The Song of the Sycamore, page 15
The platoons had disappeared from view and the train of ether-wagons were preparing to leave for the storm-beleaguered city. Sycamore pointed at it, roiling and flashing on the horizon.
‘Rumour is that this storm was created when the ether-growth beneath Alexria exploded. What if it is now seeking to do the same at Old Castle?’
‘It’s just a storm,’ I said, shivering. ‘It’ll blow away.’
‘Ether knows ether, Wendal. The Salem used it to cast their spells on you. On us. If Old Castle’s growth detonates, the Song of Always will not protect you from an explosion of such concentrated magic. For you, time is always running out, the game has always been ending.’
And if Sycamore could claim freedom by sacrificing a hundred thousand humans, it was a price he was willing to pay.
His lack of compassion, his alien, unknowable existence sickened me. Always. I’d given up asking him to explain exactly what he was, where he had come from, to enlighten me on his history and reasons. Sometimes he said he was the spirit of vengeance, other times an embodiment of ridiculous human myths. His favourite was to say, ‘You are me, Wendal, but I am not you.’
He never gave a straight answer because he said I wouldn’t understand the truth. This bizarre relationship was heavily stacked in Sycamore’s favour. He absorbed every piece of knowledge I possessed, while giving nothing in return and never caring to understand the man I was.
A flesh-and-bone prison – that was how he saw me, a thing to escape.
‘Old Castle is going nowhere, and neither are you,’ I told him flatly. ‘You’ll still be with me when I find Eden.’
‘Blind hope cannot save you, Wendal. I should not be on this world.’ Sycamore set off down the path to the valley floor. He stopped, my wife’s face thoughtful as he turned to call back, ‘Dyonne Obor is a devious Magician who undoubtedly knows something about black stone, but she will tell you nothing.’
I watched until he had reached the train and jumped up on the rear wagon. The train began its journey towards the city beneath the storm, drifting into shadowy distance illuminated by flashes of violent lightning. Then I noticed the lone figure the wagons had left behind: a tank-rider concealed within the shell of a tank-suit.
Humanoid in shape but taller, broader than any man or woman, the tank was formed from armoured plates held in place by the magic of ether. Its glass helmet glinted beneath the night sky. The short cannon on its shoulder scanned the area. With heavy footsteps crumbling the ground, the tank-rider strode into the valley.
Movement on the opposite ridgeline caught my eye. A crack of silver light split open into a dark gateway. The mysterious Salahbeem woman appeared, once again stepping into the intoxicated world of my dreams. Her Glass-and-Words armour sparkled like the ether crystals above. She held some kind of ether-cannon, longer and narrower than those we used. An assassin, a knight from an ancient order, she dropped to one knee and aimed the weapon at the tank-rider below.
I turned away. I didn’t want to be there any longer.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was a relief to wake up the next morning and find Old Castle still standing. But the storm hadn’t blown away as I’d hoped. Apparently fixed over the city for now, it hung as a silent and brooding presence of roiling darkness shot through with orange fire and lightning. The ether shield was coping well, keeping it up in the sky, but the storm showed no sign of burning out, and I couldn’t shrug off a creeping anxiety that it was searching for the weak spot which would allow it to give Old Castle the same fate as Alexria.
Time is always running out. Sycamore’s jibes plagued me. Had a countdown begun for the city’s existence?
The good news was that a note from Dyonne had been slid under my door during the night. She wanted to see me that morning. So, leaving Nel asleep in my bed, I went to meet her at the unnamed tavern on the corner of Levee Street.
‘Now this is nice,’ Dyonne said, admiring the ether-cannon that had once belonged to Brandon Quinn. She pursed her lips. ‘Though, in truth, I already own more impressive pieces.’
Typical. Give with one hand, take with the other.
If Dyonne was at all concerned about the storm, she showed no sign, focused for now on pretending to deliberate over how much she was willing to pay for the cannon while, behind her, Tamara sat staring at me. I’d asked Dyonne about the menace hanging over the city when I first arrived, but she shrugged and said, ‘It’s just a storm, Wendal,’ so I told myself that if she and the Salem weren’t worrying about it, then neither would I. It almost worked.
‘Hmm,’ the Magician said, turning the small metal tube over in her hands.
Dyonne wouldn’t be rushed, though I willed her to speed through the irritating barter routine that she enjoyed so much. I was desperate to talk about my search for Eden.
I rolled a cigarette and lit it from the table candle. Outside, refuse crews were shovelling ashy sludge into waxed sacks and loading them onto wagons. The sludge covered Tinman Market and the rest of the city. All over, the dirty fallout from the storm was being gathered for the reduction houses. It made the air smell of rust. At least the filthy rain had stopped. More power must have been added to the shield overnight to stop it squeezing through.
‘It’s home-made, not particularly decorative,’ Dyonne said, holding the cannon up to the light. ‘The ether inside is probably stolen.’
‘It works – trust me on that – and it’s better than the usual crap I bring you.’ I flicked ash, trying to quieten my uneasy impatience. ‘Someone will pay well for its protection, especially after last night.’
Dyonne aimed a dry glare at me. ‘Thank you for your input, Wendal. Now do shut up and drink your coffee.’
I did. It was hot and strong and exactly what I needed after the fun and games of Nel’s chemical the previous night. Liquid Ether had left a strange taste in my mouth and I felt a little groggy, but that was nothing compared to the hangover jenkem usually gave me. I felt fresher, alert. Even so, Sycamore’s warning lingered like a bad memory.
The glass pyramids on the streets had been transmitting a statement from the Quantum all morning. The floating face of the Scientists had calmly assured all citizens that the storm was not an attack. An accident had occurred at Alexria. Specifics were unclear, but the Scientists confirmed that this accident had indeed caused the city’s ether-growth to detonate. The result of such a monumental explosion had been the violent weather front hanging above us now. But what happened to Alexria wouldn’t happen here, we were promised. The shield could handle the storm, but so much of our ether power had been diverted to it that the city would have to function at quarter capacity for the time being.
The under-rail wasn’t running at all. Only half of the reduction houses were operating. Power to non-vital appliances and amenities had been cut off. For today, businesses were closed, and citizens were advised to stay off the streets while the refuse crews cleaned up. This state of emergency would remain until the threat ended. There wasn’t much else to do, the Scientists had said, except sit tight and wait for the menace to burn itself out. However, the storm wasn’t the only danger that had come out of the wasteland last night.
The hostile weather had driven a swarm of skarabs towards the city. Evil creatures, big, like hybrids of insects and humans that swarmed in their hundreds and reproduced faster than rats. They would have covered Urdezha if they weren’t so fond of eating their young; they would’ve unleashed carnage in the streets had the ether-cannons not blown them away. Though, as it was, the cannons still missed a couple that managed to scale the city wall. This kind of thing happened rarely, but thankfully the city watch had been on hand to take care of them.
During my tour of duty, I had helped to clear a skarab nest. I shuddered to remember the mutilated bodies of the soldiers who had been used as hosts for their eggs.
‘All right, Wendal,’ said Dyonne. ‘I’ll give you a hundred and fifty for it.’
I accepted immediately. I could’ve got more for the ether inside the cannon, but today wasn’t about money and haggling.
Tamara gave Dyonne her purse. She counted out my payment, clearly suspicious at my lack of argument, before sending her brutish bodyguard downstairs with the weapon.
As soon as Tamara had gone, I took a final drag off my cigarette and leaned across the table. ‘Listen, Dyonne, I need to talk to you about the last lead you passed on to me.’
‘Actually, I want to talk to you about that, too.’ She gave me an appraising look. ‘Wendal, have you abandoned your search for Eden?’
I paused halfway through stubbing out my cigarette. ‘What?’
‘There must be a reason why you didn’t meet with Pearl.’
‘Who?’
‘The contact I’d arranged for you when last we spoke. She said you never showed.’
‘I …’ I sat back, flummoxed. ‘I did make that meeting, but it wasn’t with anyone called Pearl.’
Dyonne raised an eyebrow. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I went to the Garden like you said. A woman called Ing Meredith met me there.’
‘Meredith?’
‘Well, she didn’t introduce herself at the time. Abdon Klyne told me her name when—’
‘Wait!’ Dyonne sat forwards, her manner brusque. ‘Abdon Klyne, the archaeologist?’
‘You know him?’
‘Of him, yes. He’s a lackey for the Scientists, and he is dead.’
‘I know, Dyonne. Meredith sent me to his ghost.’
‘Is this some kind of joke, Wendal?’
‘No.’
‘So you’re fraternising with the fucking Scientists now?’
‘What? No!’ I shrank under the dark and dangerous look that came to Dyonne’s eyes. Something is very wrong here, Sycamore had said. ‘I was following the lead you gave me. Meredith and Klyne knew so much about me and Eden that I … You didn’t arrange this?’
‘Do I look happy?’
This wasn’t how I’d imagined today’s meeting playing out. ‘I don’t know what to tell you, Dyonne.’
Her voice low and menacing, Dyonne cursed in Salabese while aiming a quick glance at the door leading to the tavern’s lower levels. She produced a small curved knife from the sleeve of her gown, which disappeared again after she used it to prick the end of her finger. Whispering incoherently, she squeezed out a drop of blood, dabbed it on the table and cast a spell, a quick pulse of magic that caused the air around us to waver and block out the room’s ambience. I’d seen Dyonne use this spell before, when she needed to create a private bubble in which to have a sensitive conversation.
‘Tell me everything.’ Her words sounded close and dry inside the bubble. Her tone was calmer, but her demeanour hadn’t relaxed. ‘Leave nothing out.’
I didn’t dare do anything but tell Dyonne the whole truth. I started at the beginning, with meeting Ing Meredith in the Garden, which had led to meeting Klyne’s ghost at Temple University. I gave as much detail as I could remember, explaining that Eden had, apparently, been using Klyne as a source of information, and that he suspected she had been spying on the Scientists. Dyonne’s attention became finely tuned when I told her that Klyne believed Eden had been trying to find out about a new treasure, an important discovery that was affecting the dead.
‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘it might tie in with the last client you gave Sycamore. It can’t be a coincidence, Dyonne. The ghoul was a dormouse, and she was murdered by a Scientist named Quinn. She’d been spying on him because he was working on a secret project, something from the wasteland that’s like nothing the Scientists have seen before. He called it black stone. Does that mean anything to you?’
‘No.’ Dyonne stared into the middle distance with concerned contemplation. ‘Why should it?’
‘Klyne said that it’s stopping the dead leaving Old Castle. If that’s the case, then I thought …’
Dyonne focused on me as I trailed off. ‘You thought what, Wendal?’
I licked my lips. ‘If the Scientists have had this thing long enough, then maybe Eden’s spirit—’
She stopped me with a disgruntled growl. ‘I can see where you are going with this, but you have to understand—’
‘Please listen to me, Dyonne. Miranda Nhils was spying on the Scientists for the Magicians, so her ghoul must have been questioned before she was allowed to reach Sycamore.’
‘Therefore, you believe that her interrogators must have told me what she told them?’
‘If you don’t know, you could find out, right?’ I spoke quickly, urgently, trying to dispel a growing feeling that Dyonne was about to cause the headway I’d made in the last couple of days run through my fingers like sand. She will tell you nothing, Sycamore had said. ‘And … and if Eden was spying, then she must have been working as an apprentice. She had a master.’
Dyonne drummed her fingers on the table, either from irritation or consideration, I couldn’t tell which.
‘Wendal, there are five people in this city who control all plots and plans of the Magicians. They are the Grand Adepts of the Salem, and I am not so worthy as to have ascended into their ranks. However, if the Scientists have indeed made a startling new discovery, then rumours of it would have certainly reached my ears by now, whatever Miranda Nhils said. Yet I have heard nothing. You have been hoodwinked.’
Truth or lies? I went with the latter because the alternative was too hard to bear. ‘No. Abdon Klyne, Miranda Nhils – the dead don’t lie.’
‘Oh, Wendal, I wish you’d learn to heed my experience.’ Dyonne sighed. ‘Do you know why Magicians are reluctant to deal with spirits? Why Scientists have no interest in them at all? Because they can be trapped, questioned, but not controlled. They can be threatened but not harmed. They have no reason to be loyal to anyone but themselves, useless at keeping secrets. Ask yourself – how stupid does a ghost need to be to prefer remaining here instead of escaping to the Garden in the Sky? The mind boggles! No, the dead do not lie, but they are foolish, and they can be deceived, and this Meredith, it seems, is a master deceiver.’
I shut my ears to what I was hearing. ‘She knew who I was, Dyonne. She knew about Sycamore.’
‘I’ve no idea how she got to you or who she is, but I intend to find out. Be sure of that.’
‘Then what about Eden?’
‘I’ve no doubt that Abdon Klyne genuinely met your wife. His other claims might sound rational to you, might seem to connect with this Quinn and black stone, but only in retrospect. Ing Meredith – who knows what deceptions her meddling has conjured? But I think she has led you into forcing details to match your desires. Perhaps her intent was to make you paranoid.’
Dyonne held up a hand to stop me jumping in. ‘There are many Magicians who take on apprentices. Permission is required from the Salem first, and although the identities of candidates are not made common knowledge, I do believe, in this instance, that my masters would have found it prudent to inform me if they knew of your wife.’
‘But would they? For certain?’
A hiss of exasperation came from Dyonne’s mouth. ‘What are you looking for, Wendal? Do you want me to question the Salem? To satisfy your desires by admitting that it is possible I was kept in the dark and someone in Old Castle took Eden on as an apprentice?’
‘I … I just want to know if it’s true.’
Dyonne thought for a moment, her eyes never leaving mine. ‘Please see this scenario for what it looks like to my experience.’ Her frustration was as much for me as for the situation. She should have tried sitting in my seat. ‘I cast spells – daily – to keep you hidden from our enemies, yet this Meredith found a way through my veil. That in itself should disturb you enough. She knew how easily you could be manipulated by the mere mention of your wife’s name, and she used it to lead you into the sphere of the Scientists. I very much doubt that Meredith is working for herself. What if the Scientists are on to Sycamore? I don’t think you need reminding of what will happen should the Quantum get their hands on you.’
They would rip me apart just for the chance to study what was inside me. If there was anything left to study after Dyonne had unleashed my moment of death.
‘I understand how you are feeling,’ Dyonne continued, sympathetic but stern. ‘We have both been duped, and it does not sit well with me. I promise to ask around about Eden’s apprenticeship, but please don’t hold to hope. You must be strong, now, calculated, and do as I tell you.’
I could sense what was coming next, and the disappointment didn’t so much crush me as make me feel as though I was withering before the woman who held my leash.
‘You will stay out of the way and leave this matter to me,’ Dyonne said. ‘I need guidance from the Salem, and I can’t imagine that Mr Sebastian will be pleased. When I have spoken to him, I will tell you all that I am allowed to tell you.’
Which meant Sycamore was right. She’d tell me nothing. My expression and body language relayed that belief.
‘We cannot risk exposing Sycamore to the Quantum.’ Dyonne reached over and patted my hand. ‘I’m sorry, Wendal, but this is just how it has to be.’
Miserable and angry, I glared as Dyonne dispelled her magic and rose from her chair. She made to walk away then stopped, frowning thoughtfully.
After a moment, she said, ‘Do you know the shanties near the cliffs?’ I affirmed with brooding silence. ‘Go there, tomorrow morning. Your mind clearly needs distraction, and I see no reason why your search for Eden can’t continue along normal avenues.’ She nodded decisively. ‘I will arrange for Pearl to meet you at her home there. And Wendal, make sure you’re talking to the right person this time.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Eden used to talk about how the Scientists feared inaction. It bred statistics they didn’t like, bad numbers both in and out of the cities. Ether enabled us to sustain the equilibrium of existence, but its use needed limiting otherwise its magic couldn’t regenerate fast enough and the energy it provided would run perilously low. Inaction would overpopulate a city, exceed an ether-growth’s extraordinary capabilities and lead to ruin.
