‘Ah, sod the factory. I’ve done enough scavenging.’ The boy held out a hand. Half of his index finger was missing. ‘Do us a favour, mate. I don’t want to be crawling under those machines again.’ When Hari threw a coin, he caught it with a laugh. ‘You’re a good bloke, Hari.’
‘Get that dog some grub, too. Where’d you even find him?’
‘The McKays’ house, where the chimney fell. He didn’t have anywhere else to go.’
As the boy knelt to pet the greyhound, Tom shook his head. ‘Poor weans,’ he muttered. ‘Just look at them.’
‘Yeah,’ Hari said sourly. ‘Just look at how much of my hard-earned money I give them.’
‘Are they all orphans?’
‘Yep.’
I watched the scene through my respirator. In London, I had never seen a child with missing fingers. Dockland workers and syndies, but never children.
Soon enough, the girl was back. ‘Come on, then,’ she said to us. ‘The lady will see you now.’
11
A Tale of Two Sisters
Our guide led us into the pits of the district. I had walked in the worst slums of London, but they always hit me hard. This one was devoid of all but silent life. A nightwalker lolled like an abandoned doll on a step, his mouth a ruddy smear, while two elderly women swept ash from the pavement – a Sisyphean task if ever there was one. Tom’s face grew tighter with every step.
‘She’s never in one place,’ Hari told us. ‘She has a few retreats, and you never know which one she’ll choose.’
She was sane, then. That was a decent start.
We passed under a great plane tree, which had somehow endured the pollution for long enough to grow to a remarkable size. It still wore a few brown seed-balls, but the flaking bark was blackening, losing its hard-fought battle with the air. In the next street, ramshackle houses were jammed together like teeth on a jaw. The girl pointed at a door with a tarnished keyhole, which was opened by a sensor when Hari knocked. Sunshine-yellow cloth covered his nose and mouth. We followed him into a tiny parlour, where a fire burned low, illuminating a mattress and the woman staring into the hearth.
Six feet tall and broad-shouldered, Roberta Attard, the Scuttling Queen, was a formidable presence. Her aura marked her as a capnomancer. Must be useful to have smoke as your numen in these conditions.
‘Hello, Hari.’ Her voice made me think of sawdust. Without looking at me, she added, ‘You must be the Underqueen.’
She garnished the title with a hint of contempt. When she turned to face me, I saw that her skin was the sepia of shadows in old photographs, her lips mulberry red. A bevy of tight black curls erupted from beneath a cap, which was angled to allow her fringe to cover most of her left eye. At first glance, I would have said she was in her early thirties. I removed my respirator.
‘And you must be the Scuttling Queen,’ I said.
‘Two queens of thieves in one citadel. Scion must be petrified.’
There was a moment of sizing each other up. She studied my face, lingering on my jaw. Her cheeks were a patchwork of thin scars. She was only a little taller than me, but she was taking full advantage of the three-inch difference and looking down her nose as she addressed me.
‘Who are your friends?’ she said.
‘These are two of my high commanders. Tom the Rhymer and Ognena Maria.’
Tom took off his hat. ‘I’ve heard a tale or two of your father, Scuttling Queen,’ he said warmly. ‘It’s an honour.’
‘Cheers,’ she said.
There was nowhere for us to sit, so we all remained standing. Attard pushed herself away from the mantelpiece. Her muscular legs were covered by soot-smeared white trousers. The boots beneath were brass-capped, with wooden soles. She wore a sea-blue neckerchief, and several belts hung about her hips, each with a polished buckle and sheaths for her many knives.
‘I hope you’ll forgive me for demanding a meeting,’ she said. ‘I had a feeling you’d be on the move after that . . . vision.’ She closed her eyes briefly, as if the pictures were still unfolding in front of her. ‘Didn’t realise you’d come to humble Manchester, though. Let’s cut to the chase – what do you aim to do while you’re in this citadel?’
‘We’re here to investigate Senshield,’ I said. ‘With the view to destroying it.’
Attard huffed a laugh. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I didn’t travel two hundred miles to tell jokes.’
‘You’re still a fool,’ she said.
‘We could use allies while we’re here,’ I said calmly. ‘I’d be grateful if you could ask your people to accommodate us as best they can, and to provide assistance if we need it.’
‘You sent the vision to scare us into helping you, then?’ Without letting me reply, she said, ‘Well, you’re out of luck. ScionIDE might come here, but from what I can tell, they’re in Britain for the sole reason of snuffing out the movement you started. They’d only move into this region if they found any trace of that movement here. If you were spotted here. By helping you, we’d be signing our own death warrants.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘They’re cracking down on voyants and any voyant activity, and that’s going to be a nationwide problem before long. Scion wants to eliminate organised clairvoyance, and here, in its heartland, we might be able to stop it succeeding. The first thing I want to do is stop Senshield.’
‘Good for you.’
‘Oh, come on. You’ll have it on your streets within a year,’ Maria cut in. ‘It detects four orders now. It’s expanding. Are you just going to wait for it to catch you? You and I are both augurs. We know the risk.’
Attard stiffened. It was clear she wasn’t accustomed to people speaking to her as equals. ‘There’s no sign that they’re going to build them here,’ she said. ‘If they do, we plan to map their locations and avoid them. That’s how my father always did it. Stay out of Scion’s way.’
‘How do you plan to stay out of the way of the portable scanners they’re making?’ I asked. ‘The ones they’re making in this citadel?’
Her lips parted, then pursed. For some time, she stared at the fire with a tensed jaw.
‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ she said.
‘I have evidence that they’re building a handheld version of Senshield in the SciPLO factories,’ I said. ‘I need to see them for myself; to work out how they’re being powered, if possible. If we can locate and neutralise the core—’
‘Where is this evidence you have?’ she asked. ‘I’ve not heard of portable scanners being built.’
‘I have an insider in my employ.’
‘Unless I see evidence, I’m not buying it,’ was the brisk reply. I had the feeling she wouldn’t accept Danica’s crumpled note as proof. ‘Either way, my voyants aren’t going near those factories. SciPLO has round-the-clock security. Nobody in this citadel would be stupid enough to try a break-in, not even with your visions scaring them. These people already know fear. They live and breathe it every day at work.’
‘The factory bosses,’ Tom murmured.