The Relic Guild

by Edward Cox

  ‘What do we do now, Van Bam?’

  He didn’t respond.

  ‘Van Bam?’ she pressed tersely.

  He turned his metallic eyes to her. ‘In all honesty, Clara, I do not know.’

  Clara scoffed; the weakness in his voice offended her, and she was barely able to look at him.

  Van Bam seemed to sense her disappointment, and his expression was almost apologetic as he rose to his feet. Standing with his back to the river, he looked left and right along the walkway.

  Clara left him to his indecision and popped yet another tablet of monkshood into her mouth. As she chewed it to a bitter, chalky paste, she noted that there weren’t many tablets left in her medicine tin. It would not be long before she needed to renew her supply – perhaps a day, two at the most if she rationed. But it wasn’t as if she could just pop up into Labrys Town for a new prescription. Once her medicine ran out, the wolf wouldn’t remain caged for long.

  Clara wasn’t sure she cared anymore.

  ‘We should keep moving,’ Van Bam announced.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Anywhere, Clara. Now the Genii is reanimated, he or she will soon have to feed, and—’

  A scream echoed from somewhere not so very distant. Clara and Van Bam stared at each other for a quick, frozen moment.

  ‘Can you tell from which direction it came?’ Van Bam asked.

  ‘I think so, it—’ She flinched as a second scream came, full of rage. The voice carried an undercurrent, something not quite human, and Clara had heard it before, very recently, at East Side Asylum.

  ‘There,’ she said, pointing into the gloom. ‘Not too far away.’ A third scream shattered the air. ‘And it’s getting closer.’

  Van Bam illuminated his cane. ‘I have changed my mind,’ he whispered. ‘It is time to stay put and hide, Clara. Keep close.’

  Under the concealing light of the green glass cane, the two agents stepped away from the river and backed up against the wall beside the mouth of a tunnel. Evidently the Genii had already fed, and whoever had been infected with the virus was heading their way, but a darker thought occurred to Clara. What if the skeletons on the walkway belonged to bounty hunters, and it was their flesh that had reanimated the Genii? What if Samuel had survived the fireball, but it was his blood that had provided the Genii with his first meal? What if Old Man Sam was now on his way to becoming a golem?

  Clara cocked her ear as she heard someone coughing with a series of harsh barks. She saw Van Bam’s face was tight, pensive. The sound was getting closer.

  Clara’s anger rose again. Wouldn’t it be a kind of poetic justice if Samuel was infected? To be stripped of his arrogance as the virus ravaged his body; to be reduced to a slavering animal that cared for nothing save sating its bloodlust; to lose all knowledge of who he was and what he had done as he slowly changed into an indolent, servile golem – yes, Clara decided there would be.

  She sniffed sharply. A smell reached her nostrils: the pungent, rotten stench of infection. A cruel smile curled her lips.

  She’d have no problem putting Samuel out of his misery, ending his pathetic, bestial existence. After all, not so long ago, he had intended to kill her for the sake of a bounty contract. If it came to it, Clara would have to deal with Samuel anyway; Van Bam was in no fit state.

  A moment later, she sensed Van Bam tensing as a figure emerged into the light of a glow lamp further ahead on the walkway. With hair shorn close to the scalp and wearing a long coat, the figure loped forwards, fingers claws and teeth bared.

  It was a woman.

  Clara’s first reaction was a tinge of disappointment that the virus victim was not Samuel. But she experienced a rush of pleasure as the woman came closer, revealing a face belonging to someone else she knew: a bounty hunter called Nim.

  Though Nim couldn’t see the Relic Guild agents, she obviously knew that fresh blood was close by. Her red tongue darted from her mouth as if tasting the air like a snake. She stopped to look up and sniff. She screamed her frustration, and as her voice shattered the rancid atmosphere, Nim continued onwards, her pace now a stalking crawl. Clara’s blood quickened.

  Clara knew that Nim always worked with her sister, Aga – who was probably now one of those skeletons. Although an unpleasant bitch, Aga was much preferable to her sibling. A sociopath and a heavy drinker, Nim had been barred from every place along Green Glass Row – except for the Lazy House. Fat Jacob alone had welcomed Nim’s money, turned a blind eye to the things she did to the whores. She had hired Clara once, and the bruises had been quicker to heal than the memories.

  The stench of infection grew heavy as Nim crept closer. An empty gun holster was strapped to her leg. Black veins spread like cracks in glass from a bloody bite wound on her neck. She stopped several paces from Clara to turn full circle and lick the air once more. The mask of rage Nim wore on her pale face, the long white teeth, and her animalistic gait, all served to finally expose the brutal monster that had always lurked within her. It was a fitting look for the bounty hunter, a truer look, and it gave Clara an idea.

  What reason did she have to let the beast live? Clara’s anger was making her feel so strong; all she had to do was step from the circle of concealing light and she could simply snap Nim’s neck with her bare hands. An excellent idea.

  As she made to follow through with her reasoning, Van Bam grabbed her arm and his metallic eyes glared at her, desperate and questioning. Before Clara had time to think her actions through, she made a noise that might have been a bark, and then brought her knee sharply up into Van Bam’s groin. With a gasp, he fell down onto all fours, gagging as his glass cane rolled away from his grasp. The sickly green light sputtered and died.

  Nim exhibited not the slightest surprise at the noise. The moment the Relic Guild agents were revealed, she screamed and lunged towards them.

  The changeling ran to meet her.

  They crashed together, and Clara wrapped her hands around Nim’s neck, holding the monster back as long teeth gnashed for her face and throat. Clara squeezed as hard as she could and throttled Nim as if trying to shake her head loose. The infected bounty hunter made no attempt to remove the hands around her neck but, with cold detachment in her dying eyes, her fists pounded viciously at Clara’s body. She was concerned only with fresh blood.

  Doubt suddenly blemished Clara’s confidence.

  And in that moment, she realised that she was nothing like as strong as she felt; that in her human form she could not use the power of the wolf, but the realisation came too late. Nim kicked her legs away, and together they tumbled to the hard and slimy floor.

  Clara managed to keep hold of Nim’s neck, but she knew deep down that she was no longer fighting to win, to conquer; this was now a desperate struggle for her own survival, to keep herself from being infected. It was not a fight she was likely to win. What had she been thinking?

  She searched inside herself, looking for the wolf. For the first time in her life, she begged it to come forwards with its fiery heat and instigate the metamorphosis. She pleaded with it to bring the strength and fury that would allow her existence to continue. But the wolf was not to be found. Clara tried calling for Marney, begging her to intervene and save her, as Marney had out in the Great Labyrinth. But the box of secrets was locked tight and unresponsive in her mind, as if the empath had turned her back on Clara.

  The infected bounty hunter was on top of her now, and the strength in Clara’s arms was failing. A strangled scream broke from Nim’s mouth, spilling the warmth of diseased breath over Clara’s face. As Clara gritted her teeth against the urge to vomit, Nim grabbed her head, pulled it up, and smashed it down once, twice, against the stone floor.

  Dark spots appeared before Clara’s vision, winking like tiny holes opening and closing upon the pale and infected face nearing hers. Nim was pulling her victim’s head towards her teeth. Dimly awar
e of the sound of Van Bam retching, Clara wondered with fleeting hope if he would recover in time to save her. But she knew he wouldn’t. Her strength was all but spent, the world was growing dim, and Nim’s hungry teeth were drawing closer and closer to her face.

  Just when Clara was about to give up the fight, to succumb to the ravages of the Genii virus, there was a flash of violet and a low and hollow spitting sound. Nim’s head snapped sideways with a spray of blood and the weight of her body slipped away. Clara’s head thudded against the floor for a third time, and her mind spun into the void, where a ghostly blue light waited to engulf her.

  Just as the pain receded to something less debilitating, and he was finally able to fill his lungs with a deep gulp of air, Van Bam heard the spitting sound of a handgun and instinctively lay flat. He looked up to see Samuel emerge from the tunnel. The old bounty hunter ignored him and stepped quickly over to Clara. He pulled her unconscious form away from Nim’s dead body, and then crouched down to check her over.

  Van Bam manoeuvred himself into a sitting position and took several steadying gulps of air.

  ‘She’s breathing,’ Samuel said. ‘There’s a cut on the back of her head, but she hasn’t been bitten. Lucky.’ He growled in annoyance. ‘What in the Timewatcher’s name was she thinking of, Van Bam?’

  ‘Clara is experiencing a lapse in reason,’ Van Bam replied. He wiped vomit from his chin and recovered his green glass cane. As he got gingerly to his feet, he realised it had been a very long time since he had felt this relieved. A grin came to his face. ‘Quite the day,’ he remarked. ‘It is good to see you alive, old friend.’

  ‘Likewise,’ Samuel replied gruffly.

  His clothes were damp, but the back of his coat was covered in scorch marks and his short, matted hair had been well and truly singed. Judging by his appearance, the slick grime on his face and clothes, Van Bam reasoned that Samuel had only avoided being burned to death in the fireball by taking a dip into sewage.

  Still crouching beside the unconscious changeling, Samuel looked back at Van Bam. ‘Why didn’t you stop her?’

  ‘I tried, but …’ He sighed. ‘Samuel, Clara’s medicine no longer seems to be tempering her magic.’

  ‘You think she’s going to change?’

  ‘I do not know. She has become difficult to read. Unpredictable. It could be the wolf, or it might be connected to whatever Marney placed in her mind.’

  Samuel was quiet for a moment, his shades calculating. ‘We’ll have to deal with that when the time comes,’ he said before walking to where Nim lay dead.

  With his foot he rolled her body off the walkway and sent it splashing down into the river of wastewater.

  Van Bam came alongside him. In the stillness of the sewers, with only the rush of water to break the silence, the two agents stared down at the remains of the golems, and the empty terracotta jar.

  ‘I saw him,’ Samuel said solemnly. ‘The Genii came after me. He had me cornered, Van Bam. I was a dead man.’

  Van Bam frowned. ‘Yet here you are, alive and well.’

  Samuel snorted and gestured to where the dead bounty hunter was sprawled face down in the filth beside the golem ruins. ‘Nim saved me, inadvertently. She watched her sister die, and, I suppose, went mad. She came back looking for revenge and attacked the Genii. Of course there was no real contest. While he fed on Nim’s blood, I made a run for it, and … and …’

  He rubbed his forehead. ‘The Genii didn’t come after me again. I don’t think he’s down here anymore.’

  Van Bam nodded. ‘He has probably gone to join his colleagues at the Nightshade.’ His gut tightened and his teeth clenched. ‘We have a new Resident. Her name is Hagi Tabet—’

  ‘I was scared, Van Bam,’ Samuel snapped. It was an angry confession, and his voice carried an uncustomary degree of uncertainty.

  To Van Bam’s inner vision, Samuel’s colour became the dull hue of shame.

  ‘My awareness couldn’t detect the Genii,’ he continued. ‘I felt no danger in his presence. It wasn’t until I started a fireball that my magic reacted. I’ve never felt that lost before.’

  ‘I can empathise,’ Van Bam admitted. ‘Gideon no longer speaks to me. I cannot feel my home. The Genii most assuredly control the Nightshade.’

  Samuel was quiet for a moment. ‘Do you know how they did it?’

  Van Bam’s stony expression masked his sorrow. ‘Perhaps. If I were to guess, I would say Moor has just confirmed his reason for capturing Marney alive.’

  Samuel swore under his breath. ‘What about Hamir?’

  ‘In all likelihood, he is dead.’

  The two agents faced each other, and Van Bam clutched his cane tightly. His old friend was looking to him for leadership, guidance, some way out of this mess, but all he could do was avert his metallic eyes. A long moment passed before Van Bam could voice what they both already knew.

  ‘I am sorry, Samuel. Without the Nightshade, without Hamir’s help, there is nothing we can do. The Labyrinth is lost.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ a voice said dreamily.

  Both men turned to face Clara. The young changeling stirred on the walkway. She yawned and stretched, as though coming out of a particularly satisfying nap.

  ‘Surely you remember, Van Bam?’ she murmured.

  Van Bam shared a quick look with Samuel, and then moved to Clara’s side. He crouched and took her hand in his.

  ‘What, Clara?’ he said gently. ‘What should I remember?’

  She sighed softly, but didn’t reply, and her eyes remained closed. Her colours swirled with hues far more peaceful than her earlier anger. But there was something else there, a subtle shade Van Bam hadn’t seen in the changeling before.

  ‘Clara, can you hear me?’

  ‘Of course I can hear you.’ Still, her eyes did not open. ‘Umm … you and Hamir. You did a thing, didn’t you?’

  Again, Van Bam shared a quick look with Samuel. ‘What did we do, Clara? Tell me.’

  ‘No, it’s not about what you did!’ Clara huffed impatiently. ‘It’s where you did it that’s important.’

  The old bounty hunter joined the illusionist at Clara’s side, utterly bemused.

  ‘What’s she talking about?’ Samuel said.

  ‘I am not sure,’ Van Bam replied. ‘She is not really awake, Samuel, but not asleep either.’

  ‘Concussion? She does have a head injury.’

  ‘Perhaps, though—’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my bloody head,’ Clara told them sternly. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her lids. ‘Look – it was a long time ago. Before you were Resident. Hamir went to the south side. You had to go with him.’

  ‘The south side?’ Van Bam pursed his lips as something distant jogged his memory. ‘Please, Clara, I need a little more than that.’

  ‘Oh, all right. At first you didn’t want to go with him, but then you were glad you did. You learned a … a key difference. Remember now?’

  ‘I think I do,’ Van Bam whispered. He looked at Samuel sharply. ‘She’s talking about the abandoned ore warehouse in the southern district. Do you remember, Samuel – when Fabian Moor was last here? Lady Amilee’s gift—’

  ‘Oh, I recall it very well, Van Bam,’ Samuel replied. ‘The question is, how could she know about it?’ He frowned heavily. ‘Marney knew, didn’t she?’

  ‘That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say,’ Clara chuckled. ‘The avatar told me, of course.’ Her chuckles died, her eyes snapped open, and she sat bolt upright. ‘I-I saw the avatar— shit!’ Wincing, Clara held the back of her head and swooned.

  Van Bam was quick to help her maintain a sitting position. ‘Easy,’ he soothed. ‘Deep breaths.’

  Clara blinked heavily several times as if to help the dizziness to pass. Her eyes wide with surprise and confusion, she looked up at the old bounty
hunter looming over her.

  ‘Samuel. I thought you were dead.’

  ‘You’re not the only one,’ he said with a raised eyebrow.

  She pulled a face. ‘You stink.’

  ‘When did you see the avatar, Clara?’

  She winced in pain again. ‘Wait, wait, wait.’ She screwed her face up in thought. ‘No … yes … in a dream. I think.’

  ‘A dream?’ Samuel looked doubtfully at Van Bam. ‘I don’t want to start another argument, Van Bam, but do you still believe the avatar’s a portent? That it’s on our side?’ He gestured to their grim surroundings. ‘Events haven’t exactly unfolded in our favour, have they?’

  ‘True, but … hold on a moment, Samuel.’ Van Bam checked the shades of Clara’s face. She was shaken, a little disorientated, but definitely alert and conscious. ‘What else did the avatar tell you, Clara?’

  ‘You and Hamir, you went to a warehouse on the south side, and did –’ she waggled her hands in the air – ‘a thing.’

  ‘That is correct,’ Van Bam said patiently. ‘But you said it was the location that was special, not what we did.’

  ‘It’s confusing, Van Bam. I can’t, I can’t …’ She made a noise of frustration. ‘There’s something hidden underneath that warehouse. In the cellar. Something the avatar wants you to see.’

  ‘Could be a weapon,’ Samuel said, a spark of hope in his voice. ‘Maybe Hamir hid it there after last time.’

  ‘No. No, that’s not it,’ Clara said. ‘It’s something to do with the Nightshade – no, that’s not right, either. Is it?’ She swore and buried her face in her hands.

  Van Bam could feel Samuel’s impatience, as if he was on the verge of shaking out the information from the changeling. Van Bam wasn’t far behind him. Clara had knowledge of things that she could not possibly know; her dealings with the avatar had to be real, however muddled her recollections. Whether the avatar could be trusted or not, the changeling had lit an ember of optimism at the end of a darkly pessimistic tunnel.