Bad Gods, page 33
“Babylon. Keep shut.”
“Yes, Chief.” He was getting more monosyllabic by the minute, and I began to wonder if Roflet had been right. I might want to tear out throats myself, but I didn’t want the Chief to. It would end him. And not just his career.
“The Purest sees all,” said the guard, fixing his gaze firmly on the middle distance so as not to meet any of the eyes in front of him. “Abase yourself before the gaze of the Purest.”
“Abase... no,” the Chief said. He had straightened up, and it was only the flicker of a muscle in his jaw that told me how hard he was working to keep himself under control. “Chief of the City Militia, see. Abasing’s not what I do. Only to laws of this city. Temple being in the city. How about you send out someone to talk to me? Could come in, but it’d be rude. Prefer to treat our citizens with respect.”
There was a flicker of movement at the arrow-slit window in the wall above us, where someone was listening.
The younger guard returned, and took up his post. From within the temple the prow of one of those vile masks emerged, like the ghost of a bird.
The priest was young, by his bearing. There were eyeholes in his mask, through which he glared as though we were rubbish that had blown into their nice clean precinct.
“Follow me,” he said. He tried to inject chilly disdain into his voice, but something, maybe the mask, gave it a hollow ring.
We were led to the same little room where I had first seen Denarven; which ended up pretty crowded what with me, the Chief and the three other militia boys, all of them large. Denarven wasn’t there. Instead, there were another two masked priests, one with the bowed neck and bent shoulders of an old man.
His mask had no eyeholes.
His left hand rested on the younger priest’s right shoulder like an ancient root. The tips of his skinny fingers were faintly purple, the rest of his skin had a yellowish tint, except where veins ridged it like seams of porphyry. His fingers moved in a rapid drumming. His right hand was held out, palm up, at waist level, trembling like a leaf in some faint constant breeze.
“This is the Father of the Inner Temple. He asks why you have come to disturb our meditations,” the young priest said.
“He speak for himself?” the Chief said.
I realised that the young priest was drumming with his fingers on the palm of the old man’s right hand as the Chief spoke.
“The Father of the Inner Temple has not spoken aloud to anyone other than the Purest in many years, and in return the Purest has blessed him with deafness. He is no longer distracted from the Glory by the chatterings of a crude and corrupt world. We believe that before long he will also be blessed with blindness, as the Purest’s highest favour. This one” – the young priest gestured at himself – “is the Father’s chosen mouthpiece.”
“Hmm. But he’s dealing with us.”
“He believes that the Purest wishes it.”
“Wonder why the Vessels have decided to be so very cooperative just recently. Twomoons, is it?”
Drumming.
“The Father says we take no note of how many stones are in the sky. All celestial objects are under the gaze of the Purest. The Purest does not wish his followers to be distracted from their duties towards Him. He wishes us to co-operate in order that all may return to contemplation of His greatness.”
“Good. Cooperation I like. Your man at the gate, very cooperative. Didn’t ask why we were here, didn’t fob us off with some low-grade acolyte. Brought us straight to the Father here. Even though” – he gestured at me – “talking to women, not done, is it? Send ’em to the administrator. So why not this time?”
“We wish to act as good citizens.”
“Chief?” I said.
“What?”
“They won’t talk to me, but could you ask them something for me?”
“Ask.”
“When they came and stood outside the Lantern, to put customers off, I understood. Didn’t like it, but understood the motive. But then they stopped. And paid us money for the inconvenience. And they didn’t try the same trick anywhere else. So why not? What happened?”
There was no response. Of course. They didn’t speak to women. Chief Bitternut growled the question again, his shortening patience in every roughened syllable.
“We were advised that it would not be in our best interest to act in this way,” the Mouthpiece said.
“Who advised you?” Bitternut said.
The old priest’s head trembled, the mask like a bird’s skull strung up and shivering in the breeze; his fingers drummed.
The Mouthpiece said, “Administrator Denarven.”
The Chief and I looked at each other.
“He warned them off,” I said. “He didn’t want them hanging about. He was afraid they’d spot him. He’d already targeted the place.” And more pieces began to fall together. When a great temple falls, it starts with a crack. “You can pretend not to hear me,” I said. “But I know you do. I saw two of your priests in Buckler Row, just after a girl was found, murdered. They said they were out ‘spreading the light of the Purest.’ Me, I call it hunting. You already knew. You might not have known who, not yet, but you knew one of your own was involved. But you wouldn’t go to the militia. You had to stay pure.”
Even with faces hidden, you can tell a lot from bodies. I saw the old man’s shoulders hunch a fraction. I’d been right.
The Chief got it, too. Perhaps, at that stage, he could actually smell it. He leaned forward, and the Mouthpiece winced back, almost dislodging the old priest’s hand from his shoulder.
“Tell me. How long you known you hiding a murderer?” the Chief said, his voice very soft.
“That is a terrible accusation, to make in our own precinct!”
“Precinct stands inside Scalentine. People of Scalentine my...” – his lip curved up from his teeth – “my pack. Maybe it happened before. Before you came to Scalentine. Did you run, thinking you’d leave the stink behind? Can smell it. Smell it through all that scouring.”
“If murder has been committed, do you think that knowing, we would do nothing?”
The Chief gave a hard, bitter smile that showed more teeth than maybe it should. “Maybe. Nature of the crime. A purification? Is that what you think? Not supposed to go near women, are you? Not supposed to look at them, think of them, certainly not touch them. But he touched her. Hands on her neck, crushed. There was more. You want to know? Or you know already? No purity in it, Father. What was done to her? Corrupt to the bone. Now where is he?”
The Father raised his masked, trembling head; seeking, maybe, to hear the voice of his god. Whether he did or not, I don’t know. But his fingers drummed on the young man’s shoulder, and the Mouthpiece spoke.
“We still do not know for certain that he has done this thing. This city is alive with sin; we are here to do the work of the Purest, to bring light into the darkness. There were many more likely possibilities than that one so closely connected to us was involved.”
“Closely connected?” The Chief said. “He’s one of you.”
“He is not a priest. He was a child of corruption, you understand?”
Child of corruption? So his mother, perhaps, had been a whore – or just unlucky.
“He could never be a priest,” the Mouthpiece said. “He asked. He asked, often. He believed a life of contemplation might help him with certain... troubles of the mind, that he had. But it was not possible. I meditated long upon it and the Purest showed me the way. We permitted him to enter the temple as an administrator. He is efficient. Adept. Careful. He does for us what we cannot do without risk to our souls; he deals with the corrupting world.”
The Chief said, “Where is he?”
“We are responsible for him.”
The Chief’s voice was thickening by the minute, but his next words carried an edge like a Gillalune blade. “Maybe you are.”
There was a silence.
“We cannot tell you where he is. We do not know.”
The Chief’s shoulders were hunching in a disturbing way. “All right,” he said. “Search temple. Babylon, you’re first.”
“No!” The mouthpiece yelped. The Father’s fingers blurred with speed. “He is not there. He was out, ordering bread, fruit, something.”
I wondered for a moment if Denarven was aware how little they knew or cared what he did for them every day, in their unworldliness, too busy contemplating glory to notice where supper came from. Out ordering bread... how many bakers were there, in Scalentine?
Then I remembered something else and an awful weakening feeling shot up through me. “Cruel... she was wearing my cloak, with the hood up; in those heels, she’s nearly as tall as me. Chief, he thought it was me. It was because of me. I came to the temple. You were right. I blundered in... I drew his attention... he’ll go there. He’ll go to the Lantern.”
“Then so will we,” Bitternut growled. “As for you...” he looked at the priests. “Ask forgiveness of your god, if you dare.”
Of course, there was Previous, and Flower, and the Twins... I kept telling myself this as the coach belted along rocking madly from side to side. I was squashed between one of the officers and Bitternut. I could feel the muscles of the Chief’s arm twitch and shudder. Some of it was the Change.
I glanced upwards. The sky was a deepening blue, and the moons were showing above the rooftops, fat and glowing frosty. Time had become an enemy, creeping into camp while the guard’s attention was elsewhere. But I had to deal with Denarven first. This was here. This was now. This was my crew.
“Chief?”
He didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure he still could. We pulled into a side street near the Lantern, jumped down, and tethered the horses – they were of that stolid militia breed that can cope with weres and almost anything else, mainly due to having dough for brains.
“I see Previous,” I said, looking out of the side street. “Looks all right so far. Chief? Why don’t you leave these three with me, and head back?”
He glared at me. His eyes were bright green now, with long pupils. He didn’t move.
Roflet had been right, damn him.
I thought as fast as I could. “Why don’t I go in?” I said. “If he’s watching, he’ll be expecting me, not you. Yes?” I was beginning to hope for more than one reason that Denarven was a long way away.
One of the millies said, “Is there a back entrance? He might be sneaking around out there.”
“Yes. Down that alley there, right and right, a blue-painted gate. Why don’t you and the Chief go have a look? That still leaves these two big lads to keep an eye on the front, right?”
“Chief?” the officer said. “This way?”
Bitternut made a sound I had to take for assent, having no choice, but at least he started to follow the man.
“All right,” I said to the other two. “I’m going inside. We’re going to make some noise inside in a bit, see if we can draw him out. Or in. You just watch out for anyone making for the door, all right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said, and saluted.
It must have been something in my voice. Sometimes these things come back to you.
I went up to the door. “Hey, Previous.”
“Babylon.”
“Everything smooth?”
“So far. What’s going on?”
“Act like I’m telling you a rude joke, or something, okay? There may be eyes on us and we need to look normal.”
Her eyebrows flicked briefly upwards and then she gave a staccato, not very convincing laugh.
I told her about Denarven, and she swore, then laughed again, worse than before, to cover it.
“Seen someone hanging about, the last few days. Might have been him,” I said.
“Purity mask?” she said, not taking her eyes off the street.
“Yeah.”
“Me too. Thought they were just keeping an eye on the place in case any of their worshippers went off the straight and narrow. So it’s that slinking administrator,” Previous said. I could see her grip tighten on her spear.
“That’s the one.”
“Cold bastard.”
“Yep. Is Flower out back?” I said.
“The Twins.”
“That should put him off. On the other hand, it might encourage him. Those two are walking sin if I’ve ever seen it. Right, this is the plan. We make it sound like a ruckus upstairs, you run in, the Twins do the same, take up stations just inside, out of sight of the doors and windows. Make a lot of noise upstairs so it looks like you’ve all been pulled in to cope with that. If he’s watching for an opportunity, he’ll slip in then. All right?”
“‘Plan’?”
“I had to think of this on the run, all right?”
“You’re the boss.”
“That’s me.” I went inside and told the others, stationed myself at the shadowed end of the upstairs corridor. A scent of bittersweet smoke in the corridor; Laney, preparing some potion or other. Whatever it was, it would be nasty. Good.
A few minutes later, there was a yell from upstairs, running feet, and Previous and the Twins came charging in.
I watched while Previous slipped to one side and stood out of sight of the still-open front door. The Twins based themselves by the kitchen and the foot of the stairs. Flower was in Laney’s room; everyone else was scattered hither and yon, eyes open and at the ready. Luckily we’d no clients to deal with, not on Twomoon.
I wasn’t expecting Denarven to be armed, but if he was, and things got nasty, I thought I could deal. He was an administrator, not a soldier.
The minutes shuffled by. I couldn’t see out the back – where were the millies, and the Chief? Was the Chief all right? I’d never seen him all the way into his Change. How much control did he have?
And was Denarven really crazy enough, or desperate enough, to try and sneak in? Was he even here? Or was he at Mirril’s place? Or had he got wind of the chase, and tried to get passage on a boat out of the docks, through the portal, to spread his poison on another plane?
The sky outside the windows began to darken. Flower and Laney were still yelling and making slamming-the-furniture-around noises, but in a pause I heard the Twins whispering to each other. Previous, who’d had plenty of experience of guard duty, was standing immovable as a stone and still had her eyes fixed on the door. Ireq was watching the back. I shifted my feet.
He wasn’t coming. I began to worry about Mirril and her daughter. And the other houses, and the freelancers... it had been stupid to assume he would come. He was probably in some dingy little room now, with his hands on the neck of some fragile girl. I’d wasted everyone’s time. I sheathed my sword. Better make sure the Chief was all right.
I heard a noise and started to turn; the mask came straight at me, like some grim revenant, out of the dark corridor. His grey robes flickered around him like smoke.
I didn’t have time to wonder how the hells he’d got in before he slammed right into me and almost had me off my feet. I went down on one knee, got an elbow in his ribs. I heard a crack, didn’t slow him at all. Pushed myself up, grabbed his arm, tried to spin him round, get him down on the floor. He twisted out of my grasp.
I’m a foot taller and a sight stronger, but he’s burning with some kind of dreadful energy, baking off him like a fever. I can hear him, a chopped up hiss, fragments of words; sin and darkness and whores and hate. Mask against my face, cold, the beak of it digging into me. I get him down on his knees, but he’s eeled out from under me again, hands around my neck. Black flowers blooming – no. After what I’ve lived through, I’m damned if I’ll die here, at his hands. Get his wrist, haul back; feel/hear something break in his wrist, slam his arm against the floor. He’s still trying. Get a knee under him. Thundering sound, screams.
Weight’s gone off me, all at once. What?
The mask flying backwards along the corridor; hard to work out what was happening, but something had Denarven by the back of his robes.
I could hear him beginning to choke, the mask hanging askew, making him look as though his neck were broken.
I could hear something else, too: a low, raw growl.
I saw the eyes over Denarven’s shoulder: luminescent green. Claws sunk in Denarven’s arm and thigh.
“Chief! Hold up!” Damn, that hurt, that little bastard had really dug his fingers into my throat. “Chief?”
He’d backed into a corner. Denarven was clawing at the neck of his robes; the mask cracked, then broke open down the middle, showing his face.
I’m not sure he even knew the Chief was there. His gaze was rigidly fixed on mine. The neck of his robe tore, and he reached out his hands, those hands he’d tried to scrub clean.
There was blood trickling from his arm and leg, soaking his robes. Even I could smell it, and it would be going straight to the Chief’s gut.
I could hear the others behind me. Previous had shot up the stairs after the Chief, and was hovering at the top of them. Someone – Flower and Laney? – at my back. I could hear tight, frightened breathing; lots of them, maybe the whole crew. I didn’t dare look to see where everyone was, didn’t dare take my eyes off the Chief.
“All of you, back off.”
“Babylon...”
“Do it. I’m all right. Chief, come on. We’ve got him. There’s enough of us to hold him.”
Laney said, “That’s right. We’re all fine, Chief. Why don’t you let us take him, now?”
There might have been words in what the Chief said next, but I couldn’t get them. It was mostly growling.
“Chief, you can’t kill him. He has to go to trial. Him and the Vessels both. Come on, now.” I moved forward, slow. “Chief, you can’t kill him. You’re still on duty. This is my fault, I should have made you go home. But you and me, we take responsibility for our actions, don’t we? And I don’t want to see you on trial when it should be him and those who could have stopped him. You kill him and they’ll weasel out of it somehow, you know that.”
Of course I’d wanted Denarven dead, the second I knew he was the one who’d killed that girl, but he wasn’t worth the Chief’s career. He wasn’t worth the dust on the Chief’s feet.
