City of Dreams and Nightmare (30 page)

“Are you willing to do that, for the sake of your fellow street-nicks and for all the City Below?”

Tom stared in disbelief. For a moment there he thought this man understood, but clearly he didn’t. Tom would never be able to do something like this. He might have stopped a handful of the Maker’s creatures at close quarters, but he had no idea what he’d done to achieve even that much, and the effort had left him with a crippling headache. How could he possibly do the same across the whole under-City? He simply couldn’t, and it was unfair of anyone to expect him to.

“I don’t think I can,” he said. “I don’t even know how.”

“We can help you there, Ty-gen and myself, but only you can actually do it. Will you?”

Help? How could anyone possibly help him do something he didn’t even understand himself?

Ty-gen reappeared – Tom had not even noticed him slip out. The Jeradine carried a complex piece of crystalline equipment which Tom recognised immediately as being made from khybul.

“This is a transmitter, Tom,” the prime master explained.

“There are Jeradine with similar mechanisms in every temple of Thaiss throughout the City Below,” Tygen added.

“The plan is, that if we can cause you to unleash the same sort of force you used to disable the Maker’s devices,” that settled it, they had definitely been watching, “Tygen’s device will amplify and transmit that force; it will be picked up across the entire Row and sent forth, destroying the Maker’s devices and their evil work in every street and corner of the under-City, thus freeing the street-nicks.”

“And will that really work?” Tom wanted to know.

“So we believe, yes, although the only way to be certain is to try it. All you have to do is generate the same objection and repulsion of the Maker’s creatures as you did before and we can take it from there. Will you try to do that, for all our sakes?”

Tom wasn’t particularly looking forward to another headache, but hopefully the Thaistess could help with that. In any case, how could he possibly refuse? “Yes,” he heard himself say. “I’ll try. But I don’t know how.”

The prime master smiled. “Don’t worry, we suspected this was an instinctive act and not a conscious one, that you hit out only when under extreme threat and wouldn’t be able to reproduce the act at will, so we’ve made arrangements.”

He looked across to the Thaistess. She raised finger cymbals and chimed them, an act which reminded Tom of Mildra, which again brought Kat to the forefront of his thoughts and emphasised her absence anew.

An acolyte walked in, bearing a glass tank in which sat one of the Maker’s abominations, this one with limbs that resembled the jointed legs of a crab. The glass must have been reinforced in some way, because the thing kept striking against it with sharp claws, blows which brought no discernable effect.

Tom recoiled instinctively, even though he knew the thing was trapped.

“That’s it, Tom,” the prime master said. “I felt the stirrings of something then, but it has to be stronger.”

His encouragement spurred Tom on and he strained for all he was worth, trying to recall exactly what he had done, how it felt when he lashed out as the things attacked Kat, but nothing happened.

The acolyte placed the glass tank down on the divan beside him, and the device’s claws punched at the glass, seeming to come straight towards him until the sharp rap as they struck the sides of the container signalled their failure. He redoubled his efforts and again felt a stirring, but nothing more.

“Tom,” the prime master said, “I can help with this. I can enable you to bring your power out, but it will mean an invasion of your privacy, of your mind, something I would never contemplate under normal circumstances. Would you allow me to reach into your head, to draw out the potential we need to save the City Below?”

Tom was taken aback. Someone reaching into his head? “Will it hurt?”

“My touch? No. But channelling the power may well do, as it did before, though I should be able to help shield you from some of that as well. The Thaistess will be here to ease your pain afterwards.”

Again the woman smiled and Tom decided that he may have misjudged her.

He drew in a ragged breath, not at all certain about this, but even so, he nodded. “All right then.”

The prime master didn’t touch him, just seemed to stare towards him, and Tom felt nothing to indicate any intrusion or invasion as he’d feared. This time though, when the caged creature hammered against the glass, his reaction didn’t stop at a simple stirring. It started that way but grew into a stream, a rush, an out-pouring. If the prime master was able to help deflect some of the pain, it didn’t show. Again, Tom’s skull felt as if it were ripping apart, and without any way of knowing whether or not his effort had been worthwhile, he crashed into blissful oblivion.

…

Despite being fascinated by this enigmatic and feisty girl, Dewar was, in truth, a little relieved when they went their separate ways. She made a prickly travelling companion at best. Their return to the dog master’s lair was far swifter and more direct than Dewar’s route from it. They loped through streets that had gone ominously silent, as if the tide of street-nick violence had swept through here already and left only emptiness in its wake.

Dewar found himself distracted by trying to guess Kat’s age. The Pits had been closed for more than three years now, but that was little help, since he had no idea how old she was when she had fought there. In her teens, certainly, but whereabouts in her teens? He could always have asked, he supposed, before she disappeared towards the end of their journey, but he was reluctant to do so, both because he doubted the girl would have deigned to answer and because he didn’t want her to think he was that interested.

He slowed as the streets became more familiar and he knew his goal was just a few turns away. The dog master must be aware that he was coming, so where were his creatures, the false hounds which were the man’s trademark? As yet there had been no sign of them.

Dewar had always possessed excellent peripheral vision. The trick was to be aware at all times, to not get sucked into concentrating so intently on whatever demanded your attention – whatever was directly in front of you – that you ignored the small flutterings of movement which barely registered at the perimeter of vision. This was a skill he had taught himself through necessity, and it was one that proved of worth once more, when he rounded the corner to find himself confronted by two of the biggest false-hounds he had yet seen.

The two beasts started forward as soon as he came in sight, ears back, heads down and teeth bared. One looked to be almost entirely built of metal, with just the lower jaw bearing any visible fur. Each fall of its steel-forged claws resounded against the ground. The other, larger still than the first, was more wolf than any dog Dewar could think of, though this one too had its fair share of metal, notably around the chest and neck, while a steel frame supported the lower jaw. In addition, it sported a ridge of curved steel spikes running down the length of its spine. After a few leisurely steps the pair broke into a run, charging straight towards the assassin.

He readied himself, sword in one hand, kairuken in the other, focused and confident. It was just a hint of movement, easy to miss with two lethal constructs bearing down on you, which alerted him. It came from the opposite direction to the two attacking hounds and it was silent and low. A long, sinuous creature, more snake than hound, had attempted to creep up on him, its segmented body barely held off the ground by four stubby legs. Instinctively, Dewar leapt high, pulling his knees up to his chest in the process.

Teeth snapped shut where his ankles had been. As Dewar came down from his leap, he stamped hard, landing a foot on the device’s neck, just behind the head. The body started to writhe, as if the hound was attempting to loop it around the restraining foot, but Dewar’s other leg, the left, was already swinging forward. At the last instant, he rocked back on his right heel, freeing the dog just as his left foot connected, kicking the snake-dog into the air and sending it sailing towards the nearest of the oncoming brutes, the wolf.

The charging hound flicked its head up as if irritated by such a distraction. In doing so, it knocked the smaller hound further backward, to be impaled on its ridge of razor-like spikes. In doing this the wolf exposed its throat and Dewar unleashed the kairuken, far closer than he’d intended. Sparks flew all around as the snake-dog thrashed and died and the kairuken’s disc ripped the larger beast’s throat open, chewing circuits and cutting into internal mechanisms. The wolf collapsed, its front legs giving way first so that it nose-dived into the ground. But the other dog was upon Dewar before he could bring his short sword to bear. It leapt, jaws open and aiming for his throat. Dropping the kairuken, he thrust his left wrist into the gaping maw. The thick metal guard he wore there was intended to deflect blades but would serve equally well to stop the bite of an ordinary dog. Unfortunately, this was no ordinary dog. The pressure on the guard and on his arm beneath was enormous and he could feel the metal start to distort, to buckle. At the same time, Dewar tried to arch his body to keep it away from those flailing claws as they inevitably came back to the ground, but he met with only limited success. One paw’s worth of razors sliced through his trousers and into his leg.

The pain was abrupt and intense, but he knew how to cope with pain. Blocking it from his mind, he concentrated on bringing up his sword and applying it to the one apparent weak spot in this brute. He thrust the blade along the line of its jaw and into the construct’s throat, pushing with all his strength. Still the unrelenting pressure continued and he was afraid the guard would buckle entirely, leaving his wrist to be crushed like some dry twig. He twisted the blade, working the tip deeper into the wound, and enlarging the area it could damage inside the thing’s throat. Smoke started to rise from the dog’s nostrils, so clearly his efforts were having some effect, but was it enough?

He gritted his teeth and leaned on the hilt of his sword, pushing it further home. The smoke increased and the dog started to convulse and twitch. Abruptly, it stopped; all movement ceasing as if somebody had flicked a switch. To all intents and purposes, the construct appeared dead, but it hadn’t released the vice-like grip on his wrist. The inanimate body dragged his arm downward. Gingerly, Dewar withdrew his blade from its innards. There appeared to be fresh blood on it, and he wondered again what dark arts the dog master used to animate these hybrid creatures.

He eased the blade into the construct’s mouth and twisted, to slowly prise the jaws apart. The pressure eased bit by bit, until he was finally able to pull his wrist free.

He reclaimed the discarded kairuken, reloaded and holstered it. Ideally, he would have liked to bind his injured leg as well, but the only things available to serve as bandages were his own clothes, and they were so filthy that tearing strips off of them would be just asking for an infection, so he let it be and walked on, limping slightly as the pain bit home.

A hound sprinted from a side alley, too quick to be stopped with the kairuken, so he used the sword. The encounter left him with a gashed arm to add to the bleeding leg. He did, however, have time to bring the weapon to bear and shoot down a small wall-climbing construct similar to the one which accompanied him to the Maker’s lair. Another disc lost, leaving him with just three. He reloaded and continued.

Two more hounds charged towards him as he actually reached his destination. They approached in the strange, slightly disjointed fashion of these hybrid creatures – mimicking the gait of a true dog but not with total accuracy. Rather than fire and risk losing another disc, he sprinted for the door, praying that his leg would hold and taking the steps three at a time before pushing his way inside.

He wedged the door shut against the hounds’ scrabbling claws, using items hastily grabbed from the heap of discarded junk which the dog master seemed to delight in keeping. No point in trying to be quiet or mask his presence; the man knew he was here. Despite his injured leg and gashed arm, this all seemed a little too easy. He had anticipated having to wade through an army of crazed dog-machine hybrids rather than simply fighting a few skirmishes. Surely the dog master had enough warning to summon greater protection than this. He added more pieces of metal and wood to his brace, recalling how the door split into two sections and therefore ensuring that both were obstructed.

The place was as oppressively hot as he remembered, and the draping tubes and pipes just as numerous and ludicrous. Were they a symptom of general sloppiness or simply an affectation? He suspected the latter. A loud thump came from behind him, a sound which reverberated, presumably as one of the hounds threw its weight against the door, but his makeshift brace held. Ducking beneath trailing pipes, he made his way deeper into the room, treading warily even though he knew the dog master was alert to his presence. He was sweating – a reaction to coming into such a hot environment after his exertions – but his breathing was steady and the grip on his weapons sure.

It was unsettling, the lack of any challenge and he felt certain this had to be a trap. Nonetheless, he could see little choice but to keep going. The dog master sat at his workstation, back to Dewar, peering at his screens. The assassin did not hesitate, but raised his kairuken. Only to have something smash painfully into his hand and send the weapon spinning away before he could fire. He tried to raise his short sword but the object that had struck him, which seemed a solid ball of metal, was unfurling and wrapping itself around him. He looked to his left, to see the misshapen, wide-mouthed face of a dog hidden among all the discarded bric-a-brac, like some beast camouflaged in the undergrowth. The device had its mouth gaping open and from it stretched a long, flexible metal tongue, which was what had cannoned into his hand and now held him trapped, both arms pinned to his side.

The dog master spun around in his chair, laughing heartily. “Dewar!” he exclaimed. “How delightful to see you again. I knew that if I offered you a blatant opportunity you couldn’t resist. You see, that’s your problem, old friend. You might be devious, skilled and resourceful, but strip all that away and beneath lies the intellect of a lobotomised gnat.”