Chapter 18 #2
“Because of the evidence I’m going to provide you.
” She handed me a small, braided bracelet.
“This is a binding from one of Master Brach’s vestiges.
The first shape is the mark of the Shiguan.
” It was the inverted Y I’d seen on the Ren-faire thugs.
“The tobacco leaf is Brach’s thanatist mark.
These cannot be counterfeited. The chain emblem is a compulsion sigil, which is necessary when a thanatist binds a vestige to commit a crime against the soul. ”
“Like trying to murder a friend.” “Precisely.”
I examined the binding. “How do these help?”
“They’re a visual guide to help you identify the body of the assassin.” “The body?”
“The assassin’s body will turn up tomorrow. I’ve seen to that.” She took another drag on her cigarillo. “Its absence has Master Brach worried, since a compulsion to murder leaves a scar that carries a marker unique to both the victim and the assassin.”
“What’s the marker?”
“I don’t know. But when you look into the shadow of the assassin’s body, it will be evident. Unhealed.” She let out smoke. “Normally, a vestige assassin is discorporated after the murder and the body destroyed, to eliminate all evidence. So, Brach will be looking for the body, too.”
I stuffed the bracelet in my pocket. “Where will I find it?”
“You’ll know tomorrow,” she said. “I need to make sure he doesn’t know I’m part of this first.”
“What about you and the rest of the Shiguan? No designs on the Iron Horse?” I remembered Henry’s journal—Shiguan archives—and stopped myself. “Actually, let’s go one better. I need something from you.”
“But helping me is already helping you,” she said.
“I do want justice, and I damn sure want to stop this revolution, especially if it’s going to use music to manipulate people.
But the Iron Horse ward is failing either way.
I need to figure out how to renew it—how to bind a mature wraith to the place.
If I help you with Brach, you help me with the ward. ”
She smiled, and it was sexy as hell. “Quid pro quo. Jack, I do respect the Iron Horse and its freedoms. And I’ve always been a fan of one effort producing two results. What do you need?”
“I need to learn how to establish a spiritual ward,” I told her. “Henry thought Brach might have something he called Cython texts that could help. Can you take a look?”
Emaline glanced down at the dolls again. “Brach has long been obsessed with the work the Cythons were doing.”
“They’re a destroyed schism, right? I read that they were—” “Jack?” It was Cassius.
“One minute. I think we’re about done,” I told him, then continued. “I read that all the Cythons were killed.”
“That’s the official story. They were trying to summon a particularly mature Strataform, probably a wraith, and bind it to their will—it must have possessed something they desperately wanted.
That’s dangerous work all by itself, not to mention a violation of Precedent Law.
The Convocation had no choice but to anathematize them. ”
I remembered that word from the big Precedent book for sure. It meant that the protection of Precedent Law was withdrawn. In that state, a person or group could be hunted and killed, and there was no penalty for the killer. It was a kind of immunity or sanction for murder.
“So, what’s the unofficial story about the Cythons?”
“There are rumors that many survived and went into hiding, began planning their return. But such rumors always arise after a schism is anathematized.”
“Well, we might have a head start on renewing the ward.” I explained about the wraith called up by my rebirth, how it had killed Angela and was hunting me.
“That’s lovely,” she said. “What I mean is, it compounds Brach’s crime of assassination. The Convocation is duty-bound to punish whoever is ultimately responsible for the summoning of a wraith.”
“Lovely.”
“Brach did seize the Cython arcana when they were anathematized. I’ll see what I can find. It won’t be easy, but it’s a fair exchange.” She smiled. “For my part, Jack, I want very much to see Brach boxed.”
“Boxed?”
“A form of banishment. Thanaturgic abilities are nullified when a thanatist is confined to an iron box. It’s torturous, let me assure you.”
“Something you know from personal experience?” I asked.
Emaline’s smile soured. “We can all find some grace in captivity, can’t we? Even if it means turning that captivity into our captor’s suffering. But you do understand the pact we’re making is a mortal one, don’t you, Jack? We succeed or we die.”
The darkness inside her words didn’t match the gentle lines of her face. And while I had to find Henry, I hadn’t thought about the possible cost until she laid it out so nonchalantly.
She escorted Cassius and me to the opposite end of the hall, stopping next to a tank. “Tell no one of our collaboration. I am pleased with our arrangement, but if others found out, I’d be censured.”
“I can keep a secret,” I told her. “So, I guess we have a deal, then. Do we need to make some kind of oath?”
“You mean like a blood vow?” She laughed. “That’s topside cinema at its worst.”
“What about your little blood-flicking trick—”
“It gets awfully dull here sometimes. No, how about this?” She leaned in and gave me a kiss. Not long, but not short. Her lips were soft and warm, and carried the mild scent of lilac.
That certainly seemed binding. “I can’t tell if we’ve just had our first date or not?”
She laughed again, but softer. “It’s a risky proposition you’ve committed yourself to, Jack. I’m so very glad you did. Now, you’re welcome to use these steps to return to the surface.”
Behind the battered old German Panzer IV, an unassuming door stood unguarded. It opened onto a dark stairwell. My field manual had a map of each stratum’s steps to the layer above and below it. Those marked in red were monitored. This obviously wasn’t one of them.
Cassius and I stepped in behind Margaretha, who’d agreed to lead us up since I didn’t feel ready to try it on my own.
Going up was a lot like going down. The silky touch of the dark wrapped us in its cool embrace.
The old pressure pulsed in my temples, though not as bad as it had coming down.
And I followed without needing a hand. Still, I was eager to breathe the stinking air of my own London again, and when we got outside the museum topside, I took a few deep breaths.
I’d just traveled back in time and returned to the present. And that wasn’t even the strangest part.
It was still night, the stars and moon shining high above—the sky in the present world had a depth it didn’t have in the Strata.
I checked my watch. It seemed time passed below the same as it did above.
Then we caught the first taxi that came by, and I promised the driver double fare to speed us back to the Horse.
The ward had shrunk past my flat, so I’d sleep in the greenroom for the foreseeable future.
I texted the gang to let them know where I’d be.
When we passed through the ward barrier on Charing Cross Road, a thanatist was prowling at its edge, a Shiguan tattoo on his neck. He scowled as we went by. We ignored him and had the cabbie drop us off out front of the Horse.
Cassius said he’d walk patrol out on Manette.
Fine. I ducked inside, grabbed a quick shower in the rear-venue john, snaked some cold chicken tenders from the kitchen fridge, and plopped myself down on the old greenroom couch.
Someone—probably Church—had fetched my books and left them on the end table.
It was nearly three in the morning, but tired as I was, I wasn’t sleepy.
So, I dove back in, reading like mad, humming softly to speed the words and boost my recall.
The safety of the Iron Horse and peace of the greenroom felt as good as they ever had. More home than home. I really hoped Emaline could help me save this old place.