The Book of Transformations (36 page)

‘And you’ve been this precise way before? How can you be sure you’re not going a different way?’

‘Why, my footprints are in the dust,’ Ulryk observed, and lowered the lantern to prove the point. Within the next hour, though, the books were no longer present on the shelves, and soon the empty shelves vanished, and the rooms became caves, then vast caverns. Beneath their feet, flagstones capitulated to loose gravel, fine pebbles, larger, moss-strewn chunks that were hazardous to navigate over in the light of one lantern, and their feet no longer tapped but crunched.

There was suddenly a change in the quality of air: it wasn’t still and confined, but stirring, bringing with it a damp aroma. And Fulcrom heard the water before he saw it, a vague dripping sound. The ground grew uneven, rising then dipping, and Fulcrom followed Ulryk’s lantern until it reflected off the surface of the water. Its intense pungency made Fulcrom question its origin.

A small river, perhaps ten paces across, was flowing.

‘Before you ask,’ Ulryk said, as if reading his thoughts, ‘no, I do not know where the river flows from. But if we follow it, you can see where it runs to.’

‘Are we
under
the city?’

‘Directly under the heart of Villjamur,’ Ulryk beamed. ‘Although we are probably now in a different part of reality than where we walked from. We have been travelling down for hours, yet . . . no paths from the outside lead here. We have gone through secret room after secret room, and travelled through a labyrinth designed specifically to keep people away. And we may – though this is merely an assumption, given what you are likely to soon see – not be in the same realm of . . . our usual time. So you need not worry about being late for any further investigative work.’

The priest was too cheery for Fulcrom’s liking. If Ulryk was used to this kind of weird stuff then fine – but for Fulcrom this was difficult to comprehend, even to believe. There was no logic.

‘You see,’ Ulryk continued in the darkness, ‘Villjamur – or rather, this location – predates this Empire. The city itself is a mere eleven thousand years old, and within this cave system lies the remnants of something greater. Many ley-line maps of the Archipelago have suggested there is something to be found in Villjamur, where the lines all converge. It is no surprise to find activity here that one may never expect. You seek answers to what happened on the surface last night, investigator – well, I will show you where the dead have come from. They’re not far away now. They never were.’

Silence seemed the best answer. All Fulcrom could do was absorb the information and process it steadily, like he had always done, sifting through it for some sense. Had Fulcrom not seen his dead wife in the mirror the night before, he might have dismissed the priest’s crackpot suggestions in an instant. As it was, having her haunt his room, he decided to maintain an open mind.

They continued, their feet crunching on the stone for some way before Ulryk sat down beside the river.

‘What’s wrong?’ Fulcrom asked.

‘Nothing is wrong. See over there . . .’ Ulryk gestured with the lantern, and even though the light was weak, Fulcrom could make out an utter blackness filling an arch. ‘We must continue along in the water from here.’

‘I’m not swimming in that!’ Fulcrom said.

‘Oh, investigator. You do amuse me. We are not swimming, we will be sailing.’

‘In what?’ Fulcrom demanded.

‘Patience.’ Ulryk said, drawing out his book – that book he always used, the one which produced
magic
.

‘Before you start, what
exactly
is that book?’

‘It is one version of
The Book of Transformations
.’

‘I know that, but what does it do – what do they both do?’

‘There were two, both written by Frater Mercury. This is not the one I seek, however, though it does nicely in disaggregating the world when such talents are required. The one I seek is much more powerful than this, I believe, though I don’t quite know how much they differ; but when they come together, real magic should begin . . .’ Ulryk flipped open the book and began to recite some words, hypnotically, and Fulcrom stood agape: the pebbles around the shore were slicking and slinking across each other, coalescing until they formed a flat, rigid platform beside the priest. A moment later, he pushed it to the water’s edge.

‘It’s quite safe,’ Ulryk urged.

Fulcrom did as he was bid and climbed aboard, stunned that it didn’t sink on its own, let alone with their added weight. The cold stones held firm, and the two eased out further into the water, until they were caught in its flow and began to drift forward. Ulryk simply crossed his legs, placing the lantern alongside him. Fulcrom drew his knees to his chest, preferring not to get wet.

The two sailed through the cavern, further along the river.

‘All will be revealed shortly,’ Ulryk declared portentously. Fulcrom seriously doubted that and felt foolish for having come this far: why was he even here, following the whim of this priest? Perhaps it piqued his curiosity, fulfilled his desire for learning new things. Was he escaping his dead ex-partner, or was he trying to find a way to make sure she would leave him alone? Of course, there was the matter of the other dead folk walking the city, and Fulcrom would have to find a solution to that.

Well, if the priest caused all this, then maybe he can give some answers.

There seemed to be more ambient light here, and Fulcrom could just about make out ruins – no, a crippled city – in the distance. Ahead were some glowing forms, tiny white phantoms, and a few more along the bank of the river to their left. Another river flowed in from the right, causing the current to alter slightly. There seemed no colour here, just monochrome shades of grey, black and white.

‘I believe,’ Ulryk announced finally, ‘that this passes for an underworld of sorts. And the little glows you see on the shore? Why those are the dead, dear investigator. This is the thing about Villjamur – it isn’t just the hub of the Empire, it’s the centre of more than that. Things we do not understand. There are gateways and connections that I cannot fathom – there were even dead portals in that labyrinth. And I believe it is here – in this rubble-strewn city – where my quest needs to continue. Somewhere, here, is the original copy of
The Book of Transformations
. I am sure of it.’ Ulryk’s tone changed to a more conversational one – as if he was turning ideas over in his head. ‘I have been tracing mentions of this place through my research, and all the metaphors turned out to be quite real. Rivers I took to be representative of Time, for example, but no – here they are, all flowing to this one place. Having traced my notes, I am convinced my quest will be resolved here.’

Fulcrom watched as the figures on the shore waved to them. ‘Once you get this book – what are you going to do with it?’

Ulryk remained silent. The stone raft drifted closer to the shoreline and a few of the white glows took their human and rumel forms more clearly. They stood in groups of two or three, gazing as the raft came in. The dreary, dreamlike silhouette of a broken city lay behind them – the rising towers in decay, half crumbling, if not already a wreck; walls with notable damage; black, windowless frames. Before the city, running down to the water’s edge, was a dark pebble beach.

‘My quest,’ Ulryk finally replied, ‘is simply to use the book to return its author to his world.’

‘This Frater Mercury guy?’

‘You have a fine memory, investigator. It does you credit.’

‘And just what is Frater Mercury going to do when he is back? Do you even know if he’s anything more than a myth? I get the impression a lot of this is based on faith.’

‘Much of all we do is based on faith, investigator. I have been . . . conversing with him. Through various methods and rituals. Through dimensions. He is quite real. His world is spilling through into ours, and you know already of the genocides and wars in the north. Here is evidence.’

‘That’s not evidence of him, though.’

‘I have seen what I need to. Not everything can be proven. We need faith in the things we cannot see.’

Fulcrom was stunned. How could anyone communicate through dimensions? Then he realized by his questioning he actually believed everything that Ulryk was saying.
Just because you’ve seen the dead doesn’t mean all he says is true.

They sailed to the shoreline, where a white figure – with a much gentler glow up close – helped them up.

‘Back so soon, eh, Ulryk?’ he called out, much to Fulcrom’s surprise, in a traditional dialect. The man was bald, tall, muscular, wearing ancient fashions, high collared shirts and a knee-length tunic. His nose and chin were thin and long, giving him an almost bird-like appearance, and his skin was dark like dusk – no, only the right side of his face, because the other was pale, and no matter how hard Fulcrom looked, he could not see the bisecting line down his face. ‘Brought a friend this time, I see.’

‘This is Investigator Fulcrom,’ Ulryk said, climbing off the raft.

‘Oh, aye. We’ve some Inquisition members here who still fancy themselves in charge of law and order. Not that there’s much point, heh. Anyway. Welcome, sir. My name is Aker.’ The old ghost offered a hand, and Fulcrom, pushing himself upright, didn’t know whether or not to take it, whether he would grip onto nothing. He did take it, in the end – and the grip was quite real. A moment later and two huge waist-high cats padded down across the stones to Aker’s side and, when seated, eyed Fulcrom suspiciously.

‘Don’t mind these two,’ Aker said. ‘They just ain’t too fond of the living. Sets ’em off.’

And I’m not too fond of the dead
, Fulcrom thought, watching one lick its paw. ‘Do you get many of the living here?’

‘No, I’ll give you that. Just Ulryk here.’

Fulcrom and Ulryk were guided further onto land where more of the figures greeted them.

‘These are all the dead,’ Ulryk whispered on approach. ‘Many followed me back to see what the world was like again. Some had unfinished business, you see, or people they wanted to see. I can only assume the rest here didn’t want to leave.’

The dead appeared much like the living, but wore the wounds that had finally killed them. They also possessed an ethereal shine, similar to the one that Adena had possessed. Clothing spanned history, and Fulcrom noticed various costumes or styles from tapestries or paintings he’d seen over the years. In groups, they came and went, seeing the spectacle of the living visit them. ‘How many are left here?’ Ulryk called to Aker, who was following with his cats weaving around behind him. Then, to Fulcrom, Ulryk whispered, ‘I think this fellow is some kind of gatekeeper.’

‘Oh, I would say around a hundred or so,’ Aker boomed. ‘People prefer to stay around for the most part. Living ain’t what it used to be. Besides, a few who tried to cross the river felt too weak – didn’t have the determination to go on, so to speak.’

‘I do not suppose you bear news on the location of the book I sought?’

‘Aye a few of the locals were thinking about this. There are old libraries down here, too, though wrecks these days. Much like the rest of the place. But nothing yet, I’m afraid. They’ll keep looking. It keeps them busy, since life can get dull round these parts.’

They passed through a massive iron gate set into dark stone walls. Huge cracks penetrated the stone, splitting it completely in places, and Fulcrom noticed how the design of the walls was much like Villjamur, as if it mirrored its style, yet had suffered from the impacts of some apocalyptic event.

Fulcrom shook his head in disbelief. The city was laid out similarly, roads banking up either side in a circular route. The buildings, tall and narrow, were leaning precariously upon each other, crumbling or ready to break. It was unnaturally warm. Two dead men were playing cards on a table in the street, one with a knife protruding from his back. There were plazas and courtyards, parks with dead trees, and the dead were everywhere. Fulcrom felt an overwhelming and unexplained sorrow, which was met with his refusal to accept what he was seeing. Nothing made sense any more, nothing at all. Were these genuinely the remains of those who had died from the surface world?

‘I’ve seen enough,’ Fulcrom said. ‘I ought to return to my duties on the surface.’

‘Ha, typical of the livin’, that,’ an old man said. ‘Always concerned with duties and jobs. Try enjoying life a bit while you still got it, yeah?’

‘I enjoy my job,’ Fulcrom muttered. ‘I make a difference.’ There was more defensiveness in this final statement then he would have liked. Then to Ulryk, ‘Please . . . I can’t stay here. I can’t bear to look.’

Ulryk placed a hand on each arm as if he was going to shake Fulcrom. ‘You wanted explanations, investigator. And I wanted you to
believe
. I will need your help, most definitely in the coming days. I know a man of logic when I see him – and you needed convincing. This, I feel, has helped. Have faith in me and what I am doing – your world is about to change greatly.

‘I know that the church has ordered creatures into the city. When I find the other copy of
The Book of Transformations
, I will need to conduct rituals upon the surface. It may take me a good while to ascertain the details, and in this time I will need your protection, as much of it as you can offer. I will require your
faith
in me. There are few who will be able to believe in what is going on here, few who can offer such loyalty.’