The Great Game (13 page)

Read The Great Game Online

Authors: Lavie Tidhar

Tags: #Fantasy

BOOK: The Great Game
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  Mycroft's words still echoing in her ears:
We are on the cusp of war. Ancient artefacts are awakening. Do not come back without the item.
  Lucy Westenra. Preferred weapon: the twin guns usually on her hips. Age: in her mid-twenties. Rank: major in the British Army. Hair: black and short. Eyes: blue. Training: the best the Bureau had to offer. Licence to kill? You've got to be kidding.
  Two fingers up. Giving a silent command.
  
Descend.
  They followed her, would follow her anywhere. The airship hovered above the building. All was silent down below. Almost too quiet, she thought, uneasily.
  They rappelled.
  Like ghosts they floated down onto the church. A square boxy building, a tall fence around it. They landed on the roof and kept going.
  
What is the nature of the object, sir?
She had asked.
  
We do not know, exactly.
  Which was no answer at all.
  
A box,
Mycroft had told her, unwillingly, it seemed
. An… An ark, of sorts. It may have once been plated with gold, and may be still. Retrieve it, Westenra. Or die trying.
  And she had said,
Sir, yes, sir.
  Signal again, and the windows to the church burst inwards as her men broke through. A shower of painted glass, a scream in the distance. She followed, landing on her feet at a crouch; rose with a gun in her hand.
  "Light," she whispered.
  Bangizwe, beside her. The chemical stench of an artificial flame, burning, lighting up the place. He grinned at her.
  "Through there!"
  Behind the dais, hidden…
  A metal door, locked shut. Shouts outside. Suddenly, breaking the night like glass: the sound of gunfire.
  "Cover me!"
  Her men were already surrounding the altar, a protective shield. Lucy took out the device Mycroft had given her. Aimed it at the door. It emitted a high-pitched scream, flashed.
It is a frequency scanner,
he had told her, and she had said
, Sir?
  Mycroft had shaken his head and said,
Never mind that. Just… bring it back.
  Footsteps outside the church, the sound of running. In the chemical light her men's faces looked haunted, tense. The sound of rifle shots. Bangizwe and Bosie, at her signal, moved silently towards the entrance, covering it. The device hummed and beeped one last time. The metal door made a sound, as if a vast lock was slowly moving, opening itself.
  "Move!"
  She kicked the door. It opened. She went through–
  And dropped. There was no floor under her feet.
  Total darkness, a rush of hot air, motion… She was falling, falling down a wide shaft.
  A moment of panic…
  Then she raised her hand and fired the grapple gun–
  Rope shooting upwards, the hook catching–
  She felt the pull, held on as it broke her fall, hard.
  "Light!"
  A flare, dropping. The sounds of a gunfight above. The church was heavily defended. She hoped her men would be all right. Had to count on them to be. The flare fell, illuminating a long metal tube. It fell past her and continued to drop. She pressed the lever on the gun, going down, following the light–
  Down into a sunless sea.
  Or so it seemed. She landed, left the rope hanging. She was standing on a vast dark metal disc, she realised. The flare, at her feet, was consuming itself. A dark mirror, her thousand identical images stared back at her all around. She took a step forward–
  The disc tilted. She slid, cursed – turned and fired, twice, ropes going off until they found walls, too far apart, but it held her, pulled her up – the disc balanced again, below.
  Cursing Mycroft now, she remained there, suspended. Another flare falling down – a doorway in the distance, illuminated, gold and silver images of flying discs, giant lizards, things that looked like rays of light, destroying buildings. She commanded herself to let go…
  The disc was tilting again as soon as she hit it but this time she was ready, running – circling for a moment the centre of gravity so it balanced and then she sprinted towards the distant doorway, the disc tilting, threatening to drop her into – what, exactly, she didn't want to know.
  Gunfire above, someone, possibly the Scot, screaming in pain. The sound tore through the air and her concentration. She almost slipped–
  But made it – the doorway too high up now but she
jumped
–
  
I want you to train with someone,
Mycroft had told her. It was a year after she had been recruited.
  
Who?
She had said.
  
His name is Ebenezer. Ebenezer Long.
  She knew him as Master Long. He had taught her
Qinggong
: the Ability of Lightness.
  Or tried to.
  Fired again, the hook catching, the rope pulling her – it was impossible to achieve true Qinggong any more, she had found out, not without the strange, lizard-made artefact that had granted its strange powers…
  So one had to fake it.
  She made it to the doorway and crashed into metal that opened and she rolled, safe inside–
  And stopped on the edge of a pool of dark water.
  There!
  It stood in a small rise above the water, in the middle of that perfect pool. The water was dark, still. She raised a foot to step into it–
  Then changed her mind, pulled out a penny coin. The portrait of the Queen stared back at her mournfully from lizardine eyes. Lucy dropped it into the water–
  Which hissed, like an angry living thing. Bubbles rose, and foam, and Lucy knew the coin was gone, digested by the acid.
  She cursed Mycroft again. Stared at the device, just sitting there: a dark dull ark; it didn't look like much.
  Too far to reach. She pulled the small device out again. The scanner, whatever it was it scanned for. Pressed a button.
  The thing hummed, beeped, sounding peeved. Lights began to glow across the room, like a storm of electrical charges. The colour of the water changed, reacting in turn to the light. A small lightning storm formed on the water, moving. Gradually growing.
  
That
didn't look good.
  And the ark was humming now, and images were coming out of it, like a projection out of a camera obscura, though more real, and detailed, three-dimensional and frightening
  Images of spindly towers, cities vast beyond compare, of discs shooting through a sky filled with more stars than she had ever seen, a vast dark ship, its belly opening – then she saw things like vast spiders, dropping down, landing on a landscape that was dark and mountainous and… familiar–
  The gunfire outside was very faint now. The device in her hand hummed, shrieked, and exploded. She threw it away a moment before it did but still felt the hot shards, stinging her arm, and cried out–
  And voices came pouring out of the ark, strange and alien and
silent
– they were voices of the mind. A babble of cries and terse commands, translating themselves into her own language, somehow, though they made no sense:
  
Coordinates established–
  
Contact made. Biological signature consistent with previous manifestations–
  
Initiate absorption protocols yes no?
  
Quarantine recommended–
  
Data-gathering agent in place–
  It sounded to her like an argument, or a meeting of some sort, in which two or more sides were debating a course of action.
  "Data-gathering agent in place"? That, somehow, did not sound good.
  The electrical storm was growing stronger, wilder. The acid, too, was reacting to it, hissing. And there was gunfire above. She had to get out. Had to leave–
  She aimed the grapple gun, fired. It hit the ark. With no time to change her mind she jerked it, violently, towards her.
  The ark fell into the acid. Lucy pulled. The voices silenced, then–
  
Send expeditionary force yes no?
  
Temporary engagement authorised.
  She pulled. The ark seemed to fall apart as she did–
  It came and landed at her feet, its sides dropping away–
  She cursed, knelt to look–
  Inside the box, a strange device, metal-like yet light – a statue, in the shape of a royal lizard. She lifted it up – it was warm. She turned from that room. Ran back – out through the doorway, jumped over the disc, ran as it tilted, found the rope, began to pull herself, one-handed, up the chute–
  Sweating, her body shaking with adrenaline – a burn on her hand, she hadn't even noticed – from the acid. Cursing Mycroft, the strange lizardine statue in her hand, seeming to whisper alien words directly in her mind…
  She reached the top. Hands pulled her up.
  "Major, we can't hold them much longer!"
  "Take this!"
  She handed the device to Bangizwe.
  "Major, is that a–?"
  "Not now!"
  She scanned the situation.
  The church, the space no longer dark, flares and tracer bullets casting manic, frightening twilight over the sacred area–
  And her team were outnumbered.
  Where had they come from?
  Warriors everywhere, with guns and blades. Surrounding them. Blocking the way.
  "You will never get out alive!"
  An elderly voice, carrying authority. She looked over to the others–
  A man in a white robe, holding a stave in his hand. The warriors parted to let him through. His eyes were deep and dark, his face lined. The look in his eyes disturbed her.
  It was a look, she realised, of compassion.
  "I don't want to harm you!" Lucy shouted. She felt unsettled. "Step away and let us leave!"
  "You don't know what you're doing," the man said, with gravity. "The ark is holy–"
  "You and I both know–"
  A hiss of static, a voice on her Tesla communicator–
  "Major!"
  "What?"
  "We're under attack! There are… There are
things
outside! They just materialised, out of nowhere! Major, please–!"
  Static. Outside, the sound of giant – footsteps? The sound of an explosion, then another, and another, as if the whole city of Aksum was being destroyed, all at once.
  She grabbed the device back from Bangizwe. It felt alive in her hands. She raised it in the air. "We have it," she told the man in the white robe. "Let us pass or I'll destroy it!"
  A hush, the enemy warriors taking a step back in unison. The old man, alone, remained standing. "Fool," he said, softly. "For now you have awakened their wrath…"
  "Whose?" she said.
  "Those who will be as gods," the old man said. He nodded his head, once, with finality. His eyes were full of sadness.
  Lucy didn't know what he meant, but had a sinking feeling she would soon find out.
  The old man signalled to his own people. And, like that, they vanished, disappearing to the outside, moving like shadows, silently and quickly.
  Lucy didn't have time to breathe with relief. "Up," she ordered.
  She and her men climbed.
  Through broken windows into a night made light as day…
  Up on the roof of the church–
  Looking, in disbelief, on a city in flame.
 
There were machines in the night.
  Where they came from, Lucy didn't know. The machines were huge, as tall as towers. They moved upon the earth with the legs of spiders. Beams of light came out of their heads, criss-crossing Aksum.
  The black airship hung, suspended, in the sky, unharmed. Below, the city was burning, the tripodian things moving above them while paying them little heed. As if not quite aware that, down below, people and buildings existed.
  What had the voices said?
  Send expeditionary force yes no?
  Temporary engagement authorised.
  "I have what you're after!" she cried, into the night. She pulled out the device. It felt scaly, alien. "I have it! Stop!"
  The machines seemed to sense her distress. One by one they turned, the lights moving across the burning city, converging at last on the rooftop of the church. Bosie beside her, hissing – "Major, what are you–?"
  "Shut it, Douglas."
  "We have to
leave
! Ma'am!"
  "All of you, now! Board the airship. Await my command."
  She felt Bosie simmer beside her, then accept the order.
  She was only half-aware of her men dragging the wounded Scot up to the roof. Climbing the rope ladders. She knew she should follow. It was a miracle the airship itself was not harmed.
  Where
had
the machines come from?
  And what, she thought uneasily, was the exact nature of the device she was holding?
  The tripods converged on her. On the church. And down below she thought, for just a moment, she could see a tall, stark figure, a stave in its hand, looking up at her and shaking its head mournfully.
  Voices again. They were in her head. They were emanating from the device. It felt disturbing to hold it. Somehow reptilian, and repulsive – and alive.
  
Children,
the voices said, dispassionately.
  
Absorption?

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