Roil by Trent Jamieson

Author:Trent Jamieson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Fantasy, General, Action & Adventure, Fiction
ISBN: 9780857661852
Publisher: Angry Robot
Published: 2011-08-29T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter 33

Immediacism was a movement built upon fear.

Its attraction to the populace, like Carnival, an escape. Where everything was only grey and dark, they fashioned worlds of colour. Their effects were striking but, truly, it was a last breath of decadence in an age possessed of resources far too limited to sustain such a thing.

But what art isn’t a glorious folly?

Collingwood – Art at the Gates of Apocalypse: A Comic History.

UHLTON 19 MILES NORTH OF THE ROIL

The meeting in Buchan’s parlour had gone on for another hour ending with something that had at once surprised and delighted David.

“I want you take David with you,” Cadell had said. “Where I am going... it’s too dangerous.”

“Of course we will,” Buchan had said, agreeing with Cadell for the first time that night. David went to bed with a feeling of such relief, to be at last out of the eye of the storm.

David woke to thunder.

No, it was gunshot, and a distant thudding. He sat up in bed. The next two shots came quick, one after the other.

Someone screamed, then moaned, another shot and the sound stopped. David stumbled out of bed. Dressed as fast as he could, not daring to switch on the lights. It was happening again, and this time his nerves were failing him. Fingers tapped against his door.

“David?” He relaxed a little, recognising Cadell’s voice.

“Yes,” he said.

The door opened, letting in a little light.

“We have to get out of here. Uhlton isn’t as safe as I thought. It seems Stade wants to finish the job.” Cadell’s eyes flashed. In one hand he clenched his travelling bag, in the other a water gourd. “Sorry, David, I was going to leave you with Buchan and Whig, but they’re going to draw the Vergers off. You’re safer with me.”

David looked at Cadell’s bag. The Old Man pulled it away. “Yes. Yes. I have plenty of your drug.”

Shame reddened David’s cheeks. “I didn’t say anything.”

Whig stopped at their door, looking quite ridiculous in a nightdress with a half dozen pistols strapped to his belt. “There’s tunnels beneath the hall,” he said. “Take the eastern passage, it will lead you out onto the edge of town.”

“We will see you in Hardacre,” Cadell said.

Whig nodded. “Good luck, gentlemen. We will be at a pub called the Habitual Fool.” Whig winked at David. “An appropriate enough name, don’t you think, for those of us that keep banging our heads against the walls of tyranny?”

Whig led them both to a nearby wall, wincing every time someone fired a shot. He slapped his hand against the wall and it swung open onto a low tunnel.

“There you go, lads. Sorry about the smell, it’s less of an escape tunnel, more of a sewer,” he said.

“Good luck,” Cadell said.

“Good luck to us all,” Whig grinned tersely and shook Cadell’s hand. “It’s been in rather short supply of late, though this raid could have happened at a worse time. We’re ready. Be careful in Chapman, it’s a city on the edge, and dangerous because of that.

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