by Edward Cox
There was a smell in the room, a smell Clara did not care for.
She noticed her medicine tin sitting on the desk like a paperweight.
‘This is my laboratory,’ Hamir said. ‘And there is someone here I believe you know.’
At the back of the room, a ceiling prism glared into life and shone down onto a square glass tank. It was no more than four-foot high, wide and deep, filled from top to bottom with murky water. The naked body of a man was trapped in the water. Twisted and contorted, his fat was pressed up against the walls of the tank. His face, unshaven and flabby, stared out at Clara, cross-eyed and vacant, his nose flattened against the glass. It was a face she knew all too well.
‘Fat Jacob,’ she whispered.
Hamir cleared his throat. ‘If you have any lingering doubts as to who sold you to Charlie Hemlock, Clara, then you need not doubt any longer.’
Clara’s hands began to tremble. ‘Why are you showing me this?’
Hamir brushed past her to stand before the tank and spoke with his back to her.
‘I have been trying to ascertain who Charlie Hemlock is working for,’ he said. ‘Who is it, Clara, that purchased you from your former employer?’
Clara swallowed, shook her head, but made no reply.
Hamir continued. ‘Unfortunately, Jacob here also says he does not know who employed Charlie Hemlock. However, he has told me an interesting story about a spectre. Jacob claims he was recently visited by a ghost made of blue light, and this ghost told him that you were … special, shall we say?’
Special? Did Hamir know she was a changeling?
‘Does that mean anything to you, Clara? Have you seen any ghosts lately?’
What was he talking about? ‘No,’ she said, but it sounded more like a grunt.
‘Ah, then the mystery remains.’
In the tank, Fat Jacob suddenly flinched and his eyes gained focus. He looked at Clara, and the recognition in his eyes was full of panic, full of pain and hatred. His body shook, and pink, slug-like fat splayed as he tried in vain to escape his prison. Bubbles streamed from his mouth, but his scream was muffled by water and glass.
Hamir’s chuckle was frightening in its amiability. ‘Jacob feels quite ready to die, but until he decides to be more cooperative …’ He clucked his tongue. ‘Well, I can keep him on the brink of death for as long as I choose. I can keep filling his lungs with air, giving him false hope that he might just live yet, and then drown him again. A thousand times over, if I so choose.’
Fat Jacob’s eyes rolled back and he shuddered as water again filled his lungs.
The owner of the Lazy House was a heartless bastard, but Clara could not have wished such torture on anyone.
The ceiling prism darkened, and the tank fell into shadows once more. Hamir turned to face Clara. Although his expression remained impassive, the bright green of his eyes swirled and darkened as if ink had been dripped into them. The scar on his forehead practically glowed in the dimness.
‘Waste no sympathy on your former employer, Clara. However, I sincerely hope that you are feeling more cooperative than you were in Captain Jeter’s interrogation room.’
Clara had heard stories about necromancy and the magic-users who liked to play with death. But the Resident, the governor of this town, practising death magic in his home? Allowing this aide to perform it? In that moment she feared for her life. The blood in her veins was the blood of a changeling; it was a priceless substance to magic-users, perhaps most especially to necromancers. She looked at the scab on her forearm. Evidently, Hamir had already taken some.
‘Why have you brought me here?’ Clara’s voice was tight. ‘What does the Resident want with me?’
Hamir bobbed his head in a quick bow. He backed away a few paces and his eyes returned to their bright green colour. He smiled at Clara as a new voice spoke from the room’s shadows.
‘A magicker is an illegal presence under the law of Labrys Town,’ it said.
Clara swung around, but could not see anyone else in the room.
The voice continued, deep and resonant, confident and precise. ‘For the time being, you have been allowed to enter the Nightshade under amnesty. This, you understand, is at the behest of a mutual friend. Yet I wonder – why should I trust you?’
The shadows wavered and an imposing figure stepped into the room, carrying a cane of deep green glass. Tall and broad, he was dressed in a loose shirt and trousers that shimmered and flowed as if reflecting the night sky. The dim light shone off the dark brown skin of his shaven head. On his strong face, two dull metal plates covered his eyes. Seemingly fused to the bone of the sockets, they glared with reflected light.
Somewhere deep inside her head, Clara felt Marney’s lingering presence. But it gave no comfort as the dark, imposing man towered over her.
‘Van-Van Bam?’ she asked meekly.
He cocked his head to one side and held his green cane across his thighs. ‘Welcome to my home, Peppercorn Clara.’
Halfway across the northern district of Labrys Town was the street known as Resident Approach. Wide and long, it ran southward in a straight line all the way to the central district. The southern region of Resident Approach accommodated shops and eateries, communal gardens and markets providing a place for work and pleasure alike – a source of life.
But the further north it stretched, the more desolate and lonely Resident Approach became. The gardens and buildings fell away. Tramlines ran along a section of the street which narrowed to half its original width and sloped downwards, cutting a gorge through the stone, creating a valley which flattened out some fifteen feet below street level, and the walls that loomed either side were smooth and grey.
Denizens did not linger here. There were no lamps, walkways or pavements, only lifeless statues lining the high walls. Eight feet tall and grim-faced, these statues were of past Residents, memorials to the former governors of Labrys Town that dated back a thousand years.
The clouds had cleared and the temperature was cooling as Samuel made his way along the northern reaches of Resident Approach. The night sky was on the cusp of changeover as Ruby Moon faded and Silver Moon began to rise. Samuel felt exposed, conscious of the taps and scratches of his footsteps, of the rasps and sighs of his breathing as he walked the deserted valley. The only cover offered him were shadows cast by the former Residents. He felt the gazes of those long deceased men and women upon him, as hard as the stone from which they were carved, judgemental, accusing. In the hands of each effigy was a milky eye device. There was nowhere to hide along Resident Approach.
Samuel’s hand flexed, as if needing to hold something comforting in its grip; but the old bounty hunter resisted the urge to draw the revolver holstered to his leg.
As he neared the northernmost part of Resident Approach, he stopped and considered. The valley ended at a wall, as high as those flanking it, which would have formed a blind end had it not been for the fat tunnel burrowing into it. The tramlines converged into a single track that disappeared into the tunnel. Beyond it, a building was dimly highlighted under the fading glow of Ruby Moon. Constructed out of dark stone, the building rose high behind the wall, above the valley; its perfect square shape was shrouded slightly by the night’s mist. It was a monumental building, by far the largest in Labrys Town: a giant cube that loomed, brooded, over Resident Approach.
The Nightshade.
Samuel didn’t need to check the spirit compass in his pocket to know that the girl was inside. After all, he had seen Hamir, the Resident’s aide, collect her from the police station.
Throughout the Labyrinth’s history, the Nightshade had been home to the Residents, the governors of Labrys Town. Briefly Samuel looked back along the valley of Resident Approach, at the statues stretching off into the gloom. Each statue embodied a legend, had a story to tell.
Samuel turned back to the giant cube of th
e Nightshade. Another statue stood to the right of the tunnel cut into the wall. Samuel sighed, then made his way towards it.
Towering over the old bounty hunter, the statue’s face was thin and angular with an expression as stern as the others. Samuel looked straight at the eye in its hands, and then down to read the name engraved into the plinth: GIDEON THE SELFLESS.
Samuel snorted.
Gideon had been the direct predecessor of the current Resident. He was called ‘the Selfless’ because he had given his life during the Genii War. Single-handedly, they said, he had battled Spiral’s demons and saved the lives of every denizen in Labrys Town. And the denizens were eternally grateful for his sacrifice.
Allegedly.
The statue was a good likeness of the flesh. Samuel sneered his contempt up towards Gideon’s face before walking into the tunnel.
The tram track ran right through to the other side. Dirty lamps fitted to the ceiling above the power line provided a sickly and dim light. Samuel felt his way along. The bricks of the walls were slick with moss. Water dripped. The tunnel ended at a set of iron gates that were already open, almost invitingly. Samuel hung back in the shadows.
Through the gates was a large forecourt where the sleek black bulk of the Resident’s personal tram was parked. Beyond it, the wall of the Nightshade served as a vast backdrop. The dark stone was mostly smooth but engraved in places with square maze patterns. The Nightshade stood at the most northern edge, as if it were the head of Labrys Town; and behind it, beyond the mighty, hundred-foot-tall boundary wall, began the endless alleyways of the Great Labyrinth that completely surrounded the town and stretched away into the unknown.
The Nightshade had no doors or windows or obvious entranceways at all; you did not enter this building unless it wanted you inside. There was no checkpoint at the gates, no armed guards roaming the perimeter, for they were not required.
In the forecourt, upon pedestals rising from the ground like evenly-spaced stalagmites, sat eye devices. Unlike the eyes on the streets of Labrys Town, these eyes were full, head-sized spheres, seemingly dead in the dull, fading glow of Ruby Moon. But Samuel knew that these pedestals surrounded the Nightshade and he had only to step into the forecourt to activate the eyes; the milky fluid within them would flicker into illumination, and he would be seen.
Would he be welcomed?
For nearly forty years Samuel had been a bounty hunter. Violence and death had always been his trade, but there had been a time when he’d known a sense of loyalty and duty. Times had changed, and by reputation alone he was now a marked man. In Labrys Town good bounty hunters were always in competition for work, but these days a bounty hunter would hunt and kill his fellow kind simply for being competition. And no scalp came bigger than that of Old Man Sam.
Samuel’s list of friends had dwindled over time; there weren’t enough alive now to occupy the fingers of one hand, and those who were left he had spent long years avoiding. He belonged to a past generation, and was sick to the stomach of living his life with one eye looking over his shoulder. How long before someone younger and stronger caught up with him? It was only a matter of time.
Long ago, things had been very different. The Houses of the Aelfir had made life good, interesting – free. But with their departure, the Labyrinth had become isolated. The only things now waiting outside the boundary wall were the wild demons of the Retrospective. The denizens already had all they would ever get. And the man responsible for the change, the source of the nightmare, had returned tonight … and Samuel had let him take Marney.
The Nightshade and its law loomed before him like a gigantic puzzle box, bland but deceitful. Inside were secrets – secrets and monsters. Van Bam was the current Resident, and few denizens knew much about him at all. But Samuel knew, and he knew well.
Flexing fingers, his face grim, Samuel took a breath and stepped from the tunnel’s shadows, through the gates, and into the Nightshade’s forecourt. One by one, the eyes on the pedestals flickered and hummed and bathed Old Man Sam in bright light.
Chapter Six
Secrets & Monsters
‘You recently killed a man?’
The bluntness of the question stung Clara and she could not meet the metal plates covering Van Bam’s eyes. The light they reflected seemed to glare, as if the Resident could see directly into her thoughts. Her gaze flickered to the tin of medicine sitting on the desk, to the tank into which Fat Jacob was stuffed – dead but not dead – and she didn’t dare speak. She looked to the floor and noted the Resident’s feet were bare.
Hamir was no longer present. Van Bam had dismissed him from the laboratory; but before he left, the Resident had said that Fat Jacob was no longer of use, and that the aide was free to do with him as he pleased. Clara didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t even want to guess.
Van Bam tapped his green glass cane against the floor. ‘Clara,’ he said, ‘I am not Captain Jeter. Silence will not buy you more time, and I will tolerate nothing but the truth here. Now – you recently killed a man, yes?’
‘I had no choice,’ Clara mumbled. Her throat felt dry. ‘I was forced. I’m no murderer.’
‘But you are a changeling,’ Van Bam countered.
Clara was surprised to feel a flash of anger. She looked up and met the Resident’s metal eyes. His dark brown face was inscrutable.
He said, ‘I suspect you are an innocent party, Clara, or at least to some degree. If it were otherwise, Marney would have left you to Charlie Hemlock.’
Clara frowned.
The Resident continued. ‘You are a victim of the dubious business conducted by Hemlock and the man you call Fat Jacob. But can you tell me who it is that Hemlock is working for?’
Clara shook her head.
‘Then do you know why he wanted you? It was for your blood, perhaps?’
‘I … I thought that at first, too.’ Clara rubbed the scab on her arm. ‘But no, Hemlock wasn’t interested in my blood at all.’
‘Then what?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘Fat Jacob hired me out for a home visit. It was just another night’s work, or so I thought. But when I arrived at the address, Hemlock was waiting for me with an accomplice …’ She closed her eyes and relived distasteful memories.
‘And then?’
‘They tied me up,’ she told Van Bam. ‘They said they’d kill me if … if I didn’t change.’
‘Change? Into the wolf?’
Clara nodded. ‘They wanted to tire me out, they said, so I wouldn’t be so much of a threat.’
‘And they obviously succeeded.’
‘I blacked out,’ Clara continued, ‘but I … I can almost remember killing him—’ slaughtering him, ripping him apart, enjoying the taste of his blood …
Van Bam pursed his lips. ‘But that was not Hemlock.’
‘No – his accomplice. I never knew his name.’
‘Go on.’
‘There’s a blank spot on my memory. When I woke up, I was in the Great Labyrinth. I don’t remembering going there. I was wearing the dead man’s clothes.
‘Hemlock was nowhere to be seen at first. I-I tried to find my way out, but I was lost. When Hemlock caught up with me, he was with men dressed as priests. They had guns. I just ran. If Marney hadn’t shown up, I-I don’t know what would have happened.’
‘Nothing good, one would presume.’ Van Bam banged the tip of his green glass cane on the floor like a gavel striking a block. ‘Clara, you should know that Marney and I were friends of old, but I have no real reason to trust her now. You will explain to me why she saved you. What instructions did she give you?’
Clara blinked several times. That glass box into which Fat Jacob’s body was squashed seemed to be taunting her from the back of the room.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Marney didn’t really say anythi
ng. She just let me go.’
This time, Van Bam’s metal eyes followed Clara’s gaze as she looked at her tin of medicine on the desk.
‘Perhaps you are innocent, Clara. Perhaps you are not. Either way, if you want your medicine, I would be more forthcoming if I were you.’
Clara licked her lips, as if to sample the lingering taste of the empath’s kiss. ‘I don’t know what to tell you. Marney did something to me. She … she kissed me—’
The conversation was interrupted by a click, and the door to the laboratory opened. Hamir stood on the threshold. He bobbed his head respectfully.
‘Excuse the intrusion, Van Bam, but I thought you should know that the security eyes have activated in the forecourt. Someone has approached the Nightshade.’
Still facing Clara, Van Bam cocked his head to one side. ‘Marney?’
‘No. It is another old friend.’
‘Ah …’
Van Bam was silent for a moment, and Clara looked from one man to the other.
‘Then have the servants bring him inside, Hamir,’ said the Resident. ‘Show him to my study.’
‘As you wish.’
Hamir smiled at Clara, and she shuddered. He continued smiling at her as Van Bam strode out of the room, saying over his shoulder, ‘Come, Clara.’
Confused and disturbed, Clara struggled to keep up with Van Bam’s long strides. Each of his steps was punctuated by a tick of his green glass cane on the floor. He walked with the confidence of one with full sight. The endless, repetitive corridors and stairwells of the Nightshade had an hypnotic effect on Clara; she almost walked into the back of Van Bam as he stopped suddenly and opened another hidden door in the wall.
He led her into his study, where it was immediately evident that the Resident of Labrys Town had little time for personal comforts.
The study was as brightly lit as the corridor. The walls were the same cream colour, but they were devoid of the ubiquitous maze pattern, and Clara’s eyes relaxed slightly. There was an ornate wooden desk at one end, with two matching chairs on opposing sides. To the right of the desk a full-length mirror stood in the corner, set in a silver frame. And that was it; no cabinets or bookcases, no paintings or plants – nothing that indicated any kind of taste or pleasure.
