Free The Archon's Assassin by D. P. Prior Page B

answer, he was distracted by the flapping of wings, and a raven alighted on the edge of the air-raft. The air about it shimmered, and there sat the little fellow he’d met on the road, draped in his cloak of feathers.
    “Bird!” Shadrak said, hand on a pistol that was halfway to being drawn.
    “Shifter!” Magwitch cried, and then his startlement turned to excitement. “Oh, my, a shifter.”
    “Maybe not much longer,” Bird said.
    “Eh?” Nameless had no idea what he was—
    “Aristodeus promised you a way to be free of the helm.”
    “You know him?” Shadrak asked.
    Bird shrugged, and kept his beady eyes on Nameless.
    Nameless had seen eyes like those before, deep in the bowels of Gehenna. Stone eyes. Dark. Shifty. “But only if the power the axe has over me can be broken,” he said.
    Bird nodded slowly. “There may be a way, but you will need Shadrak’s help. You will need a plane ship.”
    “How’d you know about that?” Shadrak pointed a pistol at Bird, but Nameless held up a hand.
    “You work for Aristodeus?”
    Bird let out a low laugh. “I do not.”
    “Then what’s your role in all this? What do you want?”
    Bird’s neck pivoted to an unnatural degree as he looked behind at Shadrak. “I know who you are, Shadrak the Unseen. I know where you come from.”
    “Bollocks,” Shadrak said, but his face was tight, and his pistol was shaking. If he’d had color to his face, Nameless reckoned it would’ve drained away.
    “Give it time,” Bird said. “Give me time, and you will remember. It is necessary that you do.”
    “Why?” Shadrak said. “What’s so shogging necessary that’s gonna stop me putting a bullet through your skull?”
    “You are compelled against your will, are you not?” Bird said. He switched his gaze back to Nameless. “And the same could be said of you. Be patient with me. Tolerate my presence, and see if I can’t help you both.”
    “You mean trust a homunculus?” Nameless said. Because he was sure that’s what they were dealing with: the spawn of the Demiurgos. Small, shifty, and utterly dishonest. Thing was, you could say the same about Shadrak, and yet there was something about the assassin, something Nameless was drawn to. He wasn’t all bad. Couldn’t be.
    “We are not all the same,” Bird said. He climbed slowly to his feet, joints cracking like dry twigs. When he shuffled over to stand in front of Shadrak, his great age became suddenly apparent. Whatever magic allowed him to change shape must have been hiding his true appearance, until now. His face had deeper wrinkles than a walnut, and hair clung to his scalp and chin in thready white wisps. “We are not.”
    Shadrak held his gaze for a long moment, then dropped his chin and holstered his gun.
    “I keep thinking I know you,” he said.
    “You do,” Bird said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “And you will. You are returning to the plane ship?”
    Shadrak nodded.
    “Good. You must take it and Nameless to the Perfect Peak. Do as Aristodeus bids, at least for now.”
    Shadrak tensed and closed his eyes. Beads of sweat pearled along his forehead, and his lips moved silently.
    Bird gripped his arm and said, “Your master disagrees. Ask him for time. What he demands of you is too much.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Nameless asked. “What master?”
    The feathers on Bird’s cloak shuddered, and he whirled away from Shadrak. “Psycher!” He pointed at a neighboring rooftop, where a dark figure crouched. Its face was devoid of features, and as they watched, it thrust out a long, taloned finger.
    Bird threw open his cloak, and hornets swarmed forth in a dark cloud. At the same time, Shadrak clutched his head and fell back against the scarolite of the air-raft.
    “Go!” Shadrak screamed. “Go!” Blood was seeping from his nose and ears.
    Magwitch just stared at him, paused mid-chew of a truffle.
    But Nameless had seen enough. “Do it, laddie,” he said. “Now!”
    The air-raft