With a grunt of agreement, Gurzil followed her inside.
The darkness was complete, but Hadrian could still see. They were in a kitchen large enough to serve a small restaurant. Pots and woks still rested on stoves that had stopped working days ago; the air was thick with the smell of rotten vegetables and meat. Kybele led them unhesitatingly through it and out the far side.
Into another kitchen. This one was larger, industrial-size, with metal countertops. Knives and pots hung from meat hooks fixed to the ceiling. A line of massive burners stretched along one wall.
From there they entered a third kitchen, a cramped apartment facility with barely enough room to hold the four of them. A bowl of spoiling cat food filled the air with the stench of fish. Hadrian tried not to look at the pictures stuck by magnets to the fridge door as he passed. Someone had lived here, once; now they and their cat were dead.
The city was rearranging itself—and it wasn't only the external world, the roads and the buildings, migrating and recombining according to strange geometrical laws that had more to do with Jung than Pythagoras. The interior worlds were clearly shifting, too. Like attracts like, Kybele had said, in this case forming a sequence of kitchens. Perhaps elsewhere there was a chain of bedrooms, or laundries, or closets.
Kybele took them past an apparently endless series of sinks, flour spills, spice racks, and food processors. The rotting smell was ever-present and too powerful to ignore. Perhaps the stink would hide them from the Wolf's finely tuned sense of smell, Hadrian thought, even as the taste of city dust became stronger, cloying at the back of his throat.
At one point, the earth jerked beneath their feet. This wasn't the same sort of tremor he had experienced before, that of the world rearranging itself under him. This was a solid boom, followed by a dwindling tail of aftershocks, as though something truly enormous had been dropped from a great height.
Knives and forks rattled in drawers. Cups and plates tinkled. Kybele paused in midstep, then continued.
“Nothing they can't handle,” she muttered without explanation.
Hadrian's heart was beating loud and fast by the time they reached the final door. It felt as though they had been traversing the city's interior spaces for longer than an hour. Without a working watch, there was no way of telling.
Kybele stopped at the exit to look at each of them in turn. Her translucent face was barely visible in the darkness.
“We get the girl, and we get out,” she said. “Don't stop to do anything fancy.”
“Yes, yes,” said Gurzil. “Keep the Feie from me no more. I am hungry for breakfast!”
With a warning look, Kybele opened the door and waved Gurzil ahead of her. The bullish figure shouldered his way through, closely followed by the Galloi. Hadrian gripped Utu tightly in both hands. He could hear the sounds of fighting coming from the other side of the wall: weapons clashing; cries from a variety of throats; a ghastly scream. Flashing light cast strange shadows on the wall opposite the door.
“Hold fast,” said Kybele. “You are very close to her now.”
He swallowed, suddenly terrified.
“Take my hand. We'll do it together.”
Her strong fingers interlaced with his. There was no turning back.
Gurzil and the Galloi guarded the door as Kybele and Hadrian emerged. He looked around to get his bearings. The world had changed during their kitchen trek. Fire leapt from building to building; flames coiled like whips around flagpoles, window frames, wooden façades—anything that offered a purchase. Fragments of glass sparkled over every flat surface like water after a sun-shower. It looked as though all the windows along the street had exploded at once; numerous tracks marred the sparkling crystalline fields. Many feet had come this way since the shattering had occurred.
Two human-shaped bodies lay in growing pools of blood under a lamppost. A car smoked blackly, casting a foul stench across the scene. Behind the rising plume, the Transamerica Pyramid shone like a sliver of the sun, the light enshrouding it bright enough to cast shadows, even off their translucent bodies. The air was dense and humid.
They were on the southern boundary of Lascowicz's lair, with the pyramid high and bright to his left. The nearest diagonal road would take them northwest to the centre, to the park where Ellis was being held. Where the other diagonal of the X intersected with the southern and eastern boundaries of the lair, a fierce battle was taking place.
Hadrian had never seen anything like it. A contingent of Kybele's Gabal had broken through a blockade and was clashing with a dozen of the ghostly Feie. Gurzil hissed hungrily at the sight of them. While the Gabal had the strength of stones behind them, the Feie were like fish-bones, strong and flexible, capable of absorbing blows before breaking. At close range, the Feie wielded long, sharp stilettos whose points stabbed cleanly through rock when wielded properly, but which shattered into a million pieces if struck from the side. The harsh voices of both species provided a savage counterpoint to the ring and crash of battle.
They weren't the only combatants. A strange, long-legged creature brought up the rear of the Feie, firing missiles that looked like flares into the midst of the battle. Sprays of bright orange and blue erupted where the flares hit, setting everything they touched on fire. By the light of the flames, Hadrian saw a pack of howling ghul by one of the stick-leg's flares.
Hadrian only watched for a moment, but that was long enough for one dramatic reversal to take place. A dark, flapping shape descended from the sky above, screeching horribly. Its wingspan was at least twenty feet; numerous multijointed legs dangled from its underbelly, sharp-tipped and ready to strike. Gabal and Feie cleared a circle beneath it, even while they fought each other. It hovered like a demonic moth, stabbing at the relatively tiny fighters below when it could reach them. Hadrian couldn't tell whose side it was on.
Kybele tapped Hadrian on the shoulder and indicated that they would head in the other direction, along the boundary road to the west, then take the road heading northeast into the centre of Lascowicz's lair. Steering clear of the battle sounded like a wise course to Hadrian, and even Gurzil didn't disagree. Seth hurried with the others across the road and then along it, keeping close to the wall on the right for cover. He felt horribly exposed. Although he knew that their partial invisibility would reduce the chances of them being seen, he still felt as though thousands of eyes were watching him, peering greedily out from all the empty window frames, waiting for their chance to sound the alarm.
He forced himself to ignore the sensation. It was just nerves. There were plenty of real things to be afraid of where they were heading.
They came to the corner and cautiously peered around it. The Transamerica Pyramid cast a baleful light from halfway along the western boundary road; lightning coiled up and down its flanks as though trying to find a way into the building. There was still no sign of rain, but the promise of it was thick in the air.
The road ahead was clear of cars. They had been moved to form a wall of metal, plastic, and glass at the southwest corner. They negotiated it cautiously. A row of trees stood in a line like sentinels, pointing pendulum-straight along the diagonal road to the heart of the lair. Each was identical in size and utterly desiccated. A body hung from one of them, a dead weight tied around the neck and bending the bough to which it was attached. Hadrian avoided looking too closely at it as they rounded the corner and continued on their way.
The park in the centre of the lair was a dark blur ahead. Shapes milled around it, too far away to identify. Hadrian's palms were sweating as he slowly advanced. Closer in, he recognised the skeletal, translucent forms of the Feie. He saw two of the shades he had encountered while driving with Kybele on his first day.
Soon now, whispered Utu. Soon…
Hidden by the invisibility charm and the inconstant light, they reached the edge of the park. There they paused to take stock. The park was well manicured and dotted with occasional leafless trees, wilted flowerbeds, and wooden benches. A white rotunda st
ood in the exact centre, its sides sealed off behind tarpaulins. Wide black scorch marks marred the dead lawn, cutting stark geometric lines from one side of the park to the other. He sensed a subtle force throbbing through the relatively open air above the park. The clouds buckled and bent with restrained energies.
The night flexed like a metal sheet. How long before it snapped in two, Hadrian couldn't guess.
“She's in there,” Kybele whispered, pointing at the rotunda. Her eyes were glassy grey marbles, seeing in spectra Hadrian couldn't imagine. “Bechard is guarding her.”
“Where's the Wolf?” asked Gurzil.
“With the Kerubim. Whatever he's working towards, it will happen soon.”
Right on cue, the ground rumbled beneath them. The pace of those in Lascowicz's camp became more urgent, like ants in a disturbed nest. Hadrian looked over his shoulder at the line of trees, still feeling as though he was being watched. The body at the far end was now swinging from side to side, a grisly pendulum ticking off time.
“What are we waiting for?” he asked.
“An opening.” Kybele turned to the bullish former human hulking heavily beside her. “Gurzil, would you…?”
“At last! When you hear their screams, make your move.”
Gurzil lumbered off around the road enclosing the park, a large, semitransparent shape moving stealthily from shadow to shadow. Hadrian soon lost sight of him, and took that as an encouraging sign. When Kybele motioned that they should go in the opposite direction, counterclockwise around the park, he did so with some confidence in their ability to remain unseen.
As they circumnavigated the park, it became clear that the space was being used as a staging area for the various forces Lascowicz had assembled. There was a constant flow of resources from point to point. Spent fighters fell back from the conflicts to be replaced by fresh ones. More advanced forms of weaponry were readied at a distance before being sent into battle. A wide variety of supplies lay scattered across the dead grass waiting to be used. Much consisted of food and armaments, but Hadrian couldn't identify a lot of it. He was no expert on war, and especially not a semimagical one such as this.
They approached the road leading to the northeast corner. It became clear that the battle wasn't proceeding as smoothly as Lascowicz would have liked. A large party of Kybele's Bes were slicing through a Feie defence with ease, silver staffs swinging and slashing with unnatural accuracy, the ghostlight of the pyramid reflecting from the silver with eerie glints. The Feie retreated a metre at a time, hissing defiantly at the invaders with every step back. The same flapping creature as before, or one very much like it, harried the Feie from above, snatching up the vile creatures one by one and tearing them apart, then flinging the pieces from on high to distract the others.
Hadrian was cheered by all this until he saw a trio of shades gathering to join the beleaguered Feie. Their dark forms left dusty footprints in the ground where they passed. One walked through a tree without apparently noticing it; the dead wood blossomed into sawdust, and what remained toppled to the ground. They would stroll at will through the Bes attack force, reducing it to pulp.
Not my problem, he told himself. Not at that moment, anyway. He followed Kybele into the heart of the lair with heart hammering and mouth dry.
They made it onto the lawn without obstruction. No cry went up; no alarm was raised. He was amazed at how easy it was—until it occurred to him that getting in was only half the problem. Getting Ellis out would be much more difficult. She wasn't covered by the invisibility charm. She might not even be conscious. The Galloi could probably carry her, but that would leave them one fighter short and significantly more vulnerable as a result.
They approached the rotunda from the west. Their insubstantial shadows, cast by the glowing skyscraper over their shoulders, rippled ahead of them over the dead lawn. The taste of dirt and dead vegetation trickled down the back of his throat. The white wooden structure at the centre of the park appeared to be completely unguarded.
Is she really in there? he wondered, doubt breaking the confidence he had in Kybele's willingness to help him. Am I being played for a fool?
Then all hell broke loose behind him, and there was no more time to think.
The roar began deep in Gurzil's chest and emerged as a living thing in its own right. Hadrian had seen a bull-run in Spain; he knew how loud such beasts could be, but this was something else. It echoed off the buildings surrounding the park and recombined stronger than before. It was an earthquake given voice. It made the dead twigs on the trees rattle.
Heads turned at the sound. Answering cries rang out. Feie converged at a run on the source of the challenge, waving their daggers and firing glass darts into the air. Heavy impacts sounded as Gurzil fended them off. High-pitched screeches and curses accompanied their fall. Kybele smirked to hear it.
Under cover of the distraction, Kybele, Hadrian, and the Galloi approached the rotunda from behind. No one had emerged to investigate the hubbub outside. There were still no guards visible.
Could it be this easy? Hadrian asked himself. Is that possible?
Kybele peeled back the edge of a tarpaulin and peered through. After a brief inspection, she motioned for Hadrian to look. He did so with his heart in his throat, afraid of what he might see. What if Ellis had been beaten or raped? How could he forgive himself for not coming sooner?
Ellis was sitting on a wooden chair in the centre of the rotunda's circular interior, gagged and blindfolded. Her wrists and ankles were bound with white cord against which she tugged and strained. She still had on the same clothes as she had been wearing in Sweden: blue tracksuit pants and sneakers; a warm sweatshirt with white thermal underwear visible at the neck. Her hair was greasy, her face dirty.
She looked thin but healthy. And conscious. Once they got in there and cut her bindings, she could run with them to freedom.
Someone else walked into view. The possessed orderly, Bechard, was circling Ellis's chair with measured, deliberate steps. He looked exactly the same as he had at the hospital: tan hair neatly parted; his uniform the same; slight build moving with an odd sensuality as though taking lascivious pleasure from every motion. Hadrian hadn't forgotten what lurked inside him.
Bechard's gloating attention was entirely on Ellis. In his hand he held a knife—the same one that had stabbed Seth through the chest. Hadrian's breath quickened at the sight of it. He calculated the odds of getting to Ellis before the knife plunged into her throat. They weren't promising.
Kybele's hand on his shoulder tugged him away. He looked at her questioningly, and she put one finger to her lips. The Galloi had backed away from the rotunda and stood, staff upraised, awaiting her signal. As soon as Hadrian was clear, she gave it.
Hadrian had never seen such a large frame accelerate so quickly. From a standing start, the Galloi took three steps forwards and was already at a sprint. His toes kicked up dirt and left potholes in his wake. Hadrian barely had time to open his mouth when the Galloi leapt for the side of the rotunda. His staff came down in a shining arc as his feet came up. Without the slightest sound, he vanished through the giant hole he had cut in the tarpaulin.
There was a crash and a cry of anger from Bechard. Hadrian tried to see what was happening on the inside, but Kybele had his arm and pulled him to the stairs at the front. He didn't need to be dragged. He shook himself free and ran ahead of her. Utu sang as he raised the staff in readiness.
The scene within the rotunda was like something out of a nightmare. The Galloi was swinging at Bechard and hitting him, but the energumen wasn't falling. Blood sprayed everywhere, from wounds at his throat, abdomen, legs, and shoulders. Hadrian distinctly saw the Galloi's lituus pass right through Bechard's left forearm. The blow should have severed his hand. Instead, the limb stayed in place, held there by the will of the creature sharing his body. The next blow would have bisected the head of an ordinary man from the top of the skull to his throat. Bechard simply blinked the blood out of his eyes and gr
abbed at the staff still embedded in his skull. The Galloi wrenched it free, and would have taken several of the man's fingers with him, had that been possible. Bechard staggered back a step and laughed. Blood poured out of his mouth and down the front of his slashed and stained nurse's uniform.
“You'll have to do better than that, both of you.” Bechard's voice was liquid and hideous, bubbling up from the depths of his gore-filled chest.
Hadrian ignored him as best he could, easing into the rotunda and around its outer edge, keeping the Galloi carefully between himself and the energumen. Ellis was struggling against her bonds, unable to see what was going on or to escape it.
“It's me—Hadrian,” he whispered to her. His throat caught on the taste of her. “Hold still! We're going to get you out of here.”
She twisted in the seat, trying to see him. The gag made her sound like she was in a dentist's chair. He plucked at her bindings, but they were plastic and resistant and couldn't be untied. He raised Utu and asked the staff to form an edge. It did so, and he wielded it with exaggerated precision to cut her ankles free.
“You'll never win, boy.” Bechard threw himself at the Galloi, and the giant was unable to fend him off. They grappled together, staggering across the rotunda's blood-spattered floor. Bechard was slippery. His limbs didn't fit together properly any more. While the Galloi kept the demon-strong man at arm's length, one severed hand stretched up the giant's arm to poke at his eyes. Wildly, the Galloi threw Bechard away from him. Body parts landed in a grotesque jumble, then snapped back together as though connected by elastic.
When Bechard stood up, teeth exposed and blood soaked in a hideous grin, the knife was in his hand. The wickedly thin blade gleamed like ice.
The Galloi lunged forwards, sweeping its staff in a shining arc. Hadrian hurried with the bindings on Ellis's wrists, wondering where Kybele was. Bechard danced out of the way and looked at Hadrian, while he licked his split lips. The gesture sickened Hadrian to the stomach. A loose-jointed puppet, Bechard danced out of the Galloi's range and lunged, frighteningly fast, for Ellis.
The Crooked Letter: Books of the Cataclysm: One Page 26
