“Hey!” Shadow shouted at the fleeing dark shape. “Leave my memory alone!” She was outraged that the nice day at the zoo was being hijacked by this demon-and-ifrit show. “Not so smug now, are you?”
But as she came around a thicket of flowering oleander, the camel stood alone.
“Lost him,” Gremory said. It sounded odd, coming out of a camel’s jaws. She worked her mouth and spat sideways into the bushes. “Sod it.”
Shadow had a splitting headache. The ifrit had gone to ground, hiding deep within. Occasionally she felt a twitch, like a nervous tic, and it made her jump, but she wasn’t sure whether this was the spirit resurfacing or her own nerves.
Gremory perched on the arm of the divan. It looked unbalanced: a human would have toppled it, but the demon appeared to have no weight. Shadow filed that away for future reference.
“Sorry.” The demon sounded remarkably sincere. “Nearly had him but he gave me the slip.” She raised a long, elegant hand and Shadow saw a wisp of smoke emanating from the tip of her taloned forefinger. There was the smell of sandalwood; Gremory inhaled.
“Do you know what he wants?”
“He’s a prince of the air. Do you know what that is?”
“I’ve done my studies,” Shadow answered, irritably. “In fact, it’s what the Shah told me to ask the ifrit in the first place-that was the ruse to get it to talk to us. I suppose he did that because if this thing is also a prince, it would be bound to know, and it was probably interested. They’re true spirits-ifrits, not demons or angels-neither good enough for Heaven nor bad enough for Hell. So they wander, in groups. They have ships.” The Barquess came suddenly to mind: not much difference, perhaps.
“This one is either a renegade, or he’s lost. I say a ‘prince.’ He might be lower in the hierarchy than that-in fact, he almost certainly is. He’s possibly a duke, or something: someone who’s fallen out with the Prince himself and who’s had to go on the run. The Shah found him, trapped him, called you in and now he’s-”
“-in me.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” The demon touched her smouldering talon to her lips. “He’s going to be difficult to dislodge. Knows a lot of tricks. I do know someone who could help, bu-”
“But?”
“He’s out in the Great Desert. The Khaureg.”
After a moment, Shadow said, “Oh.”
“You’ve been beyond the city?”
“Yes, once. My knife comes from the desert.”
For the first time, the demon looked genuinely intrigued. “Does it? That means you won it.”
“Yes. I killed someone for it.”
“Who?”
“No one important.”
“Everyone’s important to someone,” the demon said. “I’m wondering if your knife is connected to the spirit that’s possessing you now.”
“If this is some elaborate plot, then the Shah could just have taken it, couldn’t he?”
“I don’t think it’s a plot. I think it’s a fortuitous incident.”
“Well,” Shadow said. “I won once. And I’ll win again.”
Interlude
There was a burning tree outside the open window. The Duke leaned on the sill and looked out into its smouldering branches. There was fruit among the blazing leaves, globes of glowing gold. The Duke was almost tempted to reach out and pluck one of them, but she did not think Astaroth would approve. Beyond the tree, the metal walls of the city rose up in concentric rings towards the molten sky.
“She’s ready to see you now.”
The Duke’s boots rang out along the floor as she made her way into the audience chamber. Astaroth was standing by the window, staring down at a document. At least, the Duke thought, her own life was not constrained by paperwork, whatever other problems she might currently be encountering.
“Gremory.”
“My prince.” The Duke bowed.
“How is it going?”
This required delicate handling. “Well,” Gremory began.
“You haven’t found it, have you?”
“Not exactly. But I have found the thief.”
This got Astaroth’s full attention.
“Have you, indeed? Where is he?”
“He was captured by Shah Suleiman of Worldsoul, and is now residing in the body of an alchemist, one Shadow.”
“How very original!”
The Duke sighed.
“A bit too original.”
“So why have you not extracted him?”
“It became-complicated. I chased him, but he has taken refuge in the woman’s memories. It’s not within my power to retrieve him.” Gremory paused. “He’s very skilled at evasion.”
“He would be,” Astaroth said. “He was well trained.”
Gremory knew better than to ask leading questions, but the Prince said, “He is a spy.”
“I see.”
“That which he has stolen is information.”
“I had surmised as much. What course of action do you want me to pursue now?”
“Am I to understand that killing the woman would achieve nothing?”
“I had considered it,” the Duke said, “but it could simply provide our quarry with another escape route. The woman is devout, and if your spy hitched a ride with her outgoing soul, I would not be able to follow them.”
“I see. I seem to recall that during the wars you had some sort of-liaison-with a gentleman from the opposite team.”
Gremory had the grace to look abashed, and knew it. “Young love. You know how it is.”
“Oh, quite. We’ve all done it-there’s no shame. On the contrary, in fact, it’s far worse for them, given that we’re such rough trade in their masters’ eyes. The reason I mention it is because certain Messengers are good at that sort of thing: their remit is souls, after all.”
“I had already thought of it.”
“I can rely on you, Gremory, to conduct yourself intelligently. Usually. Is your paramour still on this plane?”
“The last I heard, he’d become a hermit.”
Astaroth looked pained. “Oh, how tediously typical. They all want to become closer to their God, whereas most of us would do anything to stay away from ours.”
Gremory laughed. “It’s how they’re made.”
“Send him a message. Ask if he’ll help. If he’s that boringly typical, he’ll do anything to enable you to have a chance at redemption. They can never resist a crack at a demon’s soul.”
The Duke smiled. “He can crack away. I’m happy as I am.”
Later, she walked down among the burning trees, into the streets around the fortress. It was quiet, at this time of the day. She made her way down a winding passage to an opening in the wall. Here, sat an old demon, with the brick red skin of a previous generation and yellow eyes.
“Duke!” He rose and bowed. Around him were a hundred or more birdcages, filled with fiery doves. Their whispering and chattering consumed the air.
“I need to send a message,” Gremory said.
Twenty-Eight
Mercy woke, sweating, in her own bed. She was disinclined to put the whole thing down to a dream and when Perra leaped in through the open window, Mercy asked the ka.
“It was not a dream,” Perra said. The ka frowned. “I do not like being put to sleep.”
“Who the hell was she? I’ve heard of something like that before but I can’t pin it down. And why did she rescue us?” Although Mercy was glad that she had.
“I can’t answer your questions.”
Mercy flung back the blankets. “I’d better get in to work.”