Collapsing chains had shredded miles of ordinary homes. Gashes ran from the outskirts all the way down to the hub, where, through the billowing fumes, Rachel glimpsed a mound of huge metal rings and spikes. The base of the temple? She recognized it now. The great building had indeed flipped over entirely, and had punched a ragged hole through sections of Bridgeview, Ivygarths, and Lilley quarters. Most of the other foundation chains had twisted over one another, buckling entire neighborhoods for miles. Whole districts of townhouses had been compressed to rubble. Cross-chains punctured roofs, windows, and walls. Bridges and walkways dangled like banners over open abyss, while entire sections of the city hung from the sapperbane links like monstrous chain-wrapped pendulums. The only city quarters that didn’t appear to be burning were missing altogether.
Rachel felt inclined to agree with her captor: the logistics involved in reconstruction would present some problems. Evacuating survivors would have been difficult enough, yet she saw no evidence that such an operation had been attempted. The newly constructed camp seemed scarcely large enough to hold a fraction of the population and, apart from the Spine who’d helped moor the airship, it appeared to be deserted.
Far below, a bright silver flash lit the area around the Poison Kitchens. The spreading fires had just claimed one of Deepgate’s airship-fueling vats, exploding a hundred tons of aether in an instant. A cloud of flames and debris mushroomed skywards into the smoke above the city. Tiny metal shards spun out over rooftops like a shower of stars.
A moment later Rachel heard the crack of that distant concussion, and the ground beneath her trembled. The walkway shook; its support poles rattled against the edge of the precipice and tugged at the massive chain anchor buried in the rock below. Puffs of dust rose all over the hanging city as parts of Deepgate simply disappeared into the abyss. The gale seemed at once to strengthen and to wail in approval. Down beside the Scythe, flames leapt higher up one side of the Department of Military Science. Rachel took an involuntary step back.
“The incendiaries in the Poison Kitchens,” she shouted, “you can’t have had time to remove them all?”
“Fires and noxious fumes within the Department of Military Science have precluded retrieval,” the Adept said. “The Poison Kitchens are inaccessible at present.”
“You haven’t moved
“All dead.”
“Shit,” she said. “You’d better hope they had the foresight to start dumping all that crap into the abyss as soon as the fires reached them.”
“Such actions are forbidden by Codex law.”
The mirrored lenses revealed nothing of the Adept’s expression, but Rachel knew his face would be devoid of emotion. Spine tempering had rendered him so thoroughly conditioned to serve the temple and the god of chains that he remained unable to reconcile himself to the loss of either. He would stay here in Deepgate until the very last chain-link snapped apart.
“Now drink,” he said.
While Rachel slaked her thirst, she considered their position. The Spine had declared martial law. Desertion was now decreed a crime against god, and therefore subject to punishment under Codex law. Even if she could prove to them that their god was dead in his abyss, it wouldn’t make much difference. The same tempering process that had peeled away their desires had also ensured that their faith remained unassailable and inviolate. Rachel could not bargain with them. She had to hope for escape or intervention. And soon-
Flames had taken firm hold of the Poison Kitchens by now, and the metal structure looked more like a great steaming cauldron than ever before. White fumes hissed from the funnels at its apex, while thicker yellow-black smoke poured from a hundred windows and engulfed the surrounding warehouses, engineering yards, and ship berths.
The Adept motioned to two of his men, who then lifted the angel between them.
But then a gruff cry came at them from behind. Rachel turned to see six temple guards marching through the dust storm towards them. The men all carried pikes and wore heavy black-enameled plate armour. Scratches in the steel suits indicated their prolonged exposure to sandstorms. The guards’ faces were hidden by scarves tied around their heads in the fashion of desert tribesmen, but Rachel recognized Clay’s tattered cloak before the captain reached the party.
“Hold it there,” the big man called out to the Spine Adept. “We’ll take charge of these prisoners.” He stood panting for a moment, eyeing the manacles around Rachel’s wrists and Dill’s unconscious form. “My pickets,” he waved a hand, “saw the ship come in.” He exhaled and then sucked another breath in through his scarf. “Hell’s balls, I didn’t expect them to bring you back so soon. The city’s not safe-you’d best come with us.”
“We’d be glad to,” Rachel concurred.
The Spine assassins now stood in a crescent around them, their slim black figures stark before the umber desert. Deepgate’s fires burned in their mirrored lenses. The Adept said, “These are our prisoners, Captain. The temple guard no longer has authority.”
Ernest Clay gathered himself up before the other man, and yanked down his scarf, revealing his face. He looked angry. “I’ve every right to interrogate them,” he said. “They were out in the Deadsands for-what? — six, seven days? And another week in Sandport before you caught them. That girl’s still got contacts up and down the Coyle. Chances are she’ll have heard a lot more about our enemy’s plans than you have.”
The assassin spoke from behind his mask. “Captain,” he said flatly, “your persistent interference in Spine affairs is becoming…inconvenient. I do not believe you intend to interrogate either of these prisoners. None of those you have gathered for questioning have, as far as we know, yielded useful reconnaissance. Nor have our captives ever been returned to us. Evidently you are trying to divert such people into your own camp for other reasons.” He paused, tilted his lenses to one side. “Do you disapprove of our methods of punishment?”
Clay grunted. “I don’t care what you do with your captives. Just stick to your job, and I’ll stick to mine. But it seems to me your torture cells are already full to bursting. We’re doing you a favor by easing the burden a bit.”
“That may-”
“Besides,” Clay broke in. “None of your new Cutters will speak to me. How am I to know what’s happening out there if I can’t question a few deserters?”
“Yet you invariably choose to interrogate the women and children.”
“Makes sense.” The captain scowled. “We’ve bugger-all food left, in case you hadn’t noticed. Since you won’t let us question everyone, we’ll take the ones who eat the least.”
The Adept seemed to consider this.
“There might be a thousand Shetties a league from here, right now,” Clay went on, “and we wouldn’t know about it. We haven’t been able to reconnoiter effectively since the sandstorms started. All this smoke around the city will bring metal scavengers and raiders all the way down from the Northern Steppes. We’ve already learned that they’ve been sniffing round the caravan trails for water and women.” He tipped his head at Dill. “And he looks like he needs medical treatment. Don’t you need them healthy before you start cutting into their brains? We have a doctor in our barracks.”
“Nevertheless,” the Adept replied. “I cannot sanction the release of these two. The archon is temple property. This woman was a Spine Adept, and as such remains our responsibility.”
“Let me have them for a couple of days,” Clay said. “I’ll bring them back to you myself.”
“You have already reneged on similar promises, and then lied to conceal your deceit.” Another explosion in the chained city bloomed in the assassin’s silvered lenses. Sand howled around him. “Prisoners who you claimed had died under interrogation have since been discovered alive, hidden in one of the Codex bunkers. Such deception will no longer be tolerated.”
Clay winced.
“We are prepared to make allowances, Captain,” the Adept said. “But do not take us for fools, and do not test our leniency.”
The captain paused. “I’d still like to question the girl, if I may,” he said. “If you’ve no objections, I’ll accompany you to the temple.”
“As you wish.”
The group tramped down the steep walkway into the ruins of the district known as the League of Rope. Once
