The Cathedral of Known Things

by Edward Cox

  ‘Yes,’ the disembodied reply was sibilant.

  ‘Then be so good as to announce my arrival to her, would you?’

  In reply, the ghost’s laugh rattled around Hamir, full of sadness, full of bitterness.

  Hamir cleared his throat. ‘You know, I find myself in a situation that calls for at least a modicum of brevity, Alexander. Unless she is dead, I really must insist on an audience with her Ladyship.’

  ‘Then you’re going to have a long wait.’ There was a cruel sneer to the disembodied voice. ‘Go home, Hamir.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a wise move – for me or the denizens of Labrys Town. The Genii have returned.’

  A long moment of silence passed before the ghost replied. ‘Lady Amilee no longer speaks to anyone.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Hamir pursed his lips. ‘Alexander, did you not hear what I told you? The Genii—’

  ‘I heard what you said right enough. What you’re asking for isn’t possible.’

  ‘Oh? Please explain.’

  ‘No. Go and see for yourself.’

  And with that, the ghost of the Skywatcher’s aide fell silent, and Hamir felt the presence dissolve to nothing.

  ‘Annoying,’ he said, as he marched into the elevator.

  With a low hum of thaumaturgy, the elevator rose to the highest part of the tower; its doors opened onto Lady Amilee’s domed observatory.

  Hamir was once again greeted by the air of dreary abandonment. It was cold in the observatory. Not the dead of winter kind of cold that caused water to freeze and breath to cloud; but a hopeless cold that Hamir felt, a soul-eating chill that he had come to know as the approach of death.

  Where once the observatory’s circular wall had held the dull sheen of thaumaturgy, there was now only grey, lifeless metal. The clear glass floor had once contained swirling, thaumaturgic mists, but now dirt and grime lay thickly upon it and nothing could be seen through the glass. Where the domed ceiling had glittered with the stars of a hundred thousand Houses, only the weak light of a single distant sun struggled to shine in starless space.

  But sitting at the centre of the observatory were two isolation chambers. They sat side by side, stone bodies shaped like sarcophagi, their glass lids coated by a layer of dust just as thick as that on the floor.

  Hamir stepped up to the first and wiped away the dust to peer inside. The chamber’s interior was cushioned, stitched in the shape of a person, but no one lay inside. At the head, where a person’s crown and temples would sit, three clear crystals had been placed. Inactive power stones, perhaps.

  Moving to the second isolation chamber, Hamir was by no means surprised when he wiped away the dust and discovered it was occupied by a Thaumaturgist.

  Lady Amilee could almost have been dead. Her eyes were closed, and the black diamond tattoo on her forehead stood out starkly against the pale skin of her otherwise flawless face, neither young nor old. Around her smoothly shaven head, three crystals shone with the light of thaumaturgy. Not one twitch disturbed Amilee’s features. However, Hamir could see her chest rising and falling with the shallowest of breaths.

  Sleep chambers, Hamir realised. These units were used for the art of oneiromancy, for the exploration of the dream realms. Lady Amilee’s body might have been inside her tower, but her mind was very much elsewhere.

  Hamir looked up at the single sun glinting weakly in the distant sky of the observatory’s domed ceiling.

  ‘Are you satisfied now?’ said Alexander.

  Hamir sensed the return of the ghost’s presence a moment before it spoke. The necromancer felt his patience dissolving.

  ‘Alexander,’ he said, ‘The Genii now control the Labyrinth. Does that mean nothing to you?’

  ‘What do I care for humans?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know, and have little inclination to find out.’ Hamir looked down at Amilee’s peaceful face in the sleep chamber, and then gazed around the observatory. The ghost was close by, he could feel it. ‘I’m warning you, Alexander. Either show yourself and explain to me what happened to this place, or leave me alone with my thoughts.’

  The disembodied voice laughed bitterly again. ‘You might be in love with death, necromancer, but I’m well beyond your reach now.’

  Hamir sighed. ‘I have been accused of being in love with death before, Alexander. It is a misconception, let me assure you. But if you’re suggesting that a ghost cannot feel pain then, by all means, test my patience some more.’

  Alexander’s rattling laugh was cut short as Hamir’s hand flashed out and grabbed something cold from the air.

  The ghost materialised, the tie of its spectral suit gripped in the necromancer’s fist. Details came like pencil etchings at first, drawing Alexander in varying depths of grey, until he stood as visible as a spirit could be.

  His sunken cheeks, small mouth and nose, eyes larger than any human’s, gave his face the odd triangular shape that was a trait of the Aelfir. His iron-coloured hair was wispy with age, and also sprouted from the tops of his pointed ears. His mouth open, he looked in fear at the hand that gripped his tie.

  Hamir’s teeth gritted as his magic rose within him, darkening his green eyes with inky swirls. He pulled Alexander closer to him.

  ‘I will ask you one last time, Alexander. What happened here?’

  Alexander’s small lips trembled. ‘She tried to warn them, but they wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who do you think?’ Tears of silver welled in Alexander’s eyes and his gaze shifted to the sleep chambers. ‘They abandoned her, Hamir. They imprisoned our Lady in her own tower …’

  With a piercing wail of despair that echoed around the observatory, the ghost swirled away into mist that Hamir couldn’t hold onto. The mist dissipated, leaving Hamir clutching nothing but thin air. He decided not to force Alexander back. The ghost could go and sulk in whichever corner of this once great tower he chose to haunt.

  With a sigh, Hamir dropped his hand to his side. The glass lid to the empty sleep chamber slid open with a hiss and a blast of dust. The three crystals inside began glowing with violet light, almost beckoning to the necromancer.

  With a final glance up at the distant sun winking in the domed ceiling, Hamir turned a sour expression to the sleeping face of Lady Amilee. He half expected to see a smile appear on the Skywatcher’s face.

  ‘All right, my lady,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s do this your way.’

  Hamir climbed into the empty sleep chamber, lay down and closed his eyes. The lid slid shut above him, and the light of the crystals around his head dragged his mind into the realm of dream.

  Chapter Seven

  The Decay of Labrys Town

  It rarely rained during the day in the Labyrinth. But it was raining on the day Captain Jeter was executed.

  At the very centre of Labrys Town, in a plaza known as Watcher’s Gallery, a crowd had congregated before the large square building that served as the police headquarters. The order for the gathering had gone out an hour before, a summons from the new Resident – Hagi Tabet.

  Sergeant Ennis led crowd control – not that there was anything to control. He and his small group of officers stood within the crowd beneath a grey sky, surrounded by eerie stillness only broken by raindrops tapping upon hoods and umbrellas. Ennis ignored the cold drops that dribbled down the collar of his uniform, and scanned the crowd.

  It was a select band of denizens who had been summoned by the Resident: members of the merchant guild and entertainment council, brewery officials and energy officers, delegates from the warehouse and labour unions, bankers … a gathering of Labrys Town’s elite. It was a miserable atmosphere, in which a sombre order had naturally formed.

  Like most of the people there, Ennis had thought that the reason for the meeting was to address a problem that had arisen that very morning. The deliveries of the
cargo essential to the denizens of Labrys Town were late. Thus far, not one platform of supplies had emerged from the portal outside the Nightshade. But now everyone seemed to understand that the topic of late deliveries was not the first concern on today’s agenda.

  On the lawn outside the police headquarters, four armed patrolmen guarded the emaciated form of Captain Jeter.

  With raindrops bouncing and splashing off the black glass of their receptor helmets, with power stones primed on their rifles, each officer took aim at their prisoner. The congregation fidgeted and whispered worriedly as Jeter shattered the silence with series of quick shrieks, caught between harsh coughs and barks.

  Naked, Jeter wore a metal brace around his neck that was connected to a short thick chain, which was secured by a heavy spike driven into the dirt. His body, limbs and face were clammy grey and lined with black veins like cracks in his rotting skin. What remained of his hair had been plastered to his head by the rain. Jeter strained against his chain, gnashing long teeth at the crowd, his jaundiced eyes bulging. He screamed his hunger and hate, and entered a frenzied fit of barking coughs.

  As one, the denizens drew back from Jeter. Ennis unconsciously rested a hand on the pistol holstered to his hip. But Jeter’s restraint held fast, and the crowd was kept safe from the magical virus that had beset the former police captain.

  The main doors of the police building opened, and a tall, thin woman stepped out into the plaza. She wore a priest’s cassock as black as her long straight hair. Even from a distance, Ennis could see her face was as pale and smooth as porcelain. He didn’t recognise her.

  Another figure, also dressed in a priest’s cassock, walked alongside the woman, sheltering her with an umbrella. Ennis couldn’t tell much about the figure due to the wide-brimmed hat covering the head and face, but this person was clearly deformed, and kept pace with the woman with lumbering steps. Following them was Moira, the new captain of the Labrys Town Police Force, who had attained the position only that morning. Moira’s eyes were fixed on the ground, not daring to look at the crowd.

  The woman with the porcelain face had no trouble, however. She stopped and gazed over the congregation almost happily; and when she spoke, her voice was soft – yet loud enough to be heard by all.

  ‘You may call me Lady Asajad,’ she said. ‘I am … chief aide to your Resident Hagi Tabet. My friends, I’m sure you’ll agree, today is a sad day.’

  She didn’t seem sad. In fact, to Ennis, Lady Asajad’s tone was more concurrent with the best of days.

  ‘But it is also a day for anger,’ she continued, pointing to Jeter’s ravaged form. ‘This man was weak. He was infected by the vile temptations of the Relic Guild. He failed to uphold the law of the Nightshade. He failed in his duty to protect all of you.’ Her finger swept the crowd. ‘And look what has become of him, my friends. Look very hard.’

  Although Jeter had ceased his shrieks and barks, he still pulled against the chain, this time trying to claw and gnash his way to the patrolmen surrounding him. Infection had reduced Jeter to an animal. The congregation observed him with deathly silence.

  Each person present had heard how quickly the virus spread, how it threatened every denizen. But for most, they had never seen the virus in action before. This wasn’t the first time for Ennis, however, and a grim thought told him it wouldn’t be the last.

  ‘There must be change,’ Lady Asajad said. ‘And change is not always an easy thing. Your Resident understands this, but she is brave enough to do what is necessary. For you.’

  Ennis stared at the Resident’s aide. There was something wrong with her forehead. Scarring, perhaps?

  Asajad motioned to everyone present with splayed hands, as if ready to embrace them all. ‘The Relic Guild may remain a danger to each and every one of you people, but the same mistakes will not be made twice!’ She was obviously enjoying herself. ‘Hagi Tabet demands strength and courage, and both can be found in your new police captain.’

  Beside the Resident’s aide, Captain Moira straightened her back as if standing to attention before the crowd; but her eyes drifted upwards to the grey sky, and she faced the rain with a sad expression, looking as though she would rather be anywhere else.

  ‘My friends,’ Asajad said with a fresh smile. ‘Your Resident knows what is best for your town.’

  Something began bothering Ennis, more than the incongruous nature of the day. It was a little detail out of place, tapping at the back of his mind. His eyes scoured the scene before him until it clicked, and Ennis realised there was a discrepancy in Lady Asajad’s speech. The phrasing she was using – your Resident, you people, your town. This woman did not consider herself a denizen.

  ‘The change begins today,’ she was continuing. ‘Weakness and failure will be met with intolerance!’

  Ennis braced himself – as did the rest of the crowd – suspecting that this was the moment Lady Asajad would give the order for the patrolmen to pull their triggers, to put Jeter out of his misery. But the order didn’t come. Instead, the Resident’s aide gestured with her hand. The hairs on the back of Ennis’s neck stood on end as a rent appeared in the air behind Jeter. It began as a vertical line of shadow that widened to the size and shape of a doorway which was filled with a shiny blackness, rippling like water.

  Gasps and murmurs of consternation stirred the crowd as a figure emerged.

  Seven feet tall at least, wearing a pointed hood and a leather kilt studded with rusty spikes, the thing that stepped out onto the lawn was clearly nonhuman. Its exposed skin was deathly pale, covered in stitched gashes. In its hands it held an axe big enough to match its size.

  The patrolmen forgot their duty and backed away from their captive. Jeter, too, while gripped by the madness of infection, seemed to recognise a greater might. He hunkered down on the grass, cowering and whimpering, as the creature loomed over him.

  Denizens began covering their noses as a strange and powerful smell came from the creature, a reek of decay, of age, of hopelessness, which was immediately familiar to Ennis. He had smelled it before on the few occasions he had led search and destroy parties to rid the town of wild demons that had strayed from the Retrospective.

  ‘Allow me to introduce you to the Woodsman,’ Lady Asajad told the crowd. She looked vastly pleased with the monster standing over the former captain. ‘The Relic Guild would tempt you to have faith in the worship of demons,’ she continued. ‘But let us be very clear about what it means to be at a demon’s mercy.’

  The Woodsman raised its axe. The first stroke cut vertically through Jeter’s head and the metal brace around his neck. The second, the third, the fourth and the fifth – quick and fluid – dissected him into joints that could have been displayed in a butcher’s window. Blood and offal steamed on the grass.

  The demon stepped back, its body and axe spattered with gore. At a casual hand gesture from Lady Asajad, it turned and marched back into the liquid doorway, which collapsed and disappeared behind it.

  Ennis heard the retching from within the crowd. People were looking at each other for explanations, whispering in horror.

  ‘Some lessons have to be learned harshly,’ Asajad said, ‘Soon, on behalf of your Resident, I will meet with many of you to discuss how your laws and conduct must change.’ Her smile was the coldest thing Ennis had ever witnessed. ‘That is all, my friends. For today.’

  Lady Asajad turned from the crowd and began heading back to the police building. As the person holding the umbrella turned with her, Ennis caught a glimpse of what was beneath the wide-brimmed hat: an eyeless, grotesque mask, deathly grey. Just like the faces of virus victims who survived to reach the end of infection – like those victims who turned to stone.

  Captain Moira gave a nervous glance to the crowd before slowly making her way back inside.

  Ennis shook himself and signalled to the other officers on crowd control duty. They began ushering
the denizens out of the plaza. Slowly, as though moving through a dream, Labrys Town’s elite began returning to their offices and bases. Ennis doubted they would accomplish much work today.

  Ennis stared at the remains of Jeter on the lawn before the police headquarters.

  ‘Sergeant Ennis,’ a voice called.

  Through the throng of people, a fresh-faced constable made her way over. Ennis recognised her, but didn’t know her name.

  ‘Captain Moira wants to see you, sir,’ she said. She was clearly shocked and spoke a little breathlessly. ‘After her meeting with the Resident’s aide, sir.’

  ‘What do you mean you can hear Gideon again?’ Samuel demanded.

  Van Bam sighed. The old bounty hunter had slept for less than an hour, and he had awoken in a sour mood.

  ‘It occurred when the avatar came to our aid out in the Great Labyrinth,’ Van Bam said. ‘I do not understand by what magic the avatar could have brought him back to us, Samuel, but you should know that Clara can also hear Gideon’s voice.’

  Samuel’s face dropped. ‘What?’

  Van Bam held up a hand. ‘Please, old friend. I have no explanations. Accept this as a good thing.’

  ‘Oh really? You think a giant wolf with a lunatic in her head is a good thing?’

  Van Bam cocked his head to one side as Gideon’s laugh rattled in his mind. ‘Samuel, how is it that you believe your arguments are a help at this time?’

  Just as Samuel formed a choice retort on his lips, harsh panting came from the neighbouring cell, and he became instantly tense.

  The wolf was having trouble breathing. Her panting was interspersed with small growls, as if she couldn’t decide whether to whine or bark.

  Gideon, Van Bam thought, is Clara all right?

  The ghost of the ex-Resident didn’t reply.

  A dull crack filled the air. Van Bam shared a startled look with Samuel as the wolf howled, long and hard.