The Necromancer's Rogue

by Icy Sedgwick

  “I don’t know. I suppose so. I’ve never really had much to do with the Shadowkin since I was little. My mother disappeared when I was young, so I grew up in and around the Flee Market, running errands and so on. I only see my brother occasionally.”

  “You don’t simply run errands now, though?”

  “No, I have a wider skill set. I’ve been called a rogue, a thief, and a spy, though I usually just steal information. I’ve been a lot busier these past few weeks.”

  “I’m not surprised. Machinations against the Underground City have really stepped up a gear. I daresay you’ve intercepted a lot of important communications from the City Above.”

  Vyolet opened her mouth to reply, but the group stopped as the corridor ended in a pitted door of dark wood. Carved sigils covered its surface, and Mara held her hand against a whirled design in the central panel. She barked twice and the door swung inwards.

  A huge, vaulted room opened out before her. Long tables ran down the centre of the room and bookshelves lined the outer walls. More cases formed aisles along either side of the tables. Vyolet and Eufame stepped into the space behind Mara, but Validus and Fortis stayed behind in the corridor.

  “Aren’t they coming in too?” asked Vyolet.

  “The archives are the preserve of female Wolfkin,” replied Mara.

  Validus barked a goodbye to Eufame, and Fortis wrapped his hands around the simple sign for ‘I will see you later’. The male Wolfkin turned and walked back down the tunnel, and Mara closed the door behind them.

  “You’ll have to be my interpreter now. I can talk to Mara in Wolfkin but you won’t understand, so I’ll speak to her aloud, and then you can interpret her Shadow Speak replies,” said Eufame.

  Vyolet raised one eyebrow but said nothing. Tales abounded about Eufame Delsenza, the dreaded necromancer general of the House of the Long Dead, but all of them described her as a cold, distant and somewhat cruel figure. None of them considered her to be in any way thoughtful.

  “Mara, the Wolfkin were some of the earliest inhabitants of the Underground City. What drew you here?” asked Eufame.

  “We once lived in the forests where the City Above now stands. There was a harsh winter and we descended into the caverns to seek shelter. We found the Underground City, still in its infancy, and at first, we were welcomed as both teachers and protectors,” replied Mara. She gestured to a vast fresco on the wall above the bookcases behind them, depicting female Wolfkin surrounded by human children, with male Wolfkin standing guard at the door. Vyolet scowled. She’d seen it before, on one of the chapel walls in the temple, with one difference – the Wolfkin had been replaced by smiling humans. Vyolet related what Mara had signed, and told Eufame of the copycat painting. A dark cloud settled across the necromancer’s face and a spark of fear flared in Vyolet’s gut.

  “Had you ever heard stories of an earlier City, below this one?” asked Eufame.

  “Yes. Many of my ancestors searched for it. Some of our number continue to do so.”

  “Why?” asked Vyolet.

  “Many reasons. We are a curious race; we like to explore. We like to know things. We like to study the people who have gone before. How did people live in a City so much further underground? What happened to it? It is also said to house many treasures.”

  “Like what?”

  “The Heart of the City is rumoured to be down there.” Mara got up from the table and disappeared among the stacks.

  “Humans make me sick.” Eufame kept her voice low. “They’ve completely legislated the Wolfkin into subservience. Imagine what they could teach the idiots that live in both Cities.”

  “Can I ask you something?” asked Vyolet.

  “You may.”

  “If you’re not a human, what are you?”

  To Vyolet’s surprise, Eufame laughed. Her face creased in mirth and the severity of her sharp features dissolved. The giggle that erupted from the necromancer did not sound at all like a noise that a truly soulless being could make, and Vyolet found herself smiling in return. Some of the Wolfkin looked across at their table, but their expressions were those of curiosity, not annoyance.

  “I’m descended from a race that evolved to look like humans. Millennia ago, I wouldn’t have looked the way I do now. There aren’t many of us left, but that’s mostly because all but my siblings left to explore other planes of existence. We do so while staying on this one,” replied Eufame.

  “Is that why you can go beyond the Veil?”

  “It’s one of the reasons. Humans call my race banshees but it’s a lot more complicated than that. We’re a lot older than that term, believe me.”

  Mara returned holding a large book bound in deep red leather. She opened it and flicked through its yellowed pages. Vyolet inhaled the scent of ancient knowledge and old paper and smiled. Laughter sparkled in the Wolfkin’s black eyes.

  “Here,” said Mara, laying the book on the table.

  Vyolet and Eufame peered at the woodcut illustration on the open page. It showed a mighty female warrior, wearing a tall, plumed helmet and bearing a shield and long thin spear. She wore a long robe, clasped at the shoulder.

  “This is the goddess of the First City, as we call it. You know her legend, yes?”

  Eufame and Vyolet nodded.

  “It is her heart that is the Heart of the City. The common belief is that whoever controls her heart controls the twin Cities, but this is a misconception. No one can control a warrior goddess. However, whoever wakes her can lay their case to her and she may protect the Cities.”

  “Ah, now that sounds more like what we need,” said Eufame. “I didn’t like the sound of trying to control a goddess who died fighting a hydra.”

  “Validus has told me of the problems with the City Council, and I think she would be most helpful in preventing the destruction of the Underground City. However, there are two issues that you must be aware of.”

  “Yes?”

  “First, the Heart is broken.”

  “It’s what?” Eufame stared at Mara, her wintry eyes wide.

  Vyolet gazed at the woodcut in the book, trying to imagine what could possibly break the heart of a goddess, particularly one that had been dead for centuries.

  “It is broken. When the goddess died, she turned to stone. The Almighty Crack was the sound of her heart breaking.”

  “Damn. That’s a problem indeed. What’s the other issue?”

  “You’re not the only one seeking it.”

  The dark cloud descended across Eufame’s face for a second time, and Vyolet shuddered to think of the storm it might unleash.

  18

  Chapter 18

  Jyx made his way through the alleyways of the Underground City, putting the Flee Market behind him. He’d loved it as a child, enjoying its hustle and bustle and diverse array of wares. He’d grown to hate it during his teenage years, seeing it as a pale shadow of the vast market of wonders in Monument Square in the City Above. So much of the Underground City disgusted him in comparison, yet he still called it home. Even if he managed to become a mage in the Autumn Gloaming, he’d never fit in Above. He’d always be “that boy who grew up Underground”.

  Validus walked tall and proud, and Jyx tried to emulate him. If he either ran or tried to hide in the shadows, he’d draw attention to himself, so he held his back straight and tried to move as Eufame did. No urchins approached him, and housewives veered out of his path.

  The old tenement he once called home lay in Green Dragon Close, near the boundary thoroughfare of Edge Street. He didn’t know the area around the temple well at all, and the unfamiliar street signs gave no clues as to the whereabouts of Holst Alley. He couldn’t even ask anyone if they knew where to find Housewife Faire, since Eufame changed her name before the family relocated. He’d have to find the house itself.

  Green Dragon Close stood in a network of narrow alleys, boasting grimy windows and gas lamps that flickered endlessly whenever they bothered to light at all. By contrast, the dis
trict near the temple was more well to do. Bow windows protruded into the street to advertise the wares of the shops. Metal signs hung high up on the walls to alert passers-by to the presence of craftspeople and their workshops in the neighbourhood. Gas lamps burned near the signs, casting clean white light into the street below.

  A shop on his left caught his attention. Books crowded its narrow window, decorated with small clay figures and silk flowers. Gold paint picked out the name of the shop on a faded wooden sign above the window, advertising the bookseller as being “Mr PT Rosemary”. A tiny sigil, representing ‘Peace’, appeared in the wooden lintel above the door and Jyx recognised the scratchmarks as the work of a passing Wolfkin.

  He pushed open the door and a tiny bell jangled above his head. Books covered every available surface, crammed together on creaking shelves and leaning against the walls in piles almost as tall as Jyx. More clay figures peeped out from behind the leather-bound tomes, and Jyx recognised them as the same ibis-headed deity he’d seen in Eufame’s library. Silk flowers stood in black vases between more piles of books on low tables around the room. White figures of animal-headed people drawn in profile decorated the vases.

  An elderly man stood behind the counter. He wore a tweed waistcoat and matching trousers, with red silk bands around the billowing sleeves of his white shirt at the shoulder and elbow. At the sound of the bell, he looked up from polishing his spectacles.

  “Ah, good day to you, my young fellow.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling behind the spectacles as he pushed them back up his nose.

  “Hello. Are you Mr Rosemary?” asked Jyx.

  “I am. And to whom am I speaking?”

  “Markus. Markus Prady.” The name of his old school friend, perhaps his only friend at the Academy, sprang to his lips.

  “Master Prady, eh?”

  Jyx nodded, but Mr Rosemary narrowed his eyes slightly, peering at a spot just above Jyx’s left shoulder. Jyx swallowed hard and drew himself up to his full height. He’d had a growth spurt during the past few months and wasn’t used to being almost six feet tall.

  “Well then. Is there something I can help you find?”

  “Actually, I’m after directions. Do you know where I can find Holst Alley?”

  “And what do you want with Holst Alley?”

  “Someone told me the finest seamstress in the City lives there and I’ve torn my Academy robes.”

  “Academy, eh?” Mr Rosemary eyed the House of the Long Dead insignia on the front of his purple robes, and Jyx mentally kicked himself.

  “Yes, that’s why I’m wearing these. I couldn’t possibly disgrace the Academy by wearing the ones I tore. The rip is in a, ahem, delicate place,” replied Jyx. Lying made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t know if he could trust Mr Rosemary. Just because he had a sigil on the door and familiar statues around the room didn’t mean he was safe.

  “I quite understand. Then you need to simply continue along this street until you come to Grieg Close. Turn down there, and Holst Alley is the third on your left.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Quite all right, and Master Faire, I’d see about applying a mirror enchantment if I were you,” said Mr Rosemary.

  Jyx froze by the door, his hand curled around the handle.

  “Yes, I recognised you the minute you came in the door. Don’t worry, few people would, but we have some mutual friends. They’ve got eyes and ears everywhere on your behalf, but there are other folk who are looking for you for other reasons.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not strong enough to detect that, but not everyone looks on you with a kindly eye.”

  “What should I do?” A bead of cold sweat trickled down Jyx’s back.

  “Here. There are plenty of mirror spells in here. Any one of them will help deflect attention away from you.” Mr Rosemary reached below the counter and pulled out a thin leather-bound book. He pushed it towards Jyx.

  “Wouldn’t Shadow magick do the same thing?”

  “Yes, but that’s what you’d be expected to use. Always do the unexpected and no one will ever predict what you’ll do next.” Mr Rosemary stepped back from the counter and put his hands in his pockets.

  Satisfied that the bookseller wouldn’t grab his wrists and call for the City Guard, Jyx edged towards the counter. He picked up the book, and read the title. Speculum fascinatio – Mirror Magick.

  “How much is it?”

  “Don’t worry, Miss Delsenza has an account here. I’ll add it to that. She can thank me later. Hm, I think you should have this, too.”

  Mr Rosemary handed Jyx a small pouch of sand. He nodded once and bustled away into the next room, saying hello to someone Jyx couldn’t see. Jyx hurried to the door before the unseen observer could catch him.

  A cat mewed. Jyx paused, and turned around. Bastet stood in the doorway, twitching the tip of her tail.

  “Bastet!” Jyx bent down, and Bastet trotted across the shop. She rubbed her head against his hand, purring as she curled her tail around his wrist.

  “Is this guy all right then?” he asked in a low whisper.

  Bastet mewed again, pausing long enough during the petting to stare into his eyes. That sealed it. If Mr Rosemary was good enough for Bastet, then he was good enough for Jyx.

  Bastet flicked the book with her tail, and it fell onto the floor. Jyx read the spell on the open page, printed in neat black letters on the off-white page. The enchantment was simple enough and would reflect any gaze back to its owner. It was only temporary, but it should last long enough to get him to his mother’s house.

  “Speculum mihi incumbit, ob auertat!” Jyx pronounced the words with a flourish, drawing the appropriate sigil in the air in front of his face. The air around him hummed and tiny blue sparks flickered at the edge of his vision to tell him the enchantment was in place.

  “I’ll see you soon Bastet – I’ll try to come back this way,” said Jyx, giving Bastet a final scratch behind the ears. She mewed and sat on the floor. He made his way to the door and left the shop.

  19

  Chapter 19

  Monte and Mr Gondavere reached Lockevar’s Gate after several detours and backtracks through the streets of the Canal Quarter. Mr Gondavere again suspected pursuers and ducked into doorways every time a boot scuffed the pavement behind them.

  “You never know who is watching, Monte. The City Above, more so than its underground twin, requires constant vigilance,” said Mr Gondavere.

  Monte grew weary of the delays – while he enjoyed the prolonged time in the fresh air of the City Above, he was impatient for the chance to eat and rest in familiar surroundings.

  At last the gate loomed into view, and they reached the barrier. Willum remained on guard and opened for them from the Underground City side. He smiled and clapped Monte on the back.

  “‘Ere, yer wasn’t there long, Monte!”

  “I know, we got things wrapped up quicker than we thought.” Monte shook his friend’s outstretched hand.

  “Many thanks for your assistance, my good man,” said Mr Gondavere.

  The gate closed behind him. A new group of petitioners clustered around the guard’s hut, casting evil looks at Mr Gondavere and curious stares at Monte. His shabby clothes marked him out as an inhabitant of the Underground City, and Monte didn’t want to be seen as a traitor to his home by going Above.

  Willum grabbed his wrist. “Just be careful, yeah?” Willum looked from the group of petitioners back to Monte.

  Monte nodded and followed Mr Gondavere along the cobbled road leading back into the Underground City.

  “I must ask you, how far do you live from the graveyard that you service?” asked Mr Gondavere.

  “I work in three different yards, sir, but I live in the outer wall of the Canalsditch cemetery,” replied Monte.

  “Then perhaps I may journey with you a little further after all. I require quiet in order to fully consult my sources, and there are surely few places as quiet as a graveyard, would you agr
ee?”

  Monte nodded. Who on earth could his sources be? He glanced at the petitioners by the gate, and two of them had broken away from the main group. They loitered nearby, but pretended to study the list of items that were prohibited from being carried into the City Above. Monte steered Mr Gondavere into the crowd.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” asked Mr Gondavere.

  “Not everyone looks on us with a good eye, sir. The people waiting to see if they’ll be allowed Above didn’t look very friendly.”

  Mr Gondavere nodded then hailed a cart and paid a journeyman to allow them to ride in the back with his goods. Monte kept his eyes fixed on the crowd they left behind.

  The two petitioners appeared. They started towards the cart but the journeyman cracked his whip and the horse lurched into motion. Four figures clad in blood red uniforms burst out of the crowd.

  “Look! Council guards!” Monte pointed them out to Mr Gondavere. The guards surrounded the two men. One of the guards raised his baton. The cart trundled around a corner, but the wet sound of wood on flesh smacked in the air.

  “I am scarcely surprised that the City Above has sent its own guards below. These vermin must be taught some discipline,” said Mr Gondavere.

  “Be careful what you say, sir,” said Monte. He stole a glance at the journeyman, but he either hadn’t heard or was pretending not to listen. Monte frowned. It seemed the rumours of council guard beatings were true, after all.

  Mr Gondavere sat beside him and balanced his chin on one hand, lost in contemplation. They didn’t speak during the rest of the trip across the City, heading ever downwards towards Canalsditch. The journeyman dropped them off at the edge of the district, and his horse clopped away down the street towards the warehouses.

  * * *

  Canalsditch was so named for its position alongside the mighty canal that disappeared into the cliff face, eventually coming out at the Distant Sea. Unlike the rest of the Underground City, its houses were individual dwellings, small cottages clustered together around crooked squares that provided meeting places for wakes or other funeral celebrations at the nearby graveyard. Monte’s own cottage clung to the cemetery wall, swelling from the stone like a boil. A small iron gate set into the wall allowed access directly into the graveyard from Monte’s house.