 
# The Psychonaut

##

### Tom G.H. Adams

###

#### Writing in Starlight Publications

##### 
Published by Rivendell Publications, Brampton, Cumbria, UK

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For information contact : tom.adams@theshire.org.uk

Website : <http://tomghadams.com>

The Psychonaut

Copyright © 2016 by Tom G.H. Adams.

Book and Cover design by Tom G.H. Adams

First Edition: May 2016

This book has been written in UK English. Spellings in other territories may vary.

# Contents

  * Dedication
  * 
  * 
  *  1. Just another day
  *  2. I speed at night
  *  3. The eyes
  *  4. Another lie
  *  5. Don't talk to strangers
  *  6. Master of the moon
  *  7. Push
  *  8. Feed my head
  *  9. Falling off The edge of the world
  *  10. As long as it's not about love
  *  11. Atom and evil
  *  12. Hey angel
  *  13. Caught in the middle
  *  14. Holy diver
  *  15. Between two hearts
  *  16. Bible black
  *  17. The last in line
  *  18. Invisible
  *  19. Neon Knights
  *  20. A light in the black
  *  21. Gates of Babylon
  *  22. Strange highways
  *  23. Too late
  *  24. Faces in the window
  *  25. Slipping away
  *  26. The mob rules
  *  27. Like the beat of a heart
  *  28. Do you close your eyes?
  *  29. Computer God
  *  30. Firehead
  *  31. Mystery
  *  32. Catch the rainbow
  *  33. Sensitive to light
  *  34. Letters from Earth
  *  35. All the fools sailed away
  *  36. Ear in the wall
  *  37. Sunset Superman
  *  38. One more for the road
  *  39. Lock up the wolves
  *  40. Heaven and Hell
  *  41. I
  *  42. Man on the silver mountain
  *  43. Killing the dragon
  *  44. After all (the dead)
  * About Tom Adams
  * Free subscriber's starter library

### 1

# Dedication

This story is dedicated to the memory of Ronnie James Dio, the original Man On The Silver Mountain.

July 10th, 1942 – May 16th 2010

RIP

A special thank you to all my fellow critters on Scribophile, especially Chris McCloughlin for helping shape the start of the novel and Kip McKnight for reading the whole thing and giving invaluable feedback.

### 2

#

The third eye by Stew Simpson

### 3

#

**_The Hunter, Anon, 1986_ **

_You're a broken warrior with flesh of stone,_

_Heart of ice, but with fire in your bones._

_No one knows of the trouble you're in,_

_reaping your reward from the wages of sin._

_Twice as mean is the killer without corruption._

_Better face your destruction._

__

_Big city mind in a small town boy,_

_Takes your soul then sucks out the joy._

_Chasing your prey with unholy heat,_

_Pounding that trail with your voodoo beat._

_It all comes together in a place called desolation._

_Witness life's cessation._

__

__ _Nightmares rattle all around your head._

_Once they break out then we're double dead._

_Curse on your skin writ with fevered hand,_

_Hiding in the sun til' we make our stand._

### 1

## Just another day

The dominant strode up the slime covered steps, metal segs in his boots clicking against the stonework. A persistent hum leaked out of the hessian sack he carried at his side. There was no need for stealth, his victim wasn't going anywhere and he was eager to interact with the prey—it made his release more exquisite.

At the top of the steps, a wide corridor extended into the stygian gloom. He approached a room on his right and stepped through what remained of the doorway. Dank air penetrated his nostrils, the stench of mildew strong, the smell of fear stronger. He smiled as his phallus rose to the occasion.

There was no fight left in the setting sun. It struggled to send subdued rays through a broken ironwork window and a hole in the ceiling ripped apart by the ingrowing branches of a tree. From the shadows came the sound of dripping water, or something more organic. On a moss-covered trestle table a man lay naked, arms tied to a vice with electrical cord.

"You've returned," the wretch said, trying to control the quiver in his voice.

"I have," the dominant said. He leaned over the man's head presenting an inverted view of his face, noting without comment that the pitiable creature had soiled himself. His erection grew harder.

The wretch swallowed, trying to choose his words with care. "I'll do whatever you want."

The dominant pulled out a compact mirror and admired himself in the half-light. "Of course you will," he said, smiling again—a handsome, radiant smile. In fact, his whole visage shone with perfection. The cheekbones were as if sculpted from marble, the eyes set as polished sapphires. Long, auburn hair cascaded over an embroidered jacket in bohemian abandon. He imagined the wretch's unspoken question— _how could a beast be so comely?_

"I want this night to be memorable," the dominant said, "for both of us. I assure you, what we share will fill your thoughts throughout the coming days and nights."

"I—"

"No, don't speak." The interruption was gentle but authoritative, serpentine with the threat of retribution. "Your eyes say it all."

He traced his finger slowly down the wretch's grimy, sweat-covered chest. "Tell me, where you feel pain most acutely. Here?" He jabbed the finger of his other hand in the man's ear causing the victim to flinch away.

"Everyone has their sensitive spot." His hand moved down lower. "For some it is the genitals."

The wretch screamed, arching his back as a testicle was twisted in the dominant's grip. The prolonged torsion threatened to tumble him into unconsciousness until, finally, the tormentor released him, the torture designed to leave a numbing ache in the victim's groin.

"But no," the dominant said, "I sense there are worse horrors you imagine. I knew this the moment I divined your thoughts as we exchanged saliva. A man's spit reveals much. Childhood memories for example, such as a peaceful summer walk down a beech-gladed bank."

The dominant reached down for the sack and shook it playfully, the hum from within louder now. Apocrital wings beat against each other. "Your tranquility—interrupted by a single insect. You protested how unfair it was that it should seek you out and inject its alkaline poison into your eye."

The wretch thrashed against his bonds. "No, no," he cried. "I don't—"

"They won't harm you if you don't harm them. That's what your father said, wasn't it?"

In one movement, the dominant opened the sack and slipped it over the victim's head, pulling the drawstring tight around his neck. "How wrong he was."

Two of the yellow-jackets escaped and sank their stings into the dominant's alabaster skin. This didn't phase him, he simply revelled in the exquisite pain and inhaled the wretch's suffering, savouring the two in an inhuman cocktail. When a fainter buzzing in his pocket reached his ears, he tried to ignore it, but knew it could only be one person.

He forced himself away from the writhing unfortunate and flipped open the mobile. "You have a way of spoiling all my fun," he said.

"Have you dispatched our guest yet?" came the reply.

"Not in so many words."

The man on the table let out another scream.

"I thought I told you to kill him, not play with him."

The dominant bristled at his tone, a spoiled boy chided by his scolding parent.

"And I thought you said you'd provide me with regular volunteers for my entertainment."

"I think you've enjoyed your distraction long enough, my insatiable pet. I need you here with me."

The dominant sniffed, "Very well. I'll be an hour. I need to cover my traces."

"Make sure you do. We don't want any unwelcome interest from the jaded ones."

He returned the mobile to his pocket and turned back to the victim, pulling off the sack and throwing it in the corner. An ascending cloud of buzzing hatred spiraled out of the hole in the ceiling.

"My master wishes me to be merciful," he said.

The wretch moaned, a glimmer of hope lighting up his venom-swollen eyes, only to be extinguished as the dominant's knife sank into his heart.

~ ~ ~

_Correlation and causation_. These were not words at the front of Merrick Whyte's mind as he left _Cahoots_ —one of London's newer retro bars. But if he had to identify the point where his world changed irrevocably, and the cascade of later events began, then this was it.

Two words that would come to define his life.

A swift single malt with a mate, Pete had turned into an hour's offloading of grief over Pete's latest break up. The conversation tramped over familiar foothills at first; smaller bonuses from senior management, and a holiday in Rhodes that didn't live up to its promise. But through the small talk a dark mountain loomed. Merrick sensed emotional turmoil underneath Pete's mask. He could hide these torments from most—but not Merrick.

Merrick offered the usual consolation and reassurances for the future. "Plenty more fish in the sea,"

"Yeah," Pete had said, "and they're all halibut and mackerel." At least Merrick hadn't strayed into psychoanalysis mode. Pete always hated that. Merrick wasn't sure if it was a case of the truth hurting, or that he delivered advice with the subtlety of a steamroller.

So, counsel delivered and belly still warmed by the smoky Laphroaig, Merrick stepped into the sultry Summer air and breathed in the city atmosphere.

Knightsbridge was busy with the gentle hum of commuters nudging their way home, like honey bees queuing to enter the hive. He couldn't judge—wasn't he just like them after all?

He'd had enough of the traffic noise so took a quiet but longer way back to his townhouse. The front door opened into a vestibule and he slipped off his jacket, draping it over a hanger on the hallway hat stand. Not for the first time he glanced at the Jil Sander label in the collar. _Extravagant? Probably. But money bought privileges._ What it didn't buy was satisfaction, and he couldn't deny his thoughts turned more and more these days to whether the life he led actually amounted to anything.

He reached down for the pile of mail on the doormat. There was a brown manila envelope with an Inland Revenue stamp on it, and an autumn fashion catalogue. Peeking out from underneath, was a glossy card demanding his attention. On the front was a message:

_Turn this over and put it under the Mekon_

Shaking his head, he walked into the lounge. There on the table top was a plastic model of Dan Dare's green nemesis floating on his boat-like, mind-controlled car. He'd purchased the alien from an on-line memorabilia store the previous week. The Mekon may have been an archetypal sixties' villain, but he had a certain panache. Merrick had pressed the 'buy it now' button on a whim. No one except the seller knew he had bought it. Or so he thought.

A cable with an in-line switch protruded from the model's base. He pressed it. Underneath the green, globe-headed extra-terrestrial, a fluorescent UV light flickered on. He turned the card over. It was blank, so he placed it under the light. More cursive script appeared:

_Have we got your attention yet? Don't let us make you paranoid. We're not observing you all the time. It's an interesting talent you have, and we'd like to talk. The question is—do you want to?_

~ ~ ~

### 2

## I speed at night

That was all. No stamp, no postmark. The card was delivered by hand. The message unsettled Merrick because all his work came through a business e-mail or his agent. No client knew of his private address.

He felt his centre of gravity shuffle sideways, as he flexed and extended his fingers, feeling the satisfying crack in his knuckles. This could be dismissed as a crank message, but if his personal details were compromised, it could spell trouble.

He walked through to the kitchen area, opened the fridge and took out a Peroni. He put the bottle neck in a wall-mounted opener and removed the top. Knocking back a swig, he felt the cool amber liquid slide down the back of his throat.

_The simple pleasures of life._

Merrick slid his loafers off and sank into the seat he had named _the thinking chair_. He leaned back into the white leather, allowing it to mould around his shape.

It appeared that someone desired his talents. Someone with resources and connections. It wouldn't have been easy for this person or persons to track him down. He'd employed an old friend who happened to be an ex-Met officer, to cover his trail and render him all but invisible to public and authorities alike. On the other hand, it might be an attempt to unsettle him by a hostile organisation. After all, he'd upset more than a few cartels and businesses in his time. But it had been his clients who had performed the feather-ruffling on his advice. He was just a faceless suit sitting at a conference table.

He tightened his lips. This didn't feel like a friendly enquiry. They could even be watching now. He looked out the window, saw a streetlight blink on as dusk announced its presence. He saw Mrs Fretwell walking her two Rottweilers, or rather, them walking her. Apart from this tableau there was no human activity.

He spoke the word 'on,' and a wall-mounted, cinematic flat screen TV flashed into life. He channel- hopped for five minutes, finally settling for the local news. The main item was the disappearance of another aristocrat. This time, the son of a well known Earl. Coverage was the typical 'police have nothing to go on at present,' and the bulletin didn't hold his attention long.

The thought of him being in the position of hunted was too distracting. He reached for the phone and hit speed dial. It only rang once at the other end before Dominik Hayne picked up.

"Merrick," his agent said, "I was just about to call you."

Dom's words tumbled out in a staccato. "You're not doing anything tonight are you?"

"I—"

"Good. Put everything on hold. Harris-Billinger have brought the meeting forward to tomorrow. They want you sitting in. This is the big one, Merrick."

All thoughts of clandestine observers were now banished from his mind. "Slow down, Dominik. I understood Garento were at the speculative stage and weren't ready to name a price yet. Besides, I'm not prepared. I haven't read their portfolio or completed my research. Tell them they'll have to postpone it at least a week until I get my head round things."

Dominik put on a conciliatory tone. "Look Merrick. We knew when Harris-Billinger approached us, events were going to be unpredictable. I've convinced them you're indispensable for giving them the complete backdrop and insight into this merger. Do I have to remind you that a lot of money is riding on this—both on their part and ours?"

Merrick let the barely concealed leverage hang in the air for a moment. "Okay," he said finally "I'm in. But I have a few provisos."

"I'll see what I can accommodate."

Merrick took another draught of the Peroni. "First, I get to see all the financials. That includes accounts for the last five years, projections and information on shareholder distribution."

"I'm e-mailing them securely to you as we speak."

"Next, I get to meet with the board members beforehand. I need to know the questions they're going to ask, and I'd like to weigh them up on a personal level."

"Whoa, you're not going to put them on a couch are you?"

"You know me better than that Dom. My methods are sophisticated. I promise I won't do or say anything to make them jittery."

"Right." Merrick could hear Dominik's pen clicking at the end of the line. "I think I can persuade them. Anything else?"

"Yes, my fee has just increased by ten per cent—for the short notice and the fact I'll be up all night preparing for this."

"You deliver, and I'm sure Harris-Billinger will give you a bonus. Hell, they'll give you the keys to the executive pisser."

"Well, let's not count the chickens yet. They might not agree with my assessment of the situation."

Dominik laughed. "Tell them what they need to know, not what they want to hear. Okay, I'm going to let you go now. You've got your homework to do boyo. I'll set up the pre-conference meet for seven a.m. at Canary Wharf. Make sure you get some sleep."

Merrick was about to close the call when he remembered why he'd rung in the first place. "Dom, don't think I'm being funny, but you haven't passed my contact details to any third party have you?"

"Of course not. You know how hard I work to protect your privacy?"

"And there's no possibility that someone's hacked your address book, I suppose?"

"If they have, I'll be terminating our IT company's contract. Trouble?"

Merrick stood up and looked out the window again. The street was still empty. "I hope not."

"Okay, let me know if you find any evidence of a breach and I'll get our man onto it."

"It's probably nothing. Anyway, I've got to go. Your e-mail's arrived."

"Sure thing. Remember, it's the Preston Building—seven a.m. sharp."

He pressed the disconnect button and stepped over to the desktop.

A blue envelope icon had appeared centre screen. He clicked on it and followed the link, entering his username and password. The e-mail had several attachments totalling over seven megabytes. That was a lot of documentation—it was going to be a long night.

~~~

_It is time to charge the vessel._

The thought was paramount in his mind as the Master entered the room. His lovers were already participating on the floor-level bed, their tanned, intertwined limbs blending with the damask coverlet. Sarlic, the male partner, had prepared the room well. The Master was obsessed with the unconventional and this room, modeled on an Ethiopian design, met his high standards. Stone pillars lined each side, extending like sentinels in a corridor to meet the stained glass window at the end. He reached out to one of the large candles, glimmering in its sconce. The wax dripped on his fingers and he delighted in the brief, energising pain as the greasy substance solidified on his hand.

The lovers were not yet aware of his presence and so he watched. Sarlic, the male was physical perfection, a flower to savour in winter when the season's cold touch removed every vestige of beauty. The woman was also comely. Her dark hair fell in a long plait down her back as she rode Sarlic. She arched her back and cupped her breasts, kneading the nipples between her fingertips. Hips writhed and twisted as she merged her rhythm to his.

The Master moved towards the bed. Sarlic looked up and smiled. The woman was still lost in rapture, her mouth open with longing. _Scarlet brilliance_.

She could be _the one_ , he thought. She had an affectional energy, and Sarlic had spoken of her infused orgasmic ability. A whore or low woman would not do for his holy purpose—he treated his liaisons as sacraments. Neither would a virgin suffice. Most importantly, the woman he required for the great work should not seek reward for her compliance. But could she engage in the telos which he and Sarlic had agreed beforehand? He intended to find out.

He unbuttoned his tunic and allowed it to fall to the floor. The woman, sensing him standing there, opened her eyes. The pupils constricted.

_She is not afraid._

He traced his finger down her sculpted cheek as she reached out to clasp his erection. Her massage was expert, all the more impressive as she maintained an independent, slower motion with her pelvis, pleasing both lovers at once.

Sarlic groaned. She eased off her thrusting with tantric expertise and took the Master in her mouth. The intensity of her attentions threatened to bring him to an early climax, but he eased into a mindful resistance, holding back the tide for now.

"She is exquisite, isn't she?" Sarlic said.

The Master put his finger to his lips and ran his other hand down the woman's back. He observed how the snake tattoo curled around her spine, how her waist pinched in before swelling out to the scallop of her hips. His goblet filled.

Without a prompt, Sarlic eased himself out of her and indicated a change of positions.

_This was the moment._

The Master lay on his side and allowed Sarlic to lubricate his anus, teasing it wide with saliva-laden fingers. When he was ready, Sarlic guided himself into the Master's willing depths. Being the recipient to an underling was not incongruous. Sex magick was not about dominance and submission, but participation. It served the purpose of enabling each to fulfil their will, to further the object of their existence.

The Master had a supreme goal.

As Sarlic conducted his candlelit motions, the woman settled herself next to the Master.

"Your name, child, I need to know your name," the Master said.

"It is Merve. But I am no child."

"That you are not," he said and sank his head between her thighs. She moaned in delight and began to work on him again.

_The goblet filled another inch._

Now they entered the inner sanctum of experience, walking a tightrope of sensitivity and balance. It was a dangerous pathway, tickling the tail of the dragon. Too much stimulation and the worm would awaken, bringing all the concomitant dangers—sensations of fire and irrepressible heat followed by bleak depression. It was all the more perilous as the craft of three participants had to be minutely tuned to each other.

The Master's soul swam, through sense and spirit; sensing hearts beating, yet hushed as psalms sung in a cloister. His goblet approached over-brimming as he sensed Sarlic's inner evocation, listening with spiritual ears for Merve's heartbeat. He could hear it faintly, like a damselfly's wing-beat over a calmed pond. It was promising but insufficient. It needed to be a dragon-storm, a matching tumultuous cyclone.

They reached their climaxes like a trio of fountainheads, Merve shuddering while Sarlic's muscles knotted in motionless bliss.

Sarlic withdrew to imbibe his elixir from the Master's depths. They were all adepts in the practice and moved as one to share their fluids, the excess running down the triumvirate of their solemn faces.

Merve collected the overflow and poured it into the hollow charm at the bedside.

Sarlic leaned back against the silken cushions. "Is it sufficient, Master?"

"Enthralling, my pet. But alas, it falls short."

A look of alarm crossed Merve's face. "Did I cause _Kundalini_?"

"Nothing as calamitous as that," the Master said. "Do not cower. It is the closest I have come to attaining what I seek."

"You have done well," Sarlic said to Merve. "There will be another opportunity. Wait for me in my chambers, I will be down shortly."

She collected her singlet, draped it over her shoulder and walked languidly out of the room.

The Master pulled on a robe and knotted it at his waist. "How long has she trained?"

"Two years or more."

"She has accomplished much in a short time."

Sarlic's eyes glinted. "I'll take that as a compliment to my teaching."

The Master picked up the talisman. "I will need this for my next ritual."

"A step closer?"

"Indeed. I will be indisposed for the next day. How are you going to occupy your time?"

"You denied me my pleasure earlier this evening. I will seek another innocent."

The Master, his face alight with cruel amusement, nodded. "Tonight you have earned your reward. Feast well my pet."

### 3

## The eyes

The Preston Building was a three hundred metre glass leviathan, raising its head above competing architectural beasts on the wharf's skyline. Entering through the revolving door, the weight of corporate dealings settled upon Merrick like a mantle. It fit well.

The smell of synthetic fibre rose from the carpet tiles. It blended with the scent of executive leather to heighten the aura of well-oiled business machinery.

After signing in at the reception desk, and receiving his visitor badge, he walked across the open-plan area seeming for all the world like a high-tech modernist temple, built in honour of the God Mammon.

On the tenth floor he was ushered into a small office by an aide who presented him to the congregating executives. A balding man in an immaculately ironed shirt steered his paunch towards him. "It must be Merrick," he said. "Richard Hislop. I'm MD of Harris-Billinger."

The handshake was important. Hislop, as he expected, clasped his hand with almost painful intensity. It pointed to a dominant personality and one who wished to assert himself from the outset. Motivation? Power. But tempered with a sense of integrity. This man had probably stepped on the heads of lesser mortals on his way up the greasy pole, but he was aiming at a laudable goal—or he had at least convinced himself of this.

Merrick dropped his gaze from Hislop's steely grey eyes first—a tactical show of deference. Hislop released his hand just before it developed a rictus.

"Let me introduce you to my team," Hislop said. He held up his arm in an open gesture towards a greying man. His circular framed glasses and trim moustache cut a patriarchal image. "This is Duncan Bancroft, Head of Research."

Bancroft obviously liked to dress down. He shuffled forward in an open necked shirt, cords and loafers. Merrick shook his hand, grateful that it wasn't to be held in a vice again.

"... and this is Anne Maisery. She's in charge of finance." A perfectly manicured woman greeted him. She looked in her thirties and didn't so much wear her clothes as inhabit them. The grey jacket and matching skirt projected ambition.

_But the charm bracelet reveals a certain vulnerability._

A brown-suited stalk of a man with greased back hair stepped forward before he had finished appraising Ms. Maisery. "I'm Alan Carrack, chairman of the board," he said in a voice inflected with nasal charm. Merrick took an instant dislike to him. "I'm glad we've got someone on board with your talents, Mr Whyte. It will reinforce our message to the shareholders that this deal can be backed."

Merrick looked warily at Hislop.

"Now remember, Alan, this is not a foregone conclusion," Hislop said. "I'd like Merrick here to keep an open mind." He guided Merrick forward with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Hislop finished the introductions with a secretary and two other heads of division, the names of which he chose to push to the back of his mind.

"Let's sit down and see where we're at," the MD said. "We've only got ninety minutes or so before Garento arrive, but I think we can bring each other up to speed."

Hislop leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. "This deal has the hallmarks of a dream ticket. It could give us the financial injection we need to expand our product lines and open up new markets in the East. But we have to be sure."

The blonde PA put cups of coffee in front of each person round the table.

"Thanks Margaret." He continued: "The company is built on some key principles. Namely—scientific advancement, professional integrity and ethical practice. This also extends to our employees, of which there are over 12,000 in Europe alone. So this isn't just about money. Duncan, would you expand a little?"

"Certainly," Bancroft said, taking off his glasses and looking at Merrick. "You already know that I've been with this company from the outset. I'm proud to say that since that time, we've launched some ground-breaking products. Medicines to improve quality of life and set the bar for other companies in terms of safety and price. In the seventies we developed antibiotics that tackled resistant strains of bacteria, pathogens that ran unchecked in the developed world. More recently, we've been working on drugs that arrest the progress of Alzheimer's."

Bancroft held Merrick's attention with unblinking eyes. "We're still in the development stage and a lot of money is invested, but it's this sort of financial risk that Harris-Billinger have been willing to take on because of our principles. You see, Merrick, we've put our desire to improve life expectancy first, and been lucky enough to find that it's led us into very profitable markets."

"It sounds like the ideal corporate paradigm, Mr Bancroft," Merrick said. "Ethical development while feathering the nest for your shareholders."

Carrack leaned forward. "So, you've had a look at Garento's portfolio and the history of their mergers, Mr Whyte. What do you think?"

Merrick cleared his throat. "Well, Garento's reputation is squeaky clean. Their expansion into the pharmaceuticals market has seen their share price rise by twelve per cent. At the same time productivity in all but one branch has increased by a total of 1.2 billion euros. Acquisitions have seen their workforce increase by five to eleven per cent, depending on the company, especially on the R & D front."

"I see you've done your homework," Hislop said. "You can see why we wanted to jump at this chance. But what does your intuition tell you?"

"My intuition will have to wait until the meeting I'm afraid. I need to see them face to face and see how they interact. But I've done a little digging around the movers and shakers. I'm assuming most, if not all will be here."

He opened a buff file. "First, their CEO—Anton Farrago. He's been in the top position for five years and was groomed by the company patriarch, Ricard La Ferrenta. When Ferrenta died suddenly from a heart attack, Farrago moved swiftly to take over the reins. There were objections from some, but were silenced after the first two mergers he oversaw ran with an almost indecent smoothness."

"Any skeletons in the closet?" asked Anne Maisery.

"Nothing that appears on paper. I've checked official and unofficial sources. He's a very secretive character."

The panel seemed satisfied with this assessment so he moved on to other key personnel, creating character sketches from his research. He was in the zone now and recognised with no small amount of professional pride that Hislop and his associates were warming to him.

"So, that's about it," he concluded. "All, apparently above board with no hidden agendas."

"I sense a 'but' coming," Hislop said.

Merrick rubbed his chin, "It all seems just a bit too... "

"—Good to be true?" It was Bancroft who finished the sentence.

"Yes. Call it intuition or cynicism, but usually I manage to dig up some sharp practice in a company's history, however minor."

_Better to withhold the fact I found one or two creative accounting entries on Harris-Billinger's financials._

"But nothing concrete." It was a statement from Carrack.

"Nothing concrete, no."

"Well, ladies and gentlemen. Time is marching on," Hislop said. "Is there anything else you need, Merrick?"

"Just to establish protocols." He looked around the table. "Introduce me as a research assistant. It would be best if you all ignored me during your discussions. I need to concentrate on the various players."

"And work your magic?" Maisery said, a twinkle in her eye.

Merrick tilted his head side to side. "If you like."

### 4

## Another lie

They were led into a boardroom where the glass-work provided a panoramic view of the North Bank. Heat rose from the metropolis as if from a sleeping dragon.

Farrago had grouped his entourage round a coffee machine at the far end of the room. He looked up at the Harris-Billinger staff and immediately strode forward to greet them. A hawkish smile creased his face as he shook each of their hands in turn. "Mr Hislop, a pleasure to meet you face to face at last. Duncan Bancroft, I'm looking forward to hearing about your pioneering work on the Lanotrazine." His accent was mild, an emphasis on long _o_ 's being the only betrayal of his Toscan roots.

When Merrick came to shake his hand, he returned the smile and held on to the Italian longer than the man was obviously used to. _Weak grip taking in the fingers more than the palm. This man does not like physical contact. Probably washes his hands obsessively, revealing a condescending view of humanity in general. The smile is broad but the eyes are an icy slate-grey._

Farrago's brow furrowed as he looked down at Merrick, but he said nothing.

Merrick didn't detect anything out of the ordinary from the remaining Garento staff except for one called Marc Slessinger. He didn't need to shake his hand to pick up that this was more shark than man. A gel-glistened lock of blond hair formed a question mark on his forehead, which he tossed aside with a shake every other sentence. He cruised the shallows to his seat opposite Merrick.

"Thank you for hosting this meeting, Mr Hislop," Farrago began, his hands clasped in front of him. "We are grateful that you could accommodate our accelerated schedule."

"Well," Hislop replied "we were more than eager to meet after hearing you were prepared to improve your offer."

"Quite. We looked closely at your updated profit forecasts and the list of questions and reservations you included. Marc, our finance and assets controller will summarise our responses."

Slessinger was precise, almost curt with his words. Handing round a sheet of figures to each of the assembled, he delivered a reserved but confident set of re-assurances.

During the resume Merrick caught Carrack looking up from his reading, then nodding affirmatively at Hislop.

After hearing about Garento's prospective expansion to the R &D program from their project director, Gino Perella, Slessinger took control again and concluded by saying, "I hope these proposals we have drafted address your concerns, and meet with your approval."

"We'll have our legal department look over the wording," said Anne Maisery "and, of course we'll need to consult, but from my point of view this shows considerable movement in the right direction."

Merrick looked at each personality as they spoke, interpreting the body language and weighing the words carefully. What no one could have known was that he was also smelling the air, letting the chemical-laden currents permeate his olfactory senses. There was a general blanket of corticosteroids—a predictable cocktail of stress hormones given the environment in the room. Each participant had their own unique bouquet serving to distinguish them and, in the process, reveal their motivation.

Hislop placed his hands on the table. "These are indeed welcome developments. And you've presented us with an intriguing build up. But I guess we're all waiting for the punchline."

"Our offer?" Farrago said. "I crave your forgiveness, it's the salesman in me."

_That was the first lie. Textbook. It sounded like an admission of crudeness but was in fact a calculated move._

Merrick breathed deeply. _Elevation of testosterone, and the adrenaline is almost overpowering._

"Can I be frank Mr Hislop?"

"Be my guest."

"We cannot meet your evaluation of worth—quite."

_Subtle dilation of pupils but no cortisol. The Italian was enjoying this. Still—nothing that would reveal major subterfuge._

"We can increase our offer to 1.5 billion euros."

Hislop blew out of the corner of his mouth. "That's still 100 million short of what we'd be remotely interested in. I don't think—"

"Please. Hear me out."

_More testosterone from Hislop and increased adrenaline from Farrago._

"As a goodwill gesture, a sweetener if you like, we will boost our investment in the Lanotrizine program and guarantee an annual cash injection of one million euros until the UK MHRA and US FDA approve the drug."

Carrack could barely conceal a grunt of approval—no need for Merrick to read anything more into that. Carrack was an open book to all present. Yet Merrick was picking up something else —something undefinable but demanding of his attention.

_Unspoken between Slessinger and Farrago. A previous agreement. The conclusion of a gambit. Something kept under wraps._

"I have a couple of questions," Bancroft said.

"Please," Farrago said, turning his palms upward.

"I'm delighted you have financial confidence in our mission to reduce suffering from Alzheimers," Bancroft continued, "and recognise that the guarantee represents a small but significant risk on your part. We're all aware of the succession of setbacks in the Lanotrizine trials. However, my remaining concern is the workforce."

Bancroft took a measured sip of his coffee. "As well as devoting our energies and money into what we see as humanitarian goals, we are renowned investors in people. Call me old fashioned, but this company was built on the notion that, whether clerks or doctors, directors or sectaries, we support the development of our staff."

"I agree unequivocally," Farrago said.

_His second lie._

Bancroft put down his cup. "My question is: What guarantee can you give regarding our employees? How do we know that you won't asset strip the company once the Lanotrizine is marketable?"

"Dr Bancroft." Slessinger looked at the greying researcher with dead eyes. "I can refer you to our track record. If you turn to our proposal you will see our dealings and mergers for the last ten years."

Bancroft flicked over the pages. "Yes, I have seen. But these are your major acquisitions. What about the smaller companies? You've only listed those with a turnover of 1.5 billion or more. I understand you bought up many concerns in Latin America. What were the policies governing any streamlining of staffing and resources?"

_Major expulsion of adrenaline from both Farrago and Slessinger._

Slessinger pulled out another ream of papers and passed them on. "I assumed you wouldn't be interested in our lower profile deals, but here is a comprehensive list. Full annual statistics are summarised."

The Harris-Billinger staff perused the new document and a few whispered amongst each other.

"The stability of these subsumed corporations seems kosher. Are you sure it's a complete list?" Bancroft said.

"Absolutely," Farrago said. "The monopolies and mergers commissions of each country stipulate that we report all accounts and company statistics for five years after any acquisition."

_There it was again. A sideways glance from Farrago, and Slessinger looking downwards, pretending not to catch his eye._ The Warning klaxon crescendoed as Merrick flicked through his printouts from Garento's portfolio. He found what he was looking for. He'd highlighted the name _Empergom_ in yellow under a heading called _Subsidiaries_. Why did that name ring colossal bells in his mind?

Perella had changed the subject to Garento's hands-off management model, but Merrick wasn't buying it. He switched on his tablet and looked at the internet history from the previous night. Turning to the web archive of _El Nacional_ , a Venezuelan newspaper, he found the article, tucked away in the financial section:

'Growing giant Empergom feeds on the carcase of another hapless emergent laboratory.'

Merrick scribbled a note and furtively passed it to Hislop. The CEO read it and frowned.

"Mr Slessinger," Hislop said, interrupting Perella. "Why don't you tell us about Empergom?"

_Cortisol ramping tenfold now. He would have been surprised if the whole table couldn't detect it._

"I don't know what you mean," Slessinger said.

"I mean, why did you not reveal your major shareholding in a predatory asset-stripper?"

"Why, Mr Hislop. Are you accusing us of underhand practice?" Farrago said, scowling.

"I'm not necessarily accusing you of anything. I'm looking for transparency."

~ ~ ~

The remaining two minutes of the meeting had played out predictably. Claims of unethical practice were ineffectively parried by bluster and wounded pride on the part of the Garento executive. The office door suffered as Farrago barged through it, followed by his shoal of barracudas. As the final one left, speaking rapidly into his mobile, a collective sigh of relief settled on Hislop and his crew, all save Carrack, who looked to Merrick like a fox licking shit off a wire brush.

As the board members gathered up their files and frustrations, Hislop pulled Merrick to one side. "That was a good performance you put in there , Merrick. Of course, it's back to the drawing board as regards the next move for our company. But, if it hadn't been for you, we might have been sleepwalking into a nightmare."

Merrick extended his fingers and flipped over the palms. "No sleight of hand. Just good research and a bit of instinct."

"Uncanny, absolutely uncanny. It's almost like you had a sixth sense."

"Or a third eye," Maisery said, causing both men to turn to her. "You mean you aren't familiar with Dharmic spiritual traditions?" she said, shouldering her handbag.

"I can't say I've studied a lot of eastern mysticism," Merrick said.

She placed her hand on his head as he drank in her pheramone-laden breath. "The gate that leads to higher consciousness. I think we could make further use of Merrick's gift, don't you Richard?"

"Well, now that the subject's been brought up," Hislop said, "what would you say to us putting you on a retainer?"

Merrick pursed his lips. "It's an attractive offer. But what exactly would you be retaining me for?"

"Not necessarily anything. We'd pay you your standard consultation fee just to remain at our disposal."

Hislop smiled, but Merrick detected a barely hidden appendix to the offer. "I take it you wouldn't want me at anyone else's disposal?"

Hislop exhaled. "Put it this way, we'd rather ensure that you were on our side of the conference table than our competitor's. How often do you get the chance to earn money by doing nothing?"

Merrick paused only for a second. "Thanks, but no thanks. Money for nothing is attractive to some, but I need to keep my options open. I believe in vocation, and I wouldn't want my skills mouldering away for any length of time."

"Well, you can't blame a guy for trying." Hislop extended his hand. "No hard feelings, I hope. But if you change your mind, you know how to get in touch."

Merrick shook hands with both Hislop and Maisery then took his leave. In the foyer, he stopped to check his mobile. There was one text message.

_Well done for heading Garento off at the pass! You can see why we're interested in you. Meet me at Paraganet House tomorrow morning, nine o' clock, and I'll explain what I have in mind._

There followed some GPS co-ordinates.

Merrick's pulse quickened. This was getting eerie. He had half a mind to drive down to wherever it was straight away and give the bastard a piece of his mind. Then his rational mind stepped in. On an impulse he looked up the number of Mike, his ex-Met office friend, and rang the number. It cut straight to voice mail.

"Hi Mike," he said. "It's Merrick. There's something I want to run past you. Give me a call when you get a 'mo."

He pocketed the mobile and walked towards the door. He needed some air.

### 5

## Don't talk to strangers

The vibe of London intoxicated Merrick as he emerged from the Preston building. God, how he loved this city. It struck him that this was less a metropolis and more an organism. Over eight million people, each performing their role in life and contributing to the good of the whole. He viewed himself as a unique part of the city's morphology, the equivalent of the pineal gland. A seemingly insignificant part of the brain, yet through its secretions it yielded a profound effect on the body.

Of course there were rogue elements too. Subversive individuals and organisations working antagonistically, like rats amongst the sewers and back-streets. But that was part of its attraction. Even these contributed to the character that was London. Truly a city poised on the apron of the world's stage.

He didn't have any pressing engagements for the rest of the day, so he caught the bus and alighted at Covent Garden. A walk home via St. James' Park would give him time to think.

Looking up for a second he caught sight of a woman, black braids down her back, perusing a clothing stall on the opposite side of the road. He pictured the ideal face to accompany such a shock of hair. He often carried out such mind experiments as an exercise for his imagination but, once the subject turned round, he was usually disappointed. Blonde, perfectly straightened hair would often conceal a fake-tanned harridan. Pete called them Golden Deceivers. Curvaceous latino figures morphed into street hags.

The girl looked over her shoulder before taking a jacket off a rack and slipping it into her large tapestry shoulder bag. The stall holder, distracted by a customer noticed nothing. Her face etched itself like flash photography in his mind. Beautiful? Sure. Definitely worth a second look. Most people fixate upon the eyes, but the girl's face was a work of art, only to be appreciated in its entirety. He side-stepped a mother with a pushchair and crossed the street, following after the girl. The bustling throng of shoppers impeded him, but he kept sight of the raven tresses, bobbing up and down in front of him. He kept his eyes fixed on her, gradually making ground—but not without elbowing a few pedestrians and stepping on someone's toe.

The girl stepped into an ethnic craft shop and revealed her profile. He registered the nose and noted it was classically Eastern—which would have been unbecoming on anyone else. But on her it looked majestic, like an Indian princess'. He followed her inside the shop and ducked under some Chinese mobiles and exotic dream-catchers. When she looked round, he reached for a book so as not to catch her eye. As soon as he dared, he looked up. She was trying on a Celtic silver necklace.

Her tilted head lingered, pensive. The jaunty step betrayed a carefree confidence. She looked in a mirror and smiled.

_Here is a girl at home in her own skin._

She undid the clasp of the necklace and let it slip down her blouse out of sight. Despite the open necked garment she barely revealed any cleavage. The brazen act of theft aroused him more than the prospect of what lay below the silken material.

His senses came into play immediately, a quicksilver trickle of perception splashing his consciousness. _She steals, not out of need but because she can. She knows she's good at this._

A camera overhead pointed away from where she stood, covering a nook hidden from the shop assistant's view. The place she had chosen was in plain sight of the cash desk. She had made her move as the assistant tended to a bearded man buying a set of pan pipes. Her audacity ensured her success.

"Thanks," she called, walking briskly out of the shop.

Merrick was caught off guard but followed her out, remaining several steps behind. It was when she stopped to gaze at a mannequin, clothed in designer splendour in the next boutique window, that he stepped up beside her.

"You know, your skills could be netting you a larger profit if you employed them on Oxford Street."

She turned to face him, surprise dilating her pupils.

"Do I know you?" she said, recovering. The accent was Middle-Eastern. Egyptian at a guess.

"Merrick. Merrick Whyte." He held out his hand, and she shook it cautiously. The fingers were slender and flawlessly manicured with cherry red nail varnish. Her smile revealed pearl white teeth, with one crooked incisor.

_She refused braces as a teenager. Comfortable in her perfect imperfection._

"And what would you know of my skills?" she finally said with a slight lisp

"You're good. You're very good," he said. "I'd applaud, but I'm ethically bound to tell you that you're crossing a line."

She turned her head away, looking down the street. "What're you, a store detective or a religious nut?"

"You'll notice I haven't asked you to turn out the contents of your bag, or indeed your blouse. So that rules out the former. As for religion, I do a bit of yoga and meditation. Does that count?"

"Pretty nutty. It could get you arrested in some countries. But I heard that freedom of religion is still upheld in the capital."

A wide grin broke out on his face.

"Do you like coffee?" he said. "I know a place down the street, and if you let me buy, I promise I won't arrest you."

_She's interested, but is she going to take up the offer of a complete stranger?_

"Okay, Columbo," she said.

_Bingo._

"Lead on. I'm Lotus by the way."

"Lotus? Now there's a name. You can tell me all about it at Charlie's."

The coffee bar was called the Funky Civet. A cartoon kopi luwak adorned the sandwich board outside the shop. The animal leaned against a brick wall, a steaming espresso held in one paw.

"This is a bit off the beaten track," she said. "Favourite haunt of yours?"

"I know the proprietor," he said. "Sources his own coffee beans personally from Sumatra and Java. I've never been one for your multinational mass-produced gloop."

"A dyed in the wool coffee-snob. I'm humbled. Is it true that they obtain the beans from the animal's shit?"

"It is. But farming methods vary. Some producers keep the civets in battery cages and force-feed them with coffee beans. Charlie only uses ethical suppliers."

"So, a coffee snob with a conscience?"

Charlie greeted Merrick as they stepped through the door and took them to a table next to the window.

Lotus demurred. "Do you mind if we sit somewhere else? I kind of feel exposed seated behind glass."

"Whatever you wish madame," said Charlie, exaggerating the bonhomie.

Merrick ordered two luaks and winked at Lotus.

"I'm curious," he said, looking at her. "Is Lotus a stage name or what?"

"No," she said, straightening her skirt. "My father was American and my mother an artist. They met on one of his frequent foreign trips as a wine-buyer. He loved classic automobiles while she had multi-cultural pretensions. I have to admit though, I've grown quite fond of seeing people's reactions when I tell them I'm named after a car rather than an exotic flower."

"Ha. A man after my own heart. I won't make the usual innuendos about engine parts."

"Oh, I'm disappointed. I was hoping you could add to the compendium I'm building up."

Charlie returned with the coffees and Merrick used the opportunity to observe her more closely. Her hair was naturally jet black and shone with an air-brushed model's brightness.

_Were those hair extensions? Maybe she likes to be someone she isn't—just sometimes._

Her perfume mixed with a natural musk to produce an intoxicating bouquet. He savoured it for a few precious seconds before taking his cup.

She blew on the expensive brew with thin, rose-petal lips and looked up, meeting his gaze. "So, as they say; enough about me, what about you?"

He leaned forward. "Tell me what you want to know," he said, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"What I want to know, Merrick Whyte, is..." She licked her top lip as she paused. "What is your darkest sexual fantasy?"

A surprised expression drew itself on Merrick's face. "Mmm, now let me think," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "I guess my fantasy is... just to have sex."

She laughed with her eyes as well as her mouth. Merrick shrugged and opened his hands.

"Humour—the easy way out," she said, perching her elbow on the table and propping her chin on it. "But really—I want to know."

Merrick looked down. "What would you say if I told you I like being dominated?"

"I'd say bullshit. You're what I'd call an extremist."

"Ooh, I'm intrigued. Tell me more about myself."

She took his hand and opened the palm, rubbing the centre with her thumb. A wave of desire broke on the shore of his libido. "Your emotions run hot and cold. Gentle? Sure. But also ruthless." She spoke almost as if in a trance. "You enjoy your own company and have a touch of mystery about you—this is deliberate." Her eyes gazed up at him again through long eyelashes. "You've been with many women. A serial monogamist. None of these relationships have lasted for long. There is something in your sexual appetite that frightens women. Not violence—something they see in your eyes."

Merrick gulped. "Fuck me, you're not forward at all are you."

"Yes," she said.

"Pardon?"

"I mean, I'd like to fuck you."

He lost interest in the coffee in an instant and pushed it to one side. "I live about a quarter of a mile up the road. Can you last that long?"

"No," she said, taking him by the hand and pulling him towards the ladies restroom.

They burst through the door into a small cubicle and he reached to secure the bolt.

"No," she said again, "leave it unlocked."

Merrick, light-headed, brought his hand up to her face and touched her nose. She lifted her face to him.

"You like?"

"I... like very much."

She covered his mouth with hers, then playfully bit his lower lip. Feeling his arousal, her legs parted, and she allowed him to press into her. He found his hands cupping her breasts, savouring the feel of their softness. Gasping, she curled her tongue into his ear.

"Ah no," he said with mock surprise. "Not my ear. You hold me in the palm of your hand."

"Actually, you're holding me in yours."

He looked down and saw that her blouse was open. The trinket from the shop was caught in her left cup. He reached it out and put it around her neck.

"That's better. Now it definitely looks like it's yours."

"All property is theft."

"Oh, now you're going all Marxist on me."

"It was Proudhon, actually. But tell me, are you going to lecture me on politics or fuck me?"

He lifted her skirt. "And here was me thinking I was the fuckee."

Lotus laughed aloud.

"We're making a lot of noise," he said.

"I don't care." She pulled down her tights as he fought his way out of his trousers. Grabbing him, she guided him into her as he hoisted her up against the wall. She looked into his eyes and he saw the fear there, like so many times before with other girls. But this time it evaporated, and she said, "Take me under, I'm not afraid."

~ ~ ~

"You know, Charlie may never have me back again," said Merrick.

They stood, eating ice cream while watching a couple of street performers. Silver paint encased one man, clothes and all. He stood, apparently in thin air, leaning on a spade, hovering in argent nonchalance. The other, a woman, sat cross-legged, levitating in golden splendour. The crowd took pictures, threw them coins and whooped with delight when their faces creased into mock surprise or contempt.

"I'm filled with remorse," she said, a slow smile building on her face. "However can I live with myself if you're denied your daily dose of civet shit?"

He leaned over to kiss her.

"You taste of strawberry," she said.

"You're not allergic are you?"

"Yeah, it brings me out in hives."

His eyebrows contorted. "That's odd, because I'm allergic to bees."

"Funny man," she said.

They wound their way through Covent Garden, not caring where they were heading or how long it was taking. She was a runaway kite, borne up on the wind, and all he could do was chase her.

An art gallery caught her attention, and she stopped to read the sandwich board outside.

"Ah, it's Lapin. He told me he was exhibiting here soon. Let's go in, I love his work," she said.

Merrick's phone buzzed. He wanted to ignore it, but pulled it out and checked the caller id. It was Mike.

"You go in, I'll be with you in a minute," he said, pointing to the phone.

"Yep?" he said.

"Hi Merrick. Just returning your call."

"Yeah. I've got this situation."

He gave Mike an overview, including his apprehensions about who might be behind the unusual communication he'd received.

"Well I can do a bit of digging around. But if you ask me it's one of your mates pulling your leg. Now Pete would be my prime suspect, he—"

"Mike. Sorry to cut you off but I need to get going." He looked through the gallery window at Lotus. "Do the research and get back to me as soon as you can, okay?"

Mike paused at the other end, then said "Sure thing good buddy, you're paying the wages. I'll get back to you in about an hour."

He found Lotus inside, talking to a spindly youth who seemed to speak more with his hands than his mouth.

"They're marvellous, Lapin," she said, bouncing up and down on her toes like a schoolgirl. "You didn't tell me you'd been working so hard."

"This isn't work," said Lapin. "It's pure joy."

Merrick approached and stood to the side of them. They were in full flow and didn't notice him until, after a minute, Lotus caught him in the corner of her eye.

"Oh, there you are," she said. Then, turning to Lapin: "This is my... friend, Merrick."

Lapin nodded and smiled.

"Pleased to meet you, Merrick. Are you an art lover? You must be. Lotus only consorts with people of taste." His words rose and fell with a disarming cadence.

"I don't have a great knowledge of art," Merrick said, shaking the man's hand. "People say I'm a bit of a Philistine."

Lapin held Merrick's arm with his other hand.

"Then let me introduce you to my work. Art is expression. It either resonates or it doesn't. Tell me, Merrick, what do you see in this?" He opened both hands in the direction of a piece fashioned out of wrought iron. It festooned out of an alcove, ferrous curled wires descending from an anguished sexless face.

Merrick glanced at Lotus who stood with her head on one side, arms folded. He stepped forward to take a closer look and ran his hand lightly over the sculpture.

_The artist's touch is self-evident. There are mixed emotions invested in the work._

"He or she seems to be pouring out their heart in volumes," he said after a moment or two. "But the tears are too copious. They come easily, like a sluice gate, well oiled and utilitarian. Some might call them crocodile tears."

"Amazing," said Lapin. "In fact I've named it _Cry me a heartless torrent._

"Drawing on personal experience, Lapin?" said Lotus.

"Alas, yes. A previous partner of mine was unconscionable to an extreme. Always trying to get what he wanted by manipulating my emotions." Sadness tinged Lapin's eyes as he stared at the figure. "Still, the experience has provided me with a wealth of material for future projects."

"Poor Lapin," Lotus said. She stepped forward and embraced him. "You expose yourself too much."

"You must look at the other exhibits," Lapin said, turning back to Merrick. "You have a deep empathy and I think you'll enjoy them. Don't worry though, unlike this one, many lift the soul rather than plunge it into the depths of despair."

They spent the next half hour walking round the gallery together. She, readily sharing her interpretations; he, more restrained, rationing his opinions as morsels. They had known each other for less than three hours and there was danger in closeness. But, he couldn't deny she was fascinating—like deep water. He hoped their acquaintance lasted long enough for him to plumb her depths.

The walk finished too soon. Lotus told him she had things to attend to at home.

"So, the big question," he said. "When will I get to see you again?"

She looked sideways and said "When would you like?"

"I'm free tomorrow night. Have you any plans?"

"Nothing I can think of."

"That's decided then. I'll pick you up at your place at seven. Where is your place by the way?"

She sent him the address from her mobile, which he added to his contacts under the close friends category.

She reached up on tip toes to kiss him. "Until tomorrow then."

"Just make sure the cops don't track you down before I arrive."

He watched her jaunt along the pavement until she was out of sight.

~ ~ ~

"My rival grows bold," said the Master. "He thinks I will draw back like a shrew, scuttling into my burrow as if overawed by the magnitude of his audacity."

"A man can over-reach himself, especially if he underestimates the strength of his opponent," said Sarlic.

"We know this to be true. He has enjoyed many successes. Some of them, admittedly, have been a result of careful strategy. But he's had the luck of the devil on more than one occasion and has misinterpreted these as mastery of the politics peculiar to this order."

Sarlic looked at himself in the gothic-framed mirror on the wall. "So how do you interpret the wooing of Segnal? This is quite a surprise, No?"

The Master narrowed his eyes. "I saw it as an unlikely event. The Hermetics are an insipid group with little to offer. I fail to see the attraction."

"Maybe he knows something we don't."

"That is why I'm asking you to press your friend in the Order for information."

"That could be... difficult."

"How so?"

"He thinks the other adepts are growing suspicious of him."

"Do they know of the connection with us?"

"If they do, they haven't made any moves to excommunicate him."

The Master's lips pursed. "That may not be a good thing. They could be feeding him false information."

"No, I think he is simply prone to paranoia. I will meet him tomorrow night and see if he has any more details."

"Make it tonight. Events are converging and we may need to act. I trust you can be your usual persuasive self?"

Sarlic's nostrils flared as he smiled. "I don't know whether I delight more in physical suffering or the mental anguish I instill in my gulls."

"I'm sure you'll be inventive as ever," the Master said, lifting the younger man's chin and looking into his eyes. "I only wish I could be there to witness your charms. As it is, I have a ritual to attend to."

"Is the great work nearing completion?"

"You should know better than to ask."

Sarlic's face fell. He pulled away from the Master and walked briskly out.

The Master decided to ignore Sarlic's petulance.

_He is but a child. I have no time for such trivialities. He will mature in time._

He opened a tome, stiff leaves of parchment revealing illuminated lettering. It was no good. The lore it contained lacked crucial passages and there was no longer any alternative in his mind. He would take the risk and acquire what he needed—even if it meant a little collateral damage.

### 6

## Master of the moon

Merrick pulled his Mercedes Landaulet up at the wrought iron gates of the mansion. Winding his window down, he pressed the intercom button and waited for a response.

Mike had phoned him back yesterday, as promised, with little information. The address in the text was a stately home owned by a certain Lazlo Karapetian—businessman and philanthropist. Estimated wealth was unknown, but he owned several properties, in England and abroad. There was no known criminal record, but many donations to worthy causes.

Mike was curious how Karapetian could make money from nothing and then give most of it away.

Merrick had considered his options carefully. While it was unsettling that Karapetian seemed to know Merrick's every move, he didn't present any clear danger.

He decided to go ahead with the meet, confident that Mike knew his whereabouts.

Merrick's buddy had also shared one final piece of information with him. Karapetian was high up in an occult group called The Syncretic Order Of The Hierophant. Apart from having one or two whacky beliefs, the order hadn't been connected with any criminality or other shady practices.

_Except that he somehow seems to have access to my personal diary and contact information._

"I'll challenge him about it," he'd told Mike. "If nothing else, I want to make it clear to him I won't tolerate an invasion of privacy. He's not the only one with resources at his disposal."

The crackle of the intercom brought him back to the present. "Good morning Mr Whyte. Mr Karapetian has been expecting you. After you've passed through the gates, park in front of the main door and someone will meet you there."

The gravel crunched under his wheels as he proceeded up a long drive. It terminated in a circle with a fountain at its centre. A young man with designer stubble greeted him at the door of the imposing building and led him through the atrium into a cavernous hallway.

"Quite a place your boss has here," Merrick said to the aide while looking up at the sculptured ceiling. The white cornices were overlaid with gold filigree. Merrick could almost smell the opulence.

"House Paraganet has been handed down through successive Grand-Magi of our order. Mr Karapetian had this main hall refurbished by one of Johann Neuma's descendents."

A bald giant of a man came down the stairs. His girth almost matched his height. "A trifle Baroque, I know," the man said, "but I like the ambience." He extended a velvet-gloved hand to Merrick.

A bit pretentious, Merrick thought. But each to his own.

"Lazlo Karapetian," the man said, making eye contact with a steely glare. "I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

Merrick felt nothing from the handshake beyond the expected tactile sensation.

_What is he trying to hide?_

"Most agreeable, Mr Karapetian."

"That will be all, Amherst," his host said to the aide. "Please step this way, Mr Whyte. Or may I call you Merrick?"

"First names are always more friendly, Lazlo. I take it this is to be a friendly meeting?"

"That is my wish." Karapetian had an accent he found difficult to place, Middle-Eastern perhaps.

He ushered Merrick into a capacious study. The odour of old books and rotten wood filled his nostrils.

As if reading his thoughts, Karapetian said: "Forgive the fusty atmosphere. This is an ancient room and dry rot is a perpetual problem. Do have a seat."

Merrick sat himself down in an armchair and crossed one leg over the other.

Karapetian pulled on the door of a walnut drinks cabinet. "Can I offer you some refreshment? I have a rather fine Rémy Martin here."

"Don't mind if I do."

​Karapetian poured out two balloons of brandy from a crystal decanter and placed one on a small table next to Merrick. "So, you're a connoisseur of armagnac as well as classic cars?"

"Connoisseur is pushing it a bit," Merrick said, swirling the caramel-coloured liquid in the balloon. "I know a lot more about cars than I do about drink."

Karapetian leaned back on the edge of a large roll-top desk. "You seem to know a lot about all sorts of things."

"And you seem to know all about me, Lazlo. You have an interesting way of making someone's acquaintance. Of course, some might call it trolling."

Karapetian's moisturised face creased with a smile. "The social media generation has such a vulgar way of describing behaviour. You must forgive my unorthodox way of setting up our meeting. I wanted to get your attention."

"Well, you did that," Merrick said. The brandy released its burnt wine vapours at the back of his throat as his words danced a bolero with Karapetian's. "I don't wish to appear rude, but how the fuck did you get my address? And how did you learn the outcome of a covert business meeting which only a select few were privy to?"

Karapetian locked eyes with him. "I've aroused your curiosity. My communication accomplished something then, but I suppose some sort of explanation is in order." He got up and walked into the centre of the room. "You see, I am a man of resources—and resourcefulness. Indeed, our Order has significant assets. Some are material while others are intangible. We also value our human resources. There probably isn't a major corporation worldwide that doesn't have one or more of our members on their boards."

"So, let me guess who your mole is. I don't believe it was one of the Harris-Billinger executive. I'd done extensive research on each of their backgrounds."

"Go on," Karapetian said, rocking on his heels. "I'd like to see how your powers of deduction work."

"So, it's Garento then? Unlikely to be the head honcho, or even his head of finance. They were so riled after the meeting, the last thing on their minds would have been contacting you. No, it had to be one of the other associates."

Merrick remembered how Farrago's aide had used his mobile when the party left the room. He had dismissed the action at the time—some people were always attached to their devices—but he now recalled a breeze of discomfort sweeping over his mind when he had observed the aide speaking on the phone.

"It had to be the aide. I'd place money on it."

"Bravo. Absolutely correct," Karapetian said, bringing his hands together in front of him and pointing them at Merrick. "Now perhaps you can understand why we're interested in you."

"Well, I'm flattered but—"

"It's fascinating you know. The way you employ your talent. You don't even know you're doing it, do you?"

Merrick put his glass down on the desk. "I think you're reading more into it than is really there. I know, given the nature of your order, you believe in mystical powers and influences, but my skills are simply borne out of refined logic."

"Okay. So tell me which branch of science enables you to smell and taste the emotional changes in the people around you?"

Merrick looked down, puzzled. "I'm not aware I do that."

"Come now, Merrick. You're being disingenuous with yourself. The eastern mystics have a name for what you have—they call it the third eye. Our order names your kind Psychonauts."

Merrick laughed out loud—and carried on laughing. Finally, when he had composed himself he said, "I'm sorry, Lazlo, but you had me going for a while there. Maybe you've spent too long in this order of yours, but you should hear yourself. There's such a thing as delusion you know."

Karapetian wasn't laughing.

"Sorry," Merrick said, rubbing his chin. "That wasn't called for. But seriously—Psychonauts?"

"It shouldn't surprise me that you are skeptical. But before you dismiss it, let me show you something. Come with me."

Merrick picked up his drink and followed Karapetian out. They walked down carpeted corridors lined with byzantine wall hangings and other exotic ornaments until they reached another door. Beyond this was a helical staircase winding downward into the bowels of the building. At the bottom they passed through double oak doors and emerged into a cavernous hall, two stories high. Light streamed down from a stained-glass ceiling and illuminated the marbled area with a tinted hue.

People of all cultural types involved themselves in activities peculiar yet mundane. Nearest to him were two young twins engaged in a game of chess. Merrick couldn't tell which of them had the upper hand but sweat poured from their foreheads in copious amounts. He wasn't sure in the subdued light, but one seemed to have a crimson tear on her cheek. Over to his left, two figures fenced, the muted clangour of their sabres carrying across the floor as they parried and thrust with determination.

"What, are you running here—a school or something?" Merrick said.

"Of sorts."

Merrick looked over at another table. Round it were sat a motley assortment of characters, all watching an old man with an overly long, white goatee recite the names of cards. A blindfold covered his eyes as a woman confirmed their identity from a pack in front of her. Lined up at the side were several card shoes and, by Merrick's calculation, each could hold at least four decks. The man spoke quickly, his voice rattling like a locomotive on the tracks. His memory was flawless.

"How long can he keep that up for?"

"He's been recalling cards for eighteen days now. I believe he's got another two thousand packs to go."

"Okay, I admit I'm impressed, but thousands have used memory palace techniques over the centuries to recall card sequences or decimal places for the numerical value of pi. It doesn't mean there's anything metaphysical involved."

Karapetian leaned over him and spoke in a gentle whisper. "What if I was to say that he memorised ten thousand packs—that's over half a million cards—in just under twenty four hours?"

"I would say it's impossible for anyone to move their hands fast enough to manipulate every individual card in that time."

"Ah, but you see, he doesn't. Watch this."

Karapetian approached the table, and the spectators turned to him.

"Soon it will be time for your break, Svetlanov. You'll need to replenish the calories you've expended this morning. But do show us how you learn the cards."

The old man took off his blindfold and reached for a shoe of cards behind him. He withdrew four packs and placed these all between the digits of his right hand. Separating his two hands flat on the table, he tossed the first pack up in the air. It somersaulted without displacing a single card and landed in the palm of his left hand. He immediately spread the cards out, perfectly spaced in front of him. Simultaneously, he flicked the whole pack over and scanned the array. Before Merrick could catch his breath, the man swept the pack to one side, and another pack flew through the air. In fast succession the packs were sequentially dealt, all within the space of some fifteen seconds.

His audience had no doubt seen this before but applauded nonetheless.

Merrick turned to Karapetian. "He memorised them, just like that?"

"An empirical mind like yours won't be satisfied with our word for it. Tabata—the recitation."

An oriental woman turned over the cards rapidly while the man read out their identities blindfold again. He finished in a trice and all Merrick could do was stare.

"I can tell you're not completely convinced," Karapetian said, pulling away.

"It's all well and good," Merrick said, recovering himself, "but what possible use could this skill be? He wouldn't survive more than an hour in Las Vegas before the manager would have him tagged for card counting."

"You attribute such lowly motives to us, Merrick. No, Svetlanov's value is in his ability to recite. The memory is but half of his treasure. In order to carry out some of our more complex acts of magick, the requisite words must be pronounced with every inflection and accent intact. Otherwise the incantation does not work, or worse still—results in unfortunate consequences. Svetlanov will have to master the text of a forty thousand word grimoire. The language is ancient Sumerian and he must recite it with the correct tone and gravitas. He will be ready in six months."

"I hope he's getting paid well," said Merrick.

"Ah—Mammon. The principal deity of the western world. It holds little attraction for Svetlanov. He has other rewards in mind. Now, I have something else to show you."

### 7

## Push

They walked past enclaves of what Merrick supposed were students. Some held discussions, others meditated, while yet others concentrated on objects of curiosity; such as a gyroscope standing at right angles on a needle, or a praying mantis about to devour a bug. An octagonal door at the far end of the hall gave them access to a tunnel. The appearance on the other side was disorienting and Merrick halted, unsure if he should proceed. The walkway was cylindrical, sculpted ornately in wooden spirals lit from a glow at the end. Merrick wasn't clear where he should step.

Karapetian beckoned. "Don't worry. You need not fear the Tendrethan corridor—that is, provided you have a guide. Walk in my footsteps on the track lined with rams horns."

"I've never had a fetish for goat appendages," Merrick replied, and stepped forward.

As he picked his way, he found himself traversing up the sides of the tunnel and, eventually, the roof. Round and round he proceeded, like a corkscrew, yet at no time did his inner ear sense he was upside down.

Up ahead, Karapetian walked perpendicular to the side of the tunnel.

"This has to be an optical illusion," Merrick said, his mouth dry and his stomach churning.

"A rather clever one perfected by the Babylonians, actually. I found the design in a book I acquired from a collector in Iran. It was quite by chance, but a rather beneficial happenstance I might add. It's rather useful in separating the advanced classes from the initiates. If you choose the wrong track, you end up at the beginning of the tunnel again." Karapetian's voice echoed like a tap delay in the wooden enclosure, adding to the surrealism.

"So, you're extending me a rare privilege?"

"I am indeed."

"That's... trusting of you."

They emerged into a small room, lined with hangings depicting civilisations in all their glory, worshippers of deities both familiar and obscure, even armies waging war in tableaux that shocked and fascinated Merrick. On closer inspection, Merrick saw that the room was as an atrium with five passages leading off from it.

"I'm going to trust you even more," Karapetian said, his hooded eyes sparkling in the subdued light. He strode down the nearest passage and Merrick followed in a bemused state. It curved round until they found themselves in a panelled room. Sat behind a desk was a squat man with jet black hair and beard. He leaned back in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, reading a book.

"May I introduce Jason," Karapetian said. "Jason, this is Merrick Whyte, the man I was talking about yesterday."

"Merrick," said the diminutive man, getting up and shaking his hand across the desk. "I see Lazlo's giving you the full guided tour."

Merrick felt a subtle fizzing in his hand and an accompanying sense of unease, like water sliding over a weir.

"Yes, I felt that too," Jason said. "You're going to have to learn to disguise your flux a bit better if you want to remain undetected. What did you read into it by the way?"

Merrick looked at Karapetian, then back at Jason. "I would say that you're a man of hidden depths. But then, it could be just an intuition."

"You were right, Lazlo," the man said. "He's in a state of self-denial."

"Meaning...?" Merrick said.

"Meaning, that you need to open your eyes—all three of them," said Karapetian. "Maybe another demonstration will help."

"For sure," Jason said. "Merrick, if you wouldn't mind, take out one of these."

He tossed Merrick a small plastic box labelled Toothpicks and Merrick removed one. They were wooden and tapered at both ends, one wider than the other. Jason tied some cotton between two table lamps on the desk. He adjusted the tension in the thread until it was taut.

"Now," he said, "I'd like you to balance the toothpick on the thread."

"That's impossible," Merrick said.

"Well it won't happen if you don't try."

Merrick ignored the curt reply and placed the pick on the thread, widest end down. He bent over to judge how perpendicular to the line the pick was, then worked his finger up to the top slowly and let go.

It fell to the desk surface below.

"Try again," Jason said, a smug grin playing across his pock-marked face.

This Merrick did, five more times. The result was the same. "Like I said. Impossible."

Jason lifted the pick and stared straight at Merrick. Eyebrows arched as furrows of concentration appeared on his brow. With a sudden flurry he tossed the pick to his right like one would a coin. Not once did he look at the thin tightrope on his desk. Merrick watched as the pick tumbled end over end in an arc. It alighted on the thread and remained stationary like a dipole, completely vertical.

"That's good—very good," Merrick said. He looked at Karapetian and reached out to the pick, flicking it casually. The pick rotated round the thread, came up the other side and stood up again.

"That, that's..."

"That's probability thaumaturgy," Karapetian said.

"What? The power of telekinesis?"

"Not quite the same thing," Jason interrupted. "All objects have an equilibrium point. One can calculate the forces impinging on it at any given time. Gravity, electromagnetic, weak nuclear, forces resulting from convection currents and the effects of the wind. If you know the resultant of these, then it's possible to influence them on a quantum level. A quick calculation of probability can yield the odds of an object falling or remaining in balance. If one applies the will correctly, then these odds can be loaded in its favour. Quantum effects accumulate to phenomena on a macro-level and—voila."

Merrick felt a tug on his consciousness as Jason held the pick on the thread. He pushed in his mind and the velvet blanket of Jason's will gave, ever so slightly. It was mischievous, he knew, but he hated smart-arses.

The pick fell to the table.

"You caught me by surprise there," Jason said. "But did you expect this?" A force like an invisible hand pushed backwards on his chest while the back of his knees were chopped forwards. His arms flailed like windmills as he lost balance, and Merrick expected his head to crack against the floor. Yet, Jason was merciful and arrested his descent a gnat's whisker from the floor.

He was nothing but a toothpick, manipulated by a short man's whim, hovering in helpless, horizontal defeat.

~ ~ ~

Jason stood over him and stroked his beard. He flicked his eyeballs to the right and Merrick rose upwards again. He recovered as if finishing a routine on the parallel bars.

"Okay, okay, I yield," Merrick said, holding prayerful hands in mock supplication. "Well thanks for that, Jason. I'll chalk that one up on my list of humiliations I'd like to forget."

Karapetian's shoulders shook with laughter. "You'll have to forgive Jason. But do you accept now that you're dipping your toes in the deep waters of something you're barely acknowledging?"

"I'm reserving judgement," Merrick said, stretching his neck. "If—and I am saying _if_ , there is something going on here, then how do I fit in?"

"Have a seat," Karapetian said, and they all pulled up chairs round the desk. "I understand you had a brief foray in the world of politics in your younger, idealistic days?" the bald man said.

The constant references to what Merrick had thought was a well-hidden past, were beginning to get under his skin. "Yes?"

"Why didn't you pursue this? You were moving up in the political world, even ran for local council office."

"I guess I got bored with it. Pursued other avenues." He knew as soon as the words passed his lips that it was another self deception. Karapetian remained silent, waiting. "All right," Merrick continued. "Maybe I got frustrated with the bureaucracy and the impotence of the establishment."

"Democracy, the western paradigm," Jason said. "It yields government serving neither rich nor poor. However, the world which we live in, paves the way for emperors and queens."

"Now you're sounding like a super-villain again. All you need is the cat on your lap to complete the picture."

Now it was Jason's turn to show irritation. "I warned you, Lazlo. Our Mr Whyte is a clown, we can do better than this."

Karapetian held up his hand. "Patience, Jason."

"Yeah, back off Blofeld," Merrick said with an impudent smile.

Jason leaned back in his chair with barely concealed chagrin.

"I think you may be seeing a picture which we aren't painting," Karapetian said. "We're not seeking to subvert this country's political system, nor even embark on world domination. To be honest, our influence is greatest in other realms."

"Other realms?" asked Merrick.

Karapetian paused and looked at Jason.

"Are you familiar with the concept of parallel universes?" Karapetian said.

Merrick shrugged. "I've read a bit of Hawking, yes."

"It's an area of intense debate in the scientific community," Karapetian continued. "I've followed the writings of Weinberg, Greene and Tegmark, but opinion is much divided on the matter. There are many who say it can never be proved because the theory is unfalsifiable."

Merrick nodded. "I would agree. In the absence of any hard data, it remains a philosophical question."

"But where science is rendered impotent, magick can fill the void. Keep your skepticism in check while I explain." Karapetian stood up and walked over to a chalkboard on the wall. He wiped away some arcane symbols and drew a series of overlapping ellipses. "Our order has been studying these worlds intensively over the last fifty years. We have employed the use of mathematicians, quantum physicists and magi."

Merrick raised his eyebrows. "Magi?"

"Merrick, humour me. Crowley defined magick as the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity with will. You have seen demonstrations in this very room."

"Okay, I'm listening."

"In the past, communication within and between these realms occurred solely using the practice of magick, albeit, rarely. But since the turn of the millennium many advances have been made through quantum mechanics also. The quantum multiverse manifests a new universe when a diversion in events occurs. As a result of our practices we have identified repeatable rituals that could open up portals. Through these gateways it is possible to observe and even travel. They are represented by intersections between the ellipses, as you can see."

"Assuming this is true," interjected Merrick. "What use is this to mankind and, at risk of repeating myself, how the fuck does this involve me?"

Karapetian put down the chalk and brought his gaze to bear on Merrick. Dark light danced in his eyes.

"Why—he who holds the key to the gateways, has the multiverse at his command."

### 8

## Feed my head

Merrick attempted to calm his thoughts, but it was as if a wild energy scattered them free. His rational mind rebelled against Karapetian's suggestions but he couldn't deny the reality of what he'd experienced. In the depths of his brain, the pine cone of his perception secreted its rich, intoxicating mix of hormones, acknowledging the truth he heard, even as his cerebrum rejected the arguments.

"I think one more revelation will be enough to convince you. Let's go to our labs. You're a man of science after all," Karapetian said.

Jason led them out of his study and down another long passageway. This one led to a wide staircase taking them down to what Merrick surmised were the foundations of the mansion

"You still haven't told me how I fit into this research project of yours," he said

"It's quite simple," Karapetian replied from behind. "We need people of your calibre to further explore these gateways. We've discovered twenty-one to date. Each represents an opportunity to advance our lore, and benefit mankind."

The verbal baton passed to Jason. "Entry to these worlds will yield more gateways beyond, maybe to realms more advanced than our own." He had stopped sulking since they left his room. "Imagine being able to tap into vast libraries of knowledge. Knowledge that leaves our understanding light years behind. Consider the conversations we could have with our counterparts and the possibility of bringing back cures for cancer or genetic disease."

"What about the technology to travel to the stars?" Karapetian resumed. "The possibilities are quite staggering. Your practice of psychonautics needs to be honed of course—so that you recognise its true potential. We need to understand those we meet on the other side of these gateways from the outset. One hopes that they are benign. But we already have many examples of this not being the case."

They reached the bottom of the stairs, Jason pausing before a closed door. "It won't have escaped your attention that if we can travel through these doorways, then whatever is on the other side can come back. That's why we must be sure we know what we're dealing with. We have to be extremely cautious."

Merrick narrowed his eyes. "There might be some who say that your gateways were meant to stay closed—assuming they exist."

Jason left the statement unanswered and opened the door. They stepped through into a lab where five chemists worked at a bench.

A young woman decanted a viscous, ochre liquid into a conical flask. Her hair, tied back in straggled wisps had been exposed to organic solvents more than conditioner. Her four male counterparts were also absorbed in their work, the weight of their research etched on their faces making it impossible to guess their age. They didn't speak. Indeed, they barely acknowledged the presence of the visitors. If they were in awe of Karapetian and Jason, it didn't show.

The scientists' workplace sat upon a raised platform overlooking a larger area containing large copper stills, reflux apparatus and a tangled mass of pipes and tubes.

"These are our chem labs," Karapetian began. "We have further laboratories covering many diverse fields; electronics, theoretical physics and archaeology, to name but a few. We even have our own self-sustaining botanical gardens. Of course, we encourage the marriage of esoteric knowledge, art and science. The cross-fertilisation of disciplines makes for some quite unique experiments."

"What are you making down there?" Merrick asked.

"We'll go and take a look."

They descended a flight of iron stairs and approached a small delivery vessel, budding off, runner-like, from a still.

"We've manufactured our own distillate from a Turkish natural product," Karapetian said. He placed a glass under a tap and opened the spout. Out came the ochre liquid. "Mad honey," Karapetian said, holding up the glass.

"Produced by lunatic bees?" Merrick's wisecrack fell on deaf ears.

"The Turkish named it thus," Karapetian continued. "It's harvested by Hemshin heretics in the most remote areas of the _Rize ili_ Province. For millennia, it's been used as a sweetener, a drug, and even a weapon of war. We've purified it from the nectar of a particular rhododendron species and extracted the active ingredients. The most important is a neural poison called grayanotoxin. When mixed in the correct proportion with congeners and inhibiters, it produces a hallucinogen one hundred times more potent than lysergic acid, but with no long- lasting detrimental effects. The combination of its mind-expanding properties and the natural talent you possess will amplify your power exponentially."

Merrick couldn't help but smirk. "Now I know where you get all your loopy ideas from."

Karapetian was deadpan.

"Would you care to try some?" he asked.

"Now why would I want to do that?"

Karapetian looked at him again with steely eyes. "You experience the euphoria of using your power on a daily basis. But you're dabbling in ditch-water. Maybe you need to prove to yourself that there's an ocean of consciousness awaiting."

"Forgive me for being a tad suspicious, but how do I know this isn't going to leave me with irreparable brain damage?"

"Perhaps, if we all partake?" Jason said and produced a Pasteur pipette.

"If you want to walk away now," Karapetian said, "then the door's open. But you'll never know what you rejected. You could return to your world of stockbrokers and analysts, stockpiling your assets. But we both know you're already growing bored with that game."

Jason dipped the pipette into the nectar extract.

"Your choice," he said and squeezed a drop onto his tongue. Karapetian followed suit, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

Karapetian's enticements struck a long-buried maverick chord in Merrick. It was as if Karapetian knew all the right buttons to press. Merrick longed for something more than his current existence offered. Here was an opportunity he was sure would never present itself again. If it turned out to be a false dawn, then he had lost nothing. Karapetian's claims seemed fantastical, but a dull bell of ancient truth sounded in the recesses of his psyche. An animistic certainty coursed through his genes. After a prolonged pause, he took the pipette from Karapetian and squeezed it over his open mouth.

In slow motion, the drop seemed to fall, its resinous hue clear and pure in the light. He didn't recall it landing on his tongue, but in the next instant the sepia world around him slid down the wall of his vision in molten waves, and immersed him in a vortex of psychedelic colour.

### 9

## Falling off The edge of the world

"You feel it already don't you?" Karapetian's voice sounded distorted, like the backward-masked vocals on seventies vinyl. Merrick didn't just feel it, he saw, smelled and tasted it too. He looked at Jason and saw luminous green bubbles rise from his head. The small man's arms projected angular shadows that flickered as they moved. This was ten times better than any skunk he'd ever smoked.

He could read Jason's motivation as if it was emblazoned as hieroglyphs in the air. Jealousy and ambition, tinged with a ravenous love of a partner long-dead. But more than this, the grayanotoxin stimulated his pineal gland to a greater level. He knew, with concrete certainty, that Jason would place the desire for greater power before anything else. The sensation shocked him with electric revulsion, and he recoiled.

Karapetian's features elongated like plasticised rubber, and Merrick stifled an irrepressible giggle as the polymer strands of Karapetian's suit repeatedly folded in on themselves and assumed a million shades of purple. Despite the amplification of his senses, the man's mind remained closed. Like a rubber bullet, Merrick's will ricocheted off him.

"You've only imbibed the smallest of amounts," said Karapetian's morphed voice. "Even so, the effects will crescendo over the next hour and only subside long after that. We should make use of its vitality while we have time. Come—follow me."

It was as if Merrick floated along the floor. That was the sensation prevalent in his mind yet logic tried to convince him it was a further effect of the drug. They travelled past diabolical, twisting pipes and chambers, traversing the chromatic blur that the lab had become. Time compressed and dilated until they emerged in a cold, marrow-chilling cavern.

"Where are we?" he said. The words come out like a flanged version of an iron door closing on rusty hinges.

"Paraganet house was built on one of the gateways I mentioned. It hasn't been opened since the Great Work of the last century. The consequences were unexpected. So, we have been cautious in the extreme before making another attempt at contact with the other side."

Merrick viewed the wall in front of him. A writhing vortex sucked swirling, globular colours into itself and, at its centre, Merrick saw an intense, creamy light. He looked down to the uneven, dusty floor and saw a large ringed pentagram etched into the surface.

"Protection?" he asked.

"Protection and containment," said Jason.

"A test for you, Merrick," put in Karapetian. "We don't have the capability to open the gateway yet. In fact, we dare not. But we're interested to see if your mind can perceive what's beyond."

Merrick's skepticism dissolved. This was either extreme foolhardiness or final acquiescence to the inevitable.

Jason looked at Karapetian with graphite eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this, Lazlo?"

Merrick interrupted before Karapetian could reply to his lieutenant. "What are the risks?"

"Minimal," said Karapetian. "Whatever lies beyond is unlikely to interact with your mind—if indeed there _is_ anything waiting there."

"You, however, can observe," said Jason.

Merrick saw a blue halo of truth around Jason and nodded. He didn't need to ask how he would encourage this penetration of the unseen realm. He looked at the whirlpool of colour and projected his mind into it.

It was easy.

At the centre, he experienced an initial resistance to his incorporeal self, as if a thin membrane of PVC was moulding itself to his features, then it burst into a spray of a billion pixels.

He appeared on the side of a skyscraper. The wind blew through his hair as he looked down, gravity-defying on ant-like denizens a mile below. Blind panic gripped him until he realised he wasn't falling. Looking up, he saw what seemed to be the sky, but appeared as waves of oily liquid, breaking on each other from random directions.

He put one foot in front of the other and found his motion propelled him downward at incredible speed—as if he were gliding.

In moments he was stood on the pavement, bewildered. Around him moved humanoids.

Looking at them, he could see their facial features were subtly different from those of his world. The noses were longer, and downy, lanugo-like hair covered their skin.

They weren't the only type traversing the smooth, marble-like pavements. Other figures, interspersed like white corpuscles amidst the crowds, walked on two legs or four. Strangeness set his perceptions tingling, yet the diverse population of this parallel world obviously accepted each other's presence with indifference.

He reached out his hand to touch one of them, but its body was translucent and incorporeal. His fingers passed through the humanoid's arm and it flinched with irritation before walking on.

Turning round, he traversed the street towards a gigantic, metal archway. The gliding sensation continued as he accelerated towards the feature. As he walked, the flow of inhabitants parted like a stream to a prow, wherever he chose to move.

He delighted in the freedom of this heady progress until a sound, like a distant pounding brought him up short. It was like native tom-toms that ululated from a side-street. The surrounding inhabitants called and shrieked in trepidation and dismay. The rhythm now vibrated through the ground as the source approached like a runaway train.

Crowds parted revealing three immense ape-like creatures, each twelve feet tall. One denizen took an instant too long to find shelter, and a creature grabbed it. The thing bit off the denizen's head like the top off a beer bottle causing arterial blood to spray in an arc. Tossing the corpse aside, the beast looked around as if searching for something, until another turned its head in Merrick's direction. It lifted its muscled, red-haired arm and pointed at him.

There was no doubt he was the focus of their attention because the remaining duo took one look at him and opened their mouths with an ear-splitting screech. The crowds ran in panic, some crouching behind walls in an attempt to hide from view.

_This is not good._

Merrick looked up, then took to the wall of the nearest building, his feet fixing themselves like velcro to the vertical surface. His fear subsided a couple of degrees as he slid at great speed up the building. But as he looked behind, he saw them climb after him, sinking their fingers into the edifice as if it were cake icing. Their progress was frighteningly swift.

He tried leaping in a diagonal fashion to increase his pace and found, with a frisson of relief, that he was pulling away from them. His wall-scampering eventually brought him to the building on which he had entered the nether-world. How far up was the gateway? He scanned ahead for a point of reference but saw nothing. Behind him, one beast ascended quicker than the rest, its open maw dripping sludge-like spittle.

_Its intentions aren't friendly,_ he thought, and began moving upward again. A mirage-like ripple appeared against the rolling oily backdrop of the sky. It was then that he felt the breath of the beast behind and his heart start to thump in his ears.

_How had it closed the gap so fast?_

He glanced behind into the face of horror. The beast glared at him with inhuman eyes and insatiable hunger. Concentrating his will on the gateway, he was surprised to see a mirror image of himself appear from the centre of the ripples. He didn't dare look behind again and dived forward, merging with his doppelgänger as he did so. Up ahead he could see Karapetian and Jason crouched down, their arms held up as if warding off something—and then he was through.

He stumbled to the floor and rolled on to his side. He looked up and saw a wall of red fur pass across his vision and thunder up the steps beyond.

A pair of hands grabbed hold of his lapels and pulled him up roughly. It was Jason. "What in hell's name have you done?"

~ ~ ~

They were back in Karapetian's study, Merrick nursing a glass of water. He could have done with something stronger, but the hallucinogenic effects of the mad honey had not yet dissipated and he needed to think with a clear mind. Through the window he could see figures moving in the fading light. Some were on the lawn, talking animatedly in groups. Others studied a line of entrenched footprints that led towards a screen of Leylandi bushes. The dark green foliage was torn apart in the middle and a troop of personnel wearing fatigues ran through it in a chain of military efficiency.

Karapetian slammed the phone down.

"That bad?" asked Jason.

"Worse." Karapetian replied. "The far-seers say the entity assumed another form before outdistancing them. It will go to ground now and wait.

Merrick lifted his glass to sip the water. His hands trembled with after-shock. "What will it wait for?"

"Kindred spirits," said Jason. "Its kind gravitate towards each other."

"You mean there are other... things like that out there?"

"That we don't know." Jason wore his frustration like sack-cloth on sensitive skin. "Some are thought to be dormant after the mage, Thaquibbe summoned them many centuries ago. There's not much corroboration though."

"What if the thing was to wake them up?"

"That would depend on if they found a unifying purpose, or one who could draw them with his will."

Jason turned to Karapetian. "Could our adversary know what just happened?"

"I hope not. The Simiata are unpredictable servants—which is why we have shunned them. Yet one with his talents could bypass their resistance and recruit them for his purpose."

"Who the fuck is this adversary?" asked Merrick.

"The less you know at this stage, the better," said Jason. "What were you thinking, anyway? Summoning your corporeal body like that breached the gateway and allowed it through."

"We can't blame Merrick," said Karapetian, walking over to the window. "In my zeal to impress, I underestimated the risks, and the ability of these malevolent sentients to detect him."

"He's a liability. His lack of knowledge makes him a danger to himself and our order."

"And yet, he demonstrated the sheer will to open the gateway to his corporeal self. A magus would take years of practice to accomplish that."

"Hello, I'm still in the room," said Merrick. "Ears burning and all that."

Karapetian ignored him.

"Patience, Jason. This is a setback, not a disaster. If Merrick decides to join us he'll need inducting, that's true. But he'll learn."

"Not sure I like the sound of this induction," said Merrick. He stood up and put his glass on the desk. "There's still one thing I don't get. The Simiatan, why did the pentagram not contain it?"

"Its power was stronger than we anticipated," said Jason. "That's an issue in itself but we have renewed the pentagram with a third level glyph."

"Look," said Merrick, "it's obvious to me there's something genuinely at stake here. I never thought I'd find myself siding with a paranormal viewpoint, but maybe Jason's right. I'm in over my head. I think it's best if I just leave."

Karapetian folded his arms. "Of course. What you've experienced today is far beyond most men's comprehension. You need time to think, to adjust. But don't make any hasty decisions."

Merrick tried to read Karapetian but once more he was impenetrable.

"I assume whatever I decide, my safety is guaranteed?"

"Provided you do not divulge anything you have seen today, Yes."

"What happens if I do?"

"Let's face it Merrick, who would believe you?

Merrick knew he spoke the truth. He turned to leave, but Karapetian reminded him he was under the influence of mind-expanding chemicals. "Let me get one of my people to drive you home."

Merrick considered this for a second. It would be just his luck to get pulled over by the boys in blue—and his car did attract a lot of attention.

"Okay," he said, "the chauffeur can find his own way back?"

"Like I said. We have our resources." Reaching over to his desk, he pulled out a business card from a silver case. "My personal mobile number," he said. "Get in touch once you've had a think."

Merrick looked at his watch and realised he was over an hour late for his date with Lotus.

_Fuck_ — _this whole deal with Karapetian has screwed everything up_.

He left the two men in the study and was met by another on the steps. The driver wore a leather jacket. He looked in his thirties and sported a soul patch which would make George Michael proud. His jaws constantly maneuvered a piece of gum across his mouth like a camel chewing grain.

"Looks like I'm your chauffeur for the evening," the man said in a cockney accent. "I'm Albany by the way."

"You driven anything like this before?" asked Merrick.

"Not of this vintage, no." The man cast an admiring eye over the Merc. "But I've been at the wheel of many a high performance motor. Aston Martins and TVR's mainly."

"Just be careful on the bends. There's no ABS, and it's a rear-wheel drive."

"No problem," he said as they climbed in.

Once on the road, Merrick hastily called Lotus. It cut to voice mail, so he left a message. He leaned back, frustrated, and closed his eyes. The drug still spaced him out, and he found it disconcerting that the windscreen seemed to keep flicking between photo-negative and lava-lamp mode.

Albany respected his silence, and by the time they reached the outskirts of London, Merrick felt human again.

"So, this Syncretic Order then," Merrick said, "I take it you're on their payroll?"

"You could say that," Albany replied. "To be honest, it's less of a company and more of a family."

"Sounds cozy."

"Far from it. When I say 'family' read _Sicilian_."

"They've got their hooks in you?"

Albany looked at him. "Are you a fan of the Eagles?"

"More into hard rock than soft rock. But I know most of their greatest hits."

"Then you'll be familiar with that line at the end of Hotel California?

"Yeah, something about checking out but never leaving." The comparison didn't do anything to ease Merrick's mind. He decided to change the subject. "What talent were you recruited for?"

"I'm a counterfeiter, specialising in the acquisition of art and ancient artefacts."

"You acquire these illegally?"

"You ever hear of a legal counterfeiter?"

Merrick chuckled. "You must have a bright future ahead of you, judging by our Mr Karapetian's expensive tastes."

"No. I'm the black dwarf of the order. I have a very bright past," he said smiling. "I bungled my last job. Nearly led to the order being investigated by the Serious Fraud Office. So my duties are now confined to general dogsbody-like stuff."

"Sorry that I'm the bone to your St. Bernard."

"No need to feel sorry for me. Our kind are Outcasts, so there's nowhere else for me to go. At least I get good board and lodging."

Albany brought the Landaulet to a halt outside Merrick's apartment.

"I'll drive it into the underground park," said Merrick. "Are you sure you can get back okay?"

"No worries," Albany said as he walked back the way he'd come. Then, as if thinking twice, he stopped and turned to face Merrick again. "You do realise what you're getting into, don't you?"

Merrick scratched his head. "I don't know that I do."

"Just watch your back. Lazlo Karapetian is a different character underneath all that cultured exterior, and he's not the only player in the game. There are others, with far cruder methods. And make no mistake, they'd all slit their grandmother's throats to get what they need—and feel nothing."

He turned on his heel and walked off, singing " _On a dark, desert highway_... "

### 10

## As long as it's not about love

After Merrick had locked both doors on the Merc, he walked half way across the basement parking area and stopped, his shadow cast long underneath the low-level strip lighting. He needed to try Lotus' number again, but was he in the right frame of mind to speak to her, given the disorienting events of the day?

_Cognitive dissonance_. He was familiar with the term. _The mental stress experienced by someone who holds two or more contradictory beliefs at the same time._ He'd started the day as a skeptical atheist. Since then, he had seen firsthand the observational evidence of mind over matter, transport between parallel worlds, and the existence of supernatural beings. It was enough to unhinge the minds of some, yet he had held firm. Now he was asking himself why? It was as if a sun-dried, ancestral corpse had stirred in his memory, clutching ancient parchments that revealed long-unacknowledged truths about himself. Karapetian had called him a Psychonaut, yet he had always classified his peculiar talents under the categories of economics, psychology and that most evasive of terms, intuition.

What disturbed him more was that he was not in control. Events had overtaken him, undermining his usual confidence. He felt like the Captain of a schooner, hands on the wheel in a raging sea. However much he strained to keep the ship on a predetermined course, the currents and waves conspired to dash him on the rocks of circumstance. This was not a familiar state of mind.

His thoughts turned again to Lotus. He tried to picture her face but couldn't. Instead, he remembered incidental things: the stolen necklace, her crooked smile and her lisp. His empirical mind analysed this as infatuation, the result of irrational brain hormones affecting his judgement and infusing his faculties with their madness. In the final analysis, he was a mammal at the pinnacle of evolution, yet the urge to procreate was instilled in his DNA—this was all it was. He just needed to get some perspective.

Against such pragmatism, he weighed the euphoria of his experience with the Syncretic Order. It released a different mix of hormones. The thrill of wielding power that few possessed was tinged with the anxiety that he was a mere initiate. A little power and a little knowledge was dangerous, and there was no doubt he'd crossed a line—with potentially disastrous consequences. A primordial force was now stalking the world—and he had unleashed it. But Karapetian had made errors too. Perversely, this gave Merrick some licence. It meant that Karapetian didn't hold all the cards and, should there be a conflict, it was a weak point he could exploit. He turned his mind to the presence of another player as Karapetian had put it. This was disconcerting, and he couldn't ignore Albany's warnings about both orders.

The sound of the electric garage door announced the arrival of another resident and jarred him from his meditations. He walked in a daze to the stairs.

Back in his apartment, the phone was waiting with its answer machine light flashing. There was only one message, so he pressed the playback button.

"Hi Merrick, Dom here," crackled the recording. "What're you playing at you fucking spanner? Harris-Billinger offer you a retainer that Prince Andrew wouldn't turn his nose up at, and you kick it into touch. You ought to—"

Merrick hit the delete button and stepped into the kitchen to get himself a coke.

He sank into the thinking chair and pulled out his mobile. Punching in Lotus' number, he sighed and tried to think of how he might begin. After three rings, she picked up.

"Hi there," she said.

"Lotus. Hi. I don't know what to say. I'm not usually this remiss, I mean this isn't like me."

"Who is this please?" she said, a strange formality in her voice.

"It's Merrick. You know, we met yesterday and we... "

"Ah yes. I remember. You're the Luak lover who likes to fuck in toilets."

"Hey wait a minute, that's not fair, it was your idea to... "

"Yeah, yesterday I was full of ideas, and today you're full of shit."

Merrick winced. "Look, I know you're upset. You've every right to be."

"Me? I'm not upset, I'm absolutely fine."

Pete had warned him about a woman's use of the word _fine_.

_"F.I.N.E. stands for fucked-up, insecure, neurotic and emotional," he'd said. "You'll come to less harm clearing mines in Iraq—tread carefully my friend."_

Flashing lights and sirens sounded in Merrick's head now. He didn't need a third eye to detect the situation had escalated quickly. She was well pissed off. He had to limit the damage.

"Lotus, I'm holding up a white flag here. Just let me come round, I can make this better."

"Nothing can make it better," she said. "Goodbye Merrick."

The phone went dead.

"Shit and double-shit," he said and threw the mobile across the room. The projectile toppled a glass vase to the floor, smashing it into dozens of pieces.

"Triple shit," he said.

~ ~ ~

Bright sunlight beamed through the Funky Civet's window. It glinted harshly off the glass counter Merrick was sitting at. The croissant arrived with a steaming cup of coffee but it did little to lighten his mood."

"You look like shit," said Charlie, a stained tea towel draped over his folded, Popeye arms.

"Do you charge extra for the compliments?"

"Not for my regulars. Even the ones that scare my other customers away with their rutting. Just consider it part of the service."

Another look at Merrick and Charlie knew better than to prolong the conversation. He disappeared back into the kitchen.

He hadn't had a good night. Snarling red apes inhabited REM-fuelled dreams, together with Karapetian's eyes, and the figure of Lotus running away down helical corridors—always out of reach.

He tried to think of reasons to dismiss her hysterical behaviour and move on, but he couldn't. He'd fucked up on all fronts, but Lotus' rebuff had stiffened the drive to invest energy in Karapetian's world. The Hierophants valued him, and the prospect of playing a part in a momentous secret revolution fed the excitement. He'd have to be cautious, but he rallied his mental resources like steel rods in the concrete of his resolve, and pulled out his mobile. A text alert flashed over the screen saver. A message from Pete saying he'd waited at the squash court for over half an hour and where the hell was he? Another appointment he'd forgotten.

_Never rains but it pours._

He cleared the screen and punched in the number Karapetian had given him the previous day. Karapetian picked up.

"Merrick, I'm pleased you called back."

"I thought of giving you a poke on Facebook but thought better of it."

"Hah. I see you've retained your sense of humour after yesterday's events. Have you given more thought to my offer?"

"Yeah, as they say in the boardroom—I'm in. At least for now."

There was a pause at the other end. "You have to understand, there can be no freelancers in our order. It's an all-or-nothing decision."

"Okay, whatever." Merrick had learned that everything was negotiable, but it didn't prevent a twinge of disquiet from waking up in his gut.

"This is rather timely. I'm going to be in London this afternoon and I'd like you to be present at a meeting I've set up."

"Okay, who's it with?"

"You remember I spoke about other interested parties?"

"Yes, you did."

"Well, there's another order. They're simply called the Ukurum. They're headed by a man called Jagur Shamon."

"Sounds exotic."

"That's one way of describing him. The name comes from the Turkmenistan word for _abyss_. His order follow what we call the _left-hand path_. You might refer to this branch of magick as satanism, but that's a misnomer. Lucifer would never approve of his motivation or methods."

"What methods are we talking about here, Lazlo? C'mon, if I'm in now, I need to know what we're up against."

Karapetian cleared his throat. "They include torture, both mental and physical, blood sacrifices and use of the will in extraordinary coercion."

"They don't sound pleasant. Where do they stand with the law?"

"Like ourselves, they have considerable resources and have been in existence for many centuries. Believe me, secular law-enforcement is a non-starter. The only thing that limits their influence is the presence of our order. Anyway, it's Shamon himself who approached us. We're meeting on neutral ground at Bethnal Green. There's a decommissioned gas-holder there. Goodness knows why he chooses these places, other than the fact that they're designated as _mage-locked_."

"Sorry, mage-locked? Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"Offensive magick isn't permitted at these sites, although no one has tested their efficacy. Besides, it's considered bad form to engage in combat at such meetings, however hostile."

"Are you sure you can trust to these principles? I remember the gateway debacle—you thought you had that under control too."

"I understand your suspicion. But, if you knew the history and lore of our orders you wouldn't balk so. There hasn't been an infringement of these rules—ever."

"Any idea why he wants to meet?"

"When rival orders set up something like this, it's usually to make an announcement or to try and strike a deal. It could be significant given the developments in syncretic politics recently. I'd like you along to gauge reactions and assess his motivation."

Merrick turned Karapetian's words over in his mind. "Won't he deflect or protect himself from any probing on my part? I notice that you're pretty immune from such interference."

"He won't be expecting it," said Karapetian. "So I'm hoping his guard will be down. You have to understand that your skills are quite unique. There hasn't been a Psychonaut active since the nineteenth century. Nonetheless, you'll need to be subtle. Jason detected your abilities easily when you met yesterday—so proceed cautiously."

"Right. So it looks like you're throwing me in at the deep end."

"Maybe, but with several buoyancy aids to help. There's going to be a group of us, and one of us can create a type of mind-camouflage so you can work undetected."

"Okay, I'll take your word for it. When exactly is it happening?"

Karapetian gave him the street name and time of the meeting, which Merrick noted down.

"I'll be in a black SUV. Meet me half an hour early," Karapetian said.

"One more thing before I sign off," Merrick said, "is there any update on the Simiatan situation?"

"Very little. It's as we feared. The beast has gone to ground, but we'll detect it if there's a reappearance. Such entities disturb the ether violently when they interact with others. Especially this side of the gateway. We've got our best people monitoring the situation."

Merrick imagined Karapetian's Order like a hydra, possessing tentacles infiltrating all levels of society on a global scale. This should have been reassuring, but a part of him rebelled at the thought of an organisation like this wielding so much power.

"I'll be there," he said and disconnected the call.

As he got up from the counter, it crossed his mind that he ought to ring Mike. At least to let him know what had transpired. But how much should he tell him? There was no doubt Mike would think he was one slice short of a sandwich if he told him _everything_. He also had doubts about the legal position of his affiliation with the order. It wasn't like there were any UK laws covering mastery of other dimensions, but Mike could be a conformist stuffed shirt sometimes. He might feel obliged to share Merrick's activities with the establishment, and he didn't want that. Plus, the _tug_ in the background of his mind was more insistent now. He couldn't define it, but he _did_ trust it. The main reason he had risen to the secular heights he had, was down to his talent. He saw himself as Alexander, turning Bucephalus towards the sun—on the precipice of something much bigger than his limited world had allowed thus far.

What was it Alexander's father had said to him?

_My son, you must find a kingdom big enough for your ambitions. Macedonia is too small for you._

He hoped he was treading in Alexander's footsteps, rather than Pyrrhus'.

### 11

## Atom and evil

It was overcast when Merrick arrived at Bethnal Green. The dull, galvanised sky imposed its bleakness on the rust-coloured, forsaken gas-holder.

_Monument to a bygone age_ , Merrick thought. In its shadow he saw Karapetian's black, polished SUV parked in the lane ahead. There were no other vehicles.

Merrick approached the slug of a car, casting his eyes about for anything suspicious. As he got closer, a rear door opened and Jason got out, motioning him to climb in. His physical sense picked up the smell of valeted upholstery. The third eye detected adrenaline and cortisol.

Albany was the driver and greeted him with a nod as Merrick settled into the back seat. Karapetian also gave an acknowledgement and introduced him to the remaining occupant.

"This is Celestia Barone," he said. "She's spending some time with us after a two-year sojourn in Tibet."

Merrick shook the hand of the black-haired woman and noted her angular features.

"Glad to make your acquaintance," she said in a French accent. "Lazlo has been telling me all about you." Realising this woman was no doubt more than she seemed, Merrick didn't prolong the handshake, but he still caught a glimpse of her mind-set. _Fiercely determined, mentally dominant, yet composed as a millpond. Underneath, a rip-tide lurks._

"I hope he included my flair for flower arranging and obsession with glam rock," he said with a smile.

Her mouth curled. "I'm told you bring levity to grave situations."

_Okay, so her sense of humour needs a little thawing out._

"So, what are we up against, Lazlo?" he said, turning back to Karapetian.

"I wish I knew exactly. Shamon will be accompanied by Sarlic, his... what did you call him, Jason?"

"A snake decorated as a bird of paradise."

"Yes. He's little more than an errand boy with a sado-masochistic bent. But don't trifle with him. Like us, Shamon will have brought along a far-seer and possibly one or two lieutenants."

"And you want me to weigh up his motivations. Is that right?"

" _Oui,_ " Barone said. "That and his underlings' states of mind. You can tell a lot about an adversary's strength from the relationship with his chain of command." She looked out of the one-way glass and continued. "For example—are they loyal? And is this loyalty based on fear or respect?"

"It could be both," Merrick replied. "But I'm still going in a bit blind here. I normally have the full background of everyone in a business meeting. Tell me more about this Jagur Shamon."

"The first thing you should know," Jason said, "is that his business is power and domination. He recognises few moral or magickal boundaries and uses anyone and everything to achieve his goals."

"His goals being?"

"Ultimate and complete mastery of a growing empire. He's aware of the gateways, and wishes to exploit them through his completion of the _Great Work_."

"So, not much different to you two then?"

Jason shook his head. "The man's a Philistine. He has no culture and seeks to enslave all who stand in his way. Our purpose is noble. We intend to share the fruits of our endeavours with mankind."

Merrick stroked his chin. "And establish a democratic order amongst the peoples of these new realms?"

"Don't be a fool, Whyte. Be in no doubt, we will rule a new order. But it will be benevolent, not a dictatorship."

"Really? Well I'm not averse to a bit of autocracy, but you'll need to think about checks and balances in this new system of yours—and aren't you overlooking something? Shamon doesn't recognise any boundaries, yet you're trusting this mage-lock thing to keep us safe?"

"That's why Celestia is here," Karapetian said. "She has honed her powers of far-sight during time spent in the East. If anything goes awry, she'll see it coming."

"Wait," Barone interjected, "I sense their approach. They're on the far side of the gas-holder."

"Right," said Karapetian. "Let's go. Albany, stay with the car."

"I'll keep the engine running boss—just in case."

Karapetian and Jason led the way while Barone and Merrick followed.

Merrick attempted a further thawing of relations with Barone. "I've been thinking," he said under his breath, "what's Karapetian's contribution to the arsenal? I get that he's a charismatic leader, but does he have any ability like ours?"

"Watch him in action when you get the chance," she replied. "You will see why he leads us." Celestia Barone walked with a lithe grace, her black leather trousers looking like they were painted on. The halter top gave her freedom of movement but exuded style at the same time.

_Please God, if I die this afternoon, let me be reincarnated as her legwear._ Merrick thought. A brief image of Lotus flashed across his mind at the intrusion of this carnal thought. He tried to banish it but it continued to flutter around the lamp of his new infatuation.

After climbing a set of iron steps, they stepped out on to the rust-streaked dome of the gas-holder. Four figures strode towards them.

"Are you picking up anything, Celestia?" Karapetian said.

"Three more adepts half a mile away. They're unarmed."

"A back-up?" Jason asked.

"It could be. Have you got anything, Merrick?"

"Too far away. Wait until they get closer."

The figure at the front approached as a shadow, darker than the roiling storm clouds above. A dying beam of sunlight revealed a man dressed exotically in a fur-lined tunic. His black hair, formed in knots and plaits, festooned about his shoulders. It framed a weathered, oriental visage. Merrick couldn't see his eyes, hidden as they were by a leather, lattice-like mask. Several black, studded strips hung from it, completing the impression of vanity.

_Just been to a masquerade?_ Merrick thought. Despite the mental jibe, his mouth was dry with apprehension.

By Shamon's side was a tall, long-haired statue of a man. Merrick detected palpable clouds of testosterone rising from him, balanced by an almost equal concentration of oestrogen. _Unusual_ , he thought. _Suggestive of androgyny—both hormones off the scale._

"They're all filled with intent," he whispered to Karapetian. "The one on the far right is hiding his thoughts." The man in question presented an expression grim as granite. "I think we'll need to watch him."

The party of Ukurum stopped a couple of steps in front of them and the man in furs bowed simultaneously with Karapetian.

"Lazlo, it's been quite some time," he said in a gruff, Eastern-inflected voice. The words slid like cobras off his tongue.

"Indeed it has, Jagur. I don't know if I feel honoured or insulted."

Shamon smiled but didn't rise to the bait. "Let me introduce my associates. You know Sarlic of course." He gestured to his right. "But I don't believe you have met Radice or Theta." The one called Radice remained expressionless, but Theta bowed, her headdress almost touching Karapetian as she did so.

"Impressive, but impractical," said Barone under her breath.

Karapetian gave a flourish with his hand. "My colleagues are Jason, Merrick Whyte and Celestia Barone."

"Jason," said Shamon. "Your rise through the Hierophants has been meteoric. Karapetian must value your indefinable skills."

Jason gave a restrained nod and folded his arms.

"And Celestia," Shamon continued, "your far-sight almost rivals that of Theta. You've nurtured some powerful talent, Lazlo. But Mr Whyte, I don't believe we've met."

Merrick forced himself not to give a flippant answer. "It's my privilege," he said instead, mimicking Karapetian's courtesy. _Cold aura_ , he thought, _and no detectable signs of sweating. There's something else too—passionate, erotic love for Sarlic._

"I know you didn't come here to score points," said Karapetian. "You called this meeting, but I must admit surprise, given our previous parting words."

"Yes, they were less than civil. But, in the interests of diplomacy, I felt it would be perspicacious of you to hear what I have to say."

Karapetian narrowed his eyes. "I'm listening."

"Very well. We both know that the procession of recent events has put us all on a threshold of sorts. The age of Horus is now eclipsed by something altogether different. I know of your delving into the gateway system, and you are aware of our order's desire to complete the great work. Both endeavours work towards the same goal."

Shamon spread his hand wide in an arc. "All around us, the jaded ones jostle with each other for economic superiority, polluting the planet as they do so. They are oblivious to our hidden struggle. Our orders are like two great carnivores with huge overlapping niches. The law of ecology predicts this cannot continue. One will displace the other."

"And you think you'll win this competition?" Karapetian said.

"I'll tell you what I think."

_Increasing testosterone and supreme confidence. Also a disdain and lack of respect for his adversary._ The analysis swept across Merrick's pineal gland, and there he saw a weakness.

Shamon continued. "I think you outgrow your resources, limited by your misplaced morality." A trace of spittle seeped onto Shamon's lower lip. Like a Komodo dragon he licked it off.

"Misplaced morality such as refusing to murder innocents or engage in the abhorrent practises of Moloch's disciples?" Karapetian said, the contempt showing in his voice.

"You are following the misguided example of your predecessors, Lazlo. Placing love above will. History is against you on this, which is why I want to give you one last chance to merge your order with our's.

Karapetian shook his head. "You're deluded, Jagur. Our resources, as you call them, are considerable and grow by the month. This is why lesser orders seek us out and offer us agreeable terms of coalition. I think you know this and recognise that your form of extremism is no longer popular amongst our kind. My answer, as I'm sure you predicted, has to be no.

"Predictable, but nonetheless disappointing," Shamon said. "When we next meet, it will not be on such pleasant terms. Never let it be said I didn't offer you a way out."

Merrick sensed the leader's conversation coming to a conclusion. He also sensed something else. _Something coming from Radice—a push of consciousness. Neither overtly hostile nor friendly._ He pushed back and Radice gave way. It was akin to a potential suitor's brush-off.

"Then I believe our business is concluded," Shamon said. "I'd like to wish you every success, Lazlo. But that would be an unconcealed lie. So, I will just say Adieu." He looked at Barone as he said this. The irony wasn't lost on her.

The Ukurum turned their backs on the Hierophants and walked away.

"Well that wasn't exactly productive," Jason said.

"Are we clear, Celestia?" Karapetian said.

"No movement from the other three," she replied.

"Looks like the mage-lock is holding then. Give me some detail Merrick. What was going on underneath the surface there?"

He apprised Karapetian of his assessment as they made their way back to the car. Karapetian paused before opening the door.

"Radice is incompetent," he said. "I imagine Shamon reigned him in before he made a fool of himself. As for this attraction between him and Sarlic... hmm. It could prove useful in the future. Well done, Merrick. I think everything else was as expected. No ultimatum from him and nothing that should divert us from our course."

Barone looked pensive. "I can't help feeling something else went down here."

"He loves to brag and preen himself in public, that's all," Karapetian said. "His order has no earthly allies yet, while ours forge bonds as we speak. Are the arrangements with the Hermetics complete, Jason?"

"Signed in blood," Jason replied.

"What happens now?" Merrick asked, unsure if Jason's remark was literal or figurative.

"I think it's time you moved in to Paraganet House," Karapetian said. "We have much to plan, and you have a lot to learn. No need to pack for an expedition. I think you'll find we have most things you need."

"It's a bit like a five star hotel in some ways," Jason said.

Merrick smiled. "Is there a mini-bar?"

"Always stocked," Karapetian replied. "See you in the morning."

The Hierophants climbed into the SUV, which pulled away with a crunching of grit beneath the over-sized tyres.

Merrick's phone buzzed in his pocket. He slid the connect button without pausing to look at the caller id.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi." Merrick's pulse increased as he recognised Lotus' voice. She sounded hesitant. To Merrick's ears it was a siren song.

"Hi," he said again. "I didn't expect to hear you again... ever." He tried not to make it sound accusatory.

"I may have been a bit... hasty. I got to thinking, and maybe... maybe I flew off the handle. I didn't give you a chance to explain."

"Can I come over?" he interrupted.

"I'd like that," she said.

"I'll be right there."

### 12

## Hey angel

Merrick's life was running at breakneck speed. The encounter with the Ukurum had opened up another window into the secret world Karapetian lived in, but he still didn't have full confidence in the Hierophants. He'd learned long ago that trust was something hard won but easily lost, and he didn't believe either Karapetian or Jason had paid their dues yet.

He'd given Karapetian a summary of his perceptions, but what he could never do was convey the breadth and magnitude of sensory information he'd acquired. Even now he was still processing it. If a cinematographer could record, in meticulous detail the footage his mind had accumulated from this one event, then the archive would form story boards both preternatural and aberrant. His third eye watched the playback while his natural eyes guided him on autopilot through the traffic.

He saw, as a stream of consciousness, the awakening of the Ukurum's power. It was part organism, infused with the chi of a non-empathic entity in an ancient Pangaeal existence. In another sense it was a product of mathematics, sprung from the womb of twisted calculus and abominable quantum fluctuations. It coalesced into being like a proto-sun, collapsing under its own gravity. No light escaped from its black maw. The essential core was a dark energy that, over millions of years, manifested itself as a pathway of magickal lore. With the parameters defined it rose, bound and encapsulated in a shibboleth, drawing practitioners from ancient primate hordes dominating as they spread, plague-like across the continent.

Yet, like any organism, its spiritual DNA mutated. A mitotic offshoot developed, then budded off to form a counter-law, an alchemical check to balance the metastasis of malign intent. It too attracted its own adherents from different tribes. Thus evil sprung from virtue—the child subverting the parent.

Merrick saw in the final frames of the storyboard how a filial battle ebbed and flowed over the centuries. The product was a spectrum of syncretic orders drawing differential sustenance from father and son. It was clear where the Ukurum were positioned on this spectral line, but where did the Hierophants place themselves? And where did he stand?

By the time his car pulled up at the destination, black thunderheads formed over a static-laden sky. There was an electrical charge in the air as he stepped out onto the pavement. Drops of rain heralding a storm spotted the grey slabs with cochineal portent.

The red slab of wood that was Lotus' door stood framed by a Virginia Creeper, its tendrils hugging the brickwork like a suckling infant. He raised the heavy, brass dolphin knocker and let it fall. There was movement behind the door and he tried to imagine her face again. When it opened, his memory of her dissolved—replaced by a newer, more vital image. She'd tied her hair up with a clip, revealing silver hooped earrings. The smile spreading across her face was at the same time warm, yet intriguing.

She looked up at the thunderheads. "Come on in before you're soaked."

He stepped into the narrow hallway and brushed off the raindrops from his jacket.

"Here, let me take that," she said. He handed the jacket over and followed her into an adjoining room. It was a spartan affair with only a chair and threadbare settee for furniture. Oil paint stained the bare floorboards and the scent of thinners filled the air. Canvasses, both blank and painted leaned against every wall. An easel supported one board in the centre of the room. He looked at it closely in the dimming light and saw it was a portrait of a man, more sculptured than painted. She'd laid the oils in thick furrows, sweeping this way and that in a swirling pattern. The palette knife, parked below the picture dripped cerise on the pine below.

"It's me isn't it?" he said, walking towards it.

She threw his jacket on the sofa. "I started in the early hours. Couldn't sleep, so I picked up the knife and kept going. There are rare times when art consumes me and I can't eat or do anything until I'm finished."

The face was abstract, staring straight out from the canvas. Around it a whirlpool of brightly coloured glyphs and runes emanated, spiralling into the background.

"It wasn't until my phone alarm went off that I realised I'd been totally absorbed. That's when I rang you."

He turned to look at her and perceived a mixture of mischief and desire. It was bewildering, as if the conflicting qualities changed from one to the other, like heads and tails on a spinning coin. In the end, he stopped trying to fathom her. He took her face gently in both hands and pressed his mouth to hers.

~ ~ ~

Lying in the bed afterwards, Merrick looked down at her. Linen sheets, half draped on the floor, were tousled across their bodies. She dozed with her head on his chest. He felt breath on his skin, could smell the jasmine-scent of her hair and knew this was a fragile completeness. Their love-making had been wordless and exquisitely intense. It bore them through the rapture of hours until they forgot themselves.

She stirred, looking up at him with doe eyes. "What time is it?"

He looked at his watch. "Seven thirty. You need to be somewhere?"

"No. Well, I told the gang I'd meet up with them at the Twisted Wheel later."

"You're in a gang?" he said, propping himself up on one elbow. "Are we talking outlaws here or Hell's Angels, maybe?"

She looked out of the corner of her eyes. "Well, if you can keep a secret, I've joined the Yakuza."

He gave her a skeptical look. "You don't have enough tattoos."

She paused. "I guess I should apologise."

"You guess?"

"Let me finish. You need to know why I went crazy." She sat up and drew her knees into her chest. "I haven't made the best choices in my relationships. It comes from being impulsive. I get caught up in the moment and then read too much into things. It seems my history is littered with men who wanted me as a possession, but then insisted they be free to do... well, whatever."

"You don't go a bundle on open relationships then?"

"It's not like we ever discussed it, they just assumed. The last guy was particularly shady, and I became your typical trophy-girl. I thought I could handle it, but there was only so much I could take. I always had to be available for him but when I demanded his attention, I'd just get the cold shoulder."

"I see, so when I didn't show last night, you thought I was... "

"... just like the rest."

"No one could blame you. I should've called earlier, but I was tied up in a... business meeting."

She looked up at his hesitation. "High stakes stuff?"

"The highest."

"There's so much I don't know about you. So much I _want_ to know. But I know I can't be pushy. I feel this connection with you. It's like we communicate on another level. Am I crazy for thinking that?"

"There's nothing wrong with crazy. Some of my best friends are bat shit. He kissed her again. "We've got plenty of time to get to know each other. I just need to sort out a few things before I reveal all."

"Don't tell me. You work for MI6?"

"Yeah, you got me," he said, and pressed the end of her nose. He looked around, a conspirator's expression on his face. "We're on the trail of the Yakuza and my job is to turn you so we can get inside information."

She grabbed hold of a pillow and hit him over the head with it. "I've been duped," she said, giggling.

He threw aside the pillow and playfully pushed her down. Then, with unspoken consent they made love again.

Much later, after Lotus had rustled them up an omelette each, they agreed to go out and meet her friends. He'd abandoned all thought of packing, and his impending removal to Karapetian's home. He wanted to move closer into Lotus' orbit. The collision of occult worlds could wait—he had his own stellar union to distract him.

They jumped stepping stones of history with each other. Lotus spoke of her art and touched on the kleptomania that had affected her from childhood.

"I don't look on it as a condition or an illness," she said. "I know I should feel guilty, but it inspires me. After a spree I can lock myself away for days and produce my best work. Besides, I hardly keep any of the stuff. My friends wonder how I can be so generous with my gifts."

He'd laughed out loud at this. Sharing a personal history was harder for him. He felt a moment of melancholy recounting how his father had left when he was young. Then cancer took his mother, leaving an aunt and uncle to adopt him during the teenage years. The job title, _financial negotiator_ , seemed to satisfy her for the moment. Nonetheless, he felt fraudulent giving out such paltry morsels. They would have to suffice until he knew more about this enigmatic woman, and how she aligned with the tangent his new career was taking him.

### 13

## Caught in the middle

They stepped out of her front door under a big yellow umbrella. The rain had poured over the last few hours and formed dark pools in the uneven tarmac. The sound of the gutters swallowing the sky's torrent was almost deafening. In the end Merrick hailed a taxi, and they rode the rest of the way into Soho.

A queue of bedraggled clubbers, dressed in skimpy skirts or jeans, stretched along the street and round the corner of the Twisted Wheel. Two bouncers admitted small groups as others left, seeking their thrills elsewhere.

"Looks like we're in for a long, wet wait," Merrick said. He paid the cabbie, and they dashed across the rain-slicked street.

"Just you watch this," she said, and strode towards the front of the queue.

"Whoa, hold on there, Missy," said the shorter of the two security detail. Like her partner she wore a black Goretex slicker with the Twisted Wheel logo on the breast. "You're going to have to work on your queue-jumping skills if you want to stand a hope in hell of getting past me."

"And you're going to have to work on your people skills if you want that painting you commissioned ready for next week, Gabby."

The bouncer held her torch up and shone it into Lotus' face. The beam made her wince.

"Oh, it's you, Lotus. How long are you going to use that line to beg favours from me? The painting was due last month. I'm getting to think you're holding out on me."

She turned to her partner revealing a serpentine tattoo on her neck as she did so. The ink was as black as her hair was blonde. "Sam, what're the numbers like in there. Can we squeeze a couple more in?"

Sam unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt and barked into it. He got an equally sharp reply. "Marty says they're a hundred over fire regs already."

"In for a penny, in for a pound?" Lotus said.

"Fuck it, in you go. But I didn't see you, all right?" Gabbie said and lifted the cordon for them. "I want the painting delivered Monday morning, okay?"

"It's a promise," shouted Lotus as she pulled Merrick through a gaudily coloured door. Behind them they could hear a couple at the front of the queue protesting and Gabby giving short shrift.

Merrick paid the entry fee, and they offered the back of their hands for the stamp. Inside, a techno bass thump from the house PA assaulted their ears. Merrick felt it in his ribs more than hearing it in his ears. Strobes flickered across the bouncing throng and Lotus had to prise bodies apart as she sought to navigate across the floor. He closed his third eyelid to prevent sensory overload.

She turned round to him and pressed her mouth to his ear. "My friends... on... upper level," he heard. She pointed to a staircase lying beyond the writhing, sweaty mass and proceeded like an ice-breaker through them. Up on the balconied first level a group were seated on sofas arranged in an open square. He recognised Lapin, his arm draped over a flat-topped Brad Pitt lookalike. The disconnected synth bursts had reduced in volume to airhorn level up here, but it was enough for Merrick to hear Lapin shout a greeting. He got up and engulfed Lotus in a bear-hug. Merrick held out his hand, but the sculptor pulled him into an ardent embrace.

"Let me get you both a drink," he said. "This place mixes the best cocktails in Soho." He swaggered over to the bar without asking what they wanted. Lotus, meanwhile, made some introductions. He didn't hear most of them but nodded greetings in turn to a couple of girls with exotically coloured hair, a white guy sporting dreadlocks and a group of West Indians with sculpted beards.

They sank into a leather sofa and Lotus spoke to the group in an animated fashion. They shared what he assumed were E's but declined the offer of one from Dreadlocks. He felt as out of place as a monk in a brothel but tried to laugh in the right places. He was relieved when Lapin's familiar face appeared above a tray of cocktails.

"What are they?" he asked.

"Cuban Mojitos," Lapin said, putting two glasses on the table. "Coconut rum and soda, garnished with lime and mint. Or if you fancy something with more punch, then have one of these firecrackers." He placed a deep blue drink in front of Merrick and raised his red zombie in a toast.

"To Lapin's pirate band of artisans," he said. "May we all drink deeply of love and die young and beautiful." They clinked their glasses together, splashes of coloured liquid falling on to the glass table. Merrick sipped his firecracker and welcomed the exotic warmth sliding down his throat.

He'd barely taken a second sip when Lotus took him by the hand and led him down to the dance floor.

"Hey, you freaks wanna shake the house?" The DJ's voice blared out of the PA. "Then welcome to the melting pot. Let's hear you go crazy!"

The crowd whooped in delight as another trance favourite was put on the turntable. Lotus held up her arms and swayed with the rhythm, her white crop top shining fluorescent in the UV. He watched her dance with an inane smile on his face, entranced by the sensual sway of her hips. He realised he must be moving with the grace of a marionette, complete with jerking limbs and epileptic spasms.

"You dance like Barney the dinosaur," she yelled.

"I know—it's a gift," he replied.

She laughed, and at that moment he saw her as Aditi, the Hindu sun-goddess—her smile the only sunshine he needed.

As he moved with the rhythm of the crowd he opened up the iris of his third eye again. Amongst the expected aphrodisiac scents he detected a jarring but familiar odour, experienced for the first time just that afternoon.

He looked around but could only see an ocean of euphoric faces. Then, over by the entrance, he saw a baleful glare on a face—Sarlic. Radice and Theta flanked him as he pulled two revellers apart and strode towards him.

"Lotus," he shouted in her ear. "We have to go."

She looked at him, brow furrowed and cupped a hand to her ear.

"Now—we have to leave now," he yelled, louder this time. He yanked her off the dance floor more roughly than he would have liked and pushed his way up to the cocktail bar. Behind him the Ukurum were closing in.

They found Lotus' friends laughing and joking.

"Lapin," he shouted, "is there a back way out?"

Lapin could see the concern on his face. "Follow me," he replied.

"What's the hurry?" Lotus protested.

"Just trust me," he replied.

"But I was just getting into the party."

"Believe me, the party is getting a little too interesting." He looked over his shoulder and saw the three pursuers clearing the top step of the balcony area.

"Over here," said Lapin, holding an exit door open. They stepped through into a dimly lit, cobbled backstreet. Large overfull dumpsters lined one wall and dribbled refuse onto the ground. The rain fell so hard it stung the face like needles.

"Those freaks. I take it they're not on your Christmas list?" Lapin said.

"They forgot my birthday, so I deleted them," Merrick replied. "Which way? They're right on our heels."

"Up here."

They ran towards the main street as they heard the fire escape door slamming open behind. As they approached the junction a figure stepped out of the darkness. The light of the street ahead threw a long shadow from her headdress as she stood legs apart.

"Does she have a sister?" said Lapin. "I thought that was her back in the club.

Merrick didn't answer. He was looking at what Theta held in her hand. Three long chains snaked to the floor from a steel hilt. Barbed spheres tipped the ends, their points glinting in the light.

"She moves fast," he said under his breath.

"Who are they, and why are they after you?" Lotus said, her eyes wide.

"I only met them this afternoon," said Merrick. "As to why they're after me—fuck knows." He looked back and saw the remaining two Ukurum walking, almost nonchalantly in their direction.

"Whyte," Sarlic spoke, his baritone voice reverberated off the alley walls. "Forgive me if I don't call you Merrick. We won't have time to get to know each other on a first name basis. Don't bother asking what I want with you, I think it's pretty obvious."

A whirling noise started as Theta swung the modified morning star around her head. Sarlic pulled out two metal discs edged with large, vicious teeth.

Merrick had received a hiding years before after a contretemps with a cuckolded skinhead. He swore he'd take up martial arts lessons as a result, but it was an aspirational target he'd let fall through the cracks of his busy life.

"Now look here," he said, playing for time. "You know that we're under Karapetian's protection. He won't take kindly to you threatening us."

"Who's Karapetian?" asked Lotus.

"Not now. I'm trying to think," he said.

Sarlic raised one of the discs, holding it like a frisbee. "Karapetian doesn't take his charge of you seriously, otherwise he wouldn't let you out of his sight."

Merrick heard a beeping noise next to him. Glancing sideways he saw Lapin punching three digits into his phone in rapid succession.

"Emergency—yes. I want the police."

Merrick only remembered hearing the disc. It rang as it left Sarlic's hand. A split second later it buried itself in Lapin's neck making a sound like a cleaver chopping into a butcher's joint. Lapin was thrown to the ground. His mobile scattered across the cobbles.

"Lapin," Lotus cried. She crouched over him, her hands over her mouth.

Merrick spread himself wide, trying to shield Lotus from Sarlic's assault, but he couldn't cover her from Theta's approach behind. He saw the determination in her eyes as she swung her arm in an arc. The flail whipped through the air. By sheer reflex, Merrick threw himself at Lotus, rolling over with her until they came to rest at the foot of a dumpster. The spiked balls swished down against the rain-soaked cobbles, sparks flying.

Sarlic stepped over Lapin's body. The blood formed crimson rivulets in the runnels of the alley as rain mingled with it in a sanguine flow. "I wish I could make this more painful, but I'm under orders to dispatch you swiftly." He pulled out a bowie knife. Merrick could see the dark intent in his eyes. He knew there would be no hesitation.

The third eye was open wide. In Merrick's mind he felt an involuntary surge, like magma boiling up through a vent. It erupted from him in a plume, coiling towards the Urukum lieutenant. Sarlic dropped the knife and brought his hands up to the side of his head. He cried in agony, twisting and writhing as his sodden hair flung round like a bead curtain. He staggered back into Radice, who had the presence of mind to catch him in his arms.

Lotus' face was a mask of incomprehension. Merrick could hardly see through the curtain of rain running into his eyes, but he heard the sound of Theta's heels on the cobbles. The Ukurum swung the flail around her head. As it accelerated round again, she let go of it and collapsed to the ground. Standing behind her was Gabby. Taser wires rose out of Theta's back as she shuddered on the ground.

"Eat 50,000 volts bitch," Gabby muttered. Her partner ran up behind, followed by the sound of sirens.

Dropping Sarlic to the ground, Radice leapt an impossible distance across the alley. He landed in front of Gabby, growling at her as he ripped the electrodes from Theta's back and lifted her up.

"What the f—" was all Sam could say as the Ukurum carried Theta off down the alley. Sarlic, still holding hands to his head, stumbled after them.

"Don't just stand there," said Gabby. "Follow them. Motherfuckers have sliced Lapin."

"You gotta be kiddin'," Sam replied, "did you see the size of that bastard? He must hold the world record for the long jump too."

Headlights flooded the alleyway as two patrol cars screeched to a halt.

"We shouldn't be here," Merrick said.

"We can't leave now," Lotus replied, "Lapin's badly hurt. He needs us."

Merrick looked down and sighed. "Okay, I'm just not sure how I can explain this situation."

"Nobody move," shouted a policeman in a fluorescent jacket. He had drawn a baton in one hand and a torch in the other. Other officers swarmed round, assessing the situation.

"You with the taser. Drop it!"

Gabby complied. "The bad guys are getting away," she said, "you need to hot-foot it after them."

The lead officer nodded his head at two others. "Take the car and run them to ground. Bill, Mark—follow them on foot. They can't get far, Security here just tasered one of them. Hey, I said no one move."

Lotus had crawled over to Lapin's motionless body. "He's not breathing," she said. "For God's sake someone, call an ambulance."

### 14

## Holy diver

The room was stuffy and smelled of new emulsion painted over the sweat stains of a thousand interrogations. A single neon tube spread its diffuse light on two detectives and their sole witness.

Detective Inspector Greg Phillipson watched the suspect being interviewed with his head cocked to one side. To the casual observer the DI would have looked distracted and bemused, but those who knew him would tell you his mind was as fast as a gin trap. Those eyes took in every detail.

Phillipson had allowed his junior, DS Calvery, to lead. He felt it was time Calvery cut his teeth on a major case and with six months experience he wasn't doing a bad job. Everything by the book of course—he wouldn't expect anything less. But Phillipson knew that interviews hinged not so much on how closely you followed the rules, but on how much elasticity you could exact from the situation. Basically, what you could get away with. _Whatever it takes to get the job done,_ was his motto. It had landed him in hot water a couple of times, but despite a 12 week suspension five years ago, it had served him well.

Now this guy, Whyte, interested him. He was clean cut, well-groomed and the expensive suit he wore yelled executive gloss. His speech was clear and polite, and he wasn't intimidated by authority. Yet he looked run-down. Burst capillaries traced across the whites of his eyes and he kept rubbing his face like he was trying to keep himself awake.

_No doubt strung out on a coke downer._

It was the drug of the nouveau rich and he fit the mould. The brief background check he'd run revealed that Merrick Whyte was a negotiator and brokered deals in the boardroom jungle. Apart from that there was little information, but a couple of the grunts were digging a bit deeper. There was something else as well. Something in Phillipson's professional gut told him he was hiding something. So he watched and listened.

Merrick tried to rally his thoughts as Calvery executed the introductions and formalities professionally. He'd already pressed play on the recorder.

"So, Merrick Whyte," started Calvery. "Thank you in advance for your cooperation. We realise this evening has been quite traumatic for you and appreciate the time you're giving."

Merrick took a sip of the cocoa he'd been given. It tasted like mud, but it was hot, and it was warm.

The DS continued. "You're here because you witnessed the murder of Gerry Salkeld—also known as Lapin. I want to talk to you about your relationship with the deceased and the events which led up to his death. Is that okay?"

Merrick nodded.

"I gather you'd only known him for a couple of days. You arranged with your girlfriend to meet up with him at the Twisted Wheel. Correct?"

"It was Lotus who made the call, but yes."

"So, take us through the events starting from when you arrived at the club."

Merrick gave his account, minus one or two details such as the names of the Ukurum and their bizarre abilities. He wasn't going to even attempt to explain that. Apart from the pressing need to get Lotus out of here and go to ground, he felt like a piledriver had levelled him, and he would gladly have collapsed comatose on the nearest couch. He needed this over with—quick.

The third eye was still aware. It told him he needed to watch his step—particularly with the guy slouched back with hands behind his head. The one who was letting his partner do all the talking.

"Right, so you saw this man throw something at Mr Salkeld? We haven't done the full autopsy yet, but it looks like he was killed by some type of throwing disc, commonly used in eastern martial arts. Are you familiar with such weapons Mr Whyte?"

"No. I mean I know they exist, but I've never seen one—until tonight."

"And you say you'd never met any of these three people before?"

"No, never." Merrick glanced briefly at Phillipson. "It was a completely unprovoked attack. I take it you've not apprehended anyone yet?"

"I'm afraid they gave us the slip."

The answer didn't surprise Merrick, but it gave him the chance to interrupt the train of questioning.

Calvery shuffled his papers until he found what he wanted. "Let's get back to the descriptions. The guy with the throwing star was tall, with long shoulder-length hair. The woman had an all in one black body suit and a weird headdress. The security staff said she also carried some kind of whip.

"Yeah. That's what I saw too."

"With those descriptions, you'd think they'd stand out like a sore thumb. Can you add anything at all? However small a detail, it could help us track them down."

Merrick exhaled. "You know, it all happened so fast. Beyond what you've said, I've got nothing to add."

Merrick could see Phillipson twisting his mouth. The DI uncrossed his legs and then re-crossed them.

"Okay, now we get to the really strange bit. The bouncer who fired the taser reckoned she saw the other guy leap across the alleyway like he was on springheels. Did you see that?"

"He was quite agile, yes. But as I say, things were moving so fast—I also had my eye on the long haired one."

Calvery went round the houses for another ten minutes but didn't manage to extract any other information from Merrick. Finally, he made a clicking sound with his tongue. "I don't think there's any more questions at the moment, Mr Whyte. We don't have much to go on but we're checking the CCTV footage in and around the club. It may throw up something."

"Can I go now? I could do with a rest and something a little stronger than this cocoa."

"No problem—I understand." Calvery double-checked Merrick's contact details. "We've got your statement but we'll want to talk to you again, most likely tomorrow. You aren't planning on going anywhere are you?"

Merrick gave a negative.

"Until we find a motive for the attack on Mr Salkeld there's a chance your safety could be compromised. I recommend you both stay somewhere else tonight."

"Don't worry, I've got a friend who can put us up," he said and rose to go.

"Just a second," Phillipson said. "I just thought of something."

Merrick paused, resting his hands on the table for support. "If you don't mind, I've had enough of the questions. I need to see how my girlfriend is. It's gonna take her a long time to get over this."

"Yes," said the DI. "It's her I'm interested in. Something she said in her interview which doesn't quite tally with your story. She seemed to think you _had_ met these people before. Now why would she say something like that?"

"I have no idea. It's not like I'd forget them. Shock can sometimes do that to you."

"Do what?" the DI said, leaning forward.

Merrick looked at the ceiling. "Make you hazy on the details. Get things the wrong way round."

_Phillipson's frontal lobe is firing off like a sparkbox. He knows I'm bullshitting._

The DI held his gaze, saying "You're right. People get fuzzy with their recollection of events—for all sorts of reasons. That's why we want to talk to you both again. Once you've got over the worst of the shock."

Merrick nodded. "That's very considerate."

~ ~ ~

Outside he found Lotus with her head on the shoulder of a friend. He remembered her name from the club—Janice. Lotus turned to him, a look of suspicion passing over her face.

"Hi," he said, sitting down. "How are you bearing up?"

"She's acting kinda weird," Janice said. "I'm worried about her."

Merrick looked at Lotus' hands. They were still caked in Lapin's blood. He sensed her shock, but also something else—could it be a perverse curiosity? He dismissed the thought immediately.

"What say we get out of here?" Merrick said.

Janice looked at Lotus. "I think you might be better off at my—"

"It's okay," Lotus said, interrupting. "Merrick and I need to talk." She picked up her handbag and hugged Janice.

"Remember" Janice said, "if you need me—just call." She looked at Merrick. "Take good care of her."

"I will," he said. "Thanks for all you've done."

In the foyer, Merrick stopped to check his mobile. Relief washed over him. The message said _Come out the front door. There'll be a white van waiting. Get in as soon as possible._

"I've arranged for some friends to pick us up," he said.

Lotus stopped him. "Merrick. What's going on? Who were those people?"

"Look, I'll tell you everything as soon as we're out of here, but those characters aren't the type to give up easily. We need to make sure we're safe."

She looked at him, her eyes revealing a question she didn't dare ask.

He placed both hands on her shoulders. "Lotus, trust me."

On the street the rain had stopped. Dampness hung in the air together with the smell of spilt oil and exhaust fumes.

"There's our pickup," he said and looked both ways. There was no motion from either direction. The white van was parked opposite a short line of taxis. He pulled her by the hand and they sprinted towards the vehicle. As they approached, a side panel slid back and they dived in.

"Let's go," said Jason's familiar voice, and the diesel engine growled to life. Merrick noticed it wasn't Albany behind the wheel.

"Well, there's no obvious tail," Jason said.

"Could they be tracking us by other means?" Merrick asked.

"It's possible but Celestia will pick it up on the ether if they are."

Merrick acknowledged the far-seer sitting opposite. She nodded at Merrick then closed her eyes in concentration.

"We need to call at my place," Merrick said. "There's some things I need."

"Not advisable," replied Jason. "We should get you back to Paraganet House. Karapetian insisted. There's no telling if and when the Ukurum will try to take you out. Your girlfriend here will just be collateral damage."

"Fuck it, Jason. Why didn't you see them coming? I thought there was a truce declared?"

Jason looked out the rear window. "We miscalculated."

"Is that all you've got to say? For fuck's sake, a friend of ours died tonight."

"That's regrettable. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Driver," Merrick said, "take the next left."

The driver looked round at Jason.

"Do what the man says," said the Thaumaturgist. Then, turning to Merrick said, "But you've got fifteen minutes—tops." Merrick nodded and uttered brief directions to the driver.

"Merrick," Lotus spoke up. "I don't know these people. Who exactly are they? And where are they taking us?"

"Go on," said Jason. "You might as well tell her. She's going to be spending some time under our protection anyway."

Lotus turned to Merrick, her eyes showing confusion. Guilt fell like a suffocating blanket over him.

"This is Jason," he said. "He and Celestia are representatives of an organisation I'm involved with. I've been helping them acquire certain assets. Those who attacked us tonight represent a hostile takeover bid."

Jason pursed his lips. "He could be a politician. He's mastered the art of euphemism and damage control."

"What sort of organisation employs freaks who carry out murder with medieval weapons?" she said.

The van lurched to the right then steadied itself. "Sorry, nearly missed a turning," said the driver.

"Better tell her the whole truth," Jason said.

So Merrick did. At least the salient details.

After he had finished, Lotus held her head back and ran her hands through her hair.

"My God, this is crazy. I don't know what to think. How can I believe any of this shit?"

Merrick took her hand. "Believe me. I know it sounds like something out of a Ludlum thriller but you saw what the Ukurum did tonight. We've got to take the threat seriously. I'm so sorry I got you into this."

The van pulled into a space and blocked the entrance to an underground park. The driver killed the engine.

"Is there anything happening out there?" Jason said to Celestia.

" _Ne rien_."

"Right. Get what you need and then straight back out here," Jason said.

"I'm taking Lotus in with me," Merrick said.

"She'll be safer in here," Jason said.

"I'm going," Lotus said.

Jason shrugged in resignation.

Merrick entered the flat and bounded up the stairs. Lotus followed. The sound of gunshots and shouting floated down from the lounge.

"Do you always leave the TV running?" she said.

"It's on a timer," Merrick said, "together with the lights. Gives the impression someone's in. I'm going to put some stuff in a suit case. You stay in here but keep away from the windows."

In the bedroom he plucked some clothes from a wardrobe, threw in a sponge bag and tossed a laptop and charger on top of it all. He looked up at the wall and saw his mounted sabre and scabbard hanging there. Mike had brought it back for him from one of his many excursions to North Africa. God knows how he'd got it past customs, but there it was. He wondered what possible benefit there could be from taking it. He couldn't even master the use of a penknife.

"Aw fuck it," he said and unclipped it from the bracket. It just fit if he placed it diagonally across the suitcase. He closed the lid and pulled the zip round.

Back in the lounge, Lotus stood watching a news bulletin. The face on the screen stopped him in his tracks. The newsreader was rounding up her report.

"Police have described this as a particularly savage attack and are appealing for witnesses who may have been in the Kingston Road area of Shoreditch between the hours of three and five o' clock this afternoon."

The suitcase fell from Merrick's hand. "Oh my God, it's Albany."

### 15

## Between two hearts

Lotus was caught between a hazy dreamworld and the cold, sharp immersion known as reality. Dreams were at once illogical but also emotive of a paradoxical certainty. For some unknown reason, locked in the box called denial, she hung on to the soft candy floss of this netherworld. She knew at the back of her mind it was a fleeting comfort, but she chose to wallow in it, nonetheless.

She was strolling with her father along the cliffs of Santorini again. This much she knew to be real. The hot balm of the Mediterranean sun warmed her skin and she could smell the salt spray in the air as she had so many times before. The cerulean sea met the azure sky in a wash that imprinted itself on the memory. She had never felt so tranquil in her whole life.

"Look at it Lotus," her father was saying. "At this moment you own all that you can see, and it owns you." She looked up at him. He shielded his eyes against the sun, the hook of his nose, which she had inherited silhouetted against the sky. Solid and dependable he stood, like the caldera cliffs he surmounted.

"Is it really _all_ mine Papa?"

"Every last detail," he replied. "No one can take it away from you." He leaned over, bringing himself down to her height. She could smell the exotic aftershave he wore, like an invisible garment. "Remember this feeling you have right now and hold it next to your heart. Seek out experiences, find people and places that cause you to exalt as you do now. But also look to the shadows. Sometimes they hold the greatest reward.

And so she had followed her heart and surfed waves even more thrilling and majestic than this. But her father hadn't told her there was a price to pay if you didn't let go. Didn't climb out of the waters and leave the waves to crash on the shore.

These meditations drew her back from her tower in the air. She was aware of the heavy cotton sheet covering her naked body and the beam of bright sunshine shafting through from outside.

She lifted herself up onto one elbow to escape the glare and saw Merrick, comatose, lying next to her. His face wore a calmness she was loath to disturb, so she simply watched him. His russet, curled hair was boyish, but the lines traced on his cheeks and around his eyes told a story of battles hard won. His chest, devoid of hair, rose and fell in a comforting rhythm. In the end, her need for comfort overcame the reluctance of waking him, and she lay her head down on his chest.

He was a god of stone. A buttress to support her if the world sought to crumble her walls. He seemed the perfect kind of stranger, but she had made bad choices before, attracted to those who's cliffs tried to hide the sun from her. Was Merrick any different?

She knew whatever decision she made about him did not just affect her. Last night had shown as much.

His breathing changed rhythm, and she felt fingers running through her hair.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked.

"Not long. What time is it?"

Merrick looked at his watch. "Christ, it's two o'clock in the afternoon."

~ ~ ~

"That Jason guy told us not to rush up," Lotus said.

"Yeah, but it's been at least eight hours."

"You looked like you needed it."

Merrick swung out of bed and reached for his clothes. "I need to talk to Karapetian."

"You need to talk to me too." She sat up, fully alert now.

"I know, I know. But there's little more I can tell you beyond what we discussed last night."

"You hardly told me _anything_."

This was true. His conscience winced at the thin fabric of detail he had disclosed before he hit the pillow. She deserved to know more, but would she believe him? Hell, he hardly believed it himself.

"Lotus," he said, taking her hands in his. "I promise I'll tell you what I can. But for now, please realise that we're safe here."

"I don't want to feel safe," she said, worrying away at her fingernails. "I want to know more about this other life you've got."

"I understand your confusion. Who wouldn't be after what you've been through? It's just going to take time to adjust to what's going on here." He struggled into a pair of trousers and threw his arms into his shirt sleeves. "Just let me talk to Karapetian. I need to get an update. Then we can make plans."

"That's what I'm worried about," she said. "Will your plans include me?"

Just then there was a knock at the door. Celestia entered wearing an arcadian expression.

"I sensed you had awoken," she said. "Will you both come down for something to eat?"

Merrick looked at Lotus with raised eyebrows. She pulled the bed sheet up to her neck and nodded.

"We're both famished," he said. "Can you give us a moment?"

" _Bien sûr_ , I'll wait outside."

Once the door was closed, Lotus said "What did she mean, _I sensed you were awake_?"

He was about to say it was a figure of speech, but then changed his mind. "She has this ability. As you've guessed, most of the people here do."

"Was she eavesdropping?"

"I'd like to think not," he said.

They both dressed in a hurry and met Celestia in the corridor.

"Lotus, we haven't been officially introduced," she said and held out her hand. "I'm Celestia." Lotus cautiously shook it. "This way please," she said and strode off.

Merrick shrugged. "Guess we're meant to follow."

She led them through to the back of the mansion and a small room with lavish furnishings. They seated themselves at a walnut table, oval in shape. Silver dishes were placed upon it, containing perfectly cut sandwiches, cold chicken legs and an assortment of pastries.

Celestia sat with them as they ate.

"Any news about the Ukurum?" Merrick said between bites.

"There have been developments," she replied. "Lazlo is going to join us shortly and he'll tell you what he knows. Needless to say, our order is on full alert now. Shamon has declared hostilities through what he has done. It's the equivalent of war."

Merrick watched Lotus stop eating, concern etched on her face.

"What exactly does that mean?" he asked.

Celestia took a sip from her glass. "Our orders have been at odds for over a century now, but any acts of aggression have been sporadic and confined to individuals. The Ukurum have been responsible for an escalation of atrocities in the last month. What happened last night was the final act that tipped the balance."

"This means you're going to tell what you know to the police?" Lotus said.

Celestia squinted at her. "This is beyond the capability of the authorities. It is not without reason we refer to those outside our orders as the jaded ones."

Lotus flared her nostrils. "Well, speaking as a jaded one, I think your ability to deal with these gangsters leaves a lot to be desired. Surely things have gone too far?"

Merrick put his hand on her wrist. "I'm sorry but she's right. We'd have a hard time convincing the police about the Ukurum. Lazlo's people have resources they don't possess."

She pulled her hand away. "I don't see much evidence of these resources. Here we are, holed up God knows where, and in fear of our lives. Meanwhile Lapin's killers are still out there."

"I admit they put us on the back foot," said Celestia. "We didn't know that Shamon had knowledge of the asset we acquired."

Merrick looked at her inquisitively. "This asset being...?"

Celestia returned his gaze. "That would be you, Merrick."

"Me? What are you talking about?"

"It's better coming from Lazlo. He has the full history."

Merrick looked at his watch. "When did you say he'd be meeting us?"

"He'll be along any minute now."

Lotus pushed the plate away from her, the food half eaten. "Well you lot can have your conversations. I'm going to get some air."

"I'll show you our gardens," said Celestia.

Lotus scowled. "Guide or escort?"

"Both."

"Come and find me when you're finished," she said, looking at Merrick.

He avoided her pointed glare. "No problem."

Once on his own, a thousand questions plagued his mind. He'd lost his appetite too and left the sandwich on the plate, uneaten. The power he'd exerted over Sarlic in their skirmish and his astral journey beyond the gateway were bewildering in themselves. But the idea that he was an asset, or a commodity sickened him. He wasn't going to be used in this way.

His thoughts were interrupted as Karapetian and Jason bustled in.

"Merrick, glad to see you're up and rested," Karapetian said, "we've got a lot to talk about." They pulled up two intricately carved chairs. Karapetian's girth dwarfed his seat.

"Before you start, I've got some questions," Merrick said, folding his arms. "First Albany. What happened to him?"

Karapetian paused before answering. "We had to let him go."

"What? As in, _let him take a long walk off a short pier_?"

Karapetian sighed. "If you think we had anything to do with his death, then you're mistaken. We found he'd been sleeping with the enemy, so to speak. That's how the Ukurum knew about you, and why they've been one step ahead of us. We simply told him to leave."

"You might as well have written his death warrant. You do know they found him in pieces don't you?"

"What were we to do? We could hardly forgive him and let him stay."

"You could have protected him."

"We would have been compelled to detain him. In the end, he saw the sense of walking out the door."

Merrick got up and crooked his hand on his hip. "So how vulnerable are we? The Ukurum seem to be exacting a hefty toll."

"They have a formidable array of weaponry and personnel at their disposal. But we have the advantage of talent, organisation and superior knowledge."

"Especially since Albany enlightened us about Shamon's next move before he left," Jason added .

"He volunteered the info?"

"Not exactly," Karapetian replied.

Merrick threw his hands up in despair. "Come on Lazlo, when the fuck are you going to level with me? If you want me onside, you're going to have to fill me in on the detail. Did you extract the intelligence by torture?"

Karapetian held up his hand. "Merrick, Merrick, there are better methods than inflicting pain. We were able to use a conventional truth serum on him. Okay, we had to hold him down to administer it but that's as far as it went."

"I see." Merrick walked over to the table and leaned on it with both hands, looking down at Karapetian. "So what makes you any better than the Ukurum?"

"Sit down Merrick," Jason said.

"I'm not in the mood for sitting down. In fact I'm thinking of terminating our agreement."

"Hear us out first," said Karapetian. "There are some things you should know."

Merrick remained standing, his face flushed with red. "Go on then."

Karapetian folded his hands. "As we've already told you, the wealth of opportunity lying beyond thegateways is within our grasp. It is also within Shamon's. We learned from Albany that he needs an important artefact to complete the Great Work. A scroll, currently housed in the British Museum as part of a visiting exhibition from the far East, contains the invocations he needs for the ritual. He plans to take it tomorrow night. We, of course, don't need the scroll as we have your extraordinary talents to gain access to the netherworlds—and he knows this."

"Hence the attempt on your life," put in Jason. "So, before you get all soft hearted about Albany. Understand this—it was he who served you up on a plate for Shamon and Sarlic."

~ ~ ~

Lotus stood next to a gargoyle fountain. Metre-high delphiniums and pink-flowered lupins loomed over her. She breathed in the heady fragrance of the garden, but far from soothing her, it clung to the insides of her throat. A bit like Celestia, who hovered a few paces away. It looked like the woman wasn't going to let Lotus out of her sight.

Her life was unravelling again, just as she thought it was knitting together in a positive direction. She ran the fingertips of one hand across the palm of the other and tried to think of her options, but the rising panic of her thoughts made it hard to reach a rational decision. Rational? That was a joke. Secret organisations living in mansions, hired killers wielding ninja weapons, and a man she'd known only a couple of days possessing some kind of paranormal talent. She sensed the mystique surrounding Merrick. Wasn't that what had drawn her to him in the first place? But this whole occult-war thing was at a whole new level.

She was conscious of Celestia behind her.

"Are you reading my thoughts?" she said without turning.

"I don't need to. It's written in your body language."

"Am I that transparent?"

"Your feelings are. But there's a lot of your mind that remains closed to me. I don't encounter that often."

"Is that what it's like for Merrick too?" she said, finally facing the far-seer.

"His talent is far more refined and valuable. I just sense changes in the ether caused by dominant personalities. All at a distance. He can get right inside your head—although he chooses not to most of the time."

"That's gentlemanly of him."

"That's his weakness. He needs to recognise that the will must rule the heart."

"And you think I'm preventing him doing that?"

"Since you ask, yes."

"Thanks for making me feel wanted."

"Your sarcasm is understandable. But there are certain things that are higher, more noble, of greater worth than love."

Lotus felt her throat thicken. "You know, I feel sorry for you. You've obviously never experienced it."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong. _L'amour_ —it has crossed my path more than once. I know what it is to drown in its irrationality, to experience the exquisite pain. But in the end it is fleeting. You see our kind are both blessed and cursed. We have seen what is hidden and what is promised. We also know that we are not always free to choose."

"I've never believed that," said Lotus. "I think we always have a choice."

~ ~ ~

"A heist?" said Merrick.

"More of a counter-heist," Jason replied. "If Shamon takes the scroll, then he has everything he needs to breach the gateways. If we have it, he can never do that."

"You could just tip off the police. They'd bang him up and have Sarlic brought to justice for Lapin's murder in the same operation."

"Shamon will pull out all the stops for this one," Karapetian said. "An armed police squad will be no match for his thugs. We know what to expect of him."

"But you _will_ be complicit in burglary."

" _We_ will be complicit, you mean."

"Hey, count me out. I've had enough excitement for now. The police already have their suspicions about me without adding theft to their list."

"We'll only be taking back what was ours centuries ago."

Merrick's forehead creased. "How come?"

"Jason, give him the history lesson."

Jason pointed to a large painting on the wall. "That mural depicts the sacking of Alexandria by the Parthians. The Syncretic Order of the Hierophants existed even then, albeit under a different name. It possessed the richest collection of occult scrolls and grimoires in the world. Eventually, the Ottoman Empire seized the treasures and placed them in the National Museum of Turkmenistan. Some have found their way back to us over the centuries, but the Archmaenid collection represents the biggest trove of extant manuscripts left."

"So you see," Karapetian said. "We're only reclaiming our family treasure."

Merrick wasn't satisfied. "So this Archmaenid scroll is all you'll be taking?"

"We need to take more, otherwise it won't look like a conventional theft."

"What about Shamon? Do you intend to take him out?"

"If he's part of the raid, yes. It seems likely he'll want to oversee the operation directly, to ensure that the scroll falls into his hands, and his only."

"He doesn't trust his own people?"

"He'd be a fool to. The value of the scroll is well beyond that of mere money. With it in his hands, he will reinforce his supremacy."

"What makes you think I'll be of use in this operation? I messed up at the gateway."

"I know you're uncomfortable with us using your talents, but from what you told us about your mind attack on Sarlic, you're a heavy gun we could do with."

Merrick was pensive. "I don't know if I can summon it again. Or if I can—whether I'll be able to control it. Besides, I've got no intention of killing anyone."

Jason leaned forward. "This is war, Merrick. Make no mistake about it, you're in it with us now."

Merrick did have a conscience. True, it was seared with a hot iron on many occasions through his work for asset strippers, but unsanctioned warfare was quite a jump. "I don't know," he said. "I could be more of a hindrance than a help. If I manage to use these mind bolts, it may well drain me like it did last night."

"Psychic leach. It's a common problem for any untrained novice. Your ability to recover from it will improve with time," Jason said.

"Roughly how much training do I needed?"

"The average time period for this sort of skill, assuming daily practice, is about five years.

"Five years? We don't have that long."

"Fortunately, there's an alternative." Jason held out a transparent pack of what looked like Epipens. "A product of our labs. It's another plant extract. Acts a bit like adrenaline, only it boosts neurotransmitter production in the affected parts of your brain—including the pineal gland."

Merrick was suspicious. "I gather you boys know your stuff, but are there any side effects?"

"Nothing serious. Some suffer mild insomnia for a couple of nights."

"Well, I don't plan on sleeping much I suppose."

"So, you're with us?"

"I don't imagine I'm ever going to be dedicated to the cause. Let's view this as an alliance for now."

Karapetian grinned at Jason. "I think it's the best we can hope for. Tell me, Merrick. How did it feel when you unleashed the force of your mind on Sarlic?"

He thought for a moment. "I don't know if I..."

"Come now, there's no need to be coy. Are you afraid to admit you were elated? Ecstatic even?"

Merrick shrugged. "You got me."

"It's intoxicating isn't it? No need to be ashamed, only take care you don't get caught up in it. The emotions your power invokes can be distracting. Now, I need to talk to our task force if we're to be prepared for tomorrow night."

"You don't hang around do you?"

Karapetian rose, grunting as he did so. "Shamon moves fast. We have to be faster. Where are we gathering them, Jason?"

"The dining hall." Jason looked at his watch. "They'll be there already."

"I'll go and get Lotus," Merrick said.

Karapetian clicked his tongue. "If you don't mind, I think it best she isn't privy to our plans."

Merrick considered protesting, but given the awkwardness between him and Lotus, he concurred. Best to smooth things out with her once the meeting was over.

Karapetian's mansion was labyrinthine, so by the time they arrived at the dining hall he had lost his bearings.

They arrived to a babble of conversation from the throng gathered in the hall. Merrick estimated some fifty people present—if _people_ was the right term. He didn't like to stare, but the characters gathered in the wood-panelled space would have made a Clive Barker set look positively mundane. He saw all around him a full spectrum of the grotesque. He passed a woman who's hair appeared to writhe with snakes. When he looked closely, he thought he must be mistaken. They were just grey, lepidote dreadlocks. Another's face was a mass of red, bubbling lava—a single eye stared back at him from the molten visage.

"Now do you see why we didn't invite your girlfriend?" Jason said.

"Good move," Merrick said. "But if you were planning to keep this counter-heist under the radar, then you might have done better than invite the cast of a horror film."

"We're a shunned culture," said Jason. "We're also family."

"Yeah, I've heard that before."

"We've never had a problem recruiting to our order. Vagabonds and refugees gravitate to us. They seem to sense that this is home. As to our unique outward appearances, many have the gift of illusion. They can extend this to others around them. In this place however, there is no need for subterfuge."

Celestia waited at the side of the hall under an oil painting depicting Saturn devouring his son. Merrick looked at it. "I didn't think Karapetian went in for copies."

"It's not a copy," she said, her face inscrutable.

"Of course it is. The original is in Madrid's Prado Art Museum."

"That's what everyone thinks. In fact, they have a perfect facsimile. Painted by our very own Albany."

Merrick licked his lips. "You mean, the _late_ Albany."

Celestia ignored the remark. "Lotus has gone back to your room. She said she'd see you there after."

"Fine."

Karapetian clapped his hands and silence descended on the assembly.

"My friends, the time is upon us. The enemy has harried our order for long enough, and now we have the opportunity to have our mischief."

The leader of the Hierophants seemed less a doyen and more of a conductor. His words carried an authority that invited attention rather than demanded it. "You're all aware of recent events, and the impending fruition of our labours. You also know what Jagur Shamon intends to do. I have chosen you for your talents and your loyalty. I know you won't disappoint me."

Karapetian's words left his audience spellbound, but Merrick could detect a subtle perturbation rippling through the room.

"He's quite convincing," Merrick said under his breath.

"You asked me what his powers were. Now you see," Celestia replied. "Shamon rules by coercion and fear. Lazlo commands the hearts and minds of his followers. They would die for him."

"That's a considerable advantage. But do they know he's manipulating them?"

"Some do, others choose not to know."

"How about you?"

"Karapetian promises stability and a sharing of the yield. He has his faults but I would rather be on his side than the alternative."

"Yield? An interesting way to describe the spoils of war."

She smiled. "I used to be cynical like you, but I realised I could only accomplish so much on my own. Karapetian employs his skills to unify the disparate. It is a willing confederation you see here. I strive and work for the greater good."

They both turned their attention back to the maestro.

"And so to practicalities," Karapetian said. He seemed to dominate the room in every sense of the word. He pressed a button on a remote and a data projector hummed into life. A plan drawing of the British Museum appeared on a screen behind him.

"The display is a bit secular isn't it?" said Merrick.

"If you want flamboyancy or trivial uses of magick, join the Ukurum," the Frenchwoman whispered.

Karapetian proceeded to outline the security arrangements at the museum and the likely infiltration points open to the Ukurum. Merrick got lost in the detail and dilated his third eye further.

_Karapetian remains an iron curtain. This is disturbing but not unexpected. Celestia is committed. Also reserved. She's a survivor, but retains a certain morality. She's no cockroach. Jason is comfortable in his position but not complacent. He accepts Karapetian's authority but doesn't kowtow. He's a pragmatist and recognises his leader's strengths. The select detail congregated represent a continuum of motives and aspirations. For the most part they're grateful and confident in their talents—which are many._

Merrick wished he could extract more detail from the Hierophants but a change in Karapetian's tone caused him to focus back on the colossal luminary.

"Shamon relies on the element of surprise and the British Museum's notorious lack of robust security. We, on the other hand, can take advantage of his thieving and pluck the prize from his presumptuous hands. Now, you all have preparations to make. We will meet again tomorrow evening. Our surveillance teams will alert us if there is any change in the enemy's schedule. For now, hone your skills and prime your minds."

The assembly broke apart, buzzing with anticipation. Merrick looked to exit.

"Use the staircase on the left," Celestia said. "Your room's on the second floor."

She looked at him knowingly.

"Thanks," he said, noticing an inexplicable rise in his pulse.

He entered the room and found Lotus sitting on the bed. Her chin rested on her hand, almost Rodin-like. She wore her suede jacket.

"You look like you're going somewhere."

She looked up at him. "This isn't working Merrick. It's too much. This _place_ is too much—at least for me."

He sat down next to her. "What are you saying? Look, we can work through this. I know we can. I..."

He wanted to tell her about the sweet calm he felt in her presence, of the absolution he experienced when they made love. But then he thought of Lapin and Albany. She was in danger every minute she remained with him, and it wasn't fair for him to demand the relinquishment of her freedom. She was a delicate butterfly; she deserved to flourish, not be bound to him with his esoteric ambitions.

She seemed to read his thoughts. "This world you're choosing, I don't feel part of it. I wish I did, but I don't think there's room for the likes of me."

He looked at his feet. "I wish I could take us away from here, forget this whole conflict ever happened. But I can't deny what I am—my place in what's happening. It feels like my whole life has led up to this point. I can't deny you deserve better. After all, I don't own you."

"It would make things easier if you did. As it is, I'm a complication—and I'm not going to ask you to choose. I'm making the decision for us. That's why I have to leave."

"You can't just go, Lotus. The Ukurum killers are still abroad."

"Safety is a luxury neither of us can enjoy. I can't bear being locked up here, wondering if you'll ever return from the fate you've chosen for yourself. I'd rather take my chances out there."

He felt his eyes filming over. "Where will you go?"

"I've got friends," she said, a resigned smile on her face. "The advantage of living a bohemian lifestyle—I've learned to become invisible."

"Necessity of a street-pirate?"

"You could say that."

He longed to articulate something, anything, which would persuade her from this course of action. But everything told him it was useless. He retreated inward, a protection against the pain.

"Karapetian won't like it," he said.

"Karapetian can kiss my arse!"

~ ~ ~

Karapetian had taken it surprisingly well, all things considered. But he insisted on appointing one of his most experienced personnel to accompany and watch over Lotus.

"He won't be able to trace me once I go to ground," she said.

"If that is the case, then you will be safe from the Ukurum indeed."

Merrick walked with her to the waiting SUV. He nodded with approval at her guardian.

"It's like having a praetorian guard," she said, that crooked smile on her face.

Merrick ached inside. "So this is goodbye," he said, looking into the distance.

"Adieu or au revoir?"

"That's up to you," he replied.

"It's up to both of us," she said firmly.

"I guess the time just wasn't right."

She kissed him silently and climbed into the vehicle.

As it drove away, Merrick wondered if he had gained the world to lose his soul.

### 16

## Bible black

"Red team, are you on position?" Jason's voice crackled over the walkie talkie.

Celestia pressed her send button. "Yes," she replied.

"Walkie talkies? Don't you guys communicate with telepathy?" Merrick looked at her with a smirk on his face.

" _Parfois, vous êtes un trou du cul,_ " she said, looking at the monitor in front of her. Its blue glow was the only light in the cramped space.

"I've heard that, yes," he said. Celestia's curse was uncharacteristic. He decided not to push things further.

"Not everyone is telepathic, as you describe it," she said. "Besides, advanced far-seers will pick it up." They were hunched over in the back of a nondescript, unmarked Bedford van. As well as Celestia, Merrick was introduced in turn to the rest of red team back at Paraganet house. Boris, a greasy-haired stick of a man purported to be an explosives expert. Trishla, sitting opposite had been described as a markswoman but obviously concealed her weapons well. Scarab was a muscled assassin with a face like a welder's bench. He watched the CCTV feed with Celestia. There were three others, whom Merrick had mentally nicknamed Huey, Dewie and Louis—he found the monikers more apt than their real names, which he couldn't pronounce. Each was armed with a Russian AR-15 rifle with suppressors fitted to the barrels. Huey had described with great relish, the capabilities and specification of the firearm. Merrick's third eye confirmed what his eyes told him—the trio were precise dispensers of death.

He listened to the ensuing chatter over the radio waves. Jason confirmed the presence and readiness of five teams, each given a colour for purposes of the operation, and each with a defined set of parameters. Merrick's stomach tied itself in a knot. This wasn't helped by the obvious tension amongst red team as they waited for some sign of the Ukurum.

_Christ, what have I got myself into?_ Karapetian had told him in no uncertain terms what he _wasn't_ getting into. Despite lauding Merick's supernatural gifts, he'd had second thoughts about throwing the Psychonaut into the thick of battle.

"I don't want you to be part of the firefight that might ensue," Karapetian had said, "you're more valuable to us if you operate at a distance. The heightened powers you have gained after consuming the grayanotoxin can tell us a lot about the motivations and strategies of hostile combatants."

This was hardly how he imagined Karapetian should deploy a _big gun_ , but he saw sense in the edict. He would only get in the way of the other operatives.

Merrick had spent most of the previous day with Celestia, practising the melding of her farseeing abilities with his psychonautics. He took no little satisfaction from the outcomes they had achieved. It required a certain opening of their minds to each other. Once over the initial awkwardness, he had successfully gauged the mental state of several subjects over a range of about a mile. Celestia acted as a conduit through which he could penetrate their mental defences. In fact, so fine was their joint control, that the volunteers weren't even aware of the monitoring. Subsequent debriefing had confirmed the intentions and the subconscious mix of emotions present in each volunteer.

The walkie talkie squawked again. "You picking up anything yet Celestia?"

_"Ne rien."_

In the charged atmosphere, Merrick sought escape in his thoughts. Lotus had not attempted to communicate with him. He respected this, but it didn't prevent a throbbing wound opening up every time he dwelt on the matter. At least Karapetian's minder reported that she was being watched over twenty four hours a day. Merrick was also comforted that he and another Hierophant were watching over the house twenty four hours a day.

"Right, let's go through this one more time," said Celestia. All eyes turned to her.

_She demands respect,_ Merrick thought.

"As soon as the far-seers detect a break-in or a disturbance to the ether, then blue team, led by Jason, will close in. Green team will follow at a distance and reds, you will gain entry to the Assyrian exhibition room through the staff entrance here." She enlarged a blueprint on the tablet she was holding and pointed to a secure, alarmed door. "Under no circumstances are we to engage the enemy at this stage. We want them to steal the scroll first. There's no point in us doing their work for them."

"There is, of course, the greater risk of them killing the security guards," Merrick said.

"We covered this yesterday. The primary objective is to retrieve the scroll. Second, we neutralise as many of the Ukurum as is expedient. Third, we protect the lives of the jaded ones to the best of our ability."

"Poor sods," Merrick said. "They don't stand a chance."

"We don't have time to moralise now. Let's go with the plan. As soon as we've pinpointed their numbers and location, then Jason will give the command for attack. We know they have far-seers and illusionists in their ranks. Our confounders can jam their detection skills up to a point, but their mirage creators are advanced practitioners—expect the unexpected."

"Is there any update on the weaponry they're using?" Trishla asked.

"Yes. We confirmed earlier that the arms deal with the Irish Republicans went ahead and they've acquired a small number of Uzis, AK-47s and grenades. We have our body armour, but stealth and agility will be the best defence."

Merrick had watched the assault teams in action that morning. He almost rubbed his eyes when he saw the impossible manoeuvres some of them accomplished. He was glad they were on Karapetian's side and their presence tonight gave him considerable grounds for optimism.

"So we wait for Jason's command to withdraw?" asked Louis.

" _C'est exact_. Once we have the scroll, yellow and black teams will do the mopping up, taking whatever enemy wounded we can. The less we leave to the gendarmes as evidence, the better. Merrick, you and I—"

"... remain in the van—yes, I know."

"Under no circumstances are you to leave. Any more questions?"

"What could possibly go wrong?" Merrick said, to lighten the atmosphere. Scarab cracked a smile, but the rest scowled their disapproval.

"So, for now, we wait," Celestia said.

An adrenaline-drenched hour passed, interrupted only by Jason's brief check-ins on the two-way radios. Merrick checked his watch. It was a couple of minutes past one in the morning.

Another hour crawled past. Huey, Dewey, and Louie checked their weaponry in minute detail, while Trishla cleaned two small crossbows. No one except Merrick seemed agitated.

"Waiting—this is the worst part," Boris said, breaking the silence.

"You seem to be taking it in your stride," Merrick said.

"My experience of previous conflicts helps lower anxiety. But it never disappears."

"Maybe someone gave us duff gen," Merrick said. "It strikes me they may have twigged us if they cross-examined Albany before they... you know."

"That's possible," Celestia said. "But this is Shamon's last chance to strike before they transfer the Assyrian collection to the United States—and their security is much more robust. _En outre,_ Shamon is arrogant. He will assume he can resist any interference on our part." Celestia's assessment closed the conversation down.

Merrick tried to meditate. It usually helped with work stress, but this was something else altogether. After a while, despite himself, he dozed off. He only knew he'd been in the land of nod because Trishla nudged him.

"Something's happening," Celestia said.

~ ~ ~

Jason was in the zone. But not in the spaced out, drug-induced kind of way. The Chinese called it _chi_ , the Greeks, _pneuma_. They were useful analogies giving two different perspectives of the same phenomenon. Neither were adequate because years of training and meditation had taught him that words often got in the way of true spiritual learning, and he was an adept.

So here he was, waiting in an armoured SUV, conscious that he did not so much exist in his brain, but in every molecule of his body—and beyond.

Metaphysical energy charged every one of his cells. He would need every last calorie.

When the walkie talkie cut in he reached for it straight away.

"Jason, they're here." Celestia sounded matter of fact.

"You have a location?"

"One party of ten have gained entry via the roof. Chalcott detected them climbing the south side of the building. There's a back up team of nine in a vehicle on Museum Street. The group on the roof have broken in through a skylight."

"Less than twenty of them? Shamon must be confident if he's sent such a small party. Any sign of him?"

"No," she said. "He could be hanging back at a more distant location."

"Do you think he's picked us up yet?"

"It's hard to say."

"We haven't time to speculate," said Jason. "We'll execute the plan." Turning to those in the van he gave the command and followed them out of the SUV. He looked at the horse-box attached to the back of the vehicle, relieved when he heard no sound coming from it.

Montague Street was devoid of traffic and the plane trees afforded them cover. Nonetheless, they split up into threes and sprinted across separately, weapons in hand. Summer heat still re-radiated from the tarmac, and Jason was sweating already. Blue team were small in number but contained the most experienced combatants. Jason trusted them with his life—a trust that might well be put to the test tonight.

Spotlights shone narrow beams on the front of the building. Its colonnades rose like monoliths creating deep shadows at the entranceway. Galbraith, a locksmith, approached the main door.

"Are you sure the main entrance is the best way in?" Jason asked.

"The lock's a doddle and Storner has already disabled the alarm system. Sometimes the highest security is on the back entrances."

"Okay, once we're in, we hide out in the staff restroom."

Galbraith inserted a mechanism into the lock of the glass door. There was a click and a whirr after which he turned the handle and watched the door open inward. Their feet hardly made a sound as they traversed across the main entrance hallway to the Great Court. They moved as a formation, scoping all directions. Reaching a large statue, they stopped to view the way ahead and saw a security detail of two at the main desk. One watched a closed circuit TV feed, while the other had his feet up, reading a book.

Jason signalled to a couple of his team who immediately laid down a topographic illusion to conceal their progress across the court.

A guard looked up, shook his head, then carried on reading. Once they were inside the restroom, Jason checked his watch and spoke through his head-mounted microphone.

"Celestia, we're in. No sign of the enemy yet. What are you picking up?"

"The roof party are in the Assyrian exhibition room. There's no movement as such. I assume they're trying to remove the scroll from its alarmed case.

"Good. We'll hold our position. Green and red teams, are you in?"

The Green leader affirmed they had entered at the front while Reds replied they were outside the room where the scroll was held. Karapetian had recruited well for Red and Black teams. As well as demonstrating mastery of their respective weapons, they were highly skilled parkour jumpers. They liked to think of themselves as urban jungle survivalists. There wasn't a building in all of London that could hold them or resist their entry. The Ukurum wouldn't know what hit them.

The restroom smelled of urinal tablets and disinfectant puddled the floor. _Minimum-wage cleaners_ , Jason thought. _You'd think the British Museum could afford better._

"Jason," he heard through his in-ear monitor. "This is Scarab."

"I'm listening."

"We're eyeballing the Ukurum now. They've breached the case and removed the scroll, but now they're just standing around. They seem in no hurry to leave."

Jason didn't like the sound of this development. It just didn't make sense. They should be well on their way by now.

"There's something else," Scarab spoke again, "we can hear a weird noise."

Jason picked it up through his headphones too. It was a low hum but increasing in volume.

"Jason, it's Celestia. I detect an enemy presence approaching fast."

"The reinforcements from Museum Street?"

"No—they're still in place."

"Then what the f—?" A loud crash cut him off, followed by engine noise. The floor vibrated, setting off his knees in sympathy with the harmonic frequency. "Scarab, what just happened?" he barked.

"Holy Shit," the red team captain replied. "Jason, get yourself in here now. We're going to need every man we can get."

~ ~ ~

"Get ready," said Celestia.

Merrick leaned forward to look at the monitor. "What's going on in there?"

The background noise coming over the walkie talkies was reminiscent of Armageddon, but nothing showed up on the internal closed circuit feed. In fact three of the cameras fed back nothing but static.

"We'll have to rely on our abilities," she said. "Remember what we practiced?"

" _A holding of hands increasing to an arm-lock of concentration_ was the terminology, I believe."

" _Exactement._ But don't visualise it—feel it."

"I'm all tentacles."

" _Trou du cul_."

"Asshole sounds so much better in French."

The meld was instantaneous. If anything, it was easier than last time. Merrick imagined his view would be how a bat perceives the world. Celestia transmitted an ultrasound-like picture of the surroundings. Although there was no colour, the definition of individual outlines and contours was sharp. She projected them into the exhibition room. A large crater scarred the middle of the floor and out of it had burrowed a now stationary excavation machine. Merrick could see heads and torsos of individual Ukurum warriors strategically positioned behind lumps of rubble or plinths of stone. Celestia had coloured them black to distinguish them from the Hierophants. He estimated at least forty.

"We're outnumbered," he said.

"Time to even the odds then. Remember, restraint and control—focus on that thing."

Like mind-painting, she highlighted a giant figure with a halo of gold raining blows down on Huey and Louis. Dewey lay prostrate on the floor. The callous, brute force that Merrick received from the giant was overpowering, and he unleashed his mind-bolt, seeing it shoot across the sound scape. The giant's skull exploded, showering brain matter and bone fragments over its former victims.

"Shit!" Merrick said and fell over backwards in the van, the meld temporarily broken.

Celestia reached over to him. " _Tu n'as rien?_ God, I felt that. I thought I told you to focus the bolt, not discharge it all at once."

"I know," he groaned. "But he attacked me with his mind. It was self-defence."

"Nephilim-born—they fight with unbridled savagery. I should have warned you about them. Are you up to going back in?"

"I don't know," he said, voice shaking.

"Take a shot of the pineal boost, to renew your mind energy."

Merrick reached for his haversack and pulled it clumsily to the floor.

"Here," she said, ripping it open and pulling out an Epipen. She removed the protective cap and plunged the stubby needle into his thigh. He cried out in pain.

_"Bébé."_

"You enjoyed that didn't you?" he said through clenched teeth, yet he could already feel the vitality shooting through his nerves.

"Come, we can't delay," she said.

~ ~ ~

Back in the exhibition room, Jason cursed aloud. High calibre rounds snapped by his head as he tried to exert his thaumaturgy, but it was all he could do to divert the bullets fired at him. He had nothing left for his comrades.

"Black and yellow team," he shouted through his microphone. "We need you in here—now."

"Coming through the entrance," said Black team's captain.

"Yellow team, can you hear me?" he repeated.

He heard the mocking sound of static through his earphones. _What the hell's happened to them?_

Green team were already in the room and had initially taken the Ukurum by surprise. The numbers were too great however, and a deftly thrown grenade had decimated two of the Greens into a bloody pulp.

"Damn them," Jason said to Boris, who crouched next to him. "I thought we'd have the element of surprise, but they trumped us. Have we anything we can throw back?"

"I've got a couple of grenades. If I toss them can you influence their trajectory?"

"I can if I'm not distracted." He turned to a gunman on his left. "Belos, give me some covering fire."

Belos grunted and swung his machine gun round the plinth, opening fire. Immediately he was cut down with a spittle-spray of Uzi death.

"Christ, they're second-guessing our every move," Jason said. "Where the hell is Black team?"

As if in answer, two groups of Hierophants appeared at opposite doorways. They were on top of the Ukurum before the enemy could bring weapons to bear. Close range combat favoured the jumpers as their agility and deadly knife-work left the heavily armoured gunmen floundering.

"Come on. Now's our chance," Jason said.

The three remaining members of Blue team dashed round the excavator and entered the fray. No sooner had they done so than a horde of new combatants spewed out of the crater like ants from a nest. Sarlic led them, with Radice and Theta following—a triumvirate of evil. They closed in on the Hierophants, pressing them against the marble walls with sheer force of numbers.

Jason drew two Ghurka knives and parried a blow delivered from Radice's halberd. He threw the Ukurum back, exerting his thaumaturgy at the same time. Radice tripped over a freshly slain corpse. It only gained Jason a few seconds however, as Radice flipped himself up, bringing the halberd round in a wide arc. The scythe-like blade missed him by a centimetre.

"Jason?" He heard Sarlic's voice roar over the sound of the melee. "Save your men and surrender. This is a battle you cannot win. You are outnumbered three to one."

Jason looked about him. It was true, the Hierophants were putting up a brave fight. But enemies beleaguered them on all sides. He watched as Theta swung her three-tailed morning star at an unguarded Trishla, and stared in horror as the spiked balls embedded themselves into her head with cruel efficiency. He had just enough presence of mind to speak into his microphone.

"Kemper, are you still there?"

"I am," came the reply.

"Thank Aiwass. Open the door."

~ ~ ~

"Good to go?" Celestia asked.

"Never better," Merrick said. And he wasn't lying. He felt vital, supreme. He was also a little out of control, as if he had to constantly tighten the lid on a pressure cooker.

"Let's meld," she said.

In a heartbeat they were back in the battle arena. A scene of devastation greeted them. Limp, bloodied corpses hung over lumps of concrete. In the high definition world of their melding, Merrick also noticed severed limbs and macerated torsos. What he couldn't see was the shocked, questioning expressions of the recently departed. Faces of people he had known for brief, fleeting hours. He wondered who would mourn them.

Beyond the excavator, in the far corner of the room, a phalanx of Ukurum surrounded the last eleven Hierophants. In a commanding position stood Sarlic, sadistic pleasure spread across his face. Vengeful bile rose in Merrick's gorge as he focused on the figure, but the image danced before him in an unpredictable fashion.

"Why can't I home in on him?" he said.

Celestia concentrated. "There's interference coming from within the machine. I think there's two people in there but I can't make them out. It must be the vehicle armour. You'll just have to take your best shot."

Merrick relaxed his control on the third eye and released a bolt of mind energy in the direction of Sarlic. It nearly made its mark, but the path to failure is paved with a thousand nearlys. Sarlic's image moved at the last minute and the bolt struck an Ukurum standing behind. She wrenched her neck back in a rictus of agony, then toppled forward into the scrum of bodies.

"Fuck," he cursed, dismissing the failure. The shock and revulsion of taking another's life would hit him later. He could feel the well of energy filling his mind, but not fast enough. It would be a while before he could renew his assault.

Then, above the tumult, Merrick heard a familiar roar. Combatants on both sides turned in the direction of the entrance as a red, hoary brute appeared at the door. Beneath its domed forehead, two dead eyes levelled their gaze on the squad of warriors.

"My God," was all Merrick could say.

Like a spring uncoiling, the Simiatan leapt towards the Ukurum, landing in their midst with arms flailing. It battered two warriors against a wall with a single blow and immediately picked up two others by their necks. Incomprehension covered their bulging eyes as their necks broke.

Jason's remaining team seized the advantage and fell upon the surprised Ukurum with renewed barbarity. Two warriors fell under the ferocity of Jason's blades, while Black team neutralised others with precision thrusts.

Theta, standing on a display cabinet, raised her flail and aimed a swing at the beast's torso. It brought up a protective arm instinctively, causing the flails to wrap around the limb. The beast pulled backwards, forcing the weapon from her grip. With its other hand it plucked her from her perch and threw her into a group of Ukurum. Merrick didn't know if they had been killed outright but none of them stirred.

With Theta gone, Sarlic was unprotected. He hurled two throwing stars in quick succession. One embedded itself in the ape's chest, the sound not unlike a cleaver slicing into a melon. The other sank into its face. The beast roared in pain but made a quick recovery, bounding over to the Ukurum lieutenant. Sarlic feinted to one side then lunged to the other, trying to move away from its radius of hate. The beast wasn't fooled. It caught him in both arms, wrapping him in a death hug. It roared again in his face, spraying him with caustic wads of spittle. Even in death, Sarlic grinned in masochistic pleasure. In the next second, gouts of blood flooded from his mouth and nose, marring his comely visage. A scream of agonised loss issued from the excavator.

Celestia directed their joint consciousness at the excavator once more. Jagur Shamon climbed out of the turret holding a frightened girl in front of him. He held a blade to her slender neck. Merrick tried hard not to believe what Celestia's perceptions told him.

"He's got Lotus," she said.

"No way, it can't be."

"Drop your weapons," Shamon cried, "or by all that's unholy, I'll slit her throat."

"Ignore him," Jason cried. "We cannot afford to give him the upper hand now."

Black team and the Simiatan hesitated only for an instant before renewing their assault.

"The bastard," Merrick said. He gathered his will for another mind bolt but found he had nothing. "Fuck it, I'm going in there. Tell Jason he has to lay down his arms."

Celestia looked at him. The glow of the monitor showing indecision on her face.

"Do it—now!"

He didn't wait for a response but burst out the back of the van, sprinting towards the museum. He prayed that Celestia and Jason saw sense. In the distance sirens wailed and urgency required that he focus on saving Lotus and fuck the rest of it.

Inside the entrance hallway he leapt over the bodies of hapless security guards and ran towards the sound of the skirmish. Once inside the exhibition chamber, he located the excavator and ran towards it, heedless of the danger. The melee had stopped for the moment, yet weapons were still held in ready hands. Shamon gripped Lotus, and he could see blood dripping from a wound on her neck. The cold hand of dread gripped his heart.

"Hear me well, Jason," Shamon said. "Merrick Whyte will hold you accountable for this. Where will your key to the gateways be then? The first cut drew blood, but my blade will snuff out this innocent's life unless you yield."

"Shamon." Merrick said.

The Ukurum looked down at him. "Ah, there you are. I knew you couldn't be far away."

"What have you done to her?"

"She's still alive, aren't you my little butterfly?" Lotus' eyes opened wide in response. "She has lost her voice. No matter, you can see that I tell the truth. Now—tell Jason to call off his dogs."

"Jason, do as he says," Merrick said.

"You don't know what you're asking," Jason said. "If they escape with the scroll, then countless lives will be lost, in this world and others. We cannot afford to let him go."

"Fuck you, Jason. This isn't about your game-plan anymore. I trusted you and Karapetian but you've shafted me too many times. How long have you held the Simiatan?"

Jason looked down. _What was this, shame?_

"They've taken you for a fool," Shamon said. "Enticed and used you from the start." He turned to the Ukurum. "Now, to me my brethren."

The remaining handful of Ukurum stepped away from the Hierophants, giving the Simiatan a wide berth. It rested on its haunches, eyes glowering. A door opened on the side of the excavator allowing Shamon's men to climb in.

"This is a big mistake, Whyte. He's going to kill her anyway. He has no use for her," Jason said.

"On the contrary," Shamon said, "I have many uses for her. Tonight you have taken someone most precious to me." He looked down at Sarlic's twisted body. "And I intend to explore every facet of her body and mind." He emphasised the point by licking the blood from Lotus' neck.

"Release her. Or you'll regret you ever laid eyes on me," Merrick said.

Shamon laughed. "You have nothing to bargain with, Whyte. No, I rather think you will stand there impotent, while I and my men retreat. This is your weakness—you care. That's why Karapetian has been able to use you, and why I know you won't lift a finger against me."

Merrick could feel the situation slipping away, he mustered his resolve and felt the power rise within.

"Do not even try," Shamon said. "I can sense what you're doing. Believe me, my blade can strike before you can release your mind-force."

The sirens declared the arrival of the police outside. Shamon looked over his shoulder and descended into the vehicle. Its diesel engine fired up and belched exhaust into the museum chamber.

The turret lid slammed shut, and the excavator descended back into the depths of the crater like a mechanical rat scuttling into its hole.

Celestia appeared at the door. "The police are here, we have to leave," she said.

"Follow Shamon, we can't let him get away," Jason said. He gestured to the Simiatan, which leapt through the hole in pursuit. Jason's men followed.

Merrick looked at Celestia who said "We must leave."

She stumbled over the rubble, grabbing his arm and steering him towards the crater.

"Hold it right there," said an authoritative voice. They looked up and saw a line of armed police with weapons trained on both of them.

"Take them out," Celestia said. "We can't afford to let them capture us."

Merrick screwed his eyes shut, then opened them. "I can't. Too many have died tonight." He sank to his knees, exhausted as the Kevlar-clad police closed in and forced them to lie on the floor. As the handcuffs clicked over his wrists, Merrick felt a heavy internal door slam shut like a clap of doom.

### 17

## The last in line

The pressure cooker sensation had returned to Merrick's head. That was both bad and good news. Bad because he had to constantly keep it in check, and he was already over-weary. Good, because it meant he was charged with psychonautic energy again—much like a capacitor. There, he'd finally acknowledged who he was— _a Psychonaut_. He couldn't ignore it any longer, and was prepared to use the power again, even if it was in anger.

The police processed him and Celestia at the station and placed them in separate cells. Merrick paced up and down in the confined space, stopping at the bars every time he heard a footfall in the corridor.

"Can someone tell me what's going on here?" he shouted at one passing officer. The man gave him a contemptuous look and carried on his way, ignoring what he obviously saw as a deranged, binge-drunk casualty.

He slammed the heel of his hand against the iron bars. Gathering his resolve, he tried once more to forge a mental link with Celestia, but there was nothing in the ether to grab hold of. She had a remarkable range of perception, but there wasn't any guarantee that he could pick up on her, even if she detected him.

_Dammit, I'm just wasting time here. I need to find Lotus._

What was the use of possessing extraordinary power if you couldn't vent it on your opponents?

After another ten minutes of foot-pounding, shouting and generally giving himself a headache, he finally slumped down on the hard bench, resting his head on the whitewashed brick.

He had to calm down. So he did what he always did; allowed his thoughts to drift back to another time, another place...

_"You see it now?" says BC_

_Merrick refocuses the binoculars and homes in on the movement. They're Zeiss—BC always chooses the best. He sees the dull brown bird hop across the leaf-strewn lawn and peck at beetles and grubs it finds underneath the beech-nut husks._

_"I see it," he says. "Nearly missed it. It's not much to look at."_

_His uncle wears his favourite Barbour jacket. It smells of oil and tobacco._

_"That's the secret of its success." BC sucks on his pipe and a small cloud of seasoned smoke curls upward. "You see, Merrick, survival is the name of the game. Now you can take the approach of the blackbird or the starling. Loud, brash, chasing each other off to claim the choicest worm or slug. It can be a high risk strategy because sooner or later, however strong you are, you're going to come up against someone your equal. Even if you win, you're likely to get damaged. Remember the story I told you about Pyrrhus?"_

_"The Greek?"_

_"That's the one. Now that small drab bird—even its name is dull—just bides it's time, skulks around in the background, then hops in and eats the food no one else wants."_

_"Did you say it was called a hedge-sparrow?"_

_"I prefer the name 'Dunnock.' Sparrows eat seeds, this one's a carnivore."_

_Merrick lowers the binoculars and grins. "Doesn't look very blood-thirsty."_

_"The last in line never do, but they're the ones to look out for."_

Two officers approached, breaking his train of thought. They opened the cell door and cuffed his wrists in front of him.

"This way sunshine, you've got a few questions to answer," said one of them.

"I want to speak to my lawyer," Merrick said.

"All in good time matey-boy. You're not in any position to make any demands," said the other.

"Actually, I am. I have the right to call a friend and to have a lawyer present," he said.

"Looks like we've got a smart-arse here, Chris."

"My life wouldn't be complete without a smart-arse," the first officer replied. "I was just thinking to myself, I could really do with someone telling me how to do my job at the end of a twelve hour shift. It just makes my day."

Merrick scanned the officer's mind and registered iron resolve. He wasn't going to get anywhere with this one. He bit his lip to prevent vitriolic wit from surfacing.

However, a breaking point was coming, and if he didn't find a way out of the situation by legitimate means, he was prepared to risk making a run for it. He was in up to his neck anyway.

_Shamon could have taken Lotus anywhere by now. She might even be dead—or worse._ Shamon's last taunting words still echoed in his mind.

They led him to a room where he was told to sit down.

"The Super will be with you shortly, sunshine. In the meantime, don't try any funny business."

"Could I at least have a cup of water?"

The one called Chris looked at him, as if weighing something up, then said, "I'll see what I can do."

They locked the door behind them and left him to sweat. Chris reappeared with some water. It was luke-warm and reeked of chlorine.

_More waiting around._ He saw a wolf spider scuttle across the floor, out on an early hours foray for dipteran prey. He wished he could draw inspiration from the creature, like Robert the Bruce before the Battle of Bannockburn. However, the forces arrayed against him seemed more formidable than those faced by the ancient Gaelic king. He fidgeted with a loose thread on his shirt and tried to think through his options. None presented themselves. He would have to take whatever medicine Phillipson doled out before he could act.

The door swung open and DI Phillipson swaggered into the room. The same pair of tan slacks he wore on their previous encounter hung from his waist in a crumpled mess. He'd rolled up his shirt sleeves and sweat stains spread like an oil slick from his armpits. He threw a thick manila envelope down on the table and sank into a chair on the opposite side of the table. He folded his arms and stared at Merrick.

_There's anger there. Suspicion too. But they're rippling under the surface. He's assessing me._

Merrick decided to take the initiative. "Look, you need to understand I'm not saying anything until I'm given my phone call and a lawyer."

Phillipson ran his tongue over his teeth. "Okay," he said, and reached a phone from his pocket. He placed it on the table.

"I believe I'm allowed some privacy."

Phillipson rose. "You've got five minutes," he said and left the room.

Merrick thought about calling Karapetian, then punched in Mike's number, hesitating before pressing the green phone key. _What if they record the number and trace it?_

"To hell with it," he said aloud, and pushed the key. It rang a long time. He was about to cancel the call when Mike picked up.

"Who the fuck is this?" Mike's voice sounded like a rusted outhouse door opening.

"It's me, I'm in trouble."

He heard Mike click on a light at the other end. "What's the time, anyway?"

"Mike, listen. I need help."

"What kind of trouble are you in? Is it to do with that occult guy you met the other day?"

"Partly." Merrick told him the salient points of the story, trying to miss out the supernatural elements and anything else that would directly incriminate him. But it was difficult. Even his own ears found the tale incredible.

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" Mike said. "Why would the police implicate you in grand larceny?" Doubt and suspicion edged Mike's voice.

"I'm innocent, that's all I can say on this phone. Can you help me or not?"

Mike took the hint and sighed. "I don't know. One thing I can do is get you a good lawyer. I know someone who represents some of the dodgiest crooks in London. But he isn't cheap."

"Hire him. Can you pull any strings with the police?"

"Where are they holding you, and what's the name of the guy leading the investigation?"

"I think it's Islington, and the top prick here is a guy called Phillipson."

Mike whistled. "You poor fucker."

"Thanks for building my confidence. Is there anything you can do?"

"If this was a speeding ticket or a parking fine, I could pull a few strings, but this is way beyond my influence. Your best bet is the lawyer."

Merrick tapped his fingers on the table. "Okay," he said finally. "Once I get out of here, I'm going to need you again. Can you drop your work for a while?"

"I don't know, I've got a pretty lucrative job on with a client and—"

"I'll pay twice what he's giving you."

There was a pause from Mike's end. Unexpectedly, Merrick could read the faint script of his thinking. _Does this thing work at a distance now?_

"You got it. But I must be mad. This situation sounds as sane as a box of frogs."

"Don't I know it. I do appreciate you putting yourself out like this."

"Money talks."

A smile creased Merrick's face as he killed the call. Mike was loyal and dependable—he just didn't like to show it. He wondered if the police could somehow retrieve the information he'd just shared, but he accepted this was the least of his worries at the moment.

He was ready for Phillipson.

The DI didn't take long to appear. He eyeballed Merrick, wolf-like as he made his way to the desk.

"You talk to your guy?" he said with unconcealed contempt.

"He'll be here shortly. Until then I say nothing."

"Fair enough," he said and pushed the envelope that remained on the table towards him. "Have you taken a look?"

"Was I meant to?"

"I think you should."

Merrick looked at it uncertainly, then back at Phillipson.

"No obligation," Phillipson added, "but seeing as you're going to be mute for the next while it could help pass the time."

Merrick waited long enough for the pause to become insulting then picked it up. Inside were grainy A4 photographs. They'd been lifted from CCTV footage. The first showed the Bedford where Celestia and he had holed up outside the museum. The second had clocked him emerging from the back of the van. The next was from a different angle. Due to image enhancement he could make himself out, shoving the doors of the museum open. The final one was the street outside his house. Two men were in conversation. One was him, the other was Albany.

"What's this?" he said without thinking.

Phillipson adjusted himself on the chair and leaned forward, hands folded. "You have the right to remain silent, but not the right to stop listening." He looked away, like something had caught his attention in the corner of the room, then resumed. "So, in the space of just forty eight hours we have you implicated in a murder outside a nightclub. You're then arrested for involvement in what appears to be a gang war in the British Museum, and to top it all off you seem to have been the last person to see a certain James Bolin alive."

"No comment," Merrick said.

"We've recovered over sixty five bodies from the museum, and we're still sifting through the wreckage, not to mention the bloody great hole left by some excavating machine. The press are having a field day out there. You can't hear yourself think for the choppers circling overhead or the arrival of a news team. We've even got CNN on the scene. So, congratulations. Your caper has gone international."

"Still no comment."

"Hey, I don't need you to speak. Not yet. But do listen because there's more."

Merrick drummed his fingers on the desk. Psychonautic energy bristled in his nerve endings but he kept it under control. He detected a holding back. Phillipson had more to reveal, and he was immersed in confidence. The DI was in his domain and Merrick knew that his own reticence to speak was not a setback. This man, haughty in his domination of the situation, could afford to wait.

"We've identified only one single corpse, except the eight security guards, that is. Most of the people, and I use the word advisedly, are nobodies—literally."

Merrick held his gaze in silence.

"There's still more. The cause of death amongst this freak-show is a coroner's fantasy. There's some who died of conventional gunshot wounds, sure, but others met their end as a result of crushed skulls, asphyxiation and wounds from weapons I last saw on a King Arthur film. Hell, there's one guy seems to have suffered from an exploding head. It's like a war zone. In fact, we were about to call in the army. As it is, the NCA is taking charge."

"Guess you won't get to question me after all," Merrick said, his smug reply concealing a rising trepidation.

"Don't you count on it, motherfucker." Phillipson's voice rang cold and hard. "I'm drinking buddies with the top guys in the NCA and they're including me in the investigation. So we'll be asking you questions—lots of them. We'll also be putting your new girlfriend through the mill too."

"She's not my girlfriend," he said.

"No. I didn't think you'd be one for the cougars. You've got enough money to take your pick of the socialite whores."

"I'm not going to dignify that with—"

He was cut off by the door flying open. In strode two men quarried from the same granite edifice, eyes steely and mouths disdainfully thin.

"DI Phillipson?" said the one in front.

Phillipson twisted round. "Yeah—who the fuck are you?"

"DCI Fenton." He held up his id for Phillipson to see. "And you can watch your foul mouth from now on."

"I thought Nick Walker was heading this one up?"

"Things have changed. The director thought this rather unique incident needed oversight by the OCC."

"But I'm still part of the operation, right?" Phillipson's voice had a pitiful tone.

"I'm afraid not. Your services are no longer required."

"But—"

"Greigson," barked the DCI to the suit behind him, "Take Whyte to the car."

"You can't just shut me out like this," Phillipson said.

Fenton gave a sardonic smile. "We just have."

Merrick tried to train his third eye on Fenton's mind, but it was a wall.

_Strange. He should be shooting off testosterone and adrenaline like an oil gusher._

The suit guided him towards the door while Phillipson protested.

"You can bet your arse I'll be on the blower to the Director General about this," Merrick heard him say. The suits ignored his protests.

Through in the front office, Celestia waited with another NCA suit. Fenton was speaking with the desk sergeant.

"Aren't I glad to see you," Merrick said. "Do you know what's happening?"

A secret smile played across her face. "Lazlo's taking care of things."

### 18

## Invisible

They arrived at a wrecking yard during the bleak early moments of sunrise. The driver steered the car through a gap between two decrepit piles of rusting insurance write-offs and brought it to a halt.

"This is where you two desperate criminals overpower us hapless law-enforcement types and make your bid for freedom," Fenton said.

Merrick looked at Celestia, a clouded expression on his face. "That doesn't seem a likely scenario."

Fenton took off his shades. "It's improbable but not impossible. I think I can make it work. Besides, it'll oil the wheels of my departure from the NCA. They don't tolerate incompetence, so a suspension on full pay is a foregone conclusion."

"It's still a noble sacrifice for our cause _n'est pas?_ " Celestia said.

"Best part of twenty years spent climbing to the position, yes. But Lazlo assures me our asset here is worth it. You are worth it aren't you, Mr Whyte?"

"That's not for me to say," he replied, the repeated reference to _asset_ needling him. "Not that I'm ungrateful for all you've done, but Lazlo seems to be putting all his eggs in one basket."

Fenton sighed. "That's not exactly what I wanted to hear, but it doesn't matter. Let's get out and make this look convincing."

They emerged from the armoured Lexus to the sound of a crane in the mid-distance, lifting its load like an early rising steel brontosaurus.

"You know where to take him?" Fenton said to Celestia.

"The Hornchurch safe house, _oui_."

"Okay, take the car and dump it north of here. You'll have to make it on your own after that. There's a change of clothes in the boot, along with your personal effects. Blend in. Once they report your escape they'll plaster your faces over every internet bulletin board and news channel.

"We could do with an illusionist," said Celestia.

A flicker of grim humour crossed Fenton's face. "You used up most of them at the museum. Lazlo couldn't spare any more. Any other questions?"

"Hundreds," she said. "But they'll have to wait."

"Right. Let's do this."

"What do you suggest?"

"A broken rib or two. Cuts and grazes to the face. Knocking us unconscious would explain the time we're giving you as a head start. Just don't overdo it."

"You know this will hurt me more than you."

"I very much doubt that."

With startling swiftness, she kneed Fenton in the stomach and chopped him on the side of the head, bringing him to the ground. To finish the job, she kicked him once in the chest as he sprawled in the dirt. Merrick watched with unconscionable fascination as she dispatched the other two suits with similar ease.

"Get in the car," she ordered. "You'll have to drive."

"But I don't know where we're headed. I think it would be better if—"

" _Vous êtes un imbécile_. I never learnt do drive."

Merrick shrugged and climbed behind the wheel.

She directed him through a twist of back streets then signaled him to stop behind a parked motorcycle.

"Can you ride that?" she said, nodding at the Kawasaki.

"Sure, I used to ride in the moto-three's back in the day. But I don't know how to hot-wire it."

"You won't need to. There's a key in the top box."

"You can detect that?"

"The owner treats the bike as he would a lover. He has left a strong imprint on each of its accoutrements."

"Then lets steal his mistress." The act of theft seemed petty in light of recent events.

It took a matter of thirty seconds to break into the top box. They changed clothes in the back of the car and were spitting gravel before a further minute had passed. Celestia tapped on his shoulder to guide him, and the thrill of being free again, the wind whipping his hair back, gave him a transitory elation. He realised they would draw attention to themselves traversing crosstown at this rate, not least because they weren't wearing helmets. So he was relieved when she indicated they should stop in a lay-by on the outskirts of the city.

"Are we close yet?" he asked.

"Oui, but I need to take a—"

"Wee?"

" _Vous êtes incorrigable._ "

"Ooh, formal address—now I know I'm in trouble."

While Celestia ensconced herself in some bushes further down the bank, Merrick's thoughts turned back to Lotus. He tried to shake off a thick shadow of dismay, but the hopelessness of his situation weighed him down. Every hour he spent off the Ukurum trail made the prospect of saving Lotus more remote. He had to make a decision, so when Celestia made to climb back onto the bike he stopped her.

"Celestia, I've got something to say."

She turned to look at him. "You can't bear to be apart from her can you?"

"No," he said, "and I don't think Lazlo will have her high on his priority list."

Her dropped gaze told him all he needed to know.

"I've trusted Lazlo up to this point," he continued, "against my better judgement. I was prepared to take a risk with him based on this crazy, intoxicating world he's introduced me to. But it's all turned to shit."

" _C'est vrai._ But it is just a setback. I have seen Lazlo recover from worse. Believe me, he is your best hope for locating the Ukurum. His agenda may be different, but he has the resources to do this."

"I have resources too. People I can trust. Lazlo won't even shake my hand without wearing gloves. That tells me there's a lack of mutual respect."

He looked wistfully up the road. The traffic was building up.

"I can't lay all the blame on him though, it's all on my head. I chose my ambitions over Lotus and now I need to put that right."

Celestia's shoulders slumped. "What are you going to do?"

"First, I'm going to drop you off at the safe house. Presumably, Lazlo will take care of you from there. I'm going to get in touch with my friends and make some plans. You'll forgive me if I don't tell you what they are."

"I understand."

"Okay. We'd better shift. The road's getting busy."

~ ~ ~

Mike Frappery slammed down the phone for the fifth time in half an hour. Every time he hit redial it cut to voicemail.

"Damn you, Merrick," he said out loud.

He hadn't yet rung his latest client to cancel their contract, and he was beginning to think he wouldn't need to make what was likely to be an awkward call.

Restless, he stood up and found himself looking at an old photograph on the wall. It was taken outside Durham Castle, a typical wide-view shot of the Bailey House graduates. They'd slipped the photographer a couple of notes to take it, as most of his work that day had been shots of individuals or academic faculties. The _Bailey barnstormers_ , as they were known, had the reputation of a tight-knit but disparate group. Others at the college thought them to be a clique, but in actuality they were just loyal to each other.

He took the picture off the wall and scanned across the lines of gowned students. Most of them he'd lost touch with, but here was Pete—always the ladies' man, often putting his foot in it. And there was Merrick Whyte, fresher faced than he was now, but the hairstyle was the same, and so was that cheeky grin. He remembered the night they'd met—fresher's week, the usual excuse to get plastered and get off with whatever skirt made themselves available. They'd clustered around the bar of the Shakespeare and the ale-induced banter was in full flow. This owed more to their ebullience than it did to the supposed quality of their repartee. Merrick wasn't as garrulous as most, but when he spoke, everyone listened. Whether it was his view on politics or a witty take on a candidate running for president of the student union, they listened with undisguised attention.

Over the next few months an unspoken bond developed. This strengthened through the all-night poker games (which Merrick always seemed to win,) and through the rucks and scrums of the rugby field (which he seemed to avoid.) They'd seen each other through many a scrape and emotional wrangle, and had forged a friendship that endured beyond university days.

Now he had to consider distancing himself from his lifelong buddy. He'd become a bit flaky over the last week and now this latest pickle he'd landed himself in—so uncharacteristic. Merrick's face had appeared every half hour on the TV news bulletin. From his days on the Met, Mike knew this was serious shit his friend had embroiled himself in. A heist followed by a spectacular bid for freedom from protective custody. Connection with such a person could seriously damage his reputation. He was beginning to ask whether Merrick Whyte was worth the aggro.

His mobile sprung into life on the desk, vibrating its way to the edge. He caught it deftly and knew who it would be without needing to look at the display.

"Merrick, what the hell—?"

"Mike. Just hold your questions for the moment. I need you to come and pick me up."

"What? You're a known felon. I ought to be turning you in."

" _Suspected_ felon. Look, I'll explain everything when you arrive."

"How do I know you'll not have been spirited away by the time I get there? The lawyer I fixed up for you was spitting feathers once he found out you'd made a break for it. He's charged me a time-wasting fee, which by the way, I'm putting on my expenses."

"Yeah, that's fine. But I need you to trust me. If it helps, I'm wiring through five K after we finish this call."

"Don't be a plonker. They'll trace the transaction and that will lead to me. In fact, you'd better lose your phone as soon as. Where are you?"

Merrick gave him the address of a lockup in the north of the city. He jotted it down on the back of an envelope.

"So, you'll come?"

"I must be insane, but yes."

"I knew I could count on you."

Merrick sounded desperate to Mike. He'd only heard that tone in his voice once before. He'd not abandoned him then, and he wasn't going to now.

"Give me half an hour," he said, "and lose the phone."

~ ~ ~

It was forty five minutes since he'd called Mike, and Merrick was starting to worry. Maybe the police had caught up with him or, worse still, Mike might have jettisoned any last vestige of loyalty and told them his location. He resolved to give it five more minutes. Then he'd have to split. He couldn't afford to be caught again.

The parting with Celestia tugged at him more than he thought it would. He'd shared his body with many a woman but only one had shared his mind. After dropping her off, she'd given him a perfunctory kiss and then spun on her heel to disappear into the traffic smog. He knew he was going to miss her.

At that moment he heard a scratching on the other side of the lockup door.

"Mike, is that you?"

There was no reply. His mind worked frantically as he looked around for a weapon. He used the lockup to store a couple of old bikes and tools and it was on a shelf next to him he found something that would suffice. He hefted an over-size wrench and approached the door. Someone was shifting a wire or similar object in the door's mechanism. The tumblers clicked and the swing door slowly lifted to reveal a silhouette.

"Back off," Merrick said. Cold resolve in his voice. "Whoever you are." He swapped the wrench to his right hand and raised it above his head.

"Don't you think you've committed enough crimes for one day?" said a familiar voice. The figure stepped backwards into the sunlight.

Merrick lowered the wrench. "Albany, I thought you were dead."

### 19

## Neon Knights

The hours telescoped into each other making the passing of time a disjointed mosaic of dreamscapes. Some might have been real, but Lotus couldn't tell. She only knew she preferred oblivion.

Someone or something visited her like an incubus in this ever changing kaleidoscope of half-consciousness. Sometimes it caressed her cheek, at others it spoke in whispers.

"Sleep well, my butterfly," it would say. "A day, a week or a month and you will be my scarlet concubine. Then you will know ecstasy entwined with serendipity, and we will drink deep of our passion's argosies."

The words sounded like those of a lover, alluring and yet potent with danger. The temptation was, like her namesake, to bud open, allow her petals to greet the majestic sun. But the voice of reason and caution spoke sternly, and she sank back into darkness' embrace.

Radice watched her stir on the bed, her head turning from side to side. "How long do you intend to keep her under?" he said.

"Until we reach our sanctuary," Shamon replied.

"You were right. She is an exotic beauty. Do you think that... ?"

"It's possible." Shamon looked over at the unfurled parchment on the table. "The incantations will take many weeks to learn. Plenty of time to show her the wonders of our lewd and luminous world."

"Her bond with the Psychonaut appeared to be strong."

"I perceive it's not so much strong, as hard and brittle. I intend to exploit the rift which has opened up between them."

"What if she proves uncooperative?"

"There are others lined up for the conquest. If my butterfly fails me on her path to corruption, then at least I will enjoy enticing her along its twisted egress."

~ ~ ~

"I know a good psychiatrist. We could get a diagnosis of mental instability, bipolar disorder or just about any condition you like. At least it could get you a sentence in a secure hospital rather than Wandsworth." Mike's lack of sleep was catching up on him. Merrick observed the bags under his eyes and the uncombed hair as his friend paced up and down the floorboards.

"I'm not insane, Mike."

"You bloody well better be, because the alternative is just too hard to take."

They had taken Mike's car, Albany directing them to his hideaway over on the east of town. "I like to think of it as my den," he'd said. "I'm a bit like an urban fox. Coming out at night, stealing scraps and tidbits from people's refuse, then going to ground before dawn breaks."

Now in the den, Merrick looked at Albany. He leaned back on a battered wooden chair, his feet on the kitchen table.

_Yeah, the fox metaphor is about right. But foxes are known for their cunning and guile. I wonder who's side you're really on, my counterfeit acquaintance?_

"Sit down, Mike," Merrick said. "You're making me dizzy just watching you."

"You got any whisky in this hidey-hole?" Mike said to Albany.

"A blended good enough for you?"

"It'll do."

Albany rose to his feet and reached down a bottle and three tumblers from a cupboard. He sloshed a double measure into each one and placed them in front of his guests.

" _Okrzyki_ ," he said, raising his glass in an East European toast.

"Cheers," Mike said, and threw the whisky to the back of his throat. Albany poured him another, which Mike sipped more delicately this time. "So let me get this straight. These guys you've been involved with profess to practice magic tricks and have key people placed in every major company and public service in Britain?"

"In Europe and the US too," Albany said.

Mike shook his head. "Merrick, I've known you for how long?"

"Coming up to fifteen years now."

"Long enough to know that you wouldn't fall for this occult mumbo-jumbo if you were of sound mind. Did they slip you a tab of LSD or something?"

"Actually, it was mad honey." The words sounded absurd even as they left his mouth.

Mike threw back his head and laughed. "You're cracking me up. Stop it."

"We're losing time," Albany said, face set like stone. Then, looking at Merrick, "Maybe you need to give him a demonstration."

Merrick looked down. His brain buzzed and the effort of keeping it in check was beginning to tell. Dare he use a mind-push on Mike given his recent lack of control? Mike left him no choice. He gathered his will as one would carry nitroglycerine.

"Mike, do you like that whisky?"

His friend's laughter subsided. "It's not bad. Why?"

"Because I think you're going to pour it away."

"In a pigs eye." But his hand contradicted him. It raised the glass and then tipped the contents over the table.

Mike recoiled and threw the glass on the floor.

"What the hell was that?" he said. "Have you spiked my drink?"

Merrick looked at Albany, who nodded back.

"Why don't you drop your trousers and sing Rule Britannia?" he said to Mike.

"Look I don't know what hypnotic scam you're trying here, but that just ain't going to happen," he said, undoing his belt. His hands trembled in resistance but Merrick pushed harder.

Mike ripped open the waist of his chinos and they fell to the floor in a heap. "What the f... Rule Britannia." he croaked. "Britannia rules the w... waves—Oh God Merrick, whatever you're doing stop it. My head hurts."

"I think that'll do," Albany said.

Merrick closed down the insurgent mind-wave with some effort and looked up at his humiliated friend. Mike's legs shook and his mouth was agape.

"Convinced?" Merrick asked.

"You bastard."

"My apologies. Here, sit down again." Albany, give him another whisky.

Merrick looked at his friend with sympathy. "I'm sorry to have put you through that."

"Fuck you."

"Okay, I deserved that, but don't you see now? I can't ignore this stuff. Nor can I overlook the fact that these Syncretic Orders are playing for keeps. Conventional routes of resistance won't cut it, and I've now broken all ties with the Hierophants.

Albany cleared his throat. "We kinda need to talk about that Merrick."

"Go on."

"You may have severed the ties but Karapetian will keep track of you. Believe me, I know this from experience. I had to fake my own death to get him off my back."

"Yeah, you said that. How did you do it?"

"Like I told you before, I'm a counterfeiter. Currency, paintings, passports—you name it and I can produce it. But my greatest asset is genetic manipulation."

Mike rubbed both temples with his fingers.

"You okay?" Albany asked.

"I could do with some painkillers—and a bucket of cold water over my head. Maybe that would wake me out of this dream."

Albany reached into his pocket and threw him a box of paracetamol. "Sorry I don't have anything stronger."

"You were saying?" Merrick asked.

"Yeah, my secret talent. Even Karapetian doesn't know about it. Are you familiar with cell signalling and gene transcription?"

"Just what I learned from biology class."

"Then you may remember that every cell in the human body contains the entire genetic blueprint. But only certain genes are switched on."

"I remember. A muscle cell only produces those proteins required for its function, a brain cell only translates genes needed for nervous transmission."

"That's right. Now stem cells can produce _any_ proteins in theory. You only have the most pluripotent cells as an embryo. But imagine if you had the ability to switch all genes on as you wanted?"

"I guess you could program any cell to become what you wanted it to be."

"Exactly. Pancreas cells in a diabetic could be stimulated to produce insulin again, neurons could generate new cells by reanimating their cell cycle."

"God, and I suppose you can do this in your alchemy lab or something?" said Mike.

"I don't need a lab. I just need these." He held up his hands and rubbed the fingertips together.

"By touch?"

"You got it. I can even re-arrange the base sequences, although I've still got a bit of perfecting to do in that department.

"So, how did you use this skill?"

"When Karapetian kicked me out the Hierophants, I raided one of the Ukurum body stores."

Merrick sat forward. "Body what?"

"Shamon has various crypts and mortuaries where he stores organs, tissues and even whole bodies."

"This guy, Shamon," Mike said. "I hate him already."

Merrick narrowed his eyes. "Makes me wonder why you would've sided with him, Albany. Has he got some kind of hold on you?"

"Just a bit. But I'll get to that." He took another slug of whisky. "I broke into this mortuary Shamon used. He'd knocked off a couple of high society types and faked their disappearances. He hacked their offshore bank accounts and siphoned off the money to fund his expansion. Anyhow, I slipped one of the recent bodies away. I figured he'd not miss one—there's so many in there he could form an army of the undead if he wanted."

"So, you used the body as a substitute? I can't believe it fooled our forensic boys."

"It wasn't that difficult. The body I chose was only ten hours cold so some cells were still dividing. That was all the gateway I needed. I manipulated the DNA to my own base sequences. Even managed to change the shape of the face to a certain degree. Problem was, the underlying muscle and bone were past redemption so I had to hack the head about a bit to fake mutilation."

Merrick's expression mirrored his turning stomach.

"Don't give me that look. The guy was a goner, and I would be too if I hadn't taken drastic steps."

"Steps like butchering the body into dozens of pieces?"

"I had to make it look convincing. Then all I needed to do was tip off the filth."

"Hey, watch it," Mike said.

"No offence intended," Albany said, holding up his hand. "The team in charge of the crime scene took samples from the corpse and fed it through their database. Of course I had prior convictions, so it made the match straight away."

Merrick put down his empty glass and ran his finger around the rim. "Seems like it all ends up being hunky dory for you then. Oh, and thanks for tipping Shamon off about me, by the way."

"Hey, I'm not proud of that. But what would you do if he was holding your brother as insurance for your compliance?"

Merrick read Albany's cortex and saw innocence.

"The third eye doesn't lie," Albany said.

"What does he mean?" Mike asked.

"Long story," Merrick said. He got up and looked out of the kitchen window. A high wall surrounded the yard which consisted of cracked cement and broken plant pots.

"So he's got his hooks in you too?"

"He hacked off Destain's little finger and sent it me in a box complete with a note."

"I like this guy less and less," put in Mike.

Merrick scanned through the window. "How safe are we here?"

"Good for twenty four hours at the most. I've stayed undercover on my own but your psychonautic signature broadcasts itself like a beacon every time you use it. That's how I found you so easy at your lockup. I got one of the Outcasts living close by to cover this place with a concealment sigil, but it won't bear up under focused psychic scrutiny."

"Outcasts? You mean there are others?"

"Yep. Undesirables, malcontents and those whose faces don't fit. They're scattered throughout the city trying their best to integrate into society. But we help each other out once in a while."

"How many?"

"Thirty four at the last count."

"You know what I'm thinking don't you?"

"Enlist them to help save your girlfriend and my brother? Don't get your hopes up. Most of them thank their lucky stars every new day they spend amputated from the Syncretic Orders." Albany paused, a quizzical look on his face. "There is one guy though. He'd jump at the chance to get even with Shamon."

"Tell me about him."

"I'll do better than that. I'll take you there."

~ ~ ~

Merrick looked at himself in the mirror. The face of a hair-lipped, hook-nosed deviant stared back. Albany had remained true to his promise; the procedure had hurt—a lot.

"I could have spread the process over a couple of hours, but we don't have the time," Albany said. "Genetic counterfeiting in ten minutes was never going to be painless."

Mike was less than empathetic. "I call it karma. Serves you right for taking a psychic shredder to my brain."

"Cheers, Mike. Now, if I could respectfully invite you to go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut, I'm going to grab an hour's kip. I feel like my head's been in a cement mixer."

Watching Merrick's face being warped had served another purpose. If Mike had harboured any remaining doubts about the reality of the occult powers impinging on his situation, they were quickly dispelled. Merrick could only imagine the rippling contortions of his visage as Albany moved his fingertips over its surface.

Merrick bore the pain with stoicism, but the combined effect of the process and recent events left him drained. He was asleep almost as soon as his head crashed onto Albany's bed.

The Outcast had to shake him several times to bring him round.

"Fuck it Albany, that was never an hour."

"No, it was two."

"Christ."

"Are you ready to go? I've tracked my friend down. He said we should meet up at the martial arts centre in Hackney."

"Yeah, just give me two seconds while I splash some water on my face."

Albany had another bike in his garage. They wheeled the one Merrick had stolen into a space at the back.

"No point risking the filth spotting it," Albany said. "Although, it's a nicer machine than mine. You're pillion by the way."

"I'm not a good passenger. I'll criticise your technique every minute."

"Just make sure you lean into the turns," he said and threw Merrick a helmet.

Mike told them he'd stay at the house. He had a stack of phone calls to make and some on line transactions to complete on Merrick's behalf. Merrick knew he had ways of transferring the contents of his account to an offshore bank without leaving an obvious trail.

"The bonds and shares will take a bit longer, but I can set the wheels in motion."

"Make sure you subtract your fees. I'll pay you six months up front."

"Don't you worry, I will. When you get back, we need to make plans."

So they had left him, with the warning to keep all doors locked and to phone immediately if he had any unwelcome company.

Hackney wasn't too far away. A quick hop onto the A10, shoot off the second slip road and the Centre for Martial Arts was the corner building at the start of a long thoroughfare. Pound shops, ethnic food outlets and multiple mini-marts alternated in haphazard frequency. Albany steered the bike down into an underground park and leaned it up in the only vacant spot, placing the pay and display ticket on the windshield.

He grinned at Merrick. "Model citizen—that's me."

"So what do you know about this guy?" Merrick's voice echoed in the underground chamber. He looked around and lowered the volume a notch. "And how can he help us?"

"His name's Arun Sinahouk. First, he's got a hard-on for dealing death to the Ukurum—in as painful a manner as possible."

"So—you thought I hadn't had my fill of sadists yet?"

"That's one of his _good_ points. He keeps it in check with copious amounts of Vietnamese snake wine."

"A sadist _and_ an alcoholic, you're not exactly winning me over yet."

"Cut him some slack, you need to see him in action. That's the second thing he's got going for him—he's the world master at Vovinam."

"What?"

"Vietnamese martial art, involving hand to hand techniques and weapons."

"Sounds like he could be useful."

They passed through a fire door, up a flight of stairs and down a short corridor. Merrick fell into step behind Albany.

"Just let me do the talking," Albany said.

"You got it."

"And no probing. He'll spot you a mile off. Remember you're dealing with a master of the arts. If he thinks you're messing with his mind, he'll react."

Albany pushed the gym door open and entered, holding his finger up to his lips. Merrick took the cue and went in after him.

The man in the centre of the room was dressed in black martial arts garb, the jacket tied at the waist. His face, like a bad night, was framed by hair held back in a genie bun. Five dummies surrounded him, mocked up to look like ninjas. With slow, controlled movements, the willow of a man first rotated on the ball of his foot, then gradually raised his leg until it was perpendicular to his torso. His arms formed a sequence of shapes, the spidery fingers separate and articulating as they moved.

"What's he doing?" Merrick whispered.

"I believe he's building up to the grand finale. Watch."

The man held his position like a ballet dancer for several seconds. Merrick wondered how he could maintain the posture without shaking.

What happened next, even in light of Merrick's increased acceptance of the bizarre, was amazing to behold. Arun spun round like a tornado, his feet connecting with the heads of two dummies as he transferred his weight from one leg to the other. They slammed to the floor and were followed in rapid succession by the remaining three. Merrick couldn't follow the motion as Arun blurred before his eyes, appearing one moment behind a dummy, and the next facing the front of another. He ended the display by giving a ceremonial bow to the defeated mannequins. One of the torsos had ripped open, spilling sawdust onto the wooden floor.

"Fuck me with a corkscrew," Merrick said.

With majestic grace, Arun turned to the two men. "I believe it is they who are fucked." He nodded at the toppled ring of bodies.

"Show-off," Albany said

Arun stepped towards them. "Ah, Albany. My recently deceased friend. Death has improved you."

"You have such a way with words. It's a shame that age has blunted your prowess to the extent you can only defeat dummies these days."

"I wish they were the real thing." Merrick detected the vestige of an oriental accent and noted that Arun's left eye twitched as he spoke. Without needing to use his third eye, Merrick knew this man was as confident in his abilities as he was eloquent in speech.

"Still as bloodthirsty as ever," Albany said.

"There's nothing like the sound of cracking bones and the squealing of a vanquished opponent to bring a smile to this Vietnamese face." Arun looked over at Merrick. "I see you have acquired a new friend. Is he—"

"An Outcast? I think we could say yes to that one, couldn't we Merrick?"

"As of about six hours ago, yes. Glad to meet you Mr Sinahouk."

Arun bowed respectfully. Merrick returned the gesture awkwardly as the Vietnamese gave a kind smile at his effort.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" asked Albany.

"Here is as good as anywhere."

They sat down on some gym mats, Arun crossing his legs while Merrick and Albany leaned against a jumping horse.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" the Vietnamese said.

Albany was grave. "The Ukurum are on the rise."

A look of distaste crossed Arun's face. "It was only a matter of time. Has Shamon completed the Great Work yet?"

"He's moved one step closer. Last night he stole the Archmaenid scroll. I'm surprised you haven't heard it on the news."

"Ah, the British Museum heist. There weren't many details."

"Yeah, I imagine the authorities are trying to keep as much out of the public domain as possible," said Merrick.

"Tell me more," Arun said.

Albany and Merrick told him the events of the last week, leaving no stone unturned. Throughout the discourse, Arun nodded sagely, interrupting only to ask the occasional question of clarification. His eye twitched throughout.

"The conjuncture has happened quicker than the leopard seizing its prey," he said, once they had finished. "Do you know if your brother and Merrick's girlfriend still live?"

"We don't, not for sure. But my guess is he'll want to hold on to Lotus as some sort of collateral. My brother? I fear he may have outlived his usefulness now Shamon thinks I'm dead."

"When you are a prisoner of the Ukurum, sometimes death is a welcome release."

The thought of Lotus at the mercy of Shamon churned Merrick's stomach. The lid of the pressure cooker lifted a touch.

Arun turned and narrowed his eyes.

"You did not tell me that your friend was a Psychonaut."

"I brought him here for you to assess. I hope you can lend him some of your wisdom."

"I don't think that's the only favour you're going to ask."

Albany smiled. "There's no hiding anything from you is there?"

"You want me to aid you in rescuing your loved ones. That will be a perilous road. As to your third request—that may be beyond my power."

"I didn't have another request."

"Yet it is an inevitable consequence of the second. You cannot simply take something of Shamon's and expect him to accept it. If we save them, we have to defeat Shamon, or at least deal him a mortal blow."

Albany sawed the palms of his hands together, pensive. "That'd be too big a favour to ask."

"What you are asking of me is not a favour, but my bounden duty."

"So, you're in?" piped up Merrick.

"I have been as a cedar tree living hidden in the forest. The tornado of events has uprooted me, and in its grip I must become a mighty weapon."

"I see you've been working on your poetry, Arun," said Albany.

"No, it's just a bullshit line I picked up from a Bruce Lee film."

They all laughed.

Arun turned to Merrick. "On a serious note, my friend, you must learn to placate your chi. You cannot hope to suppress it indefinitely by sheer effort. It will destroy you and anyone in close proximity."

Merrick looked back at him with hope. "There's a way?"

"I can teach you the art of _Anutpada_ —becoming without self-substance. It will take many months to perfect, but you will know enough to hold your power in check within a week."

"You don't know what a relief that is to hear. I feel like Krakatoa's about to erupt all the time."

"We may not have too much time for lessons," said Albany. "First we have to find where Shamon is holding Lotus and Destain. We're also going to need a pretty original plan to get them back."

"We're also going to need more help," Arun said.

"I don't think we can expect much from the Outcasts can we? Besides, there are only a handful of us."

"Within this country, yes." Arun had a gleam in his eye. "But Shamon has hemorrhaged dissidents the world over. Many more than you would realise, some of which would welcome the chance to skewer him through the ass."

Albany stood up. "Then let's kebab the bastard."

### 20

## A light in the black

Mike looked at the woman sitting opposite him again. She tended to draw the eye, not just because of her clothes. She had something of the Greta Garbo about her, and that French accent was damn sexy.

_Better watch my thoughts. Merrick said they can read those._ He cursed himself for ignoring the creak he'd heard earlier from upstairs. Life behind a desk had robbed him of his battle-trained reflexes and dulled his sensitivities. He felt about as sharp as a rubber dagger. They'd caught him napping, yet, to his puzzlement, refrained from any assault.

For the thousandth time he questioned his involvement in Merrick's little catastrophe. If the authorities ever got wind that he was aiding and abetting a known felon then the least he could expect was a ruined career. They might even put him behind bars.

One thing he hadn't lost from his years in the army was a sense of loyalty. _The team is more important than the individual_ , he recalled his commanding officer saying. Not quite as corny as _all for one_ etcetera, but in a war zone such epithets took on a verisimilitude.

The woman's companion was less of an attraction. In fact, he'd seen gargoyles more winsome. God, and he'd thought Merrick looked bad after his transformation. The woman had introduced him as Rovach. The guy wore his long, lank hair as a veil, partially obscuring a malformed face. His visible eye stared off at an acute angle and Mike had to stifle the urge to look over his own shoulder at the invisible attraction.

"So, I guess this is what they call an awkward silence," he said.

"Better to hold one's tongue and let the world think you're a fool, than open your mouth and have the matter proved beyond a doubt." Celestia delivered her proverb without a trace of a smile.

"That's me told," he replied. "Just trying to pass the time. Are you sure you can't give me any details about what you want to tell Merrick?"

" _Pardonne-nous_ ," Celestia said, "but we have learned in the last few hours not to trust anyone. What we have to say is for his ears. All I can tell you is we no longer hold allegiance to the Hierophants."

Mike gave her a sceptical look and poured himself another slug of whisky. "Well, if you don't mind, I have work to do. You say you can detect hostile presences?"

"Amongst other things, yes."

"Then keep your antennae bristling."

With that, he left them and resumed his on-line chicanery. He used Merrick's phone to access the user names and passwords. He'd switched off the data roaming and GPS functions, which closed down Merrick's digital signature.

_He'll still have to lose the phone though_.

Mike may have had his combat skills eroded, but he hadn't lost his touch in the world of the web. He was using a program developed to mask the IP address on his laptop and scramble the data sent out to Merrick's secure accounts. To his relief, the police hadn't seized his assets yet. It was short work to set up separate accounts on the Bahamas and Cayman Islands and transfer Merrick's assets accordingly.

After completing the transactions he thought about the uninvited guests again. The woman matched Merrick's description of the one called Celestia, but could he be certain? He consoled himself with the knowledge that if they were allied to the Hierophants or Ukurum, then he would've been brown bread by now.

~ ~ ~

On his return to the house, Merrick was about as mad at Mike's vigilance lapse as he thought he would be.

"Call yourself a security expert? You're as much use as a chocolate teapot." Merrick walked forward, stopping in front of him. "Now the Hierophants know where we are they'll be hauling us back in."

"Now hold your horses mate I—"

"If I could interrupt _mes amis_ ," Celestia said. "Mike couldn't have stopped us even if he'd installed Fort Knox security. If anyone here is a security lapse, it's you."

"How do you figure that?" Merrick asked, his voice like a scythe.

"Lazlo sent us to find you. Believe me, with your pineal radiating energy like it is, it didn't take long. The cloak I've placed over this house is the only reason he'll be unable to locate you. It's immaterial anyway. Rovach and I are no longer part of Karapetian's order."

"What, you've defected?"

Celestia ran her fingers through her hair. "We had what you call a fair and frank exchange of views. Lazlo has changed during the years I've been away from these shores. _Malheureusement_ , it is not for the better."

Albany sensed her conflict. "Why don't we all sit down? We all need to cool it a bit, I think."

After some brief introductions, Albany sorted drinks. Most took coffee. Mike continued with the whisky.

Feeling calmer, Merrick continued questioning Celestia. "You say Lazlo has changed. Maybe you ought to tell us what his angle is."

Celestia sighed. "He has run Hierophant affairs for some time now. He gained accession as Grand Master after a campaign of intense diplomacy, together with the support of others who recognised his extraordinary leadership skills. You see, he is a master of persuasion. He wins people over with ease, and you can't tell whether it's the force of his arguments or the subtlety of his magick."

"I've experienced that first hand," Merrick said.

"Actually, he found you frustrating. You're the only one ever to raise a formidable resistance to his will."

"Yet, as you can see, I came round to his way of thinking in the end."

" _Oui_ , but the Ukurum's actions have caused him to act in a reckless manner, stepping over lines he would not have crossed in the past."

"And I've experienced _that_ first hand," Albany said.

"I did not approve of the way he treated you," she said, taking a sip of coffee. "But there was also the subterfuge over his use of the Simiatan. He made out it was Merrick's mistake, opening the Gateway, yet it was his plan all along."

"It looks like he's used me at every step," Merrick said.

"The Lazlo I used to know would not have acted so. We always worked together. That was the Hierophants' strength. But that is not all. When he revealed his intentions for you once you were retrieved, I balked."

Merrick slid his chair closer. "What exactly did he plan?"

Celestia sighed. "He was intent on tapping your energy so he could open the gateways himself. If you didn't do it willingly, he was prepared to use products from his laboratory."

"Like the mad honey?"

"That is not the only potion in his pharmacy. He has developed drugs that enslave the mind as well as liberate it. Once he told me his plans, I knew he was embarking on a course I could not follow."

"I can't believe he let you just walk away."

As if in answer, Celestia relaxed her mental guard. Merrick saw the gesture for what it was—an offering of trust. He was tempted to enter the inner sanctum of her mind, but he refrained. The offer was all he needed. She was telling the truth.

"It's enough," he said finally, after the unspoken exchange.

" _Merci_. I told Lazlo I needed to think, but after our meeting I approached Rovach here. He's an illusionist and secreted us out of Paraganet House ."

"You know there's no turning back, now you are an Outcast?" Arun had listened to the discussion unfold, but spoke up now.

Celestia looked at him. "I couldn't have chosen any other way. My will is different from that of Lazlo and Jason.

"Are there any other dissenters?" Albany asked.

"If there are, then they have not revealed themselves. _Cependent_ , there is more I must tell you. Lazlo revealed that Shamon has left his lair. He sent a heavily armed detachment of warriors to counter-attack the Ukurum this morning but the place was deserted. Lazlo employed tracers to discern their destination, and it seems he has relocated to his homeland."

"Turkmenistan?" asked Albany.

" _Oui_. He has a stronghold there. Now he has the scroll he has no need to remain in this land."

Merrick swallowed. "And Lotus?"

"Sadly, they have taken her too."

Merrick stared up at the ceiling, his eyes glazing. "Then there's no hope for her?"

"There is always hope, _Mon Cher_. At least we know she is alive."

The words were small comfort to Merrick. Shamon's final threats echoed back from his memory. Maybe it was better Lotus was dead. He didn't want to think of what he could do to her while she lived.

Arun clasped his arm. "You have to be strong, friend. It looks like we have an alliance here, and there are others who will rally to our cause, each with a fiery determination to vanquish Shamon and all he stands for."

Merrick met his gaze. "More skewers for the kebab?"

"Enough for a barbecue," said Arun, smiling.

"Then we need to make plans."

~ ~ ~

They talked well into the early evening, stopping only to eat a hasty meal. They were going to Turkmenistan—that much needed no debate. They also had the element of surprise on their side. Shamon would be concentrating his surveillance on the Hierophants. As far as they knew, he had no knowledge of the Outcast's rebellion. They were also aware that now he had the scroll, Shamon had access to the gateways and was in his home territory. As he heard contributions from this conglomerate of conspirators, a fierce resolve and anger replaced Merrick's apprehension. Arun took him aside after supper and gave some elementary tuition in Anutpada.

"You must use visualisation as a tool," the Vietnamese said. "Every day, use the techniques I show you. In time, they will become second nature."

Arun showed him how to picture the source of his psychonautic power. "In terms of anatomy, we know your talents centre on the pineal gland. Traditional imagery has it pictured as a pine cone. But that will not be suitable for our purposes. Tell me how it feels when you release your mind force."

"It's different to when I read people's motivations. That sensation is like a mist infiltrating another's consciousness. This, on the other hand, is precise. It's like releasing an arrow, but when I raise the bow as it were, the tension is so strong the arrow flies off almost without volition."

"Then that is the image to use. We must build the strength of your bow arm so that you exercise full control at all times."

"That might be okay for when I release the energy, but there's also the build up, it's like a rising column of molten rock."

"Then we divert the lava flow gradually."

"But that's the problem. I can only release it if there's a mind to focus on. I almost gave Mike permanent brain damage when I demonstrated my power. Will I have to hurt someone every time I erupt?"

"We will find a way. For now, use me as the point of focus."

"That may be suicidal."

"Have no concern. I have ways to absorb the energy—as long as I know it's coming. You have a remarkable and powerful gift. It's no wonder Karapetian wants to harness it."

"And the reason Shamon wants me neutralised."

"That is so. Now, let us work to ensure you possess your talent rather than it possessing you."

They practiced while the others made their preparations. Albany required a whole day to draw up forged documents for travel. He also needed to transmute their appearances with genetic manipulation. Not all took him up on the offer, however. Rovach could change, holding his and Celestia's appearances by illusion. But he didn't have the magickal strength to extend it further.

_More's the shame_ , Merrick thought. _I could do without the pain of Albany's crude technique._

Mike busied himself booking flights using masking software. It seemed surreal somehow. That with all their combined supernatural powers they had to rely on conventional means of transport. They would be travelling to the capital, Ashgabat. After that, they needed to get their bearings soon, find a base of operations and locate Shamon's whereabouts. It felt good they were now galvanised into action. Actually doing something was infinitely preferable to overwhelming helplessness.

He left Mike to work, warmed by his friend's willingness to add his skills to the cause. Even Merrick had to admit, this was a crazy proposition. He was desperate for some shut-eye and retired to one of the bedrooms. However, before he could lay his head down, there was a knock at the door. Celestia walked in with Rovach. The illusionist carried Merrick's suitcase.

"Your belongings," she said. "I retrieved them before we fled Paraganet House."

Rovach dumped the case on the bed.

"Your chap doesn't talk much does he?" said Merrick.

"He is a man of few words," she replied.

Merrick attempted to reach out with his mind to the illusionist, but met with an immediate rebuttal.

_Do not attempt to read my thoughts_ , the illusionist sent, _you will regret it._

"Rovach guards his secrets jealously," Celestia said, "we would do well to respect his wishes."

"Suits me."

"Oh, and I brought this." She presented him with his sabre.

"You went through my case then?"

"I was curious. Are you trained in swordsmanship?"

"I can open letters with it."

"Arun may be able to school you in how to open the throats of the Ukurum."

Merrick slumped onto the bed. "I've had enough of killing to last me a lifetime."

"Even Jagur Shamon?"

He looked up at her, his expression grim. "You know, I think I'll make an exception with him."

### 21

## Gates of Babylon

"Six months. Six fucking months we've been here and nothing to show for it." Merrick kicked at a chair and sent it scuttling across the floor to smash into the wall.

"Don't shoot the messenger," Albany said. "The intel seemed good, so I acted on it. I didn't promise it would yield anything."

Merrick looked round at his companions. All were there except Arun. Most were seated on floor cushions, littered across the sparse communal area. Albany had perched himself on a cheap futon. They all wore a look of disaffection.

Merrick dissipated the energy building up from his third eye almost without a thought. A rat scurrying under the floorboards took the brunt of his chi and died unacknowledged beneath his feet. When Arun wasn't here, the vertebrate population had to act as his psychic dartboards.

Celestia attempted to lift their spirits with a hope-filled catalogue of goals they had accomplished since their arrival in the Turkmen capital. Much to their surprise, their transit to Ashgabat had been incident-free. Albany had worked wonders with their forged passports and documents, even managed to produce counterfeit work permits that would tide them over for the next year. They had secured primitive yet unobtrusive rooms located above a back-street carpet shop. The comings and goings of customers provided the perfect buzz to conceal their own, more furtive movements.

The far-seer drew a pattern in the dust on the floor. "We ought to count it a blessing we have remained hidden from Ukurum surveillance for so long. We may not be have gotten any promising leads but our presence here is invisible."

"As far as we're aware," Merrick said.

" _Mais, bien sûr_. You can be sure that if they knew, our corpses would be forming the foundations of one of Ashgabat's new apartment complexes."

"That's all well and good," said Mike. "But apart from rumours, and the possible sighting of an Ukurum at the local temple, our stay here has been fruitless." He took a swig of vodka from a tumbler, then half-filled it again from the bottle at his side. Mike was now drinking during the day, as well as partaking until the early hours with Arun, with whom he'd forged an unlikely friendship.

"You know, I'm not paying you to pickle your liver twenty four-seven," Merrick said. Albany and Celestia looked up at the sound of his invective. "Have you found time out of the bingeing schedule to glean anything from your contacts?"

"Ouch," Mike said, pulling out an imaginary arrow from his neck. "Did you dip that one in curare?"

Merrick pointed at himself. "Is the face laughing, Mike?"

"Okay, okay. So nothing's come up in the last day. I'm still waiting to hear back from my man in the diplomatic service. But these Ukurum are more difficult to unearth than the Illuminati. You stand more chance of getting something using your friend's telepathic network." Mike looked over at Rovach. "Our illusionist friend just seems to spend the day playing with his toys."

Rovach ignored Mike, concentrating instead on turning a beetle he had found into various exotic beasts. As it clicked across the floor, it changed first into a three-headed monstrosity and then into a purple, iridescent beauty.

"Arun returns," Celestia said, standing up and stretching. "He's running. Maybe he has news."

"More likely he's gagging for another vodka," Merrick said.

Arun strode into the room, a triumphant look on his face. "My friends, I have just learned something interesting." He sat down cross-legged on a spare cushion. "I talked to the old man who sits on the corner of the street. We usually have a game of draughts most mornings as you know. He never seems to win a game, but he's a glutton for punishment."

"All right," Albany said. "Get to the point."

"Impatience. The father of frustration and the grandfather of error."

Merrick gestured with an open hand. "Arun. You were saying?"

"Yes. This man, Eziz is his name. He told me of a wise woman living in the mountains just south of the city. Somewhere on the upper reaches of Mount Şahşah."

Mike passed him a vodka and Arun knocked it back with a flourish. "That is good. It is thirsty work pitting your strategy and your wits against—"

"Fuck it, Arun," Merrick said. "Did this Eziz tell you anything else that could help us?"

Arun looked hurt. "Yes, she is known as _ağ geçidi koruyucusu._ "

"Meaning?"

"Her title is Turkish for _Guardian of the gateway_."

~ ~ ~

The wind whipped up flurries of sand and litter as the small group of Outcasts weaved their way through the bustling mid-day market. _Outcast?_ The term fitted Merrick well. He had worn it like a mantle for most of his life. Now it was official.

They agreed that Celestia, Arun and Albany should go with him to find this woman. They needed transport, and a hired jeep seemed the best option.

"Eziz said the woman's abode is difficult to find," Arun had told them. "But he marked its location on a map I bought. He also said she is a little, how do you say it, eccentric?" It amused Merrick to think that anyone who lived an isolated existence in the mountains had to be at least a little unhinged. Not the most promising of leads, but it was all they'd got. At least it meant they were _doing_ something.

They found the vehicle hire agency on the other side of town but within walking distance. They would soon be there. The cry of street merchants haggling with customers and the excited babbling of women trading fine textiles dulled Merrick's perceptions. So it wasn't until he bumped into a man in a tribal robe and telpek cap that he registered it was Jason.

Merrick stared in astonishment at the Hierophant. He also recognised two others from the order standing behind him. The look of recognition was not returned. Albany had done his job of genetic manipulation well. All they would see were the wizened faces of local tribes-people in the penumbra cast by overhanging tarpaulins. Jason muttered an apology and edged round them in the narrow gap between the facing stalls. Celestia jabbed Merrick in the back, urging him to break out of his startled pose and move on.

"Do you think they detected us?" said Merrick to Celestia, once they had gained some distance from their adversaries.

"Not with their eyes, no," Celestia said, "but I don't know if my cursory shield was enough to mask our presence at close quarters."

"Don't look now," said Albany, looking over his shoulder. "But I think they saw through it."

Merrick, concerned, looked beyond Albany and made out Jason, pushing his way through the throng back towards them.

"Merde," Celestia said. "We need to lose them."

"Through this bazaar," Arun said, pointing to a squared-off section of the market. "I know that shop on the far side. It has a back door we can take."

They waded through a huddle of people queuing to buy spices and lurched into the cramped alcoves of a trinket shop. Merrick, the tallest, caught his head on an overhanging display of necklaces. They fell to the floor in a scattered heap. The vendor, a bespectacled greybeard, let out a torrent of abuse at him.

"Just passing through," said Merrick.

Unfortunately, so was Jason, closer than ever.

Outside again, Celestia ran across a road jammed with traffic and through the door of a tall, ochre, stucco building. The honking horns of impatient drivers, their tempers raised by the troupe of Outcasts skimming across their bonnets, receded into the background as they scaled a steep stairway.

"I know it's you, Whyte," Jason shouted from the foot of the stairwell. "Stop running and talk to us. Running away is futile."

"Don't listen to him," Albany said, "if they lay hands on us we'll never see the light of day again."

Merrick accelerated and launched himself up the steps two at a time, his lungs burning.

"They're gaining on us," Arun said, bringing up the rear. "I'll attempt a delaying tactic."

There were laundry baskets, linen bursting out from underneath their lids, lined along the landing at the top of the stairs. Arun rolled two onto their sides and kicked them back down the steps. Albany sent another two following on after them. The move gave them a few seconds advantage but nothing more. The Outcasts tumbled along the passageway, breaking out onto a balcony. The fierce noon sun streamed onto them as they ran past age-distressed doorways on one side.

Merrick's heart sank as they reached a cul-de-sac at the end of the balcony.

They turned round to face the closing adversaries, who had now slowed their pace upon seeing the Outcast's predicament. Jason adopted a combat pose—as did his two accomplices.

"Time has not been kind to you," Jason said, leering. "You nearly got away with your disguises, but Ked here has the nose of a bloodhound." He edged closer as Arun and Albany slipped into defensive stances.

"Celestia, is that you? You disappointed us with your unannounced departure," Jason said. "And Albany. So glad you're still around. Who stitched the chunks of flesh back together for you?"

"I know a good seamstress," Albany replied.

"There's nowhere to go. You might as well come quietly—it will be less painful."

"You're outnumbered," Merrick said. "Maybe you need to turn round and walk out of here while you've got the chance."

"Numbers don't mean much when you can do this... "

Jason's invisible, thaumaturgic hand pushed Arun and Albany together. Their bodies were slammed back-to-back, their faces contorted in agony. Tangled together this way, they struggled against Jason's intangible will.

Merrick swallowed his panic and focused his mind, like Arun had taught him. He fired a trio of mind bolts at the combatants. Each found its mark, instigating a wave of torment in their minds. A concentrated bolt targeting one of them would have been enough to fry their brains, but Merrick diluted his assault—he also knew they were strong from years of occult augmentation.

Albany and Arun sprung apart from their psychic ensnarement as Jason and his sidekicks struggled to silence the shrieking of torn nerve endings.

Celestia and Merrick looked over the balcony. The courtyard below was too far to jump. "There's no way down from here," Celestia said.

"Except back the way we came," Arun replied. Immediately he leapt, cat-like towards the hunched-over trio. He landed on Jason's back, bringing him to the ground and with a panther's grace, swatted the head of Ked against that of his companion. Both Hierophants slumped to the floor.

"The way is open to us," said Arun. "Come."

~ ~ ~

Merrick shielded his eyes as he looked up at mount Şahşah. The jeep they had hired bounced along the dirt track, jarring his bones over every pothole, but he couldn't take his eyes off the peak. It shouldered above its brothers like a red-layered giant of the Kopet Dag range, which itself formed an arched vertebral column out of the Karakum desert.

"Should have killed them while we had the chance," Albany said. They had pulled cotton scarves over their heads to shield against the grit-blasting of the desert sand, so his voice was somewhat muffled.

"Quit bellyaching and concentrate on driving," said Merrick.

"Just saying."

Merrick shut out the rest of Albany's bickering and tried not to think about Lotus.

It was impossible.

Memories of her filled his head every minute of every day. He had to believe she was still alive but, even if she was, the probability that Shamon had abused her loomed in his thinking. Merrick tried not to see her terrified face as she recoiled from the Ukurum, kept pushing away the image of her desecration, time and again at his hands. Worst of all, he couldn't avoid the truth: this would never have happened if she'd never met Merrick. It ate away at his core like a canker.

The gradient increased with every mile until the track diminished to a narrow path, snaking up the ruddy chaos of escarpments ahead.

"This is as far as we can drive," Albany said, killing the engine. "From now on, we become mountain goats."

"Are we on the right track?" Merrick asked.

Arun checked the map. "We are. The path leads to a pass five miles from here, but the way is steep."

Celestia, shirt damp from the heat, heaved a haversack onto her back. Months ago, she'd dispensed with the leather trousers in favour of loose slacks. Somehow she still managed to look provocative in them. At least Albany appeared to think so. Merrick observed the Outcast's eyes inching up and down her body. _Just a red-blooded male like the rest of us,_ he thought.

"Will we make it to the woman's dwelling by nightfall?" she asked.

Arun looked up, eyes squinted, marking the sun's position in the hazy sky. "I believe so, but we'll not make the return journey before dusk—assuming we find her."

"Then we'll need the tent, _n'est-ce pas?_ "

"We'll take it in turns to carry it. Pack extra layers, the temperatures will fall as we ascend. Nights can be bitterly cold in the mountains."

They packed their provisions and were on the trail in a matter of minutes. Arun hadn't jested when he said the path would be precipitous. After only half a mile they were panting like dogs and Merrick's thighs ached with the exertion.

"I hope this trip will be worth the effort," Albany said. "What do you hope to achieve if we meet this crone?"

"No one said she was a crone," Merrick said, and took a mouthful of water from his canteen. "At least we can find out if the gate she guards is in fact one of the portals."

"It's not going to free Lotus though is it?"

The point was not lost on Merrick. "It's the only information we have to act on. Maybe she has other knowledge she can share with us. Knowledge that might give us an edge on Shamon."

"I don't follow."

"We still don't know exactly how he plans to use the gateways, or the nature of the worlds beyond."

Albany mopped his brow. "You realise that if _we_ know about this gate then—"

"Shamon might know about it too?"

"It's not common knowledge," Arun interrupted. "Eziz told me about this in strictest confidence. He only knows of her because he is distantly related."

"So why would he tell you?" Albany asked.

"He owed me a lot of money due to my punishing draught victories. He exchanged the information for a cancellation of his debt. Besides, we are old friends."

"Do you always fleece your friends then?"

"Only the ones who deserve it. Better he owed _me_ than the cut-throats he normally associates with. I look on my actions as a public service."

Merrick laughed. "We need to push on if we're to find the pass."

The trek was relentless. They crossed bubbling mountain streams, scrambled up scree slopes and traversed a knife-edged arete before happening upon a small defile in the sandy shards of an escarpment. A small waterfall leapt in cascades down one side, plunging into a pool at its foot.

"The _Yarik_ ," Arun said. "So called because it opens the way to the mountains like a woman's vagina."

Celestia scowled. "You have such a way with words."

"Well, shall we enter?" Merrick said.

"It would be rude not to," Albany said.

After filling their canteens in the pool they scaled the rocks leading up to the defile. They stopped at the lip and stared down into a shallow basin of baked earth. It extended at least a mile into the distance. Scrubby vegetation peeked through the clay like tufts of hair in a malformed beard.

"The map is no longer of use," Arun said. "Eziz told me to look for a fold of rock at the far end of the plateau. According to him, it's easy to miss, but we can mark it's position by that cleft on the horizon." He pointed to a ridge at the limits of their vision. Merrick could just make out a notch in the otherwise smooth line of rocks.

They descended into the basin and walked for the best part of an hour, their boots sending up dust in choking clouds. By the time they reached the far end, the disc of the sun had begun to slide down past the horizon, deepening the shadows of impending twilight.

Arun wiped the sweat from his brow. "The entrance to the woman's cave should be here somewhere. Let's split up and work our way left and right. Give a shout if you find anything."

"What if Shamon's here already?" Albany asked.

"He would have seen us approaching. But it will pay to be vigilant. Celestia, can you detect anything?"

" _Non_ , but I would expect to sense background chatter from the creatures inhabiting this place. The whole area is as silent as the grave. This concerns me."

Arun shrugged. "All we can do is keep our guard up. Let's find the cleft before we lose all light."

It was only a moment later that Merrick stumbled upon the entrance. The cliff face folded back on itself like a curtain, the cleft being further concealed by a large, bushy snow vetch. If he hadn't been looking intently, then he would have missed it. The rest gathered round to look at his find.

"Who wants to go first?" Albany asked.

"I better," Arun said. "I can employ my eastern charms on this woman."

Albany gave him a quizzical look. "Well at least I speak the language," Arun added.

"Lead on Macduff."

One by one they pushed past the bush and edged round the rock shoulder. A narrow canyon led them down towards a cave entrance. The setting sun lit up the cave mouth, but beyond it was pitch black. The smell of guano wafted up from the belly of the cave and the sound of dripping water added to the sense of dampness and cold.

Arun took two flashlights from his pack and handed one to Merrick. "Watch your step," he warned.

They traced their beams across the ceiling, revealing a spacious area. Over in the corner they saw the remains of a recently extinguished fire. A simple cot and some cooking utensils hung on the wall.

"Looks like someone's been here recently," Celestia said.

Arun spoke up, sending a greeting to anyone who could hear. From Merrick's rudimentary knowledge of Turkmen, he knew Arun spoke with reassurance, using what he assumed was the woman's name: Jahan.

There was no reply.

Then, beyond the fireplace, Merrick detected a shifting form against the rock.

"Look over there," he said.

The fissures in the cave wall seemed to slide over one another until the outline of a woman materialised, removing itself from the grey slate.

" _Iyi akşamlar,_ " spoke a voice crackled with age.

Merrick watched Celestia instinctively reach for her weapon only to have Arun place a steadying hand on her arm.

Arun repeated his greeting, introduced himself and bowed with a stylish grace.

"Most of you are westerners," she said in English. "I knew others would come. Yet you are not like my previous visitors."

Merrick blinked. He dismissed her previous camouflage against the cave wall as a trick of the light. She stood before them now in a chequered kaftan, her silver hair running in waves as elegant as her words.

"My English is not perfect," she continued, "but it is better than my French."

"You are a linguist?" Arun asked.

"It is one of my talents," she replied.

"As well as an illusionist?" Celestia said.

"I call it blending. I used it to good effect when strangers appeared in my valley a week ago."

"Forgive us," Arun said, "but what did these visitors look like?"

"There were four. I liked not the look of them, so I hid. Their leader was Turkmen—a shifty looking man. Trinkets concealed his face."

"Shamon," Albany said.

"They did not speak their names, but I watched them out in the veil. They looked for that which is hidden here—as, I'm sure, do you."

"The others," said Merrick. "You said there were others?"

"Yes. Two women. One ugly, one beautiful. The ugly one had a scarred and twisted face, the other's shone with a regal light. Indian or maybe Pakistani. I am not sure."

"It's Lotus. It has to be." Merrick felt a leap in his chest. "Did she look—well, healthy? I mean..."

"You know this woman?"

"Yes. We've been looking for her. The man abducted her. His name is Jagur Shamon. Tell me, did it look like he'd harmed her in any way?"

"Not at all," said Jahan, her grey eyes leveling on Merrick. "In fact, she laughed often. The way she held the hand of this Shamon—I understood them to be lovers."

### 22

## Strange highways

Trauma, shock, disorientation. Whether physical or psychological, they have many sources and many expressions. Merrick had been in LA on a contract during the Landers shock of '92. Only 7.3 at its highest on the Richter scale, it was a gnat's fart according to Manny, his business partner at the time. Yet Merrick remembered the floor shifting erratically, without relief. Overarching the whole incident was the impression of lost reference points. A breaking of trust in mother earth—after all, the prospect of peaceful Gaia turning into a raging, Hadean monster was enough to shake anyone's foundations. The LA aftershocks phased him. Jahan's words completely knocked him to the ground.

"It's bullshit," he said, looking at Celestia for support.

" _Bien sûr,_ " she replied. "Lotus is under coercion from a master of deceit. Feigned affection is her survival mechanism _Mon Cher_. That is all. Take heart that she's alive." Celestia's consciousness emanated compassion and Merrick absorbed it like a tonic.

"Yeah—has to be," he said.

"Which is why it's all the more important we squash this scorpion as soon as we can," Arun said.

Jahan moved into the light. "I know why you are here. There is only one reason seekers happen upon this shrine. All leave disappointed. The gateway has not opened itself to novice or master for at least six hundred years.

Merrick quelled his apprehensions about Lotus and spoke up. "You must be aware that there are other gateways?"

"Yes. Also unbreached. They are the window to worlds unseen and do not yield their secrets easily."

"I've seen beyond one of the gateways," Merrick said.

His assertiveness surprised Jahan. She looked at him with earth-brown eyes. "Let me see you up close," she said, stepping forward. She reached out her hand and ran it over his forehead, nose and mouth. Her psychic energy infiltrated him like a dry tree seeking water. Merrick allowed her explorations, detecting no deceit in her.

"I recognise truth within your mind, child of the west. I also sense great power and conflict; pain also. You are not a mage, so I know you have not completed the great work. That can only mean you are _Anahtar usta._ "

Merrick smiled. "I seem to be getting called a lot of things these days. I don't even know what that means."

" _Key master,_ " Arun said.

Jahun motioned to Merrick. "Come and sit down, this cave chills my bones and I need to relight the fire. Once we are comfortable, you can tell me what you have seen beyond your gateway."

After the fire was rekindled, they sat in a circle on mats of sedge. They took the opportunity to snack on bread and cheese as Jahan prepared them a hot drink, infused with herbs to help ward off the cold fingers of the night. As she gave a cup to Albany she chuckled and gave his cheek a playful pinch.

"My, you are a virile young paragon," she said. "I could do with the likes of you to warm my bed on a winter's night."

Albany blushed. "I... I'm charmed... I think—"

"Don't be bashful. I may have a wrinkle or two but I am well versed in the art of love. Who knows? Maybe we won't have to wait until winter."

She moved on to fill Arun's cup leaving Albany with a bemused expression.

"Was that a come on or what?" he said to Merrick.

"Looks like you're well in there," he replied with a smirk on his face.

Celestia leaned towards them and whispered "She is an adept at sex magick. She could give you the night of your life."

Merrick's smile dissolved as thoughts of Lotus' crept into his mind again. "Jahan," he said, urgency giving wings to his voice, "thank you for your hospitality. You're right in guessing our motives, and you did well to conceal yourself from Jagur Shamon. He's a sworn enemy. I don't know what lies beyond your gateway, but I can tell you what I saw in my brief glimpse through the one in England."

"All my life I have waited to hear from someone who has passed beyond," she said. "My late husband and I tried countless times to enter the gateway here. A thousand times our efforts ended in disappointment. I have long since accepted that this is a journey denied to me."

"You may see your wish fulfilled yet," he said. "The full extent of my abilities are still an unknown quantity, but an acquaintance of mine was confident I could hold these doors open for others to pass through."

Jahan settled her fragile form onto a mat. "Speak to me of these wonders," she said.

Merrick recounted his experience at Paraganet house. The civilisation he had seen, and the barbarity. As he spoke, his fellow Outcasts listened too, their expressions moulding into a unity of realisation.

He concluded his tale with the reappearance of the Simiatan, and the havoc it unleashed on the Ukurum in London. When he had finished, there was silence from the companions. The only sound was the crackle of the fire as resin in the wood expanded and vaporised.

After a minute or so, Jahan broke the silence. "You know the danger of what lies on the other side. Now tell me why you want to see beyond _this_ gateway. My only reasons are those of curiosity. To know why I, along with my mother and her mother before, were given the lifelong duty of guarding what lies here. You have viewed the savagery of these unknown worlds, yet there might be greater terrors. Do you want to take that risk again?"

Merrick thought for a moment. The woman was an expert at concealment but she could not hide her mind entirely, and he had learned to cover his penetrations with skill during the last few months. _This is a test. Time to tread with care. Increased concentration of cortisol not quite hidden by a saturation of oestrogen. Despite her age she is approaching oestrus._

"Jagur Shamon holds great store in these gateways. He plans to use this knowledge to spread his influence. There are others also. Others only a little less malign than he who would profit from them. I have to know what they're placing their confidence in. Perhaps we can use this against them or, failing that, find a way to prevent them from ever passing through."

Jahan put down her drink. "Your motives seem more noble than this Shamon, but there have been many who approached me in the past with apparent benign intent. Curiosity can so easily lead to avarice. A taste of knowledge—which is power—can warp the most innocent of intentions."

_Conflicting hormonal interactions. She hasn't decided yet._

"If I might speak," Arun said. "I open my mind to you, holy mother, so you can see that I speak true words."

"Then speak, venerable one."

"I used to be a follower of Jagur Shamon and have spent the last ten years trying to remove the stain of his corruption from my life. I know first hand the lengths this man will go to. There have been many from ages past who sought to rule the kingdoms of the earth—Nebuchadnezzar, Alexander, Genghis Khan, Hitler. Shamon's ambitions dwarf these. He intends to build an empire across worlds. His rule would bring annihilation and chaos on a colossal scale." Arun spat on the ground as if the mention of Shamon filled his mouth with distaste. "To thwart him, we need to know what he values on the other side."

Jahan had been listening with her eyes closed. She opened them, decisiveness etched on her face. "Arun, You speak the truth. I think the time for words has passed." Rising to her feet, she picked up a large candle and said "Let me show you the gate."

Jahan approached the far wall and then disappeared from sight.

Merrick looked at the others in surprise.

"I think we're meant to follow," Celestia said.

She stepped over to where Jahan had withdrawn from view and extended her hand towards the fissured wall. Her arm vanished and then reappeared as she pulled it back.

"A simple illusion. If Rovach were here he'd have seen through it."

One by one they filed through the concealed cleft and joined Jahan in a narrow passage.

"We must descend for a while," she said. "Watch your step. The rocks are slippery."

She wasn't exaggerating. As they followed her spindly form down, Merrick felt his feet slide on the treacherous, uneven surface. The walls left a slimy residue on his hand as he steadied himself. After a few minutes they heard the plaintive sound of a spring bubbling up from below, and a couple of twists and turns later they emerged in a small cavern. Natural phosphorescence glowed from stalagmites rising from the floor, finger-like until they reached their sister stalactites in the cavern roof. A depression, scooped out of the dark granite at the centre contained churning black water.

"Where does the gateway lie?" Celestia asked.

Jahan pointed her torch at the spring. "Beneath the waters."

~ ~ ~

Merrick dipped his hand in the spring. The ice-cold waters licked his fingers. "I think we're going to get wet," he said.

"Do you have a plan, once we reach the other side?" Albany asked.

"Depends what we find there. I'm going to try to breach the gateway with my mind first, like I did at Paraganet house." He looked at Celestia. "I don't have the benefit of mad honey anymore but a melding of minds should be even better."

" _Je suis disposé,_ " she said.

"No time like the present?"

She held out her hands to him and their palms met. In the intervening months they had found the technique efficacious in that it amplified the strength of their union.

Their minds united in a contiguity both rapturous and disconcerting. Having another present in his mind, able to read his every thought, committed Merrick to an openness that transcended any conventional relationship. In fact, in an irony that was profound, he realised he knew Celestia better than Lotus. It was a double irony that Celestia would know of his meandering thoughts even now.

"Keep your mind on the task at hand, _Mon Cher_ ," she sent.

They moved as astral forms, down beneath the surface of the water until the gateway appeared as a diaphragm of energy at the bottom of the pool. Perception in this thought-world was in higher definition than Merrick remembered from the museum. Was it testament to his increased power? It was certainly surreal in the extreme.

By consent, his consciousness dominated their twinned projection such that his decisions held sway. It struck Merrick that this required a profound level of trust from Celestia. He didn't accept it lightly.

The diaphragm gave way to his astral push like molasses, subsuming them in a way that was almost asphyxiating. This perception was gone in an instant as they emerged on the other side.

The scene that greeted them was perplexing. At first, Merrick assumed they had failed in their attempt as they rose to the surface and viewed what seemed to be the cavern they had just left. Only one figure inhabited the cavern. It sat on a rock at the waters edge. A silver-bearded man, stooped over by age's withering hand, stared around him, as if hearing something but not seeing.

"Where are Jahan and the others?" Celestia said.

"Where we left them. This is not the reality we left but another. It's like a mirror image."

"This man, he seems harmless, _oui?_ "

"He's unarmed. Acting like a startled rabbit. I think he can sense our presence."

"What should we do?"

"Go back for the others. We can't communicate with him in this incorporeal state."

Merrick carried them back and in an instant he was seeing through natural eyes again.

"Well?" Albany said on their return.

"It's like an analogue to this place," Merrick said. "I think I can get us all through, but it might frighten the body on the other side if we do so at once. I suggest we stagger the transit."

"Are we covered at this side?" Arun said. "We can't be certain the Ukurum haven't followed us. After all, they know of this place."

Celestia shook her head. "There is no presence I can detect, and my range is extensive up here at the roof of the world."

"Then we all go," Merrick said. "This is a leap in the dark, and there's strength in numbers. Celestia and I will go first and talk to the man on the other side. I'll return for Arun as soon as I can, then the rest of you."

"Sounds as good a plan as any," Albany said. "Go for it."

The physical passage was, if not traumatic, then uncomfortable in the extreme. The chill of the water seeped into Merrick's bones as he dipped his head underneath. They found the gateway on the bed of the spring, superimposed over the entry point of the water so he had to swim downward against the current. Then there was the suffocating envelopment of the gateway itself. It conspired to force the last breath from his lungs. With a strong surge of will, he forced the ethereal aperture to remain open, and took Celestia's hand to pull her through. They broke the surface on the other side, gasping and spluttering.

The man was backed up against the wall of the cavern, eyes wide with alarm.

_We mean you no harm,_ Merrick projected.

The man appeared not to have heard him.

"Celestia, I need your help."

Their minds joined and Merrick reached out an astral tendril to the man. He sensed the fear of the cavern-dweller, but also detected a fulfilled expectation. Merrick withdrew the connection and saw the man's brow unknit with relief. He took a tentative step towards them as they rose, shivering, from the waters. They held their hands up in a gesture of peace. A sign the man seemed to understand.

"You come from beyond the window?" he said with an accent that sounded pseudo-Scandinavian.

"Y... Yes," Merrick said, shivering with cold. "You speak English?"

"I know not this tongue of which you speak. My language is _Drynn._ "

Merrick could only just follow the man's speech with its long vowels.

"There are more of us. I need to go for them. My name is Merrick, and this is Celestia. Is there a place she can keep warm until I return?"

"Yes, of course. I have a fire lit in the chamber above." He smiled, then laughed. "My whole life I have waited for such a moment as this. Now that it happens I am caught off guard."

"Do not worry _mon ami_ ," Celestia said. "We're relieved it is one such as you who greets us."

"Are you going to be okay?" Merrick said to Celestia.

" _Ne pense rien à ce sujet._ "

"I think you better stick with English," Merrick said. "The guy's had enough culture shock as it is."

He ducked under the water and allowed himself to pass through the gateway using the force of the current. On the other side, Arun was ready.

"Fasten your seatbelt," Merrick said and guided the Vietnamese through, as he had done with Celestia. He took Albany next and finally, Jahan. Each time he penetrated the gateway it became easier; as if he had just learnt to swim. He reveled in his newfound liberty, noting with growing ease that the repeated use of his power assuaged the hunger of his pent up mind-energy. Expending it on a mind such as Arun's, accepting or not, made him a parasite in his view.

They stepped up the analogue path to an upper chamber while water trickled from them in irritating drips. Merrick put his arm round Jahan's quivering body. To prevent hypothermia, she would need a change of clothes, if possible.

"I will survive," she said. "I have not come all this way just to—"

She stopped mid-sentence and stood staring at the man throwing brushwood on the fire.

"Hanchik," she murmured. "Is that you?"

The man dropped his bundle. "Guljemal. After all this time. You... You have returned.

~ ~ ~

"I buried you myself," Jahan said, "in the mountains. I laid you beneath a cypress tree and covered you with stone from the mountain."

"And I remember, as yesterday, the sight of you retreating into the distance. Your final words were that you couldn't be second to my obsession with the gateway."

Jahan reached out and touched his face. "You are so like my Hanchik. But you are not he."

The man smiled. An acceptance of the impossible received with patience for the time being. "My name is Kemran. You may not be Guliemal but I cannot help but allow my eyes to feast upon your beauty again."

"Forgive me for interrupting," Merrick said "but we have many questions—as, I'm sure, do you. We hope you can help us."

"I will do what I can," Kemran replied. "Come, I have furs and a banked fire to keep you warm. Winter comes early to Babylon this year."

"You call this place Babylon?" Albany said.

"Babylonia is an empire spanning most of the civilised world, my friend."

"It just gets more and more weird. How does this fit with your theories, Merrick?"

"To be fair, I don't have any concrete ideas yet. This world seems to be on a different page to ours, yet still from the same book. The last world I saw at Paraganet was a book in a completely different library."

They huddled round the fire while Kemran handed out fleeces and skins. "I need to know something ," Merrick said. "Were there others who appeared from the pool in times past? Your reaction suggests no, but I want to be sure."

"You are the first," Kemran replied. "It has been the life's work of many a pilgrim to discern the mystery of the gateways, yet none have succeeded."

"The reason I asked, is that one from our side has the potential to cross these portals too, but hasn't the purest of motives. His name is Jagur Shamon."

Kemran's brow furrowed. "Shamon, you say? Why, Abdu Shamon is ruler of this Province. Second only to the Emperor himself."

"Could there be a connection?" Arun asked.

"Tell us about this ruler," Merrick continued.

Kemran shuffled his feet then looked at Jahan. Merrick sensed the psychic warmth exuding from them both.

"Politically, Shamon is a reformer. He inherited rule from his father before him and over the last few years has risen in popularity with the people of Archmenia."

"Archmenia still exists here?" Celestia said.

"For centuries, yes. We integrated with Babylonia in the year of the jerboa—it was a peaceful process. Mutual trade and a common political framework paved the way for substantial economic growth. From your question, I take it Archmenia does not exist on the other side of the first gateway?"

"Neither does Babylonia," Celestia said. "Merrick, do you think this Shamon is a parallel of the Ukurum leader on our side?"

"I don't know for sure. No one's written an instruction manual for trans-dimensional travel yet. But I want to go back to something you said before, Kemran. You just referred to the pool gateway as the _first_ gateway. Are you aware of others?"

"I can show you them."

The Outcasts looked at each other in astonishment.

"That would be fascinating," Merrick said.

Kemran led them through one of several passageways radiating out from his central living quarters. "Each of these passages leads to a gateway. They are numbered rather than named."

"But I counted seven passages," said Albany. "That means—"

"Seven gateways, yes. That is why this site is called the Nexus."

"Incredible," Merrick murmured.

The chamber Kemran guided them to was larger than that containing the pool. Limestone stalactites and stalagmites joined in an edifice resembling a natural pipe organ.

"The gateway is through that formation over there." Kemran pointed to a rock arch. It framed a midnight-black cavity.

Merrick weaved through some strewn boulders towards the gateway. "I'm going to try something."

"We need to be careful," Celestia said. "We don't know what's on the other side. It may not be as harmless as Kemran here."

"Just an astral glimpse. I could do with your help though."

" _Sûrement_."

They passed through without thinking.

"It gets easier every time," Merrick said.

"Don't be over-confident."

Communication flashed between them at the speed of thought.

As astral bodies, they emerged on a deserted plain at the centre of a crossroads, the topography alien. Merrick looked up and followed the sage-coloured sky until it met the featureless horizon. The substrate of the road under his feet was difficult to identify but each leg of the crossroads branched into a straight highway, extending to the limits of their vision like a wheel spoke.

"No gateway guardian here," Merrick said. "Look at the air rippling above each road."

Celestia gasped. "More gateways."

"You could lose your way and your mind in this journeying," Merrick said. "Remember our bearings. I'm going to project into the one on the left."

He felt a brief resistance from Celestia but she allowed release. The transition this time was much harder.

"Is it the resistance of this particular gateway, or the fact we are projecting through two at the same time?" Celestia said.

"Your guess is as good as mine." He pushed harder until the portal diaphragm yielded. On the far side he had to expend much energy resisting the gateway's attraction as it threatened to pull them back through the way they had come.

"Merrick, look."

A bestial shape, the size of a small mountain, eclipsed the burning sun that beat down on the hard, cracked earth. That it lived was evident from the way it swung its head from left to right, as if it was on duty, a sentry.

"I don't think it sees us," he said.

It rested in a crouched position on haunches large as cliff sides. Indeed, its flesh appeared to be hewn from the rock making up the surrounding crags. The head was saurian, horny appendages extending in lateral causeways from its cheeks. On the crown grew pine trees and other shrubs.

"I think it's made from the earth," Celestia observed.

"I think we should go back. We've seen enough for now—maybe too much."

Merrick allowed them to be drawn backwards through both gateways. This time it was a relief to enter their bodies again.

"Right," said Merrick immediately.

"Whoa! Don't do that," Albany said. "Give us some warning next time."

"What do you mean?"

"You've both been standing stock-still for half an hour. In fact we started to worry about you. We couldn't bring you round, no matter how hard we shook."

"Half an hour?" Merrick mused. "We would have said five minutes at most. Maybe there's a time dilation effect we hadn't considered."

"Their efforts to rouse us might explain the resistance we felt after the second gateway too," Celestia said .

Arun spoke up. "Tell us what happened then."

Merrick filled them in while they listened in awe.

"It is as the writings describe," said Kemran. "Worlds beyond worlds."

"I'd like to talk more about these writings," Merrick said. He looked up at the gateway's rippling blackness. "I think I can see why Shamon, _our_ Shamon that is, holds Jahan's gate at such a high value."

"I'm convinced he will return there as soon as he can, to carry out a more extensive search. No doubt with a greater number of Ukurum," Arun said.

"Which is why we need to get back to our world. He might be scouting around the valley again as we speak."

"What's our next move?" Albany said.

"I've got a theory about Archmenia," he replied. "Kemran, where does Abdu Shamon live? I mean, does he have a palace or a presidential house somewhere?"

"Yes, in the capital."

"Can you describe its location?"

"I have a map."

Back in Kemran's main chamber, he rummaged through a wooden chest and pulled out a rolled-up scroll. He spread it out on a table.

"This plan has the same layout as Ashgabat," Arun said, scanning the outline of the city in front of him. "Some streets even have the same names."

"No shit?" Merrick said. Again, the many parallels between these two worlds struck him with force. It was akin to twins separated at birth—same genetic origin, but different developments. "Where is Shamon's palace?"

"Persepoli is its name. Here."

The old man indicated a walled citadel at the north-east of the city.

"In our world, that would be beyond the Bagtyyarlyk district," Arun said. "The remains of an Archmaenid fortress can be found there. But it is a ruin, completely uninhabited."

Merrick looked at him, a smile of accomplishment on his face. "Maybe not. Maybe this time we've found the fox's lair."

### 23

## Too late

That Jahun decided to stay with Kemran was not a surprise to Merrick. She and Kemran were like neighbouring pieces in a jigsaw—at least it seemed so.

"There's nothing keeping me in my world any longer," she said. "Kemran and I are able to act as guardians on this side of the gateway with greater potency than either of us could achieve on our own. The illusions I created will still hold in my absence, but they may not deter a sustained search by Shamon."

"Leave Shamon to us," Merrick said. "Now, about Kemran—you realise he's not Guljemal, don't you?"

"I understand your caution, but we must grasp this opportunity. We can only do what we can do." She looked at Kemran, who nodded his agreement. "It is enough that we have found each other," he said.

Merrick smiled. "Who am I to counsel others about relationships, anyway? I don't know when we'll be back, if at all. So you'll need to accept this situation as a permanent arrangement."

"It isn't a difficult decision," Kemran said. "We have much to discover about each other, and our duty binds us to the gateway. Worlds separated us and yet, in another sense, we existed only a few hundred units apart."

After snatching two hours of sleep, the Outcasts transferred back to earth-side and decamped. Kemran informed them the world beyond the gateway was named _Demeldin_. An alien name in some ways, yet uncannily familiar to Merrick's ears. It occurred to him that the two world's evolutions might not be so much parallel, but overlapping, like chromosomal chiasmata, swapping their code at auspicious junctions.

The journey back down the mountain was tense. The potential for Shamon or his horde to surprise them was always at the back of their minds, despite reassurances from Celestia.

"If he's crossed a different gateway, he may have magickal resources that outstrip our detection," Albany said with a frown.

"This may be a vain hope," Merrick said, "but I think we're still hidden to him. Anyhow, it can't harm to be vigilant."

By the time they reached their jeep, the sun was high in the sky and beat down without relent. Merrick called ahead to Mike and filled him in. He also told him to be ready for a war council of sorts. As they neared the capital Albany applied his genetic manipulation, and they resumed their alter-egos.

Back at the house, Rovach had prepared a meal. They ate while conducting their meeting, each party sharing their significant news.

If Merrick's party had the more fantastical elements to report, then Mike had the most encouraging.

"I've not been idle while you were gone," he said. "In fact, I think I've had a bit of a breakthrough."

"You have?" Merrick said. "Well, spill the beans, mate."

Mike obliged. "I made contact with the Outcast's network. These guys were next to invisible, but once I had the identity of one cell leader, I accessed his home PC and tracked his connections to the others. It involved hacking systems, cracking passwords and surfing the dark net, but the end result is a list of names and addresses." He handed the list to Arun, who took it with barely repressed fascination.

"You are now at liberty to applaud," Mike said and leaned back in his chair.

"This is good news indeed," Arun said. "This one, here," he pointed to the third name down, "lives in the city. These others have spread themselves between Turkmenistan, Iran and Afghanistan. There will be more—I am sure of it, but we must be cautious. The Outcasts guard their identities obsessively. It is their key to survival. If we go blundering in, they'll vanish like the morning mist."

"Okay," Merrick said. "It seems we have many priorities here. Needless to say my greatest concern is Lotus. But bringing Shamon down, or at least disabling him, is a close second." He looked round the table. Every one of the group gave him their attention. It was both fascinating and frightening that, despite his novice status, they had come to look towards him for leadership. He didn't know when or how the shift had taken place but, just like a rising tide, the fact he was leading them was unquestionable.

"The problems we face are many. Shamon is on home territory with a formidable organisation, we might even call it an army. We can only guess at its size. We don't know if, or to what extent he has accessed the gateways, and to top it all off, he has leverage with Lotus' abduction."

"We're also having to look over our shoulders for the Hierophants, now Jason knows we're in town," Albany said.

"So now to our strengths. We know we can access the gateways and our ability to do so is instant. We've got the chance of hooking up with other Outcasts, and from what Arun tells me, there's a rich vein of talent we can tap into."

"Don't forget—they will be well motivated," Arun said. "There's nothing to galvanise the rebellious more than the prospect of revenge. They just need leadership."

Merrick finished his last mouthful and took a sip of water. "As far as I know, we have the advantage of surprise. If Shamon doesn't know we're here, then his guard might be down."

"There's a couple of if's in there," Albany said.

"Balance of probabilities, mate. We've got to act on our best instincts. Otherwise indecision will leave us paralysed."

The others were nodding or grunting their agreement.

"So, here's the proposal." Merrick stood and laid out Kemran's map on the table. "First, we check out the Archmaenid site to see if it's where the Ukurum are holed up. Celestia, we'll rely on you to detect their presence."

"I'll need to be close," she said. "The Ukurum have their own far-seers and they'll be throwing up static for concealment. I'll also have my work cut out concealing our approach."

"Can you do it?"

" _C'est bon_. As long as the party is small."

"Great. I'm going to limit it to three. You, me and Arun."

"Are you sure that's enough?" Albany asked. "There's strength in numbers."

"We have to be realistic," Merrick said. "If we know they're at the site, then our best bet is a quick in and out operation. If we can spirit Lotus away, then it will accomplish more than an all-out assault. Besides, we don't have the numbers—not yet."

"It's risky," Mike said, "but, as you pointed out, you have the advantage of surprise. What do you want the rest of us to do?"

"We need to make contact with the other Outcasts. I'd like you, Albany and Rovach to engage with the one Arun recognised—what's his name?"

"It's a _she_ , and it's Yuliana Ogulnazik," Arun said.

"Okay. Be discrete. Let's hope her English is better than your Turkmen, Albany. Otherwise it'll be down to sign language and a translation book."

"Tell her you know me," put in Arun "and give her this." He passed Albany a polished amber fragment. Inside, perfectly preserved, was a blue-winged moth. "It will reassure her that I sent you."

"Good," resumed Merrick. "We need to thrash out some details but I think we've got the basis of a plan. After that, we get some sleep and move out at dusk."

After each party had discussed tactics, they retired en masse to their beds. Merrick made to turn in but found Celestia had held back.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

She circled her finger round a knot of wood on the table surface. "We're taking a step into the unknown and there are no guarantees that we'll find Shamon, let alone rescue Lotus. You do understand this, don't you?"

"There are no guarantees of anything, but I have to act. I've been sitting on my thumbs for months and now I've got a chance to move forward. Besides, I'm more confident with my abilities. Shamon's not dealing with a novice anymore."

"That's not what I mean. Shamon has a way of getting into your brain—just ask Albany. There's no telling what Lotus' state of mind is."

"What exactly are you saying, Celestia?"

Her eyes met his questioning gaze with compassion. "Don't expect her to be the same Lotus you knew."

~ ~ ~

They arrived at the site just as the last remains of daylight faintly streaked the western sky. Albany had offered to disguise them again but Merrick had declined. He'd had enough face-twisting and, besides, the Ukurum would recognise their mind signatures at close range, just like Jason had.

"There's a lot of interference here," Celestia whispered.

"The Ukurum?" Merrick asked.

"There is no signature. But the fact that static is present tells me something wants to stay hidden."

Merrick's eyes dwelt on her in the half light. He hadn't noticed before, but she had a mole on her neck, just below an elfin ear decorated with silver-bar piercing. She wore a jasmine-laced perfume that was almost as alluring as the scent of her psyche. She looked back at him and he withdrew mentally, mindful of his uninvited encroachment.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"Hunky-dory," he said as his eyes slid off her.

_Get a grip, Whyte._

"I'd like to look closer at that crypt," Arun said. He was pointing at a square of crumbled, parmesian-coloured masonry. It enclosed a shaft or possibly a cellar; the spidery shadows made it difficult to tell.

"Let's keep close to the shrub-line," Merrick said, "it'll limit the time of exposure."

Arun looked left and right. "You feel it too?"

"Watchful eyes? Yes."

"I can't sense anything down there," Celestia said.

"I'm not looking for anything sentient," Arun replied. "Let me go alone. I'll give you a signal once I've checked it out."

With that, the Vietnamese flitted like a panther through the undergrowth, then disappeared. He emerged again as a shadow, separating himself from the darker umbra cast by the temple ruin. Moments after descending into the chamber, a beckoning arm appeared giving the all-clear.

They found Arun at the bottom of a shallow well, his torch-beam flicking back and forth. The steps leading down had fallen away, requiring them to drop down the final two metres. They landed in silence and looked at the rectangular block occupying his attention. He swept a hand across the dusty surface. There, illuminated in the torch-glow was a cuneiform character.

"I recognise this mark," he said. "They're inscribed on many of the Ukurum vaults in England."

"What does it mean?" Merrick asked.

"It means we've found them."

Merrick couldn't help a flicker of pleasure spread across his face. "Is there an entrance somewhere?"

"Yes. Beneath the block. But it's protected by a sequence of charms."

"Can we disable them?"

"I know the keys. They change every day, so initiates must learn each individual one. Let us hope they have not changed."

Arun gestured with his fingers and uttered three words in rapid succession. "It is done."

"What?" said Merrick. "No sliding door or rolling stone?"

"The Ukurum have no sophistication. We'll have to lift it."

They couldn't avoid the grating of the slab as they dragged it across the plinth. Looking down into the gloom, they saw another staircase.

"What now?" Celestia said.

"We're going underground," Arun replied.

"A song by the Jam?" said Merrick.

Arun gave him a baffled look.

"Never mind. I'm more of a Dio fan than a mod," Merrick said. "Celestia, can you sense anything?"

She shook her head. "There's a passage beyond the door at the bottom. Beyond that, more static."

"Can you still shield us?"

" _Ce n'est pas un problème._ "

They crept down the stairway and pulled the door open. A breath of warm, sulfurous air greeted them. Though Merrick breathed only through his mouth, the pungency stung his sinuses.

"This way," Arun said and led them along a rocky pavement. Although they had torches, the darkness oppressed them, threatening to eat the feeble light their beams afforded.

The passage ended with a crawl space, about three feet high in the wall. Arun froze. Beyond the aperture they heard the movement of something large and bestial, snorting and shuffling about.

"A guardian," Arun said under his breath.

A chill, sliver of fear inserted itself into the fissure of Merrick's mind. "Can we find another way?"

"There'll be ones like this protecting every entrance to Shamon's lair. Don't worry, I can handle it." He got down on all fours and slinked through the hole. After a while, Merrick heard a mournful groaning. He looked at Celestia in alarm.

" _C'est bon,_ " she said. "I've seen this trick done before."

Arun's head poked through the hole. "I have pacified it. Come."

When Merrick stood up on the other side, he saw they were in a large cavern. Another aperture on the far wall cast an orange lambency over them. It illuminated a slumbering beast, curled up on the floor. Scarlet and charcoal-grey hide covered a bipedal form. It had a hammer-shaped head, as if it had been forged by a diabolical blacksmith. Its vicious-looking mouthparts curved downward, while nostrils exhaled condensed vapour into the cold cavern air.

"Fucking hell," Merrick said. "He's an ugly bugger."

"Actually, it's a _she_ ," Arun said. "The male of the species is far too passive for a guard. Now we must move with haste, it will not stay under the stupor of my charm for long."

Once through the hole on the far side, they came out on a smooth-floored passageway, its surface polished to a dull sheen. Recessed lights bathed the rock corridor with a greenish hue, removing the need for torches.

"I have full cognisance," Celestia said. " _Mon dieu,_ there are thousands of them here. This complex is the size of the Vatican."

"Can you locate the Dark Pontiff?" Merrick asked.

"His emanations are like a beacon. He's just north of here. Lotus is with him."

"Can we stay hidden?" he said. The eagerness on his face hard to conceal.

"Unlikely. His chambers are annexed to a dozen ante-rooms, each occupied by personnel."

"We could have done with Rovach," Merrick said, thinking for a moment. "It's a long-shot, but we could create a diversion, draw some of his people away and approach from another direction."

Arun looked at Celestia, who shrugged. "I have a couple of thunder-flashes in my belt. They might work," he said.

"It's all we've got," she replied.

It only took a minute to settle on a strategy. Arun was to circle round to the west while Celestia and Merrick took the opposite path. Relying on Celestia's far-sight, they calculated that eight minutes was all they needed to take up positions. Arun could then set off the thunder-flashes and do his best to disappear into the western quadrant. It was then up to Celestia and Merrick to close in on Shamon.

"If we manage to take Lotus back. How do we get out?" Celestia asked.

"I say we head east," Arun said. "We'll have to hope there's an exit on the far side."

Celestia's eyes narrowed. "There's a lot that could go wrong. We might be better retreating to make a better plan, then come back with the others."

"No," Arun said. "The guardian I put to sleep will tell of our incursion. Even if I kill it, Shamon's guard will be up. Our best option is to take advantage of surprise. That means acting now."

Merrick concurred. He also felt the surge of his expectation driving away any patience he had left. He was so close to Lotus now. "Let's do it," he said, "are you both clear on the plan?"

They nodded, and Arun immediately crept off down the passageway. Celestia led them both in the opposite direction, hugging the walls every time they heard footsteps or reached a corner. Merrick tried to remember every twist and turn they took, but he couldn't know what was up ahead. Celestia's far-sight was invaluable in this respect.

Their progress slowed down as they encountered increasing Ukurum traffic in the passages. They passed through chambers, store rooms and alchemical laboratories, avoiding any obvious congregation points. Merrick saw humans, humanoids and beasts; even more bizarre than at Paraganet House. He marveled at the beauty and the grotesquerie, for there was equal measure of both.

They still hadn't made enough progress before they heard a muffled detonation in the distance.

"Shit," Merrick said. "We'll have to close in now, whatever. Our priority is haste rather concealment."

Rounding another corner, Merrick saw a stream of warriors moving away at a rapid pace. They were gaunt and sinewy, at least seven feet tall, and lumbered along with a momentum defying their size. "I don't fancy taking any of them on," he said.

"They are _Necrolytes_ ; Shamon's personal guard. Formidable beasts indeed."

"If they think, then they're vulnerable to me," he said, confidence rising within him, along with something he knew he ought to repress. Bloodlust—an emotion previously alien to him. Yet the threat to Lotus, and revulsion of Shamon's horde brought it boiling to the surface.

They ran through a library and then an antechamber. Beyond this, they encountered a woman, terrified and clinging to a wall.

"Please, do not strike me," she whimpered. "I only wanted to see what the commotion was.

"Get back to your room," Celestia said in a commanding voice. "The master will hear of this."

Once she had scuttled out of sight, they resumed their ingress.

"Nice one," he said.

"Act as if you belong. It works most of the time. Now hold—we are close."

They passed through a small chamber, warmed by a log fire. Ahead, was an oaken door.

"It's not locked," Celestia said.

Merrick didn't hesitate. He grabbed the handle and pushed into the room beyond.

Shamon was on a low bed with Lotus. Both wore ornate robes, designed for ostentation rather than comfort. Lotus had her hair up, patrician style—Aphrodite couldn't have looked more sublime. Merrick tried to deny it, but he detected a post-coital atmosphere and it gave him no small satisfaction to see Shamon's eyes widen with surprise. He made a quick recovery, however, as his expression turned feral. Merrick released a mind bolt, which Shamon just managed to parry. Merrick felt the force of Shamon's mind retaliate and threw up his own shield. They remained deadlocked in this manner, neither gaining the upper hand.

"I see the woodlouse has crawled out from underneath his stone," Shamon said.

Merrick ignored him, "Lotus, step over here, this motherfucker isn't going to be a problem anymore. We've come to take you back."

Lotus didn't move, her expression was stone. The effort of maintaining Merrick's magickal assault was starting to show. "Lotus, snap out of it," he said, with greater force this time.

She tilted her head, mouth curling in an arch smile. "Poor Merrick. You came all this way to rescue me? How thoughtful." She glanced at Shamon then fixed Merrick with her eyes. "It must be a great shock to you, so how can I put this tactfully? I don't want to leave. This is where I belong."

### 24

## Faces in the window

"What have you done to her, you bastard?" Merrick said to Shamon.

"Cease your assault and I might tell you," Shamon replied.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Not at all. See here, I relax my defence."

There was a sense of dissipation and Merrick reduced his mind-force in response. He was ready to increase it again should Shamon renew the attack. But it didn't come. The two combatants relaxed what remained of their mind force—a psychic sheathing of swords.

Shamon rose to his feet and Merrick felt the Ukurum's eyes study him. "That's better. You ask what has happened to Lotus? St. Paul described his conversion like having scales fall from the eyes," he said. "How would you describe your path to enlightenment, my butterfly?"

Lotus smiled at Shamon in a way that made Merrick feel like ants burrowed beneath his skin. "It was like immersion. Once I had left my old, jaded self beneath the water, I emerged, completely aware of my new potential. I have you to thank for that, my love."

"He's brainwashed you," Merrick said. "Don't you remember what he did at the museum? What Sarlic did to Lapin?"

As she turned back to him, Merrick noticed her eyes. Where once there had been a vibrant warmth, there were now only two almond holes revealing a black void. His third eye skirted round her starless consciousness, but he couldn't penetrate it.

"I'm sure it would be comforting for you to think I've been indoctrinated, my will usurped. But the fact is, I yielded by my own volition. As for Lapin, it was never Jagur's intention to hurt him. Sarlic meant the throwing disc for you, Merrick. In fact it was you who put him in that situation. So who has Lapin's blood on their hands?"

A heavy pad of feet announced the arrival of three Necrolytes. They growled as they pointed javelins at Merrick and Celestia.

Shamon held up his hand. "Stand down, my pets. We are in no danger."

They lifted their weapons, snorted through chitinous mouthparts and withdrew. One remained behind, guarding the chamber.

Merrick's mind force was a bubbling cauldron. "You're underestimating me, Shamon. Have you forgotten what I can do?"

"I'm all too aware," Shamon said, "that's why I felt it prudent to converse with you rather than kill you out of hand." He stepped over to a cabinet, lifted an ornate decanter and poured two drinks. He laid out another two glasses. "Come now. Sit down," he said. "I understand this must all be an immense disappointment to you Mr Whyte, but let us put aside recriminations for the moment. Can I offer you both a drink?"

"We're not thirsty," Merrick said, eyeing him with suspicion.

"As you wish." Shamon gave one glass to Lotus and sat down on a floor cushion. "That night in the museum. We both lost something of great worth." He paused to sip at his cup, then continued. "Sarlic wasn't just a talented, loyal servant. We shared a magickal bond. But where one loses with one hand, one gains with the other. You see, I found what you carelessly mislaid, Mr Whyte. The scroll wasn't the only thing I acquired that night. Your Lotus is an enchantress, in more ways than one."

As if to emphasise his point, Lotus sat next to him, a look of devotion on her face.

"So, actually, I'm quite grateful to you. Lotus proved to be the final key to completing the Great Work. Her carnal intimacies spin the most powerful magick. But then I don't have to tell you that, do I?"

Merrick looked at the man, trying to fathom how Lotus could choose Shamon over him. The Ukurum wore a face both scarified and cruel. The eyes blazed amber. This wasn't all; rippling under the surface, Merrick could detect a compelling attraction. Ruthless ambition, and the certitude that comes from a position of great power were a heady mix.

_It must be like an aphrodisiac to her._

"So, where does this leave us? I'm sure that's what you're thinking, even though I don't have your psychonautic powers."

"It leaves us where we started," Merrick said, "sworn enemies. You are everything I despise—corrupt, sadistic, and completely self-absorbed. The skeletons of megalomaniacs like you litter the history books."

Shamon cut in, "It's interesting you mention history. I am only one of two magi to ever complete the Great Work and reap the reward of passage between worlds. But what I accomplish by ritual, you can do with but a thought. Up to now I've seen you as a threat, but perhaps I was mistaken. I'm intrigued to witness the extent of your power for myself—would you grant me such a demonstration?"

"Sorry," Merrick said, shaking his head. "You've read me all wrong. I don't perform on command. Besides, the only gateway I know of is back in England."

"Fascinating. Between you—the power of a far-seer and the talent of a Psychonaut, you are still unable to recognise a portal when you are next to it.

Merrick and Celestia scanned around, suspicious of a trap.

"Stand easy," Shamon said, rising. He crossed the chamber to a large, sequined wall tapestry and pulled it across like a curtain. Revealed beneath was the swirling, shimmering vortex of a gateway, extending in an arch to the floor.

To Merrick, it was a departure from the several he had seen already. The vertical surface appeared as mercury, silver and fluid in its motion. Now he could see it, he found himself drawn. "You've passed through?"

"Many times. I can see you are reluctant to transfer, but no matter, why not let me show you what I have accomplished?"

"Be careful," Celestia said. "No good can come of this."

"It's your decision," Shamon said. "Come, Lotus. Let us see how our new world is developing. These two can remain if they wish." He picked up a vial and poured a small amount of liquid onto his fingertips. With solemnity, he rubbed it into the skin of his forehead. Lotus stepped up to join him, looking over her shoulder at Merrick.

" _Bize girişine izin,_ " Shamon muttered. His hand performed an arcane gesture and the centre of the gateway dilated like an oil drop on water. "After you, my butterfly."

Lotus stepped into the quick-silver convergence and let it consume her. Shamon followed, while Merrick and Celestia remained with only the company of the guard.

" _Curieux,_ " Celestia said.

"What's his game?" Merrick walked over to the gateway and projected his mind through. He saw Shamon and Lotus converse in front of what looked like a row of aquaria.

"What do you see?" Celestia asked, once she was sure his mind had returned.

"They're in a large chamber, talking. It's filled with hundreds of tanks containing... to be honest, I don't know what."

"Should we follow?"

"I can't read his mind from here, but I don't think we've anything to lose by joining him. Besides, I don't want to let Lotus out of my sight now that I've found her again."

"Merrick..." she looked down.

"What?"

"Maybe you're going to have to accept that Lotus is... lost to us."

Merrick looked at her, a conflict of emotions following one another in quick succession across his face. "I'm not giving up yet. I'm going through. Coming?"

"Of course."

He took her hand, pushed with his mind and led her into the unknown.

~ ~ ~

Arun Sinahouk had waited with patience for fifteen minutes or so. He perched high up in a crevice near the ceiling of a roughly hewn chamber, muscles tense as he held himself there. He had watched Ukurum rush underneath in both directions, but he couldn't stay aloft much longer. Gravity would see to that.

_They're either captured, or worse._ He weighed his options, then dropped to the floor, cat-like, creeping from the chamber back the way he had come. Twice, he blended with the shadows as a group of patrolling Necrolytes bounded past. He knew he was close to Shamon's central hub-chamber, and saw two guards ahead, either side of the doorway. Their heads moved this way and that, keeping vigil; matted, kelp-like hair fell bedraggled over sinewed shoulders. They drew slobbering breath through mouths guarded by a lattice-work of cartilage and misplaced teeth.

No way past without them spotting him. He knew he'd have to use more than stealth. This was going to drain him but _he must needs go that the devil drives._ Shakespeare was an unlikely source of inspiration, but then Arun was well-read.

He summoned his chi and leapt out of concealment. An observer at the scene might well have rubbed their eyes at what happened next. He caught the Necrolytes completely unprepared, pouncing forward, disappearing, then materialising in front of them an instant later. Whether this was misdirection, illusion or teleportation, Arun had never ascertained. He knew only two things; he was expert at it, and a heavy mental toll was exacted on him.

Having fought alongside these warriors in many skirmishes, he knew their strengths and weaknesses. Necrolytes used their genitalia as weapons. Like certain insects, a sharp phallic scimitar could unsheathe spontaneously from between their legs, dealing butchery and evisceration at close quarters. Arun counted on this reflex, and he wasn't disappointed. In other circumstances the action could have brought forth mirth, but in the heat of battle it was a dangerous tactic to laugh at it. Here also lay a weakness, for beneath the lethal organ lay huge but vulnerable testes. As the phallus' sprang erect, Arun delivered two disabling uppercuts to their nether regions. The beasts doubled over in agony, leaving the backs of their necks prone. A simple, noiseless rabbit punch delivered to the large nerve running over the cervical vertebrae, was enough to kill them outright.

_The larger they come..._

He lurched from exhaustion then, recovering himself, dragged the bodies through the doorway and into the corner of the room. A large floor rug was perfect for throwing over their inert forms. Shamon's chamber was close. The residue of his presence hung in the air, an olfactory quality he'd hoped would never again enter his nostrils. He crept silently towards its source.

~ ~ ~

Beyond the gateway, they found Shamon and Lotus waiting, flanked by two Necrolytes. Merrick had a sense of being weighed down, like something compressed him, clamping his feet to the floor.

"I knew you would come," Shamon said, "the attraction of limitless worlds is difficult to resist."

"Don't let it go to your head," Merrick said. "I'm just keeping you both in my sights, so don't pull any fast ones."

Shamon nodded in mock deference. "Welcome to Celebrai. You will already feel the effects of this world's stronger gravity. Get used to it. By the way, I'm impressed with your ability to access this dimension almost without effort. I can see why Karapetian wants to keep hold of you."

Merrick ignored the compliment, knowing it was a tarantula in a gilded box. He sensed Shamon change tack.

"The civilisation here is primitive and the inhabitants compliant. They are an easy race to dominate."

Merrick let the man talk. _Let him preen himself while I figure out what to do._

"Miss Barone, what does your far-sight tell you of the city?"

Celestia's eyes narrowed for a moment. "Hordes of creatures packed into over-crowded dwellings. Many living on top of each other. There's an atmosphere of hostility and aggression—mainly towards each other."

"Your talents are also impressive. It is true—their civilisation is emergent but unstable. A multitude ripe for falling under the banner of a strong leader. Especially one who has the resources and will of the Ukurum."

Shamon could shield his thoughts to some extent from Merrick, but couldn't conceal his motivations. He gave them the impression of yielding information—with the subterfuge of eliciting their own secrets. _Take care with what you say,_ he sent to Celestia. _He's a snake in the grass._

_Bien sûr, I'm onto his game._

Merrick found it hard not to keep watching Lotus. He tried to read her but Shamon shielded her too. He could force his way through the screen but both she and Shamon would know. "What's in the tanks?" he asked, trying to lay a distraction, "inhabitants of this world?" He stepped closer to the nearest one. Through the murky green fluid he made out a humanoid shape, floating. Pipes extended from sockets up and down its naked torso and legs. Dozens of foot long needles pierced its face and shaved skull.

"They are what this populace is becoming. The _Amorphic._ "

"They're alive?"

With a movement that caught Merrick off-guard, the creature within sprang forward against the glass. The eyes were bleach-dead, staring out at him.

Shamon gave a guttural laugh at Merrick's fright. "They're physically robust and have lightning reflexes—both adaptations to Celebrai's stronger gravity. My apothecaries have enhanced the qualities in these morphing tanks. The Amorphic are prone to suggestion making them perfect soldiers and numbering in thousands. The population grows daily."

"You're building an army?"

"The tools of conquest. Tell me, do you think Karapetian and his pathetic, mongrel band of misfits can challenge me now? He must have barely, what, two thousand personnel at his disposal?"

It was a crude gambit and Merrick didn't bother replying.

When Shamon received no response, he lifted an outstretched arm. "Follow me. I will show you more."

They stepped past row upon row of Amorphic tanks for several minutes, finally emerging into daylight through an open door. Merrick estimated there were at least five thousand tanks in the storage chamber they left behind.

Despite clear skies and a blazing sun, the temperature was sub-zero. Merrick rubbed his hands together to stave off the chill, taking in the alien smell of the place. They were on a parapet overlooking a city. Sandstone dwellings stretched far beyond the curvature of the horizon in every direction, the uniform dun colour broken only by periodic columns of rock. These formed tall towers, pock-marked with key-hole apertures. The cityscape had more in common with a termites nest than humanoid architecture.

"You see before you a city under my command. There will be more to come."

"What precisely are you trying to accomplish with this guided tour?" Merrick said.

"I'm revealing what you and the Hierophants are up against."

_So he doesn't know that Karapetian, and I have parted company._

The Ukurum leader continued. "Surely you can see the futility of your resistance?"

"What I see," said Merrick, "is the nightmare our world faces if we don't confront you."

Shamon stroked his beard. "You think you have the moral high ground in this struggle? Karapetian's motives are similar to my own. The difference is my openness about them."

"Jagur is right," Lotus said. "Think of the lies Karapetian peddled you. How he used you for his own ends. Jagur has different methods, but he's never concealed his true intentions."

Merrick was offset by Lotus' intervention, wrong-footed by an observation that was, for the most part, true. "And your stake in this is ..?"

The black pools behind her eyes swirled. "The opportunity to become who I am meant to be."

"Love under Will," Shamon said. "You are familiar with the axiom?"

"Crowley's raison d'être, yes. The perfect pseudo-spiritual cop-out for anyone who doesn't give a fuck."

"You're clearly ignorant in such matters. I sense a conflict in you I have seen in many others. You cannot confront and address your true self. You have power, Mr Whyte, great power. But your ill-thought ideals prevent you from realising your true potential."

"Or," Merrick said, "they act as a check—a balance to megalomania."

"Megalomania?" Shamon smirked. "It's just a word. I prefer to think of my attitude as rising to greatness. I have been cruel, ruthless and determined, I don't deny it. But there is a purity in this. I do not lie to myself or to others. You take pride in your so-called morals, but they are a crumbling foundation—and the reason why the Hierophants will fail."

_High sounding words,_ Celestia sent, _don't let him take you in._

_Don't worry, I'm playing him. I need him to reveal what he knows._

"Jagur," Merrick said "may I call you Jagur?"

"Why not? I may be relentless but I'm not uncivilised, despite Lazlo Karapetian's portrait of me."

"I sense an overture in what you're telling me. You know I'm a pragmatic negotiator, so let's have it out. Assuming I go along with this 'Do what though wilt' shit. What exactly am I buying into?"

Shamon looked at Lotus, then back at Merrick. "That's a fair question. You would be investing in a different outlook. Understand that in my order, there is no coercion. Every member, from my lieutenants to the lowliest initiate, is here because they want to be."

_That had to be a lie._ If it was, Shamon presented no indicator to signal the fact.

"There is no doubt you would be a great acquisition for the Ukurum. Also, a great risk. You would be afforded a station reflecting that dilemma, to be reviewed as you were initiated further into our lore." He stepped over to the wall and looked out at the city. "Celebrai is but the start. There are worlds beyond these, with resources that you or I can only imagine. How does it sound, Merrick—ruler of your own world?"

"Then you know of other gateways?"

A look of veiled amusement crossed Shamon's face. "I can see what you're doing. But that, I'm afraid, is not something I will disclose at present."

Merrick shrugged at the verbal parry. "You know, Karapetian saw me as an acquisition too. You're just trading me as a commodity, a passive tool for your use. What have I gained?"

"Everyone gets used," Shamon replied. "Even myself. Why, Lotus here has gained as much from me as I have of her. Isn't that true, my butterfly?"

Merrick looked directly at Lotus. "Yes, do tell me, Lotus. What did this man offer that you should throw away what we had? I want to know."

"Merrick," she tilted her head again in a fashion that revealed her transgressive evolution. "You seem to think I'm a helpless female and you're here to rescue me, but I'm not the person you thought you knew. This is what I was born for, and there's no turning back."

### 25

## Slipping away

More Necrolytes. Arun saw them through the entrance to Shamon's inner chamber. But was the Ukurum in there? It was times like this he wished he possessed Celestia's far-sight. Close quarters intuition in combat was no substitute.

He heard nothing save the phlegmatic breathing of Shamon's guard.

What to do? His warrior's instinct told him Merrick and Celestia weren't far away, yet the silence intimated they were beyond his reach.

With no clear plan of action, he faded into the shadows of the antechamber, and waited.

~ ~ ~

Celestia felt the mental strain. With her sense of hearing, she took in the conversation between Merrick and Shamon, accepting now that Lotus' allegiance was with the Ukurum. With her farseeing sense, she coupled with Merrick's consciousness, following his beckoning, back through the passageway they had come. He was probing the storage chamber, reaching out—and something was responding. Throughout her cerebral gymnastics, she had to maintain the shield that stopped Shamon's penetration of her guard, all without revealing a trace of emotion.

_I'm going to make a move,_ she received from Merrick.

_Je ne sais quoi—_

_In just a moment. Get ready to run back to the chamber. We won't have much time._

_What do you plan to—?_

Celestia didn't need a signal. When it happened, it came as a surprise to everyone.

"I offer you a destiny," Shamon said. "Don't let your jealousy over Lotus prevent you seizing this opportunity."

Merrick looked away for a second. "You know your problem, Jagur? You're too hung up on your ego."

With barely a ripple of warning Shamon was propelled backwards. Merrick held out his hand like a metaphysical conductor, concentration written on his face. His mind-force pinned the Ukurum chief to the wall behind, raising his body up the wall until he dangled, over fifteen feet up.

Anger creased Shamon's visage into a mask of hatred as he threw back a shaft of elemental force. Merrick deflected it as if swatting a fly, but didn't let up. He rotated his hand, watching Shamon's body twist like a vertical carousel until he was upside down.

_Sacre bleu, he is powerful,_ Celestia thought. _Who would have known... ?_

_Celestia, run. Now. I can't hold him much longer._

She made to retreat, but saw Lotus, recovering from the shock-wave that issued from Merrick's epicentre. She had a weapon; an ornate dagger pulled from concealment. Her intent was clear, and Merrick had his back to her. Celestia was too far away to intervene, but maybe she didn't need to.

"Lotus." Her cry produced the desired effect. "Take me on. I'd like to teach you a lesson about betrayal."

Lotus darted her head back and forth, clearly undecided. It was all the time Celestia needed to close the distance and deliver a numbing kick to Lotus' flank. She crumpled under the blow, the knife skittering across the floor.

She heard Merrick cry out. It was the sound of exertion, not pain. He threw Shamon to the ground with inhuman force, the stone cracking with the force of his impact.

"Back to the chamber," he said to Celestia, and stumbled after her.

As Celestia raced through the doorway, she pulled up short. A wall of water cascaded towards her like a torrent.

" _Merde._ " she had time to say, before the brackish liquid threw her back. Her body collided with Merrick's, sending them tumbling back onto the stonework outside. They lost all sense of direction as the water gushed over the terrace. Her head struck stone time and again; whether walls or floor, it was impossible to tell. When she finally came to rest, she saw the swell of water sliding over the crenellations of the terrace in a green, foaming waterfall.

Lotus helped a dazed Shamon to his feet. Celestia wasn't in good shape herself, but she felt strong arms lift her up and drag her back to the chamber.

"We've got the jump on them," she heard Merrick say and her spirits lifted with the prospect of escape.

Then she saw the Amorphic approaching. Multitudes of anaemic, scabrous forms, clambered over each other as they stepped into the light. A blanket of claustrophobia covered her as the swarm approached.

She turned to Merrick. "You did this, didn't you?"

"I did," he said, "and I think it may have been a mistake."

~ ~ ~

A swell of frustration rose within Arun.

_The reward of patience is the bounty of a considered act,_ he quoted to himself.

_Inaction is the comforting refuge of the vanquished,_ came another _._

_Damn those gnostics—always contradicting themselves._

A sound like discharging electricity jarred him out of his meditations. He looked out from his place of concealment and saw the Necrolytes move further into the chamber, towards the source of disturbance. He sprang forward, following them in.

Beyond the doorway, he saw Merrick dispatch the first Necrolyte with a mind-bullet, but the second had raised its javelin. Arun reached out, grabbed the shaft before the Necrolyte could launch it, and with a dexterity trained by years of discipline, used the beast's own weapon to lock it in a stranglehold. With a final jerk, the martial arts master ended its pitiful life.

"What happened?" he asked Merrick.

"No time to explain," came the reply. "We need to get out of here."

"Which way?"

"Let Celestia lead. Shamon's behind the gateway, but he's got some fallout to deal with—and his method of transit isn't exactly instantaneous."

"What about Lotus?"

"Don't ask," said Celestia.

Arun took one look at Merrick. Wisdom told him to hold the questions.

They sprinted through limestone corridors. Apart from their footfalls, the passages were silent as the crypt. They had surrendered stealth to the goal of speed.

"Where are we headed?" Merrick asked, his words punctuated by laboured breathing.

"There's a natural inlet beyond the next chamber where a stream sinks underground. I think we can escape through it," Celestia said.

Arun bounded alongside the Psychonaut. "Sounds like we're going to get wet."

"We're wet already," replied Merrick, remembering the scene beyond the gateway. The Amorphic had teemed over them, battering them with slippery, frog-like limbs, but Celestia and he were not the object of their intent. Merrick had seen to that by planting a seed of purpose in their primitive minds. In time, Shamon would coax them back under his control, but as a delaying tactic, it was perfect. He would never have known to try it if Shamon hadn't boasted of his conquest.

They entered the chamber Celestia had referred to, only to have their way barred by a figure dressed in what looked like a cassock. His arm extended towards them, a four-fingered hand lifted upwards. In its centre was an eye, twitching left to right, observing their approach.

"Get behind me," Merrick said, "I'll deal with this."

"No," Celestia said, "wait a moment. I believe he means us no harm."

She was right. Merrick sensed the man's confusion and fear. "Who are you?" he said.

"I'm Destain," the man replied, backing away. "You're not Ukurum."

Merrick looked at his face. The eyes were closed. No; where the orbits should have been, there was skin—as if he had been born without the gift of sight.

"I see you escaping from Shamon's fortress, into dawn's first light. But a legion of Ukurum will follow—"

The sound of a bell cut short Destain's words; it was deafening, deep and resonant.

"They will soon be upon us," Destain said.

"To whom is your allegiance?" Arun said.

"To the truth."

"Look, we've no time for a philosophical debate," Merrick said. "Are you coming with us, or are you staying in this festering pit?"

"I'm coming," he said without hesitation.

Celestia jogged towards a door on the far side. "This way."

It was unlocked. On the other side ran a passage, snaking upwards. Merrick heard the sound of falling water as they ran in its direction.

Destain kept behind Celestia but in front of Merrick. The guy was in his thirties, Merrick guessed, but despite his apparent lack of sight seemed to sprint with the grace of a gazelle. Such contradictions didn't phase Merrick anymore. He'd seen more fantastical sights this night.

The bell continued to toll, and from above, the heavy, military sound of an approaching horde could be heard.

A look of panic crossed Destain's face. "Necrolytes."

"How much further, Celestia?" Merrick asked.

"Through here." Celestia stopped in front of a fissure in the wall. It was just wide enough to admit them one by one. Merrick could taste the calcium-laden air and feel the dampness on his skin, though the only light was the faint glow from a small aperture high up. The sound of water, tumbling over rocks and down a sinkhole had eclipsed that of the bell.

"I can't see anything," Merrick said.

"There are hand and footholds," Celestia said, obviously sensing the contours of the subterranean escarpment. "I can't see the detail, but I think we can feel our way."

"I don't like the sound of this," Merrick said.

"There are two futures ahead." Destain had raised his voice above the torrent.

"What's he saying?" Merrick asked.

"Two options will be open to us above ground," Destain continued, "if we remain here below, then there is no choice, we'll be taken."

"Just what we need," Merrick said under his breath "Mother fucking Shipton."

"Keep moving," Arun said, "we're committed now."

Merrick felt the coarse rock rasp against his hands as he began to scale the cavern wall. The last time he'd climbed in earnest was back in his university days. A trip to the Peak District with Mike and the troupe. He tried to blot out the memory of his embarrassing freeze just before the summit of Stanage Edge. Mike had coaxed him up the last defiant metre of the rock face, but the spectre of his muscles locking again came back to haunt him—and he was climbing blind this time.

Lumps of grit fell on him from Celestia's boots as she edged her way up. He spat out lime repeatedly, coughing out dust and blinking his streaming eyes to remove the irritating powder. He knew he was doling out similar fare on Arun and Destain.

As he reached up for the next handhold, fumbling in the blackness, the rock beneath his foot gave way. His chin slammed into the wall and fingers clawed at the rock in desperation.

Fear, blacker than the cavern's gloom fired its pins and needles into his panicked brain. His feet scrambled for purchase but he found none. Biceps locked in a tetanus-like contraction as he hung there, suspended.

"Are you okay?" Celestia's voice from above. Merrick couldn't answer. His tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Was this where it ended? Plunging backwards into the darkness then dashed on the rocks below?

### 26

## The mob rules

The difference between overwhelming relief and stark terror are like opposite ends of a pendulum swing. An extreme of emotion, present in the twinkling of an eye is reversed in a plunging arc to arrive at the other pole.

This was Merrick's experience as he felt the reassuring pressure of a hand on his foot, supporting him from below.

"Vertigo won't kill you," said the voice in the darkness, "but indecision will." It was Destain.

Merrick's words were still blocked in his throat, adhering together in a frustrating bolus.

"I'm going to lift you up," Destain said. "Look for another handhold. If you can't find one above, then reach out to the side—and breathe slowly. Hyperventilating isn't going to help you at all."

"I'm sorry to break into your thoughts," Arun said from further down, "only I can hear the Ukurum below. They've followed our trail into the cavern."

"Shut out the distraction," Destain said. "Can you reach out to me with your mind?"

Merrick released an exploratory tendril of psychonautic energy. It was drawn immediately to the deep reservoir of Destain's consciousness. He soaked in the comforting water of reassurance and immediately felt the knot of muscles ease and his mind unlock.

Reaching out to the side, his fingers found a satisfying niche. Water cascaded an arm's length away, wetting the rock, but his fingers detected no slipperiness. He tested the handhold with a transferal of weight. It held, and he still had Destain's support if it gave way. He pulled on the handhold, lifting himself up inch by inch. His free foot found another purchase allowing him to ascend, free of Destain's grip. All the time, the stranger's presence built a wellspring of confidence.

Merrick heard crumbling rocks fall much further below them and knew their enemies would be upon them soon. He stole a glance up. The circular glow of dawn was bright, and he could see the unmistakable silhouette of Celestia's bob-cut against the tequila sky.

"It's not far to go," he heard her say. "But hurry. _Difficulté_ —it rises from below."

Precious seconds later, Merrick hauled himself up through the rock aperture. He had to climb through the margins of the torrent, but a skerrick of water wasn't going to impede him now.

On the surface, he took in the morning air. He'd never been so glad to see daylight. Destain and Arun emerged a minute later.

"No time to rest," Arun said, "they'll be upon us in minutes."

"We're about a half mile from our vehicle," Celestia said. "We must run like the wind."

It was all Merrick could do to keep up with her. Six months in the country, eating the frugal but nutritious Turkmen diet, together with the regular workouts with Arun, had raised his fitness to a peak. But Celestia could give Paula Radcliffe a run for her money.

They had covered a few hundred yards when Celestia drew to a halt.

"What is it?" Merrick said.

"A presence ahead," she replied.

"Who?"

Arun narrowed his eyes, staring at the umbra of undergrowth on the skyline. "The shadows—they move."

Merrick linked minds with Celestia. _They're Amorphic,_ he sent.

_Oui,_ _and no longer under your control._

"It is time to make your decision," Destain said.

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't keep stating the fucking obvious," Merrick said. "Perhaps you could give me some options with that clairvoyance of yours."

"Fight or flight," Destain replied. "I can see no further detail, but one choice leads to disaster."

"And the other?"

"Significant loss."

"Thanks a fucking bunch."

The mob approached. It moved like oil flowing over the landscape.

"There must be hundreds of them," Arun said.

"Thousands." Celestia corrected him.

Merrick stared as a familiar figure ahead of the throng, coalesced from the shadows. Prongs of sunlight, breaking over the mountains behind, lit up the tall frame of a woman; face hideously scarred, the bearing confident, even regal.

"Theta," Merrick said.

" _Certainement,_ the bitch doesn't die easily."

Theta signalled the Amorphic to halt. Flanking her were a regiment of Necrolytes, mouths slobbering with vicious intent. "Merrick Whyte," she said. The sound carried across the rugged landscape. "Jagur Shamon offered you the hand of allegiance, yet you chose to spurn him. He rarely gives such an invitation, and it is never offered twice."

"Well forgive me for giving your master the brush-off," Merrick replied, "but I choose my sleeping partners with great care."

Theta sneered. The wounds to her face mutated her mouth into a repulsive rictus. "Yet evidence shows that your choices in that area have been misplaced.

The words stung Merrick, but he told himself the Ukurum lieutenant was needling him, trying to offset his resolve.

_She hesitates,_ came Celestia's mind, _fearing us despite the superiority of numbers._

_Suggestions?_ Merrick sent.

_We can't resist them all, and they have the advantage of higher ground. If we flee, they'll run us down. We can outrun Necrolytes over a short distance, but they never tire. They'll have worn us down within fifteen minutes or so._

_If only we had a way to distract them._

_I may be able to help here._ Destain had joined them in the mental link-up. _I can create multiple diversions._

"You're mind-speaking, aren't you?" Arun's voice—out loud. "Tell me what's happening."

"Looks like we're gonna make a run for it, Arun," Merrick said. "Destain has a distraction planned."

"Your silence is the resigned quietude of animals before the slaughter." Theta's harsh voice crackled again. "Accept your fate and receive a swift death. Resist, and your demise will be slow and agonising. I'm hoping you resist."

Merrick smiled. "Your sado-masochistic offer is so appealing. Where does Shamon dig you fucks up from?"

Theta didn't reply, choosing to raise her hand instead. A signal.

"Necrolytes behind," Arun said. "She was waiting until they closed the gap."

Theta dropped her arm, triggering a battle-cry from the horde and their descent down the hill. The thunder of feet was like the pounding of war drums.

Merrick didn't know what was more terrifying—the silent Amorphic or the roaring of the Necrolytes. "Now would be a good time for your distraction," Merrick said.

Destain responded. Duplications of their bodies streamed out at Destain's unspoken command. The myriad illusions sprung in all directions taking diagonal trajectories to each other, forwards and backwards. Each illusion separated every second at an exponential rate until Merrick couldn't keep track.

The effect on the Ukurum was bewilderment. They switched focus left and right, looking for a target and finding none. Theta screeched her rage but was at a loss to direct her commands.

"Move," Celestia said. "Keep close. We'll skirt that hill to the right and circle round to the jeep."

"Do not strike out at them," Destain said. "My illusion relies on them not knowing the real from the unreal."

The Outcasts sprinted off to the north. Merrick found it hard to differentiate between the illusions and his companions and kept flicking into mind-meld with Celestia to keep on course. Their illusions numbered in thousands now, and the Ukurum lashed out in an anarchic shambles.

They threaded through a breach in the Necrolytes' ranks and made for open ground. Merrick was starting to believe they had escaped when he noticed Arun no longer accompanied them.

"We've lost Arun," he said. They stopped and looked behind, only to see the Vietnamese fending off a Necrolyte.

"They have the luck of the accursed," Destain said.

The Necrolyte was different to its brethren. A black crest of hair adorned its scalp. A general of some sort, twice the size of Arun. It jabbed at him with a cruel-looking halberd. Arun did his best to avoid the thrusts, jumping and feinting alternately. But, despite his agility, and the convergence of several duplicates, the Necrolyte was forcing him backwards.

Merrick blinked as he saw the master of Vovinam disappear into thin air, then appear a second later—further away from the monstrosity. But he was tiring. Merrick could see the perspiration running off him in sheets, his stances less elegant and his step less assured. Merrick tried to focus his psychonautic energy, but it was impossible when his friend kept dancing around the target like a weasel.

"I'm going back," Celestia said.

Merrick sprang after her. "I'm with you."

"The horde sense us," Destain shouted after them. "The general is calling them."

Merrick watched in despair as the Necrolyte threw Arun to the ground with a side-swipe of the halberd. The sun flashed off its weapon as the beast brought it down on the prostrate man. Arun rolled to the side with the speed of a rattlesnake, but it wasn't quick enough. The blade sliced through his upper arm, severing it from the shoulder. Bright red arterial blood squirted onto the dry sand as Arun looked at the place his arm used to be.

Celestia came upon the general in seconds, launching herself into a flying drop-kick. The beast sensed her and thrust the pommel of its halberd back, striking her full in the chest. She fell to the floor, winded.

Shock threatened to numb Merrick into inaction until he heard Destain's gentle whisper in his mind. _You must strike now—concentrate on the target._

Merrick shut out the image of Celestia's prostrate form; turned his attention from Arun, twisting in agony from his wound, ignored the approach of the Ukurum—and zoned in on the Necrolyte. Time dripped like glycerine as the creature swivelled on its feet towards him. It sensed Merrick's pent up energy and fixed reptilian eyes on him. They burrowed into his psyche, piercing his mind with their malevolence. A descending bovine groan buzzed in his ears, like a sonic lance, threatening to break his mind. He cried out as the accumulated evil of centuries pressed down on him like a mountain of earth—suffocating and relentless.

_Release the energy,_ sent Destain, _before it's too late._

With a warrior yell, Merrick opened the lid in his third eye and a stream of psychonautic fury erupted towards the Necrolyte. The beast offered resistance, but it was as a sandbank before a tsunami. The centre of its chest began to glow like hot embers, the fire radiating out through its ribcage. Then it exploded, covering Celestia and Arun with its cremated flesh and ichor. The front rank of the approaching Ukurum were sprayed with the sickly yellow fluid as they ground to a halt, clearly appalled at the loss of their leader.

"Advance!" came Theta's voice from the throng. "They are on the defensive. Crush them with your might."

Merrick sensed the danger, but his rising psychonautic magma was not spent. He unleashed it on the Amorphic. Their defences were nothing compared to the vanquished Necrolyte and their white, greasy bodies disintegrated as Merrick's wave of mind energy swept through them like a flame thrower. The magnitude of his power, rather than diminishing, rose in amplitude. It cut a swathe through hundreds of Ukurum. Despite the gravity of the situation, Merrick became caught up in euphoria—yet he detected a seed of doubt at his core. Was he controlling the energy, or was _it_ controlling him?

Destain cried above the maelstrom. _It is enough. Rein it in._

Merrick was on his knees, trying to execute the equivalent of capping a gushing oil well with a bottle top.

_I can't control it,_ he sent.

_You can,_ came the authoritative reply. _But you have to want it. If you continue, your power will consume us all._

With a gargantuan effort, Merrick forced his errant third eye to close, remembering the techniques Arun had taught him. Slowly, but measurably, the energy diminished. After what seemed like hours, it reduced to a trickle and the mayhem was stemmed.

Merrick lifted his head to a scene of utter carnage. Bodies, both Necrolyte and Amorphic, lay on the sand. Some were piled on top of each other, others so mutilated they no longer resembled anything recognisable. In the distance, remnants of Ukurum flew back to their underground lair. Theta was nowhere to be seen.

A cry of pain brought his attention back to the companions. Celestia staggered to her feet and limped towards Arun, who was beyond agony.

"We must stem the flow of blood," Destain said, "otherwise he will be dead in minutes." He ran over to join Celestia while Merrick followed with a staggering gait.

Destain stooped over the shaking form of the Vietnamese. "Your belt—quickly," he said to Merrick.

Merrick unbuckled it and passed it over. "Can we save him?"

"It's possible, but not likely," he said. "Celestia, wrap the belt round his upper arm—tight. I have something that will ease his pain." The clairvoyant reached into his tunic and took out a small vial. "Merrick, lift up his head." He took off the stopper while Celestia coiled the belt round what was left of Arun's arm.

"Swallow this," Destain said. The Vietnamese couldn't have heard him as there was no response. "My friend—hear me. You must take the potion."

Arun's lips parted a little and Destain allowed three drops of a dark brown liquid to fall on his tongue.

"What is it?" Celestia asked.

"A painkiller—stronger than heroin."

"His arm, it is still bleeding." The arterial squirting might have stopped, but copious amounts of Arun's lifeblood emptied out of the wound, darkening the sand beneath.

"Here, help me smear this ointment over the stump."

Destain was a walking apothecary. Out of another pocket he pulled a jar and twisted off the lid. "It is a coagulant. If this doesn't work, we have lost him." They both busied themselves, smearing the ointment over Arun's stump.

Merrick stood back out of the way and scanned the battlefield. Was it him who caused all this destruction? He tried to tell himself that the fallen Ukurum were only monsters, intent on the Outcast's elimination. But they were still sentient beings. The Amorphic, in particular, were slaves to Shamon, created to follow his commands. He cast his eyes downward to blot out the evidence of his complicity, but the black raven of condemnation alighted on his shoulder, speaking its words of judgement. So much death; and now he was going to lose Arun as well.

"Are you okay?" he said to Celestia.

" _Oui,_ I'll live."

"There is less bleeding now," Destain said, "but he needs a transfusion. He's going into shock and my skills are insufficient."

"We have to get him back to the jeep," Celestia said, "if it's still there."

Merrick gathered his reserves of strength, ready to carry his fallen comrade, but the sound of a distant vehicle caused him to look up. "We've got company. Can you tell who it is?"

"They are Hierophants," Celestia said.

"Jason?"

" _Oui_ —and three others."

"Frying pans and fires," he said. "can we take them?"

"I could be wrong, but I sense they aren't hostile."

Merrick melded with Celestia's mind; it didn't escape his attention that she acquiesced without hesitation. A sign of their increasing bond. "You're right. Let's see what he has to say."

The vehicle descended into a trough in the ridged landscape then emerged on the crest of the next rise. Merrick could see it was a type of half-track. The driver brought it to a halt in a cloud of dust, several feet from them. The engine kept running.

Jason jumped out and ran over to them. "Seems like every time I let you out of my sight, you raise the body count higher." He wore a bedouin-like headdress but Merrick could see the steel in his eyes, mixed with just a tiny amount of fear.

"What do you want, Jason?"

"My original intent was damage limitation, but it looks like we're too late for that."

Merrick shook his head. "Look, I don't have time for this shit. Arun's dying. We need to get him out of here."

Jason looked down at Arun. The Vietnamese's face was pallid, his breath shallow. "Yes, he looks in a bad way. Lift him into the half-track. We can get him to a clinic I know within thirty minutes—but it's likely to be half an hour too long."

"Take him," Merrick said. "We'll make our own way back."

"I've got a better idea. These guys will stay behind and clear up. You can come with us."

Merrick looked at the multitude of charred, disintegrated bodies. "You're kidding right? There must be over a thousand dead here."

"Merrick," Celestia interrupted, "Arun is slipping away. We need to get him to this clinic of Jason's."

Merrick shook his head again but reached down to lift Arun. Destain helped him carry their wounded comrade to the back of the half-track.

"Lay him flat on the seat and cover him with those blankets," Jason said.

Celestia sat with Arun in the back while Merrick rode shotgun with Jason as driver. The half-track rose up the incline with its engine revving at high speed. Merrick looked over his shoulder at the three Hierophants they had left behind. They stood at ease, in the military sense, each of their arms raised in a summoning gesture.

Merrick raised his voice above the growl of the diesel engine. "What are they doing?"

"They have skills," replied the Thaumaturgist. "Give them an hour and this basin of land will be unrecognisable, covered in the shifting dunes of the desert."

"The bodies will be found in the end," Merrick stated.

"In all likelihood. It'll keep archaeologists busy for the next twenty years trying to figure out the anthropology."

"Will this defeat be a setback for Shamon?"

"I imagine so. It takes a long time to recruit and build the army you just wiped out."

"How did you know we were here?"

"A breach of the ether. You can't hide this sort of conflict. All we had to do was follow the psychic trail."

Merrick pondered the wisdom of revealing some of what he knew to Jason. His allegiance was questionable, but in the end, he figured there was nothing to lose by sharing intelligence—after all, they faced a common enemy. "Shamon has access to a gateway," he said. "He's building an army from beyond."

Jason shifted gears to accelerate the half-track across the plain. "That, I didn't know."

Merrick could see the city up ahead and wondered if they could get medical help in time. He looked round and saw Celestia with Arun's head in her lap. Destain loosened the belt-tourniquet for a moment, but as soon as he did so, blood started to pour forth from the stump again. He tightened it up immediately.

_It's not like there's a limb to save,_ Merrick thought

He couldn't tell whether Arun was still alive or not. The half-track bounced along the trail so much he couldn't tell if the Vietnamese was breathing. He reached out to the man's mind. There was still a flicker of life in there, but it was as small as a spluttering match.

He set his face to the trail once again, finding it heart-rending to keep watching the wounded man. He didn't do death well. His mind drifted to another time and place, a different person to the one he was now.

_He opens the door a crack to check if she_ _'_ _s still sleeping and sees her sitting upright in bed, reading a book. He enters._

_"I brought you a cup of tea," he whispers, as if excessive volume might shake her emaciated form to pieces._

_"Oh Merrick, you shouldn't have."_

_"Well I was making one myself, so I thought... might as well."_

_Looking at her, he realises this will be an enduring memory; propped up against a mound of pillows, blue floral nightie clashing with the vulgar, orange, seventies headboard—but most of all, the smell. Her lavender perfume does little to hide the lurking stench of cancer. He pictures it advancing in her body, metastases taking hold in every organ and multiplying like poisonous growths._

_She smiles, and he can see the effort it takes to accomplish this small thing—and loves her the more for it. "How was the birdwatching?"_

_He sits down on the edge of the bed. "I saw a black-tailed godwit."_

_"That's one for your British list isn't it?"_

_"Yes, the bloke next to me in the hide says their numbers have gone up on all the migration routes."_

_He takes a sip of tea and looks at the floor._

_"What is it dear? I know you want to say something."_

_He shifts uncomfortably, then says, "Mum, why did Dad go away?"_

_She sighs and looks out the window. "It's complicated," she says at last._

_"Did he not want to be with us? I keep thinking maybe I made him angry, or—"_

_"No, it's nothing like that. Your father had an uncommon job, and in the end its demands drew him away."_

_"But what could be more important than your family?"_

_"Nothing. He placed us above everything else. Especially you, Merrick—he adored you. That's why it's so hard to reconcile. His love for us meant he had no choice but to leave."_

_She starts to cough, a terrible rasp deep in her lungs. Whatever is down there doesn't want to come up. He rubs her back as she leans forward and feels the vertebrae, like a miniature mountain range beneath the thin material of her nightie._

_After a while it subsides, and she lies back again, exhausted. He helps her take the medication and knows she will drift off to sleep shortly._

_"Do you want me to stay home tomorrow?"_

_"No dear, I'll be fine. They're sending one of the Macmillan nurses round to look after me. You get yourself to school, you've missed enough time as it is."_

_He smiles and tucks her in. As he pulls his hand away, she clasps it._

_"Merrick, don't you worry about me. I've got a lot more fight left in me yet."_

_This too proves to be a white lie as three days later she is dead._

The sound of a blaring horn brought Merrick back to the present. The half-track attracted attention and Jason's demeanor told him he wasn't comfortable with it.

"How far?" Celestia asked.

"Five minutes," the thaumaturgist replied, "get ready to lift him straight out when we arrive. Every minute counts."

Jason turned into a narrow alleyway that left only one inch clearance between the walls and the half-track's battered sides. A group of children blocked the way ahead and Jason pressed on the horn in impatience as they took their time to clear.

Round the next turn, he took a sharp right through a columned entrance in a brick wall and drove into an open courtyard. The place appeared to be deserted.

"This is a clinic?" Merrick said.

"Not to the general public, no," Jason said as he brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt. "Carry Arun over to the door. I'll try and get someone's attention."

Merrick wasn't filled with confidence. The building looked like a dilapidated laundry. Windows were open on all floors and washing hung out on lines between the building and the outer wall.

Someone had answered the door to Jason's battering. They conversed with machine-gun etiquette and the man, a dusky-skinned native, looked agitated. Despite appearances, Jason seemed to have won him over and he signalled them to bring Arun's diminished body inside.

Once in the building, the appearance was more typical of a medical establishment. It had the same disinfectant smell you got in hospitals the world over, but the paint peeled off the walls and a three-legged cat limped across the corridor, mewling pathetically. Two medics came to help and laid Arun on a gurney. One attached an oxygen mask to his face while the other wheeled him into a small room.

"Best leave them to it," Jason said. "We'll only get in the way."

"I beg to differ," Destain said. "The staff here are all Hierophants?"

"Of course," Jason said.

"Then they need to know the treatment I have administered already." He didn't wait for a reply and rushed after the medics.

That left the three of them in the corridor.

"So what happens now?" Merrick said.

Jason turned to him. "Now, Whyte, you apologise; for setting back our struggle by decades, not to mention leaving me with a permanent limp after our last encounter—"

"Now wait a fucking minute—"

"Know this, I'm using every last ounce of restraint I have to stop myself from decking you."

### 27

## Like the beat of a heart

Jason held Merrick's stare, his pupils dilated, fist raised.

_Go on, matey-boy, make my day,_ Merrick thought.

After the syrup-drip of seconds, Jason's arm wavered, and he allowed it to fall to his side.

Merrick didn't know if it was self-control or the Thaumaturgist detecting some powder-keg of intent in his own eyes, but the situation was defused. Jason walked out muttering obscenities under his breath.

Later, Merrick found Celestia in a recovery room.

"How are you feeling?" Merrick said as he passed a cup of _goo-chai_ —traditional green tea—to Celestia. She was sat up in bed, having had the Hierophant doctors give her the once-over.

"Imagine being kicked by a horse," she replied.

"That's actually happened to me," he said.

"Five cracked ribs, but no internal bleeding."

"Must hurt."

She winced. "Only when I breathe."

He allowed himself to smile and sat on the bed next to her. "Jason's sorting out some chow for us."

"They eat dogs here? _Mon Dieu_ , and they say we French are barbaric."

"No, not the dog breed. It's just English slang for... never mind. I'm just glad you're all right. I mean, I know you're not really all right, but at least you're not—"

"Dead? There was a moment back there when I thought it was the end for all of us. Any word abut Arun?"

"He's still in theatre. I have to be honest, I don't think the odds are with him pulling through."

"He may yet surprise you; and the Hierophants are _guérisseurs qualifiée_. Remember, they won't just be applying conventional medicine."

"I hope so." He buried his face in his palms, rubbing them down his cheeks to massage out the fatigue. He felt three days worth of stubble. _Shit, I must look a wreck._

"And how are _you_?" As she asked the question, he felt her respectful probing at the edge of his consciousness.

"See for yourself." It was an open invitation. He watched her eyes lower their gaze.

"It is hard for you," she said. "You feel the burden of responsibility. But no one can make you feel guilty without your permission."

Merrick laughed. "The last person I heard say that was Gene Simmons from Kiss."

"Well, he was _corrigé_."

"He's an arsehole. Almost as full of shit as I am."

"What will you do now?"

"I'm going to get back to Mike and Rovach. They need to hear what's happened. After that I don't know."

"Merrick?" she put her hand on his and he felt the warmth flood from both her touch and her mind. "What is it that you want?"

He looked towards the window. The sun was descending in a grenadine haze. "I guess I just want to somehow make things right."

"No, I mean what do you _really_ want?"

He looked back at her. "You know, I've never stopped to ask myself that question. Before any of this happened I was content to rule the financial roost. Occupy my rather unique niche. Then Lotus came into my life—as did Karapetian. I thought I could have it all—the love of a good woman, the development of a newly discovered gift."

"You mean newly _acknowledged_."

"You're right. I suppose I knew it was there all along. But in the end it's just become this tyrannical thing. I feel like I've got my finger perpetually on the nuclear button. If I unleash the power again, I don't think I can hold it back. Hell, when the Ukurum were bearing down on us, I could have been the destroyer of worlds."

He sensed her mind shrink away. Not exactly fear, but a wariness, as if she was withdrawing from a venomous snake. "See? Even you can't trust me."

" _Je suis désolé_. I did not mean—"

"Lying's not an option, Celestia—not with us. You know it's true. I don't even trust myself."

She looked down at her hands and turned a sole ring around on her finger. "The Ukurum are not yet vanquished. They will re-group and we will not be in a position to resist. There aren't enough of us."

"You think we can re-align ourselves with the Hierophants?"

"Do you still want to continue the fight against our enemy?"

"You asked me what I wanted? That's the one thing I'm sure about."

~ ~ ~

After a meal of mutton stew, eaten voraciously, Merrick asked a now calmer Jason for a mobile. The man tossed him his smartphone.

"Be my guest," he said sullenly. "The lock code is—"

"I know what it is," Merrick replied, "you broadcast it a few seconds ago."

"Smug prick."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before."

Merrick punched in Mike's number and waited for the connection.

"It's not great reception here," Jason said.

He wasn't joking. Merrick could just make out Mike's voice above the crackle of interference. His long-time buddy seemed genuinely pleased to hear from him. Merrick relayed what had happened at the Ukurum lair, ending with Arun's fall at the hands of the Necrolyte.

"My God, this is a setback," Mike said, once he had finished. "What do you reckon his chances are?"

"Hard to say, Mike. He's not out of surgery yet."

"Christ, we're in over our heads old son; maybe it's time we cut our losses and left this occult business to Karapetian and Shamon."

"I can't throw in the towel, Mike. There's too much at stake. I'm going to discuss a proposal with Jason, see if the Hierophants are willing to accept my terms. But, hey, I'll understand if you want to back out. Just withdraw the money you need from my account—you've more than earned it."

"It's an attractive offer, but there's a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"Your account's had a block put on it. I can't move any money in or out."

"Shit. D'you think it's the SCU?"

"Don't think so. I've done some ferreting around and located an IP address in Italy. Someone's been operating your account from there. I don't know how they're doing it, but I aim to find out by the end of the day."

"Good chap. How did you get on with tracking down the other Outcasts?"

"Albany touched base with this Juliana. She accepted our story after a little persuasion and Arun's charm. She's going to get in touch with the Outcast network. It looks promising."

"At least there's some good news, then. Look, I'll be in touch but I need to discuss some things with Jason, and I want to stay around for Arun. Are the other two behaving themselves?"

"Rovach and Albany? They're following up more leads on the Outcasts. I guess no news is good news."

"I hope so. Oh—and Mike... "

"Yep?"

"You know I appreciate what you've sacrificed."

"Yeah, I know—I'm a brick."

Merrick tossed the mobile back to Jason, who caught it and placed it in his pocket.

"So, you've got terms?" Jason said. "That implies you're proposing a deal." Jason leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

Merrick sniffed. "Less of a deal, more of a merger."

"What makes you think we'd want a merger? You seem to be doing your best to asset-strip the Hierophants by the day. Or is this a hostile takeover bid?"

"Let's cut the bullshit. You know that you need me—why else would you be here in Turkmenistan?"

"You could be over-estimating your value. Don't forget, Shamon has the seat of his empire here. Maybe I'm just keeping tabs."

"Have you learned anything new?"

A suggestion of a smirk curled Jason's lip. " _Quid pro quo,_ Whyte. Let's trade information and see if it gets us any further than abuse or the threat of physical violence."

Merrick saw the logic in Jason's gambit. "Very well. Just to show I can be reasonable, I'll start. You know by now that Shamon's been building an army, but did you know where he's recruiting from?"

"Go on."

Merrick told him about Celebrai, the Necrolytes and the Amorphic. He skirted around the detail of Shamon's lair and said nothing of Jahun's gateway. He needed to leave something in reserve.

Jason seemed genuinely enlightened with the new intelligence—Merrick caught a whiff of surprise leaking out of his psyche. Either Jason was dropping his guard or Merrick's psychonautic power had grown in the intervening months. Jason asked a couple of clarifying questions and Merrick answered without giving anything else away.

"Okay, your turn."

Jason leaned forward. "We haven't been idle since you deserted." The man's turn of phrase irked Merrick, but he let it slide. "We too have added to our numbers. Other orders have seen the tide turning and negotiated an alliance with us."

"I knew the Hermetics had thrown their lot in with you. I didn't know there were oodles of you occultists."

"More than you can imagine. Of course, some are running to ground—hoping to weather the storm. They don't seem to understand that what's coming isn't so much a hurricane but a scourge, and the disease of the Ukurum will infect us all if it's not stopped, whether you're hiding in a burrow or standing defiant."

Merrick nodded. Jason told the truth—though not all of it. "Shamon is swelling his ranks with warriors. I may have decimated the current crop, but his nutritive tanks beyond the gateway will be incubating more as we speak."

Jason looked pensive. "Shamon's cloaked his strategy from us. Even if he has an army tens of thousands strong, he won't dare risk an all-out assault on this world. The jaded ones may not have magickal lore at their disposal, but conventional weapons still pack a punch."

"You're right. He has weaknesses, but when I was close to him I sensed he was hiding something big. He made a show of revealing his conquest of Celebrai, and his domination of Lotus. But there was more hiding behind his illusion of openness."

Jason got up. "I'm due to give Lazlo an update. What should I tell him about our future cooperation?"

"Is that an offer?"

"If you like. We might consider ourselves adversaries, but there is also truth in the saying _my enemy's enemy is my friend_."

" _Friend_ might be pushing it, and I do have conditions."

"Then you can discuss them with Lazlo. Let me speak to him first." Jason made to leave and almost collided with Celestia coming in. He gave her a disdainful look and pushed past.

She held herself awkwardly. Merrick surmised her dose of painkillers was wearing off. " _Couchon,_ " she muttered.

"Celestia," Merrick said. "You should be resting."

"I had to come. It's Arun—he's out of theatre."

~ ~ ~

They entered the Hierophant ICU to find Destain sitting by Arun's side. Despite the decrepit finish of the building, the medical equipment looked as up to date as Merrick had ever seen. An ECG monitor blipped out its ping pong rhythm in the corner, while various tubes delivered vital nutrients and oxygen to the immobile Arun.

"Well?" Merrick whispered.

Destain adjusted the drip feed. "He's alive—for now. But the life force ebbs and flows. His amputation at the hands of the Necrolyte was only half the problem. Their weapons are cursed with dark poison, and it has taken root in his body."

"Is there anything to counteract it?" Celestia said.

"I've applied the entirety of my knowledge for the last few hours, now it's up to him. If his desire for life is strong, he may recover." He passed his outstretched palm over Arun's chest and muttered a string of incantations.

Not for the first time, Merrick's impotence rose like a finger, giving him the bird, mocking him. What use was the power to traverse gateways, or to topple your enemies if you couldn't even save the lives of those you held dear?

"We're indebted to you," Merrick said.

"It's small recompense to the gift of freedom you have afforded me."

"I take it you weren't holed up with Shamon out of choice?"

"Far from it. I was abducted two years ago. Taken from my home. I should have seen it coming, but I convinced Karapetian I didn't need the protection of Paraganet House."

"Wait a minute. You're a Hierophant?"

"Technically, yes. But I never took the oaths, so I was what you might call a magickal freelancer. My brother and I never liked to be beholden to anybody."

"You have a brother?" Celestia asked.

"Yes—Albany is his name."

Merrick and Celestia looked at each other, broad grins on their faces.

"Do you want to tell him, or shall I?" Merrick said.

~ ~ ~

The reunion between Albany and his brother served to lighten the Outcasts' mood. Mike, Rovach and Albany decamped to the clinic at Jason's suggestion. It was more secure than their humble dwelling over the carpet shop, and would allow them to discuss matters with Jason and track Arun's progress.

Albany and Destain embraced not once, but three times. It did Merrick good to hear Albany roaring with laughter and slapping his brother on the back.

"Seems like these two could fall into a tank of shit and still surface smelling of flowers," Merrick said to Celestia.

" _Bien sûr_ , it is an unexpected light in the black." Her mouth held a smile for a moment, then straightened into a solemn line.

"What is it?" Merrick asked.

"Jason and Karapetian. I don't trust them. Are you sure it's the right decision teaming up with them again?"

"I'm not certain, no. I think they're both conniving bastards, but we need each other for the moment. We have information as currency, and whatever blessing or curse my psychonautics bring. They have the networks and the numbers. If they end up being a tiny bit more palatable than Shamon, then at least we're keeping them close."

Years of financial power-play and his boardroom diplomacy put Merrick in a powerful position with Karapetian. The head Hierophant might have held the upper hand before, but at the time, Merrick was ignorant of the unseen world; he was not the same man as he was six months ago. The steely fist of resolve clenched in his mind as a strategy started to form.

It was time to talk with Lazlo Karapetian.

### 28

## Do you close your eyes?

Jason met them at the clinic door next morning. The Outcasts had packed what meagre belongings they had and were loading them into an MPV.

It was decided that Destain should stay and watch over Arun to aid his recovery. Jason also committed to heading up the operation in Turkmenistan. Albany balked at first, claiming Destain was still in the danger zone. He remonstrated about how he'd been on the rack for years, wondering at Destain's fate and enduring sleepless nights as Shamon's mole, just to become separated again after a few hours. But Jason assured him the clinic was secure, and that everywhere held a measure of danger for their alliance now.

"Stay in touch," Albany said to his brother, his hands resting protectively on both his shoulders.

"You can be sure I will," Destain replied. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Besides, we need a presence here, not just to track Shamon's movements, but also those of our Hierophant friends."

Albany nodded. "Just don't turn your back on Jason. He may be an ally for now, but he can never be our friend."

"I know—you told me."

"Sorry. Am I being over-protective?"

"As always."

"Forgive me. I don't know what the future will bring, but I don't intend to lose you again."

"The future? Now that's something I have a little insight into."

"Destain—play to your strengths. You're a healer, not a clairvoyant."

"So you keep saying, but I didn't lose my sight on a whim of the gods. There was a purpose behind my affliction. I tell you, I see things and I cannot deny them."

Albany looked down, holding back what Merrick could tell were futile entreaties. The brothers embraced once more, then Albany picked up his bag and hefted it into the luggage space. He was driving as usual.

Before sliding the door closed, Jason leaned in and gave some parting words. "By Aiwass, I can't get used to those twisted features of yours, Whyte."

"You should worry. I'm the one who has to look at his own reflection for the next few days and wonder if someone's stolen his face."

"Albany's done a good job. I certainly wouldn't look twice. Are you sure you're not going to use our migration corridor and associates for the trip back to England?"

"Thanks for the offer," Merrick said. "But we're a large enough party as it is. Besides, we've some business in Italy before we meet up with the boss man."

"Yes, I don't like the sound of this venture. Why take the risk? The Hierophants have enough resources. You don't need whatever meagre funds you've locked up in your offshore accounts."

Merrick wasn't about to admit that he didn't want to throw away a lifetime's riches. Maybe the Hierophant's resources dwarfed theirs, but the Outcasts needed financial independence. They couldn't be in hock to Karapetian.

"It's not just about the money, Jason. If the Ukurum have gained access to my accounts, there's no guessing how far they've infiltrated other digital assets. We've got to neutralise this threat at its source."

"Can't Mike perform his jiggery-pokery and take control remotely?"

"He says not. Anyhow, whoever it is would just be free to strike again using a different method."

Merrick had no doubt Jason could read between the lines, but the Hierophant let it drop.

"Keep us informed," Jason said. "We need to share intelligence as and when we get it. This arrangement will only work if we're open about things."

Merrick rolled his tongue in his cheek. It was _his_ turn to let things slide.

"One more thing," Jason said. "When you take these people out, make sure it's permanent."

"Take no prisoners, eh?"

"Well, Shamon won't—unless he thinks you could still be an asset to him; and that seems unlikely given the effective job you did of disabusing him of the notion."

"So long, Jason."

"For now."

Through the window, Merrick watched Jason diminish into the distance as Albany pulled away.

With Albany's genetic manipulation and Rovach's illusionary capabilities, they passed themselves off as a husband and wife in one group, and three friends on a back-packing trip in the other. Merrick still thought Albany, Rovach and Mike looked an unlikely trio but they would have to take their chances.

As they lined up at the departure gate, Celestia looked at her passport. "So, I'm Mrs Dwight-Hetherington am I?"

"Collector of fine art and expensive shoes, apparently," Merrick replied.

"And you're a trader in fine Persian rugs."

"Stops me being anybody's doormat."

Celestia smiled. " _Tu est un comedian._ " She took hold of his arm. "Tell me, husband of mine. Are we very much in love?"

Merrick thought for a moment. They were mentally closed off from each other by mutual consent. "I think we must be. I've been so dazzled by your beauty that I've eschewed my womanising ways and embraced monogamy."

She threw her head back and laughed. Merrick allowed himself to feel content if only for a moment.

~ ~ ~

Leonardo da Vinci airport was as far removed from Turkmenistan's Ashgabat International as it could be. The melee of travellers swirled through the terminal like ants. It was perfect cover, yet Merrick was still tense.

_Are you certain we're undetected?_ he sent to Celestia.

_Surement. It is hard to filter out the swarm of mental activity here, but there are no threats in the immediate vicinity._

The companions stayed within eye contact of each other, but took two separate cabs to their destination, the Jumeirah Grand Hotel. With Merrick's credit cards off limits, he had to survive on borrowed Hierophant cash. He didn't relish being dependent on Jason, but it wasn't like he had a choice.

"This place is, how do you say it in English... lavish?" Celestia said as she signed the guest-book.

"Mr and Mrs Dwight-Hetherington wouldn't settle for anything less," Merrick replied.

"We need clothes more fitting for a CEO and his wife."

Merrick looked down at his ruffled jacket and creased chinos. "I agree. Do you fancy a shopping trip this afternoon?"

"Shouldn't we be running our quarry to ground?"

"Mike has enquiries to make with his Italian network and pinpoint our hacker's location. He only has an IP address to go on at the moment."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then we have time to kill?"

" _Certainement._ "

"You need to work on your French, _Mon Cher._ "

"That's the best offer I've had all day."

"Are you flirting with me, Mr Dwight-Hetherington?"

_Damn it—he was._ His demeanour fell under a swath of guilt and Celestia couldn't help but notice.

_Je suis désolé, Merrick. I forget myself._

_It's okay._ He let his ardour douse itself. He couldn't afford this kind of distraction—there was too much at stake, too many lives depended on him being focused.

He mouthed an apology and followed the bellhop to the lift. Celestia trailed behind.

After tipping the bellhop, Merrick looked at his watch—it had self-adjusted by virtue of the GPS co-ordinates. It occurred to him that such a device could be hacked into and used to track his movements. He resolved to check it out with Mike.

"It's three-thirty, local time," he said to Celestia. "I'm going to call on Mike and see what he's gleaned."

"Shopping trip postponed?"

"Maybe later."

_Très bien,_ Celestia sent. _I'm going to take a shower._ They communicated by telepathy as a default—the change crept up on Merrick like a surprise gift. He noted its significance but chose to suppress it.

_Haven't I told you before—get a grip, Whyte._

The other Outcasts had a suite of rooms on the next floor. Merrick took the stairs and knocked on the main door. It opened a crack and revealed Rovach's disguised face. The illusionist nodded and let him in.

"Everything okay?" Merrick said. Rovach pointed next door and Merrick followed the man's signal. He'd grown tolerant to the illusionist's silent communication over the months, but he still found it unsettling.

In the adjoining room, Albany brewed a cup of tea. Mike was hunched over his laptop, a whisky from the mini-bar at his side.

"I could get used to this lifestyle," Albany said.

"Don't get too comfortable," Merrick replied. "You're not going to get time to enjoy it for long."

"Fucking killjoy."

Merrick ignored the quip and pulled up a chair next to Mike. "Any progress?"

"I've made contact with a colleague at Interpol, but he was cagey. It seems the UK authorities view my absence as suspicious."

"Do you trust him not to welch?"

"I think so. He owes me a favour, but he said that after this, all deals are off."

"I hope you're right... I mean about his reliability. Is he going to get back to you?"

"Yeah, but it'll take a couple of hours. He's on a case and doesn't get back to his office until five. In the meantime, I've sent a coded tracker into Cyber-space to see if I strike lucky on the IP address."

"Couldn't it be false?"

"I've followed its bounce through several servers. Whoever it is has several aliases, but they all originate from here."

"Could it be bait?"

"I haven't ruled it out. I have to say it seems incongruous that a hacker would draw us here when Shamon's stronghold and source of power is back in Turkmenistan."

Merrick couldn't fault the logic. He brought up the issue of his watch, but Mike dismissed it. In theory, a satellite hack could track Merrick, but US defence systems were notoriously difficult to breach.

"In addition, the Ukurum hacker's a bit sloppy. After all, I've been able to follow his trail without too much difficulty."

"That's what worries me. Anyway, I'll leave you to it, mate. I'm going to freshen up."

Mike shared a knowing glance with Albany, a claxon call to a Psychonaut.

"I know what you're both thinking," he said.

"I don't do any thinking," Albany said, "it's beyond my pay grade."

"Yeah, right." He picked up Mike's whisky and downed it in one.

"Hey," Mike protested.

"I need you sober. Keep your mind on the job. And Albany?"

"Yep?"

"Wipe that grin off your face and give me back my own fisiognamy."

"Say, what?"

"My face, you turnip, give me back my face. It feels like I'm in a perpetual gurning contest."

Back in the room, Merrick threw his jacket on the bed, sat down and took off his shoes. It was good to look like himself again if only for an hour or so.

Celestia emerged from the bathroom through a cloud of steam, one towel wrapped round her head, another round her body. She looked thoughtful.

_You're worried,_ he sent.

_Oui. I sense the enemy. Not too far afield._

_Do you know where?_

_Non. The signature comes in short bursts through the static. It's all I have._

_Do they know we're here?_

_Again, I cannot tell._

It reminded Merrick how precarious their position was, yet everything was a calculated risk. He could only hope they could accomplish what they needed—and fast.

He took a shower while Celestia dried her hair and allowed himself the luxury of staying under the cool stream longer than needed. Turkmenistan had been primitive, and the Italian water seemed to wash away more than the sand of that exotic place. A little disappointment and heartache disappeared down the plughole too, yet he knew it was only surface run-off. He'd carry the mental scars until his dying day. A date that could be sooner rather than later.

He entered the bedroom rubbing a towel roughly over his hair. "Celestia, I... "

He let the words trail off at the sight of his mind-twin, lying fast asleep on the double bed. The towel she'd been wearing had slipped off, revealing her small, almost juvenile breasts. The contusions, still visible after her encounter with the Necrolyte appeared as purple and yellow blotches on her skin. It gave her a vulnerability Merrick found hard to resist. He thought of covering her modesty, but in the end lay down next to her.

_I see you, Psychonaut._ The mind-speech seemed slurred and Merrick couldn't tell if she was dreaming or not.

He watched her chest rise and fall, almost imperceptibly, let his eyes wander over her face, almost boyish with its tanned skin and delicately carved bones. The only signs of age were faint laughter lines at the corners of her eyes. As he remarked upon these features, he concluded there was both delicacy and strength in them.

_What you're doing now..._ her speech was clearer now, more aware... _is it leading where I think it is?_

He recognised it for what it was. Now that the question lay floating in the air, he saw himself in equilibrium. Desire tilted him one way on the high wire while responsibility pulled him toward the other. Unbidden, Lotus' image appeared again in his mind. He saw how attraction could morph into a disastrous obsession. A correlation of variables—his urge to be complete and the propensity for tragedy.

She'd sensed his mind withdraw and snapped her eyes open. _Did I say the wrong thing?_

_No. It was... it was charming._

_Charming? Now there's a well-meant rebuff._

Her feelings were hurt, and she closed up, a flower in the dusk.

"Damn," he said, sitting up. "I'm sorry, Celestia. You deserve better than this."

She raised herself on one elbow, pulling the towel over her nakedness. "It's okay, _Mon Cher_. It could have been pleasant, a welcome distraction. But I know where you're at—maybe it wasn't fair of me to pounce on you like a hungry wildcat." An alluring smile broke out on her face. She didn't stay chagrined for long.

"Thanks for understanding."

"Maybe another time?"

"I sincerely hope there will be another time."

~ ~ ~

Worlds away, a liaison between two other partners took a different course. A butterfly and her dragon forged a union, and in doing so, built bridges across dimensions.

Lotus rode the wave of ecstasy, her lover bringing her to orgasm again in a crescendo of convulsions that left her breathless and spent. She looked at him, saw beyond the cruel visage to the power that lay underneath and reveled in their unholy tryst. Juices flowed out of her for her partner's delight. He mixed the secretions with his saliva and decanted the peculiar cocktail into a vial.

"We have been most productive over the last day, my butterfly." He held the vial up to the light, admiring its qualities with the eye of a connoisseur.

Lotus didn't answer. The involuntary contractions still coursed through her legs from the inferno in her feminine depths. Electrical impulses spread upwards through her abdomen to her breasts making the nipples erect and responsive like an electroscope.

Shamon smiled as her writhing dissipated. "It's almost impossible to contain isn't it?"

She made to speak, but all she could do was breathe in the vapours from the chamber's incense sticks.

"Shhh, my butterfly. Words are inadequate." He leaned over, gazing into her eyes. He could see the guilt shadow her face. She knew he saw this and wondered at her own audacity—to allow such imaginings a place in his sanctum.

"You still see his face, don't you?"

"Jagur, I..." Trepidation had given her voice. Not a fear borne of threat, but of frustration at her own weakness.

"It is of no consequence," he said. "If not for Merrick Whyte, I never would have found you; and if I had, your latent talents would remain stoppered in their bottle. Your brief partnership with him became a herald of our fusion. I have much to thank him for."

She reflected on her other life. A life so distant it appeared as a faded photograph in a water-marked album. Feelings for Merrick were purged from her with the carbolic of Jagur Shamon's regal passion. The knowledge that their shared ardour spanned between worlds made it even more intoxicating.

Yes, she did think of Merrick sometimes. Poor, naive, devoted Merrick. He had seemed so shocked at their last meeting. Like a wide-eyed gazelle held in the lion's gaze before the death lunge. The part of her that still harboured emotions for him flickered, then extinguished itself, leaving only a wisp of smoke to mark its passing.

### 29

## Computer God

More waiting. Just like at the museum. Merrick had heard it said most wars were spent in this state. Soldiers, with nothing but their thoughts and apprehensions rattling around their skulls. It took a seasoned veteran to cope with these vigils, and Merrick had barely earned his stripes on the field of combat. The only bonus was Celestia's presence in the car with him.

"Blue macaw just checking in." Albany's voice crackled in Merrick's earpiece. "Nothing to report yet. The third floor is still dark and no sign of movement."

" _Oui._ I too sense nothing," Celestia said into her radio.

"How about you, Mike?"

"Silent as Marcelle Marsaud in a padded cell, mate."

Merrick wiped away the condensation on the Fiat window and looked up at the marbled frontage of the office block. The firm's name was mounted in expensive lettering at the top, broadcasting its brand to the city. Mike and Rovach were on the roof somewhere, while Albany descended the back wall of the building, suspended from a taut, 1 millimetre gauge steel wire.

" _Corno taglierina_? What kind of company name is that?" Merrick said.

"It means horn cutter," Mike said. "And no, it doesn't mean anything to me either."

"Well, it's hardly a hive of activity. Was your man sure there was a board meeting tonight?"

"He said the gen was from a reliable source. They've been keeping tabs on the company for the last eighteen months. Suspected money laundering and trafficking, but the _Guardia di Finanz_ haven't enough evidence to make arrests yet."

"Are any of their people in on this meeting?"

"Yeah, they've got a plant in middle management. Rococo said we should keep a lookout for him. He'll be the short guy with a goatee."

"How much latitude have we got—officially, I mean?"

"Officially? None at all. We can watch, but not intervene. If we get their attention in any way, they'll slip back into the sewers like snakes coated in Vaseline and that'll be the last two year's surveillance up the Swanee. Rococo will not be happy."

Merrick pressed a button on his watch. It flashed 7:50 pm. Ten minutes before the meeting was supposed to start.

"Tell me what we're doing here if not to crack a few skulls together," Albany said.

"There are other ways to neutralise the opposition," Merrick replied.

"Such as?"

"I'll let you know when I've thought of one."

"You are to strategy like Ronald McDonald is to architecture."

"Shut it, Albany. Speaking of architecture, are you hanging with the gargoyles or have you gained entry yet?"

"I'm sitting in a rather comfortable padded recliner in a manager's office—and, by the way, what happened to Blue Macaw?"

"I just couldn't picture you as a parrot. Are the alarms and cameras disabled?"

"Of course not. Why would I do that when a bunch of executives are about to walk in the front door? They'll spend about one second wondering why someone switched off the alarm before summoning security."

Merrick chided himself for missing out on the detail. He was hardly inspiring confidence, yet his companions seemed to accept his drift to leadership. The mantle didn't rest well on his shoulders.

"It would help if we knew what the security detail is," he said, changing the subject.

"That's what I'm about to check."

"Tread carefully," Celestia said, " _silencieux comme une souris._ "

They heard Albany break contact and waited again.

"Mice? Funny how the only one I can compare us to is Mickey at the moment," Merrick said at last.

Celestia raised a pencilled eyebrow. _Beating up on yourself again?_

_He's right, though. Apart from observing this outfit, I don't know how I'm going to disable their operation._ He anticipated a confrontation, but there were so many variables, so many things that could go wrong. Here he was risking his close friend's lives again, and they weren't even at full strength without Arun. This reminded him of Celestia's incapacity.

_How are the ribs, by the way?_ he sent.

_Comme ci comme ça. Destain worked marvels. I only have... Wait. They approach._

A minute later, a Mercedes with blacked out windows pulled up outside the office block. Merrick was hitching a ride on Celestia's far sense and detected five occupants.

_I know two of them,_ he sent.

_Who?_

_I don't know exactly. They have familiar signatures. I've met them before, but I can't make out their identities. Let's hope I can catch a glimpse when they get out of the car._

Their ear-pieces crackled and Mike's voice came over. "Can you see what we're seeing?"

"Yep," Merrick said. "And there's more on the way. Albany, you got anything on security yet?"

Radio silence was all he heard.

_You think he's in trouble?_ He looked at Celestia.

_Maybe he can't speak at the moment._

_Can you sense where he is?_

_Non, he will have put up a shield. At least some of these people will be Ukurum._

_I didn't know he could do that._

_I taught him in Turkmenistan._

Another two cars arrived in short succession. Their occupants swiftly stepped out and entered the building. With their backs to him, Merrick couldn't identify any of them.

"Quite a merry band of minstrels aren't they?" Mike said. "Albany, if you can hear us, there's company arriving. Be on your toes."

There was still no reply over the airwaves.

"Are we still running with plan A?" Mike said.

"Yeah, it's still our best option," Merrick replied.

They maintained radio silence for another five minutes, after which, Albany finally piped up. "Everyone got their ears on?"

"Albany. Glad you're back on-line," Merrick said, "where are you?"

"In a broom closet, just down the corridor from their meeting room. As far as I can tell, there are five security guards, plus two more gorillas with the suits."

"Have you managed to plant the bug?"

"That's a negative. I didn't know which room they were heading for at first, and now there's a gorilla standing guard at the door."

"Great," Merrick said. "If we can't hear what they're saying then this is going to have been a wasted journey."

"I believe I could be of some help." The voice was Rovach's. Merrick hadn't heard his harsh rasp since they left Turkmenistan. "I can place the device under the door if there's clearance."

"How do you aim to do that?" Merrick said. "Pass yourself off as a tea-maid?"

"My biggest challenge is getting in the building. After that I shall blend."

Merrick thought for a moment. "Anyone else got any ideas?"

What about you and Celestia doing one of your far-seeing, mind-probe things?" Mike said.

"We already tried when we got here. They've covered the place with a psychic shield."

"Magickal?" asked Albany.

" _Oui,_ it has a residue."

"Okay," Merrick said. "In the absence of an alternative, Rovach, let's go with your idea. Let us know if and when you've done the deed."

It was another five minutes after Rovach signed off that Merrick looked out of the window and saw the hired muscle at the front door step forward. He looked round while reaching into his jacket, holding off from drawing whatever concealed weapon he carried. As the guard looked across the road, Merrick saw the door behind him open for a second, then swing back into place. The guard looked at the Fiat for longer than Merrick felt comfortable with, but then withdrew his hand and placed himself in front of the door again.

Merrick exhaled with a muted whistle. "Looks like he's in."

"Rovach is a master of distraction and camouflage."

"I couldn't see anything. Was he invisible?"

"Again, no. The way I understand it, he manipulates perceptions. If you know where and how hard to look, you might see what you think is a passing shadow or the movement of a blade of grass, but that is all."

"You lot never cease to amaze me." Merrick took a few easy breaths. He was starting to think their prospects might not be so bleak after all.

The next twenty minutes passed with a frustrating sluggishness. Waiting. Again. He postulated about the wisdom of stepping boldly out the car, confronting the brick chicken house of a guard then creating a psychonautic storm within. He could extract the required information in seconds and then they'd be on their way. Only, he knew it wouldn't pan out like that. His demon, he'd come to think of it as that, wouldn't settle for it. Even now he felt the magma bubble up again, pushing against his third eye, demanding release. He employed Arun's dissipation technique, yet he knew he'd need to scratch the itch again soon.

"Fuck it," he said out loud. "They'll have finished the meeting at this r—"

"I think I've got something," Mike said from the roof. "My laptop's getting a signal from the bug. Whatever magick they're using can't stop good old microwaves."

"Can you direct the feed over the radio?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Moments later, they all heard voices, raised, but as if spoken through pillows.

"... needs the cash-flow to accelerate... Shamon can go to hell, he... you know how he operates. He says that something has to be—and it _is_..."

"That last voice," Merrick said. "I know who it is."

"Don't keep us in suspense, buddy. Spill the gen," Mike said.

"Anton Farrago. I'd recognise that weasel-tone anywhere."

"Am I supposed to know the guy?"

Merrick gave a quick run-down of his encounter with Garento, while still trying to listen in on the Ukurum meeting.

"Are you recording this, Mike?"

"You bet. They seem to be having a disagreement."

"Yeah. Heartening to know they've got their fair share of internal wrangles too."

They listened for a few more minutes until the angered words died down somewhat.

"I think some of them are leaving," Albany said. "The goon outside's opened the door."

"Are you still uncompromised?" Merrick said.

"If you mean that the Ukurum don't know we're in this closet, then yes. But if someone opened the door they'd see Rovach and me in a very compromised position.

Merrick sensed Celestia suppressing the urge to giggle. He just scowled.

"It's decision time, buddy. Do we close in or do we follow the leavers?" Mike said.

"I don't fancy our chances in a skirmish with them," Celestia said.

"On the other hand, time is against us." Merrick was thinking aloud. "And we still haven't got my accounts back on-stream yet."

"Wait on," Albany interjected. "I'm going to take a quick peek."

"Albany, don't risk—" Merrick heard Albany's radio cut out. "Damn, He's pushing his luck too far."

Merrick and Celestia watched as the executives began to exit by the front door. It wasn't long before Albany was back on the airwaves.

"Most of them are going," he said. "But at least two are still in the room."

"Right, stay where you are," Merrick said. "We're coming in. Mike, stay put on the roof for now. If it sounds like we're in trouble, then hightail it. Someone has to get this information to Jason or Karapetian."

"You know I won't do that," Mike said. "You don't leave your buddies in a tight spot."

"Mike, this is too important to play heroics. Stay where—"

The radio crackled and for the second time that night, one of Merrick's tribe ignored his instructions.

Celestia looked at him and shrugged.

"I bet Nelson and Napoleon ever had this problem," he said.

Celestia raised an eyebrow. "Napoleon?"

"Never mind. Come on, let's go."

Once out of the car, they switched to mind-speak and paced towards the building.

The guard saw them coming when they were only half-way across the road and instantly tensed up. It didn't do him any good. Celestia threw a grooved steel ball that arced towards him and struck his forehead. He collapsed like a demolished chimney.

_Will he be out for long?_ Merrick sent

_Oui, a very long time. Do you care?_

_Not really. Come on, let's drag him out of sight._

After hiding the guard under a rhododendron bush, they entered the building. The foyer was dark and empty. They took the stairs and arrived on the third floor.

_Luck's holding out so far,_ Merrick sent.

_I don't like relying on luck,_ Celestia sent back. _Good and bad fortune cancel each other out in the long run._

They snuck a peek through the fire-door window at the corridor beyond. It was empty. Merrick risked a message to Albany. "Nothing going on outside," he said, "you hang back, just in case things go pear-shaped."

"Roger to that."

Merrick knew Farrago was still in the room, Slessinger too. There could be others, and he didn't want to go in blind.

Celestia must have picked up his thought process because she beamed through to him. _Merrick, their shields are down. I think maybe whoever was creating it has left._

_What do you sense?_

_Four of them altogether. Farrago, this Slessinger character and two others._

_Good, so at least we know what we're up against. Anything else?_

_They're talking. That's all I can tell._

_We better make our move then. Are you ready?_

Merrick winced as the door's spring mechanism sounded at his gentle pressure, but he'd committed himself now. He hoped Farrago's conversation would drown out any background noise. His third eye picked up the heightened cortisol in both Celestia and Farrago's bodies; the same sense he'd used as a child during games of _Grandmother's footsteps_ , amazing his friends how he always won every game.

He was two yards from the open door when he heard a voice from within.

"You might as well enter, whoever you are—only do it with your hands on your heads."

_Fuck. How did he know?_

"And tell your friend in the closet to come out too."

_Should we run for it?_ Merrick sent.

Celestia didn't have time to answer as the door they had just come through opened, and two men strode towards them. _I think they've ruled out that option. They obviously circled back to the building after leaving._

He looked back the other way. There were doors at the end indicating an exit, but as he watched, another goon emerged and pointed a revolver at them. There was no way out. Albany emerged from the closet and placed his hands on his head.

_They don't know about Rovach or Mike. Let's do as they say for now. It'll give us time to think._

Merrick was only half right, because seconds later the fire doors burst open behind the two goons, and another man pushed Mike through.

"I found another pigeon on the roof," he said, with a smug look on his face.

_I guess that leaves Rovach,_ Celestia sent.

_Great. Our fate's in the hands of a guy who can become one with the soft furnishings._

The two nearest men signaled for Merrick and Celestia to enter the room. They complied, hands placed on heads.

Farrago stood next to Slessinger, arms folded. Two more security types dominated the far wall, each holding a hand gun. Merrick wasn't a weapons expert, but he knew there was enough firepower to turn them into human sieves before they hit the floor.

Farrago feigned surprise. "Well, if it isn't Merrick Whyte—at least, I assume it is. You look quite different from last time we met."

"Looks like time's moved on for you as well, Farrago. You're twice the man you used to be."

The Italian had grown a beard and a gut, giving him the appearance of an opera singer. But the eyes remained those of a bull in a ring.

"You know, you cost my company half a billion euros in that Harris-Billinger deal—and me my directorship. I'm going to enjoy this."

He gave a barely perceptible nod to his men, who reacted by pistol-whipping all the Outcasts except Merrick. They keeled over and lay still.

"Christ, you bastards. What was that for?" Merrick exclaimed.

Farrago didn't answer but took a chair, indicating that Merrick should do the same. A goon pressured him down into the seat to reinforce the instruction.

"Mr Whyte, you have taken us for fools. No longer." His clipped Italian accent grated on Merrick—yet another reason to hate him. "We both know the special talents of your friends. Incapacitating them is a necessity. But don't worry, they will not suffer any more. They will never wake up again."

Merrick thrust himself forward at the man, but hands as big as spades clamped him in place before he could launch himself.

Farrago continued as if nothing had happened. "You, however, may be valuable. We'll see what Jagur Shamon has to say. He's a little, how you say—pissed off with you, after you dispatched his vanguard in Turkmenistan. By the way, if you're thinking of an assault with that mind-force of yours, then understand Luigi here can put a bullet through Miss Barone's head quicker than you can release it. He's got rather an itchy trigger finger and he'll be viewing our conversation over our internal camera system. Luigi?"

A piece of meat with a ponytail picked up Celestia's limp form as easy as a pet cat and carried her out of the room.

"There. You'll find it difficult to take Luigi out when you don't even know where he is."

Merrick looked around in desperation. The Italian had caught him off-guard giving him no time to think. He had to stall him somehow. "Okay, Anton, I guess you got the bounce on me, but I'm curious. How did you know we were closing in on you? We didn't pick up any magickal sources once your associates left."

Farrago snorted. "An oversight on your part. Your friend's relationship with our police isn't as deep as he thought. Sergeant Rococo is one of many who have placed their allegiance with us."

Merrick could have cursed Mike, but it was clear they'd been under-qualified for such an operation. They'd been lucky to get as far as they did.

"It appears to me, that you people are outclassed." Farrago obviously enjoyed the sound of his own voice. "Which is all the more ironic considering your peculiar talents are off the scale. You're a blunt weapon with no refinements. Shamon gave you the chance to cooperate with us, but you turned him down—another miscalculation on your part."

"So, where's this going?" Merrick said. "Are you just going to sit there and gloat, or is there a point?"

"There's a purpose all right, but I'd like to create an atmosphere more conducive to our interview." He rotated his hand in an imperious gesture. "Adriano, Gaspare. Take Whyte's friends to a suitable place and shoot them. Leave their bodies in the nearest dumpster. There's no need to exert yourselves, one is supposedly dead already, and the other is wanted by the police for questioning. No one will mourn their passing."

Merrick tried to wrench free again but the cold barrel of the goon's revolver pressed hard against his temple, making any attempt at intervention futile. Two other guards left the room at Farrago's command, leaving one remaining goon and Slessinger.

Slessinger, who had remained immobile so far, took out a pair of handcuffs and used them to lock Merrick's arms behind his back. The metal chafed Merrick's skin when he tested them, his enforced posture preventing any sudden movements. Slessinger completed the task by blindfolding him with a bandanna.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Slessinger, but kinky sex doesn't float my boat," he said.

"That's where you're reading him wrong," Farrago said. "Slessinger's more of a pleasure and pain type. The pleasure being all his." He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "Now for the part where you tell us what you know, starting with your knowledge of the gateways. Specifically, those you have traveled through and what lies beyond."

"Now who's being naive?" Merrick said. "You think I'll just tell you?"

"With the right persuasion—yes. Your escape from Shamon's citadel revealed one of your weaknesses to those who followed. It seems you suffer from extreme vertigo. Take him to the roof."

Slessinger and the goon wrenched Merrick from his chair and pushed him out of the room. Merrick kept telling himself to focus, make an effort to gather his mental resources, but Farrago kept throwing him off-centre. He knew what he had in mind, and the prospect of suspension from the top of the office block paralysed him still further. He mustered the resolve to struggle against his captors, but a cruel blow to his head knocked even that token resistance out of him. He was shoved into a lift and, as the sense of upward movement signaled their ascent, Merrick knew he was minutes away from joining his friends as dumpster trash. He tried in vain to marshall his psychonautic energy, but without his vision or Celestia's far-sight, the third eye was impotent.

Farrago was on the phone, presumably speaking to Shamon. He spoke in monosyllables, a lap dog to his master.

On the top floor, they forced him up a short flight of stairs. He heard a door open and felt wind on his face. The sound of Rome's evening traffic floated up from below, accompanied by the smell of exhaust fumes.

Not exactly what he'd have asked for as a last request.

### 30

## Firehead

As Merrick waited for hands to propel him forward, the sound of two sharp thumps and an agonised cry reached his puzzled ears. The goons' grip on his arms was gone. He looked round, not knowing what to expect, but before he had time to think, the lights of the city filled his field of view as the blindfold was removed. He heard the familiar voice of a friend speak in his ear: "Any room for some gate-crashers at your rooftop party?"

"Mike, you indestructible sod, what happened?" Merrick wanted to rub his eyes, but the cuffs were still on. He saw Rovach rifling through the pockets of an unconscious or dead Slessinger—he couldn't tell which—while Albany held a pistol to Farrago's head. The Italian knelt, beads of sweat running off his face as he stared, wide-eyed at his former victims.

Rovach found the keys to Merrick's cuffs and released him.

Merrick blinked as his eyes became accustomed to the light. "Celestia. She's—"

"Perfectly safe," Mike said. "She's coming round in the IT suite, which is where we're heading now."

"The other security?"

Mike drew a forefinger across his neck and Merrick saw a dark glint in his eye.

"Was that totally necessary?"

"If you don't like the methods we employed, then you're going to hate what we do next." Mike pulled away from Merrick before he had time to answer. Albany followed, dragging a pathetic Farrago, who now sported the handcuffs that shackled Merrick's wrists only a minute ago.

Rovach let Merrick proceed first and brought up the rear. "We need to get Farrago to tell us what he knows," Rovach said. "The longer we remain here, the greater the chance of discovery."

"Getting him to spill the beans may be more difficult than you think," Merrick said.

"He'll talk," the illusionist replied.

"I don't know how you did it, Rovach. But you saved the day."

"I believe I did, yes."

_Arrogant sod,_ Merrick thought. _I'll let him bask in his glory._

The IT suite was one floor down. They arrived, finding Celestia sat in a chair holding a cloth to her head. Dried blood marked one side of her face, but it appeared to have stopped flowing. Merrick went straight to her.

"Are you okay?" he said, concern showing on his face.

"I'll live," she said, but her reply seemed to require effort.

Mike pulled a first aid kit from a glass-fronted wall cabinet. "Here, you patch Celestia up as best you can. Rovach and I will go next door with Farrago."

"I ought to be there with you," Merrick said.

"Best that you're not," Mike replied, as he helped Rovach drag the struggling Farrago through into a darkened server room. The door closed behind them.

Merrick looked at Albany. "Let them do what they're good at," Albany said to him.

Merrick quashed whatever vestige of pity remained in him and turned his attention to Celestia. "This is going to need stitches," he said, applying a clean dressing to the wound. Her stoicism impressed him. "The guy who did this has a lot to answer for."

"He _did_ have a lot, yes." Merrick detected the cold satisfaction radiating from her thoughts and noted that he too mustered little remorse.

_All's fair in love and war,_ he sent.

Very poetic _Mon Cher._

_Looks like I'll have to watch my back then._

She looked at him; their minds had somehow become closed to each other again, but he recognised that she needed some space.

His thoughts were interrupted by Farrago's hellish scream from next door.

"Christ, what are they doing to him?" Merrick asked.

"He's a bit of a stereotype, this Farrago," Albany replied. "Quite happy to dispense the rough justice—especially if it's served by others. Quite another thing to be on the receiving end."

Merrick handed Celestia some painkillers from the first aid box and got her a beaker of water from a wall dispenser. "How's your head?" he asked Albany, but another scream from next door cut him off. There followed a gurgling noise, then silence.

Rovach opened the door. "Farrago gave us the access codes and Mike's using a terminal to view the company's files as we speak. He should be able to release your account and transfer funds right away, but he'll have to do most of it later. Even Mike can't get round the bank's money laundering protocols."

"How long will he be?" Albany asked.

"About ten minutes," Mike shouted from beyond the door.

Albany looked at his watch. "Time for me to remove the CCTV footage, then. It's the first place the police will look once everyone finds out Farrago and his men aren't coming home."

As Albany breezed out of the room, they heard a ringtone sounding from the server room.

"It's Farrago's mobile," Mike said. "Ignore it."

In hindsight it was a mistake, but Merrick's curiosity got the better of him. He entered the darkened server room. Farrago's body lay slumped in a chair, illuminated by green and blue flashing lights from the servers. His head was thrown back, eyes staring wide at the ceiling. Merrick swallowed, then reached in the man's jacket pocket. His hand closed round the buzzing mobile, and he read the display. The ID said _Unknown caller_. He pressed the receive key and raised the device to his ear.

"Farrago, have you got any useful information out of Whyte yet?" It was Shamon.

Merrick didn't answer, but enjoyed listening to the Ukurum leader attempt to verify that he'd got through. Shamon eventually stopped, but didn't disconnect.

"It's you, isn't it?" Shamon said after a five second pause.

"What, you mean the mosquito in your champagne? Yes, it's me Shamon. We've taken down your operation here, and we're coming for you next."

~ ~ ~

The journey back to England was to prove difficult. They decided against taking a flight back. Apart from the difficulties in obtaining one, the airport would hem them in if security challenged them.

"Best to travel by road," Albany suggested.

"Gives us more options," Mike concurred. Within the hour, they had hired another car, retrieved their belongings from the hotel and were driving out of Rome by the time the red beams of dawn broke over the horizon.

Celestia traveled with Albany and Merrick. Albany didn't ask permission to drive, which suited Merrick because he wanted to attend to Celestia. Her scalp bled again, and he was anxious to get her medical attention before too long. He gave her some stronger painkillers, then encouraged her to get some sleep, placing her head on his lap.

"You know which way Mike and Rovach are taking?" he said to Albany.

"They're going to cross the border to Switzerland further north than us. We'll attract less attention if we're in two different vehicles taking separate routes."

"Where will we meet up?"

"There's a small village called Friseneit in the region of Bosingen. The Hierophants have an outpost there."

"They won't be expecting us."

"That's right. You need to call Jason, see if he can oil the wheels for us."

Merrick did just that. At first, Jason wasn't too pleased he'd woken him up so early, but on hearing of Farrago's elimination, his mood lifted. He assured Merrick he'd alert the Swiss branch of Hierophants to their impending arrival and warned him to keep a careful lookout—especially at the border.

"Any developments with the Ukurum at your end?" he asked Jason.

"They've been abroad and active. Shamon may be licking his wounds, but I think our position here is untenable. If we had the strength of numbers, we could strike while he's on the back foot, only there's no telling what arsenal he's got down in his catacombs."

Merrick finished the call and relayed the information to Albany. Celestia stirred on his lap.

"How's sleeping beauty?" he asked.

"I can sense hostile forces," she replied. "Where are we?"

"Near the border. Are they close?"

"Up on the road ahead, a mile from the border post."

Albany pulled the car over at Merrick's instruction while he called Mike's mobile.

Rovach picked up. "Trouble up ahead for us," Merrick said. "We're going to take a detour." There was a crackle on the phone as Mike took it off Rovach.

"That bastard Rococo will have set up roadblocks. The group Celestia detected are no doubt a welcome party for us. We're close to the Swiss border ourselves, so I'm going to send Rovach up ahead to reconnoiter."

"That's gonna take some time."

"He's relieved a cyclist of his means of transport."

Merrick groaned. "Is he still in one piece?"

"The cyclist? He'd nipped off for a Jimmy riddle in the bushes. No blows were exchanged.

"Thank God for that."

Mike gave Merrick his location, and they agreed to meet up in half an hour.

Mike's car occupied a lay-by on a lonely winding track of road, halfway up a steep mountain pass. The rain siled down in great sheets so they all piled into Mike's car to thrash out a plan of action. They didn't have long to wait for Rovach's return. He joined them in the car, water running off his coat in miniature rivers.

"The border's about two miles away," he said. "I saw one police car heading away from the border post, but apart from that—nothing suspicious."

"It might not look suspicious," Albany said, "but you never know. I take it you were in blend mode?"

"Of course."

Mike craned his neck round the front headrest. "What do reckon Merrick?"

"I think we could do with a double-check. Celestia, are you up to a mind-meld?"

"My head, _il martèle._ We need to get closer."

"Right, let's do that. Albany, lead the way. We'll let you know when we're close enough."

They reached the highest point of the pass, then descended the other side. Merrick and Celestia linked minds and indicated for Albany to stop a hundred yards later. They pulled over in a passing place with Mike close up behind. They would have to move on should the traffic build up.

Merrick had a static-infused picture of the border post, but it lacked the usual resolution of their previous melds. Celestia's injury had taken its toll and Merrick now knew the extent of the wound's impact.

_Gradual through-flow of traffic,_ he sent.

_Oui, and a typical detail of personnel for such a border crossing._

_True. I think... wait, that figure in front of the barrier. Do you sense his signature?_

_Je pense... Oui—his intent is malign. I didn't pick it up at first as his shield was up. It's as if something is bursting to get out, leaking energy into the air. This Ukurum is powerful—and well disguised._

Merrick's mobile buzzed. He allowed their minds to retreat. It was Mike.

"Is it safe to proceed?"

"There's an Ukurum up ahead," Merrick said.

"Only one? We can handle him, surely?"

"I don't know. He's dressed as a guard and armed. If we put up resistance, his comrades are going to back him up. Plus, he's got a psychic signature the size of a Zeppelin."

"I don't know exactly what you mean but it doesn't sound good. Look, we're going to have to make a decision. We could keep trying different crossing points and still encounter a problem at least this size. I've been listening to the radio and our raid on Farrago's offices has made national news. The police have even issued pictures of you and me, Merrick. If we don't cross the border soon they're going to close in. Even with Rovach's disguises and your face changed, I don't fancy our chances—we look too suspicious.

"I say we risk it, then," Merrick said. "We need to get Celestia medical help, ASAP."

Mike spoke briefly to Albany, and they came to an agreed attack plan. Ten minutes later, they were edging towards the border post in a short line of traffic. Merrick could see the Ukurum standing with a machine gun at the ready. He looked nondescript, wearing the usual Guardia police uniform, but he scanned each car as it drew close, ducking down to cast his eye over every occupant. Sweat dripped down from Merrick's armpits.

"Kill the heating on the windows," he instructed.

"I can hardly see out as it is," Albany replied. "The system in this car is piss-poor."

"Do it anyway. If we can't see out, then maybe he can't see in."

"Okay, but with Celestia out of action, my psychic energy must be like a beacon. I can't throw up a shield like you can."

Merrick looked over at Celestia. Her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. The sight of her vulnerable like this strengthened his determination.

There was only one car in front now, and Merrick was close enough to the Ukurum to read his thoughts—even through the glass of the window. It wasn't a pleasant experience. Whatever churned in the depths of the Ukurum's brain was like psychic sewage. Merrick shrugged off his revulsion and pushed a little harder, careful not to signal his probing.

Through the window's condensation he could see the man raising his weapon, detect his raised cortisol and adrenaline. "Shit, he's clocked us."

Before either he or Albany could react, he saw the blurred outline of the Ukurum double over and his weapon drop. Rovach had come good again. They had traded off illusory disguises in favour of Rovach using his energy on camouflaged stealth. He couldn't do both but it had been a good call.

They'd let the car ahead through, distracting the other two guards from the tussle behind.

"Give it some gas, Albany. We need to make a break for it."

Tyres shrieked as Albany floored the accelerator and the Fiat leaped forward. It clipped the bumper of the car in front as he swerved round it. Merrick looked back but the dense condensation on the rear screen obscured his vision. He rubbed away at it furiously with his sleeve, then took another look. It was hard to make out, but the barrier was down and Mike wasn't following.

"Pull up," he shouted. "They haven't made it through."

He burst out of the car and sprinted back towards the guard station. He saw the two border guards coming to the aid of the Ukurum who struggled with a now visible Rovach. As Merrick closed in, Mike appeared from the passenger side of the car. He leaped on to the bonnet and threw himself into the melee, disarming one of the guards.

Merrick vaulted the barrier and catapulted himself at the nearest guard. They both hit the ground hard but Merrick landed on top. His combat skills were barely above those of a novice, but he delivered two effective head-blows to the shocked man, dazing him long enough to wrest the machine gun from his weakened grip.

While Mike subdued his opponent, Rovach wasn't faring as well against the Ukurum. The man had the strength of a bull elephant and, as Merrick watched, he saw the guard's clothes begin to smoulder, as if a fire kindled within.

Merrick raised the machine gun but couldn't figure out how to operate it. He cursed himself that he hadn't taken some simple firearms training from Mike. Instead, he raised the butt of the weapon and brought it down on the Ukurum's head, which now turned orange and black from the heat generated within the thing's body.

The blow didn't even slow the Ukurum down. Both he and Mike pummelled their opponent time and again, but the Ukurum's wall of heat drove them back.

"Fucking hell," cried Merrick, "what is this?"

Rovach had his arm round the creature's neck but his sleeves and collar were afire.

_He must be in agony,_ Merrick thought.

He heard the screech of brakes and glimpsed the Fiat again.

"Get out of here," Rovach said in a pain-wracked voice. "We cannot defeat the Pyronaut... fly before it consumes us all."

Merrick stood, paralysed with indecision as the smell of burning flesh filled the air and Rovach screamed with a voice that would haunt Merrick the rest of his days.

"Get in the car," Albany shouted.

Mike grabbed Merrick and dragged him towards the open rear door.

"We can't leave him," Merrick said.

Mike pulled him all the harder. "It's too late. Rovach's buying us time. Let's use it."

The decision was sealed when they looked back and saw Rovach and the Ukurum swallowed in a plume of violet and orange flame.

They bundled into the car as Albany gunned the engine, wheels spinning before they gained purchase on the tarmac.

Merrick looked out the rear window and saw a wall of fire heading towards them. He uttered an involuntary cry and ducked down. The screen shattered as a tongue of white hot flame sucked the air out of the car. He tried to breathe in, but the extreme heat scorched his lungs.

He saw diagonal stripes cross his vision and knew unconsciousness or worse was to follow. Then, as suddenly as it had assaulted the car, the flame drew back. Air rushed in to fill the vacuum and Merrick drew sweet coolness into his parched lungs.

He'd covered Celestia's body with his own and hoped it was enough to protect her from the Ukurum's flare. As he pulled her up, he noticed she was completely unconscious, her dressing soaked with blood again. Mike patted his head to extinguish a patch of smouldering hair, but otherwise he looked in good shape.

"What the fuck did we just see?" Mike said.

"Fuck knows. But I think we escaped within an inch of our lives."

"All except Rovach," Albany said.

At the mention of his name, the illusionist's sacrifice hit Merrick like a steam train. He didn't know if he could bear the loss of any more companions, and now Celestia's life looked like it was hanging in the balance.

Mike leaned over and checked Celestia's pulse. "She's still with us, mate."

Merrick's face must have looked bereft of all emotion because his friend turned Merrick's head towards him. "Look at me," he said. "We're a man down, but we're still alive. Rovach gave us the time we needed to get away. Now, we need to put it behind us and press on. His death won't mean anything unless we take the battle back to the Ukurum. Once we've crushed their faces in the dust, we'll see it was a price worth paying."

Merrick looked back, his face stony. "I'm not sure I believe that anymore."

### 31

## Mystery

Merrick opened his eyes to disorienting darkness, complete except for a thin sliver of light shafting through a gap in the curtains of his room. It took a few seconds to recall where he was. Paraganet House. Recent events tumbled to the front of his memory in a random order—Celestia wounded... Rovach dead... the border post... Farrago eliminated... a headlong flight across Italy and Switzerland... sanctuary at Friseneit... a clandestine journey through the Hierophant corridor.

He sat up, rubbed his eyes and coughed, freeing his throat of more than the usual morning phlegm. He reeked of smoke and sweat.

Last time he'd lain in this bed, Lotus had been with him. Her defection still burrowed an ever widening wormhole in his soul.

_Have I given up on her too easily?_

Without his psychonautic talent, he might have carried the illusion of her possible return a little longer. But he had seen inside her mind, tasted the irrevocable blackness she had embraced. She was lost, and would ultimately face the consequences of her decisions. He hoped he would not be the one to deliver those consequences.

He swung his aching limbs out of bed and made his way to the shower room, checking his watch on the way. It was six am. Already he heard stirrings in the house; footsteps in the passage beyond his door, boots crunching gravel outside, the sound of antiquated central heating as it pumped water through the pipes.

He showered quickly, put on spare clothes and went looking for Karapetian. He'd not had the energy or presence of mind to cope with an audience the previous night, and besides, the Hierophant leader was in a war council meeting. Now he was impatient to meet with him. There was much to discuss.

As he passed Celestia's room, he opened his third eye. She was closed off from him, not actively. She slept, that was all. This put his mind at ease. The Hierophants' medical and magickal skill had identified a hairline crack in her skull and a severe concussion. They'd done a good job.

Upon reaching the end of the passage, a door opened and Albany poked his head out. "I thought I heard someone. Are you meeting with Karapetian?"

"If I can find him."

"Mind if I tag along?"

On the way through the Central Hall they passed a variety of adepts. Some meditated, some practiced combat, while others exercised a range of skills from telekinesis to the formation of complex illusions. Merrick scanned the unguarded minds of those closest to him, and from these he sensed they knew who he was. There was even a modicum of respect given off like the delicate aroma of incense. He thought for a moment on the parallel with ancient rituals. It was easy to see how a god, if such existed, might thrive on this kind of devotion. Such vanity was a distraction—especially for a god who's power was now constrained.

"Karapetian used to take an early breakfast in the sun room," Albany said. "My guess is we'll find him there."

Albany's instincts were accurate. Outside the door to the sun room, two Hierophants stood guard, each armed with a handgun on display.

"Security's tightened up since I was last here," Merrick said.

"An escalated state of alert," Albany replied.

They weren't challenged by the guards. The more senior of the two told them they were expected and opened the door.

Karapetian sat at a round, walnut table with Jason and two other unknown figures. The head Hierophant wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood to greet them—as did the two strangers. Jason, predictably, remained seated.

"Merrick, Albany. Welcome back. Won't you join us for breakfast?"

Merrick put on his best smile. "It's nice of you to offer, Lazlo. Don't mind if I do. We've not eaten for days."

Albany kept silent, but his hooded expression left no doubt how welcome he felt in the presence of these people.

As Merrick took a seat, he sent out a surreptitious probe to the four. He wasn't surprised to find their minds closed. One of the strangers darted a look at him—not a coincidence.

Karapetian ordered coffee and a full English breakfast for Merrick and Albany. An attendant noted the order and disappeared without a word.

Karapetian placed his hands flat on the table. "Thank you for joining us gentlemen, I trust you've caught up on a little sleep. I'd like to start by offering an apology for your previous treatment. Albany, it appears we got it wrong about you and your allegiance. In hindsight we made a hasty judgement, and all I can say is—I'm sorry."

Albany played with his fork, turning it over a couple of times. "That's very big of you, Lazlo. It would be small-minded of me not to accept your apology. It would also be foolish of me to forget."

Karapetian tilted his head and nodded, mouth down-turned. "I suppose that's a reasonable stance to take. Needless to say, I'm heartened that your brother is free. He's been an asset to us since your return—at least in some ways."

The attendant returned with a fresh pot of coffee and some toast. Albany helped himself to both.

"Merrick, my apologies to you also. The British Museum incident took us all by surprise. I understand why you feel we betrayed your trust. All the harder to bear knowing that our Ms Hughes has thrown in her lot with the enemy. It must feel worse than a bereavement."

"Thanks for your sympathies Lazlo," Merrick said. "Like Albany, I accept your apology—I think there's more to unite us than divide. We've got a common foe, and need to be as transparent as possible if we're to remove Shamon's threat."

All parties looked at each other. There was the sense of a fragile truce, of caveats unsaid; but Merrick only had his natural senses to go on. They would have to suffice.

"Very good," Karapetian said at last. "I better introduce you all to each other." He opened his hand to the man on his left. "This is Blazej, Grand Master of the Black Hand. They are a Slavic order who recently formed a pact with ourselves. He has been instrumental in co-ordinating the amalgamation of personnel in the orders that have rallied to our cause."

Blazej didn't have the sort of features Merrick would have expected for the leader of a group with such a dramatic name. Like Karapetian, he wore a three piece suit, but unlike the Hierophant it hung from his twig-like frame as if draped over a clothes horse. His face told the story of a man who had known hard times. The pain of torture, both physical and mental, seemed to inhabit every line of his pale skin. His round-frame glasses did little to soften the effect. He nodded politely after Lazlo finished his introduction, then continued to stare at Merrick. He'd been the one who flinched when Merrick attempted to pierce his mind defence.

"And this is Naomi Kaonev," Karapetian continued. "She is Queen of the Vril." Merrick caught Albany smirking out of the corner of his eye. Indeed, the woman's appearance would have invited ridicule in another setting, even if her pretentious title hadn't. She looked to be in her late fifties, judging from the wrinkles around her mouth, yet her long wavy hair hanging to her waist hadn't the slightest hint of grey.

"I extend to you the warmest of greetings from my people," she said in an accent that Merrick couldn't place. He smiled back at her, kicking Albany under the table as he did so.

"You won't have heard of the Vril," she stated. "If it wasn't for these perilous times, you would have no doubt remained in ignorance. We rarely have dealings with the surface world."

"The surface world?" Merrick said.

"The Vril are a subterranean people and live in the hollows of the earth," Karapetian said by way of explanation. "They are a most valuable addition to our forces as their numbers are counted in thousands, and their kingdoms are found on every continent."

Merrick's eyes widened. "I'm impressed," he said, "especially as you've kept yourselves hidden for so long."

"Occult orders are, by their nature, hidden," she replied with a kind smile. "You could say we are the most secretive of secrets."

The breakfasts arrived and Merrick joined Albany in attacking the food. Karapetian explained the nature of the alliance and all that had transpired in the last six months. Merrick appreciated that Karapetian wanted to be seen as the initiator in the discussion. The way he proceeded had an air of _I'll-show-you-mine-if-you show-me-yours_ about it.

"Here's what we know," Karapetian began. "Shamon has attracted a host of significant orders to his cause. Unlike ourselves, he has absorbed them under the common banner of the Ukurum. He demands total obedience from his acquisitions, and the more coercible, together with those who lack moral judgement, think they've joined the winning side.

"Having listened to Shamon's philosophy," Merrick said, "I think you might be mistaken about his allies being forced to bend the knee."

"Hmm, voluntary loyalty versus coercion. Just talk to Albany about how much he believes that."

The irony of Karapetian lecturing on moral certitude wasn't lost on Merrick. "What sort of numbers are we talking about?" he asked.

"Having now acquired the second largest, and oldest order—The Thule—they number over ten thousand."

Merrick puffed his cheeks out and blew. "That's a colossal size. How does such an organisation remain undetected by international intelligence?"

Blazej leaned forward. "It is not without reason that we name the secular world's population the jaded ones. The Ukurum, and indeed our allies do not operate in the secular realm. We don't form political organisations, terrorist cells or revolutionary groups. We have always been more interested in understanding the realms that lie beyond. The secret services have much more pressing matters on their hands than investigate what they see as a loose collection of the deranged."

"But Merrick," Naomi interjected, "We've heard from Jason that Shamon's forces now include civilisations beyond the gateways. Is this true?"

Merrick remembered again the hideous Necrolytes, and the pitiful but formidable horde of Amorphic. "I'm afraid it is. We defeated a pack of them in Turkmenistan, but Shamon is breeding them by the thousand in a world called Celebrai. Although, breeding is an inaccurate term. They multiply in nutritive tanks housed in vast chambers. We saw one of these rooms, but I'm sure he has more. Who knows? Perhaps he's found other gateways and recruited more populations to his cause."

"One thing's for sure," Albany said, deciding to take a break from toast consumption, "Shamon is building an army in Celebrai. He's not doing it to put on a stage production. He's planning for war."

The three alliance leaders shared solemn expressions. It was Karapetian's turn to speak. "We now know of Shamon's gateway. We house another and Naomi here guards a third in the Americas. I have to ask you, Merrick; do you know of others?"

Karapetian secreted stress hormones and leaked them despite his best efforts at concealment. It was a loaded question.

Merrick looked at Albany then said, "We located a gateway just north of Shamon's stronghold. He himself had sought it but was unsuccessful. We passed through to the other side."

Karapetian turned to face the other two leaders, who both nodded in some coded agreement. "It is as we heard," Karapetian said. "Tell us of the world beyond."

Understanding he had passed a test, Merrick continued. "It seems that the Şahşah gateway is a junction between realms. Celestia and I had little chance to explore but what we saw led us to believe there was at least one advanced civilisation in existence. What's more, its history and culture closely parallels our own."

Merrick went on to share all he knew of the gateway and his experience in Shamon's stronghold. After he had finished, Blazej and Naomi asked him more questions until they were satisfied he'd revealed all he knew.

"It is as told in our Vril scrolls," Naomi said. Having completed the Great Work, the Dragon from the East rises and calls together his armies from the realms.

Blazej raised his forefinger. In a surreal moment, Merrick expected him to cast a spell, until he realised it was a mannerism—an annoying one at that. "I've no doubt Shamon is planning the conquest of our world," Blazej said, "but at present, he can't appear from a gateway and hope to overthrow the world's governments using military force. He needs time to infiltrate the seats of power, influence decisions, persuade others to his cause."

"That could take decades," Merrick said. "Has he that much patience? By the time he's crowned king of this planet, or whatever, he'll be a doddering old man."

"This is where you should know your enemy," Karapetian said. "Shamon is the embodiment of the Ukurum—its essence is older than any living vessel."

"Karapetian speaks truly," Naomi said. "Even our scrolls say nothing of the Ukurum's origins. It no doubt pre-dates mankind."

"So—Shamon is what, possessed?" Merrick said.

"Nothing so crude," continued Naomi. "The essence of Ukurum manifests itself through him. Once, Shamon was a man, a seeker of knowledge. On the day he invited Ukurum in, their spirits became one."

Merrick took a mouthful of coffee as he mulled over this revelation. "Can he, in fact, be destroyed?"

"Shamon?" Karapetian said, "yes—he is but a man, an earthen vessel, and like any piece of pottery it can be smashed. But the Ukurum—you don't kill it, for it isn't truly alive. It will lie dormant for a while until it finds another host."

"Then I guess we're stuffed," Merrick said.

"Not so," Blazej said, "to vanquish the Ukurum one must uncreate it."

"Uncreate—what's that?"

"It's a magickal act even more profound than the Great Work. To perform it requires an adept of great knowledge and experience."

"Not to mention, _power_ ," Karapetian added.

"Do we know of such a person?" Merrick asked.

"Alas, no," Karapetian said. "The problem with the act of uncreation, is that no one has ever done it before."

### 32

## Catch the rainbow

Karapetian drew a close to their breakfast meeting as he had to speak with other key personnel. Jason had to oversee the Hierophants' military training schedule, while Blazej and Naomi attended to unspecified commitments. They agreed to meet later that morning to begin developing a strategy.

Merrick and Albany retreated to Celestia's room. Mike was sat down by her bed and they were both laughing. No doubt, Mike had shared a tale from his army days.

"Well, someone seems to be on the mend," Merrick said. He saw Celestia's face was flush with colour—a big improvement on the pallid skin he'd seen when carrying her the previous night. In fact, the only outward sign of trauma was the dressing applied to her head.

" _Oui_ ," she said. "The Hierophants are in a league of their own when it comes to apothecaries and doctors."

Albany and Merrick had brought food up from the breakfast room. Celestia and Mike took no time in tucking in to the delicious fare. Merrick shared what had transpired with Karapetian and answered questions from both of them.

"So it's an alliance of convenience," Mike said.

"Well, I can hardly see it lasting," Merrick replied. "What do you think, Albany? You were pretty quiet in there."

"Yeah, I usually find it best to keep my mouth shut. Karapetian fed us a lot of information. I just wonder how much he's holding back."

"Better the devil you know?" Mike said.

"If you say so," replied Merrick. He went on to question Mike about his financial assets.

"I've dispersed your funds amongst seven offshore bank accounts," Mike said between mouthfuls. "I've triple-locked them and liquidated as many shares as I can without causing a ripple in the wider investment community."

"Fast work, mate. Have you had any joy contacting your friends in the mercenary business?"

"Some. But, as you'd expect, they want to know more about the gig—and, of course, I can't tell them anything beyond the bare bones."

"Who do you trust?"

"I trust them all. The difficulty's going to be convincing them to jump in on our fantastical project without them thinking we're a few peas short of a casserole."

"Don't worry about that. You set up a meet with them, preferably all at once. I'll take care of persuading them."

"They'll want a wad of cash to take on such an uncertain mission."

"Negotiate, but be generous. Money's the least of our problems."

"I thought negotiating was _your_ forte."

"It is—but patience isn't and I have other fish to fry. Can you handle it?"

"I think so."

"How are we all feeling?" Albany said. "I mean—apart from Celestia."

"About as rough as a badger's arse," Mike said. As if to emphasise the point, he rubbed the bruise on his head where Farrago's men had coshed him. The burnt patch of hair on his scalp was obvious and did nothing but accentuate his dishevelled look.

"I couldn't get any sleep on Karapetian's plane," Albany said. "It was all I could do to stop myself throwing up."

Merrick recalled the hasty departure from Friseneit and the private plane's bucket ride back to England as it plunged through a storm over the North Sea.

"Looks like we could all do with some more rest. Let's get our heads down for a couple of hours. We'll need to be clear-headed for later."

Before he left the room, Merrick turned to take a last look at Celestia.

_I thought I'd lost you,_ he sent.

_Do not fret Mon Cher, I'm more of a resilient falcon than a vulnerable butterfly._

The reference to Lotus was significant. The bond with Celestia was a strong one, but it conflicted him. She was receptive to any advance he chose to make, but this mission, this quest, prevented him from exploiting the situation.

_Get some rest,_ he sent. _I'll call in before I meet with Karapetian._

With that, he departed and allowed a blanket of sleep to cover him the rest of the morning.

~ ~ ~

Merrick attended Karapetian's meeting feeling a little on the back foot. Albany and Mike weren't invited, and he still lacked a full grasp of the escalating conflict with Shamon.

The venue was an unfamiliar chamber, located beyond the Central Hall. Upon arrival, the room impressed Merrick with its size, architecture and variety of people assembled there. Most were sat around a long, rectangular table of polished oak. Some stood in pairs or threes, discussing matters both significant and intriguing. Merrick counted eighteen individuals but more arrived by the minute.

He gravitated towards Naomi as she was the only familiar face in the throng. She greeted him with a warm smile and they used the time to share respective backgrounds and experience. He found her manner guileless and intelligent. Every sense told him she was an ally he could trust, and one who possessed significant strengths. Yet she withheld the depths of her mind from him—an understandable position to take. She sensed his power and would have been foolish to open the door to her consciousness given the nature of those present.

Not all the delegates were as cautious, or even as skilled in subterfuge. His third eye surveyed the room and picked up the richest cocktail of hormones and intentions his psychonautics had ever been exposed to. Amongst one trio, a disparate group of men, he detected an intense aura of mistrust and caution. They were heads of minor orders; reluctant participants in what they saw as a power-play among the more senior representatives in the room. He'd seen the situation many times in his negotiating career. The smaller companies always on the defensive in their dealings, wondering if they were about to be taken over. The larger concerns were, more often than not, confident and unrefined in their discussions. Magick was little different from business in this respect.

"So you see," Naomi said, "it is quite a momentous situation the Vril find themselves in. The fact we have ventured beyond the subterranean realm in such numbers, speaks of the significance that Shamon's threat poses."

Merrick wanted to learn more of the Vril, but at that moment Karapetian, Jason and Blazej entered the room. All the delegates took this as a signal to take their seats. Merrick agreed to meet with Naomi later to continue their discussion.

Karapetian laid some papers down at the head of the table and started to speak even before everyone had settled. "We need to start right away. So you'll forgive me if I dispense with the usual formalities. Please do not take it as a sign of disrespect."

Every eye was on Karapetian. Just as it had been in the congregation before the British Museum operation. He was in his element.

"We have all met already, and many of you know each other, but this is the first time all have gathered in one place. I understand the trepidation many of you feel about such a communion; I also have a keen awareness of the reason for it."

He poured himself a glass of water, took a sip and continued. "Our alliance now comprises seven orders. It represents the combined strength of over ten thousand adepts ranging from mages to arcane warriors. A formidable company indeed. By my calculation, it is the largest union of its kind assembled in the last two millennia."

Merrick thought about this announcement. Karapetian had accomplished an incredible feat considering the rivalry between occult orders. He took the psychic temperature of the room, detecting barely concealed animosity from a minority. Yet the overwhelming atmosphere was one of accord and relief. There was safety in numbers, and all present knew how Shamon could have picked them off with ease if they remained isolated.

What Karapetian said next caught Merrick off-guard. "I would particularly like to welcome Merrick Whyte to our council. Although he doesn't hold the rank that some of you enjoy, as the only known Psychonaut alive today, I hardly need emphasise how significant it is that he's sat at this table."

Heads turned towards Merrick and a wave of respect rippled towards him—respect he wasn't sure he deserved.

Detecting that Merrick greeted the approbation with awkwardness, Karapetian moved on. "At this juncture, I'm going to ask Jason, my second in command to update us on the enemy's movements."

Jason decided to stand. A formality that had more to do with his diminutive height than a required convention, or so Merrick guessed. "We now have accurate information about the orders the Ukurum have assimilated. As of this morning, Ardus Obsidian have thrown in their lot with Shamon."

The news caused a stir amongst the delegates, necessitating a call to order from Karapetian.

"This follows the assassination of Vale Sangrey, their Grand-Master. There's no doubt the two events are connected. Our intelligence revealed the adept who took his place is Redcap Krauss, known to have Ukurum sympathies. I don't need to tell you how disappointing this is."

"Disappointing?" A white-haired delegate spoke up. "It's disastrous. The Ardus Obsidian are the third largest order in existence and their knowledge of magickal coercion is second to none."

Jason raised a calming hand. "This is true, but the leadership is unstable. They may prove to be more of a hindrance to Shamon than an asset. Let me continue, it's not all bad news." Jason went on to list the orders that had gathered under the Hierophant banner. As the list went on, the more agitated members of the alliance settled.

After a couple of questions from the floor, Jason announced the command structure agreed from a previous meeting, and elaborated on the areas of responsibility and expertise each order would adopt. The detail was somewhat tedious but Merrick paid close attention to it, nonetheless. He'd learned from countless board meetings that success in a venture often relied on the small details, and how these fitted the bigger picture.

There were some objections, most notably from the Christanti and Immaculatan orders, but Jason allowed Karapetian to mollify the dissenters. Merrick saw again how Karapetian managed the role of diplomat, letting the antagonists know they could stick their complaints up their arses, yet go away feeling pleased at the prospect.

From the following discussion, Merrick gleaned that the Hierophants could match Shamon with financial resources and influence in key governments, businesses and organisations. There was enough by way of infiltration in high places to keep a conspiracy theorist awake at night for the rest of his life.

_Enjoying the proceedings so far?_ The sudden question blindsided Merrick. He looked around and finally settled his gaze on the Vril Queen. She smiled.

_You could have knocked before you came in,_ he sent _. In answer to your question, I find it fascinating._

_You realise none of this has much bearing on the most pressing matters at hand, don't you?_

_What do you mean?_

_The immediate conflict will not happen in this realm. The greatest danger lies beyond the gateways, and we know next to nothing about Shamon's movements there._

_Maybe I can change that._

_You're about to have that opportunity if I'm not mistaken._

Before Merrick could reply he heard Karapetian mention his name. "I'm going to ask Merrick to share what he has learned."

It dawned on Merrick that he'd been asked to speak, but took a couple of seconds to gather his wits. "Erm, thank you for the opportunity to speak before such an illustrious gathering," he said.

_Don't flatter them. They're not swayed by gilded words,_ Naomi sent.

He retracted what he was about to say and took a different tack.

"I imagine you've heard about my first hand experience of Jagur Shamon, his stronghold and the operations in Celebrai. I can give you some detail about his strengths, but more importantly—weaknesses." He proceeded to describe events in Turkmenistan, leaving out the use of his psychonautic power and how close he came to letting its swathe of destruction expand beyond control.

When he finished, Blazej raised his hand to speak. Karapetian nodded his permission.

"Merrick, we are aware of your talents—your mind-penetrating skills, the psychonautic weaponry at your disposal and your ability to traverse between the realms. But how do you propose to utilise this strength?"

"I was coming to that," Merrick said. "I have a proposal and a request." He looked at the delegates, detecting their attentiveness. Most had great expectations of him. Some were cynical. He wasn't sure which made him feel the most uncomfortable.

"I lack your collective knowledge of the occult world and its practices, but I do know that knowledge means power. I intend to pass through the gateways again, this time with the specific intention of locating Celebrai by an alternative route."

Once again, the delegates murmured. "This is where I ask the Hierophant's permission," Merrick said over their voices. "I need to pass through the Paraganet gateway."

"What do you hope to accomplish, and who will go with you?" Karapetian asked.

"Once Celestia is recovered, I'll need her far-seeing talents. It seems sensible to keep the group small, but I'll need some muscle and an illusionist. My purpose is to gather intelligence, so the smaller I can keep the group the better."

Karapetian turned to Jason and whispered something. Jason listened, then nodded his head.

"I agree to the operation in principle," Karapetian said. "Whatever information we can get will help us understand the scale of the threat. But we need to proceed with caution. I'm concerned you're putting yourself, one of our greatest assets, back in the firing line."

"I agree," Blazej said. "The further realms are countless in number; how certain are you of finding Celebrai?"

"I can't tell, to be honest. But unless we have any other latent psychonauts in our midst, I don't see any alternative."

"Very well," Karapetian said. "We'll discuss your plan following this meeting. Are there any questions for Merrick?"

There were some, which Merrick did his best to answer. Karapetian then brought the discussion to an end. "I now call upon Queen Naomi to give her contribution to our campaign."

Merrick was pleased with the response he received and relaxed while he listened to Naomi's speech. She gave a brief history of the Vril and their longstanding aversion to involvement in the affairs of surface dwellers. She then laid out an impressive array of resources and personnel that the Vril were willing to offer.

"Our subterranean network offers a unique corridor to supplement those you already use," she said. "The ability to cross national boundaries and even oceans will speed up the Alliance's movements and allow the transfer of weaponry unhindered."

"How secure is this network?" asked a woman whom Merrick remembered as the leader of the Immaculatan order.

"Completely," Naomi replied. "Our people can detect the Ukurum's influence at a distance. I can say with confidence we have never been compromised as a result."

"It's plain you have the ability to remain untainted," said a rather swarthy and cynical delegate. "It's also clear you have buried your heads in the soil rather than lend us aid in the past. How can we be sure your commitment will continue?"

Naomi looked at the delegate with barely concealed scorn. "The dealings of surface dwellers have hitherto been trivial in importance, marked by in-fighting and petty squabbles. The threat of the Ukurum is worthy of our attention and unlike some orders represented here, we have never been known to go back on our word."

The delegate snorted at her response, but Karapetian didn't allow him to speak. A tactical move that prevented a public display of dissension. "I think we have exhausted our brief for the present," he said. "I move that we put our plans into action as far as we can and meet again tomorrow. Before we finish, Jason has one more thing to say."

Jason took the floor again. "This afternoon, we'll be holding a short memorial for our recently fallen brother, Rovach. All delegates are welcome to attend and pay respects as your schedule allows."

Karapetian closed the meeting and immediately approached Merrick. "Let's go to the library and we'll discuss your plan further."

"I've a better idea. Meet in Celestia's room, she needs to be in on the discussion and I haven't even asked her about her involvement yet."

"As you wish," Karapetian acquiesced. "By the way, well spoken in the meeting there. You bolstered the confidence of more than a few delegates and silenced potential critics too."

Merrick accepted the compliment outwardly, but inside his psychic antennae bristled. He couldn't tell at this stage if his suspicion was justified or whether it was overreaction on his part, but having the Outcasts in on the discussion would ensure he wasn't duped again. Moreover, he had a subterfuge he could carry off with ease in the presence of friends.

### 33

## Sensitive to light

There was a surprise waiting for Merrick when he and Karapetian got to Celestia's room.

"Destain," he said. "Where did you appear from?"

Albany's brother looked like he'd lost ten years, but in actuality he'd just lost a beard and several inches of hair.

"I come and go as the spirits lead me," he replied with mock aplomb.

"Stop being a pretentious twat," Albany said.

"Well, I'm glad brotherly love is still alive and strong," Merrick said. "I take it you know Lazlo Karapetian?"

"I know _of_ him from Albany." He held out his hand to Karapetian.

"Lazlo doesn't shake hands," Albany said.

Karapetian recovered the situation with his usual charm. "No offence, Destain. It's an affectation of mine. I'm happy to have you under my roof, and keen to hear what you can tell us about Shamon's lair."

"Wait a minute. If _you're_ here, Destain, then that means Arun—"

"Also travelled with me, yes."

"Where is he? He's okay, I take it."

"He's got a long road to full recovery, but I think he's off the critical list."

"Conscious?"

"Oh yes—and complaining that he's not allowed any strong liquor."

" _C'est fantastique,_ " Celestia said. "If he is complaining, then that is a good sign, _Oui_?"

They all agreed it was and resolved to visit the hospital wing after Rovach's memorial.

"It's a boost to get some good news for once," Merrick said. "Now, I need to turn our attention to a more urgent matter."

He leaned forward. "It's been said more than once today, that in war you need to know your enemy. It's also a good idea to know _yourself_. Over the last few months, I've seen this burden of power I've got manifest itself in many ways. I always had the ability to catch the thoughts of others and have a keen sense of their motivation. You could call it soft psychonautics. Lazlo opened my eyes to another latent talent; the ability to access the gateways. And then there's the psychonautic weaponry I discovered, pretty much by accident. I've only used it a few times... "

He trailed off for a second as he saw again, like a diorama, his battle with Shamon and the slaughter of his forces outside Ashgabat. He cleared his throat and continued. "There's too much uncertainty when I use it. In fact, I barely managed to reign it in when we made our escape from the stronghold. At present, I can just about manage to bottle it up using Arun's techniques. But every time it's let loose, it grows stronger, more unpredictable. Almost like it's a separate part of me—or a part that should stay buried."

"Yours is a most exceptional talent," said Karapetian. "Even I could not have guessed the extent of your power. With time, we could learn to harness it more effectively."

"But as we all know, time is in short supply," Merrick said. "So, for the moment it has to remain locked away. However, the gateways are open to us, and the possibility of gaining some purchase in the dimensions beyond. Despite his cumbersome methods, Shamon has the upper hand there."

"So what are you suggesting?" Destain asked.

"I've already sounded out Lazlo on this—I intend to pass through the Paraganet gateway and seek out further portals. Even though I've only used them a few times, I've become more attuned to their presence. Even in Shamon's lair I'd sensed the gateway signalling once he'd revealed it. I'd ignored it as background psychonautic noise, but now I'm attuned to the sound of the gateways voices, I can filter out the static and home in on them."

"You say voices, as if they're speaking to you," Albany said.

"Yeah, although it's less a case of speaking—more like singing using sub-sonic frequencies."

"Can you hear the gateway down below us?" Karapetian asked.

"Yes," he replied, amused. "Almost like a dolphin song."

"Dolphins, eh? Well, if you're going to go exploring, then you'll need some help," Albany said.

"That's right. I intend to see if it's possible to gain passage to Celebrai."

Celestia sat up. "Then you will need my far-sight—to warn of danger."

"That would be more than welcome, Celestia. But I'm not going to push you before you're ready. Destain, if they can spare you here, I'd like you to accompany me too. Your ability to mind-meld lends energy to the psychonautic map-reading I'm going to try. Would you be willing?"

"Yes," Destain said without hesitation. "I can also use my clairvoyance to signal the nature of the choices we are presented with."

Albany shifted uncomfortably. "Bro, no disrespect, but you need to work on that talent you're claiming. It's not exactly a precision instrument."

Destain looked hurt, but Merrick moved on before a filial argument broke out. "With Rovach gone and Arun out of the picture, we'll need an illusionist and someone with combat experience."

"I'll have Jason select some people from our academy," Karapetian said.

"Er, thanks, Lazlo. I mean, you're offering an illusionist and warriors, which is great, but I want my own people. I also have to limit the numbers. The infiltration has to be covert, so a platoon is out of the question."

Karapetian stroked his chin. "Still suspicious, Merrick?"

Merrick sensed a psychic push from Karapetian. "It's not so much that, I just want people who are on my wavelength. If you can give me two of your best, then that will suffice."

"Very well," the Hierophant said. "I suppose the timing of your mission depends on Celestia."

"I'm ready whenever you are," she said to Merrick.

"Now, hold on. You're recovering from a serious injury."

"Destain's treatment is working wonders. I'm ready," she replied.

In the end, they compromised and agreed to breach the gateway the following day. They each had much to do and left Celestia to get more rest.

Merrick made a bee-line for Mike's room and found him busy at his laptop.

"Ah, there you are," Mike said.

Merrick reached for a bottle of water from a dresser on the side. "I see you've been busy."

"Yeah. The wireless network in this place is phenomenal, and the internet connection is faster than shit off a greased shovel."

"I think it's more than cutting edge technology contributing towards that," Merrick said. "Unfortunately, it also means the Hierophants can monitor any data that comes in or goes out of this place." He took a swig of water. "So, what have you got for me?"

"Good news and bad news. The good news is that I was able to get a score of hired help to respond on my hotline. The bad tidings? Only nine of them agreed to meet. I had to withhold so much detail that I came across dodgier than a used car salesman. I can't be certain those that come will sign up for anything you're going to offer. Some will only turn up because I offered them an attendance fee."

"As long as they can meet me face to face, that's all I need."

"Mystical powers of persuasion?"

"I've got a trick or two up my sleeve."

"Well let's hope you can pull it off. I've set up the meet for five o'clock. One of the guys suggested the local nature reserve. It's usually deserted at this time of year."

"Sounds good." Merrick filled Mike in on the latest meetings and the good news about Arun, then returned to his room.

It wasn't long before the time for paying last respects to Rovach came round. They all made their way to the Great Hall and stood in rows before a podium. A congregation of over two thousand must have been packed together under the hall's decorative ceiling.

"You know," Merrick said to Albany. "I keep wondering how many people this place provides a home for; and how far it extends."

"I've known Paraganet house for over ten years," Albany replied. "I've explored more of its nooks and crannies than most, but I kept finding new rooms, corridors and alcoves on a daily basis right up to the time I was let go. I imagine it extends miles underground. And of course, there's certain quarters that are off-limits to plebs like me."

"You occultists have a thing about being underground, don't you?"

"It's the best way to hide what should be hidden. Can you imagine a facility like this operating on the surface?"

The point was well made. As Merrick stood beside Celestia, to give support as necessary, a fanfare of music announced the start of the memorial. In the end it was an emotional buttress Merrick provided for Celestia. She had known him more than most and her sadness was palpable. Karapetian gave a heart-felt eulogy, followed by two musicians who played a moving piece on their peculiar instruments. Karapetian finished by bolstering the throng with inspirational words about the conflict ahead, and his confidence that they would prevail.

The service, if it could be called that, was brief, apt and fitting. Merrick gave Celestia a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, and even Mike appeared to have a lump in his throat.

Afterwards, they had a drink to Rovach's memory at Arun's bedside. The reunion of the companions was bitter-sweet. Merrick had forgotten how much he missed Arun's wry sense of humour. They all agreed to toast Rovach with alcohol-free wine so as not to add to Arun's torture.

"So, you've lost your drinking arm," Mike said.

"Yes, that is the greatest burden I have to bear," Arun replied.

Merrick looked round the room and noted the unlikely juxtaposition of drips and monitors, alongside potions and vials. Arun owed his life to this curious amalgamation.

The Vietnamese was hungry for detail on the rapidly moving campaign. After they had brought him up to speed he became animated, asking questions and making suggestions. He was particularly eager to rekindle the community of Outcasts he'd been nurturing during their time in Turkmenistan.

Mike agreed to work with him while the others focused their efforts on preparing for the trans-dimensional mission.

It was good to be moving forward again. Merrick had a sense of agency in their actions, not the disorientation of being tossed to and fro on the waves of circumstance. There was just one final brick to be added to the wall of his plan, and curiously, it relied on acquiring conventional means rather than arcane.

~ ~ ~

The mercenaries were already there waiting for Mike and Merrick when they pulled into the reserve's car park. Night had fallen and they could only just make out the shadowy forms of nine vehicles—all SUV's.

"A bit stereotypical," Merrick said as Mike switched off the ignition.

"You mean the four by fours? It's just convergent evolution. They're the best tools for the job."

"They kind of stand out a bit. Anyone passing will think we're dealing drugs or badger baiting."

"Quit worrying, this place is about as isolated as it gets."

The vehicles were parked in a horseshoe. As Merrick and Mike got out of the car, three of them blinked on their headlights.

"Getting some light on the matter?" Merrick said, under his breath.

"Partly," Mike replied. "It's also an old men-in-uniform trick; throws them into relief. They can see our faces, we can't see theirs. Mind you, having met some of these characters before, I'm not sure you'd want to see their mugs, anyway."

"Whatever. If it makes them happy."

The vehicle doors opened and Merrick saw the silhouettes of muscled frames looming before them. He also detected the almost pungent concentrations of testosterone in the air. A phenomenon that always left Merrick laughing to himself. The correlation between supercharged male sex hormones and baldness was well established, and as they got closer, Merrick could see that nature had started early on some of them.

"Mike, is that you?" one of them called.

"Yep. Is it Johnny?" he replied.

"That it is," came back the reply.

Mike stepped forward and shook hands with the man. There followed some brief introductions amongst the ex-servicemen, but most appeared to know each other.

Although, they didn't know it, Merrick had them at a disadvantage. They were broadcasting their feelings and motivations like flares going up in the night. For the most part, Merrick detected defensive thoughts mixed with a healthy dose of curiosity. Two of them, he sensed, were on a knife edge of indecision. Half inclined to take Merrick's money and run, balanced against the prospect of a high-paying gig.

"So, you're the client?" A skinhead giant called Biff addressed Merrick.

"Yeah," he replied. "But I'll tell you what, it's a bit hard to have a meaningful conversation when I'm talking to shadows. Do you mind if we adjourn to somewhere with a bit more light?"

Biff scoffed. "Well I can't see anywhere in the immediate area. What do you suggest?"

Merrick smiled. "Well, what do you fancy? A sun-drenched tropical beach, or an oasis in the desert?"

Johnny turned to Mike. "Is your mate on the wacky-baccy or what?"

To be fair, Mike looked like he was wondering himself when Merrick casually pointed to the sky and brought his hand down. Before the men's startled eyes, what looked like a rip in the air opened in front of them. It leaked a dazzling light from between the folds of the incision. Every one of the mercenaries adopted an immediate defensive posture. Three of them drew knives.

"What the f—" Johnny was the first to respond.

Merrick made an open-handed gesture. "Don't be alarmed, gentlemen. Just a little display to help convince you the mission I'm offering is both bona fide, and nothing like you've ever participated in before."

### 34

## Letters from Earth

Lotus noticed it start as an itch in the small of her back, an uncomfortable irritation that spread up her spine, gathering momentum. Her bones vibrated as magickal oscillations radiated out, spreading across her scalp and behind her eyes. The irritation was almost unbearable now as it spread into her brain, setting her mind afire. Shamon said there would be a cost exacted on her, and measured in pain. She could hold it in no longer. With a cry, she released the magickal energy through her eyes and saw it traverse the room, entering the body of a Necrolyte. Slowly, the creature rose from the floor. It looked down, saw it was levitating and began to thrash about, its arms and legs dancing in the air.

Then, abruptly, the magick dissipated. The Necrolyte fell to the floor and Lotus staggered forward, reaching out to a table for support.

"Go," she said to the creature. Obedient, it picked up its javelin and left. She didn't want anyone seeing her in this state. The toll on her mind and body was immense, but as she fell onto the bed, she knew this was only the first time. She had triumphed, and the thrill was indescribable.

~ ~ ~

"It was mind-blowing," Mike said. "Truly awesome."

They had gathered in Celestia's room again. She was up and about, performing stretching exercises, back to her usual restless self. It wasn't until Merrick recounted the night's events that she placed herself in a chair and listened. Arun was the only one of the Outcasts not present, owing to the insecure nature of the ward in which he convalesced.

"So, let me get this straight," Albany said. "You tore a hole in this reality and stepped through into another?"

"That's about the size of it," Merrick replied.

"This is a game-changer," Mike said. "If you can create wormholes at will, anybody of personnel can outmaneuver their enemy over and over again."

"It's not as simple as that," Merrick said.

Mike looked back at him. "What do you mean? The guys we recruited last night passed through your gateway no problem. You should have seen their faces, Albany. I've never seen anything that can leave Biff speechless. Once he'd stepped through into the prehistoric landscape Merrick revealed, his jaw dropped a mile."

"There's a cost to these manipulations," Merrick said. "The gateway I opened occupied a place where the wall between realities is thin. It didn't need much energy to hold it open, but there are other locations where the barrier is dense. Some of them leave me exhausted."

"So there are limitations. However, you've got to admit this gives us the upper hand against Shamon."

"Potentially, yes."

"I don't understand," Celestia said. "How long have you known you could do this?"

"Ever since our return here. The gateway down below doesn't just announce its presence, it speaks to me. It urged me to experiment. To try expanding my ability."

"And you think you can seek out a way to reach Celebrai?" Destain asked.

"I already know. First, I must pass to the Şahşah gateway. Beyond that is the nexus. It's a key junction in the gateway's continuum. From there I reckon there's one more transfer needed to access Celebrai."

Albany stood up and started pacing in front of the window. "Can you see beyond the gateways at will?"

Merrick shook his head. "Only once a gateway is open can we see inside. I had to find the crossroads by trial and error, but once I've breached the wall between realities, I've found it's easier to open next time."

"Then it's time to make plans," Albany said.

Merrick took out his smartphone and opened a note-taking app. "Right. First of all, not a word about our new discovery to Karapetian."

"You've told him just about everything else," Mike said. "Why the reticence?"

"I need to test its potential first, and having been stung once too often by Karapetian, I'd rather hold something back."

"Despite insisting on total transparency?" Albany said.

"Tell a little truth with many lies."

Albany raised an eyebrow. "It's your call, I suppose."

Merrick narrowed his eyes. "Do you trust him? Completely, I mean?"

"Point taken."

"So," Merrick continued, "after this, the four of us will take our first foray through the established gateway here. Celebrai is cold, so dress for winter. We'll be covert and travelling across country. We're also going in armed."

"What with?" Albany asked.

"Handguns for you guys and assault rifles for your escort," Mike said.

Celestia cocked her head. "Do any of you know how to use a pistol? And what's this about an escort?"

"The handguns are a last resort and for close quarters only," Mike said. "I'll give you all a brief run-through before departure. Your escort will consist of three seasoned vets from the contingent we recruited."

Celestia looked sceptical. "Is that wise? You only met them last night. Can you rely on them?"

"I chose Johnny, Biff and a guy called Hacker. I've known them since my army days—I'd give them my back any day."

"And the primary goal?" Albany asked.

"Intelligence gathering," Merrick replied. "Anything from the terrain, climate, the civilisation and, if we can get close enough, details of Ukurum forces and defences. Celebrai is a complete unknown. We're not even sure if Shamon has gained dominion over further worlds and civilisations."

"I can help you there," Destain said. "The reason I was so useful to Shamon lay in my ability to combine farseeing with telepathy and probability determination. After a while he took me into his confidence and I probed the extent of Celebrai. In short, he got lucky. The populations of Celebrai are primitive, like those that existed on Earth a couple of hundred thousand years ago. Easy, vulnerable fodder for his war machine. They were also the perfect template for his mutation chambers."

"The Amorphic?" Celestia asked.

"Yes, and other experimental prototypes he was working on. Fortunately, he hasn't found another gateway yet, despite many scouting expeditions."

Merrick tapped his knee, deep in thought, then looked up. "That's good news, Destain. Is there anything else we should know?"

"Not a great deal. I was a prisoner for the first twelve months. It was only recently that Shamon gave me a few limited freedoms. One thing I am sure about, however, is that any of us would be immediately recognised as alien."

"I'd thought about that," Merrick said. "Albany, we're going to need your genetic manipulation abilities—all of us."

"I can do that," Albany said. "But it'll be intensive work over the next two hours, and I don't have any template to work on, only your descriptions of the natives."

"Again, I can help," Destain said. "Can you see the image I'm putting in your mind now?"

Albany brought his hands up to his temples. "Hey, that's creepy—feels like a cockroach is crawling around in my skull."

"But can you see the image?"

"Yeah... yeah. Just get out of my head." A relieved look came over Albany's face. He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge a last vestige of Destain's presence. "Don't do that again without my permission."

"I'm sorry, brother. I forget that you lack experience."

"Who's the illusionist Karapetian's lending you?" Mike asked.

"He hasn't told us yet."

"Why don't you use them to provide the disguises—like Rovach did?"

"It puts an illusionist out of action if we encounter a combat situation. Rovach couldn't transfer his illusions while his mind was on a skirmish. I don't want to make that mistake again."

"Fair enough," Mike said, looking at his watch. "Is there anything else you need me for? I've got to meet the guys from the mercenary squad."

"If anything occurs to me, I'll cover it when we meet in the gateway chamber. Does anyone else have any questions?"

"How long are we going to be out there?" Celestia asked, "and does Karapetian know what he's going to do if we don't make it back?"

"I'll talk to him now about a Plan B. As for the time, it's another unknown. I'm not sure if there's time expansion or constriction beyond the gateway, but I think it wise to keep our first sortie brief, don't you?"

They all nodded or grunted.

"Well, I guess we need to let Albany do his work, and suit up. We'll meet in the chamber in two hour's time."

"Better make it two and a half," Mike said. "I need time to brief my guys and get them used to the weird setup here."

Merrick agreed the revised time and closed the meeting. Albany started his manipulation on Destain, reveling in the discomfort he was able to inflict as payment for his brother's recent mind probe.

The others waited their turn while Merrick left to speak with Karapetian. He had brief seconds to think on the way downstairs. Here he was, self-appointed chief of the Outcasts, his mind juggling with logistics while subduing the sense that he had few qualifications for the job. Against this, he balanced his gratitude for the Outcast's unquestioning loyalty, and acceptance of the role he had taken on. He could only hope their willingness was justified.

~ ~ ~

The gateway chamber was as Merrick remembered it. Karapetian waited for them, his brow furrowed, demeanour pensive. "Are you sure this is a well-considered mission, Merrick? There's a lot that could go wrong."

"We've got to get the upper hand on Shamon," Merrick replied, "but if it makes you breathe easier, I've asked Destain to give a reading."

"And what have you predicted?" Karapetian directed the question at Albany's brother.

"There are three likely outcomes, each of them fortuitous," Destain said. "That is, provided we stay within Merrick's remit. As soon as there's a radical change in our decisions, I'll have to recast the runes."

"So you haven't predicted any adverse outcomes?"

"I didn't say that—I just indicated they were unlikely."

"How unlikely?"

Destain paused, then held out his ocular hand. "I cannot explain it mathematically, but if you care to put your palm in mine, I can communicate it."

"I'll trust your judgement," Karapetian said in a clipped tone, hands remaining on his hips. "Remember you need to prepare for the unexpected. You've only experienced the realm beyond as an astral projection. You know the immediate threat are the Simiata—but there may well be others. I suggest you withdraw at the first sign of their presence, we can always fall back and construct a containment plan. It's something I'm going to have to do anyway if we're to enlist more of them to our cause."

Merrick nodded. "I intend to seek out a gateway as soon as we all land on the other side. Once I'm through, I'll hold it open while you all transit. Prepare yourselves for what awaits. You'll be on the lip of a building and if you step forward without thinking, you'll be over the edge."

"No doubt a measure our founding Hierophant put in place when he created the gateway," Karapetian said. "No wonder every attempt before has resulted in failure—none ever came back."

Merrick looked around. He had no problem differentiating between the Celebrain forms thanks to his third eye, but Albany and the mercenaries were, in all likelihood, confused. He looked at the illusionist Karapetian had given them. Her name was Aislynn and her mind was closed to him— _no surprises there_.

"So, is everyone ready?" he said.

They all gave an affirmative.

"Good luck," Mike added. "You boys look after this crowd now, won't you?"

Biff gave a mock salute, made all the more comical as his almond-shaped, Celebrain visage betrayed no emotion at all. His buddies grunted their mirth as Merrick gave his attention to the task.

He focused on the gateway and saw its shimmering surface depressed inward, a funnel of entry for a Psychonaut. Then he was in.

On the other side, he had to stop himself toppling over the building's edge, despite his forewarning of the hazard. The gateway propelled his body through with force, necessitating a shift in his centre of gravity in a backward direction. He scanned the top of the building, relieved to find himself alone under the oil-black sky. He immediately about-faced and returned to the other side, as they had planned. After warning the party again, he passed through and held the gateway open.

He put Johnny in charge of receiving the party while he explored the roof top. He held the gateway open with minimal effort. He knew this would not be the case with his virgin gateways. The rest of them came through without hindrance. All except Celestia were in awe of their surroundings. The mercenaries held drawn weapons but relaxed once they perceived there was no immediate threat.

"This is something else," Albany said.

"Just wait until you see the next realms," Celestia replied.

Merrick beckoned them over. "We need to move fast, the Simiata can detect our presence and will be closing in. I think I've found an optimum breach point. Same plan as before. I go through, check it out and then return. If the breach closes for longer than five minutes, assume the worst has happened."

Merrick detected anxiety from Celestia. "That means you'll be stuck over there, and remember, we can't get back to Earth either," she said.

"There's no other way," he replied. "Destain, are our options still fortuitous?"

"They are," the clairvoyant replied, "you can be confident."

Merrick spread his palms out in front of him, fingertips probing, looking for a weak point. Once satisfied, he gathered his will and felt the force leave him. A sound like tearing metal or nails scraped over a blackboard filled the air. It was a strain, but he saw a long tunnel ahead. He also heard the shrieking of a Simiatan in the distance.

"We're going to have to move fast," Albany said.

Merrick threw himself into the fissure and immediately felt an incredible pressure in his ears as if he had emerged dozens of feet underwater. He ran, as if in a dream, feet slipping on invisible ice. It took several long seconds to burst through to the other side where he emerged in Jahun's cave. He allowed the gateway to close and staggered over to a rock, grateful for a short rest. He groaned while allowing his psychonautic energy to fill up again, banishing the disorientation as it did so.

After a minute or two he recovered and the buzz in his head had subsided to a minimum. He reconnoitered the cave and tunnel beyond as fast as he could and, once certain the location was secure, returned to his previous position. He held out his hands again and felt the depression reform—quicker than before. He'd assumed correctly that the gateways were easier to maintain the more he used them.

He returned to his expectant companions, who were quick off the mark in following his lead back through to the Ashgabat side.

Once through, they spent time taking stock of the situation and allowing for Merrick to rest.

"You look tired," Celestia said.

"I'm surprised you can tell with this face," he replied.

"You forget—my senses work beyond the natural limits."

The Celebrain face in front of him had the sides of its mouth curled upwards a touch. "They're a grumpy lot, these Celebrains," he said, "your smile looks more like a leer."

His attempt at easing her anxiety didn't work. "I've been thinking," she said, "we should explore the gateways beyond the nexus as a mind-meld first, it's much safer."

"That's good advice," he replied. "I can't project my astral form on a first breach, even with you helping, but the next gateways are already existent. We should play safe, as long as you're up to it, that is."

" _Bien sûr._ "

"Ready for the next step?" Albany asked.

"Yeah, this is the wet one," Merrick replied. He relayed the plan for the next traversals to the others and they made their way through Jahun's tunnel, down to the spring.

They needn't have worried about the next stage. The other side of the gateway held no threat, and they were soon in Babylonia.

"Everyone okay?" Merrick said.

"Someone pinch me," Hacker said. "This whole thing is jai-wank." The comment was light-hearted, but Merrick could sense his culture shock underneath. He weighed up the man's state of mind and was convinced he would cope.

"You'll be okay," Merrick said. "I'll line up a re-orientation session when we get back, but in the meantime we've only got two more gateways to access, according to my calculations."

"Right—let's do this," Albany said, his eagerness obvious to all.

"Let's not get over-confident," Merrick replied, "the next gateway is up ahead."

They followed the passage through to Kemran's nexus and were pleased to find both Jahun and the Babylonian waiting for them.

The two guardians embraced them, all except the mercenaries.

"We sensed your presence," Jahun said. "Our hearts are glad you have come."

Merrick explained as fast as he could, all that had happened since they parted company. They compared time-lines and were fascinated to discover that both their continuums seemed to move forward together. After the hasty exchange, Jahun sensed the party needed to move on.

"Carry out your mission," she said. "You can be confident that the nexus remains secure."

"Nexus? That's a good way of describing it," Aislynn said. It was the first time she'd spoken. Merrick tried to weigh up her motivation, but she remained closed.

"We're just glad our life's work as guardians has meant something," Kemran said. "If you use the gateways to bring balance back and thwart this evil uprising, then our vigil will have served its purpose."

Merrick thanked them for their service and gave his attention to the next transition. As before, he and Celestia probed ahead to the portal crossroads. They gave the all clear and Merrick enabled the pathway for all to follow. They used this method again to pass through the eastern gateway and finally arrived at the world known as Celebrai. It was a barren, rocky wasteland with little vegetation and no sign of civilisation. They all reached into their haversacks and took out another layer to put on, together with gloves.

"I bet this is what Mars is like," Albany said.

"Only the atmosphere is breathable," Johnny added.

"It's hard on the chest though," Biff said. "I feel like I'm on the verge of an asthma attack."

"We'll have to put up with the alien atmosphere on this trip," Merrick said. "In the long term, if we can acclimatise or enhance our oxygen supply, we'll be more prepared. Now give me a moment while I find—"

"Hush," Celestia said, raising a hand to emphasise the instruction. "There's a hostile presence bearing down on us."

They drew their weapons and formed a haphazard defensive circle.

Merrick held his unfamiliar pistol. Mike had told him it was a Heckler and Koch in their five minute training session. He felt under-prepared, but remembered that all he needed to do was aim and shoot. "Which direction?" he said to Celestia.

"I don't know," she said, "I cannot home in, yet it's nearly upon us."

"I can't see anything approaching," Biff said, "and there's no cover out here. Are you sure you're reading the situation right?"

Then they heard it. The sound of air slewing over giant wings, a petrifying screech borne from above. They all looked up to see the plummeting form of a colossal raptor.

"Shoot it down," came Biff's order. There followed the disappointing, dry click of malfunctioning firing mechanisms. Only one weapon discharged, but its projectile traced a limp arc from Hacker's firearm.

"What the f—" was all Hacker had time to say as the creature picked him up in cruel talons and carried him skyward. The sound of his agonised cries receded into the distance. All they could do was watch, impotent, as the raptor become a pinprick against the cold, blue sky.

### 35

## All the fools sailed away

"What the fuck are you all waiting for?" Biff turned to them, shocked—as they all were—but exasperated as well. "We've got to track that thing down or Hacker's a goner."

Johnny had thrown his rifle to the floor and was fumbling with a compass. "It's a no-go, mate. I can't even get a direction reading, the needle just points in a random direction."

"So, let's yomp it. We know that bastard-thing was flying towards the ridge over there. We need to get going."

Most of the party looked at Biff in a resigned way. Some just looked at the ground. Albany still scoured the skies, looking to see if the raptors hunted in twos.

"We can't get diverted, Biff," Merrick said. "That thing could have taken him anywhere. I wish we could save him, but I can't sanction risking all our lives.

Biff looked round for some support. "Can't you create a gateway? We could keep up that way.

Merrick squinted his eyes, looking at the horizon. "I can find existing portals and create them between worlds, but I can't create a gateway _within_ a world. At least I can't—yet."

"Look, mate," Johnny said, putting his hand on Biff's shoulder, "We've been in this situation before. We had to make some tough decisions back in Somalia—lost people we couldn't save. It's a tough call but Merrick's right. You know Hacker would do the same if he was here."

Biff looked at his brother in arms with fire in his eyes and shrugged Johnny's hand away. "Well, you know what I say? I say fuck you. Fuck you all. I owe Hacker my life and I'm not giving up that easily. Even if it means going it alone." He picked up his rifle, turned his back on them and took off at a punishing speed across the plain.

"Biff, wait," Merrick called.

"Leave it," Johnny said. "They're both dead men."

"There don't seem to be any more raptors—at least for the moment," Albany said, "but I think we should move off this plain. We're too exposed here."

"I agree," Merrick replied, "Shamon's gateway lies in that direction." He pointed the opposite way to the path Biff, and the raptor had chosen. There was a faint line of purple mountains rising from the plain to meet the cloudless, azure heavens.

"It looks like we've got quite a trek ahead of us," Celestia said.

"Yeah, I reckon it's going to take us four hours at marching speed. And that's without stops."

Albany looked at the pistol in his hand. "What do we do about the weapons? It looks like Karapetian's guns are dud." As if to emphasise the point, he raised the pistol and aimed away from the group. It clicked once, twice, then jammed.

"I don't think it's the guns," Merrick said. "This place has a different atmosphere, you can tell it in our breathing. I figure it doesn't support combustion in the same way as earth."

"So, we're defenceless?" Aislynn said.

"I've got my Bowie knife," Johnny patted a short scabbard at his hip.

"And we've got daggers," Albany indicated to Destain and himself.

"It's not much, but it'll have to do," Merrick said.

"We could retreat, and come back more prepared," Destain said.

Merrick thought for a moment. "That would seem the obvious thing to do."

"But... ?"

"But, I sense time is running out. Shamon could start his assault soon, and we know next to nothing about his war machine. What do the rest of you think?"

"Maybe Destain can give us one of his insights," Albany said.

His telepathic brother raised a hand to expose the eye and moved it in a circular motion, his brow knotted in concentration.

"Well?" Merrick said.

"The runes are balanced."

"Meaning?"

"There are equal costs and consequences for either decision."

"So, I might as well toss a coin?"

Destain looked hurt. "I'm sorry I can't be more specific."

Merrick looked at the distant mountains again. "Let's push on. I'll be damned if I'm returning empty-handed. Besides, there may be a chance that Biff'll return. Are you with me?"

They all agreed, albeit half-heartedly. Celestia swept the terrain as far as her gift would allow and confirmed there wasn't any immediate threat from intelligent life. "But then again," she said "I didn't see the flying beast coming. I can sense a creature's presence, but not their path."

"Then just tell us when _any_ creature approaches," Albany said.

" _Sûrement, Mon Cher_ , there is a scorpion under your left foot, not to mention a snake underneath that rock and a swarm of beetle-like creatures moving across the plain towards the ridge. I can give you a minute-by-minute update if you like."

"Okay, you've made your point," Albany conceded.

Since they had no use for them, they concealed the guns underneath a parched thicket and followed Merrick's lead.

He set a brisk pace, stopping only occasionally to take a drink and rest. They were warmer for the activity, but the landscape remained bleak and forbidding. They crossed a two mile stretch of hard, cracked sand with only the occasional rough tussock of plant-life shouldering through the fissured surface. Johnny theorised it could be a dried up river bed, which meant that if they ran short of water on the way back, they could dig down and extract it. Apart from the wind, buffeting them with puffs of loose soil, there was no other sound except an isolated insect advertising its territory with a rub of chitinous legs.

There was little to say as they trudged for miles on end. The distant mountains didn't seem to get any closer and Merrick revised the ETA to a further three hours. The sun had only moved a short distance across the sky from its zenith, and nightfall seemed an interminable stretch ahead.

In time, the party saw the terrain break up into reed-covered mounds and hillocks. This would have lifted their spirits if it wasn't for the fact that the inclines and uneven ground slowed them down.

"I think my feet are going to drop off if I walk much further," Albany said. He was the only one complaining out loud, but Merrick could feel the impatience and resentment rising in his companions.

"Right you are, let's take a break," he said. "Destain, have a look at your brother's feet and see if you can do anything for him." He winced as soon as the words passed his lips. "Sorry, I meant—"

"Don't concern yourself," the sightless healer replied, "pity is a wasted emotion seeing as my perception of the world is greater than the keenest eyesight could visualise."

"Are you still sure we shouldn't step through a new gateway back to earth?" Albany said.

Merrick was just thinking this might be a wise move when Celestia lifted her head. "Horsemen approaching up ahead. They're heading this way."

"Hostile?" Merrick asked.

" _Oui,_ they're Ukurum."

"Aislynn, can you hide us?"

"Absolutely," she replied, "but it'll help our concealment if we lie low against the vegetation."

They followed Aislynn's lead and lay flat in the hollows between the reeds. Merrick could only see himself, but sensed Celestia next to him.

_You think they detected us?_ he sent.

_Let's see. Ready for a mind meld?_

They joined up in an instant and projected themselves in the direction of the oncoming Ukurum. Two men and a woman made up their party.

Merrick read them. _They know something's here._

_Oui, one of them is a powerful far-seer. Destain, are you hearing this?_

_Yes. The only two advantageous futures I see involve confronting them. They won't just pass us by._

_You said two futures?_ Merrick sent.

_Either you kill them, or you capture them. Either way, there's going to be blood spilt._

_Right. Is Johnny nearby?_

_Next to me._

_Fill him in. He's in charge of leading the assault._

_As you wish, but Aislynn and Albany won't know what's happening._

_They're quick on the uptake, we'll risk it._

The Ukurum dismounted. Merrick didn't need Celestia's far-sight to see them now, and they disconnected. The Ukurum bore unidentifiable throwing weapons and swords at their sides, their stances indicating awareness and caution. They had dressed for the cold, draped in tightly bound tunics and headgear. All he could make out were their eyes, peering through swathes of cloth.

The figures had only walked ten yards further when Destain made contact. _Johnny suggests keeping our camouflage. He's going to take out the front one. He seems to be the leader. When you see him go down, Celestia will out the second. If it's possible, Merrick take the third—but don't get in the way of Johnny. He'll also be homing in and won't be able to see either of you._

The plan had many disadvantages, but Merrick couldn't think of anything better. He gave the affirmative and adopted a crouched position, muscles tensed like clock springs. He sensed Johnny move and Celestia follow a second later. The Ukurum leader grunted and doubled over. Celestia had taken out the second in a heart-beat. Merrick rose up and saw the third was quick to recover, swinging a halberd in wide arcs. She looked poised as she interspersed the swings with aimed thrusts.

_She sees us with far-sight,_ Celestia sent, _hold back_. "Aislynn, drop our camouflage," she said out loud, "Johnny and I will subdue her."

They materialised as if reality blinked, then opened its eyes. Johnny and Celestia were on opposite sides of the Ukurum, wielding long knives.

"You're a long way from home." The Ukurum spat out the words. "This is a desolate place to die."

Merrick hung back, sensing her confidence. _Don't underestimate her, Celestia. She's no novice._

_Thanks for the warning._ She continued her weaving and bobbing around the warrior, all senses alert. This kept the Ukurum distracted and Johnny used the initiative. His knife struck the Ukurum on the head, hilt first. It stunned her long enough for Celestia to grab the halberd and kick her to the ground. Johnny completed the double-act by sitting astride her, pinning her with his knees. She wriggled like an eel, but two hundred and fifty pounds of mercenary muscle weighed down on her.

"Finish it, then—you bastard." Her eyes flashed hatred.

"Don't you worry, love. I'll make it quick." Johnny reached for his knife and lifted it above his head.

"Wait," Merrick said.

Johnny didn't take his eyes off the Ukurum, but the knife remained poised like a guillotine blade. "Don't get soft on me, Merrick. She's a threat the longer she stays alive."

"We need to find out what she knows."

"You realise I won't break," the Ukurum said to Johnny. "Do it, dog-fucker."

Johnny's blade twitched, then he threw it to the ground. "You're too interesting to kill," he said and reached into a pocket. He flipped her over, pulled her hands together and bound them with cable ties. He repeated the task on the feet, then linked all her limbs with a third tie so she was immobile. Only then did he get up, brushing himself down and re-sheathing the knife. The others gathered round.

"Nice work," Albany said.

Destain pulled Merrick to one side and spoke in a whisper. "It's good you didn't kill her. This one's future is entwined with our own."

"That's good?"

"I believe so. Treat her with wisdom and let fortune deal the cards. You won't regret it."

Merrick nodded and approached Johnny. "Think you can extract information from her?" he said.

"Can't say for sure," he replied. "She's hard as a rhino in armour, but I'll enjoy trying. What do you want to know?"

"Find out if there are others close by, then how far the city is—I only have a vague approximation. Then it's anything and everything she can tell us about Shamon's stronghold and defences. I'll know if she's lying."

"Am I to use any means at my disposal?"

Merrick hesitated, then said "Yeah, but don't kill her. She's valuable."

Johnny sniffed, then grunted his agreement. Celestia and the others rounded up the horses while Johnny and Merrick set to work.

Johnny didn't waste time. He stripped the woman, using his knife to remove the tunic where her posture interfered with the task. In a matter of minutes her naked form was shivering on the ground.

Merrick was already conflicted. _So it starts with humiliation, but where does it end?_ He could sense her resolve and hatred diffusing out like a squirming cobra. To Merrick's surprise, Johnny began with an appeal to her reason, yet didn't even get a name. The physical stuff started with a rain of blows to her face and body. He knew all the vulnerable zones and didn't shy away from exploiting every weakness. Before long she was covered in blood and spitting teeth. Merrick's stomach started to revolt. What made it worse was reading Johnny's mind and knowing he was enjoying this.

After ten minutes of punishment, he signalled for Johnny to stop. "Listen, mate. This is taking too long. We can work on her later."

Johnny hesitated, then stepped away. "You're the boss," he said, leaving the woman cursing and spitting on the ground.

"Cover her up and throw her on the back of a horse. We're taking her with us," Merrick said.

Close up, Merrick could see that _horse_ was only an approximation. The creatures had no discernible ears and a mosaic of scales substituted for body hair. The Ukurum saddles could accommodate three riders as the beasts were much longer than their terrestrial counterparts. The muzzles, shorter than a pony's, had jaws that closed and opened sideways, like an insect's mandibles. They were compliant beasts however, and accepted their new riders with a minimum of fuss.

After hiding the two dead Ukurum in a thicket, Albany and Destain took the first mount. Aislynn shared the largest steed with Johnny and the Ukurum, while Celestia and Merrick took the third. It was clear that Celestia was schooled in horsemanship and didn't take long to exert her influence on the mount. The others had varying degrees of difficulty, but it wasn't long before they proceeded at a cantering speed.

The companions were relieved at the increased pace, and the chance to rest their weary legs. The Ukurum was slung over Aislynn's horse between her and Johnny. She offered no protest despite her significant injuries, but after a while Merrick instructed Johnny to permit her a seated position. Blood was continuing to pour from her facial wounds and they would gain nothing from her losing consciousness at this stage.

After an hour's ride the terrain got steeper, and they crested a hill to find Shamon's conquered city lying in a basin ahead. Merrick recognised the termite-nest buildings in the half-light, poking their tops above the sand-coloured walls of the city.

Johnny instructed them not to wait on the brow of the hill as their silhouettes would stand out and announce their presence. They dismounted in a narrow gully and allowed the creatures to drink from a gurgling brook that tumbled over moss-laden rocks.

"We're about as close to the city walls as we dare go without being seen," Johnny said. "Do we have a plan?"

"This is what I've got," Merrick said and proceeded to lay out a thumbnail sketch of his proposals. Johnny didn't like it, but Merrick insisted he stay with their captive, along with Destain. The rest would infiltrate the city under Aislynn's camouflage and seek to find out whatever they could.

"We might be gone for some time," Merrick said to Johnny, "but we'll keep in touch via mind-speak with Destain."

"What if you're captured?" Johnny asked.

"Difficult as it may be, you'll have to try to get to Shamon's gateway—it's the only way back to the other side. In the meantime, extract whatever information you can from our prisoner."

"With any latitude I care to take?"

"Don't mess her up any more. Try more... subtle means."

"Believe me, I have many other tools at my disposal," he said in a tone that Merrick didn't quite trust. The man's adrenaline and testosterone levels were high. A dangerous combination.

"All's fair in..." Merrick couldn't finish the sentence. He knew none of this was fair—not fair at all.

### 36

## Ear in the wall

They ate provisions like fugitives and left their rucksacks with Johnny. By the time the four of them had reached the city walls, the sun—if they could call it that, was sinking below the ramparts. They could hear the sound of the city as they approached a large gateway; cries from infants, shouts from traders in a foreign tongue, clanks from primitive machinery and other unearthly noises, indecipherable to their ears. The stench of animal waste and perspiration hung over the metropolis and they coughed until their senses acclimatised to the miasma.

The gates had a minimal guard, which told them much.

_It seems Shamon doesn't expect an assault from this direction,_ Merrick whispered.

"We shouldn't have a problem getting through," Albany said.

This wasn't completely the case. As they approached under Aislynn's illusory cover, the guards became more distinct and Merrick could make out they were humanoid in form. Long, fur-covered snouts extended from their faces bearing nostrils that flared with an increasing frequency as they drew closer.

_They sense us_ , Celestia sent. As if they had heard her speak, the guards lowered the points of their spears and scanned left and right, trying to locate the hidden troupe of companions. The Outcasts split into two groups and skirted round the guards. There were four in all, but despite their attentiveness and communication by a peculiar chirping language, they continued to look around in bewilderment.

They were soon past the obstacle and Merrick noted with relief that they weren't followed.

"Do you think they smelled us?" Merrick said once they were out of earshot.

"That would be a safe bet," Albany replied.

They stepped through crowds of natives although it was all they could do to avoid collisions as they sought to make headway.

"This is impossible," Aislynn said. "It's only a matter of time before someone bumps into us."

"You're right," Merrick said, as loud as he dared without attracting attention. "Let's make our way over to that monument for a breather, it's quieter there."

The monument rose up in front of a wall and the companions were able to skulk in a cranny behind. Like a lifted cloak, Aislynn enabled their forms to appear in default native disguises.

"That's better," Albany said. "You don't know how weird it is trying to keep track of a ripple in the air."

"Where do we go from here?" Aislynn asked. She had been more vocal on their approach to the city. Merrick couldn't decide if this was a natural reticence wearing off or a strategic decision on her part. One thing he was sure of—she'd be informing Karapetian of this new dimension-bridging power. He began to question his judgement over withholding the information.

"We're looking for Ukurum positions and numbers," he said, "I suspect we'll have to breach Shamon's headquarters." He turned to Celestia. "What can you detect in the immediate vicinity?"

She closed her eyes and placed forefingers on her temples. After a minute she had finished her psychic reconnoiter. "As you'd expect, a lot of activity just outside of Shamon's lair at the centre of the city."

Merrick raised his eyes and focused on the steep walls of the fortress that dominated the urban landscape about a mile away. "Anything else?"

" _Mai oui_ , there are barracks of warriors located to the north and south of here, three in number. I sense about four to five hundred Necrolytes and Amorphics in each. I've even managed to probe outside the city and there's a major camp of the enemy to the east, thousands strong at a guess."

"What about the main fortress itself?"

" _Malheuresement_ , it's closed to me. I sense Shamon has centred his power there.

"I suppose that shouldn't surprise us."

After a moment's discussion, they agreed that Shamon's fortress was the obvious goal, though no one offered a solution to how they could penetrate its defences.

The streets through which they passed were little more than dirt tracks. Animal dung littered the thoroughfares and streams of effluent ran through the gullies. Amidst it all, the Celebrain children played, older citizens begged or sold their wares and, every so often, a party of Ukurum marched. No one paid them any heed. Each individual seemed wrapped up in their own personal misery and struggle to survive. There was a marked absence of younger adults. Merrick still hadn't learned to differentiate between male and female, but age wasn't so difficult.

_What do you reckon, Celestia? Has Shamon conscripted all the natives of fighting age?_

_I think you're right. They are expendable cattle in Shamon's eyes,_ she sent.

One youngster approached them, dressed in soiled sackcloth. Shoeless, four-toed feet peeked from underneath the bottom hem. It looked up at Merrick with its front limbs cupped together—a universal supplication. The bovine-like eyes on the sides of its head blinked, sending flying insects abroad, only to re-settle in an instant. Merrick couldn't understand the words and noises it uttered, but he knew what it wanted. He reached into a pocket and pulled out some biscuits. The kid took them from him, placing one in its mouth. After a couple of bites, it made a soft-chirruping sound then stuffed in the rest. It gave a final snort and ran off to tell its friends.

"Not such a clever move," Albany said. "It'll be back for more, together with its extended family and friends. We could do without the attention."

"Albany's right," Aislynn said. "Cut into this alleyway, I'll change our appearances."

In a matter of seconds, she transformed them into alternate Celebrains. Merrick watched the kid he had just fed scuttling by, leading a group of peers towards what it hoped was another helping of tasty morsels.

"Poor little buggers," Merrick said. "This conflict isn't just about our own kind anymore. Shamon's going to have to answer to all who have suffered."

Half an hour later, giving Ukurum patrols a wide berth whenever possible, the companions found themselves a stone's throw away from the fortress. Night had fallen and Shamon's lair was lit by the orange glare of pitch-torches and braziers.

"Seems there are some things that burn on this world," Albany said.

The fortress didn't so much stand on the earth as organically rise from it. Merrick sensed its foundations reaching down under the surface like diseased roots, emanating an ancient evil that kept the population of the city cowed under its malign influence. It was almost as if it had been built _for_ Shamon. In truth, Merrick guessed he'd usurped it from a previous, weaker principality.

The walls of the outer defence were at least two hundred feet high by Merrick's estimation. Unknown builders had rendered them with a russet, wattle-like substance, giving them a smooth texture. Celebrain guards patrolled in twos every five-minutes.

"No way we can scale those walls," Albany said. "Even if we could, the Ukurum would spot us if we drifted too far from Aislynn's influence. How on earth are we going to get in?"

"I'm going to try something," Merrick said. "It's experimental, but it might save us a lot of energy and risk. Shamon's defences aren't just physical, they're Magickal."

Celestia nodded. "He's also going to be ten times as wary, knowing we penetrated his stronghold in Ashgabat. What do you have in mind?"

After Merrick told them, the companions were speechless. Albany broke the silence. "And you said climbing the walls was risky?"

Merrick shrugged. "This way, the risk is all mine."

"But it's untested," Aislynn said. "We may lose you forever and become trapped in Celebrai."

Merrick turned to Celestia. "What do you think?" he said.

She shivered in the frigid night air. With the illusory appearance of a Celebrain native, she looked like a timid animal, huddling against the hut wall. "It might work. But I can't help having a bad feeling about it."

~ ~ ~

Lazlo Karapetian ensconced himself in the library at Paraganet house. He had a rare moment away from drawing up battle plans with the multitude of military commanders and occult leaders. He poured himself a cognac and let its vintage vapours infuse his sinuses. He thought of Merrick and the drink they'd enjoyed on his first visit; the common fertile ground that germinated shoots of a shared appreciation. So similar in many respects, yet so different. Both had made errors, but his was the greater responsibility. He'd handled the situation like an amateur, sowing seeds of mistrust and letting the promise of a renewed order over-shadow the need for an ethical hand on the tiller.

It had been ten hours since their departure and still no word. It was too long for an initial sortie. The need for haste clouded their better judgment. He realised now they would have been better testing the routes across dimensions and then exploring Celebrai with proper back-up. But he had held back on his advice, knowing Merrick was still suspicious of him. He didn't want another schism opening up between them, just when they'd forged a new alliance.

A knock on the door wrenched his thoughts back to the present. It was Jason. "Lazlo, we've just received a communique from the other side. I think you need to see this."

~ ~ ~

The companions stood in the corridor. Two Necrolytes were sprawled on the floor, green blood pooling beneath them. Merrick sat on the floor too, exhausted but unhurt.

"That took more out of you than you predicted," Celestia said. She crouched over him, a look of concern on her face. He looked into her eyes and drew strength from the warmth he found there. " _Tu est formidable_ ," she said, "but also foolish."

It took an effort to lift his head. "You've got to admit though, it was pretty cool."

"Cool? It was amazing," Albany said. "Have you got any more tricks up your sleeve?"

"None I'll be performing today," Merrick replied. His speech was slurring, and he knew he didn't make much sense.

"We can't stay here." Aislynn was looking round the corner of the passage up ahead. "We need to keep moving."

"Can you give us cover as Necrolytes?" Albany asked.

"Yes, but we'll be dwarf Necrolytes. My illusions can't compensate for the difference in height. We'd be better adopting the form of Amorphics."

"Would they have access to this part of the fortress?" Celestia said.

Albany stood up. "It's a risk we'll have to take. Aislynn, give me a hand getting these bodies into that alcove over there. Celestia, help Merrick up. We need to find a room or hiding place. Somewhere to give him a chance to recover."

Like a veil passing over each of them, Aislynn's Amorphic illusion coalesced around their bodies.

The alcove contained an aperture in the floor. Albany looked over and snapped his head back. "Fucking hell, what a stench," he said, placing a hand over his mouth and nose.

"It's a Necrolyte latrine," Aislynn said.

"What better place to give these bastards a final resting place." He hefted his Necrolyte towards the hole then booted the corpse into it. There was a second of silence followed by the echo of a viscous splash. "Rather poetic, don't you think?"

Aislynn ignored him, lifted the remaining Necrolyte above her head and tossed it in to join its partner.

"Hey, where d'you get those muscles?" Albany said.

Aislynn looked at him. "I just keep eating the spinach."

"The girl has a sense of humour too."

"Hurry up, you two," Celestia called to them.

They bundled Merrick along as best they could, and when they passed two groups of Ukurum, chose to stand aside for both. The first, consisting of four Necrolytes, pounded past with a purposeful gait the companions had come to expect. They swept by without a glance. The second group stopped in their tracks. They were three Amorphic, who made clicking noises at them. The companions lack of response seemed to exasperate one, but they too passed on after judging they posed no threat.

They passed many doorways, always hearing the sound of Ukurum communication on the other side; either the guttural harshness of the Necrolyte tongue, or the irritating burr of the Amorphic. Finally, they happened upon a room beyond an archway, separated from the passage by a thick damask-like drape. Inside, they found wooden boxes piled from floor to ceiling and shelves laden with tunics, belts and assorted weaponry. It offered scant concealment but served as a place of respite.

They placed Merrick, delirious with exhaustion, on the only seat present and took stock.

"He's going to be out of commission for a while," Albany said.

"No wonder," Celestia said. "He created six portals to get us here, and that last one was more a tunnel than a gateway."

Albany stood with hands on hips. "Well, if we've achieved nothing more from this trip, knowing he can weave a way through different realms back to the same one will have made it worth the trouble."

"Yet we don't know the full extent of Shamon's defences," Aislynn said.

Albany looked at his watch. "Assuming time runs the same between realms, then we'll have been in Celebrai ten hours. If we stay much longer, Karapetian's going to get antsy."

"Not to mention we've got several hours trek back to our original access point," the illusionist added.

"Maybe we won't have to make the return journey across the plain," Albany said, looking down at Merrick.

Celestia bent down and felt Merrick's perspiring brow. "He's not going to be ready for that. He needs time to recover."

Albany shrugged. "Then we might as well make use of the wait. I suggest you stay here with Merrick while Aislynn and I do some more reconnaissance."

"I won't be able to maintain their illusions once we leave," Aislynn said.

Albany swept a hand over the surface of a folded tunic. Cobwebs festooned his fingers. "With a bit of luck they won't need them. This place doesn't look like it's used much." He looked at Celestia. "What can you detect?"

"I keep trying to get a sense of the complex, but there's so much interference. The constant maintenance of our sensory shield limits my range too. What I do know is that a diverse mass of life exists in the lower catacombs. It could be a multitude of morphing tanks, like we saw on our previous visit."

"We could do with knowing just what Shamon is spawning in this hellhole. I suggest we follow whatever directions you've got, get a handle on what's down there and then return."

Celestia stood up again. "And what if you don't come back?"

Albany forced a grim smile. "Don't bother sending out a search party, just get yourselves back to the others and skedaddle to Paraganet.

Celestia sighed. "I still haven't lost that bad feeling."

~ ~ ~

Merrick was aware that some time had passed since he last heard the whispers of his companions. He drifted in and out of consciousness, only able to open his eyes a fraction before complete exhaustion overcame him again. In his thoughts he heard Celestia's soothing voice. Her French inflections made the words a song, the lilting cadence of their rhythm percolating into his vivid dreams. The scent of her perfume, the knowledge of her closeness gave him the security he needed to let go and regenerate.

After a passage of time he felt the lip of a vessel against his lips, and a fiery liquid poured down his gullet.

"For strength," he heard her say. The potion revitalised him as its heat spread like molten gold through his body.

Before long he was conscious. Celestia explained what had transpired.

"How long have they been?" he murmured.

"About forty minutes."

"They shouldn't have gone," he said, sitting up in the chair.

"Shhh. Rest. I can sense them returning. They are not far."

She sat next to him on a makeshift seat made up from a stack of mouldy blankets. She looked at him, her mind open.

"Celestia, it seems we never have time to... " He didn't finish. She could read his thoughts, and he in turn was under no illusion about the sentiments she broadcast. She leaned across, not needing further invitation, and placed her lips on his. Despite her appearance being that of a Celebrain, he could taste them sweet as nectar, less fulsome than those of Lotus but tantalising just the same.

_Damn the comparison._

_No need to explain or justify,_ she sent _, you cannot banish a former lover so quickly from your thoughts. I just felt I ought to do that._

_Ought?_

_I think it's time we gave ourselves permission. After all, we don't know what the future holds._

_Maybe we should ask Destain._

She screwed her face up at the proposition.

_Then again, maybe not._

The smile slipped from her face. "Albany and Aislynn. They're not alone. We must ready ourselves. Do you think you can open another gateway?"

He shook his head. "The walls between realities are dense here. Our only chance is to make it back to our previous drop-off point. I might be able to open up the tunnel where the fabric of reality is weaker."

She looked amongst the discarded weapons and picked up a light broadsword. "Just stay behind me."

They burst out into the corridor to find Albany and Aislynn bearing down on them, all pretence of illusion gone. A maul of Necrolytes pounded close behind.

"Back to the access point," Celestia said. "Merrick will try to re-open the gateway there."

They retreated up an incline at a pace dictated by Merrick's stumbling. Albany used the opportunity to disable the nearest Necrolyte with a war-hammer he had acquired. The narrowness of the passage and the elevation gave the companions an advantage, but in the end it only provided a few seconds respite. The footfall of more warriors could be heard in the distance, heading towards them. The Necrolytes would catch them in a pincer movement within seconds. He looked ahead and saw a cross-roads. He staggered towards it and glanced in all four directions. Down one passage he saw an endless line of Necrolytes jogging towards them.

His companions joined him seconds later. Albany and Aislynn had dispatched their Necrolytes but they could hear more following behind.

"Which way?" Aislynn said.

"Straight down there," Merrick replied, pointing. He noticed a tear in her sleeve and blood staining the material before dripping off her sword hand.

"I can create a multiplication to buy us time," she said, grimacing.

"Do it," Merrick replied, "then follow me." The adrenaline flow revived him, but his movements were still uncoordinated. Celestia grabbed his arm just as five illusions sprang from each of them, spreading out in all four directions.

It was just as it had been outside Ashgabat, when Rovach had performed the same magick. Aislynn had thrown the Necrolytes into confusion, and the companions grasped the chance to speed away from the melee. They passed the latrine alcove and Merrick felt the weakness in the ether ahead. It was as if the breach in reality had been sewn up with crude stitches.

He applied his will and saw a fissure appear in the air. Wild energy crackled through the gap but it remained too small to pass through.

"I can't do it," he said in desperation, "there's too much resistance."

"The Necrolytes," Albany cried, "they're not fooled."

Merrick snatched a glance behind and saw a familiar combatant waving his hands and dispelling the illusions Aislynn had created.

"Radice," Merrick said. "What I wouldn't give to tan his hide."

"Merrick," Celestia said. "You must try again. I will join with you—perhaps I can augment your power."

He launched his will at the fissure with renewed momentum. Celestia's mind-force bolstered his, and they saw the tear in reality grow, yet it was still too small.

Albany and Aislynn parried Necrolyte weapon-thrusts, but they were losing ground. Behind the snarling beasts, Radice held his hands high. Merrick could sense the man adding his energy to the onslaught.

"We can't hold them off much longer," Albany said. He bore a wound across his forehead, the crimson flowblinding him in one eye.

"One more push," Celestia said.

It was all Merrick could do to remain conscious, but Celestia's mind-force swelled beneath him. He felt rather than saw the fissure split with an audible snap.

"We're through," Celestia said and pushed him headfirst through the breach. She followed into the tunnel of energy, picking him up, coercing him to use his legs. He heard the clash of weapons behind and hoped Albany and Aislynn were able to follow. The tunnel ahead was open, but he sensed the fissure close behind and the air fill with chaotic energy.

_The walls of existence,_ he sent, _they'll swallow us up._

His terror was short-lived. Ten more strides and they were through—cast into the next reality. Merrick lay on the ground in a twilight world. He twisted round to see first Celestia, then Albany and finally Aislynn tumble through.

The crack in the air slammed shut, leaving only a compressed silence holding sway.

### 37

## Sunset Superman

Jagur Shamon observed Lotus from the shadows. He liked to watch during unguarded moments like these. They were the most explicit evidence that she had undergone a complete metamorphosis. She held a rod of power above her head, wielding it like a spear. Her stance was that of a striking jaguar as she focused on the target two hundred yards away. The battle garb he had given her fit like she was born to it. It gave her the air of a warrior queen, the manifestation of her prowess as beguiling as her beauty. He saw with a magus' eye the slightest flicker of one eyelid initiate the release of the staff. It launched itself across the room faster than it took him to blink and struck the target on the outer roundel.

Lotus bowed her head, disappointment etched on her face. She raised her hand again and concentrated her will on the embedded rod. It vibrated like a dipole under the influence of a magnetic field, then shot out of the target back into her outstretched hand.

"Your power grows by the day, my butterfly." Shamon strolled from his vantage point and stood opposite the protégé, clearly impressed at the display she had just performed. The combat arena would have been awash with sparring Ukurum during the daytime. Now, with the onset of nightfall it was empty. The sprung floor and stark walls of stone echoed back Shamon's voice, giving it a faux-horror delay.

"The process is too slow," Lotus said and, as if to prove the point, gestured at some metal weights stacked on the floor. They rattled and shook, then stood still. She gasped with the effort, and partly from frustration.

"You must be patient," Shamon said. "Your skill level is already years ahead of expectations, but mastery requires the passage of time. If you rush the acquisition phase, your technique will suffer in the long term." He held out his hand, fingers spread, and lifted it slowly upward. The top disc, about twenty kilograms, hovered above the pile. Shamon narrowed his eyes, then flicked his wrist in a dismissive gesture. The weight arced across the chamber and struck a side wall, burying itself in the plaster. Rock chips spat out and scattered over the floor.

"A novice might have accomplished what you just saw, but their lack of experience would have compromised the release and accuracy of the projectile. A liability in a combat situation."

Lotus threw her rod to the ground. "It's easy for you to say, but try to imagine my helplessness when Merrick attacked. He came close to killing you, and all I could do was wave a pathetic dagger—we all saw where that got me."

Shamon's face creased into a benevolent smile, an affectation he had until recently only reserved for Sarlic. "Your pride's been hurt. That's understandable, but these matters are too important to be sacrificed on the altar of vanity."

"Vanity? It was only your safety that concerned me."

"Of course it was. Only a cynic would think it was anything to do with being disarmed by Miss Barone."

Lotus turned her back on him and opened a grimoire. He could tell she was only pretending to read. "She... they mean nothing to me. But the fact they were here in the citadel again shows how close they can get to you."

He approached and clasped her shoulders. "The past is there to be learned from, not to be a source of regret. You will flourish in time."

She turned and looked up at him. "Though not soon enough to join you in battle."

Shamon gave a small sigh. "There may yet be a role for you. How is your unique talent developing?"

A glimmer of satisfaction passed across her face. "I can sustain it up to ten minutes."

"Excellent. I am still astonished at how fortune has led to our union. First, the completion of the Great Work, then the discovery of your magickal potential. The spirit of Ukurum will dominate the realms beyond Celebrai, and we will participate together."

Lotus laid her head on his chest. He knew she would hear the dark song that coursed through his mortal flesh. "Has the Hierophant alliance responded to your pronouncement?" she said.

"Not yet. They will suspect entrapment and hold one of their insipid war councils. There they will toss theories and speculation back and forth in equal measure. Whichever decision they come to is of little consequence. We will defeat them in a day or a year—I am a patient man."

"One of your many qualities," she said. "Shall we retire to your rooms? I yearn for release once more."

The smile he gave her was eager and alive with affection and delight. He took her hand and led her from the arena.

~ ~ ~

When Merrick and his companions emerged from the Paraganet gateway, Karapetian and Jason were waiting for them. The travellers looked haggard and worn. Merrick didn't even have the energy to stand. Albany and Johnny supported him as best they could.

"Thank Aiwass you have returned," Karapetian said and instructed two Hierophants to support Merrick.

Jason stood with arms folded and surveyed the bedraggled group. "Eight of you left, two absent, and you have gained another member. Are we to assume the worst has happened to your mercenaries?"

"Stow it, Jason," Albany said. "Now isn't the time for petty point scoring."

"Who's the Ukurum? She looks half dead."

Celestia slung her pack to the floor. "Her name's Tessanee, and she's been quite candid with us... eventually." She darted a look at Johnny, who stood, impassive over his captive.

"Are any of you hurt?" Karapetian asked.

"Albany and Aislynn could do with some attention," Celestia said, "but I'm most concerned about Merrick. He's never pushed himself this far before."

"Let's get the four of them to the hospital wing. You've no doubt got a lot to tell us, but it can wait an hour or two."

Merrick took two steps before his legs gave way. A blackout shutter closed over his vision.

When he came round, it was to daylight and the sound of hushed whispers nearby.

" _Dieu merci,_ he's awake," Celestia's face appeared indistinctly in his field of view. His mouth opened to speak but only a moan came out.

"Lie still," she said. "Doctor's orders. Here, have some water." She lifted his head and pressed a cup to his lips. The water sank into his parched tongue and unglued it from the roof of his mouth.

"What time is it?" he managed to utter.

"Don't you mean what day it is?" she said.

"I can't have been here long. I only just passed out."

"You've been still as a corpse for two days." Destain's voice floated over from outside his vision.

"That's why it's called _dead-sleep_." Albany's voice—from the foot of the bed.

Merrick lifted a numbed hand and rubbed his eyes. When he pulled it away his eyesight wasn't much improved. "You're all blurry," he said.

Destain approached, holding a hypodermic. "It will pass," he said. "Though I have to say, you've been lucky."

"Really?"

"Few ever emerge from dead-sleep, and usually not with such speed. Here, I'm going to give you a shot of Restiatin."

"What's that?"

"The recipe is complex and expensive. It'll give you a boost."

Destain administered the drug and Merrick felt its effects immediately. The potion cleared his vision and revitalised every muscle as his heart pumped the elixir around his fatigued body.

"Fuck me, that's quite something."

Albany laughed. "They usually reserve it for debauched Hierophant parties, along with the caviar and A-grade cocaine."

The thought of Jason snorting drugs and Karapetian shooting up brought a grin to Merrick's face. "Yeah, I totally believe that."

He wanted to hear what had happened during his blackout. His friends were happy to oblige. The big news was the communique from Shamon.

"He's laid down an inviolable challenge," Celestia said. "Which means a formal declaration of war."

"Fucking hell," Merrick said. "How did Karapetian respond?"

"He's not made a decision yet—he wanted to wait and see if you would come round."

"Well, I suppose it's nice to know he wants to consult. But what does the challenge mean?"

Celestia passed him another cup of water. "It's a sacred undertaking. Mage-locked. The two parties agree terms of war and each side is bound by them."

"A bit like that first meeting we had with him?"

" _Oui._ To break the conditions is to invoke the wrath of the Netherworld."

Merrick took a sip of water. His head was completely clear now. "What conditions have they proposed?"

"Shamon wants to engage us in Celebrai," Albany said.

Merrick snorted, "I bet Karapetian kicked that one into touch right away."

"Actually, he didn't. True, Shamon would have advantages. It's where he's built his army, he knows the terrain and most likely has the citizens of Celebrai under his command."

"So why should we even entertain the idea?"

"First, the longer we wait, the more time Shamon has to build his army. We don't have the spawning technology he has. Within a year his numbers could be double our own. Also, he couldn't fight a war this size on earth at present. The secular powers would overwhelm him in a matter of hours."

Merrick was still puzzled. "Then why not wait it out?"

"That's what we're trying to figure. Perhaps he's just impatient. Maybe he has some trick up his sleeve, we don't know. But we have a few surprises of our own. For example, Shamon doesn't know you can create new gateways. He'll assume we appeared in Celebrai through an existing portal."

"I need to see Karapetian straight away." Merrick made to get up but Celestia placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"No need," she said. "You'll see him later. Besides, you still need to rest."

There was a knock on the door and Merrick received his second surprise of the day. "Arun, you old dog," he said. The Vietnamese hobbled in and embraced him. For a man who had brushed with death and bargained back extra time, he was in reasonable shape. A bit thinner, perhaps but the biggest change was his arm.

"Who is this?" Merrick said. "The terminator?"

Arun looked at his new arm with a smile. "The Hierophant engineers made it from polished titanium alloy. It's a functional system of gears, cylinders and electronic motors." He opened out his fingers and flexed the arm to show off its range of motion. "Even better than the original," he said. "I owe that Necrolyte a favour. The engineering labs here have given me a limb that's faster, stronger and almost indestructible."

"Sorry," Merrick replied. "I paid back the Necrolyte's generosity by melting its insides."

"So I hear. It was too merciful a death."

They looked at each other with understanding, two soldiers having survived the fire of combat and become refined by the experience.

The companions talked for a while, sharing their experiences and knowledge. When Mike joined them later, they cracked open a bottle of Karapetian's single malt and celebrated their survival. Even Celestia partook although Arun declined.

Mike brought them up to speed with his recruitment campaign. Merrick was concerned that the loss of Biff and Hacker might have deterred the other mercenaries from continuing the mission.

"On the contrary," Mike said "they're all the more determined to exact revenge on the Ukurum. They've been training with the Hierophants and Arun here for eight hours or more a day."

"We have learned much from each other," Arun put in. "With uncertainty surrounding the functioning of firearms in Celebrai, we've had to concentrate our energies on swordsmanship, archery and unarmed combat."

"Do you think Karapetian will accept Shamon's challenge?" Celestia said.

"We have to be prepared," Mike replied. "Anyhow, we'll know in a couple of hours time. He's called a war council and we're all to attend."

They agreed to meet up ten minutes before the meeting commenced. In the meantime the friends dispersed and left him alone with Celestia.

_Well, here we are._ Merrick fell into mind-speak without a thought.

_Here we are, yes._ Her use of the English affirmative peeled away another layer of their relationship.

_You know, you're the first person who's mind I've inhabited with their express permission._

_Not even... ?_

_No, not even her. There was a joining of consciousnesses, a connection I mistook for something deeper than it was. I see that now. How do you feel about... this?_

He examined her as she paused over an answer. She'd put on makeup, although she was equally entrancing without it. She'd also begun to lose the tan from their sojourn in Turkmenistan and he gave himself permission to enjoy the flawless perfection of her skin. Flawless, save for the merest suggestion of a scar running at a diagonal from the top of her lip. Gothic charm was the nearest he could come to describing her, but then he didn't need to—he was seeing her from inside and out; words were insufficient.

_To be honest? I'm frightened._

He tilted his head, surprised at the admission.

She took his hand. _Frightened of losing you, of not having the time together. But also, fearful that this sharing will be too intimate for us._

He felt her mind worrying away at the notion, like a finch trying to extract a kernel of comfort from the seed of doubt.

_You think that it will divide us, complicate what we have?_

She nodded.

He put his hand on top of hers and drew closer. _Then we'll have to be cautious, establish ground rules. I don't want this to end before it's started._

_And yet I don't want to be cautious. We have so little time. I want to embrace abandonment, cast it aside._

"Then maybe we should be reckless," he said, and kissed her as if it were his last. In truth, he wondered if this urgency was prophetic—until she filled his mind with her passion and dispelled the gloom—at least for an hour.

### 38

## One more for the road

Compared to the last meeting, the gathering that afternoon was short. Karapetian met with Merrick and his companions beforehand and shared his thoughts on the escalating conflict. It didn't take long to reach agreement.

Karapetian began the meeting proper with an update. "Brothers and sisters," he said, "there have been significant developments in the last forty-eight hours. I can announce that Merrick and his team have successfully traversed the dimensions to Celebrai and infiltrated Shamon's defences. We now have an approximation of his force's strength."

Karapetian gave the floor to Merrick, who gave an account of their mission, leaving nothing out. His revelations were greeted with wonderment and a barrage of questions.

Blazej summed up the mood of the assembled orders. "The ability to traverse the realms at will gives a massive advantage, but there is still much we do not know."

"I agree," Karapetian said. "We will address that shortly, but first we should turn our attention to Shamon's communique and make a decision." He stood up and flicked on a data projector. A crude map of Celebrai was displayed on the first slide.

"I've had our cartographers piece together the intelligence from Merrick's reconnaissance mission, together with information extracted from an Ukurum captive. Details are sketchy at best, but at least we're not totally in the dark." He went on to explain the cross-portal route that Merrick had followed and the locations of the citadel and barracks. Tessanee had revealed further information as a result of Johnny's attentions, and they now knew the capabilities of two new races that Shamon had created. However, there were questions about the nature of Celebrai's inhabitants as well as Shamon's spawning chambers.

"To conclude," Karapetian said, "The Ukurum have established themselves, and as such, have a home advantage. Before we discuss the merits of meeting Shamon in battle, I'll read out his exact words."

He pulled out a scroll from a folder of notes and started reading. As he did so, Merrick sensed Shamon's malign power in the words spoken from Karapetian's lips.

" _Declaration of War. The noble order of the Ukurum lays down a Mage-locked challenge to the allied collection of orders led by Lazlo Karapetian and the Syncretic order of Hierophants. Under the rules of engagement decreed by the sacred laws of Claobach, Jagur Shamon calls upon all opposing forces to meet him in battle at the confluence of the Druiln and Nahl rivers in the land of Celebrai. The battle will commence at ten hundred hours on the first day of September according to the terrestrial calendar, otherwise known as the first cycle of Gujess by the Celebrain calendar. The outcome of the conflict will determine the rulers of Celebrai and all Syncretic orders present on Earth. This resolution is absolute and bound by the seven precepts of Alamar._ "

There were murmurs of disquiet from the assembled as Karapetian rolled up the scroll and sat down. "I invite questions and comments from any and all leaders present."

Japa, leader of the Typhonian order was first to wade in. A thick, slab of a man, he stood and gave his response. "It would be madness to accept such a challenge. It commits us to the outbreak of war in less than two weeks. Does Shamon deem us simpletons? We have everything to lose and little to gain. I'm surprised we're even considering such a proposal."

Karapetian nodded. "Thank you, esteemed Typhonian leader. What are the views of other distinguished members of this council?"

"There's more to this than first it seems," said Naomi. She stood up gracefully and spoke as if she aimed her words at every single man and woman. "If we decline this challenge, we have given Shamon leave to rule Celebrai unhindered. He will amass his armies and conquer other realms until he is ready to storm this one. By such a time he may be unstoppable."

"Shamon is a snake," said Blazej, "he wouldn't issue this challenge unless he was confident of victory. I vote we carry out further surveillance before making our decision."

"A point of information." It was Jason that spoke up. "The challenge has a deadline of midnight tonight. We can carry out another reconnaissance but there's no time to benefit before our time's up—and may I remind the council that refusal to answer places us at odds with higher powers. I wouldn't be surprised if Shamon expects this and just wants the unseen principalities to formally endorse his rule in Celebrai. His legitimacy will be enhanced and he will garner further authority."

Albany turned to Celestia and Merrick. "It seems Shamon's got a win—win situation."

"Maybe—maybe not," Merrick replied, and stood up.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, unsure exactly how to address them. "There are other factors to consider. We have a chance to cut at the Ukurum roots before they spread to become a malignant forest. Whatever Shamon's hidden resources are, I'm pretty sure they don't include the ability to travel at any point between neighbouring dimensions. Whatever the battle scenario, we can make troops appear and disappear within the hour."

"We know of this wondrous ability," said Blazej. "But we have also heard from you about its limitations. To create these temporary gateways, you exhaust yourself to the point of death."

"That _was_ true," Merrick replied. "However, Lazlo has shared with me the existence of a potent elixir that may prevent such fatigue."

"You have tested this elixir?" Blazej said.

Merrick cast a glance at Karapetian who widened his eyes, then shrugged. "Not as yet," he said, "but I intend to try it tonight. If successful, we'll know the advantage is ours before the midnight deadline."

Karapetian stood again. "It is for this reason that I hope to gain your endorsement in principle, fellow leaders. If the elixir fails, then I will refuse Shamon's challenge. There are too many unknown factors. But if it works, the balances tip in favour of an early intervention. Remember, once we meet on the battlefield, all other constraints are removed. We can employ every strategy and tactic at our disposal.

A different sort of hum arose from the assembly now, and Merrick knew Karapetian's powers of persuasion had won them over. A vote followed and was carried unanimously in favour of accepting Shamon's challenge, provided Merrick proved his enhanced endurance.

~ ~ ~

After a meal and further rest, Merrick met with Karapetian and Jason in the training hall where Merrick had first encountered the Hierophants practicing their skills. He brought his companions with him. All were eager to see the outcome of the experiment, although the possibility of side effects concerned Celestia.

While Karapetian prepared the potion with the necessary invocations, Merrick took a worried Destain by the arm and pulled him to one side.

"What's on your mind mate? You look like you're about to give birth."

Destain shook his head. "I still think you should have let me speak before the council. There are signs, fluctuations in the ether, that have bearing on this decision."

Merrick pursed his lips. "Look, Destain, I trust your abilities. But you have to admit they're unrefined and unlikely to gain acceptance from the council. We'll let them guide us once the challenge is accepted. This is no reflection on you."

Destain didn't seem completely convinced by Merrick's reassurance but he acquiesced.

"The elixir is ready," Karapetian said and held up a vial of green liquid.

"So, I know it's based on Restiatin," Merrick said, "but what else have you put in there?"

"Something you have taken before," Karapetian replied.

"No, not the—"

"Mad honey, yes. But only two drops."

Merrick recalled his previous mind-bending experience with concern. "Why do I get the feeling I'm being the guinea pig again?"

"Do not worry," Karapetian said, "I've perfected the recipe over the last few months, even tested it on myself. There were no side-effects and considerable benefits."

"With respect, Lazlo, yours isn't the mind of a Psychonaut. Who knows how having a third eye affects the variables?"

Karapetian looked at his feet. "There are fewer differences... " He paused for a second. "No matter. You can trust me—I guarantee it."

Merrick tried again to probe Karapetian's thoughts, but he remained closed. "Okay," he said. "I know I'm going to regret this, but here goes."

The same euphoria and sensation of transcendent well-being infused Merrick's mind. The Restiatin he took in the hospital wing had brought his fatigued body to a place of healing and restitution. This second dose, working on a rested body, served to elevate him to another plane altogether. In addition, his consciousness expanded as a result of the grayanotoxin so that the realms were laid out before him in minute detail. Words were insufficient to describe this awareness. He closed his eyes to see more clearly.

Dimensions extended to the horizon of his vision in every direction. Between each he could see existing gateways and, like a contour map, regions where the separating walls were thin. Yet he knew that amid the ecstasy a lurking danger dwelt; the diminution of rational and ethical faculties, the danger of letting his power consume him.

_Never trust a junkie's judgement._

"So far, so good," he said to Karapetian.

"Then proceed, while the effects still last. Let us see whether you and Celestia can traverse to Celebrai."

He cut out an arch in front of them both, rising from the floor. As he did so, the familiar sound of electric crackling and accompanying blue sparks filled the air, only more intense than on previous occasions. Merrick was heartened to discover he felt only a tiny fraction of energy loss.

As if he had cut out a template in reality, the arch shape fell away from them to reveal a dimly lit world.

"Fascinating," said Karapetian. Even Jason's jaw dropped.

"Don't bite off more than you can chew," Albany said. "Straight to Celebrai then back again, like we agreed."

Merrick winked at him, took Celestia's hand and stepped into the unknown.

~ ~ ~

Exhilaration is a curious emotion. Best appreciated in its fullness on an ephemeral basis. The human brain is not equipped for constant, unbridled ecstasy. So it was that the Psychonaut's mind employed its own protection, a numbing sensation such that Merrick experienced his augmented power as the pilot of a ship. His hand was on the tiller, guiding it into and through the maelstrom. He could see the path they had to follow, familiar like the lines on his palm. He let Celestia see through their mind meld—it held her in rapture.

After five boundary crossings, they stopped in a forest of luminous plant life.

_The wall is thick here,_ he sent, _and it doesn't thin out for many miles._

_How are your energy reserves?_

_At a guess—0 per cent._

_The creation of a tunnel could drain you considerably._

_True, but there may be another way._

They re-entered the gateway they had just come through, closing it behind as Merrick had done with all of them. He held his hands up as if running them along a wall.

_Here,_ he sent, _there's a worm-hole of sorts. I can circumvent the glowing forest and choose a longer but less arduous route._

_Are you sure?_

_That's the beauty of Karapetian's drug. It would be harder finding the way to the end of my nose, look._

He opened his third eye so she could see through it.

_It... it's..._

_No need to explain. It's impossible isn't it? How can you describe just knowing?_

He gestured again, and they stepped through the resulting wound in reality. The remaining doors hardly required even the smallest of gesticulations as they moved with dizzying rapidity through them. In a matter of minutes they stood outside the familiar edifice of Shamon's city in Celebrai. Dawn approached and nothing stirred save the occasional insect. Seeing they were unobserved, Merrick kept the gateway open and found that it required minimal effort.

Celestia looked around. _It's almost—_

_Too good to be true? Wait a second, I'm going to try something._

He stood before the gateway and held his arms aloft, curling his fingers as if gripping a bar. There was an ear-splitting, explosive sound like a sonic boom and an irregular archway, twenty feet tall appeared. It swallowed up the previous doorway.

_Incredible,_ Celestia sent.

Their elation proved premature. A creaking and groaning began to emanate from all around, like giant monoliths toppling over.

_What's happening?_ she sent.

_I don't know, but I think we better go back. That wasn't a healthy sound._

They jumped through the arch and Merrick closed the rent in the air with a visible effort. Once shut, the groaning subsided and they could both breathe easy again.

_A step too far?_ Celestia sent.

_I think I'm beginning to test the limits of what I can do. It's as if the larger breach weakens the construction of reality around it._

_What would have happened if you'd left it open?_

_Another unknown. But I don't think the outcome would be good._

_You look tired._

_Yeah, I'm starting to weaken now._

_Do you need more of the elixir?_

_No, I'll be fine. Let's go._

~ ~ ~

Needless to say, the Hierophants and Outcasts were waiting eagerly with a host of questions upon their return. Karapetian gave Merrick a small dose of straight Restiatin as a precaution, given that he had exerted himself so much in a short space of time.

After hearing their report, Karapetian was satisfied that the conditions were met for a reply to Shamon—an acceptance of the challenge. The news of Merrick's increased competence at realm-travel buoyed up the Alliance, and soon, word had spread throughout Paraganet House. While this increased morale, Jason was ever conscious of the espionage threat. Should this information ever find its way into Ukurum hands they would lose the element of surprise. His concerns manifested themselves in a doubling of security, for traffic both in and out of Paraganet House.

In the ensuing days, Merrick had the sense of sand running through the hourglass at an accelerated rate. Many demands were made upon him and he found himself returning to Celestia's arms at the end of the day, weary in body and mind. That did not prevent them from sharing their intimacy through the early hours of the morning, however. Indeed, the comfort of their union filled him with vitality, leaving him refreshed and ready to face the rigours of another day.

Although he was back in England, he now felt almost completely detached from his previous life. He learned that he was still on Interpol's most wanted list, but felt no compulsion to seek a solution to the problem. If he ever made it through to the other side of this war, then he could worry about it then.

There was much beyond Merrick's ability to grasp. Jason and Karapetian discussed and organised strategy through every waking hour. Each subsidiary order had their own base of operations and a part to play in the run-up to zero hour, and Merrick remained in awe of the Hierophant leader's ability to keep track of it all.

Merrick's role was almost exclusively geared to eliciting access to Celebrai. The more he used his power, the more refined he became in choosing the most propitious route to the Hierophant's target realms. Celestia accompanied him on most, but not all assignments. At first, it was only a select few who were privileged to travel. Jason, Karapetian and his companions had first rights for obvious reasons, but this was soon extended to the representative magickal and military leaders from each order.

Johnny took over command of the mercenaries in Biff's absence and carried out numerous sorties into enemy territory to acquire further intelligence. This yielded limited results as Shamon had his security as tight as a virgin's pussy, as Johnny described it. But at least they were able to reconnoiter the surrounding land and produce quite detailed maps, including the proposed battle zone. One matter weighing heavily on them was their inability to locate either Biff or Hacker. Merrick had even delivered a drop-off at the lonely ridge they'd seen as the predator abducted Hacker, but after a day of fruitless searching and periodic curses from Johnny, he finally repeated his initial assessment—"both dead men."

With only four days to go, Merrick found himself with an hour to spare while waiting to re-admit another party of gateway travellers. When he wasn't accompanying them, these were tense passages of time. As yet, their covert missions were not detected, but there was always the chance of a slip-up with so much personnel involved. To take his mind off matters, he arranged to meet with Arun in the gym while Celestia honed her projectile weaponry skills on the outside range. It struck him that he had almost zero combat ability. Perhaps he could learn something useful even if it was rudimentary.

The Vietnamese had regained his strength and stamina. An unexpected bonus was his remission from alcoholism. The enforced stay in the medical wing had removed temptation from his grasp and, with the help of Destain, he had successfully applied an abstinence regime. This wasn't good news for everyone. Mike thought he'd regained a drinking partner, but when he turned up at Arun's room with a bottle of vodka, he was met with a stern and resolute rebuttal. From then on, Mike referred to him as _that bloody teetotaller_.

Merrick had changed into a loose-fitting, judo-style suit. After a quick warm-up he was facing Arun on the mat.

"Let's see what you're made of," Arun said. "Come at me as if you mean it."

He circled the Vietnamese, fainting in one direction, then following it with an erratic kick at Arun's mid-section. Next thing he knew, he was on his back, winded and looking up at a spinning ceiling.

Arun extended his prosthetic hand and helped him up. "You signal your attacks like a claxon," he said. "Here, your stance is all wrong too, let me show you." Arun helped him adopt a traditional Vovinam posture and led him through two basic manoeuvres. After half an hour, Merrick was losing patience with his own inept attempts.

"Come at me again," said Arun, standing in a relaxed but defensive posture. This time, Merrick resolved to do the unexpected. He sliced the air with his hand and disappeared through the temporary gateway he created. The gateway closed again leaving Arun circling on the balls of his feet, trying to anticipate what he knew must follow.

Ten seconds later, there was a crackle of energy and the smell of ozone in the air. Merrick dived at him through a virgin gateway formed behind his opponent. It was an impressive display, but Arun caught him mid-air, swung him head over tail then slammed him down on the floor with his knee pinning Merrick down.

"Aaarghk!" was all Merrick could say as Arun pressed on his windpipe.

"Sorry," Arun said. "I was a bit over-zealous." He released his hold on the Psychonaut. "Then again, it was you who pulled the fast one."

Merrick adjusted his tousled suit. "I thought I'd caught you napping," he said, the disappointment on his face clear to see.

Arun flexed his prosthetic arm. "You've improved the speed at which you create your gateways," he said, "but I've seen faster reflexes on a sloth."

Merrick put his hands to his head. "It's just no fucking use. I can't learn martial arts in a couple of days, and with my hard Psychonautics a no-go zone, I'm as much use as tits on a fish."

Arun placed his hand on Merrick's shoulder. "Not everyone is born to be a warrior," he said, "but every man is capable of courage and greatness. Refine your psychonautic skills. Make them count. Remember, no one in living memory can do what you do, and I've seen you demonstrate the bravery of a lion."

Merrick tried to take heart in Arun's words but decided instead to sit on a bench and watch him instruct a mercenary in the art of the nun-chuk. Merrick watched the other groups practicing their skills in the training hall. As well as combat, he saw illusionists of various proficiencies weaving their mirages and disguises, thaumaturgists sending shock-waves to incapacitate opponents and others conjure fireballs and mage-winds to great effect.

After some time, Destain appeared at his side and sat down. "It seems our strength and effectiveness grows by the day," he said.

Merrick nodded. "Makes me glad we're on this side of the conflict. I wouldn't like to be on the receiving end of the punishment these guys are dolling out."

Destain wore a pensive frown. "And yet, the outcome of the battle ahead rests on more than military might or offensive magick charms."

"You've been having visions again?" Merrick asked.

"Yes, I'm not getting much sleep."

"Tell me about them."

He took a deep breath in. "It's the first vision I ever had when I became cognisant, about ten years ago. Since then, one vision has added to another, but the understanding has become, if anything, more clouded. My dreams, whether waking or asleep, reveal a great conflict between a dragon and a creature with nine heads."

"Sounds like something from the book of Revelation—sorry, I'm interrupting."

"The comparison is apt, although St. John alluded to a different time and a long-forgotten world order. I understand the man's torment, however. This Great War takes place in another land and between races unknown to mankind. My vision shows the denizens of earth going about their daily business wearing blindfolds, oblivious to the battle in another dimension."

"Do you know the outcome?"

"As is my gift's wont, it presents me with alternatives. They appear as three scrolls." He pulled out a bottle of water, took a sip but kept his sightless gaze fixed on another horizon. "The first scroll shows the many-headed creature losing one of its heads. The remainder then bow before the dragon and swear fealty to it. There follows an age of darkness spanning many millennia."

"Mmm, cheery," Merrick said. "Is the next scroll more optimistic?"

Destain's mouth curled into a faint smile. "More heartening, but also, more confusing. The dragon bites off three of the creature's heads while a further head turns on another and devours it. However, the creature grows in strength and dwarfs the dragon."

"And the dragon is defeated?"

"Not by the creature. The dragon has a pack of wolves that follow in its shadow. One of them strikes the dragon a mortal blow while the creature kills the others. The scroll finally tells of the dragon broken to pieces under the creature's feet."

Merrick listened with greater attention now. He detected truth in what Destain revealed. But was it a truth that the seer had convinced himself of, or one that had credence beyond the man's tortured mind?

"The final scroll is the most fell of the three. The creature raises its heads to the sky and receives sustenance from the dark. It becomes all powerful, growing three more heads and overthrows the dragon. Once again the dragon is rent asunder, but its essence is absorbed by the creature to join with the darkness it has already received. The beast that rises up from that dreadful union becomes more fierce and hungry than the dragon ever was." Rivulets of sweat fell from Destain's face as he finished his prophecy. He drained the rest of the bottle's contents and leaned back against the wall, spent.

Merrick grasped him by the shoulders. "Are you okay?" he asked.

After a moment or two, Destain became himself again. "I don't think I'll be truly at peace until one of the scroll's portents comes to pass. Only the gods know if it will be the repose of the blessed, or the damned."

"You see these visions often?"

"Several times a day. The hour is near when these things will reach their fulfillment."

Merrick's brow creased in thought. "Is it too obvious to suggest the identities of the dragon and the creature?"

"They say a child could understand the meaning of the prophecy, but it must be an enlightened child. I sometimes wish I'd never chosen the way of the blind man. If I'd known the price I'd have to pay..."

Albany approached. He took one look at his brother and saw the fear written on his face. "You've had the visions again?"

"There is only one I see now. You must excuse me, both of you. I think I could do with some fresh air."

"I'll see you in the garden shortly," Albany said and crouched next to Merrick.

"He's told you what he sees?" Merrick asked.

"Yeah. To be honest, I'm worried about his mental health. Locked up in Shamon's lair for as long as he has would begin to twist anyone's mind."

"Then you don't think there's any substance to his predictions?"

"I have my doubts. But then Shamon seemed to take him seriously—otherwise he wouldn't have kept him alive. Anyhow, I better go check on him."

"One thing before you go," Merrick said. "He talked about choosing the way of the blind man. What did he mean?"

Albany swallowed, then looked away. "Destain hasn't been blind from birth. He received his gift—or curse, depending on which way you look at it—at the cost of his eyes."

"What? Someone took them out?"

"No, he gouged them out himself."

### 39

## Lock up the wolves

Next morning, Merrick engaged in the most dangerous part of their preparations. He met with Celestia, Jason and a team of five others in the gateway cavern.

Merrick looked at the cages the Hierophants had constructed. There were four in all, ten feet high and made of the same alloy used in Arun's prosthetic arm.

Jason was his usual stand-offish self. "Are you ready for this, Merrick?"

"Yes and no," he replied. "Are you sure we need more Simiata?"

"It's like I told you, they're strong as bull-elephants and very teachable."

"That may be true, but we've only four days until the battle. There's no time to make them compliant."

"That's where you're wrong. Our labs have perfected an electronic collar that provides a direct link to the master's mind and will. Early tests on the Simiata we already captured have proved most effective."

Merrick shrugged and left Jason to his preparations. Besides Celestia and himself, the team consisted of Aislynn, Arun and Johnny, together with two other mercenaries. Johnny told them to gather round and gave a final briefing. "The command structure is this: Jason's in charge of the whole operation and I'm acting as deputy. For those of you without a military background that means you follow orders—to the letter. No exceptions." He looked at Merrick, who nodded back at him. He continued. "Merrick and Celestia are playing a non-combat role. Their job is to locate the Simiata and warn us of danger. Based on previous experience that shouldn't be hard as the Simiata tend to home in on gifted individuals, anyway. So, we need to protect Merrick and Celestia at all costs. The good news? Our firearms work on the other side. I know, because Merrick and I tested them. The bad news is we need to capture them alive."

Johnny handed over to Jason who outlined tactics for trapping the Simiata. In principle, it sounded foolproof. But, as Merrick had once read, nothing is foolproof to a sufficiently talented fool—and Jason fitted the bill. Merrick swallowed his opinion and made ready to access the gateway. The smell of sweat and anxiety permeated the air as he and Celestia walked towards the gateway. He had grown familiar with its oily, beckoning surface, but nothing would ever get him used to the sensations he felt as first his hand, then his arm and the rest of his whole body immersed itself in the vertical pool.

On the other side, he led Celestia away from the building's edge and held the gateway open for the rest to follow. Once assembled, Merrick and Celestia sent out a mental probe while the rest waited.

After only a minute, they picked up the now familiar savage signature of the Simiata. "They're coming," Merrick said.

Jason looked over the side of the building. "I can't see anything yet, how many?"

"Two," Celestia said.

"Excellent," he replied. "Not too many at once. Take up your stations and remember the drill."

Through the mind-meld Merrick saw a sight he'd hoped would never greet his eyes ever again. The Simiata, one with black fur and one with red, approached at great speed. They were at the bottom of the skyscraper within seconds. From the top of the building, Merrick, now occupying his body, watched as the two of them looked up and roared in anger.

_What do you think the story is behind these motherfuckers?_ he sent to Celestia.

_Jason said they're sentinels. But what exactly they're protecting, no one knows._

The thought crossed Merrick's mind that their presence here was putting the citizens' lives in danger, but there wasn't time to consider this now.

"Get ready," Jason said as they watched the duo climb and bound their way up the building. The mercenaries each had rifles raised while Jason carried a pole ending in a claw that gripped a large metal collar. Four more collars hung from his belt.

" _Mon Dieu,_ " Celestia said, "they are even larger than the one in the museum."

There wasn't time for fear to take hold as the Simiata launched themselves over the roof edge and stood upright, bellowing and dripping saliva in a display of bestial fury.

"Hold fire until I give the word," Jason said. "Just a little closer and you'll have a clear shot at their groin area—that's where they're vulnerable."

Merrick, standing with Celestia behind the soldiers, contained the urge to release a mind bolt. He felt the power surge within, then quelled it, relieved to know he could still control its release. Once he turned on the tap, there was no way of shutting it off.

"Fire," Jason ordered. The crack of the mercenaries' rifles sounded across the rooftop. Each fired three times then paused to assess the effect. Hypodermic darts hung from the creature's pelts. Some had not found their target and bounced off the inch-thick skin, but most fired true. The red Simiata fell to its knees, eyes glazing over. But the larger black beast continued to lumber forward. The drug pumping through its arteries had only served to slow it down, not stop it in its tracks.

"Fire again, you fools," Jason shouted, "give it everything you've got."

Johnny had a clear shot at the beast and fired another dart, but the other two shooters had to weave this way and that, to gain a line of sight.

Merrick watched in horror as it staggered closer to Jason, who stood his ground with the pole held out in front of him. With a turn of speed that defied the beast's drugged condition, it swung its arm, swatting Jason's pole aside. It reached out with its other hand and picked him up, struggling and shouting out his ineffectual commands.

"Oh fuck," Merrick said, snapping out of his deja vu and moving forward. He grabbed a dart from Johnny's belt and opened a crackling hole in the air. This caused the beast to pause and sniff, curious and wary. Merrick threw himself through the gap in reality and closed the gateway behind.

With the beast distracted, Johnny and the mercenaries managed to loose two more darts that found their mark, yet the beast was still standing. It raised its head to the skies and uttered a cry loud enough to wake the dead, then fixed its eyes back on Jason. The Thaumaturgist had passed out, which would have been a small mercy if the Simiata had time to deliver the killing stroke. But it was then that another tear in reality appeared at the beast's shoulder. Merrick appeared through it, landing on the ape-thing. He scrabbled for purchase, grabbing a handful of its fur while his other hand brought down the dart. He jammed it into the soft tissue of its mouth—an action that caused the Simiata to roar with pain again. Merrick was thrown to the ground as the beast writhed in torment. Then, as if someone had thrown a switch, it dropped the unconscious Jason, toppled forward onto the ground and lay still.

~ ~ ~

Merrick watched the three, caged Simiata from his vantage point in the animal house. It had taken a team of twenty Hierophants and considerable application of magickal lore to move them from what was now called Sim-City, to Paraganet House. Destain tended to Merrick and Jason's wounds while the Thaumaturgist practiced control techniques via the collars that circled the Simiatan necks.

"You're lucky there's no internal damage," Destain said to Jason.

"Lucky? I feel like a tube of toothpaste that's been squeezed once too often."

Once he'd finished with Jason, Destain smeared salve on Merrick's bruises and put an ice pack on a twisted ankle he'd sustained in the melee.

Merrick watched as Jason exerted his will over the larger of the red beasts. "Diablo looks like he's coming round to your way of thinking," he said.

"Wish I could say the same for Ebony," Jason replied. As if to prove a point, he switched the modules on a control pad wrapped round his wrist. The black Simiata's muscles immediately tensed but there was no resultant movement, it remained seated in the corner of its cage. "It's like breaking in a wild stallion. This one's going to resist my coercive training to the uttermost."

"Why don't you rest up for a while?" Merrick said, "you took quite a beating back there."

Jason switched off the control pad and looked at him. "Maybe you're right. I'll come back to it later."

Merrick rose and tried to put weight on his ankle. "This injury's buggered me up for a day or two. Wish I knew how to fall properly like Arun. Anyway, mustn't grumble. I've got another reconnaissance party to ship through to Celebrai." He made to leave, but Jason stopped him.

"Merrick," he said. "What you did back there... I owe you one."

Merrick waved a dismissive hand, "Think nothing of it. Let's just say maybe it makes up for my cock-up that first time I returned with Lucy following on my heels."

Jason gave him a rare smile. "Lucy? Now there's a name to strike fear into the Ukurum."

"What's this, Jason developing a sense of humour? Now I know this world is completely fucked up."

~ ~ ~

It was exactly thirty six hours before the battle that the allied forces began their passage to Celebrai. Merrick had stocked up on elixir and was now prepared for the twelve hour haul Karapetian had estimated it would take to complete the transferral. Advance parties scouted ahead to the battle area and secured their side of the field. They reported minimal movement of Ukurum troops on the opposite side of the valley, and though Merrick knew the conditions of the Mage-lock were binding, he breathed a sigh of relief once the first thousand warriors arrived in safety at the allied encampment. When Paraganet House had all but emptied, he and Celestia realm-hopped to Eastern Europe where they enabled the transit of The Vril contingent of troops and warlocks. As they watched the strangely garbed Vrils pass, Merrick's thoughts turned back to Destain's vision.

_There they go,_ he sent to Celestia, _if only the world knew what was happening beneath their feet; the sacrifice this unknown people are making on their behalf._

_It's like Destain said, isn't it? The jaded ones continue their mundane existence as if blindfolded._

_If only I could work out what the rest of the vision meant. Destain goes through the torment of seeing these things, but without an interpretation it's all futile. I don't even know which scroll reveals the most desired future._

There was no time to rest once the operation was complete. Celestia stayed in Celebrai to oversee the deployment of Hierophant far-seers, while Merrick, helped by Karapetian, supervised thousands of personnel on five different continents to transfer to Celebrai. Then there was the equipment, food and weapons of war to transport.

"It's an incredible sight isn't it?" Karapetian said.

"Yes," Merrick replied. They were standing on the threshold between Namibia and a realm Merrick had named Riverworld, due to its preponderance of waterways and freshwater lakes. "It's amazing how you've managed to bring this all together. Do you think Shamon has any idea of what he's up against?"

"If I know Jagur Shamon, he'll have planned for several worst-case scenarios. By now, he may have realised we haven't used an existing gateway. That will unsettle him. It's just a question of whether he guesses the full size of our capability and the nature of our strategy."

"Speaking of which, there's to be a final war council meeting tonight?"

Karapetian nodded. "There are a few minor developments we need to take account of, but it will be a significant morale boost to have all leaders gathered together—including the former Outcasts."

Merrick felt no small satisfaction in knowing Arun and Albany had gained the Outcast's confidence and drawn them together with all their unique talents under one banner.

A thought occurred to him. "You don't think it's a mistake having all commanders in one place the night before a battle? It's the perfect requisite for a mass assassination."

Karapetian smiled. "You still don't appreciate the nature of the Mage-lock do you? There are much higher powers than even we can imagine watching over this historic conflict. Such demi-gods rarely intervene in the affairs of men, but a breach of the Mage-lock would initiate events of a celestial magnitude. The magickal phenomena you have seen rely on the integrity and sanctity of these ancient laws. If any contravene them without a penalty applied, then chaos results—the demi-gods of Alamar would not stand for that."

"I hope you're right, but you can forgive me for being sceptical about Shamon—he's not exactly a man of honour."

"Not honour in the sense you understand it, Merrick. But even evil has its precepts."

Merrick closed the gateway and realm-jumped to the head of the troop convoy. He had planned each route to access the most efficient path through the dimensions, avoiding both danger and unwitting inhabitants of the worlds they crossed. The lifelessness of some realms surprised him, and he began to understand why Shamon had placed his store in Celebrai, a remarkably populated land.

By late evening, it was finished. In terms of Celebrai's planetary rotation, their sun was just setting. From the Alliance's vantage point, Merrick could see the tents and marquees representing their encampment stretch across the lower slopes of the Severed Mountains. As shadows grew longer, the sky became overcast with a heavy blanket of clouds. As the temperature plunged, the Hierophants knew the likelihood of precipitation was strong. Fires were lit in each quadrant and as Merrick saw them appear in their thousands, he knew that he saw only a fraction of the allies' full strength. There were deployments ensconced in hidden valleys and gulleys on the higher slopes, ready to form second and third assault waves at Karapetian's command.

Across the valley, he could see Ukurum fires springing up to mirror the allied beacons, although it was difficult to estimate numbers at this range. Despite regular boosts of elixir, he was weary to the bone and knew that tomorrow would bring even greater demands. He and Celestia, together with a dedicated team of far-seers, would be the allies' eyes and ears throughout the conflict. Celestia was proud of her team but their capabilities were limited to recognition of terrestrial magickal humanoids. For some reason, impossible to fathom in the short time scale available, Celebrains were invisible to them. Only Merrick, by virtue of his union with Celestia, had a clear and detailed view of the enemy. Yet their unique partnership couldn't survey everywhere at once, and it prevented them from gaining a complete overview of enemy troop movements.

Merrick lowered his field glasses and checked the time. The War Council would be starting soon.

He passed several tiers of guards on the way to the central marquee who each challenged him for identification. Karapetian was obviously taking no chances with security. He sat with the companions and listened to Jason's last minute briefing. It had changed little since the previous one and he found his mind wandering as a result of fatigue. Celestia nudged him at one point when Jason announced a change of waveband for their communication—the alien atmospherics allowed conventional use of radio and Merrick needed to know this as he was in charge of the communication hub. Despite her prompts, Merrick found his mind wandering again to Destain's vision. He had consulted Karapetian, but the only insight he received was the obvious identification of the dragon as Shamon, and the many-headed creature that represented the allied forces. The Hierophant leader advised him to put a low priority on such indistinct portents and concentrate on the plans they had formulated.

He dismissed the War Council after half an hour and Merrick wandered back to his private tent with Celestia. He found four guards stationed outside, reminding him of his VIP status. The one guarding the entrance nodded to him and Merrick exchanged a few pleasantries, thanking him for his service.

The tent interior was basic but comfortable. A fur-covered bed had been set up for them, and Merrick suggested they get under wraps as soon as possible. Even under canvas the Celebrain air was biting cold, and its lower oxygen concentration tended to bring on wheezing fits despite the weeks of acclimation they had undergone from countless visits.

A small butanol lamp shed a warm glow at the bedside and they huddled together in its cheery light, grateful for the shared body warmth. "The preparations have gone well on the whole," she said.

Merrick paused, then said "Yeah, it's all going to plan."

She looked up at him. "You don't sound convinced."

"It all seems just... too easy."

"You were hoping for a disaster or two?"

He smiled. "No. It's just disconcerting that the usual Whyte bad luck hasn't struck yet. I can't help thinking that the god of fortune is saving up some particularly bad shit for me."

"We have prepared for the worst—now on the eve of war, we deserve a chance to hope for the best."

"The best thing to happen is lying right by me tonight."

She pressed the end of his nose, a gesture that had become a habit between them. _Make love to me,_ she sent.

He stroked his finger along her jawline, then began the prelude to a union of desperate passion. Afterwards, they fell asleep in each other's arms, weariness overcoming any remaining nervousness.

~ ~ ~

Elsewhere, across the other side of the allies' encampment, Tessanee shivered inside a makeshift but inescapable cage. The guards had given her a straw-filled mat to sleep on and enough blankets to prevent hypothermia, but it wasn't enough to stop her teeth chattering. The one called Johnny had given her some hot broth for supper, but the warmth in her stomach dissipated within minutes.

She rubbed her hands against her grimy cheeks to generate some heat, but all she succeeded in doing was to take the top off her slowly healing wounds and set them bleeding again.

_Curse you Outsider,_ she thought as she remembered Johnny's face and its look of glee as he meted out a harsh interrogation regime. The violence had stopped over five days ago, but the hardest technique to resist had been the relentless probing by the Psychonaut and his bitch mistress. She had made a play of confessing some small detail or two about Shamon's defences. These had been truthful but insignificant, and it took all her magickal ability to erect a convincing barrier to deflect further infiltration of her mind. She guessed Johnny suspected he had only been thrown a few morsels. Why else would he bring her here if not to resume the interrogation once time allowed?

She hated every one of them with a fervency that consumed her and swore she would make them regret not slitting her throat when they had the chance. The obstacles between her and escape were many, but her resolve and devotion to Jagur Shamon were stronger than her tormentors could imagine. She would bide her time and wait for the opportunity that must surely come.

### 40

## Heaven and Hell

Morning broke to a hell-swept sky. It wept flakes of precipitation that seemed to Merrick like dry leaves or ripped parchment. He buttoned down his coat against the chill, dry wind that swept through a pass that gaped like a raw wound in the mountain range above them. It was a dismal coldness, not piercing, more of an insinuation that seemed to spread from the bones outward.

"Lovely day for an apocalypse," he said to Albany and Celestia.

Albany gave a bleak smile. "At least we get to see what we're up against. Mind you, if the sound of Shamon's hordes is anything to go by, I'm not sure I want to."

The night had been filled with the ululations and deep moaning of the Ukurum. They deprived the Alliance forces of sleep and eroded their resolve. Now, as the gargantuan disc of the sun broke through the haze, they could see the massed armies, laid out in an unregimented smear across the valley.

"I see you've brought your sabre," Celestia said.

"If all else fails, I want to go out like Custer at the Little Big Horn," he replied.

"Don't be maudlin," Albany said, "it's always darkest before—"

He was interrupted by the sound of a mucus-laden gob of spit. It was Jason, and he'd brought three pairs of binoculars with him, he distributed with a gruff greeting. He took out a telescope for his own viewing and scanned the vista.

After a full minute, during which no one spoke, Albany gave his appraisal. "Ugly looking buggers aren't they?"

Ugly was an understatement. Merrick thought he'd seen extreme mutation during the encounter with the Necrolytes and Amorphic. But the creatures Shamon had assembled on the barren slope opposite were beyond nightmare. Just when he thought he'd seen the extent of grotesquerie, his binoculars picked out another twisted variation of bio-engineering.

" _Quel abominations,_ " Celestia said.

"I estimate about nine thousand combatants made up of three basic types," Jason said.

Merrick was adept at estimating large numbers of grouped individuals after having spent many a day out on the mud flats with his uncle counting waders. "I'd say nearer to ten thousand." He knew the correction would irritate Jason, but that wasn't his purpose. They needed an accurate assessment of the opposition to stand any chance of victory.

Jason ignored the contradiction. "You can be sure Shamon's held back another army, equal in size and most of which will be disciplined Ukurum warriors. This lot look fearsome, but they're likely just cannon fodder, designed to weaken us before the second, more experienced troops wade in.

Merrick continued to examine the shambling and shifting bodies of the Ukurum advance guard. One type appeared androgynous in form, unclothed and faceless, their torsos made of myriad tubes and intertwined in a dull-brown conglomeration. He could make out limbs but no face; just an anterior, raffia-like swelling on the shoulders. The legs were humanoid and padded with plates of tissue—natural rather than synthetic armour.

Much larger in stature, were conjoined double-entities; again, humanoid in form but appearing as a skeletal, wiry framework wrapped over with sheets of pale, grey skin. The skin patchwork was shaped into cowls which, as far as Merrick could tell, enclosed nothing. Blackness was ensconced within.

The third, most common type weren't just small, they were minute. At this distance, Merrick judged they could be no more than knee-height. This might have filled him with confidence if it wasn't for the fact that they moved with the speed of quicksilver. Indeed, they scurried about with such rapidity, under and over each other, between the legs of their lanky brethren, that they were more like a swarm. Every so often he snatched a glimpse of an eyeless head, with jaws larger than a gin trap and teeth equally sharp. Merrick could imagine the damage they could do to limbs and nether regions in the middle of a skirmish.

Jason lowered his telescope. Wafers of precipitation lay on his beard as if he'd just eaten an oversize pastry and forgotten to brush himself down. "Well, I haven't seen the like of these before. Did you notice they're not carrying weapons?"

"Yeah," Albany said, "which means they'll not be any good except at close quarters. Our arrows and catapults could exact a heavy toll before they even cross the valley."

Merrick still scanned with his binoculars. "Shamon's too crafty to throw unarmed monsters at us. He's hiding something."

"I can't pick up anything by far-sight," Celestia said. "The psychic shield over their troops is stronger than ever. I'll need to get in closer if I'm to penetrate their defences."

"How long until battle commences?" Merrick asked.

"About two hours left," Jason said. "Horns will blow on both sides."

"And then?"

"Whoever advances troops first onto the flood plain, opens themselves up for attack from an army charging down from above. More likely the opposing armies will march, then repeatedly stop. That way neither side concedes the advantage."

Merrick felt a knot tighten in his bowels. It hadn't let up since dawn. He'd forced some food down despite protests from his stomach, and now it repeated on him, aggravating his nausea. Some action would combat the tension, and he knew just how to take his mind off things.

_Celestia, are you up for an astral visit to check out the competition on the far side?_

_Oui, but my range won't even reach to their front line._

_That's okay. I'll realm-travel to the gulley lying south of them. It should give us enough range._

After telling Jason their intentions, they returned to the tent with a warning from Jason not to do anything that constituted an attack on the Ukurum. They were bound to keep the Mage-lock.

Merrick carried twenty metal vials of elixir in an adapted belt. He took one out and swallowed half the contents.

"That should do it," he said, feeling the warm glow of the potion spreading from his core. "Are you ready?"

"Ready and armed," Celestia replied.

Merrick breached three realm boundaries to arrive at the gulley, but resolved to try a different route back as one of the worlds was infested with insectoids that ran up their legs. They swept several of them off as they clung on with tenacity to their clothes.

Celestia shuddered, and it wasn't from the cold. _Have you got them all off me? I hate les bestioles._

_Yeah. I wasn't counting on them hitching a ride._

They found a sheltered nook and merged minds straightaway.

_We should proceed with caution,_ Celestia sent. _They'll have their own far-seers employed to guard against any infiltration._

_Can you shield us?_

_Oui, provided they do not have an adept of a higher order than myself._

_Is that likely?_

_Non._

The frisson of pride she gave off made him smile as they soared free of their corporeal selves and glided over the massed Ukurum. Close up, Shamon's hordes were even more ferocious and bestial. The little creatures they had observed from afar seemed to writhe as a mass of teeth, bone, skin and slime. They skittered over their neighbours in a constant competition to occupy the top layer, trampling the more unfortunate ones underneath. As they zoomed in, Celestia and Merrick saw huge piles of compressed bodies beneath the squirming multitude. He watched the skin of one dead life form (presumably asphyxiated.) It bubbled as something moved beneath. Then, a head burst through the body's dermis and crawled out, biting at other emergents around it.

_Merde, I can't stomach much more of this, Celestia sent._

_I'm with you on that one. It's hard to see how the Ukurum can control these things. Surely they'll just get in the way of Shamon's other troops?_

_Let's not jump to conclusions. We need to inform Jason so he's prepared._

They soared over the rest of the front line, Celestia keeping them well away from circling astral sentinels.

_They're not reacting to our presence, Merrick sent._

_That seems to be the case, but I sense they're suspicious._

_Have you picked up on Shamon yet? It would save everyone a lot of trouble if I could appear behind him and slice the fucker's throat._

_Non. He'll not let his shields down. He knows I am present and I him, but we cannot pinpoint each other._

_Let's take a closer look at those raffia-type monstrosities further up the valley._

They drifted over the monstrous horde, speechless with horror at the atrocity Shamon had engineered. They decided to name the types as they discovered more of them. The little toothed critters were _Ankle-biters_ while the taller, androgynous humanoids were _Wool-whores._ The comedy names served to lessen the terror threatening to swamp them—at least in part. When it came to the last breed, Merrick began to doubt the allies' chances of victory. They called the fifteen foot monstrosities _Double-heads_. There were well over a hundred of them. They looked unwieldy, but as they observed them for a few minutes, Celestia and Merrick could see they moved with inhuman speed, floating above the other troops like grey kites of death. Their parchment-like cowls billowed in the wind casting dread shadows over the ground.

_Jason's going to need to tackle those bastards early on,_ Merrick sent _. They seem more disciplined than the other breeds and Christ knows how they inflict damage—I bet it's not pretty._

_Shamon will need to issue orders to the troops. Let's see if we can identify the Ukurum officers,_ Celestia sent.

They didn't need to look for long. Armoured Necrolytes moved through the ocean of monsters, growling orders in their guttural tongue. Every so often they cracked thorn-tipped whips to bring the more chaotic troops into line. The humanoid Ukurum had positioned themselves two hundred yards behind the main body of monsters in fortified command posts. They held commanding arms in the air although what this accomplished was far from clear. These posts were interspersed among hundreds of shuffling Amorphic. Directly behind, columns of Necrolytes wielded javelins or iron cross-bows. Still further back were huge catapults, loaded with pitch-coated projectiles.

_How far do they go?_ Merrick sent _. There's fucking thousands of them._

_Look, up there on the higher slopes,_ sent Celestia.

They flew to where she indicated and saw dozens of outlandishly garbed warriors.

_I recognise some of them,_ _Celestia sent. A mixture of illusionists, far-seers and thaumaturgists. They are former members of the Ardus Obsidian order—a potent group of adepts._

They attempted to traverse closer to the group but met with a resistance akin to slamming into a brick wall.

_Merde, I wasn't concentrating—I've tripped an astral sensor._

_Time to retreat?_

_Oui, rapidement._

Merrick sensed his astral form sucked backwards as a leaf in a hurricane. The union with his body left him wheezing for breath, but Celestia gave him no time to rest.

"Take us back," she said, "they will be upon us in seconds—and this time, no insects."

~ ~ ~

"It's useful intelligence," said Jason. "Broadcast the Ukurum positions to our command posts. We'll get our bowmen to target the positions you've suggested."

"Will do," Merrick replied. "Have we suffered any enemy surveillance ourselves?"

"Two attempts. Pretty crude. Our far-seers closed them down before they could see anything important."

There were fifteen minutes to go and Merrick could sense the boiling cauldron of anticipation amongst the allied armies, enveloping them like a dense cloud. "We could do with a pair of eyes behind their lines during the battle. They may well have moved their command posts since we penetrated their defences."

Jason shook his head as he pored over a map. "They're ready for you now, it's not worth the risk."

Merrick accepted the judgement and ran to the command tent where Celestia and three other Hierophants gathered. He relayed the message as Jason had asked, but a loud booming across both sides of the valley interrupted him.

Celestia and Merrick looked at each other.

"It's started," she said.

~ ~ ~

Shamon viewed his troops from a vantage point high up a mountain. He saw them in the waters of a large vessel resting on a pedestal in front of him. Each time he disturbed the surface, the view changed from one side of the battlefield to the other. He saw through the eyes of falcons and kites as they swooped up and down the valley at his command.

Lotus stood at his side. "The first assault is going well," she said.

Shamon nodded. "I almost feel sorry for them. They could not have foreseen the havoc my creations would unleash, despite the attempts of Whyte and Barone to warn them."

A spidery, pitiless blackness consumed Lotus' eyes. She saw the carnage inflicted by the double-headed breed and a deep, callous heat infused her.

"Are you sure they didn't see what lies in wait further up the ravine?"

"I am certain," he replied. "But the way the battle is going, we may not need to invoke it. Look how the enemy is swept aside with each pass of my pets."

Lotus watched, her only regret being she couldn't partake in the slaughter herself.

~ ~ ~

Karapetian looked on in frustration as the tide of Ukurum swamped the allies' forces. The initial barrage of arrows and boulders from the Hierophant troops had hinted at an early victory as large swathes of Ukurum had fallen under the rain of projectiles. He had given the order for an immediate advance to press home the advantage, but this had proved to be their undoing. The purpose of the Wool-whores was revealed with sickening suddenness as their battered corpses were thrust aside by the sheltered swarm of Ankle-biters underneath. They advanced on the allies like black oil, flowing across the river shallows and along the valley floor. Brave Warriors had their legs bitten from beneath them by the scurrying beasts. No shields or line of defence could resist their onslaught. They moved too fast and swamped the allies with their numbers.

Jason had given the order for Merrick to cleave the air and deliver two waves of Magickal Warriors to the South and North of the Ukurum. For five precious minutes the enemy appeared routed, until billowing, shrouded death descended on them from above. The Double-heads spread their cowls like giant floating manta rays over the allies. Everything they touched turned to dust, including the Simiata. Jason had held two back and was now reluctant to release them for fear of losing their strongest weapon in an instant.

"Jason," Karapetian said over the radio, "Call a retreat. Gather our troops amongst the forests—it may give them cover from the Double-heads at least."

Jason didn't need telling twice, yet Karapetian saw with a sinking heart that the allies were reduced in number by a third as they retreated. He looked to the higher ground above his vantage point and saw with growing gloom there was only one battalion of Vril left in reserve.

Naomi, beside him, directed her troops to ready themselves. "May Aiwass preserve us," he said to her. "I hope your army can turn the tide. Otherwise we'll be undone."

~ ~ ~

Merrick boiled with frustration. No matter how many times he and Celestia reported troop movements, the allies were so poorly equipped for the threat of Shamon's monsters that any retaliation on their part was immediately quashed. He hadn't counted on the interference he would receive from the suffering of thousands either. At times, it was more than Celestia and he could bear, forcing them over and over again to retract their astral forms.

The Ankle-biters were a hideous force to begin with, but they could be overwhelmed by relentless bludgeoning with clubs or war hammers, and the intervention of Blazej's Mage Warriors beat them back. The greatest horror had been the Doubleheads. The swathe of destruction they meted out turned the tide of battle within minutes and they didn't seem to show any sign of fatigue. The allies had only shot two of them down. A hail of projectiles aimed at their headpieces proved to be a winning combination, but the accuracy required while they swooped and shifted was too much for even the keenest eyed bowman. Once they detected the allies strategy, they made a point of turning their cowl openings away from their antagonists. They didn't seem dependent on a sense of sight.

Merrick could stand it no longer. "Celestia, I'm going down. I can't do anything by just watching from here."

"Stop and think for a minute, Merrick. There's no way you can survive down there. How will you—"

"I can look after myself. If I get into a tight corner, I'll just realm jump."

"Don't do it, you're not—"

He never heard the end of her sentence. With a wave of his hand he was gone.

He stepped through a gateway into chaos. The melee was more savage than he could have possibly imagined. Even though the air crackled with the energy of his arrival, there were few on the battlefield who noticed. All around him the sound and smell of death reigned. Creatures cried and roared; some in pain, some in battle-fury. Above him floated the double-heads, descending without warning and converting all they touched into motes of dust that swept in the wind towards the allied ranks. He turned his face, grit-blasted with the cremated remains of his comrades, and tried to anticipate the next combatant. The powder that blackened his face and got in his eyes coated him in grim death.

Through the clouds of ash he perceived rather than saw a malignant figure, dealing welts of death in the form of white-hot flares. As understanding dawned on Merrick, the Pyronaut materialised through a break in the dust cloud. It sensed him and turned its head in his direction.

_I see you, Psychonaut. Know this: you shall be consumed by my fire._

Then the smoke obscured it again.

_Not yet, motherfucker_ , he sent.

But Merrick had more immediate concerns. The anklebiters came as a swarm. Next to him, they overwhelmed a bulbous-headed Hierophant. Whether a he or she, he could not tell, but they covered its belly and chewed through the abdomen in seconds. Intestines, liver and kidneys were devoured in as short a time.

The barbarity oppressed Merrick so much he became transfixed. Many of the razor-toothed monstrosities had completed their meal and flowed off the eviscerated corpse, trampling their neighbours in the process. Although eyes were absent, they detected Merrick and scurried towards him. He had enough presence of mind to draw his sabre, but scant prowess to resist their onslaught. He swung the sword in a low arc, slicing through four of the beasts in one stroke, yet the wave didn't diminish one iota. If anything, they came with increased vigour.

Blind panic took over as he beat at them until he was sure his arm would drop off with fatigue. They were like a multitude of terriers, only one hundred times as deadly. One attached itself to his lower leg and, if it hadn't been for the armoured grieves, would have taken it clean off. He tried to back up, but was pressed against a steep incline, the ground a quagmire.

Disaster struck when one foot slipped and he fell on his back. There was just enough time for him to think he was done for when a familiar shape jumped from behind into the midst of the Anklebiters.

Arun was a dervish, spinning round, wielding his halberd in successive sweeps of death. His bionic arm gave strength and speed to the strokes such that the blade became a blur to Merrick. He took advantage of the momentary respite and regained his feet.

"We're taking a beating," Albany said. The man had appeared at Merrick's side, grabbed his arm and pulled him up the hill. Merrick could see the retreat occur all around him. The enemy were beating back the Hierophants towards a forest, its depths green and dark with the promise of sanctuary or further death. The wool whores wielded giant axes that reduced their foes to nothing more than a pile of choice meat cuts. Merrick knew they would make short work of the vegetation and reduce the allies to a rout.

"I could get us out of here," Merrick said.

Albany glared at him. "My place is on the battlefield. Your's is up there at the command post. You're more hindrance than help here."

"I can't leave you," Merrick replied.

Albany backed him up against the trunk of a conifer. "This is no time for heroics, dammit. Relay our retreat to Karapetian." Merrick saw the courage and despair in his eyes. His senses told him Albany's judgement was borne of pragmatism.

"Tell him to send down whatever is left of our forces," Albany said, "and maybe he can prevent a slaughter."

### 41

## I

Jason looked out between the roots of an overturned tree. Johnny was on the other side of the depression observing the Ukurum through field glasses. He'd taken a few cuts and bruises but between them they were in good shape. The same couldn't be said for those they'd left behind on the flood-plain. Denzel and Lucy snuffled and rooted around in the hollow, chewing on grubs and worms they found in the soil. They stunk to high heaven, but it was preferable to the stench of death that lay all around.

He lifted a radio and pressed the send button.

"Arun, are you receiving me?"

There was a crackle, then the voice of the Vietnamese. "I'm here, Jason."

"How many men do you have left?"

"Less than five hundred."

"We have even fewer. Any illusionists?"

"Only Aislynn. The Necrolytes have taken all the others."

Jason tried to weigh up their situation. How had the Ukurum managed to single out the Hierophant illusionists? They were some of the first to fall, and their constructs seemed to dissolve as soon as they created them. Shamon had learned from their previous encounters and caught the Allies napping. He blamed himself, but knew it was unlikely he would live to tender his resignation.

The radio buzzed again. "I see someone approaching through the smoke," Arun said.

"It's a woman," said Johnny. "A damn ugly one at that."

Jason grunted as he recognised the figure—Theta. "Hold your fire everyone. She's invoked a mage-lock. Let's see what she wants."

Theta stopped. In her hand she held her morning-star. "Hierophants," she shouted. "I would meet with your commander. Let them come forward, the mage-lock guarantees their safety. Jason saw the orange, glowing signature in the air and stepped out. He picked his way over the forest litter and stopped before her.

"Speak, Ukurum," he said. The loathing on his face was obvious.

"Your forces are spent. There is nothing but annihilation left for you."

"So why parley? Just get on with it."

She lowered her morning-star and moved a few steps closer. "I wanted to see the defeat in your eyes, Jason. Don't you wish your master had chosen otherwise when we met all those months ago? You could all be sharing in the conquest rather than skulking like rats."

"Regrets are for the vanquished. You haven't won yet."

"How long do you think you can hold out here? I give it thirty minutes at most."

Jason stared at her with a face of stone. "We will fight to the last person. For every man that falls, we'll take ten of yours with us."

Theta swung the Morningstar idly at her side like a pendulum. "It doesn't have to be this way. Surrender now and we will let your remaining troops return to the hole you scurried from. All we ask is for you, Karapetian and your Psychonaut to be given into our hands. Oh, and the Barone slut. Lotus Hughes has a particular fate set aside for her."

Jason didn't need to even think about his response. "The answer is _no_."

"Think of the bloodshed you would save."

He turned his back on her and walked away.

She called after him, "Then we will slaughter every last man and woman."

When Jason climbed back down behind the felled tree, he found Johnny looking through his glasses and smiling.

"I'm glad you're facing death with a grin," Jason said. "I'm going to give the order. Let's take some of these bastards with us."

"I'd hold off another minute if I were you," Johnny replied, handing him the binoculars.

~ ~ ~

Merrick had rejoined Celestia, who greeted him by grabbing his tunic and shaking him with a force that belied her petite frame.

" _Tu est un imbecile_ ," she said, "why can't you use that head of yours for once instead of trying to prove to the world that your some kind of superhero?"

"I'm sorry, Celestia, but I had to—"

"Shh," she cut him off. "Something's happening down there."

Through an instant mind-meld they saw the exchange between Theta and Jason. They also heard Johnny's invitation to look in the direction of the mountains.

Vast murmurations of winged creatures blackened the sky to the south. They looked more like a living weather system than multitudes of wings and beaks.

Destain stepped up to join them. "What do you make of it?" Merrick asked him.

"It is either a final reprieve or the killing blow to our campaign," the clairvoyant replied.

Two of the creatures at the front grew larger and more distinct. They were heading straight towards them.

A Hierophant commander lifted his sword and shouted his orders. "Raise your bows and take aim."

"Wait," Merrick cried. "Hold your fire."

The commander gave Merrick a sharp look, but backed down in obedience.

Celestia's brow furrowed in disbelief. " _Je ne peux pas le croire,_ it is Biff."

"Fuck me, you're right," Merrick said. He could see Biff clearly now, strapped onto the back of a flying predator. Another, carrying Hacker followed close behind. The reptiles circled round once, then came to rest with a flurry of leathern wings. Weapons were holstered under the beasts' main saddles, including crossbows, quarrels and spears. More winged predators circled overhead, each carrying a passenger.

Hacker and Biff dismounted. Their combat fatigues were torn and filthy, but they were in good physical shape.

"Hey, Merrick," Biff said and held out his hand.

Merrick took both their hands in turn, shaking them fervently. "You both survived. I'm amazed. What happened?"

"No time for a story, it looks like you're in a spot of bother. Anything we can help out with?"

Merrick explained their predicament as quickly as he could while the mercenaries' faces grew sombre at the telling.

"So those fuckers that look like papier mâché inquisitors are the problem?"

"Yeah. If you could clear the skies, we could bring in the Vril as a third wave and tackle the ground troops on an even footing."

"And you say their weak point is inside their hoods?"

"It would seem so."

Hacker looked down on the Ukurum as they advanced on the forest. "I reckon we can take them, Biff. We've got the numbers."

"Who are your friends?" Celestia said, looking up at the flocks of predators.

"Celebrain natives," Biff replied. "They took us in after Hacker's abduction—and they hate Ukurum."

"We haven't a second to waste," Merrick said. "I'm going to radio Karapetian and Jason to fill them in. Biff, do what you can for us, but remember; don't let the Double-heads touch you."

Biff and Hacker saluted and returned to their mounts. The predators looked ungainly but ferocious. Merrick hoped they would be a match for the Ukurum. Once again he wondered what Shamon was holding back. He shelved the thought and raised the Hierophants on the radio.

"Lazlo, Jason, If you can hear me, I may have some welcome news.

~ ~ ~

Albany craned his neck round the bole of a coniferous tree. The bark was hard as iron, the smell of the tree's resin thick in the air. _Not such a bad place to die_ , he thought. Arun stood a few paces away, knocking one of his remaining five arrows to a bow. Albany hoped he would have the foresight to save them for the Necrolytes.

The ankle-biters had been released and were closing the gap. All Albany could make out was the agitation of fern stems that carpeted the forest floor. They advanced like a wave, occasionally revealing a flash of teeth or a glimpse of angry, red skin. It was pointless aiming a bow or slingshot at them. Sure it would take down one, but there were thousands of the things.

"C'mon, you fuckers, I'm ready for you." He tightened the grip on his scythe and waited for scurrying death.

A crackle on the radio disturbed his concentration. "Receiving you, Jason. Make it quick."

"Albany, hold your positions. I've got something to try on the Ankle-biters."

~ ~ ~

Celestia occupied her body, resting in the command post. Merrick was with the Vril, waiting for Karapetian's command to transfer them to the battlefield, so she had a rare moment to herself. She hadn't been physically involved in the combat, but was mentally drained from the constant demands of far-sight and mind-melding. Her two fighting swords remained in scabbards at her hips. She longed to use them, to do something that would actually help. Then she remembered her terse words with Merrick and resigned herself to watching the battle through field glasses.

The clouds were lower, more dense than ever and the flakes of precipitation descended heavy as a blanket. Visibility was difficult through the binoculars, but she could make out Shamon's forces holding back while the ankle-biters did their work. The Double-heads bobbed like airborne, grey ice-bergs, held in reserve as they couldn't penetrate the thick forest canopy.

Then she saw the first of them. A predator appearing like a hawk from out of the sky. It had singled out a Double-head and circled round it while its rider loosed several arrows into the thing's cowl. The effect was immediate; it folded in on itself and fell like a tissue Zeppelin onto the mixed forces below. It was a catastrophic demise, not just for the creature, but also for the dozens of enemy troops dissolved under its billowing cowl.

A cheer, muted a fraction by the sound-deadening precipitation rose from the allies on the hill as, one by one, Biff and his predators took out the Double-heads.

Her far-sight detected a change in the ether over the battlefield. The sudden appearance of Vril combatants, pouring through a rent in the air at the Psychonaut's behest. They materialised behind the Ukurum and threw them into disarray as their battle spells took a heavy toll. She could sense Merrick through the gateway but couldn't mind meld at this range, so she continued doing the only thing she could—watch.

~ ~ ~

_Just a little closer,_ Jason thought. The Ankle-biters were only twenty yards away when he unleashed his thaumaturgic power on the front line. There was a sudden crackle of energy that brought him to his knees, but not before he saw the crest of the toothed wave crumble. Now would be the millisecond that determined if he had been correct about their mode of communication. His far-sight ability was limited, but he could already make out the confused tripping and disjointed movement of the Ankle-biters. He had detected their primitive neural messages between each other out on the battlefield, saw how they moved as a super-organism. Their psychic network acted as invisible fibre-optics—a conduit for Jason's thaumaturgy. It spread backwards from the front line, causing the critters to stumble over each other and agitate their nearest neighbours. This revealed another flaw in Shamon's spawning process; if a single Ankle-biter was attacked, it turned on its perceived assailant. Jason observed with rising satisfaction the pandemonium that ensued as razor-sharp, serrated teeth bit into ruddy, putrescent flesh.

He staggered to his feet and gave the order to charge. The allies burst from their cover, wielding halberds, morning stars and scythes. They waded into the growing wall of Ankle-biters, reaping them like stalks of wheat.

Jason was spent, he couldn't even lift his weapon, but enjoyed watching the graceful motion of Arun and Albany. The slaughter delivered at their hands was like an art form. Arun's bionic arm never tired and his whirling form cut a swathe through the enemy. Albany too, moved as a lithe dancer, dealing death with his scythe.

The allies rose to the peak of the critter mountain and continued the charge with a momentum that caught the second wave of Ukurum by surprise. Adrenaline pumped through Jason's arteries as he forced himself to stagger forward. The enemy had turned, despite their superiority of numbers, and were retreating back out of the forest.

~ ~ ~

Merrick swigged down a whole vial of elixir. He'd used about a third of it and there was no sign of him developing a tolerance. Each draught re-invigorated him, giving him the strength to hold open the gateways long enough for the thousands of Vril to gush through and engage the enemy.

They had timed their assault with perfection. He hadn't seen a Double-head for ten minutes, meaning the Allies could attack with impunity, the threat from the skies now removed.

For the Ukurum, however, death continued to rain from above as the predators picked up Necrolytes and Amorphics in clawfuls, carrying them upwards then dropping them, the bodies landing with bone-shattering velocity. The enemy were caught between Jason's advancing troops and the Vril Battle-Mages behind. Merrick could see the two remaining Simiata ploughing through the Amorphic, picking up bodies and throwing them back with inhuman force at their clones.

The devastation was appalling, but meant they had the upper hand.

A down draft of air alerted him to the approach of Biff on his reptilian sky-steed. "It's a slaughter," he announced, as Merrick let through the final contingent of Vril and closed the gateway. He should have felt elation, but something shifted in his consciousness as if tectonic plates ground and slipped against each other. The presence of a colossal, sentient mind—no, a meeting of minds.

He gave Biff a half-hearted thumbs up then picked up his radio. "Lazlo," he said, "do you feel it?"

"Yes," came the reply. "I've never experienced such a distortion in the ether."

"What in Christ's name is it?"

As if in answer, the ground began to shake with a violence that jarred the bones. Merrick turned to the west and saw a mountain peak rise up with monolithic slowness, like a gigantic tree uprooting itself. Vast columns of rock split from its sides and boulders were flung across the lower slopes of the mountains. And still it rose.

All on the battlefield were thrown to the ground. Merrick lifted his head and saw the granite peel away from a form made of rock. It stood, at least one hundred and fifty metres tall. Its rhino-like head hunched forward, arched back rising up behind, crested by trees and soil.

"A Leviathan," Karapetian breathed over the radio. "If Shamon has tamed one, then we don't stand a chance."

Merrick recalled his and Celestia's journey through the portal cross-roads. They had seen a smaller brother to this rock-giant and hadn't stayed around to see how it responded to them. But there was no escaping this beast. It pulled one foot out of its mountain roots, then the other and stomped towards them. Every footfall reverberated through the ground while small rocks bounced on the hardpan floor. Merrick stood, along with thousands of others, petrified as it loomed closer through the falling skin-snow.

The Behemoth stepped over the two rivers and reached the Vril in ten strides. A gargantuan arm fell to the Earth at their flank, bringing up the sediment of the flood plain as it scraped its spade-like hand along in a sweeping motion. The landslide caught up hundreds of Vril bodies and buried them in an avalanche of rock and soil. Johnny's airborne army swarmed around it but their arrows were impotent against the thing's might. It swatted at them with ponderous hands, but caused few casualties.

The Behemoth stood to its full height and uttered a roar, gusting a blast of sulphurous air over the multitudes. It served to break the spell transfixing the allies. They ran as a confused mass, away from the beast, back towards a false haven. The Colossus by-passed the Ukurum, who were as frightened as the allied warriors, and bore down on its fleeing targets.

"Take cover, anywhere you can," Karapetian called through the radio.

Merrick watched the chaos unfold and determined not to give in to panic. Without considering the wisdom of his actions, he tore a hole in the ether and stepped through. It was a brief journey that brought him to the apex of the Leviathan's spine. Surrounding him were fallen conifers and rolling boulders. It was all he could do to keep his feet. He moved forwards to the Behemoth's shoulder as far as he dared and observed the carnage below. Great moraines of earth piled up on the flood plain as it scooped up handful after handful of material. Merrick saw in horror how these mounds became barrows for the asphyxiated, allied troops. Its feet, the size of houses and dropping tree roots and boulders were brought down without mercy on the diminishing brigades.

Abject helplessness threatened to overcome Merrick as he rejected one course of action after another. It was then, he perceived a pause in the Behemoth's progress. As it stilled itself, he opened his third eye and sensed an undercurrent of sentience emanating from the colossal, primitive brain. It seemed to be at battle with itself, groaning in primeval agony. Yet when Merrick delved deeper, he discovered the struggle was not with itself but a parasitic invader.

_Shamon._

The Behemoth was stationary now, Shamon's essence had fatigued and withdrew to his secret command lair. Merrick considered astral pursuit, but it was beyond even his capabilities to find the Ukurum leader's hidden refuge. Instead, he plunged across the dimensions to the Hierophant camp. Back to Celestia.

Upon appearing in their tent, he found it empty and reached out to her. She was lower down the mountain, guiding the remaining allied refugees to a place of safety.

He materialised in front of her. She ran forwards, tears streaming from her face, clutching him to her.

_C'est un catastrophe. Our people... they—_

_It's all right, Celestia, I'm here now._

But he looked over her shoulder, saw the devastation on the flood plain, heard the cries of the dying, and knew that things were far from all right.

### 42

## Man on the silver mountain

They had withdrawn further up the mountain; Hierophants, Outcasts, Vril, the predator host—all took to the heights, scattering themselves at Jason's order, attempting to make themselves as difficult a target as possible.

The Behemoth remained stationary, like a giant sentinel, waiting for its time of re-awakening, and yet to Merrick it seemed not so much expectant, more dreading the prospect of confrontation.

As darkness fell, Merrick heard the Ukurum regrouping on the lower slopes. The confident hum of anticipated victory rose from them although there were no loud war cries as had filled the previous night. From the battlefield, the cries and moans of the dying reached every Hierophant ear. Merrick knew that none would survive the sub-zero temperatures of the Celebrain night. To leave them suffering was a travesty, yet there was no recourse. The Ukurum formed an impregnable wedge between the dying and the living.

Jason met with him and the companions in his tent. His face was dirty, blood-caked and morose.

"Is Karapetian joining us?" Merrick asked.

"Later," Jason said.

Merrick swallowed his disdain for the leader and continued to ask questions. "Can we expect an attack during the night?"

Jason slumped onto a chair. "It's possible but unlikely. The Ukurum would have to fight us against the gradient, in the dark and the cold, without the aid of their giant. If I were them, I'd wait until dawn."

Merrick looked around at the weary expressions held by his friends. "What are our options?"

"As far as I see it; retreat or die," Jason said, without a flicker of emotion.

"I could create a gateway. Make us disappear. We could rally our forces back on earth and build our reserves for another invasion."

"We could," Jason replied, "but our people are dispersed across the black mountainside. We might get some back, but not everyone."

"So, you think we can stand our ground then?" Albany said. "You're not saying you think we can beat that monster out there?"

"Only if we could raise a second Behemoth," Jason said, "and Celestia's scanned the surrounding area. There are none left, and even if we summoned one, we couldn't control it. Shamon has obviously prepared for the use of his giant for months."

Merrick now saw the defeat in Jason's eyes. Never before had the man been without an idea or course of action. "Surely there's something we can do?" he asked.

"There are no further contingencies," replied the Thaumaturgist. "The best we can hope for is to make a stand and wear them out. In daylight we might stand a chance of gathering the remnants of our forces and retreating through a gateway."

"Which would leave Shamon free to expand his rule in Celebrai," Celestia said.

"Worse than that," Albany spoke up. "The conditions of the challenge dictate that he can commandeer all remaining syncretic orders. We'd only be buying time."

"Destain," Merrick said, "Do you see anything new?"

"No. Only that one of the visions will be fulfilled in the next few hours."

They tossed ideas and strategies around for another hour, but the most they could agree on was limiting the damage and retreating at the earliest opportunity. They might be deferring the inevitable, but at least it would give them time to think.

Their gathering dissolved, as one by one, exhaustion and dejection overcame them. Celestia went with Destain to attend to the few wounded that had made it to the mountain encampments. Jason left to find Karapetian, visibly annoyed that he had not attended their meeting, while Merrick retired to his tent to think.

He had a mind to revitalise himself with elixir and realm-jump to the floodplain in an attempt to take volunteers and rescue any further survivors. He downed a whole vial of elixir, but then became aware of a presence at his door. Karapetian walked in alone.

"Now I know I ought to be shitting myself," Merrick said. "If you've descended from your ivory tower, then our defence is truly on its last legs."

Karapetian's lips pressed together in a grimace. "You're right, my appearance is indeed significant, but not in the way you think."

"How come?"

"May I sit down?"

"Sure, it's only fair I offer you some hospitality after all you've given me. I'm sorry I don't have any brandy or fine cigars, but this wine isn't half bad." He poured the red liquid into two cups and offered one to Karapetian, who drained the contents in one.

"So, it's even worse than I thought," Merrick said, surprised at the head Hierophant's rate of consumption. "More?"

"Please." Karapetian held out the cup for a refill. "You have every reason to despise me," he said after taking another mouthful. "What you are about to hear however, will lower even that meagre opinion of me."

"Might as well tell all. It's not like any of us are going to live long enough to hold any grudges."

"I have a lot to say, some of this will be difficult for you to accept, let alone bear. But time is short, and I believe you have a talent that will make our exchange more efficacious." He took off a leather glove and held his hand out to Merrick. "Although you won't consider me a friend, I hope we can still be gentlemen and agree to be allies of necessity."

"You want to shake hands? Well, this really is a rare meeting," Merrick said, sensing no guile in Karapetian's gesture. He took his hand and a fire shot up his arm. Despite this, he was compelled to hold on to the man's grip.

He saw, through his third eye, a scene fade into view. A cinematic reel of memory long forgotten. He was young, very young; a toddler held in his mother's arms on the doorstep of a house that didn't feel like home. He was staring into his mother's eyes, wondering why beads of water dripped from them. He reached out to touch them. They were warm and wet to his fingers; when he licked them, they tasted salty. He had heard the familiar sound of her voice, but was too young to understand what she was saying. Her tone was unfamiliar, no longer comforting, and bereft of the usual joy. He responded to this with tears of his own, accompanied by a youngster's loud cries.

He heard another voice. Deep and throaty. Young Merrick heard it as the voice of a stranger, but the mature Merrick recognised it. As the infant, Merrick followed his mother's gaze outward, he saw a tall man, head shaved, receding along the garden path with a swift pace. At the gate, the man turned, and Merrick beheld the face of his father.

"You?" Merrick released his hand from Karapetian's. It fell to his side as if lifeless. "No, you've got to be kidding me."

Karapetian lowered his gaze. "I didn't want to have to reveal the truth to you this way," he said, "but events have made it inevitable."

A thousand questions rushed to the fountainhead of Merrick's consciousness, but he asked the only one that mattered.

"Why did you go?"

Karapetian, Merrick's father, emptied his wine cup again. "The hardest decision I ever had to make. Believe me, I would have cast aside my responsibilities, my power... all of it, just to remain with the two people I loved most in the world."

Merrick brought his hands to his temples and shook his head. "You never returned. Abandoned us. Even when mother was dying... you must have known."

Karapetian's mouth remained impassive, but his eyes revealed sorrow. "Of course I knew. Every day I received reports back from my familiars, of how she declined with every breath. They told me how you nursed her, spent every waking hour with her during those last weeks. I was proud of you, but knowing your plight tore me up. I couldn't even go to the funeral; I saw it through the eyes of the familiars."

"The crows? There were so many of them at the service. I remember everyone commenting on their number, lining the walls and the telegraph wires. It was like a farewell from beyond. But why didn't you come? What can have been so precious that you would isolate yourself?"

"I think you can answer that question yourself. Remember a time not so long ago when you had to choose between a loved one and your higher calling?"

Merrick cast his mind back to Paraganet House so many months ago; the last time he had truly spoken to Lotus. He remembered the tortured conflict meted out in that moment, how his world was torn in two when he made the decision. A decision to throw his lot in with what he considered to be his destiny. How could he now criticise Karapetian, the man he now knew as his father, for making a similar choice?

Karapetian moved across and sat beside his re-united son. "I watched you from afar, Merrick. Watched you grow up under the careful eye of my brother. I'll be forever indebted to him."

"Did he and mother know of the order—I mean, its secrets, its magnitude, hell—its very nature?"

"Martha knew much. She was gifted herself, but chose to stay on the fringes. Titus simply knew I was part of something cloaked from him. He didn't ask too many questions—no doubt he thought I was part of MI6."

Merrick snorted. "He never knew the half of it, did he?"

"And he chose for matters to remain that way—another thing I owe him for. As I rose through the ranks, and the possibility of leadership emerged, Martha withdrew more and more. Then you were born—and that changed everything. I revoked my allegiance and abandoned the Order."

Karapaetian reached across and poured them both another drink. "Only I learned that one doesn't choose the Order; rather, it chooses you. In time, they found us, and entreated me to re-consider. They showed me what could happen if the Hierophants were to dissolve and be no more. We have acted as a restraining force against evil for so long."

"Don't tell me. Shamon entered the scene."

"Yes. We should have divined his rise to power, but I became distracted. I questioned whether I had made a dreadful mistake leaving you and your mother, spent many long years brooding while I carried out my duty in the Order. You see, it was more than just choosing syncretic brethren over family; I saw it as a way of protecting you. Our enemies were many and if I had stayed, they would have found us just as the Hierophants did. Once Shamon's rise was assured, I woke from my self-pitying stupor and galvanised the council of the Hierophants."

"How long ago was this?"

"About a year before I reached out to you."

Thoughts and questions tumbled like shuffled cards in Merrick's mind, then re-arranged themselves in a solitaire array of realisation.

"So you laid your trail of breadcrumbs for me? The note left at my house and the text after my meeting with Garento and Harris-Billinger."

"I had to entice you with care. After all, you're a perceptive man, and at the time—completely secularised. I knew I had to draw you into the Hierophant's fold. It would only be a matter of time before Shamon came to know of you—and your power."

"A power that now lies beyond my reach."

"I understand your feelings of helplessness. I have had to carry a similar burden for over twenty years now."

"What do you mean?"

"Psychonautics is a rare gift, but one that has surfaced in our family line sporadically for generations."

"You... ?"

"I first knew of my talents at an early age. I was brought up in a Hierophant enclave on the borders of Armenia. Unlike you, I was given expert tutelage, learned how to hone my power to the greatest of degrees."

Merrick rose from his seat and poured the last of the wine into their cups. "So, what happened?"

"Another family trait. Impatience. At the time, we were in conflict with a group of adepts rising up from across the Caucasus mountains. In many ways they were a precursor of the Ukurum. A pre-earthquake tremor heralding a greater tectonic shift in the magickal realms. I was the lieutenant in a squad of Hierophant warriors. I was also young and impetuous, ignored the teachings of my elders. During a desperate battle in the snows of that mountain range I unleashed the full force of my mind on the enemy—much as you did in Turkmenistan. We vanquished our foe but also took a heavy toll, many at my own hand.

"From that day I have never wielded my power in anger. Instead, I made use of psychonautic tributaries that trickled upstream from the main torrent of my potency. It's them I have to thank... or blame, for my ascendency in the Hierophants. It's also why, up to now, I have never ventured forth in any combat operations."

Merrick stared solemnly at his father. "I see. So your presence here can only mean one thing."

Karapetian nodded. "It's time to unleash the power one more time."

~ ~ ~

Jagur Shamon awoke from a night of deep slumber, refreshed and alert. His eyes settled on Lotus' naked form and he recalled their night of animal abandon. His phallus stirred at the memory and Lotus felt the arousal. Presenting herself to him, they made love silently. It was the antithesis of their nocturnal rutting, but nonetheless potent.

With him still inside her, they lay together for a while. He would remove their vital fluids afterward, but for now he was reveling in the moment. He filled up with the ancient energy of Ukurum and understood that he was on the cusp of elevation to a higher order. Once the Union of allies were destroyed, he would seek an audience with _It_ —a being even more powerful than the Leviathan. His credentials were more than sufficient for _It_ to consider him worthy of an immortal's rank.

"Are you ready to witness the vanquishing of an enemy?" he said.

She turned to him, still euphoric in the aftermath of their orgasm. "Remember... you promised."

"I haven't forgotten, my butterfly. Today we will both share in a conqueror's glory."

A frown clouded her brow. "What if the Psychonaut unleashes his power again?"

"He dare not. Theta herself saw how he reached the threshold of control on their last encounter. A further release will consume him, and all those for miles around."

"He may think the sacrifice worth it."

Shamon shook his head, his facial ornaments tinkling in the chilled atmosphere. "Whyte is a compromiser, emasculated by his own sense of ethics. For him, the means will never justify the end."

He rose from their bed, his action indicating that the discussion was closed. "We shall eat, then go out and meet our foe for the last time."

They had a light breakfast shared with Theta, Radice and the Ukurum Commander of operations. A sense of unbridled ambition and arrogance permeated at the table, and Shamon rose at the end of it, ready to fulfil his destiny.

"Theta, it is time to strike," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

His supreme general nodded. "I'll take up position," she said. Moments later they saw her rise to the skies on the back of an immense eagle, her silhouette that of a vengeful Valkyrie.

Shamon looked at Lotus. "We shall conduct our practice in the mountain temple again. It will keep us secluded and far from the eyes of their far-seers."

Lotus smiled as they mounted the steps of Shamon's inner sanctum and sat next to him in front of a goat idol.

"Take my hand," he said to her, "and we will become destroyers of worlds."

In an instant they were flying as astral projections across the valley. Shamon could feel Lotus' exhilaration, crescendoing as they saw the Behemoth loom before them. They entered its body, Shamon curious to notice how Lotus recoiled at the presence of such an ancient deity. Its consciousness was as old as that of the Ukurum, yet even deeper. Formed from the conjoining of great principalities at the dawn of time, it resisted their entry on the first attempt. But Shamon's authority was greater, and he forced the Behemoth to surrender its will as a growl of submission reverberated the hillsides.

They could see through its eyes now and their joined will urged the Behemoth up the mountainside towards their foe. Shamon's possession the previous day had drained him considerably. Now, with Lotus' added strength the sense of impregnability, of absolute power, was intoxicating. He saw _their_ body plant its feet on the kindred mountain rock and crush ravines, break glaciers or dam streams in its relentless drive upwards. It mattered not that the Behemoth suffered at being used, it was just another pawn, albeit a powerful one.

Its head broke through a blanket of cloud and emerged into brilliant sunshine. There, in a natural corrie, he saw the Hierophant camp. The remaining, pitiful ragbag of warriors were arranged behind hastily erected barricades. An effective defence against an ascending, exhausted army, but a mere inconvenience for such an entity.

But what was this? On a lip of the ice, there in front of him, were two, ant-like forms.

_It is Karapetian and Whyte._ Lotus voice was inside his head. _Crush them, my Lord. Let them be reduced to a memory, buried in the snow._

The time for discussions and ultimatums was past. Shamon did not waste any words. He raised the Behemoth's fist in the air like a monstrous hammer and let it descend on the two forms. Yet, even as it fell towards them, Shamon knew something was wrong. The way they stood, defiant, hand in hand. The sense of expectation on the upturned faces of the defendants. And then the resistance. Primal energy arced from them in a plume of cobalt blue, staying the igneous fist of the giant.

A moment of panic, then Shamon received an upsurge of power from Lotus, conceived and enhanced by the wellspring of their Sex magick.

The fist pushed downwards again with the weight of five thousand tonnes of granite.

### 43

## Killing the dragon

Merrick held the physical and psychic hand of his father. He sensed Celestia and Destain's mind-force augmenting and shaping their own. For the first time, Merrick experienced the three torrents of his psychonautics conflate. He read the thoughts of the possessed Behemoth, saw it as a geological feature impressed on his portal map and felt it recoil at the onslaught of their mind-bolt.

He and Karapetian combined their tumultuous energies into one enormous Psychonautic burst, only this time, together, they could control the release.

Nonetheless, it was a stalemate. There was an ebb and flow of energy; in one moment the mountain-fist descended, in the next it was beaten back by psychonautic power. This stasis continued for minute after minute until, imperceptibly at first, then with increasing certainty, the Behemoth began a continuous thrust downward.

_Lazlo, we have to increase the power,_ Merrick sent.

_There's something blocking its release,_ Karapetian replied. _Our power is compartmentalised, conspiring against us. If we were one entity, there would be no barriers._

_What are you saying?_

_You have to absorb my essence, Merrick._

_Wait, what will that do to you?_

_It doesn't matter, do it!_

_There has to be another way._

Another voice joined their mental union. It was Destain. _Merrick, remember the second vision._

Merrick searched the vaults of his memory. It came to him; the second scroll—' _The dragon bites off three of the creature's heads while a further head turns on another and devours it.'_

_The three heads_... Merrick sent.

_We have lost three whole orders, together with their leaders._ Karapetian again.

_Then the other head is..._

_You know what you have to do._ Karapetian added his magickal powers of persuasion to the words, but Merrick didn't need them. He heard their truth.

He looked up at the Behemoth. It had raised its other fist, ready for the killing blow.

_Now, Merrick, now._ They were Karapetian's last words. He dropped his mental shield and immense energy funnelled into Merrick's psyche, together with the invaluable gift of control. Celestia and Destain were cast from the meld as Merrick's psychonautic bolt turned from blue to white.

He screamed, his open mouth discharging the pent up anguish of the decision he had made as the Leviathan lifted both hands to its head.

_Even a mountain can feel pain._

Still the energy increased. The bolt split into a delta of lightning forks enveloping the Behemoth's head and upper torso. Merrick saw the granite flesh of the beast glowing, then melting to become a dripping torrent of molten rock. Its cries were as an earthquake, the mantle below the ground echoing the agony of its spawn. Underneath this ear-splitting roar, Merrick sensed the cries of two lesser beings.

_Shamon and Lotus._

Merrick detected a new power added to his own. It was dark, malevolent and thrilling and he knew it was the magickal essence of Jagur Shamon. Next instant, the transferral was complete. Merrick saw the crumpled husk that Shamon had become. The Ukurum was vanquished.

_Uncreated._

As Merrick's power began to dissipate at last, he saw Lotus' astral form take hold of Shamon's and retreat to the other side of the valley.

The Behemoth's body had now become a molten stream of liquid rock, descending like some Hadean waterfall and terrible to behold. It toppled backwards, falling in slow motion onto the remaining Ukurum army. The impact began an avalanche; great slabs of rock shattered or rolled down the steep edifice, carrying Necrolytes, Amorphic and human Ukurum down to the foot of the mountain, their bodies broken and buried.

Merrick returned to his corporeal self and staggered backwards to avoid being caught up in the rockfall. He scrabbled over the unstable ground and saw Karapetian's lifeless form slide over the edge of a crevasse as the side of the mountain disappeared.

After what seemed like an eternity of chaos, the mountain became still, all except for the dust that rose in dense clouds. Down below, the remaining Ukurum picked their way amongst the rocks or fled across the flood plain. Biff's predators picked up many of them and doled out swift retribution.

Celestia ran towards Merrick, crying out his name.

"Celestia, stay back," he shouted. "It's not safe here."

She ignored the caution and took him in her arms. He was grateful for her support as she guided him back to the Hierophant defences. Loud cheers greeted them from the battered remnant of the Hierophants and Vril. Everywhere they looked, they saw weapons and fists raised to the sky and heard deafening roars of victory. As he passed through them, they reached out to touch or slap him on the back. Everyone was eager to reach out to their saviour.

"Let's get you back to the tent," Celestia said, "Destain can give you a look over."

"I'll be okay. I've some elixir left, it should do the trick."

"You need to rest, Merrick. You can't prop yourself up on chemicals forever. You've done your job. Leave it to the others to mop up."

With the mob still crowded round, he stopped at the tent entrance and looked at her. "Celestia. It's far from over yet."

~ ~ ~

Johnny led his limping troop of mercenaries back up the mountainside. They picked their way over the Behemoth's spoil heaps, helping any of the wounded they came across. For the most part, there was little left of the sacrificed humanity to rescue. The re-landscaped floodplain had become the graveyard of thousands. Here and there, they came across isolated Ukurum warriors, who either fled or knelt down in the universal posture of submission. He had no idea how to respond. While no stranger to the harsh realities of war, he saw no benefit in killing them, and taking them prisoner was a low priority seeing that the allies had their own to take care of.

From a distance he had seen the Behemoth fall. Now, close up, he saw the effect of its passing. The mountainside had been completely re-shaped. The remains of the beast could be seen at the foot of a great defile, molten rock bubbling at the bottom. All around them, the slopes were littered with loose scree and dead bodies, making their ascent treacherous. The risk of further rock-falls was a constant threat, yet they managed to reach the encampment without further loss of life.

He thanked the men under his command and arranged for those with more serious wounds to receive medical attention. Food and water was available from the mess tent. He snatched some, then headed for the Psychonaut's quarters.

"Merrick, you son of a gun," he exclaimed upon arrival. "Glad to see you made it." The Psychonaut, surrounded by Jason and the other companions, turned at the sound of his voice. His face was a gaunt, sombre mask, but cracked into a smile once he saw who had returned.

"Johnny. Likewise; we'd begun to think you'd bought it."

"Not me. I'm a cockroach. Bring the building down on me and I just crawl out of the rubble. Hey, isn't Karapetian here to congratulate us?"

Merrick's smile faded. "I'm afraid he didn't make it."

They exchanged details of the conflict's closing moments and shared condolences for the lost. The woe of aftermath would have to wait, however.

Merrick turned his attention back to the others. "We're just discussing our next move."

"I would have thought that was obvious," Johnny said. "Break out the bubbly—we've a victory to celebrate."

"That would be both premature and inappropriate," Jason said. "Shamon survives, if only in his physical form. He and his general have retreated to the citadel on the backs of eagles."

"Sounds like it's a no-brainer. Just rustle up one of your gateways, Merrick. We'll follow through and clean up the remaining scum."

"It's not that simple," Merrick said. "I've already tried to breach the fortress by realm-jumping. My gateways close up as soon as they're formed. Shamon must have conjured a magickal barrier since our last mission. It's impregnable."

"Couldn't you travel to Ashgabat and use the existing gateway there?"

"Tried that as well. The gateway just absorbed my power and remained closed."

"Well then, it looks like we've got a siege on our hands. We'll post a platoon on the earth side of the gateway and surround the fortress here. It's an untidy end, but it's only a matter of time before they run out of food."

Jason pointed to an enlargement of the citadel on an unrolled map in front of him. "We don't know how many Shamon's got holed up in his lair, nor what resources he has. He might be diminished magickally, but there are plenty of warriors who may have survived. We can't give them the opportunity to regroup and marshall their resources."

"So, what are our options?" Albany asked.

"We need to find another way in," Aislynn said. "The main gate has been sealed with rock and debris; Merrick tells us it is strongly defended too. We could try a full-frontal assault, but we would suffer heavy losses."

"Is there another way in?" Johnny said.

Merrick rubbed his brow. Johnny thought he looked at the point of collapse. Grey shadows hung under his eyes and his shoulders drooped. "We don't know. Biff and Hacker are circling the citadel as we speak but haven't found one yet."

Johnny thought for a moment, then said "We may not have to search for one. Wait here while I check something out."

~ ~ ~

Tessanee had all but given up testing each of the wooden spars of her cage. She had hoped for a point of weakness. Just the slightest movement in a joint and she would have something to work on. But the cage had been too well made.

Her spirits had risen upon hearing the Behemoth's roar and the cries of terror from the enemy, but it had been short-lived. She heard the Leviathan fall and suffered the unimaginable weakening of her magickal power as the spirit of Ukurum was destroyed. Now she was just another mortal, skilled in combat, true, but after having tasted the fruits of magickal power these were a pathetic remainder.

Should she wait for death, or hasten its arrival? Suicide would remove the indignity of execution at the hands of the Hierophants, but there was something stopping her. Something deeper, more fundamental than hope or resolve.

Her thoughts were broken by Johnny's arrival. He wore a smile—it made her trust him even less than his usual sour demeanour.

"Hi there, my little minx," he said. His hands were on his hips as he stared into the distance. "It looks like our work is just about done here. I take it you know of Shamon's defeat?"

She looked to the ground. Words weren't enough to express her hatred of this man. She wasn't going to dignify his strutting with a reply.

"I guess you want to know what we're going to do with you?" He picked up a stone and tossed it in the air a few times. "You've lost your power, so you're no real threat to us. We could simply hang you from the nearest tree. But me, I'm thinking justice would be better served handing you over to the Celebrains. They have their own judicial system. It starts with an assumption of guilt, and there are no defence lawyers. Punishment for the crime is chosen by the people, and believe me, hanging is quite merciful in comparison. So yes, we could throw you to the lions as it were." He drew back his arm and threw the stone high in the air. It clattered on a rock somewhere down the cliff face, its echo travelling back to them in the thin, still air.

She looked up at him, eyes glowing feral from a face marked with blood and dirt. "Is that all you came to do—gloat?"

"Partly. Gloating's very underrated you know, it's one of the spoils of war. But our leader wants to make you an offer."

"Offer—what kind of offer?"

He leaned closer to the cage and their gazes locked. "Information. Shamon—or what's left of him has retreated to his lair. We figure you might know how to get into the fortress. If so, you can lead us to it. In return, we take you back to earth and give you your freedom."

A different light sparkled in Tessanee's eyes. "How do I know that you'll keep your word?"

"Jason's prepared to draw up a contract and cover it with a mage-lock."

She raised an eyebrow. "Mage-lock? Seems a high order of magick to invoke for such a matter. You must want to storm the fortress badly." She looked to where Johnny had cast the stone. "Very well. I accept your offer. There is a doorway, and I know how to open it. But once I'm done, that's my obligation met. You must release me."

Johnny spat on his hand and offered it to her through the bars. "Then, you've got a deal."

~ ~ ~

It was a party of about one hundred that Merrick transported to the Celebrain city. The township itself was open, and the streets were filled with revellers, both native and terrestrial. Merrick surveyed the drunken but good-natured melee with no little satisfaction. If all they had achieved was to release these primitive people from the yolk of oppression, then that was a victory indeed. But it wouldn't be enough until they brought down the last bastion of the enemy's forces. Tessanee led them down a shadowed alley on the west side of Shamon's fortress. On their way they passed many, hastily built scaffolds displaying the corpses of Ukurum warriors. Javelins thrust into the ground bore the heads of Necrolytes at their tops. It was rough justice, but satisfying nonetheless.

After a time, Tessanee stopped. "It is here," she said.

"I don't see anything," Johnny said, looking around warily.

"In the wall," she said. "It is hidden from the eyes of the uninitiated, but I can open it with the correct gestures."

"Then do it," Johnny said.

She looked at her bonds. "I need the use of my hands," she said.

Johnny looked at Merrick.

_She's peaking on adrenaline and subterfuge,_ he sent to Celestia.

_So would you if you were Johnny's captive and one step away from his peculiar type of punishment._

_Can you sense anything the other side of the wall?_

_Ne Rien. The magickal barrier still remains using a vestige of Shamon's power. Once breached, the defence will be down forever._

"Cut her loose," Merrick said to Johnny, "but if she runs, kill her." Celestia widened her eyes at him.

_All's fair in love and war,_ he sent.

Johnny sliced through Tessanee's cords. She rubbed her wrists to restore the circulation and approached the wall. "Stand back," she said, "the door will open outwards."

She touched the wall in several places according to a complex pattern known only to herself, then finally pushed against it.

What happened next took the companions completely by surprise. The door appeared, true enough. It was fully fifteen feet tall and the same again wide, but rather than hinge itself ponderously open, it slid across in a heartbeat. There, behind it, were a phalanx of Necrolytes, each with a poised javelin. Tessanee dove forward into their midst as they launched their shafts of death. A large handful of Hierophants fell to the ground, skewered by spears. Merrick didn't have time to see who had been hit. He felt a hand push him to the ground, then Arun fell on top of him protectively. He spat out dust and looked up. Tessanee held a Necrolyte dagger, which she thrust upwards into Johnny's heart. Pure hatred, the one thing that had sustained her, flared in her eyes as she twisted the weapon. Johnny gave a gurgling, muted cry and sank to his knees, whereupon the Necrolytes brought their blades down in a hail of blows.

"Take cover," Jason yelled as enemy slingshots launched a rain of spiked, metal spheres, felling half of the remaining Hierophants. Some took shelter behind a low wall while others scattered back along the alley.

Those who had taken cover behind the wall recovered quickly and drew bows. The Necrolytes made an easy target and weren't retreating quickly enough to avoid a swarm of Hierophant arrows. Merrick was weaponless and considered unleashing his psychonautic fury, but the risks were too great. He hadn't any idea what degree of control he could exercise since he had absorbed Karapetian and the Ukurum's essence. In the end it didn't matter, Jason launched his thaumaturgy at selected targets, causing them to keel over and take down at least one more to their side. The rest retreated. Merrick saw that Tessanee had disappeared.

"Storm the doorway," Jason ordered, "before it closes." He was the first to step across the threshold. Merrick was relieved to find that Albany, Aislynn and Celestia were amongst the survivors who rushed at the door. They made it through with five other Hierophants and Arun bringing up the rear. One Hierophant was not so lucky. The massive stone doorway slammed shut on his body, pulverising him to a bloody pulp. Half of his head, an arm and lower leg dropped to the floor as the only evidence of his failed attempt. Merrick resisted an upsurge of bile and turned to Jason.

"The enemy have split up," the Thaumaturgist said. "They're trying to confuse us."

"It will do them little good," Celestia said, "my far-sight is working again. Tessanee has retreated up the passageway to our right, we should follow. My guess is she'll lead us straight to Shamon. I can already sense him skulking at the top of the fortress."

They followed Celestia's lead and bound up a series of spiral staircases. They encountered isolated Necrolytes and two of the Amorphic, which they dealt with in their stride. Aislynn sent another, larger group off on a false trail after conjuring a perfect illusion of the companions. After another minute they were drawing breath in large gasps. The fatigue of battle had taken its toll.

"This is taking too long," Merrick said. "Celestia—mind meld." Without another word they joined minds and traversed as astral forms through walls and floors until they reached Shamon's last refuge. They both saw the vestigial group of Ukurum gathered there: Lotus, Theta, Radice, two Necrolytes and, there on the floor, the shrivelled shuck of a man that had once been Jagur Shamon.

_I'll see if I can create a gateway route to the chamber,_ Merrick sent.

They withdrew back to their bodies and Merrick focused his concentration. "It'll need five gateways, but I can do it." He removed the last vial of elixir from his belt and saw that it was only one quarter full. "It'll have to do," he said and swallowed the last of the green liquid.

They emerged through a gateway, crackling with blue sparks into Shamon's chamber. The Ukurum were taken off-guard. The Necrolytes managed to lift their javelins but were too slow to launch them. They fell, two arrows each embedded in their heads.

Merrick glanced around, looking for a threat. There were few to be seen. A bloodied and weary Theta carried her Morningstar but it wasn't raised. Radice and Lotus were weaponless and stripped of all magickal power.

Merrick wasn't quite sure who he should address. Shamon was curled up in a foetal crouch on the ground, unresponsive. None of the others looked likely to take a lead in his absence.

"It's over," he said, looking at Lotus first, then Theta, then Radice. "Ukurum is no more and you've nothing to gain from further conflict. There's been enough bloodshed this day." He stepped closer to Shamon. "Surrender now, and you'll be treated with dignity as well as justice."

There was no immediate response, but he could see defeat on their faces. Then, to his surprise, there was a stirring on the floor. Shamon raised himself up on two hands. His body shook yet he managed to lift his face to Merrick. The visage, once formidable in appearance, was now decrepit, devoid of authority.

"I would speak—to you all—" A dry, rattling cough shook his frame, but he continued. "All I ever asked from any of my consorts and generals was loyalty. I will not... surrender. Who of you is with me?" He looked at Theta with rheumy eyes, but she cast her gaze to the floor. Radice too looked away and dropped a concealed dagger. Lastly, he turned to Lotus who rushed to his side and held him up in her arms.

"Jagur, my love. I've given everything I have to you. Shared experiences that I could never have dreamed of. But there is no shame in recognising the reality of defeat. I would rather know you in defeat than be separated by death."

"There is still one who remains loyal." The shout came from a doorway behind. Merrick spun round to see Tessanee throw the Necrolyte dagger at him. It span tip over hilt, much as Johnny's weapon had done when it felled her unconscious. Merrick had a blink of an eye to realise that this time, destiny's blade would strike with lethal finality.

His reactions were not fast enough. Perhaps if he were an Albany or an Arun, he could have avoided the knife. Yet, in the end, Jason intervened where his own reflexes failed. His legs were swept from under him as an invisible hand flipped him to the floor. The knife struck with deadly force at its unintended victim. The point entered Shamon's eye and sank in to the hilt. Lotus looked at him in helpless horror, his life blood spattered across her face.

Shamon shook with a convulsion, then lay still. The cry that Lotus uttered would haunt Merrick for the rest of his days. Déjà vu assaulted him as he recalled a similar scene, another loved one, Lapin. But her shriek of desolation plumbed a depth of emotion that Merrick knew she could never have felt for either of them.

He experienced a form of tunnel vision where he was only distantly aware of the scuffle behind him as Albany subdued Tessanee, and Lotus' two remaining confederates dropped to their knees in submission. The image of Lotus, suffering in total abandonment was all he could see.

Inside of him, something broke, never to be pieced together again.

### 44

## After all (the dead)

Celestia and Merrick stood in solemn silence as Jason gave the eulogy. There were many of the dead to commemorate, few of which could be given a proper burial. Thousands lay beneath the earth heaps gouged out by the Behemoth, thousands more turned to dust by Shamon's twin-headed monstrosities, but none were forgotten.

Jason spoke moving tributes to Blazej, and the leaders of the Immaculata and Thanateran orders that had perished. Special mention was given to Johnny; a man, Jason said, who had learned to fight for money, but in the end had laid down his life for a noble cause. Lastly, he spoke of Lazlo Karapetian.

"Lazlo was a leader, a father and a friend," Jason began. He halted for a moment to compose himself, then continued. "A man who was often misunderstood, yet gave himself unswervingly to the cause of freedom. He strove for liberty from the hand of a cruel, dark force that threatened to engulf not just this world, but countless others beyond. He gave the ultimate sacrifice—his life, so that the light would prevail, and darkness be dispelled.

"Now we stand, inheritors of the same responsibility that burned in his defiant heart, and I say this: we will not be found wanting. He has given us a legacy and a unity of purpose. Those of us who remain will rebuild. There is much work ahead; to restore the world of Celebrai and establish a new order of adepts back on earth. Let us observe a minute's silence in his honour."

After the period of quietude, Jason stepped down from the stone plinth erected for the occasion. There followed a long litany of the dead, read out by representatives of each order. Though the reading took hours, none present faltered or retired from the ceremony. When the final names were read, the Celebrain sun was well past its zenith and over five thousand remaining allies left to attend local burials or cremations.

Merrick turned to those standing beside him. "Jahun and Kemran. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you came."

Jahun wiped a tear from her cheek. "We know what it is like to lose loved ones, especially those who fall in the great struggle. More poignant still to lose a father you weren't given the chance to know."

Merrick held both their hands and gave a pained smile. "Thank you. For everything. You played a part in what happened here, and it's my guess you'll continue to fulfill an important role in the guardianship of the realms—that's if you're willing."

"It is our calling," Kemran said, "the Ukurum may be gone, but darkness has a way of gathering itself into a new genesis. There will always be a need to remain watchful."

"I'll transfer you back to Demeldin in the morning. Once again—thank you."

They moved away arm in arm as Jason stepped up.

"Nice speech," Merrick said.

Jason breathed in, allowing his chest to swell in an exaggerated fashion. "You know, I think I'm getting better at it."

"The first of many you'll have to make, no doubt," Celestia added.

"I'm only the interim leader of the Hierophants, you know. Until a permanent choice is made."

"You're learning modesty too," Merrick said. "By the way. I haven't had a chance to thank you for the little push you gave me back in Shamon's fortress."

"I guess we're even now," he replied. "Anyway, I'm off to my tent. You coming?"

"We'll follow in a minute," Merrick said. "We need to talk to a few others and pay our respects.

Once they had finished the formalities, they made their way back to Jason's marquee, where he had promised to hold a meagre but fitting celebratory meal in remembrance of the lost. They were still a stone's throw from the tent and could hear the noise of glasses clinking together and toasts proposed, when Celestia took Merrick by the arm.

"Let's spend a moment together before we get caught up in things," she said. "Look, we can sit up there and take in the view."

Merrick agreed and let her lead him by the hand. They seated themselves on a smooth, flat rock, and looked at the breath-taking panorama of the Celebrain plain. There was a gentle, mountain breeze blowing up from below, carrying with it the dry scent of desert blooms.

"This place kind of grows on you, doesn't it?" he said after a while.

"Sounds like you've made up your mind then."

"About staying, you mean? Well, I suppose there are worse places to hole up. Besides, there's still a price on my head back home and there's nothing to keep me there, anyway."

"What about you?" He looked at her; she could tell he was genuinely hesitant asking the question. She surprised him with a long, lingering kiss.

"Does that answer your question?"

Merrick felt his face beam with a grin that seemed to spread to his whole being. "So, will we still be known as Mr and Mrs Dwight-Hetherington, only living at number twenty, Celebrai avenue now?"

"Well, they do have some unfinished business."

"Indeed, they do," he replied, kissing her again; this time exploring her tongue with his.

After a while he pulled away.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm just thinking," he said. "About how things have panned out."

"Meaning?"

"What if I'd chosen to ignore those first advances by Karapetian?"

"Go on."

"Well, I'd never have got mixed up in this. Never been the agent of so much death and destruction."

"Then, in all likelihood, Shamon would have been free to discover the gateways and become the conqueror of worlds."

"Maybe not. Don't you see, he would never have abducted Lotus, and discovered she was the key to him achieving his Great Work."

"Mmm, then you would have been stuck with that self-serving bitch and never met me."

"Oooh, catty... but true."

She looked at the sun as it descended, a glowing, orange ball on the horizon. "She's left with nothing isn't she?"

"She made her choice; and it could be worse. At least she's got a cushy cell to spend the rest of her days in."

"No regrets then?"

"I suppose not. It's the old paradox, correlation or causation. Are events simply a string of coincidences or is there a pattern?"

"I know what Destain would say."

"And Albany. Speaking of which, we ought to show our faces."

The corner of her mouth lifted seductively. "Let's show them then. But afterwards, I'm going to show you something else."

"Fuck it," he said. "I always did enjoy the after-party better."

### 1

# About Tom Adams

Tom Adams is an imaginer drifting between lands of speculative fantasy, horror and bizarro. When he strays back into the realm called reality he finds himself in Middleland; a geologically beautiful gamut of scenery in the north west of England. The forces that drive him shift their shapes with sharp needles of inspiration, but at present include the art of Zdzislaw Beksinski, the music and words of Ronnie James Dio and a frankenstein amalgam of word-scriptors such as Vonnegut, Tolkien, Clevenger, Leonard, King and Bradbury.

Tom is also an audio-narrator and has many titles on release from Audible, including 'Dark Gods and Tainted Souls – Books I , II and III' authored by Julius Schenk, 'Lies and Retribution' authored by A.P. Bateman and 'Lusus naturae' authored by himself.

He occupies niches in cyberspace at <http://tomghadams.com> and https://www.facebook.com/tomghadams/

### 2

# Free subscriber's starter library

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~~~
