“How many of them are there?” said Fisher.
“We don’t know. It tends to vary. We don’t know why. Then there’s Johnny Nobody. We think he used to be human, perhaps a sorcerer who lost a duel. Now he’s just a human shape, consisting of guts and muscle and blood held together by surface tension. He has no skin and no bones, but he still stands upright. He screams a lot, but he never speaks. When we caught him, he was killing people for their skin and bones. Apparently he can use them to replace what he lost, for a time, but his body keeps rejecting them, so he has to keep searching for more.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t killed himself,” said Fisher.
“He’s tried, several times,” said Winter. “His curse won’t let him die. Now, if I may continue ... Messerschmann’s Portrait is a magical booby trap left behind by the sorcerer Void when he had to leave Haven in a hurry earlier this year, pursued by half the sorcerers in Magus Court. We still don’t know what he did to upset them, but it must have been pretty extreme. They’re a hard-boiled bunch in Magus Court. Anyway, the Portrait was brought here for safekeeping, and it’s been in Hell Wing ever since. The creature in the Portrait may have been human once, but it sure as hell isn’t now. According to the experts who examined the Portrait, the creature is actually alive, trapped in the Portrait by some powerful magic they don’t fully understand. And it wants out. Apparently, if it locks eyes with you long enough, it can walk out into the world, and you would be trapped in the Portrait. in its place. So don’t get careless around it.”
“You should be safe enough, Hawk,” said Fisher. “It’d have a hard job locking eyes with you.”
Hawk winked his single eye. Winter coughed loudly to get their attention.
“Crawling Jenny is something of an enigma. It’s a living mixture of moss, fungi, and cobwebs, with staring eyes and snapping mouths. It was only five or six feet in diameter when it was first removed from the Street of Gods because it was menacing the tourists. Now it fills most of its cell. If some fool’s let Crawling Jenny loose and it’s been feeding all this time, there’s no telling how big it might be by now.
“The Brimstone Boys are human constructs, neither living nor dead. They smell of dust and sulphur, and their eyes bleed. Their presence distorts reality, and they bring entropy wherever they go. There are only two of them, thank all the Gods, but watch yourselves; they’re dangerous. We lost five Constables and two sorcerers taking them. I don’t want to add to that number.
“And finally, we come to Who Knows. We don’t know what that is. It’s big, very nasty, and completely invisible. And judging by the state of its victims’ bodies, it’s got a hell of a lot of teeth. They caught it with nets, pushed it into its cell on the end of several long poles, and nobody’s gone near it since. It hasn’t been fed for over a month, but it’s still alive—as far as anyone can tell.”
“I’ve just had a great idea,” said Fisher, when Winter finally paused for breath. “Let’s turn around, go back, and swear blind we couldn’t find Hell Wing.”
“I’ll go along with that,” said Barber.
Winter’s mouth twitched. “It’s tempting, I’ll admit, but no. We’re SWAT, and we can handle anything. It says so in our contract. Listen up, people. This is how we’re going to do it. Storm, you open up the gateway and then stand back. Barber, Hawk, and Fisher—you’ll go through first. If you see something and it moves, hit it. Hard. Storm will be right behind you, to provide whatever magical support you need. I’ll bring up the rear. Mac, you stay back here and guard the entrance. I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us from behind.”
“You never let me in on the exciting stuff,” said MacReady.
“Yes,” said Winter. “And aren’t you grateful?”
“Very.”
Winter smiled, and turned back to the others. “Take your places, people. Storm, open the gateway.”
The sorcerer walked a few steps down the corridor and began muttering to himself under his breath. Barber stepped forward to take the point, and Hawk and Fisher moved in on either side of him. Barber glanced at them briefly, and frowned.
“Don’t you people believe in armour? This isn’t some bar brawl we’re walking into.”
“Armour just slows you down,” said Hawk. “The Guard experiments with it from time to time, but it’s never caught on. With the kind of work we do, it’s more important for us to be able to move freely and react quickly. You can’t chase a pickpocket down a crowded street while wearing chain mail. Our cloaks have steel mesh built into them, but that’s it.”
“And you don’t even wear that, most of the time, unless I nag you,” said Fisher.
Hawk shrugged. “Don’t like cloaks. They get in the way while I’m fighting.”
“I’ve always believed in armour,” said Barber, swinging his sword loosely before him. He seemed perfectly relaxed, but his gaze never left Storm. “It doesn’t matter how good you are with a blade, there’s always someone better, or luckier, and that’s when a good set of chain mail comes into its own.”
He broke off as the sorcerer’s voice rose suddenly, and then cut off sharply. The floor lurched and dropped away beneath their feet for a heart-stopping moment before becoming firm again. A huge metal door hung unsupported on the air right in front of them, floating two or three inches off the ground. An eight-foot-tall slab of roughly beaten steel, it gleamed dully in the lamplight, and then, as they watched, it swung slowly open to reveal a featureless, impenetrable darkness. A cold breeze blew steadily from the doorway, carrying vague, blurred sounds from off in the distance. Hawk thought he heard something that might have been screaming, or laughter, but it was gone too quickly for him to identify it.
“Move it,” said Storm tightly. “I don’t know how long I can keep the gateway open. There’s so much stray magic around, it’s distorting my spells.”
“You heard the man,” said Winter. “Go go go!”
Barber stepped through the doorway, and the darkness swallowed him up. Hawk and Fisher followed him in, blades at the ready. The darkness quickly gave way to a vague, sourceless silver glow. Barber, Hawk, and Fisher moved immediately to take up a defensive pattern, looking quickly about them for possible threats. They were standing in a narrow corridor that seemed to stretch away forever. The walls and the low ceiling were both covered with a thick mass of dirty grey cobwebs. The floor was a pale, pockmarked stone, splashed here and there with dark spots of dried blood. There was a brief disturbance in the air behind them as first Storm and then Winter appeared out of nowhere to join them.
“All clear here, Jessica,” said Barber quietly. “No sign of anyone, or anything.”
“If this is Hell Wing, I don’t think much of it,” said Fisher. “Don’t they ever clean up in here?”
“I’m not sure where or what this is,” said Storm. “It doesn’t feel like Hell Wing. The air is charged with magic, but there’s no trace of the standard security spells that ought to be here. Everything... feels wrong.”
“Are you saying you’ve brought us to the wrong place?” asked Hawk dangerously.
“Of course not!” snapped the sorcerer. “This is where Hell Wing used to be. This is what has... replaced Hell Wing. I think we have to assume the creatures have broken loose. All of them.”
Barber cursed softly, and hefted his sword. “I don’t like this, Jessica. They must have known somebody would be coming. Odds are this place is one big trap, set and primed just for us.”
“Could be,” said Winter. “But let’s not panic just yet, all right? Nothing’s actually threatened us so far. Storm, where does this corridor lead?”
Storm shook his head angrily. “I can’t tell. My Sight’s all but useless here. But there’s something up ahead; I can feel it. I think it’s watching us.”
“Then let’s go find it,” said Winter briskly. “Barber, you have the point. Let’s take this one step at a time, people. And remember, we’re not just looking for the creatures. The rioters who opened the gateway, have got to be here somewhere. And, people, when we find them, I don’t want any heroics. If any of the rioters wants to surrender, that’s fine, but no one’s to take any chances with them. All right; move out. Let’s get the job done.”
They moved off down the corridor, and the darkness retreated before them so that they moved always in the same sourceless silver glow. The thick matted cobwebs that furred the walls and ceiling hung down here and there in grimy streamers that swayed gently on the air, stirred by an unfelt breeze. Noises came and went in the distance, lingering just long enough to chill the blood and disturb the mind. Hawk held his axe before him, his hands clutching the haft so tightly that his knuckles showed white. His instincts were screaming at him to get out while he still could, but he couldn’t just turn tail and run. Not in front of Winter. Besides, she was right; even if this place was a trap, they still had a job to do. He glared at the darkness ahead of them, and then glanced back over his shoulder. The darkness was there too, following the pool of light the team moved in. More and more it seemed to Hawk that they were moving through the body of some immense unnatural beast, as though they’d been swallowed alive and were soon to be digested.
Barber stopped suddenly, and they all piled up behind him, somehow just managing to avoid toppling each other. Barber silently indicated the right-hand wall, and they crowded round to examine it. There was a ragged break in the thick matting of dirty grey cobwebs, revealing a plain wooden door, standing slightly ajar. The wood was scarred and gouged as though by claws, and splashed with dried blood. The heavy iron lock had been smashed, and was half hanging away from the door. Winter gestured for them all to move back, and they did so.
“It seems my first guess was wrong,” said Storm quietly. “This is Hell Wing, after all, merely hidden and disguised by this ... transformation. The lock quite clearly bears the prison’s official mark. Presumably the door leads to what was originally one of the cells.”
“Any idea what’s in there?” asked Winter softly.
“Something magical, but that’s all I can tell. Might be alive, might not. Again, there’s so much stray magic floating around, my Sight can’t see through it.”
“Then why not just open the door and take a look?” said Hawk bluntly. “I’ve had it up to here with sneaking around, and I’m just in the mood to hit something. All we have to do is kick the door in, and then fill the gap so that whatever’s in there can’t escape.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Fisher. “Who gets to kick the door in?”
“I do,” said Barber. “I’m still the point man.”
He looked at Winter, and she nodded. Barber moved silently back to the door and the others formed up behind him, weapons at the ready. Barber took a firm grip on his sword, lifted his left boot, and slammed it hard against the door. The heavy door swung inward on groaning hinges, revealing half of the small, gloomy cell. Barber hit the door again and it swung all the way open. Everybody tensed, ready for any sudden sound or movement, but nothing happened. The cell wasn’t much bigger than a privy, and it smelled much the same. The only illumination was the silver glow falling in from the corridor outside, but it was more than enough to show that the cell was completely empty. There was no bed or other furnishings—only some filthy straw on the floor.
Some of the tension went out of Hawk, and he lowered his axe. “Looks like you got it wrong this time, Storm; no one’s home. Whoever or whatever used to be locked up in here is long gone now.”
“With a trusting nature like yours, Captain, I’m astonished you’ve lasted as long as you have,” the sorcerer said acidly. “The cell’s occupant is quite likely still here, held by its geas, even though the lock has been broken. You just can’t see it, that’s all.”
Anyone else would have blushed. As it was, Hawk spent a moment looking down at his boots before nodding briefly to the sorcerer and then staring into the cell with renewed interest. “Right. I’d forgotten about Who Knows, the invisible creature. You’re sure the geas is still controlling it?”
“Of course!” snapped Storm. “If it wasn’t, the creature would have attacked us by now.”
“Not necessarily,” said Winter slowly. “It might just be waiting for us to lower our guard. Which presents us with something of a problem. If it isn’t still held by its geas, we can’t afford to just turn our backs and walk away. It might come after us. The reports I saw described it as immensely strong and entirely malevolent.”
“Which means,” said Barber, “someone’s going to have to go into that cell and check the thing’s actually there.”
“Good idea,” said Fisher. “Hawk, just pop in and check it out, would you?”
Hawk looked at her.
“You
pop in and check it out. Do I look crazy?”
“Good point.”
“I’ll do it,” said Barber.
“No you won’t,” said Winter quickly. “No one’s going into that cell. I can’t afford to lose any of you. Barber, hand me an incendiary.”
Barber smiled briefly, and reached into a leather pouch at his belt. He brought out a small smooth stone that glowed a dull, sullen red in the gloom, like a coal that had been left too long in the fire, and handed it carefully to Winter. She hefted it briefly, and then tossed it casually from hand to hand while staring into the apparently empty cell. Barber winced. Winter turned to Hawk and Fisher, and gestured with the glowing stone.