by K. J. Parker
The animated boy turned around to present two lumps, emerging from his shoulder blades.
“You could be covered in beautiful brown fur or have more eyes than your classmates. Do you have shiny skin? Great long legs? Maybe even a tail? Whatever you are, whoever you are, you are special. And you are like this for a reason.”
The image changed to a landscape: mountains, rivers and plains, all painted in the style of an innocent picture book. Even though the movie made a great effort to hide it, I knew damn well that this story wasn’t a happy one.
“Since the beginning of time, our world has gained its power from a natural energy that we call magic. Magic was part of almost every creature that walked the lands. Wizards could use it to perform spells. Dragons and Gryphons flew through the air. Elves stayed young and beautiful for centuries. Every creature was in tune with the spirit of the world and it made them different. Special. Magical.
“But six years ago, maybe before some of you were even born, there was an incident.”
The thread came loose on my sleeve as I pulled too hard. I wrapped it tight around my finger.
“One species was not connected to the magic of the planet: the Humans. They were envious of the power they saw around them, so they tried to change things.”
A familiar pain stabbed the left side of my chest, so I reached into my jacket for my medicine: a packet of Clayfield Heavies. Clayfields are a mass-produced version of a painkiller that people in these parts have used for centuries. Essentially, they’re pieces of bark from a recus tree, trimmed to the size of a toothpick. I slid one thin twig between my teeth and bit down as the film rolled on.
“To remedy their natural inferiority, the Humans made machines. They invented a wide variety of weapons, tools and strange devices, but it wasn’t enough. They knew their machines would never be as powerful as the magical creatures around them.
“Then, the Humans heard a legend that told of a sacred mountain where the magical river inside the planet rose up to meet the surface; a doorway that led right into the heart of the world. This ancient myth gave the Humans an idea.”
The image flipped to an army of angry soldiers brandishing swords and torches and pushing a giant drill.
“Seeking to capture the natural magic of the planet for themselves, the Human Army invaded the mountain and defeated its protectors. Then, hoping that they could use the power of the river for their own desires, they plugged their machines straight into the soul of our world.”
I watched the simple animation play out the events that have come to be known as the Coda.
The children watched in silence as the cartoon army moved their forces on to the mountain. On screen, it looked as simple as sliding a chess piece across a board. They didn’t hear the screams. They didn’t smell the fires. They didn’t see the bloodshed. The bodies.
They didn’t see me.
“The Human Army sent their machines into the mountain but when they tried to harness the power of the river, something far more terrible happened. The shimmering river of magic turned from mist to solid crystal. It froze. The heart of the world stopped beating and every magical creature felt the change.”
I could taste bile in my mouth.
“Dragons plummeted from the sky. Elves aged centuries in seconds. Werewolves’ bodies became unstable and left them deformed. The magic drained from the creatures of the world. From all of us. And it has stayed that way ever since.”
In the darkness, I saw heads turn. Tiny little bodies examined themselves, then turned to inspect their neighbors. Their entire world was now covered in a sadness that the rest of us had been seeing for the last six years.
“You may still bear the greatness of what you once were. Wings, fangs, claws and tails are your gifts from the great river. They herald back to your ancestors and are nothing to be ashamed of.”
I bit down on the Clayfield too hard and it snapped in half. Somewhere in the crowd, a kid was crying.
“Remember, you may not be magic, but you are still… special.”
The film ripped off the projector and spun around the wheel, wildly clicking a dozen times before finally coming to a stop. Burbage flicked on the lights but the children stayed silent as stone.
“Thank you for your attention. If you have any questions about your body, your species or life before the Coda, your parents and teachers will be happy to talk them through with you.”
As Burbage wrapped up the presentation, I tried my best to sink into the wall behind me. A stream of sweat had settled on my brow and I dabbed at it with an old handkerchief. When I looked up, an inquisitive pair of eyes were examining me.
They were foggy green with tiny pinprick pupils: Elvish. Young. The face was old, though. Elvish skin has no elasticity. Not anymore. The bags under the boy’s eyes were worthy of a decade without sleep, but he couldn’t have been more than five. His hair was white and lifeless and his tiny frame was all crooked. He wore no real expression, just looked right into my soul.
And I swear,
He knew.
2
I waited in the little room outside the Principal’s office on a small bench that pushed my knees up to my nipples. Burbage was inside, behind a glass door, talking into the phone. I couldn’t make out the words, but he sounded defensive. My guess was that someone, probably another member of staff, wasn’t so happy with his presentation. At least I wasn’t the only one.
“Yes, yes, Mrs Stanton, that must have been quite shocking for him. I agree that he is a rather sensitive boy. Perhaps sharing this realization with his fellow students is just what he needs to bring them closer together… Yes, a sense of connection, exactly.”
I rolled up my left sleeve and rubbed the skin around my wrist. Tattooed on my forearm were four black rings, like flat bracelets, that stretched from the base of my hand to my elbow: a solid line, a detailed pattern, a military stamp and a barcode.
Sometimes, they felt like they were burning. Which was impossible. They’d been marked on to me years ago, so the pain of their application was long gone. It was the shame of what they represented that kept creeping back.
The door to the office swung open. I dropped my arm to let the sleeve roll back down but I wasn’t fast enough. Burbage got a good look at my ink and stood in the doorway with a knowing smile.
“Mr Phillips, do come in.”
The Principal’s office was tucked into the back corner of the building, untouched by the afternoon sunshine. A well-stocked bookcase and a dusty globe flanked his desk, which was cluttered with papers, used napkins and piles of dog-eared textbooks. There was a green lamp in the corner that lit up the room like it was doing us a favor.
Burbage was unkempt to the point where even I noticed. Brown slacks and a ruffled powder-blue shirt with no tie. His uncombed, shoulder-length hair began halfway down the back of his round head. He sat himself in a leather armchair on one side of the desk. I took the chair opposite and tried my best to sit up straight.
He began by cleaning his glasses. He took them off and placed them on the desk in front of him. Then, he removed a pristine white cloth from his shirt pocket. He plucked up the glasses once more, held them out to the light, and massaged the lenses softly in his fingertips. It was while he was rubbing away that I noticed his hands. I was supposed to notice them. That’s what the whole show-and-tell was about.
When he was satisfied that I’d taken in his little performance, he put his spectacles back on his nose, laid both palms down on the desk and rapped his fingers against the wood. Four on each hand. No thumbs.
“Are you familiar with ditarum?” he asked.
“Am I here to take a class?”
“I’m just making sure you don’t need one. I’ve been told that you have lived many lives, Mr Phillips. Experience beyond your years, apparently. I’d like to be sure your reputation is justly merited.”
I don’t like jumping through hoops but I was too desperate for the money that might be on the other side.
“That’s correct.” He held up his right hand. “Using the four fingers to create specific, intricate patterns, we could open tiny portals from which pure magic would emerge. The masters of ditarum – and there was only a handful, mind you – were crowned as Lumrama. Did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“No.” A disconcerting smile hung between his ears. “I would expect not. The Lumrama were Wizards who had achieved such a level of skill that they could use sorcery for any exercise. From attacks on the battlefield to the most menial tasks in everyday life. With just four fingers they could do anything they required. And to prove this—”
BANG. He slammed his hand down on the desk. He wanted me to flinch. I disappointed him.
“To prove this,” he repeated, “the Lumrama lopped off their thumbs. Thumbs are crude, primitive tools. By removing them, it was proof that we had ascended past the base level of existence and separated ourselves from our mortal cousins.”
The old man pointed his mutilated hands in my direction and wiggled his fingers, chuckling like it was some big joke.
“Well, weren’t we in for a surprise?”
Burbage leaned back in his chair and looked me over. I hoped we were finally getting down to business.
“So, you’re a Man for Hire?”
“That’s right.”
“Why don’t you just call yourself a detective?”
“I was worried that might make me sound intelligent.”
The Principal wrinkled his nose. He didn’t know if I was trying to be funny; even less if I’d succeeded.
“What’s your relationship with the police department?”
“We have connections but they’re as thin as I can make them. When they come knocking I have to answer but my clients’ protection and privacy come first. There are lines I can’t cross but I push them back as far as I can.”
“Good, good,” he muttered. “Not that there is anything illegal to worry about, but this is a delicate matter and the police department is a leaky bucket.”
“No arguments here.”
He smiled. He liked to smile.
“We have a missing staff member. Professor Rye. He teaches history and literature.”
Burbage slid a folder across the table. Inside was a three-page profile on Edmund Albert Rye: full-time employee, six-foot-five, three hundred years old…
“You let a Vampire teach children?”
“Mr Phillips, I’m not sure how much you know about the Blood Race, but they have come a long way from the horror stories of ancient history. Over two hundred years ago, they formed The League of Vampires, a union of the undead that vowed to protect, not prey off, the weaker beings of this world. Feeding was only permitted through willing blood donors or those condemned to death by the law. Other than the occasional renegade, I believe the Blood Race to be the noblest species to ever rise up from the great river.”
“I apologize for my ignorance. I’ve never encountered one myself. How are they doing post-Coda?”
My naïvety pleased him. He was a man who enjoyed imparting knowledge to the ignorant.
“The Vampiric population has suffered as much, if not more, than any other creature on this planet. The magical connection they once accessed through draining the blood of others has been severed. They gain none of the magical life-force that once ensured their survival. In short, they are dying. Slowly and painfully. Withering into dust like corpses in the sun.”
I slid a photo out of the folder. The only signs of life in the face of Edmund Rye were the intensely focused eyes that battled their way out of deep sockets. He wasn’t much more than a ghost: cavernous nostrils, hair like old cotton and skin that was flaking away.
“When was this taken?”
“Two years ago. He’s gotten worse.”
“He was in the League?”
“Of course. Edmund was a crucial founding member.”
“Are they still active?”
“Technically, yes. In their weakened state, the League can no longer carry out their sworn oath of protection. They still exist, though in name only.”
“When did he decide to become a teacher?”
“Three years ago, I made the announcement that I was founding Ridgerock. It caused quite a stir in the press. Before the Coda, a cross-species school would have been quite impractical. Imagine trying to force Dwarves to sit through a potions class or putting Gnomes and Ogres on the same sports field. It would have been impossible for any child to receive a proper education. Now, thanks to your kind, we have all been brought down to base level.”
He was baiting me. I decided not to bite.
“Edmund came to me the following week. He knew that he wouldn’t have many years ahead of him and this school was a place where he could pass down the wisdom he’d acquired over his long and impressive life. He has served loyally since the day we opened and is a much-loved member of staff.”
“So, where is he?”
Burbage shrugged. “It’s been a week since he showed up for classes. We’ve told the students he’s on leave for personal matters. He lives above the city library. I’ve put the address in his report and the librarian knows you’re coming.”
“I haven’t accepted the job yet.”
“You will. That’s why I asked you to come early. I was curious as to what kind of man would take up a career like yours. Now I know.”
“And what kind of man is that?”
“A guilty one.”
He watched my reaction with his narrow, know-it-all eyes. I tucked the photo back into the folder.
“It’s been a week already. Why not go to the police?”
Burbage slid an envelope across the table. I could see the bronze-leaf bills inside.
“Please. Find my friend.”
I got to my feet, picked up the envelope and counted out what I thought was fair. It was a third of what he was offering.
“This will cover me till the end of the week. If I haven’t found something by then, we’ll talk about extending the contract.”
I pocketed the money, rolled up the folder, tucked it inside my jacket and made for the exit. Then I paused in the doorway.
“That film didn’t differentiate between the Human Army and the rest of mankind. Isn’t that a little irresponsible? It could be dangerous for the Human students.”
Under the dim light, I watched him apply that condescending smile he wore so well.
“My dear fellow,” he said chirpily, “we would never dream of having a Human child here.”
Outside, the air cooled the sweat around my collar. The security guard let me go without a word and I didn’t ask for one. I made my way east along Fourteenth Street without much hope for what I might be able to find. Professor Edmund Albert Rye; a man whose life expectancy was already several centuries overdue. I doubted I could bring back anything more than a sad story.
I wasn’t wrong. But things were sticking to the story that knew how to bite.
if you enjoyed
HOW TO RULE AN EMPIRE AND GET AWAY WITH IT
look out for
THE MASK OF MIRRORS
Rook & Rose: Book One
by
M. A. Carrick
Darkly magical and beautifully imagined, The Mask of Mirrors is the unmissable start to the Rook & Rose trilogy, a rich and dazzling fantasy adventure in which a con artist, a vigilante, and a crime lord must unite to save their city.
Nightmares are creeping through the City of Dreams.…
Renata Viraudax is a con artist who has come to the sparkling city of Nadežra—the City of Dreams—with one goal: to trick her way into a noble house and secure her fortune and her sister’s future.
But as she’s drawn into the aristocratic world of House Traementis, she realizes her masquerade is just one of many surrounding her. And as corrupted magic begins to weave its way through Nadežra, the poisonous feuds of its aristocrat
s and the shadowy dangers of its impoverished underbelly become tangled—with Ren at their heart.
Prologue
The lodging house had many kinds of quiet. There was the quiet of sleep, children packed shoulder to shoulder on the threadbare carpets of the various rooms, with only an occasional snore or rustle to break the silence. There was the quiet of daytime, when the house was all but deserted; then they were not children but Fingers, sent out to pluck as many birds as they could, not coming home until they had purses and fans and handkerchiefs and more to show for their efforts.
Then there was the quiet of fear.
Everyone knew what had happened. Ondrakja had made sure of that: In case they’d somehow missed the screams, she’d dragged Sedge’s body past them all, bloody and broken, with Simlin forcing an empty-eyed Ren along in Ondrakja’s wake. When they came back a little while later, Ondrakja’s stained hands were empty, and she stood in the mildewed front hall of the lodging house, with the rest of the Fingers watching from the doorways and the splintered railings of the stairs.
“Next time,” Ondrakja said to Ren in that low, pleasant voice they all knew to dread, “I’ll hit you somewhere softer.” And her gaze went, with unerring malice, to Tess.
Simlin let go of Ren, Ondrakja went upstairs, and after that the lodging house was silent. Even the floorboards didn’t creak, because the Fingers found places to huddle and stayed there.
Sedge wasn’t the first. They said Ondrakja picked someone at random every so often, just to keep the rest in line. She was the leader of their knot; it was her right to cut someone out of it.
But everyone knew this time wasn’t random. Ren had fucked up, and Sedge had paid the price.
Because Ren was too valuable to waste.
Three days like that. Three days of terror-quiet, of no one being sure if Ondrakja’s temper had settled, of Ren and Tess clinging to each other while the others stayed clear.
On the third day, Ren got told to bring Ondrakja her tea.
She carried it up the stairs with careful hands and a grace most of the Fingers couldn’t touch. Her steps were so smooth that when she knelt and offered the cup to Ondrakja, its inner walls were still dry, the tea as calm and unrippled as a mirror.