Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
There is a fate worse than servitude, worse even than death. It is the fate of a semblance who, upon losing its binding to mortal flesh, is divested of thought and identity.
—Children of the Ashes, “Necromantic Ethics”
I raced through my apartment to the door and yanked it open. Cassius was in the alley, roaring what sounded like a war cry. Several shadowy figures were coming at him.
I ran back to my clothes box and fetched my knife—a five-inch spring-assist model.
For better or worse—maybe better, all things considered—growing up in Westmont with brothers in the Rollin’ 100s had taught me how to use a blade.
I rushed back out into the narrow alley.
Brick and stone walls rose four stories on both sides—not a lot of maneuvering room for a fight.
The only light shone from the bulb above my door, but that was enough.
Four men advanced in a line just beyond Cassius.
Their shadows fell diagonally on the street behind them, watery and pale.
Around their wrists and necks gold threads shone dim but clear.
The two in the middle carried long wood hammers.
The two on the ends held heavy nets. Behind the line towered a tall, muscular man wearing a loincloth and carrying an eight-foot spear—he had bindings, too.
Next to him stood the woman in the corset and tricornered hat—the woman I’d seen the night before.
She was holding her bow in one hand and her lantern in the other—gripping it by its pistol grip at the center of one frame rod.
The centurion waved his sword in front of him and didn’t yield an inch as the men approached him.
He caught sight of me and shouted, “Go back inside.”
“The hell I will.” I didn’t want to die . . . again, but I wouldn’t leave him standing there alone. He’d saved my life. Certain things are important, no matter how impossible they seem. I dashed into the alley and stood next to him.
The thanatist spoke the word “burn” and her lantern came to life.
She pulled a fast stroke against one of its frame rods and a beam shot my way, lighting me up like a spotlight.
Her vestiges turned their heads to look at me.
“Mr. Solomon,” said the woman, “this needn’t go badly.
Be a dear and surrender. Save both you and your vestige any bumps and bruises that might otherwise result from our disagreements. ”
“Cassius,” I whispered. “We could run. The alley’s clear behind us.”
Cassius didn’t turn to look at me. “Please do not ask this of me. I have the matter in hand.”
“What will it be, Mr. Solomon?” said the woman. In the dim light her smiling teeth were easy to see.
“You were in the alley last night, just after my friend and I were shot.” I spun my knife once. “You have anything to do with that?”
The woman tipped back her hat. “That’s the beauty, Mr. Solomon. We’re actually here to help you with all your questions. Did you ever notice that some folks just can’t seem to realize they need to be helped? Don’t be one of them. Have a little faith now so’s you don’t have a world of regret later.”
“You came to help me with nets? That what you’re sayin’?”
She chuckled. “I won’t stop coming for you, Mr. Solomon. And I’m not one to be trifled with. Ask any sculler above or below. And it’ll go worse for you if you make me beg. Have a little faith, hmmmm.”
I half wondered if all these overtures of help might not be on the level. I was, after all, new to all this. But it still felt like I was being dragged into something. “I think I’ll pass.”
The four vestiges edged closer to us.
She drew her bow across her lantern again.
Light flared in multiple beams, and her vestiges’ bindings brightened.
I remembered Brach showing me this—a bracing stroke.
The two goons with hammers rushed me. Cassius let out one hell of a shout—“Bratros!”—and hunched into a fighting stance in front of me.
The vestige on the left leapt at him. Cassius drove his sword up through the vestige’s chin.
The man’s eyes clenched shut, and he slumped to the ground.
The other vestige rushed me. I ducked the guy’s hammer, whipped my knife around, and stuck it in the man’s neck. The thug seemed unfazed, and was raising his hammer again, when Cassius took the guy’s hammer-arm off at the elbow, dropping him to the street.
One of the net men spun his thick-roped snare through the air.
It fell down heavy around me. I tried to cut it, but the ropes were corded iron and I began to feel sluggish.
My vision blurred. The netter shoved me down, gathered the ends of the net, and started dragging me toward the woman.
Cassius lunged and swung his sword down on the man’s arms, severing them at the wrists.
The vestige fell, convulsing and spraying blood out over the alley cobblestones.
Cassius yanked the net off me, just as the other netter bolted my way. I shot to my feet and whipped my knife around again, throwing the guy off-balance. Before he could recover, I kicked him in the gut, driving him back into the legs of the thanatist woman.
She nodded at her giant spearman and drew her bow across her lantern again. A fractured beam of light connected to the spearman’s bindings. The tall, thick-chested vestige pointed at Cassius and said, “Single combat. Your sword against my spear.”
Cassius looked over the vestiges he’d put down, frowned, then stepped over their bodies, roaring his war cry gain. The spearman let loose a cry of his own—it was like a Marshall stack turned up to eleven.
I wanted to help Cassius with thanaturgy but had no idea how. The spearman crouched.
I let out a held breath that plumed in the suddenly cold air.
From far down Flitcroft Street, a sound rose in the shadows—the heavy rhythm of something running on all fours—then a deep-throated growl.
The woman and spearman whirled around and peered down the dark alley.
The same massive creature that had chased me into the protection of the Iron Horse was barreling toward us.
Cassius grabbed my arm. “We need to get someplace safe.”
The woman glanced back at me with narrowed eyes under the point of her hat. “Later then, my dear.” She ordered her spearman and remaining netter to “Ready the nets.”
As the beast came on, I had an almost overwhelming desire to just lie down and give up. I was so inexperienced and powerless. Why had I ever thought I could adjust . . . I started to sit.
Cassius hauled me up by the shoulders and shook me.
“You are letting it into your mind. Guard your thoughts in the presence of Strata creatures.” The thanatist struck her lantern with her bow, shooting a blinding flash of light at the shadowy beast. In the glare of it, the creature darted around her, angling toward me. “Snare it,” the woman hissed.
The spearman and netter tossed the iron nets, tangling up the beast.
Cassius shoved me in the opposite direction, sheathing his blade as we sprinted up Flitcroft Street toward Charing Cross Road.
“What the hell is going on?” I yelled.
Cassius said nothing. He got ahead of me, checked around the corner, then together we bolted onto Charing Cross Road.
A few yards down we passed through the magnet-like barrier of the Iron Horse ward.
Church had thought we had a few days until the ward collapsed back to the Horse.
Whatever was happening seemed to be accelerating.
I needed someplace to think. Someplace loud. Loud music helped me focus. I couldn’t go to the Iron Horse in case Detective Bryant was still around. So, I led Cassius up Tottenham Court Road, staying within the boundaries of Henry’s Iron Horse Environs map, all the way to the Underworld.