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  Lem moved with a smooth grace that belied his bulk. Someone had done good work on those grafted muscles. The extra mass did not slow him at all. But it was the black blade that commanded most of Ulrik’s attention. It was the real threat. Its sting meant an eternity of torment as food for the demon bound within.

  Ulrik shuffled forward, blade held ready, moving more slowly than he was capable of, hoping to lull Lem into a false sense of confidence. His foe closed the gap with the controlled movements of the professional, his feet well-spaced for maximum balance, his sword moving back and forth, the red runes leaving a faint blur in the air to Ulrik’s magic-sensitive eyes.

  Lem sprang.

  Ulrik parried and leapt back out of striking distance, and then Lem was on him again, like a cat on a trapped rat, his blade a great claw, swiping at his prey. The crowd’s roar was deafening. Ulrik parried the whirlwind of blows. He even managed a strike of his own, turned by the rock hard skin of Lem’s dermal armour.

  They sprang apart after that first exchange, Ulrik breathing hard, his arm aching, and his blade notched in half a dozen places, the near-indestructible ancient crystal chipped by the demonic blade.

  Lem raised his blade in mocking salute. “You will make a worthy century of kills.”

  “I see you need a demon blade, old man,” said Ulrik. “Not able to get by on the strength of your arm anymore?”

  “I am not even breathing hard. Your brow is covered in sweat. Don’t worry. You won’t have to care about that much longer.” Lem unleashed the full fury of his sword arm; Ulrik retreated, not wanting to slip, unable to stand his ground. Crystal rang against demonic metal. Lem was a master swordsman and the blade made him better than any foe Ulrik had ever faced. Inexorably Lem drove Ulrik all the way back across the Pit until his back pressed against the cool ancient stone. Then he struck the death blow.

  Ulrik activated his implant. Alchemical fury poured into his veins. Everything slowed. Lem moved at half speed. Ulrik ducked under his blade and lashed out with his foot, aiming for the groin. Lem half-turned and Ulrik’s blow landed on his armoured leg. It was like kicking a stone column. Ulrik threw himself forward and rolled to his feet, getting himself out of the corner.

  “Yours will not be an easy end,” said Lem, moving in for the kill.

  Ulrik knew he had perhaps fifty heartbeats before the alchemicals faded, leaving him weak and numb and easy prey to a swordsman of Lem’s skill. It was always risky using such methods but he had no choice in this fight. His foe was too good for anything else. Lem came on again, confident, powerful, certain of victory.

  “Death! Death! Death!” chanted the crowd. Fear filled Ulrik, enhanced by the drugs in his veins. He exerted his will on the bright crystal weapon. In its mirrored depth cold fire burned. Blue flames erupted along the blade, as the entity within was partially freed. The blaze blinded his foe for a moment and Ulrik lashed out, striking the demon blade from his hand then burying his own into the belly of his foe. Lem groaned and fell forward, stone dead, the burning blade sizzling within his vitals.

  The Master of Ceremonies appeared hovering in the air above them. His amplified voice boomed out; “That was well done.”

  His reptilian eyes turned to Valerius. Silence descended on the Pit. The Master of Ceremonies surveyed the crowd, his arms folded over his huge chest. He spread his arms wide and smiled. “To Ulrik goes the winner’s laurel.”

  He spurned the corpse of Lem with his foot. “Take this trash out of here,” he told the handlers.

  Ulrik sat in the victor’s chamber, shaking as much from reaction to the fight as from withdrawal from the alchemicals in his veins. Around him the handlers stood watch. Moth leaned against a wall nearby. He was trying to look calm but his tone of voice was elated.

  “I thought you were a goner when I saw that black blade, boy. Haven’t seen one in use in near fifty years, not since the Demon Wars. Not things you ever forget though. Evil things. I wonder where the Black Crab found that one. I had heard they were all destroyed- cast back into the Great Abyss.”

  His words were just so much meaningless gibbering to Ulrik. He wanted to yell at him, to tell him to shut up but he could not without feeling the sting of a painwand.

  “A lot of Blues will be going home poorer tonight,” said one of the handlers. “Serves them bloody well...”

  He fell silent. Ulrik sensed the presence of newcomers and looked up to see Valerius had returned along with his cat-girl and his masked bodyguards.

  “I see you’ve come to congratulate our boy on his victory, sir,” said Moth, all too aware that there might be a tip in this for him from someone who had just won a lot of money gambling. “And to reclaim your blade no doubt. That was a fine thing you did tonight risking it in the ring.”

  “You’re too kind,” said Valerius with mocking politeness. “And you have misread my motives. I have come to do you a favour.”

  “And how do you propose to do that, sir?”

  “I will take this troublesome slave off your hands...for a fair price of course.”

  “I am not sure I want to sell, sir. Not after watching him beat Lem.”

  “Would ten thousand denarii change your mind?” Silence filled the room. Moth could retire on that sort of money. He licked his lips. Greed warred with caution on his face. Ulrik let his gaze slip to the wizard. His face was smooth, bland, affable.

  “Are you planning on starting your own stable of fighters, sir?”

  Valerius shook his head. “I have something else in mind.”

  Ulrik did not like the sound of that. There were many unpleasant reasons why a wizard would purchase a slave- as an offering to a patron demon, to use his blood and heart in alchemical rites, to have him broken up for spare parts. The organs of even unsuccessful pit fighters were said to trade at great prices on the black market. He wished he could read what was going on behind the smooth blank mask of the wizard’s features. He wished he knew what Moth was thinking.

  “Fifteen thousand might do,” the old man said.

  “Ten thousand is my first and only offer,” said the wizard. His tone was amiable but brooked no haggling. “You have five heartbeats to decide whether you wish to accept it.”

  “I will take it.”

  “Have the papers drawn up immediately. I want this man delivered to the Tower Karnak tonight.”

  Ulrik’s heart sank. House Karnak had the darkest reputation of any ancient family in Typhon, and its wizards were famed for their depravity and evil. He considered hurling himself at the wizard but exhaustion and the futility of it overcame him.

  He lay down on the bench and stared at the ceiling, wondering if it might have been better if he had thrown himself on his sword at the start of the fight.

  “Why am I here?” Ulrik asked, trying not to be daunted by the strangeness of his surroundings. They fitted the popular idea of a mad wizard’s laboratory. Massive sorcerous engines of chrome and brass loomed all around him. Trapped lightning elementals pulsed within huge glass spheres, sometimes mere dancing lightning bolts, sometimes forming crude outlines, human in shape.

  “Because I have need of your services,” said Valerius. His voice was smooth and compelling. Ulrik feared sorcery even though there was nothing he could do about it.

  A monstrous machine filled one wall. Within it huge cogwheels turned, mighty pistons rose and fell, strange substances pulsed through pipes of crystal.

  “You thinking of running a school of gladiators?” A corpse floated in a large translucent jar of preservative. Only when it opened its eyes did Ulrik realise that it might still be alive or perhaps undead. The air smelled of ozone and alchemicals. Ulrik wondered where the cat-girl had gone. She had seemed amiable, and at the moment even the face of a pretend friend would have been welcome.

  “Alas, nothing so profitable”

  “What do you require my services for?”

  “I will answer your questions in good time. For the moment it will be sufficient that you step in
to this machine. If you would be so kind...”

  With one glittering hand Valerius gestured to a metal sarcophagus, mounted in the side of the huge engine. A number of copper cables ran from it to the elemental spheres. A massive dais-mounted console was attached to it. Levers protruded from its sides. Ulrik hesitated.

  Valerius said: “I did not pay ten thousand denarii just to do you harm. Please get in. We do not have all night. Surely you are not afraid...?”

  The compulsions woven into the sorcerer’s voice took effect. Ulrik would not have his courage questioned by this perfumed popinjay even if he was in the man’s power. He strode towards the machine and lowered himself into it.

  Valerius twisted a ring on his finger and the slave bracelet on Ulrik’s arm pulsed, holding him immobile, washed in a soft bath of euphoria. Despite all his efforts he was not capable of moving even his little finger. Valerius fastened leather straps across his chest and then pulled a lever on the side of the coffin. It swung into an upright position. Cogwheels on its side turned. Power crackled through the cables. The ozone stink increased.

  Valerius twisted a knob on the dais in front of him. Brass needles slid from the nodes in the walls and pierced Ulrik’s skin. There was a soft sucking sensation as blood drained out into the clear tubing. A glowing sphere rose from the dais.

  “There’s no need to worry, this is just a test,” said Valerius. “Despite what you may have heard about House Karnak we are not blood drinkers. Not all of us, anyway.”

  He twisted his ring once again, and Ulrik found he could speak. “What are you doing?”

  Valerius touched the sphere in front of him. Ectoplasm flowed from it, congealing into the floating figure of a man. It took Ulrik a few heartbeats to realise that the figure was himself. Valerius muttered something and made a gesture over the crystal sphere. It glowed and the figure changed, the outer skin becoming translucent. His veins and muscles were evident and some dark spots in his head and chest where implants had been placed.

  “Nice fleshwork,” said Valerius. “It must have cost you a pretty penny.”

  “My share of the cargo of a Typhonian merchant cruiser,” said Ulrik to needle him.

  “No sense in skimping when it comes to this sort of thing,” said Valerius. “You always pay for cheap work in the end. The possibilities for complications are endless.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” said Ulrik.

  “The eyes in particular are top-notch. Keyed to let you penetrate through illusions, notice spells and see in the dark by the looks of them. Have I missed anything out?”

  “Your engine seems to be doing a good job.”

  “Splendid! I must say this is a bonus. I was not expecting such sophisticated stuff in a sky pirate. It just goes to show; you should take nothing for granted. Every day you learn something new.”

  “You said you would tell me why I was here.”

  “I need a bodyguard.”

  “Your House seems to be adequately provided with them.”

  “As is often the case in this evil old world, appearances are deceptive.”

  “The men who brought me here seemed real enough.”

  “They are House Guards,” said Valerius twisted another knob. Somewhere something gurgled in the pipes. Ulrik feared that it was his blood.

  “I don’t see what difference that makes.”

  “They are loyal to House Karnak, not to me personally. A few days ago an assassin managed to get past them. He came very close to killing me. I have reason to suspect that they were bribed to allow this to happen.”

  “You are saying your House has enemies wealthy enough to buy off your guards?”

  “No. I have enemies within my own House. My position is rather delicate. I am not a very important member of the family but I have relatives who for their own reasons want me dead.”

  “Why would they would want to do that?” asked Ulrik.

  “It’s remarkable how nasty petty jealousies can turn when you have relatives as spoiled as mine. Some people see you as a threat. Some resent a simple jest you played on them in your misspent youth. Some suspect you, quite incorrectly, of wishing to have them eliminated and become heir yourself.”

  “You have no such ambitions, of course.”

  “Hardly. I have enough money for my researches, enough interesting duties to perform for my House, to which I can assure you I am quite devoted despite the ill-conceived malice of my kin. I am happy with my place in life. Let others negotiate commercial contacts or seek political advantage. I already have what I want.”

  “But some of your relatives do not see things that way...”

  “Your grasp of the situation is sound.”

  “And you want me to protect you from these people.”

  “No, I want you to protect me from the people they send to kill me. And anybody else who might attempt it, for that matter.”

  Ulrik considered this. It sounded like it would not be any less dangerous than fighting in the Pit. Valerius had powerful enemies.

  “You will not find me ungrateful. I am quite attached to my life, poor, worthless thing as it might seem to others.” Valerius did not sound like a man commanding a slave, but like a merchant negotiating a deal. Ulrik guessed that the wizard wanted his willing co-operation.

  “How grateful would you be?”

  “Your life will be quite luxurious when you were not protecting mine. There could be wine, women, narcotics... whatever you wish.”

  “I want my freedom.”

  “Even that might be arranged… eventually.”

  “How eventually?”

  Valerius stroked his moustache as he considered the matter. “Let us say that if I survive the next ten years, I will make you a freedman at the end of it.”

  “Five.”

  “My dear fellow, you are not really in a position to haggle.” This was said with the same daunting imperiousness with which Valerius had treated Old Moth’s attempt to negotiate a better price. Ulrik refused to back down without testing the waters though.

  “But you want my best efforts on your behalf.” Ulrik did not really care all that much at this point. He just wanted to make a show of negotiating. At some point in the not too distant future he would be able to find a way to escape from Valerius’s clutches. He would worry about the consequences when they came.

  “Very well. Let us say seven years. Now I have to make a few more adjustments to this machine. Please be still for a moment.”

  As soon as Valerius pulled the lever, Ulrik knew something was wrong. The trapped lightning elementals roared. Needles of ice plunged into his veins. He felt as if he had been skewered through multiple points in his skin. Agony lanced his brain. Darkness rolled in from the edge of the universe and he fell into an infinity of darkness, howling.

  Chapter Three

  When Ulrik woke there was a warm body beside him. When he opened his eyes he saw the cat-girl and caught her faint musky scent. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Waiting for you to wake up.” She leaned forward and stroked his forehead gently with her fingers. Her fur made the contact strange.

  “Why?”

  “I am curious about you.” She looked down into his face with those fierce alien eyes. Her pupils were slit, like those of a cat.

  “We both know what curiosity did,” he said.

  The bed was bigger than the quarterdeck of some airships he had served on. He had never lain on anything so soft in his life. On the ceiling mural, men fought with squid-faced demons while indifferent gods looked on.

  His whole body ached. A devil banged on his skull with a hammer. His limbs felt as weak as a new-born babe’s. He hated the feeling of helplessness almost as much as he hated being enslaved. Panic pushed him upright even though his head spun with nausea. He did not want anyone to see him so.

  “You should not be doing that,” said the cat-girl, sitting up on the edge of his bed. He slumped back onto the thick pillows and fought to keep himself f
rom being sick.

  “I told you,” she said, stretching her arms above her head in a way that displayed her body perfectly.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Rhea. And you are Valerius’s latest toy.”

  “He told me I was going to be his bodyguard.”

  “Is that what you are? I should have guessed.”

  “What are you doing here? Really?”

  “I was curious. I thought I would see how you were. The elemental in the door did not stop me so I guess our master has no objections. I confess I had hoped to find you in a somewhat more energetic state.”

  “I think something went wrong with Valerius’s machine.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our master is very careful. I have never heard of one of his magical engines going wrong.”

  “Well, the big one did. It felt like I was being eaten alive by elementals.”

  Rhea wrinkled her nose. “I think the machine worked as it was intended.”

  “You think he meant to torture me...?”

  “No. Valerius is not a cruel man, at least not unless he’s backed into a corner. I think the pain was a side effect of what the machine was doing. He probably regrets any harm he might have done you.”

  “You know what he did to me?”

  “I can guess.”

  “Tell me.”

  “He’ll tell you himself in his own good time, and it would be unwise of me to reveal anything before he does. I have my own rather attractive pelt to think of. I think you should concentrate on getting better.”

  She took his hand and raised it to her breast. The fur felt odd beneath his fingertips, more like a garment than a skin. His fingers left furrows as they travelled. Her nipple tightened at the touch.

  She leaned forward and kissed him. She nibbled his lip with small sharp teeth, drawing blood, then stood up and sauntered to the door, hips swinging. It opened for her. He wondered if it would open for him.

  He got up from the bed and padded, naked save for the slave bracelet on his arm, to the hangings. He pulled the cord and the drapes parted. Through translucent crystal he saw the towers of Typhon receding into the distance, so high they vanished into clouds. Weaving through them were hundreds of airboats and airships. Some were little bigger than his bed, mere passenger gondolas, tiny liftwood hulls suspended weightless over the canyons of the city, rotor blades driving them through the crowded air. Others were a hundred paces long, big enough to hold scores of people and tons of cargo.