“Zephario and I need to go,” Candy said.

Gazza simply nodded.

“I’ll be safe up there.” They looked at each other. “I wish it was different,” she said, staring at his sadness with her own. “You know what I mean—”

“Yes.”

And his knowing was enough for her. Maybe there’d be another time, when things were different. But for now . . .

“I’ll see you soon, then. . . .” Candy said, and with perfect timing the glyph released her, extending its own structure twenty feet or so, allowing her to drop down below, without injury, onto the shattered ground of Mount Galigali.

The Empress had begun to give her instructions. Time was of the essence, she let it be known. Time, and that the job be done flawlessly.

“In a few moments,” she told her Commanders, “the Stormwalker will emerge from the cloud of volcanic dust that the lightning limb has caused to temporarily blind the vessel. At which point,” she went on, “I will have a comprehensive view of the site of execution. We should expect some minor attempts to resist. These people have foolishly tried to live by their own laws, refusing to obey the judgments laid down by their superiors. Obviously no Empire can sanction the presence of such individuals in its midst. They will—”

“Leave before their executioners arrive?” Carrion suggested.

“Do you find this funny?”

“No, Grandmother, I believe what you say is absolutely correct, and these iconoclasts should be executed. But—”

“But nothing. A knife for every heart, remember?”

“Of course.”

“Well?”

“You have the knives, I realize. But regrettably the hearts have already departed.”

“Impossible.”

The vessel was emerging from the smoke now, and what Carrion could see was visible to a growing number of soldiers. The camp was empty. The prisoners had gone.

“Where are they?” she said, quietly at first. Then more loudly: “They were here! Six thousand, six hundred and ninety-one prisoners! The gates are still closed. THEY WERE HERE!”

“Two of them are still here,” one of the commanders—a small, gray-skinned stitchling called Chondross—pointed out.

“The compound is empty.”

“They’re not in the compound any longer, my lady,” Chondross told her. “They’re down there on Galigali.” The stitchling pointed out of the window down at the boulder-strewn slope. “Do you see them?”

“It’s Candy Quackenbush,” Carrion said.

“Of course it would be her,” the Empress said. “She was bound to be in this chaos somewhere.”

“Who’s with her?”

“It doesn’t matter. Whoever he was, he shouldn’t have gotten so close to her. It will be the death of him. I need a gunner!” she demanded.

No sooner had she uttered the words, than one stitchling called out: “Empress. I have the gunner ready at the bows. She has acquired your target.”

“Gunner?” the Empress yelled.

The gunner’s image appeared.

“Here, my Empress,” she said.

“Targets,” Christopher said.

“Ah, there you are,” the Empress said. “Two stupid animals standing in our way. Thank you, Christopher.”

“My pleasure, Empress. And my duty. Shall I have them killed?”

The image of Candy Quackenbush and her traveling companion came up on the Window. The latter had been extensively scarred—his face little more than a rigid mask of disfigured tissue; out of which he gazed blindly. Despite his maiming there was something in the man’s bearing that caused Mater Motley to hold back for a few moments.

“I have the target in my sights, Empress. Shall I fire?”

“Wait . . .”

She brought the Window closer to her so as to better study the mask of scar tissue for some clue as to the face it had been, before its destruction by—

“Fire,” she murmured.

It was a simple, stupid mistake. Gunner Gh’niemattah had been trained to respond to an order without hesitation. The syllable her Empress uttered was barely audible, but she responded to the sound of that one syllable by simply pulling the trigger.

It was impossible not to be astonished by the speed with which the girl from the Hereafter and the blind man beside her were erased by bursts of brilliance as each rocket found its target.

Chapter 62

The Volcano and the Void

CANDY, SITTING ATOP THE higher slopes of Mount Galigali, stared up at the immense expanse of the Stormwalker’s underbelly as it slowly passed over her. The immense machine seemed almost close enough for her to reach up and touch. The guttural drone of the vessel’s massive engines made the scree on the slope dance a lunatic dance.

“It’s time. Take me to my son,” were the words Mater Motley had watched Zephario say to her.

He was right, Candy knew: this was the moment. The Prince of Midnight was inside the Stormwalker with his grandmother—and was there any place he was more likely to be on this night of nights, when old allegiances became clear, than with her? She had to get them both up into the great lightning machine before the Stormwalker destroyed them both.

And then, up out of the unsifted memories in her head, a word sprang onto her tongue: a word in Old Abaratian. It had a flawless provenance. Candy had taken it from the sleeping mind of Princess Boa, back in the days when she’d used Boa as a living repository of magic. Boa had in turn learned the word from the same source she’d used for the wieldings and invocations, prayers and necromancing—her devoted Christopher Carrion. And who was Carrion’s source? Of that, Candy had not the slightest doubt. Carrion had learned the word from his grandmother, Mater Motley, who was riding high in the Stormwalker over their heads.

Somehow that confirmed the rightness of the word she was about to utter. She had tracked it around in a circle, back to the Hag of Gorgossium.

She didn’t even know what the word meant. But she knew this was the right moment to say it. It had four syllables:

Yet—

-ha—

-si—

-ha.

“Are you ready?” she said to Zephario.

“For what?” he said.

“I can’t be sure, but I think there’s going to be a staircase, made of smoke, and we’re just going to climb it.”

“Then I’m ready.”

At that moment, though Candy didn’t know it, the Empress of the Abarat was studying them in the Window—no, not them: Zephario—trying to work out what it was about the burned face that puzzled her.

“Yet—” Candy said.

Words of magic had to be spoken very cautiously, Malingo had once told her he’d read in Wolfswinkel’s books. They had to be pronounced clearly so that the forces that were being summoned into activity knew exactly what they were being instructed to do.

As Candy spoke the second syllable—“ha”—the Empress looked up from the Window, suddenly realizing what element had worked such a terrible transformation upon the face on the slope below.

“Fire,” she’d said.

Gunner Gh’niemattah had thought she’d heard her Empress’s instruction. She had not aimed for one figure or the other, but for the rock between them. The rocket would blow a hole in the rock between them, causing the ground they were standing on to fold in on itself, carrying both of them down to their deaths.

“si—”

Gunner Gh’niemattah pulled the trigger. The charge in the gunner’s launcher exploded.

“ha—”

The explosive charge slammed against the expulsion plate at the base of the rocket.

The phenomenal power of the weapon, which had been mounted on the Stormwalker so recently that the gunner had never had an opportunity to test it, completely blindsided her. The whole launcher kicked so violently that the gunner was thrown back across the gunnery tower, her neck snapping at the same moment the rocket struck the flank of Mount Galigali.

Such was the power of the rocket’s release that a ripple of its force passed through the entire Stormwalker. It juddered and rolled. As its motion settled, the Empress called forth five more windows to study the aftereffects of the rockets.