The Relic Guild (33 page)

Throughout her dialogue, Namji’s manner had remained respectful, humble, almost timid, but something in the way she had said the Governor of Mirage’s name didn’t sit right to Marney. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was almost as if the name was awkward for Namji to say.

Denton sighed. ‘Mistress Namji, Ambassador Ebril, make no mistake – the artefact was in every way connected to Spiral.’ His voice was leaden. ‘And Ursa was undoubtedly responsible for arranging its passage into the Labyrinth.’

Ebril, having exchanged a lengthy look with his daughter, rubbed his impressive beard as he turned to Denton. ‘Am I to take it the Thaumaturgists have been made aware of your findings?’

‘Naturally.’

Ebril leant across the table. ‘And the evidence is irrefutable, you say?’

‘Ambassador …’ Denton also leant forwards and brought their faces even closer. ‘You said earlier that we were not to be coy with each other. Perhaps now is the time for genuine candour?’

They continued to stare at each other for a long moment, their expressions intensifying. At first, Marney was bemused by their postures, but then, by the way Ebril’s old features twitched, it dawned on her that he and Denton were conversing mentally, and it was a conversation she was not to be a part of.

She realised Namji was staring at her.

‘Troubling times,’ the Aelf said, without exhibiting one inch of concern.

Marney nodded, disturbed by how naturally the Ambassador’s daughter had slipped back into the appearance of an innocent young girl.

‘You are not the first Relic Guild agent Master Denton has brought to see my father,’ she said lightly.

‘I’m sure I’m not,’ Marney replied evenly.

‘I observe all the meetings, you know – while hiding in the wings, as it were. There is no deceit in this, you understand. Watching and listening is part of my training. As it is yours, I suspect.’ Her smile was perfectly friendly. ‘I have to say, the other agents I’ve observed were never so open in their naivety as you, Mistress Marney. I really can’t tell if you’re being genuine or not.’

Marney frowned. ‘I’m just doing my job.’

‘Yes, as ordered by the Resident. It’s a shame, I think, that Gideon didn’t send Van Bam this time.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Van Bam. He is strong yet kind. His voice is like music to the ears.’

For a brief instant, Marney felt a wave of girlish desire coming from Namji, and she had to put a lid on her rising jealousy.

Her voice remaining soft and friendly, Namji added, ‘If he were here today, I would ask Van Bam to stay a while. I imagine he is such pleasant company.’

Marney stared at Namji’s innocent expression, not knowing what to say and do except quash the impulse to lean across the table and slap her young Aelfirian face. They remained staring at each other until Denton and Ebril broke off their mental conversation.

‘Thank you for your time, Ambassador,’ Denton said, groaning as he struggled to his feet. ‘I will speak with Gideon and do all I can to help you.’

‘As always, you have my gratitude, Master Denton. We will await the Resident’s word.’

With a nod to Marney, Denton indicated that it was time to leave. Marney rose from the cushions, scowled at Namji’s smile, gave a nod to Ebril, and then followed the old empath out of the room.

The servant was waiting to escort them out of the house.

Well, that was different
, Denton thought as he and Marney made their way up the long driveway.

You’re telling me
, Marney replied.
What in the Timewatcher’
s name just happened in there, Denton?

Something encouraging, if
not mysterious. Ursa was most certainly not acting under Ebril’
s orders. The Ambassador is genuinely clueless about the current
situation in his homeland. In that, at least, Namji was
telling the truth.

I really don’t like her.
Marney couldn’t hide the anger in her thoughts.

I don’
t think she likes you much either.
Denton replied.
Now
hide yourself.

The two empaths emoted cloaks of concealment. Passing through the gates and the police detachment, they headed back up the street beneath glorious sunshine.

‘Ebril opened himself to me, Marney. It’s the first time I’ve ever known him to do it. So I decided to trust him. I told him the truth about the terracotta jar and Fabian Moor, and of the Icicle Forest. Ebril says he wants to help, but …’ Denton’s face was creased by thought. ‘Well, let’s just say I hope my trust is not misplaced. We need to talk to Gideon.’

The old empath led Marney over to an eye sitting atop a pedestal that was partially concealed by the shadows of a tree with boughs full of leaves. Taking a deep breath, he laid his hand on the head-sized sphere of milky fluid.

If a denizen touched an eye, it would connect them to the police headquarters building in the central district, where they would be able to report any emergency. However, if a magicker of the Relic Guild touched an eye, it connected them directly with the Nightshade.

Almost instantly, a projection of the Resident appeared before the two agents. His image fizzed. He ignored Marney and looked straight to Denton.

‘Well?’ he said abruptly. His voice crackled.

‘Ebril knows the truth,’ Denton replied. ‘He and the rest of his household are innocent, but he is convinced that Ursa could not have done this on his own.’

Gideon sneered cruelly. ‘He believes Mirage is controlled by the Genii? That Ursa was planted in the Labrys Town before the war began?’

‘Not exactly, but it’s complicated, Gideon,’ Denton raised his hands in a placating gesture, as if already sensing how the Resident would react to his next words. ‘Ebril has asked to speak to you in person.’

‘Why? If he’s useless to our inquiry now, then he can stay under house arrest until the war is over.’

‘Don’t be so quick,’ Denton said. ‘He told me that Mirage was having some internal conflicts before the war began. A delicate political situation, he called it. He wouldn’t tell me what exactly, but he’s convinced Ursa’s actions are connected. Ebril will reveal more, but only to you, and I think you should listen to him, Gideon.’

The Resident was quiet for a moment and his image fizzed again.

‘Then you had better invite the Ambassador to the Nightshade,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ll send my personal tram to collect you both. As for your
pupil
, I have an address for a surgery in the northern district. Send her to it. Angel needs her help.’

Deep in the southern district, amidst a two square mile landscape of storage warehouses, Van Bam sat upon a packing crate inside an old ore warehouse that most denizens believed to be disused and abandoned – if they even remembered it was there at all. Hamir had moved to this location a little before dawn. Van Bam had felt intrigued at first, fascinated, perhaps a little excited to act as Hamir’s apprentice. But now the illusionist felt imperially bored.

It wasn’t that Hamir was unpleasant company – though the necromancer could stand to use a few lessons on the art of conversation – but he needed no help. There was really nothing for Van Bam to do, except watch. Even then, there wasn’t much for him to see.

With his jacket removed and his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, Hamir sat cross-legged in the middle of the dusty warehouse floor. He had three items with him. One was a sackcloth bag, the contents of which he had not revealed. The other two were the gifts from Lady Amilee: a large and sealed metal box around four-feet square, and the thin leather-bound book in Hamir’s hands. His expression was perfectly focused as he read through the pages. It was as if he was altogether unaware of Van Bam’s presence.

To amuse himself, Van Bam had taken to casting illusions. He created a miniature of the horse he had once learnt to ride during a visit to an Aelfirian House. The beast was cast with as much detail as he could remember: a grey mare with black stockings, tail and mane. The illusion snorted and shook its head as it ran on the floor before Van Bam, jumping over his green glass cane. He smiled as he watched it, recalling the exhilaration he had felt when man and beast had galloped across a landscape of open fields and freedom, the wind whipping at their faces. It seemed so long ago now. Would such a time ever come again? Would he and Marney ever get to travel the Aelfirian Houses together?

His thoughts lingering on his lover, Van Bam felt a pang of irritation. He so longed to spend some time with Marney, even just one private hour. He needed that to assure himself that she had adapted to her experiences with Lady Amilee. Instead, here he was, useless and bored, and all on the whim of the Resident.

It was pointless trying to question Gideon’s orders, or fathom his reasoning. He enjoyed keeping his agents on edge – seemed to revel most especially in needling Samuel – but why order Van Bam to help Hamir when he so clearly required none? There were any number of useful duties the illusionist could have been performing at this time. If there really was nothing for him to do, he could have seized the opportunity to be alone with … And there it was, the reason he’d been sent to this warehouse: Marney.

The illusion of the little horse shook its head and kicked out with its forelegs as Van Bam gritted his teeth.

Did Gideon know about him and Marney? Did he disapprove? Going out of his way to keep them apart was exactly the kind of tactic he would employ if that was the case. But was he doing it because he wanted them to understand that duty always came first, or did he plan to end their romantic involvement altogether?

The horse gave a shrill whinny and began running around wildly.

Hamir cleared his throat and Van Bam stared at him. The necromancer stared back with a raised eyebrow.

‘As pleasing to the eye as your illusions are,’ he said, ‘might I suggest some other activity to occupy your time? A book from the library, perhaps?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Your little horse, Van Bam. Beautiful, but very distracting.’

Van Bam gave Hamir a sour look. With a final whinny, the horse disappeared in a swirl of green mist. ‘Better?’

‘Ah, I have offended you.’

Van Bam sighed. ‘No. I am just trying to decide why Gideon wanted me here at all.’

‘So am I, to be frank,’ Hamir replied. ‘But the Resident’s wish is our command, yes?’ A strange expression came to his face then, something the illusionist couldn’t decipher. ‘And to think,’ Hamir said, almost to himself, ‘one day a new Resident will have to tolerate Gideon’s voice in his head.’

Van Bam shivered. ‘It does not bear thinking about.’

‘No, it really doesn’t, does it?’

Van Bam tried to chuckle, but the way the necromancer looked him up and down checked it in his throat.

Hamir was quiet, contemplative, for a moment. ‘There might be something you can help me with – but until I think of what it could be, please let me concentrate.’ And he returned to the book.

Frowning deeply, Van Bam reclined on the packing crate and leant his back against the warehouse wall. For some reason Hamir’s words concerning Gideon disturbed him, and made him recall a conversation he had once had with Gene, some years before.

Van Bam had been curious to know what Gideon had been like before he became Resident, when he was just another agent of the Relic Guild. Back then, the Resident had been a telepath called Sophia. She had been a tough governor, by all accounts, harsh but fair in her rule of Labrys Town. But as tough as Sophia was, even she had difficulty controlling Gideon. He was, according to Gene, the most powerful magicker ever known to join the Relic Guild … and the most unstable.

Magic had given Gideon a terrible gift that left a strain on his mental condition. It was reckoned that one of his relatives – probably a great-grandfather or grandmother – had belonged to a mysterious race known as the Nephilim. The Nephilim were unique among the Aelfir, nomadic giants with no House as such to call their own. They roamed wherever they would across the realms. Nobody knew where they came from. According to rumours, they had simply appeared around the time of the Labyrinth’s creation. The other Aelfirian Houses left them well alone, and no one dared stand in their way. Although the Nephilim had no interest in commerce or sharing cultures, and they were not known for their aggression, they were greatly feared. For they were blood-magickers.

Gideon’s physical appearance gave no sign of his heritage, but his magic was in every way connected with the Nephilim, or so Gene claimed. Van Bam had pressed the old apothecary for more details, but he had refused to relate what he had seen Gideon do with his magic. However, he had revealed that Gideon’s body and limbs were covered with hundreds of scars; that he liked to cut himself – to use his own blood to do terrible things to criminals and treasure hunters. Sophia had been forced to watch him closely at all times.

Van Bam and Marney were the only two Relic Guild agents who hadn’t served under Sophia. She had remained the Resident until the day she died of old age in her nineties. Gene told Van Bam that he would never understand why the magic of the Nightshade chose Gideon to replace her, especially when Denton would have been a much more logical choice. It had been hoped by all the agents that when Sophia became Gideon’s spirit guide, her ghost would temper his sociopathic ways. But, if anything, the presence of Sophia’s voice in his head had made Gideon more intolerant and hard to fathom.

The Resident orchestrated the movements of the Relic Guild, but was very rarely seen outside the Nightshade. Gene said that the only good thing to come from Gideon attaining the Residency was that it kept him off the streets. However, Van Bam
could
understand why the Nightshade had chosen him over someone like Denton to replace Sophia. Although Denton never shied from the grittier side of the Relic Guild’s work, he was at heart a kind man whose strength lay in his wisdom. Van Bam was loath to admit it, but the old empath did not have the bite or harshness of character to be a good governor of Labrys Town. Perhaps Gideon had too much.