I fell to the ground, pressing my body low to avoid a second attack. Staring up at the ceiling, I wondered if I was even seeing correctly. Was she really attacking us with bolts of cloth?
There was a yelp from Florian as he thudded heavily to the floor, knocked over by another long curve of gleaming fabric. “Ow,” he groaned. “I felt that.”
Somewhere above us, Beatrice Rex cackled. “Fine silk, straight from the best mulberry silkworms China has to offer. Magical silkworms.”
Florian rolled onto his back. “Then why did it feel like I was hit by a truck?”
Again we got another wordless answer. Florian dodged as one of the sentient bolts of cloth found him, its tip bunching up into knots, then smashing into the ground with the force of a giant’s fist. My eyes went huge as the finely woven clump of cloth cratered the beautiful parquet floor, sending splinters and sawdust flying.
“Holy shit,” I shouted, clambering back up on my feet. “Holy shit.”
I released the mace, letting it fall from my grip and return to the Vestments, then summoning its replacement. Something sharp, to deal with all these reams of possessed fabric Beatrice was using to terrorize us. I knew she was really good at enchanting things, but I’d never heard of anyone using tailoring supplies to kill.
My back was already damp from sweat, my breath hitching as I cursed to myself, waiting for a sword to appear from out of the Vestments. I whirled in place, overwhelmed by the weaving, undulating reams of cloth surrounding us, like gleaming snakes of all colors, lengths, and patterns.
“Florian,” I yelled, unsure of where he even was. “Do something. Use your nature magic.”
“Oh, sure.” I’d lost track of how he was positioned among the streamers of living fabric, but those two words were dripping with a whole lot of sarcasm. “Let me just command all of these plants you’ve seen growing down here in the Black Market.”
“This is not the time for sass, Florian!”
He was right, though. Apart from the occasional exotic plant sold by a Black Market vendor, the bazaar really didn’t have much in the way of flora. Either things simply didn’t grow in the dimension’s artificial darkness, or its proprietors, whoever they were, didn’t much fancy the idea of investing in nocturnal plants.
“The fuck am I thinking,” I muttered under my breath, realizing that I had far, far more important things to worry about than arcane real estate and landscaping. Staying alive, for example.
I closed my fingers as the sword appeared. Just in time, too. I twisted as a particularly slender length of silk shot out of the darkness, ready to punch a hole through my torso, then brought the sword down, cleaving it in half. It twitched, then rippled and fluttered to the ground, its magics depleted. These things packed a punch, but we just needed to cut them down. That was all.
Easier said than done, of course.
My sword sang through the air as I hacked and slashed at any sentient fabric that came too close for comfort. It was working, then. Anything I cut up badly enough went dormant, Beatrice’s control over it deactivated somehow. If we could beat back enough of them, we’d stand a chance against her.
But then the workshop started filling with the noises of things pinging and zinging, little pinpricks of light glimmering in the darkness. Whizzing noises joined the bizarre, tinny orchestra, followed by Florian voicing a muffled litany of “Ouch” and “Ow” and “Quit it.”
I found him ducked behind the counter, looking like a human pincushion, his skin pierced by a multitude of needles and sewing pins. He wasn’t even bleeding, though. Good thing he was as tough as bark. I wish I could say the same for myself. I took another step towards Beatrice, then hesitated, seeing the bank of sharp, silvery objects suspended in the air just above her head.
Through some oddly specific brand of psychokinesis, Beatrice had levitated an entire swarm of ne
edles, pins, and even wicked scissors, ready to use them as razor-sharp bullets. And all of them, with their gleaming points and edges, were aimed directly at my face.
33
Instinct forced my arm up to cover my face. Beatrice Rex could slice me up all she wanted, poke me full of holes, as long as she didn’t take out my eyes. I needed those to see where I could stab her, where I could put my sword to end this needle-filled nightmare.
Armor would make dealing with this problem a cinch. I called out to the Vestments, straining and gritting my teeth, but nothing answered. I’d ruined the last suit of armor I borrowed, which gummed up the works. Like Raziel told me, the gifts of the Vestments slip into our reality the way that packages come through slots in a mailbox. By getting the armor destroyed, I’d plugged up the slot for big packages.
Over the edge of my forearm, I still caught glimpses of silvery missiles whistling towards me. I winced, my eyes clamping shut as I waited for the horrible, piercing agony of being stung by so many dozens of sharp objects. No bark skin for me. This was going to be bloody. Death by a thousand cuts. I gritted my teeth, and waited.
But instead of the grotesque sound of needles and shears penetrating my flesh, I only heard the clinking of Beatrice’s many projectiles against metal. Slowly, I opened my eyes, mouth hung open in disbelief at the sight of the golden kite shield strapped to my arm.
“Holy crap,” I murmured.
“No!” Beatrice stomped her foot, gesturing again as she summoned more and more of her little silver soldiers from out of the depths of her workshop. They came like salvos of tiny missiles, swarms of hideous metal insects, but all of them collided with my shield, then tinkled as harmlessly as bells when they fell to the ground.
I glanced down at my other arm, by then no longer surprised to find that the sword was still clenched in my hand. “Well. Would you look at that.”
This was Raziel’s doing somehow, his silly lessons worming their way into my brain and manifesting themselves through practical application. I never thought it was possible to conjure more than one armament from the Vestments at the same time. The few times I’d attempted to use my talent too often in succession, things had backfired in a pretty painful way, like a jagged electrical jolt ripping through my body. Now I could summon two whole things. I grinned to myself. I was getting better at this, and fast.
With shield in hand I barged my way through the store, Beatrice harrumphing in frustration as her magics fell to nothing against my defenses. Any piece of cloth that came too close was quickly turned into scraps and rags with my sword, and the shield held her storms of shredding metal at bay. I chuckled deeply when my eyes met hers, as I found the fury and frustration building there.