people's lives.'
'Hmm. But surely someone has to do just that, don't you think? Otherwise the whole of society would simply degenerate into an unruly and unruled rabble.'
'Rabble, eh? Why do I get the impression that as far as your opinion of your flock goes it rather neatly sums things up?'
'We provide them with guidance.'
'They didn't ask for guidance.'
Makennon sighed, then gestured around her audience chamber with her hand, sweeping it to indicate what lay beyond as well. 'You think this all a sham, don't you?'
'A sham and a scam, actually.'
'That we have no destiny? That our only concern is with our own material gain?'
'Bang! Nail on the head.'
'That we do, in fact, lust solely after power?'
'Woohooh, you're good. No wonder they made you the boss.'
Again, Makennon leaned in close. 'What if I could prove to you that it was otherwise? That our future is plain. Would you then cease your public mockery of our church?'
'That would be something of a tall order.'
'Then allow me to fulfil it.'
Slowhand stared at her, unsure of where this was going. 'What's this about, Katherine?' he asked with intended familiarity. 'I'm far from the only seditionary out there, so why the special treatment — this personal touch? Why didn't your lackey's dagger go all the way in? After all, it's happened before, so I hear.'
'Because I want you to join us.'
'What?'
'The Final Faith needs people such as you. People possessing certain skills.' She turned and walked to the wall of the chamber, where she opened a compartment and Slowhand found himself staring at something he thought he'd never see again. 'Where did you — ?'
'Does it matter? The point is, it's yours if you join us. Yours to use again, in our cause.'
Again, Slowhand stared, but this time at Makennon — getting the woman's measure. It was clear her style of running the Final Faith was unorthodox, but it was also clear that she believed in what it did, at least to a degree. But despite the incentive she'd just offered, he had no interest in joining her, though, he had to admit, she'd got him curious.
'Okay, Katherine — what do you have to show me?'
Makennon led him out of her audience chamber and along another seemingly endless corridor, to the furthest reaches of the cathedral, the threesome who'd brought him to her trailing behind. There, she showed him into a library whose shelves were filled not with books but rolled-up scrolls. Other scrolls were unfurled on the walls, images daubed on them in red and black ink — images of hellsfire and damnation, praying and weeping souls, vast marching hordes. Before them knelt figures he didn't recognise — stylised, twisting forms that somehow didn't look quite human — and symbols splashed here and there, some of which reminded him of the crossed circles of the Faith, others vaguely of keys. He had no idea what any of them meant. But he knew who was responsible for them.
Hunched and twitching over long tables down the centre of the library, Final Faith brothers scratched away at scrolls with quills, creating more of the strange images. Hollow-faced and exhausted, the worst aspect of them was that they were not looking at what they were doing — their eyeballs, to a man, rolled up into the backs of their sockets, completely white.
'Hey, fella, are you all ri — ?' Slowhand asked, touching one, and then found himself somewhere else entirely, where other hands moved across another scroll, in another room he sensed was far away — gods, was it the League, in Andon? He spasmed suddenly, totally disorientated, and then felt his own eyes begin to roll upwards in his
Makennon slapped his hand away and he gasped. He knew now who these people were — telescryers, remote-receivers, weavers of the threads whose particular use of magic wrecked their bodies and burned their brains away.
And Makennon had them working some kind of… production line.
'What is this?' he said.
Makennon smiled. 'The future. The scattered pieces of a jigsaw held in a hundred sealed collections and forbidden libraries across Twilight, being brought together, here, for the first time, so that the path of the Final Faith might be fully divined. Prophecies, Mister Slowhand — prophecies as old as time. Prophecies that show the destiny of the Final Faith.'
'Let me get this straight. You've got these poor bastards telepathically purloining a bunch of dangerous- looking old doodles because you think they are relevant to you?'
'Yes.' She swept her hand across the walls. 'Don't you see?'
Slowhand saw nothing — except maybe that Makennon had got a bump on the head on one battlefield too many. But he reminded himself it made her no less dangerous — if anything, more so.
'Join us,' Makennon urged. 'There are many things to be achieved.'
'Erm, no thanks. I'll come back when your god's got his head screwed on.'
Makennon's expression darkened. She summoned the escorts.
'Oh, let me guess,' Slowhand said. 'This is the part where you lock me up and throw away the key?'
'You are a nuisance to me, and I cannot afford to have a nuisance… spoil things at this time. I would have preferred to convert you to our cause because the removal of someone who has made himself so obvious on our streets is itself obvious, but then what choice do I have?' She directed her attention to the escorts and said: 'He's a tricky one. Have him stripped and searched thoroughly. Take everything from his person.'
'Everything? Katherine… not my balloons?'
'Including his balloons. When you're done, take Mister Slowhand to the Deep Cells. He'll be staying in our most prestigious quarters for a while.'
The escorts grabbed Killiam by the armpits and began to shuffle him off, noticeably turning his back into which the knife dug once more towards the Anointed Lord. This breach of etiquette wasn't a privilege, he guessed, but a sign he was considered already dead. Nevertheless, he let them take him. Actually smiled. Because this was the other thing that the Final Faith excelled in — they made people disappear. And in forcing Makennon to make him disappear he'd got her exactly where she wanted him.
No, wait. Exactly where he wanted her.
At any rate, they had each other where…
'How long a while?' he called back.
'Until you come around to our way of thinking, or until you die.'
'Right. In that case, about those balloons…'
Makennon watched him go and then returned to the audience chamber, summoning Munch back before her.
'I've considered your report,' she said. 'This Kali Hooper. I want her found.'
Munch nodded. 'Yes, Ma'am.'
'Take whoever you need for the task and locate her. Quickly. Bring me that key.'
'Just the key, Ma'am?'
Makennon stared at him, then laughed. 'Has your pride been injured, Konstantin? Is that it?' She waited a moment. 'Very well, Munch, just the key. The girl is unimportant. Feel free to do with her what you will.'
There was a pause, and Munch smiled in anticipation.
'The One faith.'
'The Only faith.'
'The Final Faith.'
Chapter Five
