The story so far…
What’s left to risk in a city with no death? As it turns out…the rest of your life.
Lilian and Kinley were forced across the bridge to Alinakard’s mythical twin city on the opposite bank. A city no one has ever returned from. Each day, the buildings appear, clad in perfect marble, and each night, it’s set on fire. They are in search of Jem - who has been called across the river thanks to an ancestral spell that has left most of her family mad, bad or dead. Lilian teams up with a company of city soldiers to survive a demonic fight court, whilst Jem and Kinley are exploring Gowan’s Tower. There, they have discovered the source of their troubles: a Perpetual Machine that was only ever proposed as a thought experiment.
You can read last week’s post here, or start from the beginning with The City On The Other Side. There are links at the bottom of each post that will jump you straight to the next chapter.
“Swive that!” The claw-faced soldier spat out the insult, perhaps to hide the shame and anger behind it. He looked younger than she did, although that did not mean much in this disjointed place. “I’ve nothing against the Captain, but he’s the reason we’re in this mess in the first place. I’m not risking my skin after all that. I’m out!” That last word was almost a shriek.
Lilian nodded. “I understand,” she said, her voice sounding reedy in comparison. “You should go. I’ll follow.”
Two other soldiers on the squad followed the first, scampering up the stands between the recovering ghouls. In the distance, Lilian heard the outer gate clang. Her remaining companion shifted restlessly. She turned to face him; a man with soft, brown hair, a large moustache and haunted topaz eyes. He was older than the others by at least a decade and much more silent. He had kept his counsel during their pre-fight planning session, but Afizere would glance at him after each decision was made.
“You’re staying?” she asked.
“I’ve got nothing better to do,” he grunted. “Cap’tn deserves better than to be demon chum and he’ll feel every bite. Let’s go.”
He started back down the stairs, casually kicking at a skeletal hand. None of the undead spectators seemed to be in any hurry to attack them, now the puzzle box had unlocked the outer gates. The ghouls reminded her of sun-drunk bees, crawling on the flagstones.
“You’re the squad sergeant?” she asked, pattering behind him. A snapped-off limb on the stands caught her dress, ripping another rent in the fabric. Despite all she had been through, she still winced; the elegant pink silk had been her favourite and it now looked like she had crawled through a swamp.
“I was. No squad left, now. Men can only fight for so long before they break and they were broken before we ever set foot in this place. Careful, now.”
They had reached the edge of the arena now. Clutching the bottom step, the sergeant leaned over and peered in.
“Careful!” Lilian called out, then felt embarrassed at the warning. He would know the risks better than her. This close to the pit, its depth sucked at them, the air feeling a lot heavier than mere molecules had a right to admit. He winked at her, then inflated his lungs to bellow:
“Afizere? Eoin? Are you still standing?”
Incredibly, something echoed back.
“Yes! Find some swiving rope! We’re knee-deep in muck!”
Lilian laughed aloud. “At least you had a soft landing,” she yelled down at them. Indeterminate cussing came back.
“They’ve got rope pulleys around the arena,” the sergeant offered. “I’ll get it.”
*
There were three surviving squad soldiers, as well as Afizere. Eoin was the last to climb up, his bulk emerging into the light like an undersea iceberg. All of them were covered in mud, leaving rivulets down their beards and clumping their hair. Their uniforms were unrecognisable.
“Thank you Jere”, the captain said to the sergeant with relief. “I was temporarily convinced you would leave us to rot.”
Jere merely raised his eyebrows. “You’re stuck with me until I get my back pay, Captain. Besides, the wine here is muck. Not worth the swallow.”
Lilian looked up at the stands. Most of the ghouls had slumped on benches, with a few of their broken brethren on the floor. Whatever energy had possessed them before had fled. They reminded her of a macabre art display.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said, shuddering. “I want to see this tower you were all talking about.”
*
Kinley squatted next to the stove they had hauled up from the kitchen, which was now belching out heat, thanks to some broken furniture and a match. “I maintain that this is an arse-about plan,” he proclaimed, his brow furrowed. He glanced sideways at the rags she had soaked in oil and hung up to dry next to the stove. The smell was making him queasy.
Jem, sitting by the tower’s main doors, did not react. He could see her face, creased in concentration, her fingers gently moving a spoon in the wooden bowl. She was wearing a frayed apron and had crumbled up rust, aluminium and gunpowder into a soft heap. It glittered happily in the light. Several of Kinley’s bullets had been sacrificed to the cause before he realised just how dangerous her plan was.
With a grunt, she started to transfer the mix to a small, glazed ceramic pot. When it was packed in, to her satisfaction, she thoroughly wiped her hands, using a clean rag set aside for that purpose. Finally, she spoke in a staccato burst.
“What else do you suggest, Keeper Kinley? We can’t grab hold of your rope from the window and even if we could, there’s no guarantee we would make it to the staircase landing. No, we need to open this place up and you’ve already admitted we can’t pick the lock or undo the hinges. The doors are made of metal, so we can’t take an axe to it. Therefore, we need to melt it.”
Not for the first time, Kinley wondered how he had ended up with such insane companions. First Lilian, then Legata Martia, now Jem. They all seemed determined to get him killed.
“Tell me you’ve done this safely before,” he begged.
“I’ve had a misspent childhood. Admittedly, last time I made explosive thermite, I had the proper charges for it and I still set the family grotto on fire.” She grinned at him. “It was one of the few times Father was impressed.”
Kinley closed his eyes to pray. “We’re gonna die.”
“We can’t in this place, remember?”
He snorted. “So we walk around for an eternity as charred corpses. That’s worse.”
“Just keep an eye on the rags. I don’t want them to ignite until we are ready.”
Kinley leaned over to gingerly feel them. “They’re getting dry,” he said hesitantly.
“Good. Start knotting them together.”
The plan was simple enough. A container full of explosives tied to the doors and a hot stove on the other side of the room, linked together by a line of flammable cloth. The plan was to stuff one end into the stove and hide in the rooms below. What could go wrong?
Then again, he’d been cautious throughout this adventure and ended up in a madman’s tower anyway.
Kinley pulled down the rags and started to tie them together with quick, deft, knots.
“You owe me a drink after this,” he grumbled.
Jem got to her feet, grinning. She had discarded the apron, but he could still smell the thermite on her, mixed with sweat and faded lavender from her hair oil.
“We’ll find a full wine cellar, once we’re out, I promise. C’mon, let’s lay it out.”
Kinley hesitated. “How will we know if it works? I don’t want to walk back into a molten room to check.”
“Oh, we will hear it.”
*
Lilian was trotting down the maze of streets towards Gowan’s Tower, Afizere’s men arranged in a diamond formation around her, when she heard the noise. It was a screeching clash that repeated three times, reverberating around the walls.
“What was that?” Jere asked, alarmed. He was walking just behind her.
Lilian broke into a smile. “That’s Jem,” she breathed.
“Who?” Afizere asked, half-turning from his position at the front.
“Jem Diamous. She’s the reason I’m here in the first place. I would bet, rubies to rubble, she’s just blown something up.”
The group broke into a half-run and five minutes later, Lilian’s suspicions were correct. In the middle of the small octagon plaza lay several chunks of molten, twisted metal, surrounded by shocked witnesses in the doorways or windows. And walking down the tower stairs, smoke-stained and slightly charred was Jem, followed by a dazed and scowling Kinley.
Lilian realised she was grinning; a big cheek-aching smile that no cultured Peal would ever wear in public. She didn’t care. Not about that, or her appearance, or the hostile locals or even the fact Jem thought her a traitor.
She was just glad to see her lover again.
Really liked the use of repurposed bullets and thermite to blow the door open. A plan simultaneously clever and blunt. Also, great switch to Lilian's perspective for the actual explosion. I could picture the whole sequence as scenes in a movie.
The city without death. That's a very interesting concept. Well done.