Mark Newton - The Book of Transformations

Urtica went on to explain how he had escaped being blown up at the Bell Spire. He’d made sure that he leaked a false location of the Council, as he did every time, and then changed the real venue at the last moment. Ever since the Atrium had been set alight by terrorists shortly after the former Empress Rika escaped, he knew better than to trust people in Balmacara. Twenty days had passed since that room had gone up in smoke, twenty days of total lockdown across Villjamur, and still, despite the amplification of military personnel, some… some bloody terrorists had managed to get through their security and wreck an iconic structure of the city.

‘Bastards!’ Urtica slammed his metal cup against the desk, and it rattled to a halt — utterly dented from his venom.

‘Indeed,’ Fulcrom echoed.

‘I understand you were one of the only riders who managed to get near the bastards?’ Urtica sprawled back in his massively ornate wooden chair and placed his boots on the desk, a perfect posture of contemplation.

‘That’s right. They are, or were, working with cultists, according to your Imperial briefings.’ And Fulcrom described what he witnessed on that day.

‘Cultists are a very powerful lot…’ With a sudden calm, Urtica began to guide the conversation somewhere else. These were all things the Emperor must have been told long after the incident — he was therefore now testing Fulcrom.

Fulcrom was getting nervous. He potentially had a long career ahead of him, and right now that seemed to be in a vulnerable position.

Urtica continued. ‘The incident at the Bell Spire was just one of many, but it is getting too close for comfort. I have no idea how this crime wave has flourished, but flourish it has. They say they are anarchists, and that they are claiming the city for the people. Roughly translated, at the moment that means they are undermining authority — my authority.

‘Their politics have begun to have a new texture entirely — even when there was that minor riot months ago, they were a laughable lot. Not now. They’re organized. Their leaflets have made their way about the city. There are intelligence reports of city intellectuals joining their schemes, educated men and women becoming bloody turncoats. They talk about things like wage slavery and self-organization. They recite extracts from what they claim are Council documents, and want to show the city how the functions of the Council and the Inquisition do not work for the good of the populace.’

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.’