by Simon Morden
‘Brilliant. I know they don’t have telly here, but you’d get some sort of top award for that speech.’
‘I do not know what you mean, Mary.’
‘Course you don’t. Come back, Crows.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘You’ll follow us every step of the way, no matter what we want. So the only way to stop you is to break your legs. What we have are two votes for, and two against. You need to convince me you’re worth the bother.’
He scratched at his chin. ‘I do not think I can,’ he said eventually. ‘Your friend was most eloquent and perceptive. I am all that she says I am.’
‘It’s me you hurt the most. But it’s me you helped the most. I’m not going to say I’ll trust you, but I am prepared to have you along. A deal’s a deal, right? You can have the maps after we’ve finished with them, and not before.’
‘I do not know what to say. I do not deserve such kindness, such mercy.’
‘No. No, you don’t. Just try not to get us all killed.’
‘I will make every effort to deliver you safe to the White City.’
‘Which probably is as good an offer as we’re going to get.’
The sky above the trees began to lighten, and the crows chattered to each other. The eclipse was almost over. Colour flooded the forest. What had been shades of grey were now greens and browns, the orange of the others’ overalls, and the red of her dress. Crows’ skin glowed.
‘Why don’t we see what everyone’s been fighting over?’ Dalip slid off the crate, and pulled at the stiff metal hasp on the lid. ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if it was empty?’
‘No,’ said Mary and Crows simultaneously, urgently.
‘It was just a joke.’
The hinges creaked, and they all peered in. It was stuffed with rolls and folded squares of parchment.
‘That’s …’ said Mary. ‘Even I know that’s a fuck-load of maps. Where do we even start with them?’
She reached in and picked out the top leaf. When she opened it up, she saw that it was hers. She flattened it out on top of the pile. The others, not knowing that she’d drawn it, pointed out the features that they thought they recognised.
Dalip put his finger on the symbol she’d used for the door to Down Station.
‘There,’ he said. ‘We know where that is, and where it led. Everything else has to fit around that fixed point. So that’s where we have to start.’
She folded the map back up, and closed the lid. They’d come with nothing. Now they were rich. Powerful, even. She wasn’t used to the idea of that. She was someone, even if she wasn’t a queen. Not yet, anyway.
The box had a rope handle on each end. She lifted one, and waited for someone to take the other. It was Crows.
‘Which way?’
The birds above them exploded outwards in a flurry of beating black wings, and after a moment, Crows nodded.
‘That way.’
They set off, as if they did this all the time: a man who could turn into a serpent, a girl who could turn into a hawk, and a boy who slew monsters.
‘This White City,’ asked Dalip. ‘Why do they call it that?’
‘It is made of white stone, cut and dressed by men. It is the only place I know of which is not a gift of Down. Eventually, everyone goes to the White City. They seek answers.’
‘Do they find them?’
‘Mostly no. And that is why they eventually leave again.’
Mary looked around at Crows. ‘So tell me why we’re going again?’
‘Because this time, we might be the ones with the answers.’
Crows was serious. At least, he was faking serious really well.
‘Portals do not close, Mary. If they do, then it is not this world which is ending. It is London and the world we left. What can we learn, and what can we do? Who knows?’ He shrugged. ‘We will find out when we reach the White City.’
Copyright
A Gollancz eBook
Copyright © Simon Morden 2016
All rights reserved.
The right of Simon Morden to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2016 by
Gollancz
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DZ
An Hachette UK Company
This eBook first published in 2016 by Gollancz.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 1 473 21145 2
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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