Going Under (11 page)

"Still aboard," Jones said, ending his reverie.

"What happens when they dematerialise?" Ghosts dematerialised all the time, but the sisters were not ghosts.

"Don't know." She held out her hand, palm up.

"Where does she go?"

"Don't know."

"They keep their history," he said almost to himself, thinking of the Fleet's vast dimensions and all the vessels it contained; seafaring, airborne, spacebound. "Are they all actualised versions of objects that existed or will exist in time?"

"Don't know." Jones stabbed the fingers of her hand towards him and pointed into her palm. "But I suggest we find out fast because they're not the only things on the move out there. And some of them make the Fleet look like bath toys."

"What do you mean?" The Tell had suddenly gone so icy cold that he had to snatch his hand out of his pocket or be burned: important information, and true.

"I mean dragons and Other things. Ghostforms I haven't seen before. Not actual yet. They stay deep but they're very active. I can feel them. And I've been to the Edges myself. You may think you've got problems with openings to the void from the established worlds, but the Edges are becoming permeable too. I can run them a lot faster than I used to be able to, and with less effort. Don't even need portals to get into Alfheim now-I can just push through. Probably why there's a lot more than simple Mothkin out running around Otopia. You should get onto that shit. Before it all goes amok. The soul eaters will follow them."

The Tell remained cold. Malachi drew a slip of paper from his pocket; old paper made from painstakingly handcrafted reeds and worn to softness by millennia of sticky fingers. "Go to the Faery Grim and give this to The Knocker. He'll get you enough for a few weeks."

Jones's eyes crinkled with mischief. "Not going to your human masters? Well, look lively, because I will talk to them if you let me down," she said, placing the strip inside the grimy line of her bra, beneath the checked shirt's open neck. The buttons dangled by a thread.

The string doll warmed up and he smiled faintly. She was too human and too keen on him to be quite as fast as she claimed, though he had no expectations of loyalty from her. Maybe it was the humans she felt some kinship to, in spite of her change. "Don't worry. You're not going out of business yet. Oh, and one more thing."

She waited.

"I want you to talk to my friend."

"Oh yeah?"

"She needs information. Give her what she wants and I'll get you a year's worth of funds."

"And if I don't?"

"Faery gold can find its own way home."

Jones stood up and moved close to him, within a few inches of his face. Her breath stank of cheap hot dog. She looked so tough it was hard to believe she was only young, younger even than Lila. Her eyes looked a thousand years old. "We'll see. Call me when she's here," she tapped the chair with her fingertip. "If your money talks, I might too." She transmigrated, replaced by a sudden furl of air and a slight mist of grey un-ness that remade itself into reality after a few seconds.

Malachi sat still as he pulled the line and extinguished the doll in his pocket. It fell to limp string again and he identified the smell that lingered most in his nostrils. Jones had shed it all the time she'd been here and only his human form had been slow to recognise it immediately, although the cat knew its primal scent with a predator's conviction: fear.

board the airship with Lila and Zal were several of the Ahriman higher-ranking family, most notably the large, charismatic figure of Sabadyon, Zal's nominal uncle, and his two spawn, Mazarkel and Hadradon. They had brought several friends each and were having a party below decks involving a lot of eating, drinking, and debauchery. Sorcha was alone on the foredeck as Lila boarded, her hair unusually greenish, signalling introspection, her clothing a neat ironical showcase of human military fatigues loaded down with belts of weatherbeaten but live ammunition and strategically placed, diamante studded grenades.

The shipmaster-a wiry reptilian sort-cast off and glanced at Zal out of hooded, lizard eyes, "Cruising, master?"

"No," Zal said, cocking one ear to the sounds of the party and then narrowing his eyes against the light from the sun as he turned his head towards it. His voice was the powerful commanding tone of a fleet master and still made Lila blink every time she heard it. When moving in society here he exuded effortless dominance, whereas in Otopia he was more like a court fool than any kind of authority. It was difficult to imagine him ordering takeout there; almost as difficult as imagining him ever being an effective Alfheim agent. Now he even stripped Teazle of his name in deference to his own house colours. "Otopia Portal, but first we must locate the Sikarzan."

The shipmaster ducked his head nervously, "May I be gifted with some knowledge as to his whereabouts?"

As they were speaking Lila had been standing behind Zal and now she saw over his shoulder that Mazarkel had come up to see what was going on. His narrow, green face was bland with drink, almost affable. Of all the Ahrimani he was the most human looking, his demon nature expressed in a few horns and whiskers. He belched as he spoke, "Ah, long ears. There's been no fun with daggers and guns since you wedded the White Death. It's almost as if nobody wants to bother us any more. Will you be taking him with you out of town?"

Lila frowned. Why was everyone still picking on her if they had quit bothering Zal's family?

"And the little lady," Mazarkel tried to wink but he was too drunk and had to resort to blinking and nodding, his small horns fizzing with sparks. He reminded Lila of walking roadkill that was animated by electricity.

"Fear not," Zal said idly, "we'll all be leaving you soon enough, if we can find Teazle."

Mazarkel nodded with the collective sagacity of thirty pints of beer. "Not that we don't enjoy your company, cousin coldheart. It's just like ... well ... better when it's just us. You make us look reserved. Nothing personal ..." He tapped Zal's chest. "Ah, Teazle. It is said he has the Country Vice. The tragedy of people like him. No doubt he is off sating it if he's agreed to go back to the miserable human world or that overgrown greenhouse you call home. At least you married into something worthwhile on that score. No'ffence, luv," he leered at Lila.

At this Zal's expression darkened and she thought she saw the shipmaster actually flinch. Mazarkel gave some kind of parting gesture and slithered back down the steps into the hold. Lila listened to the flap and snap of the Ahriman banners as they turned into the wind. She sighed, "So, what's the Country Vice, dare I ask?"

"Fighting," Zal said, pointing south with his arm to direct the master. He reached back and took Lila's hand, drawing her close to him at the rail. The wind blew his long hair back out of his face. "No weapons. But no duels either. The demons who live beyond civilisation aren't like the demons you've met so far. They're much much nastier. The Country Vice is to fight these wild demons alone and unarmed. Nature to nature."

"I thought that would be approved of. Why is it called a vice?" Lila asked, enjoying the warmth of his body next to hers.

"Because the high of surviving the fight is addictive, and addictions are slavery," he hesitated and shared a wry look with her. She knew he was thinking about his own problem with fire elementals. "To be honest, Teazle probably has no match in the cities. I doubt many people would consider fighting him now. He'd have to go into the outback to find something that could test him."

Lila, who'd done a lot of workups in the safe ranges of her Al simulator on possible tactics for fighting Teazle, none of which resulted in victory, wasn't surprised. "Why do those demons stay outside the cities?"

"Most of them are feral and kill anything on sight," Zal said. "Some of them are hermits, working on alchemies or arts of their own. Some of them are mad. Those are the easy ones. Teazle kept talking about going beyond the Gulf of Sighs. It's a place where there's a long inlet of ocean that cuts off a spar of the continent. The city demons walled off the land bridge ages ago and they police it vigorously. Convicts do tours of duty there. Beyond the bridge is a wilderness and beyond that are the Demons of the Waste. You won't find them in a tourist book. We don't like to talk about them."

"The poor relations?"

"Not exactly." He turned to the shipmaster who was still watching him with a hopeful expression. "Turn to the highlands and bring up the guns," Zal said, disappointing him. "Prepare a Scatterwhisper Shot."

The wizened old demon nodded but hesitated and said, "And if the Sikarza Master is not there in the country?" He looked very much to Lila as though he was hoping that they would soon be going home and was too bothered to cover it up with a show. Agitation made strings of saliva hang from his ragged jaws.

"Then we'll make for the wall and bring up the bigger guns," Zal said.

"And if he does not answer then?"

"Then you can send for the House Drake and I will look alone."

At this the old demon sighed and nodded eagerly in relief. He turned and began to bark orders at his crew, who began to open deck hatches and heave at various kinds of extraordinary-looking weapons.

"We could just leave him a note," Lila said, watching.

Zal shook his head, "You need him."

"What?"

"To help with the Mothkin. He may be even more impotent in Otopia than he is here but he's still going to have some power and you need that."

"What would you know about Mothkin?"

"I know that they're a faery subrace and you don't get rid of a plague of those without a lot of trouble," he said. "Alfheim has had a few invasions."

Lila sighed, "Madame mentioned something about the faeries preparing for war." She rubbed the rail with her fingertips, feeling its fine polish. Her sense of unease kept deepening all the time.

"They often fight among themselves," Zal said, but he didn't sound entirely convinced.

"They won't be after your lot," the imp suddenly said from her shoulder. He was as small as he could make himself, his bright eyes narrowed against the wind. "All magical items is what they was car- ryin' and no need for that kind of thing with humans. No offence."

No offence ... Lila mouthed with a snotty expression, sick of hearing it.

Zal smiled, the first time she'd seen him really smile that day, and she realised he was tense too.

The imp shook himself and huddled against Lila's neck as if it was freezing. "What I mean is they can just overrun you with simple numbers and various subraces, like the poison elf says. No need to bother arming. Just send them across the breach. I guess I'm not talking to the organ grinder here or else you'd be knowing these things, your lot being such experts at all the worlds and science and stuff like that. I do keep wondering what they put in that metal head of yours because it sure wasn't anything useful and you can bet your ass they know a lot more than they let on. Course, they wouldn't have bothered making you in the first place unless they knew the kind of trouble they were in once they realised we demons were around. I guess you're some kind of prototype. Probably in a few months they'll have made some better ones and you can retire to the scrapyard, so don't sweat it. I guess that explains why they just send you into situations without telling you anything either. You'll be the ... what do you call it? The guinea pig."

"No offence?" Lila asked.

"The truth don't offend and it's my job to say out loud the stuff you keep trying to repress," the imp grumbled. "Wish I'd never said it now. But who else was gonna tell you? I've been adding it up since we met your boss and ex-boss, the ego on a stick. Things would sure be a lot easier if she was still in charge. Easy to manipulate, that sort, like putty in yet hands. Now you got someone who cares in charge and that's gonna be trouble. But I bet she knows all about it. Like Madame. And are they helping? Nah. Give you jobs that's all."

Zal's smile vanished. "Madame gave you a job?" As usual he was sharp when it mattered.

Lila couldn't bring herself to touch the thing in her pocket. "Maybe." She found herself wanting to tell him she didn't know how much longer she could stick it out in Demonia; that the gruesome deaths nauseated her and her own growing indifference was making her feel strange and out of her depth.

"Now you're squeamish?" the imp sneered.

"I can squeam as much as I like," she said. "Think yourself lucky you're still here."

Zal gave the imp a glare as Lila related what had happened at Madame's. "At least there's only one of him, even if you can't bring yourself to dislodge it."

"She doesn't really need me. I'm a pet of affection," the imp protested.

Zal scowled and sighed, his shoulders sinking. "I wish you were."

Lila felt awkward. "I don't want ..." she began but at that moment there was a shout from the Master.

"Set fires!" he called. "To defensive positions!"

They had crossed the narrowest part of the lagoon and were heading out over open land. It was still dotted with settlements and occasional large houses and gave every appearance of well-being. Beyond the cultivated areas could be seen a line of low hills where the deserts began in earnest and beyond them the mountains that circled Bathshebat in three-quarters of the compass.