City of Dreams and Nightmare (25 page)

“We’re working on it,” Richardson growled, as if insulted by the implication that they weren’t, although Tylus suspected the watch had suffered far worse insults.

“We were hoping you might help us discover what these devices are intended to do,” Tylus said.

Dewar glared at him, as if he had spoken out of turn in some way, though he failed to see why.

“Help, you say? Why would I wish to do that?”

“Perhaps we could help each other,” Dewar said quickly.

“Go on.”

“You mention that your pets have bought some of these things back here, so you’re aware that this Maker is encroaching on your territory.”

“His horrors are everywhere,” the dog master confirmed. “Mass-produced shoddy little tin cans with legs. They’re crawling around all over the place, and for there to be so many he must be making them from a template and rolling them off a production line.”

“Is that possible?”

“Anything’s possible if you’re willing to sacrifice quality. I am not. Look at Sirius here.” He patted the hound beside him. “Pure craftsmanship and one of a kind. Whereas this thing,” he tossed and caught the curled-up construct again, “is nothing more than inferior quality, assembly-cloned junk.”

Dewar nodded his sympathy. “Yet the Maker’s creatures trespass, they invade your domain.”

“True, all too true. You are suggesting, I take it, that it would be in my best interests to assist you in your efforts since they are aimed at stopping the Maker and his invasive creations.”

“Precisely.”

The little man’s head bobbed from side to side, as if he were inwardly debating the idea. “Your argument does have a certain merit.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

The dog master paced in front of them, as if considering the possibility. “So what exactly would you want of me?”

“Your expertise, your insight, your peerless knowledge,” Dewar flattered, shamelessly. “Specifically, we need to find out exactly what these devices of the Maker’s do and how they do it. Once we know that much, we can begin to work out a way of stopping them.”

“And so you come to me.” Abruptly, the dog master started to laugh; an edgy, hysterical sound. Tylus and Richardson exchanged anxious glances. “You must forgive me,” he said as the laughter subsided, “but this is all just so wonderfully rich, bizarre even. As if the guard actually taking their responsibilities seriously is not astonishing enough, we now have you, Dewar, of all people, standing by their side. Despite what people may say, surely it is the world that has gone mad and not I.”

Dewar’s smile in response was a tight thing lacking any hint of amusement. “That’s as may be, but you remain the one person best qualified to unravel the secrets of these devices. Will you help us and in doing so help yourself?”

“Oh, I’ll help you alright; particularly since I already know the answers, so it won’t require any real effort on my part. But there is a condition; something you must agree to do before I share my secrets with you.”

“Namely?”

“When you go after this Maker, as I’m sure you will, you must take one of my pets with you.” He patted the false-dog beside him. “I may not be able to accompany you in person, to witness his downfall with my own eyes, but at least I’ll be able to see it by proxy.”

All of which depended on their ability to find and defeat this Maker in the first place, of course. Tylus only wished he shared the dog master’s apparent confidence on that score. Dewar looked enquiringly across at him. The Kite Guard could see no obvious objection to the man’s demands, so nodded his agreement.

“Very well,” Dewar replied, turning back to the dog master.

“Excellent!” The small man clapped his hands together and rubbed them with apparent glee. “Now, you want to know what these devices do. Tell me first what you think they do.”

“Control people in some way…”

The dog master shook his head, “No, no, nothing like that; they don’t control people, they infect them!” He spread his arms and hooked his fingers, looming forward like some villain from a pantomime intent on intimidating his audience.

“With what?” Dewar responded calmly.

“I’ll show you!” The dog master’s smile reminded Tylus of an excited child’s, desperate to share a secret. He crooked a finger, summoning them to follow, then turned and walked across to a worksurface.

As he emerged from beneath a cluster of hanging cables and looped tubing, Tylus was amazed to discover that above this work station sat an array of screens fixed to the wall, three rows of them, the bottom two at least a dozen across, the top only a few less.

“My eyes,” the dog master explained, gesturing towards the ranks of screens. Perhaps he noted Tylus’s reaction, or perhaps he was merely showing off. “Everything my pets see, I see.”

Each screen showed a different view of the under-City, each depicted in black and white but all with crystal clarity. With a start, Tylus realised that one of the images was of them, as seen from behind and from a low elevation. He looked over his shoulder to find the hound Sirius, which had led them here, staring back at him.

“Now, where is it?” The dog master was rummaging among a clutter of objects on one corner of the desk. “Ah yes.” He picked something up, his back masking from the Kite Guard exactly what, and moved across to a bulky implement standing on another section; a microscope. He placed whatever he had found on the viewing stand, peered into the lens and gently rotated a large wheel, adjusting the focus. “There.” He gestured for them to come forward.

Dewar looked first, then grunted and stood back to make way for Tylus. Closing one eye, the Kite Guard peered down, to see a transparent, segmented worm. As he watched, the thing wriggled, and a part of another, similar thing moved briefly in and out of view across the top left-hand corner. Tylus had encountered microscopes during training but had never felt entirely comfortable with these revealing glimpses into the micro-world. He stood up again quickly, allowing Richardson to step forward.

“What is it?” he asked the dog master bluntly.

“What indeed. It’s a worm; an augmented, gene-spliced, tiny, tiny worm.” Now the man’s finger and thumb closed together before one squinting eye in dramatic illustration, leaving just the hint of a gap. “It’s a cunningly designed and highly specific human parasite.” He said the last as if revealing the secrets of the universe.

The dog master was quite mad, Tylus realised. Was he really the best they could look for as an ally?

The strange little man now came towards him, leering. “This unseen saboteur is carried dormant within these pathetic little constructs. When the spidery legs latch onto a victim, the two at the spine and neck each inject one of these tiny worms into the spinal column – two in case one should fail. The worms then maketheir way into the brain. Once there, the successful one targets specific areas, changing, changing, always changing, so that the infected person sees the world differently, thinks in new ways and wants new things. He mistrusts his friends and schemes against them, wants them all to be infected just as he is. That’s what drives him you see, that’s what now shapes his desires. The parasite doesn’t destroy a person, doesn’t take them over, it simply moulds them into an altered form, into its vassal.

“While all this is happening, the spidery little device moves on to infect another victim and then another, with each victim joining a growing army of people colluding with the devices to produce even more victims.

“Very clever, these parasites, and very dangerous. They seem to be so specialised that the brain is only susceptible at a specific stage in its development, leaving them with a very narrow age range to target.”

“Teens,” Dewar said.

“Street-nicks,” Tylus added. Something abruptly clicked into place. “And anyone who’s outside that age range, who isn’t vulnerable and gets in their way, the infected individuals will try to kill.”

“Possibly,” the dog master conceded dismissively. “As a defence mechanism, if someone threatens to prevent them following their new purpose; that would make sense.”

Dewar grunted.

Doubtless he was realising that this was probably why the Blue Claw had attacked him en-masse for no apparent reason. Tylus’s own thoughts were elsewhere. He was remembering his first encounter with Sergeant Able, and the guardsman who had rushed in to report two new street-nick corpses: “Older boys, lieutenants,” the officer had described them as. Here at last was the explanation for the spate of street-nick deaths. He felt certain that, if anyone went to the trouble of checking, those killed would prove to be the older and younger boys, mainly the older ones, since they were most likely to be in authority.

“Yes, it’s a very clever, very subtle little worm,” the dog master said, almost gleefully.

“But I thought you said the devices were crude and lacked any real craft,” Tylus blurted out, a little maliciously, because he thought he had caught the dog master out. The comment earned him another furious glare from Dewar. Not that their host seemed to take offence.

“Ah,” said the little man, raising a finger dramatically, “and therein lies the true puzzle. How can someone inept enough to produce crude and offensive little constructs like that spidery device also manufacture such an insidious and brilliantly-crafted weapon as these parasites? The two simply don’t go together, and yet clearly they do.

“If you ask me my friends, which of course no one will, that is the mystery you should really be trying to solve.”

FOURTEEN

The closer they got to home, the more Tom began to fret about the sort of reception he could expect. What would Lyle say when he returned empty handed, what would he do to him? Tom had been so close to his goal, with the Upper Heights themselves only a few Rows away. Frustrating, but it was unlikely to cut any ice with Lyle. All he cared about was results, and “nearly” was never going to be near enough for the Blue Claw’s leader. Then there was the question of Jezmina’s reaction. Would he be a hero in her eyes for daring to take on such a reckless task in the first place, or a failure for coming back with nothing to show after doing so?

Tom felt that his luck, which had been so in evidence during the long climb through the Rows, had deserted him in the Residences the moment those two arkademics stepped into view. Since then, things just seemed to have gone from bad to worse.

On top of all his other concerns, he wasn’t sure what to do about Kat. In truth, he had begun to recognise the streets they now walked through some while ago, but hadn’t said anything. To their left, just a short distance away, lay the edge of the Runs, and if they continued walking in their current direction they would soon stumble upon the market square, which was effectively the beginning of Blue Claw territory.

But he didn’t want Kat to leave, not yet. He couldn’t exactly explain why, even to himself, except that he liked her and trusted her. In the past couple of days he had enjoyed a closer sense of companionship with this renegade street-nick than he ever had with anyone else, even the other members of the Claw. And, despite all the troubles they’d been through and all the unrest that currently ran through the streets, he felt safe with her, knew that she could be relied on in a scrape.

He realised at some point she would leave him and he was prepared for that. Just not yet.

“You all right?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“You looked deep in thought.”

He grinned. “With all that’s going on, can you blame me?”

“S’pose not.” She looked around. “We can’t be too far away now.”

“No,” he said quickly, suppressing a pang of guilt, “we can’t be.”

Despite him wanting Kat to stay around for as long as possible, he was also, at the same time, a little nervous about having her meet Jezmina. Quite what the sensitive and naïve Blue Claw girl and the maverick, worldly-wise street-nick would make of each other didn’t bear thinking about. He suspected that neither would be impressed and that each would think a little less of him for associating with the other.

The nearer they came to the market, the more these worries grew. In fact, they took up so much of his thoughts that he completely overlooked the obvious until he and Kat arrived at the corner of a street he knew well: Thorp Street. Halfway along, on the left, was Thorp’s Tap House, a dingy, grotty watering-hole, reputedly the oldest tavern in the City Below. Throughout much of its long history, the rooms above the tavern had acted as headquarters for the Sand Dragons, one of the gangs whose territory jostled uneasily alongside that of the Blue Claw.

He stopped dead in his tracks. Never, in all the many times he had walked past this particular corner, had he seen it free of street-nicks. It was one of the Dragons’ permanent posts, yet today there was no sign of them. In fact, now that he came to think of it, they hadn’t seen a nick all morning.

“Problem?” Kat asked, looking around, trying to see what had startled him.

“Yeah, something’s wrong – there aren’t any street-nicks.”

She shrugged. “They’ve been rarer than an honest razzer all day.”

“I mean here in particular.”

“You finally know where we are?”

“I know that corner: that’s Sand Dragon territory and they always have lookouts stationed there.”

“About breckin’ time you recognised somewhere.”

Tom had been scanning the walls of buildings they passed ever since leaving the temple, yet when he glanced up now and saw what he had been afraid of seeing all along, it still made him start. One of the spider-limbed constructs was splayed against the wall behind and above Kat.

“Oh Thaiss, not again!”

The girl’s knives were in her hands even before she spun around, following his gaze. “Persistent little breckers, aren’t they?”

That first was joined by a second and then a third, sliding into view from the building’s roof.

A passing man muttered something disapproving to his companion on seeing Kat’s knives, loud enough for them to hear, but the words were spoken over his shoulder as he strode on down the street and Tom didn’t really catch them. Like Kat, his attention was focused elsewhere. Instinctively, the pair of them edged away from the wall towards the centre of the street. Tom’s gaze never left the three devices, which had become five, as the things crept down the wall, but presumably Kat’s did. Either that or she had eyes in the back of her head, because the girl suddenly said, “Thaiss! More of them behind us.”

Tom glanced over his shoulder, to see the wall of the building they were backing towards apparently alive with spidery limbs and unblinking eyes.

“How many of these frissing things are there?”

“Too many. Come on.”

She tapped his arm and the pair of them started running, continuing down the street that led to the market. She had sheathed one of her blades, but still carried the other clenched in her right fist. Nor were they the only ones hurrying away from the swarm of strange devices. People changed direction and scurried away as quickly as possible, though it was doubtful whether any of them needed to have worried. There could be little doubt that the two teenagers were the quarry in this peculiar hunt; the spider-limbed bots scurried along roof edges and across walls and even skittered across roads, whatever was needed to keep pace with the fleeing youths.

“I seem to have done a lot of this since meeting you,” the girl yelled across.

“What, run you mean?”

“Yeah.”

He could hardly argue.

Not everyone was running away, Tom noticed. Ahead were a group who looked to be doing anything but. They were standing around as if waiting for the hunt to reach them.

“You know those missing street-nicks?” the girl called. “I think we just found ’em.”

“I noticed,” Tom replied between gasped breaths. His side was beginning to hurt, but he ignored it. A dozen or so nicks began to spread out, completely blocking the street. He and Kat were not simply being hunted, he realised, they were being herded. The nicks and the Maker’s devices were working together in some unholy alliance.

They were trapped: street-nicks ahead and unnatural devices behind. The buildings were solid on both sides; no alleyways, no escape, unless…To his left a woman was just letting herself into her home, no doubt anxious to get inside and away from whatever was brewing out here.

“This way!” He grabbed Kat’s hand and sprinted with renewed effort towards the woman, the pain in his side growing as a result but still manageable. The unfortunate homeowner saw them and screamed, but he pushed past her and into the house, charging down a hallway towards another door which gave way beneath his kick. Struck with all the force and fear that drove him, the door swung violently back on its hinges as he sprinted through, Kat at his heels.

“Woohoo! Well done, kid!” the girl called.

Was she actually enjoying this? And where in Thaiss’s name did she get the breath to whoop from?

The now broken door led out into an alleyway, with the backs of more houses directly in front. Tom did not hesitate but headed right, still going in the direction of the market and Blue Claw territory. If they could just make it that far, he was sure that sanity would be restored. Barton or some of the others were bound to be hanging around the market and would come to their aid.

From somewhere behind came the snick of multiple metal claws on stone, telling him that at least some of the spider devices had found their way across the roofs. He resisted the temptation to look back and kept running. The street-nicks would have a harder time reaching the alley, or so he hoped. But the direction they’d been running in was pretty obvious and this alley only lasted until the next cross street, so the nicks could readily cut them off at the far end.

When another alleyway presented itself to their left, Tom instinctively lunged down it, trusting Kat to follow. The pain in his side was becoming burning agony; more than simply a stitch which he’d hoped it might be. His body ached from a dozen bruises and knocks sustained in the past couple of days and he wondered whether this was an injury picked up when the sun globe exploded; something which had been hidden among all the other minor hurts and was only making itself known now that he was forced to run.

The two-storey houses had been replaced by the familiar single level dwellings and he knew that they were close to the Runs. Yet he was stumbling, faltering, and didn’t think he could go any further.

“Come on, Tom,” Kat was there, grabbing his arm and urging him onward. “What’s wrong?”

Despite her support, he sank to the ground. “Injured…side…You go on,” he gasped between breaths that were now recurring shafts of pain.

But it was too late. The chittering sound of many claws had caught up with them. Kat drew her twin blades and stood over him like some cornered animal protecting its young.

There was no pause, no regrouping; the first of the devices to reach them simply flung itself from the low roof towards Kat, to be met by an edge of steel which struck it firmly in the eye. The thing went spinning away, trailing ichor in its wake. But this was just the first of many. The girl’s blades span and twirled, becoming a blur of steel as they batted away and sliced into the rain of attacking devices. All the while, her feet performed an elaborate dance around Tom, who was recovering a little but could not see a way to stand up without tripping her or, at the very least, distracting her.

One of the things reached the ground intact. Whether it had been knocked there by Kat or had simply crawled down the wall, Tom wasn’t certain. He picked up a large stone in his right hand but hesitated to throw it in case he missed. Instead he waited until the device scuttled within reach and then brought the stone down as hard and fast as he could onto that single malevolent eye. Moisture splattered his hand. The construct’s long spider legs twitched and then lay still. Subconsciously, Tom had expected the thing to make some sound – a squeal or whimper – but it didn’t. In fact the whole battle was taking place in an eerie silence, punctuated only by the sounds of sword meeting construct and the shifting of feet on dusty ground. He kicked the body away.

Now Tom found enough room to scrabble to his feet, drawing his knife as he did so. Perhaps his actions distracted Kat a fraction, or perhaps it was just the weight of numbers which swarmed around them, but as he came upright, Tom saw one of the constructs land on her back.

The thought of that thing burrowing into her – of it doing to her whatever it was they did – horrified him. Something welled-up from deep inside and when he screamed an anguished, “No!” he did so with all his voice and heart and mind, feeling his denial well up inside and tear out of him as if it were some physical thing.

Pain exploded in his head and he crashed down to his knees again.

The next thing he knew, Kat was gripping his shoulder. “Tom?”

He looked at her, trying to concentrate, but thoughts seemed disjointed, the process of stringing them together an insurmountable effort. “The devices…?” he managed.

“Gone,” she said, shaking his shoulder, laughing. “When you screamed they just tumbled over. Dead as rusty daggers, all of them. Don’t know what you did, kid, but just don’t you go screamin’ at me like that, all right?”

He tried to listen, tried to make sense of what she was saying, but he felt light-headed and in intense pain at the same time. The experience reminded him of when he had nearly died from the black island fever that had swept through the under-City a few years back. But, if anything, this was worse. Blinking up towards Kat, for an instant he thought he saw something behind her, not a device this time but an ethereal eye, the insubstantial ghost of one, at least. It reminded him of the Swarbs and the impression of an eye he had seen disappear in green light, except that this one seemed more, well, female.

The apparition was gone the instant he saw it, leaving an alarmed Kat peering over her shoulder, trying to see what he was staring at.

“What?” the girl asked.

“Nothing. My head…” He forgot about the ethereal eye and tried to think. He was in no shape to go much further; they needed to find somewhere to rest up quickly, but where was truly safe in the City Below?

“I know, but come on, we can’t stay here. Those nicks are still about somewhere,” Kat said, echoing his own thoughts

She helped him to his feet, half-lifting him from the ground.

“There’s a temple of Thaiss…” he recalled suddenly.

“Where?”

“Not far.”

“Can you make it there? Can you show me the way?”

“Think so.” Once they found the Runs it should be simple; the temple was one used by the shantytown’s residents – those who worshipped the goddess, at any rate. He decided to ignore the irony of a staunch nonbeliever such as himself seeking sanctuary from the Thaissians until later, once they were safe. Assuming they ever were.

They stumbled onwards in the direction of the Runs, Tom shrugging off Kat’s support with a less than convincing, “I’m all right.”

They had gone no more than thirty or forty paces when a shout sounded from behind them. Tom looked back to see a mob of street-nicks filling the alley and coming towards them.

“Breck!” Kat slipped her head and shoulders under his arm again, fortunately on the side that didn’t hurt. “Now run!”

Tom tried to. He focused on doing nothing else, shutting out the hoots and cries of the pursuing nicks and forcing himself to think beyond the sharp edged pain clawing at the window of his thoughts, willing his feet and legs to move swiftly. Yet he knew this was never going to be enough, and pretty soon Kat realised as much as well.