Marked

BY BENEDICT JACKA

Alex Verus novels

Fated

Cursed

Taken

Chosen

Hidden

Veiled

Burned

Bound

Marked

Copyright

Published by Orbit

ISBN: 978-0-356-50722-4

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Benedict Jacka

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Excerpt from The Fifth Ward: First Watch by Dale Lucas

Copyright © 2017 by Dale Lucas

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

Orbit

Little, Brown Book Group

Carmelite House

50 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DZ

www.littlebrown.co.uk

www.hachette.co.uk

1

The factory hadn’t changed much in five years. The building was the same shade of brownish grey, grime on brick, and the rusted coils of razor wire still gaped atop the walls. From my position on the rooftop I could look down into what had been the car park, and into the windows of the factory itself. There were no signs of movement, but that didn’t matter: I knew what was inside. Off to the right, the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf rose into the night, yellow-white pinpoints glittering off the dark waters of the Thames, topped by the double strobe of the pyramid-shaped tower. The hum of a boat’s engine blended with the deeper rustle of the waves, all of it merging into the sounds of London.

It was June, but the night wasn’t a warm one. The breeze off the water was keeping the air cool, enough so that my armour was comfortable to wear. My armour is plate-and-mesh, an imbued item, alive in its own way, and if I focused on it I could feel its presence, guarded and watchful. There was a second imbued item tucked into my pocket – a dreamstone – and a third hidden in that factory. Of the three, my armour was the only one I was glad for. It might not be the strongest of items, but it was one I’d come to trust, and its reactive mesh had saved my life more than once. It could deflect a knife or bullet, maybe even a spell from a battle mage.

Assuming the battle mage didn’t have time to study the armour beforehand and figure out exactly how much power he’d need to pierce it.

A voice spoke from behind. ‘Hey.’

‘Correct term of address, please,’ I said absently. Normally I go by Verus to colleagues and Alex to friends. As of eight months ago, I’d picked up a new title.

The man behind me grimaced, thinking I couldn’t see him. He was young, with close-cut hair and a narrow face, and he’d been staring at my back for the past few minutes. His name was Chimaera, and he was the newest and youngest of the three Keepers assigned with me to this job.

‘Councillor,’ Chimaera said grudgingly. ‘We going?’

‘Patience,’ I said. Sergeant Little was due to call, but it wouldn’t be for another two to five minutes. So I’d gone up here to admire the view, and to see if Chimaera would make a move. So far he hadn’t, but I’d seen flickers of possibilities where he did, enough that I was continuing to stand with my back to him, waiting to see if he’d give in to temptation. I wondered whether Chimaera had volunteered, or whether someone had put him here. I could look into it, if I had the time.

Standing here made me think of the first time I’d come to this factory. I’d been hunting a barghest, and once it was over I’d met Luna up on this rooftop and warned her that the Keepers who’d been working with us today might be our enemies tomorrow. I’d thought I was experienced; with hindsight, in my own way, I’d been as naïve as her. Back then I’d thought of the Council as a single block, something to work with or distrust. But it wasn’t a single block: it was a thousand individuals, each one with their own motivations and agenda. Trust didn’t come into it; you work with the tools you’re given.

My communicator was about to ping, and the short-term futures were quiet. Chimaera wasn’t going to try it. Pity. I waited for the voice in my ear to say my name before answering. ‘Verus.’

‘We’re ready,’ Sergeant Little’s voice said.

‘On my way,’ I replied, and turned. ‘Time to go.’

Chimaera nodded. I could feel his eyes on my back all the way down.

The men were already assembled when we arrived. There were twenty Council security, armed and armoured, led by a compact, tough-looking man with sharp blue eyes called Sergeant Little. Of the two Keepers, I only knew one, a tall veteran with a long face who went by the name of Ilmarin. The other, Saffron, was a heavily built woman whose communication consisted mostly of grunts.

‘Our target’s in the factory,’ I said. ‘Both him, and the people he’s suborned. Sergeant, pick out enough men to cover the exits. The rest of us will go in through the front door.’

‘ROE?’ Sergeant Little asked.

He meant the rules of engagement. It was a good question, and one with no good answer. ‘Non-lethal where possible. Remember, these are civilians.’

The sergeant nodded slowly, though I could tell he was doubtful. One of the other men wasn’t so reticent. ‘All due respect, sir, but that’s going to be a bit hard if they’re shooting at us.’

‘I’ll be on point,’ I said. ‘Keepers Saffron and Ilmarin will assist. We’ll disarm as many as we can.’

‘What about me?’ Chimaera said.

‘You’re rearguard.’

‘Why should I—?’

‘Because Ilmarin and Saffron can subdue non-lethally,’ I said. Ilmarin was an air mage, and Saffron a mind mage. ‘You can’t. Unless you were planning to burn them half to death.’

Chimaera scowled. Fire mages are notoriously bad at using less than lethal force, and they don’t respond well to criticism, either. ‘You’re going to prove something by going first?’

I saw the faces of the security men shift, and several looked at Chimaera with expressions that were a little too neutral. The Council has a habit of using its security forces as screening units, and if someone needs to be first through a door, then it’s usually a Council security man who gets the job, in much the same way that one might poke a suspicious object with a long stick. Sometimes the object turns out to be a bomb, which is hard on the stick. The men (and it’s almost entirely men) on the Council security forces know the risks of the job, and they’re paid well, but no one likes to be reminded that they’re expendable. Ilmarin shot Chimaera a sharp glance, which the younger mage didn’t notice.

‘Is this the kind of discipline Keepers are taught nowadays?’ I didn’t raise my voice, but I didn’t take my eyes off Chimaera either. ‘You were assigned to my command. If you have a problem with that, get lost.’

Chimaera glowered but didn’t answer. I waited a second, then turned back to the others. ‘Primary objective hasn’t changed. Remember, there isn’t any limit on the number of thralls this thing can maintain. It takes it a certain amount of time to bring someone under its control, but once it’s got them, it keeps them. That means the longer we leave this problem, the worse it’s going to get.’

‘What about the bearer?’ Sergeant Little asked.

‘No restrictions,’ I said. ‘Take him down any way you can.’ I would have liked to take the guy alive, but I was asking enough from the men as it was. I looked around. ‘Any questions?’