Managing death

'I thought you'd say that,' Suzanne says from behind me.

What? I spin and face her. Her presence strikes me hard, burns into my skull.

I glance over at Lissa – still sleeping on the couch, thank Christ. In fact, she's rolled away from Suzanne like a sleeper might from a cold draught.

'Get out of here, now,' I hiss, nodding towards Lissa.

Suzanne smiles. 'Keeping secrets, eh?'

'Deepest Dark, ten minutes.'

Suzanne is gone.

I walk over to Lissa, crouch down and shake her, gently.

Her eyes open.

'I have to go out for a little while. Didn't want you to panic if you woke up and I wasn't here.'

She yawns. 'What?'

'I have a meeting.'

'With who?'

'Cerbo.' Well, that's almost the truth.

'What does he want?' Her eyes narrow.

'That's what I'm going to find out. It'll be about Suzanne's offer at a guess.'

She purses her lips. 'Don't trust her, or him. Never trust another RM or their Ankou. There's always a bigger game at play.'

'I know.'

I lift her up gently, she rests her head in the hollow of my neck. All I can smell is her hair. How does it always smell so good?

'I love you,' she says into my shoulder.

'Love you, too,' I whisper. She's already asleep, poor tired baby.

I carry her to the bedroom, pull the sheets over her, and set the ceiling fan on high. After a quick peck on her cheek I direct a crow to circle above, to monitor the front and the back of the house. Oscar and Travis are still there. Neither seem to have noticed Suzanne's sudden appearance. I really wonder how effective they are going to be.

At least the contact with my Avian Pomp hasn't given me a migraine this time. Must be getting better. Of course I'm probably heading into a much bigger headache with Suzanne.

12

The Deepest Dark is just as cold as the last time we met here. We're a little closer to the city of Devour. Lights are flashing there, and it's towards them that Suzanne is staring as I arrive. This shift is a particularly bad one. I'm a few minutes catching my breath. But at least there's no vomit. Gotta love that.

'Something's happening over there,' Suzanne says. She's wearing my duffel coat. I can't quite bring myself to ask for it back.

'That's usually a good thing isn't it?' I watch the lurid fires burn. 'If it's happening here, it's not happening in the living world.'

'You'd think so, but their focus is only on our world. Anything happening down here has consequences for up there.'

'What do you think it is?'

Suzanne shrugs. 'I have my spies and, of course, I will inform the Orcus of anything that they uncover.'

'Spies?'

Suzanne smiles. 'This is your first lesson, I suppose. The Underworld is more permeable than you might think. Stirrers can enter our world through the agency of a corpse. Well, we can enter theirs, too. It doesn't always work, but I have received some very good information before my spies have been discovered. And they always are. Just as a Stirrer takes a while to get used to a human body, a human takes a while to get used to a Stirrer's.'

'You're telling me they actually enter a Stirrer body?' All bony limbs, cavernous eyes and sharkish teeth; what would it be like to inhabit such a form?

'Yes, remarkable isn't it? And you're already learning something.'

'What's it like?'

'Horrifying. It changes people. The ones I've managed to bring back, anyway. They're different, life becomes less appealing to them, more wretched. Let me just say that they don't tend to stay in the organisation for very long.'

I try and imagine how it must be, trying to make a life in that city. Being so deep undercover that the very smell and essence of life disgusts you. Does the reverse happen? Do Stirrers learn to love life as we do? I've not seen it.

I wonder if she mightn't also use those spies for assassination attempts. Say, on RMs. I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable out here in the open. If keeping face weren't so important I'd be away in a shot.

'And what happens when they're discovered?' I can't imagine ever sending anyone down there.

'The ones we get out? Well, they survive. But the others…' Suzanne shrugs. 'Something horrible, I suspect. They don't get to make a report afterwards, Steven. This is the Deepest Dark, after all. You don't play around down here unless you're hungry for pain or retribution.' Suzanne touches my arm. 'You should understand that.'

'Is that what you do?' I ask. 'Play around down here?'

'It's much more serious than that. I'm as concerned by the Stirrers' plans as you are. Things are in motion, believe me. But we'll leave that for the Death Moot, not now.'

Where her fingers touch me is the only warmth in this place, and she leaves them there too long. I pull away, but perhaps not fast enough. Hell, I shouldn't be worrying about what is fast or not. I should be focussing on her conversation. She's watching me, waiting for a response. And I already feel outplayed. 'I'm not one for waiting.'

'Six days isn't very long.' Suzanne's tone suggests she's talking to a five year old, any more patronising and she'd be handing me a lollipop. 'Now, let me say how horrified I was to hear of the attempt on your life.' She closes her eyes a moment. The air glows, dust swirls around us, becoming a round table and two chairs. She gestures at one of the chairs. 'Sit, sit.'

I touch the chair tentatively. It feels solid enough. I sit down and it takes my weight. I want to ask her just how she does this, but now isn't the right time. There are more important things before us.

'Steven, you made a lot of enemies when you performed that Orpheus Manoeuvre of yours.'

'I had a lot of enemies already.'

'But these are of greater consequence. You broke rules, you performed the impossible, and that scares people. Does the name Francis Rillman mean anything to you?'

Rillman. Where have I heard that name? 'It sounds familiar.'

Suzanne nods her head. 'It should. He was Australia's Ankou before Morrigan, and a major embarrassment to Mr D. His disgrace is an important, some might even go so far as to say tragic, part of your corporate history. It's what allowed Morrigan to do what he did. Certainly gave him ideas.'

'Maybe that's why his name only sounds familiar. Morrigan didn't like to share information, not the important stuff anyway.'

'Yes, well, he was partly involved in Rillman's downfall. And his downfall certainly led to Morrigan's rise.' Suzanne sighed. 'Francis Rillman, like you, performed an Orpheus Manoeuvre after his wife died. Only he failed, utterly and terribly. I thought he was dead, but the name's been surfacing lately. And more often than not it's been around you.' She sighs. 'I rather believe that Rillman wants you dead.'

'Why? Why would someone I don't even know want me dead?'

'Because you did what he couldn't, and Rillman is a bitter creature.'

'I'll dig around in the files,' I say.

Suzanne clicks her tongue. 'I hate to say it, Steven, but Mr D should be educating you more thoroughly. Take this to Mr D. He's the only one "alive" in your organisation who knows the full story.'

The next hour or so is taken up with a series of lessons echoing Tim's briefing notes: short histories of my fellow RMs, things I should have known, things Mr D should have taught me. I'm wary though, this is only Suzanne's perspective. After the Moot, when I have time (ha!) I'm going to talk to each and every RM, draw out their stories, and put what Suzanne has told me into context.

The lesson's interrupted by a cry from the Stirrer city. A packed-stadium sort of roaring – if a stadium was full of meth-addicted berserkers. Suzanne and I both turn towards the sound.

Suzanne shakes her head. 'OK, looks like class is over for the night. Do you want to check that out?'