Clay nodded to Harvey as they walked down the hall. “I’m going to call your house. Monk Moss can come and pick you up. You should return home.”
“I can’t stay here?” Harvey asked. “Professor West probably has a guest room—”
“Stay with your father,” Clay said. “You have a big day tomorrow.”
“Okay, Mr. Clay,” Harvey agreed. “But I think I can stay up a little longer. Maybe I can do some more reading about Asmodeus, or—”
“Harvey.” Zipporah patted his head. “Here’s something I learned in Mesopotamia. You never know when artillery or mortar shells are going to come screaming out of the sky for hours on end and make sleep impossible. Take your shuteye when you can get it. Use every opportunity you can to rest your eyes.”
Harvey nodded. “Well, all right, Miss Sarfati. I guess that makes sense. And you guys should get some rest as well.”
“We will,” Clay assured him. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow too.”
He didn’t mention the fact that he needed no rest, and could only slip into a sort of half-sleep if he sat on his bed and concentrated for hours on end. That’s what he would do tonight, after Harvey had left and Zipporah had gone to her own quarters. He would sit down and try to clear his mind of Russian snows turning red and the terrible mixture of alarm, sadness, and rage in Rabbi Chaim Holtz’s face when he banished Clay into the wilderness. Somehow, Clay knew that he wouldn’t entirely succeed, even as he resolved to try.
~~~
The next morning, they sped across the cold Atlantic in a motorboat borrowed from Rabbi Holtz. It might have been used for covert deliveries of contraband, but now it carried them over the waves and toward the dark form of Bone Island.
Once again, Zipporah manned the motor and directed them over the sea. Sickle City loomed behind them, the towers lost in a gray fog rising up from the sea, and shimmering with distant, electric light. Clay sat in the bow of the motorboat, across from Harvey. The boy shivered a little under his coat at the rising surf. Maybe he would prefer to be in a warm schoolhouse instead of zooming straight to danger on a motorboat which bucked over the waves, but he had appeared before the Elephantine Hotel in the early dawn anyway, with his satchel of books ready to go. Clay folded his thick hands over his legs and waited.
After perhaps an hour of speeding over the waves, they reached the eastern coast of Bone Island. A set of rickety docks rested before a few cabins serving as flophouses and makeshift taverns for visiting smugglers. Lanterns dangled outside, waving in the rain. Beyond the length of crisscrossing docks, a thick forest of clustered trees covered the island like a curtain. Clay scanned the docks with a set of binoculars. Nobody stood on the quay, even though the lanterns were lit. They would have to be careful. He nodded to Zipporah and she directed the motorboat toward the piers.
They sped to a halt by the biggest dock. Zipporah killed the engine and Clay lashed the vessel to a waiting post. He hopped out first, then Harvey scrambled out of the motorboat and Zipporah followed. They walked down the pier, approaching the tan earth and the waiting trees. Ocean wind made the branches wave, and birdsong mixed with the crash of the waves.
Harvey’s face had turned a greenish shade during their voyage over the choppy water, and he sighed as he rested his feet on the earth and wiped droplets of water from his glasses on his sleeve. He grinned as sunlight reached his freckled face. “My father has taken me and Mr. Moss to your cabin in the woods outside the city, but this is very nice as well. I like the ocean being close by.” He turned to Clay. “Do you think we’ll see any whales? Maybe they could, like, come out of the sea and then swim back inside, waving their flukes in the air?”
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” Clay said.
They neared the dockside tavern—a small cabin with a crumbling roof that listed to the side. A sign hung before the entrance, suspended by a frayed rope that made it lean almost entirely on its side. The saloon’s name appeared to be ‘the Clamshell’, but it danced in the wind and wouldn’t stay still enough for Clay to be sure. He turned from the tavern, and then the door slammed open. Clay stopped and faced the doorway.
The muzzle of a Tommy gun protruded from the shadows, aimed straight at Clay and his friends. A well-dressed fellow followed it, stepping into the sunlight with a smile fused to his broad face. He had thin brown hair agleam with pomade, and wore a painfully bright checkered red suit and bowtie, complete with diamond stickpin and a rakishly colored pocket square. A bowler hat tilted back to reveal his grin and twin pearl-handled revolvers rested in crossed shoulder-holsters. A trio of other gunmen walked out from behind the rear entrance of the saloon, dressed in far more sober clothes of dark oilskins, brown leather jackets, and flat caps. They carried pistols. The window opened as well, revealing a double-barreled shotgun. The entire crew made the fellow with the Thompson look even more ridiculous, like a clown at a funeral.
He grinned at Clay. “What’s the rumpus, Mr. Clay?”
“Turk Brownstein,” Clay muttered. “Step aside.”
He and Turk Brownstein had clashed before. Brownstein ran a crew called the Tidewater Rats—a gang of dockside ruffians who made their living with small time smuggling, stick-ups, and hijacking. Sometimes they did work for Sapphire; other times they bothered the bigger gang. Either way, the Tidewater Rats never caused enough real trouble to be dealt with. Still, they were rough men used to violence and Brownstein had a particularly volatile mixture of arrogance, stupidity, and aggression that made him truly dangerous. Clay had hoped that the Rats wouldn’t be on Bone Island when he and his friends went after the Dagger Men, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.
Brownstein kept the Thompson aimed straight Clay. “Nah. I don’t think I will. I’m curious, I suppose.” He walked closer, keeping the gun trained on them. “What brings you out here to Bone Island—you going sightseeing with Rabbi Holtz’s little boy?”
“That’s it exactly,” Zipporah said. “Just a little outing. We’ll have a picnic later. Watch the birds.”
“Sounds peachy.” Brownstein withdrew a stubby cigarillo from his coat pocket and stabbed it into the corner of his mouth. “But I’m afraid your little vacation is gonna have to be delayed. I want you and the big man to take your boat back to Sickle City.” He pointed to Harvey. “The pipsqueak stays here. Don’t worry—I’ll take good care of him. Rabbi Holtz can pay me a fat pile of dough to show his gratitude.”
Harvey looked from Brownstein to Clay. He didn’t quite understand what was going on. “You want to watch me, and my father will pay you? I don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Brownstein. Mr. Clay and Miss Sarfati are doing a fine job of looking after me. I don’t really need a nursemaid or governess, or anything.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re a thick one.” Brownstein flared a lighter to life. “I’m kidnapping you, you little runt. Get inside the Clamshell and I’ll have one of the boys tie you to a chair. Get going or I’ll break your nose.”
“What?” Harvey asked.
Clay groaned. “You’re asking for trouble, Brownstein. Step aside.”
“You really want to enrage Rabbi Holtz, Brownstein?” Zipporah asked. “Going after his son is gonna earn you a shallow grave. And don’t forget that Sapphire will back the rabbi’s play. I don’t need to tell you what’s going to happen to you then.”
“Go climb up your thumb.” Brownstein blew a raspberry at Zipporah. “The Shark doesn’t even swim in these waters. I don’t owe him anything. And Rabbi Holtz? He’s old. Doesn’t have enough time between writing sermons to manage his business. He’s gone soft, play-acting at being a rabbi, and forgotten all about being a gangster. I’ll see him at High Holidays and thumb my nose at the bum. He won’t do a thing about it.” Clay hadn’t realized that Brownstein was this dumb. “Now, both of you go back to your boat and dangle. I only need one of you alive to deliver the ransom message to t
he good Rebbe.”
They didn’t have time for this—not with the Dagger Men at the center of Bone Island. Clay would have to end this fast. He walked in front of Brownstein, ignoring the Tommy gun aimed straight at his chest. He could take Brownstein, but that left the rest of the Tidewater Rats, and Zipporah and Harvey didn’t have his strength. He wasn’t sure what to do.
Then, a Tidewater Rat with a stubbly nest of beard and a long-barreled revolver released a fit of coughs. He waved his hand. “Goddamn smoke...” he muttered. Smoke hung in front of his eyes, and then rushed past him like a black cloak flying under its own power through the night. The cloud of smoke undulated and curled in front of the Rat. Two eyes appeared, coal red, and then faint feminine features winked into being. Clay found his limbs tensing. A friend had followed them to Bone Island. Lilith Shadowborn, the smoke golem, flowed in front of the Tidewater Rats, blinding them in a flood of darkness. One fired his pistol, and the shot struck the planks of the wharf and kicked up splinters.
Lilith coiled around them, her coal eyes glancing at Clay and his friends. “Run, Clay!” she cried. “Into the woods. I will meet you there.” A tendril of shadow whipped out and lashed across the three Tidewater Rats like a whip. It hurled them back, knocking them onto the patchy dirt and grass. Lilith boiled over them, raining down blows with fists made of shadow.
Brownstein must not have known exactly what was happening, but that didn’t stop him from reacting in his usual way. He rammed the muzzle of the Tommy gun into Clay’s chest, pressing it against the stone. “Pulling some trick, eh?” he asked. “I’ll blow you in half. See what—” Clay didn’t give him a chance. He grabbed the sub-gun just as Brownstein pulled the trigger. A burst of bullets ripped into Clay’s chest, shredding his trench coat. The bullets didn’t stop him. He wrenched the Tommy gun away, and then drove the butt straight in Brownstein’s face. Brownstein fell back, sputtering as blood boiled out of his nose. Clay let him fall, and then motioned to the woods.
Zipporah grabbed Harvey’s arm, tugging him along. They ran for the cover of the forest, hurrying over the tan earth. The shotgun in the window tracked, the Tidewater Rat inside preparing to fire. Zipporah slashed her sword back, scraping the gunman’s knuckles with the edge of the blade. He screamed in pain and pulled back the shotgun, giving Clay, Zipporah, and Harvey a chance to escape. They ran for the woods as a few shots cracked after them. Clay glanced over his shoulder. Lilith’s shadowy blows continued to fall, keeping the Tidewater Rats from rising. She could fade away before they knew what had happened.
He reached the woods and ducked around the bough of a stately pine. Zipporah and Harvey followed. They moved together, rushing through the woods on a patchy trail half overgrown with grass and splotches of moss. Harvey stumbled along and finally paused for breath in a clearing. Clay stopped as well, and Zipporah gripped her swords, in case the Tidewater Rats charged after them. Nobody came running through the woods. They had escaped their pursuers.
Harvey turned to Clay. “That was Miss Shadowborn, the smoke golem—right?”
“Yeah,” Clay agreed. “She must have tailed us. Perhaps she suspected trouble.” He sniffed the air. “She’s here.”
Smoke slithered out from behind a stout tree. Lilith floated into the clearing. She returned to her human form, even putting a little color in her cheeks. She approached Clay with a skeptical, dismissive shake of her head. “Running straight into trouble, as always. Truly, Clay, you are as heedless as the earth that composes you.”
“We came seeking the Dagger Men.” Zipporah peered through the trees. “We weren’t prepared for Rats.”
“You warned me about the Dagger Men, didn’t you?” Clay asked. “Before this started, you came to me at Palisade Park and warned me.”
“So I did,” Lilith agreed. “And I’m warning you again.” She seethed out of her physical form, her neck extending so she could look closer at Clay. “The Dagger Men are in the old city, just through these woods. They gather in the old stone church. I did not suspect Rabbi Eisendrath had a sense of humor—no more than he had a sense of mercy, but I can think of no other reason why they’ve chosen to make that their temporary lodgings.”
“You know Rabbi Eisendrath, Miss Shadowborn?” Harvey asked.
“From the old days,” Lilith agreed.
“So Rabbi Eisendrath is old as well,” Zipporah said. “Immortal, perhaps.”
“Dangerous,” Lilith corrected. “And he surrounds himself with particularly powerful magic. He and his modern companion, Rabbi Geist, are working on some grand endeavor. I can feel its energy, whistling through the trees like a sour wind.” Her coal eyes glowed. “I can’t go too close, or they will know of my presence and trap me.”
“We have a pet dybbuk who said the same thing,” Clay said.
Lilith shrugged. “I am not surprised.” She floated back, catching a passing wind and billowing away. “I often find a great deal of similarity between myself and ghosts.” Lilith lifted up and floated upwards, curving around the branches of the trees. “Goodbye, Emmet Clay. And please—for the sake of your friends—be careful.” Then she was gone, leaving only a few traces of smoke in the gray air. Clay wished that she had stayed.
Zipporah pointed down the trail after a few moments of silence. “You heard her. The Dagger Men are in the church of—what was the town called?”
“Barebone’s Town,” Harvey explained. “An early settlement, later abandoned for Sickle City, until Bathsheba Barebone returned to it.” He stared down the trail, buttoning the clasps of his jacket as he shuffled along. “She was kind of a strange woman—she had all these weird visions, and her own version of Christianity, and a lot of other women joined her in Barebone’s Town while the rest of the Puritans stayed in Sickle City. They called her a heretic and she had to hide out here for the rest of her life.” He glanced back to Clay. “They say she was a witch.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, child,” Zipporah said.
They walked on in silence, trudging through the trees. Shadows filled the forest trail, and Clay moved carefully over roots and branches underfoot. Maybe the Puritans had civilized this place once, but Bone Island was all wild now. He stared ahead and spotted the village. It lay on a meadow of thin grass and gravel beside a series of rocky hills, which led down to the coast. Clay moved quietly, as he had in Russia when he went on some raid into Bolshevik territory, and Harvey and Zipporah did their best to follow.
They moved into the deserted main street of Barebone’s Town. Not much was left of the colonial city. A few cabins, storehouses and shacks rested on the grass, most crumbling into little more than piles of rubble covered in moss and growing plants. A well appeared in one corner, the stone chipped and broken. Roman soldiers stood at the center of the dismal, abandoned settlement in silent ranks. Clay kept his distance from the skeletal legionaries, who didn’t notice them. The Dagger Men had to be here.
At the very end of the overgrown street, the ancient stone church nestled like a predator about to spring. The cross had fallen from the roof, and lay in a stone heap on the grass floor. Light appeared from the bare sills of the church windows.
Clay motioned for the others to follow him. They approached from the side, weaving around the other ruined structures until they neared the gray stone wall of the church. Harvey’s shoes kicked up a few pebbles, and they rattled against decayed wood and ancient stones. He winced and Zipporah held up her hand to keep him still. Clay led them to the stone wall, and motioned for them to keep their heads down. He walked to the nearest window and peered over the casement. Shlomo Ben Shlomo hadn’t lied. Neither had Lilith. The church housed the Dagger Men.
The pews had vanished from the church, along with the pulpit and everything else. Now, only dead leaves, pine needles, and pebbles covered the floor. A small cot rested in the corner, along with a table holding a lantern, a few ancient scrolls,
and other occult tools. The bed was probably for Rabbi Geist. Clay doubted that Rabbi Eisendrath ever slept. His eyes moved to the front of the church. The Dagger Men had created a new altar.
They had taken the stone altar from the Museum of Venerable Antiquities and placed it at the far end of the church. A figurine representing Asmodeus—stolen from Sapphire’s shipment—stood on the altar like a miniature dancer on a stage. The figurine had a rooster’s beak and crest, lizard’s claws, and hooves. Its beak lay open, screaming its rage at nothing in particular. Rabbi Eisendrath stared at the altar as he set a number of strangely colored iron chains in neat rows on the ground. The metal of the chains had a dark blue, shining color. Rabbi Geist stood behind him, examining an ancient book. It may have been stolen from a library. The gold writing on the cover, in English, read ‘Diary of Bathsheba Barebone, Puritan Prophetess’.
“It’s not here.” Rabbi Eisendrath spoke almost to himself as he unfurled the chains. “You know as well as I. We can search all we want. We will not find the stone.” He turned suddenly, chain rattling in his hand. “What must we do now, Yossel?”
“Master, the Puritan woman said that the Founding Stone is here.” He tapped the pages. “She used it as the key, to access the ley-lines which course through the earth, filled with power. Here, she set her spell, which would grow as the years passed, and ripen like fruit, until it is harvested by the oppressed and used to power some other great spell, and then it will become the very Fulcrum of the World. Perhaps it is hidden here, Rabbi, and we merely must—”
“I do not wish to debate with you.” Rabbi Eisendrath turned away. “The Dagger Men do not waste time with debates. We act—just as our predecessors did.” He turned back to the altar. “This will be a good place for the binding of the Demon King, at least. It is far from prying eyes. But we must return to the city to find the Founding Stone.”
The Dagger Men: A Novel of the Clay Shamus Page 12
