Best Laid Plans (26 page)

Gaston placed his hands on the table and glared at Elias. ‘You weren’t there. You’ve no r-r-right to judge.’

There was a time Elias would have backed away from a confrontation with Gaston, but not today. ‘Oh, I’ve every right to judge you, Gaston, after what you did to Rhiannon. I’m all for forgiveness and atonement, but what did you do when you had the chance to make the slightest amends? Turned your back on her and left her behind, that’s what.’

Gaston looked down, his face drawn and shoulders slouched.

‘That’s enough,’ Ioana snapped. ‘Gaston did everything he could. Without him we might all have been lost.’

‘Oh, bully for him.’ Elias gave a little clap.

Lallia shot him a warning glare as she pressed herself against the back of Gaston’s chair and raised her cup to her lips.

‘Well don’t think you’ve had all the fun,’ Elias said. ‘If it wasn’t for Lallia here,’ he blew her a kiss, ‘old fat-boy would have had my guts for garters. Did I tell you what happened when…’

Agna’s head hit the table with a thud. Cadris almost choked on his cake, and Ioana stared with wide eyes. Gaston was closest and shook Agna’s shoulders. He recoiled as she came bolt upright, her eyes pools of white.

‘Agna?’ Ioana said. ‘Agna, are you all right?’

Agna’s head swivelled towards her, drool trickling down her chin. ‘It’s Limus,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘Oh, Mater, it’s Limus.’

Elias put down his mug, scarcely daring to breathe. Lallia’s face had drained of all colour, and Gaston took his hands from Agna’s shoulders as if they were on fire.

‘Pain,’ Agna groaned. ‘Darkness.’

‘Oh, please,’ Elias said. ‘This is hardly the time for mystical bullshit.’

‘Shut it, Elias,’ Lallia said.

Elias sat back in his chair as if she’d slapped him. Agna’s blank eyes continued to face Ioana.

‘Cadman has him, Mater. His poor soul. He says he only has a moment; the effort is too great. He’s falling, Mater. Falling into blackness.’

Ioana sat as rigid as a statue. ‘Where is he? What can we do?’

‘Dark. Dark everywhere beneath the trees. Limus says he is heading for Dead Man’s torch,’ Agna said.

Gaston leaned forward. ‘The old beacon tower? I know how to get there.’

‘Too late for Limus.’ Agna’s voice quavered, and her glasses slipped down her nose. ‘But Rhiannon is with him. Limus says he carried her from Sarum. He is taking her to Cadman. He says he must.’

Limus carry someone?
Elias doubted he had the strength to walk there unencumbered. ‘That doesn’t seem very likely,’ he said.

Agna’s eyes rolled and the irises returned. ‘He is dead, Elias. Like the creatures in the city.’

Elias put his hand to his mouth.
Poor Limus. Poor, poor Limus.

‘He was the best of us,’ Ioana said. ‘Who else would have had the strength to reach us?’

Gaston was shaking his head. ‘Ain was strong with him,’ he said, as if he’d had a great revelation. ‘Mater, I’ll f-f-find a horse and go to the beacon. I might be able to b-b-bring Rhiannon back.’

‘No,’ Elias said, standing. ‘If Rhiannon’s in trouble, the last thing she needs is to see you. I’m going.’

‘You?’ Cadris said. ‘What can you do?’

Elias hadn’t even considered that yet. Without the statue he was as useless as the rest of them, but he couldn’t abandon Rhiannon. Not after what she’d been through. ‘I’ll think of something. I’m not as helpless as I look. Actually,’ he said with a sudden flash of inspiration, ‘I’ve already got the inklings of an idea. Coming?’ he said to Lallia.

Lallia looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had.

‘Unless you’re planning on converting,’ Elias said, indicating the priests.

***

The cart pulled up outside an immense warehouse on the edge of Calphon. Elias was sure this was the one, but it had been so many years. Decades even.

He jumped to the kerb and patted Hector before tethering him to one of the towering lampposts. Lallia climbed down and stood with her hands on her hips.

‘A warehouse?’ She puffed out her cheeks. ‘Good plan.’

‘Just you wait and see,’ Elias said, heading inside.

It was as dark and musty as he remembered. Stacks of crates extended all the way to the far end with narrow passages between them. There were some rudimentary pulleys running across the ceiling, and an assortment of pallets and ladders.

An ancient man with a thick white beard and eyebrows like brushes, peered up from a ledger set on a slanted desktop. ‘Elias Wolf, the Bard of Broken Bridge,’ he said in a parched voice. ‘Thought you’d never come.’ He flicked through the crisp pages of the ledger until he found the right place. ‘You’re thirty-five years in arrears,’ he said, looking up with rheumy eyes. ‘Have you come to settle up.’

Elias grimaced. ‘Stanley, my old mate,’ he said. ‘Gosh, how time flies. Look, I’m in something of a hurry. I need the ol’ girl. Bit of a crisis.’

Stanley shook his head and tutted.

‘What if I leave the horse and cart as insurance?’ Elias said, wondering how Hector would take that.

‘I’m sorry, Elias,’ Stanley said.

‘I’ve got instruments onboard. And herbs.’ Elias raised his eyebrows.

Stanley drummed his fingers on the ledger. ‘That old pre-Reckoning guitar? The one you used to play at the Griffin?’

‘Still do,’ Elias said, nodding enthusiastically, a terrible sinking feeling setting in. ‘Deal,’ Stanley said, standing to shake his hand. Elias’s grip was limper than he normally liked, but needs must… Stanley led them along the central aisle until they came to a particularly large crate standing by itself. Elias stroked the wood and gave it a resounding slap. ‘Prepare to be amazed,’ he said to Lallia. ‘I’m almost disappointed,’ Stanley said as he headed back to his desk.

‘I was hoping to keep it for myself.’ Elias knocked out some bolts and flicked open the catches. Taking hold of the top of a panel he pulled it away and let it fall to the floor. ‘What the shog is that?’ Lallia wrinkled her nose and peered inside. ‘That, my dear,’ Elias said, beaming from ear to ear, ‘is a motorbike.’ The chrome still shone the same as it had when he’d packed it away all those decades ago. The tank gleamed a vibrant red, its gilt star leading the eye to three letters he thought he’d never see side by side again. ‘BSA Mark IV Spitfire. 1968.’ He gave the saddle a reverent pat. ‘End of the line, but what the hell, revolution was in the air.’

Lallia gave him a blank look. Before her time. Before Elias’s even, but for him it was a magical era; one year before the Summer of Love, the inspiration for the Golden Garden festival.

‘Alloy wheel rims.’ He crouched to show what he was talking about. ‘Off-road tires, the ol’ air-cooled 654 cc vertical twin, and enough horsepower to make Hector green with envy.’

Lallia ran her palm over the leather saddle. ‘What’s it for?’ ‘You of all people should know that,’ Elias said, brushing her hand out of the way. ‘You ride it.’ He reached behind the front wheel and located a steel canister. ‘Vacuum sealed.’ He tapped the side. ‘It’ll keep forever in there.’ ‘What?’ ‘Petrol, my dear. Probably the last drop on the planet.’ Elias unscrewed the petrol cap and emptied the canister into the tank. ‘A lot of people said I sold out when I bought the ol’ girl.’ He removed his coat, wiped his fingers on it and then slung it to the back of the crate. ‘But this baby’s real technology—not that circuit board shit Gandaw was putting out. Pure craftsmanship.’

Lallia sniffed. ‘If you say so.’

Elias reached behind the back wheel this time and pulled out a black leather jacket replete with silver zips and a faded lightning bolt on the back. ‘Now let’s go get Rhiannon,’ he said, slipping on the jacket and taking out a pair of sunglasses from the inside pocket. ‘How do I look?’ he asked, tilting his chin and peering over the top of the frames.

‘Ridiculous,’ Lallia said.

Elias flicked his hair back, kicked up the stand, and wheeled the bike out of the crate. He swung his leg over the saddle and beckoned for Lallia to get up behind him.

‘What do I hold onto?’ She glanced around nervously.

‘Me,’ Elias said.

Lallia screamed as he fired the Spitfire up, opened the throttle, and roared down the aisle.

Stanley leapt up from his desk and shouted something, but Elias couldn’t hear him above the thunder of the engine.

‘What?’

‘My guitar!’ Stanley yelled.

‘In the cart!’

Lallia’s thighs pressed against his sides, her ankles crossing around his waist. Not quite the norm for riding pillion, but Elias could live with it.

‘Hold on!’ he called over his shoulder, and then they were speeding through the streets of Sarum like a bat out of hell.

T
he mawg children stood upon the rough-hewn terraces of an earthen amphitheatre. There were hundreds of them swaying and chanting in their guttural tongue. They crowded around an empty space below, which shimmered with cobalt light. A vibrant amber glow drew Shader’s eyes to the creature at the centre. The once black serpent statue was being held aloft by a cavorting male adorned with skulls and bones.

Shader crouched by the trunk of a yellow wattle and scanned the crowd for sign of the albino. Osric drifted alongside him, a barely visible outline, like something traced in the condensation on glass.

‘We are too late, it seems. I suspect the thief has already departed.’

‘Is anyone going to tell me what’s happening?’ Podesta panted from a little way down the hillside.

Shader shushed him, his attention caught by movement in the air above the dancing shaman. The cobalt sheen began to coalesce into a sphere suspended over the shaman’s head, its hue darkening as its density increased. The shaman screamed something at the assembled children and they responded with a cacophony of yapping and barking. He raised the amber statue skywards and let out a piercing shriek, the muscles in his arms and legs knotting, the veins ready to burst. The amber glow immediately dimmed. Turning in rage, the shaman pointed a long finger at one of the mawg children. The creature froze, its eyes wide with terror, and then it rose from its terrace and walked towards the shaman. As the child entered the space beneath the sphere, the shaman brought the statue down on its head with a sickening thud. The child crumpled to the ground, blood and brains spewing from its crushed skull. The shaman threw back its head and roared as the statue was wreathed in crimson flames, which licked at the sphere. The air shimmered and the surface of the sphere cleared. Within, a grey-clad man seated on a dark metal throne came into focus.

Shader tensed. Everything about the man offended his senses. His black hair had an unnatural sheen and seemed too perfect. Shader doubted it would be ruffled by the fiercest wind. The complexion was bloodless, the clothes starched and sombre.

The man reached out of the sphere and took the statue. He nodded once to the shaman, and then the sphere dissolved and he was gone. The shaman collapsed to his knees and the children began to talk in hushed murmurs.

‘There!’ Podesta hissed, breaking Shader’s rapture. ‘Heading into the trees.’

Shader slid a little way down the hill and looked in the direction the Captain had indicated. A small figure in black was moving towards the mangroves. Cleto tracked it with the slim barrel of his Aeterna-tech weapon.

Ned drew his cutlass and glared. ‘Must be that cunting Shadrak,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ He broke into a jog.

Cleto lowered his weapon. ‘Probably out o’ range,’ he said, before setting off after Ned.

‘What about the statue?’
Osric said.

‘Too late,’ Shader said. ‘Our best bet is to catch Shadrak and find out what he knows.’

***

Shader stopped at the banks of the lake. Podesta huffed and puffed behind him and stood with his fists pressed into his hips.

‘Where the shog’s Rodders?’ he said in between breaths.

Shader pointed to the longboat drifting on the far side of the lake.

‘Idiot’s supposed to be guarding it,’ Podesta said. ‘And where the Abyss are Cleto and Ned?’