The Sunken City Trilogy

by Phil Williams

  “Easy to say after the fact,” Landon replied. “She’s not an effective asset.”

  Sam didn’t reply. She’d complained about the Ministry’s sponsorship of this unregulated civilian before and been ignored. As usual.

  Landon turned another corner and pulled up at the end of a long, tree-lined road. Skeletal branches reached overhead, with no sign of houses either side. Sam said, “This is it?”

  “No,” Landon said. “Short walk. Better they don’t hear the car coming.”

  Sam got out. “Do you think they’re still here?”

  Landon gave her a lazy look over the top of the car. He offered his slow, professional opinion: “No. Apothel’s whole crowd were always good at hiding.”

  He started walking. The incline got steeper before the peak of the hill, and his breathing grew deeper. Sam fell back, contemplating that the one thing a field agent should possess, at the least, was a moderate level of fitness. But she scolded herself; that wasn’t fair. He was all she had. And he’d been doing a good job today.

  They turned another corner, and there was the doctor’s shack, down the end of a dirt track. It looked like a scout camp or a hostel, forgotten in the wilderness. One small square window was lit from the inside.

  Landon drew his pistol, checking the trees left and right, as though he could see anything in the dense shadows. He pointed at the cracked paving under the dirt. “Road surface hasn’t been repaired in decades.”

  Sam looked. Was it important?

  Landon stopped walking and lowered his pistol to his side. He let out a relieved breath as Sam saw the object in the undergrowth. A car – hidden by leaves and a tarp, but still recognisable. It had to be the Cavalier that Pax’s group had stolen after Friday’s debacle in the tunnels. The Ministry might pat them on the back for recovering that, at least. And make an example of Farnham: how the hell had he not checked that? But Landon’s shoulders tightened with apparent realisation. Of course, the car meant Pax was here, and so too might be her criminal friends or the violent Fae.

  “Stay behind me,” Landon said. He continued towards the shack, crunching over brittle leaves with no care for subtlety.

  Despite the light in the window, the building looked empty. Sam wanted it to be empty. She didn’t want to test Landon, or to have to make decisions resulting in violence.

  They reached the porch and Landon gave her a look, deferring for instructions. She stared at the door, a flimsy wooden thing. They didn’t have a search warrant, but in the course of Ministry duties that wasn’t necessary. The presence of the Cavalier gave them all the right they needed for Landon to break in, and more, and his eyes said he was prepared to do whatever she said. Sam hesitated. She took out her phone and whispered, “I’m calling it in.”

  As she dialled, Landon narrowed his eyes. Concentrating on something she hadn’t noticed. He raised a finger to stop Ward making a sound. Scanning the trees, he shifted forward. His foot snapped a twig, loud enough to make Sam cringe.

  The snap was answered by shaking branches.

  Their eyes shot to the noise, and Sam saw the outline of the squat dark creature, just inside the treeline, a moment before it growled. The drawn-out rumble of a furious dog. Another rustle as it moved a paw closer.

  “On my mark.” Landon straightened up, fingers teasing his pistol grip. “You run back the way we came. Don’t stop. Could be more of them.”

  “What...” Sam said, barely able to form the word. The growl revved like an engine.

  “Get to the car.” Landon rested onto his back foot, raising the gun, and broke another twig. The dog darted forward. “Go!”

  Sam sprinted as Landon stepped in front of it, raising the pistol and spreading his legs, making himself a target. She shot a glance sideways and saw the animal moving her way. After her, not him, peeling to the side with a – there was light around it. An orange mist, caught on wisps of smoke streaming from its flesh. Not a dog.

  Sam yelled, sprinting for all she was worth, but it kept pace, flanking her. Landon shouted, “Dive left!”

  She did so without thinking, throwing herself to the side as the thumping paws drew level with her and crashed through the trees. She sensed it rising from her side, the ferocious dark shape of a predator in flight.

  Its snarl was cut off by a gunshot – an explosion a split second later.

  Sam rode a wave of fire, into the trees.

  The Bartons and Rimes were on the river when the blast shook them. The ten-foot boat listed, from the tremor and their collectively turning towards the sound, and they braced themselves against the light vessel and each other. With a steep tree-dotted hill rising behind the mouth of the cavern they’d exited, there was no way of seeing what had happened, but the sound was tremendous. Rimes made an upset noise, and Holly felt a pang of guilt. Had the booby-trap she’d activated destroyed this hapless woman’s home?

  “Damned fools must’ve shot a dog,” Darren said.

  Holly eyed him. “Those dogs explode?”

  “Very volatile,” Rimes said, voice cracking. Something twigged in her mind, and she darted a look to the sky. “Now we’ll see the blinding water. The ether bats.”

  They stared at the opaque clouds.

  Nothing happened.

  Rimes’ expression shifted, a little confused.

  “We never tested those things...”

  “Great,” Holly said. She looked from the nothingness above the hill to the water around them. The boat sat low in the stream, an aluminium basin surely unfit to carry this many people. It could have been paired with the scooter in some kind of art collection. Derelict Vehicles of the Impoverished. The engine at the back was pocked with green mould, almost certainly useless, though they had agreed not to use it for subtlety’s sake. Her hulking husband heaved on two rotten oars, with the scientist twitching in the corner and Grace shivering with nerves; hardly a romantic trip.

  “Where does this take us?” Holly asked.

  “Down the River Drum,” Darren said, citing the city’s second large tributary, which ran through the slums of Nothicker before joining the River Gader. Decidedly not romantic. Did junkies mug people on boats? “If we get off in Nothicker, we can cut through to our nearest hideout.”

  “The Den?” Rimes replied with surprise. “Oh no. That’s no good. The Ministry found the Den shortly after Apothel...you know.”

  “They knew about the Den?” Darren eyed her.

  Rimes looked away. Her gaze settled on Grace, apparently the least threatening audience member. “They knew most of our locations. I didn’t tell them. Well. Except about the pack of ravishers near the room on Mercer Street.”

  “You told them about Mercer Street?” Darren slowed his rowing.

  Much as Holly liked the idea of this odd woman being tossed in the river, it was hardly the time for Darren to start questioning her. She said, “Presumably, then, you can tell us which hideouts they didn’t touch?”

  “That I know of,” Rimes replied quietly, “the game room in West Farling. Maybe the apartment in East Farling.”

  “On the other side of the fucking city,” Darren scoffed.

  “Diz!” Holly hissed. “In front of your daughter?”

  “It’s fine, Mum,” Grace said.

  “It’s not fine, Grace. Your father –”

  “That apartment’s not gonna have stood idle for ten years,” Darren continued, seeming not to have heard the interruption. “The game room, maybe. But we’d have to use the Tube.” He said it with a distaste that Holly realised, now, was not entirely caused by his affinity for cars over public transport.

  A voice came from the gunwhale: “I’ve got a better idea.”

  Seeing Letty perched near her hand, Holly jumped off the bench, rocking the boat and drawing a squeal from Grace. “Heaven and hell – how did you get here?”

  “Helicopter, what the fuck do you think?”

  “I don’t think –”

  “Alright, shut up.” Letty flew to head
height. Darren tensed, squeezing his fingers into the oars. “Pax sent me to get you lummoxes. You’re gonna come with me to our hideout, in Broadplain.”

  “I’m not putting my family in the care of fairies,” Darren said, without hesitation.

  “Excuse me,” Holly said, “you were just saying we have nowhere to go.”

  “Broadplain’s worse than nowhere,” Darren countered. “Their sort fester around there. They came to our house, Holly, blew a hole in our street –”

  “Chew a sock, shit-tower,” Letty said. “That blast must’ve jogged the bit of your memory where I was helping you.”

  “Trouble is,” Darren growled, “your help comes with other Fae attached.”

  The fact that Letty didn’t deny it outright said Darren’s fears weren’t unjustified. She even looked upwards, seemingly to confirm it. They followed her gaze to another small shape floating a short way off. A white dot in the sky.

  “The Ministry aren’t gonna stop coming for you,” Letty said, more calmly. “My people can hide you.”

  “I’ve had it in the ear from every direction how dangerous this Ministry is,” Holly said, eyes on Darren. “Considering what I’ve seen of your efforts so far, Diz, I’m inclined to go with the fairy.”

  “Pax will be there?” Grace chimed in.

  Darren went quiet and merely looked to Rimes. She was staring at the Fae, fascinated, making it no mystery where her interests lay.

  “That’s sorted then,” Letty said. “Next on the agenda, I’ve got a name and it’s not fucking fairy.”

  28

  Pax’s fear and confusion abated with the distraction of Casaria, sitting close behind her, shifting from his numb trance into more conscious stiffness. As they shakily swerved through Ordshaw, she felt Casaria leaning self-consciously away from her, his touch easing off from her waist. The liquid had worked, and he was regaining his senses, but it reminded Pax who she was dealing with. Hitting the ring road, she drove faster than was safe for the bike, nuts and bolts rattling, to end this closeness.

  Pax parked a short distance from the shopping centre, leaving the remains of the glo in the bike’s seat, with Casaria on it, rather than stop and talk to him. He called out, “What are we doing here?”

  He’d got his voice back.

  Pax stopped across the road from the first gloomy walls of Broadplain Plaza. The shutters were down on the ground-level shopfronts and windows, the doors chained and padlocked. No sign of the Fae welcoming her in. She searched the gutters for scrap metal to use as lock picks.

  “You fed me those vagrants’ hooch,” Casaria scolded, catching up.

  “I’m trying to focus,” Pax told him. He watched silently, his energy not totally returned, until she found the little shards of metal she was looking for – one the bent arm of a brooch, the other some hair clip remnant. Bless Broadplain for its unclean streets.

  As Pax settled into picking a lock, Casaria decided to speak again. “Never do that to me again. You know that stuff rots minds?”

  That was good, at least; whatever he’d seen, Casaria was likely to dismiss it as an illusion. Never mind that the glo had clearly worked unnatural wonders, relieving his pain and leaving him walking and talking like he hadn’t just been stabbed.

  “You were laid out dying twenty minutes ago,” Pax said.

  “Twenty minutes ago,” he echoed, as though that was explanation enough. Suggesting he’d rested it off, riding on the back of a scooter? Pax gave him an incredulous look; was he that delusional? He continued, “They were rank amateurs – it took three of them to capture me. And they botched a stabbing? And who did they think I would talk to. To report what? I’ve had more trouble with drunken brawls.”

  Pax probed silently at the lock’s mechanism. If that’s how he wanted to see the day, who was she to stop him.

  “You came after me, though,” Casaria said, raising his voice. Christ, the liquid had done a full job reviving him. “You realised you need me, right? After running off into the night. But I set that weapon off. I did that. No one’s ever faced the praelucente like that before. I injured it.”

  “You pulled a trigger,” Pax replied. “I faced it.”

  His reply came slowly, “And what did it do to you?”

  “Hurt like hell.”

  “Afterwards,” he said, tone hinting he was questioning his hallucinations after all. “The power of that thing – you must have felt –”

  Pax said, “Stop. Talking.”

  He did, for a moment, and she realised his line of questions sounded like Barton, when he’d drunk the glo that morning. He’d seen it too, hadn’t he? Thankfully, Casaria changed the subject. “They talked a lot, your gangster friends. The talk of morons is a particular kind of hell. Good thing they didn’t realise that.”

  Pax ventured a glance at him. From the way he was standing, the knife wound really wasn’t bothering him. She couldn’t see any fresh blood. His foot was still a bloody, bandaged mess, though. “How bad is your toe?”

  “I’ve got others. It was nothing.”

  He was smiling. His false smile, the street light bouncing off those straight white teeth. His eyes told a different story, discomfort biting at their edges. He’d make light of it, even find pride in enduring it, but he had suffered.

  “I’d never have talked,” Casaria continued scornfully. “People like that are the reason the Ministry exists. They could use those monsters. Breed them, unleash them.”

  “Make them dangerous?” Pax said. “Your praelucente is already hurting this city.”

  “Please. You’ve been poisoned with the lies of psycho Fae and driven to the Ordshaw mafia, what do you know?”

  Pax gave Casaria a severe look. “The Fae saved my life today. Yours, too.”

  Casaria paused, for a second seeming ready to flat-out deny it. But he said, “You might think you and me are even, but –”

  “We’re a long way from even.”

  Casaria’s expression softened. Surprised. “Well, that’s a start.”

  “That wasn’t an apology, you prat. You took my money. Kidnapped Rufaizu, stole things from my apartment –”

  “Saved your life? While you lied to me, stabbed me in the back, left me to hang.”

  The padlock clicked open and Pax stood. She pulled the chain away and opened the door, then replied, “You didn’t hang, I notice. You ran back to the Ministry, right? Did they take you in with open arms? After what you did?”

  “I convinced them it was momentary madness,” Casaria said. “Manipulated by a woman. Who, it would seem, is trying it again.”

  “I never fucking manipulated you. Listen. We’re gonna get safe, and we’re gonna have a proper talk about who’s been stabbing who in the back, okay?”

  She entered the unlit expanse of the plaza and stopped, checking for an alarm. A light blinked green in the distance. A smoke detector.

  “What a dive,” Casaria said, walking past her, scanning the dead shops. “This the sort of place you shop?”

  “What do you think?” Pax said, closing the door behind them. She scanned the upper walkways. “This way.”

  “You never answered my question,” Casaria said. “What’s in here?”

  She still didn’t tell him, heading towards the dead-end of the Fae’s hideout. She reached the department store and climbed the stairs to the gap in the boarding. Coming up behind her, Casaria announced, “I know this place.” He laughed like he’d just got the punchline to a joke he’d heard long ago. “They came back here? The arrogant little shits.”

  “Keep it down,” Pax warned. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Fae,” Casaria said, voice suddenly nasty, accusing. “You brought us here for the Fae. What’s the plan, deliver me from gangsters to be sacrificed to insects?”

  “No,” Pax told him, “the plan’s for you to live long enough to do the right thing.”

  “The only right thing for the Fae is burning them all to ash.”

  “I ne
ed you to rein that right the hell in,” Pax snarled. “Keep talking and you’re gonna turn this opportunity into a bloodbath. Your choice.”

  He was grinning, enjoying the suggestion of trouble, but he didn’t answer back. For all his bluster, Pax sensed the day of torture had humbled him.

  She turned back to the store entrance and paused. This place was supposed to be safe from the Ministry. “How did you know the Fae were here?”

  “I’ve seen photos,” he said. “From before my time. I never come this way myself – patrols in Broadplain tend to be restricted to the west side, around the storm drains – but this was once the site of their gypsy city. The MEE tracked them here. The bugs evacuated before we could snuff them out. And now they’re back?”

  “No,” Pax said, “there’s no city here. Just a few sympathetic souls. Why didn’t the Ministry keep an eye on this place?”

  “What would I know?” Casaria’s mood shifted again, bitterness redirecting. “Apparently what the MEE do with the Fae is not my concern. Maybe Sam Ward ceded Broadplain to the insects when she started sucking up to them.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve been told her department hasn’t had much luck with the Fae.” A mix of pleasure and confusion passed across Casaria’s face; happy to hear of others’ failings but curious about this unexpected insight. Pax said, “You’ve got layers of misinformation within the Ministry, haven’t you?”

  “No. Management think they’re better than us on the ground level, that’s all.”

  “Management being?”

  “Bureaucrats behind desks, men with no connection to the real world.”

  “Uh-huh.” Pax appreciated the irony. “I’ve got an idea it’s more complicated than that. Come in.” She moved into the empty store and scanned the area with the phone torch. Bare and desolate as before. She continued to the escalator and searched the darkness below. No lights, no sound of movement. She called out, “You guys here?”

  No reply.

  “I can’t believe –” Casaria started, but Pax clicked her tongue for quiet. She went down the steps. The lantern was off, the light behind the counter too.