The Book of Transformations (21 page)

‘Guys, please,’ Lan interrupted. ‘Tane, are we near the situation?’

‘It’s right ahead, my dear.’

Towards the end of the street, two rival factions were in a standoff. Rumel versus human, a conflict possibly born out of racial tension. Tane glanced back. ‘They’re saying something about rumels causing the genocide on another island. Does that mean anything to you?’

Lan and Vuldon shrugged.

She said, ‘Well we can’t let this flare up any more – we’re here to keep order.’

‘Where are the city guard right now?’ Vuldon demanded. ‘They should be looking after little skirmishes like this.’

‘I suspect that there is your answer, old boy.’ Tane pointed a clawed finger at the few armoured men lined up alongside the humans. ‘It appears that the fear has infected them, too.’

Lan thought suddenly of Investigator Fulcrom, a rumel. ‘We can’t just stand here and allow it to inflame. Let’s go.’ She pushed past Tane, and towards the fray, surprised at her own assertiveness.

There were maybe twenty rumels and twice that for the human line. All wore work gear, dark breeches, dirtied jumpers and cloaks. Broken bottles, swords and torches were being brandished, and chanting and screaming increased in intensity as she came nearer. She saw there were a couple of men with the rumel, standing between the sides, hands held out and demanding peace. At the centre of the ruckus was a rumel woman and a blond male human, him protecting her. A human leapt forward from the opposing ranks to strike the other man, drawing blood from his head. Vuldon burst from behind, and into the group, the sheer force of his mass ploughing several men to the ground in an instant.

He dragged one of the human offenders nearer and kicked him in the stomach. Another two attacked him with swords but he grabbed their wrists, broke their arms. He stood to regard the simmering masses. No one dared to go near him.

Vuldon did nothing but breathe heavily and stare at the offender at his feet. Tane joined them, and together the Knights stood between the two opposing lines.

A silence of sorts fell across the scene.

‘What’s going on here?’ Lan demanded to the group.

‘Why should we tell you, bitch?’ came a reply.

‘Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen, sweetheart?’ laughed another. ‘Why’re you dressed like a bloke?’

Lan blanked their comments. ‘I’ll repeat my question: what is going on here?’

‘Fuck this.’ Vuldon grabbed the man on the ground by the scruff of his neck, then yanked him upright, clutching his throat in one immense fist. ‘Someone will give the lady an answer, or I squeeze. And don’t even try to call my bluff. This runt means nothing to me, and the older I get, the more impatient I become, so you better hurry up.’

‘He’s not lying,’ Tane chimed in, grinning.

‘It’s them.’ A stout human gestured to the interspecies couple. ‘Shouldn’t be allowed, not with them rumel invading Tineag’l like that. How can we trust rumel scum now?’

Lan marched up to the man and woman in question. The fear was clear to see in the black-skinned girl’s eyes. She was pretty, delicate and well-dressed, and this scene was no place for her. Lan placed an hand on her shoulder, then told the couple to run – which they did in an instant, the blond man mouthing, ‘Thank you.’ Their steps echoed down the street, between the crumbling stone walls, fading into the distance.

‘Why’ve you let the fuckers get away? Slut!’

Vuldon heaved his victim into the air, and tossed him wailing into the mass of bodies. Tane and Vuldon moved forwards, full of violent promises. Some of the gang challenged them, foolishly, and the boys set to work.

They threw stomach-blows, kicking legs away from under people, slamming them into walls. A couple ran down a side street, some drew the injured bodies to one side, the rest saw sense and backed off, surrendering themselves.

‘What’re you meant to bloody well be then?’ someone called out. ‘On yer way to a fuckin’ party?’

A ripple of awkward laughter, and Lan became aware of the Knights’ matching black costumes.

‘We are the Villjamur Knights,’ Tane declared. ‘And as citizens of this city, as subjects of the Emperor, you must respect
order
.’

Tane’s anger surprised even Lan: he sprang up and then into the group to grab the man – a skinny fellow with bad teeth and no hair – and slit a line across his face. He collapsed to the floor screaming, and Tane held out his claws. ‘Does anyone else have a problem with our attire?’

This act made Lan feel uneasy – she did not like the way the two of them would use their powers so casually. She would have to mention this to Fulcrom later.

‘So,’ Vuldon said, ‘which of you are in league with the anarchists?’

‘None of us,’ a man called out. ‘But we’ve nothing against them. They’re changing things, so why don’t you just leave them be.’

‘They’re criminals,’ Vuldon replied. ‘Anyone caught associating with them will be imprisoned.’

‘What, and now you want us to admit we’re one of them? Fuck off, mate.’

Vuldon cringed at his own stupidity. ‘Go. And if there’s more trouble, we
will
hunt you down.’

Grumbling, the group dispersed. Somewhere out of sight a bottle broke, a sword scraped on stone.

Lan turned to the rest of the Knights. ‘So no one’s willing to reveal who the anarchists are. How can they be so good at hiding?’

Tane padded a circle on the cobbles, peering around the street corners, or through grubby street-level windows. Two dead bodies lying on the ground he regarded with absolute indifference.

Vuldon picked up the discarded weaponry, drew out some material and wrapped them up for the Inquisition. ‘We’re gonna have to stay out each night and catch the anarchists in the act. That’s the only way.’

Lan didn’t think much of that. ‘We’re charged with an impossible task: to find the most efficient criminal operation in a city that’s getting out of control. It seems so hopeless. We’ll never do it.’

‘And I thought old Vuldon was the one who liked a good mope.’

Tane raised one eyebrow in her direction.

Covered in sweat, and wearing loose-fitting pale clothing, Lan marched from the training area, through the catacombs, with the warm light from cressets lighting the way back to her room. Today more techniques had been gleaned from ex-military combat specialists, where she had been forced through routines and manoeuvres that were brutal and efficient.

Lan came to the realization that her new role was in fact growing on her. Though she understood her anonymity was constantly in the balance, this existence was one she’d never been able to enjoy previously.

She had respect. She had a challenge. She had a future.

And being one of the Knights meant helping society, and that helped her feel good about herself, too – not that she’d actually helped too many people so far . . .

Lan pushed open the door to the plush, marble-tiled bathroom, and saw that her bath had been filled for her. The scent of lavender wafted through the air, and there were several small lanterns placed about the room. Without any further hesitation, she removed her clothing and plunged into the warm water, feeling the heat begin to penetrate her aching muscles.

Well, perhaps it
is
nice to think of my own needs from time to time . . .

*

An hour after her luxurious bath, Lan stood on the safe side of a thick pane of glass staring out at the snow, whilst Tane and Vuldon slouched on the plush sofas behind her contemplating some of the Inquisition reports, studying the recommendations and suggestions of those with a better knowledge of the anarchists’ movements.

‘Still no developments in finding Mewún’s killers, apparently,’ Vuldon announced. ‘And the councillors are becoming increasingly worried about travelling through the city on their own.’

‘Never mind that, old boy,’ Tane added, holding up a parchment. ‘It states here – albeit with appalling punctuation – that crime has gone up massively in the last fifty days. There have been more reports of burglary and vandalism than in recent memory. Shops are being destroyed, bistros burned down. Says there are two hundred thousand people on this side of the city, and most of them are worried about walking through the streets alone. That isn’t right. I think we have some work to do.’

‘It would be nice to have some strategies in place for us,’ Lan said, ‘rather than just being let loose aimlessly.’

‘We can think of things ourselves,’ Tane declared excitedly.

‘The city’s so big,’ Lan added. ‘There’s such a huge area to cover. We need Fulcrom’s help, too. I trust him – he seems a good sort.’

‘I’ve never yet met an investigator I can trust,’ Vuldon drawled.

Lan forgot her worries by staring at the sea. Nearby, hamlets cluttered up the shoreline, little white cottages were dotted into the distance, and Lan imagined they had to be brave people, whoever lived there, facing those bleak wintry seas.

Today, the submarine giant was passing again. The top of the creature’s grey crown breached the surface, and all around him the water banked and swirled, whilst seabirds arced in the skies, following his painfully slow progress through the tides. As he came nearer, into the shallower waters, torrents skimmed down his thick, green hide. He took one, longing glance into their clifftop retreat, then one to the land beyond as if he knew he could never survive there long enough to enjoy it – before he moved further along the shore, spraying seawater across the villages.

The Knights had been given use of this clifftop dwelling. It was safer for them here, Fulcrom had told Lan. Such sanctuary allowed them to develop their skills according to the designs of cultists without distraction. These headquarters were less than half a mile from the centre of Villjamur, where the city buried its back end into a range of hills, and under which the underground docks opened out and met the sea. Although built into a cave network, there had been a lot of structural and design work. The walls had been smoothed and covered in plaster then white paint. Ornate cressets burned from walls, coloured lanterns stood in corners, cushions and throws and thick-pile rugs were scattered tastefully about the place. Fires burned in the corners and thick windows faced outwards that were so clear they assumed cultists had interfered with the production.

At the sound of the door opening, Lan turned to face the room.

Feror, the cultist-cum-attendant who saw to their every need, tottered in with his notebook. He was nice enough, a tough, wiry old fellow, with lank brown hair and a soft smile. He wasn’t a servant – cultists didn’t seem to stoop that low. Now and then he’d plug in some relic to ‘monitor’ them. Cultists. The people in black lingered like swamp midges. They pottered from adjacent rooms, or catacombs deep in the cave system, carrying relics, pieces of technology she’d never understand, before disappearing with patronizing smiles. There were orders here who had been operating in secrecy for years, now on projects that the new Emperor had tapped into.

‘Good morning, dear Knights,’ Feror called out. ‘How are we today?’

Tane and Vuldon barely grunted their acknowledgement, and Lan felt guilty on their behalf. ‘We’re fine,’ she said, ‘feeling well. Not much for your little notebook I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, it all counts,’ he replied, enunciating crisply, in his rather charming way. He began to prod them with a few questions, and they gave brief answers. Yes, they felt fine. No, there were no side effects yet. No, their muscles did not ache. No, they had not fainted, or had spells of dizziness or nausea.

Beleaguered by such endless repetition, Lan distracted him with a query about his family, and he responded with vigour, telling of his second daughter’s first day at school, how his wife was developing a range of relic-based techniques of heating liquids quickly. Lan was fascinated by people’s lives: perhaps it was because she hadn’t experienced an easy life herself.

Feror, ever the patient and passive man, eventually went away clutching his notebook to his chest, humming to himself as he went, and Lan pondered just what secrets that notebook held. ‘I’m bored with this research,’ Tane declared, and flounced around the room with as much energy as some of the dancing girls in the circus. Ever since his transition, he possessed an over-the-top and hyperactive edge. ‘Bored, bored, bored.’ He stood before Vuldon, whose broadness dwarfed the slender werecat. ‘If we’re not actually getting outside fighting crime, surely we could be, I don’t know, having people round. Drinks and dancing, parties, that sort of thing. I can throw quite the event . . .’

‘We’re supposed to keep a low profile when not at work, idiot,’ Vuldon grumbled. ‘Emperor’s orders. Out there you can be as attention-seeking as you want. When you’re not beating someone up, be quiet.’

Tane sighed theatrically, and collapsed onto a plush green settee alongside Vuldon. Lan was entertained at first by their repetitive bickering – Tane’s optimism repeatedly corrected by Vuldon’s pessimism – but now it was becoming annoying. While most of the time they got on, occasionally the conversation would deteriorate into childish banter as the two of them prodded each other, testing how far the other would go in response.

Tane suddenly held a hand out for silence. ‘Fulcrom’s here,’ he announced.