SMOKE AND BLADES

by D Elias Jenkins

  Reach drew out his own timepiece and tapped it with his thumb.

  “No Lord Brevvit. It will be busy.”

  The first explosion went off in the harbour area to the north. . It sent up a plume of smoke and flame that lit the sky. The hostages gasped and shielded their eyes. Then in the west of Zalenberg another fulmination rocked the city. Then a third explosion reported in the trade quarter to the east. Far below the prism palace, confused and terrified screams could be heard.

  Then in the light from the fires, dark shaped could be seen flitting in the night sky. Winged predators like the one perched atop the prism. A handful of Fallen scanning the streets for frightened prey.

  Brevvit looked over the edge of the platform to the burning, panicking city.

  “You attack us in an act of brazen war. You cause this carnage. For what? Zalenberg is a peaceful city. What the hell do you want?”

  Reach pointed over Brevvit’s shoulder at the inky globe.

  “That.”

  Brevvit stepped back and shielded it with his body.

  “Your bombs will not work here.”

  Reach nodded up to his silent angel.

  “I’m aware of that.”

  On top of the prism, Mr. Emberdark stretched his wings and positioned himself like a hawk with a kill. His mouth opened, and opened further, until it was an impossibly gaping howl.

  On the platform, Gaunt whispered to his wife.

  “Izzy, cover your ears.”

  “What?”

  “Your ears. Cover them.”

  Izzy slowly did as she was told. Gaunt placed his hands over his head but kept his eyes on the Fallen.

  The creature retched and convulsed its body as if sickened .

  Reach turned to the hostages.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if you have not before been privy to an angelic hymn, you are being treated to a unique entertainment. During the War I saw a full choir level entire armies.”

  A note of such intensity issued from the Fallen’s mouth that everyone apart from Jonas Reach fell to the floor clutching their heads. A reverberation passed through the very stone beneath their feet, threatening to shatter the walkway and send it tumbling down into the city.

  Jonas Reach just crouched on the tiles laughing and shouting out to the crowd.

  “The chiming of the bells of hell!”

  The Fallen was directing its death knell downwards, directly onto the prism. The little pyramid began to shimmer and hum with a discordant note of its own. It intensified and changed pitch.

  Inside, Lord Brevvit was shaking uncontrollably. His nose and eyes had begun to bleed and his mouth frothed. He looked up at the creature then his eyes rolled back. Then he burst like a rotten plum and the entire prism turned from crystal clear to crimson red.

  Then in a shower of crystal shards it shattered with a screech.

  Gaunt lay there on the floor. His head was ringing and his thoughts fuzzy. He looked over to Izzy and held her hand.

  “Are you alright?”

  Izzy shook her head and looked up in awe and fear at the shattered soup of blood and lumps of duramite at the end of the platform. Beyond that, the night sky of Zalenberg was bright with burning buildings, and unhallowed Fallen terrorized the skies. She whispered over.

  “John, what do we do?”

  Gaunt looked up and saw Mr. Emberdark striding through the carnage with the orb in his taloned hand. Jonas Reach walked beside him, brushing duramite dust from his fur coat and smiling.

  Gaunt felt his thoughts churn. They were completely outnumbered, at every positional and tactical disadvantage. He had warned Zalenberg to prepare for such an attack for days before the conference and not a thing had been done.

  He knew that they could simply lay there with the other hostages and allow Reach to leave with the orb. Yet he also knew that if it was as powerful as the magi had warned them, the damage he could do with it was incalculable. He had also seen enough of war to know that Reach and his mercenaries were not about to leave any witnesses to their crime.

  Gaunt and Izzy looked at one another.

  The memory of seven years of missions for Free Reign passed between them. Every day had been a close call with odds stacked against them. Gaunt smiled at her and subtly drew his pistol. He smiled at Izzy.

  “We’ve made it out of worse. And we will tonight. Both of us.”

  Izzy reached out to touch his fingers gently with one hand, while drawing her dagger with the other. She smiled back at him.

  “Three of us.”

  Gaunt tightened his jaw and nodded. He reached into his jacket and drew out a cylinder. A fundament stick with a tightly packed elemental essence within.

  Jonas Reach was standing in the ruins of the prism at the end of the walkway. Mr. Emberdark was kneeling and presented the orb to him in outstretched hands. Several of the more curious mercenaries had edged closer to them, their curiosity at the prize they had gained outweighing their natural superstition of magic.

  Gaunt stepped forward and thumbed the fuse on the fundament stick. He threw it as close to Reach as he could. The terrorist and his Fallen bodyguard looked down at the floor for a moment. Reach looked up at Gaunt with an expression of curiosity.

  “We haven’t met. Who are you?”

  Gaunt looked down at the gory remains of Sir Skallen and then glared up at Reach.

  “I’m a friend of the ambassador.”

  Gaunt drew his pistol and shot at the hulking Fallen. It curled its wing with lightning speed and deflected the bullet. An instant later the ricochet caught Jonas Reach in the face and he staggered back clutching his eye. The winged creature dropped the orb and it rolled along the walkway towards Gaunt.

  Then the fundament stick exploded, releasing the essence of earthquake it contained.

  A crack split the walkway in two and in a cloud of dust and stones it tipped and broke off. The mercenaries that had strayed too close tumbled off the edge with cries in their own tongue.

  Reach fell scrabbling onto the tipping tiles and Mr. Emberdark skidded along the sloping stone with his talons bunched. As the tip of the walkway fell away Jonas Reach leapt out and caught the broken edge that remained. He managed to haul himself up as far as his shoulders and hung there staring at Gaunt in fury. The Fallen had spread its wings and hovered as the walkway fell. It swooped in and supported Reach in his talons so he slipped no further.

  Gaunt knelt and picked up the orb.

  He turned to see Izzy stabbing a Krazen mercenary in the throat and kicking him over the edge. For the briefest moment everyone was too shocked to act.

  John grabbed Izzy’s arm and pointed to the open doors that led into the palace.

  He held the orb tight to his chest and fired a few suppressing shots from his pistol back and the stunned soldiers.

  “Izzy. Run!”

  15

  Maeve followed the discordant notes of the piano along the waterfront cobbles. The rain had returned with a vengeance and the harbor streamlines glowed through it like pale eels. Lurking in the black water were the seaweed wrapped carapaces of hulking naval dreadnoughts in for repair.

  In the harbor next to these huge ornate vessels were a few trawlers, skirted with rotten rubber tires and stinking lobster crates, draped with frayed sea green netting. These vessels bobbed gently up and down in the cold black water of the river, scraping against the old harbor wall.

  Here at the docks, much could be bought, traded or stolen if the right people were spoken to. Particularly in the old pubs like the one Maeve now stood outside.

  The Beggar’s Rest was from the outside quite respectable. It had frosted windows, a worn green and gold sign that swung creaking in the rain, and a chalkboard menu in the porch, advertising steak and ale pie and a selection of cask ales, including Abbot’s Decision, Double Wing, and Old Hopeful.

  Maeve shook the rain from her dark wool coat and walked from the smell of mackerel, cold damp wood, salty air and rusted steel, into the smell of exoti
c tobacco, spilt beer, old sweat under layers of aftershave, and the indefinable smell of danger beneath the surface of all.

  Inside, the pub was full of merchant navy sailors sucking hard on the stubs of Razenni rillos, downing chipped glasses of neat gin with a half pint chaser. They turned to regard Maeve as she entered.

  There was no mistaking her somber formal clothing or her body language. Every person in this establishment had already marked her as Warden.

  Other than the prostitutes she was also the only woman in the pub.

  Maeve’s dark blue hair was tied back in a tight braid and her baton was holstered in easy reach within her coat.

  Everyone in here would also have something to hide, whether smuggled cigarettes or booze, maybe drugs, unpaid tax or an outstanding warrant.

  When the sailors at the nearest table saw her Inspector’s epaulettes, some of them tutted or grumbled under their sour breath.

  Maeve scanned the room, as people gradually turned from her and went back to their drinks and card games. Then she saw her quarry.

  There. In the corner.

  Maeve stared at a figure clearing glasses in the shadows at the very back of the room.

  It was the ruin of a Fallen.

  Maeve weaved through the tables towards the figure.

  As she got closer the sorry ruin of an angelic being snapped its head up to regard her, then it went back to collecting dirty glasses and placing them onto a tray.

  Maeve placed a rillo in her mouth. In a gesture that would utterly horrify most decent people, she freely offered one to the Fallen.

  “Hello Uzziel. Smoke?”

  The angel looked at the rillo for a long time, as if it were a grand decision.

  Then he casually reached out his long hand and flipped it into his ancient puckered mouth.

  Maeve flicked open her lighter and sparked the flame.

  The Fallen reached down and the rillo crackled into life. In its glow, Maeve looked upon the wreck of the angel’s face. All Fallen looked terrifying to humans. Their skin stretched taught like a sheet of thin rubber over the skulls. Hollow eyes just dark points sitting deep in their craters. Uzziel’s face was also a map of knotted scars and melted grey flesh.

  Maeve lit her own rillo and nodded to the creature.

  “Got somewhere we can go?”

  Uzziel nodded and gestured them through a door at the back that led into a dusty room filled with barrels. They sat at an abandoned card table and smoked for a moment.

  Finally Maeve spoke.

  “Uzziel, I need your help.”

  The angel drew the cigarette down almost in one breath. He leaned forward into the light.

  His face was horribly scarred. One eye was missing. The deep signature etchings on his ancient face had melted and merged into an indecipherable pattern.

  One of the wings on his back had been shorn in two, leaving only the immortal bone behind like an ivory horn.

  When he spoke, the voice sounded like a once beautiful instrument, left to warp.

  “Inquisitor Scurlock. I have paid my debt to Free Reign. My Halo is lit and I am free to pursue the life of my choosing.”

  The Fallen’s halo was lit, but dim and disinterested, like the embers of a once great fire.

  “I know that Uzziel. I have not come here to harass you. I believe that you and your brothers have earned your place here. As long as the law is respected and the standards of our culture maintained your kind will always have a place in Free Reign. I’ll protect that right with my life. You spilled your blood in the war with the rest of us. Against the real enemy. But you choose not to live amongst your brothers in Fallen Willow. That speaks volumes to me. Makes me wonder if perhaps not all of your brethren have given up the old ways.”

  The Angel looked sharply out of the doorway towards the busy bar.

  He spoke in hushed tone.

  “You know as well as I do that the authorities turn a blind eye to the black market in souls. It is not wise to say such things in public. Not even for a warden.”

  Maeve took a drag and offered him a sly grin.

  “My grandfather fought in the War. He was a scout and outrider. Lived in in a Fallen settlement for a month and got to study some of your ways. He told me that your kind can survive on free reaped souls, if they are preserved properly. But he also told me that the craving for fresh–pulled never goes away. That the taste and nourishment you get from them is incomparable.”

  The angel looked to the floor. He seemed to be lost in a memory.

  “I have not tasted fresh essence since before your grandfather’s time. It’s true. There is no comparison. It is the purest narcotic to us. I have been clean for a long time Inspector. I know what life is like outside the walls of Free Reign, and I have no intention of returning to it.”

  “I’ve heard rumors, Uzziel.”

  “Nasty things. You wouldn’t believe the ignorant things some humans in this city believe about us Fallen. Still pariah’s after seventy years.”

  Maeve shrugged.

  “I’m sure. But you can’t blame some humans for being afraid of seven foot tall, soul eating dark angels, can you? I mean…well…they are only human.”

  Uzziel leaned forward with a boney creak.

  “Look at me Inspector. Have I not bled enough fighting with you little pink bags of water to at least earn some trust? Or respect?”

  Maeve fixed his eye.

  “In my book most certainly.”

  Uzziel regarded her for a long time with his one functioning eye. Then he nodded brusquely.

  “What’s the rumor?”

  “That the crime boss Jonas Reach is alive and back in Free Reign. That he has made a secret deal with a clique of your kind. He is providing them with victims for secrets banquets where they can reap fresh.”

  “Jonas Reach deals in any delicacy or narcotic the world has to offer. He has no limits, that’s how he made his millions. But I’ve heard he deals in new wonders now.”

  I’ve heard that rumor too. What kind of wonders?”

  “Weapons. Weapons of mass destruction. Precursor artifacts that could level a place like this.”

  This is what Maeve had feared hearing.

  “He’s planning an attack isn’t he? I’ve heard that Reach may be hiding out with this rogue faction now, in Fallen Willow.”

  Uzziel shrugged his bony shoulders..

  “He owns property all across the city and has countless bodyguards, why would he do that?”

  To protect himself from The Plague Doctor.

  “By the Spark Inspector are you trying to end me?”

  “That’s interesting. You will talk about Jonas Reach and Fallen cults, but you’re too scared to talk about one Vigilante.”

  “He’s not a man. We see souls the way you see breath on a cold day.”

  “And?”

  “He doesn’t have one.”

  “That’s what I heard too.”

  “Rammiel Emberdark.”

  “Go on.”

  “If Jonas reach is making deals with anyone inside Fallen Willow, that’s who it will be. No one messes with Emberdark not even our kind. He has his own little gang of zealots off Crowfall Alley. Got themselves marked up in the old ways. He’s like a preacher, trying to reignite interest in the old religion.”

  “Why don’t the rest of the Fallen just deal with them? Thought your lot liked to police themselves.”

  “We know we exist on a knife edge of tolerance in this city. No one wants to draw attention to a criminal gang in Fallen Willow.”

  “But their halos. Fallen willingly submit to wearing halos to curb their more unsavory appetites.”

  “Not these ones. They’ve gone to some backstreet surgeon or another and had them removed I heard.”

  “I’m grateful for your help.”

  “I’m grateful for the smoke.”

  “One more thing Uzziel.”

  “Mmmm?”

  “What do you know about Wraiths?” />
  “You know the way that you people will let a cheese ripen for years until its crawling with mold? Then you pay a small fortune for a tiny chunk as a delicacy?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s like that. Couple of hundred years ago, Wraith was what royalty were served on special occasions. They’re a very rare delicacy.”

  “So this Vigilante. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack this gang in Fallen Willow, if he already knew that. Would he?”

  Uzziel laughed quietly and stubbed his cigarette out in the palm of his grey hand. The flesh sizzled.

  “My opinion? This soulless man would walk straight into the great fire itself to get revenge. Whoever has wronged him, I think they have erred.”

  An overweight man in an apron appeared at the doorway. He spoke in a gruff smoker’s voice.

  “Uzziel! If the warden is finished her business with you, I got a room full of glasses out here.”

  Maeve nodded to Uzziel, who got up to leave.

  As he reached the door she stopped him.

  “Uzziel.”

  The angel turned.

  “My grandfather. A Fallen saved his life in the battle of Tucker’s Drop. Said it was the bravest thing he ever saw. That the war could never have been won without your kind.”

  Uzziel gave her a toothless grin that wrinkled the awful scar of his face. He moved to turn from her and then stopped.

  “The deals you people make in desperation.”

  16

  THE VIGILANTE’S TALE PART 4

  The once beautiful university city of Zalenberg was ablaze.

  John and Izabella Gaunt sprinted down the alleyway that led to Rozenkrantz Square as masonry tumbled down around them.

  Suddenly a Fallen smashed the roof of the building above them with its wingblade and a shower of bricks and shrapnel tumbled down with a crash.

  Gaunt suddenly grabbed Izzy and jerked her back out of harm’s way.

  “Can’t go that way. Here. Through the window!”