Relics

by Tim Lebbon

  Unlike most of her kind, Lilou made occasional contact with the human world. She appeared human, mostly, and bore no gnarled horns or veined wings, no swathes of scales around her midriff or patchy fur across her back. She also maintained that it benefited them all if she kept her finger on the pulse of mankind.

  Hidden away in the depths, or the shadows, or the narrow confines between spaces where humans rarely had the perception to see, it was easy to drift away from the reality of things, and to lose any connection with the world that had once been theirs.

  Few alive today had existed during the Time, and fewer still could actually remember it. But survival necessitated thinking ahead and maintaining awareness.

  She was a nymph, one of the Napaeae, a creature of glens and groves who now felt safer hiding in the concrete jungle. Intrinsically bonded to nature and yet forced through circumstance to live apart from it, she still occasionally went underground, seeking the sources of springs, following the rivers that flowed beneath London, those known by humans and some not. These were trips of fancy, brief sojourns rather than a return to her favored environment. They fulfilled a need.

  However, she spent most of her life aboveground. She loved the sun and the air, the cool dead breeze of winter and the promise-laden sunrise of spring. She would walk in the parks in an attempt to forget herself, and in doing so remember herself fully. But such exposure was frowned upon. Mallian had reprimanded her more than once. A nymph drew attention, especially from men. Keen to walk among humans, loath to shut herself away, Lilou found it difficult to remain anonymous.

  * * *

  Dressing in shapeless clothing and drab colours, tucking her long hair up into a cap, she ventured once more into the streets, as she had many times before, determined to avoid being the focus of anyone’s attention. She had become good at this over the years. Only occasionally did she let herself slip.

  She worried for Vince. He didn’t know what he had stumbled across, had no real idea about the reality of things, the tragedy and brutality. He had exposed himself to such dangers in order to help her, and now she needed to help him in return. There was something about him. Perhaps because she had seen a courage in him that she had never witnessed in a human before, or maybe it was because he had helped her in such a vulnerable situation. Whatever the reason, she had feelings for him.

  That troubled her. None of the others would approve, and Mallian would be outraged. She had to keep such things to herself.

  Moving through the streets of London, she passed Buckingham Palace, home to a woman who didn’t quite rule over the whole of her domain. The Kin had no truck with royalty. Mallian was their de facto ruler, but in truth they existed under an assumption that all were equal. She walked along the Mall, hugging her gray shapeless coat tight and holding her secrets tighter. Entering the park at last, she sought the old man called Dean.

  * * *

  “Are you here to mock me again, girl?”

  “When have I ever mocked you?”

  He raised his eyes to the sky and pretended to count off occasions on his fingers. They were as grubby, old, and wrinkled as the rest of him. He didn’t live on the streets, but he might as well have. They were where he seemed most at home.

  “Well, I’m sure you have,” he said, smiling. “I just can’t remember, is all. That’s what you get for being old.” Still smiling, he looked at her in that curious way that always made her think, He knows.

  “You’re far from old, Dean,” she said. Her voice was almost a purr, and she saw his pupils dilate, his stance change. Calm, Lilou, she thought, silently admonishing herself. She knew she couldn’t sweet-talk Dean or let him become besotted with her natural nymph’s sensual charms. If she did, he really would know. For while his appearance might suggest otherwise, Dean was sharp—if not entirely sound—of mind, and she had given him plenty of opportunity over the years to feed his suspicion.

  The truth was that she disliked being with him. Every moment felt like exposure, but Lilou also knew that their meetings served an important purpose. He was constantly close to discovering the truth he sought, and she was always there to steer him in the wrong direction.

  Dean was a man who hid behind the perception of his madness. A bum, a wanderer, he pulled an old wheeled suitcase with him everywhere he went. It bulged with rolled and creased clothing, shirtsleeves protruding like uncoiling guts, stained jeans forcing themselves through the split zipper. But that wasn’t all it carried. He’d once told her that he was a learned man, a former professor of palaeontology whose peers had driven him further away the more outlandish his studies became. That had been almost three decades ago. She didn’t know the exact story of how he had become destitute, and she didn’t need to know. His mind was still clear and rich and, much like her, he defied expectations.

  Lilou had asked him to open his suitcase more than once, and his willingness to do so for her formed the most fragile part of their relationship.

  He wasn’t quite sure what she was. To him, she might be a fellow searcher, or one of the things for which he was searching.

  She could never be certain how much he knew.

  Most people on the streets barely saw him. They paid him as much attention as they would a scraggly dog or an article of discarded furniture. He never begged, but he did follow his own regular route across the city, disappearing now and then for long periods but always returning, the suitcase a little fuller, his face bearing more wrinkles.

  He was close to a truth that most people would never discern, or believe if they did. This gave him a certain value to creatures like Lilou. While maintaining a safe distance, she kept an eye on him because he kept an eye on them. If he drew too close to one or more of the Kin, she would let them know, and they would change their habits or move elsewhere. His was a life of disappointments, and Lilou was responsible for many of them.

  “I haven’t seen you for a long time,” he said. “Where have you been?”

  “Around,” she responded. “How about you?” She knew where he had been. He’d spent several weeks prowling the Isle of Dogs, looking for evidence of a water ghost that several sports enthusiasts had reported seeing during nighttime canoeing excursions. She had spoken with Ghellia, the last of the ashrays, and she had floated closer to the center of the city, hiding herself deeper down.

  “I’ve been exploring,” he said. He tapped the suitcase that rested beside him on the park bench like an old friend. “Finding more stuffing for my library.”

  “More old shirts and underwear,” Lilou said, and Dean smiled in return. They both knew better.

  The city buzzed around them, leaving them alone. Hyde Park was always busy, but it was large enough to rarely appear so. Hundreds or thousands of people at a time might be using its paths, strolling across its lawns, or resting on its benches and bandstand seating, but it was generally possible to feel alone among such greenery. It was one of the lungs of the city, always breathing and maintaining its own rhythm. Lilou loved it here, yet it never took long before she felt exposed.

  “Find anything new?” she asked.

  “You’re overdressed,” he said, looking her up and down. Long trousers, jacket pulled tight, all to hide her figure and shield the world from what she was. But she knew it wasn’t only about looks. She exuded grace and beauty.

  “I feel the cold,” she replied. “So?”

  “Depends on what you mean by new. If you mean new as in older than anyone knows, then there’s always evidence, if you know where to look.”

  “Where do you look?”

  “You know where,” Dean said. “You look there yourself. Or…”

  “The hidden places,” she said, knowing them so well.

  “Yeah.” He settled back on the bench and looked across the park, smiling. “I like the fact there can be so many secret places in a city filled with people. It gives me hope.”

  “Hope for what?”

  Dean frowned, unsure. He searched for the words.

  �
��For wonder,” he said at last. “Mysteries. Mysteries are important, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely,” she said. She sat next to him, not too close, and he shifted slightly as if sensitive to the weight of her on the bench. She snorted and spat, trying to appear unattractive.

  “There’s a place close to here,” he said, “just beside one of the north entrances to the park, hidden down alongside one of the stone columns that holds the gate.” He leaned forward as if to pull something from the suitcase, then changed his mind. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t need to see. “It’s a metal cover to a hole in the ground, rusty and old. Set of broken steps leads down to a bare earth chamber, hacked out by tools a long time ago. I’ve been down there a few times, even slept down there once. Probably the start of an old maintenance tunnel for something that was never finished. Dunno what. Or maybe something to do with a building that might have stood there before. No one else seems to know about it. No one. The cover’s hidden beneath shrubs and fallen leaves. You have to know it’s there to even see it.”

  “How do you know it’s there?”

  “I look for these things.” He glanced at her, smile dropping, as if expecting to see something in her eyes. Then he shrugged and continued. “You know that. So, this place exists a few feet from where thousands of people walk every day. A secret place. Anything could live down there.”

  “But nothing does, does it?”

  “Not there, but there are other places like that.”

  “How about a satyr?” Lilou asked, deciding to take the leap. She heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath, and wondered what he was thinking. That one question had moved their relationship onto new, uneven ground. She’d never asked about what he looked for, never requested information directly. Their conversations had always been obtuse.

  “What about a satyr?” Dean asked.

  “Have you ever heard about one?” she responded. “Could… something like a satyr live in a place like that?”

  “Why do you ask?” It was a fair question, she supposed.

  “Interested, that’s all,” she replied. “For my own research.”

  “And what research is that?”

  She let her mask slip, just for a few seconds. She didn’t need to loosen her jacket or shift from a shapeless slump into a graceful lean. All she had to do was let the face she wore amongst humans fall away, and his eyes widened when he glimpsed the alluring beauty beneath.

  Only for a second.

  “Come on, Dean,” she said, her voice a song. “Knowing that would ruin our special relationship.”

  “Our relationship,” he said. He looked away, leaning over his suitcase and checking the zippers, the clasps. “Our relationship is entirely to your benefit, I think.”

  Lilou frowned and drew herself in again, becoming as human as she could. She had no answer for that, because he was right. The fact that he’d perceived it, let alone stated it, was a surprise to her.

  “I don’t want anything but good for you,” she whispered, meaning every word.

  Dean was silent for a while, staring out across the park and the city within which he knew there were countless secrets.

  “Come on,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “Open your case. Show me what you’ve got.”

  “Is it important?” he asked without looking at her.

  Lilou thought about Vince, in Ballus’s clutches, and the danger Angela was in. She thought of Sandri May, kicked and crushed to death in a city street by the satyr’s brutal hooves, and all the other creatures she knew and loved, in danger from that beast. Herself included. She wasn’t like some of the others. She wasn’t a fighter, and if Ballus found her she would have no chance at all.

  “Yes, it’s important.”

  Dean nodded, pushed the suitcase onto its back, and unzipped the main compartment. He drew out several items of clothing, and the case’s contents seemed to expand on contact with the sun. Soon there was a pile of tatty sweaters, jeans, and tee shirts around his feet, and the deeper contents of the suitcase were revealed.

  Lilou had seen inside before, but the contents had grown. Sheaves of paper, cardboard files, photograph albums, folded maps, envelopes bulging with newspaper clippings, pen cases, and notebooks. Dean riffled confidently through the confusion.

  “There’s not much,” he said at last, placing a file and a few other documents in his lap. He started going through them. “A sighting of a goat-man by Underground workers seventeen years ago. A photo of a severed leg, from an unknown goat-like species, that was found on a building site in Greenwich three years ago. A solitary tweet from more recently about the sound of ghostly hooves at an old indoor swimming pool.”

  “How recently?” Lilou asked.

  Dean brought the wrinkled sheet of paper closer to his face, squinting. She forgot sometimes how old he was. He didn’t have much time left, and perhaps he’d die without the proof he so desired. Face-to-face proof, hand in hand. She felt sad for him, but not sad enough to betray herself or the Kin.

  “Couple of months ago,” he said.

  “Why did it make you think satyr?”

  “It didn’t at the time,” he said, holding up the sheaf of papers in his hands. “Not ’til you mentioned it. Then I just pulled everything about hooves.”

  “And you didn’t go on one of your expeditions to investigate?”

  He took a deep breath, leaned back, smiling at her. “My girl, if I hurried about London chasing up every little whisper—”

  “It’s what you do, Dean.”

  “This tweet was from a mad old woman I know, thinks she’s a medium, but she’s a charlatan. I hold no truck with fakers. That’s why I like you.”

  “Have you got an address?”

  “Will you take me?”

  “Dean…”

  “I’ve been looking for so long,” he said. “I’ve got a history you just don’t know. A deep history. You might think you know my story, but you really don’t at all. I’m haunted by things I’ve seen, but more haunted by those I haven’t.”

  “It’s all just a bit of fun,” Lilou said, trying to inject humour into her voice.

  She failed.

  “I don’t know what you are,” he said, “but I know what you’re not, and that’s human.” His expression was dead serious.

  Just for a moment Lilou considered letting slip some more of the truth. Not all of it, not nearly all, but enough to secure his help. Yet Dean wasn’t like Vince. She didn’t think he could keep it all to himself.

  …and there was his suitcase. It bulged with evidence he had been gathering for decades, and she was sure he wouldn’t dare carry it all with him. What might happen to all this, if and when he died? It was something she had to address, though that was for another, calmer time.

  So she laughed instead, tipping her head back so that he saw her profile against the morning sky and fell in love with her a little bit more.

  A phone started ringing. Dean plucked it from his pocket, and Lilou sat upright in surprise. She’d never seen him use a phone before.

  He glanced at the screen and connected without speaking.

  His eyes went wide.

  “Where?” he asked. He glanced at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Okay, yes, I’ll let you know.” He disconnected, and then started packing his suitcase again.

  Lilou knelt beside him and helped. She could smell him, the sickly sweetness of body odour, the scent of hopelessness that hung around him heavier and heavier each time she saw him. But he seemed excited now.

  “Interesting call?” she asked.

  “The swimming pool, it’s in Tufnell Park.” He knelt on the suitcase to close it, and Lilou helped by zipping it up.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It was nice to see you again.”Dean froze.

  “Did you know about this?” He held up the phone.

  “Your phone?”

  “The call! That call I just had.”

  “No,” she said. She didn’t have to feig
n her confusion.

  “Tufnell Park,” he said again.

  Some children shouted from across the grassed area. A dog barked. Dean looked around as if seeing it all for the first time.

  Then he stared at Lilou intently for a few seconds, trying to see past the facade and inside her, seeking the truth he seemed so sure hid just beneath the surface. He was right, but she made sure he didn’t find it.

  “See you around,” Lilou said, and she turned and walked away.

  All across the park men turned to watch her. Some were with their partners or wives, a couple were on their own. Absorbed in what Dean had told her, she let her defenses slip. For just a moment she became the center of attention, and every man loved her.

  17

  Vince’s shoulders had gone from blazing with pain to uncomfortably numb. The chair pressed against his legs and back as if it was built from white-hot brands. He’d been beaten almost senseless by a satyr wielding the heavy thighbone of an unidentifiable creature.

  A satyr.

  Vince still had trouble believing that, but he was so wretched, so convinced he was soon to die, that such impossibilities didn’t seem to matter. This did not feel like a dream. He didn’t try to convince himself that he was imagining things.

  Besides, it was all his fault. If he hadn’t escaped Lilou’s protection, Ballus wouldn’t have caught him in the street. If he hadn’t chosen to intervene and save Lilou’s life from Mary Rock’s thugs, he’d never have needed her protection in the first place, and he’d be back home with Angela even now.

  If the lure of unimaginable money hadn’t pulled him from his normal life, he’d have never even known about the relics. To him they had been old things, long gone. Fossils that he didn’t try to understand, much less view as once having lived. He wasn’t as imaginative as Angela, and such pragmatism had served him well in his dealings. His relic hunts.