Fulcrom shook his head. ‘Appalling, my Emperor.’ Though he was quietly disgusted with how little information made its way into the Inquisition channels. Much of this was news to him.
‘Lies spread like a disease, Fulcrom. Meetings are being held in the dark, in undisclosed corners of the city, and whenever the military arrive they find only empty rooms. There is talk that money has become redundant in some Caveside zones, that goods are being provided for free amongst certain groups. It is said that the Cavesiders think Shalev is some kind of saviour, but you and I know better. She is a violent terror-maker.’
‘I was reading a report only this morning, my Emperor,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘Shops are being targeted for robberies. Military personnel are being beaten up on the streets. Those on the higher levels of the city live in constant fear.’
‘And that’s something I will not allow. I don’t need to tell you how much work this is causing us, being in the Inquisition.’
A dignified smile from Fulcrom’s lips. ‘We’re certainly stretched.’
Urtica acknowledged his words. ‘You people work hard. I myself have agents who have infiltrated all of this nonsense only so far, but these people are highly organized, and I don’t like it one bit. I cannot allow for miscreants to dominate the affairs of the Empire.’
Fulcrom loathed the sycophantic language he was using. After all, this man before him was responsible for trying to murder the refugees outside the city gates. ‘You sound like you have a plan, my Emperor.’
‘That’s right.’ Urtica lowered his feet and leant forward across the desk, his gaze holding Fulcrom’s own, analyzing him. ‘Now, so far the city guard have proven useless and, for all I know, those ruffians are mixed up in it all. But you, Fulcrom — as a member of the Inquisition, who I believe I can trust — are going to be part of my plans.’
‘I’m absolutely honoured,’ Fulcrom lied.
*
Urtica had made a pact with cultists. That was, at first, all he would say.
The two of them strode towards a meeting chamber in a distant corner of Balmacara, one tucked inside the rock which the residence backed onto. Servants and administrative staff fluttered around the Emperor like moths to a light, and Fulcrom noticed how their expressions were keen, stressed and frantic with worry that they might commit a gaucherie before him.
The corridors were, at first, ostentatious — decadent cream tiles, statues and busts and paintings, the light of a thousand lanterns and candles flickering in the gold trim. Then a mere carpet, yesteryear’s decorations, busts of lesser-respected figures. And as Fulcrom descended into Caveside itself, a change to raw stone and crude cressets that emitted a dreary light, a corridor devoid of life save the two bodyguards Urtica had enlisted to follow from a distance.
Two doors on the right, one made of iron, and Urtica wrenched down the handle, heaved it open. The guard the other side moved hesitantly then snapped to attention.
‘And I suppose you call this security?’ Urtica sneered at the massive hulk of protection. ‘I could have been absolutely anyone. I could have killed you.’
‘Apologies, my Emperor. Won’t ’appen again, sir.’
‘Make sure it doesn’t.’ Urtica plunged past the man and into the chamber, while Fulcrom calmly followed.
Around a vast circular oak table, three people were seated, all wearing the cloaked and hooded garb typical of cultists. There was nothing on the walls here, no ornamentation, nothing grand — and, in fact, the stone had been carved from the caves themselves, a rippled and textured effect that made bold shadows from the light of the wall lanterns. It seemed the important thing about this room was that it was kept away from prying eyes.
Those around the table all stood as Urtica settled himself, then motioned for them to all be seated again. ‘Please,’ he said, and indicated a vacant chair to Fulcrom.
Urtica made the introductions. Two men and the woman to one side were cultists from various sects that — as far as Fulcrom could tell — had been offered wealth and security to work on behalf of the Empire.
‘You three know the background,’ Urtica continued. ‘Investigator Fulcrom here doesn’t.’ He turned to face Fulcrom. ‘They have been assisting me with a rather special project. Despite our best efforts to close down movement throughout the city, to pour military personnel into the streets, the violence from the caves keeps escalating.’
Fulcrom regarded him coolly. ‘It’s understandable you wish for this to end, as do we in the Inquisition.’
‘And this is where our cultist friends come in,’ Urtica smiled. ‘They’re in the final stages of developing their technologies to a level where they can blend with flesh and bone. You have heard of the famed resistances given to the members of the elite Night Guard, now assembled in Villiren. Well this is slightly different. These cultists can transform a human and rumel. They can enhance one to the point of endowing special powers.’ In a posture of pride, Urtica leaned back, his arms folded.
‘You don’t want me…’ Fulcrum tried his best not to sound too apprehensive. He loosened his collar.
‘No of course not,’ Urtica laughed. ‘We already have three individuals in mind for the job.’
‘Who are they?’ Fulcrom asked. ‘And how do you see me fitting into this scheme?’
‘Obviously we need three individuals we can not only trust, but tolerant to the process — we’ll be endowing them with supreme powers, and I’m afraid we’ve lost some early volunteers throughout the process, since not everyone is up to the task. So we will require people who we have some… leverage over, as a way of securing trust.’
‘Blackmail?’ the investigator added.
‘It is merely a security, you understand. They will be the owners of amazing anatomies. Essentially we will be creating a new form of individual to help protect the city, a hero to the people — no, more than that. A superhero if you will, more than someone who can front an army. We need these new-style crime-fighters in order to tackle these anarchists and all the terror plaguing my city.’
Fulcrom remained wide-eyed. The cultists simply slumped back in their chairs with hubris.
Urtica continued. ‘And you, Investigator Fulcrom, are to be their liaison with the law. In fact, we will want you to work closely with them so that they have access to all levels of information in the Inquisition, and — according to your superior officers — you have a very deft touch with people. These individuals will require managing, in order to produce steady performances. You are to brief them on troubling cases, and all the necessary leads.’
‘Superhero,’ Fulcrom echoed, too scared to question the decision.
The cultists then explained the projects in a manner riddled with meaningless jargon. They spoke of complex surgeries and talked of specimens. Each of them took it in turns to lecture on various aspects of the process — meta-anatomy, metallic enhancement, organ replacement, rewiring.
Urtica knew all he needed to, and even Fulcrom could see that he also did not comprehend what was being discussed here.
‘So, investigator. Can we guarantee your assistance in the matter?’
‘You can indeed. Can I ask who it is that you’ve selected to form this new trio?’
‘Of course,’ Urtica declared. ‘We’ve already got one of them incarcerated and we want you to be there tonight to see the next being
… initiated. This one shouldn’t be too difficult to persuade. In fact, you know him already.’
SEVEN
The best parties are the ones you don’t plan, Fulcrom thought to himself as he meandered about the penthouse apartment situated on the fifth level of the city. That was probably why he could never organize a decent one himself: he was a ruthless planner, so any gatherings he conducted — rare though they were — were too precise, too stale and awkward for anyone to really enjoy themselves.