by Edward Cox
‘It’s a tavern, not far from the station,’ Namji replied.
‘The portal to Known Things is in a tavern?’ asked Samuel.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Glogelder replied. ‘My contact’s going to meet us there.’
‘Everything will make sense soon enough,’ Namji promised. ‘But first, we need to conceal our weapons.’ She looked from Clara to Samuel and finally back to Van Bam. ‘And you three can’t exactly go walking round the city looking like humans. Invisibility won’t work as our contact needs to be able to see us.’
Van Bam agreed. He looked at the weaponry the group carried, and at the faces of Samuel and Clara, as human as his own. There were a lot of specific details to conceal if the group was to blend in with the citizens of this House.
‘This will take concentration,’ Van Bam said, as the train’s brakes began to squeal outside. He lifted his green glass cane in both hands. ‘Do not talk to me, and ensure I am not disturbed by outside influences.’
And that includes you, he added to Gideon.
There were a lot of characters with chequered histories in Labrys Town. They walked around wearing their legends like coats with deep pockets filled with shady secrets; especially those who belonged to the older generation, the denizens who had misspent their younger days during a time when the Thaumaturgists and the Aelfir were still around.
By the time Sergeant Ennis arrived in the eastern district, and had walked to a little junkshop situated in a courtyard behind a tavern, it was mid-afternoon. He considered the grimy, cracked windows and the peeling paint on the door of the shop, and had to smile at the fading sign that promised quality merchandise within.
Earlier, after leaving the warehouse in the southern district, Ennis had gone to visit the Merchants’ Guild offices at Watcher’s Gallery in the central district. He had been attempting to gather information on the magickers of the Relic Guild – thinking that knowing his enemy a little better might help his search. He reasoned that the heads of the Merchants’ Guild often visited the Nightshade on affairs of business, and had therefore spent the most time in the company of Van Bam – perhaps the shadiest character of all. As it turned out, the trip to Watcher’s Gallery had been a waste of energy.
Ennis had been told that every head in the Merchants’ Guild was unavailable, as they had been summoned to an emergency meeting with the new Resident. Those Ennis did get to speak with were lower ranking officials, and what they had told the sergeant was unhelpful, at best drawing a picture of a man that nobody really knew at all. Strange, considering Van Bam had been the governor of this town since long before Ennis was born.
And now, standing before the rundown junkshop, the police sergeant swapped his thoughts from one shady character to another, and decided against drawing his pistol before stepping forwards.
The bell should have rung when Ennis opened the door, but it gave a weak, deadened clack instead.
Inside, the merchandise for sale hadn’t exactly been placed on display, more dumped into any available space. The air was musty and full of dust. The vendor stood behind the small counter, leaning against the top, reading a newspaper. He looked up, his old, craggy face seeming surprised that a customer had walked into his ramshackle shop.
Ennis stared at him.
‘Are you after anything in particular, young man?’ said the vendor after a while. ‘Or are you just here to browse?’
Suspicious . . .
Ennis smiled at the unvarnished furniture, the cracked ornaments, the faded paintings, and the rest of the assorted goods on sale, and wondered if anyone had ever come to this junkshop to simply browse.
‘It’s a scary time, don’t you think?’ Ennis said. ‘The Relic Guild comes back after all these years, the Resident turns against his people, and they all start spreading this virus.’ He shivered. ‘And did you hear about what happened at Watcher’s Gallery?’
‘Jeter’s execution?’ the shopkeeper said, tapping the open newspaper. ‘Funny, I was just reading about that.’ He frowned and looked his customer up and down. ‘I’m sorry – is there something I can help you with?’
Secrets . . .
Ennis never stopped gathering information. He spent much of his time observing where others thought there was nothing interesting to observe; listening when people thought they weren’t saying anything important. Nothing was mundane to Ennis; he watched the unusual, the peripheral, and his attention was always attracted to the subtle things that most people didn’t notice. It was clear to the sergeant that the vendor’s appearance of simple old shopkeeper, along with the dusty mounds of rubbish that he advertised as quality merchandise, was a disguise, a façade. And that told Ennis he had come to exactly the right place.
‘Actually, I’m looking to get something identified,’ Ennis said. ‘I heard you’re the man for the job. Or that you certainly used to be.’
‘Identified, young man? Used to be? I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘Before the Genii War,’ Ennis explained. ‘You were a magic-user, right?’
The shopkeeper stiffened behind the counter. ‘I beg your pardon?’ His voice had become low.
‘You heard me,’ Ennis said. ‘You used to be a multi-talented man. You were an alchemist, among other things. You remember testing stolen artefacts to identify their magical properties, don’t you?’
‘An alchemist, eh?’ One of the vendor’s hands was balled into a fist, resting on the newspaper; but the other remained below the counter, no doubt holding a concealed weapon. ‘I don’t care for your accusation, young man. The use of magic carries a serious penalty in Labrys Town. A one way trip to the Nightshade.’
‘Oh, don’t take offence,’ Ennis said. ‘I hear you were a very good magic-user. The best, in fact – always in demand, always busy. That’s why the treasure hunters called you Long Tommy, isn’t it? Because you were worth the wait.’
Long Tommy’s shoulders slumped, and he removed his empty hand from beneath the counter. He folded up the newspaper neatly and slapped it to one side. ‘You’re a policeman,’ he stated.
Ennis showed him his badge.
‘Sergeant Ennis,’ Tommy mused. ‘Can’t say I’ve heard your name before.’
‘I try to keep a low profile,’ Ennis replied. ‘But I’m not really here, if you follow me.’ He gazed around and chuckled. ‘If this was an official visit, I’d be seizing the contents of your shop. I dread to think how much of this crap is stolen.’
The old man’s face broke into a grin. ‘I can’t remember the last time someone called me Long Tommy, you know. You’ve got nothing on me, Sergeant Ennis. I served my dues when the law caught up with me before you were born. I got out of the magic game during the war.’
‘I’m not here to arrest you, Tommy.’
‘What are you, then? Bent copper?’ Now it was Tommy’s turn to chuckle. ‘If you’re after money, I don’t make a fraction of what I did in the old days.’ He winked.
‘No, I was being truthful with you,’ Ennis said. ‘I’m hoping you can tell me what this is.’
From his coat pocket, Ennis removed the diamond-shaped shard of metal he had found in the cellar of the ore warehouse in the southern district. He placed it on the countertop and unwrapped the handkerchief.
Long Tommy considered Ennis suspiciously for a moment, and then looked at the item on his counter. He shrugged. ‘It’s a piece of metal.’
Ennis rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, I know, but what kind of metal is it? Look …’
Using the handkerchief, Ennis picked up the shard and folded it in half as easily as folding a sheet of paper. He then dropped it; the metal had straightened flat again by the time it clanged down onto the countertop.
‘Bugger me,’ said Tommy. Tentatively, he reached out and touched a finger to the metal. He snapped his hand back almost immediately. ‘It’s cold. Freezing.’
Enn
is nodded.
Tommy shook his head. ‘In a room this warm, it should be sweating.’
‘Have you ever come across a metal that acts like this before, Tommy?’
‘I’ve come across all kinds of things in my time.’
‘Can you test it for magic?’ Ennis asked. ‘Do you have your old alchemist’s equipment?’
Tommy stared at the policeman.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to work for nothing.’ Ennis produced fifty Labyrinth pounds and placed them beside the shard of metal.
A strange glint came to the old man’s eye as he looked at the money. ‘There was a time when I wouldn’t bother talking to you for that amount.’
‘Tell me what this thing is by tomorrow, and I’ll double it.’
‘Oh, I see. You think I’m desperate for cash.’ Tommy sniffed. ‘Let me tell you something, Sergeant. Back in the old days, if a magic-user got caught, the worst thing that would’ve happened to him was a short stay in prison. Unless you were stupid enough to get involved with Aelfirian artefacts – then you’d have the Relic Guild on your case. There wasn’t much mercy in those bastards.’
Ennis made to speak, but Tommy stopped him.
‘Nowadays,’ he said forcefully, ‘dicking about with magic will earn you the death penalty. A lot of people I’ve known have disappeared in the Nightshade over the years.’ Tommy shook his head, looking around his shop. ‘Considering everything that’s going on in this town right now, you’ve got some bloody cheek coming to my shop, strong-arming me back into the life I left, and for what? Pocket money?’
Frightened . . .
‘I’m not forcing you to do anything,’ Ennis replied levelly. ‘I could, if that’s what you’d prefer. I could threaten to have this place raided, and you in a cell within the hour, unless you do as I say. But I don’t want to, Tommy. I just want you to take my pocket money, keep your mouth shut, and identify this metal for me. Will you do it?’
Tommy’s expression was sour. ‘No choice, eh?’
‘Think of it more as me not having a choice,’ Ennis replied. ‘I don’t exactly know a lot of alchemists. I need your help.’
Tommy stared at the shard of metal for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what this is all about?’
‘Probably better if you don’t know.’
‘Bloody coppers,’ Tommy swore. ‘You’re worse than the criminals.’ He scooped up the money and stuffed it into his trouser pocket. ‘I’ll know what this thing is by tonight. But we meet somewhere else. I don’t want you ever coming back to my shop again.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Ennis. ‘When you’ve got that metal identified, go to the northern district. You’ll find me in the Lazy House.’
A ghostly radiance hung over the Sisterhood of Bells like a sickly, bruised halo, just bright enough to obscure the stars that surrounded the twin moons in the sky above the city. The scent of forge smoke laced the air, along with the cleaner presence of thaumaturgy. The drone of four million lives drifted through a landscape of old and dirty buildings, creeping down wide streets and narrow alleys like an ancient voice whispering secrets. The ambience of this monumental city House stroked each of Clara’s heightened senses, and the changeling felt the pressure of a territory alien yet familiar.
As Glogelder led the group to meet their contact, Clara was amused by the appearance of the three Relic Guild agents. Van Bam’s magic had given each of them the illusion of decidedly less human features. They were still vaguely recognisable as themselves, but their ears were pointed; noses and mouths were small; and their eyes were big and round, achieving the triangular face shape that was a trait of the Aelfir. Clara, Van Bam and Samuel blended in perfectly with the citizens of the Sisterhood of Bells – not humans on the run at all.
The illusionist had further extended his magic to also conceal the weapons they carried. But the concentration required to maintain the spell was taking its toll on Van Bam; his triangular face was covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes, in this state large and brown, stared fixedly at the ground.
From the train station, the group travelled a short distance along a street bustling with pedestrians, following the line of the railway viaduct. Eventually they reached a tavern situated within one of the viaduct’s huge archways. The tavern was a large rundown sort of place, and thankfully light on customers. Of the handful of Aelfir present, one or two looked over as the group entered, but no one spared them more than a cursory glance.
The six Aelfir took their seats at a table against the grimy back wall.
To Clara, the customers felt like regulars as they chatted over their drinks, and played cards and dominoes. Clara certainly sensed no danger coming from them. She glanced at Samuel; the old bounty hunter’s prescient awareness was obviously not giving him any warning signals, and he seemed relaxed in his surroundings – at least, as relaxed as Samuel ever seemed.
Settling into her seat at the table, Clara noticed three young women descending a set of stairs from the tavern’s upper level. They took up a position at one end of the bar. Each of them wore a flimsy dressing gown, and the sight of them filled the changeling with sadness. The young women were waiting for trade.
Does it bring back memories? Gideon purred in her mind.
The tavern door opened, and a middle-aged Aelf entered, looking shifty and nervous.
‘Is that your contact?’ Samuel asked quietly.
Glogelder shook his head. ‘My contact’s a woman.’
But Clara was watching the middle-aged Aelf. He approached one of the women at the end of the bar. He whispered into her ear, and she responded with the same fake smile Clara had used countless times on faceless punters. Her sadness was displaced by a flare of anger, as the young woman took the man by the hand and led him up the stairs to her private chamber.
‘When will your contact arrive?’ Samuel was saying testily.
‘Don’t worry yourself,’ Glogelder assured him. ‘We’re a bit early, but she’ll be here on time.’
Samuel sat back and folded his arms across his chest, his large blue eyes glowering.
Van Bam remained quiet. His Aelfirian face was a mask of concentration as he gripped tightly, with both hands, his green glass cane, which now appeared as a plain wooden walking stick. Namji and Hillem, sitting next to each other, checked out the tavern with suspicious eyes. Glogelder, Clara noticed, was watching the two remaining whores, but with a very different kind of appraisal in his eyes.
‘Well then,’ Glogelder said, to no one in particular. ‘Seeing as we’ve got a bit of time to kill –’ he wiggled his eyebrows at the group – ‘nobody minds if I – uh – disappear for a while, do they?’
With Gideon chuckling inside her head, Clara leant forwards, and beckoned Glogelder across the table towards her.
‘Have you ever thought about the events that might lead a woman into that profession?’
Glogelder shrugged. ‘Not especially. Everyone has to earn a living, right?’
‘Right …’ Clara gave him a dangerous smile. ‘Glogelder, if you try to hire one of those girls, I’ll rip your balls off.’
Glogelder wasn’t sure how to react at first. He frowned at Hillem, who shook his head, indicating that Clara was not joking. Glogelder then looked at the changeling, anger in his eyes.
‘You can’t talk to me like that.’
‘Can’t I?’ Clara replied. ‘Try stopping me. See how far you get.’
Samuel decided to step in. ‘Clara—’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Samuel,’ Clara snapped. ‘Did I say something to offend you, too?’
‘Now is not the time,’ the old bounty hunter said icily. He jabbed a finger at Glogelder. ‘And you – just shut up.’
‘I agree,’ Namji said. First looking around the bar, ensuring that the disagreement hadn’t attracted attention, and also giving Van
Bam a quick, concerned look, she addressed the table. ‘No one’s going out of sight, especially you, Glogelder. Stay put and keep it buttoned up. Understand?’
The big Aelf sat back sulkily in his chair and glared at Clara. Before the changeling could tell him where he could stick his dirty look, Namji added, ‘Clara, would you help me get some drinks, please?’
Gideon, who had obviously savoured the incident, said, Namji’s right, child. A woman’s place is to serve the men. Off you go.
Shut up! Clara hissed in reply.
Careful, Clara. I’m not afraid of the big bad wolf, remember.
I don’t care! Go and annoy Van Bam, you bloody idiot.
The silence that followed Clara’s scolding suggested that Gideon was highly amused. At least he said no more.
With a final glare at Glogelder, Clara followed Namji over to the bar. While the Aelf ordered a pitcher of beer from the landlord, the changeling found it hard to keep her eyes off the two young women, standing at the far end of the bar.
‘Well then,’ said Namji quietly as they waited for the beer. ‘Glogelder can be a fathead – no doubt about it – and I really don’t want to know what he gets up to in his spare time, but he needs a good slap down every now and then.’ She smiled at the changeling. ‘But I don’t think it’s really Glogelder you’re pissed off about, is it?’
The Aelf looked at the women standing at the end of the bar, waiting to trade their bodies for money, and then back at Clara.
‘Who can say?’ Namji said, as if reading Clara’s thoughts. ‘Maybe those girls deserve better. Or maybe they’re happy.’
Clara scoffed. ‘What would you know about it?’
‘You tell me. Everything? Nothing?’
‘You’ve never known the kind of life that these women have.’
‘You’re right, I haven’t. But I’ve certainly lived through my fair share of bad times, Clara.’
Namji waited until Clara took her eyes off the whores and looked at her before continuing.
‘When I was your age – younger, actually – I was being trained to rule an Aelfirian House. I was spoilt, pampered, and every privilege you can think of was within my reach. But my House ended up in the Retrospective. Everyone I grew up with is dead. Now, I’m the only surviving Aelf from Mirage. The last of my people.’ Namji gestured to the women. ‘Call it fate, the will of the Timewatcher, circumstance – whatever you want – but I know what it’s like when life makes a fist and punches you in the gut, Clara.’
