The Relic Guild (13 page)

Van Bam had to concede the truth of this, though it froze his soul to do so.

With a heavy sigh, he dispelled the spectral visions received through the eye devices. The imagery faded and swirled like fog caught in the wind until he stood in the dim glow of an inactive observatory within the Nightshade, surrounded by the dull walls, decorated with small maze patterns.

The ghost of Gideon remained in the room with him. His expression was as amused as it was expectant.

‘You lead the Relic Guild now, my idiot, but your list of allies isn’t exactly long anymore, is it?’ He grinned. ‘The denizens are all alone with a Genii in their midst.’

Van Bam remained silent.

‘What to do, my idiot, what to do …’ The lights of Gideon’s ghostly eyes shone manically. ‘The Timewatcher abandoned the Labyrinth forty years ago. Her Thaumaturgists haven’t been seen since the war ended. Who will you call on for help this time?’

With that statement hanging in the air, Gideon’s ghost faded and disappeared, leaving Van Bam in the observation room alone. But in his head, Gideon’s voice whispered:
Does
anyone out there remember us at all
?

Chapter Eight

Wild Demons

At the end of the Genii War there had been a mighty reckoning. No one knew why the Timewatcher abandoned the Labyrinth, but they said that, along with millions of Aelfir, the war had killed Her compassion. The retribution She vented upon Her enemies was as furious as it was merciless. For Spiral, the great and terrible instigator, She created a distant realm called Oldest Place, a prison of endless torment and suffering in which her gravest enemy was incarcerated for eternity. The Genii, those Thaumaturgists who had turned their backs upon their Mother to serve Spiral so loyally, were tossed screaming and writhing into the Nothing of Far and Deep, where their souls were lost forever to its primordial mists.

But it was reckoned the Timewatcher’s greatest act of retribution was reserved for Spiral’s armies, those Houses of the Aelfir who had joined the Genii in their malicious crusade.

The Timewatcher created a space, a gap between the fabric of existence and the emptiness of non-existence. Into this gap, She poured dead time, every second of every atrocity committed during the Genii War, and it became a vast realm of damnation, perversion, abomination. She called this place the Retrospective.

The renegade Aelfir were banished to the Retrospective, along with their lands. The decay of dead time corroded their realms into an uninhabitable wasteland. Their bodies were corrupted into the forms of hideous creatures, while their minds were torn and damaged beyond redemption. The hundreds of thousands of enemy Aelfir who had survived the war, whose Houses had once been great and wise, were reduced to nothing more than blood-thirsty animals, without a shadow of good or reason, left to scavenge upon each other in a landscape of poison and ashes.

There was no reprieve from the Retrospective, no chance of escape. Its doorway was set to drift aimlessly through the endless alleyways of the Great Labyrinth, as lost as the souls beyond it. It served as an example, a warning, an eternal deterrent for any denizen seeking passage to the Houses who had remained loyal to the Thaumaturgists and their Mother. The Labyrinth became a forbidden zone, and the cruelty and torture of the Retrospective bespoke a promise of what it meant to be an enemy of the Timewatcher.

Only the boundary wall kept the denizens safe from the Retrospective, and Clara shivered to recall the tales she had heard of the wild demons that dwelt within that damned House of dead time.

Under the bright glare of Silver Moon, the official tram of the Nightshade drove through the central district. It weaved through the main streets. The occasional purple spark of thaumaturgy snapped from the power line and flashed against its sleek black shell. Inside, Clara clutched the satchel of spell spheres in her lap with white-knuckled fingers. She fidgeted nervously beneath the violet light of a ceiling prism. Across from her, Samuel sat studying his spirit compass. He had not said a word since they had left the Nightshade’s forecourt.

Clara had never seen a wild demon herself, but she had once had a client who claimed he had been attacked by one. His left leg was missing from just below the knee; three fingers on his right hand had been bitten off; and gouge marks and scars had decorated his body and face. Clara desperately tried not to think of what manner of monster could inflict such wounds.

Through the tram’s tinted windows she watched the buildings and streetlamps passing by outside, along with a few denizens either making their way home or walking to work to begin an early morning shift. Mostly, the central district was quiet at this time.

Who drove the tram was a mystery. Clara had seen no driver, and the carriage ended at a smooth metal wall devoid of a door that might lead to a driver’s compartment. But on that wall was an eye device. Public trams had no eyes fitted inside them, but the rheumy stare of the one fitted inside the Resident’s tram made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Was someone watching them?

Judging by Samuel’s composure, the tram was somehow in sync with
his spirit compass, and they were headed
in the right direction. But the right direction was leading
them to Charlie Hemlock and a showdown with a wild
demon of the Retrospective.

Deciding that breaking the silence was
the best way to ease her nerves, she asked Samuel
, ‘Have you ever seen a Thaumaturgist?’

The old bounty hunter
looked up from the compass and gave her a deep
frown.

Clara added, ‘I mean, back in the old days
. They came to Labrys Town, didn’t they?’

‘Sometimes,’ Samuel
said. ‘Other times denizens were taken to see them.’

‘Like
who? Relic Guild agents?’

Samuel paused for a moment. ‘The
Thaumaturgists are long gone, Clara, and I won’t speak
of them,’ he said irritably. He returned his attention to
the compass. ‘Now let me concentrate.’

Clara didn’t know
why the compass demanded such attention, but she did know
that Samuel was an easy man to dislike.

The old
bounty hunter blew hot and cold, but always an air
of arrogance surrounded him. It underlined his every word, his
every action, as if his authority simply could not be
challenged. But there was sadness too, something deep, something bitter
. Clara suspected that Old Man Sam carried the weight of
his experiences. She found him strange and uncomfortable company, and
wished it was Van Bam travelling with her now.

Undeterred
by Samuel’s dismissive attitude, she said, ‘Have you ever
left the Labyrinth, Samuel? Did you ever travel to the
Houses of the Aelfir?’

This time, when Samuel looked up
, he did not glare at Clara or seem irritated. He
stared past her, as if into some distance beyond the
tram’s window, beyond the central district and the Great
Labyrinth itself.

‘Yes,’ he said. It was a simple statement
.

‘What about now?’ said Clara. ‘Aren’t there any doorways
still open? You know, secret ones that normal denizens don
’t know about?’

‘Clara …’ Samuel’s voice was level as
his eyes fixed onto hers. ‘Just because we’re agents
of the Relic Guild, doesn’t mean we have any
special dispensation. The doorways of the Great Labyrinth are closed to all of us.’

‘What about that portal outside the Nightshade?’

‘It connects to the Aelfir directly and not to a doorway, Clara.’ The hardness of his voice jolted her. ‘The Timewatcher left it open so we didn’t die. And it only goes one way. The Aelfir use that portal to send us provisions, but we can send nothing back, and no living thing can pass through. I doubt even Van Bam knows which House is on the other side. Be assured, no one gets into the Labyrinth, and no one gets out. Not
ever
.’

‘Fabian Moor did.’

Samuel sucked air over his teeth, struggling to find patience. ‘Marney has put all kinds of thoughts and questions into your head, child, but now is not the time for answers.’

There it was again – that odd mixture of arrogance and sadness. Clara sat back. Silence returned to the carriage, and the tram passed out of the central district and headed into the west side.

Clara had spent so long fearing her magic, scared of the day when the authorities would discover she was a magicker, or when the wolf freed itself of her control and … killed someone … Clara shook herself. Now the day she feared had arrived, she had been made to feel like her magic was to be celebrated, not condemned. She was no criminal, no out of control murderer, but part of some greater plan that she barely understood. Would she be required to kill again?

The effects of Marney’s kiss still lingered inside her. It stripped away the fear, gave her courage and determination, and prepared her for the Relic Guild. She was beginning to feel that she had finally found a place where she might fit in. Samuel had been in Clara’s position once; he too had learned there was a higher purpose for magickers in the Labyrinth. Why then was he being so intolerant of her?

As if pondering this very question himself, Samuel sighed and looked at her with a softer expression.

‘Everything in its right place, Clara,’ he said. ‘I appreciate how confused you must be right now, but I think you understand what we’re about to do, don’t you?’

Clara felt a cold pang. ‘Rescue Hemlock from a wild demon,’ she whispered.

‘Exactly. Focus on that. Save the questions for later. Take one step at a time.’

It wasn’t long before the tram came to a stop. Samuel rose and slid open the door of the carriage. Clara followed him onto the street outside.

They had arrived at Web Street in the western district. The impressive buildings of Western University ran along the entire length of the street, on both sides. The school was four storeys high, and from a few of its tall windows light spilled onto the cobbles. Samuel set off without a word, following the compass in his hand. Clara adjusted the satchel strap on her shoulder and caught up with him. The black tram remained where it was.

‘I take it you’ve done this kind of thing before?’ she asked, struggling to keep up with him.

‘Once or twice,’ Samuel replied. ‘Wild demons did exist prior to the Genii War, Clara. But they were much rarer. Before they found a better home in the Retrospective, they lurked in the Nothing of Far and Deep and, occasionally, they would sneak into Labrys Town. They liked to hide in the cargo imported from one House or another. The Relic Guild would hunt them down. Nowadays, it’s a job for the police.’

‘But we don’t want the police involved this time,’ Clara said.

‘No. It is no ordinary wild demon that has Charlie Hemlock.’

‘The Orphan,’ Clara whispered. She stopped walking as nerves fluttered in her stomach again. Samuel disappeared into an alley that cut through the school building to the left. She hurried to catch up with him.

‘Some demons are more intelligent than others,’ he continued. ‘The Orphan, though no less a monster, is a demon of habit and purpose. And this isn’t its first visit to Labrys Town. This way …’

He led Clara out of the alley and into a large square recreational courtyard, with benches around the outskirts and a pillar of eyes at the centre. As they headed towards a gate on the opposite side, Samuel explained further.

‘Back in the old days, Marney and I encountered the Orphan at a house in the eastern district.’

Clara swore under her breath. The east side of Labrys Town was mostly a residential area, full of families – mothers, fathers, children – and she shuddered to think of a demon lurking among them.

‘There were reports from the east side of missing people, random bouts of violent psychosis – all the signs of a wild demon’s presence. The Resident sent us to investigate. We found the Orphan and the family it had stored for food.’

‘Food?’ Clara was repulsed.

‘The Orphan feeds on blood, and it takes a long time harvesting what it likes to eat. But to Marney and me it was just a wayward demon that needed sending home.’

‘Why didn’t you just kill it?’

Samuel gave Clara a quick glance, before saying, ‘I’m not even sure it’s possible to kill a wild demon, Clara. Not really. Magic can affect them mentally, but not physically. The best you can hope for is to disrupt its connection to this realm, stamp on its fingers so it loses its grip, so to speak.’ He gave her another quick look. ‘But to do that, you have to get close, within touching distance. Point blank trauma to the head usually works.’

‘
Usually
…?’

Samuel carried on through the gate, out of the courtyard, and into the school gardens. Clara stuck close to him.

The smell of flowers and freshly cut grass filled her nostrils. In the light of Silver Moon, she could see the silhouettes of trees, boughs full of leaves. She followed the old bounty hunter down a stone path that cut through the gardens.

‘So how did you get rid of it last time?’ she asked.

‘Marney,’ he replied. ‘She wasn’t very experienced back then, but she somehow managed to convince the Orphan to go back to whatever sanctuary it came from. And it … just did as it was told – a simplification, but that sums it up. As you’ve learnt, Clara, Marney can form an emotional bond with whomever she touches with her magic.’

Samuel stopped suddenly and looked up at the night sky. ‘But I honestly never believed she could form such a strong connection with the Orphan as to actually summon it back from the Retrospective like she did tonight.’

‘But she did,’ Clara said, ‘and now it has Hemlock.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let me get this straight – we don’t have an empath to control the Orphan, we can’t kill it, and we have to be within touching distance to send it home. Please tell me you have a plan.’

‘Of sorts,’ Samuel replied. ‘By summoning the Orphan, Marney has bought Hemlock – and us – some time … What’s wrong?’

A scent on the breeze had jolted Clara away from the conversation. She sniffed the air and caught an aroma that carried a salty, rusty taste.

‘I can smell blood,’ she whispered.

Samuel checked the spirit compass, and then looked straight ahead.

At the end of the stone path was a Church of the Timewatcher. Warm light glowed through stained glass windows onto the grass of the gardens. It looked peaceful enough, but the building gave Clara a bad feeling. Unintelligible voices came from within, desperate, fearful, angry—

The doors to the church burst open and a small figure ran into the gardens, screaming. It was an altar boy. His white smock was stained with blood, black under the light of Silver Moon. His face was covered with small cuts and creased with panic. He ran, wailing, directly towards Clara and Samuel.