by Edward Cox
Tal had remained behind. Spiral’s spy. His black eyes, shining like the shells of beetles, stared at the Genii. He spoke with a genial, unconcerned tone.
‘I am to instruct you in Lord Spiral’s absence.’
Chapter Sixteen
Older Monsters
Clara stood outside the room she had woken up in, eavesdropping on Samuel and Marney’s conversation.
‘ … I never really had much interest in Hamir,’ Samuel was saying. ‘In the old days, the others were always joking about his origins and secrets, but I don’t think anyone would’ve guessed he was a Thaumaturgist.’
‘Sort of seems obvious now, doesn’t it?’ said Marney.
In the hall outside the room, the Toymaker stood a few paces away from Clara, his many parts interlocked into a single automaton. He never spoke, merely followed Clara around, obeying Amilee’s command to protect her. Clara supposed the Toymaker was her bodyguard now. Strange how things turned out sometimes.
‘I’ll tell you what I’m wondering,’ Marney said. ‘If Hamir is the Progenitor, and if Gideon’s ancestor was a Nephilim … does that mean Hamir was Gideon’s great-great grandfather or something?’
Clara heard something then, something she had never heard before: the light and open sound of Samuel laughing.
Marney sighed. ‘But Gideon has gone for good now. And so has Denton.’
‘Do you think their spirits made it to Mother Earth?’ Samuel said.
‘I hope so.’
You do know, Clara, Van Bam said in her mind, that this counts as a breach of privacy.
Clara smiled. Can you honestly say you’ve never listened in on your agents in secret? Van Bam didn’t reply. Thought so.
If Clara felt anything strange about having the voice of a dead Resident in her head, it was that it didn’t feel strange at all. Van Bam’s ghost was a smooth, gentle presence, benevolent and calming at the back of her mind – nothing like the harsh, intrusive ghost of Gideon. Ever since Clara awoke from Known Things, she had felt complete, as though she had been listening to Van Bam’s voice her entire life. She didn’t know why the Nightshade had chosen her, wasn’t interested in discovering what qualities might make her a good Resident; she simply accepted that this had happened because it was supposed to.
Clara, said Van Bam, given the circumstances, perhaps you should announce your presence to your agents. Lady Amilee and the others are waiting for us all.
Oh, come on – aren’t you just a little bit curious?
‘So what have you been doing for the last forty years?’ Samuel asked a little awkwardly, as though having a chat was an alien concept to him.
‘I went back to university after the war,’ Marney replied. ‘I finished my degree and wound up teaching history.’
‘I didn’t know you were at university,’ Samuel said.
‘That’s because you hardly ever bloody spoke to me,’ Marney chided. ‘I was in the middle of my studies when I joined the Relic Guild.’
‘Bounty hunting felt like the only thing left for me.’ There was a distant, remorseful edge to Samuel’s tone. ‘I wouldn’t like to guess how many contracts I fulfilled over the years. I was damn good at it.’
‘And they called you Old Man Sam,’ said Marney. ‘The shadow, the mystery. I knew it was you they were talking about whenever Old Man Sam was mentioned. You terrified the underworld, you know.’
‘I kept waiting for Van Bam to get in touch, to let us know the Relic Guild was needed.’ Bitterness laced Samuel’s words now. ‘But so much changed, and the call never came.’
‘Until now.’
‘I always wondered what I’d do if I ran into you on the street, Marney. But I didn’t see you again until the night Fabian Moor returned.’
‘I saw you a couple of times, and I hid,’ Marney admitted. ‘I wasn’t sure how you’d react. It just never felt right to approach you. Does that make sense?’
‘Yes.’
In the following silence, Clara considered the history of these two magickers. They had shared so many experiences; how could they have let themselves drift apart as they had?
As if plucking the thought straight from her mind, Van Bam said, I think it was easier in the long run. The Relic Guild became a defunct organisation after the Genii War. The Timewatcher and the Thaumaturgists left. The doorways to the Houses of the Aelfir were taken away. We had simply lost our purpose, and perhaps with it our commonalities.
But to not even try? Clara said. Friendship, camaraderie – surely that counted for something?
If only we had remembered that, Clara.
‘I used to hate that we had to keep so many secrets from each other,’ Samuel said.
‘At least we understand why now,’ Marney said. ‘Amilee’s been plotting for a lot of years, gathering all the pieces that only made sense to her bigger picture.’
‘But if only I’d known we’d be needed again, just to give me some … certainty. After the war, I was lost without the Relic Guild.’
‘I know how you feel. Though I think being an empath was far easier to hide than, say, being a changeling.’
Samuel huffed. ‘And here we are, with a changeling as our Resident.’
Clara stiffened, her attention finely tuned now.
Ah, said Van Bam. So this is what you have been waiting to hear.
Clara gave a mental shrug. It can’t hurt to find out how they feel about me.
Clara, I should warn you—
She shushed him as Samuel continued.
‘I don’t know what the Nightshade looks for in a Resident,’ he said, ‘but I certainly don’t envy Clara. Do you?’
‘Definitely not,’ Marney replied. ‘Especially not for being in charge of old magickers like us.’
‘Do you think she’s too young?’ Samuel said, not unkindly. ‘Do you really think she’s up to it?’
Clara, you should understand by now—
Quiet, Clara snapped, her heart in her mouth.
Marney said, ‘Without a doubt, Samuel, I believe Clara will be the greatest Resident Labrys Town has ever known.’
‘You do?’ Samuel was full of scepticism. ‘Really?’
‘No, of course not!’ Marney announced, adding drily, ‘But she’s eavesdropping outside the door so I thought I’d make a good impression.’
Clara froze.
As I was trying to say, Van Bam said, clearly amused, I would very much advise against trying to hide your presence from an empath.
Feeling sheepish, Clara told the Toymaker to wait outside before slipping into the room.
Samuel stood facing the door, his arms folded across his chest, a frown on his face. Marney was sitting on the edge of the padded table, wearing a baldric of throwing daggers like a waistcoat and giving Clara a knowing look.
‘She’s certainly sneaky enough to be a Resident,’ Samuel said.
Marney nodded.
Clara discovered that she had no words. She didn’t know how the Resident was supposed to address her agents of the Relic Guild. She just felt like regular old Clara standing before them. Not that that had ever been an easy thing.
Any advice? she asked Van Bam.
Be yourself, Clara, he answered softly. They are already on your side.
Clara took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what happens next,’ she told them. ‘But if we live through this, I won’t let us become strangers in whatever home we have left to return to.’
Marney grinned. ‘Well said.’
Samuel was staring intently into Clara’s eyes, perhaps trying to see a sign that his old friend Van Bam was somewhere behind their sunshine yellow. ‘Well, as you say, we have to live through this first.’
Van Bam laughed. You know, I have yet to meet the person who could convince Samuel to see the positive side.
Clara ad
dressed Marney. ‘Before we woke up from Known Things, you told me you’d thought of a way to find the Nephilim’s prison in the Retrospective.’
‘I have,’ said Marney, her face serious. ‘And it might be easier now the Retrospective’s already here.’ She slipped off the table and headed for the door. ‘Let’s go and see Gulduur,’ she called back. ‘We need to summon a demon.’
When Ennis caught up with the Woodsman, the demon was under attack.
Ennis hid behind a tree in a small grove that marked the end of the inhabited region of Resident Approach. Across the street from the last building in line – an open warehouse of some kind – fifteen or more virus victims rushed the Woodsman, coughing and barking, clambering over each other to be the first to reach the demon.
The stench of rotting vegetables reached Ennis’s nose.
The Woodsman calmly placed the squirming sack it was carrying on the ground and stood astride it. The demon lifted its mighty woodcutter’s axe and faced the horde. The stitches holding together the gashes on its limbs strained as muscles bunched.
The first three infected were cut in half by a single sideways strike and the axe emerged from a torrent of blood, trailing red through the air. Undeterred by the fate of their fellow beasts, the rest of the infected attacked as one, desperate for a taste of the demon’s flesh. But the Woodsman was preternaturally fast, freakishly strong, and the axe rose and fell, hacked and slashed, lopping off limbs and heads in a methodical routine.
Hidden behind the tree, Ennis observed with clenched teeth, his pistol clutched in a shaking hand. If the Retrospective came to Labrys Town, the threat of this virus would pale before the onslaught of many more wild demons like the Woodsman.
One of the infected managed to manoeuvre behind the fight and jump onto its foe’s back, sinking long teeth into the Woodsman’s shoulder. Unperturbed, the Woodsman continued dissecting the enemies before it. The beast on its back fell away, choking and writhing as though it had swallowed the deadliest of poisons. Its skin split and the meat underneath liquefied, steaming and melting in but a moment to a pool of organic soup around a pale skeleton.
While the Woodsman made quick work of the final few infected, the sack between its legs opened and a young girl wriggled free. She looked to be around ten and was holding the hand of a boy a few years younger.
Daniel and Jade.
Ennis resisted the impulse to call to them as they fled from the Woodsman in their nightclothes, bare feet slapping through the viscous puddle left behind by the poisoned virus victim. But the Woodsman, with no enemies left to fight, saw the children trying to escape and caught up with them in a few long strides. It bundled the pair back into the sack, ignoring their tears and screams.
Feeling sick, Ennis remembered Long Tommy’s pistol holstered at his side. He doubted regular ammunition would have any effect on the Woodsman, but should he use one of the thaumaturgic bullets in an attempt to kill the monster and save the children?
Torn, desperately clinging to the greater goal of his mission, Ennis did nothing but watch the Woodsman throw the sack over its shoulder and continued northwards, carrying the axe in its free hand. Only when the demon had disappeared into the unlit gloom did Ennis summon the courage to leave his hiding place and follow.
Buildings and streetlamps were soon left behind as the desolate, most northerly region of Resident Approach stretched ahead. Even in normal times no denizen lingered in this area, as though the street itself had become a forbidden zone, a bridge into unknown and dangerous places. There were no shadows to hide in and Ennis felt naked in the cold gleam of Silver Moon.
Before long, the street narrowed and the tramlines converged into a single track. The street began to dip, cutting into the ground and eventually levelling out like a valley floor, flanked by sheer walls fifteen feet high. At least the walls provided some cover.
The Woodsman, the Resident’s pet, was obviously heading for the Nightshade, too. There was no chance Ennis could get ahead of it now; he would just have to keep his distance and figure out a way to deal with the demon when the time came.
He picked his way through an area of stone debris scattered across the cobbles. The remnants of the statues of past Residents, he realised, broken and crumbled to reveal the automaton sentries beneath. Amidst the debris sat spherical eye devices, glowing with a violet light as the woman’s voice again told the denizens to evacuate to the central district.
Clearing the debris, Ennis stuck close to the wall, continuing as fast as he dared. He only slowed when he caught movement ahead.
Resident Approach ended at a high wall. Beyond it, the gigantic black cube of the Nightshade rose above the street, mysterious and ominous beneath Silver Moon. It was by far the largest building in Labrys Town. Ennis had been this close to the Nightshade on several occasions, normally to supervise the deliveries of cargo that until recently came through the portal in its forecourt. But he had never been inside it.
A tunnel in the end wall led to the Nightshade’s forecourt. Ennis watched as the Woodsman carried the sack into it and was almost immediately swallowed by darkness.
The demon’s reek of decay and hopelessness carried on the breeze as Ennis approached the tunnel. He checked the way was clear and then crept inside. The walls were slick, dripping with moisture. Nearing the end of the tunnel, Ennis remained hidden and looked out onto the forecourt. To one side, the Resident’s black tram sat on its tracks. The south wall of the Nightshade served as a vast backdrop, its dark stone decorated in places with a labyrinth design.
Ennis froze, holding his breath as the Woodsman came into view. It stood before the vast wall on the other side of a line of evenly spaced pedestals, upon which eyes sat and glared with pale light. With the sack still over its shoulder, the demon stepped towards the Nightshade. Shadows stretched from the wall, rising up like a wave, but they reared away from the Woodsman as though reluctant to receive an unwanted guest. Finally, perhaps bidden by the Resident, the shadows descended. The demons didn’t flinch as they engulfed him. When they receded, the Woodsman and the children were gone.
Ennis steadied his fear, recalling the words of the avatar. You cannot enter the Nightshade unless the Nightshade wants you inside. Despite the influence of the Genii, I’m confident the Resident’s home will have retained enough of its sentience to recognise a friend.
Confident? Discovering if the Nightshade would let him inside or not didn’t bother Ennis. But he was terrified of what happened either way once he found out.
Wishing his legs would stop shaking, Ennis left the tunnel. The light of the eyes glared from their pedestals as he passed them. He sent a silent prayer to the Timewatcher as the shadows of the Nightshade rose.
In the Tower of the Skywatcher, the group had congregated in the room where Alexander’s corpse was energising the tower’s defences to keep the demons of the Retrospective outside. For now.
With Amilee on one side of her and Samuel on the other, Clara watched, nervous and fascinated. Marney and Bellow had entered the circle of twisted white satin pillars where the cadaver was displayed and were preparing to summon a demon. Behind Clara, Namji, Hillem and Glogelder kept their distance, unsure and afraid. Hamir skulked at the back of the room.
The Toymaker guarded the door, under instructions to ensure the necromancer didn’t try to slip away again. Clara had already sent the automaton out once to find Hamir, who seemed determined to put off facing the judgement of the group for as long as possible; but there was no time left to accommodate whatever shame the former Thaumaturgist was feeling.
Marney sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by the wet heartbeat-like sound of Alexander’s body pumping blood-magic around the tower. Her teeth gritted, she was using one of her throwing daggers to carve some kind of sigil into the skin of her forearm.
‘I’m not convinced this is a good idea,’ said Amilee. The Skywatcher’s tired fac
e was creased with concern. She looked around the room as if fearful that a horde of wild demons might storm her tower at any minute. ‘You understand what you are attempting to do, Gulduur?’
‘Please be quiet,’ Bellow replied. He didn’t speak with disrespect or chagrin; he simply required silence in which to concentrate. With his hand painted red from a fresh cut on his palm, the Nephilim was gently stroking the surface of the dark portal within its oval frame, barely touching it.
‘I hope this works,’ Samuel muttered.
The silence that followed was broken only by the noises coming from the corpse.
When Clara, Samuel and Marney joined the group earlier, Bellow highlighted a problem heading towards those without thaumaturgic skills. Even if creatures of lower magic could traverse the Retrospective while bypassing legions of wild demons; even if they were able to survive the blistering, acidic environment; even if they could somehow adapt to breathe an atmosphere of purest poison and hate – even then, the chaos of dead time would still crush their minds and pervert their bodies until it left behind nothing more than savage beasts. To enter the Retrospective was to invite a fate worse than death. Dead time was corrosion to lower magic, Bellow said; rust for the soul.
Each agent of the Relic Guild had taken turns to stand before Bellow as he drew glyphs and blood-magic wards upon their stomachs. Using a bowl filled with his own blood and whispering words too fleeting to catch, the Nephilim cast the spells that would protect them all from the damnation of the Retrospective.
‘What is dead time, anyway?’ Glogelder had mumbled when Bellow finished painting on him.
Clara had taken her place before the giant after Glogelder, raising her dark grey top to reveal her stomach. Kneeling in front of her, Bellow had begun his work with a surprisingly light touch.
