The Necromancer's Rogue

by Icy Sedgwick

  Jyx smiled when she described the helpful tabby cat. “That was Bastet. She’s Eufame’s…well I don’t know if she’s a pet, a familiar, or something else, but she lives at the House of the Long Dead. I saw her earlier at Mr Rosemary’s shop.” Jyx told his own tale of getting to Holst Alley.

  “Do you think it was the same two Dreadguards?” Vyolet asked when he’d finished.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I got along here well before you got back from the archives, so I don’t know how they’d have gotten from here, down to the warehouse district, and back again for you to have seen them twice.”

  “So, what do we do?” Vyolet peered out of the window, her smoke-like skin becoming tangible in the dim light from the lamps outside.

  “We avoid them. I’m guessing you found something in the archives then?”

  “Yeah, Eufame thinks she knows where the Heart is, and we’re going to go and look for it. We have to meet her at the temple.”

  “Why the temple?”

  “There’s an old chapel for a cult that’s since fallen out of favour. It was blocked up but it’s believed to lead into the ruins of the original city. Eufame thinks it’s down there.”

  “I wonder what the original city was like. It’s bad enough living underground in this City – imagine being even further down,” said Jyx.

  “Yeah, I can’t picture it at all,” replied Vyolet. “But we’d better get going.”

  “I’ll have to tell my mother I’m leaving again,” said Jyx.

  “That’s okay.” Vyolet moved towards the door and dived into the shadow beside the fireplace as the door swung open. Jyx’s mother stood silhouetted in the doorway.

  “Ah, Jyx, you’re awake. I thought I heard voices.” She came into the room and turned up the gas lamps.

  “Yeah, my friend’s here. Remember how I said I was expecting someone?”

  “Yes! Well where is he then? Let me see him. I meet so few of your friends.” His mother looked around the room and Jyx realised she expected to see another boy from the Academy.

  “She’s behind you,” said Jyx, pointing to the fireplace.

  Vyolet stepped out of the shadows and folded her hands behind her back. Jyx’s mother turned around and screamed.

  “It’s a Shadowkin!” She stared at Jyx, her mouth agape.

  “Mum, this is Vyolet. Vyolet, this is my mum.” Jyx stood up and moved across the room to stand beside Vyolet.

  “Your friend…is a Shadowkin?” Jyx’s mother shrank away from Vyolet.

  “Yes. She is.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, ma’am,” said Vyolet. She dipped in an awkward parody of a curtsey.

  “I’m sorry but no son of mine will be friends with a Shadowkin,” replied his mother.

  Jyx looked at Vyolet. Tears swam in her violet eyes and she dropped her gaze. Jyx put his arm around her. His mother turned pale.

  “She’s a good person, Mum. She’s helped me out of a few tight spots.”

  “Shadowkin aren’t good people, Jyx. They’re thieves and spies.” His mother glanced at the mantelpiece, her gaze seeking out her few ornaments.

  “I don’t have time to argue. Vyolet came to get me because I’ve got an errand to run for Miss Delsenza. We can talk about this more when I get back.” Jyx guided Vyolet towards the door.

  “Are you bringing it home with you?” asked Jyx’s mother.

  Vyolet broke free from his grasp and fled along the corridor. She disappeared into the shadows by the front door. Jyx turned around in the doorway.

  “Vyolet has a name, Mum. You sent me to the Academy so I’d see more of the world, and I’m glad you did because if you hadn’t, I’d never have met Vyolet. Do you know how many friends I had at the Academy? Just one, and even then, he was only friends with me because he had no one else either. Do you know how many friends I have now?”

  Jyx’s mother simply stared at him.

  “I’d hope you’d trust my judgment, and if I say Vyolet is a good person, then she’s a good person. Not despite the fact she’s a Shadowkin, but because of it. None of us really understand them, but based on what I’ve seen in the short time I’ve known her, then I want to get to understand them. You managed to change your mind about Wolfkin, so why not Vyolet?”

  “The Wolfkin were so polite.”

  “And so was Vyolet!” Jyx clenched his hands into fists, blood roaring in his ears. He’d never had his mother pegged as the type to so vehemently dislike another species for no good reason. He’d thought she was better than that.

  “What time will you be back?” Jyx’s mother sniffed and folded her hands in front of her.

  “No, no, we’re not going to just pretend you weren’t incredibly rude to my friend, and act like everything’s fine. If you’re not going to even promise to get to know her, then I won’t be coming back at all.”

  He turned his back on his mother and stalked along the corridor. She cried after him but he’d already slammed the front door.

  Vyolet sat on the top step of the staircase, her arms wrapped around her knees. She looked up at him with wet eyes, tears glistening in tracks down her face. Jyx sat beside her and put his arm around her.

  “I’m sorry about that, Vyolet.”

  “No matter how many times humans say things like that, it still hurts, but I’ll get over it. I always do.”

  “Eufame likes you,” said Jyx.

  “I know. Eufame’s great, but she understands what it’s like to be different, to be treated like you’re a bad person just because you’re not human.”

  “I won’t pretend I know what it’s like. I mean, everyone always treated me badly at the Academy because I was poor, but I was still human.”

  Another sob escaped from Vyolet, and Jyx hugged her close.

  “I’ve never had a friend before,” she whispered.

  “Well you’ve got me now, and Fortis, and Bastet, and Eufame. Come on, we’ll go to see her, and she’ll be pleased to see you.”

  Jyx’s front door opened behind them. His mother shuffled across the landing. Vyolet shrank away, and Jyx stood up to face her.

  “You’ll be hungry again later. Both of you.” She held out two packages wrapped in brown paper. She looked at Vyolet and nodded once. Jyx accepted the packages. Vyolet nodded at his mother, unable to look at her.

  “Come back safely, my boy, and bring your friend with you. She’s not had my cherry bakewell tart yet.”

  His mother returned to the apartment, and the door closed softly behind her. Jyx looked down at Vyolet.

  “I think that’s the closest you’re going to get to an apology for now.”

  “She called me your friend.”

  “Because that’s what you are. Now come on, silly, we don’t want to keep Eufame waiting. She’s got a hell of a temper on her!”

  25

  Chapter 25

  The Shrine of Beseda lay at the far edge of the Underground City, its entrance hewn from the cliff face that formed one of its borders. A spiral staircase curved down into the bowels of the cliff, leading to the shrine itself. All of Beseda’s disciples were women, and her priestesses spent time each day with the wronged women who came to petition the goddess. Years ago, Monte’s sister had shown him an illustration of Beseda, a beautiful yet forbidding woman with the wings of an owl. She saw and knew everything, and she terrified Monte. The idea of trying to sneak into her shrine filled him with both awe and trepidation, especially as a disciple of the forbidden Lords and Ladies of Death.

  Monte, Myrtle and Mr Gondavere arrived in a hansom cab, paid for by Mr Gondavere. The cab took them to Shrine Avenue, a wide street paved with white marble that led to the shrine itself. Huge night trees lined the avenue, their branches forming a twisted arch above the pavement. Their leaves glowed in the gloom, absorbing darkness instead of light. Some said night trees fed on human blood the way ordinary trees sucked up water, but Monte didn’t know if that was just an old wives’ tale. It certainly made people less l
ikely to cut them down, just in case they had a thirst for vengeance.

  “So, what’s the plan, then? We can’t exactly just walk in,” said Monte.

  “Myrtle will enter first, and create a diversion. While the priestesses tend to her in the atrium, you and I will sneak down to the shrine. We shall locate the catacombs, and my sources tell me that the entrance into the old ruined city lies within,” replied Mr Gondavere.

  “Are you sure about this, Myrtle?” asked Monte.

  “Oh, it’ll be exciting, dear! I don’t get out much. This makes such a change!”

  Monte raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He’d often heard Myrtle slip out at night when she thought he was asleep. The Lords alone knew where she went or what she did, but Monte never confronted her. He tried to avoid arguments wherever possible.

  They walked down the avenue, Myrtle’s arm linked through Monte’s, but her gaze remained fixed on Mr Gondavere. Monte stared straight ahead so he didn’t have to look at the way she kept smiling at his employer.

  Two women stood either side of the doorway. They wore leather armour over linen tunics, with feathered capes hanging from their shoulders. One held a double-headed axe, the other a spear. They crossed their weapons to block the door.

  “Stop!” cried the woman on the right with the axe.

  The trio stopped in front of them.

  “Men are not permitted in the Shrine of Beseda.”

  “We know. We were merely accompanying my associate’s lovely wife to the door.” Mr Gondavere smiled at them.

  The guard with the spear grimaced at him. “What has a happily married wife to seek from Beseda?”

  “It depends how happily married she is, doesn’t it?” asked Monte.

  Myrtle looked up at him, and naked hatred burned in her eyes.

  Monte gazed back. He kept his expression placid yet unyielding, but a flicker of something flared in his gut. Monte couldn’t decide if it was disinterest or defiance. The glimmer of pleasure told him it was the latter.

  “Very well.” The guards uncrossed their weapons and allowed Myrtle to pass inside. Monte walked away to sit on a bench beneath the nearest night tree. Mr Gondavere joined him.

  “Your marriage is not a happy one, I take it?”

  “Not in the slightest.” Monte watched the doorway. The two guards resumed their positions, but the woman with the spear kept glancing at him. Her expression was curious, rather than hostile.

  “I am surprised. Your wife is wonderful.”

  “Many men would agree with you.” Bitterness laced Monte’s words, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. He’d tried so hard to overlook her utter indifference towards him, but the more time he spent around Mr Gondavere, the less he found he could ignore it.

  A commotion erupted inside the shrine entrance. The two guards raced inside. Female voices pitched and shrieked, broken by a bloodcurdling scream. Monte leapt to his feet and ran across the avenue to the entrance. He slipped inside.

  A staircase to his left curved down into the darkness, and a wide, circular chamber lay to his right. Four white owls attacked a bundle on the floor across the room, and two women in feathered dresses hurled incantations at the pile of fabric. Their words burned bright in the shadows, illuminating the bundle. It was Myrtle, huddled on the floor, attempting to ward off the vicious owls. The two guards stood nearby, holding back other female petitioners.

  “This is a sacred space for wronged women, not women who wrong others!” screamed one of the priestesses.

  Another incantation tore open the air, and for a split second, Monte saw Myrtle hurrying through the darkened streets of Canalsditch. She visited a cottage he didn’t recognise, later appearing dishevelled but grinning at the doorway. His heart plummeted into his stomach, smashing the web of apathy he’d built towards Myrtle. The scene changed to that of a midnight tryst between Myrtle and one of the other diggers in the graveyard. Tears prickled the back of his eyes, but anger washed away the sadness. A third scene showed Myrtle in the arms of a man clad in black. Monte grimaced and slipped down the stairs before he saw the face of the man. He didn’t need to.

  Mr Gondavere caught up with him at the bottom of the spiral staircase. A passageway would take them into the shrine, but the locked grate to their left was of more interest to Mr Gondavere. Darkness lay beyond, and the scent of grave dirt and wet stone drifted into the stairwell. Monte glared into the darkness.

  “This must surely be the entrance to the catacombs. Somewhere in there lies the entrance to the ruined city,” said Mr Gondavere.

  “There’s nowhere else for us to go. We certainly can’t go into the shrine itself,” replied Monte. His thoughts strayed to the attack upstairs, and he hoped the owls had finished off Myrtle. The hope scared him. Before Myrtle, he’d never wished anything bad on anyone. He shoved his fists into his pockets to stop his hands from shaking.

  Mr Gondavere produced a long, thin skeleton key from inside his case. He waggled it inside the lock, and the grate swung open with a squeal. They slipped into the darkness and closed the grate behind them. Two cloaked women came out of the shrine and appeared in the stairwell. Monte pressed himself into the shadows.

  “I could’ve sworn I heard something out here,” said one of the women.

  “Sounded like the gate but it looks locked,” replied the other.

  The first woman rattled the gate.

  “It is locked. We must be hearing things.”

  They retreated into the shrine, and Monte let out the breath he’d been holding.

  “Come along, my good man. Time waits for no man.” Mr Gondavere’s voice grew faint as he walked away along the corridor.

  Monte followed, keeping one arm outstretched to his right and the other in front. He trailed his fingers along the wall, tracing wet stones thick with moss. He blinked but it didn’t help. The shadows were impenetrable. Flashes of the scenes from the shrine kept lighting up the darkness.

  “There’s a corner coming up, Monte. Once we’re around it, I’ll strike a light so we may see.” Mr Gondavere’s voice was closer this time.

  Monte’s fingers brushed the wall in front of him, and he followed the wall to his right until it met another wall. He marked the path of the corner and moved along the passage.

  Pale blue light flared in front of him, and Monte gasped to see flames flickering from Mr Gondavere’s hand.

  “What manner of goblin nonsense is this?” he asked.

  “A parlour trick I learned from a mage, nothing more.”

  “It looks like marsh fire,” replied Monte. He’d seen similar flames in the graveyard, burning above graves that he could never find if the fires flickered out. No matter how far he walked towards the flames, he remained the same distance away from them. Legends abounded among the gravediggers of individuals driven mad by the ‘marsh fire’.

  “I can assure you, it’s merely a trick.” Mr Gondavere’s voice skated on a knife edge, and Monte decided to drop the subject. He’d file it away with all of the other things he wanted to ask about.

  They walked in silence along the corridor. Huge slabs of stone made up the walls, and a shallow vault served as a ceiling. Monte fought to keep his thoughts on the task at hand. He hadn’t even known this place existed yesterday, and now here he was, exploring it.

  “I must say, I rather thought you would be more emotional about the demise of your wife,” said Mr Gondavere. “She was a beautiful woman.”

  “We hadn’t been happy for a while. I tried, she didn’t.” Monte thought again of her spectacular garden, the focus of her main efforts in life. The visions he’d seen upstairs turned the thought sour, the blooms shrivelling in the light of her deceit.

  “At least she served a noble purpose. When I asked her to create a diversion, I believed she would feign a fit, or some such. I had no idea the priestesses would fall upon her in such a way.”

  “Would you have kept your hands off her if you had?” Monte couldn’t stop the words coming out
of his mouth, speaking them aloud before he’d even realised his mind could form them.

  Mr Gondavere stopped and turned around. The flames cast flickering shadows across his face that distended and contracted his features, giving him the fluid appearance of a goblin.

  “It is true that your wife was most accommodating. It has been a long time since I have been spoken to kindly by a woman. That is all I will say on the matter.”

  “Exactly who, or what, are you?”

  “Your employer, for the time being, at least.” Mr Gondavere continued along the corridor.

  Monte glared at his back. He dug his nails into his palms to stop himself flying at such a strange man. Or creature. How could Myrtle…with him? Monte bit his tongue to keep himself from retching.

  The corridor opened into an anteroom. Brick pillars held up the vaulted ceiling, and marble pillars marked a doorway in the opposite wall. A marble slab formed a lintel, bearing the inscription, ‘Behold the Empire of Death. Tread carefully or not at all.’ Mr Gondavere ignored the inscription and walked beneath the lintel. Monte performed the respectful salute of the gravediggers and passed into the catacombs.

  As a gravedigger, he’d seen hundreds of coffins, and plenty of bodies wound in burial shrouds, yet he’d seen few dead bodies openly on display. The catacombs shocked him into silence. Bones were piled on either side of the long, low passageway. Grinning skulls leered at him among smooth thighbones. Monte had expected coffins resting in loculi, not human remains in the open.

  “Do you know the history of these catacombs?” Mr Gondavere’s flickering blue flames lent the skulls a fleeting form of animation, their empty eye sockets following Monte’s progress.

  “No, sir,” replied Monte. The shock of the sight had forced a modicum of respect out of him.

  “These were once followers of the Lords and Ladies of Death. They had magnificent tombs, full of statuary and the noblest forms of funereal art. When the Lords and Ladies were cast down by Brigante Delsenza, the tombs were torn open, the statuary dispersed, and the art sold off. The bones were thrown in here to be forgotten.”