She took a few deep breaths, put the book down and closed her eyes.
I will just rest. How can I sleep? I’ll just rest.
Another jolting image of the bridge rail sliding away, only this time she and the Melody followed it. Her eyes snapped open and she grabbed her rifle, setting it down in her lap. There was no way she could sleep, not now, but there was no way she could go on either.
Exhaustion decided it for her.
Chapter 25
All Roads lead to Ruin.
There is a saying, “All roads lead to ruin.” There is also a saying, “All side streets lead to Main”.
Starting a little further west than Matheson’s Famous Book Shop and Powder Emporium, and ending on the Southern Palestral Quarter of the city by the machine works and the busy docks – for even swollen, the River Weep continued to be the lifeblood of the city – Main followed the river, ran with it through Mirrlees-on-Weep touching almost every part of the city. About halfway along the street, at the heart of the city, rose the Ruele Tower.
At the top of the spire in a sparsely yet expensively furnished room, Mr Stade sat alone and stared down at the city.
The Mayor had been telling people what they wanted to hear about the Roil for over a decade. He gazed a while longer at that rain drenched city, then back at certain classified charts showing the projected growth of the Roil, and shook his head. Sometimes he even believed what he said. At least while he was saying it.
But looking at even the most optimistic of the charts, he could not believe a word of nearly a decade of his oratory. Whatever the rhetoric about the Roil halting, about the city being safe, the truth was marked upon this map, and it mocked and terrified him. The Roil continued to grow and, every day, that growth seemed faster.
That he had managed to spin such a convincing web of lies was in part that the truth was just too horrifying to bear. In some truth, there was indeed only terror. Should his plans fail, everything was lost. That was reality as Stade saw it. The Project could not fail. He was quite prepared to kill to ensure its success.
The Dissolution had been necessary. The denizen of Tearwin Meet was too dangerous, even as a last resort. Mechanical Winter, how he dreaded it, and the others would have too, if desperation hadn’t blinded them.
Soon his last true opponent would be gone from the city. Medicine’s aid had given his leadership a legitimacy that he was willing to admit may have been somewhat lacking after the bloodletting of a few days before
And legitimacy was what he needed, or everything would come undone.
Mirrlees had six months, if that, left to her. Then last bows would be made and the Obsidian Curtain would close.
He rubbed at his temples, his whole body knotted with tension. It was all too much responsibility and he was not the man to bear that burden, but there was no one else left. He had gotten rid of any effective councillors in his party years ago. Slack jaws and toadies were all that remained now. They were loyal to the core, yes, but if there was an original thought between the lot of them he would have been exceedingly surprised.
He flicked open a folder – its edges dark with age. Photos of men in frockcoats and hats, thirty years out of date, looking at the Arganon Slick. The first hint of the Roil, the slick had darkened a hundred mile wide patch of land, changing the landscape, warping first the flora and then the fauna so that they became something else. The Slick had been worrying, evidence of some sort of pollution, but there was no such hint of concern in their faces. No one could have suspected what would happen just days after this photo was taken.
Stade shook his head. All these men had died, long ago, most had never made it back from that expedition. Little had changed, the Roil still possessed that tendency. Just when everyone thought they had a handle on it, it went and did something totally unexpected.
He looked at his watch.
Where was Tope? A minute perhaps was acceptable, though irritating, but Stade had waited now for ten.
Something buzzed at his desk and he grimaced.
The blasted intercom, the latest in long distance communication, though the distance involved here was no further than a few yards to his secretary Robert’s office. Cutting edge or not, it was already starting to drive him mad.
The door opened, and there was Tope, his arm bandaged, a little blood seeping through, his Cuttlefolk genes would see to that soon, blessed as they were with swift healing.
“You’re late,” Stade said, pouring Tope a cup of tea, from the pot Robert had hastily brought in.
“I had some bad news,” Tope said.
“And what news is that?” Stade asked softly.
“The Dolorous Grey is no more.”
Stade nearly dropped his cup.
“Chapman has fallen? God’s don’t tell me that, I’ve only one city to save, I cannot save two,” he said, quietly, and Tope raised his hands
“No, No. Not yet. But it is only a matter of time. The Roil has new tricks, Witmoths. They build an army of changed men.”
“I know about the Witmoths,” Stade said.
Mr Tope raised an eyebrow.
“Then did you know this?” He threw a wallet on the table. “We found it along the tracks, around a hundred miles from here. It belonged to Cadell, it stinks of him.”
The Penn boy, and Cadell.
“Well he can’t have survived that. We lost two Vergers to Witmoths.” He was almost apologetic. “They were lacking in caution.”
“This is bad news, indeed. But the Bureau of Information can deal with that.” He leant forward. “And the Project?”
“It goes ahead apace. Though the Interface may not last too much longer.”
“Really,” Stade said, his face betraying no emotion, his eyes as hard as stone. “I’ve read the reports, everything seems to be working smoothly down there.”
“Seems to be, yes, but there are secrets and lies in that place; too many to unpick. And I do not trust my mole. In the Roil everything is changed they say, including loyalties.”
Stade frowned at that, he had grown unused to plots and secrets that were not his own. It would be worthwhile having the Interface more closely scrutinised.
“Mr Tope. You are to go to Chapman, and the Interface. I want you to talk to Anderson. I want you to see what is going on down there and report back to me.”
Tope nodded, his face grim. “The Project’s time is done, don’t you think? It was, for a while at least, a successful experiment, enough that stage two’s implementation should not meet with too many problems.”
“That is if Medicine and his three thousand work as sufficient bait.”
“They will, of that I am certain.” Even to a hardened Verger like Tope, Stade’s grin was a terrible sight.
“Good,” He said. “For should the second stage fail we are all dead, and the whole human race with us.”
Mr Tope’s arm was stinging, and that pain put him in a black mood, all it did was remind him how he had failed.
Stade had punished him with this mission, and that angered him. After all without his aid the Dissolution would have never been affected. Stade’s plans possessed substance, and chance at fruition only because of Tope’s Vergers. The man was too quick to forget that.
The councillor had a new lackey now in Medicine Paul, even if the erstwhile Confluent didn’t understand why or that he was. After the dissolution, and the night of blood, Medicine had been spared simply because Stade knew he could use him. Milde had never been a popular leader, his pronouncements too stern and his warnings too bleak. Medicine on the other hand… if anyone was capable of carrying out what Stade had planned it was him.
But it would all come to nothing if Cadell wasn’t captured and contained.