The Malice. Peter Newman

does as she’s told, relieved to cover the sword up again. Genner takes his time, careful not to touch the sword itself. ‘There. All done. How does that feel?’

      ‘That’s fine.’

      ‘There’s one more thing.’ He takes his pistol from its holster and presses it into Vesper’s hand, singing softly, secretly. Light glows from Genner’s palm, flowing around the grip, growing with the note, then fading with it. ‘I’ve keyed the gun to you now. Keep it safe and out of sight.’ Vesper nods, slipping it away into the pocket of her coat. ‘And do the same yourself, for all our sakes.’

      Duet presses the foam into Vesper’s ears, covers them with her hands.

      One of the knights raises her sword towards Vesper, then the sky. A final salute.

      On instinct, Vesper closes her eyes.

      The knight brings it down hard but the angle is wrong. Sparks fly and metal screeches. People flinch and grit their teeth.

      Her sword doesn’t break.

      She screams and lifts it once more. This time, her aim is true.

      Even through the layers of protection, Vesper feels the sound cutting through her, the sensation sharp enough that she checks herself, half expecting to be injured. She also feels the explosion, more mundane, as demolition charges punch through stone.

      Outside, the First sits motionless. Within its shell, essence ripples, pleased.

      Inside the shelter, more knights come forward, a queue of mourners, faces stiff with grief. Swords are raised in salute.

      Vesper manages a quick bow before Duet steers her to the newly made hole, still smoking. She peers down, hears water sloshing in the darkness.

      Duet presses a mask to Vesper’s face. Clear plastic that covers her from forehead to chin. The mask adheres instantly, misting over briefly, then correcting, clearing.

      Genner smiles at the girl, salutes and jumps down the hole. Red hair waves briefly and is gone.

      Vesper mumbles something in return but, through the mask, through the breaking of steel, through the last song of the knight’s weapons, her words are lost.

      Duet lowers one of herself into the hole. The other helps Vesper, then follows. They slide and climb their way down, the tunnel trembling around them as more swords are shattered above.

      Stone is cold but water is colder, smacking legs in the darkness, stealing sensation. Vesper tries to pause, to prepare herself but Duet’s boots say otherwise, finding shoulders, urging her on.

      Rigid with fear and cold, the girl allows herself to be pushed by Duet, pulled by her, handled through the tunnel and out into wider waters. Away from the rock, light finds its way underwater in fingers of red and gold, like two hands reaching from the heavens. They follow the shafts as if lifted by them, up, up and up, until heads break the surface, bobbing at the cliff’s base.

      Too heavy to swim easily, Duet drags herself and Vesper along the rocks. It is slow jerky progress, punctuated by bumps, by numb fingers slipping on slick stone, by chattering teeth and unbidden grunts of exertion.

      Behind them, perched high on a ledge like a black spider, tiny, Genner begins to signal, shining a light towards the sky that flicks on and off. Code flashes, fast and complex, baffling the uninitiated.

      But even the most foolish can understand that a message is being sent and even the most foolish can trace the signal to its source. Before Genner has finished, a sky-ship rises above the rocks. It rotates slowly, opening a side door. A figure climbs out, dressed in black armour and loose black fabric and throws itself into the air without fear. Another fragment of the First.

      It plummets, arms spread starfish wide, getting faster and faster until it passes Genner, plucking him from the rock face.

      For a long three seconds, they fall. Water splashes, surging up in a circle. Then nothing.

      *

      In the streets of Sonorous, in a rusting house, a woman watches a window. She reads the distant winking light, stuttering on the underside of the clouds.

      When it is finished, the woman stands up, snatches a bag hidden beneath a dusty sheet and goes to the door. She glances out. It is eerily quiet. People hide in their homes, in their workplaces. Too-calm voices speak at intervals, suggesting people stay safe, reassuring that everything is under control.

      The woman smirks at that, then moves into the street, closing the door behind her. As she walks towards the docks, a figure peels itself from the shadows and follows.

      She hears the footsteps getting closer. She considers running but checks the instinct. Instead preparing the dart hidden beneath the skin of her wrist.

      Gradually, the second figure catches up with her, falls into step alongside.

      The woman wraps her arms around herself as if cold. Seemingly by coincidence, her wrist now points towards the figure’s neck.

      The new arrival appears weathered, tough as old meat. ‘This may come as a … surprise to you but we have something in common. Both of us pretend to be normal residents of this city when in fact our true loyalties lie … elsewhere. You are in truth, an agent of the Winged Eye and I am the First.’

      The woman cannot help surprise writing itself into the curve of her eyebrows.

      ‘Did you know that there is something that moves faster than light?’

      She shakes her head, humouring, thinking, furious.

      ‘There is. I move faster than light. Not this … shell, though it is certainly fast by your standards. My true self. And that is why I will always be … superior.’

      They walk for a few more paces. Despite the cold wind, dark circles grow under the woman’s arms.

      ‘I know what you are. I know your plans and they will fail. But all is not lost. I am here to make you an offer. Don’t react. Don’t fight. Listen. Think. Decide for yourself how much you want this life.’

      Abruptly, the woman stops. She flexes a muscle in her wrist and a dart fires.

      Not as fast as light, but fast enough, the First moves.

      *

      Duet does not bother to hide her weapons. There is no-one around, no crowd to blend with. One of her moves ahead, eyes alert for changes. She checks left, checks right, squints at dusty windows, then beckons. The other follows, pulling Vesper with her.

      The houses they pass are faceless cubes, temporary structures never replaced. Simple boxes designed for efficient use of space and little else. Aesthetics trampled in the name of speed and cost. In places the cubes are stacked to make flats, or linked up, for more affluent residents. Since independence, the people of Sonorous have begun to decorate, to distinguish. Childlike efforts to create art, without the ease or charm of childhood.

      Where the maths goes wrong, or where the space runs out, pathways are squeezed to accommodate extra habitation, resulting in tiny alleys, accessible only to the small and slender.

      Duet and Vesper barely pass, sidestepping through, the walls dragging across their chests. They dare not slow, for the sounds of pursuit have already begun. Tanks whirring back to life, soldiers shouting to each other, marching.

      Above them, three sky-ships move, searchlights sweeping the streets. Before they arrive and pick them out, Duet shoulders her way into a house.

      As the door splits open, a man is revealed. In one hand, he holds an autohammer. Behind him, tucked under furniture, his children squeal.

      The tool is already set to maximum strength. He swings it at Duet’s head.

      One of her ducks while the other steps in, sword held high.

      The autohammer swings wide, burying itself in the door-frame again and again.

      The man falls backwards,