Mark Newton - The Book of Transformations

‘Why?’

‘For not doing my job,’ he replied. ‘I take it you’re aware I’m required to hand you in to the cultists?’

Lan signalled her understanding, trying not to reveal just how upset she was. ‘Why did you quit?’

A pause, while he gazed into her eyes. ‘I quit because I worked for a bunch of Neanderthals.’

‘Will they come for us?’ Lan asked.

‘They will, but they have other concerns at the moment.’

‘What concerns?’ Ulryk enquired.

‘The anarchists are leading an uprising.’

‘Should we do something?’ Lan asked.

‘No,’ Fulcrom replied.

She grasped his arm. ‘But I want to help.’

‘The Knights are over, Lan.’ He held her gently by her wrists. ‘I’m sorry. The anarchists have exposed everyone — but it seems the Emperor is still happy with Tane and Vuldon to continue with their duties… but he refuses to accept you.’

‘Because…?’

‘Yes, because of that,’ he whispered, low enough so Ulryk wouldn’t hear.

‘So what happens now?’

‘Good question.’

‘I’m not going to hand myself in to be “decommissioned” — whatever they mean by that,’ Lan said. ‘I don’t want that. I like who I am now.’

‘I know — I don’t want it either.’ Fulcrom sat down on the bed, Lan perched alongside him. Ulryk considered the view out of the window.

‘And because of that,’ Fulcrom continued, ‘they’ll want to arrest me, too, for obstructing the Emperor’s commands, for protecting a criminal, because that’s what you’ll be if you’re not handed in.’

‘We’ll be fugitives,’ she said with a surprising eagerness. ‘We can leave the city.’

‘It’s a possibility,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘To be honest, I’ve not thought it through.’

‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ Lan muttered.

‘This time, it really is. My whole existence has been based around the Inquisition, so I’m a little lost right now. First, though, I want to see certain jobs through, and I know that the uprising is going to buy us some time.’ His gaze turned to the priest. ‘Ulryk, will you want to do… whatever it is you’ll be doing, then?’

‘I will,’ he replied. ‘That building, is it what I think it is?’

Fulcrom stood up to move behind Ulryk, following his line of sight. The priest raised his arm, pointing to the structure that crested the immediate rooftops, reflecting what little light there was.

‘That’s the Astronomer’s Glass Tower,’ Fulcrom said. ‘Why?’

‘Is it used any more? I haven’t had time to find out. But I will need access to it.’

‘I don’t think so. It was originally used for predicting phenomena, but back in Johynn’s rule the Jorsalir church finally convinced him it was blasphemous and it was shut down.’

‘That is no surprise,’ Ulryk chuckled. ‘Such glass structures can be found across the Archipelago, most of them in forests or along coasts. They’re ancient buildings, constructed on top of channels of.. I’m not even sure what the right word would be in modern Jamur. Ley lines, perhaps. I wish to visit it and conduct my rituals from its rooftop.’

‘I didn’t even know it had a rooftop,’ Lan said, joining them. ‘I thought it was a sheer face of glass.’

‘There will be a rooftop,’ Ulryk declared.

‘Lan,’ Fulcrom said, ‘will you ensure Ulryk’s safety? You must be careful though. The streets are starting to become extremely dangerous with the clashes and I’d change from your uniform if I were you — or at least cover your head, and that symbol.’

Lan rummaged around Fulcrom’s wardrobe until she found a hooded jumper. Once she was wearing it, she accompanied Ulryk to the door and glanced back at Fulcrom. ‘Are you coming?’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t yet. I need to find Tane and Vuldon and get to them before the Emperor or his agents do, and I could be a few hours.’

‘How will you do that? If you’ve quit, you won’t be permitted access to them surely?’

‘I know. Look, for now, please just ensure that Ulryk completes his task, but return here if you can’t get through the streets easily because of the violence — I might know of some alternative route. Whatever you do, don’t risk your life recklessly.’

‘And what about afterwards?’ she asked.

He turned to her and took her in his arms. Tenderly in her ears he whispered, ‘I’ll meet you here. Whatever the hell happens, we’ll do it together — just you and me. No one gives us orders any more.’

*

Stopping on the way to collect a case full of flammable fluids obtained from a cultist who owed him a few favours, Fulcrom headed towards the outer city, to an abandoned building.

Despite the population pressures, Villjamur was full of disused regions, which was part of its charm. There were chambers and catacombs dotted around the city, usually subterranean spaces where it wasn’t unreasonable to assume people could scrape some kind of living. These zones occasionally harboured criminals on the run, the occasional drug addict or, before the ice became bad, Caveside whores looking for a quiet place to take their clients for a quick fuck, but today they remained eerily dormant.

Fulcrom had hoped that under Urtica’s reign there might be a renovation of these urban spaces and that the authorities might permit some of the refugees to enter the city and be housed there. Alas, this was not the case, and security had been tightened further, denying most people access. But it wasn’t the subterranean territories he was approaching right now — instead he sought a vacant hotel on the fourth level, one that had lost all its business long ago.

He strolled through the streets, head down to prevent the gusts of snow from skimming into his face. A couple of taverns had boarded up their windows here, and quite a few store premises were for sale. Eventually Fulcrom arrived at his destination and looked up at the broken facade of the enormous hotel, which was taller than he remembered, at least nine or ten storeys, which for Villjamur was significant. Three gothic arch windows sat each side of a central stairway, which led to a thick wooden double door. Several months ago these very steps had been the scene of a brutal double murder, and that — combined with the hostile weather — had ensured the owners were better off selling up to the Council, and since then it had stood empty.

Fulcrom slipped a dagger from his sleeve and prised open the lock. He headed inside, through the murky light, and up several flights of stairs that had been colonized by bulbous spiders the size of his hand.

He heaved the case of fluids up onto the flat roof, where he was struck by the chilling wind. There were a few discarded items here, a few dead hanging baskets, a table and chairs that hadn’t seen action since warmer times, but all these items would help. All around him rose the spires of Villjamur, and he suddenly felt a pang of loss that he might have to leave this city he loved so much.

Fulcrom gathered the junk and spread it across the surface of the roof. Then he opened the case containing seven vials of transparent fluids and picked one out. He poured its contents across one side of the roof, away from the door to the stairs, being careful not to spill any on himself. In the distance, from the direction of the caves, came the sound of rioting — it was faint, a mass chorus of voices — but at that moment it wasn’t his concern.

Satisfied that he had covered enough of the area, he poured one final vial containing blue fluid in a neat line between himself and the rest of the roof. He took out a piece of flint from one pocket and some kindling from the other. Sheltering in the lea of a wall, he struck the flint several times with the steel hilt of his dagger, and eventually a few sparks shot off onto the kindling. He blew gently, encouraging the flame, then, with great caution, dropped the burning bundle on the other side of the line of blue liquid, and dashed back towards the stairway.