by Richard Ford
Thaddeus stumbled forward, his legs feeling weak after their recent exertions, but he would not allow Julius to escape. There was no way he would let such a man walk free after what he had unleashed, and besides, he had a mission to complete.
But it seemed Blaklok was not the only one who coveted the Key.
A huge white figure slammed down, blocking Julius’s escape route. The high priest of Legion stumbled back, crying out in panic as Zaphiel stood barring his way.
‘Do you realise what you have done?’ spoke the seraph, his voice no longer pleasant to the ear. Now it sounded like a funeral bell, the strength of it blasting Julius back on his rump. ‘They must be stopped. The gate to the Pit must be sealed.’
Julius whimpered, holding up the Key of Lunos toward the irrepressible seraph, surrendering it in the face of the angel’s divine will.
But Blaklok was quicker.
He stretched forward, snatching the Key from Julius’s grip and staring up at Zaphiel.
The seraph smiled.
‘Defiant to the last,’ the angel said. ‘You, at least, are a worthy adversary. But the time for games is at an end. The demons have to be stopped, you of all people must realise this.’
‘The demons aren’t the only ones,’ Blaklok replied, closing his grip around the Key and feeling its power teasing his mind, trying to sway him to its will.
The Key of Lunos wanted this conflict – it was a tool for opening the forbidden gates and its purpose was being carried out to the utmost. Now it only wanted more, to tear open the portals between Heaven and Hell and allow the warring factions to spew forth and use the mortal realm as their battleground.
Blaklok forced the Key to bend to his will, though it resisted, fighting back with a fury. The Key glowed white hot in his hand, burning his flesh, the sound of its defiance shrill in his ears. Perspiration began to bead on his face as his mind struggled to break the Key’s bond with the portals, and he felt the power that opposed him falter. The doors began to flicker in and out of existence, their link to the plane of men weakening.
Something hit Blaklok hard, throwing him back where he crashed to the ground, but he still managed to grip onto the burning Key of Lunos. He opened his eyes, feeling the Key regain its hold on the portals, allowing yet more demons and angels to spew forth, to fight and maim and rend each other asunder.
Above him stood Zaphiel, his golden breastplate glowing in the light, his face a mask of fury. Thaddeus wanted to rise, wanted to face the seraph down, wanted to meet his end with as much spit and fire as he could muster, but his ribs were broken and he could hardly breathe. It would not take much for the seraph to end him now.
‘It will be a shame to cast you down, Thaddeus Blaklok,’ said Zaphiel. ‘You could have been an instrument for righteousness, but instead you elect to throw in your lot with demons and witches.’
‘Go to hell,’ spat Blaklok, flecks of blood spilling from his mouth.
‘No, Thaddeus. It is not I who will go to hell.’
The seraph raised a massive arm, an arm of white marble that would finally smash the life from Blaklok.
White-hot blasts suddenly rained against Zaphiel’s golden breastplate. Chips of the divine armour sparked away and the seraph was thrown back under the deluge. Before he could compose himself, another relentless blast hit him, shredding one wing and knocking him further back.
Blaklok forced himself to stand, watching as the seraph was blasted towards the gaping black portal by a rain of devastating fire. Zaphiel screamed in fury, staring defiantly at the source of the fire, and Blaklok saw that it was Amelia, holding the biggest carbine he had ever seen, pressing the ignition switch hard, gritting her pretty features as the weapon rocked and bucked in her grip. With a scream of rage, Amelia kept the carbine trained on the errant seraph, pushing him back beyond the boundary of the diabolical portal and into the gaping maw of Hell itself.
Thaddeus knew he had no time to waste, and gripped the Key tighter, smelling his burning flesh as it fought against him. But the power of his will was beyond question. Even now the Key’s light was diminishing as it strained against him, losing its battle with this defiant, powerful human. And, as the light of the Key of Lunos ebbed away, so did the shimmering boundaries of each portal, their link with the mortal realm breaking, becoming ever less corporeal with each passing second.
Amelia’s deluge of fire halted, the bandolier of inch long rounds having run out. Blaklok looked up, seeing Zaphiel’s shattered chest and face – but these wounds were not enough to stop the seraph. He screamed, a divine cry of rage that gusted forth like a discordant wind, shattering the remaining windows of the Basilica. Zaphiel charged forth on shattered wings, but he would never be fast enough.
Before the seraph could reach the portal it quickly winked out, leaving nothing of him but the echo of his final cry.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
She dropped the massive weapon to the floor with a dull clank, its payload spent. The horror of the twin portals was now gone, but the battling creatures that flooded the Basilica were still writhing and biting and slaying one another more furiously than ever.
Hodge crouched to one side of the carnage, trying his best to avoid impalement on a ten foot spear or spiked talon, and Amelia frantically beckoned him forward.
‘We have to leave,’ she shouted above the din of battle.
From the look on Hodge’s face she knew he was not about to argue.
Navigating the rubble-strewn floor of the church, Amelia and Hodge made their way towards Blaklok. He leaned heavily against the last remaining pillar of the Basilica that had not been smashed to pieces by the warring immortals. His face was ashen, his body bleeding and broken but still he gripped the Key of Lunos in one meaty fist, as though prepared to defend it to the last.
‘Give me the Key and let’s get out of here,’ she said, looking into his heavy-lidded eyes. He grinned, glancing down at the Key in his hand, then back up at her.
‘Take it if you can,’ he said, his voice weak.
Without pausing, Amelia reached forward and snatched the Key from Blaklok’s grip, feeling it cold against her palm.
Blaklok grinned, then slumped down onto his haunches, his back still leaning against the pillar. ‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ he said with a wry grin.
‘We’ll get you out,’ said Amelia, moving forward to help him, but he suddenly rose, using the last vestiges of his strength, and shoved her backwards. In that instant two creatures, one hellish to behold, the other perfect in every way, smashed into the ground where she had been standing.
The creatures thrashed and wrestled, rending and tearing at one another, and Amelia was relieved to feel Hodge’s strong hands grasp her and pull her away to safety. In the confusion she lost sight of Blaklok, so eager was she to avoid being caught in the melee of two immortal beings, and when she finally composed herself, Blaklok was nowhere in sight.
She paused, glancing desperately around the Basilica, but she could not see him – only the battling creatures from beyond the realms of man, now set on destroying each other absolutely.
Part of the roof suddenly collapsed beside them, and Amelia realised that as much as she wanted to stay and find Blaklok – whether to reward or imprison him, she was not sure which – she knew escape was the only sane option.
Light encroached on the Basilica from a breach in the wall, and Amelia immediately headed for it, Hodge close at her shoulder. Still in her hand was the Key of Lunos. What Amelia had expected from the much-coveted item she wasn’t sure, but it seemed to be a wholly unspectacular object. It did not fill her with dread nor burn her flesh. Neither was she assailed by a psychic wave as the thing tried to control her thoughts or compel her to actions aberrant to her nature. It seemed almost impossible to think that so many had been prepared to kill for such a seemingly insignificant trinket.
Out in the open, the air was thick and miasmic with billowing dust from the assailed Basilica mixing with the polluted atmosp
here of the Blasted Estate. Amelia took no time to pause, stumbling forward and trying to put as much distance between her and the warring legions as she could.
Through the pall up ahead she could make out other figures fleeing the scene – red-robed acolytes of Legion who had somehow survived the crash of their airship and were eager to save themselves from the carnage they were partly responsible for. How Amelia would have loved to wreak retribution on them, how she would have loved to unleash her tipstaffs on each and every one, but for now it would have to wait. She had to get the Key back to the Judicature, to have it examined properly by one of their scryators and kept safe within the vaults.
Then her eye fell on one of the fleeing cultists, and she knew that she could at least satisfy herself with just one small portion of retribution.
Julius crawled along, thick sobs racking his body as he dragged himself painfully across the sharp rubble of the Blasted Estate. Amelia stopped behind him, Hodge by her side, waiting for him to look around and see who it was that cast a shadow over his pitiful, fleeing figure.
Julius slowly turned his head, horror writ in his eyes. Relief washed over him; it was obvious he had been expecting some immortal form to descend on him, to cast its divine judgment on the man who had tried to destroy an entire city – perhaps even the world.
He smiled, spittle dripping from the side of his mouth. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this,’ he said, holding up a grazed and withered hand.
Amelia felt her fist clench within one thin, leather glove… then smashed it into Lord Julius’s face.
He squealed, holding up his arms in a pathetic defence.
‘Get used to that,’ said Amelia. ‘There’s much more waiting for you where you’re going.’
Hodge grasped hold of the mewling noble and, as the Basilica still raged with the warring factions behind them, they fled across the Blasted Estate to the relative safety of the Manufactory. From a distance, Amelia could see the final throes of the building as it relented under the onslaught of demons and angels. Whichever side was winning she could not tell, but with any luck they would destroy themselves absolutely; countering light for dark so that nothing remained.
Only time would tell what consequences the Manufactory would have to suffer from the survivors of that ferocious conflict.
She strode into the Ministry of the Judicature with as much dignity as she could muster. Her fellow Indagators stared with a mixture of disgust and amazement at her ripped and torn attire, and more than a few administrants peered over their half moon spectacles at the strange sight.
Behind her, Hodge dragged the whining figure of Lord Julius, his demented eyes now glaring wide. He had defecated himself twice on the way to the Ministry of the Judicature, and the burly tipstaff was holding him at arm’s length.
‘I need to see the Grand Overseer immediately,’ Amelia demanded, relieved that she still managed to retain some modicum of strength and command in her voice.
Fantassins and Indagators looked at one another in confusion – it was a demand that was never made, the Grand Overseer only ever saw his underlings by written appointment and seldom granted an audience even then, let alone responded to a summons. The silence was telling, and Amelia began to wonder if she might have overstepped her remit.
There was sudden movement, and down one of the antiseptic corridors strode a procession of heavily armoured fantassins. As they drew closer Amelia could see that they bore the clenched fist sigil of the Grand Overseer’s personal entourage.
Amelia smiled at the gawping administrants who had, a moment before, thought her mad. Obviously her arrival had been expected – this would show them.
She strode forward, gripping Julius by the collar of his tattered robe, eager to apprise the fantassins of what was happening in the Blasted Estate, but their commander took a step forward, his aggressive manner silencing her before she could even begin.
‘The Key,’ he demanded. ‘You will relinquish it into our care.’
Amelia stopped for a second. How could they have known? She glanced down into her open palm where the Key of Lunos rested; the simple stone key that had been the cause of so much strife.
‘Hand it over. Now.’ The threat in the commander’s voice was thinly veiled. Something inside Amelia made her want to resist, to keep the Key from him, to keep it protected, but this man was part of the Grand Overseer’s entourage, an elite custodian of justice and order within the Manufactory. What could she do against that?
Nothing.
She placed the Key of Lunos into his outstretched hand.
With no word of thanks, the commander turned on his heel and marched back down the corridor, closely followed by his heavily armoured subordinates.
All Amelia could do was watch them leave.
Instantly, as though a sudden flame had been lit beneath them, the administrants, fantassins and Indagators went about their business as if nothing had happened. They swept past Amelia as though she wasn’t there, and it suddenly seemed that all she had achieved and gone through over the past few days had been for naught.
But at least she had Julius. She would have to satisfy herself with venting her frustrations on him. But then, looking at the pitiful figure before her, she doubted it would even be worth the effort.
‘Where is it?’ came a fluting voice. Amelia turned to see a tall, well-dressed figure flaunt into the entrance hall of the Ministry, surrounded by a scurrying collection of man-servants bedecked in ties and tails. ‘I demand to know where my property is. I want it back,’ squealed the man, bold as brass. He was roundly ignored by the staff of the Judicature, who appeared to have better things to do all of a sudden.
‘It belongs to me. I demand to speak with the Grand Overseer.’
Amelia stepped back, trying to make herself inconspicuous lest she come under any scrutiny from this man and his demands.
‘I think Duke Darian Hopplite will have even less chance of seeing the Overseer than you did,’ whispered an oleaginous voice.
Amelia turned, seeing the leering face of Surrey regarding her with that scurrilous look. Somehow though, she did not feel as repulsed as she normally did. Today she was too tired to bat off his unwelcome attentions. She had done enough fighting for one day.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘But then you can’t always get what you want.’
‘That’s certainly true.’
‘Sometimes you have to take what pleasures you can.’
At this, Surrey raised a suggestive eyebrow.
‘Would you like to help me interrogate a prisoner?’ she asked.
Surrey glanced down at the pitiful figure of Lord Julius. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
Amelia nodded her assent, and together they dragged Julius, kicking and screaming, towards the vaults.
It might not be much of a release, but it was better than nothing.
He lay on the familiar bed, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling. The pungent smell of disinfectant was ripe in his nostrils and brought tears to his eyes. Or were they tears of pain? Or tears of woe?
No, it was the disinfectant – definitely.
Somewhere in the room the Apothecary was pottering around, rifling through shelves packed with tinctures and gauze. He had, as usual, done a fine job of patching Thaddeus up, but it still hurt like hell. Neither was the pain helped by the knowledge that he had failed in his mission.
Yes, he had stopped an apocalyptic invasion of angels and demons. But the fact that he did not have the Key of Lunos hurt more than any of the bruises, or his broken ribs, missing finger, cracked knuckles and lacerations.
To add to his misery, it was likely he would hurt a lot more when he had to report his failure. But that one he would face when he came to it.
The light dimmed and Blaklok painfully moved his head to the side, seeing the bearded face of the Apothecary staring down at him. The old man’s face was marred with amusement more than concern, but it mattered little to Blaklok.
‘When will th
is all end, Thaddeus? When will it be time for your crusade to finish, and your life to begin again?’
It wasn’t much of a question, but Blaklok took a moment to ponder his reply. The more he thought about it, the less he felt he could answer.
‘For as long as the holy demand it,’ he replied. It was a poor answer, and doubtless untrue, but it was the only one he could muster.
The Apothecary laughed, his thick moustache quivering as he exuded a series of sharp guffaws. ‘You don’t do what others demand, Thaddeus. Not unless you’re sure it’s to your advantage. There’s something you’re not telling me. What’s in this for you?’
Blaklok stared into the Apothecary’s eyes, wondering if his interest was purely altruistic. Thing was, you could never tell in this city – the Manufactory was a hive of suspicion and rightly so – it was a place rife with scum willing to stab you in the back. Blaklok had learned that the hard way.
‘You might find out one day,’ he replied, closing his eyes.
The Apothecary walked away, shuffling off to another part of his rooms.
Blaklok hated himself for not being able to confide in the old man, but it was the only way.
There was something in it for him, and the things he had put himself through were ultimately for his advantage, but the Apothecary had been wrong about one thing.
Blaklok was beholden to someone. And until he did for them what they asked he would remain so. But then, when all the tasks were finished, or when he was spent, he would get what he wanted.
Then there would be a reckoning.
Then the crusade would be over.
EPILOGUE
Blood red curtains hung from a high ceiling, brushing the dark oak floorboards; teasing them like a maiden caressing her lover’s neck with a crimson feather. A fire roared in one corner, filling the room with an oppressive heat that only served to make the stench of rot all the more pungent.
