The scrutator was in his room, writing furiously. ‘What’s happened to your air-floater?’ she said sarcastically. ‘Another failure?’
Irisis regretted this the moment the words left her lips, but Flydd did not react. He looked numb.
‘There’s been nothing since I signalled. The lyrinx must have caught them.’
‘Then we’re finished,’ she said.
‘It seems so. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, well. I’ve been here before. And survived too.’
‘I doubt you will this time,’ he muttered.
‘It was borrowed time anyway.’
There was a great roar outside. ‘See what that is, will you?’ he said, without looking up.
Irisis ran to the front gate, where she encountered Tuniz. The overseer had blood all down her front, though it was not her own. ‘How are we doing?’ Irisis gasped.
‘We beat them back but I don’t think we can do it again.’
Irisis peered through the broken gate. ‘It’s not long until dawn.’
‘That won’t stop them this time. They’re too close to victory.’
Irisis ran back to report. ‘The gate still holds,’ she said to the scrutator, ‘though it can’t last long.’
‘We’ll be overrun by sunrise.’ He carried a stack of papers to the furnace and heaved them in. They burst into flame and were sucked up the chimney.
Light began to spread through the manufactory. Irisis was on her way to the wall to make a last stand when a massed cheer sounded. She ran up the steps three at a time. A panting scrutator appeared beside her.
Over the ridge to the west, between the mountains, appeared a flotilla of clankers. These were bigger than the ones the manufactory made. The great, ten-legged monstrosities had a pair of javelards at the front as well as the catapult at the rear.
‘Twenty-seven clankers,’ said Irisis. ‘That’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.’
All along the wall the soldiers were laughing, cheering and embracing one another. The workers of the manufactory began streaming up the steps to rejoice in the sight. Already the lyrinx were pulling back, melting into the forest and disappearing. It was over.
She looked across at the scrutator. His face was twisted into the most bitter anguish Irisis had ever seen on a man.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, laying her hand on his arm. He did not respond. ‘Xervish?’
He turned that gaunt face, pared of all superfluous flesh, to her. ‘Do you see the ensign on the leading clanker?’
‘Yes, of course. What of it?’
‘That is the flag of my most bitter enemy; and yours, Irisis. It belongs to the man who will not rest until he destroys us both. Perquisitor Jal-Nish Hlar!’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Irisis tried to breathe and found that she could not. The air felt as thick as the gruel they served in the refectory. She could not get it down. ‘What will he do to us?’ she gasped.
‘He’ll watch, and wait, and bide his time. He likes to drag these things out, the better to torment his enemies. We should go down. At least, I must. Stay back – better that he does not see you straight away.’
Flydd trudged down the steps, back bowed, and her heart went out to him. The scrutator was as tough as boiled leather. A hard man but, underneath, a decent and honourable one. He had done his best. It had not been enough.
Gathering her crossbow and a pocketful of quarrels, Irisis headed for the rear of the manufactory. Most of the workers remained atop, to cheer the clankers in. She went out of the rear door and down to the ravine over which the wastes were dumped into the river. It was a horrible, reeking place suited for nothing except despair. She wandered along the cliff. Irisis had not been this way since her failed suicide attempt, when all that had saved her had been Nish going over the edge and ending up in Eiryn Muss’s air-moss farm.
She could hardly remember that self now, so long ago did it seem. What had happened to Muss? He had not been a halfwit at all, but the scrutator’s prober, or spy. Muss had disappeared just as his secret was revealed.
Irisis missed Nish. Could he still be alive? It seemed unlikely, but Nish was resourceful. If anyone could survive it would be him. She paced along the escarpment. The smooth rocks were coated in brilliantly green spring moss, so soft she felt like taking off her boots and walking barefoot across it. Why not? Enjoy life’s small pleasures while you may.
It was peaceful here. The damage to the manufactory could scarcely be seen. It looked an architectural abomination, but not the scene of a bloody and murderous battle.
Irisis sat by the drop-off. The lichens made a patchwork of colours – green and grey, brown and yellow, and even red. They gave her an idea for a brooch. She began to plan it in her head, knowing she would never make it now.
It was funny the way life could turn out. Who could have imagined this just a few short months ago? She tossed a pebble in her hand, reached out to throw it over the edge, but drew back. Nish had done that, and look at the consequences. She saw them cascading on into the future for as long as time existed. The thought paralysed her, for a few seconds, then Irisis smiled, and shrugged, and dropped her pebble on the ground. She could not live her life that way. Dusting her hands, she headed back.
She reached the gravelled expanse out the front at the same time as the leading clanker. It clattered to a halt. The shooter leapt down and stood by the rear hatch with his hand gripping the lever, but did not open it. The rest of the clankers rattled in, almost filling the yard. All but the first disgorged armed, hard-bitten veterans, ten from each. They stood by their machines, at attention.
Xervish Flydd emerged from the shattered front gate, a small, withered man, standing alone. The rising sun caught the angles and planes of his face. He looked almost as ruined as the front of the manufactory.
The shooter of the leading clanker flung the hatch upwards. A figure emerged, straining to make it look easy, but unable to conceal the pain. His feet crunched on the gravel, he swayed, then snapped upright.
The perquisitor had once been a roly-poly little fellow but the plumpness had been etched away, revealing a stocky frame hard with muscle. His right arm had been cut off at the shoulder, which made him look lopsided. Irisis, who had done it to save his life, would remember his screams for all her remaining hours.
Jal-Nish’s face had been torn apart in the attack and he had lost an eye. Irisis could not forget the torn ball of jelly dangling from its empty socket. The wounds had not healed in the weeks-long journey back to the manufactory.
The damaged parts of his face were now covered by a burnished platinum mask that hid the lost eye, the hideous red crater that had once been his nose and the warped and twisted mouth and cheek. It curved across below the other ear, where a thin band of the same silvery metal swept around the back of his round head to join up on the other side. Another band ran across his forehead and around, making an open helmet. A mouth opening, like a downwards-curving crescent moon, revealed nothing. He might have drunk through it using a straw, Irisis thought, though surely he would have to take off the mask to eat.
Irisis moved closer, walking on the paved path that ran along the side of the manufactory. She had to see the confrontation between the two, which would reveal her own fate. She was only a dozen steps away when the perquisitor’s head whipped around. The single eye fixed on her. Irisis froze. The face showed no expression at all, but she sensed such feelings of rage and loathing that she could scarcely breathe.
He did not move for a handful of heartbeats, then turned away in a manner that dismissed her as worthless, and crunched across the gravel to the scrutator. She held her breath.