The Relic Guild (22 page)

‘Spiral’s position in the war is
not as strong as he would like his enemies to
believe,’ she said. ‘Yet he remains well-hidden behind his
Aelfirian armies, and what clandestine plans he creates are difficult
to guess at. There have been rumours, however, snippets of
information that have reached the Thaumaturgists. We have feared for
a time now that a device like this artefact would
reach the Labyrinth.’

‘The virus was contained, my Lady,’ Denton
assured her. ‘It did not reach the streets of Labrys
Town.’

‘You misunderstand me, Master Denton.’ Her tawny eyes were
troubled. ‘Though it might have amused Spiral to do so
, the design of this artefact was not intended to spread
a plague among the denizens.’

Amilee stopped talking, long enough
for Marney to send Denton a questioning pulse of emotions
. Her mentor’s voice entered her head,
and it warned her to keep silent and not interrupt the Skywatcher’s thoughts.

With a sigh, Amilee reached out to the terracotta jar and set it spinning slowly in the air. ‘This artefact, such a small and simple looking thing, would have been easy to smuggle through the Timewatcher’s barrier that protects the Great Labyrinth. But to contain such powerful magic within it would have been far more difficult to achieve.’

There was a distant edge to the Skywatcher’s voice now, and it caused the hairs on the back of Marney’s neck to stand on end. It was as though she spoke only to herself, thinking aloud, contemplating some affirmation that was too terrible to air.

‘Forgive my ignorance, my Lady,’ said Denton, frowning. ‘If not to spread a virus, to eradicate the Labyrinth of humans, then what purpose does the artefact serve?’

Amilee’s gaze travelled slowly from one Relic Guild agent to the other before she said, ‘There is a high-ranking Genii among Spiral’s followers – a former Thaumaturgist by the name of Fabian Moor – and his hatred of humans is perhaps second only to his master’s. Moor is a vicious pragmatist. There is nothing he would not do to achieve Spiral’s wishes. This little jar stands as testament to his devotion, for it contained his essence.’

Marney didn’t know what that meant, but obviously Denton had some indication; his every emotion fell dead as he sealed them off from his protégé.

‘It is a terrible art that we Thaumaturgists are forbidden to practise, and with good reason,’ said Amilee. ‘To hide his essence in the artefact, Fabian Moor would have subjected himself to tortures I will not speak of. Needless to say, such an act would take a horrifying toll on his physical form upon reanimation.’

‘Reanimation?’ Denton whispered.

‘His body would be reduced to nothing more than ashes, waiting to be re-birthed into a half-life, where feeding on blood is the only way to ensure his survival. And his bite would carry the virus that you have already encountered.’

Amilee turned her gaze to Marney. It was angry. ‘Given that, and the fact the jar is now empty, I think it safe to assume that Fabian Moor was successfully reanimated, and Labrys Town has a Genii on the loose.’

Some of Marney’s emotions reawakened inside her then – they were mostly fearful.

‘Surely not,’ Denton said.

‘The evidence speaks for itself, Master Denton. We must assume that Fabian Moor’s mission is to discover a way to gain control of the Nightshade. Yet, as disturbing as this news is, it is, perhaps, not without an element of the fortuitous.’

‘My Lady?’

‘Moor is highly favoured among the Genii, Master Denton. He will have invaluable knowledge concerning Spiral’s plans. The Relic Guild must capture him – and alive.’

Denton was once again twisting his hat in his hands. ‘We cannot hope to stand against a creature of higher magic, my Lady. Not alone.’

‘Nor would I expect you to,’ Amilee said. ‘We Thaumaturgists may not be able to pass through the Timewatcher’s barrier, but that does not mean we cannot be of help. Before you return to the Labyrinth, I have something to give you – a gift for the Resident’s necromancer. Come.’

The Skywatcher strode past the Relic Guild agents heading for the door. Marney shared a serious and puzzled look with her mentor before they turned and followed.

Chapter Ten

Reanimation

Clara popped a little white pill into her mouth and chewed it to a bitter, chalky paste. Her tongue and gums tingled as she swallowed.

She stood in a corridor deep within the Nightshade, alongside Samuel and Van Bam. Together, in silence, the three agents looked through an observation window into an isolation room where Hamir laboured to keep Charlie Hemlock alive. The small necromancer had his work cut out for him as he tried to match his skills with a Genii’s; to save his patient’s life from the terminal magic Fabian Moor had cast upon him.

Despite the realities of what was undoubtedly the strangest and most frightening night of her life, Clara felt good. The aftermath of facing down the Orphan had left her exhilarated; venting her anger upon Hemlock in Hamir’s laboratory had given her an overwhelming sense of control. It was the first time in her young life she had tasted such power over another human being. Yes, Clara felt good – better than she could ever remember feeling – but also free. Did she have Marney to thank for that? Was that what the empath had imparted to her with a kiss: control – over herself and others?

In the isolation room, Charlie Hemlock lay naked upon a gurney, surrounded by purple mist that drifted like thin smoke inside a confinement chamber of clear, cylindrical glass. Hamir was also in the chamber. There was a small metal table at his side, upon which sharp looking surgical implements were laid. The necromancer had taken off his suit jacket, and rolled the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows. He wore a leather apron, reminding Clara of a butcher. As he pressed his hands to various areas of Hemlock’s body and head, his lips moved silently. Clara couldn’t decide if Hamir was speaking to himself or to his unconscious patient.

At that moment, the three Relic Guild agents were disturbed by the approach of one of Van Bam’s eyeless servants. With eerie grace, it moved towards them bearing a tray with three cups of coffee. As Clara took a cup, she was again struck by the near perfection of these creatures, their disconcerting beauty. Once Van Bam and Samuel had taken their drinks, the servant turned and walked away silently. Clara decided that it did not need thanking for the duty, and that it understood no other way than to serve.

She tried her coffee; it was hot and strong, though its flavour didn’t mix well with the aftertaste of her medicine.

‘I’ll tell you what I don’t understand,’ Samuel said after sipping his own drink. ‘What could Fabian Moor possibly gain by returning to the Labyrinth?’

‘I have been wondering about that myself,’ Van Bam replied.

Clara was suddenly aware that the intimidated young lady who had first met these two men was gone. She felt confident now, at ease in their presence, as though she had known them for years, not a handful of hours.

She said, ‘Hemlock reckons Moor wants to reopen the doorways of the Great Labyrinth.’

Samuel snorted. ‘Nothing Hemlock says and does can be trusted. You of all people should know that.’

Clara took another sip of coffee. ‘Maybe he’s telling the truth this time. Maybe Moor’s trying to contact the Aelfir.’

‘Unlikely, Clara,’ Van Bam said. ‘The doorways of the Great Labyrinth were not merely closed, they were removed entirely. All portals leading to the doorways from Labrys Town were destroyed, except for the portal outside the Nightshade – and
that
portal is unique, only going one way and connecting directly with … an
unknown location
. There are simply no channels left by which
anyone
could leave the Labyrinth. Yet, even if there were, contacting the Aelfir would not be a wise move on Fabian Moor’s part. There are no Houses left with loyalties to the Genii.’

Clara thought of the Retrospective, of the hundreds of thousands of renegade Aelfir trapped there, and she hid a shudder behind her cup.

‘That’s what I don’t understand,’ said Samuel. ‘Spiral is long gone, imprisoned to Oldest Place. The rest of the Genii are dead. Fabian Moor is the last of his kind, with no way of making allies, Aelfirian or otherwise. He’s as abandoned as the rest of us. There’s nothing he can accomplish by returning to the Labyrinth.’

‘Or so it would seem,’ Van Bam said.

With the Resident’s statement hanging in the air, the three agents fell quiet and continued watching Hamir work through the observation window.

The necromancer was now touching foreheads with Charlie Hemlock. The purple mist inside the glass chamber had darkened slightly, swirling as if a light breeze had been conjured.

Clara didn’t want to guess at what kind of magic Hamir was performing. She drank more of her coffee, her thoughts dredging up some of the unsavoury characters she had met during her time at the Lazy House.

A few of her clients had been angry at the way life was. All of them were older men who remembered the Labyrinth before the Genii War. But their anger was as directionless as it was anarchic. It was as if all they wanted was to watch Labrys Town burn. There was no rhyme or reason for their anger, and they had long forgotten who it was they were angry at. It sometimes seemed to Clara they no longer had a motive for existence, and that the only solution for their inchoate state was the ending of life, theirs and everyone else’s.

‘Perhaps he wants revenge,’ she found herself saying. The older agents looked at her, and she shrugged. ‘If Moor really has nothing left to lose, maybe he has a death wish. And maybe he wants the satisfaction of taking the denizens with him.’

It was Van Bam who answered, and Clara was pleased to see by his expression that he had given her suggestion serious consideration.

‘If Fabian Moor desires revenge for the outcome of the Genii War, he would certainly place the denizens high on his list, perhaps most especially the agents of the Relic Guild.’ The tone of his voice matched his expression. ‘But if it were so, the entire town would already be alerted to his wrath.’

Samuel nodded. ‘There’s a reason why he’s sneaking around. If he was only interested in settling old scores, he would have killed Marney out in the Great Labyrinth last night, not captured her.’ He looked down into his cup and swore softly, clearly frustrated. ‘And right there is another question – what does Moor want with Marney?’

‘If you remember, Samuel,’ said Van Bam, ‘the last time Fabian Moor was here he believed the agents of the Relic Guild could reveal secret ways to enter the Nightshade.’

‘I remember all too well, Van Bam,’ Samuel said darkly. ‘But there isn’t any truth to his belief. I mean – if he couldn’t do it then, he can’t do it now, can he?’

Van Bam was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Let us hope we can rescue Marney before we find out.’

Startled by the sound of Hamir clearing his throat, Clara almost spilt her coffee. The necromancer had left the glass confinement chamber and was now standing on the other side of the observation window, his hands clasped behind his back.

‘Excuse the interruption,’ he said. ‘I thought you might like to know I have managed to converse a little with Hemlock’s consciousness.’ His voice, as soft and genial as ever, came through the glass as clear as if he stood in the corridor.

‘What has he told you, Hamir?’ Van Bam said.

‘Hemlock claims Fabian Moor is searching Labrys Town for something. It might be a specific item, but at this time, I am unable to discover much detail.’

‘What about Marney?’ Samuel asked. ‘Could you get anything on her?’

‘Nothing at all,’ Hamir replied. ‘To the best of my skills, I cannot force anything more from Hemlock in his current state. The Genii has placed a secrecy spell upon him. If I push for further information, the spell will kill him.’

‘Clever,’ mused Van Bam.

‘And frustratingly simple,’ Hamir replied. ‘The spell only needs to be removed and Hemlock can divulge more than you already know. However, doing so will be complicated.’

The necromancer stopped speaking, and Van Bam tapped his green glass cane impatiently against the floor.

‘But can it be done, Hamir?’

‘I believe so. My initial assumption regarding Hemlock’s condition was correct. The spell has indeed been cast around his heart, and, by interrogating him, we have activated it. The magic is incinerating him from the inside out. I have managed to dull the process, and so long as I don’t push him too far my intervention will remain effective. But this only serves to slow the inevitable, Van Bam. Eventually, if nothing else is done, all that will remain of this man will be ashes.’

Hamir pursed his lips in thought. ‘As far as I can tell, the only way to remove the spell is to also remove Hemlock’s heart.’

‘Undoubtedly killing him in the process,’ Van Bam said.

‘As you say.’ On the other side of the glass, the necromancer made the slightest of movements that might have been a shrug. ‘But his corpse will otherwise remain intact, and a corpse can still be questioned, yes?’

Clara’s thoughts darkened as she remembered what Hamir had done to Fat Jacob.

‘We don’t have any choice,’ Samuel said coldly. ‘We need to learn everything Hemlock knows, and it’s not as if anyone will mourn his passing.’

Clara looked to Van Bam, hoping that he might come up with some method to gain information other than ending a man’s life, even if that man was a bastard like Charlie Hemlock. But the Resident’s attention was elsewhere. He had his head cocked to one side, as Clara had often seen him do, as if he was listening to something that was beyond even a changeling’s heightened hearing.

A few moments of silence passed.

‘Van Bam?’ she said softly.

The Resident straightened his head with a snappish movement as though suddenly remembering where he was. ‘How long will it take, Hamir?’

Hamir looked back at his patient in the cylindrical chamber. ‘Quite a while, I’m afraid,’ he said, facing forwards again. ‘We are dealing with the magic of a Genii and must approach with all caution. But, if I begin immediately, the heart can be removed from Hemlock before the spell consumes him wholly.’

‘Then do it, Hamir,’ Van Bam ordered, and something sank inside Clara. ‘We will await your word.’

‘As you wish,’ the necromancer replied.

The observation window darkened to
a black rectangle on the corridor wall.

Far to the
east, on the very outskirts of Labrys Town, there was
a place to which lost souls were banished – a house
that tried to cure social blemishes, an asylum which kept
mental sickness hidden away from the outside world. And in
the bowels of this asylum, deep down in the vaults,
were the cells inhabited by those souls perhaps most lost
of all: the irrevocably mad, the criminally insane.

In one
cold and damp cell, a nameless inmate sat upon the
bare mattress of his bunk, secured by an old and
stained straitjacket. He tapped his feet on the grey stone
floor, grinning excitedly at the black square that had appeared
on the wall opposite his bed. The square expanded, and
the inmate began praying that it would continue growing until
it was big enough to swallow Labrys Town entirely.

Fabian
Moor saw and heard the madman before the portal grew
wide and tall enough for him to step through. As
it shrank and disappeared behind him, he gazed around the
cell. Of course, this deep in the asylum there were
no windows. The door was metal, with a small viewing
hatch, and painted as grey as the stone of the
walls. A caged ceiling prism gave off a low level
light.

The inmate no longer seemed excited, but was frowning
in thought. There were bruises on his face; his hair
grew in patches on his scalp. Moor supposed the reason
for the straitjacket was because this man was as much
a danger to himself as he was to others. His
madness was clear to see in his wandering eyes.

‘Fitting,’
Moor said.

The inmate licked his dry and cracked lips. ‘
Are you real?’ he croaked.

‘Mostly.’

The inmate leant forward,
dropping his voice to a hushed tone. ‘They say I’
m dangerous, you know.’

‘Perhaps
they
are right.’

The madman
seemed pleased with this answer, and Moor turned his back
on him.

The trail of magic that had led Moor
to this cell in the asylum was as strong as
that which had led him to the sewers. He crouched
and laid his hand upon the hard cell floor, nodding
satisfactorily as he felt the source of the magic warm
and alive beneath the cold stone.

‘If you release me,
I promise I won’t bother no one,’ the inmate
said, and his arms pulled uselessly against the straitjacket.

‘I’
m sure that’s true.’ Moor gave him a frosty
smile. ‘But wouldn’t you like to learn my secrets
first?’

Bloodshot eyes glinted. ‘Will they set me free?’

‘Undoubtedly.
Observe …’

With his hand still pressed to the floor, Moor
whispered words not heard in Labrys Town for decades. His
pale skin glowed with a reddish radiance, and the stone
beneath his hand began to bubble and rise.

‘Magic,’ the
inmate said. He chuckled and gave a madman’s grin,
revealing missing teeth. ‘I know who you are. You’re
a Thaumaturgist, just like in the old stories.’

‘Yes, I
was once.’ Molten stone rose, spewing and steaming to form
a small circle around Moor’s arm as he pushed
his hand deeper into the floor. ‘But I much prefer
the term Genii,’ he grunted.