by Edward Cox
Denton’s pause suggested irritation at the Resident’s abusive manner. He continued with a kind tone. ‘Before we left her realm, Lady Amilee gave Marney and me two items – a box and a book.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘I can’t pretend to understand what she has given us, my friends, but she assured me they are apparatus for a secret art that will make Fabian Moor’s capture possible. However, she also said no magicker of the Relic Guild could hope to comprehend their use—’
‘The point being,’ Gideon interrupted, ‘the only one among us who can utilise Amilee’s gift is Hamir. And he is learning how to do so even as we speak. Until he is ready, there isn’t much we can do about our unwanted guest.’
The Resident seated himself. His eyes darted from side to side as he conversed with his spirit guide again. Whatever the ghost of Sophia had to say this time, Gideon seemed to be in agreement as he nodded slowly.
‘Denton,’ he said sternly, ‘there are matters we need to discuss. You will remain here.’
The old empath nodded, and he flashed a message to Marney that she was to remain also.
‘Bryant, Macy,’ Gideon continued, ‘talk to your contacts in the underworld. Find out if there’s anyone new on the scene that might match this Fabian Moor. If you’re lucky, you might learn something about his movements.’
The Resident turned a slow smile to Angel. ‘You will monitor the hospitals and surgeries. Talk to the chiefs of medicines – all of them – and brief them on the virus. Anyone – and I mean anyone – who shows signs of infection will be handled with zero tolerance. And this goes for the rest of you, too.
‘As far as the denizens are concerned, we will tell them a wild demon has found its way into Labrys Town. For now, that is our cover story. Fabian Moor and the Genii are not to be mentioned to anyone. Understood?’
As these words were greeted by nods, the Resident turned his attention to Van Bam. ‘You’re mostly useless now, so you might as well go and help Hamir. You’ll find him in his laboratory.’
He then leant across the table to give Gene a close and cold glare. ‘As for you, I believe there is a little task I’ve asked you to perform?’
Gene backed away from the glare. He was either reluctant or unable to meet Gideon’s eyes, and he blinked rapidly behind his spectacles as he nodded.
‘Then off you go.’
Five agents rose from their chairs and headed for the door. Van Bam gave Marney a furtive glance, and she felt his disappointment. There would be no sharing each other tonight.
At the bottom end of the conference table, Samuel also rose and made to leave with his colleagues. But he stopped as Gideon clucked his tongue.
‘Samuel, I’m not entirely convinced I gave you permission to leave. Or did I?’ He looked around at the group as if he was addressing schoolchildren. ‘Did anyone hear me give him permission?’
Samuel’s pale eyes burned as he stared along the length of the table at the Resident. The rest of the agents froze. Marney knew as well as any present that whenever Gideon and Samuel conversed it was never with much civility. She could feel that Bryant and Macy were tense, ready to jump between the two if need be. And it wouldn’t the first time these exchanges had warranted such action.
But Samuel managed to keep his tongue civil this time. ‘What do you want, Gideon?’
Gideon grinned at him. ‘We need to talk. Go and wait for me in my study.’ The grin disappeared and he glared at the other agents. ‘Now get out.’
Needing no further prompting, they left the conference room. The door closed and disappeared behind them.
With their departure, Marney found the atmosphere decidedly less tense. Even Gideon seemed to relax slightly, sitting back in his chair, drumming his fingers upon the tabletop – though his sullen expression remained unreadable. Marney didn’t know why she had been kept there; the Resident nearly always ignored her presence. Or ridiculed any suggestion she made. She sank back in her seat, wishing she could sleep.
‘Llewellyn,’ Gideon growled. ‘Do you think we can trust his information?’
‘I would say so,’ Denton said. ‘And I’m certainly confident in Van Bam’s word.’
Gideon snorted. ‘Llewellyn’s Aelfirian contact – this man called Ursa – he is a refugee from House Mirage?’
Denton nodded. ‘He must be a member of Ambassador Ebril’s entourage.’
‘We have always supposed that all the refugees were stranded here by the war. But what if some of them were planted as part of some plot?’ Gideon’s lips twisted into a half smile. ‘I think I’ll have to ask Ebril himself. It’s been a while since the Ambassador of Mirage last came to the Nightshade. I’ll be most interested to hear what he has to say about the actions of his entourage.’
‘Wait a moment,’ Denton said. ‘I know what you’re thinking, Gideon, but there’s nothing to say that Ursa knew what he was bringing into the Labyrinth.’
‘And there’s nothing to say he didn’t,’ Gideon retorted. ‘This is what we know – Ursa, an Aelf of Mirage, was in possession of a symbol for a mysterious House called the Icicle Forest. No one else has ever heard of this House, yet somehow Ursa knew an artefact was hidden there, an artefact that contained the essence of a Genii.’ Gideon’s expression was dark. ‘I think we can agree, Denton, someone in House Mirage is harbouring loyalties to Spiral.’
Denton raised a finger. ‘Nonetheless, we are not talking about some shady denizen you can haul in off the street. You have no evidence that Ursa was acting under Ebril’s orders. We have grounds for suspicion, yes – but you can’t just arrest an ambassador and accuse his House of smuggling Fabian Moor into the Labyrinth.’
Gideon gritted his teeth. ‘Can’t I?’
Denton sighed. ‘All I’m suggesting is that you take the diplomatic route for now. Think of the future, Gideon. When this bloody war finally ends, we will need all our friends to rebuild what we once had. Blindly accusing House Mirage will not go down well with the rest of the Aelfir, and—’
‘Denton—’
‘And if you are wrong, Gideon, it will carry ramifications for us all. Please, let me talk to Ambassador Ebril.’
If any other member of the Relic Guild had spoken to the Resident so boldly, the retort would have been like verbal fire. As it was, even Gideon respected the honest and dependable wisdom of the old empath. Judging by the way Gideon’s eyes were moving from side to side, Marney reasoned that so did Sophia.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ the Resident said, nodding. It was unclear whether he was talking to Denton or the ghost in his head. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop again. ‘I’m going to send a message to Ebril – tonight – requesting an audience with him in the morning.’ The unconvincing smile returned to his gaunt face. ‘But I won’t tell him the reason why, and I’ll order the police to watch his house. Let’s make him twitchy and see if he does anything suspicious during the night.’
Denton gave an approving nod.
‘Come the morning,’ Gideon continued, ‘you will go to the ambassador’s home and find out what you can.’
‘How much should I tell him?’ Denton asked. ‘I’m not sure the wild demon story is strictly applicable in this instance.’
‘Hmm, good point. Use your judgement.’
‘I’ll be discreet.’
Gideon gave a decisive nod. ‘Then it’s settled. And you might as well take your pupil with you.’
Marney wasn’t offended by the ‘pupil’ tag; she supposed it made a nice change to be acknowledged at all.
‘I’d like to take Van Bam, too,’ Denton said. ‘Aelfirian ambassadors are trained to hide what they are feeling and thinking. Van Bam’s talent for reading expressions will come in handy.’
Marney liked the sound of that, but Gideon’s next words drove away the smile she had been struggling to hide.
‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘I want tha
t maudlin idiot helping Hamir.’ He seemed pleased with his decision as he rose from his chair. ‘You have your orders. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with our miserable sharpshooter. There’s a loose end I want Samuel to kill.’
The dead of night often saw the dregs of Labrys Town riding the trams. Vagrants with nowhere else to sleep except the cold cobbles of back alleys used the last of the pennies scrounged from the day to pay for the warmth of a carriage. Denizens who should know better met to conduct dubious business away from the watchful eye devices on the streets. And someone with a troubled mind might ride the trams in the late hours, thinking of ways in which their burdens could be eased.
A man sat at the head of the carriage, behind the driver’s compartment. He fidgeted nervously, as if impatient to reach his destination. Behind him, two vagrants were slumped in their seats, unconscious from cheap alcohol, filling the tram with the reek of rarely washed bodies. The man paid them no mind. Perhaps he was unconcerned by their presence, perhaps he was absorbed in his troubled thoughts. He was most definitely oblivious to the lone passenger in a long brown coat who sat in dim light at the back of the carriage, watching him.
Given the option, Samuel always preferred to travel on foot, under the cover of darkness where he could prowl in the shadows and no one would notice the rifle on his back. Never would he choose to travel via public transport. But if the Relic Guild had taught him anything, it was how to be a pragmatist. He didn’t know his final destination, but he hoped the tram would reach it soon; the stink in the carriage was palpable, and he longed to be outside where Silver Moon promised fresher, cleaner air.
For now, he settled back in his seat, patient and thoughtful as he kept the man at the front under surveillance.
The private meeting with Gideon had been as acerbic and hostile as Samuel expected, but at least it had been brief. The other agents of the Relic Guild were well used to his and the Resident’s mutual hatred. He supposed his colleagues must consider them both misanthropes in their own ways. But things hadn’t always been like that for Samuel; he hadn’t always been such a taciturn man.
There had been a time when he relished the perks of his job, and no perk had come bigger than the trips he took to the Houses of the Aelfir. He regarded the trips as reward for his hard work, escape from the stifling confines of this town. For the first time in his life, Samuel had discovered a genuine sense of joy and wonder amidst the Aelfir; he had found pleasure in their cultures for many years. But when the war stopped those trips, something was crushed inside him; and he recalled the day the portals were closed as the most grim of his many unpleasant memories.
Just over two years ago, during the early morning, Gideon had summoned his agents to an emergency meeting at the Nightshade. Everyone had thought it was just another day, another stolen artefact that needed recovering. But this time a message had been sent from Lady Amilee. Something terrible had happened.
One of the largest Aelfirian Houses was a realm called the Falls of Dust and Silver. It was a trading post that connected to five smaller Houses. A band of renegade Thaumaturgists had taken control of this House, and in the process they had murdered one of Amilee’s fellow Skywatchers, a creature of higher magic called Lord Wolfe. It had been Spiral’s first strike against the Timewatcher.
The royal family of the Falls of Dust and Silver openly supported Spiral and his act of murder, claiming that it was high time a new regime watched over the realms. Before anyone could intervene or retaliate, the five connecting Houses had been invaded. Thousands of Aelfir died, but most were subjugated. By the time word of the atrocities reached the Relic Guild, Spiral was already leading an army a hundred thousand strong. And many other Houses were declaring their loyalties to the Lord of the Genii. The Nightshade and the Labyrinth were ordered to cease communications with the Aelfir, and Samuel had not stepped beyond Labrys Town’s boundary walls from that day to this.
The tram began to slow in the eastern district. The man Samuel was watching ceased fidgeting and was ready to disembark before the driver had brought them to a full stop. Samuel followed him onto the street outside.
The man had pulled his coat tightly around him and his face was down-turned as he headed up the street at a pace. To the untrained eye, he might have seemed like any other denizen hurrying to be somewhere warmer; but Samuel knew differently, and his magic stirred, warning him that the man was undoubtedly armed. The brightly lit shop signs and violet glow of streetlamps banished any shadows in which Samuel might conceal his presence. If the man glanced back, he would easily see the Relic Guild agent tracking him.
Samuel allowed some distance to grow between them before continuing to follow.
When the man reached a T-junction, he did indeed look back. But Samuel had pre-empted this. His instincts told him the man would turn left, so he crossed the street as if his direction lay down the right turn. He didn’t need to look back to know his quarry had bought the deceit; and by the time he doubled-back and resumed the hunt, the man had entered a narrow lane where the shadows were dark and the shop doorways were deep.
After a short time, the man turned into another lane and disappeared from view. Guided by the gentle pulses of his prescient awareness, Samuel crept up to the corner and peeked around – he was just in time to see his quarry enter a small tavern.
With discretion, Samuel moved forwards and peered through the grimy window. The man had taken a seat at the bar. He ordered a drink from the landlady. There were a few other customers inside, but no one approached the newcomer. The landlady brought him a shot glass filled with a dark spirit. He downed it in one, and then ordered a second, which he sipped slowly.
This wasn’t right. The tavern didn’t feel like the man’s destination. He was brooding over his second drink, and Samuel reasoned he had only stopped at this place to sip some courage before moving on.
Stepping away from the window, Samuel made his way back to the corner of the lane, content to wait until the man made his next move.
In over two years, the war with Spiral had never truly touched the Labyrinth. So little news filtered through, and, of course, none of the fighting was seen. If not for the isolation and rationing, there would have been no evidence to suggest the war was taking place at all; as if it were a myth, a lie or tall tale fed to the denizens. Fabian Moor’s arrival was the stinging slap that dispelled any doubt.
Samuel fully understood just how daunting a task it would be to hunt down a Genii, to capture him alive. Yet he had faith that Lady Amilee’s secret gift would see the Relic Guild through. Even so, he knew he should’ve felt afraid of Fabian Moor, angry at him at the very least. But he didn’t. In truth, Samuel had no feelings about the Genii one way or the other. Oh, there was anger and fear inside him, sure enough; an ever deepening resentment at the way every spark of light in his life had been dampened to sour darkness. It surpassed even his loathing of Gideon. He had an irrational, visceral need to blame someone for the war. And that someone was a Skywatcher named Lord Wolfe. His death had been the crack that fractured a perfect equilibrium, and Samuel hated him for it.
The tavern door opened, and the man stepped out into the lane. Samuel ducked back. When he looked again the man had pulled up the collar of his coat and was walking away from him. Samuel stuck to the shadows as he tracked his steps.
The cramped side lanes soon led out into a park area, where a chapel of the Timewatcher sat beside a graveyard. On the other side of the graveyard was a small and rundown house. The man headed straight to it, casting a nervous glance around him before entering through the front door.
The house was dark as Samuel approached. It was clearly abandoned, and its door was open and hanging on one hinge. Through the doorway he could see a dim light shining from somewhere within. Samuel’s quarry cast a silhouette as he followed a short hallway, and disappeared to the right. Samuel drew his revolver and stepped inside.
The mus
ty smell of age and desertion assaulted his nostrils as he crept down the hallway. His prescient awareness ticked inside him, and when he reached the point where the man had turned, it flashed a warning that he must wait.
Taking a furtive glance around the corner, Samuel saw the man was standing in the doorway of a well-lit kitchen. Whatever the man was looking at had worried him enough to make him draw a pistol.
Samuel froze. Something moved in the shadows of a darkened doorway in the hallway. An instant later, a small figure emerged, stepped up behind the man and pressed fingers against his neck. The man gave a quick cry of surprise, dropped his pistol, and then crumpled to the floor.
Samuel prescient awareness evaporated. With a frown, he holstered his revolver and stepped into the open.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.
Startled, Gene turned and blinked rapidly through his round spectacle lenses. ‘Samuel?’
‘Gene, what’s going on?’
Composing himself, the apothecary shook his head. ‘We’ll deal with that in a minute.’ He gestured to the unconscious man on the floor. ‘Help me move him, will you?’
They carried the man into the kitchen, where Samuel was surprised to discover a second unconscious person – a policewoman in uniform – sitting at a small dining table with her hands tied to the back of her chair. Once the man was placed into the chair opposite her, Samuel set about securing his hands. The kitchen light revealed a man much younger than Samuel had first thought, younger than himself. The policewoman looked to be in her middle years.
Gene stood to one side and took an empty phial from his coat pocket. ‘I assume Gideon told you to follow this man?’ he said, popping the cork from the phial. ‘To see who he was meeting?’
Samuel grunted an affirmation. ‘Gideon showed him to me through the eyes. But I’ve no idea who he is.’
Gene sighed. ‘His name’s Lansdale. She’s Hope. They’re both police constables of no particular note – not that I suppose it matters. Did Gideon at least tell you their crimes?’
