The Golem of Solomon's Way

by Jon Messenger

  He was nearly there when a blonde woman stepped in his way. Unlike those around her, she was completely dressed, a tight corset around her waist and long skirt adorning her hips. A shawl was draped over her shoulders, and she carried a closed parasol in her hands.

  “We’ve missed you, Simon,” she said as she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Gloria, my dear, I have missed you as well.” Simon gestured toward the closed dressing room. “Is your roommate in? I thought I might surprise her.”

  She glanced up and nodded. “Veronica’s changing for her show, but I have no doubt she’ll be glad to see you. Will I see you at the apartment later this evening?”

  “I suppose,” he replied with a knowing smirk, “if all goes well. Where are you off to at this not-at-all-obscene hour?”

  “My shift is done,” she explained. “For once, I thought I might enjoy the peace and quiet that comes only from having my roommate and her incessant fiancé out of my life for a few hours.”

  Simon smiled at her backhanded insult. “Enjoy your peace and quiet while it lasts. I’ll be sure to wake you when we get home.”

  “Do, Inquisitor, and it may be the last thing you do in this life,” she warned. Despite her being nearly a head shorter than Simon, the Inquisitor took her threat quite seriously.

  Smirking, Simon walked to the dressing room door and knocked. A voice called from within. “Who is it?”

  “Nobody important,” Simon replied.

  The door opened and Veronica, covered in a robe and clearly in a state of half dress, smiled broadly. “I thought you were too busy with Mister Strong and Miss Hawke tonight to come see me?”

  Simon shrugged. “We’re terrible company, unless we’re in the midst of a sword fight or chasing monsters through the countryside.” He lowered his voice, as though sharing a secret. “Truth be told, they’re dreadfully boring people. All they want to talk about is the fascinating things they’ve done on the last assignment and, frankly, I was there for most of it. We all agreed that you seemed like far more interesting company.”

  “Did you now?” she asked slyly. “I presume you had no influence at all on that decision?”

  “I may have swayed the conversation in that direction, but I assure you, they heartily agreed.”

  “Heartily?”

  “Well, they agreed, nonetheless.”

  Veronica turned and walked back into the dressing room. “I have to finish preparations. Why don’t you join them, so they don’t feel quite so awkward watching me perform?”

  Simon leaned against the doorframe. “Trust me, my dear, it’s far too late for that.”

  She laughed and playfully pushed him out of the doorway. “Go. I’ll come and see you all once my song is done.”

  She closed the door in his face and, with the corners of his mouth still upturned, he walked back to Luthor and Mattie at the table.

  Gloria heard the catcalls as she left the Ace of Spades. She barely acknowledged the whistles or inappropriate suggestions; she had grown so accustomed to them during the past couple of years. She walked hurriedly away, her tight curls bouncing with each step.

  Though her night was finished, the night itself was still young. People crowded the streets, entering or leaving the bars that lined the road. As the rest of Callifax settled in for the night, the main thoroughfares of Solomon’s Way came alive. She pulled the fedora lower over her face as she tried her best to ignore the prying eyes.

  Despite her chosen profession, Gloria wasn’t interested in engaging the drunken strangers on the street. Some she recognized; the politician, drunk as he might be, was still surrounded by very large and very sober bodyguards. His propositions, however, fell on the same deaf ears as everyone else’s.

  After a few blocks of walking, she turned off the main avenue and onto one of the residential roads. The crowds disappeared instantaneously. She could still hear the revelry—the music, yells, and laughter—but it was muted as though heard through a closed window. The street lamps were sparse between the terraces of townhouses, the pools of lights splashing onto the dark street.

  Gloria pulled her coat tighter around her, not to ward off a chill, but merely for a sense of protection. The stillness of the night air felt surreally detached from the boisterous road from which she had just left. It left her feeling awkwardly alone and vulnerable.

  She was startled by the sound of a shoe scraping on the pavement behind her. Turning abruptly, she saw a tall, lanky man walking nearly a block behind. His head was lowered and his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. Part of her wanted to call out to him, but before she could find her voice, he turned and ascended some stairs leading into a townhouse. With a sigh of relief and a stifled, nervous laugh, Gloria turned around and continued her way down the road.

  As she passed the last of the townhouses, her apartment building came into view. She approached the building from the side, the main entrance being on a cross street ahead. Cars rumbled along, though none turned down the darkened road on which she walked.

  She lengthened her stride, eager to be home, where she could change into something far more comfortable and fall asleep, hopefully before Veronica and Simon returned.

  As she raised her head toward the brightly lit street ahead, hands came out of the alley and closed around her, one covering her mouth while the other dragged her into the darkness. She screamed, but it was lost in the gloved hand over her face.

  Gloria kicked backward, catching her assailant in the shin with the long heel of her shoe. The man grunted and his grip weakened around her waist. She struggled free, lashing out with her elbows against her attacker. She had nearly slid free from his grasp when much larger and much stronger hands closed over her. She was wrenched from her feet and tossed handily into the alley.

  Landing awkwardly, she groaned on impact. The air was knocked from her lungs, stifling any chance she had of screaming for help. She looked up at the massive hulk of a man silhouetted above her just as she felt something thin and sharp pierce her neck.

  Gloria’s head spun and her vision grew blurry. She struggled to sit upright, but her arms refused to respond. Her legs, likewise, were numb and limp, flaccid against the cold asphalt. The thinner of the two men knelt above her, his face lost in the tears welling in her eyes. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt three sizes too large for her mouth and merely flopped limply against her teeth.

  Tears streamed down her face, and her heart pounded in her chest. The thin man held up a long blade for her to see, its metal glinting in the weak light bleeding into the alley.

  It was far too early in the morning when Veronica finished her shift. Luthor and Mattie had retired nearly an hour earlier, begging off remaining until the club closed for the night. Their sense of adventure only extended to reasonable hours of the night. Simon, on the other hand, enjoyed another glass of scotch as Veronica changed back into regular attire.

  The street beyond the front door of the Ace of Spades was surprisingly quiet. A few drunkards wandered the street, either too inebriated to find their way home or homeless to begin with; Solomon’s Way had more than its fair share of both. The partygoers of the earlier evening had returned to their more respectable districts of Callifax, leaving the Way to its lowly natives.

  Simon offered his arm, which she gladly took, as they walked toward her apartment. They watched bars close and lock their doors for the evening. Many of the fluorescent lights that lit up the street like a second sunrise were extinguished for the remainder of the night, leaving the street far darker than it had been in hours.

  They turned off the main road and onto a residential street. Rows of townhouses stretched ahead, ending blocks away on another main street through the district. A few cars rumbled across the road, mostly taxis returning people to their homes after work or nights of excess. They walked calmly and slowly, not in a hurry to get home but rather enjoying one another’s company.

  “You were magnificent tonight,” Simon remarke
d.

  “You say that every night,” she replied.

  “That’s only because it’s been true every night thus far. Have no fear, the one night you give a subpar performance, I will be sure to let you know.”

  She laughed lightly and leaned into his arm. They walked arm in arm past the townhouses until the terrace gave way to the taller apartment buildings. The one she shared with Gloria was on the corner. Walking brusquely to the corner, they turned and caught sight of the evening doorman.

  “Good evening, Miss Hawke. Sir,” the doorman said with a tip of his hat.

  He held the door for them and they entered, angling immediately toward the elevator on the far end of the lobby. They rode it upward, stopping at her floor, and walked down the hallway to her apartment. The door was locked, though that wasn’t unusual. Veronica unlocked it and stepped into the dark interior.

  She turned on the electric lights, which glowed dimly before the coils heated. As the room was bathed in light, Veronica frowned slightly. Gloria’s bedroom door was ajar and, through the narrow opening, she could see that her roommate’s bed was empty and unused.

  “I thought Gloria was coming home,” Simon remarked, following her gaze.

  Veronica shrugged. “She said she was, though it wouldn’t be entirely unlike her to have found a gentlemen caller. For all I know, she had a date all along, which is why she requested an earlier shift.” She turned and slipped her hands around his waist. “Nevertheless, what it truly means is that we have the apartment to ourselves, for whatever debauchery we so desire.”

  Simon smiled as he brushed a strand of dark hair out of her face. “Are you sure that’s wise, since we’re visiting the Abbey tomorrow?”

  “I’ll say a few extra prayers for all the sinning I intend to do tonight,” she replied.

  Smiling broader, he pushed the front door closed.

  The next morning, Simon frowned as he and Veronica walked down the street. He wasn’t unhappy being with his fiancée, quite the opposite. It was their destination that had him on edge. The Callifax Abbey loomed in the distance, its pointed spires towering over the buildings nearby. Amidst the sweeping splendor of the city, the Abbey was an archaic structure of sharp angles and jutting protrusions that reminded Simon of spears and swords. To add to the coarse exterior, horrific gargoyles perched atop the towers, staring damningly down on the passersby.

  Simon had never been religious, nor had he ever concealed his distaste for organized faith. The devoted who attended church every week were indoctrinated, mindless masses who blindly followed a belief structure completely unsupported by science. Placing one’s faith in a creature that rose from the dead was, as far as Simon was concerned, little better than praying to the mystical abominations he hunted as a Royal Inquisitor. They might as well place their faith at the feet of Chancellor Whitten, the vampiric brute the Inquisitors recently dispatched.

  “Relax,” Veronica demanded, squeezing his arm for emphasis. “You’re as stiff as a board.”

  “I am relaxed,” Simon lied, smiling toward the dark-haired woman.

  “You are not, and you know it. You look ready to pounce, like a tiger in the woods stalking prey. These people aren’t prey, you know?”

  He remained silent, which garnered a jab to his ribs.

  “You do know that, don’t you?” she asked again.

  “These people—” he began.

  “My people,” she corrected. “Need I remind you that I attend services at this very church?”

  Simon frowned but shook his head. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “Of course you did. Luckily, I had the foresight to stop you before you said something too inflammatory. However, that’s exactly my point. When meeting with the bishop today, please do try not to say anything too upsetting.”

  “I will try my best,” Simon said, knowing that his tolerance for religion was far lower than it should be.

  They approached the church, and even Simon was daunted by its size. The building stretched the length of the city block, its edges broken only by the small groves of trees planted between it and the buildings on either side. A round, stained glass window towered overhead, reflecting the sunlight like a second burning sun. In such a position, dwarfed by the enormous structure and feeling the burning eyes of gargoyles staring down upon him, he understood why patrons felt intimidated, like the eyes of their god were upon them as they walked through the door.

  The doors themselves were closed as they approached. Carved motifs lined the middle of the doors, images depicting the trials and tribulations of their faith. Simon paid them little heed as he stepped in front of Veronica and grasped the wrought-iron handle. He pulled the doors open, which creaked loudly from the effort.

  Simon removed his top hat as they stepped into the cooler building. The interior of the church was well lit, if not mostly abandoned at such an odd hour. There were no services offered. The church was open solely for the use of its parishioners, for those seeking spiritual guidance. Tea candles were lit in glass bowls against the left wall, but Simon hardly noticed. His breath caught in his throat as he stared upon the vaulted room before him.

  The cathedral ceiling stretched dozens of feet over his head, rising and falling between the massive marble pillars throughout the room. Rows of wooden pews stretched toward the altar on the dais on the far end of the room, but the middle was what caught Simon’s attention far more than the gilded golden altar or the statues flanking the dais. Where the sun had poured through the stained glass window, a rainbow of colors filled the church’s interior. Colors danced with one another, sparkling against the tiled floor and filling the air with a sense of magic and wonder.

  Simon frowned as the logical part of his mind assumed control. It was a charade, as much as any charlatan he had investigated. The light, the size of the chamber in which they stood, the stark contrast between the harsh exterior and the mystical interior, and the general opulence, all fed the sense of wonderment and a belief that anything, even their religion, was possible.

  His analytical mind had taken hold, and he tensed again. He viewed the few patrons distributed quietly amidst the pews with a clinical eye, wondering for what, if anything, they had come here, seeking absolution.

  A robed man approached them, a broad smile cast upon his face. His face was smooth, freshly shaven. Deep wrinkles creased the corners of his eyes and mouth and most of his well-coifed hair was silver from age.

  “Miss Dawn,” the bishop said while taking her hands. “I’m so glad you were able to attend today.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it, Bishop,” she said, her demeanor much more forward and relaxed than Simon had seen in some time. “I don’t say that solely because you wouldn’t marry us without it,” she added with a wink.

  The bishop laughed. “I find extortion is the most effective means to bring people into the church.” He turned toward Simon and bowed his head slightly. “You must be Mister Whitlock. I have heard a great deal about you, sir.” He offered his hand. “I am Bishop Hartford, assistant to the Abbot of Callifax. Welcome to the Abbey.”

  Simon shook the man’s hand and forced a smile. “A pleasure to meet you, too, sir.”

  “I don’t think that’s entirely true,” replied the bishop, touching the side of his nose knowingly, “but I hope to change your mind before this is done.”

  The bishop gestured toward a closed door to the right of the chamber. “Perhaps you would both care to join me in my chambers so that we might discuss your wedding preparations without disturbing our fellow parishioners?”

  “Of course, sir,” Veronica replied. “Please lead the way.”

  As the bishop turned, she shot Simon a warning glance. He shrugged his shoulders unapologetically, knowing he hadn’t said anything inciting. They followed the priest to the chambers and entered the much more humble abode.

  The office in which they found themselves was nothing like the lavishness of the main cathedral. The ceilings were low, only a few feet
over Simon’s head. He felt obliged to duck as they entered, though he wasn’t in any true risk of bumping his head. Were he wearing his top hat, rather than carrying it in his hands, however, he was sure it would have been knocked from his head as they entered through the doorway.

  The walls were lined with bookshelves, on which sat ancient tomes and even older scrolls. The air smelled musky from their scent, a mixture of ancient parchment mixed with the reek of mildew and mold. Though the shelves were free from dust, it hung permeably in the air, like a thin blanket coating his mouth with each breath.

  The bishop offered them chairs, high-backed, red leather beasts that were recently oiled to keep from cracking. Simon gingerly touched the leather before sitting, ensuring the sheen of the oily treatment was dry before taking the offered seat. The bishop walked around his desk and sat in his own throne-like chair, the only truly opulent item in the entire chamber. Absently, he cleared away a few stacks of papers that lined his desk, organizing what had previously been a garbled mixture of notes, scrolls, and books splayed open upon the table.

  “Forgive me, I’ve been busy with my many other responsibilities,” the bishop apologized as he finished hastily organizing his desk.

  “Think nothing of it, Bishop,” Veronica replied for them both. “We’re just glad you were able to make time for us today.”

  “So you wish to be wed in the eyes of God?”

  Simon nodded, knowing that Veronica’s gaze would fall upon him soon enough.

  “Do you both understand the obligations of a couple, married in the church? To love one another unconditionally, placing only God above their devotion to one another? To remain eternally loyal to your spouse, through their youth and eventual age, through their inevitable sicknesses and tribulations?”

  Veronica nodded. “We do, Your Holiness.”

  The bishop gazed at Simon, who kept his focus locked on the robed man, offering neither confirmation nor contempt for the bishop’s beliefs. While Simon had little consternation about lying to a man, it seemed in poor taste to lie to a man of the cloth within his own church, especially with Veronica’s piercing gaze upon him.