Going Under (27 page)

He saw the inner lands, a huge figure with an axe, the splintering wood of Lila's door. He smelled woodsmoke and charred flesh. He felt the fierce vibrating jive of the runes that had led the figure to Lila's temporary portal, like hounds baying. Antlered jacks, he thought. Then it is Umeval. Somewhere near the Turning Stones.

The wind was full of a deep cold that said that part of Faery was moving either into or out of Winter. Malachi prayed it was out but had no illusions that it actually would be. Winterside was widdershins of course, and inside the deep ice of Midwinter lay Lost Jack's City. He shuddered with misgivings and his hand slipped inside his pocket, reaching for one of his little grass ropes.

He fashioned a doll quickly then bent down to the bed. There and there, one hair from her head and one from Zal's. He bound them around the doll's neck, then pulled one from his own scalp and used that to bind the hugely unwieldy feather to the doll's back; a makeshift flight. Then he tapped the doll sharply on the head.

"OI!" it said, a big sound in its high, tiny voice. "Bit rough!"

"Sorry," he said, "in a rush. I've a message I have to send."

"Be it secret?" the doll asked, wheedling suddenly. It stood upright somehow, the dry grass of its body shifting and curling as if it were young and green to push it into position.

"Aye, secret is and does," he said.

"Secret is and secret does 'mands a price that's paid in blood," the doll said, snickering.

"I want a looksee, too," Malachi added, folding the lapel of his jacket back and taking from its place there a long hatpin with a jewelled end. He stabbed his finger with the point and let three drops of blood fall on the doll's head, squeezing to make sure they were generous.

The doll shivered in its shower and its bunched form divided into arms and legs, a head with the beginnings of a face, and, where the feather had been, two distinct blue wings like a hummingbird's.

"Looksee is free for a promise to be," it said.

"As if I'd fall for that one," Malachi said, binding his finger up with his silk pocket handkerchief. "I'll give you leave to live for the length of what's at hand, free to come and free to go, carry words and pictures to and fro until talking, walking, all is done. If you grant true vision, when I ask it."

"Myeh," the doll said in disgust. "I suppose so." It tested its new form with a peculiar little caper along the edge of the bed. It sniffed. "Lovers full of longing," it said offhandedly. "At least one in any case. What we'd give for such shackles easily spun! A game so long it's almost forgot. Ready to rise and ripe for twisting ..."

"Never mind that," Malachi said.

"Yar, whatcha wanta look at then?" the doll asked, folding its arms sulkily.

"Show me Lost Jack's wife," Malachi said.

The doll leaned back and gave him what would have been a searching look, if it had had eyes and not just dark holes in its knotty head. "She 'as a way of lookin' back I not recommend."

"Just do it."

The little thing rolled its head in disgust but raised its arm obediently and pointed at the wall where Lila's small watercolour of a patch of beach and the ocean hung. There, instead of the picture but in the same painted style, a new image swirled into being.

Malachi saw her face emerge with a familiar twisting pang in his heart-one he'd not felt for so long that, like Lila and Zal's game, he'd almost forgotten it was there. But seeing her freed that little chip of ice and let him feel its sharp edge anew.

A tall, strong woman clad in grey furs stood at the doorway of an ice cave. The fire dwindling there in the dawnlight lit her brown skin and darker hair and the dark glitter of her eyes was lent a golden edge. Meltwater from the ledge above her dripped down in a steady patter and ran off the greasy ropes of her hair where it was bound with gut and walrus ivories into two braids that hung down either side of her neck. Buckles and straps festooned her, holding her powder bag, her water, her shot and flints, her cold iron gun. She was bending toward the light, pushing something into the compartments of her herb bandolier. The soft light made the unearthly beauty of her face stranger still, its cheekbones and broad lips and skin almost dewy, though she was older than Malachi. Beside her lay the frozen, bloody red snow of a butcher site, though nothing remained. At her boots the blades of iron knives lay dully glimmering in their simple bindings.

She straightened up then and turned, looking directly out of her image, into Malachi's eyes.

Faultless, he thought.

"Hoodoo Cat," she said, and half her mouth lifted into a smile that could draw men across oceans. "How long it has been."

"Madrigal," he said and found his voice hoarse, as if it hadn't been used since they last spoke.

"What do you here?" she put her hands on her hips, staring into the thin air, her breath misting in front of her, bloodstained fingers finding her gauntlets at her belt and pulling them free to put on. Her face was lightly amused.

"I need your help."

She raised one eyebrow, taking her time with her gloves. "Do you now? And for what would that be?"

He was as nervous as a kid standing at the door facing his first date. Nonetheless he tried to regain his composure. "Some friends of mine have been brought unexpectedly into Jack's lands."

That got both eyebrows. "Indeed? Careless of them. Or of you?"

"The cause isn't important. The important thing is that one of them is carrying a thing."

"A thing?" she laughed and Malachi lost his breath. She nodded slowly, her eyes round with amusement. "That does sound important."

"It is the thing Jack wants most in the world."

Her black eyes snapped cold suddenly and he felt her presence reach directly into his head and chest, as distinctly as if she had stabbed him with blades. In an instant all her softness had become hard edges, her energy poised for action. She could reach through this connection, tear his heart out, if she wished. He saw her wing cases rise, clattering, either side of her head, the streamers of her true magic beneath them flickering into a brief white life before they subsided into a cape of plated bone once more.

"A human?" she asked, her tone disbelieving. "And here? They must be insane. Where are they now?" She cast her eyes round her camp once, dismissing it as she turned back to him.

"Somewhere south," he said. "They were attacked by antlered jacks. That's all I know."

She shook her head at this folly, her mouth tightening, then whistled sharply into the wind. She walked forwards, shrugging her rifle to a more comfortable position on her back. "Truly you are always a sur prise, Cat," she said, raising her arm in a half wave that brought the ice shelf above her crashing down on her fire, extinguishing it with a hiss. Steam rose behind her and scattered on the wind. "Our only chance is that they have the sense to hide and run."

"Mmn," Malachi said, his throat drying up. "I hope."

"Flirting with the evil one?" she laughed again then, this time with less good humour than before. "Now, you test my patience when you make me think of Pandora. That hellbitch shut-the-box. Careful, or I might think you was flirting with me, Cat, spiking my temper that way." Her intent remained strong but he felt her let go of him, the strings that tied him to his body relaxing. "Meet me at the Twisting Stones by dark. Let us see if we still have the mettle or the wits to test bitter Jack one more time."

The picture blurred with grey and white shapes. At first it seemed a blizzard but then Malachi realised it was the fur of the giant grey and white wolf that had come running up to her. She caught hold of its ruff at the height of her head and leapt up onto its back, turning one last time to face him. She rubbed her face in the wolf's pelt and gave it a vigorous patting. Its purple tongue hung out the side of its massive jaws, flapping wetly as it panted.

"Don't be late. Shara here will be so excited to know her playmate is coming for a game of chase."

The wolf leapt and Malachi was left with nothing to look at but a bit of falling ice and a jumble of snow.

At least he knew that if she were looking for them Zal and Lila might survive. He flicked his fingers at the picture and the doll released the vision.

"An' where am I going?" the doll demanded. "Don't tell me. You want me to take some news to your lost idiot friends, if they 'ent already dead. Summat 'long the lines of-Run and keep running, dunna talk to anyone and dunna trust anyone exceptin' a woman ridin' a wolf, and if yet meet people called Jack get the fryin' hell away from 'em and stay away. Meantimes, if yet comes across a lot of standin' rocks in the lee of a mountain, stick around."

"That will do," Malachi nodded, shivering.

"Can't believe I fell fer that promise o' yourn," the doll hissed, shaking its head side to side slowly in disbelief at its own gullibility. "Life to the end of the matter. Whassat? Like ten bloody minutes?"

"They're tough. You might get lucky," Malachi said. "And you should have asked more questions."

"You ... you ..." the doll wagged a grass finger at him but was unable to come up with a curse bad enough apparently. "Ugh!" it spun on its heel. "Next time I'm going to remember this deal, kitty-fiddler, and then you'll have some paying to do, you and that loose-tongued elfy mate of yours. Won't be enough whiskey in creation to save you then."

"Bye!" Malachi waved his fingers. The doll, contracted, had to obey and promptly spread its blunt, half-feather wings and vanished. He swallowed in the second of silence that followed and put his hand over his aching heart. Then he fumbled around and found his mobile phone and started searching for Poppy's number. As he dialled he heard Naxis come in to the room-the head of a much larger rabble of fey who were hanging in the corridor, waiting to see what happened next. She hovered in the doorway.

"What's going on?"

"You lot have destabilised the fabric," Malachi said with contempt at their carelessness, though no surprise at it. "Sent half of us straight into Umeval."

"Oh. Summertime?"

"Winter." There was no answer. He tried another number.

"Ah. Well, maybe ... you will need my help then?"

He thought about it. "Is this the point you're using to get in and out of Otopia now?"

"For the time being in this part of the world. Not very safe here for fey now."

"Then we have a debt to pay this family, and consider your services forfeit. The lot of you."

"That's a hard line," she said, taken aback at his directness. "But I accept if we are going in against Jack. Maybe some of the others ..

"Jack is only the start," Malachi said, shaking the phone when there was no answer again and then flinging it abruptly into the wall. "Dammit. I don't have time for this! Nax, I need you to find the Ooshkah girls from Zal's band and bring them here."

She nodded and turned into her male self, Nixas and leant close to confide, "I won't tell them about Umeval."

"Yeah," Malachi agreed wholeheartedly, knowing that in all likelihood it would mean never seeing either faery again if he did so. "One thing, Nix. What makes you so damn keen to be in?"

"Don't ask and don't be sorry. I've got reason enough," the faery said with a shrug and darted to the window. He opened it, was out, and closed it before Malachi could say another word.

He retrieved his phone, wondering if he had time to get another one and deciding that it wasn't worth the effort considering, and went downstairs to tell Teazle the bad news.

The demon was still sitting on the doorstep.

"I should rip your legs off," he said to Malachi, casually, as Malachi closed the screen door behind him. "Careless."

"Not my doing," Malachi said, concealing his surprise that the demon already knew. "There must be something else involved."

"Hmm, Zal had talked about a special armour he was having made for her," Teazle said. "I made a couple of extra requests about it to the makers ... when he passed me he was carrying the package under his arm. But it could not be that on its own. Those who made it don't have that kind of power. Anyway," he got up and turned to face Malachi, his human face less than usually human, like a wax model. "Other things are going on in this neighbourhood." He handed Malachi a folded newspaper-one of the local weeklies still delivered by paper boys. As Malachi scanned the articles and saw the pattern he added, "The humans don't know enough to see what all these things add up to. But it's a natural consequence of so much moth dust and so many dreamers."

Malachi looked up at Teazle, his face feeling set in the dismayed position. "Ghosts," he said.

The demon gave a single nod. "Otopia had only a few, ever. But I can feel them now, crawling beneath the surface of things. And this is close to one of the major faults. They can rise with greater ease here." He rolled his head on his neck, easing a crick, and stretched, making many small expressions of pain and disgust as he did so. "I don't care what happens to the humans. Only my wife. But she cares about these things so we'll need more than just an answer for the moths. I should find a geomancer."

Malachi thought of Jones. "We can't take the time. We have to travel now if we're going to reach Lila and Zal at all. I must get something old to give us a chance of finding the way ... must. . ." He didn't mention what he'd figured the problem was. The key. It had risen and been found, it wanted to do what it did best. It didn't even matter if Lila turned left or right. The key was turning Faery around itself. He wasn't even sure he could catch up with it. He stabbed at his phone but it was broken. "I have to send a message. I'll be right back."

Teazle rolled his white eyes. "Not going anywhere without you, am I? But if you get any more things wrong, I'll be collecting those limbs." His smile was affable; all teeth.

"Nixas is bringing others," Malachi said, going to Lila's pool truck and opening it up, looking for the fitted phone and then searching his pockets for his security card to activate it. "Take them all down to the beach. I'll meet you there-less than half an hour." He got into the driver's seat and started the engine, then slewed backwards out of the drive and sped off. He only had a couple of ideas about where to find an object old enough for their purposes. As he drove he gritted his teeth. He hated the old country. He feared Jack. Both these things brought nasty feelings and old wounds to the surface which no longer had a place in his life. On the backs of his hands fur was already growing. He could barely punch in the number to alert the Agency, and then Jones, of his plans.