I put my arm in front of my face, and sparks burn through my sleeve and pepper my skin with small burns.
The spiders are on it.
By the time I drop my hand, the wall’s completely coated with a silver skin, something rippling that reminds me of Sera’s battle-armor.
The skin hardens, turns a dull dark grey, and contracts.
There’s a dull roar.
One moment, there’s a wall. The next, it’s gone and a few motes spiral in the gaping hole that’s taken its place.
I cross my arms and wait.
Black-suited soldiers leap through the gap, faces hidden behind huge green goggles and masks. Eldritch guns swivel, point at me, at the clump of eerie men.
A growl rises into the air. Leap whacks the undisciplined subordinate on the head. The eerie men all duck their heads and crouch in submissive poses.
Their fear and anger is a warm, organic scent.
A soldier gestures towards my sword with his gun. He points at the ground in a universal gesture for Put your weapon down, now.
Of course, they’d want the sword.
I put it down, still in its sheath, and kick it towards the soldiers.
The soldier gestures again, and I raise my hands and spread my legs.
Two of his men pat me down. One grabs at my iron hand, and tugs at it, as if it were a gauntlet.
“That’s attached,” I tell him. “If you want it off, you’ll have to cut it off.”
For a moment it looks like he will. Then he shrugs and settles for cuffing my hands behind my back, tightly, with cloth-wrapped manacles. They smell of chromatic metals, all sour.
Sera must’ve told them about me. I breathe in sharply, and the soldier shortens the chain even more, pulling my shoulders back.
I glance around the courtyard. The knots of eerie men, watched by gun-wielding soldiers, are the only Highwinders around. The cloaks have melted away and the cobble-crunchers are nowhere to be seen. Escaped through cracks and holes, I’ll warrant, not knowing whether to be exasperated or pleased.
One of the soldiers stands in the gap in the wall, and holds up a light. It flickers on and off in a pattern.
There’s a grinding noise, and the soldier backs up, gesturing. Two giant creatures ooze into Kaal Baran. They’re mottled brown and grey, and look like armored slugs. They’re pulling what look like covered metal sleighs, with treads instead of runners.
The soldier guides them to the middle of the courtyard. They stop, their tiny eyes bobbing on stalks at the top of their heads.
Other soldiers are busy setting up lights. They turn on, flooding the space with a yellow glare.
Banish lights.
The eerie men draw closer together, whimpering, agitated. The banish lights won’t kill them, but they’re in discomfort. I’m glad Flutter’s gone.
A door hisses up on the sleigh, and a tall, lithe man springs down. Soldiers form a circle around him, but he waves them off.
My nostrils flare. I did not expect him.
The man picks his way fastidiously across the ground, stooping now and then to pick up a rock, turn it over in his hand, then drop it. Occasionally he darts to right or left, swooping on yet another interesting curiosity.
The Director.
He was the one who told me that Sera had been taken by a cloak. He hid her—no, he aided her lying, her mad plans, her dangerous experiments. He equipped her with machinery and weapons, provided her with subjects and soldiers.
All for what?
Angel technology?
I suspect I’m going to find out.
Surrounded by soldiers in black, the white-coated Director stands out like a beacon.
Still playing the part of the compassionate healer, I see.
He peers at me through his glasses while I stare stonily at him. His face brightens.
“Ah, Kettan! Though I should say Kato Vorsok, of course. It’s been too long since we last met. The hospital’s annual spring party, as I recall.”
“Sera’s funeral.” I glare, as if somehow the power of my gaze will give the man a sense of shame.
It doesn’t.
“Bad business, that.” The Director takes out a handkerchief and dusts grit from his sleeve. “I was against lying to you, but she insisted. Women, you know.” He gives a What can we do? shrug, as if we’re in some men’s club on Smokejacket Road.
“If you didn’t like it, why did you do it?”
“Knowledge, of course. For science. For the wonders in this land, hidden away beneath layers of superstition and religious nonsense. It’s not fair to keep all this from the rest of the world, Kato.” His tone is mildly chiding, as if speaking to a child.
“We aren’t talking about toys here,” I say. “Have you seen the eastern sky recently?”
“We’re monitoring the situation.”
“Monitoring!” I explode. “Can’t you just see the wrongness of it? Evil beings are awakening in the world again!”
“If our instrumentation warrant it, we will take steps, of course,” says the Director, stiffly. “There’s no need to rush into anything”
“Time is what you haven’t got!”
“Kato.” His voice is severe. “You’re being very excitable. I’m afraid that I cannot let you run on like this and knowing what you can do, I don’t feel comfortable with your current situation—hold him.”
They’re on me before I can move. The Director pulls a syringe from his belt. I try to throw myself backward, but I barely move.
The Director reaches up and jabs the needle into my neck.
A burning cold blooms out from that pinprick of pain, drowning me. As silver edges up my vision, I fall down—or else the world falls down around me.
I hear the Director say, “… round up the eerie men… they will be useful as laborers… the rest of the creatures are useless to us… fumigate the place.”
The cloaks and cobble-crunchers… hope they’re safe.
Now, it’s up to Daral to do his part. What kind of man is he, with his scholar’s demeanor and weapons hidden in his clothing? But Flutter trusted him, right before
