The Cathedral of Known Things

by Edward Cox

  When the howl subsided, Clara began retching. More dull cracks were followed by pops and clicks, along with wet stretching, like limbs twisting in their sockets. Clara issued a series of whines so heartfelt that to Van Bam’s ears they might as well have been coherent cries for help. The whines deepened, became more agitated, and then the sound of the wolf thrashing on the floor.

  Samuel held onto the thick metal bars of the cell door with white-knuckled tightness.

  ‘Clara is changing,’ Van Bam said.

  Samuel nodded. His face was downcast, his eyes closed.

  In a position to do nothing but listen to the nerve-shredding noise of Clara’s physiological reorganisation, Van Bam placed a hand on the wall separating their cells. He prayed for Clara to be brave, that the metamorphosis into human form would be swift for her, less violent and agonising than when she had changed into the wolf out in the alleyways of the Great Labyrinth.

  Please, Gideon, the illusionist thought. I beg of you – help Clara through this. Find no enjoyment in her suffering.

  Once more, the ghost remained silent.

  The wolf howled again. Another protracted, bestial cry, this time rising in pitch until it became strangled, gargled, caught between human and animal, and finally the distinct scream of a young woman in the clutch of furious magic. The sickening noise of shifting joints, of shrinking flesh and creaking tendons, cracking bones and twisting limbs suddenly, thankfully, ended, and Clara’s voice subsided into gentle and very human sobbing.

  ‘Clara,’ said Van Bam.

  The sobbing increased.

  ‘Please, Clara, speak to me.’

  It was Gideon who replied. I’m sorry, my idiot, but Miss Clara isn’t receiving gentleman callers right now.

  His chuckling continued inside Van Bam’s head until it was brought to a halt by a clunk that was quickly followed by the jailhouse door swinging open and the light prism glaring into life.

  The simpleton Hillem was the first to enter the room, where he cowered with a sheepish expression. Angry voices followed him, and then Supervisor Marca appeared, wearing a face like thunder. Hot on his heels was an elderly Aelf with a stern expression, wrapped up against the cold in a thick cloak of fine blue material.

  ‘I don’t know how you heard about this, Tal,’ Marca said angrily. ‘I certainly never sent for you.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ the elderly Aelf replied, his tone severe. ‘You must remind me to ask you why that was, Supervisor.’

  Before Marca could reply, Hillem began choking on his words and pointed at Clara’s cell. His face bemused, Hillem’s mouth worked silently for a moment before he said, ‘What happened to it?’

  Tal frowned and looked for himself. When he saw what it was the simpleton was pointing at, his large eyes narrowed dangerously and he became infuriated.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this, Marca?’ he demanded hotly. ‘I swear to the Timewatcher, if you’ve laid one finger on this girl—’

  ‘I haven’t touched her!’ Marca said, outraged. He took a step closer to the cell, his expression as puzzled as Hillem’s. ‘She was a wolf the last time I saw her. Bloody big one too.’

  ‘I think you’ll find she is changeling,’ Tal said with strained calm, and he rounded on Hillem. ‘Give this girl some clothes.’

  Hillem seemed confused. He looked about him for a moment, and then showed the elderly Aelf his empty hands. ‘I ain’t got any.’

  ‘Then go and find some, you imbecile.’

  When Hillem didn’t move, merely turning his dumb, watery eyes to Marca for guidance, Tal lost all patience.

  ‘Do as you’re told!’ he shouted, his face reddening. The anger in his voice sent Hillem scurrying from the room.

  Tal rounded on Marca. ‘You have a lot to learn about civility, Supervisor.’

  Marca shrugged and looked into Van Bam’s cell with a sneer.

  Tal undid the gold clasp on his thick cloak and pushed it through the bars of Clara’s cell. ‘Here, child,’ he said kindly. ‘Cover yourself.’

  Clara sniffed, and Van Bam heard her climb up onto a bunk. He shared a look with Samuel, whose pale blue eyes were glaring at Supervisor Marca.

  Tal moved along and took stock of the two humans inhabiting the cell next to Clara’s. The elderly Aelf ’s blue three-piece suit was as finely tailored as his cloak. He looked to be older than Van Bam and Samuel by at least a decade.

  After a long moment of silent contemplation, Tal said, ‘Marca, have you offered these people a change of clothes or a bath? Have you fed them?’

  ‘No.’ Marca’s tone was defensive. ‘They broke the Timewatcher’s law.’

  Still looking at Van Bam and Samuel, the elderly Aelf raised an eyebrow. ‘So you thought you’d let them go hungry as punishment?’

  ‘No point in feeding them. They’ll probably get executed anyway.’

  ‘Is that a fact? Have you bothered to ask them why they are here?’

  ‘Wouldn’t tell me. Makes no difference, anyway – they’re human.’

  ‘Meaning what, exactly? That they’re animals?’

  Tal’s voice was calm, almost gentle, but it carried an unmistakable scalding undertone. Behind him, Marca’s face flushed angrily.

  ‘Look, Councillor,’ Marca snapped. ‘They broke the Timewatcher’s law. I’m not the one in the wrong here.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ Tal said. ‘I rather think that as soon as these people set foot in Sunflower your first duty should have been to alert the Panopticon of Houses. Which I’m assuming you haven’t done.’

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ Marca said defensively. ‘If they hadn’t broken the law, this place wouldn’t be at a standstill.’

  Tal blinked several times, and then turned from the humans in the cell to face Marca. ‘What exactly do you mean by standstill? Am I to understand the warehouse has stopped delivering cargo to the Labyrinth?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘On whose authority?’

  ‘Mine.’ Marca seemed proud of this. ‘Don’t see how we can carry on now.’

  Tal drew an obviously calming breath. ‘Supervisor, offering these people no food is bad enough, but what about the other million mouths that need feeding? Is it your wish to starve every denizen of Labrys Town to death?’

  Marca remained silent.

  ‘We must not live a day without sending the Labyrinth all that its denizens require,’ the elderly Aelf continued. ‘That is also the Timewatcher’s law, Supervisor. Please, be so kind as to observe it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I want that warehouse back up and running within the hour. Is that clear?’

  ‘You can’t just—’

  ‘Go and do your job!’ the elderly Aelf bellowed. ‘Before I employ someone else to do it.’

  Marca tried and failed to hold Tal’s hard glare.

  ‘On your head be it,’ Marca snapped, and he strode from the jailhouse, slamming the door behind him.

  The elderly Aelf watched after him for a moment, and then gave a sympathetic frown into Clara’s cell before offering Van Bam and Samuel a friendly smile.

  ‘Sorry about him,’ he said. ‘Marca always has been a little disagreeable, but he is surprisingly good at supervising Sunflower. Usually.’ His smile faltered slightly. ‘The last thing any of us expected was a visit from humans. Would you mind telling me how you managed to escape the Labyrinth?’

  Samuel folded his arms across his chest, saying nothing, and Van Bam watched as the elderly Aelf pulled a puzzled face and walked over to the table beneath the window.

  He lifted up Samuel’s utility belt and slid out Van Bam’s cane from beneath it. He turned the length of green glass in his hands, giving it close scrutiny.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Aelfirian-made, if I’m not mistaken.’ He looked pointedly at Van Bam. ‘An illusionist�
��s wand, am I right?’

  Van Bam didn’t reply. The elderly Aelf pursed his lips, placed the cane back onto the table, and approached the cell again.

  ‘I can appreciate why you would be reluctant to speak after such a hostile reception, but you must realise that you will have to explain your presence to someone, eventually. And I’m rather hoping that someone could be me.’

  His words were met by more silence.

  ‘All right,’ he said, ‘let’s begin with me, shall we? I am Councillor Tal. I represent the Aelfheim Archipelago within the Panopticon of Houses – an institution that was founded after the Genii War, so I can be fairly certain that you have not heard of it.’

  Van Bam allowed him a small shake of his head.

  Councillor Tal continued. ‘As you can see, I’m enjoying my winter years – by which I mean that I’m old enough to remember the Great Labyrinth, the denizens of Labrys Town, and the magickers who served that noble administration called the Relic Guild.’ His eyes shifted to Samuel. ‘I recognise a changeling and an illusionist, but what are you, my friend?’

  He sighed when Samuel replied with a glare as silent as it was hard.

  ‘I don’t know how you managed to get out of the Labyrinth,’ Tal said. ‘Perhaps it’s not important for now. But I can say you’ve caused quite a stir in Sunflower, to put it mildly. Tongues wag, gentlemen, and I should think word of your arrival is already spreading through all the sub-Houses of the Aelfheim Archipelago. Please, help me to help you. You may consider me a friend.’

  There’s more to this Aelf than meets the eye, Gideon said in Van Bam’s mind. But I think he’s telling the truth, my idiot.

  How is Clara? Van Bam said.

  Exhausted and sleeping, Gideon replied testily. Now stop fussing like an old nanny, and focus on the job at hand.

  Although Councillor Tal’s smile and genial manner never faltered, his shades were fluxing to Van Bam’s inner vision. As an Aelfirian politician, he had undoubtedly been trained to hide many things, but he could not hide everything from the scrutiny of an illusionist. Tal was not shocked or surprised by the humans who had suddenly appeared on his doorstep; he was more concerned with whatever news they might be carrying. And Van Bam’s scrutiny agreed with Gideon’s assumption; this Aelf could indeed be trusted, at least to put the Relic Guild in touch with the right people.

  With a quick look at Samuel, Van Bam stepped closer to the cell bars. ‘My name is Van Bam,’ he said. ‘This is Samuel, and the changeling in the next cell is named Clara.’

  Tal nodded appreciatively. ‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

  ‘We are indeed what remains of the Relic Guild,’ Van Bam continued. ‘And until very recently, I was the Resident of Labrys Town.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ Tal said with a frown, ‘but don’t the Residents remain in their position until death?’

  ‘I was deposed from the Nightshade.’

  ‘Deposed? My old memory might not be as sharp as it once was, but I remember well that only the magic of the Nightshade itself could decide who succeeded a Resident.’

  ‘It is a long story, Councillor.’

  ‘Well, we seem to have time for little else at present.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure,’ Samuel said.

  Tal stared at him.

  ‘Councillor,’ said Van Bam. ‘It is imperative that I speak with the very highest authority.’

  ‘Oh? And who would you consider the very highest?’

  Van Bam paused. ‘I need to contact the Thaumaturgists.’

  Aelfirian eyes widened, and Tal’s face became tinged with an unreadable hue. ‘Why?’

  ‘I will give my reasons to the Thaumaturgists alone.’

  ‘Then you have a problem,’ Tal said, not unkindly. He looked from one man to the other. ‘Please understand – the Panopticon of Houses was established as a democratic union. Every Aelfirian House that survived the Genii War was given a seat within its structure. The Panopticon of Houses is the governing body that has ruled over the Aelfir ever since the Timewatcher and Her Thaumaturgists abandoned us.’

  Van Bam felt Samuel stiffen beside him. He resisted the urge to step away from Tal, trying to deny his inner vision that was showing him that the elderly councillor was telling the open and honest truth.

  That puts an interesting icing on the cake, Gideon sniffed.

  ‘They abandoned you?’ Van Bam said to Tal.

  ‘As certainly as they abandoned the denizens of the Labyrinth,’ Tal assured the illusionist almost apologetically.

  ‘Why?’ Samuel demanded, his tone accusing.

  Tal shrugged. ‘We were never given a definitive reason. Were you?’

  Van Bam and Samuel shared a long look. Samuel swore under his breath.

  Oh, grow some balls, Gideon said. We’ve been in worse positions than this before … haven’t we?

  ‘It seems that humans and Aelfir have a lot to catch up on,’ Tal said. ‘I’m sorry to be the one to give you this news, but the Houses haven’t heard from the Thaumaturgists since the end of the Genii War. We have no way of contacting them, and I really don’t think they’re coming back.’

  The elderly Aelf took a step closer to the cell, his expression stony. ‘You should know that you have friends within the Panopticon of Houses, but not every House thinks of the Labyrinth favourably.’ His voice was earnest. ‘I beg you to trust me before you come to the attention of someone … less sympathetic. Now, if you were deposed, who is controlling the Nightshade?’

  Samuel looked away from Van Bam, turning his heavy scowl toward the floor. ‘Tell him,’ he whispered.

  Van Bam licked his lips. ‘Councillor Tal, have you heard the name Fabian Moor?’

  Tal didn’t reply, but his expression became shrewd.

  That’s a resounding yes, Gideon drawled. Can you see his shade of confirmation, my idiot? It’s as if he was expecting you to mention Moor’s name.

  Van Bam had to agree. ‘Councillor?’ he said curiously. ‘What do you know of Fabian Moor?’

  ‘I remember he was the most dangerous Genii under Spiral’s command.’ Tal drew a breath, seemed hesitant to speak further, but finally continued, albeit reluctantly. ‘I heard a story that he managed to break into the Labyrinth during the war, but that the Relic Guild killed him.’

  ‘We heard the same story,’ Samuel muttered bitterly.

  ‘Until very recently,’ Van Bam explained, ‘we indeed believed Fabian Moor to be dead.’

  To Van Bam’s inner vision, Tal’s shades brightened with another flush of confirmation. ‘He survived the war?’

  ‘And he returned to Labrys Town, Councillor,’ said Van Bam. ‘He has gained control of the Nightshade.’

  ‘And he brought friends with him, too,’ Samuel added, ‘The Labyrinth belongs to the Genii now.’

  ‘Impossible,’ Tal whispered. His large eyes glazed and stared into an unknown distance. ‘No Genii survived the war. The Timewatcher destroyed them all.’

  Listen to him! Gideon scoffed. He doesn’t believe his own words!

  But he believed the Relic Guild.

  Van Bam wondered if Councillor Tal had been expecting their arrival for a long time, waiting for the day when they would bring this dire news to him.

  ‘Please understand,’ said Van Bam levelly. ‘How Fabian Moor and his fellow Genii survived is academic. We can only guess what their future plans are for the Aelfirian Houses, but at present they threaten the lives of one million denizens.’ He paused. ‘Now, Councillor, I believe there is something you are not telling us, yes?’

  When the elderly Aelf didn’t reply, Samuel took a step forward. ‘Councillor!’ he snapped.

  Tal’s eyes gained focus and he stared intently at Van Bam.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ he said. He pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the
time. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to remain locked in here for the time being,’ he continued, his voice growing distant as he turned from the cell and made his way to the door. ‘I-I have to make arrangements.’

  ‘Councillor?’ said Van Bam.

  Tal paused to glance into Clara’s cell, and then back at Van Bam and Samuel. He seemed to have aged.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I have to contact the Panopticon of Houses on this matter. But I will do all I can to rally those who are still your friends.’

  And with that, he left.

  Sergeant Ennis was twenty-six years of age. He had been born a generation too late to have known the Aelfir, to have known a time when the doorways of the Great Labyrinth had led to their fabled Houses. But he had heard the stories, and he knew well the history of his hometown. Never once, even in tales of the most ancient of times, could Ennis remember reading or hearing of public execution being condoned in the Labyrinth’s society.

  ‘… and to top it all off, today’s cargo deliveries still haven’t started arriving,’ Captain Moira was saying. ‘Troubling times, I’m sure you’ll agree.’

  Ennis nodded. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  Moira was in her office, at a desk upon which, Ennis noted, the remnants of Jeter’s possessions still sat. She was in her middle years, her short hair greying. Lines of concern covered her face; wrinkles of worry surrounded her eyes. There was a second chair on the opposite side of the desk, which she hadn’t invited her sergeant to use. He stood at attention before her.

  ‘It might be difficult to stomach,’ Moira continued, ‘but Jeter’s execution was just.’ She was trying very hard to mean it. ‘The example made of him will serve as a reminder to us all.’

  A reminder of what? Ennis wondered, unable to stop thinking of the Woodsman. That the new Resident is willing to abuse the use of magic and serve justice with wild demons? He struggled to rid his mind of the images of a virus-ravaged Jeter being hacked to pieces.

  Moira’s gaze shifted to the eye device fixed to the wall behind Ennis. The normally white fluid within the hemisphere of glass had turned a shade of pink – as it had in all the eyes of Labrys Town. The fluid was calm and not churning, suggesting that that the conversation was not being observed. ‘We must not be weak. Understood, Sergeant?