“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.”
“Do you think he’s still got it?”
“Who can say?” Gremory said. An expression of distinct unease crossed the Duke’s features. “Astaroth won’t be very happy about this. Frankly, I’m not looking forward to going back and telling her.”
“Look on the bright side,” Mercy said. “You’ve helped to save the world.”
“Mmm.”
“You did tell the Elders that the storm demons would be a bad thing for your people, too. So surely-”
“You’ve not met Astaroth, have you?” The Duke looked gloomy. Then she frowned. “My ring’s still in your Library. I hope it’s still standing. I don’t fancy spending a week with a sieve.”
“We’ll soon find out,” Mercy said.
The storyway gleamed faintly in the light of the moon. There were lights down below, scattering the ocean. Fishing boats, then islands. Mercy could not identify them but then they came over the rim of the world, the hills of Golden Island rose up below, and the city lay ahead, strung out along the shores of the Liminality. Smoke rose from the Western Quarter. In the east, the sun was rising.
They came in just as dawn touched the city. It had been a turbulent night. Most of the Court’s roof lay in the middle of Citadel Square, spell-vanes still creaking and turning in response to the flow of magic. The Library still stood, more or less. Nerren and others were carrying out piles of charred paper.
“If anyone’s pilfered any books-” Mercy began. It looked as though the facade would be reparable, but only just. She turned to Mareritt. “When I saw you lying in the sleigh, you know what? You looked a lot like my mother Greya.”
“Did I, dear? How odd.”
“I spoke to a man named Aelrich Salt some days ago. He knew my mum. And he told me a couple of rather strange family stories about our ancestors.”
“Did he, dear? How interesting. Now, I’d like my book back.” She raised a hand and beckoned. A small leather bound volume flew out through the gap in the Library wall, its pages flapping like wings. It soared down to Mareritt’s waiting hand.
“Oh!” the heads said, in unison. “Now we can find out what happens at the end!”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Mercy told them. The geas pinged apart in her head.
Mareritt snapped the whip. “Someone’s calling me. I’m sure I’ll see you again, dear.”
The sleigh spiralled up into the growing morning light.
“What happens to the Court, now?” Shadow said.
“I don’t know. Hopefully it will be too preoccupied with setting its own house to rights to worry about the rest of the city. Although I might have to say the same for the Library. What will you do now, Shadow?” Mercy bent to pick up a stray page, caught by a breeze.
“I ought to find Mariam, and-” Shadow broke off.
“Shadow?”
The sun was coming up, but the sky above the square was darkening. Something was coming over the rooftops: part behemoth, part dreadnought, part airship. Its metal sides were pitted as though it had been scored with meteor strikes and one of the great flanking vanes had been broken and hung loose, strapped to the side of the vessel by what looked like grappling hooks. It hissed through the air, heading east-west across the Quarter, and even a passing golem raised its round head and stared incuriously upwards.
The
The End… for Now
About the Author
Liz Williams is a science fiction and fantasy writer living in Glastonbury, England, where she is co-director of a witchcraft supply business. She is currently published by Bantam Spectra (US) and Tor Macmillan (UK), also Night Shade Press and appears regularly in
