The Malice (23 page)

Just like its people, the council chambers have survived many masters, a chequered history hinted at by walls repainted, in colours, in blood, in living tissue, then scraped clean again, stripped back to the original stone. Simple, the way Tough Call likes it.

At Max’s nod, the Usurperkin guards open the way. Vesper turns and waves goodbye to the group, delighted at the way their faces brighten, and goes inside, Max, Duet and Doctor Grains following.

It is not long before they arrive at the meeting room. Tough Call and Cavain stand when they enter. ‘Welcome back, Doctor Grains.’ The Doctor smiles and moves to take his usual seat at the table, while Max moves to flank Tough Call. ‘Please,’ Tough Call says to Vesper, ‘rest your legs. From what I hear, you’ve earned it.’

Vesper takes off the sword, leans it against the table with the utmost care, as one might a sleeping baby, and flops gratefully into one of the empty chairs. After a moment’s thought, Duet sits next to her.

‘How are you feeling, Doctor?’ asks Tough Call.

‘Never better. I’ve been making time to speak to everyone who has been blessed by The Seven’s grace. The success rate is excellent, with no detrimental side effects for any of the survivors.’

Tough Call’s frown is made of many complexities. ‘Not everyone survived the process?’

Doctor Grains and Vesper exchange a look and the girl’s smile fades noticeably. ‘Unfortunately, we couldn’t get to everyone in time. And, while victims who are also tainted have a slower progression, they have a harder time being in the presence of The Seven. However, those that survived have been cured of the taint completely.’

‘Well,’ says Tough Call, ‘Verdigris thanks you, Vesper, and you.’ She turns to the sword and inclines her head, painfully aware of the way it has started to glare at Max. ‘I’ve prepared all of the things Duet asked for, true to my word. They’re good to go as soon as you are.’

Duet stands up. ‘Good.’

‘Hold on,’ says Doctor Grains, also standing. ‘You can’t possibly leave now!’

‘We can,’ replies Duet. ‘You can watch us, if you like.’

‘But we’ve only helped a tiny fraction of the city. If you go now, the good work will be undone. Don’t you see? The plague continues to spread. All of our attempts to contain it have failed and by the time I have isolated its transmission vectors it may well be too late. The Seven’s intervention is the only thing that is certain to save us.’

Tough Call waves Grains back to his seat. ‘They have their own problems, Doctor, and they’ve done what they can.’ Cavain raises a hand, it is ignored. ‘Besides, we had an agreement, and I intend to do right by it.’

Vesper reflects on what she has seen. The tensions in the city, the grief, the constant eyes on her, hopeful, desperate. ‘Well,’ she murmurs. ‘Maybe we could …’

Duet shakes her head.

Cavain clears her throat.

Tough Call sighs. ‘What is it?’

‘If you recall, I mentioned that we were having bugspawn problems. It’s very difficult to persuade my people to go out to protect the crop pods when we’re afraid it may be the bugs themselves transmitting the plague. Not to mention that these things are frightfully large up close. I’m sure that if the bearer were to pay a visit, it would scare them off in no time. Even if their leaving were only temporary, it would allow us to set up countermeasures.’ She pauses, hand raised to stave off interruptions. ‘It is my considered opinion that such action is essential to the long-term survival of the city.’

‘I see. But these are our problems and the deal stands.’ She looks at Vesper. ‘We’d be mighty grateful if you decided to stay but I understand if you have to leave.’

‘Well, maybe we could stay a little longer, to help with the crop pods and to contain the plague long enough for you to find a workable cure.’

Duet leans close to her ear. ‘What about the mission?’

‘Saving people is our mission.’

‘I told you—’

‘And I told you!’ Vesper hisses over her. ‘This matters. I have to help.’ She thinks of the knights and their broken swords. Of those that died to protect her. She has to make their sacrifice count. Has to do something, anything, to make what she has seen better.

Duet folds her arms. ‘What about the First?’

‘The First isn’t here. This plague is. We have a duty to these people.’ She turns away from Duet, looking at the others, lifting her chin. ‘We’ll stay.’

A faint mantle of gold surrounds the mountains, the red sun already gone. Uniformed Usurperkin work hard outside Verdigris’ southern gates, making the most of the day’s remains, packing boxes, moving crates, loading carts. In the middle of it all, Ezze stands, conducting with a maestro’s skill and a sailor’s tongue.

Maxi marches over to him, wiping sweat from her green brow. ‘Nearly done. Do you think they’ll be happy with what you got?’

‘Ha! A good merchant is never happy. But even the bad ones will know Ezze made many good deals today. The caravans left full of Verdigris’ finest wares, and we are returning with good money and many things much needed. We are nothing less than heroes, yes?’

‘I don’t feel like a hero.’

‘A good sign. The worse you feel, the more heroic you are being! And that is why Ezze is not making it a habit!’ His beard swallows his smile suddenly and he sighs. ‘Let us finish here and get back to our beds.’

‘Right.’ Maxi puts a huge hand on his shoulder and Ezze covers it with his own.

The two part company, Maxi returning to her labouring offspring, Ezze moving away to a single chest set well apart from the others and hidden behind a clump of rocks.

He sighs a second time, and releases the locking mechanism. With a pop, the lid opens, revealing a young man squished tight. A stiff neck twists, and a dirty face squints into the light. ‘Father?’

‘Regrettably so.’

Little Ez manages to sit up in the chest. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Ah, if only Ezze had smacked you more when you were younger. Then perhaps you would be less stupid.’ He prods his son’s chest with a merciless finger. ‘The only thing going today is you.’

‘Going? Going where?’

‘Go north, go south, go across the sea, go wherever you wish! But do not go back to Verdigris or Ezze’s house. You will never be going there again.’

‘So, that’s it, you’re cutting me loose?’

‘So ungrateful! So like your mother, may the suns shine softly on her corpse. You have betrayed your city and a very unforgiving woman with lots of guns. You are lucky to have your head and if you want to keep it you will make hasty with your feet.’

For once, Little Ez has nothing to say, his eyes and face blank, slack with shock.

Ezze pushes a battered box into his son’s hands. ‘And don’t forget this. It is not so full of the treasures now but a man who steals from family must be grateful for what little he is given, yes?’

Ezze climbs onto the lead cart, unusually quiet.

Engines grumble and gears clank, bearing their full load home. Usurperkin grunt as they force the unpowered vehicles to follow.

Maxi runs alongside, waving for attention. Ezze gives it, reluctant. ‘Can this not wait?’

She points into the distance. ‘Nope.’

Ezze frowns and looks.

A lone figure approaches, well wrapped against the winds. They appear unarmed, unburdened.

‘What do you think?’ asks Maxi.

‘Ezze thinks it would be wise to get to the gates before they do.’

‘Agreed.’

Verdigris’ walls are nearby while the figure comes from far away. Yet each time Ezze looks, they are closer. Horribly, impossibly closer.

Then they are in front, cutting between the caravan and the city, forcing it to halt.

‘Hello friend,’ calls Ezze, swiftly donning his merchant’s smile. ‘Are you looking for a bargain? If so you have the most wonderful timing.’

The figure looks at Ezze, looks deep. ‘I am looking for something you do not have.’

‘A terrible shame. Ah well, good luck in your search. Forgive us but we must be going and goodbyes are always swift in Verdigris.’

‘I am the First and I ask for permission to walk among your … people.’

‘Such things are not possible. The city is closed to outsiders, it is not safe.’

‘For your kind. Verdigris’ plague cannot touch me.’

‘Ah, of course. But no-one of your, ah, inclinations is allowed beyond the gates.’

‘I am aware of your city’s laws. They were made of history, of conflict with my … kin. But the future is as fluid as your nature. Both will bend to my purpose.’

‘Ah, friend, your confidence is a thing of beauty.’

‘Name your price, man of masks, and I will meet it.’ Before Maxi can move, the First adds, ‘And yours, kin of my kin, and those of everyone here.’

The group exchange glances, brows knit in thought. Consciences are wrestled with, thrown to the floor, kicked and beaten. A collective greed settles around them.

For once, Ezze would rather leave well alone but he sees which way the wind is blowing. ‘Continue friend,’ he says, rubbing his hands together. ‘You have our ears.’

Transparent pods are arranged in grid formation. Each one is ten metres across and four metres wide, joined by a network of tubes to its neighbours. The original design is for a fully automated system but it could not predict the sudden loss of essential parts, or of the specialised tools and skills required to install them. Sweat steps in to fill the gaps. Water is pumped manually through the irrigation systems and harvesting arms are pulled along preset pathways by human hands.

Less than half the pods function adequately and even they do not always provide a full yield.

Environmental controls were among the earliest features to fail, and the pods have been perforated to allow a basic level of airflow. A swarm of insects huddle around these holes, nibbling, burrowing. It is slow going but the swarm work ceaselessly to widen the holes. When one tires, there are two more, ready to take over. It is only a matter of time before the feast will be theirs.

Cavain, Duet and Vesper stand on the edge of the grid, staring cautiously up at the bugs.

On her back, the sword begins to shake and an eye opens, staring the same way. It is devoid of caution.

Cavain pales, making her tattoos appear harsher. ‘As you can see, they’re here in significant numbers.’

Vesper bites her lip. ‘Do they attack people as well as plants?’

‘Only if disturbed. If you move close enough they’ll make their warning noises. It’s an awful sound. Any closer after that and they’ll attack. I’m sure you’ll understand if I observe your progress from inside.’

‘Go ahead.’ Cavain gives a slight inclination of her head, grateful, and scurries away. ‘You can go too, Duet. If you want.’

‘It doesn’t matter what I want.’ She snaps up a hand, palm out. ‘I mean … I don’t mean it that way … I’m going to stay.’

‘Good.’

Duet nods, but lips move behind her visor, berating.

Vesper brings the sword in front of her, holding it under the wings. More practised now, she is able to lift and sweep the sword sideways, sliding it clear of its sheath.

Free, the humming of the sword vibrates through Vesper’s fingers, travelling outward until it reaches the pods. Those insects nearest to the disturbance stop their attack, rubbing their front legs together, squeaking like a small chorus of violins, badly tuned.

The whole swarm freezes, then turns in eerie unison to face them.

‘What do you want me to do?’ asks Vesper.

In answer, silvered wings press against her hands, the sword straining to push itself towards them. She holds it as high as she can, and takes a fortifying breath before walking forward.

The pitch of the swarm deepens to a low growl.

Vesper pauses and the wings immediately tighten, squeezing, painful. Fear traps her, telling her to go forward, to run, to go forward, to run.

The greater fear wins, and she takes a step towards the pods.

Before she can take another one, the swarm explodes into action, darkening the sky with black bodies and latticework wings. It swirls around Vesper like a storm, tightening, closing.

Her young arms tremble, with fatigue, with fear and the sword dips. She has a sudden longing to be held by other, stronger hands. Thoughts of home arise, tempting. Her own bed, the company of family and a place where the greatest threat is a disgruntled goat.

She closes her eyes against the tears, forces her arms up again.

The buzzing of the swarm mixes badly with the humming of the sword, both sounds shaking her bones. She feels tiny shapes whipping by her face, scratching at exposed skin.

Then, the humming of the sword rises an octave, cutting over everything else.

Blue light flashes through Vesper’s eyelids, like a skyline peppered in tiny white fireworks, detonating rapidly, impossible to count.

The great storming growl disintegrates into a mess of whines, small and alone. Fire dances across the insects, leaping at random, leaving only husks behind. What is left of the swarm flees in clumps, like rags of paper caught on the breeze.

An eye watches them, not closing until they have disappeared from sight.

Peace descends.

Only then does Vesper dare to look. Relief comes quickly, followed by collapse.

Duet is too slow to catch her. ‘Stupid,’ she mutters to herself. ‘You were always too slow. I would have been there.’ She shakes her head. ‘But you weren’t. You betrayed her. You betrayed us.’

From the floor, Vesper smiles up at her, pretending not to have heard. ‘We did it!’

She nods, helping the girl to stand again.

Vesper sheathes the sword once more, thanks it and puts it back over her shoulder. The action overbalances her and she stumbles until Duet puts an arm round her waist.

‘You need to rest.’

‘I will. And eat, I’m starving! But Duet, we did it. We helped them. Things are finally looking up.’

The nurse frowns down at Bruise’s twitching body. ‘I’m so glad you’re back Doctor Grains. To be honest, I’m out of my depth.’

‘What do we know about the patient?’

‘Male, half-breed, probably early thirties. Tainting shows primarily in skin discolouration. There’s no major muscle augmentation and no additional limbs. My basic exams reveal no evidence of internal reconfiguration but I really couldn’t say for sure.’

‘He looks familiar, have we seen him before?’

‘He works for councilman Ezze.’

‘Ah yes. Yes, I remember now. What’s his current condition?’

‘The bleeding is under control but that’s about it. Blood pressure is one seventy over fifty, pulse is one twenty. He has brief moments of consciousness with varying lucidity. He’s received multiple gunshot wounds of a kind I’ve never treated before. The bullets passed straight through him, leaving clean points of entry and exit.’

‘But?’

‘But he seems to have had an allergic reaction to them. His muscles are locked tight all over, his temperature is currently thirty nine and climbing, and there is severe internal swelling. It’s worst at the points of injury but it’s spreading. We’ve managed to preserve an airway, for now but unless we find a workable treatment soon he won’t make it.’

‘Thank you. You’ve done excellent work as always. I can take it from here.’

Relieved, the nurse leaves.

Doctor Grains walks around the body, nodding to himself.

A tube extends from Bruise’s mouth, running out of sight through a swollen throat. Doctor Grains pinches the end, sealing it.

The sudden absence of air brings desperate consciousness. Bruise tries to move but his muscles won’t obey. He looks for help, desperate, making out the doctor through the slits of his puffy eyes. He tries to speak, tries to breathe but nothing gets through the tube.

Doctor Grains leans over him, still nodding. ‘May the Winged Eye watch us, measure us, judge us.’

Vesper wakes to find a pair of dark eyes watching her, accusing. She sits up and stretches. ‘Have you been shut in here all this time?’ She wrinkles her nose, catching a hint of something unsavoury. ‘Oh, you have.’ Vesper looks over to the offending corner and the kid has the good grace to look at the floor. ‘I’m sorry. You must be hungry. Let’s see about getting you some food.’

Absently, Vesper scratches at her face, only to feel unexpected pain. Surprised, she goes to one of the mirrored walls and examines herself.

Tiny specks of smooth skin pepper one cheek, and her left ear and temple, the remains of insect bites, burned white. Vesper studies them for a while, frowning, tilting her head to display the scars under different lights.

As she does so, Duet opens the door and slips inside. ‘What are you doing up?’

‘I can’t sleep, there’s too much to do.’

‘You need more rest. It isn’t— urgh, what’s that smell?’

Vesper looks at the kid.

The kid tries to look innocent.

‘I’m okay. I think I’m ready to go back out.’

Duet turns to the kid and shakes her head. ‘Well, you can’t stay here now. But if you’re going to use the sword again, why not use it properly?’

Vesper begins to gather her things. ‘You mean like a knight?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not sure, it just doesn’t feel right.’

‘What are you talking about? What doesn’t feel right?’

‘It’s not the sword. I think the sword wants me to use it, really quite a lot. But … something stops me.’

Duet folds her arms, clearly not satisfied. ‘Your father did it.’

‘I know. Maybe I will too, when I’m ready. Come on,’ she adds quickly. ‘Let’s get going.’

The three go out to enjoy more tolerable air. They pass through a quiet hallway, lit by essence lamps. Each flame dips slightly as they pass, leaning away from the sleeping sword on Vesper’s back. Although the main door is open, the way is blocked by the broad back of a Usurperkin, shoulders thick with tension.

They cannot see her face, or the one she argues with, but their voices are clear enough. One of the plague victims has arrived in search of the cure. He is desperate enough to break containment, and unwilling to take no for an answer. When the Usurperkin tries to turn him back, words grow hostile.

A crowd waits nearby, made up of people recently cured who wish to pay respects, and those with loved ones in sore need. By contrast to their sick companion, they present a measured, patient front.

Neither the crowd or the arguing pair hear Vesper’s polite hello.

‘Get out of my way you big freak!

‘No. Orders say you should be indoors.’

‘Screw the orders! Screw you! I’m dying!’

‘The bearer’s resting. She’ll see more of you later.’

‘Excuse me,’ says Vesper, peering through the space under a large armpit. ‘I’m right here.’

The victim sees her and pushes weakly at the wall-like chest. ‘Get out of my way, damn you!’

Such efforts are laughable, doomed to failure, and yet, the gesture and the aggressive feeling behind it stir something in the Usurperkin. Something violent.

‘Take your hands off me.’

The request has the opposite effect, and the plague victim pushes all the harder, summoning up last reserves of strength.

‘Please stop fighting,’ pleads Vesper.

‘Move!’ shouts the plague victim.

‘I warned you!’

With casual strength, the Usurperkin raises a hand, palm out, and shoves the human away. He flies back with surprising speed, feet moving like a crazed dancer trying to keep balance.

Everyone watches, held rapt as the stumble becomes a trip, then a fall, fast and hard. The crack of skull on pavement is crisp, final.

Vesper cries out and tries to push past, wanting to help the fallen, knowing it is probably too late.

The kid retreats into the hallway.

Already close to losing her temper, the Usurperkin is unprepared for new surprises. She feels Vesper pushing her and reacts on instinct, grabbing at the girl and roaring, lifting her one-handed, lips pulled away from massive teeth.

The crowd’s shock gives way quickly to outrage, then anger. They have never fully trusted the Marshals or their offspring and now their suspicions, nurtured in the dark, dress up as facts. ‘Murderer!’ cries one. ‘They want to keep us locked up!’ shouts another, each one fuelling the fire. And then another: ‘She’s attacking the bearer!’

Duet’s sword is in her hand but Vesper dangles between her and the Usurperkin. She notes the gap beneath Vesper’s feet and the possibility of striking the Usurperkin’s ankles, and prepares herself.

Vesper tries to speak but cannot get the words past her collar, held tight in green fingers.

At her shoulder, an eye opens, angry.

The effect is immediate. The Usurperkin roars and throws Vesper away from her. The girl sails through the air, back into the corridor, and Duet, who just has time to move her blade clear before becoming a human crash mat. For the Harmonised, it is an unpleasant experience. There is a crunch and a clatter, a grunt, a curse, and a brief glint in the kid’s eye.

Too late, recognition dawns on the Usurperkin’s face and rage drains away. ‘Sorry,’ she begins, ‘I didn’t realise it was you.’

Vesper’s reply is only discernible as a wheeze.

And then the crowd grabs at the Usurperkin.

The doorway frames the violence, people jumping at the lone half-breed, kicking, punching, unable to bring her down. From the end of the street, reinforcements come, giant uniformed figures at full sprint. But the crowd continues its attack, and then a knife appears in someone’s hand.

Usurperkin blood flows, darker than untainted blood but just as red.

‘For the Winged Eye!’ shouts a man, holding the knife proudly aloft.

Duet gets to her feet and moves to the door, shutting it and slamming the bolts home. Horrific sights are banished but the noises continue on the other side, relentless.

Finally, Vesper finds her voice: ‘No!’

Duet scoops up her sword with one hand and the girl with another. ‘Let’s find another way out.’

‘No,’ says Vesper. ‘We have to stop them!’

‘They’re past listening,’ she replies, moving deeper into the building. ‘Come on.’

But Vesper doesn’t follow. With frenzied hands, she unbolts the door and jumps outside.

More people have arrived and even the mighty Usurperkin struggle to contain them.

‘Stop!’ shouts Vesper. ‘In the name of The Seven, stop!’

Most don’t hear her over the sounds of melee but a few do, and they add their voices to hers. A ripple of calm spreads out, those on the edges of the crowd kneeling before the watchful eye of the sword. In moments, everyone has stopped, even the Usurperkin, though they do not join the others on the floor.

The air remains tense however, a storm of bloody fists and old hatreds, ready to break.

The moment grows, the pressure with it.

Vesper swallows, licks her dry lips and begins to speak.

A girl’s words drift across a crowded street. Bright yet unpolished, the speech is made fresh by its faltering earnestness. ‘I don’t know you very well. Most of you don’t know me either … My uncle says it’s much easier to hurt people when you don’t know them. My name’s Vesper by the way. I probably should have started with that.’

Like a gravity well, the gathering draws more and more people to it, over half the listeners are kneeling, and of the rest, most at least appear respectful.