by Edward Cox
Clara looked to the Resident. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, surprised by how calm her voice sounded. ‘Marney can’t have been taken by Fabian Moor.’
Van Bam turned his metallic eyes to Samuel. They looked at each other without speaking.
‘The dead stay dead,’ Clara stated.
‘Clara,’ replied Van Bam, ‘I suspect that once you truly comprehend with whom you have become embroiled, then ignorance might just seem the preferable option.’
When Clara replied, her voice was resolute. ‘I’ll tell you what I understand. Marney saved my life tonight –’ she looked pointedly at Samuel – ‘twice, it appears. I don’t doubt she had her own reasons, but people don’t exactly stick their necks out for me very often. If she’s in trouble, I want to help.’
Samuel and Van Bam shared another look, and then Samuel rose from his chair and bowed his head at Clara. He walked behind the Resident, around the conference table, and came to her side.
‘You’ve suffered tonight, and you don’t know why,’ he said. ‘You want answers, and that’s only right. But if you want to help Marney, Clara, you need to trust us. Trust me.’ He took a seat beside her. ‘Give me your hand.’
Clara stiffened. ‘What?’
Samuel unclipped a small kit bag from his utility belt and unzipped it. ‘Tonight, out in the Great Labyrinth, you scratched Charlie Hemlock’s face,’ he produced a slim scalpel and a tiny glass phial from the bag, ‘deep enough to draw blood. Let me see you hand, please.’
The only thing Clara offered the old bounty hunter was a glare.
‘Clara,’ Van Bam said coolly. ‘If Charlie Hemlock was employed by Fabian Moor, then he has information that is of vital use to us. If there is any hope of helping Marney, Hemlock needs to be rescued from a demon. Time is a factor. Please, do as Samuel asks.’
‘Fine,’ she snapped.
Though grimy, her hand seemed small and delicate when placed in Samuel’s worn and calloused palm.
‘Now tell me,’ she said, ‘how can Fabian Moor still be alive? He was killed by Gideon the Selfless.’
‘And that is true, in a manner of speaking,’ Van Bam said. ‘At least, that is what I believed until tonight.’
He sat back in his chair, holding his cane across his lap, his face thoughtful. ‘Clara, do you know why the Genii War began?’
As Samuel inspected her fingernails with the scalpel, Clara answered with a shrug. ‘Spiral rebelled against the Timewatcher. He tried to enslave the Aelfir.’
Van Bam nodded. ‘That is the truth, more or less.’ He sighed. ‘There was a time when the Labyrinth was the one place throughout all the realms that connected every House of the Aelfir. Spiral saw Labrys Town and the Great Labyrinth as a seat of power from which he could invade the Aelfirian realms, conquer them, bend them to his rule and raise an army large enough to defeat the Timewatcher. He almost succeeded in this when he sent his assassin to our town.’
Clara watched as Van Bam’s grip tightened on his glass cane. She kept quiet as he continued.
‘There are not many left alive who actually knew Fabian Moor, Clara, but those of us who did remember him as a phantom, a lingering nightmare that reminds us of the frailty of existence within the Labyrinth.’
‘He was bad news,’ Clara said. ‘I don’t need a history lesson.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Samuel said as he dragged the scalpel along the underside of her fingernail. ‘Myths and legends, Clara – they have a habit of diluting the truth.’
‘Fabian Moor was a demon,’ Clara said, as if there was nothing else to say. ‘Spiral sent him here to spread a plague among the denizens.’
‘Yes, Spiral did send him here during the war,’ Samuel said, and Clara winced as he dug out some dark matter from beneath her nail – dried blood and skin that had once belonged to Charlie Hemlock’s face, she hoped – and scraped it into the phial. ‘But he was much more than some demon spreading disease.’
‘Fabian Moor was Spiral’s most trusted general,’ said Van Bam. ‘He was a Genii, Clara.’
Clara’s mouth worked silently for a moment. What was this rubbish? She was no expert on the Genii War, but she knew about the great magickers who had fought alongside Spiral, and it was well known that the Timewatcher had protected the Labyrinth – town and maze – from the Genii and prevented them from invading it. In fact all the fighting, every battle, had taken place in the realms of the Aelfir, and the denizens had seen nothing of the war at all. That was why Spiral sent a demon to spread a plague. Such a low creature went unnoticed when it smuggled itself into Labrys Town, hiding in the stolen cargo of treasure hunters. Or so the story went.
She scoffed. ‘But he can’t have been,’ she said, and then winced again as Samuel scraped more dark matter from under her fingernails. She pulled a sour expression. ‘The Genii never entered the Labyrinth. The Timewatcher prevented it.’
‘There is much that will confuse you at this time, Clara,’ Van Bam said. ‘For now, let us suppose that Fabian Moor was not the demon that legend has led you to believe, that he was a Genii who indeed found a way to enter Labrys Town, and that he most certainly did not come here solely for the purpose of spreading a plague.’
‘Then why did he come?’ Clara said, irritated.
‘It gets complicated,’ Samuel replied. ‘We always supposed that Moor was trying to supplant the Resident and take control of the Nightshade for his master.’ He shrugged. ‘It was logical. Without control of the Nightshade Spiral couldn’t hope to command the doorways of the Great Labyrinth, which he needed to subjugate the Aelfir.’
‘But we never discovered the full extent of Moor’s mission,’ Van Bam said. ‘We killed him before he could carry out his orders, or so we believed.’
‘We?’ Clara whispered. Something tingled inside her head, as if Marney’s box of secrets was vibrating, encouraging her to see the obvious in this situation. ‘You killed him?’
‘That’s right, Clara,’ Samuel said. ‘Gideon wasn’t the only one to fight Fabian Moor.’ His voice became bitter. ‘And he certainly wasn’t the only one to die.’
Butterflies flittered in Clara’s gut. The buzzing of Marney’s lingering presence spread through her body. The notion that this was not the first time she had met these two men struck her with renewed force. She peered closely into Samuel’s face as he finished filling the little phial with dried skin and blood and pressed a cork into the end.
‘What’s going on?’ she said, feeling suddenly hot, clammy. ‘I know you – both of you.’ Her voice was feverish. ‘Why am I here?’
Samuel frowned at Clara’s intense, frustrated expression, and then looked to the Resident.
‘Tell me,’ Clara hissed. ‘What am I to you?’
‘It is your right to know the truth,’ Van Bam told her. ‘Though I suspect Marney has already given you some indication of the company you are presently keeping.’
‘What?’ Clara demanded. ‘What has she told me?’
Van Bam’s metallic eyes seemed to stare straight into her soul. ‘You have heard stories of us, Clara, perhaps more, even, than the legends of the Genii War. Samuel, Marney and I, we are the last of a clandestine organisation. And forty years ago Fabian Moor ripped us apart …’
Forty Years Earlier
The Relic Guild
There had been a time, in the distant past, when the Houses of the Aelfir were feudal and war-torn. Their cultures, steeped in history, rich in resources, had been undermined by doubt and mistrust, scarred by battles that raged across the realms. None of them could remember the cause of the disharmony, none of them could answer why it was they continued to fight. Yet as generations passed the feuds grew ever more bitter, as each House fought for domination of its neighbours. So blinded had the Aelfir become by their nameless hatred, they refused to see there could never be a victor. For their lust for dominance had reach
ed an impasse centuries ago.
Yet salvation was at hand.
In the far and ineffable realm of Mother Earth, the Timewatcher’s all-seeing eye had been drawn to the stalemate. She found shame in the conduct of the Aelfir – that not one House among them could even consider so alien a concept as peace. So stuck were they in their ways, they did not recognise the bright future they could so easily fashion; the strong alliances they could form, the ancient cultures they could share, and the trade and immense riches they could enjoy together. So the Timewatcher, terrible in Her power, generous with Her kindness, journeyed from Mother Earth to show the Aelfir another way.
She brokered a fragile truce by creating for them a new realm that served as a neutral ground where all the Houses were welcome. She called this realm the Great Labyrinth, and to this place She summoned every House chief. For the first time in centuries, the Aelfir engaged in dialogue. Encouraged by the Timewatcher, they listened to each other, and started to understand the futility of their feuds. It was not an easy period, but the Houses slowly began extending hands of friendship.
Of all the Timewatcher’s children, Her most beloved were the Thaumaturgists, mighty and proud creatures of higher magic. The love and devotion the Thaumaturgists gave their Mother was without compromise, and never did they question Her word. She charged them with the duty of watching over the Aelfir, to protect them, to guide and nurture, but never to rule over and dominate them, for that was not the Timewatcher’s plan. With gentle benevolence, She bade the Thaumaturgists to not interfere as the new friends built their bright future, and to never seek personal gain. There was to be no other benefit than ensuring harmony throughout all the realms.
Lastly, on each House of the Aelfir, the Timewatcher bestowed the gift of a doorway. Through these doorways, whenever they chose, each House might enter Labrys Town, the new common ground at the centre of Great Labyrinth – to meet and trade, to grow rich and strong. And the Timewatcher left them to make of themselves what they would.
For a thousand years the Aelfir met in peace at the Labyrinth.
But there came a day when one arose among the Thaumaturgists who dared to question the Timewatcher’s directive. His name was Spiral, and he was revered among the creatures of higher magic. He could not accept that the Aelfir should be allowed to make their own laws and systems of government. Why should they reap all that they sowed, grow fat on their riches, while offering nothing back to the Timewatcher who had given them everything, who had saved them from such a miserable existence? The Timewatcher told Spiral, in no uncertain terms, that the love given by the Aelfir to Her, and Her Thaumaturgists, was reward enough. He was not to forget that. Or question Her again. The Aelfir and the Thaumaturgists were equals, She said.
Something changed in Spiral that day; his faith in his Mother waned, his love was compromised by resentment. And he turned his darkening thoughts to the Great Labyrinth.
The common ground, the meeting place, the realm that linked all realms – the Great Labyrinth was intrinsic to the status quo. But had the Timewatcher given custody of such a powerful House to creatures of higher magic? Or were the greatest and wisest Aelfirian politicians given rule of Labrys Town? No, She had given the House to humans, the lowest of all castes. Only Spiral seemed to recognise the deep insult of bestowing upon them this lofty position.
If the Great Labyrinth was ruled by the Thaumaturgists, they would be able to reach out with an iron fist, touch every House at once, and bend the Aelfir to their rule. They would punish ingratitude and greed by imposing servitude and taking the riches they were rightfully due by force. As for the humans … what part could they play in any plan?
The Timewatcher’s eye was all-seeing, it was said, but She was blind to Spiral’s growing hatred. She did not foresee that others among Her Thaumaturgists sympathised with him; She did not know there were Houses among the Aelfir harbouring anger and envy for their richer neighbours. Only when a great divide had split the Thaumaturgists in two did She see the truth; only when Spiral named his renegade followers the Genii did She feel the sting of betrayal; only when the Genii rose up against Her with an army of Aelfirian rebels a hundred thousand strong at their backs did She know despair.
And it was said that on the day Spiral declared war on his Mother, the sound of the Timewatcher’s weeping could be heard across the skies of every realm …
Marney pulled her coat tighter around her body. Her breath frosted in the air. The night was fresh, and the sky was clear and bright now Silver Moon had outshone the humid red glow of Ruby Moon. She stood half way down a narrow and deserted side lane in the heart of the east side of town, facing a small and crooked tavern called Chaney’s Den. It was squashed into a long line of terraced residential houses and, although a faint glow came from behind the grime-smeared windows, there was no sign of life inside. It was a sad and unwelcoming sort of place.
‘Are you frightened?’ asked Denton.
Marney looked at the tall and burly man standing beside her, and she shook her head.
‘Good,’ he said with a wink. ‘Then neither am I.’
She managed a nervous smile.
Pushing eighty, standing well over six feet tall, Denton had the appearance of a gentleman giant. The waistcoat of his rumpled suit might have only just covered his large girth, his long overcoat might have been old and patched, and his wide-brimmed hat had definitely seen better days; but somehow Denton always managed to carry himself as though he belonged among the wealthy denizens on the west side of town. His round face carried a perpetually welcoming expression, and he had the energy of one thirty years younger. And he was wise, wiser than any teacher Marney had ever known. He was an empath, and her mentor.
He took out his fob watch and checked the time. ‘What’s keeping him?’ he muttered.
As Denton slipped the watch back into his waistcoat pocket, Marney resumed staring at the sad little tavern.
Life had changed so much since this war had begun. Marney was only eighteen, had only been an agent of the Relic Guild for a little under six months, but it seemed like such a long time ago that she had been a simple student with aspirations of becoming a history teacher. She was part of a secret organisation now, for better or worse, and the Relic Guild was fighting its own war that the denizens knew little about.
‘Ah,’ said Denton. He smacked his lips as though tasting the air. ‘Here he comes.’
Marney sensed it too, a moment later, a simmering presence that was heading their way. She switched her gaze to a slim, tunnel-like walkway on the left side of the tavern. A man in his late twenties emerged from the darkness and made his way towards the two empaths. He wore his long brown coat open and carried a short rifle in his hands, its power stone glowing. The swish of his coat revealed a revolver holstered to his thigh. His hair was close-cropped, dark brown; above pale eyes, his brow, as ever, was deeply furrowed.
‘You took your time, Samuel,’ Denton said jovially. ‘I assume you found something that arrested your attention?’
‘Not especially,’ Samuel replied humourlessly. ‘There’s no backdoor, but I did find the entrance to the cellar. It’s chained shut.’
‘Did you see or hear anyone?’
‘Nothing.’
Denton cast an appraising eye over the tavern. ‘Samuel, this place obviously closed for business some hours ago. Are you sure your information was correct?’
‘Chaney’s Den,’ Samuel said with a nod, ‘the first hour of Silver Moon – this is definitely where it’s happening.’
‘Then perhaps the time was changed,’ Denton said. ‘Perhaps we are too late and our efforts are wasted here.’
Samuel huffed, and Marney could sense his irritation.
‘Or maybe we should stop messing around and just go and wake up the landlord,’ he said.
‘An excellent suggestion, Samuel,’ Denton replied cheerily. ‘We’ll take the b
ack way, I think.’
Shaking his head, Samuel headed back towards the walkway, his rifle in hand.
Marney and Denton followed, and she smiled at the mischievous glint in her mentor’s eye. Samuel wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, and Denton enjoyed trying to lighten him up.
Despite Denton’s joviality, Marney was struggling to quell a feeling of apprehension. True, she hadn’t been a Relic Guild agent for very long, but she had gained experience enough to know that however deserted Chaney’s Den appeared, when dealing with Aelfirian artefacts, nothing was ever as it seemed.
Behind the tavern was a small courtyard enclosed by a wall. Crates of empty bottles and old beer barrels lay discarded. The doors to the cellar were a pair of heavy wooden flaps set into the cobbled floor. A thick chain was looped around their handles, secured by a heavy padlock.
‘I could freeze the lock and break it,’ Samuel suggested, tapping the revolver at his thigh.
Denton gave him a disapproving look and shook his head. He produced a little phial from the inside pocket of his coat and, stepping past Samuel, crouched his impressive bulk before the cellar doors.
‘Whenever applicable,’ he said to Marney, ‘the subtle approach is preferable to open aggression.’ He nodded towards Samuel. ‘Occasionally even the more established agents of the Relic Guild need reminding of this.’
‘Just open the bloody doors,’ Samuel growled.
Marney stifled a nervous chuckle.
Denton uncorked the phial and dripped several drops of liquid into the padlock. The metal hissed and steamed as the acid began eating through the locking mechanism. After a few moments, the padlock snapped open, and Denton removed the chain.
His expression now serious, the old empath nodded at Samuel who returned the gesture and aimed his rifle at the cellar doors. Denton then motioned to Marney. Together they grabbed a handle each and lifted the wooden flaps.
