The Last Spellbound House: A Steampunk Dark Fantasy Thriller

by Samuel Simons

  Another of the four assembled Fae, whose current shape was a four-armed biped with skin of living stone and red-gleaming irises, let out a grunt of displeasure. “The Sixtieth Cohort was an elite force of Many-Arms. Even with five hundred of my prized creations, Swifter-Than-Wind was unable to protect the Ford of Clear Waters Rising? I have thrown down Dead Lords with far less. Perhaps he has lost his touch.”

  “Guard your tongue, Stoneshaper Gurlock.” The speaker was a tall feminine Fae with alabaster skin and a vast, delicate set of dragonfly’s wings sprouting from her back through her elegant blue gown. Her voice was sharp enough to slice the air. “We would be wise to treat Enviselas as the threat he is, and not impugn the name of Marquis Swifter-Than-Wind. Or have you forgotten his victory, singlehanded, against Golemis Ilas Vakhraveugelaos, the Dead Lord Master Sunderer-of-Earth, at the height of its power?”

  The four-armed Fae turned to regard her, baring a predator’s sharp teeth in a mocking smile. “What I forget not, fair Sky-Wing, is how many times Entwined your story is with that of Swifter-Than-Wind. Tell me, are you and he still two separate beings, or will it take a sordid marital drama to extricate your stories from one another?”

  “You go too far.” The ice in elegant Sky-Wing’s voice promised violence. The air in the chamber grew unnaturally still, as though it had solidified into glass and would shatter with her next movement.

  For two tense seconds, Gurlock stared a challenge into Sky-Wing’s eyes. Then he cast his gaze aside. “Perhaps I was too hasty, General Sky-Wing. It would seem that this… Enviselas… has sent unto his troops some new Working even a force of Many-Arms was unprepared for. At this rate, he will take Evergleam and all the gilt-bearing fields around it.” He turned a grim, stony expression on the map, glaring down at the skull banner and the illusory figures of his enemies.

  “Be not glum, friend Gurlock. Is this not the moment we relish most?” asked the last of the four Fae, spreading his arms wide. He wore the guise of a purple-robed, dark-skinned human with a soft violet glow spilling from the places where his eyes would otherwise have been. “The Dead are the only beings capable of defying our beloved Queen. And how? By their endless ingenuity, which so astounds and intrigues us. By its craft, Enviselas has engineered an upset against all odds. Should we not rejoice at the chance to overcome this challenge?”

  Asah placed a long-fingered hand on this one’s shoulder, the corners of their prismatic eyes crinkling with warmth. “Admiral Seas-In-Storm. Your words show wisdom, but you are young: do not forget also to see. Look upon General Stoneshaper, and you will find that he is not glum. Witness his focus: he cannot even hear us speak.”

  Sure enough, four-armed Gurlock’s eyes, red as flowing blood, were focused intently upon the surface of the table. His lips moved in silent deliberation, as though his very tongue were gingerly testing the balance of the tactical situation depicted on the map.

  Seas-In-Storm smiled, revealing teeth the shimmering white of pearls. “My wisdom pales next to yours, O Regent All-See-All-Hear. While I spoke of moments to relish, he has already captured the wonder of this one in his own way. I thank you for the clarity you bring us: truly you are called ‘The All-Encompassing’ without a hint of a lie.”

  “Please,” All-See-All-Hear replied with a gracious smile and a humble bowing of their head, “Here in private, simply ‘Asah’ will do. Were flattery, however sincere, a weakness of mine I would be a poor Regent indeed. Now, let us all join Gurlock in his deliberations.”

  These, the four highest-ranking Fae in the Queen’s military, turned their attentions to the task of obliterating Enviselas’s forces and driving the Dead Lord out from its holdings. Here, amid the posturing and intrigue of Fae stories, an execution was planned. The decisions of the Queen’s Generals would result in armies clashing, defenses crumbling, and the defeat of the Dead Lord.

  So it had been for centuries beyond count, for the Fae were relentless in their thrill-seeking. The Dead were not aggressive by nature, especially if left to their own devices, but those ancient artisans viewed the Fae both as meddlers and as mighty sources of power for their intricate works of magic and machinery. If allowed to gain a foothold, a Dead Lord could be tenacious in its pursuit of such power.

  But never did a Dead empire arise to rival that of the Fae Queen: for the Dead did not broker deals, nor did they make allies even with each other. Dead Lords like Enviselas defended their holdings with thralls, armies, fortresses, and crafted guardians, all under the control of their jealously hoarded arts. The Dead focused their efforts on amassing materials for their experiments, for as soon as they established a foothold and laid claim to any resources at all, the Fae Alliance saw them as worthy foes to be defeated. When a Dead Lord so caught the attention of the Generals, it had no choice but to use the meagre months bought by its armies and its castles to draw together what it had learned and quietly disappear.

  The Fae called this cycle of conflict their War Eternal, for they revelled in it and wished that it might never end. The Dead did not bother to name it otherwise, for to them the War Eternal was a nuisance which consumed too much of their time and attention without their making a study of it.

  But they were mistaken, every last one: for if you are reading these words, you know that the War Eternal was named falsely.

  The book waited with patience, knowing that someday a reader would arrive: surely soon, someone would seek to know of such an extraordinary and impossible contradiction as the end of an endless struggle.

  For this volume’s pages held nothing less than the secret of how a War Eternal, whose two sides were immortal, came to a resounding and cataclysmic end.

  Chapter 5

  Pyke listened to the distant creaks and groans of the Last Spellbound House settling on its foundation as Jenna led him through the empty hallways. Rather than squint into the shadows beyond the pool of light cast by Jenna’s lantern, he allowed his keen sense of hearing to identify and discard the ambient noise, confident at least that no one was sneaking about in the darkness.

  “I think it’s up ahead.” Jenna stopped. “There! That door.”

  They had returned to the ground level in search of what Jenna called ‘the tour room.’ Pyke approached the entryway she’d indicated. Like all the others, it was set with a sturdy door of lacquered wood. Pulling it open, he stepped through onto a landing surrounded on two sides by wooden railings. To his right was a set of shallow steps overlooking a comfortable lounge area whose floor was below ground level.

  The room was lit by a merrily crackling fire in a hearth near the bottom of the steps. Across from it, three women stood behind a bar countertop. Pyke couldn’t estimate their ages, save to guess that the leftmost of the three, who was inspecting her shoulder-length blonde hair in a hand mirror, was the youngest. The wall behind the counter was covered floor to ceiling with cases full of liquor and racks bearing bottle upon bottle of wine. All three women wore ankle-length, one-piece dresses after the current style in the southern cities. Their outfits were forest green, autumn brown, and ruby red respectively.

  “A newcomer!” exclaimed the one on the left, who wore the red dress. There was an innocent, guileless quality to her smile as she put down her mirror. “Look, sis!”

  “I see him,” muttered the centremost of the three without looking up from the pristinely clean wine glass she was polishing with a cloth. Her hair was cropped short in a severe style, and was the same brown colour as her dress. “Do try not to throw yourself at him too quickly, Rose.”

  “Hush, and let her be herself, Thorne,” said the woman in green, whose straight black hair reached all the way to the small of her back. She was trying and failing to hide a half-smile which tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Welcome to the Last Spellbound House in all the sunlit lands! How can we be of service, sir?”

  Pyke took in the rest of the room as he walked down the stairs, which brought him close to the hearth. Near the fireplace sat sever
al large, overstuffed chairs upholstered with brown fabric in surprisingly good condition, all arranged around a table the appropriate height for sipping a beverage or playing a game of strategy.

  “I’ve heard you can tell me where to find the books I’m after.” Pyke tried not to glance at the patch Jenna had sewn over the cogwheel and lens symbols on the shoulder of his cloak. It was illegal for an Antiquarian to cover the emblem, but this of all places seemed unlikely to host anybody willing to report such a minor crime and draw the attention of the Church of the Phoenix. “Did I hear correctly?”

  “We can. Whether we will or not depends,” drawled Thorne, polishing yet another angle of the wine glass with the hem of her brown dress. “Can you pay, newcomer?”

  “Of course he can. No traveller comes here without plenty of silver,” Jenna pointed out, following Pyke down the stairs. “And he knows a few things about a place like this. I gather he’s a Relic-seeker, a successful one.”

  “We certainly like to see your type around here!” Rose beamed, twirling a lock of her blonde hair with one finger. “Can I interest you in our fine wines?”

  Pyke shook his head. “No, thank you. Just the tour.”

  “Straight to business, then.” The woman in green pulled a roll of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from a drawer behind the counter. “May we have your name?”

  “Pyke.” He did his best to feign interest in the wine racks while the woman scribbled on the parchment.

  Jenna arrived at Pyke’s left. “And I’m—”

  “We know you, Jenna,” Thorne snapped. “It’s him she asked about.”

  Jenna blinked, then frowned. “What? How do you—”

  “Perfect,” said the green-clad receptionist over Jenna’s muttering, another small smile tugging at the edge of her lips as she handed the writing implements over the counter to Pyke. “If you’ll finish filling out these records, we can get started. And my name, by the way, is Lifa.”

  “A pleasure,” Pyke murmured absently as he inspected the parchment. On the scroll, Lifa had written in clear, calligraphy-like script, ‘Pyke,’ followed by a complete description: black hair; brown eyes; worn black cloak; assorted pouches at belt and hanging from tunic; knife in right sleeve?; travel pack. Below this summary, she had written ‘Reason for Visit,’ followed by a blank line. Leaning the form against the bar counter, Pyke filled the space with ‘Seeking books on Ancients’ in his best handwriting and handed the parchment back.

  Lifa checked it over. “Seems he’s after information about the Ancients. Thorne?”

  With a look of smug triumph, Thorne set down the wine glass she’d been polishing. Was it Pyke’s imagination, or was the glass stained with a bit of red residue where before it had been crystal clear? “Thought so. From the moment you walked in that door, I figured you for the type to stick your nose in dangerous matters.”

  Pyke crossed his arms, recalling that he should play the part of an impatient, cocky Relic-seeker. “I haven’t got all day. Did I come here for a commentary on my shortcomings, or to learn what the Church doesn’t want anybody to know?”

  “Ah, calm your tits.” Thorne’s grin held an edge of mockery. “Meant it as a compliment, didn’t I?”

  “Thorne happens to be the person with the most expertise in the languages and traits of the Ancients anywhere in the Kingdom,” Lifa explained, that subtle hint of a smile still hovering about the corners of her mouth.

  Pyke’s eyebrows rose. “What? Aren’t you three just the reception?”

  Thorne let out a bark of laughter. “You’re thinking of this the wrong way, newcomer. Don’t consider us your welcome: consider us your judges. We’ll decide whether you’re more trouble than you’re worth, just as harshly as any self-important official in your far-off cities.”

  “It’s a common misconception,” Lifa put in more calmly. “But think about it. If we were just pretty faces, they’d have us at the front door greeting the riff-raff, not tucked away where only the inquisitive would find us.”

  “You passed the test!” Rose sang, spinning around atop her barstool and grinning at Pyke each time her rotations brought her around to face him. “The ‘being adventurous enough to find us’ test, that is. Not the test of character. That one’s still up to Thorne. I suggest we celebrate with a half-glass of wine on the house!”

  Pyke was about to decline, not being eager to drink on the job, but he glanced to his left and saw Jenna leaning over the bar to inspect the names scrawled underneath the racks of wine on the wall. It seemed rude to refuse a free drink, especially if Jenna was looking forward to something after her long day at work.

  “Ugh. I knew we shouldn’t have left her in charge of wine,” Thorne muttered to Lifa as Rosie finished spinning, leapt to her feet, tottered dizzily, then headed for the wall of wines and liquor. “We’ll have given away the cost of the tour by the time it’s over.”

  “Peace, sister. You can serve the drinks next time.”

  “If there is a next time.”

  “Shush.”

  “This one is an excellent vintage.” Rose bustled up between her sisters, an oversize bottle of wine dwarfing her delicate hands. “One of the first out of the Kingdom’s vineyards back in ‘51-after. Thorne! Wine glass!”

  Rolling her eyes, Thorne placed the clean vessel on the counter as her sister poured the sloppiest half-glass Pyke had ever seen. It seemed as though more wine ended up on the counter than in the cup.

  “Thank you, Rose.” Pyke donned a polite smile, completely forgetting his brash Relic-seeker façade.

  “Oh, only Thorne calls me Rose,” she replied, beaming at him over her shoulder as she went to return the bottle to the wall. “To everyone else, I’m Rosie. And you’re welcome!”

  “So.” Pyke lifted the glass out of the pool of wine on the countertop and passed it over to Jenna. “What does this tour consist of?”

  “A visit to the main library, as well as an hour-long guided exploration of the rooms of note on the second through fourth storeys.” Lifa produced a cloth from below the counter and wiped up the mess as she spoke. “It also includes a question-and-answer session with whoever is giving the tour.”

  “Oh, pick me! Pick me!” squealed Rosie, hopping up and down. “I just can’t resist a daring Relic-seeker!”

  A bit of heat rose to Pyke’s face. “I’ll need to hear a bit about your areas of expertise, first.”

  “Of course.” Lifa glanced at her sister with another half-smile. “Rosie, please give poor Pyke some space. Can’t you see he’s unused to this kind of attention?”

  Do attractive women throw themselves at Relic-seekers all the time? It seems people enjoy a little mystery when they aren’t scared off by the Antiquities Guild emblem, Pyke observed.

  There was no reply from the Voice.

  What, no commentary on my discomfort? You rarely miss an opportunity to point out inconsistencies in my behaviours, or gaps in my knowledge.

  “I specialize in the Ancients’ created races, maps, geology, and medicine,” Lifa was saying. “Thorne is an authority on the many dialects of Old Ancient, as well as the esoteric languages of the beings the Ancients created. She studies their legends, histories, common behaviours, and belief systems.”

  “And no, I don’t go teaching the forbidden stuff to just anyone,” Thorne cut in harshly. Then, Pyke could have sworn she winked at him. Was she indicating that for the right price she would share the kind of knowledge considered deadly poison by most anyone who already possessed it?

  They teach lore here that’s capable of bringing down a Fae curse on the entire Kingdom if too many people learn it. I’ve seen irresponsible before, but this has to be a new record.

  To Pyke’s continuing surprise, the Voice still had nothing to say.

  “And Rosie,” Lifa continued, “Makes a study of the art, carpentry, metalcraft, mechanics, and Relic-forging techniques of the Ancients. The ways of making new ones are lost, but g
iven the right tools and materials, she could repair almost anything.”

  Pyke stared at Lifa until a loud giggle from Rosie caused him to shift his gaze down the counter. It appeared she had managed to draw Jenna into conversation, and was peppering her with questions about Pyke in a barely-suppressed tone of glee.

  “He’s good-looking, in a ‘strong, silent type’ kind of way! Are you and he… you know...?” asked Rosie, smiling from ear to ear.

  Jenna blushed and stammered, then glanced over at Pyke with a clear Help me! in her expression.

  Pyke cleared his throat. “It’s most accurate to say both of us are still figuring that out.” He hoped his tone was the right mixture of casual and matter-of-fact.

  “Oh, Jenna, it’s about time you met somebody worth your while! I’m so happy for you!” Rosie reached over the counter to grab Jenna’s hands, knocking over the empty wine glass with her elbow. “I’d have volunteered, but I just kept thinking how wonderful you’d look with a dashing beau on your arm! Does he dance?”

  “She specializes in Relics and ancient machinery?” Pyke whispered, leaning in to stare at Lifa and Thorne, unsure if they were making a joke at his expense.

  “Nothing is what it seems here, newcomer,” Thorne told him smugly. “Thought you’d be catching on to that by now.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Lifa said, still serene, still almost smiling. “You and Jenna will have your tour with Rosie. If you don’t learn what you wanted, you can always come back and book another. That’ll be twenty-five keili.”

  Pyke considered objecting, but something told him he was already pushing his luck if these sisters decided they didn’t want his silver. He poured out the handful of coins from his purse onto the counter, still looking slowly back and forth between the two and their cheerful, seemingly airheaded sister who was now trying to get a deeply blushing Jenna to dance with her across the counter.