carab and Billy-Ray walked over to inspect the bomb on the table.
“That was quick,” Scarab murmured. “We had all the materials ready for you, but still, how did you do it so fast?”
“This one has secrets,” Professor Grouse said. The chains that kept him on his side of the room weren’t bound, but they were enough to slow him down. “Who cares? I did the job, didn’t I? Didn’t I do the job? Now the job is done. Now you release me, yes?”
“You added the specifications I asked for?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” the Professor replied. “It was no problem, not for someone like me. This mind is a wonderful thing. I’d be sorry to leave it, if the body wasn’t so decrepit.”
Scarab didn’t know a whole lot about Desolation Engines, but everything seemed to be where it should be.
“We’re not releasing you,” he said. “You’re too mischievous. You might tell our enemies where we are.”
Grouse’s smile dropped, very slowly, from his face. “Your enemies are my enemies. My enemies are everywhere. Everyone is my enemy. You release me now!”
“Not goin’ to happen,” said Billy-Ray. “But we sure do appreciate the work you’ve put into this. Assumin’ our plan goes well, we’ll release you after.”
“You said now!”
“Calm down, Professor. We understand how upset you must be, so we have a gift we’d like to give to you.”
Grouse cocked his head curiously. “A gift?”
“A lovely gift,” Billy-Ray said, smiling. “One for you to play with to your little heart’s content.”
The door opened and, with a clang of shackles, Tanith Low was led in.
“Our gift,” said Scarab, “to you.”
Grouse clapped his hands and laughed.
The sigil stopped glowing and her eyes opened. She sat up smoothly, without hurry. As she dressed, she observed herself in the mirror. She looked pale and weak. Her body was still tired, her magic still exhausted. She wasn’t strong enough to do what she needed to do, but it had to be done.
China left the bedroom, took the gun from her desk drawer and put it in her purse. She couldn’t risk taking one of her own cars, so she called a taxi and endured forty-five minutes of the taxi driver telling her how much he loved her before they arrived at their destination. The driver wept as he drove away.
China stepped off the cracked pavement and followed a thin trail between a tall rotten fence and a high crumbling wall. The trail was overgrown with weeds and grasses, and it led to a small house, tucked away from prying eyes and passing cars. She knocked on the door and a small man in a three-piece suit answered. His face was a catalogue of disappointments, of cohesion attempted but never achieved. His name was Prave, and his bulbous eyes grew so wide they practically erupted from their sockets and rolled down his cheeks.
“China Sorrows,” he said in a hushed tone. She had forgotten how nasal his voice was. “I knew this day would come. I knew it. You’ve come to kill me, haven’t you?”
“Now why would I want to do something like that?” China asked. She didn’t smile at him. He wasn’t worthy of her smile. “May I come in?”
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” he said quickly.
“That must make a nice change. Stand aside, please.”
Prave did as he was told and China walked in. The house was a hundred years old and she knew it well, for upon completion it had been converted into a church for the followers of the Faceless Ones. Its existence was one of the best-kept secrets in the city, mainly because the man who ran it, Prave himself, was an ineffectual fool who posed no serious threat to anyone. The walls were decorated with the paintings and iconography of the Dark Gods, and the main room contained an altar and a well-worn carpet, where a handful of desperate disciples had kneeled and worshipped and prayed for the end of humanity.
“Where is he?” China asked, flicking through the book on the altar. It was a particularly battered edition of the Gospel of the Faceless, a moronic book written by a moron in an attempt to rationalise the behaviour of his ilk.
Prave shook his head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. You are a traitor and a blasphemer and a heretic.”
“I seem to be a lot of things. I’m looking for Remus Crux.”
Prave adopted a look he probably thought was aloof. “I don’t know who that is. A lot has changed since you started your blaspheming ways, Miss Sorrows. We are a respectable religion now, and should be treated as such. We are tired of this persecution we have been subjected to. We have our rights, you know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Well, we should. We’re not hurting anyone, nor do we condone the use of violence towards anyone.”
“So eleven months ago, when the Faceless Ones stopped by for a visit and all those people were killed…”
“That’s different,” Prave said. “Those people were asking for it.”
“You’re annoying me now, Prave, so you’d better answer. Where is Remus Crux?”
Prave remained defiant for two or three seconds then wilted. “I don’t know,” he said. “He’s been here a few times, but not with any regularity. He likes to sit around and talk in clichés about how the Faceless Ones are going to smite humanity and turn the world to ash, that kind of thing. He doesn’t understand the beauty of what they do – he’s just interested in the end result. I thought talking to him would be a revelation – his mind has been touched by the Dark Gods, after all. But no. He holds no insights, no startling truths. He’s just…insane.”
“I need to find him.”
“I can’t help you. I don’t know where he’s living. I don’t even know the people he knows. From what I can see, I’m the only one he talks to, and even then, most of what he says is gibberish.”
“It must make you question your religion.”
Prave glared. “Our gods will reward our faith when they return and wipe the heretics from the face of the world.”
He didn’t know anything of use, and even if he did, she didn’t have the strength to get it out of him. China left him standing by the altar and let herself out. She started back down the trail, and noticed a man walking in off the street. His head was down and his hands were in his pockets. He walked quickly. He was ten steps away from her when he looked up.
“Hello, Remus,”