He paused. The soldiers nodded.
Brynd cleared his throat. ‘She has been witnessed eating the flesh of the dead.’
No one gasped — that wasn’t the way of the Night Guard — but some of them raised their eyebrows. Brynd informed them in detail of what Randur had seen, gave his impressions on the matter, and tried to reassure them if they doubted the chain of command.
‘I want her tracked, so we can really assess the situation. I have. . planned accordingly, if this turns out to be true, but it is simply too early to tell. I’m interested in surveillance only for now. Any questions?’
No one responded.
‘Finally, on to more fitting business,’ Brynd said. ‘It is time we prepared for war once again. Our next move — and ultimately, I hope our very final move — will be to remove the sky-city from the skies and rid the Archipelago of anything it leaves behind.’
‘Do you think that is possible?’ Brug said.
‘After the defence of Villiren and the rescue from Jokull, I’d say anything’s possible,’ Brynd replied. A few of the others muttered their agreement on that sentiment. ‘Now, the question is how we go about this and, if I’m honest, I do not yet know. I want to consult with Artemisia and her people. You will all help me in this matter, as I wish you to become ambassadors for our culture. It goes without saying my trust in you all is beyond question. . I’ll want you to mix with their people and help glean information on their military. Though Artemisia is going to assist in such matters, I’d like to know troop capabilities, what weapons are at our disposal. What creatures, even. We might bring many of them into the city, to begin the process of integration.’
‘Do we have to fly again?’ Mikill joked. He was a slight man, and young, so the others had quickly ribbed him about not being able to handle the rough journey across to Jokull. A few chuckles broke out.
Smiling, Brynd said, ‘Yes, it wasn’t exactly what I’d call comfortable, was it, but look at how quickly we could respond to the crisis there. What other methods do these new people possess that we can use to our advantage?’
‘A change in your tone there,’ Syn pointed out. He had that quiet, dangerous look about him, the one most of the Night Guard muttered about when he wasn’t around. ‘You’ve gone from talking about friendship and harmony to exploitation for our own advantage.’
Brynd contemplated the statement, before nodding. ‘You’re quite right, Syn, on both counts. I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive points. We do need to live harmoniously with them, but they also possess many powerful creatures for us to use.’
‘We could get our own creatures,’ Syn pointed out. ‘Plenty of hybrids on the underground.’
‘Interesting you say that,’ Brynd continued. ‘That is a matter I’m looking into. But there are, for now, some interesting specimens I honestly believe we should use to our advantage — and I say that because preserving our culture here — helping the humans and rumel who make up the Boreal Archipelago as it is — they’re also a priority right now. Of course, whatever is in the encampment to the south, once they’re here for good, then their integration becomes a shared responsibility.’
‘Have you seen anything of particular value in their encampment?’ Brug asked.
‘I have,’ Brynd said. ‘It wasn’t so much a creature based there — it was someone who managed to break through into our world of their own accord. I have mentioned this Frater Mercury figure before. He could be key to bringing down that sky-city but, as far as I’m concerned, we’ll have to go through Artemisia’s people first.’
‘Is he their god?’ Tiendi asked.
‘Who will you send first to meet with their people?’ Tiendi asked.
Brynd contemplated her question for a moment, and looked at the men — and woman — gathered around the table. ‘You’re all the best soldiers I will ever know. You’re all suited for combat. You’re all intelligent people. Any of you will, I’m sure, do a good job in promoting our concerns and gathering information. I will make sure you all get to investigate what’s there within five or six days — each of you will help me form a strategy.’
NINETEEN
Malum waited in the afternoon shadows, mulling over his plans.
The garuda had informed his men that there was in fact no immediate threat to Villiren. The Okun were nowhere to be seen on this island. There was no more threat from the north. In fact, the only issues were in the west, on another island entirely, too far to be of concern to him. So in fact the posters found around the city, telling of this so-called immediate threat, were lying.
So what was the commander really up to?
There, the man Malum was waiting for. Derrouge was skinny, well dressed, and walked with a gentle stoop, so he constantly had to peer slightly upwards to see where he was going.
Derrouge left the bank, a compact, whitewashed building. Two men were standing by its front door; they wore no uniform, and were only noticeable to those who knew the drill. They were private militiamen, skilled fighters and paid highly enough so that they wouldn’t trade secrets with the gangs. Aside from those men, the building bore no signs that told you money could be stored there. Then again, the banks didn’t like to attract attention to themselves. It was said they were small, impenetrable fortresses. That there were cultist traps deep in the vaults, all sorts of trickery that was more trouble than it was worth to tackle. Malum had never tried his luck with them — besides, he had a lot of coin himself, from his various rackets, which he wanted to protect. The banks guaranteed anonymity so criminals — often the wealthiest in the city — could have their money well looked after.
If it wasn’t for the banks, there would be no criminal underworld.
Malum pulled up his hood. The day was winding up, and what people there were began to head indoors. He moved along the walls, swift and cautious, all the time looking around to see if anyone would interrupt the mission. He had to be careful and felt he couldn’t rely on the same networks to do his bidding, or on the fear of the public keeping them from intervening. Derrouge, wearing elegant, long crimson robes and a black waxed raincape, took the predictable route towards his home, situated at the north-eastern end of the Ancient Quarter. On edge, Malum trotted down through the same high-walled alley, noting all the details, the rubbish and the homeless man slumped on the corner. Three old women were standing in a doorway talking about the weather. A young man was pulling in a washing line between buildings and somewhere indoors was the sound of a baby crying.
It began to rain, thick and heavy drops. Up ahead, Derrouge pulled up his own hood and continued on his way. Malum shook free his messer blade from his sleeve and pursued the banker down an even narrower alley. He closed the distance in stealth, thirty feet, twenty, ten and he was upon him: he stamped down on the back of Derrouge’s left knee, bringing him to the ground, sprawling on his back. Malum stood on the man’s chest, grabbed his collar and pressed the messer blade up against his throat.
‘You do exactly as I say. You’re coming with me. You’re going to stand up and calmly walk back the way you came. You’re going to walk in the direction I tell you and when we get to an agreed point you’re going to wear a sack over your head. Do we understand each other?’
‘And. . if I don’t?’ Derrouge squirmed.
‘I’ll cut a diagonal line across your torso, grab your innards while you’re still alive to feel the pain, and tie them to the door of your family home.’ Malum held up his blade to show the man the tool he would use to do that.
‘OK.’ Derrouge nodded as much as he could manage.
‘Good.’ Malum stepped back and hauled him up by the scruff of his neck. He spun the banker around and pulled back on his raincape; he cut a slash through the clothing, slipped his hand and blade inside, resting the steel
