by Peter Newman
The creature’s shadows fall over Duet.
Still dazed, she moves blindly, desperately, anything preferable to staying still. The creature snaps at her rolling body, teeth glancing off her armour.
As if in a dream, Vesper’s empty hand moves towards the sword’s hilt. Wingtips curl, encouraging.
The air becomes tight, holding its breath.
Vesper blinks, looking from her hand to where Duet struggles and back again. Understanding comes, draining the colour from her face. Action is required and the sword is waiting, demanding to be used.
In desperation, Duet scoops up a rock, raising it before her like a shield. The creature snares it in its beak, tossing it over a shoulder.
Unarmed, tired, Duet cries out, a mix of fear and anger.
The creature opens its jaws, opens its beak, rearing back.
A chunk of meat sails past, landing with a wet smack next to the creature’s talons.
It pauses, then snaps up the morsel.
Another soon follows, landing next to it.
‘Back away,’ hisses Vesper. ‘Move very slowly.’
Duet edges back on her elbows.
The creature growls at her, baring its teeth.
Duet stops.
Vesper circles into her field of vision, sheathed sword in one hand, a long strip of flesh in the other. ‘Here we are. No need to fight. There’s plenty to go round.’
The creature watches her warily. It tenses as if to spring but then glances at the sword, pauses.
Vesper lays the meat down. ‘Here it is, all for you.’
As soon as she has circled clear, the creature pounces on it, one head eating, the other watching, warning them off.
They pack with forced calm, Vesper sometimes pausing to throw fresh morsels the creature’s way.
The kid wakes up. Halfway through a mighty yawn he sees the creature. His eyes bulge, his jaw locks and he flops back where he fell.
Vesper collects him and they retreat, slowly, keeping a measured pace, putting good distance between them and the creature.
Then they run.
Over half the rat and the empty pistol are left behind.
*
Jem runs down a filth-crusted street, clutching something small in his fist. He is not alone. Those with homes go inside, slamming doors shut on reflex. The less fortunate beg for sanctuary. A scant few are shown mercy, the rest do what they always do: they run until they can’t run any more, then hide.
Only Jem knows why he is running. The others know that trouble is coming and that is enough; in New Horizon it is proximity rather than guilt that tends to bring punishment.
Behind them, the Demagogue’s forces spread across the tainted city. A mix of infernals and half-breeds, slaves and opportunists, leaking from the palace like a bad smell. Gutterface lumbers out after them, one of the last.
Jem is only a few streets away but already he slows, prolonged malnutrition stamping itself on his health. Thin flanks heave as he bends forward, one hand resting on his knee, the other clenched tight around something small, pressed to his chest.
His heart tremors like a little bird’s, fast and fragile. Thudding alongside its delicate beats come the sound of giant footsteps.
He glances over his shoulder in time to see Gutterface arrive at the far end of the street. It surveys the filthy buildings while its children chitter, swarming over its swollen feet, nestling in fatty folds, all impatient for further entertainment.
It has come for him.
A flabby arm is raised, tree-trunk thick, and the impish creatures sing with delight.
He chokes a sob.
It is pointing at him.
Trembling legs carry him around a corner, temporarily away from the infernal’s sight. He stumbles on, watching his feet flash in front of him as if they belong to somebody else. The ground is slick with unidentified gunk. He slips and lurches forward, grabbing at random passers-by for support.
His hand snags a sleeve. Worn fabric tears, then holds, gaining him an angry look and the time to get his footing. All in all, a fair trade.
In other places he would draw attention, a person in his state, hard features locked in fear, in determination, sweat dripping from the ends of his hair, clearly on the run. In New Horizon he fits right in.
Past crusty-faced beggars and long-toothed merchants he goes, never attracting more than a glance. He thinks he is going south but worries he is not. The city has changed during his incarceration, many of the old landmarks have collapsed to be replaced by simpler, meaner structures.
On he goes, slipping into an alley, forcing feet to take yet more steps, till spots dance before eyes and thoughts wander, taking his mind to other times and places, where life was merely grim.
The respite is brief, reality returning with a slap.
Ahead, the alley is blocked.
He stops, staring at the buildings that have folded on top of each other, a scrum of ruined architecture. If he were stronger he might be able to climb it. But he is not and there is no time.
And now he hears them, twisted childish giggles that draw closer with every breath.
He opens his hand, stares at its contents. The sight turns his stomach but there is nothing inside to evacuate.
Swallowing down the bile, he approaches the rubble, full of nooks and cracks, perfect in its own way. Yes, he thinks, it will have to be here.
Gutterface stops suddenly. It knows Samael must be close, can feel the ghost of his essence, faint fingerprints smeared in the air.
And there it is again, the slightest scent of him. It turns and points down a narrow alley and its children screech, delighted.
The alley appears to hold little of interest. One corner contains a woman wrapped in a plastic net, bruises shining through the holes. Another, a man who tries not to look at them. Both exude fear. A few rats abandon their exploration of the woman’s leg, scurrying away to their holes.
Gutterface’s children rush to take their place, eager to play. One jumps onto the woman’s chest, another sinks its teeth into the man’s ankle. The woman is too weak to scream, the man is not.
Gutterface points again, over the heads of the beleaguered humans, to the rubble opposite. But its children are too busy having fun, pulling at limbs, prodding, mocking the sounds of people suffering.
Essence flashes with anger and the children freeze. Gutterface picks up one of the nearest and throws it down the alley. The others are quick to follow under their own power.
Soon, the man and the remaining rats are gone, leaving the woman to groan out her last.
As the infernals search, pulling apart the rubble, brick by brick, Gutterface feels Samael is almost close enough to touch, and yet, it had expected a stronger flavour. It had expected more. It had expected Samael to fight, not bury himself in the dirt like this. Perhaps he was injured in their previous confrontation or perhaps the spawn of the Usurper’s spawn is weaker than they thought.
Other infernals from the Demagogue’s court arrive before Gutterface’s children find anything. Some join the search while others flex their claws. There is a chirrup of pleasure and a gaggle of its children scurry back to gather at Gutterface’s ankles. A clawed hand tugs at the loose skin of its knee, calling for attention.
Gutterface looks down to see a cluster of faces peering up, hope scrawled on their sharp little features.
They reek of Samael but there is no sign of him. Deep within its shell, Gutterface feels uneasy.
The hand tugs again and it sees they are holding something out, an offering.
A toe, white as marble, capped with half a blackened nail. A hard, dry thing. Within it swirls the merest breath of Samuel’s essence. A single thought, repeating itself over and over.
‘Here! Here! Here! Here!’
*
Three specks trudge, alone. Around them, the land has flattened out, dull and dusty, stretching off towards the horizon and its distant mountains.
Vesper sighs. Muscles nor
mally content to exist in secret have joined the others, aching, complaining, and within her boots, clusters of blisters grow raw with every step. The sword is ever heavier, rubbing skin red where it brushes against her.
Duet is little better. The split metal of her armour has been bent back into rough shape, jagged edges trimmed away. Sweaty bandages peek through holes.
Even the kid’s usual bounciness seems diminished.
A wind blows across them, lacklustre.
Beneath their feet, abandoned goods blend slowly with the landscape. A clothes rack juts out like the arm of a drowning man. A helmet, half-buried and camouflaged with dust catches Vesper’s foot, making her stumble.
The kid snorts but when Vesper looks at him, his attention is elsewhere, his expression innocent.
Vesper opens her mouth to speak but one look at Duet’s demeanour changes her mind. Words break down, coalescing into another sigh.
A young man balances on the shoulders of a purple-skinned half-breed, a giant pair of binoculars strapped to his head. They stand atop Verdigris’ battlements, alternately scanning the flatlands and looking over their shoulders. They are in a place they should not be. This is nothing new for either of them.
The half-breed wears a resigned expression. ‘You have a bony arse.’
The young man chuckles. ‘That’s because I have a greedy father who keeps all the food and money to himself. But don’t worry, Bruise, if we pull this off, my arse will grow so fat, you’ll be begging to use it as a pillow.’
‘I don’t care about your arse. I care about getting paid.’
‘The only thing you care about is the smoke.’
‘Is it?’
‘Well there might be other things …’ He wiggles his bum against Bruise’s shoulders. ‘But it’s the smoke that gets you out of bed in the morning, or the lack of it.’
‘Fuck! Stop that!’
‘Why so glum? We’re on the road to glory.’
‘Doesn’t feel glorious to me. If the marshals or your father finds out we’re here, we’re both in for it.’
‘Then stop swearing so loud.’
Bruise pouts, lowers his voice. ‘Can you see anything?’
‘Patience my friend, patience. Wealth favours the bold but only if they keep their shit together. And sooner or later, the Malice will come.’
‘For your sake, I hope it’s sooner.’
The young man leans forward. ‘Seems like my luck is in then. I see them.’
‘You sure?’
‘Not many others coming from the north these days. They look … they look pretty awful. Perfect!’ He slithers off Bruise’s shoulders. ‘Time to go.’
‘What’s the hurry? I thought we had to be patient.’
He smacks the half-breed smartly on the backside. ‘Fuck patience.’
‘Fuck you!’
‘Of course,’ he replies, grinning. ‘But first we get this done.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The walls of Verdigris are strong, proudly sporting scorch marks from past conflicts; they link the city to the surrounding mountains. Much of the city’s past glory has gone but three of the great towers remain, gold tipped and shining in the sunslight.
A flag hangs in the weak breeze. It holds the picture of a woman’s arm, bent, bicep firm, fist clenched, unquestionably human.
Vesper smiles. ‘That’s a good sign.’
Duet sizes up the giant gates. ‘Is it?’
‘When my Uncle Harm lived here, Verdigris was controlled by the Usurper and the Uncivil. He was part of the rebels that fought against them. They must have won. You see? That flag is their sign.’
‘You think they’ll open the doors for his niece?’
‘Of course! My uncle’s really nice. I’ll bet he’s got lots of friends here.’
Despite fatigue, they find themselves walking faster, thoughts of food and comfortable beds urging them on. Even so, progress is slow, the suns circling past the horizon, taking warmth and colour with them.
By the time they arrive, the gates are a square of black, blotting out the scant stars behind.
‘Now what?’ asks Duet.
‘We could knock.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Me?’
‘You’re the one with the contacts.’
‘Okay then …’ The gates seem much larger close up. Vesper swallows. The kid’s head pushes against her dangling palm. ‘Okay then.’
Her foot moves forward, hesitant.
An ominous creak comes from the gates and a crack of pale light appears between them.
The silhouette of a man appears in the light, small, almost ridiculous in comparison to the great gates. He scurries forward to meet them.
Vesper raises a hand in greeting. ‘Hello.’
Her hand is taken and subjected to a rigorous shaking. ‘Hello, my friend, and welcome to Verdigris. There is much to discuss but little time. Is that not always the way?’
‘Er … who are you?’
‘Introductions will come soon, I promise, but now we must go. This way.’
He leads Vesper by the hand, and Duet and the kid follow. They pass through the gates, which clank shut behind them.
A uniformed Usurperkin sweats by a metal wheel, muscles bulging as she turns the old mechanism tight. Her name is Jo-lee and she is second generation, not as huge as her father but far larger than her untainted grandparents.
The man looks like a child next to her. ‘Thank you, dear lady,’ he whispers, ‘much appreciated.’ She nods as he slips something small and flat into her back pocket. ‘We were never here.’
He pulls Vesper along, navigating dingy streets with the confidence of a local. ‘Not far now.’
Lonely moans sound from time to time. Vesper’s instinctive move towards them is checked by the others. ‘Nothing you can do for those ones,’ whispers the man. ‘Best to keep your distance if you don’t want to go the same way.’
Vesper frowns but allows herself to be led on.
A door opens in the darkness and the man darts through. Vesper, Duet and the kid follow, the door closing quickly behind them.
They find themselves in a room, small and packed with boxes. The smell of salt and meat issues from nearby. A single lamp sways, its light playing over the room’s other occupant, picking out a pair of disinterested eyes and a lean purple chest.
Duet puts her hand to her sword.
Quickly, the smaller man steps between them with raised arms and an easy smile. ‘So, here we are. A place to rest your heads. Not exactly home, eh? But, as my father says, the beggar cannot be the chooser.’
Vesper blinks. ‘I, ah, thank you?’
‘No thanks are necessary. You are a woman in need of a friend, and I am happy to be that friend.’
‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Ez.’
‘We call him Little Ez.’ Adds the purple-skinned man.
‘Why?’
‘Ah, it is not as you’d think. The name is ironic, given to me on account of my huge,’ his grin widens, and he waggles his eyebrows, ‘blessing.’
Vesper stares.
Little Ez only grins the wider. ‘My associate here is called Bruise. No irony there, eh?’ He chuckles as the half-breed rolls his eyes. ‘I see you have travelled a long way. You are tired, yes? Of course you are. Tired and hungry. Little Ez will bring you food and lay out the finest beds for you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It is nothing, the least we can do for such honoured guests.’
Duet takes in the low ceiling, the grubby crates. ‘Who are we hiding from?’
‘A good question. Clearly there is no pulling the tent over your eyes! Let us be honest with each other. Little Ez sees the sword you carry. Surely such a thing can only have come from the Shining City? They say it is alive. They say it is one of The Seven. Some call it the Malice.’
Duet settles into a ready stance. Only Bruise seems to notice, a muscle twitching in his hand. The kid sneezes.
‘But,’ says Vesper, ‘I thought Verdigris was friendly. I thought it stood against infernals.’
‘You are a good-hearted girl. I see that. It is beautiful. Like a … like a rare flower. Don’t you agree, Bruise?’ The half-breed shrugs. ‘Ignore him, he’s a savage with no eye for the sweeter things in life. Where was I? Ah yes, like a flower … But my friend, I have to warn you, flowers are delicate things, easily stepped on if you see what I mean. Verdigris will not accept infernal rule but it still needs to survive. We trade with New Horizon in the south and the First’s nomads in the north. Not directly, you understand, but we all know where the goods come from. They have Demon fingerprints all over them. A sad fact but there are not many choices, and this city, for all its friendliness, needs to eat.’
‘Then why are you helping us?’
‘Another good question! And one I am glad you are asking. My associate and I will help you out of loyalty to the mighty Empire of the Winged Eye. We hear the Empire rewards loyalty most generously, true?’
Vesper’s agreement is hurried.
‘Enough to not regret not going to the First?’
‘We don’t have much with us,’ begins Vesper, wincing as Little Ez’s expression sours. ‘But we’ll see to it that you’re richly rewarded.’
‘How richly?’
‘What about your own island?’
‘Ah, a noble offer. But islands are worth nothing unless they are yours to give.’
‘Not mine. The Seven’s. If you help us,’ she licks her lips. ‘We’ll give you Sonorous.’
Little Ez bows. ‘The Seven are indeed generous. We accept their gracious offer. One thing though. How do I know I can trust you?’
Duet’s answer is automatic. ‘It’s a crime to lie in the presence of The Seven.’
They pause, all eyes moving to the sword.
Little Ez smiles weakly. ‘Of course, of course. Then it is settled.’ He shakes Vesper’s hand again. ‘I suggest you both rest while you can. We will return with food shortly. Nobody should disturb you here but if they do … best to kill first and save the questions for later!’