watched, it swelled and took on a new shape. Shoulders appeared on either side of the initial protrusion, then arms and eventually hands. Even as Carnival thrashed her wings to lift herself even higher, the crimson thing burst upwards like a geyser.
For a heartbeat the giant, incomplete figure lolled drunkenly in the gloom before her, a thing of bone and sinew and layers of sluicing liquid. It seemed to Carnival that it might collapse, but then its hands reached out for her.
She thumped her wings, but not quickly enough. Red fingers closed around her leg and pulled her sharply down. In the instant before she hit the water, she caught a glimpse of the creature looming down on her. Wings had sprouted from its back, while its eyeless face was now etched with scars.
She closed her eyes and mouth as the waters slammed over her. The river was shallow; her back struck something soft and pliant. She struggled, tried to rise, but remained trapped in the grip of the giant.
Carnival thrashed violently, using her nails to tear at the hand holding her down. She felt its skin shred, the hard knuckles underneath, so much harder than the surrounding waters. Her fingers closed around something round and solid. She wrenched it sideways.
The giant eased its grip.
Carnival broke the surface of the river. She sucked in a breath of air and staggered to her feet.
The creature had roughly assumed the shape of an angel. It towered over the river, clutching the back of its hand as if in pain. Dark crimson wounds crisscrossed its bright red arms. It swayed on its long legs, as though it had not fully learned how to use them.
The warriors in the river had no such infirmity, however. They were fast closing on Carnival, their liquid- forged weapons ready. The nearest of them drew back his spear…
Carnival felt a small hand grab her own. The shape-shifter boy was by her side, though only his head remained above the frothing water.
“Let go,” she cried, turning fiercely away. A spear lanced past her shoulder. She glanced over to see another spear growing in the hand of the river man who'd thrown it. The replacement weapon flowed from the warrior's own fist. Cold fury bucked inside her. Her gaze snapped to his wet red throat and she crouched to pounce.
“You need a weapon!” The shape-shifting child was still clutching her hand. And as she looked he began to change. His body diminished, twisted itself into a new form. She saw the glint of steel.
The river spoke to her again, its voice as soft as rain. “Join me.” Overhead, the unsteady giant leaned over her, its hands grasping for her neck.
Carnival swung the blade.
The sharp edge met with little resistance. She severed the tips of two of the giant's fingers, and brought the weapon back for another strike before they had yet fallen to the water. Her second blow split the thing's palm along the middle. Red droplets spattered her face. She felt them tighten on her skin… and
Complete rage overcame her.
She unleashed a furious attack, hacking at the giant's arms and at the hands of river men who groped for her. She split open a dripping skull and, striding forward, reached the giant's knees and plunged the blade in deep.
The thing collapsed.
The river howled.
But the lesser warriors continued to advance. And Carnival threw herself amongst them, hacking and thrusting, her demon blade a whir of steel. There were many of them, and wherever they fell others rose to take their place. Carnival could not kill them all, but neither could she stop her slaughter. The sword danced to her fury.
The waters tried to suck her down, but she would not be dragged under again. It formed walls before her and she cut through them. Red weapons lunged for her on all sides and she chopped them down and returned the men who wielded them to the waters that had birthed them.
In relentless waves they came. With her dark eyes shining murderously under the lamplights of Hell, Carnival waded onwards through the bloody river to meet them. She had given up any thought of escape. Rage filled her soul entirely. If this endless river had limits, then they would be tested here.
John Anchor watched the disturbance in the distant gloom. It looked like a red storm front moving across the surface of the waters. “That looks about where I threw that shiftblade,” he commented.
Harper glanced down at her locator and then back at the horizon. “It's Carnival,” she said. “My locator is too afraid to search for soul traffic in that direction. It coped with the river, before, but not with her. I don't even know what she is, John.”
The big man beamed. “You need to discipline Mesmerist tools, eh? Or do you just give them a hug now and then?”
“Cuddles only embarrass it.”
He laughed, then rested his fists on his hips and let out a long sigh. “We are in a pickle, yes? The river has turned its attention to the angel now.” He moved one foot through its limp waters. The currents that had been pushing them towards the Ninth Citadel had stopped. “And we do not know which way to go. The god of the Failed has become distracted.”
“By the look of that cloud,” Harper said, “that's a good thing.”
Anchor turned away and gazed back over the wreckage of the
He had eaten them all, and without more, his strength would soon fade.
“A very big pickle,” he repeated under his breath. And then he smiled again and turned back to the engineer. Unconsciously he glanced at the bottle she held cradled against her heart, the container that held her husband's soul.
The waterlogged street had become chaotic. On Iron Head's orders, Rachel instructed Dill to drop his pretence of submission and deposit the Rusty Saw tavern by the wharf side. She called to Mina, who met her outside just as the town defenders were hurriedly regrouping. Glances flicked the thaumaturge's way but didn't linger, as the Burntwater militia was given orders by its captain.
“This is an evacuation,” Iron Head yelled. “Women and children to the barges and skiffs. Holden, signal the pilots. Spindle, take your men-you already know what to do. I want twelve units, four to the east and four west of Hoggary Row. The third group, take up position at the junction of Ashblack and Green Darrow, or as close as you can get. Bernlow, Malk, Cooper, Geary, Wigg, someone else-you, Thatcher-keep the attackers divided, and away from the wharfs. Harry them and then retreat, but don't let those bastards step on you.”
Basilis began to bark. Mina tried to shush him, but he wouldn't be silenced. The ragged little dog struggled against her grip, his eyes fixed somewhere to the rear of the crowd.
“What's wrong with him?” Rachel asked.
Mina peered into the crowd. “Nothing's wrong with him. He's just barking at you.”
“Me?”
The thaumaturge seemed distracted, and it took her a moment to respond. “What? No.” She turned back to Rachel, shaking her head. “I don't know… I suppose one of the militia must have startled him.”
They were interrupted by a door banging.
Oran came barging out of the tavern, red-faced and full of raging accusations, but stopped short when he saw Iron Head. “You're not actually
“Shut up, Oran,” the captain said. “Look there.” He gestured with his pole towards the southern perimeter of the settlement, then turned away as a group of his soldiers came running up. “Fire the bales and coke in the warehouses,” he instructed the men. “Tar them first if there's time. Another two units… Weatherman and Block, go find them and spread the word. I want the whole dockside burning right
“Captain?” The young lieutenant frowned.
“Smoke, man, smoke. They're too big to take down, so we need cover and confusion. This mist's too thin to
