The Watcher of Dead Time

by Edward Cox

  ‘Gulduur Bellow,’ Marney said. ‘But Bellow’s only one. We need the whole herd.’

  ‘And you are only one magicker, yet look at all you have achieved, Marney.’ Sadness touched Wolfe’s features. ‘I don’t know what became of Bellow, and I don’t remember what he can change. I lost too much of myself to Known Things.’ He brightened. ‘But I remember enough to spare you both the confusion of wading through this dangerous amalgamation of memories.’ Wolfe pointed at the tent of skin. ‘There is where you will discover the Nephilim herd. But I warn you – that tent also holds some of Spiral’s more personal records.’

  Clara swallowed. ‘Personal records?’

  ‘I cannot say how they will manifest to you, but please remember … The Lord of the Genii was once called First Lord of the Thaumaturgists, and I Honoured Lord. We both served the same master.’

  Looking over the demonic audience at the tent onstage, Clara felt unease squirm in her gut. Scenery moved; boards wobbled thunder. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘He’s talking about the Timewatcher,’ Marney stated without emotion.

  Wolfe sighed wistfully. ‘Iblisha Spiral and I have both kept Her company. We know Her face. We know Her voice. And Known Things knows our memories.’

  ‘Oh …’ Clara felt strength draining from her legs.

  The Timewatcher. A symbol, a myth – the great and powerful Mother who abandoned Her children. Clara had never stopped to consider that the Timewatcher was real.

  Wolfe continued, ‘Spiral once loved the Timewatcher so so dearly, and his memory of Her forced him to bury that love deep inside Known Things – along with the plans that he entrusted only to himself.’ Wolfe’s face became oddly poised between amusement and a resolve which showed some of the power he’d commanded as a creature of higher magic. ‘Unfortunately for Spiral, when he forced me to become Voice of Known Things, he made me the curator of this place. He could hide nothing from me.’

  ‘Then why do we need to go into the tent at all?’ Clara said, fearful of what she might find there. ‘If you know Spiral’s secrets, then you know where the Nephilim are.’

  It wasn’t the first time that Clara had pointed this out; and not for the first time, Wolfe addressed the cryptic answer to Marney.

  ‘All things are known in the end, and nothing is ever as it first appears. I cannot do this for you.’

  Lightning illuminated the audience.

  ‘Once you enter that tent, there is no coming out,’ Wolfe said. ‘While we have been speaking, your magic has been devouring the world outside. The inside of this theatre is now all that remains of Known Things in your mind. I will hold your magic back for as long as I can, but eventually it will devour me, too, along with the contents of that tent. And now you should leave.’

  The audience stirred, moving in their seats with bestial grunts and groans. Clara and Marney watched them, frightened that they might rise and attack. When they finally settled again, the magickers discovered that Wolfe had disappeared.

  ‘That’s annoying,’ Marney said.

  Thunder growled, deeper than anything made by boards, and the sound itched against Clara’s skin, overwhelming her fear of the tent.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said.

  Cautiously, they set off down the aisle. The taste of blood in the air became stronger and Clara fought the urge to gag, just as she fought the urge to look at the faces of the demonic audience.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ Marney said as they climbed the steps to the stage, ‘but I really don’t want to walk into that tent.’

  The scenery moved and clashed. Lightning blazed again, somehow making the tent look taller.

  With the magickers onstage, the audience began an eerie applause of slow, wet-sounding claps. Stage lights shone in Clara’s eyes and she could see nothing of the monstrosities in their seats. The claps became synchronised until they unified into one sharp crack, repeated over and over, aggressive, urging, slowly increasing in tempo.

  Marney pulled back the flap of skin, revealing the tent’s dark opening. ‘After you,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks,’ Clara said drily, and she ducked inside.

  As the flap fell closed behind them, all sound from the theatre died. The reek of blood disappeared.

  Lit by candles, the interior of the tent was larger than it had appeared from the outside. The walls moved in and out as though breathing, though thankfully they appeared to be made of canvas, not skin. A collection of tarnished copper pots sat on a floor of flat, hard-packed earth, all filled to spilling point with uncut green gems. A run of clear ground led to the back of the tent, where a full-length dress mirror stood in a silver frame.

  Clara headed towards it. Marney appeared reluctant at first, pausing for a heartbeat before following.

  The mirror didn’t quite reflect their images. Its surface wavered almost fluidly, struggling to retain a permanent state. Clara caught glimpses of herself and Marney surrounded by cauldrons filled with green gems; but she also saw somewhere else. It might have been an alleyway.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked Marney. ‘A portal?’

  ‘Maybe. I think so.’ Marney looked confused. ‘I’m not sure.’

  In one of the cauldrons, a green gem had begun to glow. It made Clara think of Van Bam. Not really understanding why, she picked it up and weighed it in her hand. The glow intensified as it changed shape into a smooth, neat diamond. And she could almost hear the deep, soothing tones of the illusionist.

  ‘Clara,’ Marney hissed, sounding frightened. ‘What are you doing?’

  But Clara was listening to some instinct inside her that drove her actions. She raised her arm and hurled the diamond at the mirror.

  The mirror shattered outwards, trapping images of the magickers in a thousand flying portraits, sharp and jagged. Clara raised her hands. Marney yelled. But before the storm of broken mirror touched them, the shards froze in the air momentarily before being sucked back by the black vacuum that had appeared within the frame.

  Clara barely had time to shout before she and Marney were also picked up and dragged into the darkness beyond the mirror.

  Forty Years Earlier

  Glass and Mirrors

  Ocean.

  Marney knew what the word meant. She had heard her fellow agents talk about them before, how they had sailed on them, swum in them, caught fish from them; but Marney had never seen one herself. And now, too drained and exhausted to cope with adding any new experiences to a mind already full to bursting, she protected her emotions behind a shield of apathy, feeling nothing for the ocean that surrounded her.

  But she could tell by the look of awe and wonder on Denton’s face that they weren’t gazing upon the usual definition of the word.

  The empaths stood on a tiny island of flat, clear glass. There was no sign of the portal which had delivered them there. Neat steps led down to a promontory that sat flush with water as clear and still as the glass beneath their feet. The ocean reached to the horizon, calm beneath a sky blanketed by gently rolling clouds of deep purple.

  Daylight appeared to shine from the air itself, warm and welcoming; but night lay beneath the ocean’s surface. It was a dizzying view from the island, down into depths where millions of stars shone amidst glowing nebulae in an alien sky. This expanse of water was like a barrier dividing two realities.

  ‘The others must know about Angel,’ Marney said to Denton, her voice dispassionate. ‘Van Bam will blame himself for her death. I know he will.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Denton replied. At the mention of Angel’s name, he, too, encased his emotions in magical apathy. His nose was broken and cuts and scrapes and dried blood covered his face. ‘But that’s not our concern right now.’

  In the near distance, rising like a monumental palace, was the mythical place that Marney and Denton had come to find: the Library of Glass and
Mirrors.

  Big enough to be a citadel, it was made entirely of translucent crystal which reflected the sky and sea in a clash of deep purple and twinkling stars. It was the largest structure Marney had ever seen, dwarfing the Nightshade many times over, maybe spacious enough to hold a hundred thousand residents or more. She could make out a few spires and domes, but much of the Library’s detail was lost due to dancing lights and translucency.

  It was said that inside this place, everything that could be known was known – the histories of past, present and future. Assuredly it was the most breathtaking vision, the most wondrous House Marney had seen on this nightmarish mission, yet she felt nothing.

  ‘Marney,’ said Denton, ‘do you remember how I told you that the Thaumaturgists fear the Library?’

  Marney nodded.

  ‘I choose to believe that the Timewatcher is wise and has no need to abuse the histories this place keeps. Spiral, on the other hand, would if he could.’

  A vague sense of intrigue bloomed in Marney. ‘But he can’t?’

  Denton didn’t answer directly. ‘The Library is undoubtedly the greatest and most dangerous of all resources. Thus great and dangerous power protects it.’ He pointed to a small vessel that had appeared, sailing towards the island with a dark figure standing at its prow. ‘The Thaumaturgists and the Genii are not the only creatures of higher magic, Clara.’

  As Marney watched the vessel, she realised it was jaunting towards the island with a series of snappish movements that left streaks of light behind it, but caused no disturbance on the surface of the water. The figure looked frozen, statue-still, coming closer all the time with frightening speed.

  ‘Who is it?’ Marney asked.

  ‘A Librarian. I think. I hope.’ Denton shrugged. ‘The truth is, I don’t know much more than you do about this place and its inhabitants.’

  ‘Are they expecting us, at least?’

  ‘Since legend says the Librarians know everything, I’d hope so. But on the off-chance they don’t …’ Denton pulled the sigil wallet from the leg pocket on his fatigues. ‘Let’s pray they hold Lady Amilee in high regard.’

  ‘Now that we’re here,’ Marney said, with the vessel almost upon them, ‘I don’t suppose you can tell me what we’re looking for?’

  Denton shook his head. ‘I’ve dedicated my life to the pursuit of knowledge, but I never realised how terrible knowledge could be until now.’ He looked at her, his eyes sad. ‘The Librarians went to great pains to hide the portal to their House, and with good reason, Marney. Do not let curiosity get the better of you. Understand?’

  The vessel reached the promontory and revealed itself to be a flat platform of glass as clear as the island itself. The lone passenger – the Librarian – stood with hands tucked into the sleeves of a black robe, face hidden by a deep hood. He made no attempt to disembark.

  Marney, thought Denton.

  I know, Marney replied tiredly, let you do the talking, right?

  Actually, I was going to warn you that I have absolutely no idea what happens next. But trust me.

  The empaths walked down the steps, and as they approached the vessel, the Librarian spoke.

  ‘I greet you on friendly terms.’ A high male voice, officious in tone yet soft. ‘Do you reciprocate?’

  It struck Marney as an odd way to begin a conversation, but Denton remained unfazed. ‘We do,’ he said smoothly, and offered the Librarian the sigil wallet. ‘Our credentials.’

  The hand that appeared from the robe wasn’t quite real to Marney’s eyes. It seemed to be made of light, but not bright light; rather a hardened luminescence that resembled pale scales. The Librarian took the wallet from Denton and promptly threw it into the water without so much as opening it. It wasn’t an aggressive act. The wallet sank down towards the stars at the bottom of the ocean.

  ‘We know who you are,’ the Librarian said without the slightest inflection that might indicate his mood. ‘And we know why you are here.’

  Marney tensed as the dark opening of the Librarian’s hood turned towards her.

  ‘What is written about you in the Library of Glass and Mirrors is curious. We Librarians are … intrigued by your arrival.’

  He gestured that they should join him and the empaths stepped onto the glass vessel. Marney lowered her apathetic shield enough to allow her empathic magic to search for the Librarian’s emotions. What she felt was as alien as any other creature of higher magic she had tried to read, and it threatened to overwhelm every sense she had. She withdrew her magic hastily, and Denton gave her a warning look.

  ‘I suggest that you sit,’ said the Librarian, turning and staring back towards the crystal citadel rising from the ocean. ‘The uninitiated can find the crossing a little turbulent, and if you fall into the water, you will never stop falling.’

  The empaths did as the Librarian instructed, Denton groaning as his old joints complained. Once they were seated, the platform set off for the Library of Glass and Mirrors.

  The crossing made Marney feel a little sick. The strange lunging motion of the glass platform combined with the dizzying emptiness of space below turned her stomach and forced her eyes closed. She was relieved when they reached the towering glass monument and the vessel slid smoothly into the huge arch of a tunnel cut into its base.

  Marney’s breath caught. The tunnel ceiling was far overhead and lit by something resembling huge luminous dandelion heads, millions of them, their soft light waxing and waning as they drifted serenely. The lights, pale and violet, only seemed to emphasise how surprisingly dark it was inside the Library’s transparent structure. They were mesmerising.

  So beautiful, she thought to Denton.

  Careful, Marney, Denton replied. The Librarian can probably hear our magic.

  I don’t care, Marney said, transfixed by the dandelion lights, allowing awe to bleed through her apathy. Look at them, Denton!

  The old empath chuckled in her mind.

  As the vessel slid further into the Library of Glass and Mirrors, the strange drifting lights formed into configurations that somehow conveyed a message to Marney, perhaps a gentle greeting. She felt as though there were no walls or barriers, and that she was floating down into the great void of space beneath the ocean.

  She grew curious about the Librarian, standing so still on the vessel. Why does he cover himself? she asked Denton. Why hide from us?

  I think you’ve got it wrong, Marney, Denton replied. I’m not entirely sure the Librarians are corporeal beings. He isn’t hiding. I suspect he’s letting us see him.

  ‘That is quite correct,’ said the Librarian with that soft, officious tone. ‘I adopt this image so you see me. So you accept me.’ He moved up to the edge of the vessel. ‘And you will see me again shortly.’

  Marney yelped as the Librarian stepped off the edge and disappeared. Denton looked perplexed. The dandelion lights died and the stars in the depths went out.

  ‘Denton?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure this is normal.’ But he sounded concerned in the dark.

  The vessel stopped. A tingling sensation filled Marney’s gut, as though she were rising or falling – she couldn’t tell which – in an elevator. It was a disconcerting feeling, for although she was beset by the sensation of motion, the deep purple hue that suddenly broke the darkness above was getting neither closer nor further away. Marney decided they were rising, and the purple was a view of the sky outside. There was something about the sky that Marney recognised.

  ‘Denton, if the Librarians are creatures of higher magic, then the Library isn’t inside the Nothing of Far and Deep, is it? Or out among the Houses of the Aelfir?’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ Denton hesitated, watching his protégé, gauging her reaction. ‘The Library of Glass and Mirrors is inside the Higher Thaumaturgic Cluster.’

  His answer didn’t tell Marney anythi
ng she hadn’t already guessed, but it still inspired her to tighten her emotional defences again.

  The Higher Thaumaturgic Cluster, inside which the Timewatcher resided on Mother Earth. What felt like a lifetime ago, Lady Amilee had shown it to Marney from a distance, a great purple cloud in space bigger than the Nothing of Far and Deep. But Marney had only seen it from afar, and now …

  ‘We’re inside the Higher Thaumaturgic Cluster?’

  ‘Yes – and it wouldn’t surprise me if we were the first living humans ever to see it from the inside. This isn’t exactly the reality we’re used to—’

  A soft, warm radiance abruptly banished the purple sky. The platform reached its destination, sitting flush with a floor of clear glass in a gigantic hall that looked to Marney like the inside of a hollow tower. The walls glowed gently with all the colours of the spectrum. Above, the dandelion lights had returned, drifting and filling conical heights.

  ‘This is interesting,’ Denton murmured.

  The temperature had dropped and Marney pulled her jacket tighter around her.

  A series of identical mirrors had been set into the multi-hued walls, each six feet tall and oval, too many to count. Their surfaces didn’t look quite solid; Marney’s reflection rippled slowly, almost wavering like sheets drying in the breeze. It was a hypnotising effect and she rubbed her eyes.

  ‘Stay here,’ Denton told her.

  Marney couldn’t say for sure whether the Librarian had been in the hall when the empaths arrived, but he was there now, standing before one of the mirrors. Denton approached the figure, and they conversed in voices too low for Marney to hear. They didn’t speak long before the Librarian stepped to one side, and the rippling surface of the mirror changed.

  Marney saw an impossibly large library room in the mirror, stacked floor to ceiling with books, stretching far into the distance. Row after row of reading tables lined the centre, along with what appeared to be lamp posts topped with spherical glow lamps shining with blue light.