The Dagger Men: A Novel of the Clay Shamus

by Michael Panush

  “People of Sickle City—non-believers, Philistines, and Romans!” Rabbi Eisendrath’s hairless face loomed above them, several stories high. His open mouth could have swallowed them all. “I come bearing joyous news. No longer will you labor under the control of corrupt politicians, cruel gangsters, and decadent tycoons. Your city now belongs to the highest authority of all. Sickle City is no more. Now you reside in the Second Jerusalem, the Holiest of Holy Cities, and the center of an Empire of God!” Clay shivered as the voice continued. “Do not be afraid. Rejoice in your newfound freedom, and the glory that will come to you as the beloved of Adonai, Our Lord and Our God.”

  Silence followed his words. He seemed to be giving them some time to let the proclamations sink in. The Sinclair-Koots detectives stared at each other, unsure what to do. Even Cohen lowered her rifle, her eyes darting between the talking statues and the image of Rabbi Eisendrath. His eyes, big as automobiles, scanned the street.

  “In time, you will learn the ways of the Lord.” Rabbi Eisendrath continued his speech—or was it a sermon? “Do not be afraid, for I will instruct you as Abraham did to the Israelites. You will learn how to dress, and how to eat, and to behave. The uncertainties of modern life, the struggle to discover one’s way, will vanish. The Torah will provide every answer. I will be a patient teacher, like the priests of old, and God himself will aid us. We will give sacrifices to him, as they did in the days of the Temple, and He will make our new kingdom strong.”

  “He’s instituting a theocracy,” Harvey said, his voice a whisper. “This is terrible!”

  “Is it really that bad?” Zipporah asked. “The Torah does have a lot of wisdom in it...”

  “That’s very true, Miss Sarfati—but it also has stuff about keeping slaves, and killing people with stones, and all kinds of violent, awful things. The people in Chinatown, and the Christians, and everyone who isn’t Jewish will also be in great danger.” Harvey pointed to the massive image of Rabbi Eisendrath looming above them. “And he’s the one who’s interpreting all of it! He’s the one who says that God is telling him to do things, and he’ll interpret the Torah or the Word of God any way he wants to ensure that he stays in power.”

  Rabbi Eisendrath continued. “There will be some who disagree with this new course. That is understandable. There are always Greeks, always Romans, who stand against the Chosen People. In every generation, they rise against us. But now, their hour of destruction is at hand.” The sound of marching skeletal feet came from further down the street. “Stand against the Second Jerusalem, and you will meet such a destruction. If the United States government attempts to enter my Jerusalem, then they will learn destruction as well. So speaks the voice of God.” His frown deepened. “I will be cruel to any who stand in my way.”

  Cohen aimed her rifle at the wall of the skyscraper, as if she could kill Rabbi Eisendrath by shooting his projected image. “I get the bad feeling he’s talking about us,” she muttered. “I think we’d better get out of here.”

  “Every window in Sickle City will be my eye.” Rabbi Eisendrath’s eyes scanned the street. They seemed to settle on the Cunningham—though that had to be Clay’s imagination. “Every paving stone will be my fist. Every bit of energy will be my beating heart. Remain in your homes and do not attempt to flee. More instructions will come soon. Pray to the True God and know that this city belongs to the Dagger Men.” His eyes closed and his image vanished. It faded from all the skyscrapers. The moving statues shut their mouths, though they still moved on their pedestals with creaking and rains of dust. His ultimatum had finished.

  Clay turned to his friends. “He can see us. He said that every window would be his eye—and the city is an entire golem. He must know where we are, and he’s already coming for us.” Clay thought quickly. “Harvey, do you have some means of hiding from him?”

  “I think so, sir.” Harvey reached into his satchel. “Just give me some time...”

  Zipporah pointed across the street. “Looks like we ain’t the only ones thinking about escape.”

  Edwin Eames’ private zeppelin, the Heavenly Chariot, rose up from behind the Wigwam Club. Eames must have arranged for the airship to land in the pavilion behind the Club, so he could hurry aboard. Now, the ornate airship flew into the air. Moonlight glittered on the intricate designs of the undercarriage as it ascended. Clay squinted and he could make out Eames on the deck, gripping the railing and watching everything.

  A shriek came from the dark cloud. Hordes of black-winged birds swooped down, their talons glittering as they fell upon the zeppelin. Harvey gasped and turned away. Talons slashed into the canvas. Gas leaked out. The entire airship dropped downward, and then spun to the side. The undercarriage smashed against the top of the Wigwam Club. Metal shrieked and the airship flew past and drooped into the street. The Broxa—the vampire birds who served the Dagger Men—wheeled and darted around the downed zeppelin. Eames’ attempt to escape had failed.

  “He doesn’t want anybody getting out,” Harvey said.

  “Nobody gets to leave his kingdom.” Clay shook his head. “His Second Jerusalem.”

  “You’re right, child,” Zipporah said. “This guy is a nut.”

  Skeletal Roman cavalry appeared around the corner. A full column came riding down the street, their hooves clattering on the asphalt. Roman skeletal soldiers stood in the saddle, pulling back their pila for a salvo. Others carried lances or long swords, held high and ready to attack. They charged straight for the Cunningham, ignoring the Sinclair-Koots guards as they rode along. Sinclair shouted an order and the detectives turned their guns on the Roman skeletons. Guns chattered and bones broke under the barrage—but the cavalry rode closer.

  Now, Clay could flee. He slammed on the gas and the Cunningham zoomed down the street. He made the engine roar, pressing down the gas pedal all the way. The cavalry rode closer, their swords flashing. In a few more moments, they reached the car. Skeletal horsemen rode on both sides of the Cunningham, and their swords flashed down and stabbed into the metal. A gladius jammed into Clay’s shoulder. Zipporah pulled Harvey back, just as a spear punctured the upholstery where he had been sitting. Swords jammed into the long hood of the Cunningham, denting the metal and reaching the delicate motor inside.

  Zipporah stood in her seat and fought back, slashing with her sabers. Cohen fired her rifle, blasting Roman horsemen out of the saddle. She blocked a sword with her rifle, and then swung the gun over her shoulder. “This isn’t working.” Cohen popped the pin of her grenade. “Time to try something new.” She grabbed the collar bone of the nearest Roman rider and jammed the grenade in his face. When her hand pulled away, the grenade remained stuck in the skull’s mouth. “Now drive, Clay!” Cohen cried. “Vamos!”

  He punched the gas again, giving the wheel a twist as well. The Cunningham smashed its way through a pair of skeletal horses and riders. Bones flew through the air, bouncing on the street and crunching under the wheels. Clay drove on. Behind them, the grenade went off. It caught the first ranks of Roman cavalry, and the explosion finally stopped their charge. Skeleton men and horses rode on, their bones full of flame until they collapsed. Clay made it around the corner and kept going.

  Harvey caught his breath. He withdrew a book from his satchel. “Here’s a spell that should wrap a cloak around us, so that we can’t be seen by supernatural means. I hope that will keep Sickle City from looking at us.” He flipped through the pages. “It’s an easy spell. I can just read it out loud and we should be okay. I just need to—Mr. Clay, there’s golems in the road!”

  Clay peered through the cracks on the windshield. Sure enough, a dozen golems blocked the road. They were rough creations—little more than conglomerations of bricks fused together by magic into the rough shape of human beings. They had no features and resembled lumps of orange bricks with arms, legs, and small nubs for heads. The city had spat them out and assembled them.
They were the fingers of Sickle City, now forming into a fist and running to attack.

  There was no time to avoid the golems, who had already charged. Clay hit the brakes. He spun the wheel. It didn’t matter. The foremost brick golem reached the Cunningham Touring Car and threw itself into the hood. Metal crunched. The motor smoldered and popped. The weight of the crash sent the Cunningham spinning to the side—over the sidewalk, and into a nearby wall. The automobile would never drive again. Clay took his hands off the wheel as the golems closed in.

  Chapter Seven

  GOLEM CITY

  The brick golems had a strange gait—a sort of shambling limp that dragged their lumpy limbs over the street. Magic, and not gravity, held the bricks together. Some stuck out at odd angles, jutting into the air as the brick golems closed in. But their funny way of walking didn’t matter. Their hands had the appearance of clubs, with red bricks jabbing out like spikes on a morning star. They closed in at the same moment, a half-dozen of them with more further up the street. Clay’s eyes moved from golem to golem. There was no way out. He hopped out of the smashed Cunningham, his boots landing on the dusty street. Behind him, Cohen, Zipporah, and Harvey scrambled out of the automobile.

  “Harvey.” Clay kept his tone calm. “Do you have the spell that will hide us?”

  “I found it, sir. I s-suppose I better start reciting it.” The book shook in Harvey’s hands. The boy was terrified. “The spell should make it so that Rabbi Eisendrath won't be able to see us. Not with magic, at least. He won’t be able to sense us either. But it w-will take some time, Mr. Clay. I’m sorry.” He lowered his head and began to chant in quiet, urgent Hebrew.

  Zipporah and Cohen moved next to Clay. “Shall we buy the rabbi’s son some time?” Cohen readied her machete.

  “Yes.” Clay faced the first brick golem. “Remember, these are golems. Aim for the head.”

  A brick fist swung at Clay’s chest. The brick golems had strength, but no intelligence. They were mindless constructs, summoned from raw magic, given an order, and now carrying that command out to the best of their abilities. The brick golem didn’t know to attack Clay’s forehead, but even a mindless, powerful blow could still do damage. Bricks smashed against Clay’s chest, sending cracks rippling through his body. Red dust poured from the golem’s fist, and it pulled back its arm to attack again. This time, Clay was ready. He weaved to the side—a boxer’s move—and then grabbed the golem’s forehead and jabbed down with his thumbs. They pushed through the rough sides of the bricks forming the golem’s face. Clay kept the pressure until the brick golem collapsed. It tumbled to pieces, and soon a pile of bricks lay at Clay’s feet. He kicked them aside.

  The next brick golem tackled Clay, moving from a clumsy run to an awkward jump. Its sheer weight brought Clay down. He struck the street. Pavement bashed into his back as the brick golem’s fists rained down heavy blows. One smashed into Clay’s chin and another walloped his cheek. A few more blows, and those brick fists would reach his forehead. But Zipporah and Cohen reached him first. Cohen’s machete and Zipporah’s scimitar slashed down in the same moment, carving into the golem’s forehead. They erased the letters, and a torrent of bricks spilled over Clay.

  He rolled over, pushing them aside, and stumbled to his feet as another brick golem reached them. This one swatted Cohen, delivering a rapid blow that knocked her back. She fell into the ruined car, landing next to Harvey with an almost quiet grunt. The boy knelt next to her, trying to help her as he stammered through complicated Hebrew words. The brick golem advanced.

  Clay reached it first. A powerful, rapid right hook smashed into the brick golem’s face. Dust flew, along with red fragments of brick. The golem dropped. Clay had already turned to the next foe as bricks clattered against the street in wild syncopation.

  Zipporah had drawn her second sword. She slashed both blades in the air, sawing at the forehead of one brick golem and dropping it with a well-timed slash—but her injuries slowed her. She moved next to Clay. “We can’t stop them, Clay.” She lunged out, delivering a stab to another brick golem. An arm of bricks caught the blow, and sparks flew as the sword stabbed down. “They are too many and too strong. And we cannot run.”

  “No options, then,” Clay muttered. “You and Harvey should go and—”

  The rapid honking of a horn drained out Clay’s words. A familiar sleek gray Dusenberg automobile roared down the empty street, the horn blaring endlessly. Its headlights cast two yellow beams into the darkness, almost fantastically bright. Ava Silver gripped the wheel like she was trying to strangle it, her knuckles white as she gave it a twist. The Dusenberg slid to the side, the tires screeching over the pavement as it stopped right in front of the wrecked Cunningham Touring Car. Ava kept the engine running as she pushed up her motorist’s goggles. She grinned like she had won a round of cards in a friendly game—but Clay could see fear in her eyes.

  Silver gave them a wave. “Hello there, fellows. I think your auto’s gone bust-o. Care for a ride?” She pointed to the brick golems. “It seems you’re in a bit of a tight spot. I can guarantee a way out and a good place to stay. How about it?”

  Harvey turned from the shining Dusenberg to Clay. He still mumbled Hebrew words. Clay knew the answer immediately. “Best offer we’re gonna get. Let’s go.” He faced an attacking brick golem and caught its outstretched arm as it attempted a punch. Clay’s fingers ripped around the arms, grabbed one brick, and pulled it free. He smashed the brick into the golem’s forehead, destroying the creation in a burst of dust, and kicked aside the results. Then he ran to Cohen to help her to Silver’s car. Zipporah got Harvey aboard, while Silver held the door open.

  They clustered inside, Cohen groaning a little as Silver sent the Dusenberg zooming away. “How’s that spell coming, niño?” she asked Harvey, a bit of motherly kindness drifting into her voice. “Almost finished?”

  Another complicated set of syllables spilled out of Harvey’s mouth. He coughed, cleared his throat, and then nodded. “It’s finished, ma’am.” Then he glanced over his shoulder. The brick golems ran after them, moving in a clunky jog as they pursued the Dusenberg. The automobile outpaced them, but they kept running—and as long as they ran, Rabbi Eisendrath could see Clay and his friends through golem’s eyes. Harvey stared back at his book. “Oh no. I hope I didn’t make a mistake, or pronounce something wrong, or—”

  “Don’t worry, child.” Zipporah patted his shoulder. “We can outrun them.”

  “Let me give something a try.” Silver gripped the wheel. “See if that amends the situation.” The Dusenberg shifted to the side, and then sped into a side street. Scraps of newspaper and litter flew through the air, stirred by the wind as the automobile rushed by. Silver zoomed into the side street and hit the brakes. The automobile lurched, making everyone rock in their seats. Harvey bumped his head against the back and dropped his spectacles, which Zipporah swiftly returned. After that, they stayed quiet apart from the rumble of the car’s engine.

  Behind them, the brick golems ran on, into the shadows—as if they were still chasing a car down Damocles Street. The clatter of their feet echoed over the city, and eventually vanished. Clay settled into his seat. They had escaped. He turned to Silver. “You say have a safe place to stay?”

  “Sure,” Silver agreed. “My apartment.” She hit the gas. “I bet Sophie will be pleased as punch to see you, Harvey. She’s taken a shine to you, I’m happy to say.” She turned the automobile around and began to drive, as Harvey flushed a deep red. Clay was glad that he had found a friend—even after the whole city had been taken over by insane fanatics.

  ~~~

  Ava and Sophie Silver resided in a luxury penthouse apartment in the swanky Pepperdine Arms—when they weren’t traveling over the world in search of news stories. Currently, the apartment building had turned into a fortress. The haggard, uniformed doorman carried a shotgun under h
is arm, and he moved aside to let Silver and her guests inside. They had dropped Cohen off as she approached, so she could make her way back to Haven Street and let Rabbi Holtz know that Clay had been rescued. She had taken a pounding in the skirmish with the brick golems, but Clay had a feeling she would be all right. She had survived the Mexican Revolution, after all.

  Silver unlocked the door and motioned for her friends to follow. “My humble home.” Her shoes clicked on the tiled floor as she stepped into a broad parlor. “And your humble home as well, for as long as you need.” Comfortable Morris chairs faced a large radio, while an overstuffed couch rested near a wide window overlooking the entire city. Artifacts from Silver’s travels had been mounted on the wall—African masks, rich tapestries, and photographs of numerous world-leaders. Framed newspaper articles joined them, showcasing some of Silver’s best work for the Weekly Sophisticate. Candles rested on the glass coffee table and in the kitchen, holding back the shadows.

  As soon as they entered, Sophie and Lucky hurried from the back room. Sophie embraced her mother. “You’re okay, mom? And did you rescue them?” She spotted Harvey and the others and beamed. Lucky scampered to Harvey, who gave the excited panda cub a cautious pet. “You did! I knew you would.”

  “They’re very tired, Sophie. Why don’t you stand back and give the boy a little rest?” Silver pointed down the hall. “I got a pair of guest rooms you can use. The power flickers in and out, but the water’s still running, if you want a dip in the bathtub.”