The Malice

by Peter Newman

  ‘… shit it!’

  Though unorthodox, the order is clear enough. The hunters flee, dispersing quickly into pairs, diving back to the protection of the stalk forest.

  Duet rolls her head towards the newcomers. Vesper skids to a stop, blinking down at her. ‘Duet, you’re alive!’

  ‘I wish I wasn’t.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘I can’t help it. It’s like my mouth’s got a mind of its own.’ Confusion appears on Vesper’s face. A moment later, the kid catches up. ‘It’s probably the pills I took while I was waiting. Damn, didn’t mean to say that.’

  ‘Pills? How many?’

  She laughs again, hysteria catching around the edges. ‘I don’t know! I was waiting for hours and hours. A lot. More than’s safe. Enough that I could die or go a funny colour. Maybe I’ll do both. That seems to be the way my life is now. For the love of the Eye, shut me up, I can’t bear myself!’

  The kid begins to back away.

  Maintaining a more dignified pace, Neer finally reaches the group.

  Duet adjusts the grip on her sword. ‘Vesper, get behind me!’

  Neer tuts. ‘Really, there’s no need for that. I’m here to help you.’

  ‘Damn you and damn your help, monster!’

  Vesper tries to think of something to say, fails.

  ‘As I explained to your friend here, my situation is not what you expect. I’m human like you are, just—’

  ‘Shut up! Just shut up!’ Duet pulls herself up the wall, grunting as she stands. ‘Look at yourself! Born with those eyes, were you?’

  The glowing pupils narrow. ‘You and I are about to have a misunderstanding.’

  Duet’s next words are interrupted by a burp. ‘Not again!’ she wails. ‘Not now!’ She raises her sword, trying to threaten, then drops it, hands required to tear free her visor. As she doubles over, the face plate sails over her shoulder, bouncing twice before settling.

  Vomit splashes hot and wet and acrid. Words and laughter come together, discordant. ‘Urgh! Huh, huh, huh! It hurts! Bleaaarch!’ There is another round of swearing and laughing, babbling moist words and blowing sicky bubbles and then, sudden, dramatic, she passes out.

  Within the secret tunnels beneath Wonderland, deep in the Don’t Go, there is a room. The room is full of instruments, proudly displayed on racks, ordered by size and function. A slab of plastic is suspended in the middle of the room, capable of rising or falling, of turning, of tilting.

  Duet is strapped to the slab, stripped of armour and consciousness. Neer leans over her, held steady on her tripod of ivory. Initial investigations bring tuts of disapproval.

  Vesper sits in a corner, chewing on a nail. The kid sleeps across her feet. ‘Do you think you can help her?’

  ‘My dear young girl,’ she replies without looking up. ‘I have spent a lifetime merging the living with the dead, expanding the very boundaries of life’s definitions.’

  ‘But do you think you can help her?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve just said so, haven’t I? I was trusted to carve the paths in the boneways above our heads. I laid the road for the Uncivil’s essence to flow. I’m sure I can manage a few cracked and broken ribs.’

  The smartcast is removed. New skin has formed over old wounds, stretched tight in places by jagged bones. ‘No, no, no. This won’t do. This won’t do at all.’ She picks up a scalpel and readies it, an inch above Duet’s body. Eyes close and her left hand moves next to her right, fingers curling into a fist. Over the knuckle of her middle finger, a seam in the old leather opens, unveiling a third eye.

  One hand guides the other and she begins to operate.

  Blood runs down the face of the slab, funnelled along grooves into holes, stashed away for future projects.

  ‘Living subjects are so much messier than the dead. The Necroneers used to be so artful in preparing the limbs. Stitching and gluing so smart as to become decoration! Ah yes, they were good times. Gone now.’

  ‘Were there lots of you?’

  ‘Oh yes. From the collectors at the bottom, to the cleaners and the pre-ops, to my own order. I’m not sure how many we numbered in total. Always changing, you see. We grew as the Uncivil did, recruiting in a rush to keep pace with her.’ Red lines draw four doors on Duet’s belly. Neer opens them all, unmoved by new smells rising, clogging the air.

  Vesper covers her mouth, presses harder against the wall. ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘They died. Terrible waste it was. You see, when the Uncivil was ended there was nobody to replace the essence animating our augmentations. When it faded away, undead limbs became dead and rotten. And nothing spreads so fast as rot it seems.’

  ‘What about amputation?’

  ‘It’s not just about removing an arm or a tail. Many of us had been altered at the deepest levels.’ Vesper says nothing, a silent confession of bewilderment. ‘The bonds weren’t neat, they were intertwined with our very essence. You can’t draw a line around something like that and cut it. And in any case, by the time we’d stopped grieving, it was too late. Wonderland was dead and the enlightenment gone with it. Within days the economy had collapsed and people fell on each other like hungry dogs.’

  ‘Oh.’

  A broken rib is eased back into position. A fragment, half hanging, sharp, is removed. She holds it up, closing her knuckle eye and opening her other two, bone limbs carrying her to a cabinet. On the other side are a collection of skeletons, each one exploded slightly, the gaps filled with careful documentation. Comparisons are made, several times she comes back to a particular match, shaking her head.

  ‘Ah well, it will have to do. Ugly measures for ugly times.’

  Long before she is finished, Vesper sleeps. Soon after, the sword stirs, disturbed by something. Wings part and its eye swivels to point south, staring into other places, troubled, before turning its glare upon the sleeping girl.

  The work continues. Bone grafts are made and applied, cracks filled with a milky jelly. Swelling is eased, skin folded back into place, tied off neatly with black thread that swirls over pale skin like calligraphy.

  Hours pass and Vesper wakes to the smell of soup. She is not in the same place she fell asleep.

  The walls are piled high with scribblings, tiny writing crammed onto chunks of slate and recycled lids, on treated skins, even the walls themselves. A stream of consciousness laid bare. Secrets and dreams writ large for any who care to read them.

  All Vesper sees is the warm bowl and the kid’s tongue, lapping. ‘Hey!’ she says, sitting up on the thin mattress to push the kid away. To her surprise, the kid pushes back, head firm against her chest, knocking her back down.

  The kid sniffs then resumes his feast.

  From the doorway, Neer chuckles. ‘Not to worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.’

  ‘It smells great. What’s it called?’

  ‘Compound three.’

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘Compound three.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Neer passes the girl a second bowl of soup. This one is rectangular, cut from the base of a larger container. Vesper takes it and eats, adding her own sounds to the kid’s happy grunts.

  Neer waits until they are nearly finished. ‘We should talk about your friend.’

  Vesper looks up, mouth still full. ‘Mmm?’ She swallows. ‘What happened? Did you save her?’

  ‘It was a trivial operation but during it I observed several things of interest. What can you tell me about her?’

  ‘I …’ She pauses. ‘I think you should ask her.’

  There is a flash of green, brief, but when Neer speaks again, her voice is level. ‘She’s been operated on before, extensively. The techniques are strange to me but not so much that I can’t guess their intent.’ She leans closer and Vesper instinctively does the same. ‘She’s one of those Harmonised isn’t she?’

  The hesitation is only slight this time. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I knew it! Her essence has bee
n attuned to another’s. Her face and body too I’d wager. Where’s the other one?’

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘Hmm. I think your friend is going to struggle.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘She probably isn’t going to be long for this world.’

  Vesper looks at her, hopeful. ‘Can you help her?’

  ‘I’ve already done all I can. Assuming you still want to leave, that is. If you and your friend were to stay for the long-term, I might be able to. I’d very much like to try.’

  ‘How long does she have?’

  ‘Try to understand. Half of her is gone. Physically, she is intact but her mind and soul,’ Neer spreads her hands, ‘are fading. Her essence is trying to find what’s been lost. Each time it reaches out, a little more fades away. I’d give her a few months. Perhaps a year.’

  ‘But we can’t stay. We have a mission.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I’d hate to be the one to watch her degenerate.’ She straightens. ‘But if you have to go, I suppose the sacrifice has to be made.’

  ‘Wait. I don’t know. I’m not sure what to do.’

  ‘It really isn’t up to me. What would she want?’

  ‘I think she’d want to go.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No.’ Vesper frowns, gets up. ‘I’m going to talk to her.’

  One Thousand, One Hundred and Fourteen Years Ago

  The bird is colourful, golden feathers crown its head and edge its tail. A matching chain hangs around its neck, regal. The man opposite is no less gaudy.

  ‘You see,’ he explains to the crowd, ‘we talk to each other, she and I. Not with words. A universal language. A language of the soul.’

  For two years, Massassi has searched. Going high and low. From the targets of obscure docuvids, to the offices of the best media wizards and thought doctors. Not one of them is like her. The desperate hunt for allies brings her here, to a live show. She does not believe the buzzwords about the performer, does not expect to see any real magic but still, she cannot help but hope.

  The man points to a small skateboard mounted on a horizontal ramp. ‘Pollyanna, ride the board for us.’

  The bird complies, drawing chuckles from the crowd.

  Massassi scowls. She is looking for more than mere tricks.

  ‘Beautiful, no? But our bond allows for far more than play. What you are about to see is a level of power so secret that it has only been achieved by a few masters and only after years of training. I, the Great Suprendus, found these masters and convinced them to share their secrets. Today, I share them with you. For my next demonstration, the bond between Pollyanna and I will be tested to its ultimate limit when I place my life in her hands.’

  As if on cue, the crowd gasps.

  Massassi sits forward. A grain of truth is woven into his lies. Perhaps this one will be different.

  ‘Behold!’ booms the Great Suprendus. ‘The wheels of death!’ Curtains pull back, revealing a set of twenty-three wheels, clockwork armed for war. A gap, one metre wide and two metres high passes through the middle of them. The wheels leap cross the gap, one after the other, like spinning discus thrown by an unseen juggler.

  The Great Suprendus throws a bright blue fruit through the gap. Only pulp comes through the other side.

  Obligingly, the crowd gasps again.

  ‘Each of these twenty-three wheels is connected to a switch on this display. Each switch has a code next to it and each wheel, a corresponding code, written across its hub. As I walk between the wheels of death and I see the code, I will transmit it using only the power of my mind and command Pollyanna to press the appropriate switch. Only one wheel can be stopped at a time and so there is no margin for error. Now I will need a moment of silence to prepare my spirit and Pollyanna’s. Once we begin, can I ask that you do nothing to break my concentration.’

  The man begins to hum softly, closing his eyes.

  Massassi studies his true face, is not impressed by what she sees. The bird is not much better, it looks forward to the food it will be given when the trick is done.

  The trick.

  Massassi is tired of tricks.

  As the Great Suprendus begins to walk towards the wheels, she raises her arm, letting the iris in her palm open enough for a point of light to come through. He does not notice, passing through the first three wheels while Pollyanna dutifully hops from switch to switch. The timing is excellent, a testament to hours of training. Impressive but not magical.

  The needle of light tracks over the seats in front of her, over the backs of heads, passing up to the stage itself where it find its target.

  Meanwhile, the crowd hold their breaths as Suprendus steps safely past wheels six, seven and eight.

  Pollyanna opens her beak wide. ‘Stop!’ she screeches, then throws back her head and laughs.

  The crowd laugh, too, assuming it is part of the show. Suprendus stops, his attention torn between the unexpected development and the blade held inches from his head, spinning, ready. ‘Now, Pollyanna, this is not the time for chatter.’

  ‘Shut up, you old fraud,’ the bird replies.

  A few titters ripple through the audience.

  ‘Fraud? Fraud! I am—’

  ‘There is no bond, no magic. Admit it or I let this switch go.’

  A few people glance at their neighbours. Not as many are smiling now.

  ‘Alright, I admit it.’

  ‘Say it,’ demands the bird, relentless.

  ‘There is no magic. There is no magic! Now, please, let us finish this.’

  ‘Not yet. Tell me about the masters.’

  ‘Of course, of course. As soon as I am free of the wheels.’

  ‘Now!’ Pollyanna screeches. ‘Now!’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything!’

  And he does. The Great Suprendus did hear about a group of masters, he even sought them out but they never taught him. He knows little more but she has a lead. Despite her best efforts, a chink of hope appears in cynical armour.

  Massassi leaves the confused crowd behind. They stare at the sobbing man and then at the bird, as it dances on the vital switch, swapping from foot to foot, cackling.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Vesper lingers in the doorway. ‘Hello?’

  Eyes blink open, staring blankly. They blink again, slowly remembering how to focus.

  ‘Hello?’

  Duet looks down at herself. ‘What is this?’ Thick straps hold her in place, tight around bare limbs. The fine hairs on her arms stand up, attentive to the cold. She pulls against her bonds, feels rigid steel beneath soft padding.

  ‘Hold on, I’ll get those.’ Vesper goes to her side, fiddles with the clasps. As soon as one releases, Duet wrenches a hand free, making Vesper cringe away while she works on the others.

  Shaky hands make it difficult. Sweat soon beads at her brow, her face twisted in concentration and discomfort.

  ‘Neer had to reset and regraft your bones. It was … How are you feeling?’

  ‘My side aches. Differently.’

  ‘Different how?’

  A second wrist is liberated. ‘Hard to say.’

  ‘Is it any better than before?’

  ‘It’s like the pain is more on the outside now than the inside.’

  With both hands free, her ankles are quickly unshackled. Duet looks around. ‘Where’s my armour? And where are my weapons?’ She frowns at Vesper. ‘And where’s the sword?’

  ‘All our things are next door.’

  ‘Get them, we need them.’

  ‘Okay, I will. But first, I wanted to talk to you about something.’

  Duet swings her legs over the side of the slab and puts a hand against Vesper’s chest. She looks down at it as the Harmonised propels her back towards the door. ‘Sword first. Chat later.’

  Vesper stumbles away out of sight, mumbling apologies.

  Duet shakes her head, sighs, then takes in the surroundings. Specimens float in all manner of jars, pickling slowly. Her
mouth turns down as she struggles to identify the species of donor.

  Arms full, Vesper returns to the room. The sword sleeps on her back once more, weighing her down. ‘Here we are,’ she says, dumping armour and weapons and packs on the floor. ‘That should be everything.’

  Duet inspects her kit carefully, suspicious. ‘It looks in order.’ Vesper’s lips part, hesitant words not quite ready to emerge. She scares them off with her own. ‘Never leave the sword unguarded again.’

  ‘It was only next door.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  ‘There isn’t even anyone down here apart from Neer, and she’s a friend.’

  ‘Is she? How long have you known her? How well do you know these tunnels? Do you know who comes and goes? Are you sure we’re safe? Would you bet our lives on it?’ Vesper’s head shakes with every question. ‘Never again, you understand?’

  ‘I won’t. I’m sorry.’

  ‘The Seven don’t care about apologies. Nor do the infernals.’

  A little colour finds its way to Vesper’s cheeks. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’

  ‘I don’t want you to say anything!’ The outburst leaves her suddenly tired. She rests her head in her hands and time begins to drift.

  When she looks up again, the kid is running up and down the outside corridor and Vesper sits in the corner, glum. With one foot she hooks the medical bag and scoops it off the floor. Pills are quickly dispensed into an eager palm and popped.

  She wipes her mouth, notices the girl is watching her. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Go on. Spit it out.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘Go on!’

  ‘Neer thinks you’re going to die soon. Because you’re a Harmonised and because the other you is gone.’ Duet lets the medicine bag slip from her fingers. ‘She says you’re going to, er, I don’t know how to say it.’

  Duet’s voice is quiet: ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘You’re going to get worse, in your head.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘She doesn’t know. A few months, no more than a year.’

  Throats become tight, awkward. Skittering hooves slow and the kid peers in at the two silent people. Duet stares at the floor, not seeing. Slowly, her eyes close.