultists in the city, and we adhere to a strict code of conduct. That way we ensure clients come back to us and not elsewhere.’
Brynd’s curiosity was now piqued, but he did not want to assert himself too strongly. He needed Jeza’s talents; he needed her industry. Upsetting her could impact upon the outcome of a battle. He looked once again over the rows and rows of armour, contemplating just what he’d need.
‘I want to bring more samples of standard-issue Imperial armour to you,’ Brynd said, ‘body armour, shields, helmets, the works. My specifications would only be to improve upon it in the same way you have already.’ He paused, knowing that if he discussed numbers, it would most likely cause concern. ‘We’re going to have to sign contracts that forbid you to discuss these matters with anyone – anyone at all – which, if breached, are punishable by fairly strict means.’ She looked worried suddenly. ‘It’s fairly standard stuff,’ he added. ‘Just to protect Imperial assets. It’s the same thing we use for people like ore merchants.’
‘OK,’ she agreed.
‘Excellent. I’ll have the contracts and the samples brought to you as soon as they’re ready, along with quantities of what we’d need, roughly by when, and how we’ll collect it. You can return with some estimated prices. Meanwhile, I’m interested in these other things you’re creating – these so-called aggressive creatures. Do you think they can be used easily as a weapon on the battlefield?’
Jeza nodded. ‘It’s funny you should mention that because I’m working on something that might be really, really useful. I can’t say too much right now, in case it crumbles, but it’s looking good – and I think it might work because . . . well, you saw for yourself that we had a successful regeneration earlier.’
‘I’m intrigued,’ Brynd said. ‘When you have something final, cost it up.’
*
Brynd headed quickly back to the Citadel, whereupon he immediately called for an emergency meeting of the Night Guard.
They filed one by one into the obsidian room, garbed in their crisp all-black uniforms, and took their places around the vast table that dominated the room. Once they were all settled, Brynd closed the door – and locked it, which raised a few eyebrows. He then stoked the fire so that it roared loudly before he took his place in the centre of the table, facing his regiment. As soon as he was seated, a respectful silence came. Afternoon sunshine fell across some of the gathered faces, revealing cool and attentive expressions.
‘Before I start,’ Brynd announced, ‘I want to thank you for your roles in the defence of Jokull. That was an outstanding mission, one which you should all be proud of. I have rarely seen an enemy dispatched so efficiently, nor can I recall having seen us work with any other forces so well, and it does our army credit. Morale will be raised as a result. We can see that the enemy, the Okun, are vulnerable on the right occasion. This is an important message to spread.’
A murmur of appreciation spread across the table.
‘Now we’re back in Villiren,’ Brynd continued, ‘I want something done and it is of the utmost importance. I would like Jamur Rika to be shadowed at all times – in the most discreet manner available. Whoever follows her – and I recommend this is not a solo mission – should remain at a distance and unobserved. She should not know you are watching her. No one should know where you are going. I want you all to take shifts doing this, and it should be something that occurs all night and all day.’
‘Why the cloak and dagger, commander?’ Brug asked. ‘I mean, what should we be watching for? Is she likely to be attacked?’
‘As I mentioned, this is not a normal mission,’ Brynd continued. ‘But it is a particularly sensitive case. It is unlikely she will be attacked and, to be honest, this is not the focus of the mission. I’ve received a report from a respectable source that Jamur Rika has formed unnatural habits. Not a word of this leaves the room.’
He paused. The soldiers nodded.
Brynd cleared his throat. ‘She has been witnessed eating the flesh of the dead.’
No one gasped – that wasn’t the way of the Night Guard – but some of them raised their eyebrows. Brynd informed them in detail of what Randur had seen, gave his impressions on the matter, and tried to reassure them if they doubted the chain of command.
‘I want her tracked, so we can really assess the situation. I have . . . planned accordingly, if this turns out to be true, but it is simply too early to tell. I’m interested in surveillance only for now. Any questions?’
No one responded.
‘Finally, on to more fitting business,’ Brynd said. ‘It is time we prepared for war once again. Our next move – and ultimately, I hope our very final move – will be to remove the sky-city from the skies and rid the Archipelago of anything it leaves behind.’
‘Do you think that is possible?’ Brug said.
>
‘After the defence of Villiren and the rescue from Jokull, I’d say anything’s possible,’ Brynd replied. A few of the others muttered their agreement on that sentiment. ‘Now, the question is how we go about this and, if I’m honest, I do not yet know. I want to consult with Artemisia and her people. You will all help me in this matter, as I wish you to become ambassadors for our culture. It goes without saying my trust in you all is beyond question . . . I’ll want you to mix with their people and help glean information on their military. Though Artemisia is going to assist in such matters, I’d like to know troop capabilities, what weapons are at our disposal. What creatures, even. We might bring many of them into the city, to begin the process of integration.’
‘Do we have to fly again?’ Mikill joked. He was a slight man, and young, so the others had quickly ribbed him about not being able to handle the rough journey across to Jokull. A few chuckles broke out.
Smiling, Brynd said, ‘Yes, it wasn’t exactly what I’d call comfortable, was it, but look at how quickly we could respond to the crisis there. What other methods do these new people possess that we can use to our advantage?’
‘A change in your tone there,’ Syn pointed out. He had that quiet, dangerous look about him, the one most of the Night Guard muttered about when he wasn’t around. ‘You’ve gone from talking about friendship and harmony to exploitation for our own advantage.’
Brynd contemplated the statement, before nodding. ‘You’re quite right, Syn, on both counts. I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive points. We do need to live harmoniously with them, but they also possess many powerful creatures for us to use.’
‘We could get our own creatures,’ Syn pointed out. ‘Plenty of hybrids on the underground.’
‘Interesting you say that,’ Brynd continued. ‘That is a matter I’m looking into. But there are, for now, some interesting specimens I honestly believe we should use to our advantage – and I say that because preserving our culture here – helping the humans and rumel who make up the Boreal Archipelago as it is – they’re also a priority right now. Of course, whatever is in the encampment to the south, once they’re here for good, then their integration becomes a shared responsibility.’
‘Have you seen anything of particular value in their encampment?’ Brug asked.
‘I have,’ Brynd said. ‘It wasn’t so much a creature based there – it was someone who managed to break through into our world of their own accord. I have mentioned this Frater Mercury figure before. He could be key to bringing down that sky-city but, as far as I’m concerned, we’ll have to go through Artemisia’s people first.’
‘Is he their god?’ Tiendi asked.
He’s a god to all of us, apparently, Brynd wanted to say, but thought better of it. ‘Of a sort, yes. We’ve already seen that he has staggering powers – he created those land-vehicles, after all, so it’s safe to say that without him most of our people would already be dead. I need to . . . negotiate, with Artemisia, with their elders, with Frater Mercury himself, if I can somehow schedule a proper meeting with him. That will be my biggest concern for the immediate campaign – if he is to be a weapon of sorts, just how we can use him.’
‘Who will you send first to meet with their people?’ Tiendi asked.
Brynd contemplated her question for a moment, and looked at the men – and woman – gathered around the table. ‘You’re all the best soldiers I will ever know. You’re all suited for combat. You’re all intelligent people. Any of you will, I’m sure, do a good job in promoting our concerns and gathering information. I will make sure you all get to investigate what’s there within five or six days – each of you will help me form a strategy.’
NINETEEN
Malum waited in the afternoon shadows, mulling over his plans.
The garuda had informed his men that there was in fact no immediate threat to Villiren. The Okun were nowhere to be seen on this island. There was no more threat from the north. In fact, the only issues were in the west, on another island entirely, too far to be of concern to him. So in fact the posters found around the city, telling of this so-called immediate threat, were lying.
So what was the commander really up to?
There, the man Malum was waiting for. Derrouge was skinny, well dressed, and walked with a gentle stoop, so he constantly had to peer slightly upwards to see where he was going.
There’s a man who’s spent far too long sitting at a desk, Malum thought. Should have no trouble overpowering this fool.
Derrouge left the bank, a compact, whitewashed building. Two men were standing by its front door; they wore no uniform, and were only noticeable to those who knew the drill. They were private militiamen, skilled fighters and paid highly enough so that they wouldn’t trade secrets with the gangs. Aside from those men, the building bore no signs that told you money could be stored there. Then again, the banks didn’t like to attract attention to themselves. It was said they were small, impenetrable fortresses. That there were cultist traps deep in the vaults, all sorts of trickery that was more trouble than it was worth to tackle. Malum had never tried his luck with them – besides, he had a lot of coin himself, from his various rackets, which he wanted to protect. The banks guaranteed anonymity so criminals – often the wealthiest in the city – could have their money well looked after.
If it wasn’t for the banks, there would be no criminal underworld.
Malum pulled up his hood. The day was winding up, and what people there were began to head indoors. He moved along the walls, swift and cautious, all the time looking around to see if anyone would interrupt the mission. He had to be careful and felt he couldn’t rely on the same networks to do his bidding, or on the fear of the public keeping them from intervening. Derrouge, wearing elegant, long crimson robes and a black waxed raincape, took the predictable route towards his home, situated at the north-eastern end of the Ancient Quarter. On edge, Malum trotted down through the same high-walled alley, noting all the details, the rubbish and the homeless man slumped on the corner. Three old women were standing in a doorway talking about the weather. A young man was pulling in a washing line between buildings and somewhere indoors was the sound of a baby crying.
It began to rain, thick and heavy drops. Up ahead, Derrouge pulled up his own hood and continued on his way. Malum shook free his messer blade from his sleeve and pursued the banker down an even narrower alley. He closed the distance in stealth, thirty feet, twenty, ten and he was upon him: he stamped down on the back of Derrouge’s left knee, bringing him to the ground, sprawling on his back. Malum stood on the man’s chest, grabbed his collar and pressed the messer blade up against his throat.
‘You do exactly as I say. You’re coming with me. You’re going to stand up and calmly walk back the way you came. You’re going to walk in the direction I tell you and when we get to an agreed point you’re going to wear a sack over your head. Do we understand each other?’
‘And . . . if I don’t?’ Derrouge squirmed.
‘I’ll cut a diagonal line across your torso, grab your innards while you’re still alive to feel the pain, and tie them to the door of your family home.’ Malum held up his blade to show the man the tool he would use to do that.
‘OK.’ Derrouge nodded as much as he could manage.
‘Good.’ Malum stepped back and hauled him up by the scruff of his neck. He spun the banker around and pulled back on his raincape; he cut a slash through the clothing, slipped his hand and blade inside, resting the steel on the man’s back. ‘You try to move out of line, I cut and you don’t walk again.’
Malum steered the visibly nervous Derrouge back through the streets, almost the way they came, but then taking a radically different direction. The two of them must have looked like close friends, being so close to each other like this.
They walked for about ten minutes and, in an alleyway on the edge of the Ancient Quarter, safely away from those who might draw the attention of a military patrol, Malum produced a hessian bag to go over Derro
uge’s head. ‘This is so you don’t go blabbing our whereabouts.’
The banker begrudgingly obliged, and stood limp while Malum pulled the bag over him. Malum guided him to a house a few streets further into Deeping, a modern bland structure with a straight roof and little in the way of ornamentation. It was enough for their purposes today. Malum banged on the door and a hatch opened for someone to identify him.
‘It’s me,’ he grunted.
The door opened and Malum was ushered inside.
*
They tied Derrouge to a sturdy chair in an upstairs room, which was composed of bare floorboards, rough walls with a small window that overlooked a backstreet. Malum lit a fire and, after deciding the banker had suffered for just about the right length of time, he took the bag off his head.
‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Malum asked.
‘If you want money, I can arrange for that,’ Derrouge slurred. ‘We . . . we can have it to your doorstep in less than an hour, no questions asked.’
‘I’ve got enough money already,’ Malum replied. ‘But thanks for the offer. It’s nice to know you can piss people’s savings away like that.’
‘Hey, Malum,’ one of the youths said, poking his head through the door, ‘you want a drink or somethin’ to eat?’
‘Nah, I’m good,’ Malum replied. ‘You can leave me alone with this guy for now.’
The kid sauntered downstairs and left them to it.
‘Malum,’ Derrouge said, squinting to make out his face better. ‘I’ve heard that name before.’
‘Good, then you should be scared,’ Malum replied.
‘What do you want if it’s not money? I can’t think of anything else we’d have in common to discuss. We operate in quite different circles, you and I.’
Malum struck him across the face just to let him know who was in charge and the banker lurched to one side, before looking back at Malum with the appropriate level of fear. ‘I’ve killed more people than you’ve closed deals,’ he said. ‘Don’t think I won’t hesitate to cut your throat when the time comes.’
The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) Page 22