The Watcher of Dead Time

by Edward Cox

  ‘Something on your mind?’ Tommy said sourly. He was carrying a wooden box. The welding goggles were pushed up on his forehead. His eyes were circled by pale skin; the rest of his face was tinged red, as though sunburned. ‘I have no idea if I’ve done this right.’

  He dumped the box on the counter and dipped inside it. The first items he produced were two thumb-sized bullets cast from the thaumaturgic metal, their surfaces polished to a mirror finish.

  Ennis stared at them. ‘It took you over two hours to make two bullets?’

  ‘Cut me some slack,’ Tommy growled. ‘I’m a little out of my depth here.’

  Ennis picked up one of the bullets. It weighed next to nothing, and its texture felt curiously solid and liquid at the same time. It was too large for a pistol but too fat to be a rifle slug.

  ‘I had to add some lead into the mixture,’ Tommy explained. ‘The avatar said it wouldn’t matter. They’ll do the job well enough.’

  ‘Let’s hope the avatar was right,’ Ennis replied, laying the bullet down beside the other. ‘This ends very badly if it was wrong.’

  ‘I’ve seen all kinds of crazy shit in this town over the years. Rights and wrongs, trust and suspicion … I suppose you just grow a sense for knowing when someone’s telling the truth.’ He stared at the bullets. ‘I always used to think that the Relic Guild and the Nightshade were the scariest things in this town. But years ago I had a run-in with Fabian Moor, the first time he was here, and I soon changed my mind.’

  ‘You’ve led a strange life, Tommy,’ Ennis said.

  ‘You don’t know the half of it. If the avatar says those bullets can kill a Genii, then I believe they can. Here …’ Tommy delved into the box again, this time producing a pistol in an old holster of cracked brown leather. He drew the weapon and handed it over. It was of a design Ennis had never seen before: blocky, as heavy as it looked, and with two barrels and two triggers.

  ‘A custom-made piece,’ Tommy said, scratching the stubble on his cheek. ‘As powerful as a rifle but easier to conceal. I bought it years ago from someone who was desperate for cash. Funny – I thought I’d got a bargain at the time.’

  ‘You couldn’t sell it on?’ Ennis asked, turning the pistol over in his hands.

  ‘I was conned. It has a unique power stone, you see. Won’t work with any other kind. Give it a go, see what happens.’

  With a frown, Ennis thumbed the power stone set behind the barrels. It whined into life, but instead of glowing with the usual violet light, the stone shone red.

  ‘It’s charmed,’ Tommy said, his tone both amused and accusatory. ‘Only a magicker can activate it.’

  Ennis froze. Glaring at Tommy, he deactivated the power stone.

  ‘I bloody knew it!’ Tommy said bitterly. ‘As soon as you walked into my shop, I knew there was something off about you.’

  ‘So you know,’ Ennis growled. ‘Good for you.’

  Tommy scoffed. ‘And you actually had the cheek to treat me like a criminal. So what kind of magicker are you? Mental? Physical?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Ennis cracked open the pistol and angrily fed a mirror bullet into each barrel. ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘Oh, I think we’re well past keeping secrets from each other, don’t you, Ennis? Who else knows what you are?’

  Ennis didn’t reply. Anxiety boiled in his gut.

  ‘No one, I bet.’

  ‘We have to stay focused,’ Ennis muttered. ‘If we don’t succeed, nothing will matter.’

  ‘Fine,’ Tommy snapped. ‘Keep your bloody secrets.’ He pursed his lips. ‘But whatever your magic is, I hope it makes you as good a shot as the man who sold me that gun. You only get two chances to kill a Genii.’

  Ennis slapped the barrels shut, slid the pistol into its holster and placed it on the counter. ‘Don’t worry about me. Just remember to make good on your end.’

  ‘I’m scared, not stupid. I’m about to call in every favour I’m owed, lean on every person who’ll listen to me, and all because a ghost and a copper told me to. That sort of thing doesn’t go down too well in the underworld.’

  ‘You want to switch places with me?’

  Tommy barked a laugh. ‘I reckon I could do with some magic in my veins right now. Here, I’ve got something else for you.’

  Dipping into the box again, he revealed a sheathed knife and drew it. The blade was long, with the same mirror finish as the bullets.

  ‘I tried a little experiment,’ Tommy said. ‘I brushed the remnants of the thaumaturgic metal over the blade. There was enough to give it a decent coat, and it’s as sharp as anything.’ He resheathed it. ‘Thought it might come in handy – you know, as a backup.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No idea if it’ll work, mind.’ Tommy placed the knife back in the box, followed by the holstered pistol loaded with thaumaturgic bullets. ‘I’ve been the scourge of this town once or twice in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever been its saviour.’

  ‘We haven’t saved anything yet.’

  ‘Well, you’re certainly as miserable as every other magicker I ever met.’ Tommy broke into a broad grin. ‘Thinking of it, if you’d been born in my day, you would’ve been an agent of the Relic Guild.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Ennis said dismissively, and he reached into his jacket pocket. ‘Here, I’ve got something for you, too.’ He passed Tommy a folded piece of paper. ‘Instructions,’ he explained, ‘on how to find a secret apartment hidden in the central district. It used to belong to Old Man Sam.’

  ‘Old Man Sam?’ Tommy dropped the paper before he’d read the instructions. ‘The bounty hunter?’ He stared at Ennis as though the police sergeant had somehow read his mind – or stolen his memories. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  ‘As far as I know, no one else alive has a clue that apartment exists,’ Ennis said, taking the box from the counter. ‘If things go to plan, I’ll meet you there afterwards. If they don’t …’

  ‘You can buy me a drink on Mother Earth.’ Tommy offered his hand, his face earnest. ‘For what you’re about to do, Sergeant – good luck.’

  Ennis stared at the hand for a moment before shaking it. ‘You, too, you old crook.’

  The Retrospective. Created by the Timewatcher at the end of the Genii War as punishment for Spiral’s surviving allies. Hundreds of thousands of enemy Aelfir had been consigned to its perversions, their minds shattered beyond redemption, their bodies torn and corroded and ground into compost to seed the foundations of dead time. And they had risen as bloodthirsty animals, ever-multiplying legions of wild demons. They stalked the nightmarish plains that had formed from the raw material of their broken Houses. The Retrospective was the heart of hate.

  But the heart had stopped beating.

  The violent sky no longer bellowed and spat bolts of lightning; the noxious clouds no longer wept tears of acid; the fiery winds had ceased whipping and burning across the barren landscape. The Retrospective’s fury had fallen to silence.

  Wild demons gathered, an endless congregation of every shape and size of monstrosity imaginable. Corrupted beyond mercy, they observed an unspoken truce in the bestial war which had raged between them since the Retrospective’s creation. They had come to bear witness, these incalculable monsters, to pay homage to a monument of flesh which hung over a hill of red, scorched rock.

  Humans. At least a hundred of them, young and old. Stacked one upon another, their skins fused together, their limbs twisted and bent to form the framework of a sacrificial tower fifty feet high. Not quite dead, the humans’ weak, dying moans were all that broke the demons’ congruent stillness. Tears and sweat and blood and waste dripped onto the hill.

  Fabian Moor observed from the safety of the Nightshade, looking out through a portal onto the endless swarm of wild demons surrounding the hill: giants as sturdy and gnarled as trees; thin
gs that looked like insects and arachnids; mammoth bloated slugs; four-legged beasts; humanoids designed for causing agony. None of them making a sound. Above, great demons flew on leathery wings, circling the tower of humans in a wide arc. All of these monsters waited, staring, preparing for the return of the high lord they had once followed. And would follow again.

  With the Retrospective in his control, Lord Iblisha Spiral would bring the Houses of the Aelfir to their knees, subjugate their devotion. He would raise an army of billions, dwarfing even the number of demons to be found in this cursed House. The Genii would march on Mother Earth, taking their army to the Timewatcher, who would then know true despair.

  The mind of Lord Spiral flew round and round the tower of humans as a silent phantom, a shapeless wisp, darting between airborne demons, hungry to find form again. Beneath the tower, the terracotta jar containing his essence sat on the hilltop. With only his spectral presence, Spiral had already achieved what it was said only the Timewatcher could do: he had tamed the Retrospective.

  Moor turned to Asajad and Gadreel. Behind them, Hagi Tabet hung on her web of tentacles, Known Things in her hands, glass tubes in her mouth and temple. Her eyes watered as she stared into the Retrospective.

  Asajad locked gazes with Moor. Her customary impudence was gone. For the first time that Moor could remember, Asajad looked afraid. Did she fear that the rite would not work? Or did she fear the return of her lord?

  Gadreel, however, looked excited. His expression was as intolerant as always, and his one eye, dark and dead as a sea serpent’s, gazed upon the tower of humans as though admiring the handiwork of the Genii. His fat lips were twisted into his approximation of a smile.

  As for Moor, he was in no doubt that the winning move in the long game was about to be played.

  ‘My friends,’ he said triumphantly. ‘The Genii War is won.’

  Moor struck out with his thaumaturgy, sending a lance of energy into the Retrospective. It hit the jar. Terracotta shattered.

  A dome of ash grey ballooned. A drone spread across the battered landscape, tremulous with the accumulation of enormous power. The wild demons stirred. The phantom of Spiral’s mind raced down and dived into the grey dome.

  Like an abscess bursting, the dome erupted into a great dirty sandstorm that roared into the air, tearing into the tower of flesh.

  With their last breaths, the humans screamed as the blistering sandstorm raged upwards, shredding and tearing, drinking blood and devouring flesh. Blossoming with a deep crimson colour, the storm chewed its way through the humans as quickly and efficiently as fire burning paper. When it reached the top and finished feeding, the storm hung as a dull red cloud. The remnants of the humans rained down on the hill in a shower of bones.

  The wild demons screeched and bellowed, swarming the hill, reaching out for the burning cloud above them. As if they were praying, Moor thought. When the cloud descended, it fell like a boulder, leaving behind red streaks as it dropped from the sky. It crashed into the swarm with an almighty explosion. A shock wave rolled with fire, spreading out across the Retrospective, incinerating every demon in its path. And it came for the Nightshade.

  Hagi Tabet whimpered.

  ‘Fabian,’ Asajad said. ‘Close the portal.’

  ‘Why fear it?’ Gadreel growled. He stood proudly as the shock wave neared. ‘Lord Spiral returns.’

  Moor was frowning. He could perceive the hate and hunger hurtling towards the Nightshade. It was twinned with a madness so deep-rooted that he realised it would not stop until it devoured everything in its way. Including the Nightshade and its occupants.

  ‘Something is wrong,’ Moor whispered, a sense of dread rising within him.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Gadreel.

  ‘Fabian!’ Asajad screeched. ‘Close the damned portal!’

  A scorching wind blowing upon his face compelled Moor into action. He closed the portal as Spiral’s fire came dangerously close. Silence returned to the Nightshade.

  Gadreel glowered his disappointment, but Moor and Asajad stared at each other, troubled. Not all was as it should be with the Lord of the Genii’s reanimation.

  Chapter Seven

  Ice Giant

  With the Sisterhood of Bells far behind them, the agents of the Relic Guild arrived at a strange and cold House where they were surrounded by countless trees, tall and crooked and encased in ice.

  ‘So this is the Icicle Forest,’ Namji said, shivering and buttoning up her jacket.

  ‘Looks like we got a one-way ticket,’ Glogelder said. The expression on his scarred and pitted face was balanced between bemusement and fear as he watched the portal close and disappear.

  Hillem said nothing, just slid his pistols into the holsters at his hips and, ever the student, began examining the tree closest to him.

  Samuel scanned the area, holding his ice-rifle tightly, his breath frosting in the air. Whichever way he looked, he could see nothing through the dense, barren trees encased in glimmering frozen shells. Above, up through the leafless boughs, an unbroken grey blanket covered the sky. Overcast and dim, the Icicle Forest was shrouded in unwelcoming twilight.

  The sloping forest floor was unnaturally smooth; there was no undergrowth, no tree roots or fallen branches protruding from the thick covering of fresh snow. And when Samuel dug at the untouched layer with his boot, he uncovered no dead leaves or mulch; just more snow, hard and compacted, glinting with tiny blue stars.

  ‘Samuel,’ said Namji, ‘do you sense anything?’

  The old bounty hunter shook his head. His prescient awareness had returned to him – and he was thankful for that, especially because it was currently dormant and issuing no warning of imminent danger – but even so, Samuel remained tense and alert. There was no breeze in this House. No sound. No scent.

  Glogelder grumbled. ‘So we don’t know where we’re going or what we’re supposed to do.’ Adjusting the straps of the duffel bag on his back, he looked up and down the slope, then checked the power stone on his spell sphere launcher. ‘Would’ve been nice if our instructions were a bit more detailed.’

  Samuel shook away images of the Genii Lady Amilee had imprisoned in Little Sibling.

  ‘I’ve got something that might help,’ Namji said. She sat down on the snow, laying aside her crossbow, and reached for her satchel. ‘Give me a moment.’

  From the satchel, the Aelf removed a folded piece of parchment, which she opened and laid flat on the ground, followed by a small spell sphere the size of a human eyeball filled with clear liquid. She cracked the sphere like an egg, releasing the liquid, which radiated a deep blue glow as it poured into a thick puddle upon the parchment. Discarding the broken glass, Namji used her index finger as a scriber, drawing magical symbols with the glowing ink.

  ‘Look at this,’ Hillem said. He was still studying the tree and had broken away some of the ice covering the trunk. ‘The ice is more like a shell, brittle like dead bark. And the tree underneath isn’t wood.’

  Samuel saw that Hillem had uncovered a shiny substance like resin, red with veins of blue and mottled by a deep purple. Samuel laid his hand upon it, surprised that it felt warm yet somehow insubstantial. Hillem checked another tree, and then another. Intrigued, Glogelder shouldered his launcher and investigated for himself.

  ‘They’re all the same,’ Hillem said.

  Samuel pulled his hand away as the tree’s warmth prickled against his skin, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

  ‘What are they?’ Glogelder asked.

  No one had an answer.

  ‘There,’ said Namji. ‘That should do it.’

  Whispering a few words of magic, she held the parchment up before her face and blew upon the blue script. The parchment burst into flame in her hands, burning brightly and quickly. As the ashes fell to the ground, black smoke rose and unfurled into a bird as black as soot, flapping
dark wings, soaring up through the trees towards the dreary sky.

  Namji retrieved her crossbow and stood. ‘Now we have eyes above,’ she said.

  Samuel, Hillem and Glogelder waited. Eventually, Namji’s eyes glazed, not quite looking at her colleagues but perhaps through them. Her eyes moved from side to side as though seeing some distant place, far beyond her companions. She was looking down on them through the eyes of her spell, Samuel realised. It was a trick he had seen Van Bam use before.

  ‘What do you see?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re in a depression,’ Namji answered. ‘The forest fills a giant bowl about a mile across. I can see a clearing halfway down, like a strip of bare land. Looks like a pale ring dividing the trees.’

  Samuel tried to imagine what Namji’s magical conjuration was seeing. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘The forest starts again and continues until you get to the centre. There are walls there. Big walls, far taller than the trees. Four of them, I think. Boxing something in.’

  ‘Can you see what?’

  ‘No – the spell can’t travel far enough ahead of me. We’ll have to get closer for a better look.’

  ‘Well then,’ said Hillem, ‘if that’s all there is besides trees, it must be our destination.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Glogelder muttered. ‘No idea what we’re looking for, but we’re going to find it anyway.’

  Samuel shared the Aelf’s apprehension. ‘How long does your spell last?’ he asked Namji.

  ‘Long enough to lead us to the centre,’ she replied. ‘I’m blind on the ground, though. Someone will have to lead me.’

  Hillem placed Namji’s hand in the crook of his arm.

  ‘For now, just head down in a straight line,’ Namji said. ‘I’ll get more of an idea where we’re headed once we reach the clearing.’

  ‘I’ll take point,’ Samuel said. For the hundredth time, he checked that both power stones on his ice-rifle were primed. ‘Glogelder, you bring up the rear. And no one get in front of me.’

  They set off into the trees, heading towards whatever Lady Amilee had sent them here to find.