The Infernal Aether Box Set: All Four Books In The Series

by Peter Oxley

  “I’m a bit busy right now, Gus,” Maxwell said. “Can this wait until later?”

  “Actually it’s N’yotsu we’ve come to see,” I said. “Is he in?”

  “Oh,” said Maxwell. “Yes... He’s in his quarters.”

  Kate led us up the stairs; after a pause Maxwell followed us.

  “I thought you were busy?” I said to him with a smile. Getting no response other than a frown I continued: “You’ve sacrificed some laboratory space to give N’yotsu his own room? Are you getting soft in your old age?”

  “We have been working so closely together recently that it was only logical that he should lodge here,” said Maxwell. “It seemed appropriate that he should have some privacy.”

  “Yeah,” said Kate from over her shoulder. “And with the sorts of things he likes to gather round him, it’s best he’s kept out of sight.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Kate answered me with raised eyebrows and a smile before knocking on the door to N’yotsu’s room. He answered it almost immediately, his body filling the doorway. There was something different about him, and it took me a moment to comprehend what that was. I had only ever seen him dressed in the most immaculate evening wear, yet he stood before us looking decidedly slovenly, having discarded his top hat, jacket and tie in favour of a decidedly louche open shirt. “How can I help you?” he asked.

  “We have a situation which would benefit from your particular expertise,” I said and nodded to Kate.

  “This is a friend of mine, name of Mr. Jones,” she said, gesturing to the old man, who was cowering in the corridor behind us. “He’s been troubled by some coves who’re menacing money from him.”

  “I believe the usual protocol is to call for the police,” said N’yotsu. “I am rather busy here.”

  “Busy doing what, exactly?” asked Maxwell, peering round the door.

  “That’s not all,” continued Kate. “There’s something about this which you’d definitely be interested in. The cove in question has these bruisers that ain’t human. What did you call them, Gus?”

  “Golems.”

  “Golems? As in the Jewish folklore?” asked Maxwell. “Are you quite sure?”

  “They were huge man-shaped pieces of animated clay,” I said. “If you can think of another explanation then I would be more than willing to listen.”

  “It has been a few years since I last encountered a golem,” said N’yotsu, turning away and walking inside, leaving the door open.

  We followed him into the room, which was even more sparsely furnished than the rest of the house, the only nods to comfort or amenity being a table and chair crammed into the corner of the room. The floor put me in mind of a maze in the grounds of a stately home, but designed perhaps by a demented librarian. Varied arrangements and piles of books were laid around the room in an order which seemed completely chaotic save for the pathways created, presumably, to permit N’yotsu to navigate from one end to the other without treading on them. Something, though, was bothering me about the lack of furniture.

  “Where do you sleep?” I asked.

  I was ignored as Kate stood in front of N’yotsu, arms folded. “So what are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I was going to finish this book,” N’yotsu said. “Why do you ask?”

  “But what about them golems?” she said.

  “Oh, them. So who created these golems?”

  “No idea.”

  “It could not have been the person leading them around,” I said. “He is not the most intelligent looking fellow. And he is certainly not one of the leading lights in the criminal world, otherwise I would have heard of him.”

  Maxwell was peering at one of the walls, which I now noticed was covered in words, numbers and diagrams, none of which made the slightest sense to me. “Is that Fermat’s Theorem?” he asked.

  “It is,” said N’yotsu. “I proved it last night.”

  “But that’s...” Maxwell was frowning at the numbers.

  “Please do not insult your intelligence or mine by saying ‘impossible’, Maxwell,” he said. “I am capable of many things. Mathematical problem solving is the least spectacular of them, I am sure you will agree.”

  Maxwell seemed to concede this point and returned his attention to the formulae.

  N’yotsu turned back to us. “They are not my normal cup of tea—far too temporal for my liking. However, where there are golems there is usually a sorcerer or other person of power.”

  “And of course we’ll stop the things hurtin’ people,” said Kate.

  “What? Yes, of course,” said N’yotsu.

  I turned to Maxwell. “Do you still have my pistol?”

  “Hmm?” he frowned at being distracted from examining N’yotsu’s scribblings. “Yes, it is still safely locked away, to save you from your impetuosity.”

  “Hang that,” I said. “I think I shall be needing it now, do you not agree?”

  * * *

  It did not take us too long to find Silas and his unusual companions: they left such a trail of destruction and distress that even a complete novice such as myself had no trouble tracking them. Silas was holding court in the middle of the street, brazenly collecting money from cowed stallholders while the golems watched on in silence.

  “How long has this been going on?” Maxwell asked.

  “Just about a week, I think,” said Mr. Jones.

  “But why have the police not done something about this? He’s extorting money in broad daylight.”

  Mr. Jones laughed. “Look around ye, son. Old Bill got more sense than to get involved round these parts. People like ’im,” he nodded at the thug, “them’re the law round ’ere.”

  “So what now?” I asked.

  “We have a chat,” said N’yotsu. He was once more dressed immaculately and had topped off his formalwear with a cane which he tapped on the ground as he strode forwards.

  I jogged to keep up with him, my hand resting on the pistol which Maxwell had finally returned to me. “So what is your plan?” I asked.

  “I am sure one will come to mind at some point,” he said, grinning and pushing his way through the crowd until we were in front of the thug. The crowd did not resist our advance in any way. Indeed, I suspected that they were grateful for any distraction which could afford them an opportunity to escape with their hard-earned pennies.

  “You,” said N’yotsu, pointing his cane at Silas’s face. “I wager you’re neither a cultured man nor an occultist. Where did you get these golems?”

  Silas regarded us with cold eyes while the crowd receded, making me feel even more exposed in front of the four clay giants. He once more exuded all the confidence of a schoolyard bully; whilst he was wiry and scarred enough to suggest that he could acquit himself viciously enough in a fight, I suspected his swagger would be much less convincing without the back-up of even bigger companions.

  “I found ’em under a rock,” he said. “What’s it to you?”

  “I am curious,” said N’yotsu. “If there is someone in town handing out mythical creatures, I want to meet them.”

  Silas grinned. “You must be N’yotsu,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  I glanced at N’yotsu, who muttered, “Did you speak to him, tell him you were going to find me?”

  “No,” I said.

  “How do you know my name?” N’yotsu asked Silas.

  “I was told to expect you,” he said. “By the man who gave me these.” He gestured at the golems.

  “And who might that be?” asked N’yotsu.

  Silas laughed. “Oh you’ll find out soon enough. If you live that long, ’course.”

  “The only thing more boring than golems,” said N’yotsu “is empty threats. My threats, on the other hand, are extremely serious. Now, tell me who your contact is and what they know of me.”

  “Or what?” Silas asked. “Let me guess. Or you’ll stop me, destroy my golems, beat me to within an inch of my life unt
il I squeal and tell all?”

  “Something like that,” said N’yotsu. “Well?”

  Silas shook his head and pointed at us. “Kill them,” he said. As one, the golems marched toward us.

  Chapter 17

  We ran, dodging past carts and darting round corners, as the lumbering giants advanced on us. The golems were imposing, but fortunately their size advantage was more than offset by their lack of speed and manoeuvrability—and intelligence, it seemed. As a result, outrunning them was possible; although I had a nagging feeling that we would tire long before they did. That is if they were capable of such sensations as fatigue at all, something which I very much doubted. Even my pistol was useless against them, like throwing balls of paper at a wall.

  No sooner had Kate and I found a cart to hide behind than it was swept aside by a huge fist. We sprinted away once more, this time to the refuge of an alleyway which in turn led to a series of narrow streets which we used to our advantage, losing the golem and bringing us back round to the street where Silas stood, enjoying the mayhem he had set in motion.

  I saw Maxwell hiding behind another cart and ran over to join him. Mr. Jones was nowhere to be seen, no doubt having escaped amidst all the confusion.

  “Gus, Kate,” Maxwell greeted us as we threw ourselves to the ground next to him. “Thank God you’re safe.”

  “Pretty easy to outsmart, ain’t they?” said Kate. “They’re basically just walking hammers.”

  “It would appear that our friend there has used a rudimentary shem to animate them,” said Maxwell.

  “A what?” asked Kate.

  “Shem,” I said as I checked my pistol. “In the folklore it was the word used to give them life.”

  “That’s right,” said Maxwell, shooting me a surprised glance. “It is a holy word or form of words, typically in Hebrew, which not only gives life to the golems but also provides them with their instructions. In this case, it would appear that the shem is enough to animate them but too simplistic to give them any form of intelligent thought.”

  Kate peered round the corner of the cart. “Oh dear,” she said.

  I raised my head above our sanctuary. N’yotsu stood in the middle of the street, surrounded by the golems. He turned warily, fists clenched at his sides, as they advanced on him. I thought back to the times we had seen him acquit himself more than adequately against seemingly insurmountable opposition, although these clay giants seemed to be more formidable than previous opponents we had encountered. I stood and shouted, vainly hoping to create a distraction or draw them toward me, enabling our friend to escape. I may as well have shouted at a wall.

  The first golem raised a fist and hammered it down on N’yotsu. He raised his hands to catch the blow.

  The golem’s fist went straight through the block, sending N’yotsu flying backwards. He landed near another golem, which raised a foot to stamp on him. He managed to roll away from this blow, but not quickly enough. He shouted out in pain as his shoulder was crushed.

  A third golem picked him up and threw him against a building. He hit the wall in a shower of dust and broken masonry. Somehow he managed to find his feet and glared at the advancing creatures with a look of bloody defiance.

  “He said you’d come,” shouted Silas from the other side of the street, clearly enjoying the show. “Said you’d try and stop me. Told me to kill you. Bit disappointed though—I thought you’d put up more of a fight!”

  A golem swung at N’yotsu and he dodged aside, only to be grabbed by another and held up in the air by his neck. The massive clay fist squeezed and then threw him to the ground. I feared the worst but N’yotsu somehow—miraculously—pulled himself to his feet once more. He had to lean against the wall to keep himself upright, the battle clearly taking its toll on him.

  I should like to reassure the reader that I had not been a passive observer to my friend’s trials and tribulations. Indeed, Maxwell, Kate and I tried unsuccessfully throughout to assist him, but our efforts were akin to a handful of flies attacking a herd of elephants.

  The creatures ignored our efforts, reserving all of their attention for N’yotsu. It was unclear whether this was due to the relative paucity of our attacks or the speed with which N’yotsu was able to dodge their advances. The result was the same; after a few minutes of vainly flapping at the brick wall of their indifference, unable to breach it to help our friend, we stepped back to regroup.

  I picked up a length of wood and hefted it, eyeing the nearest golem for anywhere that I could do some damage. There were gaps to the front and rear of the creature’s head; fancying my chances, I stepped forward but was restrained by a hand on my shoulder.

  “Wait,” said Maxwell. “Diving straight in is not going to help. We need a plan.”

  “N’yotsu’s getting slaughtered,” I said. “Do you have any better ideas?”

  “So this shem,” said Kate. “It gives them life?”

  “Of a sort,” said Maxwell.

  “Then if we take it out I’m guessing it’ll kill them, right?”

  “It would certainly stop them,” said Maxwell.

  “Where is it?” she asked.

  “You see the slot in the back of their heads? If you look closely you can see a scrap of paper wedged in there. That’s the shem.”

  “Good,” she said and raced out of our cover, toward the golems.

  “Bugger,” I muttered, and started after her.

  “Wait,” said Maxwell.

  “We cannot just let Kate run to her doom on her own,” I said.

  “No,” said Maxwell. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “My Hebrew’s a bit rusty,” he said. “But I think this will do the trick. Replace one of the shems with this.” He scribbled some more symbols on another piece of paper. “I’ll try my luck with this.” Before I could say anything, he ran around toward the golems.

  I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth and then did likewise. I overtook Maxwell and sprinted after Kate, who was busy climbing up the back of the nearest golem. Like an ant climbing up a trouser leg, she was ignored by the creature.

  I screwed the paper up into a ball. “Kate, catch this!” I shouted and threw it at her. She caught it with one hand, the other anchoring her to the golem’s neck. She was swung round as the creature reached down toward N’yotsu. With an almighty yell she pulled the shem from the golem’s head and threw it to the ground.

  The creature froze. N’yotsu had been cringing under the anticipated blow and looked up in confused relief when it did not arrive. His respite did not last long; the other golems continued their attack, unaware or unconcerned by their fellow’s immobility.

  The creature’s abrupt halt had partly dislodged Kate’s grip on it and she started to slide down toward the floor. I reached up and grabbed her foot, giving her a makeshift step with which she could stop her descent. She kicked off against my hands and wrapped an arm round the golem’s neck, using her free hand to stuff Maxwell’s scrap of paper into the slot in the back of its head.

  She slid to the ground and landed beside me. The golem remained immobile. “So much for that plan,” she said. “Any other thoughts?”

  “It has at least removed one attacker,” I said. “You’re more nimble than me. Try and remove some more of the shems. Hopefully they’ll ignore you but if they do turn on you, run like hell.”

  “I like it. What are you going to do?”

  I looked round to see the hunched form of Silas, who had initially retreated whilst his golems pounded at us. Emboldened by the short work they had made, he had stepped back into full view and within reach. I nodded at him. “I shall try to remove what counts for the brains of this operation,” I said and ran toward the man, collecting Maxwell—who had had little joy trying to replicate Kate’s feat—as well as a plank of wood which had broken off a discarded cart.

  Silas glared at us as we approached. “If you know what’s good for you, boys, you’d get away from here,” he said. “My quarrel’s not
with you. Yet.”

  “You see, that’s always been my problem,” I said. “I never quite know when to leave something alone. Wouldn’t you agree, Max?”

  “Absolutely,” my brother replied.

  I roared as I charged at Silas, swinging the plank of wood in an arc which connected satisfactorily with his head. He fell to the floor and I followed up with a kick to his stomach for good measure.

  “What now?” asked Maxwell as we stood over Silas’ groaning form. We looked back at N’yotsu, who was bleeding heavily and limping, clearly tiring from being forced to constantly dodge the golems’ attacks. Kate was attempting to climb up another of the golems’ backs but was not able to get high enough to reach the shem. Mercifully they were still ignoring her.

  “Is it my imagination,” I said. “Or is the immobilised golem moving?”

  As we watched, the creature straightened up, almost as though it were stretching out its joints. It slowly looked round and then lumbered toward the others.

  “Did Kate replace the shem with my words?” asked Maxwell.

  “I think so,” I said, hoping she had not instead pushed the same one back in. “What did you write, by the way?”

  “I instructed it to ‘protect the humans.’ I think.”

  “You think?” I asked. “How good is your Hebrew?”

  “A bit rusty. I do believe we are about to find out.”

  I grunted. We watched as the golem reached its fellows and then paused. For a second I feared that it would join in the attack on N’yotsu, or even turn on Kate.

  It grabbed the nearest of its brethren by the shoulder and pulled it away, putting itself between Kate and the others. They ignored it, unable or unwilling to consider an attack from one of their own. One swing of a huge clay fist, and a golem staggered away, cracks appearing in its body.

  I looked round to see Silas hobbling away from us at speed. “To me!” he shouted and, recovering his footing, zig-zagged his way down the street.