Mark Newton - The Book of Transformations

Vuldon helped her stand, and Tane suddenly turned his gaze on somewhere behind them.

Someone rattled into the doorway, a young soldier in full battle regalia. Gripping onto the door frame, in breathless gasps, he said: ‘More trouble, this time Caveside. We need your help, all of you. It’s getting out of control.’

Vuldon squared up to the soldier. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked despondently.

‘The anarchists,’ the soldier panted. ‘They’ve been leading a march out of the caves. Thousands of them. Protesters. Threatening to riot. It’s chaos.’

Vuldon sighed and glanced down at her. ‘Lan, you up for saving the day again?’

Some entire bookcases were built around doors, and others were themselves doors. They might open up into hidden enclaves, showing texts bound in different materials, from different ages. Most of the books were covered in centuries of dust. Rats scurried away from the light, spiders tottered backwards into corners. The more of these rooms they travelled through, the worse the quality of the architecture became — these were more basic zones, rooms for primitive collections or almost-forgotten tomes.

‘Do the staff permit you this far?’ Fulcrom enquired.

‘I doubt they are even aware that most of these rooms exist,’ Ulryk replied cheerfully. ‘If you have noticed from our rather convoluted route, we have entered a labyrinth of sorts. It is quite a common arrangement in ancient libraries, which leads me to believe that they were all constructed, originally, by the same architect or designer. Such creators intended there to be hidden regions, for the protection of certain tracts of information, for those in power to maintain their grip on the populace, even to rewrite histories. I suspect, though, there were powers greater than mere emperors at work, areas to even which the ruling kings and queens were blind. That is the thing about knowledge: there is no discrimination over who owns it, or who may abuse it.’

Room after room, each one different. Corridors turned this way and that, with no apparent design. For much of the next hour, Fulcrom saw only the lantern and the soft glow it cast upon the side of Ulryk’s face. Occasionally the priest would pause at some dark intersection, with the possible paths ahead denoted only by their utter absence of light. Once, Ulryk raised the lantern to the wall to show Fulcrom the graffiti of yesteryear. There were names and directions written in a script that hadn’t been in common use for over two thousand years. Other languages here were even more alien.

‘Is it going to take much longer?’ Fulcrom asked, aware of how petulant he must be sounding.

‘We are about halfway,’ Ulryk replied.

‘Is this the route the dead took?’

‘I have… little idea of their methods,’ Ulryk confessed. ‘It seems that although I pretend to hold great knowledge, there are many things strange to me.’

‘You and me both,’ Fulcrom muttered.

*

Their placards argued for a peaceful resolution to their claims, though their sheer mass was an implied threat. In the late afternoon sunshine, thousands of people marched out of the caves, men, women and children, human and rumel, and old garudas with broken wings. Underground radicals and change-seekers, all were unified on this march. It seemed a critical mass had been achieved.

Perched on a wall alongside several of the city guard in their crimson finery and slate-grey armour, the Knights watched the unfolding scene.

‘Fucking inbred scum,’ muttered a soldier in the red uniform of the Shelby Corporation Soldiers.

‘Aye,’ another said, leaning on his sword. ‘Bad enough that they leech on the rest of us, now here they come spreading their diseases.’

‘Why do you hate them so much?’ Lan asked.

‘Cunts come out here and steal things for their own decrepit culture, is why,’ the first soldier said, putting on his helm ready for combat. ‘Take food from honest hard-working folk, steal whatever trinkets they can get their filthy hands on, rape women.’

Lan had a flashback to that period a few years ago, after she had left home. She tried to remember what the people were like in the caves, but she realized she had been drunk or on drugs for the most part. All that came to her was a visual echo of the girl who just about cleaned her up, their friendship born out of an urgent desire for secrecy.

People flowed out towards them in their thousands, a river comprised of years of pent-up resentment. They blocked the cobbled streets leading from the caves, dressed in the general Caveside fashions, cheap-looking breeches and shirts, overalls, shades of greys and browns. Lan couldn’t help but notice that the women were dressed just like the men. She was not sure what to make of all this, or even if the Knights would be of any use in a situation where surely diplomacy was the key.

She focused on the details, tried to discern the chants and the scrawls on crudely painted boards:

The Cavesiders called for respect. For better jobs, for investment in people’s health and housing, and not pretty irens for the rich. They wanted food for the refugees outside the city walls. And better rights for women, for acknowledgement of tribal cultures and religions, and the right for all Cavesiders — even those with unregistered addresses — to vote. They called for the end of brutal conduct by organizations like the City Guard and the Knights, and a halt to the endless victimization of Caveside dwellers. To Cavesiders, these authorities of the city were feared and despised. There were slogans suggesting oppression. Wooden boards were held aloft with the symbols of the new anarchists.

All strands of concern had been brought together and Lan stood agog at the sheer energy they created, the challenge they presented. There was a hatred towards her that was different from any she had known previously — and she had known a lot.

‘Get down there then,’ ordered one of the soldiers.

Vuldon turned his bulk steadily. Lan for once appreciated his potential temper. ‘Who the fuck’, Vuldon growled, ‘do you think you are, talking to us like that?’

The fear was obvious in the soldier’s eyes. ‘I didn’t mean no harm, like. I just meant for you to help us. Honest…’

‘We take our orders from the top.’ No sooner had Vuldon spoken than a messenger came directly at the Emperor’s request, asking for the Knights to stand before the front row of the protest.

‘The front?’ Lan asked.

‘It’s our job,’ Vuldon snapped. ‘This is what we do. Come on.’

They set to work. Tane and Vuldon shuffled off the wall with the soldiers, while Lan simply stepped off and glided down to the cobbles. They criss-crossed through a series of narrow alleyways behind tall, granite walls and taverns. As they moved towards the front, soldiers from the city guard and the Dragoons had already lined up to block their passage. Lan guessed they were facing off against the protesters.

‘What do we do?’ Lan asked, turning to Vuldon.

Vuldon could see over the sea of grey helmets. The chants and buzz of the crowd were threateningly loud down on street level.

‘The road banks down towards the caves, so I can only see the tops of the placards.’

Tane said suddenly, ‘Look at who’s lining up.’

Archers in green and brown uniforms were scrambling over the precarious rooftops on each side of this wide street. They negotiated the wet and hazardous angles of slate, until they had positioned themselves perfectly with a view of the Cavesiders’ protest.

Lan felt remarkably uncomfortable at the fatidic nature to the event, even more so because Vuldon and Tane didn’t have a clue how to handle the situation. She had no doubt that the military ranks on the front row had their weapons drawn and were prepared for combat.