The Book of Transformations (29 page)

Tane leaned into Fulcrom and whispered, ‘
This
is one of the most violent men in the city? He doesn’t look like he’s capable of wiping his own behind.’

‘His power is all in his wealth,’ Fulcrom breathed. ‘He funds organized crime – though that’s something we’ve never been able to prove.’

‘Enough of this whispering.’ Delandro cleared his throat and continued in a frail voice. ‘What brings these famous celebrities to my house?’

‘We were wondering if you could help the Inquisition with some enquiries,’ Fulcrom said.

‘And you bring these – ’ Delandro raised a hand to gesture wildly at the others ‘ – enhanced thugs for added persuasion.’

‘It wouldn’t be all that different from your own business operation, now would it?’ Fulcrom challenged. ‘The deals which you’ve done with your men’s hands around people’s throats? Intimidation and bullying? The deception, the theft?’

‘You can prove nothing, investigator. Besides, I have friends in the Council who will vouch for my clean record.’

That was true, and didn’t Fulcrom know it.

‘This one, the brute, he looks familiar.’ Delandro indicated Vuldon, who was loitering in the shadows, by one of the paintings.

Fulcrom could hear Vuldon’s heavy breath even from this distance. He could sense the tension. ‘You met him in a previous life,’ Fulcrom said. ‘You probably remember his old name, though.’

‘I’m not so sure.’

‘The Legend,’ Fulcrom replied.

Delandro was visibly taken aback and examined Vuldon with cautious interest. ‘Oh.’

‘Oh indeed, fucker,’ Vuldon growled, stepping out of the shadows.

Whether or not Delandro felt any remorse, he didn’t reveal it. ‘I believe the Inquisition were also implicit in your demise,’ the old man offered, his tone radically changed to one of reason.

‘True,’ Vuldon replied, ‘but you’re the cunt who made sure the events panned out in their favour. Your men rigged that wall, your men set up the false crime so that I’d turn up – because you wanted rid of me too.’

Delandro sighed. For the first time in his measly existence of lies and corruption, he spoke a truth: ‘I’m old, I have no reason to hide parts of history where you’re concerned. The Council needed help. I was told Emperor Johynn wanted rid of you because you had uncovered evidence that Johynn had in fact killed his own father Gulion to claim the throne. You were ready to expose that, so they set you up. It was that simple, and I’m sure if you make enquiries through official channels, you will still find that no one will let you press the issue any further.’

‘Why kill those children?’ Vuldon should have been enraged, but there was a break in his voice. ‘Sixteen kids died because that wall collapsed on them – that was set-up by
your
men, and timed so that I would be there – too late to do anything about it, but right on time so that I could be set up for supposedly knocking down the wall. There was no escaping it.’

‘You were offered retirement in exchange for keeping everything quiet,’ Delandro said. ‘Or that was the plan. You kept your reputation intact where possible, and so did the Emperor. It worked out best for all concerned – it was a simple business transaction. The children . . . yes, that was a tragedy admittedly. But sometimes we must make tough decisions.’

‘You ruined so many lives,’ Vuldon murmured.

Fulcrom knew what happened to Vuldon next: the fall from grace, the spiral of depression, the alcohol and drugs and his wife choking on her own vomit after a drinking binge. The Legend fading into legend.

Fulcrom couldn’t bear to watch Vuldon like this for much longer. ‘Shalev,’ he said. ‘We’re looking for Shalev. You must have heard of her in your circles, surely?’

‘Ah, yes, our anarchist queen.’

‘You know her?’ Fulcrom pressed. ‘Have you met with her?’

‘Do you honestly think you can all waltz in here simply for me to tell you these things?’ Delandro chuckled.

‘We can give you money,’ Fulcrom offered.

‘Fuck your money,’ Delandro spat. ‘I have all the money I need.’

Fulcrom signalled to Vuldon; Vuldon lurched towards Delandro. One of thugs came in out of the darkness to intercept him, but Vuldon turned lashed out, shattering the man’s jaw, then delivered a blow to the stomach, hunching him over. Vuldon grabbed the scruff of his neck and slammed him down on a table right in front of Delandro. The wood exploded as the thug collapsed on the ground.

Delandro sneered at the ruined table and the stilled body. Four more bodyguards in red tunics stumbled into the room and, in the dull light of the fire, the Knights spun to challenge them.

It happened quickly, in the firelight, and in relative quiet. As the bodyguards drew their swords and lunged forward, Tane raked his claws across one man’s face with two further blows to the side of his head and he was down. Meanwhile, Lan leapt, hovered then kicked at another – first a blow to his arm sending his sword clattering to the ground, then to his stomach. As he doubled over she grabbed a vase and exploded it on his head – he collapsed pathetically.

As the action continued, Fulcrom strolled nonchalantly closer to the now-panicking Delandro.

‘Impressive, aren’t they,’ Fulcrom commented calmly.

‘They’re monsters,’ Delandro told him as he watched Vuldon put down another two attackers with ease. The Knights turned their attention to Delandro, and waited for Fulcrom’s word.

‘I have done nothing wrong, no crime,’ Delandro spluttered, sitting back in his chair, then laughing awkwardly. ‘Please, you would not hurt an old man.’

Vuldon lunged forward but Fulcrom held out a palm. ‘We’ve no reason to hurt you at all – well, Vuldon has, of course. Just tell us what you know of Shalev and we’ll be on our way.’

‘In all honesty, I know nothing.’ The old man stared glumly into the fire, before resting his head in his hands. ‘She comes to this city, she gets the proletariat on her side. It makes things difficult for businessmen of my standing.’

‘I get it,’ Fulcrom said. ‘You mean people from the caves, they’ve no need for your types of crime when they’re working for her.’

‘Crime, indeed,’ Delandro muttered. ‘Where I once gave hardworking men and women in my employ food and drink, trinkets and coin, she now provides them with such things for free. I hear she has done things to grow food in the darkness, and it is in plentiful supply. I hear they have no need for coin with her ways. If they have their desires met they do not wish to work for me. How can I compete with that? In what ways can I tempt them? No, I am done with it all. I have enough, and I am too old for this game now.’

There was nothing for them here, no new information. ‘Let’s move on,’ Fulcrom announced.

‘I’ll follow you out in a moment,’ Vuldon said, looking down at Delandro.

‘Don’t abuse your powers, Vuldon,’ Fulcrom warned.

‘I won’t abuse my
powers
,’ he replied, pushing his fist into his palm. ‘I just need a quiet word with an old friend.’

Fulcrom knew what might happen, but felt that, all things considered Vuldon probably deserved this time. Turning reluctantly away, Fulcrom steered the others out of the house.

*

Outside in the wintry chill, Tane and Lan discussed what Vuldon had been through – it was as if they had a new understanding for him, and that pleased Fulcrom.

Vuldon joined them a couple of minutes later, leaving the door to the property ajar. Tane peered inside then quickly turned back.

‘What did you do to him?’ Fulcrom asked, shivering in the wind.

‘Told you,’ Vuldon replied calmly. ‘I had a quiet word, is all.’

‘Have you finally released all those years of suppressed anger?’ Tane offered.

Vuldon glared at him. ‘If you’d been through what I have, because of that man, you wouldn’t hold back.’

‘Fair enough,’ Tane replied, looking away. ‘My apologies.’

‘Did you kill him?’ Lan whispered.

‘He’s alive,’ Vuldon snapped, pulling up his hood. ‘Let’s just leave it at that. So, where to next, investigator?’

*

The Knights stood dumbstruck at the sight of Caveside. Apart from Vuldon, Fulcrom realized that, like much of the outer half of the city, the other two Knights had never visited the underbelly of Villjamur.

Despite its underground location, the place was bright, with light from the sky above channelled through strips, and down the underside of the massive cavern and adjoining catacombs, that were the under-city. Ancient, cultist-crafted glass captured light in a central hub and distributed it. This architectural magic meant that the people down here could dwell in almost similar lighting to the grand city of tier after tier of Imperial glory on the outside.

From their position of height, entering from the third level of the city, they could see across the buildings.

‘Place still looks fucked-up,’ Vuldon said. ‘Like a god vomited a hundred styles of buildings on top of each other.’

From Underground North to East, there were two-, three- and four-storey houses, in clusters and scattered randomly, and the rest of the miles-wide indoor plain comprised of crude stone constructs or half-arsed metal-and-wood shacks. Some houses were weirdly decorated, with marbles or shards of glass pressed into surfaces. They were utilitarian structures, for warmth, shelter – not things of beauty. There was nothing grand here, no styles to be proud of. Washing lines hung between some of the taller buildings, underneath which children played and mangy dogs and cats chased one another. And weirder things dwelled in the underground, animals that cultists had messed with, half-bred with lizards and birds and creatures that should not dwell on land.

A heady fug of chimney smoke formed a layer near the top of the cavern, like an artificial cloud. Down to one side, the underground docks were restless as tiny boats ventured along the long, thin channels to the sea.

People milled around the streets, talking, even occasionally laughing. Certainly more life than Fulcrom could ever remember, which surprised him, because the place had never been exactly vibrant. There had to be two, maybe three hundred thousand people living down here and further into the catacombs, but the surveys seldom stretched that far. It was difficult to tell how big these underground tunnels reached. They’d been gradually expanding for centuries.

Shalev is out there. Someone here has to know where she’s hiding.

*

For the hours they spent patrolling the Caveside populace, the Knights caused a hum of discontent to arise. From underground dens to the corners of dubious taverns, the group trawled major venues but found only the dregs of humanity. Under the Emperor’s instruction they marched brazenly, openly, making their presence known, so that those who had something to hide would be fearful.

They kicked down doors and slammed suspects up against the walls of empty taverns. In dark alleys there were quick and futile retaliations at the heroes of the city stirring up trouble; and it was followed by brutal punishments from the Knights – or at least Tane and Vuldon. Lan sometimes looked away, choosing to fight only when challenged.

Again and again, Fulcrom interrogated known leaders of the criminal underworld, whilst Lan, Tane and Vuldon took care of the physical work.

Fulcrom repeated himself: ‘Where was Shalev hiding?’

A partial drunk: ‘You can’t fucken come here doin’ this, fuckers.’

A squat lady who dealt in knives: ‘Fuck should I know where she is?’

An ex-tribal thug: ‘Yer get the people under ’ere angry, they’ll come ta get yer.’

A refined gentleman who had fallen on hard times: ‘You’re simply not welcome around these parts. Push these people too hard and they will come for you – because if you know where to look you will see they are ready to claim their city back.’

Fulcrom’s frustration grew by the hour, and even the Knights began to sense the futility of their endeavours. No one seemed to know anything or wanted to give any details on Shalev. Each time a lead proved useless, Fulcrom closed his eyes and pictured having to tell the Emperor about the lack of progress. Threats, bribery, even Vuldon’s less than subtle techniques resulted in nothing. The people down here had hope now, Shalev had given them that and in return they gave her their loyalty.

It was no surprise that the Cavesiders weren’t going to hand her in, no matter how hard they were pushed.

*

Fulcrom had to admit: things weren’t as bad as he remembered around here. It didn’t smell as rancid, and there weren’t as many people living on the streets – no, in fact, there was
no one
living on the streets, and there were few signs of the poverty he was used to.

Suspiciously, they found carts full of vegetables: carrots, courgettes, potatoes. How did they get hold of such items, when the prices were phenomenally high in the outer city? When Fulcrom quizzed the owner of one such cart, a chipper old fellow with a beard, the man replied, ‘We grow them ourselves, mate. Got a few cultists helping us out, let us grow crops in all manner of ways.’

‘I’d like to meet these cultists,’ Fulcrom said.

‘You and me both!’ the man laughed. ‘They never show themselves, we just get the seeds from ’em anonymously. I ain’t complaining, though – just like to thank ’em, is all.’