The Ruin of Angels--A Novel of the Craft Sequence

by Max Gladstone

  The floor onto which they emerged was busier than the ones they’d left. Kai could tell, because the halls were empty. Windows opened onto a dizzy height, the sea and the continent so far down Kai might have been flying. She would have been more comfortable if they were. If they’d been flying there would have been good dependable magic keeping them aloft, or a dragon’s wings; in this case someone had just stacked things on top of one another until they were so high the fall would kill her before the ground could manage.

  Jax burst through double doors into a room walled with glowworm monitors. Techs and acolytes and Craftsmen worked sigils and prayer wheels and thaumaturgical implements. A squat woman in a V-neck sweater stood in front of the monitors, hands behind her back. When the door burst open, she turned. “Sir—I didn’t expect you for another half hour.”

  “I came early, Doreen. Wanted to show my guest around.”

  “Of course.”

  The woman in the sweater frowned at Kai, and Kai tried her best to look like someone who might be shown around high-magic installations during a critical operation. Girlfriend was the obvious choice, so she settled for consultant, which more suited her skill set. She suspected Jax’s girlfriends might tend toward simpering, and she’d never been able to fake a simper.

  Jax glanced at his watch. “Everything in shape?”

  “Slight echo on the passenger telemetry”—she nodded over her shoulder to a station where a man and a woman frowned at a spinning planchette—“but we’re fixing it.”

  “Could we have the room for five minutes?”

  Doreen blinked. “Sir.” Kai knew that tone of voice. She’d used it herself, when supervisors turned idiot.

  “Or three. I want to show our guest around without getting in anyone’s way.”

  “So you’ll get in everyone’s way at once.”

  Jax grinned, or at least bared his narrow white teeth, which was close.

  “Okay, people.” Doreen clapped her hands. “Coffee break. Out in the hall. The old man wants the room. Three minutes. Go.”

  Grumbling, arguing, furious, the techs shuffled out. Doreen had to pry one from her seat. And that left Kai and Jax lit by glowworm monitors in a maze of equipment Kai did not understand, before windows overlooking an enormous metal spear, which she did.

  “History,” Jax said, staring at the monitor. “That was the plan.”

  “You’ll still have your history. Only now you won’t go down as a mass murderer in the bargain. Sounds like a good deal to me.” Kai sat at the telemetry station. “Does this give you a read on the pilot’s location?”

  “Not precise enough to pinpoint someone within the building.” Jax turned to her. “I thought that didn’t matter. You just wanted to—”

  “There’s been a change of plan.”

  “A change of plan.” He echoed her words in the tone of voice people used to describe kinks they didn’t share.

  “I know.” She struck the side of the telemetry station. One pilot marker glowed in the prep room. “That’s Vane?” They’d gone over this the night before, but a review never hurt.

  “Yes. According to the schedule.”

  “Who’s this?” She tapped the screen, where a second pilot marker glowed.

  “Tracking glitch.”

  “What’s supposed to be in that room?”

  “Spare suits.”

  “Okay.” Kai stood, and rolled her shoulders. No matter how deeply she breathed, she could not make her diaphragm relax. She thought about surf, about beaches, about cities made of sand. “It’s time.”

  She turned, and kissed him on the cheek. She didn’t know why. She needed to kiss someone.

  Glowworms writhed on the wall, and in their writhing made pictures.

  In his office, the night before, they had debated whether she should knock him out. For all the theatrical appeal, that would draw the wrong kind of attention. Better to open the door, invite the techs back in, and slip out in the fuss.

  Then the door swung shut, and Kai stood alone.

  * * *

  Izza, Hasim, and Umar paced the Refuge. “We can’t stop the launch,” Hasim said, as he finished the salt circle. “But we know how the system works. The Iskari wish impose the squid’s vision on reality. We will offer a different perspective—and protect as many people as we can. As the Iskari withdraw their protection, the half-gods of the Wastes will rush in, and flock to us, to devour our faith.”

  “So we will strangle them,” Umar said, as he lifted an enormous iron bar and settled it across the doors. “Cast them back. And the Fifty Families will do what they can.”

  Izza traced mazes in the salt with a stick. A small part of her couldn’t believe she was still here, trying to help, asi f she hadnt’ tried to convince Kai they should both run, as if this city had ever been kind to her. Agdel Lex hadn’t—neither had Alikand. But Hasim, and Umar, and Isaak had. “How long can we last?”

  “Long enough,” Hasim said. “We must hope.”

  She prayed. How can we help?

  We’ll think of something, the Lady replied.

  For a Goddess, You’re not particularly reassuring.

  A grin, slender as the edge of broken glass. I like to improvise.

  * * *

  Kai’s watch ticked. She crept down the hall past the room marked “Prep,” to an unmarked door with a lock she prayed open. She turned the knob slowly, and closed the door behind her in a way that made no sound.

  Dim ghostlights illuminated row after row of standing almost-human forms, like empty suits of old-fashioned armor without plating, helmets with transparent visors that wrapped the head. Decapitated Knights, shoulders blazoned with the Altus up-arrow insignia, they waited, watching.

  She heard a muffled curse from behind a row of suits.

  She stepped around the corner.

  Ley looked up.

  She’d been trying to lock a gauntlet in place with her teeth, having, apparently, given up on using her other, already gloved, hand for the task. Kai stared into her sister’s eyes in the dim.

  Neither moved, for longer than either could afford.

  Kai’s goals dried in her mouth.

  Slowly, she approached to within arm’s reach. She caught Ley by the shoulders. Before her sister could draw back, or fight, she pulled her into an embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Nearby, clocks counted down.

  Ley froze, at first, then softened. Even through the layers of armor, Kai felt her sister’s arms circle her, hold her.

  “I—” Ley broke off. “Can you help me get this glove on?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Said automatically, but then, again, with thought: “I love you. What the hells are you doing here?”

  “They got Zeddig.”

  For her sister, one sharp indrawn breath took the place of tears. Kai felt the muscle of Ley’s jaw twitch against her cheek. “She knew that might happen.”

  “Bescond chained her to the tower.”

  Ley drew back. She looked down.

  “Go. Save her.”

  “And give up—” The dim light glinted on Ley’s cheek as she turned away. In a minute, her voice was steady. “We planned this. She made the run, distracted them, let me sneak in here. They’ll be telling stories about that run for years. And if I do this, no one remembers my name. There’s a neat balance to it. Almost art.” She drew a wet breath through her nose. Dragged her armored forearm across her face. “You made me get snot on my spacesuit.”

  “Save her.” Kai took her black book from her pocket. “Here. A simple prayer—lets you walk on water. There’s an Iokapi 2300 idling offshore. A sailor and a mate on board. Try not to hurt them—I’m sure they can swim. Once you make land, you’re on your own.”

  Ley did not reply.

  “Let me do this for you.”

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  “It’s not yours, either. It’s not even Bescond’s. It’s just a bunch of people doing th
ings history told them to.” She drew back. “Besides. If I let you go up in that thing, Mom would kill me.”

  Ley turned back to face her. She looked so tired. She was cut, somewhere it did not show, and bled need. Kai wondered what it felt like, to feel that way about someone else. Then she realized that she knew.

  “Do you trust me?” she said.

  Ley looked into her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Then go save your girlfriend. Let me save the world.”

  “You never let me do anything fun.”

  “Older sister’s prerogative.”

  Ley smiled. “How long have you been thinking about that saving-the-world line?”

  “Twelve hours.”

  “Twelve hours and that’s the best you could do?”

  Kai scuffed Ley’s hair, and Ley batted her hand away.

  “Come on, I’ll help you put on the suit.”

  “Can I have one without snot all over it?”

  “Try that one on your right. It’s more your size.” Ley unhooked her gauntlet, undid the clasps around her waist, and shucked off the top half of the suit, and the body stocking beneath. Under that, she wore a tank top; a piece of glistening gold clockwork ticked above her heart. She tapped the gold gears with her middle finger. “First, though, I have to stab you in the chest.”

  Chapter Seventy-four

  VANE WAITED IN THE white room, alone, helmet off, elbows against her thighs. When the door opened, she glanced toward it, and saw the suit, visor down. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.” She examined the space between her boots. “I’m glad you escaped the Wastes. The good Lieutenant thought you were looking for a weapon out there, some way to break the ship. You did not, of course, want to stop the launch. You wanted to hijack it, use its power, like one of your pirate foerbears, paddling out in a canoe to steal a treasure ship. You couldn’t stand to see your work bent to another’s service—the Iskari’s, or my own. You didn’t need a weapon—just a key.” She tapped her chest. “I could have told her. But I’d rather wait for you.”

  The suit creaked as Vane stood. If she cared about the approaching footsteps, she didn’t let on.

  “Or am I wrong? Was it all for love? Did you try to ruin our lives for the sake of a woman who never understood you, who never could have understood, trapped in her broken city and sad traditions, a woman who can’t even conceive of a horizon, let alone advance against it? Someone who cast you to the curb for trying to describe her world? Compare that to what we had: we were equals, Ley, a pair of bonfires. We would make millions, pose on the cover of every magazine. Jealous cocks around the planet would look at the losers they work beside and wish they were us. You couldn’t have thrown me over for some delver.”

  The footsteps stopped.

  “Well. Bescond has her now. You know, back in the days of empire we used to parade conquests through the streets in triumph. You ever wonder what that would have been like? To be in the chariot, or behind the bars? Perhaps we should revive the practice.”

  She bent, hooked her helmet with her fingers, and examined her reflection in the glass.

  “You came to stop me. But you can’t. Darling, I have years of you back home—strands of hair, bits of skin, your spit sealed in vials. I know all your secret names; I know the way you breathe in bed, and what makes you weep. I’m careful, you see, with lovers. I’ve had months to build traps for you. I hired very reputable disreputable people. Spent tens of thousands. You can’t stop me now. You can’t even move.” She turned. The tinted helmet bent the white room: the benches, the lockers, the clock on the wall, the ghostlights in the ceiling, her own teeth. “Try.”

  The suit stopped.

  The clock on the wall ticked. Vane’s smile widened. The minute hand advanced. A siren wailed.

  “You should have known better,” she said, when she was ready. “You killed me once, when I wasn’t ready. Did you think I’d let you stop me again? You wait here. I’ll be back before you know it. Then we can talk about our future.”

  She leaned in to kiss the glass. The angle changed. So did her expression, when she saw the face within.

  Then Kai punched her.

  Vane fell, more from shock than pain, but Kai didn’t wait. Before Vane could recover, she grabbed her with both arms, lifted her, shoved her into a locker, and slammed the door closed. Vane cursed, and pushed against the latch; Kai searched for a proper lock, found nothing, and wedged the door shut with her shoulder. Something hard, thin—

  There was a weird oblong pen clipped to the suit. Thread that into the latch, and easy going. Vane hammered the door from the inside, roaring in frustration, but the pen didn’t give, the locker didn’t dent, and her voice was lost in the launch countdown. Kai wondered what, exactly, you were supposed to do with mad installation artists, decided this was as good a solution as any, and turned toward the door.

  She stepped through the hatch, out onto the gantry that led to the spear.

  She’d worked in shorter buildings. She’d climbed shorter mountains, for that matter. Denuded of fuel hoses and diagnostic tools, it stood; glyphs burned blue on its side, the spear Altus would throw to wound the heavens. And Kai, for her sins, would ride it.

  Don’t look down, had been Jax’s advice when they discussed the approach. You’re not used to drops like this. It’ll make you sick, and scared. Kai pointed out that she was used to diving into a bottomless pit.

  Jax’s answer: this one has a bottom.

  So she stared straight ahead at the capsule door. Within, banks of switches and glowing Craftwork equipment menaced her. The chair did not look comfortable. She remembered the archives back home, the thorn couches that let a priestess see all her gods all at once. Just take it step by step. She didn’t have a part to play at this stage, just a monkey along for the ride. Once the web unfurled, that would be her chance to—well. Shine, hopefully, though not in a burning-up sort of way.

  Eyes in the chamber’s walls watched her, feeding images back to the ops room’s glowworm screens. She shot Jax an okay sign with her left hand, as agreed.

  Then she stepped into the capsule, and settled back in the coffin.

  The capsule closed on its own. There was a seatbelt here—what she’d heard dragon jockeys call a five-point restraint. Good. Fine. She clicked the straps together.

  The capsule felt small. The tiny windows did not help. She heard her own breath. Vane probably had more room in that locker.

  She laughed. None of this was funny, so she laughed harder. The clock ticked down. One minute.

  Lines of blue and white cracked the gray dim silo. The spear, the ship, rumbled, but Kai felt none of the weight Jax warned her about, none of the pressure. The ship did not move. The building opened around it. Silo walls split, unfurled. Sunlight and sky spilled through the gaps. Kai stared up into blue.

  This was a bad idea.

  Scratch that. This was a horrible idea.

  But Ley was safe. She’d save Zeddig. And maybe, if this worked, Kai could save the rest.

  The system needed a focus—a mind to bridge the minds below. All Kai had to do was get up there, and refuse, under any circumstances, to be that focus. Don’t let the machine make you one. And, while you’re up there, listen to the stars.

  Glowworms in the control panel writhed green.

  Somewhere, a loud voice said, ten.

  Lightning danced between the spire’s petals.

  Eight.

  There was a roll of thunder.

  Six.

  Coils of shadow rose overhead, fast as a whip crack, sapping blue from the sky.

  Four.

  The lightning settled into steady arcs between the spire petals.

  Two.

  Light bridged earth and sky.

  Kai felt heavy, and yet she rose.

  Chapter Seventy-five

  LIGHT PIERCED THE SKY.

  Aman saw it from her rooftop in Hala’s Fell, where she gathered with the other Archivists. The city spread below in haze
and shadow save for rare oases where a street, a building, stood in perfect outline, crisp as the texts upon their laps, unchanged in a hundred fifty years. The sharp light splayed their shadows open. Aman reached out with her hands, and found her friends reaching with theirs. Together, the Archivists bent to read.

  Tara, on the rampart, glanced over her shoulder, saw the light, and nodded. Her watch must be a minute slow. She closed her eyes and laid bare the world’s convoluted spiderwebs of Craft, all pale before the mass of power Eberhardt Jax cast toward the sky. Then she turned back to the Wastes, and counted heartbeats.

  In the Temple of All Gods, Izza saw the light and prayed. Doctor Hasim and Umar stood beside her, facing south toward the Wastes beyond the walls. Izza prayed Kai’s plan worked. She prayed Kai made it home. She prayed there would be a home left to come back to. She fixed the city in her mind, Alikand of winding passages, its coffee and parks and chess boards and its old men singing. She did not love it like she should. It was not her city. But it was Isaak’s, and she would fight for it, regardless of how he felt. That didn’t hurt, much.

  She called for the Lady, and She came.

  In the Rectification Authority Tower, Bescond paced, and checked her watch, and paced more. She could not see the light, or the launch. She had told herself, that morning, it would be better to remain below, tending the tower’s needs in case anything went wrong. She felt the change through her Lord, through the web of Wreckers across the city. Tentacles pressed her neck, soothed, like a mother cat gathering her kitten in her fangs. “On schedule.” Bescond flipped her watch shut and tucked it in the pocket of her vest. “Not long now. Then we can turn our attention to better things.” Her audience hung limp in her restraints. “I’d hoped for some conversation, at least, while we wait. I admire your determination, Zeddig. I think we might like one another, if we met under different circumstances.” Zeddig rolled her head around, and stared up through the blood. “Then again,” Bescond said, “perhaps not.”

  Across Agdel Lex, the light drew them: artists and Craftsfolk and rubberneckers, locals and foreigners. Enthusiasts who’d flocked to the seashore to watch the launch cheered, and toasted with beers; some popped bottles of sparkling wine, corks vaulted skyward chased by spray. They donned sunglasses so they could stare into the light and watch the spear rise, a black sliver at the column’s heart, moving slowly, it seemed, because they had nothing against which to judge its scale, or the speed of its ascent. They watched while the sun quailed beneath the weight of the Altus Craft, and stars emerged from the blushed purple of dawn.