It wasn't the glass that burned and cut. That was fleeting. It was the venom from the snake heads. Hadigan's Reveries, tainted by an age old power, sour; a science of a bygone age no longer practiced. But the two had merged and curdled. Xindii could feel it, burning into his veins; molten fury ready to snap him.

Hadigan walked casually into House. 'Reveries and guile will not save you this time dear Mapper and neither will that bitch whore of a Kraken Brood and her kin.'

Xindii pulled himself to his side – it seemed easier that way to ride out the pain, grinding on his hip so he felt in control of the pain, gaining a moment of lucidity so he could vent his own venom at the man of pockets.

'I need no help from the Black Swell, Hadigan. Your fate is already unravelling.'

Hadigan smiled and he kicked Xindii to the gut, 'Always such a dreamer.'

'No. A realist.'

Hadigan shook his head and picked up the Mapper with his tendrils, holding him by the scruff of his shirt. 'You are broken and delirious little boy. I will take great pleasure in snapping you.'

'Try as you might, Hadigan but it isn't all about the loud things. Sometimes to win a battle all you need is a little help from your friends!'

'The fox and the stone? That venom is making you quite deluded, Xindii. We knew of your coming. That's why mother and I left you a surprise.'

Xindii smiled. 'Yeah, we sort of guessed. Bit obvious really. You were a powerful Mapper, Hadigan – back in the day – but not even you could wield the Reveries needed to do what you set out to accomplish. They were intricate, calculated. Precise.'

Hadigan squeezed his throat

'It would take,' Xindii stressed, fighting the solid grip, 'two.'

Hadigan's resolve broke and he launched the Mapper across the room, landing on the leather sofa and overturning it, gaining his breath, finding the Beat. He looked up and saw the figure of Bliss holding herself against the wall, petrified for Xindii's safety and probably her own but such doubt subsided when he simply mouthed the word 'thank you' to her. Something clicked, a button of confidence or a wave of solidarity. But it was something which assured her, galvanised her into thinking of something to help her new friend. She fled into her own confines.

Xindii pulled himself up, the Beat fighting the venom inside.

'So you know of my twin.'

'Oh it was nothing really. No need for applause. Obvious in the extreme.'

'No matter. My brother will see the necessary done.'

Xindii stifled a laugh. 'Well, eh, probably not you see!'

Hadigan raised his eyebrows. 'Enlighten me, Mapper. What have you done?'

Xindii felt it. The Beat growing, flowing through his veins in a deluge of purity and optimism.

'I was polite. You see, yours isn't the only gospel out there. There are more optimistic stories out there than evil since the dawn of whatever and platen subjugation. There are gospels of sticky toffee pudding and teddy bears, chocolate and milkshakes and gravy dinners. And friendship . . . the best of friendships . . . I made my own gospel. I took the friendship of a soldier and a prisoner of war and turned it into something amazing. A mutual trust of faiths. Of laughter and learning and way, way too much sherry. And out of that I – we – wrote the Gospel of Xindii. The power of two.'

'This is pure fanciful daydreaming. What do you intend to achieve with your gospel of friendship?'

Xindii smiled, almost coyly. 'Well that is quite the twist in the tale, quite literally. Out of all your know-it -all doom and gloom you failed to realise one, simple, thing. Our gospel isn't just about friendship it's about knowledge and what do we have at Varosium? Knowledge and the cleverest fox on the planet.'

Hadigan's eyes started to thin. The darkness reducing to a milky white emptiness.

'Astropyschics in thirty minutes. Cybernetics and eugenics in forty minutes . . . The History and Practice of Dreamurlurgy over coffee and croissants and Zenzai's Art of Fencing at elevenses, done.'

The fury bubbled in Hadigan. You could see, writhing and heaving underneath the flesh. 'So it maybe, Mapper but that only heightens my desire to splay you open.'

Xindii smiled. 'For Josiah, then.'

Hadigan pulled the rods from his rags and charged at the unarmed Mapper. Xindii was steadfast and in the last moment possible pulled his moon blade from the ether, built from the frothing Beat of his mind in a last minute frenzy it formed from a sleeve of white steam and Xindii side stepped Hadigan's furious lunge and separated the tendril from his shoulder turning about with the finesse of a bullet to deliver another strike across his shoulder blades. Hadigan fell to the floor, the snake rods in front of him.

'Even if you succeed, Mapper, you will have to face our master. You will die.'

'I know, Hadigan. Every gospel must end sometime.'

Xindii observed him reaching for the rods. He willed the Beat into the moon blade. He knew what was coming.

The man of pockets turned about and lunged with the rods, bringing them down onto the shining blue of the moon blade. Xindii held the Beat in his palm and then let go, releasing its brilliant light into the crystal. The Reverie exploded outward, knocking Hadigan across the depths of the room, broken; flesh and tendril scorched. His crown of bone cracked and chipped.

'And so must yours.'

Hadigan (mark 2) wavered, light on his feet.

'Something wrong, Hadigan?'

He fell to the ground. His legs not privy to his weight. A part of him snatched away.

'I'll deal with you in a minute, fox.'

'Oh dear. I don't think all is well at House Felstrom my dear.'

Gwendolyn was prideful. 'You should start running now, my lord. He will tear you apart.'

'Your faith is dutiful, Baroness. But, I'm afraid severely misplaced. I'm here to end this and bring you all to book, forgive the pun.'

'You can't stop him with a bullet.'

'No. But I can stop him with a sword.'

The Baroness scoffed at the idea. 'So be it. You can't say I didn't warn you.'

'Thanks for your concern.'

Hadigan pulled himself back up. 'My brother is in pain. I will take great pleasure in seeing you suffer, fox.'

'I think you better step over there, Baroness. I think he means business.'

'I did warn you.'

Gwendolyn shimmied to the side leaving the Tatterfox at the mercy of Hadigan.

'You get one bullet, Tatterfox. Make it count.'

'I need no bullets, sir. As I stated before. I have the Gospel of Xindii.'

Mother and son smirked at each other.

'I will send you back to Varosium in pieces,' Hadigan said with a bitter relish.

The Don aimed the gun at Hadigan's heart. Moments later the barrel extended through the air and shimmered, much to the Baroness's and her son's bewilderment.

'What devilry is this?' she stated.

'Dreamurlurgy,' muttered Hadigan.

'It's surprising what you can learn over breakfast.'

'It's not possible. Not possible.'

The Don cut the air with his silver rapier. 'Anything is possible within the Gospel of Xindii.'

Hadigan pulled the besmirched broadsword from his rags. The dark steel stained with blood. Hardened and coarse.

'Smoke and mirrors, nothing more,' the man of pockets preached.

The Don smiled and made his way across the marble. Both met steel in the circumference of the Flea King's temple. Hadigan used his brute force to mark his territory, waving the diseased blade in a series of brutal strikes. The Don sidestepped them, his stance and skill more akin to an athlete and dancer. Hadigan swung the blade ferociously but there was clarity and rhythm. The Tatterfox blocked it with his hilt and drew it down with his left hand, marking Hadigan's arm with his elegant blade and then swiping upward, drawing blood across his opponent's cheek.

Hadigan didn't let that slip, swirling the blade and cutting the air, trying to corner the fox but he was too wily for that. The Don separated his body with a Reverie of steam and dispersed as the black blade cut through the hot air. The Tatterfox reassembled behind him, swiping at Hadigan's back, drawing blood once more.

The Don raised the rapier in front of his head. 'Smoke and mirrors?'

Hadigan took the sword in his right hand and provided the Don with a couple of slices to block. He did so but failed to notice the slithering metal that started to cover his other hand. Once made manifest, Hadigan stooped and locked the Don's blade in the rotten blood and gunk of the broadsword. The Don tried to pull the lithe blade away, but the living matter on the broadsword smothered it, moving across the steel like a virus. Hadigan smiled in his poise and then brought his left hand up and caught The Don across the jaw with his now solid gauntlet and knocked him onto his back.

'Smoke and mirrors, fox.'

Hadigan pulled the rapier from the living matter of the broadsword and threw it back to the Don. The Tatterfox smiled. Reverie met Reverie in the cloisters of the Flea King. Thrust and strike, The Don holding true to his stance, blocking and enveloping the black blade.

The svelte blade of the rapier was easy to miss, Hadigan brought the blade down in a butterfly cut which The Don escaped by making a feint to his left and then bringing up the rapier to the right, severing Hadigan's arm. There were no cries or pity, just the muffled moans of discomfort as the tattooed glyphs from his arm staunched the blood and then gave way to a throbbing black tendril. It pulsed and heaved; retching to the point where the Don thought it was going to be sick. Instead, Hadigan aimed the tendril at the Don and from it a flume of black smoke made its way across the temple floor. The Don drew a circle of light with the rapier to block him from the dark Reverie, once dispersed the Don pulled the Beat from his palm and shoved the circle across the floor where it shattered and covered the man of pockets in burning acid. The blade fell to the floor and he screamed, running from the temple with what sight he had left, the searing pain eating into the bone. The Don followed the trail of melted flesh.