The Book of Transformations (35 page)

Room after room, each one different. Corridors turned this way and that, with no apparent design. For much of the next hour, Fulcrom saw only the lantern and the soft glow it cast upon the side of Ulryk’s face. Occasionally the priest would pause at some dark intersection, with the possible paths ahead denoted only by their utter absence of light. Once, Ulryk raised the lantern to the wall to show Fulcrom the graffiti of yesteryear. There were names and directions written in a script that hadn’t been in common use for over two thousand years. Other languages here were even more
alien
.

‘Is it going to take much longer?’ Fulcrom asked, aware of how petulant he must be sounding.

‘We are about halfway,’ Ulryk replied.

‘Is this the route the dead took?’

‘I have . . . little idea of their methods,’ Ulryk confessed. ‘It seems that although I pretend to hold great knowledge, there are many things strange to me.’

‘You and me both,’ Fulcrom muttered.

*

Their placards argued for a peaceful resolution to their claims, though their sheer mass was an implied threat. In the late afternoon sunshine, thousands of people marched out of the caves, men, women and children, human and rumel, and old garudas with broken wings. Underground radicals and change-seekers, all were unified on this march. It seemed a critical mass had been achieved.

Perched on a wall alongside several of the city guard in their crimson finery and slate-grey armour, the Knights watched the unfolding scene.

‘Fucking inbred scum,’ muttered a soldier in the red uniform of the Shelby Corporation Soldiers.

‘Aye,’ another said, leaning on his sword. ‘Bad enough that they leech on the rest of us, now here they come spreading their diseases.’

‘Why do you hate them so much?’ Lan asked.

‘Cunts come out here and steal things for their own decrepit culture, is why,’ the first soldier said, putting on his helm ready for combat. ‘Take food from honest hard-working folk, steal whatever trinkets they can get their filthy hands on, rape women.’

Lan had a flashback to that period a few years ago, after she had left home. She tried to remember what the people were like in the caves, but she realized she had been drunk or on drugs for the most part. All that came to her was a visual echo of the girl who just about cleaned her up, their friendship born out of an urgent desire for secrecy.

People flowed out towards them in their thousands, a river comprised of years of pent-up resentment. They blocked the cobbled streets leading from the caves, dressed in the general Caveside fashions, cheap-looking breeches and shirts, overalls, shades of greys and browns. Lan couldn’t help but notice that the women were dressed just like the men. She was not sure what to make of all this, or even if the Knights would be of any use in a situation where surely diplomacy was the key.

She focused on the details, tried to discern the chants and the scrawls on crudely painted boards:

The Cavesiders called for respect. For better jobs, for investment in people’s health and housing, and not pretty irens for the rich. They wanted food for the refugees outside the city walls. And better rights for women, for acknowledgement of tribal cultures and religions, and the right for all Cavesiders – even those with unregistered addresses – to vote. They called for the end of brutal conduct by organizations like the City Guard and the Knights, and a halt to the endless victimization of Caveside dwellers. To Cavesiders, these authorities of the city were feared and despised. There were slogans suggesting oppression. Wooden boards were held aloft with the symbols of the new anarchists.

All strands of concern had been brought together and Lan stood agog at the sheer energy they created, the challenge they presented. There was a hatred towards her that was different from any she had known previously – and she had known a lot.

‘Get down there then,’ ordered one of the soldiers.

Vuldon turned his bulk steadily. Lan for once appreciated his potential temper. ‘Who the fuck’, Vuldon growled, ‘do you think you are, talking to us like that?’

The fear was obvious in the soldier’s eyes. ‘I didn’t mean no harm, like. I just meant for you to help us. Honest . . .’

‘We take our orders from the top.’ No sooner had Vuldon spoken than a messenger came directly at the Emperor’s request, asking for the Knights to stand before the front row of the protest.

‘The front?’ Lan asked.

‘It’s our job,’ Vuldon snapped. ‘This is what we do. Come on.’

They set to work. Tane and Vuldon shuffled off the wall with the soldiers, while Lan simply stepped off and glided down to the cobbles. They criss-crossed through a series of narrow alleyways behind tall, granite walls and taverns. As they moved towards the front, soldiers from the city guard and the Dragoons had already lined up to block their passage. Lan guessed they were facing off against the protesters.

‘What do we do?’ Lan asked, turning to Vuldon.

Vuldon could see over the sea of grey helmets. The chants and buzz of the crowd were threateningly loud down on street level.

‘The road banks down towards the caves, so I can only see the tops of the placards.’

Tane said suddenly, ‘Look at who’s lining up.’

Archers in green and brown uniforms were scrambling over the precarious rooftops on each side of this wide street. They negotiated the wet and hazardous angles of slate, until they had positioned themselves perfectly with a view of the Cavesiders’ protest.

Lan felt remarkably uncomfortable at the fatidic nature to the event, even more so because Vuldon and Tane didn’t have a clue how to handle the situation. She had no doubt that the military ranks on the front row had their weapons drawn and were prepared for combat.

Against their own people? This shouldn’t be happening. They’re not rioting at all, they’re not causing any damage
,
this is just a simple march
.

‘Who’s in command here?’ Vuldon bellowed.

The back rows of the guard peered back to regard Vuldon, and soon word rippled forward. A few moments later and a senior officer, a thickset veteran, shuffled through his own ranks in order to speak to the Knights. They walked sideways until they were in the shadow behind the back of a bistro, out of the potential conflict zone.

‘I want you to tell me in simple terms,’ Vuldon ordered, ‘what the fuck is going on here.’

The soldier removed his helm, revealing a weathered face, a wide nose, and a thick greying beard. The look in his eyes betrayed his uncertainty.
Not even he knows what to do.

‘Military orders, issued from the Council, are to stop this march from progressing any further. They’re spread out for half a mile up from the caves, causing havoc. Citizens from this level have been evacuated – they’re in fear of their lives.’

‘It’s just a protest,’ Lan said, ‘not a war.’

‘You conspiring with them, eh?’ the soldier said fiercely, then laughed. ‘Course you’re not, love. Best you leave this to the men, eh?’

She turned to Vuldon, who signalled his permission. Lan grabbed the soldier by the throat and slammed him against the wall; using her powers she raised him only a few feet in the air. His sword and helmet clattered down on the stone and one or two of the other soldiers turned in response, but Tane, now displaying his claws, cautioned them back.

To the veteran, Lan said, quite coolly, ‘Do not call me
love
, and do not treat me as if I’m some useless fucking dress-tart. We’ve done more for this city in a few weeks than you probably have in your entire life.’

‘All right, lady, I was only kidding . . .’ he spluttered.

Lan lowered him, but let him drop the final foot. He stumbled to his knees amidst scraps of food and murky puddles. His glance was full of disdain as Vuldon hauled him back upright, and dusted him down theatrically.

‘Now where was I?’ Vuldon said breathing into the soldier’s face. ‘Oh yeah – we got orders to defuse the situation.’

‘So have we,’ the officer replied. ‘Look, we can let you pass through, all right, but that’s all I’m doing for now. You wanna go to the front? Fine. Rather you than me.’

A few quick orders and a line parted in the gathered ranks allowing the Knights through. There were men and, surprisingly, a few women, from units of the Dragoons, Regiments of Foot and city guard; their shields raised, their swords in hand, their helms fixed in place.

As they approached the front, a row of protesters could be seen stretching in a rough line the full width of the street, which was perhaps fifty paces wide. Thick, granite walls boxed them in – surprisingly bland structures for Villjamur – and the buildings they had passed were mostly terraces. This meant there was no route for the protesters to move out of the street.

There was only backwards or forwards.

Towards the military, or back to the caves.

A few people leaned out of the windows to hurl abuse at the Cavesiders, some chucking rotten food on them. The archers were numerous, silhouetted against the bright sky. A few garudas swept over the scene, and would probably be relaying details back to the commanders.

The Knights presented themselves to the Cavesiders, which had stalled about twenty paces from the military in a stand-off, and as soon as they arrived the protesters began to hurl abuse and obscenities.

Lan was mortified. Why couldn’t these people see the bigger picture? There were signs that declared her presence was an act of oppression, that the Knights victimized Cavesiders, that they worked only for the rich and served the privileged. Was that even true? Had she sold her soul to the wealthy?

Vuldon and Tane moved forward and tried talking to some of the protesters, but this seemed to raise the aggression towards them.

When they eventually returned to her side, Vuldon gave a huge sigh. ‘There’s not a lot we can do here. We’re part of the reason they’re protesting. We’ll make things worse by being here.’

An object flew by – a bottle – and it crashed down a few feet to one side, then burst into flame. A pool of liquid was on fire. Lan could swear that it had come from behind, from the Empire’s soldiers, and not the Cavesiders.

A ripple of clattering metal: in an instant, the front row of the military surged forward past the Knights, and locked their shields. Another bottle exploded further away. This most definitely came from above –
one of the archers?
What were they doing? Black smoke began to rise and the snow suddenly intensified.

‘I see now,’ Vuldon said, his head turning left and right as he analyzed the scene. ‘Oh shit, I can see.’

‘What? What do you see?’ Lan demanded.

‘They’re planning to slaughter their own people!’ Vuldon snapped.

‘Shouldn’t we stop this getting out of hand?’ Tane asked, peering around hurriedly. The abusive chants amplified around them.

Vuldon shook his head in despair. ‘What, cat-man, do you suggest we do? The military has already made their decision. There are hundreds of them and only three of us.’

‘We can’t,’ Lan pleaded. ‘We’re meant to look after the people of the city – and that includes Cavesiders, surely? They deserve our protection, just like anyone else.’

Movement above: the archers were now readying their arrows, and taking aim.

‘Get away from this,’ Vuldon ordered them both. He pointed his finger down at their faces, like they were children. ‘We walk away or this will haunt you for years. Do not involve yourselves in this massacre. We won’t stop the military and the Cavesiders won’t listen to us – even if we could get to them. I can do dirty work now and then, but I’ve found my backbone, and I won’t be involved in a massacre. These are my orders now. Walk right away immediately.’

More bottles exploded around them. Instructions were being barked from somewhere within the massed ranks, and soldiers edged closer into position.

Lan felt shame and hopelessness, and an overwhelming urge to remain there, to do something – anything – but Vuldon was now pulling her back, back through the lines of soldiers, away from those she wanted to help, to save, to be the hero she believed herself to be.

Soldiers pulled into ranks, obscuring her view of the scene on the ground. Lan was aghast: arrows commenced raining down on the Cavesiders, whose screams rose up from the streets, shrieks of hysteria drowned out by the sounds of the Imperial soldiers continuing their assault upon the Empire’s own subjects.

*

Fulcrom was getting bored. There was only so much he could take of seeing one dusty room after another, hearing his own footsteps shuffling on the stone, and following the light clasped in Ulryk’s hands. Only the occasional downward stairwell broke the monotony of their location. The corridors were oppressing, the centuries of darkness and decay closing in on them like a fist.

Some of the rooms possessed statues of humans: bronze busts or full figures, covered in dust and cobwebs, gazing lamentably into some distant realm. Fulcrom speculated at who they might be, but they bore no resemblance to the paintings and statues of Villjamur’s leaders of the past few hundred years. ‘How far have we come?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘I’ve counted well over fifty sets of stairs going down.’

‘I suspect we’re far beneath the city. The floors are gently sloped; we have entered rooms that open out onto lower levels – though do not ask me how they have been constructed.’