The Relic Guild (46 page)

Nim exhibited not the slightest surprise at the noise. The moment the Relic Guild agents were revealed, she screamed and lunged towards them.

The changeling ran to meet her.

They crashed together, and Clara wrapped her hands around Nim’s neck, holding the monster back as long teeth gnashed for her face and throat. Clara squeezed as hard as she could and throttled Nim as if trying to shake her head loose. The infected bounty hunter made no attempt to remove the hands around her neck but, with cold detachment in her dying eyes, her fists pounded viciously at Clara’s body. She was concerned only with fresh blood.

Doubt suddenly blemished Clara’s confidence.

And in that moment, she realised that she was nothing like as strong as she felt; that in her human form she could not use the power of the wolf, but the realisation came too late. Nim kicked her legs away, and together they tumbled to the hard and slimy floor.

Clara managed to keep hold of Nim’s neck, but she knew deep down that she was no longer fighting to win, to conquer; this was now a desperate struggle for her own survival, to keep herself from being infected. It was not a fight she was likely to win. What had she been thinking?

She searched inside herself, looking for the wolf. For the first time in her life, she begged it to come forwards with its fiery heat and instigate the metamorphosis. She pleaded with it to bring the strength and fury that would allow her existence to continue. But the wolf was not to be found. Clara tried calling for Marney, begging her to intervene and save her, as Marney had out in the Great Labyrinth. But the box of secrets was locked tight and unresponsive in her mind, as if the empath had turned her back on Clara.

The infected bounty hunter was on top of her now, and the strength in Clara’s arms was failing. A strangled scream broke from Nim’s mouth, spilling the warmth of diseased breath over Clara’s face. As Clara gritted her teeth against the urge to vomit, Nim grabbed her head, pulled it up, and smashed it down once, twice, against the stone floor.

Dark spots appeared before Clara’s vision, winking like tiny holes opening and closing upon the pale and infected face nearing hers. Nim was pulling her victim’s head towards her teeth. Dimly aware of the sound of Van Bam retching, Clara wondered with fleeting hope if he would recover in time to save her. But she knew he wouldn’t. Her strength was all but spent, the world was growing dim, and Nim’s hungry teeth were drawing closer and closer to her face.

Just when Clara was about to give up the fight, to succumb to the ravages of the Genii virus, there was a flash of violet and a low and hollow spitting sound. Nim’s head snapped sideways with a spray of blood and the weight of her body slipped away. Clara’s head thudded against the floor for a third time, and her mind spun into the void, where a ghostly blue light waited to engulf her.

Just as the pain receded to something less debilitating, and he was finally able to fill his lungs with a deep gulp of air, Van Bam heard the spitting sound of a handgun and instinctively lay flat. He looked up to see Samuel emerge from the tunnel. The old bounty hunter ignored him and stepped quickly over to Clara. He pulled her unconscious form away from Nim’s dead body, and then crouched down to check her over.

Van Bam manoeuvred himself into a sitting position and took several steadying gulps of air.

‘She’s breathing,’ Samuel said. ‘There’s a cut on the back of her head, but she hasn’t been bitten. Lucky.’ He growled in annoyance. ‘What in the Timewatcher’s name was she thinking of, Van Bam?’

‘Clara is experiencing a lapse in reason,’ Van Bam replied. He wiped vomit from his chin and recovered his green glass cane. As he got gingerly to his feet, he realised it had been a very long time since he had felt this relieved. A grin came to his face. ‘Quite the day,’ he remarked. ‘It is good to see you alive, old friend.’

‘Likewise,’ Samuel replied gruffly.

His clothes were damp, but the back of his coat was covered in scorch marks and his short, matted hair had been well and truly singed. Judging by his appearance, the slick grime on his face and clothes, Van Bam reasoned that Samuel had only avoided being burned to death in the fireball by taking a dip into sewage.

Still crouching beside the unconscious changeling, Samuel looked back at Van Bam. ‘Why didn’t you stop her?’

‘I tried, but …’ He sighed. ‘Samuel, Clara’s medicine no longer seems to be tempering her magic.’

‘You think she’s going to change?’

‘I do not know. She has become difficult to read. Unpredictable. It could be the wolf, or it might be connected to whatever Marney placed in her mind.’

Samuel was quiet for a moment, his shades calculating. ‘We’ll have to deal with that when the time comes,’ he said before walking to where Nim lay dead.

With his foot he rolled her body off the walkway and sent it splashing down into the river of wastewater.

Van Bam came alongside him. In the stillness of the sewers, with only the rush of water to break the silence, the two agents stared down at the remains of the golems, and the empty terracotta jar.

‘I saw him,’ Samuel said solemnly. ‘The Genii came after me. He had me cornered, Van Bam. I was a dead man.’

Van Bam frowned. ‘Yet here you are, alive and well.’

Samuel snorted and gestured to where the dead bounty hunter was sprawled face down in the filth beside the golem ruins. ‘Nim saved me, inadvertently. She watched her sister die, and, I suppose, went mad. She came back looking for revenge and attacked the Genii. Of course there was no real contest. While he fed on Nim’s blood, I made a run for it, and … and …’

He rubbed his forehead. ‘The Genii didn’t come after me again. I don’t think he’s down here anymore.’

Van Bam nodded. ‘He has probably gone to join his colleagues at the Nightshade.’ His gut tightened and his teeth clenched. ‘We have a new Resident. Her name is Hagi Tabet—’

‘I was scared, Van Bam,’ Samuel snapped. It was an angry confession, and his voice carried an uncustomary degree of uncertainty.

To Van Bam’s inner vision, Samuel’s colour became the dull hue of shame.

‘My awareness couldn’t detect the Genii,’ he continued. ‘I felt no danger in his presence. It wasn’t until I started a fireball that my magic reacted. I’ve never felt that lost before.’

‘I can empathise,’ Van Bam admitted. ‘Gideon no longer speaks to me. I cannot feel my home. The Genii most assuredly control the Nightshade.’

Samuel was quiet for a moment. ‘Do you know how they did it?’

Van Bam’s stony expression masked his sorrow. ‘Perhaps. If I were to guess, I would say Moor has just confirmed his reason for capturing Marney alive.’

Samuel swore under his breath. ‘What about Hamir?’

‘In all likelihood, he is dead.’

The two agents faced each other, and Van Bam clutched his cane tightly. His old friend was looking to him for leadership, guidance, some way out of this mess, but all he could do was avert his metallic eyes. A long moment passed before Van Bam could voice what they both already knew.

‘I am sorry, Samuel. Without the Nightshade, without Hamir’s help, there is nothing we can do. The Labyrinth is lost.’

‘That’s not true,’ a voice said dreamily.

Both men turned to face Clara. The young changeling stirred on the walkway. She yawned and stretched, as though coming out of a particularly satisfying nap.

‘Surely you remember, Van Bam?’ she murmured.

Van Bam shared a quick look with Samuel, and then moved to Clara’s side. He crouched and took her hand in his.

‘What, Clara?’ he said gently. ‘What should I remember?’

She sighed softly, but didn’t reply, and her eyes remained closed. Her colours swirled with hues far more peaceful than her earlier anger. But there was something else there, a subtle shade Van Bam hadn’t seen in the changeling before.

‘Clara, can you hear me?’

‘Of course I can hear you.’ Still, her eyes did not open. ‘Umm … you and Hamir. You did a thing, didn’t you?’

Again, Van Bam shared a quick look with Samuel. ‘What did we do, Clara? Tell me.’

‘No, it’s not about
what
you did!’ Clara huffed impatiently. ‘It’s where you did it that’s important.’

The old bounty hunter joined the illusionist at Clara’s side, utterly bemused.

‘What’s she talking about?’ Samuel said.

‘I am not sure,’ Van Bam replied. ‘She is not really awake, Samuel, but not asleep either.’

‘Concussion? She does have a head injury.’

‘Perhaps, though—’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my bloody head,’ Clara told them sternly. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her lids. ‘Look – it was a long time ago. Before you were Resident. Hamir went to the south side. You had to go with him.’

‘The south side?’ Van Bam pursed his lips as something distant jogged his memory. ‘Please, Clara, I need a little more than that.’

‘Oh, all right. At first you didn’t want to go with him, but then you were glad you did. You learned a … a
key difference
. Remember now?’

‘I think I do,’ Van Bam whispered. He looked at Samuel sharply. ‘She’s talking about the abandoned ore warehouse in the southern district. Do you remember, Samuel – when Fabian Moor was last here? Lady Amilee’s gift—’

‘Oh, I recall it very well, Van Bam,’ Samuel replied. ‘The question is, how could
she
know about it?’ He frowned heavily. ‘Marney knew, didn’t she?’

‘That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say,’ Clara chuckled. ‘The avatar told me, of course.’ Her chuckles died, her eyes snapped open, and she sat bolt upright. ‘I-I saw the avatar—
shit!
’ Wincing, Clara held the back of her head and swooned.

Van Bam was quick to help her maintain a sitting position. ‘Easy,’ he soothed. ‘Deep breaths.’

Clara blinked heavily several times as if to help the dizziness to pass. Her eyes wide with surprise and confusion, she looked up at the old bounty hunter looming over her.

‘Samuel. I thought you were dead.’

‘You’re not the only one,’ he said with a raised eyebrow.

She pulled a face. ‘You stink.’

‘When did you see the avatar, Clara?’

She winced in pain again. ‘Wait, wait, wait.’ She screwed her face up in thought. ‘No … yes … in a dream. I think.’

‘A dream?’ Samuel looked doubtfully at Van Bam. ‘I don’t want to start another argument, Van Bam, but do you still believe the avatar’s a portent? That it’s on our side?’ He gestured to their grim surroundings. ‘Events haven’t exactly unfolded in our favour, have they?’

‘True, but … hold on a moment, Samuel.’ Van Bam checked the shades of Clara’s face. She was shaken, a little disorientated, but definitely alert and conscious. ‘What else did the avatar tell you, Clara?’

‘You and Hamir, you went to a warehouse on the south side, and did –’ she waggled her hands in the air – ‘a
thing
.’

‘That is correct,’ Van Bam said patiently. ‘But you said it was the location that was special, not what we did.’

‘It’s confusing, Van Bam. I can’t, I can’t …’ She made a noise of frustration. ‘There’s something hidden underneath that warehouse. In the cellar. Something the avatar wants you to see.’

‘Could be a weapon,’ Samuel said, a spark of hope in his voice. ‘Maybe Hamir hid it there after last time.’

‘No. No, that’s not it,’ Clara said. ‘It’s something to do with the Nightshade – no, that’s not right, either. Is it?’ She swore and buried her face in her hands.

Van Bam could feel Samuel’s impatience, as if he was on the verge of shaking out the information from the changeling. Van Bam wasn’t far behind him. Clara had knowledge of things that she could not possibly know; her dealings with the avatar had to be real, however muddled her recollections. Whether the avatar could be trusted or not, the changeling had lit an ember of optimism at the end of a darkly pessimistic tunnel.

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.