"Well
this is really quite charming," Franck said into the candlelit silence of
the chamber he and Siren had been confined to, "really, it is. Very charming indeed. One might even go as far as to proffer the
word 'quaint'."
They had been
there, as far as Siren was aware, for several hours, although most of that time
had been spent in blissful unconsciousness.
They were both strapped down on hard granite slabs and had already
discovered the unique properties of the leather bonds used to hold them in
place. Their interrogator, the being
who had called himself Once-Scorned, had left them only a few minutes ago. His questions and the techniques he used to
augment them had been unkind, to say the least, and Siren was still reeling
from the blow he had placed on her cheek when she had been uncooperative. So, to hear Franck break the uncomfortable
silence with his ridiculous nonsense was both irritating and... hilarious. Despite herself she giggled, then, hearing
the sound her laughter made as it echoed around the intricately carved chamber,
she giggled again. She worried if she
might be becoming hysterical.
"What is
charming about it, Franck? In what
possible way is this 'quaint'?"
"Oh, the
whole thing, really," the old Philosopher replied cheerily, "don't
you think so? A gang of pirates without
a ship, a vast sandbank of stone wrecks, a Lich, of all things, chasing us like
a hunting hound and now this: tied up in a sacrificial chamber, built by the
Fallen, as if waiting for Lakhma him-or-herself. It's like one of those amusing stories they sell in the
marketplace... what was it they called them?
Pfenning Dreadfuls... something like that?"
"It's
dreadful alright,” Siren groaned in reply, “It wasn't supposed to turn out like
this at all. Where did I go wrong,
Franck? How did I get us into this
situation?"
"You
didn't, Siren, my dear, or if you did it was only because your hand has been
forced at every turn. You were not to
know Harker had enlisted the help of a Lich - no mean feat, I might add, given
how rarely I've heard of a Lich leaving the seclusion of ColdSolace Keep since
their war with the Dhampyr! You were
not to know that they would know our plans with respect to the Shoals and you
certainly weren't to know that you'd be forced to trespass on the entrance to
the catacombs of a tribe of the Fallen.
None of this has been your fault, my dear girl, none of it."
"But I
led us here. I made the decisions that
took us to this point. I have to take
some responsibility."
"Then
take responsibility for the people you have kept alive, for how you've
responded to unseen circumstances by changing your plans and leading your crew
to safety."
"Is this
safety? We don't even know what's
happened to the rest of them, or to Ellis..."
"You can
only act on the information you have to hand.
Work with that and we'll see what else falls into place over time."
"Well,
what information do we have?"
"We know
that our enemies are much more powerful and much better prepared than we
thought. For Harker to have made a deal
with a Lich suggests that he has friends in very high places indeed."
"He's
moved up in the world, obviously."
"Yes, but
up to where? Who is he working with who
could convince a Lich to leave the Keep?
It's all very intriguing indeed."
"Yeah," Siren replied
drily, "if only it wasn't life or death."
"Oh,
don't say that! Everything's life or
death in the end, and besides, the excitement keeps the blood flowing
nicely." Siren shook her head, but
remained silent, so Franck continued, "So we move on to point two: how did
Harker ensure he was prepared for our assault on his little fleet and how did
they find us in the Shoals?"
"I don't
know... I wasn't expecting any of it. I
thought we had prepared for all eventualities, but..."
"You
could not have anticipated a Lich, my dear, so do not berate yourself for
it. But you are right, it is puzzling:
a puzzle with a very limited number of possibly solutions."
"And you
have one?”
"As far
as I can tell the only way Harker could have known, both about the assault and
about the retreat to the Shoals, was if he, or his allies, had managed to plant
a traitor amongst us."
“A traitor?”
Siren replied in disbelief, “But
who? You don’t think one of the crew is
working for Harker, do you?”
“Well, it
would have to be someone who knew the full detail of our plans, which could be
anyone, but who also had time to pass the information on to Harker or someone
else, giving them enough time to make preparations, which, I think, rules out
all of your old crew save Gulliver.”
“Gulliver
would never betray me!”
“Indeed, I do
not think he ever would, at least, not intentionally. No, I don’t think it was Gulliver.”
“So, who are
we left with?”
“You –
unlikely, I don’t think you have a mind as circuitously labyrinthine as to
devise treachery against your own plans; me – not impossible, especially since
my mind is even more labyrinthine than Labyrinth itself, but highly improbably,
I think you’ll agree, especially since I was having so much fun until the
mechanical dragon showed up; Felicity and Rockspark, both of whom I would trust
with my life; M. Marveille, who, it has to be said, had the most advanced
access to our plans, since it was he who suggested half of them, but it’s hard
to imagine a traitor who rhymes; and Ellis, who does not seem the type, but we
have to remember that we don’t know a lot about his constructed nature, or what
was intended for him – he could have been programmed to betray you at some
point, for all we know.”
“That list
leaves me feeling cold, Franck. How can
it be any of us? And how can you
suspect Ellis?”
“I don’t, not
exactly. I just want you to be aware
that we know so very little and we have to be very careful about how we
proceed.”
“Then how do
we proceed, Franck?”
“Perhaps I can
help you there?”
The voice was manifold,
androgynous, harmonising, until the moment Siren turned her head to look at the
being who spoke it, when it suddenly became soft and faintly masculine like the
face of the blonde-haired youth it accompanied. She knew at once that it must be another of the Fallen, but
unlike Once-Scorned, this one seemed less terrifying.
“And you are?”
She asked, as calmly as she could.
“Broken-Hope,”
the Fallen replied, “I’ve been speaking to one of your friends and he has given
me reason to believe that you might be of use to us. If that’s the case, then we might be able to return the
favour.”
“What might we
be able to help you with?” Franck asked from his side of the room, causing
Broken-Hope to turn and look at him for a moment. “Surely the Fallen do not need the assistance of mortals, do
they?”
“We are not as
we once were, old man. Much has changed
in the millennia since we first came to Shadow. You know who we are, so you of all people should know how much we
have lost.”
“I suppose
so,” Franck replied cautiously, “but, even so, what do you need? What can we do?”
“The Lich,” replied Broken-Hope, annunciating each
word with great clarity and care, “is a threat to our community here. We might be able to destroy it, but not
without losing even more than we have already.
Your friend suggested that you might know an easier way.”
“And what do
we get if we agree to help you?”
The Fallen one
chuckled softly before replying, “Your lives?
Your freedom? The privilege of
leaving the Fallen with your souls intact?
Would these things not be enough?”
“I suppose
they might, but you offered help of your own.
How could you help us?”
“Whilst we are
not as powerful as we have been in ages past, our might is not inconsiderable,
especially where mortal matters are concerned.
If you help us dispose of the Lich, we might be able to help you in
recovery of your ship.”
“You’d do
that?” Siren asked, suddenly excited at the possibilities.
“If the Lich
goes, then, yes, we might.”
“Might?”
Franck spluttered, “Might? You
want us to risk our necks just so that you might help us? No wonder your empire collapsed around you all
those years ago. Did you think you might try defending it or maybe you might
just sit back with a cup of tea and a copy of Celestial Atrocities Weekly
and watch your citadels burn to the ground!?”
Broken-Hope’s
face darkened and his voice deepened to match it as he replied, “Don’t trifle
with us, Philosopher. You’re
lucky Once-Scorned didn’t kill you outright.”
Then his countenance brightened once more as he continued, “But there is
always some hope, isn’t there? A
bright, shiny light at the end of the tunnel?
Work with it, because it’s all you’re getting.”
Siren turned
her head to look at Franck and found the old man was gazing intently at her.
“What do you
think?” she whispered, even though she knew the Fallen could probably hear her
anyway.
“I don’t think
we have much of a choice, really. It’s
like the time my mother made me choose between Hexadecapus stew, Dodecapus stew
and eight hours in the dungeons cleaning out the Sludge Worm pens. I chose the latter, of course.”
“Then we do
it,” she replied, a little louder.
“Good,” came
Broken-Hope’s voice, multifaceted and ethereal once more, “I’ll release you and
the others immediately and we can start working on a plan.”
“Excellent,”
Franck replied, “and would it be possible to get some tea?”
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