A Harvest Of Souls 4

Perfected over hundreds of field trials, Kohn's Miasma killed while preserving the integrity of the lumbar plexus. Predictive modelling has shown that the critical saturation of the Miasma in the primary shelter of the Floor of Nine would take less than two hours. The Maestros had given it four.

At the passing of the fifth, an ambler crested the summit. Its orange overalls were drench in blood and dirt. A broken steel pike had skewered it from left shoulder to lower back but its movement seemed unaffected.

It came to a stop at the velvet rope and let out a blood-curdling howl. No living creature could produce such a sound, so guttural it could only be made by the tearing of its vocal cords. A stream of purple infusion poured from its mouth, cutting the noise short.

The party turned quiet. The Maestros sprang to their feet. Jack Finley stepped into the clearing. There was not a speck of orange on his body, only furs and leather. The Finley sigil rippled on the back of his ermine cape: a grinning cartoon skeleton with a pickaxe slung over one shoulder. The slogan beneath it read: WE WORK TO THE BONE.

He raised a hand as if clicking his fingers; the ambler collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

"The harvest is ready," he declared, his voice booming. "I now ask my colleagues to join me in the Ritual of Mass Resurrection. Maestros, if you please." Six came to stand beside him. "I am Jack Finley, fourth of that great name. May I present my esteemed colleagues, Maestros Edwin Finley, Edmond Finley, Edward Finley, Maestro James Cowen, Maestro Mina En, and senior associate Moeffe Bant, proxy of Maestro Catherine Pierre, our family's oldest and dearest friend."

A smattering of applause.

"Before we begin, I would like to thank the Palace Above for this fantastic opportunity. Without them, these harvests would simply be impossible. This is the biggest joint venture in the history of the Pile, and I am proud – more than proud! – of all your dedication and hard work. Thirty years I have worked in this business, and never have I been more moved, more struck, by the certainty that a future more prosperous than ever is within my grasp. This world's bounty is reserved for the fearless and the bold, and all we must do is reach out and take it! Long live the Pile, long live Her Royal Highness, and long live the Houses of the Dead!"

Frenzied clapping rose and fell like a wave, punctuated by drunken cheers. An alchemist became so overwhelmed with emotion that he collapsed, knocking over a table along with a dozen flights of wine.

"One final note before we proceed," Finley continued. "The Maestros are reminded to respect their quotas. As per your contracts with the House of Solutions, penalties will apply for excess claim, and severe offenders may be excluded from future opportunities – please take note, Maestro En."

"I would never," En muttered.

"Consider this your final warning. Now, without further ado – let us begin!"

The Maestros raised their hands, and the Green rose from their fingertips. A hundred thousand strands of ethereal silk canopied the sky in an emerald cocoon that spread in an instant to all corners of the Floor, pulsing as if it breathed. The fake stars dimmed before the light of the Green, and the burning city became pale as a dancing shadow.

As he raised his hands, James gave his apprentice a look. Go, he mouthed.

Sam pushed through the crowed. All around her the alchemists were exclaiming their awe.

"This is true magic! Oh, the palate is wonderful!"

"The Green! The lifeforce of all living things! See how the Maestros move them!"

She reached the rope. The ambler-in-a-tux stood motionless, the basin broken on the ground. It toppled when Sam shoved it out of her way. It took her a moment to make out Lucia from the shifting shadows.

"Hey," said Sam.

Lucia sat cross-legged by the edge of the cliff. The onset of her seizure was subtle. The spasms began at her fingertips. The force of it grew with every pulse of the Green, rising to her wrist, elbow, shoulder.

Sam sat beside her. "It will be over soon," she said.

The Green quickened, pulsing faster, faster, until the Floor spun from day to night in the span of a breath. Lucia's shook. Her biceps tensed, dragging her hands to her chest as if in prayer. Her fingers tore at the fabric of her coat, her dark nails digging into the chainmail underlay. The weave broke within seconds, scattering bits of steel onto the mud.

Physically restraining Lucia was impossible – at the last calibration test, her grip had exerted four hundred pounds per square inch – but Sam had to do something. Preventing Lucia from hurting herself was the one task James had truly given her. "I don't need you," the Maestro had said. "You don't know anything, and I have neither the time nor the obligation to teach you."

The memory made her laugh. "One day, Lucia," she said brightly. "One day I'll have my own House, raise my own amblers, and make more money than I could ever spend. One day…" She closed her eyes and saw them all – every man, woman, and child on the Floor of Nine, of Eight, of Seven, of Six, shuffling underground, their eyes full of half-knowing. She saw herself, standing on the palisade, clipboard in hand, scribbling away with the red-ink pen as if this was just an accounting exercise, as if she was an ambler with no will of her own.

"One day… I will quit," she said, and grabbed Lucia's wrists.

The force of Lucia's swing dragged her off her feet, and for a dizzying moment Sam dangled over the cliff, her body arcing like a weightless doll. Lucia grabbed her hand and squeezed. A bony crunch. Pain like nothing she has ever felt. Sam laughed, loudly, madly.

Lucia froze at the sound, the seizures erased from her body. She eased Sam onto the ground and let go, then began clutching and unclutching her hand as if the action puzzled her.

Sam tasted blood in her mouth. Her hand was a furnace. No one was looking to see what the fuss was about. The guild alchemists had their faces angled up and determinedly focused on the lightshow; paying attention to the apprentice meant having to deal with whatever was going on, and no one wanted the trouble.

Lucia was looking at her. Well, not looking, since there was a blindfold over her eyes; Lucia could not see in the conventional sense anyway. It was doubly strange, then, that she was looking at her.

A coldness touched Sam's broken fingers, colder than ice. Lucia had reached out and gently taken hold of her hand, her talon-like fingers navigating with meticulous care, as if she knew exactly where they hurt.

The Green coalesced above the palisades. The ethereal strands began to fall all at once – a curtain of light, drawn to the earth as if by some subterranean force. The Dome Luminous rippled and brightened, the artificial stars trailing the flow like so many broken diamonds. The alchemists made awestruck oohs and ahhs. Even Sam was distracted, her pain briefly forgotten.

"Ss…"

The noise was miniscule, less than a whisper. An alchemist, perhaps, straying from the party and sighing at some secret discontent. She blinked. No, there was no one there. Her head was making phantom sounds to deal with the pain. It has been a long day –

"Ss…"

Goosebumps ran down her back. An unseen hand turned her head toward Lucia, even though the idea was unfathomable. Lucia possessed neither the cognition to comprehend distress nor the faculty of speech to express it. She was an ambler – a reanimated corpse tethered to Maestro James Cowen, incapable of speech, thought, or any action beyond the explicit coding of her routines.

As the Green fell, Lucia's face was cast between light and shadow. Her mouth was open, revealing two rows of flawless white teeth. Sam glimpsed a dark, purple tongue. It was moving.

Lucia was trying to speak.