Mark Chadbourn - Destroyer of Worlds

'I don't think it's wholly wise to put yourself into the Libertarian's thought processes. That alone may be leading you towards that destiny.'

Church sipped his hot drink thoughtfully. 'Another thing: the Blue Fire exists all over our world, if you look closely enough. It's here in the Far Lands, certainly, but not to the same degree. And why isn't this place swarming with Fabulous Beasts? You'd have thought of all places, here would be their true home, where they'd thrive.'

A hint of a smile flickered on Tom's lips before he wiped it away. 'Yes, I wonder why that is.'

'I suppose you're not going to tell me.'

'Where would be the fun in that? Especially when you're doing so well with your thinking,' Tom added caustically.

'When did things become so difficult?' Church asked after a moment's reflection. 'It used to be so easy, in our world, with the Blue Fire everywhere. Seeing the magic in the world. The choices were clear.'

Tom's brief glance revealed an unusual hint of tenderness. 'If the choices are clear they are usually false choices. Life is muddy and complex, without any easy answers.'

'But these days I'm not even sure we're on the right side. I don't know what I'm fighting for any more. I don't know why I'm having to make all these sacrifices.'

'You've been on the road a long time. You're weary-'

'It's beyond that. What if the Libertarian is right? People aren't in the world for long. They just want a little security, a few home comforts, time to spend with their loved ones. Is that so bad? All I want is some time with Ruth, to enjoy what we have. Why should I give that up to keep fighting for something I don't understand any more?'

Tom made to speak, then caught himself, his expression registering a deep concern. Church was distracted by the sight of the Morvren suddenly taking wing as one, a black cloud that blocked out the sun and cast the whole city into shade.

What's disturbed them? he wondered.

The crowd smelled of lime and vinegar and allspice, woodsmoke, bitumen and sulphur, and the hot odour that came off skin on a summer's day. From a feverish dream or a nightmare drawn from nursery storybooks, the inhabitants of the court came in a vast wave, sweeping in eddies around obstacles, fallen bodies, sleeping beasts, surging off each other, too-fast, too-slow, with everywhere and nowhere to go. It was impossible to see more than a couple of feet on any side. Some begged for food, or board, or information, others ran with the hope of a destination or fled some unrevealed threat, fear burning in their faces. Some had murder in their eyes, or the sly desire to make gain from misfortune.

'Jesus Christ, this is worse than Oxford Street just before Christmas,' Veitch complained as he and Shavi pushed through the throng. Overhead, people hung from windows, two or three crammed into the gap, wailing or yelling to people across the way. The din made his ears hurt.

'You can almost smell the desperation. These beings have known nothing but always-summer, and now they sense the twilight coming in.'

'There you go again, feeling sorry for a bunch of people you don't know.' Veitch roughly thrust aside a man rippling with rolls of fat, his clothes sodden with sweat. 'I've missed you. You're my conscience.'

'And I have missed you, my friend. More than you might know. We were all bereft when we thought you dead after the Battle of London, but I felt as if I had truly lost a brother. A brother more than the brothers of my own family, who disowned me when I failed to follow their path.'

'Don't go getting sentimental on me. I can't be doing with that… Hey, what the bleedin' hell's that?'

Veitch pushed through the dense flow to one side where a puppeteer was performing a show in the shade of an inn. He was at least eight feet tall, with long, black robes that Veitch presumed obscured his stilts, and he wore a white mask with a curving nose like a bird's beak. He looked like the wall painting in the Halls of the Drakusa. But it was the dancing puppets that caught Veitch's eye: they resembled Church, Shavi, Ruth, Laura and himself. The Church and Ruth puppets were hugging, while the Veitch one stood off to one side, holding a sword, before turning to attack. Veitch experienced a brief burst of anger moderated by the knowledge that he was surely imagining the resemblances. He took one step towards the puppet-master, and was sent flying by a woman weaving frantically through the crowd.

Cursing underneath the figure sprawling on top of him, Veitch was shocked to see she was human, wearing modern clothes, and gripped by such terror that her eyes barely saw him.

'Calm down.' He caught her shoulders as she prepared to throw herself off him to run again. 'Where the hell did you come from?'

His words cut through her fear and she gradually focused on him. 'You're from Earth? Oh God, oh God, what's happening to me? Where is this place?' Sobbing fitfully, she collapsed into him.

Veitch helped her to her feet. After her fugue, she was now shaking uncontrollably. Awkwardly, Veitch tried to calm her. 'I'm Ryan. What's your name?'

'R-R-Rachel,' she stuttered. 'Something was chasing me! Making me come this way. I–I remember… a grin, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to eat me up or kiss me… and those eyes… and… and…' The memory slipped from her and she shook her head in frustration.

'How did you get here?'

Before she could answer, a column of smoke soared up above the rooftops accompanied by a boom that echoed off the metallic walls. Sizzling, coloured lights arced out from the direction of the explosion.

The crowd responded with panic, and in the melee Veitch and Rachel were torn apart. Already forgetting her, Veitch fought his way to Shavi and said, 'Let's get back to Church till we know what's going on.'

'No. If we can help, we should.'

Veitch set his jaw. 'I bloody hate you, Shavi.'

When the blast happened, Ruth and Laura had been quietly questioning the occupants of one of the overcrowded inns, but few had any knowledge of the Enemy Fortress itself, and those that did were too afraid to discuss it. Only one street away, the explosion shook the building so furiously that tankards flew from tables, spilling ale and wine across the sawdust-covered boards. Fearing the worst, the anxious drinkers flooded from the inn into the screaming mob outside, leaving Ruth and Laura to edge through one of the vermin-infested alleys to find a view of the blast site.

'I can do the reconnaissance,' Ruth suggested. 'Why don't you head back?'

'You don't have to keep treating me like I'm a baby,' Laura responded with undue harshness. 'Hunter's gone. I'm dealing with it. I'm not going to collapse in tears at the first sign of trouble.'

'Sorry for thinking of you.' Ruth bristled.

At the end of the alley, rubble and twisted metal were strewn across the street along with the bodies of several passers-by caught in the blast. Flickers of flame and thick, acrid smoke rose up from the ruins of a demolished building.

As the smoke shifted, they caught glimpses of a giant figure strapped to an X-frame in the wreckage of the building.

'He couldn't have been there before,' Ruth said. 'There'd be nothing left of him. He must have been brought in after the explosion. Why?'

'Maybe it's his place, and someone wants to make an example of him,' Laura replied. 'You know, like tar-and-feathering. He probably sold some gangster a knock-off watch.'

The shifting smoke revealed wild black hair and a beard. Ruth's tart response to Laura died in her throat. 'I know him! I saw him, back in London, when the Void had me living that fake life. He's the one Mallory said gave him the lantern… the Caretaker.'

'What's he doing here? And… who did that to him?'