The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) (30 page)

‘How did it go?’ someone said, distracting his thoughts.

There were about ten of his men here, some playing cards, some drinking, and one reading a book. These were his most trusted, those who felt uneasy about leaving an underground they were used
to. Most were below the age of twenty, young men from various backgrounds, none of them particularly blessed. As the years rolled on Malum began to feel like a father to them.

‘Yeah, did he spill anything good?’ another asked eagerly. Soon their respectful attention all turned to him.

‘I got a little information out of him,’ Malum announced. ‘It wasn’t quite what we wanted, but I think I can act upon some of it. The fucker confirmed a lot of our worst
fears though – the soldiers want the aliens to live with us.’

The lads were silent.

‘Look, I need a hand,’ Malum said. ‘We’re running out of time and we need to start taking control of things. There’s a package I want to collect and the time is
right. I need a couple of you to help transport something around the city.’

‘What’ve you got in mind, boss?’

*

Jeza didn’t like Malum all that much, though she didn’t know why specifically. However, she decided that she did like his money – if he was a paying client,
she couldn’t exactly say no just because he was a bit of a weirdo. The city was full of weirdos.

There was something about him that unnerved her – it wasn’t his lack of manners, since he had those in spades; he had all the charm in the world. It wasn’t the air of mystery
around him, either – there were plenty of people in Villiren who had secrets. No, it was something about his nature – as if he was always trying to suppress something about himself.
That he was holding something
within
that could burst out at any minute. His unspoken potential frightened her.

When Jeza got Malum’s message she was agog at the amount of money he was offering. All she had to do was provide the
remains
of one of their botched operations – of which
there were plenty. If anything, he was doing her a favour by helping remove one – it wasn’t as if she could dispose of them easily. What would people think? He had asked for the most
bizarre-looking creature she could find, and she was fine with that, though she couldn’t help but feel a little dirty standing outside, waiting for him to come. There was an illicit feeling
about this whole operation, prostituting everyone’s talents like this.

This is what business is
, Jeza told herself.
Get used to it if you want to build up a big enterprise.

As she continued waiting, something else niggled her. Why, for example, had she not told the others she was getting rid of the waste grotesques? Was that a sign of her guilt?

She now lingered by the corner of Factory 54, while the rest of the gang headed out into the city to get food. Just outside one of the rear doors to the factory, no more than a dozen feet away,
sat a crate containing a grotesque, which had not been able to cling on to life.

The first time one had died, everyone felt sad. Of course they did. The second time, less so. They were, the gang warranted, creating life in the first place. There was no death first without
life. The third and fourth time they were almost indifferent to the whole operation: their aim was simply to keep them alive for as long as possible, but no matter what dimensions the creatures
took, most of them seemed to die quickly.

But not this one.

Eventually she saw movement at the end of the street. A horse was approaching, pulling a cart, and on top sat a man with a tricorne hat pulled low over his face, with the collars of a wax rain
jacket covering his mouth.

The horse approached and pulled in alongside her. The rider nodded and jumped down; suddenly four other men, whom she hadn’t seen previously, and who were dressed like the rider, leapt off
the back of the cart and their boots thudded on the cobbles.

They approached in a line. Nerves almost got her voice, but she managed to ask, ‘Is that you, Malum?’

‘That’s right, lass,’ Malum replied. ‘So, have you got what we’re after?’

‘Sure.’ She gestured behind to the crate. Whether or not it was the cold, she didn’t know, but she shivered as he moved past her with a crowbar in his hands.

Malum approached the crate, levered open the top to look in and nodded to himself. He looked up at her and she realized suddenly that she could read him better. He now seemed very dangerous and
she was scared. He looked across to his accomplices behind her, and said to them, ‘It’s all fine. Hand over the money to the lass, and we’ll be done.’

Then he approached Jeza and gave a smile that seemed utterly unnatural. ‘You, uh, you might hear one or two things relating to this creature. I’d like it if you were to remain quiet
about it, if you do hear anything. If anyone comes asking questions, please – your silence is expected, part of the contract.’

‘Hey, what you do with this from now on isn’t my concern,’ she said and laughed awkwardly. It took all her willpower not to enquire what he’d do with the corpse of the
creature.

‘Good,’ he replied. ‘Then we have an
arrangement
.’

Why was it that every word seemed like a threat? She hoped all future clients wouldn’t be like him.

The four men lifted the crate under Malum’s direction and loaded it onto the back of the cart, then they jumped back on board. Malum climbed back up onto the seat and addressed Jeza one
last time. ‘You might want to put the money somewhere safe now,’ he said, smirking. With a flip of the reins the horse plodded in a wide circle back the way it had come.

Only when she saw the small sack by her feet did she realize what Malum meant. Glancing up, she watched the cart move away into the distance and on through the streets.

She lifted the sack, noted the weight of the coin and, peering around sheepishly, headed back into the warmth of the factory.

*

Malum knew that if he was going to do this properly, to create the right amount of public fear, it would have to be in one of the most public places possible, an iren. The large
one recently set up behind Port Nostalgia, where all the traders would be going about their business, would be ideal, and the irens were always busiest first thing in the morning.

He worked through the pre-dawn darkness, getting everything ready. A stall had already been rented right in the centre – something in a prime location. He had his men set up a few trinkets
on display, cheap cookware and the likes, in order to make the stall look
genuine
, but beneath a sheet weighed down with stones was the grotesque.

They had bought a bucket of pig’s blood the night before from a butcher’s shop in Althing, and spread it liberally on the cobbles around the creature. Previously Malum had ordered
one of his gang to locate the body of a child. He didn’t ask how or where they got it, but they managed to find one and the young boy’s body was intact. The corpse was placed by one of
the creature’s outstretched paws, which poked up from under the sheet.

‘It has to look as if the creature killed the kid,’ Malum ordered, and his men began making the necessary adjustments.

The city architecture began to define itself against the light of the pale dawn sky.

‘C’mon, you guys,’ he ordered. ‘We need to get this done before the sun’s up, and be clear of here as soon as possible.’

Finally, they peeled back the sheet, rolled it up and stuffed it in the far corner of the iren, just as the first traders rolled their carts to unload their wares. The monster was unveiled in
all its hideous glory.

*

Malum ordered his most presentable men to knock on the doors of local administrators and politicians, anyone who was
someone
in the Ancient Quarter. They were woken up from their slumber or dragged from their breakfast table to listen to the hottest rumour of the day, and the lines the gang used were simple:

‘Hey, have you seen what’s kicking off in the iren in Port Nostalgia? They say a monster’s come to the city from the south. It’s just died right in the middle of
everything. They say it tried to eat a kid. There’s blood everywhere. Come quick!’

It wasn’t a truly calculated plan, and certainly wasn’t his finest hour, but Malum was happy enough watching, from a distance, as influential people moved towards the harbour,
alarmed at the alien
threat
. After a short while, he decided to go back to see what was happening at the iren.

Upon entering the area, Malum smiled widely.

Everyone else’s stalls were not fully set up, trade had not commenced, and there were a good few hundred people – traders and customers looking to fill their baskets with supplies
– clustering around where Malum had left the beast. He recognized the faces of influential people, cowering behind or their faces half-hidden beneath hoods. He pushed his way forward, in the
game now – he knew people would recognize him and he had to be careful.

The nearer he got the more hysterical people’s conversations were.

Two or three traders built like barbarians were investigating the corpse, which in the morning light was clear to see in all its glory. The thing’s skin was almost reptilian, with scales
along its underbelly; four crude, fur-covered arms jutted out from this, and two legs that seemed more at home on oxen. The head was a mash-up of all sorts of creatures, with a cluster of eyes and
two long fangs. From head to foot, stretched out like this, it must have measured a good ten feet long. Blood had soaked into the fur nicely, and the overall effect was that it appeared to have
killed the child and somehow had died in the process.

It was a marvellous design, truly horrific, and it was having the desired effect on the gathered throng. It would also make the commander’s dream of alien integration a lot more
difficult.

Malum could overhear one or two of his men, deep within the crowds, shouting the message he had ordered them to spread:

‘This is one of those monsters from south of the city, I know it.’

‘I can’t believe we’re not being protected from these alien immigrants.’

‘The army needs to kill these brutes and quick.’

‘Do they really expect us to live alongside such foul things?’

It didn’t take long, either, for people in the crowd to mutter their agreement. Opinions were
that
easy to change, when confronted with the right image.

A unit of Dragoons came a little later, parting the crowds and invading the iren. People were steered to one side of the iren while the army sealed off the area. A lot of people clambered around
the walls and rooftops to see what they were up to, and it seemed they had no clue what to do or what to make of this turn of events.

They were as dumbstruck as the citizens.

Investigator Fulcrom was hoping to have a day or two’s rest, but apparently that was not going to happen.

His and Lan’s quarters were luxurious compared with life on the road. There was warmth and comfort, and most of all peace from the constant demands of leadership. A slender, arched window
offered a view towards the far east of the city, which seemed relatively untouched by the brutal war.

While Lan was changing into her freshly laundered Knights outfit, Fulcrom stood browsing the selection of texts on a high shelf, most of them on fishing or local history. His musing was
interrupted by a loud thump on the door.

‘Fulcrom, it’s Brynd.’

‘One moment, Lan’s just getting changed,’ Fulcrom called through to him.

Lan glowered at him. ‘Can’t you learn to lie from time to time?’ she whispered, hurriedly yanking on her breeches.

When she had finished, Fulcrom opened the door and the commander strode in sheepishly. Only now, in this calm situation, did Fulcrom realize how striking the commander’s white face and
red-tinted eyes were.

‘Is everything well, commander?’ Fulcrom enquired.

‘As well as can be expected here, yes, but I came to start you up with a few tasks, if you’re willing.’

‘Of course, yes. Is this for the Villiren Inquisition?’

‘If you want to call it that, yes. At the moment the city is under military law, and I would like to work on a transition to something more stable, local and meaningful. That is, if you
are both happy to get started immediately?’

Fulcrom looked to Lan, who nodded back.

‘The Inquisition is just the two of you at the moment.’ Brynd reached into his pocket and pulled out two small leather cases. He handed one to Fulcrom and one to Lan.

Fulcrom opened his and found an Inquisition medallion inside, much like the one he wore in Villjamur, with the same triangular crucible stamped upon it. The ribbon was black. Fulcrom put it on
over his head; it felt good to have one there again, after having discarded his old one in disgust at his superiors in Villjamur. Lan followed suit, smiling then staring down at the medallion.
‘Our deepest thanks, commander,’ Fulcrom said.

‘As for what I’d like you to do,’ Brynd continued, ‘well . . . we’ve heard reports this morning of a creature being found in the middle of a large new iren. A
creature that has
apparently
killed a child. It’s causing a bit of a stir and the iren has been closed for a while. It seems the whole city is talking about it, and we’re the
last to know.’

‘Killed a child?’ Fulcrom frowned. ‘What sort of creature are we talking about?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Brynd replied. ‘Come.’

*

Fulcrom and Lan, wearing thick robes to cope with the colder conditions, followed the commander on horseback across the city to the iren. The sky had quickly become grey, filled
with the promise of snow, though none came. When they arrived, they tied their horses and dismounted in silence, Fulcrom too fascinated by his new surroundings to talk.

The city was busy, much more so than Villjamur, which surprised Fulcrom. The buildings were old and frail, in much need of repair. Slates were missing from rooftops, some lay on the ground in shattered pieces. On closer inspection there was poverty here, even more than he had seen in Villjamur’s caves, but it was kept
to side streets, alleys in which people clustered around pit fires – he could see people’s blankets stacked to one side, food rations piled alongside weaponry. Exotic smells drifted
from houses, spices he wasn’t familiar with, colours and sounds that seemed a world away from Villjamur. It could take a lot of getting used to.