He found a medium-sized factory, three floors, still intact and in decent condition, albeit weathered from storms. It smelled like it had been a shoe factory, but most of its interior had already been gutted. It would do.
Emery started the trek back to Rottingdean. He had a great deal of paper to buy.
Emery slept little, thanks to a friendly version of insomnia that often let him choose when he did and did not suffer from it. He spent most of the night carefully Folding papers large and small, both for his personal use and in preparation for the showdown at the factory. His calloused fingers worked four-pointed stars, links for a shield chain and a snaring chain, and anything else his mind could conjure. As for the factory . . . he could only hope Juliet managed to keep up her end of the plan and had successfully driven Saraj to Saltdean. If she didn’t, it would all be for naught.
In the morning Emery went to a back alley by a condemned tackle shop near the factory, the place he had designated as the rendezvous point. Two automobiles pulled in shortly after nine, carrying Mg. Cantrell and several police officers. Juliet, a Smelter, was roughly the same age as Emery and had joined Criminal Affairs two years ago after a successful—albeit short—career as a deputy inspector in Nottingham. A pretty woman and tall, she walked with a military-type stride and a chronic stiffness to her shoulders. Like Patrice, she wore her dark hair pulled into a tight bun, which emphasized her square jaw. Four policemen whose gait and posture implied a background in the military accompanied her.
“I’d say you’re looking well, Emery,” she said as she approached, hands clasped behind her back, “but I’m afraid you aren’t. Poor sleep? Perhaps it’s the lighting.”
She glanced up at the overcast sky.
Emery didn’t bother with small talk. He liked Juliet well enough, but it felt like a waste of breath. “Is he coming?”
“Everything seems to be on schedule,” she said, walking up the road. The policemen followed in their auto at a crawling pace. “We’ll need to set up quickly, be prepared. Saraj Prendi doesn’t run a tight ship.”
“I’ve made preparations. An old shoe factory, up this way.” Emery gestured. From within his coat—the sage-green one—he pulled free a shield chain and offered it to her.
Juliet shook her head and held up a hand; the automobile stopped behind them. “Thank you, but it’s unnecessary,” she said, circling back to the trunk of the auto. Emery followed her. She opened a latch and, from a thick cardboard box, pulled free a steel-cast chain, the links forming a wide band. “Wear this,” she said. “It won’t crumble if it gets wet.”
Emery didn’t complain, merely nodded and took the new shield chain from the Smelter. It weighed far more than its paper cousin, but Juliet was right—it was much more durable. Folding had its limits in defensive spells. Offensive, as well. But every material had its strengths and weaknesses. Emery had internalized that truth during his own apprenticeship, which he had completed nine years ago.
“The others are stationed in Brighton,” Juliet said, digging through a jacket pocket to find an address. “Send a bird to them, if you will. They’re the only warning we’ll get when Saraj arrives.”
Emery accepted the address, and Juliet pulled a lightweight, gray cardstock from the back of the automobile, perfect for camouflaging against the dreary sky. Emery Folded it carefully, forming a sturdy songbird with instructions to return upon its release, just as a true bird would.
“Juliet.”
“Hmm?”
Emery weighed the songbird in his palm. “Did they find the shed? Lira?”
The Smelter frowned. “Alfred says the local police found the sheds, even the broken mirror, but not her. Not yet.”
The words bothered him, but not the way he’d expected. He didn’t feel that familiar jab in his chest or the drip of anxiety. He felt a horsefly biting at him. He brushed it off—Lira was the least of his worries right now.
“Breathe,” Emery murmured to the songbird, and the small creature awoke in his hands. He whispered its mission, and the bird flew up from his hands, catching the wind westward toward Brighton.
Juliet sighed. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”
“It won’t,” Emery said. “Not yet.”
She scoffed. “Can you be so sure?”
“Folders always are,” he replied, turning from the auto. “Let me show you the factory. Then we’ll station your men.”
Time sped forward the moment the paper bird returned.
Attuned to Emery, it found him where he hid behind the tackle shop with Juliet, flapping its now crinkled wings to land in his palm. It looked weathered and a little beaten, but still functional.
“Cease,” Emery said, and he turned the bird over. A short message was written in tiny inked words on the underside of the right wing: Staged chase, heading toward Saltdean. S may be low on blood. Cannot teleport.
Saraj Prendi was headed straight for them.
Emery passed the bird to Juliet, who pressed her lips into a thin line. “If the boys don’t get him here, my mines will. I’ve blocked any escape to the coast and farther inland, and they’re rigged only to blow when they sense his blood. After that . . . I hope your tricks are foolproof, Emery Thane.”
“If not,” he replied, “then I am a fool.”
It didn’t take long for Saraj to announce himself—a paper bird could only travel so much faster than a man. Gunshots echoed through the still, stale air of Saltdean. Not Saraj’s guns, but those belonging to the men who chased him. Perhaps they were trying to make killing shots, or the blasts could be a warning.
An explosion followed, close enough that Emery could hear sediment bouncing off the tackle shop—one of Juliet’s mines, forcing Saraj toward the factory and away from the coast.
Juliet actually smiled, her eyes narrowing. “See you there,” she said. She leapt out from behind the tackle shop, pulling from her jacket several farthing-sized bronze discs, which she threw out with the command, “Target!” The discs spun wildly in midair and shot forward, buzzing with the movement. Juliet ran after them.
Emery counted to eight before running the opposite way, looping around a hill toward the factory. A gust of wind pushed hair into his eyes, and then the breeze filled with dark, red smoke just before it died.
Emery staggered to a stop, his shoes skidding against the incline. Not ten feet before him stood Saraj Prendi, grinning with too-white teeth. So he did have enough blood to teleport.
Saraj was a lithe man in his late thirties, though perhaps he was older, for his dark skin hid what Emery normally used as signs of aging. He stood three inches taller than Emery, with narrow shoulders and long, thin arms. His narrow head came to a sharp point at the chin, and thick curls of hair stuck out unfashionably above either ear. Gold studs shimmered in his earlobes despite the lack of sun. He wore a workman’s clothes in the English style, girded about with leathers. Like Lira, he had a belt equipped with vials of cold blood, several of them empty. Only the heavens knew who had perished to fill his stock.
“Emery Thane,” he said in a smooth voice, higher than what one might have expected. “The peak of health, and yet still I move faster. Curious. I’d hoped we would run into each other, you and I. You are always the wall between me and my favorite quarries.”
Emery offered a mock bow, careful to keep his eyes on the Excisioner. “I’ll offer the first dance, but I want to know something. Why the paper mill? Why any of this? Grath wanted Ceony alive, so what’s your ploy?”
Saraj grinned. “It’s a dull game, kagaz,” he said, using the Hindi word for paper. “Grath has been a real—what’s the word? Dog. Mongrel, ever since your old pet went cold. Sniffing at doors for bones. I wanted to move on, but I couldn’t do that with Little Red anchoring Grath in England, hmm?”
Emery’s hand flew to his right coat pocket and grabbed a fistful of Folded throwing stars, which he threw toward Saraj in a wide spray. The Excisioner dodged, but not before a gunshot echoed between them and a wide gash open
ed on Saraj’s bare shoulder.
Shadows danced in Saraj’s dark eyes as Juliet and another policeman charged up the hill toward them, the latter reloading his gun. Grinning at Emery, Saraj pranced backward and ran for cover in the factory, breaking through an already cracked window to do so.
“Do not let him leave,” Juliet said breathlessly to her uniformed companion. “Station yourself and Smith at the back exits.” Then she shouted, “The rest with me!”
Emery’s pulse raced, filling him with a sick sort of energy that had him sprinting after Juliet, his coat fanning out like a cape behind him. The chain around his torso clinked like narrow bells, offering him some reassurance. Still, now more than ever, he needed his guard up.
He went through the front door after the others and made sure to lock it. Saraj wouldn’t leave this building alive, save for in chains. He hated to think of what would happen if England lost yet another Folder. He really should start charging for these things.
Saraj hadn’t gone far; he stood at the opposite end of a large, open room with a high ceiling and stained windows, a few of them chipped or broken. A handful of bent gears and shredded cables littered the floor, left behind when the factory had been gutted. Old barrels lined the walls alongside empty crates. Other than the door behind Emery, there were two exits in the room, both near Saraj. One led into a long hallway that ended in a set of stairs; the other opened into another, smaller room with two doors. Juliet had soldered shut the right-hand door that led outside. The second door opened onto a hallway leading to storage and supply rooms.
If Saraj chose the first door, the left door, he would be ultimately cornering himself. If he chose the right . . . Emery prayed he would choose the right.
But he didn’t run. He stood in a wide-legged stance, rolling a vial of blood back and forth in his already crimson-stained hand. His other hand hovered near a golden pistol at his hip.
Juliet moved first, waving her hand and shouting, “Attract!”
The chain around Emery’s torso shifted as though drawn to Juliet, but the spell hadn’t been aimed at him. Saraj’s pistol leapt from its holster as though magnetized—it had been magnetized—and flew from his reach before he could snatch it back, sailing between the three policemen who’d entered the room with Juliet and snapping into place on a metallic belt around the Smelter’s hips. Another clamor of metal on metal drew Emery’s eyes to a small knife that had also made the journey to her belt. Emery hadn’t even seen the blade leave Saraj’s person.
Unfortunately, the vials of blood—the Excisioner’s strongest ammo—were made of glass.
Juliet pulled her own gun: a sleek revolver with an ivory handle that would make Ceony croon with jealousy. “All our firearms are enchanted, Prendi,” she said, louder than necessary. Her voice carried authority. “They won’t miss their targets. Surrender now.”
Saraj only smiled. Emery didn’t see him uncork the vial, but he flung out his hand, using the same aerial push Lira had favored in combat.
Juliet’s chain tightened around her torso. A free strand of hair from her bun fluttered as though caught in the wind, but the rest of her remained unscathed.
“How clever,” Saraj said, his words lightly accented. “I had hoped you’d offer a challenge.”
“Fire!” Juliet shouted.
Saraj darted to the right, but not toward the exit. Gunfire thundered through the large room. Splashes of blood flew from Saraj’s vials, leaving small puddles on the floor that rose up like rooted ghosts. The bullets changed course for them, missing Saraj.
He used his own blood, then. The enchanted bullets couldn’t detect the difference. Clever.
Saraj rounded the room as policemen fired, heading toward Emery—dangerously close to the window through which he had entered. Emery darted forward to meet him, pulling a flash star from his coat—paper Folded to look like the head of an intricate pinwheel. He tossed it forward and shouted, “Flash!”
Bright, white light pulsed out of the star’s center, so blinding that even Emery, its caster, saw dark spots before his eyes. Saraj stumbled, blinking rapidly.
He regained his balance quickly and lunged toward Emery, making Emery’s shield chain clamp around his chest. Then Saraj moved again, but this time he rolled to the side and shoved two of the barrels lining the room, one with each hand. The first collided with Juliet. The second slammed into Emery like an automobile at full speed.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs and sent sharp pain coursing through his ribs. Emery’s feet left the floor and he sailed backward until he collided with the factory wall, shoulder first.
He heard a snap and hit the floor. The pain exploded soon after.
His lungs found air and he gasped as hot agony coursed through his collar, up the right side of his neck, and down his right arm, pulsing and unrelenting, twisting like a drill. He rolled onto his left shoulder to relieve some of the pressure. His collarbone jutted at a sad angle, but it hadn’t broken the skin. A relief—leaving a mess of his blood for Saraj was as good as letting the Excisioner touch his skin.
He shook his head and pushed himself upright with his left arm, grinding his teeth as the break shifted. Juliet picked herself up off the floor, too. The policemen had been busy while they were incapacitated, thankfully. Two of them had outmaneuvered Saraj’s blood clones and landed their bullets, and blood flowed steadily from Saraj’s right hip and right pectoral. The Excisioner had covered the latter wound with one hand and was quietly chanting. When he dropped his arm, the hole had vanished. A Healing spell, and well timed.
Before the others could reload their pistols, Saraj lashed out at the nearest policeman and grabbed him by the throat, turning him about to use him as a shield.
No, Emery had been mistaken. Saraj snapped the man’s neck while the others looked on, helpless, and let him drop to the floor in a heap.
Saraj charged for Juliet, pulling from his pocket not a vial of blood, but of teeth.
Lifting himself onto his knees, Emery pulled free his snaring chain from his frock and swept it outward with the command, “Snare!” The tip of the chain snagged Saraj’s ankle just before he met—touched—the Smelter. The enchanted yellow teeth flew by Juliet and embedded themselves in the opposite wall like tiny bullets.
Emery leapt to his feet—a knifelike pain blazing through his collar—and jerked back his arm. Saraj fell onto one knee, but kicked his leg hard enough to tear the chain. The spell fell to the ground, lifeless.
Saraj danced backward as Juliet finished reloading her gun. He pushed another barrel into one of the two remaining police officers. The man collapsed against the far wall, unmoving.
Emery reached for his Burst spell as Saraj, chanting, returned to the man with the broken neck and plunged his hand into his chest, pulling out his heart.
Emery ran forward and shouted, “Don’t let him use it!”
Juliet switched her aim and fired, piercing the center of the heart with her bullet, ruining it. Saraj cursed and dropped it. The bullet had embedded into his palm, mixing the Excisioner’s blood with that of the fallen policeman.
Saraj’s good hand ran over the lips of his vials, counting corks. He was running low on ammunition—they all knew it—but with Juliet’s finger on the trigger, he had no time to collect from the policeman’s body. Saraj laughed, a high-pitched, maniacal sound. He uttered a few words, and the blood within the dead man’s body began to boil, filling the room with acrid steam. Saraj darted backward, taking the right exit just as Juliet fired her gun. Her bullet embedded into the wall, just missing the Excisioner. The bullets had been enchanted to hit their targets, but they couldn’t bend around corners.
The last policeman ran after Saraj, both hands on his gun, and Juliet followed at his heels. Holding up his right arm with his left, Emery chased after them, urging his body to fly, biting his tongue against the searing grinding in his collarbone. His eyes burned as he passed through the red steam, holding his breath.
Emery scr
ambled through the smaller room with the outside-leading door, noting a bloodied handprint on the wall. At the end of the hallway he caught up with Juliet, who was chasing Saraj into the storage rooms.
Red spotted the long sheet of paper lying on the floor and shoes had crinkled it, but it would still work. Emery ran over to it, then beckoned it upward with a single command: “Connect.”
Juliet and the policeman both leveled their guns at Saraj, who was still cackling, a blood vial in his hand.
“You should know no wall can hold me,” he said with glee. “Next time we’ll play on my board, yes?”
He threw down the vial, its cold contents splattering over the floor. It took only a second for Saraj’s face to fall. He had tried to teleport, but the blood didn’t heed him.
Wide-eyed, he lunged for a window and punched it, only to withdraw bloody knuckles. The window wasn’t made of glass. It didn’t exist, save as an illusion. Saraj’s fist had collided with the cement wall of the room—the wall behind the paper illusion masking the inside of the giant blind box that Emery had just sealed behind them.
Saraj’s magic wouldn’t work in here, but the firearms would.
“Hands up before I blow them off,” Juliet spat.
Saraj grinned. The sound of the revolver firing startled Emery; Juliet had shot Saraj in the calf.
The Excisioner raised his hands and dropped to his knees, seemingly unfazed by pain. “Well played,” he wheezed. He started chanting as the policeman came forward with cuffs. No, not chanting, singing. Emery picked out the lyrics.
In and out the Eagle
That’s the way the money goes
Pop! Goes the weasel . . .
Emery crouched, not wanting to lean against the unsupported paper wall behind him, and rested his right elbow in his hand. A fitting song, given the box.
“Send for the others,” Juliet said to the policeman. “We’ll haul him to London.”
The Glass Magician Page 18