A Mage's Gambit: New York Falling (A Malachi English book)

by Andy Hyland

Sitri himself could no longer fit on the new throne, even if he had a mind to sit down. He was a ragged beast now, twice the size of anyone or anything else in the room, prowling on all fours, massive muscular arms stamping their fists onto the floor. Shaggy hair fell from the once-smooth skull and cascaded down his back.

  ‘Oh,’ I muttered, ‘he’s really lost it this time.’

  ‘You think?’ squeaked Becky. ‘Ever seen him like this before?’

  ‘Just the once. It didn’t end well. You know, I’m starting to have second thoughts about this part of the plan.’

  ‘Great. Glad to hear you’ve finally seen sense. Turn the hell round and start marching.’

  Too late. The scout had crept into the middle of the floor. ‘My Lord,’ he shouted twice, eventually getting Sitri’s attention. ‘The Lord Keeper desires an audience.’

  Sitri stopped and looked intently in our direction. ‘The Lord Keeper? I had no news of this. In fact, all the news that has come this way would suggest that the Lord Keeper is…unlikely to be present at this court.’

  Our cover blown, I reached up and pulled the hood back. There were enough in the room who knew my face to send an excited ripple round the crowd. There’s nothing like seeing a human ripped to shreds to take your mind off the collapse of your society and your own probably impending doom.

  It could have gone the other way completely, which was a risk, but seeing me actually calmed Sitri down. Instead of raging, he sat back on his haunches and looked at us quizzically. ‘Now,’ he said slowly, ‘would be a very good time to tell me that you’ve come to bring me Edwin Monk’s head.’

  I cleared my throat. ‘Sadly not, my Lord Sitri. But I do bring news of great import and great hope to you. In the interest of…security, given the recent violence done to your great palace, I would suggest that we speak privately of the matter.’

  ‘Liar! Fool!’ cried one suddenly over-excited imp crouching to my left – perhaps the day’s events had been too much for him – and he launched himself straight at us. I raised the katana and he flew onto it, sliding right up to the hilt. The eyes registered shock, and then nothing. I flicked the sword and sent him sprawling to the ground. That should put paid to anyone else trying any heroics to impress their master, at least for the time being.

  Sitri himself ignored the entire incident. I could almost see his mind whirring away in his head, trying to figure out exactly what I was up to. Eventually curiosity got the better of him. He was big and ugly enough not to have too much to fear from me anyway, even with my demon-slaying war-sword, which I was getting very attached to, very quickly. ‘Leave us,’ he growled, and nobody had to be told twice. The room emptied in seconds. I cast my senses wide, checking for any eavesdroppers, but there was nobody close now except the three of us.

  ‘I want Edwin Monk’s head as much as you do,’ I began, ‘and I’m going to get it for you. To do that I need to get close enough to him to bring out the big guns. He’s not heading up an army, only a small group. If I had forty, fifty warriors I’d have enough of a distraction to let me do what I need.’

  ‘And you want me to provide these warriors? You think I don’t have enough problems of my own? That I can send a detachment like that away on a whim?’

  ‘If we don’t work together on this, if you don’t help me, then Monk completes the bridge, the Aleph take Manhattan, and you and your operations will be completely crushed.’

  ‘What is that to me? Such things happen. We will survive. Thrive.’

  ‘The way I see it,’ I said slowly, ‘this will be the second time you’ve lost everything and had your ass handed to you. You really think you can come back from that and lead anyone, anywhere, ever again?’

  There was a sharp intake of breath from Becky. I’d either got us what we needed, or killed us both. Sitri’s face contorted with rage. Snot and steam flew from his snout, and spittle from his jaws as he covered the distance between us in one leap, driving me back against the wall. His horns rammed the stonework either side of my head, and the reeking breath from his panting throat spewed into my mouth. He was damn lucky I didn’t throw up over the both of us. That would have really tipped things over the edge.

  His eyes weighed me up from a couple of inches away, staring deep into mine. Deciding between the possibility of long term victory – slim – and the short term certainty of crushing the life out of me right here, right now.

  But Sitri’s always been a big-picture player. He couldn’t have got to where he’d been twice now, without being able to control his less important appetites. The horns pulled away, dragging more rubble from the walls and sending it spilling to the floor. He paced to the centre of the room and stood with his head lowered for a while, before raising himself to his full height and staring down at us.

  ‘These warriors I give you. Will they survive?’

  ‘No. Is that a problem? Crush Monk and everyone that’s fled will come crawling back. Your investment will pay off many times over. Or we fail and you lose everything anyway.’

  He pointed at me. ‘Edwin Monk’s head. Or you will wish your mother had shat you down a sewer when you were born.’

  ‘Delightful. Thanks for your help.’

  Chapter twenty-five

  It didn’t take long for Sitri to round up the little gang I was after. In the end, fifty warriors was a step too far, given the day’s events, and forty-five hellspawn stood in ranks outside the palace. Sitri made his way along like a sergeant major, giving each one an earful. No doubt it was all threats as to what would happen if they failed him – I couldn’t imagine him being one of life’s great motivational speakers.

  Once he’d finished, he strolled over, his form now back to the sleek red demon of myth, still tall and powerful enough to be extremely disconcerting as he loomed over me. ‘They’re yours, for the time being. I have mentioned the importance of ensuring that you get to Monk alive. Some seem…less than enthusiastic about taking their orders from a human, so if I were you I’d play my cards very, very carefully.’ He clapped his hands and smiled. ‘But it’s done, and you’d better be on your way. You know where you’re going, right?’

  The blast had hit the palace coming from Earth and heading deep into the Fades. ‘That way,’ I suggested, nodding through the trail of destruction. ‘I’m guessing.’

  Sitri spat on the ground. ‘If you wander, it’ll take you forever. They’ll be near the center, but that’s a wide area to cover and time is pressing.’ He looked over the troops. ‘Too bad that last scout is…unavailable. He could have done the job. No matter. Head through in that direction and you’ll come to Old Grikk’s hut on the edge of the city. He can take certain steps to clarify things for you. There will be a price of course, and should you not wish to pay then you can wander the Fades at will for decades if you wish.’

  ‘I get it,’ I said. ‘Give him what he wants or we’ll never get there.’

  Sitri flashed a smile. ‘Quite so. Bring me that head, Malachi English. Use your sword. Use your bare hands. Blow the Fades wide apart if you have to. But bring me that head, or I’ll have yours.’

  He wasn’t the type to go for a goodbye hug then. I tapped the katana against the ground, letting the sound ring across the emptiness, to remind the forty-five demons who’d be following me what they were dealing with. Sitri’s threats would only go so far once he was out of sight and we were heading into a war zone. ‘Let’s move out,’ I shouted, and led the way.

  We trudged through the palace and out the other side of the great hole. The damage continued to the buildings and our path was clear until we reached the shanty town tents and huts. When the city gave way to the desert it would be guesswork unless we got some other plan in place.

  ‘Old Grikk’ I said to the closest demon. ‘Where?’ He raised a clawed hand and pointed past my hand to a long low tent on the very edge of the others, the last trace of civilization before the red dust took over. ‘I’ll take one of you with me,’ I told him. ‘In case Grikk gets a bit test
y and doesn’t believe that we’re here with Sitri’s consent.’

  The demon’s face stiffened, and he turned to the smallest of his companions, waving him forward. ‘No point wasting the best of us,’ he informed me. ‘Harkk will go with you.’

  ‘So will I,’ said Becky.

  ‘No,’ the demon said. ‘He won’t tolerate more than two at a time. Harkk will go. Harkk will be necessary.’

  Harkk nodded warily and waited for me to take the lead. There was no entrance as such to Grikk’s tent, no obvious way in, so I lifted up the edge of the canvas and ducked underneath, holding it up for Harkk to follow. Candles lined the interior in neat rows. There was no furniture except for a large brazier in the very centre, flames licking low over hot coals, and a couple of crates, the wood black and beaten. A pungent smell of spice overwhelmed the acrid smell of the Fades. As far as demonic hovels go, this one wasn’t half bad. The only occupant was a figure on the far side of the brazier, draped in black rags and sitting cross-legged, rocking slowly back and forth.

  ‘Grikk?’ I asked. ‘Old Grikk? I’ve come from Sitri. Need your help with something.’

  ‘Old Grikk knows what you want, what you need, and Old Grikk is prepared to aid you,’ the figure called out in a dry, rasping voice. ‘But there’s a payment and a price for what you need. Will you pay, both of you? Will you pay the price and meet the cost?’

  Harkk took a small bag from his belt and tossed it at the figure. ‘This should be adequate.’ Then he added in a low voice, ‘I’d better get that back on expenses.’

  Old Grikk rose and grabbed the bag, quicker than you’d think for an old shaman out on the fringes. He weighed it thoughtfully. ‘It will do. It will suffice. The payment is made.’ He shuffled up to me. ‘But will you now meet the cost?’

  Grikk was a head shorter than me, with a long flat face. Small close-set black eyes were set over a non-existent nose. From the scarring, something had once sat in the centre of his face, but now only ragged holes remained. A solitary hooked tooth appeared as he smiled. ‘We did pay,’ I told him. ‘You’ll get nothing more from us. If there’s a problem with that, I can go and get Sitri and you can haggle with him. You want that?’

  ‘Tsk tsk. Sitri cannot pay this price. Only you. And him,’ he motioned dismissively at Hrakk. ‘But for you, an interesting choice. Which will it be?’ He pointed with a stubby finger at my eyes in turn. ‘This one, or this one?’

  I didn’t like where this was heading. ‘I’m going to need an explanation, right now.’ I drew my robe away from the katana on my waist and let him have a good look.

  He shrugged. ‘I’m not threatening you, boy. I’m telling you what you need to do. ‘If you want to guide your pack, if you need to see the way, then you will need to be adjusted. Amended. Re-tooled. Pick any term you wish, it doesn’t matter to me. Oh, I could make the adjustment to your colleague here, but will he go all the way with you? If he falls, then you’re back where you started, but miles from help. One of the others? You will face the same problem. But you, if you accept what needs to be done, if you embrace the change, then you will be the guide. And if you fall, then all will fall with you, but that would be the case anyway, would it not? Now, I will ask again,’ and he pointed from one eye to the other, letting his finger rest on my cheek. ‘This one or this one? Left or right?’

  Hell of a choice to make. ‘Fine,’ I said, ‘do whatever you need to do to the left one.’

  ‘Finally you decide. Very well.’ He turned to Harkk. ‘You. Kneel. Here, beside him. And you kneel too,’ he said to me. ‘Prepare yourself. Breathe deeply.’ An awful grin crept across his face and he leaned in close. ‘If you have a “happy place” you like to go to, I’d start heading there right now.’

  ‘How long is this going to take?’ I asked as he opened one of the crates and drew out a black pot.

  ‘As long as it takes. You can’t go anywhere until I’m done, so I suggest you stay quiet and let me work.’ His stubby but nimble fingers sprinkled first a black powder into the pot, then a red one, and finally he poured in a pale green solution. ‘Piss,’ he informed us. ‘The only thing I use that I’m guaranteed an inexhaustible supply of.’ Then he giggled at the looks on our faces.

  The pot went on the brazier, sitting directly on the coals. Within a few minutes the bubbling started. Grikk stood over it and wafted the smell towards the black gaping tears in his face that served for a nose. I don’t know why he had to be so close – the reek was terrible, a smell so bad that it crawled down your throat and you could practically taste it. Eventually satisfied, he moved back over to where Harkk knelt. ‘Ready?’

  Harkk swallowed hard, and nodded.

  With a speed and dexterity that came out of nowhere, Grikk’s hand flew forward in a pinching movement, and plucked out Harkk’s eye. It gave way with a small sucking pop as it left the security of his skull, dragging the optic nerves along with it until, with a sickening tug and a snap that sent Harkk’s head rocking backwards, they tore. ‘There now,’ said Grikk, ambling back towards the pot and chucking the eye in, nerves and all. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  I don’t as a rule admire demons, but how Harkk got through that without screaming I will never know. He simply held his hands over the empty socket and rocked back and forth. ‘I would leave now,’ he said eventually. Grikk nodded and waved him away. ‘You bastard,’ Harkk muttered to me as he left. ‘You bastard.’

  ‘What now?’ I asked as Grikk continued his watch over the pot, prodding, poking and stirring as he saw fit. ‘My eye isn’t going in there as well is it?’

  He looked over and smiled warmly. ‘No. No fear of that. Your eye will not go in the pot. I promise.’

  That was a relief. I sat a bit easier and felt the tension go out of me for the first time since Harkk had made his payment. Something was going to happen to me, to my left eye, and I had a feeling it wasn’t exactly going to be painless, but anything beats having your eye tossed into a pot of boiling piss.

  When Grikk was satisfied that all was well with the pot, he reached in and gently picked up the eye. It was slightly larger than a human eye, I’d guess, but not by much, and was a faded yellow instead of bright white. The iris, still contracting and expanding around the black slitted pupil, was orange streaked with red. He carried it in the palm of his hand over to where I knelt. ‘This is the tricky bit,’ he said. ‘There will be some discomfort.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ I said. ‘Let’s get this over with. What do you do? Squeeze his eyeball open and let all the juice run into mine?’

  Grikk looked shocked. ‘What would be the point of that? If the eyeball were damaged, you wouldn’t be able to see out of it.’

  His hand moved in a blur before I could even think about flinching. Then I got to experience the bizarre change of perspective when your eyeball is pulled from its socket and twisted, staying attached long enough to send back to your brain a really clear picture of the rest of your face and the black, black socket the eye just left. I felt the optic nerves tear. I felt the waves of agony crash onto and over me again and again and again. And I have no doubt whatsoever that Harkk was outside smiling as he heard my screams.

  Sometime later, consciousness came knocking. I told it to sod off. I wanted no part of it. But an insistent and nagging prodding at my shoulder wasn’t giving up and leaving, so I opened my eyes. Grikk was at my shoulder displaying the bedside manner of doctor who urgently wants to get to the golf course but needs to sign off on one particularly troublesome patient first. ‘Get up,’ he said, standing and giving me a kick in the ribs. ‘How are you going to know if it’s worked, if you don’t get up? Move, you fool.’

  I stumbled to my feet, blinking hard. My vision was blurred and something was wrong – my balance was shot to pieces and my legs refused to obey any instructions coming down to them from my brain.

  ‘Easy, easy, I’ve got you,’ said Becky, putting my arm over her shoulder, which was enough to let me stand upright, give or take a
bit of swaying. ‘What did he do to you? Last time I heard screaming like that it was…well let’s not go into that. Come on, take your hand away from your face let me look.’ She prised it away – I didn’t have the strength in me to resist for too long. ‘Oh shit, Malachi. What have you done?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything’, I told her. Grikk was sitting back by his brazier, much as he’d been when we’d first entered. ‘What did he do, that’s the question.’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ said Becky, pulling a small makeup compact from her hip pocket. ‘What? You think because I kick ass harder than you, I don’t care about how I look? Come on, brace yourself.’ She flipped it open and held the mirror up. ‘If you’re going to vomit, don’t do it over my boots.’

  It took me a few seconds to grasp what I was seeing. Although at no point in my life had I ever been considered model material – I blame it on the lack of a hipster beard – I’d always thought of myself as acceptable on the face front. Not anymore. The right side of my face was much as it had always been, give or take some bruising that I’d picked up from somewhere. But my left side was grotesque. Harkk’s orange-red eye stared out from my socket. It was slightly too large for the cavity, so Grikk had apparently forced it in and hoped for the best, creating an unsightly bulge, as if it might explode at any time. My cheek and nose were swollen and tender - apparently the whole insert-demon-eyeball process is pretty tough on the surrounding area.

  ‘You are welcome,’ said Grikk, his eyes closed and a contented smile on his face. ‘Here – a souvenir – something to show your grandchildren, or keep in a jar. Pickle it.’ He tossed me a small velvet bag. I caught it in my hands. Round. Squashy.

  ‘Oh you’re kidding,’ Becky said, taking it carefully and peeping inside. ‘No, he’s not. It’s your bloody eyeball. Still got the nerves on it.’ She handed it back. ‘Best you hang onto that. I don’t want to be the one that forgets that it’s in a pocket and then sits down. I’ll leave that to you.’