Extraordinaires 1 by Michael Pryor Page B

purpose of the immense chamber was just that, but he was helpless not to feel daunted when he stepped alone through the final doorway.
    Pentagons. Pentagons everywhere. Dazed, Soames decided that the Immortals must have had a liking for the five-sided figure, for the whole colossal space was composed of them. The floor was a vast pentagon made of dull black stone. Marble? Granite? The ceiling was the same. Five pentagons leaned away from the floor and were joined by five more slanting down from the ceiling.
    The ceiling must have been three hundred feet above the floor.
    It was the most extraordinary construction Soames had ever seen. In the Demimonde, he had seen some outlandish structures and encountered much uncanny magic, but this colossal, arrogant building was the clearest display of cosmic sorcery he knew. He looked down at the floor. The polished surface threw soft and distorted reflections that Soames didn’t like to study too closely.
    Jabez, remember your mathematics. A dodecahedron, isn’t it?
    He nodded, satisfied. Giving a name to the unlikely space went some way to making it less disturbing.
    A large pentagonal alcove was carved into each of the lower walls. Three were empty. Two contained objects that rotated slowly in midair – a triangular pyramid and a cube, each three or four feet in diameter.
    The Spawn at his side directed Soames towards the centre of the chamber. As he neared, he saw he was approaching a long golden bench with a high back. It had three separate seats, complete with armrests, and the entire piece was covered with carvings, most of which were obscured by brightly coloured cushions. It quivered a little, like a barely restrained guard dog. It shone with the sort of lustre that spoke of regular attention – and also defined the difference between gilt and gold.
    He walked the entire way with his hat in hand, not happy about being placed in the position of a beggar. He was a businessman, damn it, not some terrified ruffian!
    The Immortals sat on the throne. They looked like three six-year-old children playing at grown-ups. Three chubby faces glared at Soames, two male, one female. Their clothes were rich and archaic. Their eyes were flat, but their expressions could never be mistaken for those of children. No child could produce such looks of disdain, boredom and hunger. These could only come about after years of experience, as long as the experiences were full of depravity and venality.
    Their feet didn’t touch the ground.
    â€˜You are Soames?’ the female asked. Her voice was squeaky, but as far from comic as it was possible to be. She was clad in a long scarlet robe, silk, with wide sleeves and lapels. One of her companions wore a robe as well, but it was in the Roman style, dyed the purple of kings. The other was the odd one out. He had furs strapped onto his body with leather belts. He wore leather boots on his dangling feet instead of expensive-looking slippers. He pouted.
    â€˜I am.’
    â€˜I am Jia,’ the female said. ‘This is Augustus.’ The Roman. ‘And Forkbeard.’ Fur.
    Soames essayed a polite, interested expression, his normal approach to a new and possibly lucrative engagement. Briefly, he wondered why the creature had adopted the name ‘Augustus’. Then he had a moment of unaccustomed unease when he considered the alternative – that the name belonged to him. ‘I’m pleased to finally meet you.’
    â€˜You’re not,’ Augustus said. His voice, too, was squeaky, but Soames could hear a hundred lifetimes’ experience in giving orders. ‘No-one is pleased to see us.’
    â€˜With reason,’ Forkbeard said. He shifted in his seat and looked away, over his shoulder. ‘Finish with him quickly. I’m hungry.’
    Soames’s gaze went to the extremities of the Immortals. Forkbeard’s hands were wrapped in bandages, gauze-swathed mittens on the end of his arms.
    Years