She told him everything: their plan to reach Sabor's castle; the decision to recruit an army of men along the way; Dill's fight with the arconite in the forest, and its subsequent effect on Hasp. She admitted that she had killed two of Oran's men in the Rusty Saw's saloon in order to protect the glass-skinned god. And, after a moment's hesitation, she even told the truth about the watchtower Dill had destroyed.
“You have made a lot of mistakes,” Iron Head said.
“This is only my second war. I'm learning.”
The old soldier scratched his beard. “I have good reason to believe that Sabor escaped Coreollis unharmed,” he said. “We'll take you to his castle at once.”
“How far is it?”
“The Obscura? No more than an hour by boat and another two hours' march,” he told her. “The realm of Herica lies directly across this lake. My family came from there originally.” He nodded privately to himself as though deciding upon the elements of a plan forming in his mind. “The vast majority of them still work for Sabor-and have for decades now.”
“Sounds like a large family.”
“You could say that.” He gave her an enigmatic smile. “Thanks to Sabor, I'm fortunate enough to have the largest family in the history of the world.” He grunted. “Of all my brothers it's a shame you met Oran first.”
He peered into the back of Dill's massive jaw. “Might I see the giant's workings for myself?”
“You'd better let me warn Mina.”
But the thaumaturge yelled from within: “I heard it all, Rachel. My ears might be covered in glass, but I'm not deaf. Hold on, I'm coming out.”
She crawled out of the low passageway, holding, as always, her demonic dog. Iron Head's brows rose when he saw her, but he made no comment. He stepped on past the thaumaturge, and peered into the crawl space. “Please wait here,” he said. And then he got on his hands and knees and shuffled into the narrow passage, the shaft of his hammer knocking against the roof.
Mina watched him disappear. “I'm going to charge him a copper double when he comes back out,” she said. “This is too creepy. It reminds me so much of my freak show days.”
“You will
“I ought to,” Mina replied. “Why on earth would he want to look inside
They looked like they were about to flee, but then the young man whom Rachel had first seen broke through their ranks. “Where's the captain?”
She jabbed her thumb behind her.
The soldier ducked his head between the giant teeth. “Trouble, Captain,” he shouted. “The rest of these big bastards have just arrived.”
Carnival did not know why she flew after the shape-shifting boy. She felt nothing for him, and nothing for the boy's father. No hunger troubled her here in Hell. Neither did she dwell on John Anchor's reasons for casting the strangely persistent weapon far across the subterranean river. She just didn't care.
Nevertheless, of all the paths she could have taken, her instincts drove her to follow one that would bring her to the boy.
The boy who called himself Maybe John was guised in human form again, sitting alone on one of the fleshy banks separating the waterways, his elbows supported on his knees. The shins of his breeches were drenched in blood. He looked up as Carnival drew near.
She landed ten yards away in ankle-deep shallows, still uncomfortable to be in his presence and altogether unsure of her reasons for seeking him out. For a long moment she just stared at him. Perhaps she had come here out of simple curiosity? After all, she had never seen anything like him. Or perhaps the darker part of her heart had an altogether different motive?
“I can't remember what I used to look like,” he said suddenly. “That's maybe why he didn't recognize me.” He held up one finger before his face and watched as the flesh turned into a thin metal spike. The spike then curled around itself like a child's doodle. “And don't say I should just have told him. No point in doing that until I know for sure he's my old man.”
Carnival said nothing.
“I can't remember much before the Icarates got me,” he went on. “The Mesmerists work like that. They persuade you that you're something else, and you believe them.” He lowered his hand and stared into the waters. “I'm not really a shiftblade. They just convinced me I was.” He paused. “Did you have to kill Monk?”
The scarred angel made no reply.
“He only tried to loosen the bolts,” the shape-shifter continued. “We was all hungry on that ship, but you didn't have to kill him.” He looked up at her. “Are you going to kill me, too, now?”
Still she said nothing.
“Or did you want a sword? Most people want a sword. You learn that pretty quick. The Mesmerists gave me to a nobleman on Cog, but his wife died of Early Cough and he killed himself on the edge of my blade. I made myself really sharp for him, like he asked me to.”
All of the boy's fingers suddenly became knives. They glittered in the uncertain light. “Good swords are difficult,” he said. “Hammers are easier, but it hurts more when they use you. If you need a weapon down here, you need me.”
“No,” she said at last. It was the truth. Down here the dark moon didn't pluck at her nerves. Whatever vengeance her heart had demanded had been satisfied. She felt no further desire to kill. She gazed up across the vast reaches of the Maze, at the millions of souls trapped together, and she felt suddenly cold. The red river seemed to tug insistently at her ankles. She bent down and scooped some up in her hand, lifting it to her lips.
It tasted dead.
The boy watched grimly as she emptied her hand. “I don't think that was a good idea,” he said. “It won't like that at all.”
The river?
She felt it suddenly in her throat, a strange sensation of pressure as the liquid she'd sipped crawled back up towards the back of her mouth. She coughed and tried to spit, but the fluid seemed to have a mind of its own. It flooded the passages behind her nose and then burst out of her nostrils in guttering spasms.
Carnival gasped.
The boy stood up. “They're coming now,” he said quickly. “Take me away from here. I can be useful to you.”
The angel drew in a breath. She spied movement at the edge of her vision, and turned.
Something strange was happening. The waters bubbled and frothed.
“Please carry me out of here,” the shape-shifter pleaded. “You have to leave now, before it's too late. Take me with you.”
From the myriad waterways all around rose an army of red warriors, hundreds of them, all clad in glutinous armour and clutching dripping weapons. Carnival wheeled, watching as more and more of them emerged above the surface of the river. Their faces looked roughly human, but like rude sculptures, without detail. Yet their weapons looked sharp enough.
The boy grabbed her hand, having elongated his arm to reach across the ten paces between them. “They're dangerous!” he cried. “Fly!”
She snatched her hand away from his, aware of the tricks he had used to attach himself to the tethered man. She lashed her wings and took to the air.
The boy yelled at her, but his words were drowned out by a much deeper voice that seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. “Come back!”
The men in the river had spoken as one.
Carnival's instincts drove her to fly higher. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her skin crawled with sensations emanating from countless old wounds, filling her with a sudden rush of hatred and anger. Twenty yards above the river, she paused and looked down.
Something massive was forming in the seething waters. It looked like a huge bubble, but as the angel
