The Relic Guild (7 page)

Clara kept her distance. The thing did not move, just stood before her, motionless. Its expression was impassive, but Clara knew that somehow it could see her, even though it had no eyes.

Hamir took her arm. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ he said as he steered her around the creature.

‘What is it?’ she whispered.

‘An aspect – one of the Resident’s servants. It cannot harm you. Come.’

Hamir continued into the corridor beyond the antechamber, and Clara looked over her shoulder as she followed. The servant had turned, as if to
watch
her leave. With a shiver, Clara kept pace with the elderly aide.

By the time they reached their destination, they had taken so many twists and turns it would have been impossible for Clara to retrace her steps back to the room she had woken up in. The Nightshade, it seemed, was every bit as complex as the deep maze of the Great Labyrinth itself. They reached a dead end, and Hamir pressed one of the mazes on the wall. It depressed with a click. Again the outline of a door materialised, and it swung inwards. Still gracious, still kindly, the old man led Clara into a room. The door closed and disappeared.

She took a few steps forward. Hamir stood close behind her.

If the Nightshade had thus far been a pleasant surprise for Clara, then this room revived her original concerns.

The only light source came from a glow lamp sitting on a desk where papers and books lay strewn. The edges of the room were steeped in darkness. Upon a long workbench sat implements for experimentation, strange looking things made of wires and tubes that passed fluids from one bell jar to another. There were magnifying glasses, and contraptions of sharp, twisted metal. Above the bench, shelves were filled with bottles and jars, the contents hidden in the gloomy light.

There was a smell in the room, a smell Clara did not care for.

She noticed her medicine tin sitting on the desk like a paperweight.

‘This is my laboratory,’ Hamir said. ‘And there is someone here I believe you know.’

At the back of the room, a ceiling prism glared into life and shone down onto a square glass tank. It was no more than four-foot high, wide and deep, filled from top to bottom with murky water. The naked body of a man was trapped in the water. Twisted and contorted, his fat was pressed up against the walls of the tank. His face, unshaven and flabby, stared out at Clara, cross-eyed and vacant, his nose flattened against the glass. It was a face she knew all too well.

‘Fat Jacob,’ she whispered.

Hamir cleared his throat. ‘If you have any lingering doubts as to who sold you to Charlie Hemlock, Clara, then you need not doubt any longer.’

Clara’s hands began to tremble. ‘Why are you showing me this?’

Hamir brushed past her to stand before the tank and spoke with his back to her.

‘I have been trying to ascertain who Charlie Hemlock is working for,’ he said. ‘Who is it, Clara, that purchased you from your former employer?’

Clara swallowed, shook her head, but made no reply.

Hamir continued. ‘Unfortunately, Jacob here also says he does not know who employed Charlie Hemlock. However, he has told me an interesting story about a spectre. Jacob claims he was recently visited by a ghost made of blue light, and this ghost told him that you were …
special
, shall we say?’

Special? Did Hamir know she was a changeling?

‘Does that mean anything to you, Clara? Have you seen any ghosts lately?’

What was he talking about? ‘No,’ she said, but it sounded more like a grunt.

‘Ah, then the mystery remains.’

In the tank, Fat Jacob suddenly flinched and his eyes gained focus. He looked at Clara, and the recognition in his eyes was full of panic, full of pain and hatred. His body shook, and pink, slug-like fat splayed as he tried in vain to escape his prison. Bubbles streamed from his mouth, but his scream was muffled by water and glass.

Hamir’s chuckle was frightening in its amiability. ‘Jacob feels quite ready to die, but until he decides to be more cooperative …’ He clucked his tongue. ‘Well, I can keep him on the brink of death for as long as I choose. I can keep filling his lungs with air, giving him false hope that he might just live yet, and then drown him again. A thousand times over, if I so choose.’

Fat Jacob’s eyes rolled back and he shuddered as water again filled his lungs.

The owner of the Lazy House was a heartless bastard, but Clara could not have wished such torture on anyone.

The ceiling prism darkened, and the tank fell into shadows once more. Hamir turned to face Clara. Although his expression remained impassive, the bright green of his eyes swirled and darkened as if ink had been dripped into them. The scar on his forehead practically glowed in the dimness.

‘Waste no sympathy on your former employer, Clara. However, I sincerely hope that you are feeling more cooperative than you were in Captain Jeter’s interrogation room.’

Clara had heard stories about necromancy and the magic-users who liked to play with death. But the Resident, the governor of this town, practising death magic in his home? Allowing this
aide
to perform it? In that moment she feared for her life. The blood in her veins was the blood of a changeling; it was a priceless substance to magic-users, perhaps most especially to necromancers. She looked at the scab on her forearm. Evidently, Hamir had already taken some.

‘Why have you brought me here?’ Clara’s voice was tight. ‘What does the Resident want with me?’

Hamir bobbed his head in a quick bow. He backed away a few paces and his eyes returned to their bright green colour. He smiled at Clara as a new voice spoke from the room’s shadows.

‘A magicker is an illegal presence under the law of Labrys Town,’ it said.

Clara swung around, but could not see anyone else in the room.

The voice continued, deep and resonant, confident and precise. ‘For the time being, you have been allowed to enter the Nightshade under amnesty. This, you understand, is at the behest of a mutual friend. Yet I wonder – why should I trust you?’

The shadows wavered and an imposing figure stepped into the room, carrying a cane of deep green glass. Tall and broad, he was dressed in a loose shirt and trousers that shimmered and flowed as if reflecting the night sky. The dim light shone off the dark brown skin of his shaven head. On his strong face, two dull metal plates covered his eyes. Seemingly fused to the bone of the sockets, they glared with reflected light.

Somewhere deep inside her head, Clara felt Marney’s lingering presence. But it gave no comfort as the dark, imposing man towered over her.

‘Van-Van Bam?’ she asked meekly.

He cocked his head to one side and held his green cane across his thighs. ‘Welcome to my home,
Peppercorn
Clara.’

Halfway across the northern district of Labrys Town was the street known as Resident Approach. Wide and long, it ran southward in a straight line all the way to the central district. The southern region of Resident Approach accommodated shops and eateries, communal gardens and markets providing a place for work and pleasure alike – a source of life.

But the further north it stretched, the more desolate and lonely Resident Approach became. The gardens and buildings fell away. Tramlines ran along a section of the street which narrowed to half its original width and sloped downwards, cutting a gorge through the stone, creating a valley which flattened out some fifteen feet below street level, and the walls that loomed either side were smooth and grey.

Denizens did not linger here. There were no lamps, walkways or pavements, only lifeless statues lining the high walls. Eight feet tall and grim-faced, these statues were of past Residents, memorials to the former governors of Labrys Town that dated back a thousand years.

The clouds had cleared and the temperature was cooling as Samuel made his way along the northern reaches of Resident Approach. The night sky was on the cusp of changeover as Ruby Moon faded and Silver Moon began to rise. Samuel felt exposed, conscious of the taps and scratches of his footsteps, of the rasps and sighs of his breathing as he walked the deserted valley. The only cover offered him were shadows cast by the former Residents. He felt the gazes of those long deceased men and women upon him, as hard as the stone from which they were carved, judgemental, accusing. In the hands of each effigy was a milky eye device. There was nowhere to hide along Resident Approach.

Samuel’s hand flexed, as if needing to hold something comforting in its grip; but the old bounty hunter resisted the urge to draw the revolver holstered to his leg.

As he neared the northernmost part of Resident Approach, he stopped and considered. The valley ended at a wall, as high as those flanking it, which would have formed a blind end had it not been for the fat tunnel burrowing into it. The tramlines converged into a single track that disappeared into the tunnel. Beyond it, a building was dimly highlighted under the fading glow of Ruby Moon. Constructed out of dark stone, the building rose high behind the wall, above the valley; its perfect square shape was shrouded slightly by the night’s mist. It was a monumental building, by far the largest in Labrys Town: a giant cube that loomed, brooded, over Resident Approach.

The Nightshade.

Samuel didn’t need to check the spirit compass in his pocket to know that the girl was inside. After all, he had seen Hamir, the Resident’s aide, collect her from the police station.

Throughout the Labyrinth’s history, the Nightshade had been home to the Residents, the governors of Labrys Town. Briefly Samuel looked back along the valley of Resident Approach, at the statues stretching off into the gloom. Each statue embodied a legend, had a story to tell.

Samuel turned back to the giant cube of the Nightshade. Another statue stood to the right of the tunnel cut into the wall. Samuel sighed, then made his way towards it.

Towering over the old bounty hunter, the statue’s face was thin and angular with an expression as stern as the others. Samuel looked straight at the eye in its hands, and then down to read the name engraved into the plinth:
GIDEON THE
SELFLESS.

Samuel snorted.

Gideon had been the direct predecessor of the current Resident. He was called ‘the Selfless’ because he had given his life during the Genii War. Single-handedly, they said, he had battled Spiral’s demons and saved the lives of every denizen in Labrys Town. And the denizens were eternally grateful for his sacrifice.

Allegedly.

The statue was a good likeness of the flesh. Samuel sneered his contempt up towards Gideon’s face before walking into the tunnel.

The tram track ran right through to the other side. Dirty lamps fitted to the ceiling above the power line provided a sickly and dim light. Samuel felt his way along. The bricks of the walls were slick with moss. Water dripped. The tunnel ended at a set of iron gates that were already open, almost invitingly. Samuel hung back in the shadows.

Through the gates was a large forecourt where the sleek black bulk of the Resident’s personal tram was parked. Beyond it, the wall of the Nightshade served as a vast backdrop. The dark stone was mostly smooth but engraved in places with square maze patterns. The Nightshade stood at the most northern edge, as if it were the head of Labrys Town; and behind it, beyond the mighty, hundred-foot-tall boundary wall, began the endless alleyways of the Great Labyrinth that completely surrounded the town and stretched away into the unknown.

The Nightshade had no doors or windows or obvious entranceways at all; you did not enter this building unless it wanted you inside. There was no checkpoint at the gates, no armed guards roaming the perimeter, for they were not required.

In the forecourt, upon pedestals rising from the ground like evenly-spaced stalagmites, sat eye devices. Unlike the eyes on the streets of Labrys Town, these eyes were full, head-sized spheres, seemingly dead in the dull, fading glow of Ruby Moon. But Samuel knew that these pedestals surrounded the Nightshade and he had only to step into the forecourt to activate the eyes; the milky fluid within them would flicker into illumination, and he would be seen.

Would he be welcomed?

For nearly forty years Samuel had been a bounty hunter. Violence and death had always been his trade, but there had been a time when he’d known a sense of loyalty and duty. Times had changed, and by reputation alone he was now a marked man. In Labrys Town good bounty hunters were always in competition for work, but these days a bounty hunter would hunt and kill his fellow kind simply for being competition. And no scalp came bigger than that of Old Man Sam.

Samuel’s list of friends had dwindled over time; there weren’t enough alive now to occupy the fingers of one hand, and those who were left he had spent long years avoiding. He belonged to a past generation, and was sick to the stomach of living his life with one eye looking over his shoulder. How long before someone younger and stronger caught up with him? It was only a matter of time.

Long ago, things had been very different. The Houses of the Aelfir had made life good, interesting – free. But with their departure, the Labyrinth had become isolated. The only things now waiting outside the boundary wall were the wild demons of the Retrospective. The denizens already had all they would ever get. And the man responsible for the change, the source of the nightmare, had returned tonight … and Samuel had let him take Marney.

The Nightshade and its law loomed before him like a gigantic puzzle box, bland but deceitful. Inside were secrets – secrets and monsters. Van Bam was the current Resident, and few denizens knew much about him at all. But Samuel knew, and he knew well.

Flexing fingers, his face grim, Samuel took a breath and stepped from the tunnel’s shadows, through the gates, and into the Nightshade’s forecourt. One by one, the eyes on the pedestals flickered and hummed and bathed Old Man Sam in bright light.

Chapter Six

Secrets & Monsters

‘You recently killed a man?’

The bluntness of the question stung Clara and she could not meet the metal plates covering Van Bam’s eyes. The light they reflected seemed to glare, as if the Resident could see directly into her thoughts. Her gaze flickered to the tin of medicine sitting on the desk, to the tank into which Fat Jacob was stuffed – dead but not dead – and she didn’t dare speak. She looked to the floor and noted the Resident’s feet were bare.

Hamir was no longer present. Van Bam had dismissed him from the laboratory; but before he left, the Resident had said that Fat Jacob was no longer of use, and that the aide was free to do with him as he pleased. Clara didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t even want to guess.

Van Bam tapped his green glass cane against the floor. ‘Clara,’ he said, ‘I am not Captain Jeter. Silence will not buy you more time, and I will tolerate nothing but the truth here. Now – you recently killed a man, yes?’

‘I had no choice,’ Clara mumbled. Her throat felt dry. ‘I was forced. I’m no murderer.’

‘But you
are
a changeling,’ Van Bam countered.

Clara was surprised to feel a flash of anger. She looked up and met the Resident’s metal eyes. His dark brown face was inscrutable.

He said, ‘I suspect you are an innocent party, Clara, or at least to some degree. If it were otherwise, Marney would have left you to Charlie Hemlock.’

Clara frowned.

The Resident continued. ‘You are a victim of the dubious business conducted by Hemlock and the man you call Fat Jacob. But can you tell me who it is that Hemlock is working for?’

Clara shook her head.

‘Then do you know why he wanted you? It was for your blood, perhaps?’

‘I … I thought that at first, too.’ Clara rubbed the scab on her arm. ‘But no, Hemlock wasn’t interested in my blood at all.’

‘Then what?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘Fat Jacob hired me out for a home visit. It was just another night’s work, or so I thought. But when I arrived at the address, Hemlock was waiting for me with an accomplice …’ She closed her eyes and relived distasteful memories.

‘And then?’

‘They tied me up,’ she told Van Bam. ‘They said they’d kill me if … if I didn’t change.’

‘Change? Into the wolf?’

Clara nodded. ‘They wanted to tire me out, they said, so I wouldn’t be so much of a threat.’

‘And they obviously succeeded.’

‘I blacked out,’ Clara continued, ‘but I … I can almost remember killing him—’
slaughtering him, ripping him apart, enjoying the taste of his
blood …

Van Bam pursed his lips. ‘But that was not Hemlock.’

‘No – his accomplice. I never knew his name.’

‘Go on.’

‘There’s a blank spot on my memory. When I woke up, I was in the Great Labyrinth. I don’t remembering going there. I was wearing the dead man’s clothes.

‘Hemlock was nowhere to be seen at first. I-I tried to find my way out, but I was lost. When Hemlock caught up with me, he was with men dressed as priests. They had guns. I just ran. If Marney hadn’t shown up, I-I don’t know what would have happened.’

‘Nothing good, one would presume.’ Van Bam banged the tip of his green glass cane on the floor like a gavel striking a block. ‘Clara, you should know that Marney and I were friends of old, but I have no real reason to trust her now. You will explain to me why she saved you. What instructions did she give you?’

Clara blinked several times. That glass box into which Fat Jacob’s body was squashed seemed to be taunting her from the back of the room.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Marney didn’t really say anything. She just let me go.’

This time, Van Bam’s metal eyes followed Clara’s gaze as she looked at her tin of medicine on the desk.

‘Perhaps you are innocent, Clara. Perhaps you are not. Either way, if you want your medicine, I would be more forthcoming if I were you.’

Clara licked her lips, as if to sample the lingering taste of the empath’s kiss. ‘I don’t know what to tell you. Marney did something to me. She … she kissed me—’

The conversation was interrupted by a click, and the door to the laboratory opened. Hamir stood on the threshold. He bobbed his head respectfully.

‘Excuse the intrusion, Van Bam, but I thought you should know that the security eyes have activated in the forecourt. Someone has approached the Nightshade.’

Still facing Clara, Van Bam cocked his head to one side. ‘Marney?’

‘No. It is another
old friend
.’

‘Ah …’

Van Bam was silent for a moment, and Clara looked from one man to the other.

‘Then have the servants bring him inside, Hamir,’ said the Resident. ‘Show him to my study.’

‘As you wish.’

Hamir smiled at Clara, and she shuddered. He continued smiling at her as Van Bam strode out of the room, saying over his shoulder, ‘Come, Clara.’

Confused and disturbed, Clara struggled to keep up with Van Bam’s long strides. Each of his steps was punctuated by a
tick
of his green glass cane on the floor. He walked with the confidence of one with full sight. The endless, repetitive corridors and stairwells of the Nightshade had an hypnotic effect on Clara; she almost walked into the back of Van Bam as he stopped suddenly and opened another hidden door in the wall.

He led her into his study, where it was immediately evident that the Resident of Labrys Town had little time for personal comforts.

The study was as brightly lit as the corridor. The walls were the same cream colour, but they were devoid of the ubiquitous maze pattern, and Clara’s eyes relaxed slightly. There was an ornate wooden desk at one end, with two matching chairs on opposing sides. To the right of the desk a full-length mirror stood in the corner, set in a silver frame. And that was it; no cabinets or bookcases, no paintings or plants – nothing that indicated any kind of taste or pleasure.

Van Bam closed the door, and it became indistinguishable from the wall. Taking Clara’s arm, he led her gently over to the mirror and positioned her with her back to it. He gripped Clara’s shoulders, and once more she got the impression that the metal plates covering his eyes were searching her face. In the bright light of the study, Van Bam looked much older than he had appeared in the shadows of Hamir’s laboratory.

‘You are young,’ he said, ‘and there is much you claim not to know. Yet I wonder, Clara, how much does Marney trust you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean!’ Was he angry with her? ‘I never knew her before tonight, I still don’t—’

‘You have heard of the Relic Guild?’

Clara looked puzzled. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘But was Marney trusting enough to tell you the truth?’

‘I don’t understand.’

Van Bam cocked his head to one side, as if listening to something. ‘A
friend
has come to see me,’ he said. ‘He must not know of your presence. You will stand here, before this mirror, Clara. Remain quite still and you will not be noticed. Understand?’

His tone left no room for refusal or further questions, and so Clara nodded.

As Van Bam stepped away, he tapped his cane against the floor and whispered a word Clara didn’t catch. The cane’s glass flashed green. There was a low hum and the air surrounding the mirror shimmered. The rest of the room wavered, as if veiled by water. The sound of Clara’s own breathing was loud in her ears, as if she was trapped within a bubble.

Clara looked back at the mirror; she cast no reflection in its dull and faded surface.

Magic!

Van Bam had taken a seat at his desk. He sat facing the invisible door to his study, his glass cane lying on the desktop before him. The more Clara looked at this man, the more familiar he seemed: his smell, the sound of his voice, the way he cocked his head to one side … but she had never seen him before in her life. Had she?

In that moment, Clara felt warmth inside her head and breast, as if Marney’s box of secrets had cracked open a little. It reassured her that Van Bam meant her no harm, even if he was a magic-user, even if his aide had scared her half to death. Even if he did speak in riddles.

All her life Clara had heard the tales and legends of Labrys Town from before the Genii War. Back then, treasure hunters ran an illegal but booming trade. They snuck out into the Great Labyrinth and travelled through the doorways to the Houses of the Aelfir, searching for artefacts and magical relics which they could steal and smuggle back into Labrys Town. The black market had been a serious problem for the Resident and the Aelfir in the old days, as wealthy collectors would pay vast sums of money for stolen Aelfirian antiques.

There were still some denizens nowadays who liked to call themselves treasure hunters. Nobody took them seriously, not even the police; after all, even if they found a way past the boundary wall, the only place left to search for treasure was the Retrospective, from which no one returned. However, before the Genii War, treasure hunters had caused so much trouble for the Resident that a special organisation was created, a group of agents whose purpose was to counteract the illegal trade in Aelfirian artefacts, to recoup the stolen merchandise and deal harshly with those involved. These agents were the only humans permitted to use magic; their identities were kept secret, and they were known as the Relic Guild. But like so much else, the Relic Guild had disappeared after the war. No one had heard from them for decades.

Why had Van Bam mentioned it? What
truth
?

In his chair at the desk, the Resident shifted. ‘Remember, Clara,’ he said, his voice clear and insistent inside the mirror’s bubble, ‘make no sound. Do not move.’

With a faint click, the door appeared in the wall. It swung open, and a man stepped into the study. Through the bubble, Clara’s view of him was distorted. Then the water effect shimmered and shifted, finally smoothing to allow Clara a clearer view of the room and Van Bam’s visitor.

A little shorter than the Resident, the man had broad shoulders, and was dressed in simple black garb and a long brown coat. His face, though strong and not unhandsome, was heavily lined with age and sported a white goatee beard. His lips were drawn into a grim line.

Though Clara had never seen the man before, she found his face familiar. Just as with the Resident, it was almost as if she had dreamt of him.

Beneath his coat, the man had a heavy utility belt, and a handgun was strapped to his left thigh. Over his shoulder protruded the butt of a rifle that was holstered upon his back. Clara knew intuitively that this rifle had at one time been aimed at her.

‘This is an unusual pleasure, Samuel,’ Van Bam said, as the door closed and disappeared. ‘Please, take a seat.’

Rubbing a hand through his white, close-cropped hair, the man took the chair opposite Van Bam. His expression as he stared across the desk gave nothing away.

‘Can I offer you some refreshments?’ Van Bam asked.

‘No.’ The reply was curt. Samuel looked over at the mirror, and his pale blue eyes seemed to bore straight into Clara’s. ‘You’ve had contact with Marney recently,’ he said, looking back to his host. It was a statement.

‘I will not deny that,’ Van Bam replied.

‘It concerned a girl. A whore.’

Van Bam sat back in his seat and a ghost of a smile danced on his lips. ‘This girl means something to you?’

After a moment’s silence, the newcomer responded. ‘I was offered a bounty contract.’

‘Oh?’

‘For her death.’

Clara stifled a gasp. There was a bounty on her head?

‘Yet your quarry eluded you?’ Van Bam said.

‘Marney stopped me.’

‘I see. Then I suppose this girl can boast of being among the lucky few who have escaped the attentions of Old Man Sam.’

Old Man Sam …? Clara’s insides froze. It was said that this bounty hunter had killed more people than anyone else alive. He was a legend, and many believed he had died years ago. But Clara was convinced she knew him from somewhere, somewhere other than his reputation.

‘I am curious,’ Van Bam said. ‘I did not commission, or agree to, a standard bounty on this girl. Was your contract issued in the formal way, Samuel?’

Samuel shook his head. ‘I’m pretty sure it was a bogus offer.’

‘Then could you give me the name of the one who employed your services?’

‘I was hoping you could tell me. The contract was offered by avatar.’

‘Avatar?’

‘Yes. It was just an image of blue light.’

Van Bam nodded slowly as if Samuel was making perfect sense.

What had Hamir told Clara? Something about Fat Jacob being visited by a blue ghost?

‘I don’t know how it found my hideout,’ Samuel continued, ‘but the avatar seemed to know all about me.’

Van Bam took a breath. ‘Samuel, if you believe the avatar’s bounty contract to be fake, then that begs the question of why your interest in this girl is continuing.’

‘Because of promises we made.’

‘Ah.’ The Resident steepled his fingers and bounced them lightly upon his lips. ‘Then we must speak openly. I received a message that Marney would steer a young girl in my direction. I have taken the girl in, but I have yet to discover for what reason Marney saved her.’

‘She’s a magicker, Van Bam. What other reason do you want?’

‘What other reason indeed.’

Clara couldn’t figure out if these two men liked or loathed each other, but it was obvious that neither was comfortable with this conversation.

‘Tell me,’ Van Bam continued. ‘Where is our empathic friend now?’

‘That’s a good question, but it doesn’t have a good answer.’

‘She is in trouble?’

Samuel paused. ‘The girl was bait. She was part of a trap.’

‘For Marney?’

Samuel nodded.

Clara’s chest fluttered. Her wolf stirred. Van Bam appeared calm and assured as he waited for his guest to reveal more. Clara held her breath.

Samuel seemed tired, weary to the bone. ‘Marney was kidnapped, abducted by someone I prayed to the Timewatcher I’d never see again.’ He lowered his pale eyes. ‘Van Bam, it was Fabian Moor.’