Wheezle smiled and trotted out, followed by Hezekiah. As Irene glided regally past the guards, she stopped and whispered, «Please forgive Prince Britlin's impulsiveness. He is the eldest, and has endured many long years of chaste abstinence, waiting for our union.»
«Perfectly understandable,» Tortoise-Shell answered, now cross-eyed from staring at the tip of my blade. «A cutter gets keen, I can sympathize with that.»
«Explains all the talk about nagas,» Feathers agreed. «You have a nice honeymoon now.»
I kept my sword at the ready as I backed out the door, but the guards made no rash attempts to nab us. As we hurried away from the asylum, I saw Tortoise-Shell raise the flask in our direction and drink off a hearty toast.
* * *
The Gatehouse Asylum imposed its doleful presence on one of the least desirable zones of Sigil's Hive district… and since a sensible person would rather play leapfrog with a unicorn than visit even the best parts of the Hive, you can imagine what a sordid neighborhood we walked through now. Beady-eyed kobolds watched us passing, their boney fists clenching and unclenching with hate; but there must have been something imposing about our band – something in Irene's stateliness, or our ethereal white clothing, or maybe just the gleam of my rapier – that kept the hostility restricted to venomous glares. Within minutes, we had reached the relative safety of a patch of blighted grass, just outside a fortified Harmonium squad-station.
«Do we go in?» Wheezle asked.
«I'd prefer to report directly to Lady Erin,» I said. «Our story is too addle-coved to foist on a Hardhead desk sergeant. Still, we could beg for an escort between here and the Festhall; it's coming on night, and we're in a dangerous part of the city.»
«I might be able to teleport us to the Festhall,» Hezekiah offered.
«Back in Plague-Mort,» I reminded him, «you said you'd never tried a jump with more than two people.»
«I feel stronger now,» he answered. «Since I came out of Shekinester's flame —»
«Save it,» I interrupted. «This is not the time to try anything risky. We get some guards, we have them march us across the city, and we tell Lady Erin what we know. Let's keep it simple.»
Normally, a station like this one would have muscle posted at the front door, just in case some local bully-boys barged in. At the moment we entered, however, the guards had left their post to take part in a free-for-all behind the front desk. The cause of the brouhaha was a gigantic minotaur, fully eight feet tall and bellowing drunken curses as four of the Harmonium's finest tried to wrestle him to the ground. A fifth, the desk sergeant, had given up on grappling and was bashing the creature's head with a truncheon; but minotaur heads are noted for horns, not brains, so the sergeant's cudgel was having precious little effect.
«Should we help?» Hezekiah whispered, gaping at the fight.
I shook my head. The Harmonium don't take kindly to interference from strangers; besides, with so many people fighting already, we'd just get in the way. «Wait till they're done,» I told the boy. «They won't take long.»
Soon enough, I thought, the minotaur would gore one of the guards with his bull-like horns; and the moment Harmonium blood was spilled, the Hardheads would draw their swords and butcher Mr. Mino like an Aberdeen Angus. To my surprise, however, no matter how bubbed up the bull-man appeared, he retained some particle of prudence: he kept his horns to himself, never giving the guards an excuse to slice him to ribbons. Even worse, the sergeant with the truncheon was more gifted with zeal than accuracy – he clubbed his own comrades as often as he whacked the minotaur, thereby keeping the fight even for several minutes.
It was only when the guards were finally getting the upper hand that Hezekiah tugged on the hem of my jacket. «Britlin…»
«Not now,» I told him, «I have to talk to the sergeant.»
The sergeant, hearing my voice now that the ruckus had subsided, looked up to see who had come in. His eyes opened wide with surprise… I told myself a snow-white outfit had that effect on people.
«Britlin, this is important,» Hezekiah said, still tugging.
«It can wait,» I snapped, giving the sergeant a smile of apology at the interruption.
«Honored Cavendish,» Wheezle murmured, «perhaps this deserves your immediate attention.»
I sighed and held up a finger to the sergeant. «Back in a second,» I said, and whirled on my companions. «What?»
Hezekiah pointed to a row of six WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE posters tacked on the wall of the office. The faces were all too familiar… but frankly, the pictures must have been drawn by an untalented chimpanzee, given the abysmal quality of the sketches. When had I ever had such a protruding forehead? Why had they made Wheezle's ears so hairy? How could they depict a beauty like Yasmin as a blowsy draggle-tail?
On the other hand, the picture of Hezekiah was pretty good.
Yes, we were all there… including Miriam and even November. A hefty bounty rode on all our heads, authorized by «Her Honor Lady Erin Darkflame Montgomery, and His Worthiness Capt. Sarin (Harmonium Fact.).» Apparently, my companions and I had committed, «Numerous Acts of Sedition, Murther, and Most Grievous Crimes of Arson on Divers Public Buildings.»
«Looks like someone is blaming us for Rivi's crimes,» I sighed.
«Rivi is setting us up,» Hezekiah put in. «If she's taken over the brains of influential people…»
«I know. She could easily manufacture a case against us.»
«But how did she know we'd be here?» Wheezle asked.
I shrugged. «She probably checked the house in Plague-Mort after the dust had settled. When she didn't find our bodies, she concluded we were still alive. She asked around, discovered we'd made contact with November, and guessed we'd be heading for Sigil. Clever wee Rivi took the time to frame a nasty reception for when we showed…»
A sword point tickled the back of my ear.
«…up,» I finished.
* * *
The guards had clearly decided that arresting three bounty-paying murderers made better sense than tussling with one garden-variety drunk. In fact, they had pressed the minotaur into temporary deputyship; he was on his feet again, little the worse for the fisticuffs, and looking keen to take us down if it would earn a share of the reward.
The sword pricking my ear belonged to the desk sergeant, who showed strict adherence to the Harmonium Book of Clichs by saying, «Don't move a hair or you're dead.»
«Why not kill them anyway?» one of the other guards asked. «The signs say DEAD OR ALIVE.»
«Because these berks may know where the other three are… and if they start talking right now, we'll promise not to cut their throats.»
«Cut their throats?» Irene repeated. «How dare you threaten three royal princes!»
«How many princes've you killed, Saul?» one guard asked another.
«Including goblins, kobolds, mephits – upwards of a dozen, I'd say… and then, there's all the Prime world princelings, but who counts them?»
Hezekiah gulped. «We're really, really in trouble, aren't we?» he cried. With sobs in his throat, he reached out and grabbed a handful of my shirt, steadying himself on Wheezle's shoulder. «After everything we've been through…»
The boy blew his nose loudly on my lapel.
«Sorry,» I apologized to the nearest guard. «He's Clueless.»
«He is my prince!» Irene said, stepping forward to lay a comforting hand on his arm. «I shall stand by him for eternity.»
«As will I,» Wheezle pronounced. «Wherever we go, we shall go together, because we are joined as one.»
Which offered confirmation, if Hezekiah needed it: the boy now had physical contact with all four of us. The next moment, we were someplace far away from the squad station.
Hezekiah straightened up with an impish grin on his face. «I told you I could teleport us all. Sorry about the shirt, Britlin.»
«It will wash,» I answered graciously.
* * *
Hezekiah had teleported us somewhere he knew well: the street in front of the Mortuary. Not that it looked much like the place we had watched a few days earlier; the tenements were nothing but cinders, with occasional upthrusts of wood that had not burned completely to ash. Much of the surrounding pavement had been washed clean by rainfall – you can always count on Sigil for drizzle – but some patches of roadway were crusted over with crumbly residue that I guessed was humanoid skin… bits from the giant and the Collectors who'd been carrying him, grafted onto the cobblestones by the flash heat of the explosion.
The Mortuary itself showed little of its damage directly; the masonry had been black to begin with, so the singe marks blended in. However, a gridwork of scaffolding had been erected all around the building, with wooden beams propping up sections of the roof and walls. Even if nothing had collapsed immediately, the Dustmen must not trust the current structural soundness.
«It brings tears to my eyes,» Wheezle said softly.
«Do you want to go inside?» I asked. «Look up any of your friends?»
«That would not be wise,» he answered. «If Rivi has convinced the city I am one of those responsible for the fires – including the explosion here – I will have few friends. Besides, Rivi might well station spies in our factions, watching for our return. I do not think she could steal the mind of Factol Skall…»
«Agreed,» I said, remembering my brief encounter with Skall, as he drained the life from the renegade wight.
«But,» Wheezle continued, «I cannot reach the factol without first talking to his aides. Any one of them may have been compromised by Rivi.»
«The same goes for me approaching the Sensates,» I said. «Whom can we trust?»
«You can trust me, your majesty!» Irene answered, going down on one knee. «I am your humble servant.»
«Thank you,» I smiled, patting her wrinkled hand. «Your loyalty is well-pleasing to me.»
She beamed.
«So far as I can see,» Hezekiah said, «we have to find Rivi ourselves. Find her and defeat her.»
«Including Kiripao?» I asked. «Qi and Chi? A hundred renegade wights?»
«Sure,» the boy shrugged. «Them too.»
«But honored Clueless,» Wheezle said, «we don't even know where to find Rivi.»
«That's easy,» he answered. «The Vertical Sea.»
* * *
Hezekiah explained his reasoning as we slunk through the Hive toward the Sea. «It has a portal to the Glass Spider, right? And the Spider is Rivi's real base of operations. So even if she isn't at the fish-farm right now, I bet she comes and goes through the gate all the time. We just watch the place until she shows up.»
«Why should she come and go?» I asked. «Couldn't she take over some mansion in town? Just brainwash a wealthy leatherhead and peel everything he owns.»
«That would attract attention,» the boy answered. «Wealthy people have servants and nosy neighbors, not to mention business competitors spying for any advantage. Rivi might brain-nap a few rich vassals, but she won't want anyone to know they're connected with her – she still has to play things very carefully until she consolidates her power. Besides, she needs to secure the Vertical Sea, whether or not she's using the portal right now. It's her backdoor out of the city… and an access point for all her wights, if she ever needs them.»
«What you say makes sense,» Wheezle admitted, «but I cannot understand how Rivi could enter Sigil in the first place. All portals are controlled by The Lady of Pain… who has established an infallible track record for keeping out destabilizing influences. Why didn't The Lady simply close the doors to Rivi? Let our albino friend plague some other city.»
«I've been thinking about that,» I said, «and I have a theory. If Rivi couldn't enter Sigil, she'd try someplace else… where she'd either win or lose. If she won, she'd become that much more of a threat; if she lost, the grinders would fall into someone else's hands, and the mess would continue. In fact, the mess might get worse if the person who got the grinders was a high-powered fiend, something like that. Perhaps The Lady of Pain prefers to have Rivi and the grinders here within reach.»
«Then why doesn't The Lady just kill Rivi now?» Hezekiah asked. «Do you think she's afraid of the grinders, like Rivi said? Or that The Lady doesn't know where the grinders are?»
«It is possible,» Wheezle replied, «but more likely, she does not wish to earn the enmity of other gods. As I have told Britlin, the grinders are so supremely dangerous, the pantheons may unite to destroy any Power who tries to claim them. The Lady would surely try to avoid such a threat.»
«Besides,» I said, «it's not The Lady of Pain's style to take such overt action. She expects her people to keep the city streets clean.»
«Her people,» Hezekiah repeated. «Does that mean she's got a specially chosen team to deal with threats like Rivi?»
«Yes,» I told him, «and at the moment, the team is us. Let's not pike this up, kid – The Lady of Pain is notoriously unforgiving toward sods who let her down.»
21. THREE DOWN, ONE TO GO
When we reached the Vertical Sea, it was filled with wights: wights dressed in workers' clothes, wights trundling wheelbarrows from one level to another, wights whose eyes blazed with utter fury at the indignity of this pretense.
I didn't want to think about what had happened to the real workers; but I wondered if the fish had fed better than usual over the past few days.
From the vantage of the same tenement roof I'd used before, we crouched behind the chicken coops and watched the undead stalk about their business. For the most part, they stayed at least three floors above the ground, where their fiery eyes would be unlikely to attract the attention of passers-by. Lower down, the workers were all Rivi's hired goons, dealing directly with the delivery carts that came to pick up their supplies of seafood. Lanterns hung at regular intervals throughout the structure, on the stairs, on the ramps, and on the catwalks over the fish-tanks… enough light for the tower to be seen thirty blocks away, and to steal the night vision from anyone who might look in our direction.
While it was impossible to scan the whole twenty-storey structure, by the end of an hour I had seen no familiar faces: no Kiripao, no githzerai, and definitely no Rivi. We'd just have to cool our heels until they showed up.
«So, honored Cavendish,» Wheezle murmured, «what is our strategy now?»
«Wait for your enemies,» Irene replied calmly, «then strike from stealth, and claim your plunder.»
«Hey,» said Hezekiah, «look who's a real orc after all.»
I patted Irene's hand fondly. «It's a good plan. If we see Rivi show up with the grinders and Unveiler, we teleport over and run a rapier through her gizzard. Then we grab the trinkets and teleport away again.»
«Doesn't sound very heroic,» Hezekiah grumbled.
«Neither does letting Rivi take over the city.»
«But couldn't we just jump in front of her and give her the chance to surrender?»
«You mean give her the chance to poach our brains,» I corrected him. «We can't afford to be charitable, boy.»
Hezekiah didn't answer, but I could see he wasn't happy with stabbing people in the back. I would have liked to have a different option myself; but the stakes were too high to take chances. Maybe – maybe – if I had a clear shot and no risk of missing, I would club-punch Rivi with the butt of my sword rather than slicing through her liver. If I knocked her out, we could take her prisoner without killing her… but if the first blow didn't put her down, I'd use my blade as a follow-up, and sod how much blood I spilled.
* * *
Time passed. Somewhere far in the distance, the Stern Bells near Sigil's prison chimed antipeak: midnight. Five hundred years ago, a Mercykiller sorceress named Justice-by-Fist had enchanted the bells so they could be heard all over Sigil – not making them louder, but simply making the sound carry all around the circle of the city. True Sigilians could tell where they were in town, just by the lag between the clockwise and counter-clockwise passage of the ringing.
«Do you think anyone's going to show up tonight?» Hezekiah asked. «It's pretty late.»
The boy was munching a not-quite-ripe peach Wheezle had procured from a greengrocer in a short trip down to ground level. Considering that all our pocket money had vaporized in the Arching Flame, I don't know how Wheezle paid for the fruit… but a gnome illusionist has resources even when he has no resources, if you know what I mean.
Wheezle, his face the soul of innocence, finished a mouthful of his own peach and answered the boy's question. «The people we seek are more likely to work by night than day, honored Clueless. We should not give up hope simply because the hour is late.»
«Before we start getting sleepy,» I said, «we should set up a watch schedule – take turns napping. It won't be comfortable bedding down up here…»
«I shall make it comfortable for you,» Irene announced.
Hezekiah winced. Wheezle had more self-control, but his face paled. «Honored lady, perhaps we should discuss certain… misunderstandings between us.»
«In an arranged marriage,» Irene replied, «there are always adjustments to be made.» She had dribbled peach juice down the front of her wedding dress, but took no notice of it. «It simply requires the husbands and wife to meet each other halfway. Now,» she continued, smoothing her gown demurely, «do you want to decide which of you shall be first, or would you prefer that I choose?»
«First for what?» Hezekiah asked uneasily.
«Sounds like the boy needs the most education,» I leapt in. «Start with him.»
«Yes, yes,» Wheezle agreed. «He is clearly in need of your guidance, honored lady. Your lengthy guidance. Spend several months if you have to. Years. We others can wait.»
«What are you talking about?» Hezekiah demanded. «Because it almost sounds like we're discussing, umm… wedding nights…»
«We are,» Irene answered serenely. «Shall we withdraw behind the chicken coops, your majesty?»
Hezekiah's eyes threatened to skitter out of his skull and go dancing about the rooftop. He spun away wildly, possibly summoning his energy to teleport all the way back to the safety of Uncle Toby's parlor; but the insufferable luck of the Clueless saved him.
«Look!» he cried, pointing a wobbly finger across the street. «There's Qi… Chi… one of the gith guys!»
* * *
Hezekiah was right. The githzerai thief – let's call him Chi, though I never found out which he really was – had reached a point several storeys below us, climbing one of the Sea's corkscrew stairways. The other thugs gave him plenty of space to move up the steps; even the wights stood clear to let him pass. The look on his face showed they were wise to do so: his expression was gauntly savage, a hailstorm ready to break. I wondered if he'd worn that grimace ever since I killed his partner in Plague-Mort, or if his ferocity had a more recent cause.
Not that it mattered. The only important thing was to capture the berk and make him tell us which stone Rivi was hiding under. We'd just teleport across, hold a knife to Chi's throat, and take him somewhere for interrogation.
«Okay, Hezekiah,» I whispered, «we keep this simple. Wait till he's a good distance from anyone else, then take us right in behind him.»
The boy looked like he was going to object, but I stared him down. In silence, we watched the githzerai glower his way upward… heading for the portal to the Glass Spider, I realized. One level below the portal, he would have to climb a ramp that crossed above a tank of squid – or calamari, if you prefer – and at present the area was clear of wights. «There,» I said to Hezekiah. «That ramp. Ready?»
He nodded. I got a good grip on the boy's arm, and Wheezle grabbed hold of his belt. «We'll be back soon,» I assured Irene… who waited till the last moment, then laid her hand on Hezekiah's shoulder before I could stop her.
Together all four of us materialized on the ramp – a dozen paces in front of the githzerai.
«Sod it all,» I snarled, then charged toward the thief, my rapier glinting in the lantern light.
«Surrender!» Hezekiah shouted to Chi. «You're outnumbered so just…»
The githzerai whipped out a firewand.
«…surrender…» Hezekiah finished lamely.
* * *
«It appears we have a standoff,» Chi said.
I stood, sword ready, three paces away from him, while the others loomed behind my back. He held the firewand casually, but I didn't doubt he could trigger it in a split-second if any of us moved a hair.
«We wouldn't have a standoff,» I answered through clenched teeth, «if someone had landed us behind you.»
«I didn't want you to kill him,» Hezekiah pouted.
«I wasn't going to kill him. I wanted to take him prisoner so we could interrogate him.»
«You never told me that.»
«Do I have to explain everything?» I growled at the boy. «You knew he was carrying something magic. The first time we saw him, you sensed magic on him.»
«I didn't know it was a firewand!»
«Enough!» Chi roared. «Do you think you can distract me by feigning an argument? I'm not a complete leatherhead, you know.»
«Feigning an argument,» Hezekiah murmured. «That would have been clever.»
«Stop rattling your bone-box!» Chi thundered. «I'm trying to decide whether to burn you where you stand.»
«If you start a fire here,» Wheezle said, «you will burn down the Vertical Sea. Your portal to the Glass Spider will lose its anchor and disappear.»
«The Spider has other portals,» Chi answered. «It's no great burden to gate into Plague-Mort and head for Sigil from there. You did exactly that, didn't you?»
«It is possible to find an indirect route,» Wheezle admitted, «but would Rivi approve? She does not seem a woman who tolerates inconvenience.»
«If I killed you three once and for all, she'd give me a medal,» Chi answered. «The slag in the wedding dress is gravy.»
«Here's an idea,» Hezekiah piped up. «Why don't I just teleport my friends out of here, and call it a draw? You don't set us on fire, and Britlin won't cut out your heart.»
«Like he did to my partner?» Chi asked sharply.
«Actually,» I said, «I didn't cut out your partner's heart, I stabbed through the roof of his mouth and… well, maybe this isn't the right time to split hairs.»
«Funny man,» Chi glared at me. «A lot of people have told me that, Cavendish – you like to make jokes. Does it surprise you I've talked to your friends? I've made it my business to find out about you, since we met in Plague-Mort. You won't believe the stories I've heard… and not one of your acquaintances doubts you could be a killer. Like father, like son.»
I sighed. «Is this the part where we both taunt each other into a rage?»
«No – rage is overrated.» Chi smiled an ugly smile. «This is the part where I kill you in cold blood.»
I prepared myself to lunge forward: ready for the slightest lapse in his concentration, a laugh, a moment as he savored his triumph. All I needed was the merest instant of distraction; but Chi was an experienced blood who didn't make stupid mistakes. The wand in his hand didn't waver an eyelash. His lips opened to speak the invocation that would fire his weapon…
…and an egg sailed out of nowhere, smashing his face with yolk.
I was almost as surprised as Chi. Almost. But while he was still spitting egg-white from his mouth, my rapier punched clean through his ribcage, smashing bone fragments into his heart and lungs. I kept driving forward, hearing the edges of my blade scrape against vertebrae as the tip pierced out his back; and I held him upright on the end of my sword until I could pluck the firewand from his strengthless fingers. Then and only then did I turn across the street to see who threw the egg.
On top of the tenement across the street stood three women in brilliant white.
Miriam waved to Hezekiah.
November leaned coolly against a chimney.
Yasmin flexed her fingers and scowled. «That sodding chicken pecked my hand.»
* * *
«Thanks for the egg,» I shouted to her, then didn't have time for more conversation. Six wights had appeared, trundling up wheelbarrows to harvest squid from the tank below us; but when they noticed our presence, their eyes blazed like volcanos and they hissed with delighted fury.
«Hezekiah,» I called, «this would be a good time to get us out of here.» No such luck – the leatherhead boy was still a dozen paces behind me, and puppyishly waving back to Miriam; he hadn't even noticed we had undead company. «Hezekiah!» I roared, even as the stench of dead flesh and chemicals filled my nostrils.
«Hi,» I said to the wights, mere inches from my nose.
«Hiss,» they replied by way of repartee.
The first two monsters to reach me had simply abandoned their wheelbarrows and charged, their claws ripping greedily through the air. If one hadn't stumbled over Chi's dead body, I might be writing these memoirs with a fistful of talons embedded in my face; but Chi's body sprawled across a good portion of the ramp, and the wight was too filled with bloodlust to care. It ran forward, tripped, and went down, catching itself from a face-plant only by throwing out its hands. Those nasty claws struck the wooden ramp like fourpenny nails, digging deep into the board… and by the time the creature could pry itself loose, I had dispatched the other wight with a nicely executed decapitation.
The wight on its knees suffered the same fate, just as it pulled itself free. Its head bounced briefly across the ramp, scattering a trail of red dust; then it toppled over the edge and into the squid tank below.
«Hezekiah!» I shouted again, but couldn't spare a glance in his direction. Another wight was racing up; and this one, her brain less decayed than her fellows, was still jockeying her wheelbarrow – a big heavy wheelbarrow, wide enough to block much of the ramp, and long enough that my blade couldn't reach over the cart to impale the creature. Not that she gave me time to try such an attack: she simply drove straight at me, the wheelbarrow crunching over assorted corpses on the way, as it hammered forward like a battering ram. The ramp gave me no room to move aside, unless I wanted to swim with the squid… so I took the only choice left and jumped forward into the wheelbarrow itself.
When I say I jumped, I wish I could claim that I nimbly hopped into the cart and landed on my feet with panther-like grace. The truth was less feline: just as the wheelbarrow was about to bang into me, I rolled over the front lip and landed lumpishly inside.
My rapier was pointed in the right direction, and I stabbed out with it, just to keep the wight from coming at me with her claws. The tip pierced the rotting meat of her shoulder and sliced off a pound or two. She hissed in pain, and heaved on the wheelbarrow handles with supernatural strength… or more precisely, she heaved on one of the handles – the other arm, injured by my sword thrust, didn't have nearly the same amount of muscle. One side of the wheelbarrow went up, the other scarcely moved at all, and I found myself tipping sideways out of the cart, staring down at a school of eagerly waiting squid.
«Gack!» I commented; and trying not to drop my sword or gash myself on its blade, I scrambled to grab the edge of the wheelbarrow cart before I plunged straight into the water. My fingers found purchase, splinters found my fingers, and I stopped my immediate fall. The wight kept heaving sideways, however, and my feet slid out of the cart, slipped past the edge of the ramp, and plunked knee deep into the tank.
So here's the picture – I'm dangling over the side of the ramp, one hand clutching the cart, the other aiming my sword in the wight's direction to discourage the monster from lunging for me… and a crowd of squid are caressing my feet with their suckered tentacles, trying to decide if I'm edible. «You can't eat me raw!» I called down to them. «You have to marinate, then simmer for a few hours or I'll be all rubbery.»
The wight hissed. «Everyone's a critic,» I muttered. Then I noticed that the wight was hissing because its body had been hacked lengthwise from shoulder to crotch by a familiar-looking longsword. A white-shod foot kicked the bisected wight off the ramp, much to the culinary appreciation of the squid; and moments later, another white-clad woman with ridiculously puny wings tucked her hands under my armpits and flew me up to a solid footing.
«Thanks,» I said to November, then «Thanks,» again to Yasmin who was dealing with the remaining wights. «I take it you flew across?»
«Why not?» November answered, folding her wings back flat across her shoulders. «I've never been fond of barrow wights.»
I buried my face in my hands and groaned.
* * *
«More company,» Yasmin called, as a dozen new wights clattered up a spiral staircase from the next floor down.
«Pike this nonsense,» Miriam growled.
She bent and picked up Chi's firewand, something I'd dropped in the course of my gymnastics on the wheelbarrow. Before I could guess what she was up to, she shouted «In nomine Vulpes!»
The wand loosed a crackling fireball straight into the wight's faces.
«What the sod are you doing?» I cried. To be sure, the wights had abruptly ceased to be a threat – in fact, with all the chemicals used to resurrect them, their bodies burned as if they had been doused with Phlegistol. One fell off the ramp and into a fish-tank two storeys below, releasing a gush of steam as thick as a pea-soup fog. The rest simply blazed down to ash in seconds, oil-soaked torches burning in the night… and all around them, the Vertical Sea burned too, a framework of age-old wood.
