Worldsoul

she glanced at her watch and saw that it was close to five o’clock. The Library was huge, that was the trouble, and they’d only done three floors, out of eleven. At six, she decided, she would go out to a cafe, snatch some food, then come back in and work through the night if necessary.

It was, however, on the fourth floor that they discovered a major break. Like the one upstairs, it was a vertical crack in the air. Here, however, the breeze that filtered through it was hot, and smelled of spices.

“Where’s it coming from?” Nerren stood in front of it. She was, she told Mercy, able to feel the breeze, but not see the break.

“I don’t know. And thanks for coming upstairs so quickly, by the way. How are you feeling?”

Nerren grimaced. “I get nightmares, I don’t mind telling you. But I’m all right.”

Mercy recognised this as a Librarian’s ‘all right.’ The sort that would have civilians gibbering under the bed. “Good,” was all that she said.

“The smell’s familiar, though.”

“Is it?”

Nerren nodded. “Reminds me of being a kid. It used to smell like this down at the shore-there was a market, where they offloaded the spice cargos.” She closed her eyes. “Cinnamon, nutmeg, sandalwood… ”

“Sounds lovely.”

“See-” Nerren said, and for a moment, Mercy could: the island shore, a rich intensity of colour, the mounds of spices on the market stalls and the clipper unloading against a sunset sky.

“I’d forgotten you’re a visualiser.”

“Not everyone’s receptive.”

Mercy smiled. “You miss the Southern Quarter?”

“Yeah, but my life’s with the Library.” She sighed. “Let’s hope it lasts.”

“Anyway, it might be a nice one, but we’ve still got a rift.”

Interlude

He was sitting in prayer outside the beehive hut when the message arrived. At first he thought, with wonder, that it was a meteorite, streaking down out of the sunlit sky, but soon it resolved itself into the form of a dove, alight.

“Well, well,” the Messenger said, aloud. He waited until the dove had set down on the low wall and reached out to take the parchment, only slightly singed, from around its leg. Once he had done so, the dove crumbled into ash, presumably remanifesting back in Hell.

“Thank you,” the Messenger breathed. His heart lurched against his ribs, an unfamiliar sensation.

The note was brief.

I’m bringing someone to see you. A soul in peril. Why am I concerned? She is my charge. I will be grateful for your help.

It was signed: Gremory, Duke of Hell.

He stared at the note for a long time before folding it and placing it within his robe. Memories of the war came to the fore, the long struggle. Good and evil. Darkness and light. But is anything ever that simple?

Twenty-Nine

Shadow did not like the idea of riding the demon. It seemed wrong, and there was a subtext to it with which she was not comfortable.

“You can walk if you want,” Gremory said. She looked at Shadow out of a sidelong black eye, flickering with red. As a camel, her coat was again a shining black, quite unlike any beast that Shadow had actually seen at the zoo: camels tended to be on the ragged side.

Shadow cast a glance at the shifting sands of the Khaureg. “You know that will take twice as long.”

“Probably four times. Up you get.”

Swallowing, Shadow placed a foot in the stirrup as the demon knelt. A moment later Gremory was rising again, hoisting her into the air.

“You’ve ridden us before, of course?”

“Yes.” It was easy enough, once one got used to the rolling gait.

It was now early morning. The demon had suggested that they set out at dawn, partly so that fewer people would see them, and also to make the most of the coolest part of the day. Shadow was naturally wary. She did not trust the demon. She did not know what Gremory’s real agenda was, as it was almost certain that the demon was lying to her. However, Gremory’s presence was a lot less irksome than the spirit’s: the Prince of the Air had vanished deep inside Shadow’s mind and clearly had no plans to come out whilst Gremory was there. Stay in your damned neural burrow, then.

It was some years since she had ventured into the deep desert, the Khaureg. She had been on a mission: to find a haunted knife and release the spirit that possessed it, and to kill the man who had imprisoned it there. That had been the sun-and-moon blade, which hung at her hip, but now she herself was the knife, and taken. She did not recognise any of the land through which they now travelled. The dunes shifted so much that the desert had altered completely and it would not be until they reached the low outcrops of rocks known as the Devil’s Ears that she could get her bearings. She knew better than to glance over her shoulder. The stories said if you did that, you ran the risk of losing the city altogether; it would shift and vanish into mirage. In this world, such stories had to be taken seriously.

Gremory seemed to know where she was going. She loped in a straight line, following the roll of the dunes. Occasionally her long black neck twisted round to observe Shadow with a mocking, knowing eye, as if checking that the alchemist was still on board. As the heat of the morning sun grew, Shadow fell into a kind of doze, almost a trance. She felt the spirit inside her, occasionally surfacing like a bubble from the depths of the sea. You stay where you are, she told it. It was difficult to reconcile this small inner presence with the memory of the huge ifrit in the cage, but Shadow knew that to spirits, size was an illusion. Only to humans did it matter.

Towards mid-morning, a shimmer appeared on the horizon. Shadow blinked behind the veil, trying to see whether it was mirage or real, but then it solidified and she recognised the ridge called the Devil’s Ears. Gremory’s head twisted round again.

“Nearly there.”

“Is that where we’re headed?”

“No. The person we will meet now is not the one I am taking you to see. It’s where we’ll ride out the heat.”

Shadow had been expecting her to head into the outcrop. There were caves here, occasionally occupied with mad old hermits who, for a few coins, would provide food and water. But the demon headed up into the heights instead, climbing towards the sun via a series of steps that were so worn they could have been natural. Perhaps they were. But the summit featured a low wall, and then a small collection of beehive-shaped huts came into view.

They were made of blocks of stone, covered with a plaster that must once have been white but which had now faded to a flaking honeycomb. Gremory knelt and Shadow dismounted, feeling uncomfortably stiff. She flexed her knees, stretched her shoulders, and when she turned back the demon was once more in the form of a woman, barefoot and wearing a flowing black robe. Shadow said the first thing that came into her head: “Are you tired?”

The demon laughed. “No, I do not tire. But thank you for asking.”

Shadow looked back across the desert. They were now far enough away for the city to be lost over the horizon, with no chance of an accidental glimpse. The desert rolled on in endless shades of light. Above, the sky was a harsh, burning blue and it was very quiet. She followed the demon, who cast no shadow and who left no footsteps