The Book of Transformations (9 page)

Fulcrom shook his head. ‘Appalling, my Emperor.’ Though he was quietly disgusted with how little information made its way into the Inquisition channels. Much of this was news to him.

‘Lies spread like a disease, Fulcrom. Meetings are being held in the dark, in undisclosed corners of the city, and whenever the military arrive they find only empty rooms. There is talk that money has become
redundant
in some Caveside zones, that goods are being provided for free amongst certain groups. It is said that the Cavesiders think Shalev is some kind of saviour, but you and I know better. She is a violent terror-maker.’

‘I was reading a report only this morning, my Emperor,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘Shops are being targeted for robberies. Military personnel are being beaten up on the streets. Those on the higher levels of the city live in constant fear.’

‘And that’s something I will not allow. I don’t need to tell you how much work this is causing us, being in the Inquisition.’

A dignified smile from Fulcrom’s lips. ‘We’re certainly stretched.’

Urtica acknowledged his words. ‘You people work hard. I myself have agents who have infiltrated all of this nonsense only so far, but these people are highly organized, and I don’t like it one bit. I cannot allow for miscreants to dominate the affairs of the Empire.’

Fulcrom loathed the sycophantic language he was using. After all, this man before him was responsible for trying to murder the refugees outside the city gates. ‘You sound like you have a plan, my Emperor.’

‘That’s right.’ Urtica lowered his feet and leant forward across the desk, his gaze holding Fulcrom’s own, analyzing him. ‘Now, so far the city guard have proven useless and, for all I know, those ruffians are mixed up in it all. But you, Fulcrom – as a member of the Inquisition, who I believe I can trust – are going to be part of my plans.’

‘I’m absolutely honoured,’ Fulcrom lied.

*

Urtica had made a pact with cultists. That was, at first, all he would say.

The two of them strode towards a meeting chamber in a distant corner of Balmacara, one tucked inside the rock which the residence backed onto. Servants and administrative staff fluttered around the Emperor like moths to a light, and Fulcrom noticed how their expressions were keen, stressed and frantic with worry that they might commit a gaucherie before him.

The corridors were, at first, ostentatious – decadent cream tiles, statues and busts and paintings, the light of a thousand lanterns and candles flickering in the gold trim. Then a mere carpet, yesteryear’s decorations, busts of lesser-respected figures. And as Fulcrom descended into Caveside itself, a change to raw stone and crude cressets that emitted a dreary light, a corridor devoid of life save the two bodyguards Urtica had enlisted to follow from a distance.

Two doors on the right, one made of iron, and Urtica wrenched down the handle, heaved it open. The guard the other side moved hesitantly then snapped to attention.

‘And I suppose you call this security?’ Urtica sneered at the massive hulk of protection. ‘I could have been absolutely anyone. I could have killed you.’

‘Apologies, my Emperor. Won’t ’appen again, sir.’

‘Make sure it doesn’t.’ Urtica plunged past the man and into the chamber, while Fulcrom calmly followed.

Around a vast circular oak table, three people were seated, all wearing the cloaked and hooded garb typical of cultists. There was nothing on the walls here, no ornamentation, nothing grand – and, in fact, the stone had been carved from the caves themselves, a rippled and textured effect that made bold shadows from the light of the wall lanterns. It seemed the important thing about this room was that it was kept away from prying eyes.

Those around the table all stood as Urtica settled himself, then motioned for them to all be seated again. ‘Please,’ he said, and indicated a vacant chair to Fulcrom.

Urtica made the introductions. Two men and the woman to one side were cultists from various sects that – as far as Fulcrom could tell – had been offered wealth and security to work on behalf of the Empire.

‘You three know the background,’ Urtica continued. ‘Investigator Fulcrom here doesn’t.’ He turned to face Fulcrom. ‘They have been assisting me with a rather special project. Despite our best efforts to close down movement throughout the city, to pour military personnel into the streets, the violence from the caves keeps escalating.’

Fulcrom regarded him coolly. ‘It’s understandable you wish for this to end, as do we in the Inquisition.’

‘And this is where our cultist friends come in,’ Urtica smiled. ‘They’re in the final stages of developing their technologies to a level where they can blend with flesh and bone. You have heard of the famed resistances given to the members of the elite Night Guard, now assembled in Villiren. Well this is slightly different. These cultists can transform a human and rumel. They can
enhance
one to the point of endowing special powers.’ In a posture of pride, Urtica leaned back, his arms folded.

‘You don’t want me . . .’ Fulcrum tried his best not to sound too apprehensive. He loosened his collar.

‘No of course not,’ Urtica laughed. ‘We already have three individuals in mind for the job.’

‘Who are they?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘And how do you see me fitting into this scheme?’

‘Obviously we need three individuals we can not only trust, but tolerant to the process – we’ll be endowing them with supreme powers, and I’m afraid we’ve lost some early volunteers throughout the process, since not everyone is up to the task. So we will require people who we have some . . . leverage over, as a way of securing trust.’

‘Blackmail?’ the investigator added.

‘It is merely a security, you understand. They will be the owners of amazing anatomies. Essentially we will be creating a new form of individual to help protect the city, a hero to the people – no, more than that. A superhero if you will, more than someone who can front an army. We need these new-style crime-fighters in order to tackle these anarchists and all the terror plaguing my city.’

Fulcrom remained wide-eyed. The cultists simply slumped back in their chairs with hubris.

Urtica continued. ‘And you, Investigator Fulcrom, are to be their liaison with the law. In fact, we will want you to work closely with them so that they have access to all levels of information in the Inquisition, and – according to your superior officers – you have a very deft touch with people. These individuals will require managing, in order to produce steady performances. You are to brief them on troubling cases, and all the necessary leads.’

‘Superhero,’ Fulcrom echoed, too scared to question the decision.

The cultists then explained the projects in a manner riddled with meaningless jargon. They spoke of complex surgeries and talked of specimens. Each of them took it in turns to lecture on various aspects of the process – meta-anatomy, metallic enhancement, organ replacement, rewiring.

Urtica knew all he needed to, and even Fulcrom could see that he also did not comprehend what was being discussed here.

‘So, investigator. Can we guarantee your assistance in the matter?’

‘You can indeed. Can I ask who it is that you’ve selected to form this new trio?’

‘Of course,’ Urtica declared. ‘We’ve already got one of them incarcerated and we want you to be there tonight to see the next being . . .
initiated
. This one shouldn’t be too difficult to persuade. In fact, you know him already.’

The best parties are the ones you don’t plan
, Fulcrom thought to himself as he meandered about the penthouse apartment situated on the fifth level of the city. That was probably why he could never organize a decent one himself: he was a ruthless planner, so any gatherings he conducted – rare though they were – were too precise, too stale and awkward for anyone to really enjoy themselves.

But this, Fulcrom thought, was a thoroughly ostentatious affair. Say what you want about the man, but Aide Tane knew something about putting people in a room and creating a good atmosphere. Daughters of landowners were dancing with investigators and sons of councillors and those with connections throughout the city.

Tane, in his short time spent with the Inquisition, was already a legend for hosting these events – his parties were whispered about long before and long after each night had ended. In his high-ceilinged, modern apartment, with those new-style paintings, white-tiled floors, ornate cressets, and the coloured sculptures made by the hands of Villjamur’s famous glassmakers, men and girls – rumel and human – would convene to forget about the rising levels of crime and the ice age and the far-off war in Villiren.

They tipped wine down their throats. They brushed their lips casually across those of a stranger. Fulcrom was only too aware that they did this because they wanted to forget. On some nights, in the wealthy quarters, you might have several parties going on simultaneously, and each would contain a board with the evening’s scheduled dances, so couples and groups could plan their entertainment well in advance.

Little of this appealed to Fulcrom; he could not rid himself of the thought of the refugees outside who were probably perishing in the plummeting temperatures.

In one corner, two young men around the same age as Tane, in their late twenties, were busy showing off the hilts on their new swords, and testing the steel. Behind them a girl was on her toes whilst she said something discreetly into another man’s ears. The musicians – lutists, drummers and singers fresh from the underground scene – carved amazing melodies and rhythms into the night. All the latest fashions were on parade – high collars, thick, low-cut dresses, and above-the-knee boots. Someone opened a window to rid the room of the humidity of so many bodies – a miraculous gesture considering the freezing conditions outside – and a cool wind brought in the scent of the pine forests.

One of the rumel investigators sauntered up to Fulcrom and, with toxic breath, muttered, ‘Say, that Tane, he makesh . . . makesh a terrible inveshtigator’s aide, but throwsh one helluva night, ah’ll give him that.’

Idiot
, Fulcrom thought. But then again, perhaps he was right. Would Tane ever make a good aide? The man had been attempting to pass major exams for four years now. If it wasn’t for all his questionably large trust funds, which he so helpfully donated to supplying the Inquisition . . .
Don’t be so hard on the lad
, Fulcrom told himself.
Not
tonight.

Girls kept sauntering up to Fulcrom in dresses which weren’t fit for an ice age. Pretty young things with wide-eyed looks that promised the world, and when they spoke to him they licked their lips. ‘Why, I just
love
handsome rumels like yourself.’ ‘You’re so fine looking, and people speak so well of your deeds.’ ‘How come you don’t settle down with someone?’

Maybe Fulcrom was too polite, too diffident to really enjoy being a part of this lifestyle. He cringed at their suggestive words and kindly declined their offers. All the time, Ghale, the Inquisition receptionist, was dancing with some other rumel, constantly glancing towards Fulcrom to see if he was looking her way.

Fulcrom sighed. Would he ever be ready to love again?
Maybe some things I won’t ever get over
, he thought.
How many years has she been gone now? It’s a good thing you’re a workaholic
.

A conversation behind him caught his attention: ‘I don’t know why he bothers. Everyone knows he’s bloody incompetent.’

They were senior administrative staff from the Inquisition, black-skins who he’d met only in passing, the kind who hid behind their books rather than step outside to do a day’s graft on the streets.

‘Indubitably,’ one continued, ‘but he’s minted, so they say. Arch Investigator knew his family, allegedly.’

‘How did they get so rich anyhow?’ said the other, garbed in a red tunic. ‘And why’s he even bothering to work if he possesses such . . . ?’

Fulcrom peered across to Tane, who was suddenly standing before them: tall, blond, blue-eyed, and dressed immaculately in a purple tunic with gold detailing and buttons. Good-looking, the kind of man who bled charm, and even though he had witnessed this insulting conversation, Tane maintained a smile – his final barrier against what was being said.

He sighed and leant down to address the two who were bad-mouthing him. The slender human seemed to let the rage come then go with his breath. ‘Because, my dear fellows, some of us actually want to do some good in the world. Have you perhaps considered that, chaps?’

‘Tane, look . . . Sorry, we just didn’t realize you were there.’

‘Which, of course, makes it quite all right?’ They stood and backed off, smiling tentatively. Tane’s height bestowed on him the advantage of looking down upon their exit, as they squirmed through the mass of drunken bodies.

The slender human sighed, closed his eyes as the sound of the music washed over him, and Fulcrom had to feel sorry for him. He stepped over to place a hand on Tane’s shoulder –
tonight, poor Tane, you will find you have purpose in life.

‘I wouldn’t worry about them, Tane,’ Fulcrom said. ‘Your time will come – sooner than you think.’

*

However, Fulcrom didn’t expect Urtica’s agents, some of his new secret guard, to claim Tane so late in the evening. The idea was to strike while the party was in full flow, to frighten Tane in front of so many people – to batter his ego into submission. Fulcrom had his doubts about this method, would have preferred something more cooperative, but the Emperor had initially wanted to use even more force. This was to be a more diplomatic solution.