The Golem of Solomon's Way

by Jon Messenger

  Simon held the lantern aloft as the other Inquisitors passed him, entering the room one at a time with the benefit of his source of light. When they had fully entered, Simon and Luthor stepped over the threshold.

  Inquisitor Poole glanced over his shoulder, his expression questioning whether to climb the stairs or explore the bend in the room. Simon motioned toward the flickering firelight, and Poole nodded in response.

  As Poole stepped forward, he stumbled, tripping over something unseen. He tried lifting his foot, but the nearly invisible fishing wire had thoroughly snagged on his muddy shoes. The wire pulled taut and the clicking of gears was immediately audible. He looked backward pleadingly as a mist sprayed from small holes in the walls.

  Luthor tackled Simon, knocking the mustachioed man to the floor. Simon could feel droplets of the chemicals settling on his skin, though he avoided the vast majority of the blast. Where the syrupy oil touched exposed flesh, he could feel a tingling numbness spreading. His vision swam and his body felt weak, even as he struggled to remain coherent.

  Through his blurry vision, he watched the other Inquisitors drop heavily to the ground, their weapons falling forgotten beside them. Wordlessly, they collapsed into a heap where they lay.

  “Luthor?” Simon slurred, his cheek and lips feeling detached from the rest of his body.

  The apothecary forced himself into a seated position, though his arms were heavy and hung limply by his side. His jacket was smeared with black droplets, where he had taken the majority of the blast while protecting Simon.

  “Luthor?” Simon repeated.

  Luthor turned his head slowly toward him, his muttonchops soaked with the spray. He moved his lips and blinked heavily as though trying to focus, but his eyes were red and aggravated from the gas and tears ran freely from the corners.

  Simon cursed internally, not risking the preposterousness of using profanity with numbed lips. He propped himself up on his elbow as he examined the room. Simon knew he had to move, since they were all helpless as they were, exposed in the center of the room.

  On the far side of the room, a shadow fell onto the wall as a figure passed in front of the campfire. It stretched to inhuman proportions as the figure moved, arms growing abnormally long while the head stretched unbelievably wide.

  Simon looked for his pistol and was surprised when his gaze fell upon it, still clutched in his hand. He wiggled his fingers, but they lacked any sensation. His fingers may well have been blocks of ice for all the use they were to him. Simon placed his other hand on the cool ground and was pleasantly surprised by the small amount of pain he felt as a stone dug into his palm. Glancing back toward the shadow, he hurriedly switched the silver-plated revolver from his right to his left hand. He lacked the accuracy or finesse with his offhand, but it would have to do under the circumstances.

  The dark figure stepped into the causeway between their room and the makeshift kitchen around the corner. The flickering campfire left the man silhouetted. Though his features no longer looked quite as elongated and distended, he hardly looked human.

  The lantern was lying on the ground beside him. With numbed fingers, he knocked the lantern aside until the light angled roughly toward the troll. When it was no longer merely a silhouette, Simon withdrew from the monster’s appearance.

  A hood that normally concealed its features was thrown back, revealing green skin and wispy tendrils of black hair. Large, bald patches were visible between the clumps of hair, the skin scabbed and disgusting. The eyes were red, though they appeared far more bloodshot than supernatural. As the troll snarled at Simon, it revealed blackened teeth that were rotting in the creature’s skull.

  Simon’s eyes watered as he raised the pistol. Sensing the danger, the troll rushed toward him. He couldn’t trust his aim, knowing that his bleary vision smeared the details. Instead, Simon squeezed the trigger, hoping for luck rather than skill.

  Sparks flew against the far right wall as the bullet went far wide. Despite the poor aim, the report from the gunshot caused the troll to pause. Simon quickly covered his right eye, opting for a lack of depth perception over double vision as his eyes refused to focus as one any longer.

  The troll howled, its cry reverberating in the narrow room. It rushed forward again, barely acknowledging the Inquisitors it stepped on as it hurried toward Simon.

  The Inquisitor focused as best as possible through his one eye and squeezed the trigger once more. The revolver fired. For a moment, the troll seemed unfazed, but then its momentum died and it stood disbelievingly atop the pile of unconscious Inquisitors.

  Simon didn’t wait for another opening, firing again instead. He didn’t know if the round struck the troll, but it stumbled backward just the same. The Inquisitor’s vision grew worse and he had trouble focusing on the creature as it retreated, resting its hands against the wall for support as it stumbled away.

  His supportive hand began feeling weak as well and Simon slumped to the ground, resting his head on the unmoving leg of one of the other Inquisitors. He turned his unfocused gaze toward Luthor, but the apothecary was already prone as well, his shape blurring with the others in the middle of the room.

  He had no idea how long it would take before the paralysis wore off, but Simon passed the time praying to a god he didn’t believe in that there was only one troll in the room.

  Simon dusted off his pants as he stood. Luthor grasped his hand, helping him to his feet. Despite the amount of gas to which Luthor was exposed, he recovered far quicker than the others had, Simon included. The others were only just beginning to stir.

  With the apothecary in tow, Simon stepped over the others and approached the bend in the room, around which the campfire still burned and the scent of roasted meat wafted. He clenched his revolver tightly back in his right hand, glad the sensation had once again returned to the limb.

  He peered slowly around the corner. A small hallway connected the two rooms, and a fire smoldered in the center of the far room. Most importantly to Simon, a body lay sprawled before the flames, unmoving.

  The Inquisitor approached cautiously until he was at the foot of the troll. Its green skin glowed sickly in the light, accentuating the red pool of blood that had spread beneath the creature. Rather than tapping the monster’s foot with his own, Simon raised his pistol and fired twice into the troll’s exposed back. The body lurched with each gunshot but offered no other reaction.

  Simon glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. “I think it’s dead.”

  “Good riddance,” Luthor replied.

  The apothecary walked the perimeter of the larger room, checking the assorted butchering supplies and racks of cooked and dried meat. He picked up a small piece of cooked meat and sniffed it. The meat was greasy but well marbled, a clearly fine cut.

  “What sort of meat do you suppose this is, sir?” he asked. “Beef? Lamb?”

  Simon knelt beside the troll. “I have my suspicions.”

  As Luthor continued perusing the room, Simon examined the body. The troll’s eyes were still open, though they were unseeing. Blood seeped from between its open lips, mixing with the blood from the bullet wounds. Reaching forward, Simon touched its cheek but quickly withdrew his fingers. The skin was tacky and, as he examined his fingers, he saw green paint staining his fingertips.

  Slipping his hands beneath the corpse, Simon rolled the troll over. It flopped onto its back, the gunshot wounds now more visible. Grasping the beast’s shirt, he pulled it open, popping the buttons as he did so. The skin beneath the shirt, covered from prying eyes, was pale and pink.

  “This is no troll.” Simon sighed. “It’s just a man.”

  Luthor paused at the far side of the room, where the tables blocked the light. There, barely visible in the deep shadows, the apothecary saw an eyeless human skull staring up at him. He dropped the piece of meat in disgust and suppressed the urge to vomit.

  “This isn’t beef or lamb, either,” he choked.

  “As I suspected,” Simon repl
ied. “He is… was a cannibal.”

  Luthor raised a hand to his mouth, suddenly glad he hadn’t tasted the meat. With his fingers so close to his nose, he could smell the scent of the cooked human flesh staining his fingers. “I think I’m going to be sick, sir,”

  Simon gestured toward the sewer tunnel. “Do me a favor and purge out of this room. I don’t want you destroying evidence.”

  Luthor took a deep breath and forced down the bile that seemed to be billowing about in his throat. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Good, then I can use your assistance sorting through the monster’s belongings.”

  Luthor approached the deceased green-painted man and looked down disapprovingly. “I guess we should correct ourselves and call it a man rather than a monster.”

  Simon stared at the corpse at his feet. “Make no mistake, Luthor, we killed a monster today. You seem to forget that before the Rift, humans really were the worst types of monsters on the planet. I would classify this man, and believe me, I use that term loosely, an abomination far quicker than I would Miss Hawke and her ilk.”

  A sparkle of light reflecting off metal caught Simon’s attention. He pulled up the man’s sleeve, exposing a long, metal rod, capped on either end. A thin tube protruded from one end.

  “I believe we found how our troll sprayed its noxious fumes.”

  Luthor arched an eyebrow in surprise. “He appears as little more than a transient, but he uses a remarkably advanced bit of technology.”

  Simon stood, feeling the stiffness in his body. “Looks are often deceiving, though we’ll never know this man’s story. Three bullets apparently ended any chance of interrogation.”

  Luthor shrugged. “I find no fault, sir. What shall we do now?”

  Simon glanced down at the body once more before shaking his head. “This man may be a horrible example of a human being, but he’s just that. Inquisitors investigate the supernatural. Let’s ensure the others are awake and coherent, and then go retrieve the constabulary. This man is their problem now.”

  “I guess I was wrong, sir,” Luthor remarked as they walked into the other room, catching the surprised gazes of the awakening Inquisitors. “I see that you truly have recovered well from your episode in Whitten Hall.”

  Simon shook his head as he offered Poole a hand. “Don’t be preposterous, Luthor. I’m still quite off my rocker.”

  “So he was a cannibal?” Mattie asked, leaning forward as far across the sitting room’s table as her corset would allow.

  Luthor nodded as he pushed his wire-frame glasses back up his nose. “Rather mundane, all things considered. A part of me was actually thrilled about the prospect of encountering an actual troll. After a few days to absorb the events of that night, it seems incredibly anticlimactic.”

  She laughed as Luthor retrieved the teapot. He held it up inquisitively. She nodded, and he refilled her porcelain cup.

  “Sugar?” Luthor asked, the small tongs hovering in his hands above the tray of sugar cubes.

  “Please,” Mattie replied.

  “How many?”

  Mattie laced her fingers together and laid them in her lap. “Let’s make it three today.”

  “So many?” Luthor asked as he dropped the cubes into her cup.

  “I guess I’m feeling rather excitable. We barely had a chance to enjoy Callifax before being dragged away to Whitten Hall. There are so many things that you take for granted that seem the epitome of opulence to me.”

  Luthor arched his eyebrow. “Like sugar cubes?”

  “Exactly like sugar cubes,” she answered breathlessly. “For instance, how do they form them into such perfect shapes?”

  Luthor lifted a cube from the tray and shrugged as he examined it. “You know, I haven’t the foggiest.”

  “In Haversham, few people enjoyed such frivolities as sugar with their tea. It was so dreadfully expensive that those living within the city barely enjoyed the commodity. Let’s not even discuss our limitations in the tribes beyond the city walls.” She poured cream into her tea until the light brown swirled to the top. Lifting her delicate teaspoon, she swirled her drink. “To be honest, only the excessively rich enjoyed sugar with their tea.”

  “Men like the governor or Gideon Dosett?” Luthor asked with a sly smile.

  Mattie frowned and brushed her wild, red hair from her face before taking a sip of her drink. “I’d rather not discuss that lecherous man,” she said curtly.

  “Only the very rich and those who, quite literally, sold their souls could afford it?” the apothecary continued. “Did the demon lord enjoy a spot of sugar with his tea?”

  Mattie frowned, but she was saved from replying by a thump at the front door. The smile returning to her face, she stood and walked briskly to the townhouse’s door. Pulling it open, she let the morning sunlight pour into the foyer as she collected the rolled newspaper that had been deposited on their doorstep. She waved as she retrieved it, though the youths delivering the papers paid her no mind.

  She closed the door and walked back into the sitting room, joining Luthor once more. She unfurled the newspaper, and he set a cucumber sandwich on her plate.

  “Speaking of our beloved Inquisitor, is Simon not joining us this morning?” she asked, glancing back toward the front door.

  Luthor shook his head as he chewed his bite of sandwich. “He’s otherwise occupied today. Miss Dawn has him working on a list of wedding preparations.”

  “Is he excited about the wedding?”

  He smirked as he looked at the redheaded woman. “I believe he’d much rather be hunting another den of vampires. Not that he’s not excited about marrying Veronica, mind you; it’s just that his skills are better suited for hunting the undead rather than choosing flavors of cake.”

  “Speaking of which, how are you recovering from your last mission?”

  Luthor frowned. “I believe my fragile male ego is far more damaged than my—”

  “Fragile male body?” Mattie interrupted, teasing.

  His frown deepened. “My body,” he concluded brusquely. “I’m embarrassed that a psychopath was able to so readily trick me into walking into his trap. Had it not been for Simon, we would have all been killed.”

  “The irony,” she said, taking another sip of tea. “You’ve survived assaults by demons, werewolves, and vampires, only to be nearly killed by a mortal man.”

  Luthor laughed heartily. “In our defense, we’ve been nearly killed by everything on that list at least once.”

  They sat in silence, enjoying their light breakfast and one another’s company. Mattie flipped quickly through the pages, reading as she absently sipped at her tea. As she finished an article on the front page of the crime section, she quickly turned to the middle of the paper, continuing the story. The apothecary glanced up as she read, watching her forehead furrow in concentration.

  “What have you found?” he asked.

  “Have you heard about the string of murders here within the city?”

  “I hadn’t, but we’ve been gone from Callifax so much recently. I presume the newspaper tells more?”

  “Barely,” she replied with a sigh. “The victims are women of, well, looser morale character, if you get my drift.”

  “I do,” Luthor said, thinking about the woman of the night they just saved from the supposed troll. He waved a hand dismissively. “I can’t say that I spend much time reading the newspaper anymore. I’ve been so preoccupied hunting down creatures of sorcery that I hardly have the time to concern myself with humans killing other humans. Does that make me callous?”

  She shrugged. “A bit.”

  “Well, that’s exactly why I stopped reading the paper. It’s dreadfully depressing business. I’d much rather drown myself in a good work of fiction than hear about how terrible the real world can be.”

  Mattie laughed softly. “Your world is a work of fiction, the likes of which every great author of history would love to experience. Write down your Inquisitor missions and I guaran
tee your rendition of real life would be the muse for all the next great works of literature.”

  He set his teacup back down on its saucer. “This is a dismal topic so early in the morning. What would you like to do with the rest of our day?”

  Mattie folded the paper and set it down on the edge of the table. Her enthusiastic smile had quickly returned. “I’m sure I can think of something to keep us entertained.”

  Simon was not entertained. He sat impatiently near the window of the bakery, watching the pedestrians wandering past, wishing he could disappear within their numbers. Veronica stood at the wooden counter, a fork in hand, as slices of cake were laid out in front of her.

  “This one is raspberry, madam,” the baker said, holding out a red cake for her to try. Veronica took a bite and slowly closed her eyes.

  “Simon, you must try this,” she said. “It’s simply divine.”

  The Inquisitor sighed. “I couldn’t possibly eat another bite,” he lied.

  Veronica laughed as she walked over to Simon. “Forgive me, my love. I know there are a hundred things you’d rather be doing than tasting cakes, but this is important to me. Please bear with me.”

  “This is important to you,” he said, taking her hands, “along with sampling catering options, trying on an assortment of dresses, researching venues, and—”

  She slipped a hand free and placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. “There’s no need to continue.”

  He took her hand once more and lowered it from his face. “I love you with all my heart, Veronica, but I’m far better suited to examining a crime scene or conducting an autopsy. These hands are designed for sword fighting and pistols at dawn, rather than picking floral arrangements.”

  She smiled as she slipped her other hand from his. Adjusting the veil draped from her top hat, which hung over her eyes and nose, ending just before her painted red lips, she gave Simon a wink before turning back toward the baker. She glanced over her shoulder as she continued their conversation.