“Should we destroy him, master?” Rabbi Geist asked.
“No.” Rabbi Eisendrath formed rapid patterns with his fingers. “He can bear witness—and maybe be taught how a golem should behave. The Nehemoth Night Specters, from the Qliphoth , will begin your lesson.”
Insects buzzed out from the sleeves of his simple coat. They swarmed over Clay in a dark tide, growing in size as they reached him. Insects the size of monkeys landed on Clay, their bodies covered in asymmetrical spikes. They drove those spikes into Clay’s shoulders and knees. He moved toward Eisendrath, swinging blindly. One blow connected. Rabbi Eisendrath fell hard to the ground, then rolled over and returned to his feet. That strike should have broken his ribs, but Rabbi Eisendrath seemed not to notice. Clay didn’t have time for surprise. The Nehemoth Night Specters drove into his legs and he collapsed. Rabbi Eisendrath towered above him and waved his hand in another occult pattern, and then Clay saw nothing at all.
Chapter Six
KING SOLOMON’S WORM
After the darkness came, Clay dreamed. He walked along the cold snow, the frost crunching under his boots as he trudged along down a silent, white plain. Clay knew where he was—the wasteland of Eastern Europe, the crossroads of Empire where the Jewish people had settled. He was back in the Pale of Settlement, the land of his creation. Wilderness stretched in every direction. A forest lay along the horizon, distant and dark. Right before Clay, a village lay nestled in a gentle valley, glowing with lantern light like gold in the snow.
The village had snow along the rooftops and porches of the various cottages. A synagogue sat at the far end, a simple, square structure with an arched roof. Clay could make out the designs of curling vines, lions, griffins, and unicorns etched along the sides. It was beautiful. This was a shtetl, a village for the Jews of Eastern Europe. Clay moved toward the shtetl, imagining families in their warm houses, children asleep in their beds, and fires crackling in every hearth. He reached out, as he walked, as if he could grab the shtetl and bring it close. But no matter how much he walked, the shtetl drew no closer. Clay forced himself to continue as snow fell.
Someone appeared at his side, matching his pace. “A fine night, isn’t it?” Clay turned. He stared at a man in a long black coat, with hair glistening with pomade and split fashionably down the middle. He had a pale face, with a calm, easy smile. “Perfect for a stroll.” He pointed down to the shtetl. “Look at that charming little village. A place of safety and kindness, ever at the mercy of greater powers. It will not last long in this cruel new century, I think.”
Clay stopped walking and faced the stranger. “And what will?”
“Perhaps those that were made to weather any storm. I’m sure I’ll be around. Man always has need for the King of Demons.” Asmodeus smiled, revealing teeth as white as the surrounding snow. “I’m needed now, as a matter of fact, by the very men who have captured you.”
“The Dagger Men.”
“Yes.” Asmodeus leaned closer. “Normally, I can fathom the minds of men. They are simple things, after all. They have simple desires. But I do not know why King Solomon captured me, when he did, and I do not know why the Dagger Men have done the same. You see, every so often, the ways of men become mysteries. King Solomon is my own father, and I still never understood him. I think that is the case with these Dagger Men as well.”
“What about golems?” Clay wondered.
“The ways of golems...” Asmodeus whispered the words as he turned back to the snowy plains. “They are even simpler to understand than men. Golems have only one desire. No matter what else they may think, their single desire will control them completely.”
“What is that desire?”
“To do whatever it was that they were created to do.” Asmodeus extended his hand, taking in the sweep of snow and the village below. “And you know exactly what you were created to do.”
A shudder ran through Clay. He turned away from Asmodeus, and the distant village. Clay tried to run, to dash across the snow and somehow escape the company of the King of Demons. But as he turned, a rush of snow rose from the ground. Phantom winds blew from all directions, lifting up the powder and swirling it around Clay. He clawed at the snow, trying to push his way through. Still, the winds and snow rose. Clay slipped on the snow and sank to his knees. A blizzard wrapped around him, the wind howling as the snow and frost flew into his face. Clay crouched lower and dug his hands into the snow. He wanted to burrow under the cover of snow and reach the dark, peaceful earth. It would embrace him, as it had before he was created, and he would be safe. Darkness surrounded him, warm and calming.
Then it flashed away. Vision returned to Clay’s eyes. He stared into the hairless, tattooed face of Rabbi Eisendrath. A scowl covered the face, deepening the dark lines of the tattoos. Rabbi Eisendrath stood up and folded his arms. Clay tried to move, but could not. He had been placed into a coffin, his arms and legs pinned with glittering blue chains. He shook and strained, his limbs tugging at the chains. They did not budge.
“Electrum,” Rabbi Eisendrath explained. “Try all you wish. They will not crumble.”
He stepped back, letting Clay look around. The Dagger Men had apparently returned to the sewers below Sickle City, where they had another base. They had formed a place for rituals on a round cement island, surrounded by a miniature lake of dark green water. Pipes and tunnels projected from the distant walls, pouring more green-tinged water into the lake. It seethed and stank. Rabbi Geist stood behind Rabbi Eisendrath, preparing candles for the ritual. He held a handkerchief over his mouth for the stench, but Rabbi Eisendrath didn’t bother. Skeleton centurions stood at the corner, watching the water with swords drawn. The altar to Asmodeus sat on the island, opposite the Founding Stone. A large lantern rested in the center of the island, bathing everything with amber light.
Rabbi Eisendrath pointed to Clay. “I wanted you to see this, golem. I want you to see the power of God, come to bring low this Babylon.” He walked closer to Clay. “I could rub out your name, you know. Turn you back into a useless lump of earth. Who knows? Perhaps you would be happier. But it is better that should observe. You were created to defend the Jewish people, just like your predecessor in Medieval Prague. You should see how we do the very same.”
“You’re not protecting anybody.” Clay stared back, defiant to his captors. “You’re hurting innocent people. You’ve tried to hurt my friends, and you want to hurt countless others—just because they’re not Jews.”
“Goyim.” Rabbi Eisendrath spat on the ground. “All my life, I have been under the boot of goyim. Their cruelty and hate falls upon me like rain on a blasted plain.” He lowered his head, unable to meet Clay’s gaze. “I have suffered, golem. I have been brought low and been forced to bow before false kings. It is the same for my people. The same for you. But now, that is at an end.” He looked to the ceiling, his hands outstretched. “This day marks the beginning of the Age of Daggers. Finally, the Hebrew people can lift their heads high.”
“You’re only going to bring more trouble for the Jews of Sickle City. They’ll get blamed for your actions. They’ll suffer.” Clay strained against his chains, struggling to move his arms. The electrum clung to him like spider webbing, sticking against the sleeves of his trench coat. “All you’re going to do is cause more pain.”
“Then let there be pain!” Rabbi Eisendrath cried. “Justice is worth pain—and do we not deserve justice?” He spun to the side, facing Rabbi Geist. “My student, are the preparations finished? Can we begin to conjure the King of Demons?”
Rabbi Geist had set a number of fat, black candles on the altar. He placed them in the proper slots, and adjusted each wick so that it stood tall. “We stand ready.” Rabbi Geist walked back to the center of the island, where a torch lay on the ground. He held a lighter to the oil-soaked rag wrapped around the torch and let it burn. “Let the veil between
our world and Gehenna be shattered. Let the King of Demons come through.” He paused as he looked at Rabbi Eisendrath. “And may I just add, Master, how grand it is to work with you. You have the wisdom of the sages. Isaac Luria himself unwrapped the mysteries of Kabala no better.”
“Thank you, my son.” Rabbi Eisendrath approached the altar. He reached down and grabbed a coil of bluish electrum chains, crackling with energy. “I was right to seek you out, and you were right to follow me. Now, we will do what Luria, the Baal Shem Tov, and all the rest never could. We are going to bring the exile of our people to an end.”
Clay shook in his chains. “You’ll be stopped.” He glared at them. “My friends are still out there. They’ll come for me, and then we’ll stop you. I’m going to smash my way out of here, and then I’m going to rip you both to pieces.”
“Golem.” Rabbi Eisendrath glared at Clay. “Silence yourself or I’ll rub out your mouth and you’ll never speak again.” That made Clay shut up. Rabbi Eisendrath nodded to Rabbi Geist. “Now, my son. Light the fire that will burn the world.”
With a shaking hand, Rabbi Geist touched his torch to the candles. The wicks caught and flame danced above the altar. The figurine of Asmodeus—chicken-headed and lizard-featured—glowed in the light of the candles. Smoke wrapped around it and seethed up to the ceiling. The smoke had the color of obsidian, dark and shiny, and it billowed up in a vast column. Fire light sent shadows dancing over the altar. Rabbi Geist and Rabbi Eisendrath chanted together, speaking a strange mixture of Aramaic and Hebrew. They waved their hands, forming their fingers into inscrutable patterns. The smoke seethed and roiled. Part of it became solid.
Asmodeus stepped from the smoke. He looked like he had in the dream—with the same fashionable dark hair split down the middle. He wore an Edwardian suit now, with a stiff collar and scarlet waistcoat. A silver watch chain projected from his pocket. Asmodeus rested his white loafers on the floor and looked around, humming to himself. When he turned to look at Rabbi Geist, and slipped into profile, he changed. A rooster’s comb appeared above his head. Reptilian, scaly fingers showed on his hands. He replaced the illusion quickly.
The King of Demons pointed to Rabbi Geist. “My,” he said. “He’s a hairy one.”
“Now!” Rabbi Geist cried.
Rabbi Eisendrath swung the chains and let them fly. A lasso slid over Asmodeus’s shoulders, slipped down to his arms, and tightened. Rabbi Eisendrath pulled and Asmodeus fell to the cement surface of the island. Both rabbis sprang on Asmodeus, working quickly with their chains. They wrapped his arms and legs, and put another length of chain around his throat. In a matter of seconds, their work had finished. They moved back and looked at Asmodeus, who lay on the ground—covered in chains, and strangely unconcerned.
“Demon.” Rabbi Eisendrath pointed to Asmodeus. “In the name of the Most High, we bind you.”
“Oh, very well.” Asmodeus sounded almost bored. “Consider me bound. And I don’t think you’re doing this for God. You are no holy servants, seeking to battle demons. That sort of nonsense is the domain of Christians.” He sat up, ignoring the chains biting into his chest and tangled around his arms. “No. You brought me here because you have a purpose. Well? I’m right, aren’t I? Out with it, then. Tell me what you want so I can appease you and return to Gehenna.”
Rabbi Geist withdrew a short sword from his robes—a slim blade in the style of a Roman gladius, but with the same silver and glowing blue color of the chain. “An electrum blade.” He pointed the tip at Asmodeus’s face. “Still your tongue, demon, or you’ll taste it.”
“Yossel.” Rabbi Eisendrath put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Don’t let him antagonize you. It’s what he wants.”
“Quite right. Now what do you want?” Asmodeus asked.
“The Shamir.” Rabbi Eisendrath spoke the word calmly, while Rabbi Geist still held the sword. “Bring it forth, or we’ll start cutting.”
Asmodeus paused. “The Shamir—the worm that cuts through solid stone. King Solomon’s worm.” He sat up on his elbows. “King Solomon summoned me to his presence, just as you did, and asked for the Shamir so he could build the first great Temple, the holiest of holy places, without needing to cut stones. King Solomon was my father, you know. My own father, and yet he ordered me about as if I was a slave. Now, you wish to do the same.” For the moment, his good humor left him. His smile vanished, and a snake’s forked tongue flicked in and out of his mouth. “Tell me why. What do you intend to do with the Shamir? The temple is gone. Judea is dust. What use do you have for the worm that tunnels through stone?”
“My. He’s a hairy one.”
“It’s no business of yours, demon,” Rabbi Geist explained. “You claim King Solomon fathered you? Impossible. You lie.” He walked closer, pushing past Rabbi Eisendrath, and lowered his short sword. “You heard my master. Give us the Shamir or I will take your hands, and your feet, and the nose and ears from your face. We will do with the Shamir what we must.”
“It seems I have no choice.” Asmodeus’s eyes shifted. They settled on Clay. “What did I tell you, man of earth? In the Valley of Bones, I told you that righteous men will do more evil than demons. Now, you will see the truth of my words.” He faced Rabbi Eisendrath. “It won’t help you, you know. Whatever you do will not change who you are.”
“Enough.” Redness appeared in Eisendrath’s tattooed face. “Bring forth the Shamir.”
“Here it comes.” Asmodeus opened wide.
His jaws opened like the lid of a case, snapping all the way back and hiding his eyes and chin. Only darkness filled his face. Shadows spilled from the ring of teeth, and crept down his cheeks and chin. Rabbi Eisendrath hastily slipped his hands into a pair of scaly gloves. He withdrew a set of tongs, made of glittering electrum, and approached the maw. Clay strained his head, craning his neck to watch. Rabbi Eisendrath jabbed the prongs into the open mouth. They vanished in shadow for a moment. Then Rabbi Eisendrath pinched them down and caught something. He pulled it back, struggling a little before wrenching the tongs free.
They held the Shamir. King Solomon’s worm had been caught between the two iron jaws of the prongs. It wriggled madly, waving its tail and head in all directions. The Shamir resembled the earthworms that Clay had seen crawling through mud during rains and in the gutters of the city. However, this Shamir had opalescent colors on its ridged, dripping flesh. Pale blues and greens rested amongst the ridges, so the worm seemed more like some thin gem stone than a living thing. A mass of spikes covered its head. They pulsed and shook as Rabbi Eisendrath held the Shamir aloft. Asmodeus’s jaws returned to normal, and he watched as well.
Rabbi Geist took a step closer to the Shamir. The worm shook and a silver drop fell from its spikes. The drop hit the cement, which hissed and burned. A small strand of stream whistled up. Rabbi Geist bowed his head. “We have it! This creature divided the stones to build the temple, and now it is ours!”
Clay followed the Shamir as Rabbi Eisendrath walked across the cement island. “What are you going to do with it?” he demanded.
Rabbi Eisendrath stopped. He looked back at Clay. “You know,” he said. “In what passes for your heart, you already know.” Then he crossed the island and reached the Founding Stone. He whispered something to the Shamir, and the worm stilled its wriggling. “Prepare the case.” He gave his orders to Rabbi Geist. “This won’t take long.”
The prongs opened and the Shamir landed on the surface of the Founding Stone, right above the carved stone words bearing the name of Sinner Barebone and the Puritans who had created Sickle City. The Shamir wiggled about and then got to work. It curled around the ancient stone, leaving a trail of shimmering pale blue juice. Steam rose wherever it moved, following the trail. The juices settled in the stones for a few moments, filled with steam, and faded away. Letters remained. Clay watched them silently. He even forgot to
struggle. Rabbi Eisendrath was right. He knew exactly what the Shamir was doing and what it was carving in the first stone of Sickle City.
It only took a few moments before the Shamir finished. It slid off the stone and fell to the ground. Rabbi Eisendrath scooped it up with his prongs and dropped it into a lead case stuffed with cotton, supplied by Rabbi Geist. Carefully, they closed the lid of the case and set it down. Steam still seethed from the surface of the stone. Everyone watched and waited for the steam to fade, to see the Shamir’s work. Rabbi Geist impatiently waved his hand, clearing it away. Then they stared at the stone and they saw what had been done.
The Hebrew words for ‘Truth’ had been etched on the ancient stone—just as they were etched on Clay’s forehead, and on the forehead of every golem in existence. They stood boldly over the words in English, as if proclaiming that they had more authority. Now Clay knew why the Dagger Men had stolen the Founding Stone. It controlled the energy created by the women of Bone Island, the witches and mystics led by Bathsheba Barebone. That magic had been pulsing under the city, waiting for the right spell to claim it. The Dagger Men had just created the spell to use that magic. The Shamir’s power had helped them. Now, the Founding Stone—the center of Sickle City—had been turned into a golem. The rest of the city would follow.
The walls began to shake. Sewer waters splashed, causing waves to smash against the cement island. Dust rained down from the ceiling. It must be even worse up above, as the city shifted and changed. Rabbi Eisendrath stood before the Founding Stone, breathing in the still air as he stretched his hands out in the direction of the sky. Sickle City was his golem now.
The Dagger Men: A Novel of the Clay Shamus Page 18
