The Circus Infinitus - Genesis Infinitus

by Ethan Somerville

  “Are you alright, sir?”

  He turned to see a woman behind him, attractive by human standards, in a fine dress with a scarf covering her shoulders. She had probably inquired about his health. He lifted his hand to indicate that he was alright, then forced himself to straighten up. Somewhat unsteadily, he moved away.

  I need to walk this off, he thought, and decided to revisit the site of his arrival.

  Retracing his steps helped to clear his head. Although his flight the previous night had taken place in the dark, and his thoughts had not been on remembering directions, after a couple of hours he was able to find his way back across the bridge, and into the mazy alleys lined with grim, dirty tenements. He arrived in a small square, filthy and deserted save for three homeless beggars sleeping in a corner. Soot-blackened buildings surrounded him, blocking out the sunlight. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary save a fresh mark on one corner of a dwelling where some bricks had been knocked out. He assumed Icarus had done that with his lightning-gun.

  Then one of the unconscious drunks stirred with a deep moan, and Del directed his attention to him. Slowly the fellow sat up and the Eridon started at the sheer size of him. He was two and a half metres tall with shoulders broad enough to park a coach on.

  And he wasn’t human. Or even humanoid.

  Del stepped back as the creature struggled to rise. It wore a tattered black robe that barely concealed its rippling muscles, and had thick reptilian limbs covered with scales. Huge clawed hands and feet gripped the cobbles.

  Then the other two figures began to move, and Del realised they weren’t human either. What by Eridos had he stumbled across? Some innate danger sense told him to run but curiosity held him rooted to the spot. He could only stare as the others revealed themselves; a thickset being with a very large, round head, and a spindly birdlike creature with ropes wrapped around its body. All three were clumsy and uncoordinated, as though only semi-conscious.

  Then, finally, the large creature noticed Del. It blinked its lizard-like eyes.

  Run, screamed the voice inside Del’s head.

  He remained put, locking gazes with the creature. A true explorer didn’t run from every new creature he encountered, no matter how big and threatening.

  The giant lizard bared a row of fangs like a picket fence and took a threatening step forward. Del poised, preparing a mental blow at the being’s mind. But before he could, the thing’s eyes widened in sudden recognition. It stumbled back. “Necronite!” it bellowed. “Run!” It spun around, grabbing for its companions, and scooped the surprised pair up under its enormous arms. Since Del was blocking to only exit, the creature took a mighty leap, its powerful legs sending it soaring up onto the roof of the farthest building.

  “Wait!” Del yelled, but the bizarre trio had already vanished out of sight. Once again he was reminded of the mark on his forehead, and he rubbed at it as though he could scrub it off. “Who are you?” he shouted.

  “Shurrup down there!” someone slurred out of a window, the same window Del had scrambled through the night before. “People’re trynna sleep up here!”

  Chapter 4

  The IntelliGent Gentlemen’s Club

  His name was Gurpreet Gopal, but everyone called him the IntelliGent. Small and unassuming, no taller than five feet five in his turban, the Gent was usually dismissed as some aristocrat’s shabbily dressed Indian servant. Which suited him fine. He didn’t want the average Tom, Dick or Harry to recognize the owner of the Intelligent Gentleman’s Club.

  Gurpreet Gopal was actually a very powerful and influential person. Only the most privileged could join his club, and a high IQ was essential. And, of course, large amounts of cash helped. Potential applicants had to pass a very strict series of tests before they could even set foot in the door, and should a member want access to his library … he needed to sit the hardest test of all – a direct mental examination by the Gent himself.

  The Gent didn’t go out much, but occasionally he felt the need for some air and exercise. Today, he had crossed the river into Southwark and was exploring some delightfully seedy alleys. He always slummed it. Strolling along the stately streets of St James, rubbing shoulders with all those overdressed ladies, gents and their fat little dogs, did not appeal. The poorer quarters were far more interesting, and he sometimes met someone intelligent enough to pique his interest. Unfortunately, this person was usually drunk, insane or both.

  His appearance barely raised an eyebrow. The poor were used to the servants of the rich frequenting their street markets for more interesting delicacies. And the Gent had mastered the art of simply not being there. He could make people look right through him simply by being unobtrusive. There was no Magick involved. He refrained from any arcane practices out on the streets. He never knew who might be watching.

  Today, out of the corner of one eye, he spotted someone unusually tall. But as he turned for a better look, he saw only a large, burly man with a lumpy face, clad in a long black overcoat. He was accompanied by a birdlike chap with a very long nose, and a dumpy fellow with a big round head. However, the gent knew something was up because his attention had been drawn, and focused on the big man. It didn’t take much concentration to penetrate his disguise and pick out his true form, that of a nine-foot lizard in a tattered black robe. His companions were just as unusual; a humanoid bird creature and a thing with an actual pumpkin for a head.

  The Gent gave a reproachful “tsk tsk” as he walked up to the group, who were trying to loiter inconspicuously beside a tavern doorway. “You three really should improve those shields. I didn’t even have to try to see through them. Of course I am exceptional, but any hedge-wizard with enough prestidigitation to make a coin disappear could do it with a little concentration.”

  The big fellow started, glaring down at the Gent. His companions bristled, ready for a fight. The Gent wasn’t worried. He doubted this clownish trio of imps would be able to raise a welt on him. “Who’re you?” the lizard man growled, slurring his words. He still wasn’t used to the body he’d stolen, but at least he could talk. So far his companions hadn’t mastered the art and were still communicating telepathically.

  “You may call me the IntelliGent. You three, I take it, have just arrived.”

  “Someone left a door open.”

  The Gent snorted. “And you thought you’d take advantage of it, did you? And there just happened to be three convenient bodies outside for you to take over?”

  “They were drunk. They won’t miss ‘em. You some sort of mage?”

  “Some sort of something. Now you’re here, what are your plans?”

  “Stay out of the way.”

  “You haven’t been doing so well so far. I might be able to help. Would you like to accompany me? Or would you prefer to continue skulking around the streets, waiting for someone who isn’t quite as open-minded as me to spot you?”

  This seemed to strike a chord in the big lizard, for he bobbed his brutish human head. He had occupied the largest body available, but it had still stretched alarmingly to accommodate his spirit, now almost seven feet tall.

  “Excellent. What are your names?”

  “I am the Underfiend,” growled the big leader. “And these are Jersey Devil and Pumpkinhead Jack. They can’t talk yet.”

  “Give them time.” The Gent turned and headed back the way he had come, his new associates sticking close as though they thought his aura could protect them from more nosy stares. Being spotted by that Anti-God worshipper had really frightened them, and they were glad they had managed to lose him in the alleys.

  The IntelliGent Gentlemen’s Club was located in St James, but could be reached from several locations across London. It all depended where the Gent was, and how far he felt like walking. Being able to bend reality did have its perks and protected his impressive hoard from prying eyes. He had secrets he didn’t even want the Queen knowing about. Today he made his way into the club from south of the bridge. Its impressive entrance,
with its tall fluted columns and pediment decorated with creatures from Greek myth, stood incongruously in an alley between a laundry and a bakehouse. Locals were staring up at it, wondering where it had come from. It certainly hadn’t been there a couple of hours ago!

  The Gent led his new companions up the stairs and through the heavy iron-shod oak doors. They closed with a bang behind the little group, and suddenly the doorway collapsed in on itself, the laundry and the bakehouse coming together with a thud. Several bricks rained down, and the locals had to dive out of the way. But when they scrambled up, they all wondered what on Earth they had been staring at. When the strange doorway departed, it took all memories of itself with it.

  Although the entrances moved, the club’s location in St James never changed. It held so many enchanted books and items that it needed a static site on solid ground. Any attempt to move the books magically would result in a severe mana backlash. The Intelligent Gentlemen’s Club occupied a stately Georgian mansion.

  The Gent led his strange new companions to his large, private sitting room where he wouldn’t be disturbed by the club’s other patrons, such as the famous Baker Street Detective and the Queen’s metaphysician, who happened to be in the common room playing chess.

  The large, grand room overlooked the busy thoroughfare below. Velvet drapes could be drawn across them whenever rituals needed to be conducted. Bookshelves towered to the ceiling, crammed with a more mundane fraction of the Gent’s metaphysic collection. Some comfortable leather chairs stood around a coffee-table in front of an ever-burning fireplace, and it was to them the Gent directed his uncertain guests. They moved cautiously, still apprehensive about the strange little man’s intentions. The Gent settled down with them, and poured himself a glass of water from a decanter on the coffee table. “Would you three like something to drink? Your new bodies will require something to sustain them.”

  “Er … water,” managed the Underfiend. “And some grub if you’ve got it.”

  “Grub it is.” The Gent snapped his fingers, and sylphs soon floated into the room bearing trays of sandwiches, which they set down on the table. The three imps immediately grabbed food to assuage the strange, burning hunger in their bellies – a sensation they had never experienced before.

  “Quite a set up you have here,” declared the Fiend.

  The Gent smiled thinly. “You have no idea. You three may stay for a little while, but not indefinitely. Your presence is tolerated by my servants, but not appreciated.”

  “What are they?”

  “Air elementals. But I also have a fire elemental over there,” he gestured to the fireplace, “and Water and Earth elementals maintain this building.” He steepled his long, thin fingers. “But I didn’t bring you here to discuss the Magickal arrangements of my dwelling. You are here because you are imps, and therefore useful to me. When you are fully accustomed to your true forms, I will have jobs for you.”

  The Underfiend’s lumpy face darkened. “We don’t want to be servants!”

  “Oh, you’ll be fully compensated. And members of my club receive huge perks. Protection from the police, protection from the church, access to certain volumes in my library, unrestricted communication with other club members… It’s a long list.” He took a deep breath. “Of course you are welcome to turn down my offer and leave, but let me remind you how easy it was for me to spot you. I may be powerful, but I wasn’t even trying. There are members of the Stigmata based here in London, and they can detect imps and otherworldly beings just as easily. Join me, and you’ll be protected from them.”

  “Stigmata? Who are they?”

  “The metaphysic arm of the Catholic Church. Based on the Magick Earth, but becoming increasingly more influential here. Let me put it this way – the mere fact that you’re imps from the Immaterium is enough for them to condemn you to death. They view your kind as demons from Hell itself.”

  The Underfiend glanced at his silent companions. What do you think? he sent telepathically to them. It could be worse. At least he doesn’t realise just how lowly we are in the grand scheme of things!

  We’re still new at this – we need protection, agreed Pumpkinhead Jack.

  I agree with Pumpkin, answered Jersey Devil.

  “If we do decide to join, what kind of jobs will you be giving us?”

  The IntelliGent gestured at his gigantic army of books. “You may not believe me, but my metaphysic library is not complete. It contains works by such auspicious wizards as the Mad Arab, Dr Dee, Eliphaz Levi and Count Cogliostro to name just a few, but it doesn’t contain the most powerful Magickal tome of all.”

  “Which is…?” the Fiend prompted.

  “The Da Vinci Codex.”

  The Fiend still hadn’t gotten the hang of his new face, but he managed to lift his eyebrows in surprise. Being an older imp, he had a good knowledge of history. “I wasn’t aware that Da Vinci was a mage.”

  “He was one of the greatest mages of all. But he put all of that knowledge into one tome which disappeared after his death. He tried to keep it secret, but snatches of information about it emerged in his other writings.” The Gent tapped his turbaned head. “Due to my truly enormous brain, I was able to piece all the bits together. The book did exist, and it passed to one of his apprentices after his death, a little-known individual he called Icarus. Many people thought this man a mere figment of Da Vinci’s imagination – a personification of his desire to fly. But I managed to deduce that Icarus was in fact a real person. Find him and you will find the Codex.”

  “Ah, but wouldn’t this Icarus be dead by now? Didn’t Da Vinci live hundreds of years ago?”

  “With such a powerful tome in his possession? Death would be the least of his worries. From my contacts within the Stigmata, I learned that Icarus fled Italy after Da Vinci’s death. He knew the Church was after him, and went to the one country where they would not be able to persecute him – England, during the time of Henry VIII. The Stigmata did eventually follow him during the reign of Bloody Mary, but they were never able to catch him. He used the spells he learned in the Codex to shield himself from their prying eyes. They are convinced he still lives.”

  “If this Icarus is so good, then how are three neophytes like us going to catch him?”

  The gent scoffed. “I don’t want you to catch him! I just want you to find him! Your otherworldly origins may enable you to see through the protection he uses! It is designed to befuddle human senses, not Immaterial!”

  The Fiend glanced at his companions. What do you think? Shall we help him track down the human wizard and the Da Vinci Codex?

  “Y… yesss,” Pumpkinhead Jack managed to say with his new human mouth.

  Jersey Devil simply nodded, not sure he could make any sounds with these soft, meaty human lips.

  The Gent rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. You three are now eligible to join my club. But there is something I need to do first.”

  “What?” asked the Fiend.

  The Gent lifted his hands to his head, where the end of his turban was neatly tucked in, and began to unwrap it from his skull. “I need to be able to trust you. Of course I made sure that you couldn’t lift a finger against me as soon as you stepped in here, but that only works within these walls. Now I need to make it permanent. Dolomite – Anthracite – Quartz – please ensure my new guests don’t move.”

  The Fiend had been about to rise from his chair in indignation when large, thick arms sprang from its arms and encircled his arms and legs, imprisoning him within a grip of stone. The same thing happened to Pumpkinhead and Jersey Devil.

  “Three of the Earth Elementals I mentioned earlier. You must understand that I have a great deal to lose. However, you needn’t be worried. I can make it painless.” He removed the last strip of cloth from his head, revealing his oversized skull.

  Gurpreet had been born hydrocephalic, and as a child had suffered from crippling headaches. The son of a wealthy East Indian merchant and his bibi wife, Gurpreet had had ac
cess to the best medicine money could buy. However, only the ministration of a local Hindu mystic had actually helped. He had trepanned the boy’s skull five times before removing the top of his head completely, exposing his brain to the air. The old witch-doctor knew he couldn’t leave the boy’s head like that, so he fashioned a dome from an old bowl to cover it. This bowl eventually developed into the glass shield that now covered the Gent’s head, the one he slowly pushed back on its ornate brass hinges.

  The hydrocephaly may have hollowed out the centre of the Gent’s brain, but it had not destroyed his intelligence. Quite the contrary. The remaining shell of brain worked many times harder to make up for the loss, granting the Gent never before seen mental powers, such as his enormous IQ and telepathy, which he now demonstrated to his open-mouthed guests.

  Tentacles the same colour as his brain emerged from his grey matter and encircled the Fiend’s head, finding their way inside through his mouth and ears. The Gent wasn’t worried about the alien nature of the Underfiend’s brain – he had rooted about in far stranger heads than this. He soon learned that the Underfiend and his friends had been on the run in the Immaterium, fleeing an exceptionally powerful demon-god known as Abraxas. Their enhanced senses had attuned them to an open portal, and they had managed to dive through just before it snapped closed. Unable to sustain their Immaterial forms on Earth, they had sought human bodies to occupy. Three intoxicated individuals had appeared to check out the noise made by the portal’s arrival and a subsequent scuffle. The imps claimed the bodies and took over their minds. Although the humans’ spirits were gone, their memories remained.

  They recalled hearing sounds of a struggle, and when they went to investigate the noise that had roused them from their drunken stupors, they arrived just in time to see a tall, long-haired man flee down an alley, hotly pursued by a strange individual in a long coat and hat, carrying some sort of bulky device on his back.