The Merchant of Dreams (46 page)

“My love?” Her voice was more hesitant now. She drew back, staring at him in panic. Silver light flashed overhead, then expanded into the mouth of a tunnel, green and gold like a tree-lined lane in summer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and taking hold of her wrists pulled her into the tunnel.

“No!” She writhed in his grasp, spat curses.

Shadows stirred In the darkness, circling. Mal hesitated and Olivia pulled one wrist from his grasp, pivoting away. He seized her elbow with his free hand, and pulled her across the slippery black grass, towards the waiting figure of Sandy. Olivia – Ilianwe – looked from one to the other.

“Two of you?” she whispered.

“We are Erishen,” Sandy said, “of Shajiilrekhurrnasheth. By the law of our people we command you to submit to the authority of the elders.”

She only laughed. “You are not my clan-fathers, you cannot command me. Abominations!”

“If you will not surrender, you leave us no choice.” Mal gestured towards the far end of the tunnel. “Come with us, and we will return to your clan, to be reborn in our true form. A ship awaits us–”

“You think they will give me the choice?” She backed away, shaking her head. “They will throw me in the ocean to die rather than risk me returning to spread dissent.”

“No.”

“You are young, you do not know what they are like.”

He hesitated. Images formed around them, stern figures pointing at Ilianwe in condemnation. Was this some illusion she was conjuring to sway him, or Erishen’s own memories? Sandy pushed him aside and took hold of her.

“She lies,” he said. “Come.”

Mal let go, and watched the two of them shrink into the distance as the tunnel began to narrow and close. Time to make his own departure. He turned, only to find his way blocked by devourers. Their coal-black hides made them near-invisible in the darkness, so that they could only be seen when they moved. There had to be nearly a dozen of them.

From somewhere behind him, Ilianwe’s voice rang out, faint but clear.

“Kill him.”

Mal tried to summon the obsidian blade, but his hand remained frustratingly empty. As the creatures began to close in, he made a desperate dive for the hollow where all his dreamwalks began–

–And woke on the cold stone floor of the gallery with a start. The fireworks still popped and whined and lit the clouds with their man-made lightning, but the shrieks of awe had turned to screams of terror. Looking down into the courtyard, Mal saw bodies lying sprawled on the ground in pools of dark blood. Sweet Jesu, what had he done? He raced towards the staircase and followed the trail of destruction out into the night.

CHAPTER XXXII

St Mark’s Square was as crowded as the palace, and the fair was still in full swing. Coby slipped through the shadows, trying to find a place to relieve herself in private. It was a good excuse to avoid the fireworks, but she had better be back before they finished, just in case Mal needed her.

For once she wished she was wearing women’s clothes. At least that way she could use whatever facilities were provided for the noblewomen, or even squat in an alley without baring her nethers. Venetian men, on the other hand, pissed in the street wherever they pleased, including against the pillars outside the palace. It was all very irksome. She gritted her teeth and headed towards the basilica.

Around her, the citizens of the republic laughed and sang and ate, but there was surprisingly little drinking. Even so, or perhaps because of their normally abstemious habits, many of the faces were flushed, their owners unsteady on their feet and as lecherous as alley cats. Coby had her arse pinched more than once before she had gone ten yards, and one man had even groped her groin as she squeezed past a group of people watching a conjuror. Thankfully she was wearing a soft fake prick in her breeches, not the hard roll of lock-picks, but the man still leered at her, making what was presumably a lewd invitation in the local dialect. She smiled politely, not wanting to start a fight, and moved on.

Just beyond the mouth of the Mercerie an alley opened into darkness; empty, at least for the moment. She hurried down and ducked into a doorway, fumbling with the buttons on her breeches. Then she hear the screams, and nearly lost control of her bladder altogether.
What in Heaven…?
Rebuttoning her fly, she drew her knife and padded towards the alley mouth.

A mass of people surged down the narrow street like water along a storm drain, women screaming and men white-faced with terror. Something loped along beyond them, bigger than a wolfhound and moving with a sinuous grace. The screaming crowd passed the alley mouth. Coby pressed against the wall, her heart pounding. The high walls seemed to close in around her, like a nightmare, and she caught a glimpse of a wet maw with too many teeth and dead white eyes like a baked trout, then the creature was past her, spreading pandemonium in its wake. Two others followed, until the night was a swirling kaleidoscope of screams and the air thick with the scent of fresh blood.

Coby peered out of the alley, but her feet would not move. When she saw Mal heading towards her, she felt dizzy with mingled relief and panic. She stepped out of the alley mouth, and Mal stumbled to a halt.

“What are you doing here?”

“No time for that.” She gestured back to the square. “There are creatures–”

“Devourers. I know. I let them out.”

“What?”

“It was an accident.” He manoeuvred past her; getting between her and the devourers, she noticed.

“So what do we do?”

“We find my brother.”

“Sandy?”

“Charles.”

Erishen staggered backwards, holding the woman by both arms. Skraylings surrounded them, iron shackles at the ready. Ilianwe screamed in fury as the manacles closed around her wrists, then collapsed to her knees to the floor.

“You are certain this is the Lost One?” Hennaq said, eyeing her doubtfully.

“Yes, certain,” Erishen replied. “I saw her spirit-self and it is quite distinctive.”

Hennaq’s eyes narrowed. “If you are lying to me–”

“It is no lie. Ask her.”

The captain cleared his throat. “Who are you?” Ilianwe merely stared into space. Hennaq looked at Erishen. “Well? Is she deaf or mute, or merely some poor human, ignorant of our business?”

“I suppose she has not spoken Vinlandic in many lifetimes, and in any case all tongues change with time.” He crouched down and addressed Ilianwe in the ancient tongue. “Tell the captain your name.”

“Ilianwe,” she said, in tones befitting a queen. “Child of Maranë, of the Fourth City.”

Erishen translated for the captain’s benefit.

“Hennaq-tuur!” One of the sailors burst through the cabin door. “Come see, Hennaq-tuur, there is–” He shrugged helplessly.

Erishen followed Hennaq out onto the deck. The crowds of merrymakers on the quayside were no longer laughing and singing; they were dashing to and fro, screaming, and some flung themselves into the water as if desperate to escape.

“Human trouble,” Hennaq said with a snort. “Nothing to bother us. But perhaps you would prefer to stay aboard for a while, Erishen-tuur, until peace returns?”

“No.” Erishen felt the humans’ unease. That blind terror was all too familiar.
Hrrith
. “No, I must go ashore now.”

Hennaq bowed his acquiescence and signalled for the boat to be lowered. Erishen clambered down into it and was soon rowing himself back towards the palace. If the
hrrith
had managed to escape, they would slaughter everyone in their path, just as Charles had described. And Kiiren was right in the middle of it.

It felt like an eternity until the little boat’s prow bumped against the mooring posts, an eternity in the Christians’ Hell, all flickering torchlight and screams of terror. Erishen leapt ashore and began pushing his way through the crowd towards the nearest entrance to the palace. Two guards, their faces pale as porridge, barred his way. Beyond them he could see bodies strewn across the courtyard, the gruesome details of their fates intermittently revealed by the light of dying fireworks. He watched for any sign of
hrrith
lurking in the shadows of the outer cloister, but they would have fled the fireworks as blindly as their victims fled the
hrrith
.

Erishen closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. The dark plains were knee-deep in a swirling golden mist, exuded by the citizens’ panicking minds as rationality gave way to nightmare terror. He waded through it, looking for Kiiren, and found his
amayi
at last, a pale solid presence amongst the chaos. He lived, then. Erishen opened his eyes, smiled at the two guards and punched them both in the stomach before they could react. With a murmured apology he strode past them into the palace.

“You must have some idea of what these creatures are and how to stop them,” Mal said, pacing back and forth across the worn floorboards.

Charles glared up at them. He was seated on a rickety stool in the middle of the gambling house, fenced in by Ned and Parrish. The other patrons had fled into the night, and the owner had barricaded himself in the upstairs room. Coby was keeping watch on the street through one of the shutters.

“And why should I tell you?” Charles asked.

“Would you rather let these creatures have the run of the city?”

“No.”

“So help us. You seemed very keen on a reconciliation yesterday. Brother.”

“Aye, well, that were yesterday, before you let all Hell loose. You and your skrayling friends.” Charles spat on the floor, narrowly missing Ned’s foot. “Fuck the lot of ‘em.”

Mal hauled him upright by the front of his doublet. “Tell me what you know, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

“Why, little brother, you’ve grown balls since I last saw you.”

Mal slapped him backhanded across the mouth. Charles raised a hand to his cut lip.

“Tell me,” Mal said again.

“We gleaned some intelligence,” Charles said at last. “But never enough. These creatures are fast, strong and tireless, and as cunning as a den of foxes.”

“Sandy said you tracked them into the hills, back home. For how long?”

“Days, sometimes. Once, we found one… it had been roaming the hills for weeks, judging by the trail of dead sheep.”

“It won’t be sheep that get killed here.”

“I know that.”

“Then help us,” Coby said, turning away from the window. “If not for our sakes, then for the sake of your friends and neighbours, and all the good Christian folk of Venice.”

She glared at Mal, who reluctantly let Charles go.

“What business is it of yours, anyway?” Charles asked. “The Doge has soldiers, intelligencers, the machinery of an entire state at his disposal; let him deal with it.”

Mal shook his head. “The Venetians have no idea what they’re up against. You’re the only man in the city who has ever faced one of these creatures, so…”

He left the threat hanging, and Charles reacted just as he’d hoped.

“Christ, no! Please, brother, you wouldn’t hand me over to the Ten, would you?” He fell off the stool onto his knees and grovelled at Mal’s feet. “You don’t know what they do to traitors. Please…”

“Get up.” Mal turned away in disgust, adding in a low voice, “I know exactly what they do.”

Coby caught his eye and looked away, her features taut with sympathy. Mal turned back to his brother, who had ceased his grovelling but remained on his knees, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Help me to clear up this mess,” Mal said, “and we will both earn the Doge’s gratitude. Perhaps even a reward.”

Charles’ head jerked up, and an avaricious smile spread across his features. “How many of the monsters did you say there were?”

“A good dozen.”

“Christ’s balls.” Charles made the sign of the cross. “It’ll take more than you four to kill that many. A lot more.”

“Four is all we have,” Mal replied. “Or should I say five?”

Charles turned pale. “No. You can’t get me to face those things again.” He raised a hand to clutch his side, as if his old wound had reopened.

“And you call me a coward. So, four. Mayhap with the aid of your knowledge it will be enough.”

“Do we have to fight them?” Ned asked. “This city is full of churches and shrines. Perhaps we can find a priest, banish them back to Hell where they belong.”

“They aren’t demons,” Charles said. “Not really. I don’t know what they are. God knows they’re as unholy as anything I can imagine, and yet…”

“Perhaps they answer to the gods or devils of the skraylings,” Parrish said.

“They don’t have any, as far as I’ve heard,” Coby said. “Did you see any temples, sir, when you were in the skrayling compound?”

Mal shook his head. “I don’t know what the skraylings believe in, but it’s not gods or devils.”

“In any case,” Parrish said, “we are not wholly friendless. Surely the skraylings will help, if we can get a message to them?”

“Perhaps. But if Kiiren tells them how this happened, they may wash their hands of us.”

“We must at least try,” Coby said.

“What about your friend, Chinky-whatever-his-name-is?” Ned put in.

“Cinquedea?” Mal frowned. “I suppose we are allies of a sort, though I would not trust him further than I could throw him.”

“You know Cinquedea?” Charles said with a laugh. “Well, well, little brother, you are full of surprises today.”

“Oh? You know him?”

“I know of him. Nasty piece of work. They say he’s one of the Lacemaker’s lieutenants. And no one messes with her.”

Mal picked up an abandoned gambling chip and turned it over and over in his fingers.

“We will hold that possibility in reserve,” he said. “For now, we need to work out a stratagem for dealing with the devourers. What do you know of them, Charles? What are their habits, their weaknesses?”

“I know little enough,” Charles replied. “They have few weaknesses, and their only habit is to kill without mercy.”

“You must know something.” Mal resisted the urge to slap his brother again.

Charles shrugged. “I only know what I’ve seen.”

“Which is?”