Suddenly a shrouded figure stood by the clumsy fighting trio. Yagharek threw back his hood. Vermishank stared into his hard round eyes, opened his mouth at the garuda’s great predatory bird-face. But before he could speak, Yagharek had plunged his vicious curved beak into the flesh of Vermishank’s right arm.

He tore through the muscle and tendons with speed and vigour. Vermishank shrieked as his arm blossomed with ragged flesh and blood. He snapped his hand back, withdrawing it from Isaac’s flesh, which resealed imperfectly with a wet snap. Isaac growled with agony and stroked his chest. It was slick with blood, the surface misshapen, pocked and still bleeding from Vermishank’s hand.

Derkhan had her arms around Vermishank’s neck. As Vermishank clutched the bleeding ruins of his forearm, she hurled him away from her into the centre of the room. The construct rolled out of Vermishank’s way as he staggered and fell, fouling the boards with gore, screaming.

Lemuel had primed his pistol again. Vermishank caught sight of him aiming and opened his mouth to beg, to wail. He held his bloody arm up, trembling, supplicating.

Lemuel pulled the trigger. There was a cavernous cracking sound and an explosion of acrid gunpowder. Vermishank’s cry stopped instantly. The ball hit him right between the eyes, a textbook shot from close enough range to pass through him and take the back of his head off in an efflorescence of dark blood.

He fell back, his broken skull smacking dully on the old boards.

The particles of gunpowder spun and tumbled slowly. Vermishank’s carcass shuddered.

Isaac leant back against the wall and swore. He pressed his chest, seemed to smooth it down. He fumbled at it in an ineffectual attempt to repair the cosmetic damage Vermishank’s intrusive fingers had done.

He emitted livid barks of pain.

“Godsdamn!” he spat, and eyed Vermishank’s body with loathing.

Lemuel held his pistol idly. Derkhan was trembling. Yagharek had withdrawn, stood watching the proceedings, his features dim once more in the shadows of the hood.

No one spoke. The fact of Vermishank’s murder filled the room. There was unease and shock, but no recrimination. No one wished him alive again.

“Yag, old son,” croaked Isaac eventually. “I owe you.” The garuda did not acknowledge him.

“We have to…we have to get this out of here,” said Derkhan urgently, kicking Vermishank’s corpse. “They’ll be looking for him soon.”

“That’s the least of our worries,” said Isaac. He held out his right hand. He still held the paper he had taken from the construct, now bloodstained. “David’s gone,” he observed, pointing at the unlocked door. He looked around. “He’s taken Sincerity,” he said, his face curling. He threw the paper to Derkhan. As she unfolded it, Isaac stomped over towards the skittering construct.

Derkhan read the note. Her face hardened in disgust and outrage. She held it up so that Lemuel could read it. After a moment, Yagharek stalked over and read it over Lemuel’s shoulder, from inside his hood.

Serachin. Further to our meeting. Enclosed is payment and instructions. Der Grimnebulin and associates will be brought to justice on Chainday 8th Tathis. The militia will apprehend him at his residence at 9 o’clock in the evening. You are to ensure that der Grimnebulin and all working with him are present from 6 o’clock onwards. You will be present during the raid, to avoid suspicion falling upon you. Our agents have seen heliotypes of you, in addition to which you are to wear red. Our officers will do everything possible to avoid casualties, but this cannot be guaranteed, and your clear self-identification is crucial.

Sally.

Lemuel blinked, looked up.

“It’s today,” he said, and blinked again. “Chainday’s today. They’re coming.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Isaac ignored Lemuel. He was standing directly in front of the construct, which moved almost uneasily before his intense gaze.

“How did you know, Isaac?” shouted Derkhan, and Isaac raised his finger and jerked it at the construct.

“I was tipped off. David betrayed us,” he whispered. “My mate. Been on a hundred damn benders with him, done drinking, done riots…the fuck sold me out. And I got tipped off by a damn construct.” He poked his face right into the construct’s lens. “You understand me?” he whispered incredulously. “You with me? You…wait, you’ve got audio inputs, haven’t you? Turn around…turn if you understand me…”

Lemuel and Derkhan glanced at each other.

“Isaac, mate,” said Lemuel witheringly, but his words petered out into astonished silence.

Slowly, deliberately, the construct was turning around.

“What the fuck is it doing?” hissed Derkhan.

Isaac turned to her.

“I’ve no idea,” he hissed. “I’ve heard of this, but I didn’t know it could actually happen. It’s had some virus, hasn’t it? CI…Constructed Intelligence…I can’t believe it’s real…”

He turned back and gazed at the construct. Derkhan and Lemuel approached it, as, after a moment’s hesitation, did Yagharek.

“It’s impossible,” said Isaac suddenly. “It doesn’t have an intricate enough engine for independent thought. It is impossible.”

The construct lowered its pointer and backed away to a nearby pile of dust. It dragged its spike through it, and spelt out clearly: It is.

At the sight, the three humans hissed and gasped.

“What the fuck…?” yelled Isaac. “You can read and write…you…” He shook his head, then looked up at the construct, hard and cold again in a moment. “How did you know?” he said. “And why did you warn me?”

It was quickly clear, however, that this was an explanation that would have to wait. As Isaac waited intently, Lemuel glanced up at the clock and started nervously. It was late.

It took a minute, but Lemuel and Derkhan convinced Isaac that they had better flee the workshop now with the construct. They had better act on the information they had been given, even if they didn’t understand where it had come from.

Isaac protested weakly, tugging at the construct. He denounced David to Hell, then marvelled at the construct’s intelligence. He screamed rage and cast an analytical eye on the transformed cleaning engine. He was confused. Derkhan’s and Lemuel’s urgent insistence that they must move infected him.

“Yes, David is a godsdamn shit. And yes, the construct is a godsdamn miracle, Isaac,” hissed Derkhan, “but it’s going to be a wasted one if we don’t leave now.”

And in an infuriating, tantalizing end to the matter, the construct spread the dust out again as Isaac watched, and carefully scrawled: Later.

Lemuel thought quickly.

“There’s a place I know up in Gidd where we can go,” he decided. “It’ll do for tonight, and then we can make plans.” Derkhan and he moved quickly around the room, gathering useful items into bags they pilfered from David’s cupboards. It was clear they would not be able to return.

Isaac stood numb by the wall. His mouth was slightly open. His eyes were glazed. He shook his head incredulously.

Lemuel glanced up and saw him.

“Isaac,” he yelled. “Go and sort your shit out. We’ve less than an hour. We are leaving. Get off your arse.”

Isaac looked up, nodded peremptorily and stomped up the stairs, to stop and stand still again at the top. His expression was of bemused and miserable disbelief.

After some seconds, Yagharek came silently after him. He stood behind Isaac and peeled back his hood.