Dead of Veridon (28 page)

The horrific congregation just stood there, looking at us. Wavering slightly, like they'd been standing too long and were getting tired. The dead don't get tired. Wilson stood next to me, knives held loosely at his waist.

"What do you think? Did we disrupt his control, or something? Or are they just waiting for us to make a move?" Wilson asked.

"Beats me. You wanna just start shooting, see where that gets us?"

"Sounds good." He loosened his shoulders and then unfurled the long, sharp arms of his spider-self. "After you, kid."

"We gonna just leave the Patron here?"

"Are you going to carry him out?" Wilson asked.

"I guess not. Okay," I said, trying to work myself up to it. My mind was clean and bright. I hadn't been this clear in days. Raised the shotgun and sighted at the closest cog-dead. Ten shells. There were more than ten of them. A lot more. "Okay."

The shotgun shuddered against my shoulder, the report echoing through the concave space of the chamber. I flinched. The buck tore into the front line of the cog-dead, shredding pale flesh and opening wounds that gushed tarblack blood. Three of them stumbled, one missing most of his shoulder and neck, his head hanging by a flap.

The rest didn't move. Stood there, staring at us.

"Okay," Wilson said. "Save your shot, I guess."

He walked forward and pushed a path through the room. I followed, holding the shotgun in front of me like the prow of a ship. The limp arms and legs bumped against me, weak hands clutching at my coat, several of them slipping and tumbling over as we pushed through. They looked at us with terrified eyes, eyes that remembered and saw and understood, but robbed of volition. They were robbed of their bodies, but they had their eyes. I paused.

"Wilson, I think... I think they're coming out of it."

He paused and looked. The cog-dead he had just pushed out of the way limped back to him, put two soft arms on his chest and leaned forward. His mouth, gaping and drooling that thick, black ichor, got closer and closer to the anansi's face. I tightened my grip on the shotgun.

"Hu, huh, hu," it said, a whisper, a prayer. "huh, hu."

"'Help,'" Wilson answered. "Gods damn us, Jacob. 'Help.'"

The cog-dead nearly collapsed into Wilson's arms.

"I don't want the responsibility of this, Jacob," Wilson whispered. "I don't want to deal with this."

"We don't get to choose what comes to us, Wilson."

"No, but still."

A high, piercing note rang through the room, vibrating from the scattered pipes, singing through the chamber. The cog-dead became anxious. Afraid.

"Huh, huh, hhhaaaaah," the one in Wilson's arms screamed, and then his grip tightened and he lunged at Wilson's face. The anansi ducked, then brought his knives around and cut him down. The pearl-white body fell to its knees, holding up ruined arms. "Huhl, hahl, puh..."

Wilson kicked him in the face and sprinted for the exit. I was right behind him, the congregation of pale faces suddenly animate as the pipe music snapped into an even tone that threatened to deafen us. The room shook with the sound. They were on us, grabbing, biting, tearing at our clothes and our skin. Neither of us could strike. Neither of us could look back, afraid we would see the horror in their eyes, hear them begging under the oppressive clamor of those pipes.

We reached the door and threw it shut behind us. The last thing I saw as I struggled against the press of bodies was the stage far below, and my father's body spread out over the Patron's tomb, and a sea of terrified eyes, screaming and tearing and crying as they came at us. The door boomed shut and the music stopped. It was quiet in the stone chamber, deep under the Manor. We stayed there for a minute, catching our breath, shaking the adrenalin out of our limbs, and trying to forget what we had seen. What we had done.

Chapter Fourteen

The Fifteen Seats of Veridon

T
HERE WERE CROWS
.

We made the trip from the Manor Tomb to the square outside the Council chambers with little effort. I expected patrols of Badge officers on every street corner enforcing the curfew, but the streets were abandoned. Something else was keeping folks inside their houses today. The storm played a part, I'm sure, but the air tasted like violence and fear. Given a choice,
I'd
be inside. But I was never given a choice, not really.

The Chamber Massif was one of the older buildings in Veridon. Originally constructed as a great hall, intended to provide for the mutual defense of all the families of Veridon, it had evolved into a community center of sorts, and finally the heart of government. It showed its origins as a monument to war, though, in its facade. Strong stone and arrowslits looked down on the square below. Statues had been raised on either side of the wide gate, but they were merely ornaments on a house of war.

Appropriate, considering the battles that went on inside. There should be nothing beautiful about the Council, I thought. Nothing to disguise its nature. The Massif was a battleground.

More so than usual today, perhaps.

The courtyard and facade of the Massif were carpeted with crows. The inky black birds hopped and squawked across the cobbles, draping themselves over the statues by the gate, starting briefly into the air and swirling back down to the ground. It was loud and, given our recent encounter in the Manor Tomb, very unnerving.

"Never thought I'd be afraid of birds," Wilson whispered to me. We stood at the edge of the square, looking across the sea of crows to the Massif's gate.

"Nothing to be scared of," I said, loudly so I'd believe it. "Crane's nothing but a coward with some clever tricks."

"Yeah," Wilson said, motioning toward the gate. "So. After you."

"Yeah. After me."

I squared my shoulders and started walking slowly across the square. The crows fluttered out of my way, but did nothing to stop us. So far, so good.

"You figured out how he does his little trick yet?" I asked. Wilson was just behind me, a little to the left.

"What makes you think I can figure something like that out?"

"You're a clever guy. A curious guy. I'm sure you have your theories." The crows seemed to be giving us more room. I wasn't sure if that was encouraging, or the first sign of a very complicated trap. "So tell me. What's your theory?"

Wilson sighed over my shoulder. He was hunched forward, like he was stalking something.

"We don't know a lot about what the Artificers were truly capable of, in their heyday. Myths, mostly. The Church accused them of witchcraft, tampering with the bodies of the dead. Necromancy, they called it back then. Truth is, the Council at the time was concerned that the Guild was becoming too powerful, and used the Church's rabble-rousing as an excuse. An alliance of convenience. It's interesting, because before then the Church and the Council were often opposed to one another. Most Councilors worshiped the Celestes, didn't trust this new religion of garbagemuckers."

"Fascinating stuff, Wilson," I snapped, "but is there anything you're going to say that might get us across this square and into the Massif? Because if so, maybe you should get to saying those things, rather than meditating on the lessons of the past."

"You asked what I knew of the Artificers Guild. This is what I know. That the Church accused them of some pretty dreadful things, got the Council behind it, and between the two of them they were able to uproot one of the most powerful institutions in Veridon. Converted the Academy into a military school, clipped the Guild's powers, executed the leaders as heretics. And, apparently, declared a Rite of Purge on the Founding Family that supported the Guild."

"Which brings us here." I looked nervously around at the crows. Was Crane watching us through their eyes, just waiting for the moment to strike? Shivers ran down my arm. "You know, I've shot this guy through the heart twice now. I'm used to that solving matters."

"Bullets can't solve everything, Jacob. But yes, he might be a tricky one to pin down. Not sure how we're going to know that we've finally put an end to Mr. Crane, and not one of his possessions."

"Seems the possessed ones fall apart," I noted. Had a brief image of my father's face emerging from the collapsing body of Ezekiel Crane. Realized I had stopped walking when Wilson bumped into me. "Sorry. Just making some plans for Crane."

"You and me both," he whispered.

We were halfway across the square now. I could see a pair of nervous guards at the gate, watching our progress. As long as they didn't start shooting, either at us or at the crows, I was pretty sure we were going to be okay. Unless Crane decided to wait until we were nearly there before he ordered his feathery minions to attack. He seemed to enjoy that kind of cruelty.

"If he really is broadcasting his consciousness, if that's how his possessions work, then it's just a matter of figuring out where he's broadcasting from and going there." Wilson said. "The crows are clearly acting in the same role as the maker beetles. I never thought about it, but I suppose you could use anything for the makers. We don't really know enough about the technology to say what it is that makes them special."

"Apparently Crane does."

"Apparently."

"Is it just a matter of killing the crows?" I asked. Wilson shot me a nervous look and inched closer.

"Too many of them," he whispered. "How many do you have to kill, how many does it take to hold his consciousness? There's too much we don't know. And those pipes play some kind of role, too. Some kind of antenna."

"What's an antenna?" I asked.

"Like a lightning rod, but for sound." Wilson shrugged. "I've never seen one, actually."

"Another myth. We don't have much to go on here. We did manage to disrupt his signal for a while there, in the Manor Tomb."

"Yeah. Maybe something to do with how violently the possession ended." Wilson sheathed his knives and wiped his palms on his pants. I had to admit, I was sweating pretty good now, too. "Might be that it caused him some kind of pain that he had to recover from."

"I like the sound of that." The guards were edging away from us. The crows were still parting along our way, but I got the feeling that they were closing the gap behind us. I turned around. Yeah, the whole damn flock was on our tail. "Though maybe he doesn't."

Wilson turned to see what I was looking at, and the color went from his face.

"Is it too late to just run?" he asked.

"Probably. And those boys aren't going to just open the door for us." I raised my voice and waved to the guards. "Hi there! Hello! Uh... they aren't with us."

The two boys in guard uniforms were pale and getting paler with each step we took toward them. I held my hands up, then realized I was still holding the shotgun. Slung that over my shoulder, and gave Wilson a look. He swallowed nervously and sheathed his knives.

"We're just here to, uh. To talk to the Council. We're friends."

They weren't buying it, and the crows behind us were crowding our heels. I started walking faster. That didn't seem to make the guards feel any better.

"You're sure we can't run?" Wilson hissed.

"Positive," I whispered out of the corner of my mouth, then addressed the guards. "Look, I'm Jacob Burn. My father is..." Dead, I thought. Lying face down in the basement of the Manor Tomb, surrounded by a horde of the mad, ravening dead. "Alexander Burn. I'm here on his business."

"We have orders to keep you two out," one of them said, finally finding his voice. I stopped walking when he held up his shortrifle. "Specific orders."

When I stopped walking, the crows bunched up behind me. They began to flap their wings in frustration. Started clamoring up my legs, fluttering onto my shoulders. Their hard talons cut into my coat. I tried not to move.

"Listen," I said, doing my best not to shout. "I'm a little freaked out right now, and I'm sure you are, too. What I want, more than anything, is to get these godsdamn birds off of me and get inside. So just open the door, okay?"

"Gods, yes, please open the door," Wilson gasped.

It was the other guard who broke. Dropped his shortrifle and jumped for the small sally-gate cut into the larger door. He threw it open and dived through. Since he didn't bar it behind him, I took that as invitation enough.