She was buffeted by downdrafts again and again, and at one time she was almost beaten back down to the ground, and her boots actually kicked against the grass. But she struggled and dipped and spun, and tilted her wings to catch every rising gust of wind that she could, and at last she managed to fly up to the top of the hill.
She battled upward and looked around, repeatedly angling her wings to steady herself. It was clear that the carnival had been here, and only recently. The ground had been churned into glistening black mud by scores of criss-crossing tire tracks, and there was trash scattered everywhere — broken orange-crates, chicken carcasses, dirty diapers, worn-out tractor tires. Near the center of the site a wide oval area had been covered several inches deep with sawdust, which is where the big top must have been pitched. Over on the right, a large bonfire was still smoldering, filling the night with acrid smoke, and stray sheets of paper were dancing across the muddy furrows as if they were panicking that they had been left behind.
‘How’s it going?’ asked Dom Magator, inside her helmet.
‘Jekkalon and Jemexxa were right: the carnival was here. I’m just trying to work out which way it went.’
‘Maybe you’re going to need a little more altitude.’
An-Gryferai flapped her wings even harder. The wind was howling and screaming now, and she felt as if she were swimming the butterfly stroke through a mountainous sea. But gradually she managed to gain height, until she was nearly two hundred feet over the hilltop, and she could see more than ten miles in every direction. She adjusted the lenses in her helmet to improve her night vision and sharpen her focus. Two black crows tumbled past her, even more helpless in the wind than she was.
She could see now that the carnival had processed down the opposite side of the hill, like a vast Civil War army on the move. Its tractors and its wagons had crushed deep parallel tracks in the grass, and there were hundreds of hoof marks and footprints too, so she had no difficulty in working out which way it had headed. She adjusted her lenses yet again, turning her head slowly from side to side to sweep the distant horizon. Eventually, less than five miles away, half hidden by smoke and fog, she made out a cluster of houses and barns and workshops, close to the edge of a leafless birch wood. The carnival had assembled nearby, a collection of twenty or thirty trucks and trailers, as well as horse-drawn caravans and elderly automobiles. She recognized a huge black Packard Phaeton from the mid-nineteen-thirties, because her grandfather used to own one, although he had never driven it.
Refining her vision even more acutely, she saw dozens of carnival folk to-ing and fro-ing from the carnival wagons to the houses and workshops. Some of them looked like riggers and circus hands, because they were wearing plain gray coveralls and heavy-duty gloves, but others were dressed in far more fanciful costumes, with red-and-yellow striped tailcoats and long capes of faded velvet in oranges and greens and grays.
Several of them were hopping on crutches, or walking frames, and An-Gryferai saw at least two of them, legless like beggars from a Breughel painting, pushing themselves across the grass in little wooden boxes with wheels.
She spun around in the air, and gave the rest of the Night Warriors a furious wave.
‘It’s here!’ she told them. ‘Brother Albrecht’s carnival is here!’
‘Great,’ said Dom Magator. ‘Everybody ready for this? Everybody ready to kick some eight-hundred-year-old ass? Let’s go get ’em!’
THIRTEEN
Dogs of War
An-Gryferai dipped and wheeled over the brow of the hill, flapping her wings, waiting for the rest of the Night Warriors to catch up with her. She stayed as close to the ground as she could while still keeping the circus in sight, even though it wasn’t easy. At this low altitude, she had to battle against mischievous crosswinds and abrupt drops in air pressure. Her shoulder muscles were aching with the effort, but she didn’t want to fly any higher in case any of the carnival folk happened to look back and catch sight of her, Dom Magator had already warned the Night Warriors that it was a priority to surprise Brother Albrecht, if they could, because they had no idea if or how the carnival folk could retaliate.
‘Let’s just put it this way,’ Dom Magator had said, ‘this guy has been traveling around with his freak show for eight hundred years, kidnapping women and children and cutting their arms and their legs off, and inflicting all manner of deformities on them, and nobody has been able to stop him yet. Not priests, not princes, not goddamned sorcerers, even. So let’s be intelligent, shall we, and assume that he has some way of defending himself?’
Now the Night Warriors had all gathered at the top of the hill. An-Gryferai beat her wings strongly so that she gained another twenty feet in altitude. She focused her lenses toward the carnival and transmitted into each of the Night Warriors’ helmets a high-definition 3-D image of what she could see. She showed them the wide trail of tire-tracks and footprints that the traveling carnival had left behind it in the long wet grass, and then she showed them the settlement beside the birch trees, and the carnival site itself, half obscured by drifting woodsmoke and mist.
Dom Magator said, ‘We need to pinpoint Brother Albrecht’s exact location. If we can take him out first, I think we’ll have much less organized retaliation from the rest of the freaks.’
‘My guess is he’s goin’ to be real well protected,’ said Zebenjo’Yyx. ‘Like the gang leaders in Brightmoore and Hamtramck. You couldn’t get near those brothers for guns and muscle.’
‘Why don’t I go down there and look for him?’ Xyrena suggested. ‘I mean, I don’t look threatening, do I?’
‘Absolutely the opposite,’ Don Magator agreed. ‘But are you sure that’s a good idea, going down there unarmed? We don’t yet know how these people react to strangers. They might blow you away as soon as look at you.’
‘They’re entertainers, aren’t they? Trapeze artists and jugglers and clowns, and very special people. I don’t think they’ll give me any trouble.’
‘OK, but I think Jekkalon and Jemexxa should go with you. They’re both acrobats, so if anybody’s going to get a warm welcome from carny folk, I guess they will. Besides, they don’t look like they’re carrying weapons, even though there’s plenty of lightning around for Jemexxa to zap them with, if she needs to. Zebenjo’Yyx and An-Gryferai and me, we’ll take up tactical positions as close as we can without being seen, and cover you.’
An-Gryferai flapped down to earth again, with a nimble skip, and shook the rain off her wings. ‘All ready?’ asked Dom Magator. ‘Here goes nothing.’
The five Night Warriors fanned out and began to walk toward the carnival. Over their heads, the electric storm became even more dramatic, with lightning crackling from one cloud to another and thunder rolling almost continuously. Chilly rain slashed sideways across the grass.
Dom Magator switched on the heat sensors that displayed infrared body images on his visor. This allowed him to make second by second checks on the movements of the carnival people, in case any of them betrayed signs that they had caught sight of the Night Warriors coming toward them. But they all appeared to be far too preoccupied, swarming backward and forward between the carnival site and the settlement by the birch trees.
Suddenly — right in the center of the carnival trucks and caravans — he saw four tall poles being erected, with black pennants flying from the top of them. Within less than thirty seconds, in a series of huge convulsions, the big top began to rise, like a harpooned whale rising from the depths.