Worldsoul

Nineteen

Deed had been more relieved than he cared to admit on his return from Bleikrgard. The meeting had gone well, better than he’d hoped, and despite the encounter with Mareritt, which still unsettled him, he thought he had the upper hand. That was the way Deed liked it.

This flying blind was making him nervous, however. He did not know exactly what Loki’s intentions were, although he thought they were now becoming reasonably clear.

The lid taken off the cauldron of the city by the disappearance of the Skein and a power vacuum in Worldsoul, with the Court facing powerful former allies turned enemies.

The chance to retrieve an earlier version of the Library and bring it under Court control.

The disir, trapped in their ancient storytime and awaiting the possibility of release.

You didn’t have to be a genius to put those things together.

Deed stood now in one of the Watchrooms, on the long gallery that went around the perimeter of the circular chamber. The walnut panelled gallery was lit by sconces, dim gaslight which flickered and hissed, but which proved as far as the spirits who inhabited the Watchroom were willing to go in terms of technology. Demons, so Deed had discovered, were conservative and slow to change. There was a moral there, but he was damned if he knew what it was. Well, probably damned anyway.

The triangle for the conjuration floated in the middle of the shadowy cloud that filled the inner part of the chamber. This was classical magic, very formal, tried and tested. The magician stood in a circle, bound about with the Key of Solomon. A triangle, inscribed with ward words, formed the holding pen for whatever was summoned through the overlight from the infernal regions of the nevergone.

Deed had done this on many occasions, and the process was one he considered routine. That did not mean that it was perfunctory: he took care to make certain that the chamber was as secure as possible. But there were two parts to this particular ritual and he wanted to make sure he got it right.

Demons do not come for blood, or death, or even pain. They do not need to. They come for one reason only, and that reason is curiosity. Deed made sure the spell he was reciting would pique the interest of any demon listening to it, but he had a particular target in mind.

As he spoke the words of the spell, he could feel the twitch and twinge in the overlight, which meant that he’d attracted attention. Whether it was the right attention remained to be seen, but he continued to speak and gradually, a shape began to form in the triangle. Its head was bowed. It wore a veil and a long mantle, both of crimson. There was a shape behind it, something not human, but as he watched, it dissipated like smoke. One hand, ringed with a great carnelian seal, gripped the veil at its throat.

Deed spoke a name. “Am I addressing Gremory, Duke of Hell?”

The demon looked up. He saw eyes like rubies, over the folds of the veil.

“Who asks?”

“My name is Jonathan Deed.” Names had power, even children knew that, but there was nothing to be gained from hiding his own. The demon would have been able to pluck that out of the communications directory, if she so chose. Mareritt-well. Best not go there.

“Deed.” The demon spoke wonderingly, savouring it on her tongue. “I have heard of you. Abbot General of the Court.”

Deed bowed. “Madam. The honour is mine.”

The demon looked idly around her. “What does a mage of the Court want with me?”

“Ah,” Deed said. “I need some advice.”

The spirit put her head to one side and slipped the veil from her face, which was, predictably, cold and beautiful. The more human demons always had something of the same look, as if there was some form of genetic stamp, but since their manifest appearance was illusory, Deed could only assume that they simply lacked imagination. Or perhaps it wasn’t that important. “Advice, indeed?”

Deed aimed for an expression of humility, but did not feel he was entirely successful in achieving it. “Yes. I have a question concerning the Eastern Quarter of this city, regarding a woman named Shadow. An alchemist.”

Gremory grew still, the garnet eyes filmed like the bloom on a plum. “An alchemist named Shadow? Yes, I know her.”

“What can you tell me of her?”

“I hear that she has courage and intelligence. She has integrity, and cannot be easily bought.” The demon grinned. “And she is under the protection, if you can call it that, of the Shah of Has El Zindeh. I would suggest that even the Court treads carefully.”

“I see,” said Deed. This confirmed what he already knew. “Do you know anything more about this protection? Is she working for him?”

“Oh,” Gremory said, with a laugh. “She will be working for him. The Shah does not give something for nothing.”

“Do you know,” Deed asked carefully, “of an ancient race known as the disir?”

“The Ladies?” the demon said, with scorn. “Of course.” She put her head to one side again and touched a finger to her lips. Deed could not help but focus on the long, curling claw, of polished brass. “Now let me see. They are from the north, an ancient people, as you say, bred from clans that roamed the snowlands long before the ice. They bred into the northern tribes, mingling the bloodlines-one of which you come from.”

She pointed her brassy claw at him and, to his horror, Deed felt himself start to change: flesh drawing back from the bones of his face, his fingers elongating, back hunching, vision altering-“Enough!” Gremory said and Deed, human once more, again stood straight in his formal ruffed suit, feeling as though he had been wrenched out of his skin. As indeed, he had. It was Mareritt all over again and within, Deed cursed all female kind. A boil of hate rose up inside him. Never mind that now; he could take it out on Darya later.

“You are one of Loki’s children,” the demon said and an expression of extreme distaste crossed her beautiful face. “Be careful, Abbot General. I know much more than you think. There is a disir in the Eastern Quarter; she has been hurt and she is angry. Even for you, I don’t think she will come back.”

“Oh,” Deed said, more sharply than he meant to. “She’ll come. I sent her, after all. Now-” for he felt the need to move from these dangerous waters into others, which might prove equally treacherous, “-I need to speak about another matter. The Barquess.”

The head-tilt was to the other side this time, but just as irritating. “Ah. The ship of souls.”

“Yes. What can you tell me about the Barquess? She and her crew were sent in search of the Skein, but since then nothing has been heard, and nothing can be found. Can you tell me? Is the ship lost?”

“The Barquess sails on,” the demon said. “But not as you know it.”

“They are dead, then?”

“No.” Gremory smiled a curious, secretive smile. “They are far beyond the Liminality, and that is why you cannot find them. But they do live. Would you like to see them?”

Deed felt blood pounding in his head. “Yes. Yes, I would. But why haven’t we been told of this before, from your kindred?”

“You didn’t ask,” the demon answered, mildly surprised. Deed knew that this was not true, at least, not by human standards of truth. Demons did not see things in the same way, however.

“Please show me now,” he said, as politely as he could. Obligingly, the demon spread a clawed hand. Lightning played about her fingers and an abyss at her feet began to whirl and bubble. A pale dot appeared, at the centre of the whirlpool, then cast upward, sailing around the rim of a maelstrom. It grew in size and soon it was large enough for Deed to see the familiar configurations of the Barquess: its icebreaker prow, the huge engines at the stern, the masts and funnels and, along its sides, the immense folded vanes which would enable the ship to fly, should there be a need. Part battleship, part airship, part behemoth, the Barquess had been engineered for many possibilities. It was not beautiful, although the golden traceries along its flanks-indicating the passage of the dimension-breaking magic with which it had been endowed-looked like the veins of leaves. Deed had seen the sails unfurled only once and they, too, were of gold. When he looked more closely, he could see small figures scurrying across its decks.

“Is this as the ship is now? Or a simulacrum?”

“A day or so ago. We are looking into the past, but not far.” The demon shrugged. “It is likely that they still live but who can truly say? The Barquess sails dangerous waters, if one can call them such.”

“Where is it? Tell me the truth,” Deed commanded, “in the name of Solomon the King, I abjure you.” He made a sign in the air.

A blank cast came over the demon’s face, but Deed knew the Name would not hold her for long, and could be used only sparingly, like a rare spice. “They sail among the Western Stars. They chase their quarry, hound to hunter. Their journey takes them further and yet closer-do not try that again,” Gremory warned, eyes flashing ruby sparks. “I am not easily controlled.”

“Madam,” Deed said easily, for now he had got what he wanted. “I would not dream of it.”