Page 4 of The Bone Season

‘In a citadel as populous as London,’the voice of Scarlett Burnish said,‘there is a high probability that you may be travelling with unnatural individuals.’

A dumbshow of silhouettes appeared on the screen, each representing a denizen. One turned red, and the others backed away.

‘RDT Senshield is now being trialled in Paddington Terminal and the Westminster Archon. By 2061, we aim to have Senshield installed in all Underground stations in I Cohort, allowing us to reduce the number of unnatural guards in the capital. Visit Paddington or ask an SVD officer for more information.’

The notice disappeared, replaced by adverts, but it played on my mind.

Scion only brought out its unnatural officers at night. From sunrise until dusk, it was relatively safe for voyants to walk the streets of London. That was when the Sunlight Vigilance Division patrolled the citadel. They were amaurotic, unable to sense us.

Senshield would change that. According to Scion, it could detect aura – the connection between a voyant and the æther. If there wasn’t a major delay to their plans, even amaurotic officers would soon be armed with the ability to see us. The entire NVD would be retired, depriving voyants of any chance to live within the law.

So far, the Unnatural Assembly had ignored the matter. The mime-lords and mime-queens of the citadel apparently had greater concerns.

A moist hand gripped my wrist. I tensed.

‘Commuting, are we?’

Another voyant had come up behind me, dark hair falling to his shoulders from beneath a bowler hat. I had missed his dreamscape among all the others, but I could have recognised him just from his stink.

‘Underlord,’ I said stiffly.

‘Pale Dreamer.’ His grip tightened. ‘Your mime-lord has crossed me for the last time.’

‘What, by winning a game?’

‘Nobody cheats me in my own den.’

‘Good thing nobody has.’ I waited for an amaurotic woman to pass. ‘I’m honoured you’d come all this way to badger me, but surely the head of the syndicate has better things to do. Cleaning your teeth would be a good start.’

Look, I never claimed to be sensible.

‘Oh, no. I wanted to see you in person.’ Hector kept his voice low. ‘Jaxon has been feathering a nest of troublemakers. I know what he plans. All seven of you have grown far too bold – and you the downiest of all, Pale Dreamer. It’s past time he paid for his insolence.’

‘Excuse me.’ The woman had clocked us. ‘Is everything all right?’

I nodded, forcing a smile. Hector mimicked. Even the Underlord wasn’t fool enough to conduct underworld business in front of amaurotics.

‘London belongs to me. Learn your place,’ he whispered. ‘Have a safe journey.’

With that, the Underlord was gone. I drew my cuff over my reddened wrist.

I had to watch my step – and my tongue – around Hector. As Underlord, he ruled over the entire syndicate. Most of my gang stayed out of his followers’ way, but Jaxon treated him with open contempt. I also liked to win at cards, and certain lackeys did not enjoy losing.

If he ever cornered me without an audience of amaurotics, I was dead.

I boarded the train and held on to a handrail. It soon arrived at Inquisitors Cross, where a web of lines took denizens all over the citadel. It was a cold and sterile maze, full of security cameras. On any other night, I would have walked, but I was already late for dinner.

The next platform was almost deserted. When my eastbound train arrived, I sank into a vacant seat. There was just one other person in the carriage – a seer, reading theDaily Descendant. I took out my data pad and opened an approved novel.

Without a spool, my only real protection was to look as normal as possible. Jaxon was not without enemies, and plenty of voyants knew me as his mollisher.

As I flicked through the pages, I kept one eye on the seer. I could tell I was on his radar, too – but since he had neither beaten me senseless nor shown any sign of respect, he probably had no idea who I was.

I switched to a digital copy of theDescendant, the only sanctioned newspaper in Scion. The typical news glowered back at me. Two young men hanged (on trumped-up charges); a penny gaff shut down in I-3. A feature about the spike in free-world tourism to London and Paris. A letter from a reader, praising the cohesion and stability of the nine countries in the Republic of Scion.

Almost two centuries it had been growing. Scion had been established to end the scourge of clairvoyance. It had taken its first steps in 1901, when five murders had been pinned on Edward VII, son of Queen Victoria. According to the official story, he had drawn on a source of indeterminate evil, bringing clairvoyance – unnaturalness – upon the world. Soon it had spread across the continents, infecting and warping those it touched.

That year, the monarchy had been overthrown. An ostensible republic had been established in its place, built to hunt unnaturals. According to a new generation of officials, all crime and vice was our doing. Within a few years, this system of government was called Scion. It remained a republic only in name – no opposition, no elections.

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