Worldsoul

Interlude

There was a burning tree outside the open window. The Duke leaned on the sill and looked out into its smouldering branches. There was fruit among the blazing leaves, globes of glowing gold. The Duke was almost tempted to reach out and pluck one of them, but she did not think Astaroth would approve. Beyond the tree, the metal walls of the city rose up in concentric rings towards the molten sky.

“She’s ready to see you now.”

The Duke’s boots rang out along the floor as she made her way into the audience chamber. Astaroth was standing by the window, staring down at a document. At least, the Duke thought, her own life was not constrained by paperwork, whatever other problems she might currently be encountering.

“Gremory.”

“My prince.” The Duke bowed.

“How is it going?”

This required delicate handling. “Well,” Gremory began.

“You haven’t found it, have you?”

“Not exactly. But I have found the thief.”

This got Astaroth’s full attention.

“Have you, indeed? Where is he?”

“He was captured by Shah Suleiman of Worldsoul, and is now residing in the body of an alchemist, one Shadow.”

“How very original!”

The Duke sighed.

“A bit too original.”

“So why have you not extracted him?”

“It became-complicated. I chased him, but he has taken refuge in the woman’s memories. It’s not within my power to retrieve him.” Gremory paused. “He’s very skilled at evasion.”

“He would be,” Astaroth said. “He was well trained.”

Gremory knew better than to ask leading questions, but the Prince said, “He is a spy.”

“I see.”

“That which he has stolen is information.”

“I had surmised as much. What course of action do you want me to pursue now?”

“Am I to understand that killing the woman would achieve nothing?”

“I had considered it,” the Duke said, “but it could simply provide our quarry with another escape route. The woman is devout, and if your spy hitched a ride with her outgoing soul, I would not be able to follow them.”

“I see. I seem to recall that during the wars you had some sort of-liaison-with a gentleman from the opposite team.”

Gremory had the grace to look abashed, and knew it. “Young love. You know how it is.”

“Oh, quite. We’ve all done it-there’s no shame. On the contrary, in fact, it’s far worse for them, given that we’re such rough trade in their masters’ eyes. The reason I mention it is because certain Messengers are good at that sort of thing: their remit is souls, after all.”

“I had already thought of it.”

“I can rely on you, Gremory, to conduct yourself intelligently. Usually. Is your paramour still on this plane?”

“The last I heard, he’d become a hermit.”

Astaroth looked pained. “Oh, how tediously typical. They all want to become closer to their God, whereas most of us would do anything to stay away from ours.”

Gremory laughed. “It’s how they’re made.”

“Send him a message. Ask if he’ll help. If he’s that boringly typical, he’ll do anything to enable you to have a chance at redemption. They can never resist a crack at a demon’s soul.”

The Duke smiled. “He can crack away. I’m happy as I am.”

Later, she walked down among the burning trees, into the streets around the fortress. It was quiet, at this time of the day. She made her way down a winding passage to an opening in the wall. Here, sat an old demon, with the brick red skin of a previous generation and yellow eyes.

“Duke!” He rose and bowed. Around him were a hundred or more birdcages, filled with fiery doves. Their whispering and chattering consumed the air.

“I need to send a message,” Gremory said.