The Book of Transformations

TWENTY-THREE

Dumbly, Fulcrom dropped the candlestick, and it smashed one of the tiles, but he wasn’t distracted from gaping at the image in the mirror. ‘You’re… you died.’

Almost completely white-skinned, with lank black hair and a heavy fringe, and with a wound at her neck that must have come from the crossbow bolt that had hit her on the day she was killed, Adena didn’t look particularly alive. Seeing her now confirmed just how much Adena looked like Lan — or would have done if Adena was, in fact, alive.

‘I did,’ Adena said.

‘So how come…’ Fulcrom gestured wildly at the mirror. ‘How come you’re here? Is this still a dream?’

‘For you? I don’t think so. For me, I have no idea. It kind of feels like I’ve woken up from a really long dream though.’

Fulcrom struggled to believe what was happening. He stormed out of the room, flung open a window to let the bitterly cold air wake him even further. Clouds of his own heavy breath drifted away into the evening. After a moment he turned and walked hesitantly back into the bathroom, confident that the phantasm in the mirror would be gone.

Adena was still there, smiling meekly. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Still here.’

Fulcrom snapped into full analytical mode.

On a closer inspection, she was glowing, ever so slightly, as if washed in moonlight. She wore thin white rags, and her skin seemed a little blue and unhealthy. There was nothing behind her save the reflection of some items in his own bathroom. She was just there, in the mirror — an apparition. He questioned whether or not he was dreaming, whether or not he had been drugged or taken hallucinogens, but he didn’t think so.

‘She seems nice, the new girl,’ Adena declared. ‘I like her.’

‘Lan?’ Fulcrom spluttered, feeling a sudden and irrational bout of guilt. ‘How could you possibly know about her?’

‘Oh, well… You can kind of see stuff when you’re in this state. But, I guess you are allowed to see other women. I mean, I am dead after all.’

‘How did you get here, in the mirror?’

‘The priest set us free. I don’t know what he did exactly, but after the priest’s visit, some of us seemed to be able to get out of there.’ She gestured down below. ‘Though, it has to be said, most couldn’t be bothered — they’d had enough of the living — it was those who just wanted to come back with unfinished business, that kind of thing. You’re looking well by the way, sugar.’

‘The priest,’ Fulcrom said.

‘Yes, Ulryk,’ Adena replied. ‘Nice man, if a little silly when he gets excited. He means well though.’

Ulryk… how is he behind this? ‘I don’t understand. You were killed, not put in some gaol — so how could he free you?’

‘I wasn’t burned, remember?’ Adena said. ‘The authorities thought I was a criminal. They thought I was in on that robbery and refused to burn me. They buried me — you must have watched them lower my corpse into the ground? Don’t you remember?’

‘Well, yes, I…’ Fulcrom perched on a stool and pressed his face into his hands, recalling the faces of the mourners and the rain splashing on the mud as her coffin was lowered into the earth. After a moment he looked up again. ‘I did try to explain to them that it was a misunderstanding — even tried to pull strings behind the scenes.’

‘I know, my love.’ Adena’s face was serene, if a little ethereal. Very faintly the texture of her skin altered, tiny patterns moving just beneath the surface.

‘What happened after that?’ Fulcrom asked.

‘My soul was trapped beneath the city, just like every other soul who wasn’t burned on a pyre and set free.’ She chuckled. ‘I suppose it means the Jorsalir priests were right about something. And you know what, there are a surprising number of us down there, and not just criminals who aren’t allowed to have their souls freed — although even most of them say they were innocent anyway. So we are all there, underneath Villjamur, doing what we’ve done for as long as any of us can remember, and Ulryk manages to gain entrance to wherever it is we were… I want to say living, but that’s not quite right, is it?’

Fulcrom was amazed at how light-hearted she was taking all this. She never did take anything seriously, even when she was still alive — Snap out of it, idiot. This doesn’t prove anything.

Adena continued. ‘Ulryk gave his best religious mumbo-jumbo to set us free, but I think he meant to some kind of heaven. He did some spells, I think, from a book which he was carrying, and I’m not sure what happened, but we all just followed him right out of the underworld and through some strange passageways and up to the city. It took us a while, but previously we’d never been able to leave the underworld. All of us were trapped there, somewhere under Villjamur.’

Fulcrom tried to process all of this, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous it all sounded. Worst of all was that he was inclined to believe her.

‘I came straight to see you,’ Adena said, ‘though at the moment I only appear in mirrors. Some of the others are able to move about the streets — I’m hoping maybe I can, too. So then, tell me all about Lan.’

Fulcrom turned away. ‘I don’t want to talk about Lan.’

‘Why not? She’s important to you, and you’re important to me.’

‘I just don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Oh, come on, I don’t want us to argue on my first night back. That’s all we used to do towards the end.’

Fulcrom was hurt. ‘We did not.’

‘You probably don’t remember, burying yourself in your work. My memories are preserved, once they returned to me. They say, in the underworld, that the living have a habit of killing reality. As soon as something’s happened, it’s distorted from what it used to be.’

Maybe she was right. He was always forgiving her for something or other, always letting her get away with whatever she wanted. He was a pushover, and he remembered now.

‘Are you just stuck there, in the mirror?’

‘Sort of,’ she said. ‘For now I can’t go any further than this. You don’t just appear back in this world, apparently — you make slow transitions. Perhaps I can take more of a physical form soon.’

‘And who exactly gives you such information?’ Fulcrom asked, exasperated. ‘Is there a clinic you all go to where you have a nice chat about coming back to life?’

‘Now don’t be sarcastic, sugar. You were always a perfect gent when I was alive.’

Again a sigh, again staring at the floor, the wall, anywhere but at the girl he’d tried hard to let go of for all these years. Eventually he faced her only to say, ‘I need to sleep.’

‘Of course you do — you go ahead, and I’ll be back soon.’

‘Knock before you do,’ he replied, but her image was already beginning to ebb away. The room suddenly lost one chill when he noticed another from the window by his bed — and he walked over to close it. But, just before he did, he swore he could see a couple of pale-glowing figures progressing across the bridges.

He couldn’t be bothered to explore that. He was tired, upset, and he was struggling to suppress his memories.

Lan lay awake on her side, glancing out of her bedroom window. Huge columns of snow drifted across the sea, like white banners floating in the breeze, and behind that slate-grey skies extended into the distance.

Despite the weather, she was in a good mood. No, a great mood, in fact. Last night, with Fulcrom, she felt as though she’d overcome a major obstacle on her journey through life. No matter how organized and skilful he was as an investigator, with her he seemed just as useless in the arts of being a couple as she herself felt, which made everything seem so normal.

She washed her face in the basin in the corner and got changed into the black outfit of the Knights. Her finger traced the encircled silver cross, their symbol, the one she’d noticed graffitied on walls near Caveside, like a warning. The same symbol that was featured on banners and flags drawn up for sale at the Emperor’s request, that little girls were stitching into their own costumes as they pretended to be her.

For a moment Lan paused in the mirror, brushed her hair and, with a pair of scissors, she straightened her fringe. A little make-up next. Without the bustle of the show, without other women around her, she enjoyed these little morning rituals. No awkwardness, no glares loaded with meaning.

After she finished, she headed out of her room, where she found that the boys were up, dressed and eating oats for breakfast.

‘What, no women this morning?’ Lan asked, strolling past the large window overlooking the sea.

‘Turns out,’ Vuldon said, in between mouthfuls, ‘that Tane’s conversational skills are a bit of a contraceptive at times.’

Lan didn’t even want to know what he’d said.

‘How did it go with your lover boy?’ Tane leapt up off the chair and sauntered to her side, his tail swishing playfully. His irises flared with a feral streak. ‘Did you let him… you know?’ He wafted a hand towards her loins.

For some reason Tane’s blunt charm completely circumvented any awkwardness, and it didn’t hurt to think about it when he was so matter-of-fact. ‘I’m not going to let your lack of personality ruin something nice,’ she said. ‘But no, if you must know, nothing happened.’

‘Lan, you need to tell us if you two are intimate.’ Vuldon lumbered over to the corner to stoke the fire and add a couple of logs. ‘Just lay it straight. We need to know — conflict of interests and all that.’

‘We kissed, all right, there’s nothing else to say,’ Lan replied with a frown. ‘And don’t worry, I won’t let it get in the way of the job.’

‘Good, because we’ve got a heck of a task ahead of us today.’ Vuldon stood up and folded his arms. ‘Everyone who’s someone in Villjamur is going to be at this damn opening,’ he growled, ‘and all eyes are on us, seeing as though we’re the city’s darlings. Let your concentration fall, and you could fuck it up — which means we’re done for.’

‘I’m not going to fuck anything up.’ Lan wished he would show her just a little more faith sometimes. Was it the fact that she had messed up one night previously, or did he not trust women to do a decent job?

All along the Maerr Gata, the largest street on the fifth level of the city, people were stirring. Hunched in their shawls and cloaks and furs, under gentle flakes of snow, men and women trundled towards the new indoor iren, the first covered market installation outside of the caves. At first they came in ones and twos, the early trinket-seekers, and then they swarmed like beetles, scurrying out of cobbled passageways and across buckling bridges to join in with the main crowd.

The air was laden with expectation. This wasn’t just another iren, it was a statement against the ice age, a defiant gesture that life could go on. Not just that, but the grand opening had been hyped beyond all belief, so much so that the people of the city could well believe that they were about to witness an event on par with the birth of a god.

Boards advertising the event had been erected about the city; banners of new insignias rattled from metal railings; criers stood broadcasting against the tide of citizens.

‘These people,’ Tane remarked, with a gesture down below, which for all Lan knew could have referred to some hell realm, ‘they really ought to get a hobby. This simply can’t be the centre of their world.’

Lan couldn’t help but laugh at the look of mild despair on Tane’s furred face. The Knights had gathered, in advance, on top of the main structure, keeping an eye on the crowd, and as a visible deterrent against anyone wishing to disrupt the event.

‘Says the guy who spent his life throwing fancy parties,’ Vuldon grunted.

‘Networking, old boy — it’s a different art entirely.’

Lan had to hand it to the architects: the iren certainly was impressive. Whilst not mirroring the aesthetics of the surrounding buildings, it had been designed with the future in mind. The three-storey facade was crafted from a green mica, so it shimmered like a monstrous emerald and scattered on its surface were deliberate patches of limestone that made the structure appear as if it was suffering from a disease. Arched windows were placed at regular intervals on each floor with a rigorous attention to geometry.

Whether or not it would be popular was yet to be determined, but people were pausing before it, cooing or gesturing or beaming. Lan knew then that its intention to offer a distraction against the ills of the world would probably be a success.

‘Vuldon,’ Tane called above the wind, ‘did you have to perform such chores back in your glory days?’

Vuldon perched on the outer wall, peering down with a bemused expression on his face. He rubbed his broad stubbled jaw. ‘After a while it became posing for one thing or another. I tried to fight it off but people just seem to want something to believe in. It happens to soldiers, too — those that come back from big campaigns, especially the commanding officers, become a point of interest.’

‘I don’t know,’ Lan said. ‘I think we’re of more value than this.’

‘I quite agree,’ Tane declared. ‘You’re a miserable sod at the best of times, Vuldon.’

Vuldon shrugged, stood up and brushed the back of his uniform. ‘I don’t care, cat-man, that’s just how things are sometimes — and I’m fine with it. We’ve got a good income, a good lifestyle, and a little attention.’

‘A little?’ Tane said, prancing about the rooftop. ‘A good slice of the populace treat us like we’re gods.’ To prove the point he waved to the people below, who responded with waves and cheers.

‘The Cavesiders don’t treat us like gods,’ Vuldon said.

‘Neanderthals, the lot of them,’ Tane replied.

Two city guards appeared further along the rooftop — four, six and soon a unit standing in sharp rows, forming a path. They snapped to attention as Emperor Urtica arrived, his aureate, purple robes fluttering in the sharp wind. He was wearing thick leather boots, a purple tunic and a rich fur cloak. He approached the Knights and only when he was close could Lan smell the musky aroma of arum weed smoke on his clothing.

‘Sele of Urtica,’ she remembered to say.

Tane and Vuldon shuffled into line beside her.

Urtica issued a professional grin, and an obviously rehearsed speech. ‘My Villjamur Knights, how splendid you look.’ His voice was richer than she remembered. ‘You have been instrumental, if not the sole reason, in reducing crime in this city in such a short space of time. Your citizens hold you in high esteem, as does the Council — and as do I.’

‘Thank you, my Emperor.’ Lan could sense Vuldon’s snort of disdain, even though no one else appeared to notice.

‘Today, as you know, is important. I am about to open this incredible iren — what a structure! There are soldiers from the city guard and men from a Regiment of Foot stationed on every floor of the building, but I have been receiving certain… threats of late.’ His voice betrayed him and Lan could suddenly see the sleepless nights in his eyes. ‘The anarchists seem to think today represents everything they disapprove of. I cannot allow such a rogue minority to ruin this for the good people of Villjamur. This iren is to be a symbol of our wealth, status and pride.’

Lan smiled but inwardly questioned: who exactly was the majority? The people starving outside the city gates? Those trying to make a life for themselves Caveside? Or those privileged few crowded below them to celebrate the opening of a building created for the sole purpose of pleasure and image?

Fulcrom stormed across the city, through a light shower of snow.

All around this region of Villjamur, the city was in the midst of being reconstructed. Horses dragged gargantuan carts of stone and wood precariously across the cobbled roads. Scaffolding webbed over and across buildings as if woven by some monstrous machine, whilst masons and labourers climbed up into celestial mists.

Fulcrom arrived at the hotel where Ulryk was lodging, a rickety, whitewashed building typical of the lower levels. Fulcrom banged on the door to his room, but there was no reply. In the small, tastelessly decorated lobby, decorated in deep reds, with old furniture and garish paintings, Fulcrom enquired of the landlord of the hotel if he’d seen the priest.

‘Nah, not seen the guy,’ he replied.

‘Have you heard anything strange from his room perhaps?’ Fulcrom pressed. ‘Or have there been any visitors?’

‘He’s a quiet one, aye, keeps himself to himself mainly. No friends, no visitors. Don’t eat with the other residents in the dining room — who’d want to, mind, they’re a freakish lot — but he’s always smiling whenever I pass him.’

‘Are his movements strange?’ Fulcrom asked.

‘What, like the way he walks?’

‘No,’ Fulcrom sighed. Idiot. ‘I mean, the hours he leaves and returns, are they strange?’

‘Up and down with the sun, mainly. Though I’ve not seen him return for the last two days.’

‘Thanks for your help. If you see him, send word by a messenger to the Inquisition headquarters. We’ll cover the cost.’

‘Will do, sir.’

Fulcrom headed to the Inquisition headquarters. There, in the sanctuary of his office, he sat upright at his desk for nearly an hour, staring into space, turning things over in his mind.

Warkur poked his head in through the doorway, then knocked on the frame. For a big rumel, he certainly moved with surprising stealth. ‘Fulcrom, got a minute?’

‘Of course, sir, come in.’

Warkur closed the door carefully, then approached lugging a thick bundle of papers. He dumped them on the desk in front of Fulcrom.

‘What are these?’ Fulcrom asked.

‘Statements from last night,’ Warkur ventured, although he seemed disturbed. ‘You’re in charge of weird shit. Well, here’s a big pile of weird shit.’

‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘We got a stack of witness statements last night, and they’re from people who…’ Warkur leaned in as if ashamed to speak the words ‘.. who claim that the dead visited their houses. If it was one or two people, I’d have slapped them in a cell and let the silly fuckers sober up. But we got over forty declarations that the dead — or people believed to be deceased — were up and about, hassling the citizens of this damn city.’

Fulcrom breathed out slowly. ‘Right you are, sir, I’ll look into it.’

‘Don’t let this get out anywhere, and don’t put too much effort into things. We don’t want to be seen to be wasting our resources on shit that might not even be real.’

‘Understood, sir,’ Fulcrom reassured him.

Warkur retreated from the room. At the door he paused. ‘I know you’re not their babysitters, but are those damn Knights of yours prepared for today?’

‘I believe so, sir.’

‘Good. I never trust it when matters the Inquisition should be overseeing fall under the control of the city guard just because the Emperor is present. They’re an arrogant and unsubtle bunch. We should be there — feels like a threat whenever they suggest we don’t get involved.’

As Warkur left, Fulcrom lowered his forehead to the desk.

Things were no longer looking so good.

His problems would not go away. He had loved Adena more than life itself, and it took him weeks to even speak to another person after her death. Her life gone, Adena had been framed for a crime she didn’t commit. It was a savage end for such a beautiful, delicate human.

People began to talk about him behind his back — sentiments of sympathy at first, and then something more serious, questioning his fitness for the job of investigator. Fulcrom threw himself into his work assiduously, and discovered it was the only thing that would keep him from thinking about her. Eventually the pain diminished, but he was left with a residue in his mind that he couldn’t scrub away, no matter how hard he tried to force the matter from his thoughts. Then years later, there was Lan with her eccentricities and her charms and her differences from anyone he’d met in a long time. Something close to hope had reared itself in his mind.

And then last night, of all nights to visit, she came back…

Fulcrom glanced through some of the reports from the previous night.

‘My Jed was there — it’s been nearly twenty years, but he was there, still a boy, at the foot of my bed.’

‘I was in the bath and this presence crept behind me and tried to kiss me!’

‘Two of them — the ones that robbed me blind last year, standing there all glowing white and with the knives they carried that same night. They taunted me and my wife and we didn’t sleep at all afterwards.’

The stories were very similar to his own — visitations and phantoms haunting the living of Villjamur. What the hell had that priest been doing?

The path inside the iren was lined with numerous ornate cressets that each held a fat-based flame. Across a white marble floor, with mica-covered walls and ceilings, the place was assiduously clean and gleaming, and across such surfaces the echo of their footsteps ricocheted down the corridor.

Lan felt nervous as the weight of expectation dawned on her.

Not only were the Knights celebrated by the people of the city, but they would be in the public eye once again. If something should go wrong, the people would not look to the city guard for assistance, they would look to the Knights — the manufactured symbols of hope.

The corridor didn’t turn at right angles, it curved gently, implying the vast size of the structure. Soon they found themselves at the top of an iron spiral staircase and, together, they descended, passing portraits of the great icons of the military dressed in various regalia. At the bottom of the stairs the city guard boxed around Urtica, obscuring him with their crimson and grey colours, guiding him forwards, their dull steel shields held aloft as if they were heading into a fracas.

Then a lower level, wider, lighter, with skylights, wooden rails and gold cressets. Everything here seemed to glitter, as if they were in some heady dream.

People, who Lan guessed had something to do with the iren, were loitering. Wealthy types, judging from the looks of them, in regal tunics and dresses. All of them desperate to meet the new celebrities. ‘This is bizarre,’ Lan whispered to Tane.

‘I love it,’ Tane replied, shaking hands with some of the traders. ‘It’s why I love the taverns so much. I can’t quite get enough of the adoration.’ Then, to those gathered to one side, ‘Nice to meet you. Sorry, must be on my way.’

‘Tane,’ Vuldon snapped, ‘watch them closely. See anything remotely strange act on it.’

‘I am, big guy, I am. I can hear dozens of conversations. I can do this stuff without even thinking about it, and meanwhile I’m still on the lookout.’

‘You good, Lan?’ Vuldon demanded.

‘Yeah.’ Lan was now peering into the deepening crowd as their noise swelled to fever pitch.

A shaven-headed man in his thirties, wearing a dark-brown hood, came to her side — and he was pleading with Lan for a kiss; an admirer. She ignored him at first, didn’t want to make a scene here, but he laughed perversely.

‘You look jus’ fine in that outfit,’ he drawled, then groped for her breasts.

Lan grabbed his outstretched arm, punched his stomach, and he buckled over. Finding reserves of strength that surprised even herself, she grabbed him by the hair, yanking him back, and clutched his throat. She snarled into his alcohol-reeking face: ‘You leave me alone, right?’

The man squirmed a nod, and she pushed him away. Clawing his throat, he vanished into the masses.

‘Well handled,’ Vuldon said, without a hint of sarcasm. ‘Bet being a woman in your position surprises you somewhat.’

‘Fuck you.’

On through the horde, shadowing the city guard, who opened out behind a platform overlooking the lower floors in this vast atrium. Above there were two huge skylights, latticed with wood, and made from the most remarkably clear glass Lan had ever seen. The building felt as airy as an outside iren. A faint cough of a pipe as the new fire-grain heating system imported from Villiren continued to pump warmth around the place. This is simply stunning…

Upon seeing the Emperor above them, the audience fell into a hush.

He cleared his throat and paused. ‘This is a momentous day. One of progress…’

While he recited a prepared script from memory, the Knights moved into position behind the city guard and across to the opposite side, gaining a better perspective on the events. Shops were layered on three floors, nearing a hundred units in all, mainly clothing-sellers and milliners, but also everything from designer carpenters to weapon-smiths, with a few bistros scattered about.

‘… from the latest materials developed with the assistance of cultists, utilizing the great ancient technologies of millennia past..’

Around the sides of this highest level, marksmen crouched with loaded crossbows. One of them glanced her way and nodded, before allowing his gaze to settle on the throng below. As the Emperor continued his oratory, Lan, too, began scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble.

It seemed impossible to know what signs to look for. Everyone had been searched on entry and any weapons confiscated — an act all the more ironic considering that expensive blades would soon be on sale here. Lan noticed personnel sporting the new Shelby Corporation colours, white belts bright against the dark-red uniforms. It seemed they were guarding some of the more impressive-looking shops.

She focused on people’s hands, whether or not they were in pockets, about to draw out something, people nudging those next to them, people gesturing across the atrium.

Through the glass, she saw something up on the roof. Possibly a pterodette or a garuda on patrol?

A noise below caught her attention. Someone had knocked over one of the grand portraits. Laughter frothed up around that corner and a man was hauled to his feet, peering around sheepishly whilst members of the city guard restored the work to its place on the wall. He was escorted from the premises.

The Emperor continued his speech with no pause, his voice carrying across the distance of the atrium. People stood listening in earnest. Again, Lan caught movement — something on the roof.

Moving through the press of guards surrounding them she reached Tane and Vuldon, who were scanning the crowd below.

‘I’m going up onto the roof,’ she said. ‘Is there a way to get there without drawing too much attention?’

‘Only the way we came,’ Vuldon whispered, his gaze flitting about the iren. ‘You need support?’

‘I don’t know. Just a hunch.’

‘Fine. Well, we’ll stay here for now.’

Lan peered back up over the doorway, and could see the roof extending back overhead, so she gripped the frame and, using her circus skills more than her powers, she quietly hauled herself up to the higher level.

Crouched by the guttering, wind pummelled her, sending her dark hair flailing around her face, and she pulled the strands aside and under control. Ahead in the distance, the towers of the city soared into a fine mist.

The roof was curved slightly, banking upwards, constructed mainly from a slate-like material, but one which possessed more grip. Some distance ahead, Lan could see the two vast skylights which focused light into the iren. Each must have been twenty feet across.

And there, crawling along the outside of a skylight was something

… some kind of creature. She shifted along the perimeter of the roof to gain a better perspective, being careful not to catch its attention. From behind she could see its body, a brown and leathery skinned beast, twice the length of a human, with four squat legs, a stub of a tail.

Lan’s foot caught a loose tile and she slipped; the creature froze, then turned to face her, an image of surreal horror: there was nothing but a vast mouth, no eyes, nose or ears that she could discern, just layered rows of teeth set in a slobbering maw.

The thing tromped on the spot, rotating its fat body. It snorted thick gloop by its feet. Then with a surprising, lumbering speed it charged towards her. When it was less than a few paces away Lan leapt up hovering in the air. The creature reared up, chomping at the air, but couldn’t stop itself from sliding over the edge of the roof and, moments later, came the sound of its mass slapping against the cobbles below.

Lan lowered herself and looked over the edge of the building. Down below, in a vacant alley, the thing had become a purple aggregation of blood, offal and pulp.

What the hell was that?

Lan scanned the rooftop but could see nothing else. She scurried along the edge of the roof, peering over the side.

At the rear of the iren, a small huddle of figures dressed in dark clothing with scarves across their faces were surrounded by buckets of water. She watched as they placed a hand-sized, dark lump before them, and poured one of the buckets of water over the top. Suddenly the small mass began to lurch and convulse, contorting itself in all directions, and swelling into something altogether larger.

It ballooned into the precise form of the creature that had attacked her moments earlier, then one of the three — now clearly holding a sword for protection — kicked it so it tottered forwards, out of the alley, up a wall and out of sight. The figure returned to the others, who tilted up a sack to empty out one final dark mass, only to repeat the process.

Screams and manic calls for help started to erupt from the inside; she could feel the hysteria through the roof.

Lan took a leap off the edge of the building. She hung in the air — positioning herself — and then she allowed herself to fall at a velocity that wouldn’t be quick enough to injure her, but certainly hurt the three down below. She collapsed into two of them, catching one on the back of the skull, another in the chest, and they both lay still, dead or unconscious. The third figure swung wildly with a sword, but Lan tuned into her powers to funnel out a blast of energy, repelling the weapon and sending it clattering behind. She followed up with two swift punches to the stomach, kicked the figure’s face, and her victim collapsed backwards.

Her left leg ached from the fall, but she ignored it, removing the scarves of the strangers — two men and a woman — and recognized none of them. The female did not fit the description of Shalev at all. They were all still alive, so she heaped their bodies in the corner and ripped the now empty hessian sack into strips. She bound them tightly around their wrists and ankles.

Scooping up the discarded sword she sprinted around to the front of the structure, where citizens were pouring out from the iren’s main entrance and into the wide Maerr Gata. Three of the recently spawned beasts were attacking people as they fled.

Lan drew on her reserves of energy, and projected herself into the air. She made a huge arc and came down on top of one of the beasts, driving her sword through the back of its skull: the thing heaved, groaned and shuddered into stillness. As she stumbled around to its front, people lurched away in horror — there was a human leg hanging out of the beast’s jaw, and four corpses lying around in close proximity, each with a limb missing. At least the military was present and they were busy escorting people away to safety, apparently unconcerned with stopping the beasts.

Another beast was dispatched in the same way: a sword to the skull, blood pooling across the cobbles, and this time blood beetles arrived in their droves. Rarely up this many levels of the city, the insects were a glossy black tide devouring chunks of flesh and feasting on blood.

The final beast gave more of a fight. It threw itself at her; Lan jumped, drew up her legs so she was almost horizontal and thrust the sword into the side of its head. It wasn’t quite dead; she hadn’t used enough force. With a gaping wound, the creature hobbled in a circle, unable to control its movements. Spasmodically, it snapped at anyone nearby. Lan skipped up onto its back, fell to one knee and drove the blade through the thick hide on the top of its neck. The thing collapsed with a thunderous wheeze. She faced the front of the iren, this glorious structure of modernity, and she noticed that two black banners were now fluttering down from one of the windows.

How have the anarchists got there, too?

She ran towards the entrance, shoving her way through the crowds and, when it became too congested, stepping up through the air to run above them. She descended to land by the main entrance, by two sets of open double doors.

Lan paused in shock to regard the horror.

The opening event had been turned to carnage. Blood pooled thickly on the ground whilst crossbow bolts showered down from the tiers above, hitting innocents and the ravening monsters alike. There was screaming and chaos as the surreal hellions lunged and surged across the marbled floors, snapping at any pieces of moving flesh, sliding in the blood, and tearing apart whatever they could fit into their maws.

Vuldon was making his presence felt. He was at the far end of the ground floor, a sword swinging in each hand, lashing out at the vile freaks. Tane seemed to be everywhere at once, using his speed and agility to haul people out of the way of certain death, and raking his claws repeatedly through the beasts’ thick hides to render them useless.

The creatures, while vicious, succumbed quite easily; they possessed little awareness or control, nothing in the way of guile. The creatures died, one by one, and very quickly there was just the aftermath, people sobbing, the injured calling for aid and a mass of blood and bone scattered across the once pristine floor. There were around twenty of the monsters, each considerably bigger and broader than Vuldon. He dragged the carcasses into a heap while Tane stood idly, drenched in blood that wasn’t his, contemplating the event with something akin to disbelief on his face. Up above, Emperor Urtica stumbled forward from his military shelter overlooking the blood-soaked scene.

Although some distance away, Lan could tell how horrified the man was. A skylight suddenly shattered. Glass buckled and fell in large shards to disintegrate on the marble surface, while purple light flared in the gap; and down came a solitary figure, a woman with no hair, her dark cloak fluttering as she drifted softly to the floor on a line of light. Shalev.

On his lofty tier, Urtica recoiled into his metal shell and Lan sprinted towards the criminal cultist, desperate to intercept her. Vuldon and Tane were already running to protect the Emperor, yelling ‘Get him the fuck to safety!’ and urging the guards back, whilst snipers fired at Shalev to stop her.

The woman crouched to one knee, drew up a bent arm as if for protection, and then flicked some device with her other hand. The bolts pinged off an invisible field, and pausing on their rebound, as if time was stilled, they fell harmlessly to the side.

Lan darted in front of Shalev, around thirty paces away, the Emperor somewhere above and behind. Shalev stood up and pointed a relic at the protective box of soldiers. Lan tuned into the apparatus installed within her body, the same field that pushed away fire, allowed it to layer and accumulate within her until she felt she would burst, and waited.

As Shalev detonated her relic, Lan jumped upwards and held out her arms and released all her pent-up energy, shuddering in mid-air.

An aggressive pulse spat out from her hovering form and intercepted the flash of light extending from Shalev’s relic. Lan felt as if her breath was being sucked from her body. She convulsed, allowing the internal, implanted mechanisms to take over.

Lan saw purple sparks.

Heard screams.

Her world faded to black.

Fulcrom found the priest later that day. A messenger brought immediate news of his return to the hotel, and Fulcrom sped across the city on foot, under brooding, darkening skies.

‘Ulryk,’ Fulcrom said from the doorway of his room. ‘What the hell have you been doing? You set the dead free.’

The priest seemed unsurprised, and sighed. ‘You have noticed, I see.’

‘Damn right I’ve noticed,’ Fulcrom snapped, ‘as have a good slice of the populace.’

The priest turned away sheepishly, meandered back to stoke the fire. He waved Fulcrom in, and the investigator closed the door behind him.

Bizarre pieces of vellum were scattered about the room, as were half-melted candles wedged into bottles. Fulcrom glanced at some of the parchments, many of which were nailed to the wall, some stuck to the window, but he couldn’t even recognize the text on them let alone read them. He was no expert on such matters, but the ductus of the script seemed utterly alien on some pieces, yet on others was vaguely familiar, a distant echo of Jamur. Arcane symbols and sketches and woodcuts crowded him.

Ulryk continued poking the flames absent-mindedly.

‘Why the hell did you do… whatever it was you did to bring such spirits to the city?’ Fulcrom demanded.

‘It was not, admittedly, my original intention,’ Ulryk replied. ‘I hope I have not done anything illegal. You are not here to arrest me, are you?’

Fulcrom chuckled glumly. ‘I’m not sure what I’d arrest you for exactly.’

‘Very well,’ Ulryk replied. ‘If you are not here to do so, would you at least like some tea? We make it quite differently out in the east.’ Ulryk moved towards a small pot kettle hanging above the fire.

‘Tea, yeah,’ Fulcrom said. ‘And then you can tell me about what you’ve done and how you’ve done it, because I thought I just showed you around an old library, not to new levels of existence.’

‘That shows how much the people of the city know about their own libraries,’ Ulryk replied. Eventually, with a cloth covering his hands, he carefully lifted the pot to one side, and poured the tea into small porcelain cups.

He handed one to Fulcrom, who took a sip. It was one of the tastiest drinks he’d ever consumed, warming and soothing. Fulcrom was forced to let his inner rage calm a little.

Ulryk certainly liked to do things at his own pace. Slowly, the priest eased himself into a battered leather chair, and sipped his tea.

‘It’s difficult to explain where I’ve been and what I’ve done. Perhaps it would be easier to show you. These things are best seen for yourself, given how analytical you like to be.’

‘You mean the underworld?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘Is that where the dead are spilling from?’

‘Under the city, underworld… To be quite honest with you, I am not sure any of the names I have heard are accurate, but they’ll do for now. Yes, the realm under the city, where the trapped souls reside, into which five rivers flow.’

‘Rivers under the city? That’s ridiculous.’

‘Of all the things you’ve witnessed recently, the presence of flowing water under the city is perhaps the least ridiculous.’

‘True,’ Fulcrom admitted. He no longer had suitable points of calibration for the bizarre. But as he was in charge of such matters for the Inquisition, he had a duty. ‘Go on then, I’d like to see this place.’

‘So be it,’ Ulryk replied.

A sudden snow shower hit the city, bringing with it huge flakes that whipped through the ancient streets. Late afternoon, and most of the citizens were sensibly indoors, avoiding the bad weather — all apart from packs of children hungrily staring at new sketches issued by the MythMaker that morning, devouring the artwork and the story scribbled to one side.

Above, thousands of windows glowed with the warm light of lanterns, candles and fires. Pterodettes perched on ledges or under gutters, the avian voyeurs peering into apartments until a military garuda flying past on patrol scattered the little reptiles across the city.

Through the garden of glass flowers, past the scene of the first city guard murder, up the steps, Ulryk and Fulcrom headed to the library, and into the vast chamber which was illuminated mainly by oil lanterns. A couple of stained-glass windows allowed coloured light to fall on some of the higher floors, but it was too dreary outside for any noticeable effect.

Ulryk knew many of the staff by name already, and before he spoke to each of them he placed his palms together, fractionally bowing his head in acknowledgement of their presence. One of the clerks kindly handed Ulryk a large lantern to guide them on their way, and the priest thanked him profusely.

‘They are very good people here,’ he whispered. ‘Most of all they love the books, which is an admirable quality in any person, no?’

They passed along an off-white and ornate balcony. It overlooked the scriptorium, a vast stone chamber, where row upon row of cloaked young men and women were hunched over lecterns, working on parchments under the light of thick candles.

‘The poor fellows,’ Ulryk lamented. ‘Over the years their eyes will dim. Their backs will knot permanently. Their bodies will ache. There is pain in the pursuit of knowledge.’

Someone from below regarded them sternly and placed a finger to his lips, waving for them to move on.

In the dark corridor Ulryk said to Fulcrom with some urgency, ‘This is the first scriptorium I have ever known outside of a Jorsalir building. The poor young scribes are not of the church, but work on behalf of the Empire — many seem straight out of school. I have, in quiet moments, seen some of what they work on — they are copying political messages and threats into the various tribal languages. Some are writing instructions on how to speak Jamur. It is a systematic homogenization of tongues.’

The priest gazed expectantly at Fulcrom.

‘There’s nothing illegal about that,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘It might not seem right to you, but the savage peoples abroad should be guided to our ways.’

‘Have you been to these islands and spoken to these savage people?’ Ulryk demanded, a brief flash of temper showing for the first time.

‘Well, no…’

‘Then do not utter such ignorance. They are simple, peaceful people being exploited, investigator. The lies of your Empire ruin them. Such actions only go to repress them further, and to diminish their identities. Look at your own city; the refugees outside the city gates starving and uncared for, the Cavesiders below, oppressed and desperate, fighting for equality and their right to live. Villjamur — a city where the needs of the many are ignored for the comfort of the few. Do you honestly have the right to call other people savage?’

Fulcrom considered his words. Ulryk reminded him a little of his old mentor Inspector Jeryd and his words echoed uncomfortably.

Vuldon’s gruff voice.

The shuffle of footsteps somewhere, idle background chatter, the smell of perfume.

With great effort, Lan forced open her eyes.

Row upon row of glittering glass bottles surrounded her, their contents coloured, some with labels upon them. They were arranged neatly on shelves, or in cabinets. Behind a counter, there were jars containing powders, by the look of it, and she realized the perfumes she could smell were probably from some of these vials.

In this dreary room, Tane was kneeling by her side, concern on his furred face. ‘The lady wakes,’ he announced.

Vuldon thundered over and crouched beside her, one hand down on the floor for balance. ‘How are you feeling, Lan?’ he asked, uncharacteristically gentle.

‘Like shit,’ Lan replied.

‘You look it,’ Tane commented, smiling at last — a gesture that reassured her.

‘Thanks,’ Lan sighed.

A cultist arrived — not Feror, but another one she recognized who worked near their clifftop retreat, a blond man in his thirties, and he injected something into Lan’s abdomen, but she was too tired and numb to notice anything. Soon she began to feel sensations, the cold floor beneath her aching back. She felt like she’d been wrestling a bear.

‘What the hell happened?’ Lan asked.

‘Shalev happened,’ Vuldon said, rubbing his wide jaw. He moved out of the way to let the cultist make a quick assessment, then the man nodded his unspoken approval for them to continue, and shuffled out of sight. ‘And,’ Vuldon added, ‘it seems you saved the Emperor, least that’s what he seems to think.’

‘I don’t remember that part,’ Lan replied.

Vuldon went on to explain the series of events. Shalev had tried to use a relic on the Emperor, to hit him with her magic, and Lan’s intervention bought them enough time to usher him to safety. Vuldon and Tane made sure he got away to an escape tunnel, then returned quickly to find Shalev limping away, shell-shocked, before she vanished into a coloured mist, though her apparent injuries did not stop her killing two snipers on her exit.

‘Urtica might want to make another one of those presentations to show us off again, you in particular,’ Vuldon concluded, with a rare smile. ‘You did good, lass.’

She liked that, gaining his approval at last. To her it seemed important that Vuldon could have faith in her abilities, and so her thorough exhaustion had been worth something at least. ‘Where are we?’

‘An apothecary,’ Vuldon said. ‘We’re still in the indoor iren.’

‘We didn’t get Shalev then.’

‘We will,’ Vuldon said. ‘We know she’s not invincible, and that’s more than we knew before. We know she’s also predictable, seeking a big show — that’s all useful knowledge.’

‘Then why does it feel like we failed?’ Lan asked.

Vuldon stood up, groaning. ‘That’s a glitch with your own personality. Can’t help you there. Just bask in the extra fame and attention, like Tane.’

Lan tried to push herself up, but felt too exhausted. She fell to her elbows and laughed, slightly giddy, slightly drowsy. Then sprawled onto her stomach, feeling the bruises and the agony inside.

Vuldon helped her stand, and Tane suddenly turned his gaze on somewhere behind them.

Someone rattled into the doorway, a young soldier in full battle regalia. Gripping onto the door frame, in breathless gasps, he said: ‘More trouble, this time Caveside. We need your help, all of you. It’s getting out of control.’

Vuldon squared up to the soldier. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked despondently.

‘The anarchists,’ the soldier panted. ‘They’ve been leading a march out of the caves. Thousands of them. Protesters. Threatening to riot. It’s chaos.’

Vuldon sighed and glanced down at her. ‘Lan, you up for saving the day again?’