Blue Angel

by Phil Williams

  “You didn’t catch that super-cool Fae, you giant sack of lard?”

  “No, but I did better than you would’ve.”

  “You idiot, your breath smells!”

  “That’s because I eat shit!”

  The square woman steps between them and addresses Landon.

  “It’s okay, you tried. She was just too super-cool for any of us.”

  Landon makes a face like he’s farted.

  “And you –” The woman turns to Ginger. “Your breath doesn’t smell so good either.”

  A silent acceptance of the truth.

  “What are all these people doing here?” Landon says. “I’ve gotta shit.”

  “Obviously,” the lady answers, “we needed a hundred people to go over this empty building and make sure it was empty. We’re still not sure.”

  Ginger gets his phone out. “It’s the head office. The tests are in. We all stink.”

  The lady looks stunned by the results, she might cry. “Not me!”

  “All of us,” Ginger assures her.

  “Well we’re not getting clean here,” Landon says, waving a hand over his head. He’s older and fatter than the others so they take notice, time to pack up. The first couple move towards their cars. Square lady gets a final word in, really taken by the phone call, but no one’s listening.

  Landon confides in her: “You do stink. Same as the rest of us.”

  “I know.” She looks between her feet, sad as a short giraffe.

  And then they’re all leaving.

  Someone started locking up the chapel again, adding a chain this time. Letty sat forward, confident that Pax was long gone. Hopefully in Broadplain by now, free as a Fae. Unless Ginger just got a tip on where she was.

  Letty sprang into the air and rose above the buildings, keeping one eye on the Ministry cars as she tried to spot any dumpy lummoxes tumbling over garden fences.

  The Ministry goons all headed in the same direction. Southwest.

  With the street empty, Letty glided over the next road and realised the MEE vehicles weren’t the only ones gone. No sign of Pax’s crappy scooter, either. She’d better follow this Ministry horde in case they had a bead on her. But as she flew higher, watching the convoy, something else caught her eye.

  Across the city, a cloud of smoke was rising.

  Sam braced a hand against the dashboard as Landon took them through the city, on course for the Bristol Street Underground station and the reports that there had been another quake, this time causing (or caused by?) a Tube accident. Landon drove with remarkable efficiency for someone sticking solidly to the speed limit, narrowly skimming through gaps in traffic and barely slowing for corners. However quickly he got them there, they were already too late, Sam knew that.

  Having come face-to-face with Pax Kuranes, she understood that whatever the civilians and the Fae were up to was more important than the after-effects of what had already been done. The noise the praelucente was making and the word on the wall, Pax’s claim she’d seen a blue screen, the simple fact that Kuranes was following Apothel’s example with the help of the Fae. It all added up to an underlying issue that the Ministry were missing. These civilians had recovered that unusual weapon, after all. They had somehow damaged the praelucente and possibly caused today’s surges.

  “We’re chasing symptoms,” Sam told Landon. “Apothel understood something about the praelucente. Pax knows something. That word on the wall is important in explaining what’s going on with it, and we’re spending time chasing the results.”

  “Explaining words is your job,” Landon replied. The hint of bitterness in his tone was standard street-level Ministry fare. They knew how ineffective IS was, though they had no idea why and she wasn’t going to waste breath explaining.

  Sam said, “Could Pax have taken Casaria?”

  Landon grunted at the question, seeming to disapprove of thinking about her. Between his and Casaria’s reports, Sam had developed a quick impression of Pax as a victim in this, and she’d felt for her, recalling how Casaria ensnared her in the same way. But Pax knew the Fae, somehow. What if she knew Rufaizu, too? Landon said, “She already used Cano. He’s weak in a lot of ways, did stupid things for her. He attacked me, you know?”

  The agent said it like a point of curiosity, no animosity in him. Something about his dull nature shielded him from that kind of emotion. He saw Casaria’s instability as an unfortunate flaw, not something to be scorned.

  Sam said, “But he approached her.”

  “Maybe they planned that.”

  “They being who?”

  “The Fae, or those thugs we ran into at her place?” Landon suggested. He was referring to the two men they’d reported at Pax’s property the day before, Ordshaw locals who had been after the Fae weapon, seemingly on Pax’s command. One of them had carried a gun. That didn’t sit well with Sam; the MEE’s files showed Pax led an unusual life, but there was no evidence she was a criminal.

  “What possible reason,” Sam said, “could anyone have for kidnapping Casaria?”

  “He took the Dispenser from us before,” Landon said. “Hit me. Then came back to us with his tail between his legs, saying it was a mistake. She made a fool of him. Maybe she didn’t want to risk him coming after her? One way or another, Casaria got himself all tied up in knots with this girl.”

  “The praelucente did, too,” Sam thought out loud. “Whatever she’s up to, or connected to, is dangerous. And it connects to that word, and Apothel, and that Fae weapon.”

  Eyes on the road, Landon didn’t look convinced. He said, “What do I know, I’ve barely slept.” Sam paused, realising he’d had his own problems. He took his confrontation with Casaria stoically, but he’d barely mentioned his partner being killed. His eyes said he was thinking about it, and didn’t like what had happened, even if his flat voice betrayed little. “Gets you thinking about yourself, you know.”

  Sam didn’t know. She had never known anyone who was killed violently, nor been in situations where it might happen to her. When Casaria had put her in danger in the field, she’d outrun the threats before they properly manifested. She said, “I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn if I say this whole situation has been handled badly. From the top down.” The usual way.

  Landon grunted again. Either he agreed or thought she was part of the problem. He ran his hands over the steering wheel. “Got a better car out of it, anyway. The Cavalier did the job, but I always wondered how a Ford drives. It’s smooth.”

  This was good, something more personal. Sam had been surprised when she’d read in the report that the Ministry-issue car stolen from him was over twenty years old, and said so. “You should’ve had an upgrade years ago. Better-equipped staff do a better job. That’s the sort of basic logic we’re lacking.”

  He gave her a third non-committal grunt. Accepting, or thinking she was over-complicating his simple pleasure?

  They drove in silence, but she felt him glancing over. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. The MEE only had a handful of female field agents across the UK, so it was likely most of Operations hadn’t shared a patrol car with a woman before. And if they had, they wouldn’t choose her.

  “It was your first time,” Landon said, finally, “seeing one of the little people.”

  “Yeah,” Sam admitted. “And it wasn’t really positive.”

  “Not sure that Casaria was far wrong about them.”

  “Absolutely not. They’re capable of rational discourse.”

  He was quiet again, and she knew it had come out too severe. And too lofty; this was not the environment for words like rational discourse. Confirming she’d ended their conversation, Landon turned the radio up. Middle-of-the-road country music, exactly what she’d have expected.

  As they went through a set of traffic lights, Sam spotted a sign for Bristol Street station. “You’ve never seen that word before, Agent Landon? ‘Grugulochs’? It was the noise this thing made during the buil
ding quake this morning.”

  “Not one I recall.” Landon lazily turned the wheel.

  There was a police cordon ahead, tape across the road, civilians standing on tiptoes trying to get a look. Beyond all the hubbub, the street was partially concealed by dusty smoke, thick and motionless in the still air. A fire engine’s blue lights spun. Landon slowed down. “Lot of things make noises down there. Apothel wrote a lot of mad words. Doesn’t all mean something. This, though” – he pointed ahead – “is important.”

  She followed his gesture. Smoke piled out from the Underground entrance beyond. Firemen were barking at one another, the danger apparent. A woman pushed through the police line, wailing and clutching her head. Blood streamed through her fingers. A policeman rushed to her, putting an arm around her. There was nothing Sam could say without sounding dispassionate. The same as ever; there was always something that made it hard to speak, in the halls of the Ministry, in the conference calls, in superiors’ offices. The general public needed protecting, and that made most of her concerns moot.

  You couldn’t ask difficult questions when they detracted from the suffering public.

  Landon unbuckled his seatbelt, struggling to navigate it around his gut. “I’d better get down there.”

  Another car pulled up beyond them and two men in suits started flagging down the police. She recognised the bearded one. Farnham? He looked like he was in his element, almost smiling as he issued orders to the police. The Operations team would lock this down, quieten the story and keep whatever had happened under careful wraps. They’d brush over the difficult questions to make sure life rolled on as usual.

  Sam took a breath.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  16

  Rolarn lit a torch as Pax followed him into the cleared-out shop, nothing but occasional pillars interrupting its dark expanse. The floor was thick with dust. A card display lay on its side, the light revealing a smiling woman pointing at something. A frying pan?

  “That way.” Far across the empty floor was a motionless escalator.

  “You know,” Pax said, “there’s people in New Thornton who pay a grand a month for a shoebox to live in? And here you’ve got this massive waste of space.”

  “This place thrived, once.”

  No doubt, if the Fae were here. It would be an even greater expanse for them. “What did your people do here?”

  Rolarn didn’t answer, as a small shape fluttered out of the escalator opening. This one had a slender body and an overlarge head.

  “This is her?” the newcomer shouted. A female voice, with a smoker’s huskiness.

  “This is her,” Rolarn said.

  “Down here, then,” the fairy said, then flew back the way she’d come.

  Pax followed the tilt of Rolarn’s gun to the top of the metal steps, where he aimed his torch down. Was she about to see one of the hidden marvels of the world, a civilisation of miniature people hiding in the wing of a shopping centre?

  Making her way down the steps, she found the next floor as drab and empty as the one before, with the exception of a counter along a far wall. The female was there, by an electric camping lantern that lit a grey hunk of plastic that must have been one of the earliest digital cash registers. Another fairy stood by the register. A light shone out from behind the counter, towards floor-level. Their camp, apparently.

  The fairy by the register was lanky, square-shouldered but thin like a stick-insect. He was tall for their kind, pushing three inches, and wore a tatty bomber jacket, the sleeves rolled up. The woman sat on the edge of the cash register, one leg hanging and a knee up. She had well-fitted flared white trousers and a wide-collared white jacket, with two pistol holsters hanging over her chest and one around one leg, all piped with silver. Her head wasn’t overlarge, after all; she had a great body of auburn hair, swept into a blow-dried mane. A picture of disco fashion done right. With added firepower.

  There was tension in the way they all looked at Pax, and she wanted to break the silence. She addressed Rolarn: “I’m guessing she’s the leader, on style alone.”

  No one responded.

  “Looks like regular human scum to me,” the tall one said, predictably gruff.

  “As opposed to the special kind?”

  The Disco Killer said, more erudite despite her huskiness, “You’re the oaf that recovered the Dispenser?”

  “Wow. I’ve been called some nasty things in my time – oaf takes it.”

  “What do you think, Arnold?” The woman dipped a hand into her jacket, deliberating, and drew out a miniature hip flask. “Am I seriously gonna talk to a human?”

  The tall one, Arnold, grumbled wordless dissent. They weren’t off to a good start; even if Rolarn had saved her, they didn’t seem too happy to see her. Pax said, “I’m told I’m easy to talk to. Just don’t ask Leonard Holland. He’s been bitter since I bluffed him out of a massive seven-card-stud pot. Makes it easy to keep beating him, if I’m honest.”

  “What’s she talking about?” the woman asked.

  “Playing cards,” Rolarn said.

  “Why is she talking about cards?”

  “I tell you a bit about me,” Pax said. “You tell me about you. You get comfortable enough to explain why we’re gathered in an abandoned Debenhams.”

  The Fae all continued to stare.

  “She’s got a mouth,” Rolarn concluded, “but she’s co-operated so far.”

  “Thanks,” Pax said. “So you people want to tell me who you are?”

  The male Fae both looked to the Disco Killer, who took a long pull on her flask then put it back in its pocket. She stood and patted down her immaculate clothing, her body swaying at the hips with the fluidity of inebriation. If she was drunk, it didn’t show in her voice. “She calls us people, that’s a start.” She pointed at the tall one. “He’s Arnold. Chief of the Tupsom Trawlers, who you’re probably familiar with. I’m Lightgate.”

  “Scourge of the Grit Plateau,” Arnold added.

  Pax stopped herself from questioning either fairy’s ambiguous title. She indicated Rolarn. “And him?”

  “He,” Lightgate said, “is the owner of this fine home.”

  “Wonderful,” Pax said. “So where’s Letty?”

  “You tell me,” Lightgate said. “Aren’t you like that?” She crossed her fingers. Her tone suggested she didn’t entirely approve.

  “We’ve found humans and fairies can get along, I guess.”

  Arnold tensed and Lightgate said, “Fairies, now. Not so civilised after all.”

  “The F-word’s taboo?” Pax replied with surprise. Letty hadn’t shown special exception to fairy, had she? But then, Letty showed exception to everything.

  “How would you know,” Lightgate sighed. “Human ignorance is immortal. But I figured it was worth a talk with you. First time for everything.”

  “I’ve talked before.”

  A hint of a smile teased Lightgate’s mouth. Finally ready to engage. “Okay. Let’s start with the Dispenser, then. A lot of Fae don’t even believe it exists. How’d you get it?”

  It sounded like an accusation. “I didn’t. I came across the guy who did. The MEE captured him. And they have your Dispenser, now. My turn? What’s it to you?”

  Lightgate held her gaze for a lingering moment. She shrugged, at last, with one shoulder going nearly to her cheek. “You know what it means to our people?”

  “The opportunity to take back your home.”

  “That,” Lightgate nodded, “and it’d piss off the Ordshaw MEE. You dislike them, don’t you?”

  “Your man just used a shotgun to get me free of them.”

  “Did you hurt anyone?” Lightgate turned this to Rolarn. He shook his head. “Why not?”

  Rolarn held her gaze uncertainly, a chink in his armour as the question confused him.

  “Never mind. Next time. Let me set the scene, human.”

  “Pax,” Pax corrected.

  The fairy echoed her in a mocking tone. �
�Pax. Ten years ago, most Fae were focused on taking back the Sunken City. Not just for a place to live, but a place to fight from. Then this humourless mare Valoria Magnus came in, preaching peace. Fae killed each other on her command. The worst of us were driven away, or faced death at the hands of her Stabilisers. Some peace, right?” Lightgate paused to let out a loud yawn, then shook her head as though trying to stay awake. She continued. “Friday night, I’m running diamonds in Hungary and I hear the FTC back in Ordshaw finally has serious human concerns again. There’s a story about an MEE lummox doing something unspeakable to a Fae. Letty, no less; someone most Fae know about. For negative reasons. You’re following me?”

  Friday was when this had all begun for Pax, and she doubted there were many other women who’d had encounters with fairies that night. The unspeakable act had to be her pretending to eat Letty, to trick Cano Casaria. “How’d this story reach your people? You –”

  “Those dullards are not my people,” Lightgate cut in. “I was in Eger.”

  “Hungary? Smuggling diamonds?”

  “It’s good work,” Lightgate confided. “But low-key. No setting anything off with a bang.” She went quiet, reflecting on that, before finding her place again. “There was a sensationalist article on the internet, that’s what reached me. The Fae remembering that the MEE are, and always have been, our enemies. At that point, I thought I might be forgiven for hurting you.”

  “Until,” Pax ventured warily, “something told you I didn’t do what they said I did?”

  “Lucky for you.” Lightgate gave an unconvincing smile. “Now, while I was travelling, the FTC was panicking, like old times. There was talk of relocating, in case your attack was just the start. Quite a response, right? The soft FTC, determined to sit on their arses indulging in” – Lightgate let out a fake yawn this time – “peace. After years of Val’s drivel, they forgot we came from somewhere better. They forgot there was a time when we fought humans, instead of negotiating or running.