by Mick Farren
“Fifty feet, be ready to drop.”
The winch rapidly lowered the packs. The net was thrown out and it reached to within a couple of feet of the ground. The Rangers braced to jump. The gunner was on the .50 caliber.
“That’s as low as we’re going. Everybody move out.”
The Rangers jumped and were scrambling down the net. Argo followed. Raphael went after him, but turned as Jesamine climbed down, ready to help her if needed. Windermere’s leg caused him some trouble, but he did his best to hide the disability. Raphael was about halfway to the ground when the ship suddenly shifted, and the net swayed. For a moment, Raphael, Jesamine, and Windermere were clinging on, if not for dear life, at least to avoid breaking an ankle or a collarbone in a heavy fall to the rubble below, but the Rangers quickly turned to steady the net for the others. Shaken but undeterred, the last three made it to the ground, and the Rangers grabbed their packs and scrambled away from the underside of the Black Airship. Again, the others followed, just in time to avoid hundreds of gallons of water, spilling fore and aft, as the dirigible let go of ballast, and began to rise. The small army of nine men and one woman stood and watched the craft vanishing quickly into the low overcast. When they could no longer see it, they still heard the sound of its departure. The engines cut in briefly, but then the ship returned to silent running and was gone altogether.
The Rangers looked to Argo for their next move, and he quickly responded, pointing into the night. “The pilot assured me that he was right on the LZ, and so making our way to the rendezvous point with Falconetti’s people should be simple. Don’t ask me how, but Windermere’s people in ES Section have exchanged messages, and they are ready to make a deal for Cordelia.”
Raphael supposed he should have been envious or something. He suspected that Jesamine had been looking at him for some sign of resentment that Argo had been selected to lead the mission rather than him. Raphael had never understood other people’s need to lead. He had spent too long around military idiocy and military brutality to ever want to command anything or anyone. Argo, on the other hand, seemed to be taking to it like a duck to water. Raphael would have no complaint as long as Argo did not start putting on airs, or keeping too many need-to-know secrets. Raphael was already at something of a loss to understand how a deal could have been cut so fast with the people holding Cordelia, but this was not the time to start asking for clarification. Argo was already marshaling his troops, and the Rangers were gathering round him as he explained the next move. “We use that ruined dome as the first reference point. We walk a quarter of a mile in that direction, and we’ll come to a fork in the trail. From there we see a signal fire on the right, and we go towards it. Any questions?”
The Rangers shook their heads.
“Madden?”
“Yo.”
“Take the point.”
Madden pointed with his shotgun. “That’s the dome, right?”
Argo looked where he was pointing, at the dark outline of a misshapen framework. He nodded. “That’s it.”
“Okay, I got it.”
The dome had plainly been used as a directional reference on many previous occasions, because a well-beaten path led in its direction from the Black Airship’s regular drop-off point. Madden took a careful look around and started down the trail. Two Rangers fell in behind Madden, Argo took fourth place, with Raphael behind him. Jesamine and Windermere, who was limping a little, stayed near the end of the column, while Penhaligon brought up the rear. They spaced themselves, a couple of paces between each man, and, no sooner were they on the move, than they started hearing movements and rustlings in the scrub all around them, and even caught the odd sight of a small, quickly moving figure. After walking for a hundred yards, none of the ten were in any doubt that they had an invisible escort on either side of them, and Argo seemed to feel the need to reassure everyone. “Okay, people, we know they’re out there, but take it easy. Don’t on any account fire unless clearly threatened. We have no idea who’s following us, or what kind of response the sound of gunfire might create in this place.”
Steuben responded as though to reassure Argo. “Don’t worry, Major. We’re chill.”
Raphael was completely surprised by how overgrown Paris was. He had expected a place of scorched earth and rubble, fallen masonry and broken walls, a sterile wasteland where all life had been eradicated by fire and toxins. Nothing in his imagination had prepared him for how nature had reasserted itself. On the ground, it was even clearer than it had been from the air that tenacious plant life was everywhere. Thick ivy and other climbing plants now covered many of the ruins, transforming them into great shapeless hummocks of green. Long rank grass now covered many open spaces, and thick stands of reeds had established themselves at the edges of the water. Dense scrub had taken over entire blocks, and even misshapen trees, random and nameless, had forced their way up to the light and air.
Up ahead, Madden had halted, and was signaling to Argo to come up the line and join him. Raphael could only assume that the point man had seen the fire that was the next reference point. Argo moved up the line, and, although it was probably against strict Ranger protocol, Raphael followed. They reached Madden, and he had indeed halted, because, as predicted, the trail had forked, and down on the right, the path widened out into what looked in the dark like a clearing, although an expanse of moss-covered cobblestones allowed it to retain some resemblance to an urban square or plaza. In the approximate center of it all, the predicted marker fire burned in a steel oil barrel, but a primary snag was immediately evident. People were in the square. They stood in small groups, some around the fire, others off in the shadows. Raphael could see a number of bottles being passed round. Off to one side, a number of children were eating something scarcely visible, but nebulously disgusting. Raphael, maybe irrationally, had not expected to encounter any people along their designated route, and Argo, when he spoke, sounded as though he had been under the same misapprehension. “If we’re going to go on, I guess we have to face the natives.”
Madden rested his shotgun on his shoulder. “How do you want to play it, Major Argo?”
Raphael was pleased that Argo did not try to act as though he was a real commander of Rangers. “How would you play it, Ranger Madden?
“Figure we should brazen it out. Close ranks, weapons down, but ready, and then just walk through. Quick march, going about our business, not stopping for anyone.”
“When we reach the fire we’re supposed to see some steps leading down to an old underground railway station.”
“When we see them, we go straight for them. No hesitation.”
Argo thought about this. “We have no reason to believe those people are armed.”
Madden shrugged. “We also have no reason to believe they’re not.”
“Expect the unexpected?”
“You said it, Major.”
By this time Steuben had moved up the line and was listening to the exchange. “So are we going to do it?”
Argo nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Steuben waved to the rest of the line to move up. When they were all together, they walked boldly towards the fire. The effect of a heavily armed crew, in full battledress, coming out of the darkness was instant and serious. The people round the fire may not have known who these ten new arrivals were, or where they came from, but they were taking no chances. A few stood their ground, but most backed away, and some even melted into the shadows, as though they had something to hide. A mangy one-eyed cat yowled as it scooted. Raphael could see that some of the loiterers were armed. Knives and old flintlocks were visible under the ragged clothes, carried on belts or thrust into boot-tops, but no one made a move. The people of Paris were probably aware of the havoc that could be wrought by advanced weapons. Only the children seemed unconcerned about the new arrivals, and went on eating as though nothing of interest to them was happening.
The pilot’s instructions were once again correct. Beyond the square or plaza was a fli
ght of stairs leading down from an undamaged piece of sidewalk. It had once been what was known as a Metro station. Raphael had heard that the underground railway had once been the pride of Paris. The ground level superstructure of the station had been entirely blown away, but the steps remained, clear and relatively intact. As they walked determinedly towards them, Raphael heard whispering from one of those in the square.
“From the Black Airship, we thinks.”
“From the Black Airship, for sure.”
The Rangers descended the steps more slowly than they had crossed the square, their guns now held at the ready as they went down into the darkness, except darkness was not what they found. A single gas flame illuminated what had once been the station platform, revealing a place that was scarcely recognizable as being of this Earth. Multiple layers of fringed white fungus, with odd pods and tendrils, had taken over just about every flat surface, and the effect, for Raphael at least, was like being inside a brain or a diseased intestine. He wondered if the fungus was some strange mutant legacy of the Paris Gun’s poison gas shells, fully developed and growing beyond control. Water flowed where the rail tracks had once been, but its surface was a foot or so below the level of the platform. On one of the few visible sections of original wall, a stained and faded poster showed a smiling girl advertising a brand of Caribbean chocolate. Raphael could see Argo holding back distaste as he spoke to the Rangers. “Okay, so it looks weird, but the gaslight is the final marker. We go through the arch beneath it, along a section of smaller tunnel, and then we meet the men we’ve come to see.”
The Rangers lowered their weapons. They didn’t like being in the intestinal tunnel, but they were clearly relieved to have made it to their destination without incident. Or so they thought until the children appeared. They were pale and ragged, with wide watery eyes, as though they spent all of their time living underground with dark water and white fungus. They moved silently, and with an eerie purpose. They slipped out of the darkness of the tunnel, one at a time, and waited at the far end of the platform as their numbers grew to maybe two dozen. They had small weapons in their hands; knives, clubs, straight razors, and short lengths of metal pipe, all highly effective at close range. Jesamine voiced what everyone else was thinking.
“I don’t like this one bit.”
The pale children started to advance and Madden leveled his shotgun. “What do the rules of engagement say about shooting children, Major? Seems like we’re being threatened here.”
Steuben chimed in. His voice was grim and hollow. “Better look behind you, Major.”
More children were coming down the steps that the party from the airship had just used. “They seem to have cut us off.”
Raphael knew Argo was sweating the question of what to do. “I’m not about to slaughter children.”
Madden had less compassion. “We gotta do something, boss. They don’t look like they feel the same sympathy for us.”
A small boy leading the creeping advance was baring his teeth at Madden in a grin that was pure infant insanity. At the same time, he made slow slashing gestures with a wicked length of broken glass with a makeshift handle fashioned from tape. Argo shook his head. “I really don’t want to gun down a gang of kids, no matter how strange they look, but…” He took a deep breath and braced himself. “Steuben?”
“Major?”
“Fire a warning burst over their heads to see how they respond. But be ready to fire at will if they keep coming.”
“Yes, sir.”
Steuben raised his Bergman and clicked it to rapid fire, but as he raised the weapon, a tall, thin, and very familiar figure came out of same dark-of-the-tunnel that had spawned the children, gesturing for Steuben to hold his fire. “You’ll rupture your fucking eardrums if you fire that thing in here.”
Raphael, along with everyone else, couldn’t believe his eyes. Steuben lowered the Bergman. “Slide? Yancey Slide?”
Yancey Slide was wearing a new duster coat, off-white and almost clean, with a velvet collar the old one never had. He advanced on the children and raised a hand, flashing small flickers of white fire from his fingers. The children halted. Their eyes grew even wider. He said something in an odd, unrecognizable dialect, at which they fled, silently scuttling back the way they had come. Argo took a step forward, an expression of disbelief still on his face. “Damn me. Am I glad to see you.”
Slide gestured towards the archway under the gas flame. “Let’s postpone the fond reunions, shall we? We’re keeping the Falconetti Family waiting.”
EIGHT
CORDELIA
Cordelia was in that place between sleep and waking where it was hard to tell drowsy thoughts from dreams, and neither the chair in which she sat nor the room she was in were wholly real. Cordelia, Lime, and Sera had drunk cognac, talked, and then talked more, and even called out for another bottle, while they awaited the arrival of the rest of The Four, but The Four had, so far, failed to materialize, and the talk had dwindled into long weary silences. Midnight came and went, as did two in the morning, and the three women found themselves slumped without brains, wit, or willpower. Sera was sound asleep, Cordelia was half asleep, while Lime seemed to have revived and was holding conversation with a materialization of Jeakqual-Ahrach, who was also seated, but in a throne-like dragon chair of her own materializing.
What?
The shock had Cordelia wide awake, and she discovered she had come in partway through a conversation in progress. Lime seemed anxious that either Cordelia or Sera might wake, but Jeakqual-Ahrach had no patience with her paranormal insecurities. “You said you put them out. That should mean they are out, if you are as proficient as you claim to be.”
“I did put them out.”
“I seem to recall you boasting that it was easy. How did you put it? ‘Once I’ve had the bitches to bed, they are always open to my manipulation?’”
Lime defended herself; the pupil being unwillingly humbled by the martinet teacher. “It’s true. They are always easy after I’ve had them to bed.”
“So why are you so anxious, Harriet Lime?”
“I don’t know the extent of the Blakeney woman’s powers. She’s gifted, and very highly trained.”
Cordelia’s thought was grim. You’d better believe that, bitch. She silently watched through her eyelashes, so busy eavesdropping that she had no time to feel the fury building inside her. She had known there was something less than right about Harriet Lime from the moment that she had met her.
“You think I would trust you to neutralize Cordelia Blakeney on your own? I have her measure. I have her fully contained. She will know nothing of any of this.”
“And Falconetti?”
“She is strong but wholly terrestrial. Should she wake, she would see you talking to yourself. You do have the experience to handle her.”
Angry as she was, Cordelia could not help feel herself filled with a suffusion of smug amusement. So Jeakqual-Ahrach thought she had Cordelia Blakeney contained did she? Except the containment was going the wrong way. Jeakqual-Ahrach had screwed up royally, and was seeing an illusion of an unconscious Cordelia, instead of knowing she was listening and watching. Cordelia moved an experimental hand, but neither Lime nor Jeakqual-Ahrach noticed. She could scarcely believe her own luck. Both Lime and Jeakqual-Ahrach were encapsulated and exposed, and without a clue what was happening to them. As Cordelia watched, Jeakqual-Ahrach leaned forward and looked hard at Lime. “Do you have any other anxieties?”
Lime shook her head. “No.”
“The other three are on their way?”
“They should arrive at any time.”
“And the plan is for them to go to the pyramid?”
“They will believe they are acting as spies or saboteurs.”
Jeakqual-Ahrach seemed satisfied. “That should allay any suspicions.”
“They don’t know it yet, but that’s how it will be presented to them.”
“The Zhaithan will take them at the pyramid.”<
br />
As the conversation continued, Cordelia stood up, but neither Lime nor Jeakqual-Ahrach noticed she had moved. Lime was confused by what Jeakqual-Ahrach had just said. “The Zhaithan will take them? I thought you would take them personally?”
Jeakqual-Ahrach looked away. “I have procedures I must undergo before I vacate the Residence.”
Cordelia wondered what she meant by procedures, and why they should be more important than her being in at the capture of The Four? Harriet Lime appeared to be wondering the same thing. “But can the Zhaithan handle taking all four of them? The Albany Four have a lot of power when they’re together.”
“The Twins will be there to negate their power.”
“The Twins will be there without you?”
“That’s one of the reasons why I trained you. I won’t play mother to those little monsters, world without end.”
“But…”
“You question me?” Jeakqual-Ahrach’s face darkened and flames rose from behind her chair.
Lime quickly shook her head. “No.”
“The Twins will shortly arrive at Marseilles on a special galley. They will then be brought to Amiens by road, under special escort. You will be kept informed. I need the Albany Four there by the time they arrive.”
Lime nodded. “I understand. It will be done.”
Like Lime, Cordelia was surprised that Jeakqual-Ahrach was allowing the Twins to operate away from her, and also curious to know what exactly they did. They seemed powerful, but their capabilities were shrouded in mystery. What she was hearing only created a hundred more questions, but the visitation seemed to be ending, and Cordelia made a fast decision. She moved to the chair where Sera was sleeping and picked up Falconetti’s leather coat. Cordelia patted the pockets, and felt the weight for which she’d been hoping. She took out the small lady’s revolver, pointed it at the unknowing head of Harriet Lime, and waited. Cordelia knew she was taking a risk, but she believed the end product would be worth it. Lime and Jeakqual-Ahrach were performing some sort of parting ritual of elaborate and symbolic hand signals. When it was complete, the manifestation of Jeakqual-Ahrach faded to nothing, and Lime sagged back in her chair exhausted, and closed her eyes. It was maybe a minute before she opened them, and saw Cordelia, who relished Lime’s intense surprise. She remembered Hilde, the whore in Boulogne, and the first words she had said to Cordelia. They seemed apt for the situation. “Do one thing I don’t like, sister, and I take your face off.”
