She was stooping to look at a herbal laid out on the seat of a chair. Caldason nodded. She gave him an apple- cheeked smile.
He found the combat section, ran his eye along the titles and tugged out a hefty volume. The book was glamoured, and as he flipped the pages its illustrations sparked into life. Painted characters fought with swords, axes and quarterstaffs. Lances raised, warriors rode chargers into battle. He
paused at a picture showing a siege, with a battering ram hammering at a castle’s doors while defenders rained down arrows from the ramparts.
There was a faint noise. Of movement, rustling and soft commotion. Then the hint of a fragrance mingling with the smell of decaying books. Something sickly-sweet with a sulphurous tinge to it.
He looked up.
Downstairs, Kutch had located several of the books he needed. Their cost was higher than he’d expected, and he doubted whether the money Phoenix had given him would be enough for everything. So he’d started sorting them into vital and not-so-necessary piles.
He froze, letting a book slip from his fingers, and slowly straightened. He was aware of a cognisance, not dissimilar to the feeling he got before a vision, and feared he was about to have one. Several seconds of stilled breath later, he knew that wasn’t it. Something else was happening.
He looked up.
Caldason realised the sounds were coming from the alcove. Stealthily, he moved towards it.
Before he got there, a figure stepped out to face him. It wasn’t the old woman. But it took no great leap of logic on his part to guess that it had been.
He was looking at someone who appeared to be neither one sex nor the other, though their features inclined a little more to the feminine. She was wiry, hard-muscled and near flat-chested. Her fair hair was severely cropped, and she had a shockingly white complexion. The eyes were arresting; astonishingly big, unblinking, black as coal. Overall, the sight of her was dismaying, and his first thought was that she must be a glamour. Some instinct made him reject the idea. He reckoned her to be magically enhanced in some way, but human.
Before he could speak, she jerked to one side, leaving a ghostly silhouette of herself in the place she’d just occupied. The wafting outline quickly filled with light. In short order it began to solidify, offering brief glimpses of bones, sinew, blood and finally flesh.
A duplicate of the woman stood beside her, and initially seemed identical. They could have been unholy twins, and were even dressed the same way. But he saw that the new arrival did differ slightly, and certainly appeared more masculine.
Then he noticed that they were connected. A gossamer film, shiny and moist to the eye, tender as moonlight, bound them from shoulder to ankle. But only for a heartbeat. It tensed and ripped apart, and each half was instantly sucked into one of the twins’ bodies.
They regarded him as though he were a horse they were thinking of stealing. But when the female spoke, it wasn’t Caldason she addressed. ‘What do you think, Aphrim? One of us or both?’
‘Hmmm.’ He studied the Qalochian. ‘Both to be sure, I’d say.’ The creature’s voice was a giveaway to the sharp-eared; it had a jot of the inorganic that marked it as glamoured.
‘Don’t mind me,’ Caldason told them, fury building.
‘We won’t,’ the one called Aphrim replied. ‘Let’s get this done, Aphri.’
The woman nodded and they both drew blades.
Caldason quickly unsheathed his own, cursing himself for having no second sword.
The woman came at him, and fast. He reflexively dodged her swinging blade. She wasn’t fazed. Spinning swiftly, she struck out again. This time, steel met steel and they slipped into a frenzied exchange. She was a supple fencer, hard to pin down, and checked his passes unerringly. Caldason was just as adept at blocking her.
For a full minute they traded blows, seeking a path to flesh. Ducking and weaving, blades clattering, each tried to tease an opening from the other.
She took a savage overhand swing at him, fit to crack his skull. Caldason hurled himself clear. Unstoppable, her sword came down hard on a table, its edge cleaving into a book. When she whipped back the blade, the book was still attached. Deftly she flicked it clear and the book flew across the room.
Caldason exploited the distraction. As she turned to him again he lunged forwards, grasped her arm and half pulled, half threw her at the wall. Crying out, she struck one of the bookcases heavily with her back. The case rocked alarmingly. A dozen volumes dislodged and fell, showering down on her. Hand over her head, she scurried clear, and shouted
‘Aphrim!’
Her twin moved in. Caldason spun to face him. But he didn’t meet the blade he expected. Something gleaming and hot narrowly missed his bobbing head.
On the lower floor, Kutch was staring at the ceiling. There were thumps and rumbles from above, and dust was filtering through the boards.
‘What the
hell
?’ the bookseller exclaimed, leaping to his feet and upsetting his stool. He glared at Kutch. ‘What are you two up to? What’s your game, eh?’
All Kutch could do was gape at him.
‘We’ll see about this,’ the bookseller resolved, making for the stairs.
The noises overhead grew louder, and he hesitated on the bottom step. Then he cautiously began to climb.
Swinging a chain in a hissing circle above his head, the glamour twin was about to cast again. The iron ball at the chain’s end glowed cherry red and left a fiery trace in the air. It may have been glamour-generated heat, but it felt real enough.
The chain was loosed; the flaming orb shot in Caldason’s
direction. He threw himself aside, barely evading the blistering missile. It hit a shelf of books, scouring their spines as it passed. The acrid smell of scorched leather pricked his nostrils. Aphrim yanked back the chain and quickly had it circling again.
An irate head popped out of the stairwell.
‘What in damnation is going on up here?’
the bookseller shrieked. He clambered to the top of the stairs and gawked at them, red faced with indignation. ‘Hooligans! You’re wrecking my shop, you philistines!
Stop it!
Stop it now, or I’ll call the watch!’
With a roar, Aphrim swung the fireball at him. It came close enough to blister his nose, without actually striking him. The bookseller instinctively drew back. For a second he stood poised on the edge of the step, arms flapping wildly in a vain attempt to keep his balance. Then gravity took him. Issuing a high-pitched shriek, he fell backwards and disappeared. They heard him thud against every step as he tumbled back the way he’d come.
Aphri tutted and wagged an admonishing finger at her twin. ‘You can’t play with people like that,’ she said. ‘They break.’
As one, they returned their attention to Caldason.
Kutch was at the foot of the juddering stairs when the shop owner bounced down them. He descended like a drunken acrobat, in a confusion of flailing limbs and disarrayed clothing, and came to rest in Kutch’s shadow.
‘Are you all right?’ Kutch exclaimed, bending over him.
The bookseller moaned. He sat up painfully, shaking off the hand Kutch extended to help him. Refocusing, he stared at the boy. ‘You’re trying to ruin me,’ he whined.
‘Of course we’re not. I mean…it’s just a misunderstanding. I’m sure we-’
The fight resumed noisily upstairs. With surprising agility for a member of a cerebral profession who’d just fallen down
a flight of stairs, the man leapt to his feet. ‘You’ll pay for this!’ he raved. ‘Just you wait ’til the watch gets here!’
‘No, don’t!’ Kutch pleaded. ‘There’s no need for-’
