The Incorruptibles (19 page)

Livia tucked a wild hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. ‘I am sullied beyond repair. But I do not need
you
, Father. I have my own fortune – my mother made sure of that before you divorced her – and I can make my way in the world just fine. From now on, I shall steer my own course.’

Tears gathered in Carnelia’s eyes as she watched her sister, and I felt a moment of sadness for the younger woman – still bound within the familial games. Still a viable pawn on the board.

‘I … I never knew you felt this way, Livia.’ Cornelius said. He ran his free hand through his grey hair. ‘I want you to be …’

‘Happy? Then you will not hinder me now.’

Cornelius nodded.

Livia sighed. ‘Tata, I love you dearly. But both you and I know there’s no real public life for me back home. And here …’ She gestured to the stateroom, and the movement encompassed more than just the dull wood and silver of the
Cornelian
hull and planks – it encompassed the vastness of the Big Rill, the White Mountains, the Hardscrabble Territories, and massiveness of this new land. And somewhere in there, I imagine, it encompassed Fisk, too. ‘Here I can discover my destiny.’

Secundus cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid I can’t allow that, sister.’

Livia turned to him, giving him a cool look that would have made most men tremble. ‘Indeed?’

‘You are still a member of the Cornelian family, despite the unfortunate slanders against your name. I assure you, now that I am …’ He stopped, took a breath. ‘Now that Gnaeus is gone, I have been thinking and planning. I will address the slanders against you by taking Metellus to court.’

Carnelia snickered. ‘For what? Spreading rumours?’

The young patrician shook his head. ‘During your wedding feast I overheard Metellus speaking to one of his cronies about the purchase of a silver mine in Dolia.’

Cornelius shook his head. ‘While it’s frowned upon, senators have been able to join in industry ever since Justininus sat on the stone chair. Anyway, the Dolia silver mines have been exhausted, or so Imperial missives tell me.’ He tapped a finger on the table. ‘Which is why we’re here, at the edge of the Ia-damned world. Silver.’

Secundus nodded. ‘I believe Metellus knew of the impending failure of the silverlode in Dolia and inflated the price of the mine in the last census,’ he said, holding up his hands as if weighing a talent of silver. ‘By a thousandfold.’

Cornelius’ eyes widened, and he whistled. ‘Defrauding the College of the Indemnities! You’ll win no friends in the senate if you don a wolf’s head and nip at one of their own.’ He laughed. ‘Oh, but what a way to enter into the rolls, son! A fantastic way to start a career.’

Secundus narrowed his eyes. ‘I will prosecute him far enough that he fears me. But I would never be able to win. I have not enough clout nor gravitas, and the backbenchers would not support me. I can, however, make a big enough clamour that he might accede to my demands.’

‘Which would be?’

‘A formal declaration that Livia was a good wife, and true, and that all of the slanders against her name were false and propagated by his political enemies.’

Carnelia clapped her hands together. ‘Bravo!’

‘I won’t be there to see it,’ Livia said simply.

‘What do you mean?’ Secundus said.

‘I do not plan on leaving this land for you, little brother. You’ll make no marriage arrangements for me.’

‘Livvie, this way we can arrange a suitable match—’

‘Do what you will, but I’ll not return to Rume.’

‘You will if I tell you, sister.’ He had forced some steel into his voice.

Livia’s eyes blazed and she placed her hands on her waist. I had the distinct impression that she was thinking of pulling her sawn-off from wherever she kept it in her dress.

‘Then I renounce the Cornelian name.’

Carnelia’s glass dropped, shattering on the table. Secundus’ mouth opened and then shut.

But Cornelius, now that he’d had enough whiskey, laughed. ‘You will do no such thing.’ He raised his glass. ‘I am immensely fond of the two of you at the moment, and I would see no ill-will between you.’ He slurped his drink. ‘You, Livia, are free to do as you like. Provided that you remain a Cornelian and do not get killed. For the love I bear you. You, Secundus, will do exactly as you said and bring suit against Metellus.’

‘Why, if you’ll not keep her with us, father?’

‘The Cornelian family can trace its name back three thousand years.’ Cornelius looked serious for a moment, thinking. Then he said, ‘Because
no one
drags us through the mud and gets away with it.’

‘What about me, Tata?’ Carnelia asked.

‘What about you?’

‘What great plans do you have for me?’

‘It is a shame my blameless child was labelled a whore and deviant, while my – let us say – more amorous one is what I’m left to work with. Be that as it may, I will still try to arrange some sort of union for you with Marcus Claudius.’

Carnelia’s expression became sly and she picked at her fingernails as she said, ‘Say I want to renounce the Cornelian name myself, and find my way in this new land?’

Cornelius laughed until tears streamed from his eyes. Livia kept a straight face but Secundus could not hide a smile.

When he could breathe again, Cornelius said, ‘Ah … daughter, I will miss your charming conversation very, very much. I’m sure we can all visit you at whatever whorehouse you end up in.’

Carnelia blanched. She stood up and left the triclinium.

The laughter lasted longer than you would have expected, coming from a father and brother. Rumans just don’t act like regular folk.

Finally, having regained his composure, Secundus said, ‘Beleth, you stopped speaking too soon.’

‘Uh, yes, er – whatever do you mean, Secundus?’

‘The third way to summon and bind a
daemon
. Please go on.’

‘Well, er, the third way to summon and bind a
daemon
is to direct it to possess a human.’ He popped a handful of almonds into his mouth. ‘Very painful stuff and it ends, usually, in death. But a simple enough process – it’s the containment of the infernal that is complex. Marking a vessel for possession only requires a bit of inkwork on the subject—’

‘Do you know these markings?’ Livia asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Fascinating. Did you learn them during your time in far Tchinee, studying with the Autumn Lords?’

He nodded slowly, one eyebrow arching.

‘Might we see them?’

‘Now?’ Beleth was resting his glass of whiskey on the top of his belly. He brushed his hand on his trousers then dipped it into his shirt pocket to withdraw a thin cheroot, which he lit from a match. All the while ignoring Livia’s stare. Finally, after he was puffing merrily, his head wreathed in dark smoke, he said, ‘It seems my hands are occupied. Samantha?’

Samantha had remained quiet during the whole length of the conversation but now sat forward and pulled a piece of paper from her breeches, laying it flat upon the stateroom table. She scratched an intricate circle with a sharp charcoal pencil. When she was through, she passed it to Secundus, who glanced at it and then passed it around the table. When it came to Livia, she looked at it, and then folded the paper.

‘Interesting. Thank you for the lesson. I hate unfinished subjects. Are there words that go with the process?’

Beleth squinted at her. ‘Why do you wish to know this?’

‘I am curious.’

‘Of course there are words,’ Samantha said. ‘None that should be spoken here.’

‘Ah. I understand.’

Fisk cocked his head. ‘What’s all this about, Livia?’

‘It is nothing.’

Then Livia stepped forward, and despite the eyes of family upon her, she took Fisk’s hand in hers, brought it to her cheek, and said, ‘I go with you.’

He was silent, the muscles working back and forth in his cheek, grinding his teeth. Finally he said, ‘Of course.’

It was only later I realized that Livia had kept the piece of paper.

TWENTY-TWO

‘You really gonna go through with this?’ I asked Fisk and Livia as we lingered in the small stateroom after Fisk’s debriefing. Cimbri had taken Reeve to get accoutred for scout duty – he was replacing Banty for the time being – and we had time before Beleth was ready for the binding.

There was a lot going through my mind then, more than just the consequences of having a
daemon
invade Isabelle’s hand. The events of the last week living on the
Cornelian
among the patricians and – worse – performing the grisly interrogator’s duties for Beleth had really disturbed my normal demeanour; I felt desperate and raw. It is easy to tamp away feeling from a remove of many years, but at this point, my chest was a roil of emotion, of guilt and anger.

And adding to this, a haggard and trail-beaten Fisk had now returned to us. Empty-handed.

Fisk looked at me, inclined his head slightly, and said, ‘Shoe, you
know
me.’

I slowly nodded my head. ‘Yep, I sure do.’ I lowered my voice and looked around, wary that Lupina or Samantha might re-enter the small stateroom unannounced. ‘But
you
don’t know that man, Beleth.’ I pointed to my temple, and said, ‘He’s shithouse-rat crazy, that one. He don’t care about you. He don’t care about the Senator or Miss Livia or this boat. He don’t care about nothing. I know him now, more than I ever wanted.’ I looked helplessly at Livia; maybe she would back me up. ‘We’re all entertainment for him. He’ll bind something horrible to you. He’ll fill that hand with the foulest rot from the depths of Hell just to see how it affects you. You don’t have to do this.’

‘You know I do.’

‘Livia? Talk to him. He’ll listen to you.’

‘To what end? So he can be even more disgraced and sent away, back to the garrison at New Damnation? So the person most able to help Isabelle is banished? So I can’t be near him in such brief time life gives us?’ She took Fisk’s hand, held it in her lap. ‘I have not known him as long as you, Mr Ilys, but I know that he won’t be deterred.’ She brought his hand to her lips, kissed it. ‘We are both barred from our original society. For that I am grateful. The stain on my name gives me a freedom I’d never have been allowed otherwise.’ She kissed his hand again, and they looked at each other with soft eyes.

I watched the lovers. A strange pair they made, both fallen from their birthright. Both with names besmirched. Both strong in different ways. Their love for each other was obvious, writ large on their features.

It’s a strange thing, love. It is a great gift Ia gives us, beyond name or family or honour. A gift we give ourselves? Hell, I don’t know.

‘Well,’ I said, slumping back into my chair. ‘Shit fire. I guess I’m gonna have to go too. Gimme some of that whiskey, will you? I’ll be damned if I’m going to watch this dog and pony show sober.’

Beleth’s quarters were large, the size of the small stateroom, and as I examined them I realized his rooms could very well sit directly above the stateroom we had just left. A large
orbis argenta
was burned into the floorboards and at the centre point was a terrible scorch-mark, witness to some dire combustion. A great table stood littered with sketches of wards and intaglios, inkwells and spare parchment, sandwells, wax blocks, knives and stoppered bottles with dark currents swirling in their smoked glass. There were bullet moulds, a stack of small silver ingots – a fortune large enough to buy another
Cornelian
sitting there as pretty as you please – a scrawl of holly, a smelting brazier, and the empty casings of Hellfire shells. This, all along with the tools of every firearm-inclined engineer – numerous engraver’s tools, vices, awls, V-shaped burins, needles, hammers, tongs, and a great mounted eyeglass I could only assume was for finer wardwork. There were dark wooden cabinets and podiums holding thick books. Skeins of open pipework came through the wall and snaked across the ceiling, held tight with brackets, to a large basin. Behind a small enamelled bamboo partition – a relic, I surmised, from Beleth’s days in far Tchinee – stood a modest bed. No wild cavorting with
succubi
here. A wall of Gallish doors was mostly hid behind heavy drapes. Beyond the bed towered an imposing wardrobe, doors negligently left open, stuffed with suits, jackets, hats, and patent leather shoes. It seemed that Beleth was quite the clotheshorse.

But more noticeable than the clutter was the stink of sulphur and the acrid odour of silver smelting and burnt flesh.

Samantha led Livia, Fisk, and me into the room. Beleth who sat at the great table, affixing a silver hasp onto the ragged stump of Isabelle’s severed hand, frowned at our entrance. He shook his head and said, ‘As much as I appreciate the audience, this is a rather delicate procedure. My pardons, Miss Livia, but you and the dwarf will have to leave.’

Beleth scared me. But I had no intentions of letting him have Fisk to experiment on.

‘We shouldn’t be any problem,’ I said, holding up my hands.

‘No, Beleth,’ said Livia. ‘I think we’ll stay.’

Beleth put down his utensils. The smoke from a pot of something near his elbow, made him whip off his glasses and rub his eyes.

He sighed. ‘Are we going to have this now? This contest of will?’

‘No contest,’ Fisk said. ‘They’re just concerned for my person.’

‘It isn’t your body we’re worried about,’ I said.

Beleth’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at me sharply. His lips pursed. He thought for a moment, then stood up, walking to the centre of the
orbis argenta.

‘In a little while, a
daemon minima
will occupy this space. Those wards will bind and contain him, for a while.’ He walked outside of the
orbis argenta
, and I noticed two smaller, denser, circular intaglios of wardwork. ‘As the summoner, I shall stand here. Mr Fisk shall stand here.’ He let his hands fall to his sides, and he looked very exasperated and resigned. ‘Where will you stand?’

‘We’ll be fine right where we are,’ Livia said. And suddenly she was holding the same pistol grip sawn-off with which she’d brought down Agrippina. I hadn’t seen her take it out from beneath her dress. She thumbed back the hammers and said, ‘You’re not the only person with a little mechanical knowledge, Beleth. I filed down the hammer catch. I’m holding it back with my thumb. Should anything happen to Mr Ilys, Fisk, or myself, it’ll release and you’ll share our fate.’

Beleth laughed. ‘You’d doom all these people on the boat, and possibly this whole region, just to keep an eye on me?’

‘Doom? Hardly.’

He laughed again and shook his head. ‘You, madam, are an idiot. Should something go wrong in this room, you having a gun pointed at me will be a blessing. The alternative would be –’ he smiled, showing teeth – ‘unpleasant, to say the least. Quick death by that gun would be welcome.’ He pointed to a bench. ‘Stay out of the way and remain absolutely silent, and you might live through this.’ He beckoned. ‘Mr Fisk, if you’ll please come forward and stand here.’

Fisk moved to where Beleth indicated, his back stiff and the faintest hint of a limp marring his stride. He hadn’t changed from the ride back from Broken Tooth, and his clothes were discoloured with blood and the dirt of the trail. He kept his hand on the six-gun. He looked utterly weary.

Beleth nodded to Samantha and she left, shutting the door carefully.

‘Where’s she going?’ asked Fisk.

‘Somewhere near, but safe. Her quarters are warded.’

‘Why?’

‘All procedures like this involve great danger. What did you think we do here?’

‘Always figured you raised devils,’ drawled Fisk.

Beleth walked to the worktable, opened a leather kit all too familiar to me, and withdrew a knife. He turned to a large book, opened it, and removed a small piece of paper from its pages. Turning back to Fisk, he said, ‘Yes, we do that. But in a larger sense, we contain and direct raw energy. In this way, we are like gods.’ He gestured to me with his knife. ‘Your pious friend is no doubt offended by that, but it is true. Mankind can assume the power, even the aspect, of the divine.’

‘And the infernal,’ I said.

He said, ‘Remain absolutely silent. Once blood has been sacrificed and placed within the circle, attentions beyond your understanding are focused on this space and any word … any
sound
that passes through the air above the
orbis argenta
… can be construed as part of a binding covenant.’ He looked at us. ‘Nod your head if you understand.’

We nodded.

Beleth chuckled and picked up the severed hand, turned, and approached Fisk once more. ‘Put out your hand, Mr Fisk.’

Fisk stuck out his hand, palm up. The knife flashed out and Fisk’s palm gained a long mark, a parody of the wedding wound. Blood began to drip from his cupped palm. Fisk winced but nothing more.

‘On Isabelle’s hand, if you please.’ Holding out the silver-hasped limb, Beleth waited as Fisk’s blood dripped onto the grisly thing, streaking the skin. Beleth put it in the centre of the
orbis argenta
and took his allotted position just outside.

The room, already dim, seemed to grow darker at the edges and corners and the thrum and hiss of the
daemon-
heated water surging throughout the ship quieted. The scorched silver intaglios of the
orbis argenta
radiated with a cold, hard light.

Beleth said, ‘In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni.’ His voice was pitched low, and it deepened as he went on. ‘In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni.
In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni
.’ Over and over, he repeated his incantation. As his voice deepened and the lights dimmed, I thought about the phrase. It meant either “we wander in the night, and are consumed by fire” in the tongue of Rumans. Or it could mean “we enter the circle in the dark and are consumed by fire”.

I heard a strange cadence to the words, and soon little arcs of yellow light, like miniature falling stars, dashed about within the
orbis argenta
and a darkness pressed in all around us, a palpable darkness, a darkness spun from hatred and damnation and sin. I felt it creeping toward me, and it pulsed and throbbed. Or maybe that was my terrified blood pumping through my body, tensed and ready to flee. I could not see the room’s walls. All my attention was drawn to Beleth’s voice and the darkness coalescing now in the centre of the circle, laced with golden flashes as though someone had tossed in a shower of golden coins, flashing and winking in some unknown light.

‘In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni,’ Beleth said again, low and sonorous.

I heard a ringing like the tolling of a great bell, and in my mind’s eye I saw the words Beleth spoke and realized they made a horrible burning circle, moving forward and then curling back on themselves, like a snake devouring its own tail.

The darkness swelled inside the
orbis argenta
, and I felt a popping in my ears as though I was descending a cliff. My breath steamed in the now bitterly-cold air and rose in front of my face, and I watched as the darkness, like ink settling at the bottom of a glass, shifted and became sediment in the silver circle of wardwork on Beleth’s chamber floor.

I felt a great distance then, as though we all stood on the edge of a great chasm above a darkling plain where
devils
and
imps
sodomized penitents,
daemons
desecrated flesh, and the
inferis
capered and pranced and gibbered in tongues that no man, no
dvergar
, had ever heard, but all could understand. On every tongue a malediction, in every action an atrocity.

I was going to run. Something was coming, something massive and unstoppable, wicked and full of glee. I was going to scream, scream into the impregnated air, scream into my hands, scream and scratch and tear at the door to be let out.

I glanced at Livia. Her face was utterly white, as though a
vaettir
or
vorduluk
had cut her sanguiducts and drained her of all life. Her lips pulled back in a grimace, her eyes wide. She shuddered in absolute terror.

The bell tolled again across the darkling plain spread beneath us. The darkness swirled and centred itself like some mad whirlpool caught in oil, slowly turning, narrowing, laced with lighting and golden arcs.

The darkness at the edges of my vision pushed past us, and now all that we could see were strange shapes contained inside the black ink of the summoned abomination. It mocked us with inky visages, like frescoes cut from obsidian. There Fisk was locked in embrace with Livia. There he strangled her. Here I stood naked with a blade. There I had cut open Beleth and spooled his guts into a noose that I wrapped around Livia’s neck. And more images, flashing,
flashing
. There a
vaettir
held a child. There its gutted body roasted on a spit over a fire. Faster and faster the images came, each one more horrible than the last.

I couldn’t see Livia, but I could hear her gasping.

I blinked, and it was as though, in the instant my eyes closed, the room filled with flames and the screams of the doomed and damned and above us all sat a Crimson Man on a throne, dripping with blood and grinning, grinning with terrible ferocity. The Crimson Man held out his arms like he was gathering wayward children unto himself. Drenched in blood, he held a sceptre and wore a crown and under his chair – his throne – was a mountain of living damned. And he smiled. A smile that could devour the world.

When I opened my eyes once more, the room returned and now the darkness was almost welcome. Anything to keep the Crimson Man at bay. Anything.

I told myself to flee, but my body was not mine to command. I could not move.

The surge of blood hammered in my ears and I felt an unbearable pressure behind my eyes and then I was screaming, truly screaming in a high-pitched, tortured wail. I was joined by Livia.

Our wails made strange infernal harmonies and the
orbis argenta
glowed, very bright, sending white light into the room and illuminating Beleth and Fisk at the edge.