Iron Angel by Alan Campbell Read Free Book Online Page A

asked. “There must have been six thousand people in that building when the Tooth attacked.”
    “All dead.”
    “Shit,” she said. “You’d better hope they had the foresight to start dumping all that crap into the abyss as soon as the fires reached them.”
    “Such actions are forbidden by Codex law.”
    The mirrored lenses revealed nothing of the Adept’s expression, but Rachel knew his face would be devoid of emotion. Spine tempering had rendered him so thoroughly conditioned to serve the temple and the god of chains that he remained unable to reconcile himself to the loss of either. He would stay here in Deepgate until the very last chain-link snapped apart.
    “Now drink,” he said.
    While Rachel slaked her thirst, she considered their position. The Spine had declared martial law. Desertion was now decreed a crime against god, and therefore subject to punishment under Codex law. Even if she could prove to them that their god was dead in his abyss, it wouldn’t make much difference. The same tempering process that had peeled away their desires had also ensured that their faith remained unassailable and inviolate. Rachel could not bargain with them. She had to hope for escape or intervention. And soon—
    Flames had taken firm hold of the Poison Kitchens by now, and the metal structure looked more like a great steaming cauldron than ever before. White fumes hissed from the funnels at its apex, while thicker yellow-black smoke poured from a hundred windows and engulfed the surrounding warehouses, engineering yards, and ship berths.
    The Adept motioned to two of his men, who then lifted the angel between them.
    But then a gruff cry came at them from behind. Rachel turned to see six temple guards marching through the dust storm towards them. The men all carried pikes and wore heavy black-enameled plate armour. Scratches in the steel suits indicated their prolonged exposure to sandstorms. The guards’ faces were hidden by scarves tied around their heads in the fashion of desert tribesmen, but Rachel recognized Clay’s tattered cloak before the captain reached the party.
    “Hold it there,” the big man called out to the Spine Adept. “We’ll take charge of these prisoners.” He stood panting for a moment, eyeing the manacles around Rachel’s wrists and Dill’s unconscious form. “My pickets,” he waved a hand, “saw the ship come in.” He exhaled and then sucked another breath in through his scarf. “Hell’s balls, I didn’t expect them to bring you back so soon. The city’s not safe—you’d best come with us.”
    “We’d be glad to,” Rachel concurred.
    The Spine assassins now stood in a crescent around them, their slim black figures stark before the umber desert. Deepgate’s fires burned in their mirrored lenses. The Adept said, “These are our prisoners, Captain. The temple guard no longer has authority.”
    Ernest Clay gathered himself up before the other man, and yanked down his scarf, revealing his face. He looked angry. “I’ve every right to interrogate them,” he said. “They were out in the Deadsands for—what?—six, seven days? And another week in Sandport before you caught them. That girl’s still got contacts up and down the Coyle. Chances are she’ll have heard a lot more about our enemy’s plans than you have.”
    The assassin spoke from behind his mask. “Captain,” he said flatly, “your persistent interference in Spine affairs is becoming…inconvenient. I do not believe you intend to interrogate either of these prisoners. None of those you have gathered for questioning have, as far as we know, yielded useful reconnaissance. Nor have our captives ever been returned to us. Evidently you are trying to divert such people into your own camp for other reasons.” He paused, tilted his lenses to one side. “Do you disapprove of our methods of punishment?”
    Clay grunted. “I don’t care what you do with your captives. Just stick to your job, and I’ll stick to mine.