Iron Angel

supposed enemies, the very companions of those he was here to kill, were welcoming him.

14

REVELATIONS

With his rope and harness, his night-hued skin, and arms and shoulders that looked powerful enough to crush an ox, he was certainly the strangest man Rachel had ever seen. Yet he beamed at Trench and herself with such open delight that she felt herself relaxing, despite the crowd of mounted Heshette warriors hovering in his wake.

“The very people I look for,” the giant boomed. “Yes? The boy angel and his assassin friend from Sandport. Good, good-we have much to discuss.”

Rachel frowned. The very people he was looking for? Her unease began to creep back. She clutched the puppeteer’s dog to her breast. It gave a gentle growl.

Trench clasped hands with the big man. “I must speak with Cospinol at once,” he said. “I have an urgent message to deliver.”

Now Anchor’s brow creased. “You have the right body, but the wrong soul,” he remarked, staring down at the angel. “Very strange.” He flicked his eyes to Rachel and studied her dog for a moment, before returning his attention to Trench. “It is just you with the wrong-shape soul. Wrong-shape sword, too-a shiftblade, yes?”

“That’s not important,” Trench replied. “Tell Cospinol-”

“It is important,” Anchor persisted. “You were dead, yes? Dead souls should not be moving the living like puppets. Dead souls should not carry demons with them.” He turned to Rachel and pointed at the pup she carried. “And you…where did you find this creature?”

“The dog?”

“It is not just a dog.”

Rachel hesitated. “It belonged to a thaumaturge.”

Anchor grinned. “Belonged? No, I think it is the other way around. Basilis is much older than he appears. Older than John Anchor, even.”

A soft sound came from the animal’s throat.

Rachel looked closely at the pup. It nuzzled her fingers. She could feel its heart beating, the warmth of its tiny body against her palm. It weighed nothing, a harmless ball of fur.

Basilis?

Trench was becoming agitated. He quickly told the giant all about his ascent from Hell, his possession of Dill’s body, and their escape from Deepgate. As his story unfolded, the Heshette edged their horses nearer. Soon Rachel felt their dark eyes slide to her Spine armour. She held the puppy close to her chest. Quietly she began to note their various weapons.

As Trench and Anchor continued to converse, Rachel learned that the giant had come here in response to the Mesmerist threat against his own land. At Anchor’s talk of gods and skyships, the assassin found her eyes lift in awe to follow that huge rope up into the foggy skies. The god of brine and fog? Trench refused to relay his message to Cospinol via Anchor, insisting instead on an audience with this sea god himself. The tethered giant thought about this for a long moment, then agreed. “Cospinol will hear you,” he said. “But you must leave the shiftblade down here. He fears assassination.”

Behind him, the rope trembled.

“He does not fear assassination,” Anchor corrected himself. “But leave the shiftblade anyway.” His gaze lingered on Mina Greene’s dog, but then he peered up and studied the poisonous canopy. “I fear to bring Cospinol’s ship all the way down through these branches,” he announced. “But there are gaps between the trees through which it may be possible to lower a rope, if the ship is near enough to the ground.”

He reached behind his back and began to heave the rope down towards him.

Rachel, it seemed, was not the only one here to be witnessing this spectacle for the first time, for all the Heshette turned their gazes upwards and began to mutter among themselves and point at the heavens in nervous expectation. She wondered how Anchor had come to travel with such a ragged crew, but then her attention snapped quickly to the sky. The shadow of something massive was descending upon Cinderbark Wood.

As Anchor pulled the rope down hand over fist he called out, “You stay with your friend’s body, Rachel Hael? Even though his soul is gone to Hell.”

Rachel realized he had spoken to her. “I…” she began. The object above seemed impossibly vast; it was difficult to pull her eyes away from it. “We made a deal. I help Trench deliver his message, and he gives up Dill’s body.”

“And where is your other companion? The scarred one.”

“She…” Rachel’s instincts shouted a warning. How did this stranger know about Carnival? How did he know how to find them? The very people I look for. The answer dawned on her at once. Cospinol was Ulcis’s brother.

Oh, shit.

“I haven’t seen her in weeks,” she replied quickly. “She abandoned us before we reached Sandport.” Rachel dared not tell the man about her suspicions that Carnival had been shadowing them. A clash between the scarred angel and this stranger would not help their situation.

Anchor grinned as he continued to drag span after span of rope down from the sky. “Not such a good friend, then, eh?” The stench of brine intensified as the fog above the canopy grew ever darker. “A friend does not leave her companions behind.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call her a friend.” Rachel could hear chilling sounds issuing from above now. Distant howling? She kept her gaze pinned to the heavens. The dog in her arms barked, and she stroked its coat to calm the little thing. “What do you want with her?”

The big man beamed. “I bear her no grudge.”

Great spars of timber appeared through the gloom over their heads, thousands of them. Like the upturned masts and yards of a whole flotilla of ships, they formed a vast, cluttered mass of wood which stretched as far as Rachel could see. There were armoured figures hanging everywhere among this construction-the source, the assassin now realized, of the growing clamour. She gave an involuntary gasp.

The horses reared in panic. Curses went up as their riders struggled to control them. Anchor kept pulling on the rope, inching the whole skyship earthwards. “If her death can save the world,” he said to Rachel, “would you give her up?”

“I don’t think very much of Carnival,” Rachel said. “But then I don’t think much of the world, either.”

Anchor laughed, but then a mighty crash came from somewhere nearby as the lowest parts of descending gallows collided with the canopy of Cinderbark Wood. A short distance to the east, several wooden beams had sliced down through the poisoned trees. Stone branches fell in bright showers, raising puffs of sand where they struck the ground. The howling in the skies grew suddenly louder as Anchor’s captives fought against their nooses- an entire army of dead men.

“Sorry,” Anchor boomed. “I was not paying attention. Cospinol’s ship is low enough, I think.” He stopped hauling on the rope, leaving the bulk of the skyship floating a few yards above the canopy.

Rachel felt as though she had been trapped between two worlds. Cospinol’s incredible vessel and Cinderbark Wood had clamped together like the teeth of Heaven and earth, and now, impossibly, the assassin found herself staring up at an army of damned souls. Hundreds of warriors hung from their nooses, moaning, crying out in unknown languages. Their voices echoed through the fog.

“Always complaining,” Anchor muttered with irritation. He pinned the rope under his foot, then turned to Trench. “Cospinol sends down a rope now. You hold on tight, they pull you up. Is better to ascend this way.” He nodded. “The other way is…eh…not so good for living bodies.”

“I’m going with him,” Rachel announced. She had looked after Dill’s body since Deepgate, and she wasn’t about to let it out of her sight now.

Anchor shrugged. “As you wish. You go up, you come back down later. Afterwards we speak about your