There had been rumours that when the recent storms were at their height sentient beasts made of rain had been seen in the city streets. Dogs and wolves of rain. Rain bears, walking. Militia patrols had been attacked. Gendarmes ripped to a bloody mess, their throats torn out by hard teeth of rain. And rusalkas had risen from the flooded canals and rivers. Lipless mouths, broad muscular backs and chalk-white flesh. With expressionless faces they reached up and pulled men down to drown in the muddied waters. The rumours were probably true. Chazia had made sure that the witnesses and the story-spreaders were quietly shot in the basement cells of the Lodka. It was good that people were afraid, so long as they feared her more.
She had left Teslom long enough. She turned from the window and walked round behind his chair. Rested her hand on his shoulder. Felt his muscles quiver at her gentle touch.
‘Who will rule, Teslom? Who will have power? Who will govern now that the Novozhd is dead? That’s the question here. And you can help me with that.’
‘Please…’ said Teslom. His voice was almost too quiet to hear. ‘Please—’
‘I just need your help, darling. Just a little. Then you can rest.’
‘I…’ He raised his head and tried to turn towards her. ‘I… I can’t…’
Chazia leaned closer to hear him.
‘Let’s go over it again. Tell me,’ she said. ‘Tell me about the Pollandore.’
‘The Pollandore…? A story. Only a story. Not a real thing… not something that exists… I’ve told you—’
‘This is a feeble game, Teslom. I’m not looking for it. It isn’t lost. It’s here. It’s in this building. I have it.’
He jerked his head round. Stared at her.
‘Do you want to see it?’ said Chazia. ‘It would interest you. OK, let’s do that, shall we? Maybe later. When we can be friends again. But first—’
‘If you already have it, then…’
‘The future is coming, Teslom. But who will shape it? Tell me about the Pollandore.’
‘I will tell you nothing. You… you and all your… you… you can all fuck off.’
Chazia unbuttoned her uniform tunic, took it off and hung it on the back of Teslom’s chair. He was staring at the telephone again.
‘Do you know me, Teslom?’ she said gently.
‘What?’
‘I think you do not. Not yet.’
She rolled the sleeves of her shirt above the elbow. The smooth dark stone-like patches on her hands were growing larger. Spreading up her arms. The skin at the edges was puckered, red and sore and angry. The itching was with her always.
‘Let’s come at this from a different direction,’ she said. ‘A visitor came to the House on the Purfas. An emissary from the eastern forest. A thing that was not human. An organic artefact of communication. You’re surprised that I know this? You shouldn’t be. Your staff were regular and thorough in their reports. But I’m curious. Tell me about this visitor.’
She was stroking him now. Standing behind him, she smoothed his matted brown hair. He jerked his head away.
‘No,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I choose death. I choose to die.’
‘That’s nothing, Teslom.’ She bent her head down close to his. She could smell the sourness of his fear. ‘Everyone dies,’ she breathed in his ear. ‘Just not you. Not yet.’
As she spoke she slid her stone-stained hand across his shoulder and down the side of his neck inside his bloodied shirt, feeling his smooth skin, his sternum, the start of his ribs. She felt the beating of his heart and rested her hand there. Closing her eyes and feeling with her mind for the place. She had done this before, but it was not easy. It needed concentration. She let her fingers rest a moment on the gap in his ribs over his heart. Teslom was still. Scarcely breathing. He could not have moved if he wanted to: with her other hand she was pressing against his back, using the angel-flesh in her fingers to probe his spinal cord, immobilising him.
She had found the place above his heart. She dug the tips of her fingers into the rib-gap, opening a way. It needed technique more than strength, the angel-substance in her hand did the work. Teslom’s quiet moan of horror was distracting, but she did it right. She reached inside and cupped his beating heart in her palm. And squeezed.
His eyes widened in panic. He could see her hand deep in his chest. He could see there was no blood. No wound. It was not possible. But it was in there.
‘Are you listening to me, Teslom?’
He was weak. Cold sweat on the dull white skin of his face, livid blotches over his cheekbones. Chazia released the pressure a little. Let his heart beat again.
‘Are you listening to me?’
He shifted his head almost imperceptibly to the left. An attempt at a nod.
‘Good. So. This strange living artefact, this marvellous emissary from the forest. Why did it come? What did it want? Did it concern the Pollandore?’
‘It… I can’t…’
Chazia adjusted her grip on his heart.
‘There,’ she said. ‘Is that better? Can you talk now?’
‘Yes. Yes. Oh please. Get it out. Get it out. Stop.’
‘So tell me.’
‘What?’
‘The messenger. From the forest.’
‘It… addressed the Inner Committee.’
‘And what did it say?’
‘It said… it said there was an angel.’
‘An angel?’
‘A living angel. It had fallen in the forest and it was trapped there. It was foul and doing great damage. Oh. Please. Don’t…’
Chazia waited. Give him time. Let him speak. Patience. But his head had sunk down again and there was a congested bubbling in his chest. Perhaps she had been too harsh. Overestimated his strength. The silence lengthened. She lessened the pressure on his heart but kept her hand in place. It was the horror of seeing it in there, as much as anything, that made them speak.
‘Teslom?’ she said at last. ‘Tell me more. The forest is afraid of this living angel? Afraid it will do terrible things?’
‘Yes.’
‘And so? This emissary. Why did the forest send it? Was it the Pollandore?’
‘Of course. Yes. Open the Pollandore, it said. Now. Now is the time. Before it’s too late.’
‘Too late? For what?’
‘The Pollandore is breaking. It is failing, or leaking, or waking, or… something. I don’t know. I didn’t understand. It wasn’t clear… I can’t… I need to stop now… rest… please… for fuck’s sake…’
He coughed sour-smelling fluid out of his mouth. Viscous spittle stained with flecks of red and pink. It spilled on her forearm. It was warm.
‘You’re doing fine, Teslom. Good. Very good. Soon it will be over. Just a few more questions. Then you can rest.’
He struggled for breath, trying to bring his hands up to push her off. But his hands were strapped to the chair.
Chazia sensed his strength giving out. He was on the edge of death. She tried to hold him there, but she didn’t have complete control. There was a margin of uncertainty. But they had come to the crisis. The brink of gold. Crouching down beside him, she rested her head on his shoulder, her cheek against his.
‘Just tell me, darling,’ she said quietly. ‘How was the Pollandore to be opened?’
‘There was a key.’ He was barely whispering. ‘The paluba–the messenger–it brought a key.’
‘What kind of key?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t see it. I wasn’t there. I heard. Only heard. Not a key. Not exactly. Not like an iron thing for a lock. But a thing that opens. A recognition thing. An identifier. I don’t know. The paluba offered it to the Inner Committee. Oh shit. Stop. Please.’