The Burning Man

subsided, the ropes stilled. The shutters slid up to admit the lances of sunlight.

The door before him had no name-plate, but it was covered in what resembled hide. He eased it open and stepped inside.

The carriage was bright, the shutters open and all the torches lit. Another door at the far end led to what Shavi guessed was the final carriage. A cauldron swung from a chain near the door, steam rising from it even though there was no fire beneath.

Shavi had thought the carriage was empty, but as he took a few steps towards the cauldron, three women appeared as if they had walked out of the walls. Like Greek peasants, they were dressed all in black, with deep cowls that cloaked their features in shadow. They approached in a jerky manner as if movement was not natural to them, and the closer they came the more queasy Shavi felt. They brought with them a palpable air of dread. When they halted ten feet away from him, Shavi’s heart was pounding madly.

After a moment of rising anticipation, they spoke; or rather, one voice emanated from all of them.

‘We are the Daughters of the Night.’

Shavi recalled hearing the name before somewhere.

‘I spin.’

‘I measure.’

‘I cut the thread.’

The image troubled him; they were not talking about weaving. ‘What is the great secret?’ he asked hesitantly.

‘What do you use to cut the thread?’

Shavi pondered. ‘Scissors? A knife?’

The Daughters of the Night hovered in silence. At the back of the carriage, the door had opened slightly, as if someone was listening or waiting to leap out. He couldn’t take his eyes off the gap. ‘What is in the last carriage?’ he asked, regretting the question the moment he had spoken.

‘What waits there waits for all mortals at the end of their journey.’

Shavi could feel its presence, watching him through the crack in the door.

His throat dry, he forced his attention back to the Daughters of the Night. ‘Show me what you use to cut the thread.’

‘I cannot.’

Puzzled, Shavi thought hard until a notion came to him. ‘The Extinction Shears. That is what you use to cut the thread.’

The Daughters of the Night did not reply, but Shavi could sense he had got it right.

‘Where are they?’ he asked.

‘They are with us always, except when they are not.’

‘They exist in all-times and all-places, but find their way to the moment around which the Axis of Existence turns.’

‘You talk as if they are alive,’ Shavi said.

‘They return when we need them.’

‘But this time they have not returned.’

‘Some threads we can break … the threads of mortals. But we cannot cut the threads of events. We cannot sever that which is bound into the warp and weft of Existence.’

‘We are searching for the Shears,’ Shavi said. ‘We believe they are somewhere in the Far Lands.’

‘You are wrong.’

‘They are in the place that lies beyond our task. The place we can never see.’

What lies beyond their task? Shavi thought. And then he had it. ‘What the gods call the Grim Lands, or the Grey Lands. The Land of the Dead.’ The Daughters of the Night remained silent, but once again Shavi could tell he was correct. ‘Then we are looking in the wrong place!’ he said. ‘We must go to the Grim Lands to find the Extinction Shears.’

The Daughters of the Night began to retreat back into the walls. Soon the carriage was empty once more, but the atmosphere of dread did not leave with them. Shavi saw that the door at the rear of the carriage had opened a little more, and as he watched it opened further still.

He moved quickly into the previous carriage, where the hanging bodies had now been replaced by rows of seats. As he hurried back to Church, he saw through the windows a new landscape of uniform factories with chimneys trailing smoke. Beyond lay modern skyscrapers. The signs were all in Chinese script. Shavi also noticed that it now appeared to be late summer. They had gained no advantage; the journey had taken almost as long as it would have taken Veitch to reach the same destination.

The Last Train finally came to a halt in a railway station that mixed traditional Chinese architecture with fifties design. As the clouds of steam finally cleared, the first thing that Shavi noted was that the entire station — one of the busiest in East Asia — was completely deserted.

Chapter Eleven

FORBIDDEN

1

Tiananmen Square was deserted. The only movement came from the Morvren now nestling on every building, their unforgiving eyes turned on Church, Shavi and Tom who stood alone in the vast public space. Beyond, Beijing was still and silent beneath a brooding silver sky.

‘Where is everybody?’ Church asked.

‘I don’t think we need to be hanging around to find out, do you?’ Tom said. He tugged at the ring uncomfortably.

‘Veitch?’ Shavi asked.

‘He’s here somewhere.’ Tom shoved his ring hand into a pocket.

‘If he’d already got the location of the Second Key he wouldn’t be hanging around,’ Church said. ‘We need to persuade the King of Foxes to tell us. Then with the information Shavi got from the Daughters of the Night, we’ll have the upper hand.’

‘Don’t sound so self-satisfied,’ Tom cautioned. ‘That is usually the most dangerous time. Or do you think all your feathered friends up there are mistaken?’

Church removed Caledfwlch from its scabbard across his back. It flared brighter than he had seen in a long time. ‘The Blue Fire’s much stronger here,’ he said, puzzled.

The roosting formation of the silent Morvren appeared to be guiding them past the modern government and military buildings to the historic architecture of the Forbidden City beyond. It lay behind twenty-four-foot-high walls that gave the impression of a prison from which they would never escape.

Uneasily, they approached along the stone-flagged Imperial Way towards the imposing Meridian Gate set in the southern wall. Two grand protruding wings funnelled visitors towards five entrances, and from the top of each wing two deserted watchtowers looked down.

A shimmer like a heat haze revealed a man at least seven feet tall, his hair and beard a flowing white, his robes the green of a spring field. He held a staff topped with a hexagonal golden symbol, and around his neck hung a large clock, the hands whirling continuously. His eyes were purple.

‘The King of Foxes bids me welcome you, honoured guests.’ His tongue flashed out, thin, black and forked. He bowed. ‘My name is Tai Sui, President of the Celestial Ministry of Time.’

‘We are-’

‘I know who you are, Brother of Dragons. And you, Brother of Dragons. And you, True Thomas.’ His tone was hard, but he smiled broadly.