Blightcross: A Novel (21 page)

“So your research is effectively stalled?”

“On this project, yes.” Sevari slammed his hand on a shelf. “I was ahead of myself in thinking that I would soon understand the worldspirits and what they desire. At least Section Three has finally found a technique to complete our defence modernization plan. But I would prefer the secret to the painting over my army's equipment any day.”

Alim stuffed his hands into his pockets and began to walk about the room casually. “Sounds like you could use help from Helverliss.”

“I think I understand you. We should probably take his little coven as well. That rogue contessa who finances him ought to be brought in as well.”

“I'll get right on it, Leader.”

At the smooth paved entrance to the Pavilion of Machines stood a bronze and brass arbour. On its front, Capra read, quite slowly:
Pavilion of Machines - Established 8756 U.E. - Pritalvihs Wehk Glostrikkz
.

That last sentence was in Old Karabac—a language those of the west used when they wanted to appear serious and scholarly. She had learned some phrases in her travels, and it seemed to declare something to the effect of
Realpower - Progress - Pureness.

Beyond the signs and maps of each attraction was a spectacle Capra's experience could only compare to a menagerie of machines. A giant wheel of metal, rotating silently but for the chugging of the engines. Other spinning sculptures were set on pedestals, and dozens of young couples, parasols in hand and children trailing, strolled the glimmering metal walkways.

Closer to the big wheel, Capra now saw baskets at the end of each spoke, and in these, people. Smiling, laughing people. She shivered. It was bad enough to travel by flying boat for three days. But to sit in one of those rickety metal skeletons? For fun?

Now she searched among the spinning blades and engine-driven faces and grotesque, living metal for the mechanical fire giant.

Everyone had their own vision of what a real fire giant ought to look like. Nobody had seen one for two thousand years, and the old drawings were simply a starting point for everyone else's imagination. Capra imagined a sentient reptile, with spiny tail and a tough round armour covering its back. It would stand as tall as some of the monstrous buildings in downtown Blightcross.

At last she found it—a brass and iron figure standing three-times the height of a tall man. Its eyes sparkled with each movement of its head, and she saw that they were large diamonds. The tail swished and flicked without so much as a squeak from its metal segments. Capra's heart thundered at the sight—deep down she knew it was fake, but realizing this did nothing to dispel her awe.

The thing looked at her, and she swore there existed some kind of intelligence, the kind of divine, primal awareness that made the fire giants such a powerful myth.

Myth—it hardly seemed like one now. She chilled at the thought of someone bringing these ancient figures to life. This thing seemed more than just a collection of metal bits, although that's exactly what the artist had intended.

She read the plaque on the thing's pedestal.
Fire Giant, by Tilas Feyerbik.

That was her man. But.

Why did that name sound so familiar?

The fire giant now opened its mouth, and from it came a clicking sound, followed by a hiss. There was a flash, and Capra jumped back to dodge the fire spewing from the sculpture's mouth. She soon shook her head and felt like an idiot, since the flame didn't reach beyond the surrounding chain barrier.

Tilas Feyerbik
... A memory came to her, a bulletin of some sort—surely from before her escape.

Before she could recover the memory, a panel in the ground opened, and out popped a semi-bald man, with thick spectacles and wool trousers held by braces. The bit of hair around the side of his head stuck out, and his pockets bulged with screwdrivers and hammers and spanners.

Feyerbik... it was a name from Yahrein.

“How's she working now?” The man stepped over the chain and examined one of the leg joints.

“Excuse me, are you Feyerbik?”

He lowered his glasses. “Well, yes.” There was something hesitant in his voice. “Will you liking it, eh?”

The sentence construction—Yahrein. Then it hit her—this was one of the men that MDF special forces were still trying to hunt down for trial.

This man was a war criminal. No wonder he looked uncomfortable—he knew a Valoii when he saw one, and he was backing away slowly.

“I am old, do you not see? I can not take any of it back... I can take none of it back...”

She reached out to him. “I... I'm not one of them. I just wanted to know about Noro Helverliss.”

“Eh?”

She gestured to the fire giant. “It's beautiful. And it doesn't make a single noise, not like some of these others.” She stepped over the chain and ran her hand along the beast's leg.

“The engines, they are below. I tell them, ‘give me one just for him, he cannot share with the other sculptures' and they give it to me. Special exhaust, I run it around underneath. Noisier over there, but you enjoy looking without the engine noise, right?”

“Yes.”

He gazed into her eyes. Should she feel sick or feel pity for him or kill him? Now that she had abandoned Mizkov, nothing seemed clear, except that she needed to sever her ties with them fully so she could live how she wanted. This man had been an accomplice to mass murder—one of the Yahrein scientists who devised experiments to merge men with his engines. He created strange magnetic weapons that destroyed entire Valoii camps. So many people would give their lives for a meeting like this, and she could not help but feel conflicted and sad.

“It was a different time, Valoii,” Feyerbik said. “A different time... There was
vihs
everywhere. We thought... with all the decline in morals, that our proud nation was being corrupted by a mass concentration of bad
vihs
. It was insane. But it might have been true.”

She looked away. Because of her age, her only point of reference was the turmoil left by the war's end, and her parents' stories. “There is very little of that among the Valoii, you know. We are a pragmatic people. We do what is necessary to survive, and we can do it without any special powers. Perhaps it was your own people corrupting your culture, not us.”

“Oh yes, I have heard all of the theories, right up to Helverliss' idea that the
vihs
doesn't exist and never did in the first place.”

Clearly this man was an intellectual like Helverliss, and could babble on just as well, so she decided to cut to the main issue. “I am working for Helverliss. I need to find his paintings and steal them from Sevari. I was told that you know where Sevari is keeping them.”

“Ah. Sevari.” His face darkened. “Blightcross is no different from my old society. It is painful to watch. The same mystical revival, the same fetish with production...”

“You know about the paintings?”

“Hmm, yes. That is what scares me. Not that Sevari has the same temperament as my former leaders, but that Helverliss is actually capable of delivering the kind of power my people sought but were too ignorant to find.”

She glared at him.

“The collection is in the clock tower. That is Sevari's cocoon. I designed all of its mechanisms, and was a contributing architect.” He sighed, and she compared his weariness with that of Helverliss. “I had thought Sevari was a good man, after all he gave me a second chance here. I never guessed he would be just more of the same.”

She turned to leave—this was all she needed, and she feared further discussion with Feyerbik would only force her into the dutiful hatred she knew had been planted somewhere inside her.

“Hold on, Valoii.” He replaced his glasses. “If you are stupid enough to enter Sevari's haven, at least stay out of the building proper.”

“What do you mean?”

He pointed to the hole in the ground and ducked back inside it. She followed him into his workshop, where he rifled through a stack of yellowed papers, many with brown rings of shalep stains.

He passed her a leather tube, but she did not take it.

“Go ahead. You will need it.”

“What is it?”

“The schematic. For the clock mechanism.”

She took the tube, but scrunched her face in confusion. “Why should I care about the stupid clock?”

He grinned slightly, almost sadistically. “Because, Valoii, you are going to climb up her. Climb through her, I might say. It is the only way, trust me. The refinery is the most secure part of this entire nation. You will not just walk in or cut through a window after climbing up the tower's face. You have to go up through the mechanism. It is the only weak spot.”

Her jaw slackened. The man had to be insane. “No way.”

“It is the largest, most decadent design ever built. The tower itself is built around a tower of gears and cams, all ending at the clock. The tolerances should allow a girl of your size to squeeze through, though it will depend on your sense of timing.”

“Whoa, wait. You want me to climb through a bunch of gears?”

“Yes.”

And she thought a couple of hours in the raid shelter was bad.

CHAPTER TEN

The historical buildings of this neighbourhood, no matter how rundown, gave her a warmth and ease, as if there were an invisible shield around the district. Even so, Capra knew Orvis Dunes was about as safe as anywhere else in the city, and the comfort was a superficial one.

There was something different about the place. The cloud of shalep fumes and cheroot smoke was less than usual. She stopped to listen for the string trio. All she heard was the endemic groan of the city, and the soughing of hot wind.

Even better—she found a poster on a lamp standard, warning the public of the dangers posed by some criminal named Khapruh Jerazuhn. If these people's refusal to adopt proper Valoii spelling weren't offensive enough, below the warning was an artist's conception of her.

The artist had exaggerated her nose, and stretched her face in a comical fashion. It looked like a copy of the drawing Alim probably was using for this purpose, only warped.

She tore it from the standard and ripped it beyond recognition. Not that anyone could recognize her from that drawing anyway.

It was noon. Would Dannac show up?

Of course he would. He was incapable of forgetting. Then again, he could be locked up in a prison somewhere, or lying in a ditch...

She rounded the corner near Helverliss' bookshop. But she quickly rolled back around the corner, because a squad of soldiers blocked the sidewalk around Helverliss' shop. It could only mean one thing.

Shit. He's the one with all the cash
.

And here she had been wanting to renegotiate her fees, on account of the extra-dangerous, panic-inducing necessity of climbing through the heart of the clock tower. Now there might be nothing in it for them, not even enough to cover their expenses.

She crouched and covered her profile with a shaking hand. Her mind raced to concoct an alternate plan. There was always the resorts to the north, as she had advised Tey to pursue, but good luck wrangling a flying boat ticket now, and forget trekking through the desert. A sailing ship might take them, but still, that would require money and a foolproof disguise.

When Dannac came into the alley with his own look of shock, she couldn't be bothered to stand. She just shook her head at him and frowned.

“What is this?” he said.

“They got him.”

“But why? Why now?”

“It's anyone's guess. I don't suppose it matters why. We're done.”

He appeared disturbed. “Done? But...”

“You of all people should see why. We're after Helverliss' money, remember?”

“Yes, but...” He hesitated. “Maybe we should go for the painting anyway. For... for ourselves. He did say that it would fetch a decent price.”

She stood and peered into the street. Was he kidding? At least with Helverliss, they knew the painting had value and that he would pay to get it back. But what if it were worthless on the market? “If you want to get an appraiser to swear that the thing has any market value, go ahead.” She watched him for a moment, noted his fidgeting and quick breathing. “Okay, something's not right. You're taking this worse than I am.”

“You have never turned down such an opportunity. Maybe you're the one with the problem.”

“Me? Look, something else will come up, it always does. And anyway, I don't really want to have to go into that tower's mechanics, because that's the only way to get inside the tower unnoticed.” Just thinking of squeezing through it like a worm caught in an engine kicked her heart into a stutter.

They said nothing for a while, and Capra listened for the troopers' voices. They were equally as quiet, except when the occasional patron passed by and the men shouted at them to get back.

But minutes later, just when the silence was becoming a tense moment between the two, the voice of a woman called out behind them.

“It was my fault.”

Both snapped from their daze.

“Vasi?” Capra squinted at the figure striding towards them.

Vasi joined them and spoke lowly. “I left Sevari. I can only assume he was frustrated with his research. I was ready to finish it, to unlock the painting, when I realized...”

“What's wrong, Vasi? What did he do?” Capra took Vasi's hand.

“Sevari has been killing us for research. He wanted me to feed the souls of my own people to the darkness inside that horrible painting so I could finish the work.” Vasi's eyes began to glisten, and Capra fidgeted and touched her awkwardly in an attempt to comfort. “I saw the man's memories. Did Sevari not think I would sense that? Section Three was supposed to be researching constructing synthetic spirits, not ripping real ones from their owners.”

“Synthetic spirits? What is all of this about?”