The Dagger Men: A Novel of the Clay Shamus

by Michael Panush

  Before Harvey could reply, the back door slammed open. The bartender emerged, his shotgun nestled in his arm. “More visitors outside,” he explained. “But it ain’t any guests that I’m happy to see. You’d better come out and get a look at them.”

  Dr. Cutte shuddered. He nodded to Clay. “Once more into the breach, eh?”

  “Sure.” Clay walked ahead of him and left the back room.

  The others followed him. They stood in the main room of the Snake Eyes Social Club and looked out at the street. As the bartender said, trouble had arrived. A small army of golems neared the gambling joint. Dark pavement and asphalt formed their bodies, striped with strips of discarded newspapers and other detritus. They had probably emerged right out of the street, leaving man-shaped manholes in the road. Now they stood in a loose semi-circle before the Snake Eyes Social Club, like a group of shadows given substance and heft. They blocked the road completely, cutting off any escape.

  Suddenly, the street golems parted. They stepped aside, chunks of asphalt dripping from their bodies and crumbling over the ground. Rabbi Geist walked to the front of the street golems, like a proud general standing before his troops. A light wind stirred his vast beard and long hair. He wrapped his fur coat around him, and glared at the entrance to the Snake Eyes Social Club.

  Rabbi Geist’s voice boomed throughout Hogshead Street. “Dr. Lazarus Cutte! God has whispered your name in my ear! You are needed to help with the construction of a great Temple, which will please the Lord with its beauty. Come out of this house of sin, and join us in the light of God.” He held out his arms, as if he wanted to embrace Dr. Cutte. “Or we will come in and get you.”

  “He wants me to build a temple?” Dr. Cutte asked. “I’m remarkably ill-suited to manual labor.”

  “Maybe that’s what the Dagger Men are doing with all their prisoners,” Harvey explained. “Making them slaves to build the temple. The Torah does talk about slaves, and while it has rules for their good treatment, it says some pretty awful things too. I guess the Dagger Men are following that tradition.”

  “How horrid,” Silver muttered.

  “Will you relent, Dr. Cutte?” Rabbi Geist demanded. “Or will I have to come and get you?”

  “Go get a haircut!” Sophie cried.

  Silver laughed. “That’s my girl.” She turned to the bartender. “The boats moored outside, on the Cut—could we borrow one? We have a destination in Chinatown in mind. We’d be sure to return it to you, when this unfortunate business is over.”

  The bartender tossed her a set of keys.

  “This is your final chance, Dr. Cutte!” Rabbi Geist called again through the door. “Will you submit?”

  “I will not!” Dr. Cutte’s voice boomed back. “And that is my final word on the subject.” He turned to Harvey. “I do hope I do not regret this sudden burst of bravery.” He shuddered suddenly, as the feet of golems pounded in a charge.

  The street golems raced to the door. The first golem smashed its way against the door, shattering it in a spray of wood. It raced across the room, stomping on the floorboards as its arms reached toward Dr. Cutte. It ignored Clay and the others. It had been instructed only to grab Dr. Cutte and bring him out—Clay had no place in its command. Of course, if Clay got in the way, he would be an obstacle to be removed. Clay knew that he had to intervene.

  He ran to meet the street golem, and they clashed in the center of the Snake Eyes Social Club. The street golem walloped Clay’s chest, driving down its fists again and again. The golem’s thick fingers wrapped around Clay’s arm and started pulling. The street golem had more size and strength—but Clay was smarter, and he would have to fight smart if he intended to win. He wrenched his arms free, stumbled back, and fell into the billiards table. Green felt ripped under his body. Clay turned, reaching for something help him. He grabbed a pool cue, swung it around, and faced the street golem. It moved closer to him, as two more street golems blundered their way through the ruined door. Clay would have to take down this golem fast.

  The pool cue would be weapon enough. Clay snapped it over his knee and charged the street golem, a jagged length of wood in each hand. He jumped at the street golem, reaching for its forehead. The street golem’s big hands moved to stop him. A grazing blow nearly stopped Clay, but he still stabbed both pieces of the cue deep into the golem’s forehead. They scratched the holy words, and the street golem tumbled back and collapsed into a heap of asphalt, burying the broken cue. Clay moved back and faced the next two golems.

  Silver readied her pistol and the bartender had his shotgun. “How do we stop them, Mr. Clay?” Silver asked, cocking the pistol. “You seem to be an expert on these pieces of ambulatory geography. What’s the best way to take them down?”

  “Aim for the head, ma’am!” Harvey cried.

  “Good advice in any endeavor.” Silver’s pistol cracked, sending shot after shot into the head of the nearest street golem. The fourth bullet did its job. It scraped the carvings on the street golem’s forehead, and the golem fell back and came to pieces before hitting the floor. The shotgun took off the head of the next golem, scattering macadam against the walls. The shot messily destroyed the golem, and covered the card tables in pieces of street.

  But even as those golems collapsed, more burst into the gambling joint. One ripped its way through the wall, while two more forced their way past the doorway. They stepped through the pieces of their fallen fellows as they approached.

  The bartender pointed to a side door. “Stairs lead down to the Cut.” He fired the next blast of his shotgun. “I’ll tell Madam Gracie what happened. Let her know to keep her ears open, doctor, to wait for your signal before the next move—now go!”

  That was all the farewell they needed. Silver led Sophie and Harvey to the side door and pushed it open, ushering them out as the street golems surged across the Snake Eyes Social Club and approached the counter. Clay ran to join them. A street golem grabbed his arm as he neared the bar, and attempted to pull him back. His side banged against the counter, upsetting buckets of booze and spilling cheap alcohol on the ground. Clay grabbed the handle of the pail and smacked it against the street golem’s head—to little avail.

  Harvey froze on the steps. “Mr. Clay!” He dashed back, panic in his eyes.

  Dr. Cutte stepped in front of him. “Don’t worry, my dear boy—I will be the one to save your guardian.” He turned around, a hand leaving his coat and holding a small white bag tied with a thread. “Or rather, it will be the power of the Voodoo Gods.” He raised his hand. “Turn away, Mr. Clay. Let my magic gris-gris work.”

  Clay twisted to the side, looking away as Dr. Cutte hurled the bag of gris-gris—a collection of powerful herbs, bone shavings, and other items—into the charging mass of street golems. The bag bounced off the golem’s head, and then the string snapped and released a thick gray cloud. Clay couldn’t imagine the little bag containing that much gris-gris, and yet the substance all but filled the Snake Eyes Lounge. The street golems struggled in the cloud, unable to see. They slammed into walls and furniture, smashing everything with wild swipes of their arms. Clay tried not to get any gris-gris in his face, but his vision still went foggy.

  “Come along, Mr. Clay.” Dr. Cutte took his arm. “Our chariot awaits.”

  They went to the door, where Silver and the children waited. Sophie pointed to the Cut. A few motorboats sat on the brown water in various states of rust. “We’re gonna sail to safety. I prefer our personal vessel, but these will serve for now.”

  “Quite right, Sophie,” Silver agreed. “Come along now.”

  She hastened down the cement steps, hopped across the dock, and landed in the motorboat at the far end of the dock. Silver started the engine, and beckoned for the others to board. Harvey and Sophie scrambled in next, and then Dr. Cutte’s long legs carried him inside. Clay hopped in next. The motorb
oat swayed a little under his weight, but stayed afloat. Silver sent it speeding down the Cut, with large cement walls on either side.

  A street golem smashed its way out of the Snake Eyes Social Club and attempted to stop them, in its own mindless manner. The golem launched itself at the cement walls surrounding the canal and plummeted downwards. It struck the water with a splash behind the motorboat. Water showered everyone in the boat, and the resulting ripple pushed their boat a few more paces along. Clay peered through the dingy water and made out the street golem at the bottom. It had damaged its forehead in the fall, and now only a pile of asphalt lay under the water.

  Harvey looked down as well and then stared at Clay. “I’m glad that my uncle made you to be smarter than these golems, Mr. Clay.”

  “Your uncle made him, dear heart?” Silver asked, with a knowing grin. “Mr. Clay, are you a golem yourself?”

  “I...” Clay paused. “Are you going to write a story about this?”

  “Perhaps you could write that story later, Miss Silver.” Dr. Cutte clutched his knees as the motorboat puttered along. “I don’t think we have time for much else.” He peered back at the Snake Eyes Social Club, perched above the cement walls bordering the Cut. “I do feel sorry for the old place. It took such damage. I’ll have to contribute to the repairs, once this wretched business is over. Speaking of which, where is our destination?”

  “Chinatown, sir,” Harvey explained. “The Benevolent Merchantman’s Association.” He explained carefully to Dr. Cutte. “Miss Zipporah Sarfati is there, asking them for help.”

  “The Orientals?” Dr. Cutte asked. “Are you certain?” He brushed water off his top hat, frowning at the stains on the dark fabric. “They are a strange people, with odd rituals and customs and their own, bizarre, and frequently frightening ways of dealing with outsiders. Do you really suppose they will grant us succor in our hour of need?”

  “We have to try, sir,” Harvey said. “And I believe you’re incorrect about the Chinese being different. They may have their own traditions, but so do we all. They’re being persecuted by the Dagger Men, just like everyone else in Sickle City.”

  “And we need all the help we can get,” Silver added.

  Dr. Cutte nodded. “Sage wisdom from you, Miss Silver, as always.”

  Clay slumped in the back of the motorboat. He agreed with Silver. The more allies they had, the better chance they had of beating the Dagger Men. A witch doctor like Dr. Cutte would certainly come in handy. He just hoped it would be enough.

  ~~~

  The Cut slashed down through Sickle City, leading right past Chinatown. Silver piloted the motorboat down the length of the Cut, until they found an obliging dock and ended their little voyage. They tied up the vessel, clambered up a set of cement stairs, and followed a winding alley into the heart of Chinatown. This place had been settled by Chinese immigrants for at least three generations, and it resembled something close to a foreign country, dropped in the center of Sickle City. The usual tenements rose up along the edges, but the structures inside had sloping, pagoda-style roofs. Statues of Buddhist lion dogs flanked the entrances to several buildings, and strings of paper lanterns rested overhead. Clay had taken Harvey here before, and he had watched the boy dine on chop suey served steaming from the numerous vendors. Clay had always enjoyed going there, but he didn’t like what he saw now.

  The neighborhood had been hit hard by the riots—even worse than Hogshead Street. Numerous structures had been burned or looted, including a Buddhist temple. The sculptures inside had been hurled onto the street. Some brave Chinaman had bundled them up and taken them to the sidewalk, where they watched everything with their sad eyes. The Chinese that risked leaving their houses tried their best to clear away the rubble. One portly woman simply stood in the center of the street, releasing endless wails. Clay looked at the neighborhood and felt a pure sadness. This was like a pogrom in Russia, but turned against a different people and carried out by American citizens.

  Harvey seemed caught between disbelief and distress. He kept looking at the damaged buildings and the tearful people, and then spun around to look at Clay. “How could this happen?” His voice was small and quaked. “I know there’s prejudice and I know there’s hate. But someone should have done something to stop it.”

  “I’m sure they tried, dear heart,” Silver said. “But they were overwhelmed. The hatred for those who are different is too strong in this country. The Dagger Men have lived with that hatred for a long time. It’s what fuels them. They’re only going to make things worse.”

  “We’ll stop them, Harvey.” Sophie patted his shoulder, trying to cheer him up. “Don’t worry.”

  Dr. Cutte pointed to the far end of the street. “There’s the Benevolent Merchantman’s Association. It seems respectable enough, but I have long since learned that appearances can be deceiving.”

  Sophie squinted at the sky. “Is that bird following us?”

  Everyone looked up. A Broxa soared over the street, its wings outstretched and its pointed beak facing the air. The bird must be scouting for the Dagger Men, scouring the city for any kind of threat. Harvey recognized it as well. “A Broxa!” he cried. “One of the Dagger Men’s creatures!”

  The dark bird’s beak angled down, its obsidian eyes starting to scan the street. Clay didn’t know if Harvey’s spell would protect them from discovery when the Broxa gazed right at them. They needed to get out of its line of sight—and quickly. Clay pointed to the Benevolent Merchantman’s Association. “There,” he ordered. “Hurry!” He grabbed Harvey’s arm and tugged the boy along, while Silver did the same to her daughter. Dr. Cutte’s long-limbed gait carried him across the cobblestones, and they hastened to the large, square lump of marble and steel before them. They scrambled past the statues of lion dogs, and reached the large set of double doors.

  Silver gave it a rapid knock. “Hey, open up!” she cried, to no avail. “You better let us in, or we’re golem-bait!” The door remained closed. She withdrew her pistol from her purse. “What do you think, Mr. Clay? Should I try picking that bird out of the sky?”

  “Better not,” Clay said. “Might alert the Dagger Men.”

  Dr. Cutte sighed. “Why aren’t the Chinamen giving us entry?”

  “After what just happened, can you really blame them?” Harvey raised his voice. Above them, the Broxa began to make lazy circles. It would spot them soon, and then deliver the alarm in some rapid, far-reaching, magical manner. “Excuse m-me? I’m Harvey Holtz—Herbert Holtz’s younger brother. Herbert’s a friend of Bethany Hark. Do you know Bethany Hark? Maybe you could let us in, and we could contact her? I’m also Rabbi Holtz’s son, and he works for Sid Sapphire, and—”

  The door slammed open. Bethany Hark stood in the doorway, wearing a tattered trench coat, a flat cap pressed low on her head. A cartridge belt had been looped over her shoulder, and she carried a strange sort of crossbow, topped with wooden ridges. She moved to a kneeling position, familiar to any soldier, and aimed the crossbow at the sky. “Get in.” She spoke through gritted teeth as she gazed down the sights of the weapon.

  Clay held the door. The others hurried into the safety of the Benevolent Merchantman’s Association, while Hark fingered the trigger of the weapon. The crossbow twanged, sending a small bolt hurtling into the sky. The bolt had been decorated with a profusion of peacock feathers, and trailed silver dust as it hurried into the sky. Its point caught the Broxa in the neck. The vampire bird tumbled to the side, its wings still pulsing. Hark fired twice more, the crossbow rapidly sending up its bolts. One caught the Broxa in the chest and the other pierced a wing. The Broxa fell to the ground, already turning to ash as it descended. Gray powder blasted against the cobblestones.

  She came to her feet and turned to Clay, the crossbow still in her hand. “Enchanted bolts,” she explained. “We can’t let the Dagger Men know that we’re
here.”

  “What did you do in Shanghai?” Clay stared at her.

  “All manner of horrid things,” Hark replied. “And it seems I must do them here as well. Come inside and I’ll introduce you to the others.” She walked through the doorway, and Clay followed her into the Benevolent Merchantman’s Association.

  The lobby had the look of any respectable business establishment. Cream-colored walls surrounded ornate furniture, and appropriately oriental hangings covered the walls. The place seemed deserted. A few sculptures of dragons and lion dogs lurked in the corner, intimidating visions in polished wood and brass. Harvey touched a curling dragon’s whiskered muzzle and pulled his hand away quickly, as if frightened that the sculpture would take offense. Sophie giggled in amusement. Dr. Cutte slumped into a large armchair and removed his top hat, which he assiduously began to clean of dust.

  Hark walked to the head of the room and set her repeating crossbow down on the counter. She faced her guests. For a few moments, she paused—unsure of what to say. Finally, her eyes settled on Harvey. “How’s Herbert? Is he safe?”

  “He’s back in Haven Street. He should be safe—as long as my father is.” Harvey paused. The fear for his family finally got to him. “They must be targets for the Dagger Men. The golems and skeleton legionaries might already be going to Haven Street to capture them. Mrs. Cohen is protecting papa—my father, I mean—and Uncle Herbert, and Mr. Moss is as well. They’ll keep them safe.” He turned to Clay, eager for agreement. “Right?”

  “They’ll be okay, Harvey.” Sophie tried to comfort the boy. “Don’t worry.”

  Silver gave Harvey a comforting smile. “I’m sure my daughter’s absolutely right, dear heart. From my reporting, I know your father is a courageous, capable, and resourceful rabbi. He’ll find some way to protect his people.”