The Deepest Dark is a soothing chill against my newly healed flesh. I've showered and pulled a T-shirt and jeans over my scars. It feels odd to be here, out of a suit. Sure, I'd worn a tracksuit down here once, but that feels like it was an age ago.
'You're looking good for a man who nearly died tonight.'
'Thank you again for your quick assistance.'
'I have a lot riding on you, Mr de Selby.'
'Things are coming to a head,' I say. 'I can feel it. I need to know how you know so much. And I need to know just what is important.'
'These sessions aren't about how I know things, but what I know. I assure you that you will have access to an incredible network of information. Not just Twitter, not just Facebook, or Mortepedia. Give yourself time.'
'What network? And what the hell is Mortepedia?'
But Suzanne puts a finger to my lips. 'You know about the Hungry Death now.' I push her hand away.
'Yeah, let's call it HD, for short.'
Suzanne sighs. 'And you know that, once, pomping was a pleasurable thing. But do you understand why we use blood?'
'It has to be blood, and your own, and it has to hurt,' I say. These are things I learnt from my parents, as every Pomp does. And it feels good to say them. 'The drawing of lines in the sand must always have consequences. It costs to fight battles. It's not just HD that drives this. You told me as much, when you told me how it was defeated. It's the will to make a difference despite the cost, and the realisation that you might fail. If failure costs nothing, perhaps we would be too reckless. If it didn't hurt to stall a Stirrer, perhaps we would just rush in with no plan, our guns blazing and find ourselves surrounded, cut off, defeated.'
The grin Suzanne gives me is huge. 'Blood isn't just life, it represents how delicate life is. Now, symbols are very important in this business, as you already know. The brace symbol, for one. But something as simple as a gesture can be powerful. If you give yourself to it.' She raises her hand, and dust lifts from the ground and follows her, fanning out, then condensing into a tight tube that spirals around her arm. 'Try it.'
I do, and nothing happens. No surprise there.
Suzanne touches my head. 'You were thinking about it far too much. Just lift your arm.'
'Right, right, just lift my arm!' I say, flapping my arms like I'm doing some crazy impersonation of a chicken. 'Nothing, see -'
Dust swings around me, up and down.
But the moment I realise what I'm doing, the dust drifts away. A good bit of it gets sucked into my lungs. Suzanne watches me cough, her eyes crinkle.
'Good work,' she says. 'So much of what you need to do must be done without thought. Without reflection. That's the power and the danger of this job. It must be effortless. If it's too much one way, everything becomes mechanical, without soul, without rhythm. Too much the other, and it is all chaos. Even too much balance is wrong.'
'Why?'
'Death isn't effort. It's consequence. It's as natural as breathing, and all the skills that we possess – to shift, to hear the heartbeats of our region, all of them – come from that. Give yourself over to it, and in the giving you will find that there is so much more time to explore the consequences of your actions. If you are always struggling, you can never ask yourself why, or what might be. Now, lift your arm again.'
I lift, extending a finger. The dust lifts too. I draw my fingers into the bed of my palm then flick them out. Dust shoots away from me, five trails of it. I lower my hand and it drops. I can feel it around me, waiting for my motion, my guidance.
Suzanne winks at me. 'Well done, Steven. I expect to see you tomorrow. But not here. Tomorrow we can meet in my office.'
And she is gone.
Wal pulls from my arm. The last thing I expect to see him in is a little Santa hat.
'What the hell's Mortepedia?' I ask, lifting a finger, and watching a slender thread of dust rise up to touch it.
Wal spirals around it. 'Some sort of treatment for dead feet? No, that's Mortepodiatry.'
I glare at him. 'Rillman nearly killed me tonight.'
'But he didn't,' Wal says.
'He managed to kill one of my bodyguards, though.'
'Well, that's the problem. You don't need bodyguards. You're an RM, you should be able to look after yourself. You don't sleep, you can shift through space, and even make dust do… things. What do you need bodyguards for?'
'Lissa -'
'Lissa's stronger than you give her credit for. Think about what you two had to go through just to be together. You think Lissa was being all helpless in that? Lissa's only a weakness if you let her be one. If you let her be a strength…'
'When did you get so wise?'
Wal beams at me. 'Always have been, mate, you just never listened.'