by Icy Sedgwick
The Golden Lamb was in a lower district of the Underground City, surrounded by warehouses and workshops. The place was less frenzied than the rest of the City, being mostly only visited by workers or traders. Monte liked it down here; he was less likely to be accosted by the thriving packs of urchins, and everyone was too busy to bother anyone else. The canal, which led to the Great Sea, ran along the edge of the district, its insistent call drowning out the shouts of workers.
The pub was two blocks into the district, on the bottom floor of a tall building that housed sewing and weaving workshops. Some of the workers tried to refer to their workspaces as ‘ateliers’ in a fit of sophistication, but everyone knew the days were long, the lighting was poor, and the pay was bad. ‘Calling a handful of crap a rose petal doesn’t make it so,’ his Myrtle sometimes said.
Monte entered the pub and nodded to the barkeeper before scanning the room. There were fewer patrons than in the Nag’s Head, and everyone drank on their own in an atmosphere of funereal silence. No friendly banter or camaraderie existed there.
Crompton Daye sat in a booth near the window, although the thick layer of grime on the glass made it impossible to see outside. He tapped his fingers on the pitted table and stared into his pewter mug. Monte didn’t know what had happened in his past to reduce him to an existence of drinking in bad establishments, but he didn’t know him well enough to ask – if Crompton could even remember.
“Mr Daye?” Monte stood by the table and looked down at the wizard.
Crompton looked up, peering out from beneath straggling grey eyebrows. Clarity sparkled in his blue eyes, and Monte realised Crompton was not nearly as drunk yet as he wanted to be.
“Yes?”
“I’m Monte McThwaite and this is my employer, Mr Gondavere,” said Monte, gesturing to his master. Mr Gondavere nodded in greeting.
“Nice to meet you. Now what do you want?”
“Why do you think that we want anything, my dear fellow?” asked Mr Gondavere.
“I saw you in the Bloody Hand earlier, and I can’t think why you’d trek all the way down here if you didn’t want something from me.” No slur affected his speech, and Crompton regarded them with suspicion. Monte shivered. What would a sober wizard do if he got annoyed?
“Only information,” he said.
“Oh. Oh well, I have that in droves.” Crompton managed a smile, although it was lost among the grey bushes of his beard. The wizard gestured for them to sit opposite him. Monte slid onto the hard bench first, followed by Mr Gondavere, who set the case on his lap beneath the table, one hand gripping the handle.
“I am on what you could call a quest. Certain information has led me to believe that you would be helpful towards my success in this particular endeavour,” said Mr Gondavere.
“Indeed. And what information is that?”
“It is a difficult tale to tell, however I could ascertain whether or not I would be wasting your time if I may first discover one thing. Have you ever been a scholar, sir?”
Crompton laughed, a loud guffaw from the depths of his gut. Monte started, unaware that such a booming noise might erupt from such a skinny man.
Mr Gondavere raised an eyebrow, but the rest of his face remained as stone. “What, may I ask, is so funny?”
“Just the idea of me as a scholar. No, Mr Gondavere, I’ve never been a scholar. I do know several wizards who are, though. What school of thought would we be talking about here?”
“History, mainly. Archaeology, perhaps. Maybe ancient relics.” Mr Gondavere strove to sound nonchalant, but Monte wasn’t fooled. He wondered if Crompton was.
“That narrows it down. I know a wizard in the City Above who deals in the study of ancient relics.” Crompton knocked back the last of his drink and gestured to the barkeeper for another.
Monte shivered. Apparently, the dying man in the chapel hadn’t been speaking nonsense after all. Mr Gondavere must have reached the same conclusion from the way that he sat forward, tracing designs on the table with one finger.
“Could you tell me his name?”
“Why are you asking?” Crompton narrowed his eyes.
“An interest in history. I am not exactly from these parts.” Mr Gondavere smiled that awful, toothy smile, and Crompton attempted to recover from an obvious recoil. Monte had to admit, he didn’t actually know where Mr Gondavere was from, but the question hadn’t exactly come up during the day they’d spent in each other’s company. Monte gained the impression Mr Gondavere wasn’t the friendly type.
“All right. Well my wizarding friend is old enough to remember the days before the squabbling between the Twin Cities, and he spent most of his days in the Underground City, foraging for relics from the time of its construction,” said Crompton.
The barkeeper arrived with Crompton’s drink, and he handed over a coin. Mr Gondavere ordered two drinks – a glass of port for himself and a glass of pumpkin juice for Monte.
Crompton resumed his story. “He had it into his head that there was something under the Underground City, though he could never pinpoint what it was, or where it might be, and being a man, he didn’t make it into the Shrine of Beseda, which is the closest you’re going to get to the lower levels without any real information. Eventually, the tensions between the Cities worsened and with the sacking of the main libraries, he moved Above to continue his work.”
“Does he still look for relics?” asked Monte. He was fascinated, and wondered if the people of the Underground City had any idea that it might have once been an ally of the City Above.
“No. He mostly relied on the Shadowkin for their help when he worked down here, but they viewed him as a traitor when he went Above, and now he mostly deals in antiques. You can find him in Silence, just north of the House of the Notorious Dead. His shop is called Bucklebeard’s Antiques.”
“Interesting,” said Mr Gondavere, tapping a long finger against his chin.
“Now I have to wonder what you could want with a chap like old Bucklebeard.” Crompton regarded Mr Gondavere with a keen eye, and Monte wondered if the wizard ever got drunk.
“As I say, I am a student of history,” replied Mr Gondavere.
“Fair enough. Though what’s information like that worth?”
Mr Gondavere pushed a gold coin across the table.
“Not enough, I’m afraid,” said Crompton. He kept his eyes on the coin, but made no move to take it.
“You want more money?”
“I’ll take this, but I want a favour. An ‘I owe you’, if you want,” replied Crompton.
“What could you want from me?” Mr Gondavere feigned surprise, but Monte would bet anything that there were plenty of things a wizard could get from someone like his employer.
“Oh, I have no way of knowing that yet. I just like collecting favours. Never know when they might come in handy.”
“Very well. Call for me when you have need of this favour.”
Crompton pocketed the coin and raised his glass to toast them. Mr Gondavere nodded and slid out of the booth, followed by Monte. They left the Golden Lamb, aware that all eyes followed their progress.
“What do we do now?”
“I’m not sure. If this Bucklebeard fellow has been unable to locate anything beneath the City then I fear he is of little use to us. However, there is a woman not far from here who is not long for this world. Perhaps she will tell us something of use.”
Monte said nothing, and trotted after Mr Gondavere as he strode up the road. His fingers found the coin in his pocket, and he held its reassuring coldness in his fist. Surely this strange quest had to be worth a decent salary?
11
Chapter 11
Jyx followed Validus up the wide driveway towards the House of Correction, with Vyolet secreted in the shadows between the folds of Jyx’s hood. Fortis had left them to return to the Underground City, where he would make more enquiries among the Shadowkin. Neither he nor Validus explained why, and Jyx realised he didn’t really care. He jus
t wanted all of this to be over with. He was just a tiny pawn in a monumental game of chess that could alter its rules at any moment.
The House stood before them, a vast monolith of dark grey stone. Narrow arrow slits served as windows, and purple flames burned in braziers along its façade. The scent of strong magick hung heavy in the air, and Jyx’s head swam with the effort of remaining conscious. The Wolfkin seemed unaffected, and Jyx wondered again at the magickal constitution of the mysterious beings.
“Remember, when we reach the gate, allow me to do the communicating. I have no idea what we will see inside, but you two must stay together at all costs. Your mission is simple – find Eufame, and get her out,” said Validus.
“What will happen to you?” asked Jyx.
“Do not worry about me, Master Faire. I am sure I will see you again before all of this is over.”
They reached the doorway, a huge yawning mouth of black so pure it hurt Jyx’s eyes to look at it. A pair of Wolfkin with golden skin and fur stood on either side of the door, wearing black armour bearing the insignia of the House of Correction. Jyx was surprised to see Wolfkin in such a place, but their subjugation apparently knew no bounds.
“State your name and business.” One of the Wolfkin spoke to Validus, and Jyx realised they didn’t know he could hear them too. He kept facing ahead and pretended not to listen.
“Validus, of the House of the Long Dead. I’ve captured the traitor, Jyximus Faire, the one responsible for the destruction of the royal mummies,” replied Validus.
A cold knot formed in Jyx’s stomach. He hoped he could trust the Wolfkin.
He and the golden Wolfkin nodded at one another, and they waved Validus and Jyx forward.
“Wait!” The second Wolfkin sprang forward, and handed something to Jyx. It was a glass tile, neither purple nor pink, and full of air bubbles. It caught the light but didn’t reflect it back as he expected – it reflected back only shadows.
“It comes from a mutual friend,” said the golden Wolfkin. He looked at Jyx and winked.
Jyx gasped. The Wolfkin knew he could hear them! And even more, he seemed to want to help. Validus nudged Jyx to accept it, so he slipped the square into his robes. Validus pushed him towards the doorway before he could say anything. Jyx closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the painfully dark black. The curtain of darkness showered over Jyx’s shoulders like a waterfall, and he was shocked to emerge dry on the other side.
A lofty room soared above Jyx, the ceiling so high he could barely make out any details. Validus placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him across the vast lobby. Black-and-white tiles covered the floor in a chequerboard that made Jyx dizzy, and additional purple flames burned in braziers set into wall sconces. The atrium felt more like the entrance hall to the Academy than Jyx thought it would, with Wolfkin moving to and fro with shackled prisoners. He saw humans, trolls and even a siren being led across the atrium, their gaze fixed firmly on the floor. The same feeling of lethargy came over Jyx, and he fought the urge to yawn. He’d never been around such oppressive magick before, and it almost overwhelmed him. He didn’t know if it was the work of Eufame’s sibling or just the collective defensive magick used within the House.
Yet below it all was a thread of magick, icy white, where the atmosphere burned purple. That strong, almost magnetic pull tugged Jyx’s attention to the right, towards a low black archway hacked out of the grey stone walls. He couldn’t read all of the white sigils painted above it, but he recognised one or two. ‘Danger’, ‘Maximum Security’ and what looked like ‘Enter at your own risk’ appeared among the jumble. Two figures stood on either side of the doorway, taller than the Wolfkin and cloaked in black so dark it hurt Jyx’s eyes. He couldn’t see into the hood but he gained the impression of a skeletal face and hollow eye sockets. He pulled away his gaze.
“What are they?” he asked, keeping his question inside his mind.
“Dreadguards. Pray they do not speak to you. I should have known that they would stand guard over the entrance to the Maximum Security wing,” replied Validus, the mental answer sounding as a whisper tickling his inner ear.
“Where do we go now?”
“Only you can decide that, Master Faire. For all intents and purposes, I am guiding you, not the other way around. The limit of my instructions was to get you in here. Can you feel my mistress yet?”
Another golden Wolfkin stalked across the lobby towards them before Jyx could reply. It gestured at him and cocked its head to one side slightly.
“This is the apprentice?”
“Indeed.”
“Very well. I shall take him from here. You are dismissed.”
Validus nodded and gave Jyx’s shoulder a squeeze so brief it was almost imperceptible. Jyx didn’t know if he should attempt to speak, or just go wherever the Wolfkin took him. With any luck, he could give him the slip and head off to find Eufame. He placed a hand on his shoulder where Validus had so recently guided him, and turned him in the direction of the black archway.
“Am I considered a high-risk prisoner?” asked Jyx, immediately regretting the words. Should he have given away the fact he could read their sigils?
The Wolfkin said nothing and added a shade more pressure to his shoulder. Jyx’s feet started moving and carried him across the chequerboard floor. He looked around, but none of the other Wolfkin gave him a second glance. No one came to greet them. Surely if he was that high-status a prisoner, someone would need to be notified? The thought flickered through his mind that the Wolfkin were keeping their cards close to their chests. Perhaps too close.
The Dreadguards inclined their heads towards Jyx as he passed, but they soon turned their attention back to the atrium without asking any questions – the presence of the Wolfkin was seemingly enough to grant passage. Jyx let out a long sigh of relief – he felt in better hands with a Wolfkin rather than one of the imposing cloaked figures.
They passed below the archway into a long corridor of black stone. Instead of darkness, invisible illumination turned the passage into an obsidian hallway of endless light. No shadows lurked anywhere. Jyx’s heart sank. How on earth could Vyolet cloak him, or Eufame, in shadow if there were no shadows? If she couldn’t get them out… Jyx wondered again if it had all been a ploy to turn him over, and rather than drag him kicking and screaming, the Wolfkin hatched a devious plot to get him to enter of his own free volition. He’d thought them a noble, honourable species, but maybe they were just as vindictive and malicious as humans. Perhaps it was payback for his part in the death of the Wolfkin at the House of the Long Dead.
Iron gates lined the corridor, each one shrouded in the same impenetrable blackness as the doorway to the House, the only darkness in the whole hall. Another tug came on his consciousness as the sliver in his mind twitched in the direction of the end of the corridor. Whatever Eufame had left inside him wanted to be reunited with its mistress. In a sick sort of way, Jyx realised he did, too. At least with Eufame around, he didn’t need to be responsible for anything except for the tasks she set him. She might have used him to get back at the Crown Prince and condemned him to the Perpetual Death to further her own ends, but at least she knew what she was doing. Not for the first time that day, Jyx felt completely out of his depth.
“Jyx?” someone whispered from the depths of his hood.
“Sssh!” hissed Jyx, afraid the Wolfkin would hear her. Yet as he turned around, he realised he was alone in the corridor. The Wolfkin had gone.
Jyx rustled his hood and Vyolet clambered out, a long trail of shadowy smoke that coalesced into her dark grey form. She slipped off the goggles she wore to protect her eyes from sunlight and hung them from their strap around her neck.
“Where did the Wolfkin go?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Do you think they’re all working for Eufame?”
“It’s possible. This place creeps me out. It’s so oppressive, like it’s going to thunder at any point.”
Jyx nodded, and on i
mpulse, reached for Vyolet’s hand. Her purple eyes widened in surprise, but she allowed him to lead her down the corridor.
“What were those things earlier?”
“Dreadguards. I’ve never come across them before, but they seemed happy to let us past. I don’t know if they even know who I was,” replied Jyx. “Come on, let’s find Eufame.”
More corridors lay beyond, all identical and devoid of shadow. Vyolet’s gaze darted from side to side, her skin deepening to black as her discomfort grew.
“Are you all right?” asked Jyx.
“I’m not used to being so…visible. Where’s the light coming from?”
“I don’t know. Hopefully Eufame will have some way of dimming it.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Not really. I can’t visually see where she is in here, it’s just like…how do I explain it…when I get a splinter in my finger, I can use a charm to get the wood to act like a magnet to pull the splinter our, and it feels like that. There’s a little piece of Eufame in my head from where she set up the Perpetual Death spell, and it’s looking for her,” replied Jyx. On cue, it gave another pull, and dragged him down a corridor to the right.
“Is she far away?”
“I don’t think so. The pull’s definitely getting stronger. She spoke inside my mind when we were outside, but I can’t hear anything now we’re in here. It’s weird.”
They walked on, hand in hand, marvelling at the silent corridors. Even their feet made no noise on the marble floor, and an image of the skeleton embedded in the tiles at the House of the Long Dead popped into Jyx’s head. Apparently the Delsenza siblings favoured marble.