Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

Malum gave a wry smile. ‘I can afford twice whatever he’s paying, don’t you worry. I’m a professional. I’d also like to see some of these creatures for myself, when they’re finally finished. How long, do you think, until they’re ready?’

‘They’ll be ready when they’re ready,’ Jeza replied, ‘but you should know that most of them never make it.’

Malum seemed satisfied with her answer, and slunk out into the night, leaving Jeza with an uneasy feeling. However, if she cancelled potential business purely because someone made her feel uneasy, they would never make a living.

When Jeza arrived back at the factory, the others were still up making their usual racket. They were eating fried fish, which she could smell from some distance. The place was a mess again. It seemed no matter how much money they had, no matter how much respect they were accumulating, they would forever be kicking around boxes of junk, food containers, or empty bottles.

‘Guys,’ Jeza announced profoundly. ‘I think it’s about time we hired a cleaner.’

‘Place is fine as it is,’ Coren called out. ‘Besides, we’ve too much sensitive stuff here — cleaners could go messing with things they don’t know about. Anyway, how’d it go tonight? Who was the mystery man?’

‘It went pretty well actually,’ she replied. ‘His name was Malum and he seemed interested in the monsters. Said he could pay well, too.’

‘That’s the main thing,’ Coren replied.

‘Yes. The thought occurred to me that we’d need a back-up if the thing with the commander fell through. If we can get this guy on board we can build up a decent and secure set of projects. Diggsy, did you buy those new relics that were uncovered in Saltwater the other day?’

‘Yup,’ he replied. ‘We’ve got two crates of them sitting in the next room. It was a good idea to spend some money investing — there might be some really useful things there. I’ve heard about a few underground markets after buying these — there are levels below ground that not even cultists know about. We’re about to enter a much bigger scene. There’s also a few pieces that might help with the development of the Mourning Wasp and speed that process up.’

‘Jeza, what’s on your mind?’ Coren asked. ‘You look as though not a word of that went in your ears.’

‘I also saw something weird tonight. There was this woman — decent-looking, well-to-do type, and she was. . well, she had a child’s arm in her mouth. It was like she was in a trance.’

‘Oh, you’ve seen the Cannibal Lady,’ Coren said excitedly. He stuck his fork into a piece of fish before dropping it on the floor. ‘Aw shit.’

‘You know about her already?’ Jeza asked. ‘Is that her name then?’

Coren leaned back up and put the fallen fish in his mouth, much to everyone’s disgust. ‘They’re calling her that, yeah,’ he continued, while munching. ‘And I don’t know all that much, just that there’s been talk in a few of the bars around the Ancient Quarter. She’s been spotted quite a few times, and on each occasion she’s been seen, it’s been the same thing — her, somewhere secluded, munching on flesh. They say she’s some kind of animal.’

‘Do they say where she came from?’ Jeza asked. ‘Is she one of the creatures from the south of the city? Malum mentioned there had been sightings of things coming into Villiren and taking people.’

‘Could be.’ Coren nodded. ‘Though they say this one didn’t so much as come from the south, but was here already. People are whispering that the Cannibal Lady comes from the Citadel.’

Malum spotted the poster nailed to a decrepit noticeboard outside a Jorsalir church, deep in the Ancient Quarter.

It was late morning, the skies had just cleared after a quick shower, and the cobbles shone brightly in the sunlight. A flock of seagulls swooped by overhead. The day’s traffic had calmed after the throng of the dawn markets, allowing him to contemplate the notice in peace.

But Malum read the information in disgust.

The notice was a piece of pro-alien propaganda from the military; it played on the fears of the populace and tried to appeal to their sense of self-preservation. It explained what was happening with the alien peoples camped to the south of the city and that without their aid against the Okun — or worse — Villiren, and the whole island, might be destroyed.

How many of these posters were around the city, he had no idea, but the military were obviously trying to get the people to accept the aliens.

‘Imperial filth,’ he muttered to himself, and ripped the poster down, chucking it into a puddle.

Cheap tricks , he thought. I’m going to have to tear these down and raise my own game in the war to get people behind the gangs — and behind me.

Malum buried his hands in his pockets, and headed to an agreed meeting point outside a tavern.

Four members of his gang were loitering outside, one of them with a huge hessian sack at his feet. A black horse and a large, sturdy wooden cart pulled up a moment later, and the cloaked driver nodded to Malum. One by one, his comrades climbed up onto the back of it, the final one hauling the sack and carefully lowering it on board.

‘We’re good to go,’ Malum called over to the driver, then hopped onto the back.

The cart turned in a large circle and rode south-west through the city.

An hour later, they found themselves in scrubland, just beyond the poverty-stricken district on the edge of Villiren. There was nothing here but snow, mud and a few copses of trees. It was much colder in these exposed conditions, and much quieter, but at least the skies were still clear.

‘This’ll do,’ Malum shouted, and the cart drew to a halt. ‘Right, let’s get to it.’

The gang disembarked and began to set up the gear from the hessian sack. They unveiled a large harpoon catapult, one previously used for whaling, arranged it so that the tip pointed up into the sky at an angle of around sixty degrees.

Malum asked for the harpoon to be loaded to test it out.

‘Let it go,’ he said, and one of his men released a harpoon with a thunk — it rocketed into the sky, almost out of sight, almost touching the base of a passing cloud, before falling to the ground some distance away, beyond a copse.

‘I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘Good work, lads.’

They mumbled their thanks before loading it up with something else entirely — a relic they’d bought from a new cultist contact, a woman who worked from a rented apartment in Saltwater. It was a thin silver tube, with a pointed end, and in many respects looked exactly like a harpoon. The only difference was that when this reached the highest point in the sky, it would detonate, stunning anything within fifty feet.

‘How long till one comes, boss?’ one of his younger crew asked, a swarthy, grubby-looking guy not long out of his teens.

‘This is the route garudas take, and at least a couple come by after noon each day,’ he said. ‘We’ll just wait it out and fire when we’re ready. For now, just scan the skies and the first of you to spot one gets drinks all night on me.’

It was the better part of an hour and Malum continued pacing around the mud, contemplating his strategy.

‘Hey, Malum! One’s coming now.’

Malum stood by the catapult and gave the instruction to fire when it was within range. The avian drifted in an arc towards Villiren, a stark silhouette against the bright sky.

Thunk .

The relic was released and travelled right towards the bird — and, at its peak, the device gave a spark of purple light. The garuda immediately fell from its flight directly to the ground, and the gang began hollering their excitement.