Mark Newton - The Book of Transformations

‘Answer me this,’ Lan demanded. ‘Are the three of us experiments? Has this been tried before on others? I’ve worked with cultists, as you know, but they seemed very thorough and detailed. These ones are wandering about behind the scenes and don’t let on much.’

‘The process has been refined somewhat, in secrecy, though I believe the Emperor has only known about the available tools in recent weeks, and he’s immediately seen their potential.’

‘What happened to the others?’

‘Others?’

‘The others — who this has been tried on?’

Fulcrom wanted to move things on. ‘The science has been refined now, and that’s all you need to know, Lan — the rest, I’m afraid, is confidential.’

As he turned to leave she said, ‘Shalev — that’s who you’re looking for, isn’t it? Vuldon mentioned her name earlier.’

Fulcrom froze and turned to assess her words. ‘That’s true, yes. We think she’s behind much of the surge in crimes recently. Do you know something about her?’

‘When I was on Ysla — with the cultists — they mentioned the name Shalev. It’s a woman, by the way.’

‘Why did you take so long to say anything?’ Fulcrom enquired, attempting to remain calm at this information.

‘Well… no one asked what I thought until now.’

‘What do you know about… her, about Shalev?’

Lan said, ‘I didn’t hear much, only of her escape — it was when I was… you know.’

Fulcrom acknowledged her words.

‘She murdered people, on Ysla, apparently. They’ve pretty strange ways over there — a bizarre culture — but she wasn’t welcome there. She’d been sent to a part of the island in whatever exile those people can permit with their strange lack of law. Then she vanished. She wasn’t like the rest of them I think. She had a bad history with the Empire regarding her homeland. That’s all I know — I swear.’

‘Thanks, Lan. That’s the most we’ve heard in a long while.’

*

Later that night, sprawled in a vast chair in an antechamber adjacent to the main operation theatre, Fulcrom was sipping a mug of spiced tea whilst staring into the light of the only lantern in the room. An open notebook lay to one side and, in it, he had been pencilling in plans and strategies to ensure the Knights could reduce the crime-wave that had washed over Villjamur. He’d also made notes about Shalev, exploring what Lan had told him, that the woman might have some personal vendetta against the Empire, and was targeting symbols of the city.

Fulcrom waited as the screams of the Knights ebbed and flowed through varying stages of their transformations. He closed his eyes hoping that these pains were not going to scar them for life. Distantly he thought of what it was about Lan’s appearance that provoked him, or at least his memory. Adena… of course, how could you be so stupid. The acknowledgement and memory of her disarmed him.

Emperor Urtica fresh from his Council business suddenly marched into the room.

Fulcrom raised to greet him, with a bow. ‘Sele of Urtica, my Emperor.’

‘Less of that, investigator,’ Urtica instructed, and gestured for him to sit back down.

Urtica paraded around the room ending up behind Fulcrom’s chair, and suddenly slapped down his Imperial hands on Fulcrom’s shoulders. Fulcrom noticed the man’s hands were shaking slightly. Is he nervous?

‘They were right about you,’ Urtica declared.

‘What’s been said, my Emperor?’ Fulcrom enquired.

The Emperor moved in front of him, a darkness momentarily blocking the light of the lantern on the table. ‘That you possess remarkable skills with people. You’ve managed these misfits rather well already. They’d never listen to someone as… well. Let’s just say that I do not have the patience to put up with errors and slowness in individuals.’ Urtica paused for a moment, as if considering his next statement. ‘I need to trust you will have the people of this city enthralled by your achievements, investigator. I… I don’t trust that many people in Balmacara. People there seem to always want things from me, or seek my favour.’

Is this some sort of mind-game? ‘I don’t ask for faith in me,’ Fulcrom said. ‘We’ll work hard. You’ll see results.’

‘Results — yes.’ Urtica perked up suddenly, like a different man. ‘I need to see results — the city needs to see results, and the fears of our citizens need to be abated. You are responsible for this, and your management and crime-solving abilities come recommended very highly, so do not let me down.’

‘My Emperor,’ Fulcrom replied, ‘I’m simply honoured to serve you and the city.’

‘Splendid,’ Urtica said. ‘Because if you fail I will have you killed in a heartbeat.’

With that, the Emperor departed the room, leaving Fulcrom alone with his pulse racing. There was little Fulcrom could do about his new role and knew all too well what would happen if he opted out. Still, at least it seemed a good opportunity for putting something positive into the city.

It wasn’t every day that happened in Villjamur.

Councillor Mewun shuffled from his temporary office and moved further into the heart of the Imperial residence of Balmacara. Dressed in official state colours of a green tunic and grey cloak, he strolled down the endless, shining corridors, considering the ornaments, portraits and marble decor. As far as temporary workspaces went, this wasn’t too bad.

He smiled politely at the administrative staff who rushed past with armfuls of papers, and he stopped only to reflect upon his greying, balding head and expanding waistline in one of the gold-gilded mirrors. With the excitement and energy of Urtica’s new political regime, the last few months had simply flown by. A slender young woman passed him in the corridor, one he recognized as a being a former servant to Councillor Boll, who was murdered some time ago. She was full of saccharine smiles, yet with her soft young skin and red curls, she was a startlingly tender and humane contrast to his paperwork.

She made the mistake of asking him a question: ‘Have you had a good morning, councillor?’

Mewun took this as an opportunity to rid himself of his anxiety about city affairs. ‘Not so far, no,’ he told her.

‘Oh?’ she asked, taken aback on realizing she must actually engage in a conversation whether she liked it or not.

Tough, he thought. ‘Oh indeed. Refugees are collapsing dead, heaping up on the doorstep to our city, and nothing can be done about it. They can’t come in, of course, what with resources being so precious. No, the lucky corpses lay on pyres, those worse off rot in the snow, bringing further disease to their neighbours. We fight a brave war on our northern front, which depletes our resources further. And this endless winter… well, it certainly makes logistical decisions and planning more challenging, I suppose.’

‘The fact that smart people such as yourself are helping Villjamur is very much noted, councillor,’ the girl droned.

‘Ah, to be so uninvolved with the affairs of this world. To be so naive! I envy you.’

She gazed right past him, choosing to remain silent. It was a good thing. He was fully prepared to spurt his anger at the fact that forces in Balmacara could organize a military campaign, but not, it seemed, know when to take his laundry.

Mewun made to leave, hearing the scuffed footsteps of the girl’s escape.

Amidst another flurry of activity from servants carrying trays of food, Mewun eventually progressed from Balmacara’s depths and slipped out of one of the side entrances — which was Urtica’s suggestion. Mewun was fine with all of these procedures, of course, though he couldn’t help but think the Emperor was being a little too… paranoid.