Blaze of Glory

by Michael Pryor

  Oscar smiled and took a step forward. 'Who are you, then?' His voice was a basso profundo, a voice that could have come from deep in the earth.

  Aubrey couldn't help myself. He took a step back.

  Jack interposed himself. 'Oscar, these are my friends. I want you to take care of them.'

  Oscar stopped, smiled once more and stared. Again, Aubrey was reminded of a baby and he wondered how old Oscar was. 'Righto, then. Friends.'

  Without another word, the giant heaved his bulk around and waddled off. Aubrey and the others stared at his mighty back.

  Jack chuckled. 'You're not the only one with interesting friends, Aubrey. No-one will bother us with Oscar along for the ride.'

  'I can believe that,' Caroline said. 'Who is he?'

  They set off. 'I don't know, and neither does he,' Jack said. 'I found him a few years ago. He was in a cellar, naked and afraid. He was about half his current size, but had no idea how he got there or who he was. I cared for him until he was capable of managing for himself. He's still growing, you know.'

  George steadied a plank and they crossed a noxious pool. 'Still growing? But he's a monster!'

  'I fear that may be right,' Aubrey said. He leapt off the plank. 'There's magic involved, isn't there, Jack?'

  Jack sighed and patted Oscar, who towered above him. 'Things happen in this part of the city that you wouldn't believe,' he said. 'It's a desperate place. People do things to survive.'

  Caroline looked at Oscar, pity in her eyes. 'What happened to him?'

  'If a magician needs a human subject, they always come to this part of the city. I can't say for certain, but Oscar could have been someone's idea of an experiment. Perhaps it went wrong. Perhaps it had the desired effect. I can't say.'

  'Sometimes people volunteer,' Aubrey said. 'For a pound or two, it doesn't matter how ghastly the proposed experiment is, someone will step forward.'

  Caroline touched Oscar on the arm. 'Is that what happened to you?'

  'I don't know.' He smiled.

  'He has a music box,' Jack said. 'He makes enough money as a bodyguard and labourer to feed himself. He's happy enough.'

  'Are you?' Caroline asked the giant.

  Oscar smiled again. 'I don't know.' He lifted his arms and dropped them to his sides. 'Righto, then.'

  Oscar turned and climbed up a muddy slope, littered with broken bottles. He waited beside a tumbledown fence and called to them. 'Righto, then. Nearly there.'

  Jack puffed up the slope, reached his gigantic friend and patted him on the hand.

  Aubrey slipped as he clambered up the slope. George grabbed his arm, digging his boots into the mud and steadying them both. He dragged Aubrey up, then reached out and helped Caroline. With George's solid strength, they were able to reach the deserted road where Jack and Oscar stood. The uneven cobblestones were slick where the rain had melted whatever ordure and filth had gathered there. A single street light hissed, shedding a sickly yellow glow that made urinous streaks along the surface of the road.

  Jack pointed towards it. 'The Mire.'

  The Mire had the narrow streets and uneven cobbles of the other districts they'd passed through. The two- or three-storey houses leaned against each other, as if they'd had a very fine night out. Slate roofs were slick with rain, but few boasted functional gutters, so water cascaded in waterfall-sized torrents to the stones below.

  Aubrey paused. Even at this distance the Mire sounded distinctive. It was noisy, with the sounds of music, shouting and general carousing, a good-natured happiness that had been absent from the tired and despondent districts they'd been through. As they turned corners, they began to run into more people. Hurrying, staggering, crawling, running, chasing, darting people.

  The Mire. Aubrey grinned. It might be grubby, but it has energy.

  When they plunged into the Mire, passing through a narrow lane that was flanked by two competing taverns, it became obvious that not all the passers-by were poor. Three well-dressed men walked past, flanked by two scowling bodyguards. Two of the men seemed to be enjoying themselves, but the third had an expression of barely controlled terror on his face.

  Despite his Tommy Sparks persona, Aubrey was glad for Oscar's presence. They kept close by the massive giant like pilot fish around a great whale. He rolled along the cracked and uneven pavement, his head turning from side to side, constantly smiling.

  'Don't look about too much,' Aubrey urged his friends as they passed an oyster shop where a brawl was sending bleary-eyed patrons into the streets amid a hail of shells, cheering and abuse. 'Act as if you know your business, that you belong here.' He grinned as he walked, letting everyone know that this was the most natural place in the world for him to be.

  A woman leaned out of a second-storey window. Her hair was fiery red and her dress was made of purple velvet. 'Tommy!' she sang out. 'Tommy!'

  Aubrey waved and threw her a kiss. Then he saw both Caroline and George staring at him. 'Ah, yes. Irene Dubois. Ballet dancer. Loves it here.' He turned and waved again, but the woman had vanished.

  Humanity swirled around them and Aubrey revelled in the way that the strange mingled with the ordinary. He saw a casual assault as a pedestrian had a bag dragged over his head before being whisked away. A few moments later, he saw a woman with snakes for arms wrap them around the neck of a sailor and haul him in through an open window. The sailor was laughing.

  The crowd thickened and Oscar surged ahead. Light spilled out onto the pavement from an upper-storey window and the sound of a badly tuned but enthusiastically played piano accompanied singing that Aubrey was sure was inspired by alcohol, not talent.

  He had a feeling that they were walking in a gigantic spiral, always bearing left at intersections, making their way through the riot that was the Mire. He glanced up, looking for landmarks. They were passing a pair of narrow whitewashed buildings, three storeys high. Aubrey shepherded his friends back just in time to miss being hit by a deluge of foul-smelling liquid.

  George shook a fist at the wild-haired, cackling figures leaning out over the edge of the roof. 'I say!' he began, but Aubrey tugged his sleeve.

  'Walk on, George.'

  'What?'

  'Look around. No-one else has even noticed. If you get angry, our friends up there will feel they've scored a victory. And don't even think of charging up there to berate them. They'll have clubs, sticks and hard fists and will be happy to relieve you of any valuables.'

  George snorted, but Aubrey was pleased to see that his friend kept an eye on the rooflines as they pushed through the chattering throng.

  They passed a gap in a row of houses where one dwelling had sagged even more than its neighbours and had collapsed. Opportunities like this were never missed in the Mire, and a wrestling tent had been erected on the ruins. Oil lamps blazed outside and a line of excited customers snaked into the entrance, while an organ-grinder entertained them with sounds that were somewhat like music, just not as tuneful. The tout at the front of the tent took one look at Oscar and shook his head. He was a small, bald-headed man with narrow eyes and a voice that could saw through glass. 'Sorry, friend. I know the sign says "£10 If You Stay In The Ring For One Round With Our Champion" but you're not what we were expecting.'

  Oscar just smiled. 'Righto,' he said and sailed onwards, the others with him.

  The Mire invigorated Aubrey. He loved its diversity, its life and the sheer unexpectedness that lay around every corner. It let him see another aspect of life in Albion. Rogues and saints rubbed shoulders in the Mire, as did honour and disgrace, charity and theft, hope and despair, all in a single square mile.

  They went on until the crowds dwindled and the lights began to grow fewer. Aubrey noticed more and more deserted buildings, more actual ruins, not as many places of music and light. The rain began to fall heavily again and he held his coat closed as best he could. Water dripped from the frayed brim of his bowler hat.

  The street ended with two mounds of rubble, one on either side. It then gave
out onto a large open space, a hundred yards or more across, sloping upwards. In the darkness Aubrey could see the familiar maze of stone, stunted trees, and mounds of shattered masonry, the wilderness that surrounded the ruins that had once been St Agnes' Cathedral.

  Once upon a time, the cathedral must have been a proud sight, crowning the top of the hill, looking over the city towards the other high points – Stoweside, Royal Park, Calmia. It would have been majestic.

  Now, all he could see was the shell of the cathedral dark against the night, standing alone on the top of the hill like an abandoned sentinel. One wall was almost intact, reaching skywards, arched gaps that were once stained-glass windows. The other walls had fallen in the fire. Two pillars had miraculously survived, while the rest were mere stubs in what had been the nave.

  Aubrey knew the cathedral graveyard was still there. It was a jumble of fallen headstones and the remains of tombs on the far side of the hill. He was glad they didn't have to go through it. Despite the rain and the years, the smell of ash and burnt wood was heavy in the air. He frowned as his magical awareness came across traces of magic everywhere he looked. It was blurred and indistinct and he couldn't tell if the magic was recent or the remnants from years of foul experiments.

  'Righto, then,' Oscar announced. 'Burnt church.'

  Rain sluiced down the gutters and poured off the rooftops around them. Aubrey was wet through. Caroline and George were both sodden. George looked irritated, but Caroline was calm, gazing towards their destination. 'Lights,' she said.

  Aubrey turned and saw glimmers of light in the wilderness, small pinpricks of red, orange and yellow. 'We oughtn't run into anyone out there,' he said, thinking of the experimental outcasts, 'but we must be on our guard. We don't know how many Holmlanders will be appearing.'

  Jack moved until he was standing with his back against the remains of a wall. 'What are you going to do now?'

  'A meeting is going to take place here at midnight. What time is it now?'

  Jack consulted a battered pocket watch. 'Half past eleven.'

  'Plenty of time.' Aubrey looked at Oscar. 'Can he remain behind? He's a little conspicuous.'

  Jack frowned. 'He can, but is it safe without him?'

  'We'll move more quickly alone.'

  'Oscar,' Caroline said. He looked down at her and smiled. 'Will you be all right if you stay here?'

  'Yes.' He reached out with a meaty hand and – very gently – patted Caroline on the head.

  'What about you, Jack?' Aubrey asked. 'Will you come or would you prefer to stay?'

  'I should stay with Oscar. He's not used to being out alone at night.'

  'Keep well hidden,' Aubrey said.

  'I will.' Jack stopped, staring over Aubrey's shoulder. 'Someone's out there.'

  Aubrey looked in the direction of his gaze and saw someone flitting from shadow to shadow.

  'Damn him,' George said through gritted teeth. 'It looks like von Stralick. He has a rifle.'

  'Are you sure?' Caroline asked. The rain was getting harder.

  Aubrey reached into his pouch and pulled out a rough circle of enchanted glass. He closed one eye and held it to the other. 'It's definitely von Stralick. He has a bandage on the side of his head. He seems to be alone.'

  'Why does he have a rifle?' Caroline wondered. 'What's he after?'

  'Protection?' Jack suggested. 'We brought Oscar, he brought a rifle.'

  'But why a rifle?' George said. 'That's a marksman's tool, not for self-defence.'

  'There's one way to find out,' Aubrey said. 'Let's see what he's up to.' He gazed towards the ruins. 'George, you take point position. Stay fifteen, twenty yards in front. Caroline, you next. I shall come last, slightly off to your left.'

  It was by the book. Or, at least, by the teachings of the Scholar Tan. But I have something good old Scholar Tan didn't, Aubrey thought. He took a pouch out of an inner pocket of his jacket.

  'Before we set off,' Aubrey said to Caroline and George, 'there's something I need to do.'

  After the incident at the shooting weekend, Aubrey had devoted some research time to the magic behind the clay golem assassin. He hadn't been able to determine exactly how to animate and control such an intricate creature, but he had established a spell for making a less sophisticated version.

  'I thought we might need some scouts,' he said, and took a lump of clay out of a pouch in his pocket.

  Caroline and George watched, fascinated, as Aubrey took the fist of clay and worked it between his hands. Muttering the spell he had rehearsed, Aubrey broke off a piece the size of a pea. With deft movements, he fashioned it into a rough human shape – two arms, two legs, a featureless head. Then, with care, he used his fingernail to inscribe a symbol on its blank forehead. He pronounced a short, sharp spell over it.

  When Aubrey placed the mannikin on the wet ground, it quivered.

  'Good Lord,' George whispered.

  The mannikin swelled, its rough arms and legs becoming smoother, growing larger until it was the size of a thumb. It bent in the middle, sitting up. Then it popped to its feet and stood, swaying slightly.

  While this was happening, Aubrey had fashioned another. He continued to work the lump of clay, breaking pieces off, making figures, inscribing symbols, repeating the spell. He was applying a number of laws – Symmetry, Contiguity, Action at a Distance, Sympathy – in a novel way. It was challenging.

  In a short space of time, a dozen mannikins were standing in a line, arms outstretched like faceless gingerbread men.

  Aubrey took a deep breath. 'Go. Observe. Report back to me.'

  The three-inch-tall mannikins trembled, then dispersed, running stiff-legged into the darkness, splashing through puddles and wading through mud.

  Caroline nodded. 'Clever.'

  Aubrey was aware enough to be amused at how much he appreciated the comment. Then he simply enjoyed it, even though the magical effort had sapped him. 'It's an experiment. They're simple things, and their vocabulary is very limited. Let's see what happens. If they bring back some intelligence, it may be invaluable. If they don't . . .' He shrugged.

  Caroline pointed. 'Look.' Von Stralick was darting up the slope, veering from side to side as he sprinted towards the ruined cathedral.

  'He's making use of cover,' Aubrey commented, 'not running in a direct line, in case someone is watching him. He's experienced.'

  'We can catch him,' Caroline said.

  Aubrey glanced at her. Eyes bright, she looked eager, unafraid. No-one could mistake her for a beggar, Aubrey thought. What was I thinking?

  George squinted and scanned the terrain ahead. 'I can't see him. He must have entered the cathedral.'

  Caroline frowned. 'Making for a rendezvous?'

  'No doubt.'

  Aubrey glanced at George. 'Forward, then.'

  George, as point man, went first. He disappeared into the darkness.

  Caroline went next, then Aubrey. The ground underfoot was wet but hard, which made the going slippery. He angled towards a clump of bushes, edged around them, then ran from tree to tree, hunched over, until he reached a mound of broken bricks. Panting, he sat with his back to the rubble. His stomach felt hollow and he paused, gathering himself. While he consolidated his strength, he looked at the view.

  From this vantage point, the city was laid out around him, glittering like a million stars, each light the result of ingenuity and application, meant for holding back the night, but without realising what a fairyland they would create. Incidental beauty, unmarred by forced design. He shook his head in wonder.

  Movement in the wilderness caught his eye. At first, he assumed it was Caroline or George, but he realised that this movement was some distance away. For a moment he wondered if he'd leap-frogged von Stralick and moved ahead of him, but he discarded this idea. He could see that, whoever it was, he was making his way through the graveyard on the other side of the hill.

  Aubrey took out his enchanted-glass viewer and peered through it.

 
The stranger flitted from tombstone to tombstone, keeping low to the ground. Aubrey found it hard to fix on him. His gaze shifted and slipped, sliding off the blurry form, after which it took him some effort to find him again. The intruder was indistinct, almost as if he were wrapped up in a cloud of shadows. It was like searching for hidden figures in one of the pictures he'd enjoyed as a child.

  Interesting, Aubrey thought, and he felt the distant tang of magic. Now he was aware of the phenomenon, he scanned as much of the slope as he could. He felt chill when his gaze lighted on three other shadowed figures.

  He jumped as someone emerged from the night. 'Aubrey,' Caroline whispered and she glided to his side.

  A moment later, George joined them. 'I scouted ahead. The way is clear, right up to the ruins.'

  Aubrey pointed, doing his best to track one of the ghostly visitors as it darted towards the remains of a tomb.

  George whistled soundlessly. 'Quite a popular place, St Agnes', tonight.'

  'Who are they?' Caroline whispered.

  'No idea,' Aubrey said. 'But there's magic involved. See if you can follow their progress for more than a few yards.'

  Caroline peered towards the church grounds. After a moment, she frowned. 'How odd. It's hard to keep my eye on them.'

  'That's high-level magic, providing such stealthy masking,' Aubrey said.

  'Who could it be?' George asked.

  'A fine question,' Aubrey said, frowning as he considered the possibilites. 'Are these the Holmlanders? Or someone else . . .'

  A rough voice cut through the night. 'All right, you three. Don't move.'

  Aubrey started to get to his feet, but before he could move the ominous sound of a revolver being cocked came from the darkness.

  'Don't try it.'

  Two men scrambled over the broken masonry. One was tall and wearing a dark cutaway jacket and a bowler hat. Water dripped from every hem, edge and cuff and his scowl seemed as much directed at the rain as at what he'd found. The other wore a heavy overcoat and cloth cap. He was the one wielding the revolver, which he kept moving, unsure of where to aim.