by Edward Cox
Marney looked up at the ramparts. Her expression was challenging. Even though Samuel knew it was too murky for her to see him, somehow her eyes still burned into his.
It’s been a long time, Samuel, her voice said in his mind. How are you?
It seemed pointless now to continue the conversation mentally, but Samuel obliged the empath’s wishes. He did not, however, deactivate the power stone on his weapon.
That whore is a murderer, he thought back angrily.
That whore has a name, Marney countered, just as hotly. Clara. Remember it!
What are you doing, Marney?
I could ask you the same thing. Clara’s a changeling. She’s a magicker, Old Man. Did you know that?
Get to the point, Samuel snapped.
Marney shook her head and moved to Hemlock’s unconscious form lying on the courtyard floor. She checked him over, and then sat on his chest, looking down at his face.
Do you ever think about the old days, Samuel?
What?
Do you remember life before the Genii War, before the Aelfir disappeared? Marney slipped a dagger from the baldric and toyed with it between her fingers. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about that as well as your duty.
Her voice carried a measure of dark mirth. Samuel did not care for the way it felt in his head.
Where are you going with this, Marney?
Charlie Hemlock, she replied and held the slim dagger as though it were a pencil. He has a new paymaster. Nothing surprising there, I suppose – whoever’s paying the most with Charlie, right? But this time he’s bitten off more than he can chew.
And what has this to do with me?
Everything. You see, Samuel, Charlie’s been employed by an old friend of ours.
Marney then leant forwards and used the dagger to cut something into Hemlock’s forehead. Even with younger eyes, it would have been impossible for Samuel to see at that distance what she had carved into Hemlock’s skin.
In Samuel’s pocket, the spirit compass ticked as it continued to track the whore’s life energy.
What have you found? he demanded. Who’s Hemlock working for?
When she replied, Marney’s anxiety scratched the inside of Samuel’s skull. The Genii War spawned so many myths, stories that faded like echoes until the truth was utterly forgotten. But I remember the truth, Old Man, and I remember the promises we made. Perhaps you should too.
She sat back and admired her handiwork. Hemlock’s face was smeared with blood that ran down the side of his face.
Samuel felt a shift in the air, a sudden temperature drop.
We sacrificed so much to win the war against Spiral, Marney said, but if we’d lost, it would have been much, much worse. She rose and stepped back from Hemlock’s body. I want Charlie Hemlock to understand that. I want him to know what his new employer is capable of.
The temperature continued to drop, dispelling the humidity of Ruby Moon. Samuel’s breath began to rise in clouds. On the courtyard floor, Hemlock’s body shimmered, darkening as if drawing the very shadows to it. A breeze picked up bringing with it a sense of hopelessness and the stench of corruption. Samuel understood then that Marney had carved a sigil into Hemlock’s forehead, a symbol of summoning.
What madness is this, Marney?
He deserves no better, Samuel, she said calmly. I’m giving Charlie to the Orphan.
Samuel’s grip tightened on his rifle.
Of all people, Marney understood what terrible things dwelt within the Retrospective. The Orphan – the blood harvester. Summoning such a demon could see them all swallowed into oblivion. But the darkness was already gathering; Hemlock’s facial features were now indistinguishable, as if shrouded. There was no stopping the summons. The Retrospective was coming.
I won’t be part of this, Samuel told Marney angrily.
You already are! Marney snapped. She thrust out a hand, pointing to the heaped bulk of the dead assassin lying by the courtyard’s exit. That thing isn’t human, Samuel. It’s a golem!
What?
That made no sense to Samuel. Golems were facile servants, human victims whose flesh and blood and bone had been converted to stone by the darkest of magics. But a magic-user skilled enough to create a golem hadn’t been seen in the Labyrinth for decades, not since …
No. Samuel’s thought was as chilling as the snake that slithered around his spine. That’s impossible, Marney.
Remember your promise, Old Man, she said. Follow Clara. You need to keep her close.
The air behind Marney shimmered and distorted, and from the distortion shot a flash of light that slammed into Marney’s back. She fell to her knees with a cry. There was a sound like the howl of bitter wind, and Marney’s voice was choked off as her body hardened to ice.
The distortion shattered in the air like glass, collapsing to reveal a square portal, a doorway to somewhere else from which sterile light spilled onto the cobbles of the courtyard. Four disfigured golems dressed in cassocks stumbled from the portal and grabbed Marney’s frozen body.
Behind the golems, Samuel saw a man bathed in the light of a silver chamber, standing before what looked to be some kind of tree. With long, white hair and pale skin, he too was dressed in the black cassock of a priest. He watched with dispassionate eyes as his servants carried the empath back to him.
Samuel stood on the rampart and aimed his rifle. But he was too slow. The golems had already taken the empath through to the silver chamber, and, before he could fire, the portal closed with a swirl of distorted air. Marney was gone.
Samuel stared into empty space, not quite believing what he had witnessed.
He flinched as a small, child-like form on the courtyard floor caught his eye. A little boy had appeared, crouching over Hemlock’s body, short fingers clawing at his clothes. The boy and Hemlock quickly dissipated, turning to shadow that seeped into the cobbles like oil drawn into cracks in the ground.
The Retrospective had been and gone, and the Orphan had claimed its prize.
The night’s humidity returned and pressed in on Samuel. In his pocket, the spirit compass vibrated. He fished it out. The needle was still locked onto the girl. There was only one option left to Old Man Sam now.
He followed her.
Chapter Three
Labrys Town
People disappeared in the Great Labyrinth, out in the deep maze where the Retrospective roamed. Wild demons hid between the alley walls like spiders waiting for the tingle of flies on their webs. The demons always welcomed fresh meat, and once they had picked the bones of their victims clean of flesh, they reserved the spirits as offerings to the lowest age of the Retrospective: Oldest Place, where Spiral, the Lord of the Genii, was said to feast upon the souls of the dead.
Out in the Great Labyrinth Clara had thought she would die – if not from an assassin’s gun, then by the teeth and claws of wild demons. She had feared her soul was destined for the fire and poison of Oldest Place, and the endless hunger of the Genii Lord Spiral. She had given up hope of ever reaching the paradise of Mother Earth – until she had been kissed by a guardian angel.
By the time Clara left the alleyways, the rain was constant, humid and warm. She felt light-headed and disorientated. Exhaustion numbed the burning in her leg muscles, and nauseating pangs of hunger griped at her stomach. Her throat was parched and cracked; her feet were bare and bleeding.
She entered a wide and square courtyard where two stubby pillars of stone rose from the floor like broken fangs. On the far side of the courtyard, the high boundary wall loomed over her. A hundred feet tall, sheer and impossible to scale, the boundary wall surrounded Labrys Town entirely, and kept it segregated from the Great Labyrinth, protected it from the Retrospective. From where she was, there appeared no way through to the civilised sanctuary on the other side. Clara tried to steady her breathing and gain some foc
us.
She looked around the courtyard, then focused on the two stubby pillars positioned barely ten feet apart. Clara had learned enough about the old days to know that at one time the pillars had connected to form a tall archway. Forty years ago, long before she was born, this courtyard had been a checkpoint, and the archway had been a portal that led to the doorways of the Great Labyrinth through which the denizens journeyed to the Houses of the Aelfir.
There were many such checkpoints located around the boundary wall, but the entrances to them all had been sealed shut, back when the Genii War ended. Each of the portals had been broken, smashed, and all paths to the realms outside the Great Labyrinth had been destroyed.
Standing in the shadow of the boundary wall, Clara could just make out where the entrance to this courtyard had once been. The bricks were a lighter shade of black, forming a square – large enough for a tram to pass through. The tracks cut into the cobbles were rusty from disuse and disappeared beneath the wall that was undoubtedly solid and seemingly impassable.
As warm rain soaked her, a strange calm descended on Clara. She knew what she had to do next, though she could hardly fathom how she knew it.
Feeling almost as though her actions belonged to someone else, she stepped forwards and placed a hand against the wall where the former entranceway had been. Immediately, she felt heat against her palm that was at once alien yet familiar. Beneath her hand, the mortar between the bricks began to emit a dull purple glow that spread to form a maze-like pattern. Clara felt a vibration, as though mechanisms were turning deep within the brickwork. The purple glow receded and, with a low rumble, a section of the wall depressed and slid to one side, revealing a slim but open doorway.
Her skin prickled. She had heard rumours that there were secret entrances to the Great Labyrinth hidden in the boundary wall, but she had never thought they were real. Until now.
Clara licked her lips nervously and stepped through the opening.
She stood on a narrow path which ran along the boundary wall, skirting the backs of terraced buildings. Directly ahead of her, and crossing the path, the tramline continued along a fat alley that led out onto the streets of Labrys Town. The slim doorway rumbled shut behind Clara, showing no sign that it had ever been there. At last she felt in control of herself, as though she could breathe for the first time.
She turned her face up to the rain and closed her eyes.
The distant noise and scents of life stroked Clara’s heightened senses: music and buzzing voices whispered in her ears; a vague stale and dank smell filled her nostrils. She had escaped the dangers of the Great Labyrinth’s alleyways. She had been saved by an old woman – a stranger called Marney, a magicker, an empath – and her kiss had shown Clara an impossible way home. Though what home now meant was anyone’s guess.
Body drenched and foot sore, she followed the alley ahead, happy to discover she had arrived in the northern part of Labrys Town. Clara took a furtive glance from the alley entrance to ensure the way was clear, and then stepped out onto the rain-soaked cobbles of Head Street.
She began walking, her footsteps uncertain. Above, the clouds parted to reveal the full orb of Ruby Moon. The night was still young. There were at least another few hours before Silver Moon would chase its sibling away with blue-grey light. Then the humidity would begin to freshen, grow cooler, colder, until the dawning sun brought the warmth of the day.
Head Street was divided by two shining tramlines. Along its pavements lampposts spilled violet light onto the ground. But like much of Labrys Town it was mostly asleep. The terraced stores and businesses were darkened, the lights of their signs dead for the night. On the opposite side of the street was the confined passage of Elder Lane which cut between a baker’s and a confectioner’s, and led to the back alleys. Clara stopped to stare down it.
The clouds obscured Ruby Moon once more, and the rain fell harder than before – heavy droplets that splashed upon the street and ran down Clara’s face. She heard the rumble of an approaching tram, saw its lights cresting a rise, glaring through the downpour, heading towards her. Hiding in the gloom of a butcher’s doorway, Clara was suddenly aware of how disgusting she smelt. Somehow it completed the night’s misery. Her over-sized clothes were no better than rags. They were torn, soaked by rain that had only partly flushed away the blood encrusted in the thread – these clothes belonged to a dead man, a man she had slaughtered.
The taste of his blood still lingered in her mouth, the ghost of his screams echoed in her ears, yet she had never even known his name.
Lights glared. The rumbling reached a crescendo. The tram trundled by with sparks of purple thaumaturgy snapping from the power line above it. Clara saw a few nondescript passengers seated inside the carriage, and then the tram had gone. The power line swayed gently in its wake. Stillness returned. Breaking cover, she stepped out into the downpour and, quickly crossing Head Street, ducked into the gloom of Elder Lane.
It was safer to remain unseen, and the back alleys of Labrys Town afforded the best places to hide. But staying unseen in this town wasn’t easy. Elder Lane wove between tall and twisted shop buildings, as dark now as those on Head Street. Every so often, Clara passed hemispheres of clear glass fixed to the walls. These observation devices, simply called ‘eyes’ by most people, were filled with a milky fluid that gave them the appearance of rheumy eyeballs. They were scattered throughout the streets, lanes and alleys, and there was no telling when the eyes were watching you. In Labrys Town the way to remain unseen was to not draw attention to yourself.
Clara moved as fast as she was able. As fast as she dared.
She turned off Elder Lane into Market Square and headed across the open ground towards the other side. The metal shutters of storage lock-ups were closed and locked for the night, the skeletons of empty barrows and stalls stood in front of them. Clara glanced nervously at a stone pillar standing proud at the square’s centre, with a wooden bench surrounding its base. Around the top of the pillar were five eyes capable of seeing every angle of the square. Cautiously, she jogged past and headed out into a narrow lane that had no name.
A figure lying prone on a shop doorstep did not stir as she passed. A dim light shone from within a dispensary, but no one could be seen working inside.
A wave of nausea and dizziness threatened to swamp Clara. She placed a hand against a shop window to steady herself and took several deep breaths.
Ahead of Clara, a Chapel of the Timewatcher lit the dimness with soft blue light. The doors to the chapels and churches of Labrys Town were always open to both the faithful and those seeking sanctuary. Clara was tempted to slip inside its welcoming entrance, to sleep till morning under the protective gaze of the Timewatcher. But this was not the time for rest.
Marney’s kiss had altered Clara. Somehow, it had transferred a map of the Great Labyrinth into her head, shown her how to navigate the twists and turns of its alleyways. But the empath had left something else behind, too, a presence of some kind … a message? Clara could feel it, drifting, dormant in her mind like a locked box without a key. A box of secrets? Clara didn’t understand why Marney had saved her, or what she had done to her. Clara needed a safe haven to rest and make sense of everything – somewhere more familiar than a random place of worship.
Her dizziness passing, Clara continued on, leaving the Chapel of the Timewatcher and the promise of its sanctuary behind.
She cut through a plaza full of gambling houses and weapon-smiths, and then across a communal garden where she paused to drink cool water from a fountain. She flinched as the angry shouts of a brawl, not too far away, reached her ears. Thankfully, the shouts did not come from the direction she was headed.
After passing a row of lodging houses, she turned left into another alley and slowed to a walk. Reaching the end of the alley, Clara furtively peered out onto Green Glass Row, the busiest street in Labrys Town – especially at night.
The beat of music and the buzz of voices spilled from the open doors and misted windows of clubs and taverns. The smell of sweat and alcohol was strong and bitter in the air. Though rain had lessened the activity on the street, several denizens had gathered under umbrellas and darted through the downpour, eager to be somewhere drier. A tram stopped, and a group of young men disembarked. They laughed and joked and jostled one another as they passed the scrutiny of the big doorman of a nightclub called the Lazy House. Having ushered them in, the doorman then resumed his conversation with two girls who were sheltering under the club’s awning.
The five-storey Lazy House wasn’t just a nightclub; it was also a whorehouse, and Clara was one of its employees. Clara knew the doorman, Roma, at least as much as she wanted to. She vaguely recognised the girls he spoke with, but they were streetwalkers, not employed by Clara’s boss.
It had been three days since Charlie Hemlock had first kidnapped her; three days she had been missing. There would be repercussions, questions she couldn’t answer, waiting inside the Lazy House. Exhausted, mentally and physically, Clara could only deal with one step at a time. Step one – she must get to the safety of her room, where she could think and make sense of the night, her own private sanctuary where she could find a little peace of mind. However, she needed to get there without being seen by Roma, without having to walk across a busy bar and dance floor. She ducked back into the shadows as a couple, giggling beneath an umbrella, hurried past.
The door to the Lazy House opened, and someone inside spoke to Roma. While he was turned away from them, the streetwalkers moved off, and Clara seized her chance. She left the alley, ran across Green Glass Row and down the side of the nightclub building to the rear. To her relief she found a back door open and unattended. She slipped inside to a darkened hallway, and crept up the stairs which vibrated from the sound of music pounding through the walls.
Up on the second floor, the telltale sounds of whores plying their trade came from behind closed doors. The place reeked of alcohol and sex. Clara headed for her room, praying that no one would hear her, that no door would suddenly open to catch her with a bright glare of accusing light. But there was already a streak of illumination on the hallway carpet coming from one door that was open just a crack. With caution and a thudding heart, Clara sneaked up to it and peered through.
