The Relic Guild (29 page)

‘Denton—’

‘And if you are wrong, Gideon, it will carry ramifications for us all. Please, let me talk to Ambassador Ebril.’

If any other member of the Relic Guild had spoken to the Resident so boldly, the retort would have been like verbal fire. As it was, even Gideon respected the honest and dependable wisdom of the old empath. Judging by the way Gideon’s eyes were moving from side to side, Marney reasoned that so did Sophia.

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ the Resident said, nodding. It was unclear whether he was talking to Denton or the ghost in his head. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop again. ‘I’m going to send a message to Ebril – tonight – requesting an audience with him in the morning.’ The unconvincing smile returned to his gaunt face. ‘But I won’t tell him the reason why, and I’ll order the police to watch his house. Let’s make him twitchy and see if he does anything suspicious during the night.’

Denton gave an approving nod.

‘Come the morning,’ Gideon continued, ‘you will go to the ambassador’s home and find out what you can.’

‘How much should I tell him?’ Denton asked. ‘I’m not sure the wild demon story is strictly applicable in this instance.’

‘Hmm, good point. Use your judgement.’

‘I’ll be discreet.’

Gideon gave a decisive nod. ‘Then it’s settled. And you might as well take your
pupil
with you.’

Marney wasn’t offended by the ‘pupil’ tag; she supposed it made a nice change to be acknowledged at all.

‘I’d like to take Van Bam, too,’ Denton said. ‘Aelfirian ambassadors are trained to hide what they are feeling and thinking. Van Bam’s talent for reading expressions will come in handy.’

Marney liked the sound of that, but Gideon’s next words drove away the smile she had been struggling to hide.

‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘I want that maudlin idiot helping Hamir.’ He seemed pleased with his decision as he rose from his chair. ‘You have your orders. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with our miserable sharpshooter. There’s a loose end I want Samuel to kill.’

The dead of night often saw the dregs of Labrys Town riding the trams. Vagrants with nowhere else to sleep except the cold cobbles of back alleys used the last of the pennies scrounged from the day to pay for the warmth of a carriage. Denizens who should know better met to conduct dubious business away from the watchful eye devices on the streets. And someone with a troubled mind might ride the trams in the late hours, thinking of ways in which their burdens could be eased.

A man sat at the head of the carriage, behind the driver’s compartment. He fidgeted nervously, as if impatient to reach his destination. Behind him, two vagrants were slumped in their seats, unconscious from cheap alcohol, filling the tram with the reek of rarely washed bodies. The man paid them no mind. Perhaps he was unconcerned by their presence, perhaps he was absorbed in his troubled thoughts. He was most definitely oblivious to the lone passenger in a long brown coat who sat in dim light at the back of the carriage, watching him.

Given the option, Samuel always preferred to travel on foot, under the cover of darkness where he could prowl in the shadows and no one would notice the rifle on his back. Never would he choose to travel via public transport. But if the Relic Guild had taught him anything, it was how to be a pragmatist. He didn’t know his final destination, but he hoped the tram would reach it soon; the stink in the carriage was palpable, and he longed to be outside where Silver Moon promised fresher, cleaner air.

For now, he settled back in his seat, patient and thoughtful as he kept the man at the front under surveillance.

The private meeting with Gideon had been as acerbic and hostile as Samuel expected, but at least it had been brief. The other agents of the Relic Guild were well used to his and the Resident’s mutual hatred. He supposed his colleagues must consider them both misanthropes in their own ways. But things hadn’t always been like that for Samuel; he hadn’t always been such a taciturn man.

There had been a time when he relished the perks of his job, and no perk had come bigger than the trips he took to the Houses of the Aelfir. He regarded the trips as reward for his hard work, escape from the stifling confines of this town. For the first time in his life, Samuel had discovered a genuine sense of joy and wonder amidst the Aelfir; he had found pleasure in their cultures for many years. But when the war stopped those trips, something was crushed inside him; and he recalled the day the portals were closed as the most grim of his many unpleasant memories.

Just over two years ago, during the early morning, Gideon had summoned his agents to an emergency meeting at the Nightshade. Everyone had thought it was just another day, another stolen artefact that needed recovering. But this time a message had been sent from Lady Amilee. Something terrible had happened.

One of the largest Aelfirian Houses was a realm called the Falls of Dust and Silver. It was a trading post that connected to five smaller Houses. A band of renegade Thaumaturgists had taken control of this House, and in the process they had murdered one of Amilee’s fellow Skywatchers, a creature of higher magic called Lord Wolfe. It had been Spiral’s first strike against the Timewatcher.

The royal family of the Falls of Dust and Silver openly supported Spiral and his act of murder, claiming that it was high time a new regime watched over the realms. Before anyone could intervene or retaliate, the five connecting Houses had been invaded. Thousands of Aelfir died, but most were subjugated. By the time word of the atrocities reached the Relic Guild, Spiral was already leading an army a hundred thousand strong. And many other Houses were declaring their loyalties to the Lord of the Genii. The Nightshade and the Labyrinth were ordered to cease communications with the Aelfir, and Samuel had not stepped beyond Labrys Town’s boundary walls from that day to this.

The tram began to slow in the eastern district. The man Samuel was watching ceased fidgeting and was ready to disembark before the driver had brought them to a full stop. Samuel followed him onto the street outside.

The man had pulled his coat tightly around him and his face was down-turned as he headed up the street at a pace. To the untrained eye, he might have seemed like any other denizen hurrying to be somewhere warmer; but Samuel knew differently, and his magic stirred, warning him that the man was undoubtedly armed. The brightly lit shop signs and violet glow of streetlamps banished any shadows in which Samuel might conceal his presence. If the man glanced back, he would easily see the Relic Guild agent tracking him.

Samuel allowed some distance to grow between them before continuing to follow.

When the man reached a T-junction, he did indeed look back. But Samuel had pre-empted this. His instincts told him the man would turn left, so he crossed the street as if his direction lay down the right turn. He didn’t need to look back to know his quarry had bought the deceit; and by the time he doubled-back and resumed the hunt, the man had entered a narrow lane where the shadows were dark and the shop doorways were deep.

After a short time, the man turned into another lane and disappeared from view. Guided by the gentle pulses of his prescient awareness, Samuel crept up to the corner and peeked around – he was just in time to see his quarry enter a small tavern.

With discretion, Samuel moved forwards and peered through the grimy window. The man had taken a seat at the bar. He ordered a drink from the landlady. There were a few other customers inside, but no one approached the newcomer. The landlady brought him a shot glass filled with a dark spirit. He downed it in one, and then ordered a second, which he sipped slowly.

This wasn’t right. The tavern didn’t feel like the man’s destination. He was brooding over his second drink, and Samuel reasoned he had only stopped at this place to sip some courage before moving on.

Stepping away from the window, Samuel made his way back to the corner of the lane, content to wait until the man made his next move.

In over two years, the war with Spiral had never truly touched the Labyrinth. So little news filtered through, and, of course, none of the fighting was seen. If not for the isolation and rationing, there would have been no evidence to suggest the war was taking place at all; as if it were a myth, a lie or tall tale fed to the denizens. Fabian Moor’s arrival was the stinging slap that dispelled any doubt.

Samuel fully understood just how daunting a task it would be to hunt down a Genii, to capture him alive. Yet he had faith that Lady Amilee’s secret gift would see the Relic Guild through. Even so, he knew he should’ve felt afraid of Fabian Moor, angry at him at the very least. But he didn’t. In truth, Samuel had no feelings about the Genii one way or the other. Oh, there was anger and fear inside him, sure enough; an ever deepening resentment at the way every spark of light in his life had been dampened to sour darkness. It surpassed even his loathing of Gideon. He had an irrational, visceral need to blame someone for the war. And that someone was a Skywatcher named Lord Wolfe. His death had been the crack that fractured a perfect equilibrium, and Samuel hated him for it.

The tavern door opened, and the man stepped out into the lane. Samuel ducked back. When he looked again the man had pulled up the collar of his coat and was walking away from him. Samuel stuck to the shadows as he tracked his steps.

The cramped side lanes soon led out into a park area, where a chapel of the Timewatcher sat beside a graveyard. On the other side of the graveyard was a small and rundown house. The man headed straight to it, casting a nervous glance around him before entering through the front door.

The house was dark as Samuel approached. It was clearly abandoned, and its door was open and hanging on one hinge. Through the doorway he could see a dim light shining from somewhere within. Samuel’s quarry cast a silhouette as he followed a short hallway, and disappeared to the right. Samuel drew his revolver and stepped inside.

The musty smell of age and desertion assaulted his nostrils as he crept down the hallway. His prescient awareness ticked inside him, and when he reached the point where the man had turned, it flashed a warning that he must wait.

Taking a furtive glance around the corner, Samuel saw the man was standing in the doorway of a well-lit kitchen. Whatever the man was looking at had worried him enough to make him draw a pistol.

Samuel froze. Something moved in the shadows of a darkened doorway in the hallway. An instant later, a small figure emerged, stepped up behind the man and pressed fingers against his neck. The man gave a quick cry of surprise, dropped his pistol, and then crumpled to the floor.

Samuel prescient awareness evaporated. With a frown, he holstered his revolver and stepped into the open.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

Startled, Gene turned and blinked rapidly through his round spectacle lenses. ‘Samuel?’

‘Gene, what’s going on?’

Composing himself, the apothecary shook his head. ‘We’ll deal with that in a minute.’ He gestured to the unconscious man on the floor. ‘Help me move him, will you?’

They carried the man into the kitchen, where Samuel was surprised to discover a second unconscious person – a policewoman in uniform – sitting at a small dining table with her hands tied to the back of her chair. Once the man was placed into the chair opposite her, Samuel set about securing his hands. The kitchen light revealed a man much younger than Samuel had first thought, younger than himself. The policewoman looked to be in her middle years.

Gene stood to one side and took an empty phial from his coat pocket. ‘I assume Gideon told you to follow this man?’ he said, popping the cork from the phial. ‘To see who he was meeting?’

Samuel grunted an affirmation. ‘Gideon showed him to me through the eyes. But I’ve no idea who he is.’

Gene sighed. ‘His name’s Lansdale. She’s Hope. They’re both police constables of no particular note – not that I suppose it matters. Did Gideon at least tell you their crimes?’

Samuel nodded as he finished tying the policeman’s hands to the back of the chair. He stood up, feeling irritated. ‘But he didn’t tell me you were on this one too.’

‘No. Well … you know what our leader is like, Samuel. Why do things the easy way when he can have his fun? I have to say I’m glad you’re here, nonetheless. I’m not really comfortable with this kind of work.’

Samuel swallowed his resentment. This was so typical of Gideon, to assign two of his agents to the same mission without informing one of the other’s involvement. It was his haphazard and spiteful way of sending a message of admonishment. The Resident was telling Samuel to be less keen in his desire to work alone. And Gene was being warned that he could not always stand back while the other agents got blood on their hands.

But where Samuel was used to Gideon’s little games, and could adapt to them, Gene found them hard. Never having been blessed with a brave heart, he had earned himself the reputation of a quiet coward. Not that Gene didn’t serve the Relic Guild well; but even the thought of a situation like this would terrify him … and amuse Gideon deeply.

Samuel was rarely troubled by compassion, but when he saw the lines of age and concern on Gene’s face, the way his eyes avoided the unconscious police officers slumped at the dining table, he felt sorry for the old apothecary.

‘Why don’t you head off?’ he told him. ‘I can take things from here.’

‘It’s a thoughtful offer, Samuel, but no.’ Gene attempted a smile. ‘I might be old and weak, but I’m still a professional. I’ll see this job through to the end.’

Despite Gene’s defiant claim, Samuel thought it more likely that he was staying because he was afraid of Gideon; and Gideon had probably given him strict instructions to remain until the end, no matter what.

He mentioned nothing of this to Gene and watched as his colleague held the phial steady in one hand, while poising the index finger of his free hand above the uncorked opening.

The apothecary’s face was now a mask of concentration. He squeezed his finger with a thumb. After a moment, clear fluid began to drip from his fingertip into the phial.