Black Halo - By Sam Sykes Page 0,143

recognised the universal description. He did have contact with them, then.

‘I digress, though,’ Rashodd continued. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’

‘I am on an extended search,’ Bralston replied. ‘The location of one party will lead to the other, I am certain.’

‘The ultimate goal being?’

Bralston studied him carefully, wary to divulge the answer. ‘Purple-skinned longfaces.’

‘Ah.’ Rashodd smiled. ‘Them.’

‘Your tone suggests knowledge.’

‘You may safely conclude imprisonment has done little to tarnish my talents and predilections towards the coy. My knowledge of the netherlings is from the second hand of a second hand.’

‘Nether … lings?’

‘Your tone suggests our initial comprehension of their title to be mutual. The nomenclature would lend itself to the conclusion that they are descended from nether; that is, from nothing at all. I could not assure you that they do not live up to the name, sir, for I have never seen one, knowing they exist only through their anger towards my former allies.’

Bralston nodded. ‘Continue.’

‘On which subject? My allies or their violet foes? Of the latter, I know little but what I have heard: rumours of relentlessness, viciousness and faithlessness blended into one.’ Rashodd raised a brow at the Librarian. ‘Something akin to yourself, except with less fire and more yelling, I’m told.’

‘The Venarium has charged them with heresy.’

‘The practice of a heathenry that differs from yours,’ Rashodd said, nodding. ‘Ironic, is it not, that the faithless should steal a term used by the faithful to condemn those of a different faith … or is it just obnoxious? Regardless, I know as much of the netherlings as I knew of my allies, and you would do well to avoid both, lest you, too, find yourself embroiled in their deceits and find us with more in common’ – he held up his hand and wiggled his stumps – ‘than you would like.’

‘What I find is that my incredible patience is gradually, but wholly, stretched thin with your delusions of eloquence.’ Bralston allowed ire to sow his voice, fire to spark behind his stare. ‘My mission, my order, my duty has no concern for your need to waste my time with pretence. My questions are swift and to the point. You will answer them in kind.’

‘It is a sad day I live every day that the language of poet-kings is considered delusional,’ Rashodd replied with a sneer. ‘But I will answer your questions with as much open eagerness and hidden loathing as I can manage.’

That was enough, Bralston reasoned, to avoid resorting to anything fiery. ‘I have been informed, roughly, as to the nature of your “allies”. I do not hold the opinion that they are entirely factual.’

‘Factual, sir? One would assume that if you had been granted even the loosest of information regarding my former persons of association, you would recant.’ He canted his massive head. ‘Have you, sir?’

‘Thirty-six sailors of the Riptide have attested to the encounter.’

‘And you cannot consider the account of thirty-six good and honourable men trustworthy?’

‘There have been mass hallucinations before, often much grander in scale.’

Rashodd’s laugh gained a horrible enthusiasm. ‘Of course. The Venarium’s unwavering stance of discrediting the Gods and strangling decent men and women with their smugness is not unknown to me. Spare me the rhetoric, sir. I am well informed on the subject, and I humbly disagree with your theory.’

‘Well informed enough to infer our stance on the idea of demons?’ Bralston asked sternly. ‘Even if we were to ignore the idea that they are stories made up by priests to cow people into coercion, we cannot, and do not, accept the idea of an incarnation of evil, as we do not accept the idea of “evil” or “good”. We acknowledge human nature.’

‘I see … and what do you believe, sir?’

Men would feel anger at the Cragsman’s words, men would let their composures crack. Librarians were not men, Bralston reminded himself. Librarians answered to higher authorities. Librarians might possess the power to compel forthrightness through any manner of burning, freezing, crushing or electrocuting, but such would be a flagrant, wasteful demonstration of superiority that should, ostensibly, require no establishing.

Still, it would be satisfying …

Far more satisfying than uttering coldly, ‘There is no belief. Only knowledge.’

‘And you know your knowledge to be superior over that of thirty-six people? You know that demons do not exist?’

‘I accept that there are unknowns typically explained by frivolous imaginations by branding them “demons”. But, as stated, I didn’t come to exchange arguments.’

‘Of course not, sir,’ Rashodd replied. ‘You came seeking purple-skinned longfaces, foes inveterate of

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