Newgate Prison, Modern Stratum
The Underworld wasa metal venue located downstairs from the World’s End pub. The owner had a sense of irony, I guess.
As we got in line, I glanced down at Cassius’s sword, hanging from his hip, and gave it a tap. “I wonder what people are going to think that is. The veiled, I mean, because of this Enigma Covenant.”
Cassius looked around. “By the look of these other patrons, my guess would be a riding crop.”
I chuckled. “It’s not that kind of club.”
At the door, Bogdan, a heavyset Polish twentysomething, sat reading the score of a Wagner symphony. More symphonieswere piled in his lap. He read them the way some people devour Stephen King or Lee Child.
“Jack, my man,” Bogdan said, looking up. “You were right, Wagner is amazing. Who’s your friend?”
“I am Cassius.” The centurion extended his hand.
Bogdan received a firm forearm shake. “Don’t get many of those,” he said, then turned back to me. “You need to play here again soon, man. I need to hear ‘They Always Go Away’ live.”
“Soon as I nail down the lyrics,” I told him.
He waved us by, and we started down into the venue.
Angra was playing—Brazilian act with a killer vocalist. I bobbed to the groove and let the music wash over me. The tension of the past twenty-four hours started to fade. We found a table near the back, where Cassius could mark the exits and keep an eye on the patrons, and we could hear each other speak.
Angra’s powerful music focused my mind. “What was that back there?” “It was an abduction attempt,” Cassius said.
“How do you know they weren’t trying to kill me?” I asked. “The woman was there last night just after Henry and I were shot. Maybe she came to finish the job.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But they did come with nets.” “The nets were iron, but seemed heavy even for that.”
“Iron robs a thanatist of his strength,” said Cassius. “Properly used, it can be as effective a weapon against thanaturgic beings as living flame, black blades, and well-tuned bows.”
“So, what kind of ‘thanaturgic being’ was that thing coming up the alley?”
“I do not possess a thanatist’s sight to discern such things, but if I were to guess . . .” Cassius pressed his lips tightly together, his brow drawing into lines. When he spoke again, I got the feeling he’d chosen not to speculate. “But you can be sure the woman had come to take you alive, else she would not have stopped the creature.”
“Okay, but why abduct me, then?”
He looked me over. “I suspect your relationship to your friend has marked you. It is not uncommon for a thanatist to abduct another thanatist and exploit them to some advantage.” He paused for a moment. “I have been a part of such details myself. It is a game of chess . . . though some of us are but pieces on the board.”
“Because vestiges exist only to serve, that it?” I leaned toward him. “I told you, man, you don’t owe me anything.”
The centurion lifted a hand and showed me his glowing bracelet. “The binding is yours. And so long as I wear it, I will protect you. But you also need to understand that thanatists do not rush into battle. You are to direct and support and strategize. Please leave the sword-work to me. A well-meaning amateur is more a hindrance than a help.”
“I’m not exactly an amateur.” I didn’t want to get into that just now. “Besides, one against six is bad odds. And you may recall that I saved your ass yesterday.”
He held up a finger. “First, you need not resort to invective to express yourself.” He held up a second finger. “And second, it is also true that I savedyourass yesterday.”
We shared a quick laugh.
“In all seriousness,” said Cassius, “thanaturgic engagement rules stipulate that vestiges may not harm a thanatist if they are not directly engaged. However, once engaged, a vestige is within its rights to fight back. So, leave the close work to me. I have trained for this kind of thing for centuries.”
I pointed at the sword hanging on his hip. “Are you telling me the outfit isreal?”
“Theoutfit,” he replied, “is the uniform given me when I joined Caesar’s Ninth Legion. The sword, though, is made of black iron, the best metal against any form of thanaturgy.”
Angra’s singer hit an insanely high note in their tune “Carry On.” I paused to listen before asking, “You fought for Caesar?”
“I was born in a small village in what you today call Belgium. My family belonged to the Atuatuci people.”
