City of Hope & Despair

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City of Hope & Despair Page 24

by Ian Whates


  The inner courtyard had been christened Iron Grove Square because of the metal sculpture of a tree which stood at its centre – now rusted, with leaves and branches missing, but still with enough form to hint at its former glory. A description which could easily be used for the whole of the City Below itself.

  The Tattooed Men enjoyed a largely nomadic existence, maintaining several safe houses scattered across the under-City but this was by far the grandest and the most important. The secluded courtyard aside, this neglected fragment of Thaiburley's past boasted one particular feature which made it ideal as their base of operations. Partially hidden beneath the rubble that littered the floor of the place, they had discovered a small stairway giving access to a cellar, and in that cellar they found a safe. Not just any safe, but the sort of substantial, solidly built strong room which the owners of banks got all excited about and which most financiers could only dream of. The door was a wonder in itself, for this was no blank-faced slab of immovable metal, but rather boasted a large indented central panel, which displayed an intricate mechanism of giant cogs and levers and wheels, of toothed discs and metal bars. Somehow, Chavver came into possession of the key, presumably found elsewhere in the house, though she'd never bothered sharing the details with Kat. The first time Chavver opened the strong room, all of them had been there, crowded into the cellar and on the stairs, craning to catch a view of the interlinking wheels and components, holding their collective breaths in hope that the system still worked, which it did, even after so many years of disuse. Slowly, the cogs turned, one triggering another, and the solid steel bars and rods had been drawn back, to leave the massive door free to be opened.

  Kat would never forget the smell that assailed them as the door was pulled wide. Within, they found a massive space, steel-lined and shelved but otherwise stripped bare; empty apart from one thing: the mummified corpse of a woman, which they had never been able to identify nor indeed explain.

  Despite their best efforts, a hint of that smell still lingered, and Kat had never felt tempted to go down and watch the door being opened again.

  She had no idea what sort of wealth the house's original owners possessed, what might require such extreme levels of security, but presumably it must have been substantial; either that or they were extraordinarily suspicious breckers. Of course, the key's discovery was crucial. Without it, the safe would have been no more than an impressive curiosity. With it, this became the perfect place for the Tattooed Men to store their carefully gathered arsenal, confident that the weapons would remain secure.

  That arsenal had been carried up from the cellar earlier and was now in the process of being deployed; the weapons checked and loaded, before they were dispersed around the building. Kat enjoyed a sense of grim satisfaction as she walked from room to room watching the Tattooed Men at work.

  As she turned a corner, she abruptly found herself confronted by a face so like her own; a little broader, a little rounder, with fuller lips, but unmistakably related. Charveve, who had been coming the other way. The two stared at each other, Kat wishing she was somewhere else but not about to give ground, and her sister looking as if she felt the same. Then Chavver said awkwardly, "I wanted a word."

  "What?" Kat must have misunderstood. Surely her sister hadn't just said that.

  "A word," Chavver repeated. "About Rayul. After you and that kid left us, he was taken; by one of the Dog Master's creatures."

  Kat was stunned. This was the first attempt her sister had made at any form of communication that didn't involve a blade or a threat in over a year. Kat had never really understood the intensity of Charveve's hatred. Yes, they'd rowed about the leadership of the Tattooed Men and yes those rows had turned nasty and even physical on occasion, but in the end she'd walked away. Kat had seen what their fights were doing to the group, to the people who were the only family either of them had known since their mother's death, and she'd refused to go on. She'd given in because she had to. Chavver was too stubborn to back down, no matter what the cost, so Kat did. She resigned herself to a life of looking out for herself, of being alone, for all their sakes. But that hadn't been enough for her sister. Chavver's enmity had pursued her into the shadows, banning any of the Tattooed Men from even talking to her and threatening dire consequences should she ever cross the group's path again, effectively cutting her off from any hope of support should she need it.

  This seemed an extreme reaction even for Charveve, and it had been more difficult to bear than anything Kat had suffered in the Pits. Now, she was beginning to understand, just a little. Jealousy. Of her, and of Rayul. Was that what lay at the bottom of all this: jealousy? The three of them were consigned to the Pits at around the same time and soon became firm friends. Yet Rayul had always been closer to Kat than he was to Chavver. She had become the glue that bound their little team together – the best friend of both. It was Kat that Rayul confided in, Kat that he talked to first. This had been the source of the occasional sulk and angry word even back then, but Kat had never dreamed her sister might harbour deeper resentments. Yet it seemed to fit.

  "Thought you should know," Chavver added.

  "Thanks, but I already knew."

  Chavver looked up sharply. "How?"

  Kat could have kicked herself. Why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut? She knew why, of course: because for once she wanted to be one up on her sister. Stupid, stupid, stupid! "I'll tell you about it," she said, "but not now. When this is all over."

  Chavver held her gaze for long seconds and then gave a curt nod. "All right, but don't think you're running away from this one. Soon as this is ended, we're having that conversation."

  Kat bridled and almost responded with a jibe of her own. A year ago she would have done, but there were more important things right now and she'd done a lot of growing up in the intervening months, so she simply smiled and said, "Look forward to it."

  Kat returned to the courtyard through one of the four doors – each wing of the building boasted its own – hovering in the doorway and simply watching. There was a great deal of laughter, the mood almost celebratory, and yet she could sense how fragile this was, the tension bubbling just beneath the service. It wasn't exactly forced bravado, but she suspected this atmosphere was only preserved because certain realities were being consciously avoided. She wondered how long the cheerful spirit would linger once globes were fully out.

  Somebody, a man, started to sing in a strong baritone. It was a song Kat vaguely recognised but one which she hadn't heard in years, not since her earliest days in the Pits. A second voice joined in, a quavering elderly woman's, rising to complement the man's, and then others followed. Before long the whole square was filled with a chorus of singing. Even those who didn't know the words recognised the tune and were able to hum along, including Kat. She smiled as the song ended amidst a babble of mutual congratulation. Perhaps she hadn't given these people enough credit and the high spirits would survive beyond globes out after all. Another song began almost immediately the echoes of the first had died away. Kat even knew the words to the chorus for this one.

  During the singing that followed, a Tattooed Man surreptitiously closed the twin doors to the arched gateway, effectively sealing in those in the courtyard. Others moved around the fringes of the crowd, lighting the bracketed lanterns which were dotted at intervals around the walls. The erratic glow from these lamps highlighted the faces of gargoyles and demons carved into the frames of doorways and gate, lending their faded features a sense of animation which made it seem they were observing those gathered in the courtyard with malevolent anticipation. Kat just hoped this wasn't an omen for what was to come.

  Despite the low-key nature of the Tattooed Men's actions, people noticed, and clearly appreciated the significance. Kat heard the singing falter as realisation spread through the crowd. But it resurged almost immediately, as several people – including, Kat felt certain, the original singer – made a concerted effort to sing louder and bring the melody back on co
urse. She had no idea who the baritone was, but determined to seek him out when this was all over and thank him.

  Kat strained to spot the faintest sign of life behind any of the windows in the other wings – silhouette of a bald head, slight movement in the shadows, or a stray beam of light reflecting off uncovered metal. The flickering radiance of the lanterns made it impossible to see anything, though she knew the Tattooed Men were there. Waiting, even as she was.

  If she couldn't see the ambushers there was a good chance the Soul Thief mightn't either, though surely the monster was rational enough to recognise this as a likely trap.

  Kat carried the whip Annie had found for her clipped to her belt, though she wasn't sure why. In truth she didn't have much faith in it. She also had the apothaker's luck potion, which she trusted about as much. After a moment's hesitation, she took out the small phial, removed the stopper and knocked back the contents. A minty sweetness with a hint of cloves, chased down by a kick that might have been alcohol, trickled down her throat. She took a deep breath, drew her two short swords and squatted down to wait, her back against the wall. She wondered precisely where Charveve was now, knowing that her sister planned to be on the building's upper floor when everything kicked off, to get a better view. This was the moment they'd both been waiting for virtually all their lives. Or at least it promised to be, assuming everything went to plan.

  Kat occupied herself by trying to guess how the Soul Thief was going to get in here. Would she burst through the twin gates, sending shards of wood and iron everywhere, or would she come straight through the house? Clearly, they'd prefer the former, so had sealed and barricaded both the street entrances into the house proper as firmly as possible, but the Thief had proven many times over that doors in general were no great obstacle to her, so no one was taking anything for granted.

  In the event, she did neither.

  Kat was looking across the courtyard, not focussing on anything in particular, when a flicker of movement caught her eye. She almost passed over it, but something made her look again, and this time there could be no doubt. A black stain was creeping down the far wall of the courtyard, an irregular patch of night which none of the lamps were able to penetrate.

  "The roof!" she yelled out. "Look to the roof, south quarter!"

  Whether alerted by her call or not, others had seen it now. There was pointing and exclamations among the crowd, which surged towards Kat as people scrambled to put distance between the south wing and themselves. The stain had gathered substance, swelling to become a soot-dark cloud which slid down the brickwork towards the ground.

  A flechette gunner opened up, sending a stream of silvered darts into the billowing mass. The thrum of crossbows sounded and a dozen quarrels sped in the wake of the flechettes. An inchoate shriek issued from the cloud, sounding like wind whistling through a narrow chimney but louder and somehow more aware. The form writhed and twisted, shifting shape in an effort to avoid the stream of missiles, which were chewing up the brickwork behind in a rain of chips and stony shards. Somewhere over there they'd deployed a flamethrower. Kat just hoped those wielding it could bring the weapon to bear and get a clear shot. It was an unwieldy contraption of valves and dials at the best of times, but she was itching to see what the Soul Thief made of a concentrated blast of fire. The flechettes and archers had managed to pin the monster down, preventing it from advancing into the square in pursuit of the fleeing people; and, judging by the increasingly plaintive sounds coming from the creature, they were hurting it, but Kat wasn't convinced they'd done any real damage as yet.

  She was working her way through the throng of talented, who had rushed to cling to her side of the square. She had no intention of actually attacking as yet, not wanting to get caught by any of the lethal munitions that had already been brought to bear on the monster, but wanted to be in a position to do so if needed. The longer they could keep the Soul Thief in one place the more chance there was of bringing other weapons into play. A firebomb shattered at the edge of the tattered blackness, splattering the ground and the wall of the house with burning oil, as well as a patch of the creature itself. There was no mistaking the pain in the shriek this time; and the affected patch of darkness burned! Where the breck was that frissing flame thrower?

  Kat had forced her way to the edge of the throng of people, reminded of their presence and their fear and their bravery when a girl immediately behind her sobbed. She suddenly realised that these people were no longer needed. They'd done all that could be asked of them without complaint and had succeeded, drawing the Soul Thief to where the Tattooed Men waited.

  Kat turned around and yelled, "Open the gates. Let these people out!"

  "Yes, let us out," someone in the crowd agreed. "Open the brecking gates!" Others picked up the call and soon the whole lot were demanding release.

  Kat glanced back towards the Soul Thief. The flechette gunner had ceased firing, presumably to reload. There now seemed little to hold the monster at bay, at which instant the very ground beneath Kat's feet shook as a huge dart, longer than a man is tall, erupted from one of the courtyard windows to tear across the intervening space in an instant, slamming into the Soul Thief and though the wall behind, bringing a wide section of it down. She just hoped there was nobody still standing in the room beyond. Despite a fresh shriek of anger and pain, the monster just flowed around the shaft of this enormous steel bolt and reformed. Kat knew the giant arrow had been fired from a steam-powered cannon which would take moments to reload. The occasional quarrel from a bow still flashed at the creature but without the incessant attention of the flechette gun this was no longer enough to keep her immobilised, and the black cloud, now looking vaguely human in shape, started to advance across the courtyard towards the trapped people.

  "Get this brecking gate opened now!" Kat yelled.

  Mercifully, another flechette gun opened up from the opposite side of the courtyard to the first, temporarily halting the creature's progress, and then a second fire bomb shattered on the flagstones in front of it. The flames danced up, partially hidden by the stunted iron tree which stood between Kat and the blaze, its crooked scantily-leafed branches momentarily resembling upturned hands, mimicking an appeal for mercy.

  A new weapon opened up, a streak of blue light crackling across the courtyard, seeming to catch a corner of the Thief before spending itself against the far wall. Kat turned her head away and blinked to clear her dazzled vision of the afterimage. When she looked back, the broiling mass of darkness that was the Soul Thief seemed to have grown, swelling until it towered over the residual flames from the firebomb. Flechette darts passed through it now with no visible effect, as if the creature truly were composed of nothing more than smoke.

  Then the black cloud detached itself from the ground and started to drift towards Kat and the crowd of talented, floating over the burning oil and the iron tree, drawing ever closer. Until now, everyone had stayed remarkably calm, but people's resolve finally started to wilt and for the first time people around Kat began to panic. Somebody screamed, and the sounds around her grew increasingly desperate. "For Thaiss's sake get that gate open!" the woman closest to Kat shrieked.

  As if in response, the two gates finally moved. Kat had no idea whether this was the work of Tattooed Men answering the calls of the crowd or simply the people at the front working out how to release the locks for themselves, nor did she care. At least these folk would have a chance to escape.

  Her relief was short-lived, as a fresh wave of screams and shouts erupted – from the front of the crowd, near the gates. Kat couldn't see what was happening. She was too short and so was unable to see over the intervening mass of people, but something was obviously wrong. Desperate for more information she jumped in the air but still couldn't get high enough to make anything out beyond the fact that nobody seemed to be leaving yet, despite the gates being open; and the screams and curses and shouts of desperation were only getting louder.

  Kat looked back at the Soul Thief
. The bitch was almost upon them. A few more seconds and her foremost dark tendrils would be directly over the crowd. No more blue lightning had leapt forth to oppose her, and Kat wondered if the weapon had only been good for that one shot.

  The night abruptly lit up, as a stream of fire erupted from one of the windows to her left, like the breath of some indignant dragon. The flame thrower! Somebody had finally brought it to bear. The heat was intense, even though Kat stood some distance away. The nebulous form of the Soul Thief was enveloped in flame. The black cloud burnt and sparked and crackled, visibly contracting, curling in on itself like an injured spider drawing in its legs. And the thing screamed. A high-pitched shriek of torment which cut through every other sound and caused Kat to wince, as it hurt her ears. She watched with a sense of elation as the still-smouldering bundle of darkness plummeted to the ground.

  Yet it fell almost on top of one of the talented, a young woman who screamed and tried to back away but couldn't go far because of the press of bodies around her. A tendril of smoke reached from the diminished Soul Thief, to curl around the foot of the hysterical woman. This seemed to act as a tether and within an instant the creature's entire remaining substance flowed along that tenuous link to engulf the woman in a nebulous greyblack mist. The mist began to darken immediately, gathering substance. Brief seconds after the cloud had surrounded the unfortunate soul, it released her. A desiccated husk dropped to the floor as the now stronger, larger Soul Thief streamed away from this first victim to attack another.

 

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