by Edward Cox
Van Bam remained calm and gently pulled Clara’s hands away from her face. ‘Compose yourself,’ he said softly. ‘Take your time and think carefully. What is hidden beneath the warehouse?’
‘That’s just it – I can’t be sure,’ she said apologetically. ‘My dreams – they’re strange to remember, Van Bam. I could see the avatar. It was floating beside the portal outside the Nightshade.’ She looked from one man to the other, her eyes earnest. ‘I don’t know what it means, but you have to see what’s in that warehouse. Everything depends on it.’
Van Bam paused for a heartbeat. ‘Are you strong enough to walk?’
Clara nodded, and he helped her to her feet.
Samuel had opened the chamber of his revolver and was in the process of replacing spent bullets. He gave Van Bam a wry smile that turned one corner of his mouth. ‘You know this might be a trap.’
‘And what if it is?’ Van Bam returned the smile. ‘How could it possibly worsen our situation?’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Samuel said and he slapped the chamber shut.
Chapter Nineteen
Backdoors
If everything the avatar had said was to be believed, even the Resident was not aware that the Last and Lowest Chamber was hidden inside the Nightshade. Hamir reasoned there was truth to this as, until this day, he himself had not been privy to the chamber’s existence, and he had had the advantage of several lifetimes to learn every hidden corner of the Nightshade. The avatar had also said that the Genii would not be able to penetrate this room. Seeing as the door remained closed and Hamir was not fighting to keep the teeth of Lady Asajad from his throat, he considered that to be the truth as well.
The size of the Last and Lowest Chamber was large enough, though hardly impressive – a plain and rough square shape, thirty feet by thirty feet – but at the centre of the room, a fat column of energy fizzed and spat with a light that hummed and assaulted both Hamir and the dark stone walls with flashes of purple lightning. The column stretched from floor to ceiling, but its lower half was encircled by a series of evenly spaced monoliths: great black tablets, shiny and smooth, not quite stone, not quite metal, not quite glass.
Hamir studied the configuration of solid matter and energy, and felt his imperturbability invaded by a twinge of something that might have been awe.
‘Astonishing,’ he whispered.
There was a plethora of history books in Labrys Town. Historians had been writing them since the Labyrinth had been created; and there were plenty of academics who spent their days studying these books, debating their contents, and arguing with each other to such a degree of complexity they could no longer separate fact from fiction. Petty squabbles had twisted the truth, smothered the fire that made the smoke. Over the long years, Hamir had watched with mild amusement as ‘history’ had become irretrievably confused with ‘mythology’ without the denizens ever realising it.
Had he even a few of those academics standing beside him right now, he would have asked the learned minds to identify the column of energy within the Last and Lowest Chamber of the Nightshade. Hamir was willing to bet that not one of them would have been able to reach a correct answer; that this column was named the First and Greatest Spell; that it had been cast by the Timewatcher Herself a thousand years ago; and that it was the thaumaturgy upon which the entire creation of the Labyrinth was founded.
Yes, Hamir decided, he was awed to be standing in its presence, but not so much that he could waste time gawking at it.
He approached the First and Greatest Spell. He stepped between two of the black and glassy tablets that surrounded it, and looked up and down the length of the humming, spitting column. The spell danced upon a dome of dull, grey metal on the floor, and rose to meet a second dome on the ceiling, thirty feet above. Beyond that, the magic suffused the entire Nightshade and turned it into a power station of sorts, from which energy flowed to every corner of Labrys Town. Outside this room, the power of the First and Greatest Spell had been harnessed, manipulated, perverted, by the Genii; but inside, it remained as pure as the day the Timewatcher had cast it.
The Last and Lowest Chamber of the Nightshade, and the secrets it kept, was the final shadow in the Labyrinth, which the fire of the Genii could not illuminate.
Or so the avatar had said.
Turning his back on the great column of energy, Hamir faced the smooth and glassy surfaces of the tall tablets enclosing the area. Moving to one side, he studied each one carefully, but found each surface unmarked. With limitless patience, he began again, and then again, until he found what he sought. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a small engraving high on one tablet, briefly caught in flickering light of the First and Greatest Spell. At the right angle, Hamir could see it was the engraving of a little diamond shape, just as the avatar had said it would be.
He reached up and felt the grooves of the symbol beneath his fingertip.
‘Encouraging,’ he murmured.
The necromancer dipped his hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out two corked phials. He lifted them up against the flashes of purple light and shook the thick liquid within.
Changeling blood: it was a precarious substance. Once removed from the vein, it would congeal far quicker than ordinary blood, and only one skilled in the art of necromancy had sufficient expertise to stabilise it. A strange fluid whose magical properties many magic-users found hard to understand. Unique and potent, it served as a catalyst that could fuel the most mundane spell of the lowest magic-user with the might of a Thaumaturgist. Yes, the blood of a changeling was potent and difficult to use, but oh so very dangerous, especially in the wrong hands.
Two days ago, before Fabian Moor had announced his return, the blue spectre had visited Van Bam and given him a very particular set of instructions. Before Hamir was sent to collect Clara from the police station, Van Bam had asked him to procure two phials of her blood, which Hamir had done while she lay unconscious. Why this was to be done had not been revealed at the time. Hamir supposed that if Van Bam still lived, then he still did not know, and had probably not even thought of these phials again. But Hamir had not forgotten them; he had sensed at the time that his task had been important.
Hamir slipped one of the phials back into his jacket pocket, whilst keeping the other in his hand. With a light frown, he studied the diamond symbol on the pillar. He gave a sigh, uncorked the phial, lifted it to his lips, and drank the contents in one go.
This was not the first time Hamir had tasted another’s blood, though he had never particularly enjoyed the flavour. However, he only had to endure the salty, rusty tang for a moment, and then the energy began to swell inside him. It started as a warm wave of nausea that spread through his body and limbs with increasing heat. Hamir felt hotter and hotter, and sweat began beading on his skin. His ears were filled with a drone that was in tune with the humming of the First and Greatest Spell. Not until he looked at his shaking hands did the necromancer realise his entire body was vibrating.
The things he could accomplish with the power of changeling blood … Hamir could not remember the last time his magic had felt this strong. The feeling might have overwhelmed him with joy, but, with a surge of will honed over centuries, he focused on the instructions of the avatar.
Whispering words that felt at once alien and familiar on his tongue, fighting an urge to bellow them proudly, boastfully, Hamir gritted his teeth as molten heat seeped through his pores, causing his skin to glow with pale radiance. He reached out a hand and touched the diamond symbol again. This time it glowed, and a crack of energy splintered from the column and danced upon the black tablet upon which the symbol was engraved.
The tablet seemed to lurch before the necromancer, as if it had been momentarily displaced, jumped to one side and back again. Hamir watched with fascination as its glassy length stretched upward and arched over him, widening to cover him like a shroud.
Its surface rippled as though it had turned to liquid, and Hamir felt the pull of a vortex. A hollow wind moaned.
If there was any trickery in the avatar’s instructions, if there was any reason why Hamir should be afraid, it was no longer a concern to the necromancer. He closed his eyes as rippling obsidian descended on him, swallowed him, and sent him spinning into somewhere else.
The faint light of grimy lamps illuminated the walkways. Their sickly glow barely assisted the slow progress of a ragtag group of magickers heading southward through the sewers. A dark-skinned man led the group on bare feet; his eyes were plates of metal fused to the sockets, and he carried a cane of green glass. A pale-skinned young woman, small and gangly, her face bruised, the back of her head bloody, followed him with plodding steps, as if sleepwalking. A broad-shouldered and predatory-looking older man brought up the rear, a rifle in his hands, a shrewd and piercing gaze scanning the shadows, ever vigilant for signs of danger.
Van Bam didn’t believe that anyone was tracking them now, but he was glad to have Samuel back, to know they had his unerring aim covering their journey to the southern district. The ex-Resident was glad to have a goal. He felt drive and purpose in his steps once more.
To lose all connection to the Nightshade, to have the voice of Gideon so suddenly severed from his mind –Van Bam could not have conceived a worse scenario. He had spent so much of his life relying on the magic of his home and on the acerbic advice grudgingly given by his spirit guide – he had often wondered if he could think for himself anymore. But now his mind was fully his own for the first time in decades, Van Bam was surprised to find his logic well-ordered, his thoughts clear, and his determination strong.
Clara’s revelation concerning the avatar had given the Relic Guild a glimmer of hope when all hope seemed to have disappeared. Not everything was lost just yet. In an abandoned warehouse, where, so long ago, Van Bam had watched Hamir perform acts of thaumaturgy, a mystery was hidden, a mystery that everything depended on, or so the avatar said. Whether the strange blue ghost could be trusted or not was academic now. Perhaps the Relic Guild had found the one path that might lead to redemption.
No longer hindered by bounty hunters and Genii, the Relic Guild made good progress. After an hour of journeying in silence, Van Bam judged the group had passed out of the central district and had entered the south side. It had been a long time since he had last traversed the sewers, but he remembered the geography well. Unconcerned by the warm and fetid atmosphere, he led the way. Within an hour they would be beneath a landscape of storage warehouses. And then the Relic Guild would have to go above ground and face an unfamiliar problem: avoiding the eyes of the Nightshade.
As Van Bam made it to the end of a bridge, Samuel called him. Van Bam turned and saw Clara had stopped halfway across. Her brow was furrowed and her lips were pursed. Her shades pulsed with deep thought. Van Bam walked back to her.
‘Clara?’ he whispered. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she replied, her eyes darting from side to side. ‘Tell me something – that portal outside the Nightshade, it’s not the only one, is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s a second portal, at the rear of the Nightshade.
‘There was once.’
‘The Relic Guild used it to get to the doorways out in the Great Labyrinth. That’s how you travelled to the Aelfirian Houses – wasn’t it?’
Van Bam shared a quick look with Samuel. This was more information that Clara could not have known. But had the avatar told her, or was she remembering a time when Marney had used the portal?
‘Clara,’ Van Bam said. ‘That portal was destroyed at the end of the Genii War, along with all the others.’
‘That’s right,’ she said, nodding. ‘The portal at the front of the Nightshade is the only one left.’ She fell into silent contemplation again.
Samuel was unsettled. ‘Why do you ask?’
Clara seemed to notice him for the first time. ‘Hmm?’
‘Are you remembering something the avatar told you?’
‘Maybe. It could be one of Marney’s memories.’ She looked up. ‘It’s funny … I thought I was onto something. But it’s fading, I …’ She sighed. ‘It’s gone.’
Her shades swirled a mixture of frustration and disappointment.
‘It will come to you, I am sure,’ Van Bam said reassuringly. ‘Let us continue.’
Van Bam turned and led the way once more.
The dismal aesthetics of the sewers never altered; the group traversed slime-covered walkways and tunnels, crossed rough and slick bridges, always heading south. The silence among the three agents endured, and Van Bam’s thoughts turned to the town above, and the new regime.
The magic of the Nightshade was sentient, intelligent, powerful, and the Genii should not have been able to overcome it. It filled Van Bam with deep sadness to think of Marney and he knew that his old lover would have fought the Genii. But if Fabian Moor had been right all these years, if the Nightshade had left some magical residue in the psyches of the Relic Guild agents that exposed a weakness in its defences, then Moor had obviously found a way to extract it from Marney’s mind. And that meant she had outlived her usefulness to the Genii. Van Bam pushed away an image of Marney suffering unimaginable tortures, though he knew that Fabian Moor would never have allowed her end to be quick and painless.
Whatever foul methods the Genii had used to grasp control of the Nightshade, their grip on Labrys Town was absolute. But the Genii’s actions still left questions unanswered. Van Bam knew that Fabian Moor had reanimated at least two other Genii, but how many others did he not know of? The jar from the asylum had obviously been buried beneath the cell in which it was found. Samuel said that two golems had dug up the other from the river floor. But how had those terracotta jars got into Labrys Town in the first place? And now the Genii were here, what could control of the Nightshade possibly gain them? With no way out of the Labyrinth, all they had done was procured a feeding ground to sate their blood-thirst. Unless …
Unless they did know of a way out.
Perhaps their old ambitions were still alive. Perhaps they still coveted the subjugation of the Aelfirian Houses, and they had found a way to achieve it. Van Bam knew Fabian Moor had been using thaumaturgy to create personal portals, but to where? Maybe he had always known how to reach the Aelfir from the Labyrinth, but he and his fellow Genii were too few and weak to re-enter battle. Could it be they were waiting until an army stood at their backs – an army of gun-wielding golems a million strong – before setting their plans of invasion into action?
Van Bam looked back at Clara. Her colours were contemplative, and he felt an almost frantic need to know, what had the avatar told her? What could possibly be hidden in that warehouse?
Finally, their silent trek through a miserable landscape brought the Relic Guild deep into the southern district. The group stopped before a caged ladder that ascended high into the darkness above. Van Bam led the way up. They all understood that leaving the sewers was to leave relative safety. They would have to keep their wits about them; Labrys Town had become hostile territory.
The ladder led to a small, metal grille platform; and there, set into the dark stone wall, was an open archway leading to a narrow staircase. Illuminating the darkness with his glass cane, Van Bam began to ascend. The scrapes and shuffles of his colleagues’ boots echoed in the tight space behind him.
The stairs finished at a dead end wall, but the brickwork carried the familiar maze pattern. Samuel affirmed that he sensed no immediate danger and Van Bam reached out, but paused before making contact with the wall.
With a pang of uncertainty, he wondered how deeply the Genii’s influence had burrowed into Labrys Town. All the districts’ energy came from the magic stemming from the Nightshade. Would the magic in this secret door still obey his touch?
Hol
ding his breath, he pressed his palm to the pattern.
There was a click, and Van Bam exhaled in relief. A slim doorway swung outwards, and bright, blue-grey light flooded the stairwell. Turning sideways to slip through the gap, he exited into the southern district of Labrys Town, and the stink of the sewers evaporated in the fresh, chilly air of Silver Moon. Clara and Samuel followed, and the door closed and disappeared behind them.
Van Bam recognised the area. They had emerged at the back of a metal-works yard, in the heart of the warehouse region. The door that led to the sewers was hidden behind a false wall at the end of a supervisor’s hut.
Here during the day, engineers built new trams, or repaired the old, or scrapped and recycled the decommissioned. Tramlines crisscrossed the stone floor, and against the rear wall, rusted metal parts had been dumped. The huts and workshops around the yard were shuttered and locked. The working day was long over, though the smell of hot grease still touched the air.
It felt good to be outside again. The sky was clear, full of stars. Even to Van Bam’s inner vision, the cold disc of Silver Moon was bright and glaring after the dingy world below. Nonetheless, he kept his green glass cane illuminated under the brightness. After his and Clara’s experience with Captain Jeter, he doubted its concealing light could hide them from the watchful gaze of Hagi Tabet. Fortunately, the eye devices in this area were mostly positioned within warehouses. The green glass cane would, however, hide the group from any warehouseman or tram driver working the nightshift.
‘Come,’ Van Bam said. ‘We are not far from our destination.’
Unseen and silent, the three agents left the metal-works yard, and weaved their way through the streets and alleys between the warehouses. Clara and Samuel followed Van Bam, making sure to remain within his cane’s circle of secreting light.
