A Madness of Angels

“What are you doing there?”

“Looking for you and doing, I think, a very good job of it too. We really should talk.”

They’d put him on a bed too small for him in a room too small for anyone, dominated by a large wardrobe and with a stool by the bed. The curtains were closed and, as I entered the room, Charlie warned, “No light.” I fumbled my way to the stool in the orange glow seeping past Charlie’s outline in the doorway, and sat down next to Sinclair’s bed.

Charlie said from the door, “I heard Lee is dead.”

“Yes. Was all along, really.”

“I heard the Whites killed many of their enemies.”

“Yes. Although some of them were dead already too.”

“My friends helped you.”

“Yes.”

“Some of them died.” It wasn’t a question, but still surprised me.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“They knew what they were doing. Everyone who went to the Exchange knew what they were doing – even Lee.”

I looked up at the tone of his voice. Charlie added, “Do or die. That’s how sorcerers are – there’s no middle ground. You fight or you die.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

A voice wheezed from the bed next to me, audible only because of its strangeness, “Yes it is.”

I looked down at Sinclair. His eyes reflected dark puddles in the orange glow from the doorway, and his breathing was slow and laboured. His skin looked a strange, sickly yellow, his eyes protruded, and his chin had been badly shaved. He raised a hand towards Charlie, but I couldn’t read the gesture – dismissal, warning, greeting, hard to tell. Whatever it was, Charlie didn’t move, although his jaw grew tight.

Sinclair smiled a grim smile at me and added, “Sorcerers… burn too brightly. Their magic is life: their life and the lives around them. When you fight with the purest powers of blazing life, all you can do is fight… or die.” He coughed and feebly gestured again at Charlie, who reached past me to the top of the wardrobe and took down a bottle of water, tenderly lifting the old man’s head to help him drink.

When Sinclair was done he flopped back, eyes staring up at the ceiling as if turning his head was too much effort, and said, “I think I am meant to thank you, sorcerer.”

I didn’t answer.

“Candid as ever,” he said. “Good, of course. Khay is dead, Lee is dead…”

“Was dead, all along.”

“He dabbled in necromancy.”

“He wrote the essence of his life on a sheet of paper and swallowed it whole,” I answered. “That’s how dead he was.”

“Really?” Sinclair let out a disappointed breath that rattled through his throat like it was made of loose marbles. “An absence in the files. And now…”

“I want to find Harris Simmons.”

“He’ll run.”

“Why?”

“He’s a poor magician. He depends on other people’s enchantments – Lee was always the toughest, and you made an alliance that … crudely, I suppose… ‘killed him good’.” There was a tone of harsh mockery in his voice. “Simmons knows he can’t stand up against that. He’s always been a coward.”

“Where will he go?”

A half-shrug, followed by another burst of wheezing.

“The Tower won’t be destroyed until the money stops; Simmons provides the money.”

“The Tower is already crippled; why waste the time? You’ve killed the security, the soldiers…”

“I want Bakker to know,” I said. “I want him to know that I’m coming. I want him to know that there’ll be nothing left. All of it, gone.”

“Revenge,” rasped Sinclair. “Of course, of course… revenge is perhaps a mundane motive, but when it leads us to excel, perhaps … perhaps useful. Listen to me. Come close. Listen.”

I leant closer. “The woman – Oda – there is something about her you must know.”

“I know she’s part of the Order.”

A glint of surprise, then a smile. “Good, good. Yes, I am glad. Good. She hates with such fire, she despises you all. All magicians. She is their killer. Do you understand me? Their killer, their assassin, the lady of the knives, that’s what they call her. They think I don’t know, but in the Order… there are also concerned citizens.”

“Charlie was telling me about concerned citizens.”

“Good; it is good you know. They will send her after you, she will try to kill you.”

“I know.”

“Do not trust her. She hates with such fire…”

“I know. I won’t. You have… contacts… in the Order?”

“Contacts? Yes, yes, I suppose I do. It is a tool, sorcerer, a useful entity: gather up the hate, the anger, put them in one place, use them…”

“A tool?”

“Use them to… to eliminate creatures as dangerous as they are; and they have such hatred, such passion…”

“Chaigneau wouldn’t tell me who was in charge of the Order.”

For a moment his eyes turned to me with an effort; his hands trembled. “Anton Chaigneau? He doesn’t even tell people his name.”

“I cursed him.”

“You cursed Chaigneau? How?”

“He had my blood on his hands. There are some magics that don’t ever change.”

Sinclair’s eyes went to Charlie. “Charlie, dear boy… Charlie… leave us.”

“Mr Sinclair…” began Charlie, starting forward.

“Leave us, Charlie. I’ll call when I need you.”

Charlie reluctantly moved away from the door; I listened as he plodded downstairs. Sinclair gestured me closer still, until my ear was only a little way from his mouth and I could feel the strained tickle of his breath. “I mis-spoke when I said, before, that you were a poor sorcerer.”

“I don’t remember…”

“I said you were not powerful, before you became what you are, Mr Swift. I said you were merely average.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I mis-spoke. You are… were… perhaps… afraid of what you could be, what you could do. That is why you argued with Bakker. You were afraid. He wanted you to give power, so much power, the blood of angels in his veins – you said, Mr Swift, you said – some magics don’t ever change. You were afraid of that power. That isn’t weakness, it is intelligence. To feel so alive, have the heartbeat of a city under your shoes – fear it. Fear what you may do. It is human. For misjudging you, I apologise. And perhaps for misjudging you, I apologise.”

“You know about us?”

“Dear boy, it is my business.”

“I accept your apology. We accept your apology.”

“You are… smart…” he said hesitantly. “Yes, smart. You hide it well, perhaps; but you know when a power shouldn’t be used.” His eyes gleamed in the dull light. “You said some magic didn’t change. Charlie told me what you did, told me about your blood burning blue, told me that… and I know. Should not have lived, they said, fire in the blood. Isn’t that your story? We be light, we be life, we be fire? Such creatures that revel in such living, should not be afraid… Ask me.”