“Powerful beings,” I replied, my tone curt and to the point. I wasn’t in the mood for this. “Winged. They have natural purification powers.”
“Just that?”
“I could write an essay on them if you want. But then I’d want to be paid by the word.”
“What about God?” Michael asked, as I experienced deja vu regarding a similar conversation that I’d had with someone now dead. “How are the Seraphim related to God?”
“No relation. They are beings like the fae, or us. They just exist. We do not know how they were created and, I have it on good authority that they don’t know either.”
Treth must have been more adept at propriety than I, as he winced. But I wasn’t going to play games today. If they wanted to ask questions, I’d give them answers. My answers.
The rabbis fidgeted, uncomfortable at my answer. Michael took a sip of tea, avoiding eye contact. They probably expected me to skirt around the question. But, my atheism wasn’t a secret. The only gods I believed in had been arguing in an embassy office this morning.
“Do you know,” Michael continued, his tone growing hushed yet more intense, “that there are those in Hope City that have called you an angel?”
I shrugged. “I’m called a lot of things. Angel is a lot nicer than what the vampire lobby calls me. But I’d think they’d consider angel even more insulting.”
Michael did not react to the joke, but I did see Joshua smile, just a bit.
“Despite academic claims, we still believe that the Seraphim are messengers of God. Perhaps, unwittingly. But, it is clear that they bring forth His divine will. As teachers, as envoys, but also…as warriors. They may not be as conscious of Him as our ancestors once thought, but that doesn’t change their nature. We all have a role in the divine plan. And the Seraphim direct that plan.”
Conrad would have a word or two to say about that.
“Let me ask a question. Do you think I’m an angel?”
The three didn’t blink. It was as if they had expected the question.
“I do not know,” Michael replied, calmly.
Silence. They stared. I met the silence with a deathly glare. Until, finally, I conceded.
I sighed.
“What is the job, rabbis? I almost died today. Twice, possibly. I want to get home to my cat.”
Michael stood, indicating for me to do the same and follow him out of the door and into the hallway.
“We are not just rabbis of our faith, as you well know. And I trust that even if you disregard our beliefs, you enjoy our services to this fair republic. And it is this service that requires discretion, and perhaps a bit of divine will.”
He continued speaking as we walked, descending down into the ground. Past the threshold, and into the underworld. Electric lighting replaced sunlight, but the white walls and splendid wooden floors did not abate.
“Long before the Cataclysm, my people were entrusted with the recipe to create false-life.”
“Sounds like necromancy,” I replied. Treth gave me a glare. So what? I wasn’t in the mood for their exposition.
“Necromancy is the twisting of life and the soul,” Michael replied without missing a beat. “Golemancy is different. It is the creation of new life. Adam, it is said, was a golem at first. Until he transcended his clay, earthen form and became man. My people were given the knowledge to do something similar. To touch divinity, at least for a bit. To craft the Earth, our gift, into beings of magical life. Golems.”
Joshua and Daniel were enraptured. And, in spite of my mood, the scholar in me was interested.
“But, of course, golemancy has very few records of working pre-Cataclysm. Despite this, we handed down the scriptures needed to enact the holy ritual. Until, the Vortex opened, and it was revealed that the language we spoke was divine in nature. The scriptures suddenly worked, and we crafted giants of clay, stone and metal. These golems now serve at the frontlines of your country. They defend us all…”
“And now they’re gone,” I skipped to the part where he offered me a job.
The three rabbis froze and turned on me.
“How did you…?”
“Was obvious. If you wanted me to investigate a monster attack, you’d have taken me to the remains of the victim. There’s no sign of violence here. At least, not yet. That tells me one thing: theft.”
The rabbis sighed, more to calm their nerves.
“It is true. The Original Shem, the text we use to make the shem scripts needed to animate the golems, has gone missing. Presumably, stolen.”
“Isn’t this the domain of the police? Maybe even Whiteshield. I hunt monsters.”
“Monsters are subjective,” Joshua replied. “A werewolf to one is a friend to another.”
Couldn’t argue with that.
“We can’t trust the police with this matter,” Michael explained. “If the government found out that we’d lost the scripts they hire us to protect and use, there’d be widespread panic. Disinvestment. We may even be arrested for endangering the city!”
“Fine! Understood. You don’t want your clients to know you lost your secret recipe.”
Michael glared.
“Oh, Drummond…” he finally used my name, and I now missed Last Light. “It’s much direr than that. If it were merely lost, it would not be too much trouble. Other temples contain copies of the shem. We could duplicate it with enough effort. That is not what concerns us.”
“We’re worried about what the thief may do,” Daniel interjected, cutting to the chase. Good, Daniel!
“With the powers of a golem, a warlord or, God forbid, the Empire, could wreak apocalyptic damage on the city,” Michael continued, looking askance at his colleague.
“Aren’t golems magic-hungry?” I asked. “The CDF only deploys them during emergencies.”
“They are. A single golem requires a mountainous quantity of energy from sorcerers or a weyline. But, Hope City is abundant. It would take a circle of powerful sorcerers or channelling wizards to summon a single golem. It may last for only a few minutes but, in that time, it could destroy the Council building. Or…even the Citadel.”
Yeah. That was bad. Topple the Titan Citadel and golems would become the least of our problems.
“If you could duplicate the script, what is stopping the thief from doing the same.”
“If the thief has access to a group of devout rabbis, then nothing. But, there is a religious significance in the script. It requires eighteen rabbis, trained in magic, to copy the Original Shem. We are all that is needed to make copies for animating golems, but every shem must be copied from the original or they lose their potency.”
I rubbed my chin, thoughtfully. This wasn’t my type of job. I hated detective work. Sure, Treth thought I was good at it. Maybe I was. But, that didn’t change the fact that it was a lot of effort without a guaranteed reward. I could be investigating the case for months and find nothing. No shem, no thief.
“Why pick me?” I asked. “Monster or not, this is effectively a job for a detective. There are loads of wizard detectives more qualified than I to investigate this.”
“You’re the Last Light,” Daniel replied, no hesitation.
Michael looked at him askance, and then back at me.
“We believe that you have the ability to retrieve our stolen texts. But, mostly, we believe you are the right person to do it. Your reputation is that of a sarcastic, borderline anarchistic hellion…”
“Gee, thanks…”
“…But something tells me that there is more to you. That the belief that the people of this city put in you is not ill-founded. As my colleague so aptly put it, you are the Last Light. You put the city before your own life. And you always complete a job.”
Michael’s eyes definitely held judgement. I had been riling him up, of course. But there was something else there. A profound, honest respect. They genuinely believed I could do it.
“I question your faith in me,” I sighed, being an excellent mar
keter. “But if you insist on hiring me, I’ll need to discuss my fee…”
“Done.”
“But…”
Michael waved the comment aside. “Whatever it is, we’ll pay it. There is no room to be miserly in our current predicament. Of course, we expect discretion in return. If you can hide the nature of the investigation from your colleagues, that would be preferable. We have organised some false case files for MonsterSlayer around a ‘ghost’ that needs to be exorcised. That should cover your presence here. They say you have an uncanny knack for exorcism despite a lack of training. But, I’m sure being the protégé of Cindy Giles is actually training enough.”
“And if I need to tell some of my colleagues the truth?”
“Only your closest circle. Ultimately, we just want the shem found. But, if the Council finds out what has happened…”
“I’m an anarchist, remember? The government won’t hear a thing from me.” I winked, and Michael smiled, faintly.
“With that out of the way, I trust you will be wanting to investigate the scene of the crime?”
I nodded and allowed Michael to proceed. We descended deeper into the catacombs under the synagogue, until even the electric light dimmed and faded. Until it was just a faint glow, illuminating a set of silver-coated, steel double-doors, covered in Hebrew script.
We stopped outside the door as the three rabbis linked hands. Michael stood in the middle, with his younger colleagues on either side of him. Joshua and Daniel used their free hands to touch the door, slowly. Tentatively.
As one, they began chanting. The script on the door began to glow blue in response, lighting up the silver until the entire door shone like my polished swords in the sun.
The chanting reached a crescendo and the rabbis became silent. They unlinked their arms, allowing Michael to retrieve a key from his breast pocket. The others did the same. Three keyholes manifested into the metal and the men inserted their keys, and only turned them once they could do so in unison.
Treth and I watched with interest and, in my case, a little bit of impatience. But, finally, the three backed away and allowed the door to slide open. Finally.
“As you can see, our security is heavy,” Michael panted, his face pale. It must have been a heavy de-warding spell. Took its toll even if he was using the weyline.
“We three must be present for the opening ritual,” Daniel explained, seeing that his older colleague was out of breath. “Three tracts for the de-warding, all requiring a separate caster. And then three separate keys.”
“Impressive. But a door is only as impressive as the walls surrounding it.”
The three stepped past the threshold, indicating that I should enter. As I passed the doorway, I felt the air grow heavy. Like there was invisible steam all around me. This room was heavily warded.
Before Treth could enter after me, I thought to ask.
“Is the room warded against spirits?”
“Of course. All of them. We don’t want any beings, alive or dead, entering this room without our express consent. It contains all our holiest and most magical of texts.”
I glanced towards Treth, who had just been about to step through the threshold. Looking sheepish, he backed away and leant up against the wall.
“So, deep underground, and I trust the walls are reinforced with steel, raw iron and silver?”
“Of course,” they replied together, as if the answer was obvious.
I rubbed my chin, examining the chamber.
Circular, lined with wooden shelves carrying mountains of ancient looking scrolls and books. In the centre of the room was an altar. Bare. And behind it, a rich wooden reading desk. No holes or even cracks in the walls. No entry points besides the open door behind us.
Deep underground, reinforced by multiple layers of steel (for humans), silver (for monsters) and iron (for fae). And then warding against spirits. All types.
“Demons?” I asked, simply.
Michael pointed at the ceiling. It was a ritual circle, written in Hebrew and Aramaic.
“This place is warded against all known demons.”
I snorted. “It’s the unknown that I worry about.”
Joshua looked visibly offended. Seemed as if he was the resident demonology expert. But Michael touched his arm, reassuringly.
“She’s right. And that’s why she’s here.”
I approached the empty altar. Hebrew script marked the edges of the top. I didn’t dare touch it.
“I gather that this was where the shem lay?”
Michael nodded.
“Tell me all you know.” I took out a notepad and pen. My trench coat was on fire, but I think I made a good detective, nonetheless. “When did you discover it was missing? Who discovered it? When was the last it was seen? By whom?”
“We all discovered it at once,” Michael responded, unflinching. “We’re the Keepers of the Shem. So, we are the only ones with access to this chamber. Even when other texts must be retrieved, we are all present. For the time, we discovered that the shem was missing at 2:06pm…”
When I was in a stupor, trying to save the already dead…
“For when we last saw it – we accessed this chamber at 10am. Today.”
“An approximate four-hour window.” I noted it down and then looked up, putting on my best interrogation stare. “Have you considered the possibility of an inside job?”
“Impossible. As we have said, we are the only three who have access to this chamber. If one of us stole it, then the others would have seen it happen. We also have to all be present to unlock the warding on the altar. And we wouldn’t have all worked together to steal the shem. There is no benefit in doing so. This is our life. Our purpose. And, in case profit is what makes most sense to you, the CDF is a generous benefactor. And, most of all, if it was us who stole the shem, why would we be here, speaking to you?”
He shook his head, as if to emphasise his point. “No, this is not an inside job.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Treth yelled from outside the door. He could still see us and was studying the rabbis intently.
“It’s good to rule out these things,” I replied, scratching out the Inside Job? note I had on my pad. “Assuming that the wards did not break down…”
“They did not.”
“…that rules out any human entering the room. At least, by mundane means. Have you done an arcane scan?”
“We have. But it is not our speciality. But we found no evidence of the ward being tampered with.”
“A more thorough scan…”
“No, Drummond,” Michael insisted. “We have been thorough enough. This chamber is magically sensitive. Your investigation will have to suffice.”
I resisted sighing. I would be charging them a dragon’s load when this was done. Just for the inconvenience.
That left just a search of the room. One I would have to do alone, as Treth waited like a lonely dog outside. Poor thing.
I began pacing the room, scanning everything I could. The rabbis waited patiently.
I started with the altar. Looked solid. No sign of physical breaks. And there was a faint shimmer over it. The ward was still active. I’d dust it for prints, but I wasn’t a forensics expert, and I doubted the culprit had fingerprints. And, even if they did, there was hardly a database to match them with in Hope City. The cost of being an urban sprawl of trans-dimensional and continental refugees.
No leads from the altar. Besides the lack of magical scrolls, it looked undisturbed. I moved on, scanning the shelves, looking at titles written in Hebrew, Yiddish and Aramaic. Even a few in Sintari, Dwarven Runes and, more surprisingly, a Norse script. It seemed even aliens and pagans had a place in this place of power.
The shelves illuminated nothing. Except that nothing else was missing, besides a few empty places that the rabbis claimed were accounted for elsewhere.
That left the reading desk.
It was made of a fine wood. Reddish brown. And dark. The chair attached
to it did not seem comfortable. But, for these monastic rabbis, I’m sure comfort was the least of their concern.
A closed, half empty inkwell lay on the desk. It seemed they liked to write script the old fashioned way. Was common among mages. Ink was easier to infuse with other ingredients this way.
There were no papers on the reading desk. Nothing being written, I presumed. But also, curiously, no quill.
I paced around the desk, looking at the floor. The desk was bolted down, of course. Didn’t want the thief to take that as well. And there it was! Under the seat.
I went down on my knees to retrieve the dropped, white feather quill. It was a fine instrument. Angelic even. Wouldn’t surprise me. These guys seemed like big buddies with the Seraphim.
My coat glowed as I grabbed the quill, as if excited at this discovery. Or, admiring it. I smiled at its reaction, but then stopped as something caught my eye.
Something on the desk reflected the fiery glow of my coat. Something wet.
I left the quill, and slowly pulled out a tissue from the kit that Cindy insisted all Crusaders carry around. For hygiene and other uses, she said. Slowly, I dabbed at the wet spot. A sharp corner of the desk.
Bingo.
Red. Still wet. And, unless someone was running around with watered down tomato sauce, I’d bet my last surviving aunt that this was blood.
I retrieved a plastic, sealable bag from Cindy’s kit and deposited the blood-soaked tissue into it.
“What is it?” Michael asked, as the three looked down at me.
I stood, placing the bag securely in my tactical vest pocket.
“Blood. Fresh. And, unless one of you was clumsy enough to trip into the desk in your panic, I think we’ve found our first clue.”
“Blood?! So, it’s human?”
“Not necessarily. But I’ll find out. The Crusaders have a lab just for this sort of thing. We’ll find out what it is, how it got in, and then where it’s got your key to government contracts.”
Michael nodded his head respectfully, disregarding my jab.
“If there’s anything else we can do to help with the investigation, please ask us.”
Cursed Earth (Kat Drummond Book 12) Page 6
