“Sure. Protections that turn on automatic against incoming bullet or blade, but he can’t use magic himself, and magic can’t affect him. It makes him right deadly against our kind.”
Nulls were a rare thing indeed. Overwhelmingly, most intelligent beings tested as zeros. Which meant they couldn’t work magic themselves, but spells worked on them for good or ill, and they could use enchanted items if they were simple enough. Through practice and exercise, zeros could grow their magical abilities. For example, the first time I’d been tested, I’d been a zero, and after a few years of illicit practice with stolen element, I’d tested again as a rank one. I’d been trying ever since to master more spells in the hopes of reaching rank two. Individuals blessed by the saints were born possessing more natural magical abilities, and might test as high as three or four, even without any training.
But Nulls were something else entirely. I’d read about them in the encyclopedia. They went the opposite direction of everyone else, born less than a zero, in that magic simplywouldn’t touch them at all. It was a double-edged sword; they could never learn magic, but they were also immune to its effects. They couldn’t be strengthened or healed by the Green or Blue, but they also couldn’t be burned by Red, hurled by Clear, or slain by Black.
In a city ruled by wizards, I could see how a Null would be so valuable. I made a note that if I ever had to fight Cutter Joran to just shoot him… Except, apparently, defensive charms could still place their shields around a Null. I’d have to ponder on how best to kill him, and in the meantime hope I wouldn’t need to.
But he’d also sort of threatened to sell my girlfriend into slavery, so I really wanted to.
Five
Coming from a humble realm, it was odd to me that a criminal organization should have their own estate, bigger than the fort belonging to the noble family who owned my family. Then again, Fogo was poor, and the Core City was so wealthy that even the gang which ruled its lowest parts could lord it over our nobles. The Latrocinium’s holdings were nice enough; they would’ve fit in better in the Collegium than here. With most residents of the Slumps living in wretched poverty, it was clear to whose pocket most of the coins in these two districts flowed.
As befitted its position floating in the sky, the Slump was nicer than the Under Slump beneath it, and the Latrocinium’s blocks were the nicest part of the Slump. These were real homes, not shacks. There were craftsmen and markets. We passed pubs and brothels. The ladies upon the balconies blew kisses and hiked up their tiny skirts to expose even more thigh. The thugs escorting me loved the attention. I was just amazed that Core dwellers could wear so little clothing in this chilly place without perishing. None of those girls were from Fogo, that was for sure!
The huge structure in the middle of the district must have been some kind of important government building before theUpper Aventine had begun sinking its way into Slumphood. Now it served as a casino. Bands were playing. People were singing. There was a huge crowd gathered for the many entertainments. Those wearing masks to hide their identity were surely respectable types from the other, more law-abiding parts of the city, come here to engage in a bit of debauchery.
As fun as this place seemed, there were reminders as to the nature of who ran this establishment. I watched as one crying man was dragged past, screaming and begging for mercy, because some Latros were going to toss him over the edge of the district for failing to pay his gambling debts.
On one end of the casino’s plaza was a mansion the likes of which I’d never seen before. The building was covered in beautiful pillars and arches, yet the more I looked, the more I realized it was as much fortress as a home. The towers and walls weren’t just decorative, but defensive. This was the only place I’d been in the Slumps where the ancient statues hadn’t been torn down and carried off. There were even fountains that spit water. Upon the mansion’s central peak flew a black flag with a yellow sign, marking this as the headquarters of the infamous Carcalla.
There were guards everywhere, and despite being criminals, they seemed more squared away than the Argent enforcers had back home. They were probably quite a bit tougher too, because the Latrocinium had far more opportunities to fight. From what I’d been told, there wasn’t a crooked endeavor in this great city that the Latros weren’t involved in.
We went up the steps, past the statues of naked women whose bottom halves were fish.
“Why don’t they have legs?”
“They’re supposed to be mermaids,” Joran said.
Seeing as how the fish tails probably meant they came from the water realm, I’d have to ask Trax if mermaids were real. That whole arrangement seemed rather impractical.
I got checked at the door for weapons and then checked again on the other side by a mage with some kind of device designed to spot hidden magic. Once he was sure I didn’t have any extra dimensional pockets or illusions upon me, most of my escort left. It was just Joran and the two Latro wizards now.
“Take your boots off and leave them in the entry hall,” Joran ordered as he took his own off.
“Why?”
“Because we’re fucking civilized here.”
It was hard for me to comprehend, but the inside of this place was even richer than the exterior. This house was as big as the barge I’d been raised on, and the front room was as wide as our cargo bay had been.
I’d heard of paintings, but I’d never seen any until arriving in the Core. Now I was walking past dozens of them. From the many wildly different styles, I assumed they’d been collected from across many different realms and kingdoms. I knew some of the portraits must have been of various saints, because the artists liked to put glowing halos around their heads. The wildly different items in their hands must have been symbolic and helped identified which saint was which, but I’d not gone to enough church to identify most of these. None of these saints were posed in a land of fire and carrying mining tools, so my patron, Ketekunan, Saint of Persistence, wasn’t represented.
Of the many landscapes, I recognized the Great Machine towering over the market, but what lands the others showed were mysteries to me. There were flat green plains of endless grass. There were cities on clouds with herds of giant floating animals between and no ground beneath. There was a village inside an enormous cave, lit by glowing crystals on the walls, where the odd-looking residents lived in giant hollowed-out mushrooms.
Sadly, Joran never slowed so I could get a better look at any of them.
It seemed odd to shove so much beauty into a place it clearly didn’t belong. As if Carcalla was trying to create his own personal fake Collegium here, but all the riches were piled up in such a way it was gaudy to me.
From my staring, Joran must have assumed I was overcome by the opulence. “You a connoisseur of art, Carnavon?”
“Nope. Canvas catches on fire where I’m from. My barge cadre had a set of the Encyclopedia Ettymus which was illustrated, but half of the volumes had been lost or burned by the time I was old enough to read them. I don’t know a thing about this stuff.”
“Me neither.”
“I do like all the pretty colors, though.”
“I couldn’t care less about that shit.”
