The Broken Isles lotrs-4

by Mark Charan Newton

  ‘Give me a second to get changed into something more appropriate and I’ll join you.’

  The commander nodded. ‘I’ll leave an escort outside the door to guide you to our location.’ Then he left the room.

  Fulcrom closed the door and began to laugh to himself. Lan placed a hand on his back and breathed, ‘We’ve waited long enough. Another day won’t hurt us.’

  Lan wore her Knights outfit proudly, and had acquired a few loops of rope, which she slung across her chest. Their escort led them to the balcony, where a small number of the Night Guard had gathered. They weren’t enjoying the view of the harbour — they were looking directly towards the sky.

  No one said anything on her arrival until the commander introduced her as a hero of Villjamur, and then they gave her a salute that made her blush.

  ‘I’ll explain to them fully who you are once you’re up there,’ he said. ‘We need to be quick about this.’

  ‘How did she get up there?’ Lan asked.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘Have you got any idea where she is precisely?’ Lan craned her neck to get a better view. The sheer height of the Citadel was intimidating. It was a fairly featureless structure, apart from the crenellations situated at the very top. That would make it difficult to get up there, she thought. Few nooks and crannies to use as assistance. Few gargoyles to hook her fingers on.

  ‘Be careful when you’re up there,’ Brynd warned. ‘We don’t know how volatile she will be.’

  ‘Volatile?’ Lan said. ‘I thought she was just a bit mad.’

  ‘Well, that may be the case — however, she has been spotted by one person engaged in potentially violent conduct. This could be something similar or nothing to worry about at all — either way, we’d like the ruler of what’s left of the Empire safely ensconced in a secure cell as soon as possible.’

  ‘Right,’ Lan replied. ‘Anything else that I should know about?’

  Brynd shook his head. ‘This remains as much a mystery to us as it does to you.’

  ‘You’ll be OK?’ Fulcrom whispered.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she replied, squeezing his hands. Then she moved into a clear space on the balcony, closed her eyes to tune in to her powers, and glanced directly up. The wind buffeted her, sending her hair spiralling in front of her face. She tied it back, and then stepped up into the air and glided onto the stone rail of the balcony; a window ledge up above caught her eye and she levered herself up even further; she misjudged the angle, slipped and clattered into the glass, though it didn’t shatter. Luckily, no one down below saw her error.

  Peering up, left and right, she couldn’t see anyone. The wind was even stronger, a bitterly cold breeze from the east. The lantern lights of the harbour and the windows of the city were mesmerizing, but she didn’t let them distract her. Instead, she scanned the walls for another window ledge; the jump up would be difficult, she thought, because she had to go in an arc. She gave it a go, knowing curve jumps were more dangerous, and luckily the wind blew her back against the building anyway.

  Another look around, and this time she thought she saw something horizontally to the east. She flattened herself against the structure, hoping not to be seen; she wanted a better look.

  It looked like the pale skin of someone’s arm.

  Lan looked up again, and noticed that she was only twenty feet away from the crenellations at the top of this section. Another push and she scrambled up the wall with all her might — she reached the top, banging her shin against the stone, but she was careful not to let out a cry of pain.

  Once at the top, she found she could dash easily along the rim of the wall. She lifted one loop of rope off over her head and tied a quick, firm knot as she ran. Then she paused to check over the side along this section of the wall.

  There. Down below was, very definitely, a female figure, bizarrely twitching and clawing her way on the wall — not ledges, not on the crenellations, but clawing the actual stonework itself. It didn’t seem possible. Lan tied one of the ends of the first piece of rope to a crenellation and made a loop at the other end, which she attached to her waist. She made it long enough for the fall; then she took the second length of rope and jumped effortlessly through the gap in the crenellations.

  Her passage through the air was as gentle as she could manage with her powers; she focused on Rika, with the rope ready in her hands. It happened as planned: as she fell inches behind Rika, Lan dragged the rope over her body, snapping it tightly around the woman’s torso. Her own rope snagged, stopping her descent. Rika was bound and snarling, like a trapped wolf, pressed up against the stone. The Empress lurched back, her face twisted and cortorting, her teeth a little too long to be human.

  From her pocket, Lan withdrew a small hessian sack. With one hand firmly on Rika’s throat, Lan climbed up her bound body, and eased the sack over the viciously struggling woman. She pulled the ends tight, being careful not to strangle her. Satisfied she had the woman bagged, Lan tied her own rope around Rika’s waist, tied her hands, layered the rope around her again and again, and moved down to bind her ankles. Lan breathed out, relieved.

  It had been simpler than Lan thought. Tuning in to her powers, she hauled Rika up with a jump and dropped her gently onto the walkway at the top of the crenellations. Lan landed gracefully alongside her.

  The night sky was gathering clouds; a few flecks of snow began to fall, but Lan had her woman. Rika was now trying to tear her way out of her restraints, and Lan wanted to deliver her to the commander as soon as possible. The only way to get her down was back through the Citadel, so Lan dragged the Empress along the stone floor like a pugnacious dog.

  ‘Nice work, Lan,’ Brynd said. ‘I’m impressed. That was a skilful display.’

  Despite his positive words, he seemed deeply uneasy, as if uncertain what he would now do.

  They had placed the bound Empress in a gaol cell within the Citadel. Only Brynd, Fulcrom, and two Night Guard soldiers were there.

  Lan leant back against the bars with her arms folded, happy that she had proved herself to the most important person on the island.

  ‘We used to keep these cells,’ Brynd said, ‘to imprison any Okun we captured from the war. We wanted to observe them, study them to see if we could get any information from them to use in the war. We got very little, it turned out. But I never thought we’d be using this room to imprison our own Empress. Would you mind stepping out of the cell for a moment? This could get a little tricky.’

  ‘Of course,’ Fulcrom replied.

  Lan followed Fulcrom then turned to watch.

  Brynd gestured to his soldiers and they both nodded their acknowledgement of the order, stretching out Rika’s body horizontally, grabbing her legs and arms, pressing her down on the floor at one end of the cell until she stopped resisting. When she quietened, Brynd moved towards her feet and cut those restraints. Then Tiendi, who held her arms, looped a piece of rope around Rika’s waist before handing it to Brynd, who then tied it around the cell window bars. The soldiers by her feet stepped away and both of them came out of the cell. Now only Brynd remained. He signalled something again with his hands before quickly cutting the restraints on her wrists, leaving just the bag over her head.

  He walked out of the cell, slammed the barred door shut and locked it.

  Everyone waited. The bars were as thick as Lan’s thumb, spaced an inch apart, and crafted from iron, so Lan had no fears that their lives were threatened. It all suddenly seemed as if she were back in her circus days, watching one of the beasts in its cage. Rika pushed herself to her hands and knees, before staggering to her feet. Then she began pulling at the bag restraints, and managed to untie them quickly.

  Rika pulled away the bag and dropped it on the floor. She turned, slowly, to face her captors.

  ‘Dear Bohr. .’ Brynd breathed.

  Her face was clearly once beautiful, yet it had distorted into something hideous: her eyes were enlarged slightly, her teeth so big tha
t her mouth had become misshapen, and her nostrils flared like some furious beast. With alarming speed she flung herself against the bars and everyone either flinched or took a step back; as if Rika could have actually snapped the metal and leapt for their throats.

  Brynd stepped forward until he was an arm’s length away from the cell. ‘Rika,’ he called. ‘Lady Rika.’

  Lan watched the woman for a reaction, but there seemed no acknowledgement of her name.

  ‘I am Brynd Lathraea, Commander of the Night Guard,’ he said louder. ‘Do you recognize me?’

  Again, nothing. Rika merely glanced aggressively at everyone who had gathered to watch her. Cursing, Brynd turned to address them. ‘It seems as though she may be beyond help. For now, no one is to enter this area. Tiendi, Mikill — I’m putting you two on the door. No one comes in, no one comes out without my say-so.’

  ‘Yes, commander,’ they replied.

  Mikill said, ‘Should her sister know?’

  Brynd considered the question, but replied in hushed tones: ‘Soon.’ He looked at Lan and Fulcrom: ‘Obviously you’re both now witnesses to this — and Lan, while I do indeed appreciate your remarkable efforts, I would be grateful if no one was to find out about this. The ramifications could be huge.’

  ‘You have our word,’ Fulcrom announced. ‘And if you need any assistance in the matter, you only have to ask.’

  Brynd nodded his thanks before escorting them out. Two doors closed behind them. Two sets of lock mechanisms clicked into place.

  TWENTY — ONE

  The morning was wet and miserable, but Fulcrom and Lan headed across the city to the address given to them by Commander Lathraea. They were surprised at the lack of life in the area, as if everyone had simply been evacuated.

  ‘Maybe the people here were lost during the war?’ Lan suggested.

  ‘Could be. Or perhaps they left as a result of industry lost after the war, who knows. There’s a lot we don’t know about this city.’

  ‘Why have you asked me here today?’ Lan asked. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have me back at headquarters than getting in the way?’

  Fulcrom laughed. ‘No, you’re part of the Inquisition now.’

  ‘I’m not particularly good at questioning though. You’re the brains of the operation.’

  ‘If that’s so, then you’re the brawn,’ he replied. ‘I’m still aching from the way I was treated in the cells of Balmacara.’

  ‘You should’ve said something,’ Lan replied.

  ‘I’ve not let on because rumel skin doesn’t bruise and I didn’t want to make a fuss. You know what I’m like. It’s strange that, during the escape and fighting, I couldn’t feel much in the way of pain — I guess adrenalin kicks in and I just continued as if nothing had happened. But now we’ve relaxed, now we’re settled somewhere else, the echoes of it are coming back.’

  ‘There’s only one thing you can do then,’ Lan said, ‘and that’s to throw yourself back into the thick of it.’

  ‘Which is why we’re here.’

  They located the vast structure called Factory 54, an unusually bland name. They tied their horses around the end of the massive structure and, locating the door, Fulcrom gave a loud knock.

  There were a few curious sounds from inside, and eventually a young man opened the door. ‘Hell do you want?’ he said grumpily. ‘We’re busy.’

  ‘We’re here on behalf of the Villiren Inquisition.’

  ‘Ain’t no Inquisition any more. Barely was in the first place, bunch of corrupt buggers. We’re not paying any protection money, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘No no,’ Fulcrom interrupted. ‘I’m not sure you understand. We’re here on behalf of Commander Lathraea.’

  ‘The albino?’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Fulcrom said. ‘Now, I’m not sure what went on before, but the Inquisition is being reconstructed and I’m not here to ask for money.’

  ‘So what d’you want then?’ The young man slouched in the doorway, then suddenly turned back and bellowed, ‘It’s the Inquisition!’ Then, back to Fulcrom, ‘Sorry — go on.’

  ‘I want to know if you can help me. The commander suggested you people create monsters, is that right?’

  ‘Yeah, what’s-’ He was cut off by the arrival of a young woman, no older than twenty, Fulcrom guessed.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said. ‘Coren, why don’t you head back and let me deal with this.’

  The man shrugged and skulked off into the darkness. The girl smiled and introduced herself as Jeza.

  After repeating who they were, Fulcrom reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it and held it up to Jeza. ‘Do you recognize this?’

  ‘Sketches of a grotesque, by the look of it.’ She handed the paper back to him and, despite her attempts at nonchalance, looked incredibly sheepish. She was someone who could not tell an effective lie.

  ‘This was found yesterday in a major iren near Port Nostalgia, and it was made to look as if it had strolled in there before dying. There was blood. It had been staged so that it held a dead child in its claws.’

  ‘It shouldn’t have been, um, able to do that. .’ Jeza started.

  ‘Because it was dead in the first place, right?’ Fulcrom said.

  Jeza nodded.

  ‘Did the grotesque come from here?’

  Again, she nodded.

  ‘I’m guessing you sold it to someone,’ Fulcrom suggested. This didn’t look as if it was going to be his most demanding case to date.

  ‘I did, yes, but I really can’t tell you, because. . because I want to keep all my clients a secret — cultists can’t do good business without confidentiality. We just don’t tell.’

  ‘But you realize the consequences of us not finding out?’ Fulcrom asked, thinking she was showing signs of having been intimidated. ‘This might not be a one-off incident. This might be at the heart of something more sinister, and the commander has asked me to find out who did it.’

  ‘I can’t help you!’ Jeza said, raising her voice with nervousness.

  ‘Look. Hundreds of people are panicking. There could be great social unrest. The commander has had dozens of worried parents protesting about their children’s safety.’

  ‘They’re not under threat though — it’s all staged,’ Jeza suggested meekly.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, it’s the fact that they’re being used as a tool. We just want one name, that’s all. No one will know and you’ll be doing a service to the whole city.’

  ‘You promise you won’t let the trail get back to me?’ she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

  ‘You have the word of the Inquisition,’ Fulcrom replied confidently. ‘As well as the commander.’

  ‘And you’ll go — if I give you his name, you’ll go. No more questions?’

  Fulcrom nodded.

  ‘OK.’ Jeza leaned in close to whisper. ‘His name is Malum. That’s all I know.’

  With that, she said a hasty goodbye before closing the door on them.

  Fulcrom turned back with Lan to find their horses.

  ‘Well, that was simple enough,’ Lan said.

  ‘She was scared of him, this Malum,’ Fulcrom replied thoughtfully. ‘That was one defiant young woman, and if she created that monster, she doesn’t frighten easily. Now to find out who this Malum fellow is, and what he is up to.’

  Jeza dashed inside, breathing heavily, and sat down at the kitchen table while the familiar noises within the factory echoed around her. There was the whirr of machines working somewhere, relics churning out cultist energy; then came the guttural call of one of their creatures. She closed it all out and put her head in her hands and took deep breaths.

  Coren came down the stairs with a few flecks of blood on his face. ‘Hey, what was that all about then?’

  ‘I did something I think I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Bad enough to bring the Inquisition to our door? What did you do?’

  ‘I sold one of the dead grotes
ques.’

  ‘A dead one?’

  ‘To that guy — who wants monsters made like we’re doing for the commander.’

  ‘That’s not so bad. Hell, it means we don’t have to deal with cleaning up after it.’

  ‘I know, but he used it to scare people in an iren — put a body and blood all over the place apparently. I think he was trying to use it to cause trouble. Will you promise not to tell anyone?’ She could feel the tears in her eyes now.

  Coren moved around to put his arm over her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe.’

  ‘I didn’t think it’d do any harm, and I thought we could just make a little extra money on the side. I’m not sure we should deal with him any longer.’

  Fulcrom and Lan headed into a questionable tavern on the edge of the Ancient Quarter. It was run-down, with paint peeling off the sign, a shutter missing from one of the windows, and graffiti plastered up along one of the walls — but it seemed busy enough that Fulcrom thought it’d be a good place to begin inquiries. Lan and Fulcrom headed to the bar. ‘Keep an eye out for any trouble,’ he whispered, and she nodded her understanding.

  ‘Got a blade in my boot,’ she replied, before glancing around.

  At the counter, Fulcrom eventually caught the attention of the barman, a tall, skinny man, with greying hair and a large moustache.

  ‘A moment of your time,’ Fulcrom said. ‘We’re new to the city and just want a quick word.’

  ‘Time’s money to me,’ the barman said, wiping his hands on his apron.

  Fulcrom reached into his pocket and drew out a couple of coins, which he slapped on the bar. ‘This’ll do?’

  ‘Now that’s how we work around here — welcome to Villiren,’ the barman said, pocketing the money.

  ‘We’re actually looking for someone, an old acquaintance of ours.’

  ‘Whassis name?’