“You use that to find your really tiny keys do you?” Tim asks.
Cerbo doesn’t answer, just leans in closely, eye scrunched over the loupe, flashlight shining. “There are markings here, variations in the consistency and shade of the ink. Did you see?”
“No.”
“It’s telling us something. All books do. Morrigan hid this and guarded it, what if it’s something that we need? What if it’s the key to our fight against the Stirrers?” Cerbo peers even closer at the book, his nose almost touching the paper. He sniffs, I half expect him to lick the damn thing.
But he doesn’t. Instead he jerks his head back, and almost drops the notebook onto the desk. “We need to destroy it. Now.”
“What?”
“The markings, look at them.” He hands me the book and the loupe. The page comes into focus.
It’s like falling into a storm of wings. So many of them. But they’re not crows. They’re sparrows like the ones Morrigan used to have tattooed on his back and arms, like the ones that used to come alive as inklings. And they’re moving.
For a brief instant I can feel Morrigan too. He’s everywhere in this book.
This is no weapon, certainly nothing we can use. But the threat implicit in it is a force that clenches around my heart. It’s like seeing Morrigan again, like having him stand directly in front of me. Anger and terror battle it out inside me. I can’t suppress a shudder.
I drop the book, but Lissa catches it before it hits the ground. She reaches out her free hand and clicks at me, and I pass her the loupe.
“Just tell me what’s in it,” Tim says.
“Sparrows, lots and lots of sparrows,” Lissa says. “And they’re in motion.”
“Yeah, we better destroy this,” I say. “It’s wrong, the book is wrong.”
Cerbo nods. He feels about in his pockets then stops. “Anyone have any matches?”
Tim snorts. There’s the click of his Zippo lighter.
Lissa steps back away from the flame. “Is this wise? I can understand the instinctual reaction is to get rid of it. But what if Morrigan wants you to do that? The book was hidden. Who else but you would have found it? Who else could have broken the lock that kept it hidden?”
“Morrigan never expected to die,” I say. “This thing was for his eyes only. I refuse to believe that he planned beyond his own death.”
Tim nods. “The guy couldn’t imagine his death, only those of other people.” He reaches forward with the lighter. “But just in case…We don’t need any more complications. Not now.”
Cerbo grabs the Moleskine and stands next to Tim.
Everyone looks at me.
Ultimately, this is my call. And Tim’s right, we need complications like a hole in the head. “Do it,” I say.
The finger of flame runs over the book and it catches at once. The smoke smells of Morrigan’s cologne, some expensive Italian stuff he used to have imported. It’s almost as if he has walked into the room.
And the book screams.
A dark shape flies from the smoke. A sparrow, broken free from the pages. Another follows it.
“Get them,” Cerbo says, dropping the flaming notebook onto the desk, and smacking out the flames with his palm.
Tim and I collide chasing after the bird, a solid head bashing. I’m shaking the stars from my vision as Lissa neatly cuts one of the sparrows out of the air with her knife. It splatters to the floor as a puddle of ink. She’s aiming at the other one when the door opens.
“Close it,” I yell at Lundwall, but it’s too late. The inkling’s through the door, Lundwall scrambles out of the way and into the doorframe, throwing whatever paper he’s holding up into the air. He collects himself, and turns, running after the bird. No way he’s going to catch it.
The sparrow darts across the office, keeping high, wings beating fast. It pelts straight towards an open window. It’s through in an eye blink, and out above George Street. But I have my own sparrows there. And they don’t take to this intruder well. By the time I’ve reached the window they’ve torn it to shreds. I can taste the ink in my mouth, it’s bitter and rank.
I close the window and glance back at Lissa and crew, and rub my hands. “See? All taken care of.” I turn to Lundwall. “Do you think you can manage a coffee, mate?”
He nods stiffly and shuffles over to the kitchen.
“It’s not Lundwall’s fault,” Lissa says.
“I know. I just need a coffee. All I can taste is that damn inkling.”
We march back into my office, and consider the now-smoking book. If the flames set the sparrows free, I’m beginning to think the fire in Morrigan’s house wasn’t some sort of defense system at all. The book was meant to burn, and whatever was meant to happen was meant to happen there, possibly with me buried under the rubble of a smoldering building.
“The flames must have activated it,” Cerbo says, he lifts his gaze to Lissa. “I’m sorry, you were absolutely right. We should have listened to you.”
Lissa’s arms are crossed, but she’s leaning in towards Cerbo most aggressively. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better, how?” She glares at Tim’s Zippo, then Tim who’s still rubbing his head, he’s already got a dark lump forming just beneath his hairline. “Another glaring example of why smoking’s bad for you.”
Tim grimaces.
I step between them. “Look it doesn’t matter. The threat was dealt with.”
“Question is, what do we do with the book?” Tim says.
“It needs to be hidden, somewhere safe,” Cerbo says. “Somewhere out of the way, until we have time to deal with it properly.”
“I think I know exactly where,” I say.
Cerbo smiles. “Good, now keep it to yourself. The more people who know, the more danger we’re all in.”
“You think someone’s going to come after this book?”
“Some things more likely,” Cerbo says. “The fire’s in the sky. A signal and threat. Whatever is going to happen is ramping up.”
“Yeah, like the Stirrer nests that I found around Morrigan’s place. I’ve my crows searching out more, now I know what to look for, and now the Stirrers seem to not care about hiding. The last time we found something like this it was being used to generate storms and conceal Stirrer movements. Now I’m guessing it’s being used to generate something else.”
“I think you’re right,” Cerbo says. “It may be some sort of guidance system. The energy of the Stirrers drawing that thing in the sky closer, steering it. This nest phenomenon has only occurred in Brisbane, that would seem to back the idea up.” He looks at me. “Everything is being pointed at you, Steven. I guess they figure if they get you out of the way as quickly as possible there’s no one left to stop their god.”
“Then maybe we should be focussing on destroying the nests,” Tim says.
“Get the Ankous here,” I say. “Three hours from now. I may have seen them all today but we need a mini-moot. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
I’m getting images in my head, crows alerting me to Stirrer houses, one after the other. HD’s chuckling and enraged at once. My attempts at dealing with them, hunting them down one by one have failed. I totally misunderstood their strategy.
Tim’s already on the phone. I look at Cerbo and Lissa as I pick up the book. It’s still warm, but nothing comes flying out.
“I’ll see that this is safe, and then we need to discuss the nests. There’s at least twenty of the bastards. How the fuck did I miss them?”
“That doesn’t matter now,” Lissa says, though she seems shocked. “I’ll get some teams together, we can be ready to go tomorrow. It’s cutting it fine, but we need to do this right. You get that somewhere safe.”
I think about the pact I’ve made with the Death of the Water. It’s a good deal, but only if this works. If it doesn’t, we’re all fucked anyway, and if it does…in my braver moments I like to believe that it doesn’t worry me.
I kiss her, not caring
that Cerbo is in the room. I don’t know how many kisses I have left. I can’t waste the opportunity for one now. “I’ll be back,” I say.
“You better be, or I’ll summon you again.”
“That’s nice to know.”
Lissa shakes her head. “Believe me, it isn’t.”
I shift.
Mr. D stands on the edge of his branch of the One Tree, a book gripped firmly in one hand. The mountains of Hell rise up in the distance, and just east of them the dark waters of the Tethys seethe. The sky glows a brilliant red. Once again Hell is lightening with my presence, that kind of reaction could really screw with your head. But I’ve got so many things already screwing with mine I hardly notice.
Wal pulls himself free of my arm. I’ve decided that I’m not going to block him anymore. I’ve missed him. He nods at me and laughs. “Hey, Kojak.”
Then again…
“You’ve been gone a while.” Mr. D says, not turning to look at me.
“Well, somebody suggested I go and talk with the Death of the Water, turned out it had more than talk in mind.”
Mr. D turns to me, his face shifting through various aspects of death, pain, delight. I wish, sometimes, that I could just get one look from him. But then again, I’m not exactly sure what a normal facial expression would look like on Mr. D. “My God, you’re bald! Trouble?”
I rub my scalp self-consciously. “The guy held me hostage for a week. I’d still be down there, I think, except Lissa performed a summoning.”
Mr. D whistles, walking towards his chair and table. “She did? That girl loves you. Have you asked her to marry you yet?”
What the? “You been talking to Tim?”
“A couple of weeks ago. Only via tweets, though we do have a nice #willheorwonthe tag going on—the odds are on the won’t.” That stings me harder than I’m prepared to admit. Mr. D places the book carefully on the table: it’s a Le Guin, The Dispossessed. I can’t fault his taste in literature. Wal flits down, picks up the book and flicks through it. “Well, you didn’t answer me, have you asked her to marry you?”
“Not yet.”
“Stop wasting time.” Mr. D yanks the novel from Wal’s clutches, and puts it back down. “Lissa’s a keeper, and to think you nearly lost her over that ridiculous affair with Suzanne Whitman.”
“I did not have an affair with Suzanne. She was nothing more than a mentor.”
“One that you were so proud of that you decided to keep it a secret.” He turns back to gaze over the edge of the One Tree, waves his hand airily. “But that’s ancient history, there are far more pressing matters than who slept with whom, or who betrayed which mentor. Far more pressing matters indeed.”
Is he right or is he right! Wal hovers by his side, both are transfixed by something going on below.
“What are you looking at?”
“I’m not sure, but I think it may well be one of those more pressing matters.”
Mr. D makes room for me on the edge of the branch. Wal hovers in the open space above the void. It’s a vertiginous drop, tumbling down to Underworld Brisbane. I see Mr. D’s “pressing matter” at once.
The dead are walking away from the One Tree. Not all of them, there are some that continue making their progress up the hill, but thousands at least are following the curve of the mountain away from the city.
“How long has this been going on?”
“A while, I think. Slowly at first, just a few. I only noticed it when I last went down to the markets on the riverbank yesterday. Hardly a soul about. Where do you think they’re going?” Mr. D says.
“I have an idea. Charon’s building an Ark.”
“He’s building an Ark? Can’t that fellow have a solution that doesn’t involve a bloody boat? It shows a decided lack of imagination.”
“It can’t be that big a problem surely. I mean, if I was a soul I don’t know if I’d really like to take my chances in the Deepest Dark right now, the Stirrer god is devouring more souls every day.”
“Oh, it can create a problem all right. What do you think sustains the One Tree?”
I shrug.
“The souls of the dead. They are drawn to the One Tree, and through it to the Deepest Dark. They are nutrient and water to it. They are everything that the One Tree requires, without it this tree will die.”
“The Tree hasn’t been here forever though. Everything passes, everything leads to a new way eventually, a paradigm shift.”
Mr. D shakes his head. “Steven, you bandy that phrase about far too much.”
“It’s your phrase!”
“Yes, but I use it properly. Sure, there was a time before the One Tree, just as there was a time before toilet paper—and let me tell you which time I prefer.”
I put the burnt notebook next to The Dispossessed on his table. Mr. D looks at it curiously.
“What’s that?”
“Something I found in Morrigan’s house.”
Mr. D sniffs. “Let me guess, you burnt it, and activated it somehow.”
“It was burnt, yes, but what it activated was dealt with. I need you to keep what’s left of it safe.”
“The question is, will I be safe from it?”
Mr. D has managed to survive even death. He’s hung around when every other RM has gone, devoured and deposited by the One Tree. I can’t imagine anything threatening him.
“You’ll be fine,” I say. It doesn’t come across as confidently as I intend it to.
So many people in my life have died in this last year. Better people, stronger people, more caring people. People who I loved. I can’t promise Mr. D anything.
16
When I shift back to my office, Faber Cerbo’s sitting there alone. He jumps, startled by my sudden arrival. No knife this time. Even he is not that stupid.
“It’s done,” I say.
Cerbo’s smile is about as wan as you can get.
“You got something on your mind?” I ask.
“Yes. You see, I have an idea.”
“It certainly doesn’t look like a good idea.”
“It may not be a good idea, it may be a horrible one, but it might work.” He takes a deep breath. “While you were away, trapped beneath the sea, it came to me. Something that you said about blood being enough. Well, I think you’re right. To stop this god maybe all you need is a lot of it. I’ve done the math. If you used the blood of every Pomp, there might just be enough—”
“No. It’s—no.”
The only one smiling now is HD.
“I know you don’t want to do it, but this plan, it may be our best chance.”
I shake my head. “Kill every Pomp and use their blood to stall a Stirrer god? No, I’m not going to do that.”
“They’re all going to die anyway, if we don’t stop it. Them and everything else. It’s ridiculous, I know, here I am arguing for my own death, but I’d rather that than be responsible for the end of all life, not that I’d have long to dwell on it all, being dead. Wouldn’t you?”
“No, and you aren’t responsible, Faber. I’m responsible.” I realize I’m shouting. I lower my voice. “There has to be another option.”
“The only other option is to let the Stirrer god set the time and place for the confrontation, fight it entirely on its own terms—terms which, despite my best efforts, we don’t have more than the merest inkling of, I might add—and be defeated. Same outcome, wouldn’t you say, Mr. de Selby?”
“You only call me that when you’re pissed off with me.”
“I do not.”
“I am not killing my employees. I refuse to do that, it’s what made me different from the other RMs, it’s why Suzanne chose me for this role, and it’s who I am.” I glare at Cerbo. “Faber, you find me a way of beating this thing, a way that doesn’t involve killing everyone I care about, and we’ll talk.”
I can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed with my response. “What if that’s the only way?”
“It can’t be, I refuse to belie
ve it.” I remember my dream, the ocean of blood. Was this what my subconscious mind was throwing at me? “And how would it even work anyway?”
“You’d call it to you. Just as you can call your Avians, or your scythe.”
“Call the fucking blood to me?” I can do that?
“Steven, think of the potency of that blood. Maybe that’s what the scythe is for. The end game in a battle with Stirrers. You drain the blood of all the Pomps in the world, and no Stirrer will be able to face that.”
“No, it isn’t going to happen,” I say. “Not that way. A new world can’t be built on that sort of bloodshed.”
“It’s not murder. It’s not madness. It’s sacrifice. It’s what being a Pomp is about—isn’t it? Just on a larger scale. Think about it. When all the Stirrers and their god are defeated, you’re not going to need Pomps. Not in the way you need them now. The workload’s going to be lighter.”
“No.”
Cerbo sighs. “I understand. I can even say that I’m slightly relieved. But remember, as long as you have your scythe that’s an option.”
“Would you do it?”
I can see the answer in his eyes. “You do whatever it takes. Of course I would do it.”
“The world burns before I kill all of you to save it. The whole fucking universe.”
“Now look who’s being extreme. I’ll be back for the meeting,” Cerbo says. “I need to make peace with some things.”
“It’s all crashing to an end isn’t it?” I say.
“Yes,” Cerbo says. “One way or another, one sacrifice or another, yes.”
I need to talk to someone in the government. I need to know what strategies they have, and how we might be able to use them if worse comes to worse. Thing is, I call my usual contacts and no one answers. I try Tim, but he’s busy wrangling Ankous. Worse than cats, as he puts it.
So I call Alex.
“Where have you been?” he says.
“I’ll tell you about it over a drink one day,” I say. “But we need to talk. Face to face, if possible.”
“As it happens I’m having a coffee right now. Springwood, got the afternoon off. Luv-a-Coffee in Centro.”
The Business Of Death, Death Works Trilogy Page 63