Foreign Devils (38 page)

‘Look there,’ Samantha said, pointing beyond the rising smoke and ruinous view below us. ‘They are coming.’ The flotilla of ships in the bay had moved closer to shore. ‘They’ll wait until the fires die out and then—’

‘This area will be swarming with Medieran soldiers,’ Fisk said.

‘And Beleth is still out there, somewhere,’ I said.

We watched the city burn. In the warehouse region, there was an explosion, rising.

Samantha smiled. ‘He couldn’t wait.’

‘What’s that?’ Fisk asked.

‘Beleth. He wants the
daemon
hand back. He couldn’t wait for the fires to be extinguished before he tried to get it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Medierans.’

‘How do you figure, Miss Decius?’ Fisk asked.

‘Every thief will lock his own doors,’ she replied. ‘Beleth is untrustworthy. So he cannot trust anyone else. He had to get to my workshop before the Medierans did.’

‘How?’ I said. ‘It’s a godsdamned furnace down there.’

‘Of all the buildings in Harbour Town, that one would not have been affected. He possibly came to it by boat, maybe from the shore. I don’t know.’

‘And the boom?’ I asked.

‘A little present I left him,’ she smiled, a cold, furious expression. ‘If it didn’t kill him or his minions, then he’ll be seriously crusty for a while.’ She watched the city and her smile died. ‘Oh, gods.’

Elsewhere in the ruin, other smaller explosions sounded, no doubt bound household and industrial
daemons
being freed from their warding as silver and iron melted, stone cracked, wood splintered. The fabric of Ruman life was unravelling. The stink of brimstone was something fierce. Yet better that than the thousands of citizens down there cooking in those Hellish fires.

‘We’ll need to get to New Damnation,’ Samantha said, voice catching. ‘Marcellus will need to field the fifth, send messages east to mobilize the eight, thirteens, and whatever other forces are available.’ She turned away from the destruction and I noticed the tears streaming down her cheeks.

So much death. So much destruction.

Every soul that remained in Harbour Town was dead, or soon to be. Thousands upon thousands of souls. The weight of that knowledge was almost too terrible to bear.

Fisk drew me aside and said, ‘We should go east.’

‘East? Why?’

‘Silver.’

‘What can two men do to protect silver interests?’ I asked.

‘You mean, what can a man and a
dvergar
do to protect silver interests?’

‘Neruda.’

‘If any of us can speak to him, it’ll be you.’

‘I told you I have no connection to the man. I just ran into a folderol he’d orchestrated.’

‘You do have a connection.’ He paused. ‘Blood.’

For an instant I thought back to my rescuing
vaettir
saying ‘gynth.’

‘Godsdammit, Fisk. It’s like everyone thinks they got a piece of me.’ I shook my head. ‘We should go to the legion.’

‘No. There’s a new silverlode near
Dvergar
– that is a surety. Been there myself. If the Medierans are controlling the mouth of the Big Rill and the bay, then soon they’ll push north to reclaim Hot Springs and Passaseugo, if they can get that far. Past the fifth. But if we move quickly, and broker a deal with this Neruda fella, maybe we can keep them from the silverlode in the east. Doubt they know about it yet but they will, eventually.’

‘You’re not doing this just because you’ve got an interest in the silver money that lode will give you?’

‘Ia dammit, man!
War runs on silver!’

I thought for a while. Seeing something in me give, Fisk said, ‘So, you’ll go?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

Fisk nodded. He approached Samantha, who had been lost in her own reverie for a moment. Her secretary and attendants looked on, dazed. Fisk spoke to her in a low voice. She looked surprised, argued for a moment. I could see in her face the instant Fisk revealed the existence of the new silverlode near
Dvergar.
Then she nodded. They spoke for a bit longer. Eventually, they came back to me.

Samantha said, ‘I agree with Fisk. If there’s some chance you can secure a treaty or bargain with the
dvergar
and protect the Ruman interest in that new silverlode, you must do it.’

‘You just want to make sure your silver don’t run out.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t care about money, or silver. I care that those things keep the fabric of our country – of the
Hardscrabble
, goddamn it, Shoe – together. Money brings security. Silver brings guns. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you,’ she said, looking at me in a way that made me uncomfortable.

I spat. ‘I already told Fisk I would go.’

‘Yet you still need convincing,’ she said. ‘I’ll notify Marcellus what’s happening and requisition another one of these Quotidians – or two – so that I can communicate with you.’

‘Still don’t have to like it.’

‘Would you stop with the grousing?’ Fisk asked. ‘It’s like you and Bess are the same damned creature.’ Bess, hearing her name and in extreme pain, hawed loudly.

‘And,’ Samantha said. ‘I think it’s time to give you back this.’ She dug in her satchel and withdrew the warded box that contained the hand that held the Crimson Man.

Fisk paled. He did not reach for it.

‘You should keep hold of that, until you can destroy it,’ he said.

She looked at him, sadly, the drying streaks of tears visible on her face. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t destroy it, nor can I banish the devil inside it or I would have already. And I won’t use it. It’s time it goes back to you, its original bearer.’

‘No,’ Fisk said. ‘I won’t take it.’

She turned and extended her hand to take in all Harbour Town. ‘This power was used against us. You’ve borne the Crimson Man around your neck. We know you can withstand him, for a while at least. We may need his strength in this coming war.’

‘He stopped Croesus’ men from using Hellfire in Hot Springs,’ I said.

‘Fat lot of good that did, Ia damn you, Shoe. He burnt down the city anyway. He didn’t need Hellfire.’

‘We might need him,’ Samantha said again. ‘An army with the Crimson Man riding at the fore would be unstoppable.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You must,’ she said, holding out the warded box containing a young girl’s severed hand.

Fisk looked at it a long while, working his jaw. Finally, he took the box. ‘Ia damn you both,’ he said.

Samantha looked out at the smoke pouring into the sky from the inferno of Harbour Town. ‘He already has.’ She turned her horse about and nodded at her attendants. ‘We’ll ride to Marcellus and tell him of your plan. If I were you, I’d make haste. The Medierans are putting their ships into position and will be swarming this place within hours.’ She looked at Fisk. ‘And they’ll send folks to follow us – and you – make no mistake. So it’s better we split up.’

Fisk looked about how I felt: overwhelmed, shocked, saddened by the outrageous loss of life, and a tad pissed off about the situation forced upon us. He nodded and I found myself doing the same.

Sam held up one hand in a fist, showed us her teeth in what was either a frightening smile or a grimace, turned her horse to the north and rode off, her entourage close on her heels.

Fisk looked at me. He dug in his shirt, pulled out a sheaf of parchment tied with twine. ‘It’ll be a long while before we rest,’ he said. ‘For when we do, my friend.’

I took the papers – written in the fine, spidery script of the Quotidian – and secured them in my satchel, next to Fisk’s pistol on loan to me.

Fisk said, ‘The whole world’s gone to shit, seems like.’

The smoke was thick, and the wind had shifted, pushing it toward us. I did not get to respond.

Coughing, we kicked our mounts into motion and rode on, east and north, in a world made Hellish by fire and flame.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ides of Geminus, 2638 ex Ruma Immortalis

My dearest Fisk,

All is well with me and young Fiscelion. I am healthy and if not happy, then hearty – I’ve been packing on weight. Rice, honeyed cakes, and pork seem the staples here. But there are also puddings and iced creams and fried delicacies, from strange vegetables to obscure or unrecognizable meats, most delicious. It seems the cuisine of Kithai sits well with me. And when I say sits, it is regionally appropriate – my rump, my thighs, my stomach, of course, that great growing globe of our son – I understand gravidity.

Thanks to the Eight Silken Movements, I remain limber and mobile – though the idea of running now seems preposterous, great bits of myself moving all at once in opposing directions.

At times I find myself repulsed by smells that once had pleased me, or made me ravenous. The scent of a flower, like the water lilies that bloom on the edges of Huáng’s pools in his garden, can make me nauseous. Yet horse-dung has a rich, interesting scent that my nose seems to want to puzzle out. Fried fish or squid or other delicacies make me salivate, yet the breaded strips of pork I cannot stand.

The other morning, Delia came to our room and drew me aside and in Medieran bid me to follow her out into the garden. The boy we rescued from the stoning mob tagged along, as he’s wont to do. He follows me about like some lost puppy, without the animation. The women have taken to calling him
y
ō
ulíng
which Delia explained in her halting Medieran meant
Fantasma.
Ghost. Between the boy and Tenebrae and their quirky names, we have quite a spooky menagerie.

But on this day, I allowed myself to be drawn aside, not before ducking into my dressing area for a few minor accessories, one of them Hellfire. Strapping it to my leg under my dress felt familiar and foreign at the same time – I had to let out the straps a couple of notches to make it fit.

Why did I want my Hellfire this day? I can only say it was intuition and I had been thinking very much about what Carnelia had said to me regarding the incident of the boy. My recklessness and myopia.

Outside, as I followed Delia through the garden, I noticed the sky was clouded and great flocks of the lóng passed far overhead, out of range of the Jiang archers lining the walls of this neighbourhood, and, thank Ia, not in an expulsive mood. She led me among the bridges to the gate and when I balked at passing through them – Huáng had made it clear not to wander as Rumans about the city – two of Huáng’s men awaited alongside two litters. One of them presented me with a lovely embossed piece of parchment which read, ‘To Livia Cornelius of Rume from Sun Huáng – My apologies for not speaking to you in person: I am away on affairs of the Autumn Lords this morning. Chuienlani has asked to take you to a revered place on the city outskirts so that the life growing within you will continue to grow strong. It is a location that possesses much Qi. I have provided you with two guards and litters. You need not accompany her, if you do not wish. She is simply a servant and they can be frivolous. But, since this was a matter of female concern, and she is a trusted employee of my house since childhood, I have honoured her by facilitating her request. I remain at your service – Sun Huáng.’

Delia looked at me expectantly and smiled prettily when I nodded my acquiescence. Fantasma stood bemused, staring at the sky. Men appeared and took up the palanquins – Delia, the boy, and me in one and the two guards in the other – and trotted us down streets and through messy little neighbourhoods of multi-coloured laquerwork and white stone, moving slowly up the hill. Eventually we passed underneath a large forbidding wall ringed in armoured guards, some of whom seemed to be carrying spears and swords and others who held what looked suspiciously like Hellfire, and passed out into some woodlands, though the area was still very populous, small little hamlets far off on hillsides connected by paths where woodcutters walked with axes and fieldhands trudged to their fields, hoes and shovels over their shoulders.

The palanquin bearers eventually brought us to the ridge that overlooked Jiang and we spent some time looking out at the river snaking itself through the countryside below, but the day had grown warm and I felt some discomfort from the heat and we pressed on to this ‘blessed’ location that awaited us. A few leagues farther, we came to a strange declivity behind a copse of trees (tall narrow trees that for all the world looked like swords standing pommel down) and into a kind of raw, open place in the earth.

Once the litters were placed on the ground, we exited and Delia tugged my sleeve to lead me down toward a white rubbled area. The guards looked on impassively. Fantasma floated behind us on soft feet, with huge, unshuttered eyes, his face placid.

On the path down, we passed two women, each one heavy with child. They hailed us in some ritualized manner I could not understand. At the end of the path, we came to an open space, where a single stone statue stood, and on it was carved a beautifully simple aspect of a radiant mother, cradling an infant. Beyond the statue, a white pit. As I looked on, I could see another woman – equally pregnant – disappearing into the pit as if she was taking steps downward.

‘Come,’ Delia said, tugging my sleeve again. And I allowed myself to be led. My curiosity was getting the best of my natural wariness.

Fantasma made to follow me but Delia touched his arm and he stopped. She shook her head gravely and said ‘Wūdiăn. Impureza.’ He looked at her, bemused. That morning the serving women had dressed him in the cotton robes of a servant of the house and he looked a page to a lord, maybe. One of the more delicate and cloistered servants of rich men. His expression remained totally blank and I worried for his mind. It seemed as vacant as a passing cloud.

The steps led down into a pure whiteness. The smell of the open earth was strong here, scented with the smell of powdered stone – a smell you never know you’ve smelled until, well, you smell it, my love. I took the stairs down and was surprised that Delia did not accompany me, but when I looked back at her she shrugged and waved me forward. At the bottom of the declivity was the woman I had seen earlier, dressed in simple Tchinee garb, hair pulled into a tight bun, a colourful silk scarf fluttering behind her. She stood before a wall of the white stuff that made the whole of this place and was digging in the stuff with one of her hands while the other rested on her full stomach. She did not react as I approached her.

One hand covered in the white fabric of the wall, she brought it to her mouth and began to eat of it. Watching her, her mouth rimed in the white of the earth, something welled up in me and I don’t know if it was the stress of not being with you, my love, the weight of this child I bear, the burden of my familial and political obligations, or something else. Like the world we live in, my body has begun a war with itself, a new nation calving away into its own entity. I have lost control – I am like a leaf borne on the wind or a bit of wave-tossed flotsam on the sea, without my husband, my body turning traitor and host to a foreign thing.

I reached out and clawed at the wall, took a handful of the clay-like white dirt. I brought it to my mouth, and ate.

Afterwards, the grit of the soil in my teeth and gums, I walked from the pit wondering what had just occurred but Delia smiled and clapped like a schoolgirl and said, ‘Buena, buena, maestra! Buena!’

I felt light and airy as one of the
zhuìlì
floating above the city. I do not remember the journey back except for one occurrence. The litter bearers took a different route to the city, and we entered not from the northern gate, but a western one. The clouds had thinned and the sun made all of Jiang a refulgent, steamy cauldron. It was as if I could feel my hair curling with each moment, the moisture catching in every fibre.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows away from us, and as we entered the city the clang and clamour of life there filled the air: the cries of vendors matched by shrieks of lóng wheeling high above, the sound of hammers falling on timber and metal, the stately clop-clop-clop of beasts of burden, the sizzle and scrape of rice stalls and smoked meat sellers, the cry of children in happiness and pain, laugher. Weeping. Overwhelming smells of sewage and spices and smoke and sulphur. Heat. Moisture.

And then everything fell away, and I might have dozed off as I am wont to do in the afternoon, Fantasma pressing into my side as the palanquin rocked back and forth like a child’s bunting-bed. I woke as our small entourage passed among stone shapes and buildings and there was no smell of shit, or spiced food or burning wood, but the faint whiff of death, and mould. All was quiet except for the far-off cry of the little dragons hunting seagulls upon the currents of air.

I looked about and off to our right was a silent city of standing stones, thousands of them on a rising hill – some of them wreathed in flowers and piled with little bottles of water or rice wine or ceramic plates of little cakes. Between the stones, I saw a man standing still and watching us. An older man, white-haired, and for an instant I thought it was Huáng. I called for the palanquin bearers to halt and they did after a moment and I walked out and away from the litters. Delia remained behind, looking frightened and called, ‘No, maestra, ciudado los muerto!’

But there was someone there. I had tasted the earth earlier, the pure white earth, and now we came upon this necropolis in the heart of Jiang. I felt dislocated and centered all at once, as if this was where I was supposed to be. So I waved for Delia to be silent and beckoned the guards who lumbered along behind me slowly as I walked up the rise among the gravestones. The boy Fantasma walked dreamily by my side for a short distance.

There were people here, no doubt vagrants filching the offerings to the dead, the rice wine, the honeyed cakes. But all was silent and as I strode up the hill among the markers, I felt my earlier weights and concerns falling away, the fret of our mission, the focus on our son and his health even in my womb, my blooded connection to you, Fisk. I was fine, not out of control, fully possessed of myself, as if I’d created a fortress within me where I could live and not let the obligations and pressure of life weigh me down.

‘You are far from home, miss,’ a voice came, shocking me out of my reverie. Again I had a moment’s thought it was Sun Huáng speaking to me, for the voice had a similar cadence and timbre. I wheeled about, looking for the source of the voice, or my guards. The guards were nowhere to be seen. The speaker, though, stood a few paces from me, a wizened old man in smudged grey robes with a black-lacquered cane. His white hair haloed his head in a tangled clot but his eyes were bright and merry.

‘As are you, if you know my language,’ said I.

He gave a little laugh, as if he was generally pleased with my response. ‘I am home, miss.’ He smiled, an expression that cast his face into a beatific wrinkled mess and walked over to broken stone and sat on it. He patted the space next to him. ‘Though I have been to your land, once, when I was very young. It is how we learned your tongue, my brother and I.’

‘Your brother is Sun Huáng?’ I asked. ‘This is not a … a turn of phrase?’

‘We shared a mother long ago, but not fathers.’

I considered this. If Sun Huáng and this man were brothers, they had taken near opposite paths through life. What could have happened to cause such a division?

As I thought, I noticed Fantasma standing a few paces away, still and staring. There was a look on his face I could not place, as though more thought and consideration moved behind his gaze than I could see, like invisible currents in the sea. The boy never lolls about with an open mouth so at times he appears considered. The old man gestured to the boy and said something in Tchinee and the Fantasma moved away, out of sight.

‘What did you say to him?’ I asked.

‘I told him we wished to speak in private.’

It was remarkable that this old man’s request was obeyed by the lad. For the time he’d been with us, Fantasma did not respond to direct instruction and only wandered about dreamily. If given a task, it was more likely than not to be abandoned. If directed toward a location, he was likely to drift away. I observed him closely and could find no trace of the maliciousness the women of Uxi accused him of, yet I feared for the soundness of the young man’s mind.

‘Where are my guards?’

He looked about the sepulchral space, over standing stones and graves thick with the language of Kithai. He waved his hand. ‘Somewhere around here, I’m sure. It is easy to get turned about among the stones.’ He patted the seat beside him again. ‘Come, let us talk.’

‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Sun Wukong.’

I paused. Looked about once more for my guards. Eventually, with some effort, I dug in my dress and pulled out my sawn-off and thumbed back the triggers. The old man’s eyes widened.

‘I am no fool, sir. And as I’ve been reminded lately, I’ve got a passenger that wants protection.’ I went and sat down beside the old man, keeping the barrels pointed in his direction. ‘I have heard your name. You are spoken of with great mystery. And some reverence.’

Sun Wukong opened his hands – I could see they were spotted with liver marks but for all that they looked powerful and clever. ‘I cannot help what is said about me.’

‘Huáng said that—’

Sun Wukong laughed, a rich laugh, full of wisdom and years of mirth. ‘His tongue is made of steel, and very sharp. Mine is but the flesh of mankind.’

‘That sounds pretty but is not very clear,’ I said. The white earth I had eaten had changed me somehow, made me more fearless and hard, all at once. Though I had never been too fearful or soft in the first place. ‘I require clarity when I speak to others.’

He laughed again. ‘You truly are a Ruman,’ he said. ‘Moreso even than your brother.’

‘Have you been watching us?’

‘There is not much in Jiang that passes my notice.’

‘And your Monkey-boys?’

He gave a slight inclination of his head.