by Icy Sedgwick
“I told you we wouldn’t have any problems,” said Eufame.
“How did you arrange that?” asked Jyx.
“I have my methods,” replied Eufame.
“Magick?”
“No, a network of employees. Far less taxing on the nerves.”
The coach rattled and bumped through the streets of the City Above. The roads were wider here, and less congested. The pedestrians wore finer clothes, and Jyx spotted one grand lady walking a dog. But despite the elegance, no one spoke to one another. People passed each other in the street as if no one else existed.
“It’s a sad place, to be sure,” said Vyolet. She gazed out of the window, her mouth pressed in a grim line.
“My mother would hate it here. She likes chatting to her neighbours, and seeing how people are getting on. My aunt would hate it even more – imagine leaving the house and never speaking to another soul unless you had to!” replied Jyx.
“This is not how the City was,” said Hari Ma’Hara. Her brow furrowed and her mouth turned downwards.
“How was it in your day?” asked Jyx.
“It had its problems, as all cities do, but the rich and poor were not so separate. The rich would often hold charitable drives to fund enterprises for the poor, or they would find odd jobs on their estates to let the poor earn a living,” replied Hari Ma’Hara. “It wasn’t perfect, but people knew their neighbours. Children could play in the street, safe in the knowledge that their community would look after them.”
Jyx recognised the fine buildings of the Justice Quarter. At the edge of his perception, a dark, menacing bulk hunkered in the shadows. His skin crawled to be so near the House of Correction again.
“Is it wise to be riding around in a coach bearing your crest?” asked Jyx.
“It’s not bearing our crest now. It changed to that of my sister when we crossed through the Gate. It’s only temporary, though, but it’ll last until we reach the council. After that, it hardly matters what’s on the coach,” replied Eufame.
Jyx shivered. He’d never heard anything less than absolute confidence in Eufame’s voice before.
“Fear not, young mage. The council shall have to answer to me,” said Hari Ma’Hara.
“Indeed, Jyx, and I still have friends among the council. Not everyone was in favour of the Crown Prince’s plans,” said Eufame.
The coach turned into a street to their right, and Jyx allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Any road that took them away from the House of Correction, even only by a small margin, was a good road.
Jyx stuck his head out of the window. A massive building sat across the end of the road, blocking any further progress. Its white stone and tall, narrow windows glinted in the sunlight. Beautiful gardens flanked its gargantuan wings, set behind tall iron railings topped with spikes. Two hooded figures blocked the gate. Paws peeped out of their wide sleeves, curled around the halberds favoured by the council guards. A familiar tabby cat sat beside the pillar to the right of the gateway.
The guards stepped aside to allow the coach to pass. Eufame nodded at them and the coach crossed from the cobblestones onto the smooth stone surface of the council driveway.
“Well then, my dears. It looks like we’ll be paying the council a visit very soon. There’s no going back now.”
36
Chapter 36
The coach rattled to a halt, and a door opened, its hinges squeaking in protest. Vyolet slipped her goggles over her eyes so the daylight in the City Above wouldn’t blind her. Travelling in the coach had knocked her queasy. She breathed in through her nose to a count of four then held her breath for another four beats, and breathed out through her mouth to a count of eight. The simple relaxation technique was one of the few things she remembered about her mother.
“Ah, Vyolet. What do you think of the council chambers?” Eufame steadied Vyolet with a cold hand on her shoulder.
An enormous white building squatted at the end of a circular gravel drive. The windows glared down at them, screaming under the weight of the sunlight. Sculptures twisted and cavorted in niches along the upper floors.
“It’s bigger than I was expecting. It’s like a palace,” said Vyolet.
“It was, once upon a time. In fact, the Crown Prince lives in that wing.” Eufame pointed to the huge bulk of the east wing.
“Why?”
“He likes to be close to the council. He doesn’t really trust them.”
“Does anyone trust anyone else up here?” Jyx stared up at the white building.
“Not really, but we’re going to use that to our advantage if we have to.”
Vyolet gazed up at the entrance doors. They towered two storeys above her and their black surface shimmered. She’d only ever seen night iron once before, forming a safe in the Underground City. Only the Shadowkin knew how to both make and disenchant it. The doors must be at least two centuries old. Vyolet suppressed a grin. The council probably considered themselves safe behind them.
Two council guards stood either side of the doors. The group approached them, and they lowered their pikes.
“Ah, she graces us with her presence at last, Waldo,” said the guard on the left.
“Good, you were expecting me then,” replied Eufame. Her lips curved in her most bone-chilling smile.
“There are some people here want to see you, actually.”
“Take me to them, then.”
“Nah, sorry. They’ll come out to see you,” said the guard, Waldo.
Eufame narrowed her eyes and glared at the guards. “You clearly know who I am.”
“Yeah, we do, but you don’t frighten us anymore. You’re just a criminal,” said the other guard.
“It’s all right, we’ll just find another way in,” said Jyx.
Vyolet stepped out from behind him, and the guards rushed towards her, their pikes stopping only an inch or so from her chest.
“What did you bring a bleedin’ Shadowkin for? Don’t you know what they’re like?” asked Waldo.
“She’s a hundred times more efficient than you’ll ever be,” said Eufame.
A howl echoed along the driveway. Eufame threw her head back and unleashed an answering howl, clear but underscored with menace.
“What the hell are you doing now? Waldo, go and get the chief,” said the other guard.
Waldo turned to leave but his companion grabbed his arm. He stared over Vyolet’s shoulder, the colour draining from his face. She turned to look behind her. Two familiar figures raced up the driveway, discarding council guard uniforms as they ran.
“And now bloody Wolfkin!”
The two unfamiliar Wolfkin charged, their cloaks flapping open to reveal House of the Long Dead armour beneath. Waldo and his companion scattered, neither of them seemingly keen to be caught in the cul-de-sac of the doorway. One ran towards one wing, and the black Wolfkin followed. Waldo ran the other way, and the white Wolfkin gave chase.
“Right, now that’s out of the way, we can go inside,” said Eufame.
“Did you know the guards on the gate were on our side?” asked Jyx.
“No, but I suspect that’s why Fortis and Validus left us to ride in the coach. They must have passed the message on to Bastet, who in turn alerted the Wolfkin at the House. The real guards are no doubt nearby. It’s not just Jyx that can make sleeping sand,” replied Eufame.
“The doors are of night iron,” said Hari Ma’Hara. During the fracas, she’d walked up to them, and held her stone hand against their shimmering surface.
“They are. Luckily we have an expert with us who will help us get through that little obstacle,” said Eufame.
“I don’t have a clue what to do with night iron. I’ve never even seen it before! Professor Abjucat always said it was just a myth,” said Jyx.
“I didn’t mean you, Jyx.”
“Shadowkin used to make night iron, many years ago. They don’t make it anymore. My mother always said we wouldn’t make things for people that didn’t appreciate us,�
� said Vyolet.
She approached the doors, one hand held over her heart in a Shadowkin gesture of reverence. A memory flashed in her mind, her mother making the same gesture before a copy of an old text she’d liberated. She frowned. People considered the Shadowkin to be heartless thieves, but they knew the value of the things they encountered. The humans only knew the price.
“Do you know how to disenchant it?” asked Jyx.
“I’ve never seen it before, not up close,” replied Vyolet.
“Trust yourself, Vyolet. Shadowkin have their own magick. We’ve seen glimpses of yours so far – this night iron should be child’s play for you,” said Eufame.
Thoughts of the black smoke engulfing Mr Gondavere flickered before her eyes. She blinked hard to wash them away.
She laid her hand on the metal. It vibrated beneath her palms, singing a song that spiralled and swooped through her mind. Her mother used to sing this song when she couldn’t sleep as a child! She hummed the tune, but the words wouldn’t come. Had she ever known the words, or was it simply the melody she remembered?
The night iron changed its vibration, the movements slowing at her touch. Vyolet pursed her lips and whistled, the tune coming more easily. The shimmer dulled when she hit the higher notes and the melody galloped towards a crescendo. Vyolet opened her mouth and the final top C note broke free from her throat. The night iron let out an audible sigh, and the door swung open.
“Bloody hell,” said Jyx.
Vyolet turned to look at him. Jyx stood open-mouthed. Eufame beamed, her face glowing with pure pride. Hari Ma’Hara strode across the courtyard and laid a heavy stone hand on Vyolet’s shoulder.
“Your kind will be despised no more, Vyolet, and you will have the opportunity to learn more about your gifts.”
Tears pricked the back of Vyolet’s eyes, and she was grateful for the goggles.
“Come along, everyone. We have a council to depose.” Eufame strode past Vyolet and slipped through the open door. Hari Ma-Hara took Vyolet’s hand and led her into the atrium.
They didn’t get far. Eufame stopped just inside the door and Vyolet didn’t wait long to find out why.
A semi-circle of council guards stood in the middle of the vast entry chamber. They didn’t concern Vyolet, not with the Wolfkin nearby.
What did concern her was the six Dreadguards looming behind them.
37
Chapter 37
“Eufame Delsenza, you are under arrest for your escape from the House of Correction, a crime which is compounded by your original crimes which saw you thus imprisoned,” said a council guard. The purple band around his upper arm marked him as the head guard.
“My sister couldn’t come to arrest me herself?”
“You know that she cannot leave the House,” replied the head guard.
Jyx stole a glance around the atrium. Vast chandeliers hung from the ornate ceiling, embedded in central plasterwork confections. Frescoes lined the upper walls, their paintings depicting scenes of history from the City Above. The inclusion of the infamous murderer Waverley Tyrell made Jyx shudder. He much preferred the carvings in Eufame’s chambers.
“Fine. I’ll come with you. On one condition.”
Jyx stared at Eufame. Why was she making bargains with the council guard? The Dreadguards murmured between themselves, a chilling sound like bells tolling underwater.
“We do not strike deals with criminals, Delsenza,” said the guard. A note of unease quivered in his voice.
“I hate to pull rank on you like this, and personally I can’t abide those rule-quoting know-it-alls that seem to memorise obscure regulations, but technically speaking, I have not yet been tried for any crimes, making me as yet an innocent party under investigation. I was held in the House of Correction due to the temper tantrums of your employer, not through the legal process,” said Eufame.
The shard in his mind burned white with fury. Jyx looked down at her arms. Her sleeves rested in the crooks of her elbows, revealing her pale forearms. The familiar blood red tattoos curved and snaked upwards from her wrists. A faint glimmer of white traced their outlines.
“Okay, so you’re not a criminal, but –”
“I wasn’t finished, you disrespectful clown. As I had not been formally sentenced, I did not technically escape from the House of Correction, and therefore you have no grounds on which to arrest me, aside from not notifying anyone of my departure from said House. Not to mention the fact that I am still a full member of the council, and you will address me as such!”
The white static crackled around Eufame, and the air smelled of ozone and wet metal. Jyx looked around for a weapon but saw nothing. His magick wasn’t strong enough to win a physical fight, and he couldn’t hold off the Dreadguards on his own. Unless he could persuade the marble of the floor to help, he’d have to rely on Eufame.
Hari Ma’Hara stepped forward. Her stone feet left indentations in the floor.
“I have had enough of this. Fetch your so-called Crown Prince.” Hari Ma’Hara glared at the guards.
“And who, or what, are you?” asked the head guard.
“You may not address me by my real name, for you are not worthy to speak it, but you may have heard of me as the Heart of the City.”
The outstretched pikes dipped and the council guards stepped back, bumping into the Dreadguards.
“What are you doing here?” asked the head guard.
“Fetch your Crown Prince. I shall speak only with him.” Hari Ma’Hara took another step towards them.
“He’s authorised us to deal with this,” said the head guard.
The Dreadguards swarmed past the council guards.
“What do we do?” asked Jyx.
“What you do best,” replied Eufame.
Jyx fell to the floor and scribbled a geomantic sigil on the marble. Would the Council Palace have wards in place to prevent magick? He hoped not. Panic seized his mind and everything but geomancy disappeared from his memory. The veins in the marble flickered green before Jyx could finish worrying.
“Can you help us?” asked Jyx. Surely desperation would trump the need to speak in the language of magick?
The Dreadguards were feet away from Eufame. The marble slabs heaved upwards. Those closest to Jyx stood up, forming a shield of veined rock between him and the guards. The Dreadguards skidded to a halt, thrown backwards by the bucking of the slabs beneath their feet. The council guards hung back, open-mouthed and staring at the rebellious floor.
Nearby, Vyolet let out a cry. Black clouds billowed around her feet, sending tendrils of shadow across the roiling marble. The Dreadguards inched away from the dark probes. One of Vyolet’s vines reached a Dreadguard. It let out an unholy squeal when the shadow brushed its skeletal foot. They huddled together, waving their hands as his mother did when she wanted to shoo mice.
Eufame held her hands apart. White sparks fizzed and crackled in the space between her fingers. She moulded the blinding ball of energy, drawing it outwards. She formed a dazzling scythe, so bright it hurt Jyx’s eyes to look at it. He’d seen her create energy scythes before; last time, it defeated Queen Neferpenthe. Could she do the same to the Dreadguards?
Hari Ma’Hara stepped over Jyx’s marble shield. She swung her spear in a wide arc, sending ripples through the air. The shockwave hit the council guards, knocking them onto their backs.
“Do you need any more of a demonstration?” asked Eufame.
“We’ve got Wolfkin outside,” said Jyx.
Eufame nodded.
“Oh yea Gods, just go upstairs. We don’t get paid enough to deal with this,” replied the head guard. He wheezed and clutched his side. Jyx winced. The guard would have a nasty bruise across his back in the morning.
The Dreadguards unleashed an impenetrable stream of chattering at the head guard. Jyx tried to block out the sound of their unearthly speech. They sounded as if someone had shaken a bag of bones nearby.
“You can do what you want, but we give up. Be
tween this lot and Wolfkin, I’d rather face the Crown Prince,” said the head guard.
Jyx helped Vyolet to climb over his marble shield. Vyolet gestured with her hands and her black tendrils raced across the floor. They flowed and rippled like smoke, forming an undulating ring around the Dreadguards.
“That should hold them in place,” said Vyolet.
“Good job, Vyolet. Dreadguards tend to be more inclined towards their responsibilities than council guards,” replied Eufame. The head guard snorted, but his wheeze stole most of his derision.
Jyx and Vyolet followed Hari Ma’Hara and Eufame across the atrium. Eufame bounded up the stairs three at a time, and Jyx ran to catch up. As his feet sank into the soft carpet, a memory of the quicksand at the edge of the Academy’s grounds teetered at the edge of his mind.
A corridor opened off the landing at the top of the stairs. A huge stained glass window dominated the end of the passage, depicting a tall figure wielding a white scythe. Twisted forms cowered at her feet.
“Is that you?” asked Jyx.
“No, that’s Brigante fighting the Lords and Ladies of Death. Vyolet, you may want to take refuge in Jyx’s hood until you’re needed.”
Vyolet nodded and a moment later the scent of gun smoke drifted out of his hood. Eufame gestured at the double doors beside the window. Hari Ma’Hara threw open the doors, and Jyx and Eufame followed her inside. A large oval table took up half of the room, and a model of a razed Underground City occupied the other half. Thirteen chairs surrounded the table, but only eleven were occupied by councillors. A squat man sat at the far end of the table. A narrow coronet perched on his head, balanced on his wig of golden curls. A gold chain of office hung around his neck and an array of gaudy rings clung to his fat fingers. Watery eyes peered out between the fleshy mounds of his pale face. Jyx shuddered. The Crown Prince looked nothing like the tall, willowy young man in his official portrait.
