the islands were drowning in panic and terror. Fiends held sway over the ruins of what had once been places of calm and delight.
There were monsters in Babilonium now, walking the boardwalks. And the Legendary City of a Thousand Fiends, a creature that stood half a mile high, and was home—as its name implied—to ten hundred fiends, had been seen moving in the unpopulated wastes of the Island of the Black Egg. Meanwhile, in the southwest, The Great Head was no more than rubble, destroyed by some monstrous being summoned from the deeps of the Izabella. The Council who had once met in its towers, and written the entire laws of the islands and kept the peace, were now drowned or crushed in the rubble.
All the while, Mater Motley’s Arrest Squads continued to collect up anyone who was on the list of those whose names (and there were thousands) appeared on the List of the Empress’s Enemies. They continued to be shipped to the camp behind Mount Galigali, where the other device that the Nephauree had devised for her was being constructed: the Great Eraser of Souls, which was designed to put an end to every individual who had ever raised their voices against her, or that her prophetic seamstresses warned her would do so in the future.
There remained only two thorns in her side, both of which she and her legions, supported by the fury of the Stormwalker, would deal with. One was the garish nonsenses of Commexo City, where the Kid ran riot. The other was the Twenty-Fifth Hour.
She would leave the Time Out of Time until the last.
“To Commexo City then,” she murmured.
The Stormwalker heard her instruction. Walking on legs of lightning, scorching the earth black when it set one of its limbs upon an Hour, or boiling the waters of the Izabella to steam when it set one of its feet upon the sea, it turned its immensity toward Pyon, where Commexo City shone defiantly in the murk of Midnight.
Chapter 50
Out of the Deep
“MR. PIXLER! MR. PIXLER!”
Voorzangler knocked on the door of Rojo Pixler’s suite of rooms cautiously at first, then with his fist rather than his knuckles.
“
From within, Voorzangler heard what sounded like the motion of something heavy moving over the polished marble floor. Finally, emerging from this strange sound came the voice of Voorzangler’s beloved genius, the creator of the original Commexo Kid, Rojo Pixler.
“I am well aware of the situation out on the streets, Voorzangler. I have legions of Kid Kops out there, doing their courageous best. But somehow I think a more
“There’s a huge vessel—it’s a mile long, I swear—”
“The Stormwalker? Yes. I can see it on the screens in here.”
“It’s Mater Motley, Mr. Pixler. She is calling herself the Empress of All the Islands.”
Voorzangler heard the sound of live reports from the streets of Commexo City, which the great architect was presumably viewing. Pixler had built the city from the wealth the Commexo Kid had brought it. It was the work of a true visionary to have made a city of everlasting light at an Hour where the darkness was very deep. The city stood at Three in the Morning. But nobody who lived in its bright streets feared the night. Until now.
“You don’t care that this woman has a vessel capable of destroying the city—”
“She wouldn’t.”
“She’s perfectly capable of killing everything you—”
“And the Kid.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t forget the Kid.”
“But before the Kid was
“Am I . . . ?”
“Yes . . .” Voorzangler said, his voice a little less certain now, “. . . of course you are. Without you . . . There’s nothing.”
“The Kid?”
“
“Yes . . .”
“So the city, sir.”
“Yes, the city . . .” He seemed to remember the words he’d once believed above all things.
“Commexo City belongs to the Spirit of the Kid and always will.”
“Good,” Voorzangler said, relieved that the genius he worked for had not lost his grip on the order of things. “So what do we do about the . . . Stormwalker, sir? It hangs above us with all its firepower directed at the city. You don’t want any harm to the Spirit of the Kid, surely.”
“Absolutely not. This city must stand as a testament to the dreams of the Commexo Kid.”
“Good, Mr. Pixler. So . . . What should I do?”
“What would you advise?”
“Me?”
“Yes, Doctor. What would you advise for the health of the Kid’s city?”
“I don’t think we have any choice, sir. We are either destroyed or we surrender.”
“Do you think if I were to surrender to this Empress person she might come for me here?”
“I’m sorry, sir. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if she wants total supremacy, then it would be quite a coup for her, would it not? My priceless body in return for the safety of the city.”
“Is that what you want to offer her, sir?”
“Is that her?” Pixler asked, sounding quite puzzled.
“Yes, sir,” said Voorzangler. “It is.”
“How did she get onto our secure line?”
“She’s not on the line, sir. She’s here. With me.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I had no choice.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She forbade me, sir.”
“And like the sensible coward he is,” the Old Mother said, “he preferred to keep his one good eye rather than tell you the truth.”
“I don’t blame him,” Pixler said. “No doubt he thought his little life was all he had. So losing it meant more to him than it would have if he’d known the truth.”
“What are you babbling about, Pixler?” Mater Motley demanded.
“Once we witness the great certainties of the High Worlds and the Deep Worlds, once we know darkness absolute and breathe the truth of light, everything else—like life—seems inconsequential.”
“You make no sense.”
“Do I not? Well, the fault is surely mine, lady. I’m afraid I’m sick. Some strange contagion I picked up on my descent into the waters of the Izabella.”
“You’re not going to frighten me off with stories of deep-water plagues, Pixler. I fear nothing and no one.”
“Oh, Empress, that’s extraordinary!
“Sir?”
“Will you escort the Empress into the library?”
“Of course, sir.”
“I will be with you in just a moment, Empress.”
