Adornments of the Storm

by Paul Meloy

  The Gantry at their backs opened fully as the rippling circle of light widened to the dimension of a tunnel mouth in less than a second. It lit up the meadow like a floodlight.

  The Autoscopes choked on their cries, and stumbled, panicked, as they were picked out in the light. They froze, vermin on a country road caught in the headlights of a speeding vehicle.

  Robin stopped and turned. He could hear the deep rumble coming from the Gantry. He squinted at both the sound and the light, his hair blowing back from his brow. Instead of retreating further he walked towards the Autoscopes again, and as he did so, he felt himself change. He threw back his head and opened his arms, welcoming the transformation.

  Railgrinder thundered from the Gantry, its great bulk sheathed in smoke and embers, and bore through the mire of stalled machines. It cast them before it, tossing them in the air, sending them rolling and spinning into the horde of Autoscopes. Railgrinder’s iron wheels bit into the earth and it slid, tilted to starboard, bellowing steam, through the machines and into the petrified creatures that stood huddled in the meadow. Those not crushed beneath it flew broken and screaming, landing in heaps, their weapons gone, their bodies smashed.

  And as Railgrinder wrought its ruin, Robin yelled at the sky and soared across the ground to meet the others that were now coming down from Railgrinder’s cab, glorifying into components of the Night Clock, and he fell on the remaining Autoscopes with the seething countenance of an enraged god.

  THE BOOMING RED light of the Quay made Doctor Mocking’s head pound. He could see the expanse, a desert of pitted stone, stretching boundless in all directions. Above, low plates of crimson clouds walked on surging tendrils, their composition unknowable. To Doctor Mocking, they could have been alive, and when an eye opened in the midst of one, mindless and vast, and stared with lidless hostility upon the plain, he felt he might scream.

  This was the place where killers came to dream, and those who woke in the night, or at sunrise, with thoughts of violation roaring in their heads.

  Doctor Mocking found his remaining strength and, despite the thoughts of death and despair that assailed his mind, the silent screams of those tossing in filthy beds who dreamed of desecration and unnatural flesh, he kicked himself free enough to reach into the pocket of his jacket in search of something—anything—to use as a weapon. And his hand closed on something.

  He withdrew it and had a second to realise what it was before the devil-in-dreams could react, and he threw it back, over his shoulder, so that it sailed through the Gantry and landed on the grass in the orchard at the foot of an apple tree.

  It landed open, and its needle began to move.

  BISMUTH JOLTED FORWARDS on his chair. He picked up the Compass and peered at it. He stood up and marched to the door.

  Trevena made to stand, too, but Bismuth stopped him, “Stay here. Look after Colin and the others.”

  Bismuth went outside and took a Lever from his belt. He placed it into the earth beside the wooden steps that led up into the clubhouse and compressed the handle. Instantly a line of light appeared, widening to the size of a doorway. Trevena watched from the window, his fingers making a gap in the blinds. Bismuth consulted the Compass once more and then entered the Gantry.

  THE DEVIL-IN-DREAMS THREW Doctor Mocking to the pitted ground. It swelled against Chapel’s remaining flesh, and the rags of clothes that still bound it. Doctor Mocking knew the true size of the thing. Once it had attained freedom from the containment, it would enlarge to fill this place. It would press against the base of those awful clouds and race, unstoppable, to the rims of the Quay. He would be absorbed and drift forever inside it, seeing nothing but the content of nightmares for eternity.

  The Gantry was closing. He looked up, at the red sky and felt it pounding, pressing down onto him like the horrific weight of choking gasses on an alien planet. He shoved himself backwards and lunged for the Gantry.

  The devil-in-dreams moved to intercept him, still pressing against Chapel’s flesh. It uttered a vicious, implacable sound, a grunt of frustration and effort, and jolted on cumbersome legs towards the Doctor.

  Doctor Mocking hurled himself at the Gantry but the devil-in-dreams battered into his back and he fell to his knees. He looked through the opening, reached out a hand trembling with pain and fatigue.

  Bismuth was standing in the orchard, both Compasses held in one hand, his Gantry silver-white at his back.

  His face ablaze in the light scorching out from the red Gantry, his hair and beard like wild fire, he leaped through and landed on the ground by Doctor Mocking’s side. His boots lifted a cloud of crimson dust. Glaring at the devil-in-dreams, he reached down and helped Doctor Mocking to his feet.

  The devil-in-dreams had reached a critical point in its transformation. Bands of rags and flesh now bound it and it bulged like black fat around the restraints.

  Bismuth put the Compasses in his pocket. He clenched his huge fists.

  And then he went for the devil-in-dreams, with thoughts of his father fuelling his wrath, and took it in his arms, hands clenched on flesh and tearing cloth. He lifted it, thrashing and bucking, a thing undermined by efforts of completion and distracted by its nearness, and twisted his body and carried it screaming from the Quay and into the wet, darkening air of the orchard.

  Doctor Mocking gave the last of his energy to getting them out. He shoved them through, taking hold of the devil-in-dreams as they stumbled onto the grass.

  The devil-in-dreams was raging, thrashing against them, but Bismuth was unrelenting, his strength growing with his wrath, and together they piled across the short distance between the Gantries and pitched through the opening of white light.

  ELIZABETH BROUGHT CLAIRE a glass of water. The girl was so pale, she thought, from pain and fear. She didn’t know what else to do but offer comfort. Steve was holding Claire’s hands and peering into her face, trying to soothe her, but Elizabeth could see the dread writ large on his own face. Claire groaned and pressed both hands to her belly.

  There was movement to Elizabeth’s left and as she turned her head she saw a figure leaning over Claire. It was a man, one of the café’s customers. He was wearing a smart gray suit set off by an almost luminescent pink tie. His face was kind and cultured.

  He smiled, kneeling beside Steve and taking one of Claire’s hands.

  “Ne pas avoir peur, chere fille,” he said. “Je suis medecin.”

  CHLOE OPENED HER eyes. The quakes were more regular now, coming with greater frequency and intensity. Rock dust sifted down from the ceiling. She felt the floor begin to tip, as she had feared, and she scrabbled her feet on the surface to push them further into the back of the cave and against the wall.

  Adam was still unresponsive. His body was cold and slack in her arms.

  She listened. She could hear something.

  The ladder. Something was on the ladder. She huddled as far back against the cave wall as she could, drawing her brother close to her side.

  It was climbing up. There was the sound of scraping on the metal steps.

  Chloe held her breath.

  A silhouette rose against the entrance to the cave, large and distorted. It braced its arms on the floor and lifted its body into the cave. It stood on four sharp-looking crab-like legs. Its mouth clacked and its red eyes glistened like blood blisters. When it started towards them, Chloe saw that it seemed to limp, off-balance, as though injured. It put an arm out and steadied itself against the wall. It lowered its head and hissed. It clattered across the floor in a stagger, its intent clear. It raised serrated claws.

  Chloe closed her eyes and held her brother’s head to her chest.

  And then something else was coming. Chloe heard it racing through the forest, and metal clashed against the wall of the mountain as it hit the ladder and was up it in one bound.

  Chloe opened her eyes and saw the Autoscope a few feet from her. It had stopped and was looking back towards the entrance to the cave and at what now stood there with huge
chest heaving and mouth open in an uninhibited glee of fangs.

  “Is all well?” asked Bronze John as he padded further into the cave, tail switching.

  “My brother’s dying,” said Chloe.

  Bronze John stopped grinning. He leaped for the Autoscope and smashed it into the ground. This time he didn’t roar. It would have been too terrible a sound in this small cave and there were children present.

  BISMUTH HELD CHAPEL in a bear hug. The devil-in-dreams was gone, the soiled-mattress bulk of it reduced in the giant’s arms to the man again. Bismuth glared into Chapel’s face, into the large, emotional brown eyes. Around them the walls of the Gantry rushed in soft coppery torrents. Doctor Mocking stood with Bismuth. He was breathless and pale. He had very little strength left.

  “Thank you,” said Chapel. “For never giving up on us.”

  Bismuth loosened his hold and let Chapel’s feet touch the rippling floor of the Gantry. Chapel sighed, his shoulders slumping. He held out a hand.

  Bismuth didn’t take it.

  He drew a lever from his belt and drove it into Chapel’s right eye.

  Chapel screamed as his face split from cheekbone to jawline and black filth spewed out. Bismuth twisted the Lever free and grabbed Chapel by the throat. He picked him up and held him against the wall of the Gantry. He forced Chapel’s head through the curtain of particles concealing the golden Compartment beyond. Chapel’s screams were cut off as the light poured into his remaining eye and gushed into his mouth. Bismuth felt heat. Chapel’s body was burning, the black seeping muck of the devil-in-dreams was bubbling like tarmac. It was being seared, compressed to fusion point by the unimaginable forces within the Compartment. It was a place it could never exist, a matrix of pressure and radiance that would contain it forever.

  “I never gave up on the boy,” Bismuth said, and hurled the devil-in-dreams through the Gantry wall.

  "IT’S GONE,” SAID Doctor Mocking.

  “Yes.” Bismuth carried his friend from the Gantry and into the cool drizzle of the orchard. They sat together beneath an apple tree. They could hear traffic. It was wonderfully commonplace. The Gantries were gone. Just cloudy early-evening moonlight.

  Doctor Mocking was finding it harder to breathe. He wasn’t in distress. He felt reassured. He would have liked to have seen his girls again but, he guessed, one day he would. He smiled.

  “You’ll wait with me?”

  Bismuth looked dismayed. “What else would I do?” He settled back against the tree and flipped his long coat over his knees.

  “Are you cold?” he asked Doctor Mocking.

  “No. Are my lips blue?”

  Bismuth studied the Doctor’s face. “A bit.”

  Doctor Mocking nodded. “Not long now,” he said.

  Bismuth sighed, and patted the Doctor’s hand.

  “Lesley must have put the Compass in my pocket when she was helping Anna get me dressed.” Doctor Mocking said.

  “Clever girl,” said Bismuth.

  “You’ll look after them, won’t you? Lesley and Anna.”

  This time Bismuth didn’t look at the Doctor.

  “We all will,” he said.

  BRONZE JOHN DRAGGED the remains of the Autoscope the length of the cave and nosed it out so that it dropped in tatters to the forest floor. He turned back and watched Chloe wrapping her brother in the rugs. When she was happy he was warm and comfortable, she joined the tiger at the mouth of the cave.

  Bronze John went first, negotiating the ladder in two short leaps, and then waited at the bottom while Chloe picked her way down with more caution.

  “Want a ride?” he said.

  Chloe took a final look up towards the cave and then climbed onto the tiger’s back.

  They went through the forest, Chloe ducking beneath the lowest branches, and emerged onto the meadow. The tiger carried her with no effort, his head held high to see over the grass. Chloe pointed ahead.

  “There they are,” she said.

  They reached the others. They stood amongst the carnage of ravaged black meat. No Autoscope remained intact. They had been decimated. Railgrinder’s cooling iron ticked.

  Anna went to Bronze John and stroked his face.

  “You’ve got Autoscope in your whiskers,” she said. She did as she had done before, and wiped pieces of shell and blood from the tiger’s face with the hem of her shirt.

  Daniel stood with Robin and Index. They all looked drained. Only Alex and Eliot seemed enlivened after the battle. They strode through the remains of the Autoscopes and their dead machines, still looking for survivors to dispatch. Eliot found something of interest, curled beneath an overturned chassis towards the rear of Railgrinder. He poked at it with one of the Autoscopes spears, and when it wailed he thrust forward with all his weight and impaled it.

  “That’s the last one,” he called. He threw down the spear and came to join the others.

  “Where’s Lesley?” Alex said.

  Index drew them together. “She’s gone on ahead,” he said. “Now we can join her.”

  He opened his hands and light raced from his palms. When it pinched out, leaving the Quay in darkness, the Firmament Surgeons were gone.

  "HI DAD,” SAID Lesley.

  Doctor Mocking didn’t open his eyes, but he smiled. “Darling,” he said.

  Lesley knelt and took him in her arms.

  “Are you all right? Is Anna..?”

  “We’re fine, dad. Anna knows. She understands.”

  Doctor Mocking sighed.

  “That’s…” he said as Lesley kissed him, and her kiss was the last thing he felt.

  BEHIND THE COUNTER in the Lacan-café, Johnny clapped his hands again.

  “Nous parlons en Anglais!” he said. “The Autoscopes are dead! The devil-in-dreams is dead!”

  A cheer went up. Newspapers were balled up and launched at the ceiling. Tables clattered as people stood and embraced.

  Claire looked around, bleary-eyed but no longer in pain.

  The doctor stood and smiled. He took Steve’s hand and shook it firmly.

  “Your wife is doing fine,” he said. He had a Birmingham accent. “The baby is safe.”

  “Thank you,” said Steve, but the doctor waved it off.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “Take care.” He went back to his seat and picked up his coffee cup. He saluted them and took a sip.

  Steve hugged Elizabeth and then held his wife, kissing her cheeks. Claire’s colour was rising, Elizabeth noticed, her cheeks beginning to flush again.

  “Now,” said Steve. “How do we get out of here?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t worry about that, love. Daniel will come and get us.”

  TREVENA WAS STANDING outside the clubhouse, his hands in his pockets, looking up at the sky. He felt restless and detached. He tried to imagine what the others were doing, how the battle was being waged, but he found that he couldn’t. He was too tired, and the loss of John had hurt him deeply. All he could think about was Colin, and what was to become of the old chap. A Paladin without his charge was nothing. He thought about Andy, and what he had said in the train shed. Had his life been nothing up until now? Of course not. A journey. It had been a journey. Colin had been getting on a bit when he finally found John, and it had been the fulfilment of his life’s purpose, a joy. Maybe now he and Andy might embark on a similar adventure. Trevena wondered if the boy liked fishing.

  “Phil!”

  Trevena wheeled around at the sound of Andy’s voice. The boy was standing at the top of the steps. He beckoned for Trevena to come back up.

  “What is it?”

  “They’ve gone, Phil. John, Colin and Bix. They’ve all gone!”

  Trevena followed Andy into the clubhouse.

  He looked at the orange tablecloth, the one with silver stars John and Colin had put out at Halloween for parties that had become John’s shroud. It lay flat against the floor, nothing of John remaining but dried blood.

  “I was fussing Bix,”
Andy said. “And then he looked up at me, really saw me for the first time, I think. He looked happy. I could see it in his eyes. And then he was gone. I turned round and Colin and John were gone, too.”

  Trevena poked at the shroud with the toe of his shoe.

  “Do you have a good feeling about this?” he asked Andy.

  “Yes,” the boy said. “Yes, I do. I think they’ve gone somewhere together. They would have been miserable apart. I know how that feels.”

  Trevena appraised the boy again, as he had found himself doing repeatedly ever since they had met. Andy’s expression was open, solemn without the slightest hint of guile.

  “So do I,” said Trevena. “We might as well get out of here. We need to find the others.”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  Trevena shrugged. “Well, when I say, ‘We’ll have to find them,’ what I mean is, they’ll probably find us first, but I reckon we should head back to Doctor Mocking’s house and see what happens.”

  “It’s a plan,” said Andy.

  “Yes, it is. Come on, let’s take Colin’s car.”

  “Have you got the keys?”

  “No, but I had a misspent youth before I did my training. That Cortina is ancient. I reckon I can still remember how to hotwire.”

  Andy beamed. “Great!”

  They left the clubhouse. Trevena pulled the door shut but couldn’t lock it. He stood for a moment looking up at the old wooden building, and then he reached out and patted the side of it, where the old boards were painted a faded shade of Carolina blue. He knew the history of the place, from stories John had recounted, and hoped her ghosts would be good-natured ones for whoever took her on again.

  They walked together along the boulevard towards the car park. Lights were on in the caravans that lined the road, and Trevena could smell burgers cooking. He experienced a moment of flashback, an olfactory jolt that took him back to a pub garden in his youth, and a man called Lenny who he hadn’t thought about since. Maybe it was a fragment of a dream, he thought, but the moment passed as he was distracted by a sensation to his left.