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‘– Unless –’
‘– We have to.’
The family is bound with wire, hidden behind furniture. It is telling how quickly they capitulate. Vesper turns away, goes to the window. Through the grime, she sees lights pass by. The beams point eagerly, hoping to find a target. Once, twice, thrice, they appear, circling, moving on.
Vesper leans against the sill, resting her head on toughened plasglass. Muscles tremble, allow themselves a brief respite.
Time passes while she stares into space, seeing the outside world but mostly not seeing anything. Then, flitting past her line of sight, a small shape, bleating and frantic. Before she knows it, she too is running.
Duet’s voice is a chorus at her back. ‘Wait!’
But she doesn’t. A sudden burst of energy takes her through the broken door, onto the streets and away. She ignores the sword, heavy on her back, ignores the fatigue.
‘Wait,’ she calls. ‘It’s me. It’s Vesper.’
At the sound of her voice, the kid stops and looks round.
Vesper slows, crouches, opens her arms.
Little hooves skip across stones. Bleating becomes lighter and the kid throws himself into Vesper’s embrace.
‘There you are. I’m so sorry, I thought I’d lost you.’
The kid rubs his head against the girl’s. Lips clamp gently around an ear.
‘Come on, we can’t stay here.’
She gets up to find Duet towering over her. Their faces are hidden behind visors but she can guess enough from the two pairs of eyes. She is not afraid though. Compared to her father, their disapproving looks seem amateurish.
‘Are we going back to that house?’
‘No –’
‘– We have to keep ahead –’
‘– Of the search parties –’
‘– And get to –’
‘– The port.’
‘Genner said help would come.’
Duet takes her arm, talking as they go. ‘Help will –’
‘– Find us.’
‘Or the First will,’ adds the injured one, bitter.
Troops spread through the city, a net of people, threading between buildings. Crawler Tanks speed down the Tradeway, joining others already squatting at the port’s entrance. Sky-ships move in random patterns, combing the air.
Harmonised, girl and goat run, hide, run some more.
Slowly, the trap closes around them.
There is no longer time for care and Duet sprints, half dragging, half carrying Vesper between her. The girl tries to keep up, tries to help, but weary legs stumble, unable to find their rhythm again.
Nearby, a door opens and from its shadow, a man gestures, inviting them in.
They take their chances, bundling inside.
Vesper and the kid collapse gratefully into a corner. Duet does not have such luxury. One of her places herself between the stranger and her charge while the second leans against the wall, sword in one hand, the other resting on her injured chest.
The man closes the door quickly, then turns, tanned hands open, empty. ‘You’ll be safe here for a while. Don’t worry, I’m not your enemy.’
‘We’ll be –’
‘– The judge –’
‘– Of that.’
‘Yes,’ the man replies. ‘Perhaps this will help.’ A bag is placed on a table. Duet investigates, finds supplies. Rations, medicine, money, tools, all marked with the seal of the Winged Eye.
She frowns. ‘You are –’
‘– Of the Lenses?’
‘No. But these things once belonged to one. She would want you to have them.’
Against Vesper’s back the sword begins to stir.
‘Then who –’
‘– Are you?’
‘As I said, I am not your enemy. But I am not with the Empire.’
Duet raises her blades.
The sword hums louder.
‘Is this your … judgement?’
‘For infernals –’
‘– There is only –’
‘– One judgement.’
‘Are you certain? You do not … appear so. How can you be? The very words you speak are not your own. They are simplistic phrases designed to keep you simple. Only one judgement? If that is so, why are The Seven not here in person? Why do the Empire’s people turn away from Their leadership? If there is only one judgement for … my kind. Why was I asked to come here by yours?’
Almost imperceptibly, Duet’s sword wavers.
‘You are called a Harmonised. You are an attempt at a deeper union, a different kind of existence. I understand this … need. This desire to be greater than your physical self allows. Through me, you could experience complete fusion. It is not too late. Lower your weapons and I will give you want you truly want.’
The First takes a step towards Vesper. Duet does not move, one of her blocking the way, the other remaining by the wall.
Duet raises a pistol in her spare hand, points it at the First as it advances. ‘We will not –’
The sentence hangs, unfinished.
Duet looks to her partner, still by the wall, silent. ‘Stay with me!’
The First shakes its head. ‘But you are not … together on this. You’ve never truly been together. You are a pretence of oneness. You are a mockery of it.’
The pistol begins to charge. ‘Shut up!’
‘You would rather fall to violence than admit the truth of your position? How sad.’
She squeezes the trigger. But the First has already stepped aside. Powder explodes from the back wall as she swings the gun round trying to track the infernal.
There is a blur of movement, too fast for the human mind to follow, and a broken gun falls to the floor. Moments later, Duet joins it, groaning in the dust.
The First turns to the other half of the Harmonised. ‘And you? What is your … judgement?’
She looks at the trembling girl and her dazed counterpart. ‘I don’t know.’
‘But you do. Allow yourself the thought and it will come.’
Her blade lowers. ‘She’s yours. But I want what you promised.’
Vesper chokes back a sob.
‘And you shall have it.’ The First crouches by Vesper, leans forward until only inches separate them. ‘You are lost. How could you not be? That broken … relic cannot help you. It is a reminder of something dead, nothing more. Give it up to me and I will let you go.’
Vesper shakes her head, the movement slight, fearful.
The First reaches out to touch the girl’s face. The kid flinches and Vesper tries to retreat. But there is nowhere to go, all she can do is twist away, hiding her face from the inevitable. The First is suddenly presented with Vesper’s back and the sword strapped to it.
Humming builds to a sudden roar and metal wings part, flaying the plastic that covers them.
An eye opens.
In the space between the First and the sword, air ignites, burning blue and angry.
The infernal staggers back, stunned, one arm across its face.
Vesper drops the kid and reaches into her pocket. The action swings the sword away, forcing it to glare at an innocent wall.
‘So this is the Malice,’ says the First, swaying as it speaks. ‘I had hoped for more … nuance. You are a tool without a user, a shoe without a foot. You are … nothing.’
In a shaking hand, Vesper raises the gun. The trigger pulls too easily, activating with little more than a touch. Light pokes a hole through the First’s body. Blood spurts and essence hisses.
The First lowers its arm, staring at the new wound. When it speaks, there is no trace of pain in its voice. ‘Our … agreement … stands. Hold her … here.’ With infinite dignity, the infernal sinks to its knees.
Duet levers herself from the wall, crossing the room with sudden speed. Her sword flicks out, making to disarm.
Too late, Vesper realises the threat. The flat of the Harmonised’s blade smacks the gun from her hand. Vesper wants to run but Duet raises the sword again, threatening.
‘Don’t move. There is—’
The tip of a blade protrudes from her stomach, sudden, cutting her off.
‘– Only one judgement.’
Duet looks down to find her counterpart awake, sword in hand. Last words are gargled through blood, then she falls, beating the First to the floor.
As it sinks down onto its back, body weakening, the First’s eyes remain steady, locked on Vesper’s. ‘I will … remember … this … You … cannot—’
Duet’s sword comes down, silencing. ‘I said: shut up!’
The statement echoes in the bare room, hollow.
She stabs the First again just to be sure but cannot bring herself to look at the other body. Vesper does. She picks up her gun and points, watching intently. Duet’s chest is still, like a lake on a calm day. Lifeless. She puts the gun away.
Outside, soldiers move from door to door, knocking, searching, not far now.
Vesper’s gaze remains on the two corpses. ‘What are we going to do?’
Duet doesn’t answer. Her sword droops and blood runs down the blade. Vermilion tears, dripping, heavy.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_ab21f79a-31b7-5456-b097-5e97b47c9e54)
Off-colour rain patters on the tilting square. At its edges, things gather. In the centre of the square is a hole, known as the Pit of Whispers, and within the hole lives a lonely creature, all limbs and barely covered bones. The denizens of the Fallen Palace call it Slate. Little sense rattles within its hollow skull but even Slate knows when there is to be a display.
Too stupid to run, Slate presses its face against the dark wall of the pit and, momentarily, the world goes away.
At the top of the pit, the Man-shape waits, Samael by its side, while, in factions, the infernals cross the square to meet them.
First come the Felrunners, carried on an abundance of weeping legs. Their Lord stands foremost among them, proud. Raised to power by the Usurper and gifted with a crown of green muscle, it is as close to popular as any of the contenders.
Next comes Hangnail, alone, head studded with claws, its coat of skins flapping in the wind, ragged.
Then, a small girl riding a large Usurperkin comes: the Backwards Child, stretched neck coiled like a serpent, half-breed followers lumbering behind.
Lastly, comes Gutterface. Sometimes called the Unspeakable, even its peers do not care to look at it for long. Swarms of the lesser infernals infest its many pockets and crevices. An army of dysfunctional young, suckling at a hundred teats.
When all have arrived at the pit’s edge, the Man-shape reaches down, finding one of Slate’s many appendages and lifting it high. One by one, the others copy the gesture, until Slate is lifted slightly off the ground, murmuring and clicking to itself.
