Wintercraft: Legacy (28 page)

Any shades that remained in the city had faded from view, and any memories imprinted upon it by the veil were swiftly undone. Towers that had appeared intact returned to their aged state. Ruined houses leaned against each other across the streets, and underground pipes spewed water as the night’s true devastation revealed
itself. The movement of the spirit wheels had allowed Fume’s dark splendour to peel back layers of recent history and let the past dominate once again.

Edgar stumbled past ancient places that had long been forgotten. He picked his way along paths that had once been pristine, but were now scattered with building debris, people’s belongings and gaping trenches where old paths had been uncovered underneath.

He coughed in the stone dust, placing his hands on fallen walls as he clambered across them, making his way towards the Winters tower. Silas’ crow flapped nearby, keeping a close eye upon him as it moved effortlessly through the air, and as Edgar passed into a street relatively untouched by the devastation a voice called out to him.

‘Ed?’

Tom peered out of his hiding place inside the doorway of an empty house. Edgar took a moment to recognise his face and then hurried to meet him. He picked his protesting brother up in his arms, not caring about his aching muscles or Tom’s futile demands to be put down, scuffed his brother’s hair and hugged him tight.

‘I didn’t know if I would ever see you again,’ he said, finally releasing him. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Artemis?’

‘He went up there,’ said Tom, pointing up to the Winters tower. ‘I can’t feel him any more, Ed.’

‘He’ll be fine,’ said Edgar. ‘He’s stronger than he looks.’ He saw the doubt in his brother’s eyes.

‘Death came to the tower,’ Tom said. ‘It took him. I felt it.’

Edgar rested his hands on Tom’s shoulders. ‘Artemis kept an eye on you for me,’ he said. ‘Whatever happened, he kept you safe.’

‘I don’t need looking after,’ said Tom. ‘You’re the one who looks like he’s been trampled by a pack of dogs.’

‘Fair enough.’ Edgar could not deny that Tom was in a far better state than he was. He smiled and looked out into the street, where people who had hidden from the night’s madness were gradually emerging from their houses.

They were the servants the rich had left behind; the unseen undercurrent who made the city run smoothly. Most of them had been stolen from their homes by wardens years ago, but as soon as Fume was under threat their masters had abandoned them. Now they walked through the streets, many of them holding makeshift weapons to defend themselves, as curiosity drew them towards the place where the events of that night had begun.

In the east, the smouldering remains of enemy weapons were still embedded in the rooftops and walls of buildings the Continental army had attacked. Edgar could hear people shouting to one another as they tried to reconnect in the dark, and, just visible by the light of the fires reaching from their tower tops, the High Council chambers burned in a searing crown of flames.

The crow wandered along the spine of a nearby roof, then swooped to the ground and strutted proudly up the steep hill that led to the tower, sensing its master close by.

‘Where’s that bird going?’ asked Tom.

‘Can you see Kate in the veil?’ Edgar asked. ‘Or Silas? Are they still in the tower?’

‘I can’t work it like that,’ said Tom. ‘It comes and goes.’

Edgar weighed up the dangers of leaving Tom near a crowd of confused servants or taking him up to the tower, before accepting that his brother could quite obviously take care of himself. He followed the crow up to the tower steps, where the door was already ajar. There were voices inside and he recognised Kate’s at once.

Looking through the crack in the door, he could see a woman’s body slumped in the shadows. He signalled to Tom to stay outside, and then burst in, ready to face whatever was inside.

‘Kate?’ He recognised the fallen woman as Dalliah, and saw Kate standing in the centre of the room with Artemis’s body behind her. ‘What happened?’ His voice was so small and his expression so devastated that Kate crossed the tower and threw her arms around him, holding him close.

‘Artemis is gone,’ she said. ‘He’s . . .’ She could not say the word, but Edgar could see for himself. He didn’t know what to say.

‘I felt you in the veil,’ said Kate, lifting her cheek from the dirt of his jacket. ‘You were there. You stayed with me.’

Edgar held her gently. His eyes pricked with tears, terrified by how close he had come to losing her, not wanting to let her go. He did not care what else had happened to him in the last few days. His brother and Kate had survived Albion’s most terrifying night. That was good enough for him.

Silas stepped silently outside and his crow hopped up on to his shoulder. When Kate and Edgar followed him,
Kate saw the stripped-back streets with her own eyes for the first time. Dalliah Grey had brought her own vision of the future to Fume. So much destruction, so many lives threatened, all for the sake of one soul.

Kate was not the same girl who had been separated from Edgar and Silas upon the Continent just a few days before. Her spirit was strong, but it had been changed. There was something not quite right about the way her senses now saw the world. Colours were different – everything looked paler than before – and the healing the veil had worked on her body did not feel as strong as she would have liked. Her breaths were shallow and her heartbeat was slower than it should have been.

She still held
Wintercraft
in her hand, and she could feel the spirit within it as strongly as she could feel Edgar’s beside her. Artemis had no choice but to let himself pass safely into death, but one of her ancestors had never left her side. The silver-eyed man was still with her, his energy alive within the pages. She would protect his book. She would keep his spirit safe.

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen,’ said Kate. ‘People are afraid.’

‘Fires can be put out,’ said Silas. ‘Buildings can be repaired. Sometimes the greatest struggle is simply to survive. These people still have their lives. They will be thankful for that.’

The group walked down into the street to where a small crowd was gathering. The people parted as Silas walked straight through it.

‘You still have a job to do here, Mr Rill,’ he called back
to Edgar. ‘We require transportation. The fastest you can find.’

‘Where are we going?’ asked Edgar.

Silas turned, the stare in his eyes matching that of his crow. ‘To make history,’ he said.

The servants on the streets were happy to help them find what they needed. Under Edgar’s watchful eye, two black horses were brought forward and harnessed to an old taxi carriage bearing the High Council’s blue seal on the door.

Silas had not found the peace he was hoping for, but his experience within the veil had offered him a new path. The High Council did not deserve the service of people who had been stolen from their homes, the assistance of the people of the City Below or the loyalty of the wardens who had given their lives in their name. The city had fallen in the most destructive and devastating way Silas could have imagined, but those who had risen to protect it had earned their place within its streets.

The High Council would never recognise what those people had done. In time, they would cast them out, and call back the cowards who had fled. They would reshape that night’s victory as one that belonged to them, not the men and women who had faced two terrifying incursions into their ordinary lives.

Silas had not left orders for the wardens to imprison the councilmen. They would be allowed to go about their normal duties, and in the aftermath of such a serious crisis Silas knew where they would be. It was time for Albion to hear something other than their usual platitudes and lies.
The government of the High Council would not survive that day. It was time for his country to change.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and took the carriage reins while Kate, Tom and Edgar seated themselves in the back. He spoke out, addressing the people around him. ‘These streets are yours,’ he said. ‘What has happened here will bring great change to Albion. No one will hold you against your will again.’

A loud cheer rang out from the district surrounding the Sunken Lake. The old shades standing round its edges settled back into their watchful role, and word soon spread across the city that Silas Dane and Kate Winters had been instrumental in stopping the nightmare that had gripped its people and its dead.

As Silas drove the carriage over ruined roads and between cracked buildings, he passed people crying in the streets, comforting and helping one another. Some of them had gathered in nervous groups and were looking down at the exposed listening circles. Most of the circles appeared dormant, but Silas could see Kate’s energy still rippling through their carved words. For all his efforts, Kate’s soul had not separated completely from the half-life. His spirit had taken her place within the black, but she was still bound to the veil in her own way. The edges of her soul were touched by the upper reaches, and while Silas did not know what effect that connection would have upon her, so long as she was spared the torment of the depths he considered his soul a welcome exchange.

The carriage wheels crushed wanted posters bearing Silas’ and Kate’s faces into the ground and rattled loudly
over fallen chunks of stone. As they approached the surrounding walls of the city square, Silas saw that the grand black carriages belonging to the High Council were already outside, and all of the doors leading into the amphitheatre were open. People were filtering into the square, drawn in by news that the councilmen were going to address the people. Silas, Kate, Edgar and Tom climbed from the carriage and joined others who wanted to hear what the High Council had to say.

Most of the wooden seats had been pulled back into position, but the square was barely half full and all nearby eyes turned as people felt Silas’ cold presence. They knew him at once, and many of them recognised Kate’s face from the council’s posters. Kate’s group took their seats as whispers of their arrival rippled around the square.

A councilman was already standing at a podium in the middle of the central circle, speaking about the battle that had taken place at the city walls. It was the outspoken councilman: the one Silas had sent to witness Edwin Gorrett’s interrogation. He looked smaller now, and far less confident. His voice was wavering as he relayed edited versions of the wardens’ reports to the people around him. With the rich residents gone, the only people left to hear him were the traders and the servants and a good number of representatives from the City Below who had decided to stay to make their own voices heard.

‘. . . and we should be thankful,’ the councilman continued, ‘for all the, er . . . all the efforts which the esteemed High Council have made in order to bring this conflict to its final resolution.’

‘Liar!’

‘The council are cowards!’

‘We want the truth!’

Dissent rang from the crowd. No one wanted to hear the council’s lies. They had been emboldened by their experiences. They had looked into the eyes of death, fought against their Continental enemies, and they had won. The wardens guarding the councilmen looked on silently, refusing to quieten the crowd, but some of them were standing guard over a small group of prisoners who had been caught within the square. Greta and her group of the Skilled were kneeling on the central circle with their hands bound behind their backs. Prisoners of the council.

‘And we must . . . we must all remember the brave actions of the late Councilman Edwin Gorrett,’ said the councilman, wincing even as he spoke the name, ‘without whose selfless actions and sacrifice Fume would, er . . . Fume would not have survived this day.’

‘Go back to your chambers!’

‘Hide like rats!’

‘Where is Silas Dane? Let him speak!’

The crowd fell silent. No one knew who had spoken those last words, but enough of them had noticed that Silas was present in the crowd. Many looked round nervously, unsure whether the former warden and current ‘traitor’ to Albion could truly have been instrumental in helping them that night.

Silas did not move, but some members of the crowd did not give up.

‘How exactly
did
the High Council save the city?’ demanded someone near the front. ‘How did
they
calm the souls of our ancestors? How did they drive back the enemy and clear the sky of souls?’

The councilman lowered his head, unsure how to respond. ‘Clearly . . .’ he said after some thought. ‘Clearly the attacks upon the city were severe enough to cause certain residents to see things which, perhaps, might not truly have been present.’

‘Are you calling
us
liars?’

‘I know what I saw!’

‘The Skilled were right!’

The councilman raised his hands in peace. ‘No one can be certain of what has happened here tonight. All we can do is set the city back to rights. There is a lot to do before our residents can return.’

‘We
are
residents!’

‘The capital must return to its usual operations,’ said the councilman. ‘As a symbol of endurance and perseverance across Albion. We will make sure our lands are clear of the Continental invaders. Let our enemies see that we can rebuild Fume to be as grand as it was before.’

More shouts rose up. Silas’ name was mentioned again and Kate heard her own name caught in the clamour of the crowd’s cries. One woman stepped forward from the front row to challenge the councilman, and the wardens did not move to stop her. She was wearing a neat red dress, one that Kate had seen just a few days before, during her time in the City Below, and she spoke with the authority of a leader.

‘My name is Laina,’ she said. ‘I represent a community that lives deep beneath these streets. Silas Dane sent messengers to my caverns, seeking help for this city. His words brought my people here. We rose up while many of your own people ran, and you expect the city to return to the place of privilege, greed and lies that it was before?’

‘We do, of course, appreciate the underdwellers’ assistance, but—’