The Deepest Dark is just as cold as the last time we met here. We're a little closer to the city of Devour. Lights are flashing there, and it's towards them that Suzanne is staring as I arrive. This shift is a particularly bad one. I'm a few minutes catching my breath. But at least there's no vomit. Gotta love that.
'Something's happening over there,' Suzanne says. She's wearing my duffel coat. I can't quite bring myself to ask for it back.
'That's usually a good thing isn't it?' I watch the lurid fires burn. 'If it's happening here, it's not happening in the living world.'
'You'd think so, but their focus is only on our world. Anything happening down here has consequences for up there.'
'What do you think it is?'
Suzanne shrugs. 'I have my spies and, of course, I will inform the Orcus of anything that they uncover.'
'Spies?'
Suzanne smiles. 'This is your first lesson, I suppose. The Underworld is more permeable than you might think. Stirrers can enter our world through the agency of a corpse. Well, we can enter theirs, too. It doesn't always work, but I have received some very good information before my spies have been discovered. And they always are. Just as a Stirrer takes a while to get used to a human body, a human takes a while to get used to a Stirrer's.'
'You're telling me they actually enter a Stirrer body?' All bony limbs, cavernous eyes and sharkish teeth; what would it be like to inhabit such a form?
'Yes, remarkable isn't it? And you're already learning something.'
'What's it like?'
'Horrifying. It changes people. The ones I've managed to bring back, anyway. They're different, life becomes less appealing to them, more wretched. Let me just say that they don't tend to stay in the organisation for very long.'
I try and imagine how it must be, trying to make a life in that city. Being so deep undercover that the very smell and essence of life disgusts you. Does the reverse happen? Do Stirrers learn to love life as we do? I've not seen it.
I wonder if she mightn't also use those spies for assassination attempts. Say, on RMs. I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable out here in the open. If keeping face weren't so important I'd be away in a shot.
'And what happens when they're discovered?' I can't imagine ever sending anyone down there.
'The ones we get out? Well, they survive. But the others…' Suzanne shrugs. 'Something horrible, I suspect. They don't get to make a report afterwards, Steven. This is the Deepest Dark, after all. You don't play around down here unless you're hungry for pain or retribution.' Suzanne touches my arm. 'You should understand that.'
'Is that what you do?' I ask. 'Play around down here?'
'It's much more serious than that. I'm as concerned by the Stirrers' plans as you are. Things are in motion, believe me. But we'll leave that for the Death Moot, not now.'
Where her fingers touch me is the only warmth in this place, and she leaves them there too long. I pull away, but perhaps not fast enough. Hell, I shouldn't be worrying about what is fast or not. I should be focussing on her conversation. She's watching me, waiting for a response. And I already feel outplayed. 'I'm not one for waiting.'
'Six days isn't very long.' Suzanne's tone suggests she's talking to a five year old, any more patronising and she'd be handing me a lollipop. 'Now, let me say how horrified I was to hear of the attempt on your life.' She closes her eyes a moment. The air glows, dust swirls around us, becoming a round table and two chairs. She gestures at one of the chairs. 'Sit, sit.'
I touch the chair tentatively. It feels solid enough. I sit down and it takes my weight. I want to ask her just how she does this, but now isn't the right time. There are more important things before us.
'Steven, you made a lot of enemies when you performed that Orpheus Manoeuvre of yours.'
'I had a lot of enemies already.'
'But these are of greater consequence. You broke rules, you performed the impossible, and that scares people. Does the name Francis Rillman mean anything to you?'
Rillman. Where have I heard that name? 'It sounds familiar.'
Suzanne nods her head. 'It should. He was Australia's Ankou before Morrigan, and a major embarrassment to Mr D. His disgrace is an important, some might even go so far as to say tragic, part of your corporate history. It's what allowed Morrigan to do what he did. Certainly gave him ideas.'
'Maybe that's why his name only sounds familiar. Morrigan didn't like to share information, not the important stuff anyway.'
'Yes, well, he was partly involved in Rillman's downfall. And his downfall certainly led to Morrigan's rise.' Suzanne sighed. 'Francis Rillman, like you, performed an Orpheus Manoeuvre after his wife died. Only he failed, utterly and terribly. I thought he was dead, but the name's been surfacing lately. And more often than not it's been around you.' She sighs. 'I rather believe that Rillman wants you dead.'
'Why? Why would someone I don't even know want me dead?'
'Because you did what he couldn't, and Rillman is a bitter creature.'
'I'll dig around in the files,' I say.
Suzanne clicks her tongue. 'I hate to say it, Steven, but Mr D should be educating you more thoroughly. Take this to Mr D. He's the only one "alive" in your organisation who knows the full story.'
The next hour or so is taken up with a series of lessons echoing Tim's briefing notes: short histories of my fellow RMs, things I should have known, things Mr D should have taught me. I'm wary though, this is only Suzanne's perspective. After the Moot, when I have time (ha!) I'm going to talk to each and every RM, draw out their stories, and put what Suzanne has told me into context.
The lesson's interrupted by a cry from the Stirrer city. A packed-stadium sort of roaring – if a stadium was full of meth-addicted berserkers. Suzanne and I both turn towards the sound.
Suzanne shakes her head. 'OK, looks like class is over for the night. Do you want to check that out?'
'Why not?' We get up and the table and chairs return to dust.
She holds my hand. 'Don't pull away,' she says. 'I thought I would spare you the pain of a shift.'
'I can do it myself.' But we're already there.
So that's how it should feel. I think I can copy that, model my own shifts on it. Suzanne nods at me. 'Get the basics right, and everything else will follow.'
We're at a point just outside Devour's walls. The city didn't have these when I was last here – riding a whispering bike on my way to find my lost love – but the Deepest Dark, like the Underworld, changes fast.
I place a hand against one of the huge stone blocks. It's cold and shuddering in time with the Stirrers' yells. I realise Suzanne's still holding my hand. I try and pull away. 'Not yet.'
Another shift. We're on the walls, all that juddering stone beneath us.
We crouch down and stare into the city, which is really the wrong term for the spaces open before us, though there are structures analogous to our cities. It's more of a nest, a nexus of hunger. Below us, hundreds of Stirrers have gathered in a circle, their teeth-crammed mouths chanting in utter synchronicity. They're as identical in appearance as ants, which is why the Stirrer in the centre of the circle stands out. Its face warps, or unwarps, grows human. It is a face wracked with agony.
Suzanne squeezes my hand.
'One of yours?' I ask.
She nods.
I look around for some way to get down to her spy and for a possible escape route once we do. 'We have to get him out of there.'
Suzanne shakes her head. 'We can't do anything, not here. Not now.' She lets go of my arm. 'You need to leave.'
'What are you going to do?'
'Bear witness.' She glares at me. 'Go.'
The man in the centre of the circle screams, and I feel a force push at me: Suzanne. I give in to it. But not before seeing the man's long limbs torn from him and thrown out into the crowd. The Stirrers howl.
The shift to my parents' living room is easier than I was expecting, but I bring that howl with me. I blink, let my eyes adjust to the light, and slump into the couch.
Poor bastard.
Oscar's standing out the front. I can hear Travis's heartbeat coming from the back. The pair's heartbeats tell me all I need to know. Nothing has happened since I left. Still, I go and check on Lissa.
She's sleeping.
Then I call Tim.
'Do you know what time it is?' he grumbles.
'Yeah, I'm sorry, but I've got a lead.'
'And Lissa's obviously sleeping.' He yawns. 'So what's this lead?'
'Francis Rillman. Mean anything to you?'
'Not a thing.' He sighs. 'Actually… It does sound familiar.'
'It should. He used to have your job.'
'Ministerial advisor?'
'No, your job here.' I run through what Suzanne has just told me.
'Really? Shit. Now I remember the name. Something my dad used to say when I was grumpy. Don't chuck a Rillman. Never understood what it meant. Let me Google him.' He sighs again. 'So how do you spell Rillman?'
'The usual way,' I answer.
Tim groans. 'Don't be a smart-arse.'
I spell it out. 'Anything?'
'Nothing, but give me some time. If he's out there, I'll find him. Keep safe.'
'You too.'
I hang up; make my way back to the bedroom.
I need Lissa. Right then I need her more than anything. I kiss her. Gentle and hard on the lips, her mouth responds. Her tongue searches mine. I slide a hand down her neck, slowly, and she pulls me in close. Eye's opening.
And for the first time in what feels like weeks, we really connect.
'What was that about?' she asks when we're finally still, sweat-drenched.
'I love you.'
'Well, duh.' She stretches, and I can't help but stroke one of her breasts gently with a fingertip. She pushes my hand away – after a while. 'How was your meeting?'
'Informative.'
'And Suzanne's offer?'
'I don't know.' The lie sticks in my throat.
'Suzanne is like that. She has a way of confusing the issues.' Lissa clicks her tongue. 'Are our heavies still outside?'
'Yeah.'
'How long is this going to go on, Steve?'
'A while, I think. I've got a bit of a lead though, someone by the name of Francis Rillman.'
'Did you say Rillman?'
'Yes.'
'It can't be him. I pomped him two weeks ago.'
'Are you sure?' I slide out of bed, disappointed. Rillman looked promising, and I want this over with.
'We had a chat. He's an interesting character. You know he tried an Orpheus Manoeuvre once. His wife, he lost his wife. And he failed to bring her back.'
'I'm aware of that.'
'Maybe, but did you know he failed because Mr D stopped him?'
I nod towards the kitchen, slipping on some boxers. 'Coffee? I think I need to be properly awake to get my head around this.'
Lissa laughs. 'You're supposed to offer that before the lovemaking.' She gets up and pulls a dressing gown around her shoulders.
The kitchen is quiet but for the heavy breathing of the espresso machine. I pour two cups. Why is Suzanne so sure it's Rillman if he's dead? Where does that leave me? I've got two suspects as far as I can see: Rillman who is dead, and Morrigan who is beyond dead. It's easier to believe that Suzanne is trying something.
Shit, I am so bad at this!
Lissa watches me as I set the cups down on the table.
'So Rillman, what'd he look like?' I ask, pushing her cup towards her.
She brings it to her lips, sips contemplatively. 'Nothing much. Bland, unmemorable. I know that sounds glib, but…' She furrows her brow. 'Tired, he looked tired, washed out. His hair was short, parted to one side. Wait a minute, there was one thing.' She reaches up and touches my nose. Her fingertips are warm and I blink at the contact. 'His nose was broken, not badly, but you could tell someone had given him a mighty whack once.'
'Maybe Mr D?' Though I can't imagine Mr D ever hitting anyone.
'Yeah, possibly. He asked about you. Seemed very interested in what you did. Hey, I might have a photo!'
Lissa runs out of the kitchen. I hear her digging around in the bedroom, then a cry of triumph. She comes back holding a photo album, open to a page. 'Here, here they are! Mum, Dad and Rillman.'
Lissa's description is apt. He's plain, all right, not unhandsome, I suppose. But in this photo he's smiling, and there's not a glint of murderous intent. His arms are around another woman, tall, dark hair down to her shoulders. She's smiling, too. Happy days.
'Is that his wife?'
'Yes,' Lissa says. 'I can't remember her name.'
No one remembers names, just the tragedies. What must it be like to fail at an Orpheus Manoeuvre? Not just fail, but be stopped? I understand him a little, I think. Suddenly I have to hold Lissa. I kiss her hard.
'What was that about?' she asks when I let her go, but I know she gets it too. She has to, right?
I look back at the photo. 'Did he seem angry at all?'
'No, more resigned. I got the feeling the angry part of him was long gone. And you know how souls are, they're a bit insipid, bloodless.'
I reach across the table and touch her arm. 'You weren't.'
Lissa smiles. 'But that's just me, I'm special.'
'You are. You don't know how much you are.'
Lissa shakes her head, but she isn't one for false modesty. 'I should have paid more attention to him, but it was a busy day. I think I must have pomped eight people that afternoon. Rillman was the last.'
'I'd have been the same. Strange, though – everything that I've been hearing seems to suggest Rillman could be behind the attack.'
'Where'd his name come up?'
'Something Mr D said,' I lie, and it's easier than I thought it would be. Like shifting, I'm getting better with practice.
'Really?'
'Yeah, why not? He's supposed to be teaching me something.'
'It's just… Mr D doesn't like to talk about Rillman. It's a generational thing, none of them did. Rillman apparently put Mortmax Australia about ten years behind the rest of the world.' She grins. 'Oh, yeah, he also ruined a Death Moot.'
'I like the sound of this guy.'
'It was quite the scandal.'
'Well, the chances of it being Rillman are pretty slim,' I say. 'You don't come back.'
Except we both know that isn't true. It makes me uncomfortable to consider it, but somehow Rillman's death, his interest in me, make me certain he is the one responsible. That he has come back somehow. It feels right. It terrifies me. Before tonight I didn't know that humans could inhabit Stirrers. What's a little moving between worlds compared to that? Like Suzanne said, the Underworld is more permeable than I had thought. Who and what else might be coming through?
Lissa picks up her coffee cup and walks it to the sink. I can see her thoughts in the slope of her shoulders as she rinses the cup.
'It's OK,' I say, kissing the back of her neck.
'I'm so sorry.' She places the cup in the drainer. 'Sometimes I think all this is my fault. If I hadn't -'
She's mirroring my thoughts. This isn't her fault, it's mine. I think about what Suzanne said. About the enemies I've made, and all because I fought to stay alive and honour the memory of my family, and because I loved someone enough to chase them through Hell and bring them back.
We saved each other. Whether it was the right thing or not, it was the only thing either of us would have done. And hang the consequences.