Worldsoul

by Liz Williams

  The demon cocked her head on one side. “I gather it’s been quite the circus. Well, you need not worry. I have no plans to create havoc. On the contrary. I’m here to help.”

  “Oh,” Shadow said. It sounded unconvincing. “I don’t want to seem rude, but… ”

  “I understand.” The demon did not seem offended. She stared at Shadow out of cold red eyes. “You are acquiring powerful patrons, powerful enemies.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “The Shah, the disir, the Court… ” Gremory’s voice was sly.

  As she was supposed to, Shadow bit. “The Court? I know about the first two.”

  “The Court is at the heart of things. The Court wants you.”

  Shadow shook her occupied head in bewilderment. The spirit seemed to have gone to ground, for the moment, and that in itself was interesting. “What in the world does the Court want with me? It’s got its own personnel. They’re powerful magicians and their interests lie in the West, not here.” But she was not surprised to hear Gremory mention it. The Court concerned themselves with demons, with grimoires and Goetic magics.

  “Yet you have attracted their attention. Or at least, the attention of one of them. A man named Jonathan Deed.”

  “I’ve heard of Deed,” Shadow said, slowly. “But I can’t remember where.”

  “Deed is disir.”

  “What?”

  “He is of that lineage. He’s a male, of course. They’re different. The females are more savage.” Gremory looked modestly down at her talons. Their scarlet colouring ran down into her long fingers as far as the first joint, as though her fingers were dipped in blood. She blinked and the talons changed to bronze, then back to blood. “Naturally.”

  Shadow’s mind was working fast. “So there’s a connection. Did Deed send the disir? Why did it come after me?”

  “I think Deed wants you. You ought to know how it works by now. The Court wants what Suleiman wants; he desires what the Court has. Each of them feed off one another-the Court and the Has. Under the Skein, it didn’t really matter: balance was kept no matter what. Now the Skein are gone and the city’s up for grabs. Guess who’s grabbing?”

  “Makes sense,” Shadow said. “So the thing in my head-the ifrit? What does it want?”

  “I don’t know,” Gremory said. “Shall we take a look?”

  Being possessed by two entities was not a comfortable experience. Shadow sat, trying not to squirm, while the demon evaporated into smoke and drifted into her lungs, then into her blood, then into her mind. Shadow felt as though she was standing in a crowded elevator; one that might, at any moment, break a cable and start to plummet. She took a deep breath, willing stillness.

  “I know you’re in here!” the demon sang, like a child playing hide and seek. “I can fi-i-i-ind you!”

  Shadow, eyes shut, tried to look within. The ifrit, which suddenly seemed very small, was running, bolting down neural pathways, disappearing into the labyrinthine causeways of the mind. Shadow, pursuing, felt herself drop, as if she’d fallen down a well. Her eyes snapped open.

  The laboratory was gone. The fronds of acacia waved gently above her head, higher than they should have been against a vivid blue sky. One of Shadow’s hands was raised, imprisoned in someone else’s. She looked up to see her aunt, familiar behind the lace-edged veil that she always wore. Behind the veil, her aunt smiled.

  “Would you like an ice?”

  “Yes, please!”

  They walked along a sandy track, through a pair of ornate iron gates with curling letters above them. Shadow spelled the words with only a little difficulty: City Zoo. Her adult awareness had retreated, distantly watching: it was a little like being in a lucid dream, but with the sense of self dulled. Shadow was a child again, excited about the zoo and seeing all the animals.

  “Can we see the tiger?”

  “Yes, and the marmosets. You like those, don’t you? We’ve got all afternoon. We can see whatever you like.”

  Shadow, happy, walked with her aunt along the track and they came to the first of the pens. A stout spotted hyena basked in the afternoon sunshine, fast asleep. Shadow did not like hyenas very much-they smelled-so they did not linger.

  “Look! Do you see the camels?”

  The pens were large and spacious, with plenty of room for the animals to roam. This one was the size of a field, with troughs for the camels to feed. Each had one hump, and their sandy coats made them blend into the earth.

  “Aren’t they funny?” her aunt said.

  Then one of the camels turned and looked directly at Shadow, who stopped in alarm. The camel’s coat was black and so were its eyes, with a flicker of scarlet within. Its lips drew back, displaying sharp, pointed teeth.

  “Look!” Aunt Behamiah said again. “Isn’t he funny?”

  It was evident that she could not see what Shadow saw. From a long way away, the adult Shadow realised what was happening: the fleeing spirit was taking refuge in her memories, hiding out at a day at the zoo. She remembered this day, now: it had been a happy one, with no peculiar incidents. The camel was Gremory. The beasts-a figure of strangeness to Europeans-were linked to the moon and to certain demons. Gremory, as camel, winked a black-red eye at Shadow and took a graceful leap over the barrier. Aunt Behamiah did not appear to notice. Shadow watched as the camel raced down the sandy track, and she could see something running now, flickering in and out of the trees. She let go of her aunt’s hand and sped after it, glancing over her shoulder to see Behamiah standing in complacent ignorance.

  “Hey!” Shadow shouted at the fleeing dark shape. “Leave my memory alone!” She was outraged that the nice day at the zoo was being hijacked by this demon-and-ifrit show. “Not so smug now, are you?”

  But as she came around a thicket of flowering oleander, the camel stood alone.

  “Lost him,” Gremory said. It sounded odd, coming out of a camel’s jaws. She worked her mouth and spat sideways into the bushes. “Sod it.”

  Shadow had a splitting headache. The ifrit had gone to ground, hiding deep within. Occasionally she felt a twitch, like a nervous tic, and it made her jump, but she wasn’t sure whether this was the spirit resurfacing or her own nerves.

  Gremory perched on the arm of the divan. It looked unbalanced: a human would have toppled it, but the demon appeared to have no weight. Shadow filed that away for future reference.

  “Sorry.” The demon sounded remarkably sincere. “Nearly had him but he gave me the slip.” She raised a long, elegant hand and Shadow saw a wisp of smoke emanating from the tip of her taloned forefinger. There was the smell of sandalwood; Gremory inhaled.

  “Do you know what he wants?”

  “He’s a prince of the air. Do you know what that is?”

  “I’ve done my studies,” Shadow answered, irritably. “In fact, it’s what the Shah told me to ask the ifrit in the first place-that was the ruse to get it to talk to us. I suppose he did that because if this thing is also a prince, it would be bound to know, and it was probably interested. They’re true spirits-ifrits, not demons or angels-neither good enough for Heaven nor bad enough for Hell. So they wander, in groups. They have ships.” The Barquess came suddenly to mind: not much difference, perhaps.

  “This one is either a renegade, or he’s lost. I say a ‘prince.’ He might be lower in the hierarchy than that-in fact, he almost certainly is. He’s possibly a duke, or something: someone who’s fallen out with the Prince himself and who’s had to go on the run. The Shah found him, trapped him, called you in and now he’s-”

  “-in me.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” The demon touched her smouldering talon to her lips. “He’s going to be difficult to dislodge. Knows a lot of tricks. I do know someone who could help, bu-”

  “But?”

  “He’s out in the Great Desert. The Khaureg.”

  After a moment, Shadow said, “Oh.”

  “You’ve been beyond the city?”

  “Yes, once. My knife comes from
the desert.”

  For the first time, the demon looked genuinely intrigued. “Does it? That means you won it.”

  “Yes. I killed someone for it.”

  “Who?”

  “No one important.”

  “Everyone’s important to someone,” the demon said. “I’m wondering if your knife is connected to the spirit that’s possessing you now.”

  “If this is some elaborate plot, then the Shah could just have taken it, couldn’t he?”

  “I don’t think it’s a plot. I think it’s a fortuitous incident.”

  “Well,” Shadow said. “I won once. And I’ll win again.”

  Interlude

  There was a burning tree outside the open window. The Duke leaned on the sill and looked out into its smouldering branches. There was fruit among the blazing leaves, globes of glowing gold. The Duke was almost tempted to reach out and pluck one of them, but she did not think Astaroth would approve. Beyond the tree, the metal walls of the city rose up in concentric rings towards the molten sky.

  “She’s ready to see you now.”

  The Duke’s boots rang out along the floor as she made her way into the audience chamber. Astaroth was standing by the window, staring down at a document. At least, the Duke thought, her own life was not constrained by paperwork, whatever other problems she might currently be encountering.

  “Gremory.”

  “My prince.” The Duke bowed.

  “How is it going?”

  This required delicate handling. “Well,” Gremory began.

  “You haven’t found it, have you?”

  “Not exactly. But I have found the thief.”

  This got Astaroth’s full attention.

  “Have you, indeed? Where is he?”

  “He was captured by Shah Suleiman of Worldsoul, and is now residing in the body of an alchemist, one Shadow.”

  “How very original!”

  The Duke sighed.

  “A bit too original.”

  “So why have you not extracted him?”

  “It became-complicated. I chased him, but he has taken refuge in the woman’s memories. It’s not within my power to retrieve him.” Gremory paused. “He’s very skilled at evasion.”

  “He would be,” Astaroth said. “He was well trained.”

  Gremory knew better than to ask leading questions, but the Prince said, “He is a spy.”

  “I see.”

  “That which he has stolen is information.”

  “I had surmised as much. What course of action do you want me to pursue now?”

  “Am I to understand that killing the woman would achieve nothing?”

  “I had considered it,” the Duke said, “but it could simply provide our quarry with another escape route. The woman is devout, and if your spy hitched a ride with her outgoing soul, I would not be able to follow them.”

  “I see. I seem to recall that during the wars you had some sort of-liaison-with a gentleman from the opposite team.”

  Gremory had the grace to look abashed, and knew it. “Young love. You know how it is.”

  “Oh, quite. We’ve all done it-there’s no shame. On the contrary, in fact, it’s far worse for them, given that we’re such rough trade in their masters’ eyes. The reason I mention it is because certain Messengers are good at that sort of thing: their remit is souls, after all.”

  “I had already thought of it.”

  “I can rely on you, Gremory, to conduct yourself intelligently. Usually. Is your paramour still on this plane?”

  “The last I heard, he’d become a hermit.”

  Astaroth looked pained. “Oh, how tediously typical. They all want to become closer to their God, whereas most of us would do anything to stay away from ours.”

  Gremory laughed. “It’s how they’re made.”

  “Send him a message. Ask if he’ll help. If he’s that boringly typical, he’ll do anything to enable you to have a chance at redemption. They can never resist a crack at a demon’s soul.”

  The Duke smiled. “He can crack away. I’m happy as I am.”

  Later, she walked down among the burning trees, into the streets around the fortress. It was quiet, at this time of the day. She made her way down a winding passage to an opening in the wall. Here, sat an old demon, with the brick red skin of a previous generation and yellow eyes.

  “Duke!” He rose and bowed. Around him were a hundred or more birdcages, filled with fiery doves. Their whispering and chattering consumed the air.

  “I need to send a message,” Gremory said.

  Twenty-Eight

  Mercy woke, sweating, in her own bed. She was disinclined to put the whole thing down to a dream and when Perra leaped in through the open window, Mercy asked the ka.

  “It was not a dream,” Perra said. The ka frowned. “I do not like being put to sleep.”

  “Who the hell was she? I’ve heard of something like that before but I can’t pin it down. And why did she rescue us?” Although Mercy was glad that she had.

  “I can’t answer your questions.”

  Mercy flung back the blankets. “I’d better get in to work.”

  Having checked up on Benjaya, now safely back at his post, and given her report, Mercy spent the rest of that day in the Library. She was restless and tired, but not displeased to have an afternoon to herself. She roamed the Library with the ka at her heels, uncertain as to what she was searching for. Perhaps it wasn’t anything in particular, just a sense of dislocation. The appearance of that rift in the air, apparent to Perra but not to anyone else, had disconcerted her. Knowing where it led was even more unsettling. She wanted to know what the hell else was breaching the Library’s defences. Once, it had seemed impregnable, now it felt more like a leaky colander.

  They took it systematically, top-down. The upper floors held the oldest texts, being perhaps paradoxically, the easiest to defend. The cellars were too easy to breach, to burrow and worm into. Hence the heights, in which Mercy now stood.

  On this top-most floor, there were no books. Instead, there was a collection of astronomical and weather-reading equipment: astrolabes at one end, where a dome could be opened to the night skies, wind and rain gauges at the other. The dome had not been an original feature of the library of Alexandria, but added later: maybe it had added itself, which was the way things usually worked in Worldsoul. You could wake in the morning to find a whole new block, the city re-arranging itself around the incomer and then settling back into place as though the addition had always been there. But the observatory dome had been in place long enough for Mercy to take it for granted. They searched anyway, Perra scanning the air like a hound tracing a scent.

  “I can’t see anything. Only songs.” The ka’s small face was wistful.

  “Songs?”

  “Songs of stars. Songs of clouds.”

  Research left its traces, Mercy knew. She felt a brief envy. “Sounds nice.”

  “Mm,” the ka said. But there was nothing sinister here. As they headed down the stairs, Mercy glanced out of the long windows towards the Court. Its dark roofs glistened with recent rain; the golden spell-vanes turned in the sea wind. Unfinished business. She wondered if this search of the Library wasn’t just putting off a confrontation with Deed.

  Deed, who still had a vial of her blood.

  Deed, the Abbot General of the entire Court. You couldn’t just walk in and start flinging accusations.

  Downstairs, the light faded abruptly as they entered the upper stacks. This was where Mercy had first encountered the disir, the place of the oldest texts. The rift that had let them into the world of ice was now closed, according to Perra.

  “It would be helpful,” the ka said, “if you could see this for yourself.”

  Mercy looked curiously at the ka. It was unusual for a spirit, even one as benign as Perra, to offer a secret freely. “You can teach me to do that?”

  The ka leaped up onto an empty shelf, so that they were at eye height. “I can. Close your eyes.�
�

  After a second’s hesitation, Mercy did so. She felt a feather-light touch on her forehead, between her brows. The sigil marked there burned cold for a moment, making her gasp. Then the ka was through the ward.

  Flashback. She was standing in the great chamber at the Heart of the Library, in front of the Skein. The woman who stood in front of her was holding a sash, of black, white, and grey silk.

  This binds you to the Library. If you accept it, then you belong to this place, you are tied and indentured for the rest of your life, unless we choose to sever you. Is this your choice?

  And Mercy, seventeen years old but feeling very grown-up, had said, “Yes. Yes, I accept.”

  A touch on her forehead, as Beheverah of the Skein reached out an ivory hand and inscribed the first warding sigil between her brows, the sigil that she would have to re-administer every day of her life from now on.

  Unless she retired and left the Order entirely, but then, Librarians tended not to do that.

  Mercy blinked. It was as though she had grown an inch, and could see a different world around her. The stacks shimmered with magic-she was used to that, and she could see small cracks and chinks in the field of blue, with tiny lightning strikes and fizzes of electricity, as though insects were being fried around the texts. The spellwards, trying to hold back leaks in a sieve. Perra’s impassive golden gaze was fixed on her face.

  “I think it’s worked,” Mercy said. “Whatever it was.”

  “Let’s see what else you can see,” the ka replied.

  Plenty of small cracks, but when she mentioned it to Perra, the ka said that these had always been there.

  “What if they widen?”

  “Then you have a problem. This sort of magic can only be contained with great difficulty. Even the Skein found it hard. And perhaps inadvisable.”

  “Inadavisable?”

  “Magic is like pressure. Damming it up can be problematic.”

  “Perra, how do you know so much about the Library?”

  But the ka only blinked.

  The upper stacks were relatively clear. Mercy did not, however, hold out much hope. What if there were breaks which the ka couldn’t see? She was thorough nonetheless, taking each floor in turn until she glanced at her watch and saw that it was close to five o’clock. The Library was huge, that was the trouble, and they’d only done three floors, out of eleven. At six, she decided, she would go out to a café, snatch some food, then come back in and work through the night if necessary.