by Edward Cox
‘We are in the western district,’ Van Bam said. ‘Reports suggest that the disturbance was coming from this building here.’
The motion stopped in a plaza of quaint little shops, and the three Relic Guild agents stood before perhaps the quaintest of them all: a small and neat looking building called Briar’s Boutique.
‘It belongs to an antiques dealer,’ Van Bam told them. ‘One of the very few that remained in business after the war.’
‘Looks quiet enough,’ Samuel said.
Clara agreed. The door to Briar’s Boutique was closed, and the lights inside were dead. The shop looked so homely and unassuming it almost appeared asleep. There were no signs of a disturbance, and if there had been one it was long over. And there was no one around in the plaza.
‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ Samuel added.
Van Bam gave a slow nod. ‘The police received an emergency signal from a neighbour. Screams were heard coming from inside – along with the sound of things being smashed.’
‘Perhaps the owner disturbed some burglars?’ Clara suggested.
‘I do not think so,’ the Resident replied.
‘Why don’t we just go in and look around?’
‘Because this is a private shop, Clara, and not an official building – it has no eye devices inside.’
Clara looked at the Resident. There had been a strange, distant quality to his voice as he stated the obvious, and he seemed troubled as he scrutinised the building.
Samuel seemed to notice this too, and said, ‘What is it, Van Bam? What can you see?’
‘Magic,’ he replied.
Tentatively, Clara took a step closer to Briar’s Boutique and peered through the window. The imagery inside was shadowy and vague.
‘I can’t see anything,’ she said.
‘And nor would you,’ Van Bam told her. ‘But the magic is there, nonetheless.’
‘Moor?’ Samuel asked.
‘Perhaps a residue of his presence. It is weak, a barely detectable trace, but more than enough to be worthy of investigation, yes?’
Samuel’s back straightened. ‘I’ll check it out,’ he said eagerly.
‘Take Clara with you,’ Van Bam told him.
Clara bristled as she saw a look of irritation flit across Samuel’s face.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘We’ll get going.’
‘Good.’ Van Bam continued his intense perusal of the antiques shop. ‘I will ensure the police keep clear for the time being, and monitor your progress from here.’
Samuel opened the observatory door and gave a curt gesture for Clara to follow him.
Chapter Eleven
In the Shadow of the Genii
Shortly after the Resident’s black tram headed off towards the western district, a long cream-coloured cargo tram pulled into the forecourt outside the Nightshade. A crew of six tired-looking warehousemen disembarked and grouped beneath the predawn sky. Closely following them was a blue and white striped police tram, which remained parked in the tunnel that led to Resident Approach. Two police officers emerged and headed over to the crew. Any conversation that occurred between them was short and half-hearted. They knew they were being watched.
Van Bam had remained in the observation room following Samuel and Clara’s departure. He viewed the denizens through the security eyes outside the Nightshade, and he reasoned that even if they had been able to see their Resident’s ghostly image hovering out beside them in the morning chill, their attention would remain preoccupied with the strange, stone archway on the left side of the forecourt: the last functioning portal in Labrys Town.
Soon, the portal would activate. The day’s deliveries would begin. And the warehousemen, overseen by the police, would carry out the mundane service that was so vital to the survival of one million humans.
In the interim, Van Bam’s unseen phantom looked up to the lightening sky and the fading image of Silver Moon. Was anyone up there watching him?
Something Samuel had said was tapping at the back of Van Bam’s mind: what could Fabian Moor possibly achieve by returning to the Labyrinth? Petty revenge was highly unlikely, and it would be unwise to trust anything Charlie Hemlock had revealed of his own volition. But was Hemlock the only denizen Moor had employed? There were certainly plenty of other shady characters in Labrys Town whose thoughts didn’t extend beyond filling their pockets with money. Was it only a matter of time before Moor began employing denizens who held higher, more official positions, too? From the councils and guilds, perhaps? The police? Yet even if he did, what ends did he hope to achieve? Fabian Moor was a creature of higher magic; he had no need – or love – for human servants. What was he seeking in Labrys Town?
Van Bam’s thoughts were disturbed as the group assembled beside the cargo tram stirred.
The portal had activated.
Within the tall and wide archway of stone, a sheet of deepest black rippled slowly as it reflected light like liquid glass. The air was filled with a low, undulating hum, as though a mighty fan was powering up. As Van Bam watched, the blackness bulged outward and then prised apart, like a flower opening its petals, to reveal the head of a large floating platform.
While the police officers supervised, the crew of warehousemen moved forwards to help the platform’s passage from the portal. These platforms were huge: fifteen feet wide and thirty feet long. The packing crates and metal containers on this one had been stacked six or more high and eight wide. A green cross painted upon the sides of the crates marked them as medical supplies.
For the past forty years these deliveries had come, seven days a week, eighteen hours a day, three or four platforms an hour. They brought ores and rolls of materials; sacks of grain, flour, sugar and salt; dried fruit and meat; powdered milk and egg; herbs, spices and medicines – all the rations that kept the denizens alive. Long ago, the Aelfir themselves had chaperoned these deliveries; had stayed in Labrys Town for pleasure and to conduct business with the merchant guild. Then, during the Genii War, the Aelfir had stopped coming. Only essential supplies were brought to the Labyrinth, and those deliveries were chaperoned by the Thaumaturgists’ mighty automatons.
But no one had accompanied the imports since the Genii War had ended, and nothing could be exported in return. The platforms the goods arrived on were designed to be easily broken down and used at the lumberyards. The sacks, crates and metal containers were sent to the recycling plants, and the power stones that enabled the platforms to float were distributed among the weapons-smiths and appliance factories. Nothing was wasted in Labrys Town. Even the nightly rains mixed with the sewage beneath the streets and were filtered through sanitation plants and stored at the water reservoirs.
Trade with the Aelfir had died decades ago, and not one person in Labrys Town knew which House resided on the other side of this one-way portal, not even the Resident.
The delivery at last broke free of the liquid blackness, which then wobbled and became a flat sheet of glass again. The undulating hum lessened and fell silent. Deactivated, the portal waited for the next delivery, which would come in the next twenty minutes or so. The warehousemen steered the cargo over to the tram; when it had drifted close enough, one of the policemen pressed the power stone in the side of the platform and removed it from its casing. The platform settled down onto the forecourt floor. The crew, wasting no time and always under the supervision of the police officers, began loading the crates into the tram, ready for transporting to the storage warehouses on the south side of town.
Van Bam had lost count of the transactions he had witnessed down the years, enough, certainly, for them to seem a banal formality, the supervision of a conveyer belt. Beyond the Nightshade’s forecourt, other cargo trams and police escorts would be lining up along Resident Approach, each ready to take the next delivery, and the next, and the next after that. Exactly as they had done every day for the
past forty years.
As the warehousemen continued hefting crates, Van Bam began pacing the observation room.
Whatever Moor’s motivation, if he sought to seize control of Labrys Town he would first need to have command of the Nightshade – and that he could not accomplish, not with the help of ordinary denizens. Decades back Moor had attempted to extract knowledge on how to enter the Nightshade from Relic Guild agents – secret knowledge, subliminal information that the agents themselves were unaware they carried, information that could help Moor bypass the Nightshade’s defences. It had been reckoned that the probability of this unconscious knowledge being real was low to non-existent. But was it possible? Did the Nightshade have a blind spot that it had unwittingly imparted to the unsuspecting magickers of the Relic Guild? Was that the reason why Moor had taken Marney alive? Even if it was, the question remained: what did Fabian Moor want?
As Van Bam gave a snort of impatience, a warehouseman was approaching the Nightshade. He carried a wooden crate, which he placed down on the floor inside the line of security eyes before heading back quickly to rejoin his fellows. Van Bam stared at the shape of a square that had been burned into the crate’s wood, the symbol of the Nightshade. This was a special delivery for the Resident, a gift from the Aelfir on the other side of the portal. Van Bam received these crates two – maybe three – times a week. They were always filled with fresh fruit or meat, or some other rare food that most of the denizens had never even seen let alone tasted.
In the beginning, Van Bam had felt some guilt for receiving these special deliveries – though never enough to share them with his people. Over time, he came to expect them, to look forward to them, to feel he deserved them. These delicacies were a privilege, reward for his tireless work, a perk of his position. And Van Bam had long ago forgotten how to feel guilty about enjoying them.
Gideon decided it was time to interrupt his musings.
I was listening to your conversation with Clara, earlier, my idiot. His voiced was laced with his usual spiteful amusement. I don’t think she appreciated your prying into her personal life.
Van Bam sighed. I disagree.
Oh? Do tell.
Clara has been without true friendship for a long time – perhaps all her life. She needed assuring she is not alone anymore.
Friendship? Gideon paused for a heartbeat. Is that really all you have in mind, my idiot?
However Van Bam replied to that question he knew it would not be the right answer for Gideon, so he remained silent and resigned himself to whatever caustic remark was coming next.
You see, the ghost said, I’m wondering if there is something about our young changeling that reminds you of someone else. Marney, perhaps?
Van Bam’s mood soured instantly, but again he said nothing as the voice in his head continued.
Marney did leave her mark upon the girl, after all. Do you have hopes that Clara will help you rekindle an old love affair?
That is enough, Gideon.
Gideon’s chuckle was cruel. Marney hasn’t called you to her bed since the day you became Resident, my idiot. And you won’t rediscover her warmth in an ugly whore. Whatever message she has left in Clara’s head, I very much doubt it’s a love letter to you.
Van Bam quelled his rising anger. After forty years, he was well used to Gideon’s malicious nature, but still the ghost could occasionally manage to make the Resident seethe.
Gideon, he thought softly, if you do not have anything of use to say, please leave me to my thoughts.
Oh, yes, I have been reading your thoughts. And all they do is lead you in circles. I, on the other hand, have been pondering our predicament more constructively.
Van Bam took a deep, calming breath as he watched the warehousemen continue to load the cargo tram.
Go on, he thought.
So glad you asked, Gideon sneered. Tell me – where do you suppose Fabian Moor has been hiding for the last four decades? Certainly not in Labrys Town, I think we can agree.
Van Bam considered for a moment. He had been so wrapped up in Fabian Moor’s return that he had not stopped to dwell on where he might have returned from.
Samuel said he summoned a portal to capture Marney.
Yes he did, didn’t he …?
As usual, something in Gideon’s tone suggested a hidden catch, something Van Bam had not yet grasped.
There was nothing surprising in what Samuel had told them. The Genii had at one time been Thaumaturgists, and it was well known that their magic could bridge two far-apart places, literally bring them within stepping distance of each other. It was by that same magic the doorways of the Great Labyrinth had led to the Houses of the Aelfir. But during the war, the Timewatcher had prevented the creatures of higher magic from using it to enter the Labyrinth by casting a defensive barrier.
Plucking this thought straight from the Resident’s mind and latching onto it, Gideon said, But the Timewatcher’s barrier is no longer in place, my idiot. With Spiral defeated, the Genii dead, and their allies gone, there was simply no need for it. The Timewatcher abandoned us, and Her Thaumaturgists disappeared with Her, leaving the Labyrinth as a forbidden zone that no one could reach. After all, the Aelfir certainly aren’t powerful enough to create portals. Fabian Moor, on the other hand, is. With no one watching over the Labyrinth, he is free to come and go as he pleases.
Van Bam pursed his lips. Free to go where?
Ah, now you’re thinking, my idiot. I suspect the Genii has a special little place to which he retires after a hard day’s work.
You think he is travelling between realms?
I think he is a creature of higher magic and can do what he damn well wants. I think he can materialise in any part of this town at will.
Van Bam shook his head. When Moor appeared to Samuel, he opened a portal out in the Great Labyrinth, where it would not be detected. If he is summoning portals within the boundary walls, I would know. The Nightshade would warn me.
Like it warned you that Clara, a magicker, was hiding among your denizens? Gideon said bitterly. He made an angry noise. The Nightshade cannot see everything, my idiot. You should have learned that by now.
Van Bam had no answer to that, and he looked up at the sky again.
Consider this, Gideon continued. We are yet to see evidence of Moor’s feeding habits. There have been no signs of the virus he causes, and his golems remain as hidden as their creator. There are plenty of denizens in this town who wouldn’t be missed if they disappeared. Perhaps Moor is smuggling his victims to and from a sanctuary beyond the realm of the Labyrinth.
Van Bam tried to interject, Nonetheless—
No! Simply understand what I am telling you, my idiot. When Charlie Hemlock gives us the information we need, all he’ll likely tell us is that Marney is a prisoner in a place the Relic Guild cannot reach.
Van Bam’s grip tightened on his cane, and his gaze shifted to the black, glassy surface of the portal. An eruption of laughter came from the warehousemen as they shared some joke or another with the police officers. Such a happy sound seemed inappropriate as the Resident’s mind raced.
So, Gideon purred, instead of wasting time trying your hardest not to think about all those sweaty moments you and Marney once shared, perhaps you should focus your energies on something more productive than trying to save her. Accept the fact that unless Fabian Moor invites you through one of his portals, Marney is as lost as Spiral in Oldest Place.
In the forecourt the warehousemen had finished unloading the platform. Before disembarking and allowing the next cargo tram through, the crew took a quick break. Each of them, including the police officers, sipped hot drinks poured from flasks. Two of them smoked pipes. These simple actions suddenly seemed unnervingly normal to Van Bam.
No, he told Gideon. I will not accept that.
And thus this conversation becomes boring, Gideon repli
ed, returning to his spitefully amused tones. Remain in denial if you wish, but please spare some time to remember your duties, especially as Captain Jeter needs to talk to you.
Van Bam’s attention was snapped away from the warehousemen and thoughts of Marney. Jeter?
Yes, he’s waiting for you in his office, my idiot. Apparently, the lunatics have taken over the asylum.
By the time Samuel and Clara reached their destination in the western district the sky was light blue, and the morning sun was clearing the boundary wall. Shafts of light speared through gaps between buildings, and long shadows were cast upon the cobbled streets. Samuel disembarked from the Resident’s tram, with Clara close behind him, and he took a deep breath. The nip of Silver Moon still lingered, but the air was clean and growing warm.
Leaving the tram on the street, Samuel led the way into the plaza of shops. Just as Van Bam had promised, the area was free of police presence, and no denizens were up and about at this time in the morning. He strode towards Briar’s Boutique. Wedged between a bookshop and a jeweller’s, the antiques store looked as sleepy and peaceful in the light of the dawning sun as it had from the observatory at the Nightshade.
His eyes alert, Samuel stopped before the shop’s door. Clara stepped forwards and looked through the display window.
‘Can you smell or hear anything?’ he asked the changeling.
‘No,’ she said and pressed her forehead against the glass. ‘But I think I can see someone lying on the floor inside. Whoever it is isn’t moving.’
Samuel tried the door. It was locked. Kneeling before it, he took a lock-picking kit from his utility belt. The slim tools were tricky for his thick fingers to handle. He made an angry noise as he failed to open the lock, and the tools tumbled from his grasp.
Clara smiled down at him. ‘I hope you’re a better bounty hunter than you are a burglar,’ she joked.
‘Quiet,’ Samuel snapped.
Clara bristled, but he ignored her, snatching up his tools and trying the lock again.
