Mark Newton - The Book of Transformations

‘Of a kind,’ she replied, eyeing the scene at the barracks with pride. ‘One of our invisibility shields collapsed, bringing some of the city guard to our side, but we… despatched them efficiently.’

‘Were the Knights out?’ he asked, with awe.

Shalev shook her head. ‘We had decoys, of course, a cluster of incidents on the other side of the city.’

‘Wow, you had it all planned, Lady Shalev,’ Caley replied.

‘Sister will suffice,’ she replied. ‘No titles. There is far too much elitism involved. No, I do not think these Knights are even aware of their situation. As individuals they are no problem to me. As a group — as a symbol — they are little more than something in which the populace can place their hopes. They are merely for political gain — unlike us, they have no substance.’

The next morning, back inside their clifftop residence, the Knights’ tempers were heating up. Lan wanted to rant at the old, skinny cultist with grey hair in front of her but remained calm on the surface. The woman’s skin sagged visibly, and the bags around her eyes said she hadn’t had an easy life. With a copy of People’s Observer in his pocket, Investigator Fulcrom paced back and forth behind her as she explained what had happened at the asylum and, though he tried not to show it, he cringed at her words. Feror stood in the background for a while, pretending not to make notes, eyeing the female cultist with casual disdain.

‘So’, Vuldon accused the cultist, ‘you just abandoned the place.’

An experiment had turned sour: a fire broke out in their rooftop laboratory, but they did not know the cause. It was thought that substances exploded out of a relic killing one of their own, and soon it had seeped into the floorboards. Highly combustible, it ravaged the whole of the top floors, so the cultists had simply vacated.

‘It’s not quite like that,’ the cultist replied.

‘No, we tried to get some out, but then we weren’t sure how long we had.’

‘The fire wasn’t that bad,’ Vuldon declared. ‘That material wasn’t as flammable as you make out. You just ran because you’re cowards, hiding behind your damn magic.’

‘It isn’t magic,’ the cultist hissed. ‘It’s research.’

‘We could do without that kind of research,’ Vuldon said. ‘Just how long had you been farming zombies, eh?’

‘Well, without such research,’ the cultist explained, ‘we wouldn’t have been able to provide you with such powers. The whole facility was set up for the purposes of research in order to generate various powers that the Knights could use — you were, in fact, just the start of things. They were all quite necessary, as I’m sure you’d understand. To damage them was, in some way, to benefit you — and therefore the city.’

Behind, Feror closed his eyes, nodding softly.

If I didn’t already feel guilty about my position…

Vuldon marched towards her. ‘You lying, patronizing b-’

‘Easy, Vuldon.’ Fulcrom stepped between the two of them before things could get any worse.

Eventually Feror and the other cultist left them with their guilt. Lan wasn’t sure if she could do this any more.

Vuldon and Tane stormed off into the city, and as they closed the door, she grabbed Fulcrom’s sleeve and said, ‘I want to get out of all this.’

‘OK, let’s get a drink,’ he said. ‘I know of just the place.’

‘No,’ she urged, ‘I want to get out of the Knights.’

‘I know what you meant,’ he replied coolly. ‘I still think we should get a drink.’

*

At that point between breakfast and lunch when the bistros of the city experienced a lull in activity, Lan and Fulcrom entered one such establishment, taking shelter from a sudden snowstorm.

On the upper levels of Villjamur, only those without jobs, yet with enough money, could be out drinking at this hour. That usually meant retired landowners or those on a military pension, or youths drinking away their parents’ wealth.

The bistro was one of those wood and metal joints that you didn’t often see in Villjamur any more, and Lan found its bookshelves, thick tables, pot plants, log fires and candles to be utterly charming. Three smartly dressed old men sat in warm silence at one table by the stained-glass window, and a red-haired girl was behind the counter cleaning the glasses from the morning rush.

‘I come here when I need to think.’ Fulcrom parted his robe as he sat down.

Lan sat opposite him, keeping her thick black cloak close to cover her uniform. She didn’t want fuss being made right now — twice people had come up to her in the street, and all she could do was smile politely and move away. The serving girl came to take their order. In here everything seemed so cocooned, so comfortable, and she felt she could really talk to Fulcrom. ‘I’m not cut out for this,’ Lan began. ‘You should find someone else, someone who can cope better. Our group — it isn’t what I thought it was. I don’t want to be some tool that the Emperor can use to make people feel safe.’ She explained how useless she had been the previous night at the asylum.

‘Lan, you should stop feeling sorry for yourself,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘You’ve been given a wonderful opportunity. Don’t waste it on angst.’

‘Do you have any idea’, she snapped, ‘what I’ve been through in life?’

‘I can’t pretend I understand your pain, but I’ve read your file. I know your secrets, sure, if that’s what you mean.’

She leaned back in her chair, unnerved by the unspoken threat of exposure. Even the hint of it was like a slap in the face.

Fulcrom reached forward to clasp her hands in his. His dark rumel skin was thick and tough, and for some reason she felt intensely feminine being touched by him, enjoyed the sensation, and refused to feel bad for enjoying it.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Look, don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone — as far as I’m concerned, the past is the past.’ He began to speak with great tenderness. ‘The threat of your exposure is from them, the cultists, and the Emperor and his agents. Which is to say — you’ve really no choice in any of this. You’ve been given this change, and a job to do, so you have to accept it.’

What do you really think of me? she felt the urge to say. Lan was so vulnerable all of a sudden, at this junction of life in the middle of nowhere. All she could do was sigh.

The serving girl brought over their drinks and left.

‘I can barely look after myself — let alone anyone else. I’m just not very good at being a hero.’

‘Well, you’ll have to be one,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘The city needs you.’

She reflected on this. ‘I’m scared of so many things. The dangers, falling from the air and dying. And I’m scared that you know so much about me and… well, what do you think of me?’ She whispered the words whilst looking around at the other tables, just in case they were overheard. ‘I need to know, do you even consider me to be real? Does my past affect how you treat me?’

Fulcrom gave a beatific sigh. ‘The world isn’t black and white, I know that much. You get feminine men, masculine women, and a whole bunch of in-betweens. So I can well understand you’re worried. But — really — you’ve no reason to be.’

It seemed the right answer, even though he didn’t say what she wanted him to say. ‘The danger here is that I’m trusting you with who I am and I know next to nothing about you. You never talk about yourself.’

Fulcrom appeared stunned for a moment, and she wondered if she’d ventured too far into uncertain territory. Embarrassment began to creep over her. ‘I didn’t mean to be forward and cross some professional line…’