The dead Wraith’s remaining leg twitched in the dirt. Gallows discarded his Vindicator for the Wraith’s and took his shortsword. It wasn’t as comfortable as Gallows’, but it felt good to have.
‘Spineless son of a bitch,’ said Sturrock. ‘We coulda got answers from him.’
Gallows turned and motioned towards Fallon, Rend and Valentine. They stalked along the ground with the doctor. ‘We got someone else.’
‘There must be another way,’ cried Basud when Fallon pushed him through the bomb shelter’s entrance.
‘There ain’t. This facility of yours is the only chance we have of getting home, and you’re the tour guide.’
‘It’s too dangerous!’
‘We’re dangerous. Move.’
‘Who are you people? Why are you here?’
The dank corridor reeked of chemicals and filth. Sturrock had to crouch to fit.
‘How old is this place?’ Gallows asked.
‘It was built during the war with Ryndara,’ Basud explained. ‘The bomb shelter, the prison camp, the… facility below. The idea was that the king and members of the Council would be transported here quickly if the Ryndarans breached the city walls.’
They squeezed past several rooms with temporary wall cots and rusted footlockers. Gallows had a hard time picturing the royal family setting up home in here.
Fallon—whose gun didn’t waver from Basud—craned his neck to address Gallows: ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah.’ Gallows’ grip tightened around his weapon, his knuckles turning white. Sweat drew down his back like the point of a sword. ‘I’m fine.’
‘How’d they transport VIPs so quickly out here in the desert?’ Sturrock asked, before cracking his head on the low ceiling. ‘Any airship would be shot down before it found this hidden landing site of yours.’
‘Aha.’ Basud turned, his face lighting up. ‘That’s our way out of here—assuming those soldiers haven’t overrun the place yet. There is an underground railway—a high-speed train that runs from the city to here. Takes around an hour.’
‘Bullshit,’ called Valentine. She was at the rear of the line, while Fallon had insisted that Rend take point.
‘Through here,’ said Basud, inching the door to a utility closet open. He looked absurd in the makeshift armour, like a kid wearing his dad’s army uniform. ‘The troops will no doubt have the next area guarded. I have your word I’ll be protected?’
‘Nope,’ said Fallon. ‘Hurry up.’
Basud leered at him. ‘At this juncture, you need me more than I need you.’
‘The hell you say,’ spat Fallon. ‘You’ll get us out or I’ll castrate you with a rusty scalpel.’
Gallows shook his head. ‘He’s right, Major. We got no idea what we’re walking into.’
‘You’ve gone soft, Gallows.’
‘Your word?’ urged Basud.
Fallon breathed through gritted teeth. ‘You have it.’
Basud pulled a panel in the wall open and punched a code into a console. The ground trembled and scraped down on an incline. Gallows’ stomach lurched.
‘What in all hells is this?’ asked Valentine.
‘You’ll see,’ Basud’s voice chimed.
For over a minute, total blackness draped over the room. Gallows heard everyone’s breath, accompanied by the soft hum of machinery. His hands tremored—what was he going to find down here? Was it better if Sera didn’t die during the Night of Amberfire—or worse?
And then sharp, blue-white light rose from the edges of the floor, flooding the room.
‘Welcome,’ Basud began, ‘to Outpost One Three Seven.’
Gallows flinched at the sudden brightness.
The room came to a smooth halt. A pristine, white corridor opened up before them, like a hospital ward. Cool air flowed through silver ventilation ducts. Tinted windows prevented Gallows from seeing what lay inside the rows of portable cells.
‘Eyes open,’ said Fallon. He raised his weapon. ‘Sturrock, take point. Doc, lead us to the train.’
With a tremor in his voice, Basud said, ‘And if we run into more Wraiths?’
‘Duck.’
‘All the same, I’d rather be prepared. If I could have a gun…’
‘We saw your shooting skills,’ said Gallows. ‘Best we don’t waste the ammo.’
‘Very well, on your heads be it. If I die, you don’t escape. Straight along this corridor for now.’
They advanced, staying close to the walls. Aside from the buzz of overhead lights, the facility was noiseless.
‘Doc,’ started Gallows. ‘What is this place?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge that-’
‘Honey, you can stick that up your ass,’ Valentine replied.
‘“Aggression is the instinct of fools”. Denri tal Culaire,’ said Basud. ‘The finest mind ever to grace our world.’
‘And also a religious fanatic who murdered his son for having a male lover,’ Gallows pointed out.
‘An educated man, I see.’
‘Gods damn it,’ muttered Fallon. ‘Answer the goddamn question, Doc, or I’ll revisit my stance on your castration.’
Basud hissed. ‘I remind you that you’ve not exactly been forthcoming regarding your own reasons for being here.’
Valentine pressed the long barrel of her sniper rifle into Basud’s chest. ‘I got a powerful need to remind you that we got guns.’
‘Savages! Very well. Outpost One Three Seven is the culmination of tireless work by the greatest minds of the kingdom, not least of all my own. It was built following the war with Ryndara. Following that conflict, the government saw the need for… unconventional weapons.’
‘Wait…’ Gallows started. ‘Like igneus bombs?’
‘Among other things. Scientists—visionaries—were put to work here by Prime Councillor Elizabeth tal Waverley. Unlimited funds. No oversight. Free rein to let their imaginations run rampant. It was shut down after she died, its secrets locked away for years.’
Gallows’ grip tightened on his gun. Bile filled his stomach.
He tried, but he couldn’t hold it back.
He grabbed Basud by the neck and slammed him against the wall. ‘Weapons.’ His voice ground like a knife against whetstone. ‘Like the bomb that wasted our fleet and destroyed Irros’ Beckon, right? The Night of Amberfire? You and your “visionaries” killed thousands of people—like Sera. Recognise the name? Huh? Was she here?’
Basud’s eyes pleaded with him. Spittle rasped from his mouth. ‘You’re… choking… me…!’
‘Stand down, Gallows!’ It took the combined effort of Sturrock and Valentine to tear him away.
‘I should end you right now. You hear me? I’ll kill you.’
Sturrock’s shoulder pinned Gallows to the opposite wall. ‘He ain’t worth it, mate.’
‘Screw you.’
‘Steady! I lost family that night too.’
Major Fallon squared up to the doctor. ‘He ain’t wrong. You got a lot to answer for.’
The doctor’s gaze flitted from one face to the other, but he’d find no allies here. ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you people.’
‘Son of a bitch.’ Gallows’ teeth gnashed.
‘This ain’t the time,’ warned Fallon. ‘Gallows, listen to me: We need him alive. We need his intel.’
‘Screw that.’
Basud laughed. Son of a bitch, he actually started laughing. ‘You can’t kill me. You need me!’
‘For now, asswipe.’
‘It took the work of many hands and many minds to create the ignogen fusion bomb. My hands are no more bloodied than anyone else’s.’
‘I’m good,’ Gallows told Sturrock. The bigger man let him go. Gallows drove his fist into the wall.
‘Keep moving,’ Fallon ordered. ‘And keep talkin’, Doc, otherwise I’ll let Corporal Gallows loose.’
The team advanced through winding corridors, the pristine cleanliness soon giving way to blood and dirt.
; ‘So you admit it, eh?’ Sturrock asked. ‘It was our bomb? Gods above.’
‘Yes,’ said Basud. ‘Ignogen. A synthetic compound derived from ignicite.’ The doctor’s voice wavered. ‘Careful—this is where the intruders began shooting us.’
A male body lay face down on the floor, a gaping hole in the back of his skull.
‘A compound, like ignium and igneus?’ Valentine asked, stepping over the corpse.
‘Only with far more potency. Dangerous to mine the raw elements. Just one wrong move and it’d burn through skin like kindling. You have to get close to the core of ignicite, you see.’
‘That’s crazy,’ said Sturrock. ‘You could rupture the whole thing. You need the core intact so it can regenerate.’
Basud tutted. ‘Nothing in this world was ever achieved by being safe. We learned from the fools that laid waste to Palthonheim. Oh yes. It takes ten times the power of each of our lightning Spires to make sufficient ignogen. Delicate process, almost impossible.’ The doctor’s eyes beamed. ‘But we did it.’
Sturrock eased a door open, shotgun levelled.
‘Clear,’ he said.
‘Fat lot of good it did us,’ the major said to Basud. ‘You coulda powered the whole city with that. Used that money to build more water units, hire more Raincatchers, house the homeless.’
‘We were at war! But something went wrong. It was meant to destroy the Idari armada in their own harbours. All of our calculations and still we failed. The Gods alone should wield such power.’
‘How?’ asked Gallows. ‘Didn’t you assholes think to install an off switch?’
Basud rolled his eyes. ‘Of course we had safeguards. My theory is that someone purposefully deployed it early.’
‘Doesn’t make sense,’ began Rend. ‘It destroyed most of the Idari fleet too. If it were an Idari conspirator, they’d have set it off while it was in the city.’
‘It was under close guard all the way from here to Irros’ Beckon,’ said Basud. ‘We used the underground railway. Perhaps whoever activated it could only do so once it was at sea?’
Everything turned as silent as a mausoleum. If Basud was right, then what did that mean for the kingdom?
‘We killed our own people,’ said Valentine. ‘Ain’t nothing justifies that.’
‘We succeeded in saving the many,’ Basud reasoned. ‘Prime Councillor Thackeray looked at Palthonheim and sought to replicate the radiation fallout that prevents us from getting close. What better defence? Fifty years ago Palthonheim fell, and still the fallout is lethal to humans. For that reason, we exper-’
Sturrock held up a fist. They halted. The corridor split into a junction.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Basud. Fallon held a finger to his mouth.
Sturrock pulled out a compact mirror from his belt and angled it to analyse the passage around the corner. ‘Clear,’ he called. ‘Looks like there was a scuffle. Where to?’
‘Left,’ the doctor replied. ‘This is where I first saw them—after the gunfire started.’
‘How much farther?’ asked Rend.
‘A fair distance yet, I’m afraid. We haven’t even scratched the surface of this place.’
They turned into an identical passage. Scalpels, drills and other tools lay scattered on the floor. A trail of thick, brown blood led into one of the rooms.
‘Savages,’ Basud commented under his breath.
They proceeded past a set of double doors and came to a stairwell. As they descended, the bright light yielded to encroaching darkness.
‘Citizens are required to stay in their homes. Report all strange persons. Travel rights outwith the city have been suspended. Sir Raleigh Trevelyan Train Station is locked down. The skyport is closed. Passage through Wrenwing Gap is forbidden. Unauthorised air ships will be fired upon without warning. Citizens: Do not leave your homes. Stay indoors. Obey the Watch. Obey the military. Keep identification papers on your person at all times. This is in the interests of national security…’
That hateful broadcast. Years of listening to and perfecting melodies made the monotonous screech cut like a saw blade. The military had wasted no time in strengthening their chokehold on the different districts, but at least they were delivering water rations to the people at home. The Watch, however, were not as charitable; they patrolled in threes, shoulders squared, faces angry, eyes hungry—like a street gang looking for an excuse to hurt something.
Aulton checked his pocket watch. After nine in the evening. Their performance should be drawing to a close around now.
The guards at the gatehouse leading to Arrowhead—military now, not Watch—regarded him with the eyes of hawks.
That man Gallows. If what Ginny said was true, he’d be the man for the job.
Aulton had seen minor skirmishes on every other street from Petrel’s Tail to here, the majority of which involving the Watch and some poor Phadrosi merchant. And if my skin were the same colour as theirs, I would not have made it three feet from the Musicians’ Guild. So much for the Info Towers’ commands.
He didn’t relish being here, but he needed fresh air—anyway, the risk of being detained paled in comparison to staying behind with Fabian and listening to his bleating. ‘How can I be expected to sing amidst all this? Gah!’
It was Ginny, as usual, who convinced him that the show must go on.
He stood still for a moment, scanning the mansion houses and office blocks here. The absence of vagrants huddled in the shadows offered a glimpse of what this city used to be like—stunning architecture, flourishing businesses, sublime greenery. Elmwood Arcade, once one of the many gems of this city. Such a pity that-
A howl cut through the air. A man in juggler’s garb, his face bruised and bloodied. He spilled out from an alleyway, hands scouring the walls as he flailed on his feet. Behind him, two watchmen marched, chuckling as they watched the juggler fall like a carcass from a meat hook.
‘H-help!’ he pleaded.
The first officer struck him in the leg with his truncheon. ‘This is our city, Phadrosi scum.’
‘I’m from Nom Ganald, you damn id-’
The second watchman cracked the juggler’s shin.
‘Stop… Stop!’
Their regulation boots silenced his pleas.
One of watchmen caught Aulton staring, a flash of guilt in his eyes. ‘Keep moving,’ he called, ‘or you’ll get the same.’
Aulton’s face burned, for he knew there was nothing he could do.
Gallows & Fieri—Licensed Hunters.
The words had been worked into the frosted glass with a deft hand. Aulton tried the door—it was locked, but nothing a pick couldn’t solve.
Aulton eased the door open without a sound. The smoky, pepper smell of incense hit him. Weak light from the ignium lamps outside trickled through the bay window, spattering the walls in dark red. Shadows concealed the rest of the room, but he could make out a grand desk, a couple of chairs and not much else.
It wasn’t until his eyes adjusted that he saw the figure sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor.
‘The door was locked.’ The figure’s voice cut through the silence like an out of tune trombone.
‘Forgive me, I thought it best to make as little noise as possible.’ Aulton tried to pick out his features, but the weakness of the light coupled with his own faltering eyesight made it a fruitless endeavour.
‘I don’t think knocking on the door would have caused too much trouble.’ The man stood and turned his desk lamp on. He wore no shirt, the muscles of his chest taut and defined—not an ounce of fat on him. The addition of the light made the bareness of the room more stark; very little in the way of personal effects, basic wooden floor, perfect white ceiling with nary a crack nor a cobweb.
‘Mister Fieri?’ Aulton tried.
‘Correct.’ Fieri buttoned a silk shirt. It bore a resemblance to the Ryndaran fashion.
‘Forgive my intrusion.’
‘I’ll forgive you when you explain it. It’s a lat
e hour, and the city isn’t safe.’
‘Precisely the purpose of my visit. May I?’ Aulton motioned to the chair in front of Damien’s desk.
‘Please.’ Aulton sat. Fieri remained standing.
‘I’m Aulton Carney, I am employed by-’
‘Genevieve Couressa. Yes, I saw you in the Musicians’ Guild.’
‘Of course.’ Aulton stared at the man in front of him. Could he really be…? ‘Allow me to get to the meat of the matter.’
‘I’d be grateful.’
‘I am concerned for Ginny—Genevieve’s—safety, following the events of the day.’
‘A natural response. Enough pleasantries, Mister Carney. If you’re seeking to employ me, then do so via the Hunters’ Guild.’
‘Ah. That won’t do I’m afraid.’
‘We’re based two floors from your suite in the mansion,’ said Damien. ‘I promise you, it’s an easier trek than this.’
Aulton leaned back, the leather creaking. ‘I’ve seen how corrupt this city is. Your Prime Councillor is dead and your government decimated. Alspeth tal Simara is dead, and she was the only one on your Council who cared for any of you.’
‘Then leave when the skyport reopens.’
Aulton set his monocle onto the table. ‘My instinct exactly. However, I can’t convince Genevieve to abandon her crusade.’
‘Continue.’
‘She wishes to bring peace, hope and prosperity to the world, Mister Fieri, and damn the Gods, I believe she can do it. But the dead achieve nothing.’
‘And you think I am the man to protect her?’
Aulton chuckled. ‘Actually, I was looking for Tyson Gallows. She spoke very highly of him.’
‘I should think so. He’s a resourceful man and a good partner. As you can see, he isn’t here.’
‘Indeed—yet as I sit here, I suspect you would be best suited to the task.’
Aulton knew he was prodding but he wanted to see how the man would react. As it happened, the absence of reaction spoke volumes. No incline of the head, no twitch of the eye, no fidgeting of the fingers. Practiced. Perfected. It all but confirmed his suspicions.
‘The Hunters’ Guild has many talented individuals,’ Damien pointed out, voice level.
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