Mark Newton - The Book of Transformations

So why treat me like shit…?

‘You are’, he continued, ‘to see that the citizens of this ancient city are well protected, but your precise roles in all of this will shortly become a reality. Now that your introductions are over, you should familiarize yourself with each other. You three, and Fulcrom here, are going to be spending a lot of time together.’

‘And, pardon me for asking, but why should we do any of this?’ Lan asked, feeling no fear of the Emperor, not after all she’d been through. ‘It’s clear that you need us — or rather, we mean something to you.’

All eyes turned to Urtica as if expecting his rage to be on display. Instead he leant forward onto the table. ‘Would you wish to be placed in stocks, and for a crier to announce to the city who you used to be?’ The Emperor moved behind her now, and whispered into her left ear, ‘Indeed, the cultists did a very good job on you, but it doesn’t take much for a crowd in this city to become fearful — hysterical enough to pull you apart with their bare hands. Of course, I would not like to see such an act.’

As Lan let the paranoia sink in, Urtica stood to regard the room. ‘Are there any more questions?’

‘It’s Shalev that’s causing you much trouble, isn’t it?’ Vuldon said, but the Emperor remained silent.

‘I thought you didn’t pay attention to things these days?’ Fulcrom replied.

Vuldon looked away, while Tane cleared his throat and announced, ‘I would just like to add that I’m definitely in. I think it’s an absolutely super idea.’

‘Stop sucking up to him, kid, you don’t know what it involves,’ Vuldon grunted, glancing up for the first time. ‘What’re our obligations in all of this? If we agree, what the fuck will you have us doing? Bet we ain’t going to be standing on display.’

‘I’ll leave the particulars for Fulcrom to explain, but we will begin with your transformations this very evening. After that, you will develop into a force used to tackle the great unrest that has been plaguing our city. There will be further training, accommodation and support. As you made perfectly clear, Vuldon, you in particular have no reason to do what I say. Fulcrom will explain the details of what our offer will involve, but now I’ve Council business to attend to. It has been a pleasure to meet you all, and I hope to see each of you turn in for duty.’

Urtica spun on his heels and, with a nod to Fulcrom, marched from the room. A small body of guards emerged like ghosts from the darkness to escort him out.

In this ensuing silence, Lan, Tane and Vuldon all observed each other with uncertainty.

Fulcrom leaned forward into the light. ‘Well, I suppose you’re wondering what happens next?’

Fulcrom was making it up as he went along. The Emperor seemed concerned only with results, the cultists with science, and he alone was charged with organizing three individuals into a crime-fighting unit worthy enough to use the city’s name. What’s more, due to the nature of his duties he was relieved of some of his general work with the Inquisition and now had been given the broad but spurious command of ‘Special Investigations’, whatever that meant. Still, this was a challenge. Something new. Something to get his teeth into.

Fulcrom guided them down to cells deep beneath Balmacara, where the cultists had rigged up a palace of technological trinkets. As the group descended a spiral staircase into the cultists’ workspace, they watched agape at what was presented. Under arched brickwork stood huge conical devices that hummed with energy. Purple light sparked across the surface of orbs the size of small houses. Shelves were buckling under the weight of coloured jars and blades of all shapes and sizes. The air itself seemed like a living thing — there was an atmosphere of intense anticipation. People expected things, events and history to be generated within these walls.

Nearly a dozen cultists, in their esoteric black outfits, worked diligently by lantern light at tables overflowing with wires and vials and mould-ravaged books. Those who approached treated Lan, Tane and Vuldon with an eerie level of respect, as if they’d already been invested with their supposed powers. A few councillors had drifted down in order to witness their pre-transformation state. Hands were shaken, pleasantries exchanged, and Fulcrom was treated like royalty. But he knew these politicians feared anything the cultists would generate, and their presence was merely a meek declaration of political backing.

Tane was by far the keenest of the group. With much to lose, and few career options, he seemed to make the mental switch to his new life remarkably quickly, and had nothing but bright eyes and quick jokes for the cultists and officials. His reluctance to take anything seriously is probably why he made an awful investigator’s aide. Vuldon was about as happy as a storm cloud. Fulcrom had made it clear to the man that he could opt out at any point, but Vuldon continued to grumble, ‘There’s nothing else left for me, that’s why I’m here. If you can call it a choice, so be it, but this is the least shit option in life right now.’ So Fulcrom steered him away from those with hope-filled eyes, or who expected something more pithy and profound from him.

Lan was an enigmatic woman. Fulcrom watched her the most, since he wasn’t convinced of her engagement with the project. If she didn’t commit fully, she wouldn’t be much use. She was here under pressure, because of her secret — and what a secret it was. Marvelling at the talents of cultists, he found it hard to believe she had ever been a man, but forced himself to purge any prejudices from his mind.

Each of the three were taken to a room little bigger than a gaol cell, but within was a comfortable bed, surgical instruments, a changing screen, and lanterns that hung from the curved ceiling. Now they awaited the event that would change their lives.

*

Vuldon was first. His was the simplest procedure of the three, low-risk, merely a modification of the processes used to enhance the legendary Night Guard soldiers. His development was going to be a vastly enhanced musculature, fibres rebuilt, signs of ageing peeled away, giving him unmatched strength. A reconstruction of his sense of dignity, of the quality that made him the legend of the past — and what a legend it had been.

The files the Inquisition had kept on Vuldon had been studied by Fulcrom. It was estimated that, in his few years duration as the city’s hero, he had saved three hundred and twenty-three citizens from death or violence; foiled seven attacks by vicious tribes to scale the city walls; saved the then-Emperor twice; prevented a fire from ravaging Balmacara; and saved a small school from a mad-axe murderer. His value was impossible to deny.

Fulcrom asked this figure of dormant pugnacity many gentle, searching questions, seeking to bypass his reluctance to talk. Eventually, hunched on the bed in his rather effeminate white gown, his already powerful shoulders providing an intimidating bulk, Vuldon began to open up. For the first time he gave more than a handful of bitter grunts.

He spoke of the old days. He spoke about the Inquisition in particular. ‘Shouldn’t like a man who wears those colours.’

‘Few citizens do,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘I know about your past-’

‘What you know,’ Vuldon interrupted, ‘is probably the wrong side of the story. Some cleverly spun tale written down in spurious histories. A few edited documents.’

‘They were different times, back then,’ Fulcrom pleaded. ‘A different emperor, a different regime.’

‘You think this one’s any different? They’ve only ever got their own interests at heart.’

Vuldon went on to talk about his wife, a glamour girl who ended her life after things went badly for them. ‘She drank herself into her coffin after choking on her own vomit,’ Vuldon said. ‘You know what that’s like, investigator? To find the woman you love not able to cope with the fuck-ups you’ve made — or rather, the fuck-ups blamed on you?’