by Alan Baxter
Welby wagged one finger. ‘Exactly! Like an amplifier. There are a number of things that a person can use to amplify their ability. This was the greatest of them all.’
‘So what?’
‘So what? Well, if this book really is some kind of history of the stone and that struggle then it might give us clues to find the remaining pieces.’
Alex sensed something in Welby’s tone, a smugness. ‘The remaining pieces?’
Welby reached inside his shirt, pulled out a leather cord that hung around his neck. On the end of the cord was a silver locket, the leather woven through it and back several times so it nestled in a criss-cross pattern of laces. ‘This is how I know it’s more than just myth and legend.’
The locket, though warded heavily, still leaked ’sign. Welby looked around the room then popped the locket open. Alex rocked back in his chair as magesign flooded out, hitting him full in the face and chest with a physical force. Welby sat almost lost in the twist and swirl of arcane energy flooding from the tiny silver box. Sitting inside, strapped into place with fine silver banding, was a shard of grey stone. It looked like nothing more interesting than a chip of slate, but the magic burned deep. It glowed as if a volcano were trapped inside, desperate to blow. Alex gasped as Welby snapped the locket shut again and dropped it back inside his shirt.
‘That’s one piece of the Darak,’ Welby said. ‘I’m sure of it. Legend says it was split into three pieces. The Eld scattered those pieces around the world. But of course, the world is a far busier place these days. What might have been a wasteland miles from anywhere back then could be a bustling town now. When I came into possession of this shard my very meagre powers were increased exponentially. And this stone led me to Peacock and the book. It wants to be found.’
That sounded like something very dangerous. ‘Wants to be found?’
‘It has a certain presence, a personality almost. I can’t explain how, exactly, but it drew me to Peacock and his strange store. Peacock knew he had something special in that book, but he had no idea how special. I became convinced the stone and the book were connected. When you read the title of the book today I knew I was right. I’m sure the book can lead us to the remaining two pieces.’
Alex didn’t like the sound of any of this. A stone with a personality and a book that wants to be found? These were things he definitely couldn’t control. Eventually he shook his head. ‘No, this is all too fucked up. I can still feel that book, like it left a stain on me. This stuff is dangerous. Way too dangerous to screw around with. I’m out.’ He drained his pint and stood.
Welby remained in his seat, his eyes wide, pleading. ‘Alex. I can’t read it.’
Alex stared down at the old man. He had promised himself he’d come along for the ride and retain whatever control of the situation he could. But that control had quickly slipped away. However much of this stuff was true, one thing remained certain: everything about it was drenched in danger. Like the fool who goes to investigate the noise in the basement in a B-grade horror movie, this whole situation was a road to trouble. ‘I’m sorry, Patrick. You’ll have to find someone else.’ He felt a wave of guilt as Welby’s shades swelled in abject disappointment.
Welby twisted in his seat, hands supplicating. ‘Alex, please!’
He left the pub without looking back. As he walked, he started to wonder how he might get home. Getting into the UK with Welby’s assistance had been one thing. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might need to get back on his own and he had no passport. Perhaps he could go to the Australian consulate and claim he’d lost it and needed to get a replacement. It might take a while, but he had ID in his wallet and that struck him as a better idea than trying to replicate Welby’s mind tricks.
He saw the blonde girl standing at the end of the street. She looked right at him, that crooked smile still in place. Something about her eyes grated, as if he amused her. He raised a hand in half a wave. ‘Hey there,’ he called out. ‘How you doing?’
The smile spread and she turned down an alleyway out of sight. Alex quickened his pace, knowing she’d be long gone when he got there.
He needed space and time to think. Across the road a park stood shrouded in darkness, black iron fencing around a small square of grass and stunted trees. A gate stood open in the centre of each side, paths forming a cross. Alex walked in and sank onto a cold bench, elbows on his knees, and put his face in his hands.
He also realised now that, for some reason, he had been living his whole life in denial. Of course his vision was more than some overdeveloped empathy. Somewhere deep inside he had known it was beyond natural, but had refused to admit as much to himself. Why? Perhaps because it allowed him the lifestyle he wanted. Allowed him to dominate as a fighter and fighting had been all he wanted to do, ever since his parents died. He’d found somewhere to focus his rage and he’d used it. He trained, he fought and he lived in peace. House in the country, space, solitude, friends here and there when he felt like company. A good life and, on some subconscious level, he had known if he looked too deeply into why, that life would get complicated.
He cursed Welby and the moment the old man darkened his dressing room door. Right then something had shifted. Was it often a person could recall with crystal clarity the exact moment their life had jumped the tracks? He had trusted his deeper instinct and told Welby to leave him alone, but events conspired differently. And the carefully, intuitively constructed shield around his life had shattered.
He sighed, leaning back on the bench. Crossing his arms, he stared up into the inky city glow. If he were at home, the sky would be awash with stars, a glittering shroud lying over eternity. Here, nothing but pollution and electric light, trapping him.
He could feel the elemental grimoire in the inside pocket of his jacket, pressing into his chest. His heart pulsed one extra-heavy beat as the image of his new leather travel bag passed through his mind. The bag with his new clothes inside, the button-down side pocket. He had taken his wallet and phone from the pocket when he’d left Welby’s house, leaving the grimoire in there. He could see it in his mind’s eye, ’sign gently swimming out over the top of the bag and across the bed. So what sat in his jacket pocket now?
Trembling, he reluctantly pulled the Darak Uthentia grimoire out into the air. The power it emanated burst around him, coiling over his hands and arms, almost wrapping him, as if it tried to gather him into its pages. The smooth leather of the cover felt warm under his fingertips, alive. He had watched Peacock snatch it away and lock it in the safe under his desk. How had it come to be in his pocket now? No wonder he felt the stain of it stay with him. It was with him.
Ramming the book back into his pocket he sat breathing hard, trying to think. He wanted no further part of this. He shouldn’t have let himself be dragged into it in the first place, but what was done was done. He remembered a lesson with his Sifu, so many years ago. Don’t concentrate on the fact that you have just been hit. The fight is fluid, time doesn’t wait for you. When you get hit, let it slide by you, instantly in the past, and concentrate on the now. Always the now. Act and react in the present moment.
Alex stood and strode back towards the pub. Anger burned alongside fear in his chest. He didn’t like to fear anything. He planned to take control back.
Welby sat where Alex had left him, staring disconsolately into his pint glass. He looked up, surprised, when Alex stood over him, eyes dark and furious.
‘Alex! I … I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how confusing all this …’
Alex leaned forward, both hands palm down on the table, his nose an inch from Welby’s. ‘Shut the fuck up. Here’s how it’s going to go. You’re coming with me back to Peacock’s shop and I’m returning this book.’ Welby’s eyebrows shot up, but Alex continued before he had a chance to speak. ‘Then we’re going to your house and I’m getting my fancy new bag and clothes, which I plan to keep. Then we’re going to the airport and you’re getting me on the first plane to Sydney. And you’re coming wi
th me to get me through customs and passport control at the other end. Then you’re going to pay a taxi driver to take me all the way home, regardless of how much that driver decides to charge for a two-hour ride. Then I’m going to get into that taxi and you’re going to fuck off to wherever you like. And if I ever see you again, I will rip you into hundreds of pieces. Got all that?’
Welby’s face softened. ‘Return the book?’
Alex ground his teeth. He wanted out of this whole situation, yet his rage was impotent and he knew it. ‘Yes.’ He pulled the book from his jacket pocket and slammed it down on the table. Welby stared at it for several moments then nodded softly. Alex felt his anger begin to dilute, fear washing away his fury. ‘Why do I have that?’ he asked.
‘I think perhaps it’s chosen you.’
Alex shook his head. ‘Fuck that.’
Welby’s face was resigned, even disappointed. ‘After all that.’
‘All what?’
‘All my trying to convince Peacock to sell it to me, trying to bargain with him. I even tried to break into his shop once but his wards are too strong for me to breach. Obviously put in place by someone far more powerful than Peacock himself. He just opens and closes them. Whoever his ally is, they probably charged him a small fortune for that job.’
Alex sat heavily into the chair opposite. ‘Job?’
Welby looked up from the book for the first time. ‘There are plenty of freelancers around, willing to do work for those less capable. If they can pay.’
Alex hung his head, unsure what to say. It had chosen him?
‘I really am sorry,’ Welby said.
‘Fuck sorry!’ Alex’s raised voice caused several heads in the pub to turn, though they all quickly turned away again. ‘I’m over this. I want out. I don’t want to be chosen by a fucking book! I’m returning it to Peacock, I’m going to apologise for any inconvenience and I’m going to tell him he’ll have to find someone else to read it for him. And so will you.’
‘I don’t think you’ll be able to give it back.’
‘I don’t want this thing, Patrick. It feels alive.’
‘All knowledge lives.’
Alex picked up the book, waved it accusingly in Welby’s face. ‘No. This itself feels like an evil, dangerous, living thing. I don’t want it.’ He pushed the book across the table. ‘Here. Take it.’
Welby took the small, dark book. He ran his fingertips across the leather, opened it and slowly thumbed through the pages. The dense script flickered past. All the time Alex watched the ’sign swirling, twisting over Welby’s hands and wrists before curling back and reaching across the table. Reaching for him.
Welby closed the book with a soft snap, held it out for Alex to take. ‘It’s yours, I’m afraid.’
‘I don’t want it.’
‘I do want it, Alex, but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it.’
Alex pushed back his chair and stood. ‘I’m not touching it. I’m going to your house to get my stuff and then I’m going to the airport. Do what you like with it and come, without it, to the airport and you’re taking me home.’ He turned and left the pub again. Glancing back from the door he saw Welby slip the book into his jacket and pick up his pint. He didn’t look like he planned to go anywhere.
Knowing what would happen, yet refusing to accept it, Alex walked down the road towards Welby’s house. Within a hundred yards he felt the weight in his jacket. Stopping, feeling weak, he took the book out. The ’sign leapt and danced around his hands, reaching up towards his face. It was something incredible, something so desirable he felt his heart crack, yet so clearly dangerous. Malevolent, wicked in indescribable ways. And he couldn’t get rid of it. He turned and walked back to the pub.
Welby stood outside the door, leaning on the Victorian glazed tiles of the wall. ‘I’m so sorry, Alex.’
‘Did you know this would happen?’
‘No, really I didn’t.’
Alex rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘I don’t want it, Patrick. I don’t want any of this.’
‘I know.’
‘So what do I do?’
Welby pursed his lips. ‘If you want to try one last time to be rid of it, then perhaps you should try to return it to Peacock.’
Alex could see how much it pained Welby to say that. ‘Yeah?’
Welby shrugged. ‘I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I just wanted you to be able to read the book. The quest for knowledge has ever been a double-edged sword. Perhaps Peacock’s wards can hold the book. Return it, explain what’s happened. Ask him to raise as many wards as he can before you leave. Perhaps you can slip out and the book will remain with him.’
Alex sighed, leaning heavily on the tiles beside the old man. ‘You don’t think that’ll work, do you?’
‘Not really. But you can try.’
‘Come on then.’
Welby held up one hand. ‘If I go with you, it’ll only infuriate Peacock. Go alone, blame me, whatever. Try to give it back. I’ll see you at my house and then I’ll take you home.’
‘And if I can’t give it back? If I’m stuck with it?’
‘It’s up to you, Alex. I won’t force you to do anything. If you want to go home with it and tell me to never darken your door again, I will.’
‘Bullshit.’
Welby made a rueful face. ‘I’ll try. I’m so sorry, Alex. This hasn’t gone how I’d planned at all.’
5
Alex knew someone followed him as he made his way to Peacock’s shop. His senses vibrated, yet everywhere he looked remained stubbornly empty. He slowed his pace, tried to look all around. He was beyond caution. He stopped dead. ‘Who are you?’ he yelled at the dark street.
Nothing. Yet he was sure someone lurked in the velvet shadows. He could feel them, almost certainly the strange, attractive blonde. Since he had admitted his vision was more than he had previously allowed, it seemed to be growing, his sensitivity increased. So why not use it? He closed his eyes. The ancient chi gung breathing techniques taught to him by his Sifu always proved useful in his training, his fighting. And in everyday life. Perhaps they could be useful in the less mundane skill set he was being forced to develop. Centring himself, drawing his energy, his chi, down into his lower belly, he let his consciousness slip out. His magesign swelled from beneath his shields, seeking out any similar energy. With a gasp he looked up at the roof of a building beside him and caught a glimpse of a surprised face, a whip of pale hair and she was gone. He felt her run and leap over the roofs at a preternatural pace before disappearing from his senses. Who was this girl, so desirable and clearly some kind of magus? Her physical skills were impressive. Why was she following him? Something else beyond his control.
If she meant him harm, she’d had plenty of opportunity to ambush. She obviously watched with another agenda and perhaps he would have to ignore that for now. If this mysterious woman chose to spy on him, so be it.
When he arrived at Peacock’s shop he could see the glow from behind the curtain at the back. He banged on the door. When he got no response he rapped on the glass of the window and banged on the door again. He crouched and pushed open the letterbox flap. ‘Open up, Peacock,’ he called through. ‘I know you’re in there. You want this book back or what?’
The curtain whipped aside and Peacock hurried between the shelves. He threw bolts aside and swung the door open, his face angry. He swept his eyes and mind up and down, rudely trying to pry through Alex’s shields again. Alex sent out a wave of magesign, making Peacock stagger backwards. Slamming the door behind him Alex grabbed Peacock by the shoulder and turned him. Shoving the old man in front he marched them into the office at the back.
‘I didn’t want any of this,’ he barked. ‘I’m pissed off with Welby for getting me into it and you for … for being you and having this fucking book.’
Peacock struggled but Alex’s grip held like an iron vice. ‘How did you take it?’ His voice was high, scared.
‘I didn�
��t. It came with me. I didn’t even know I had it.’ He took the grimoire from his pocket and threw it onto Peacock’s desk.
The old man gasped. ‘Be careful! That’s ancient!’
‘I don’t give a fuck. I want out. Lock it up, put up your wards, lock this place down. Then let me out and the book can stay.’
Peacock’s animation stilled. ‘Will that work? Can you get past my wards?’
‘Fuck knows. Welby thinks it’s worth a try.’
Peacock looked guilty, shifting uncomfortably. ‘Ah, Welby suggested you give it back to me?’
‘I told him I was going to and he argued against it. But when I insisted he suggested this.’ A cold feeling crept into Alex’s groin. ‘Why?’
Peacock looked down at his threadbare carpet.
‘What have you done?’
Peacock shuffled his feet. ‘I thought you two had managed some elaborate theft. I sent … friends to Welby’s to get the book back.’
‘What kind of friends?’
‘My gargoyles.’
Alex was stunned. ‘Gargoyles?’
Peacock looked remorseful, though unrepentant. ‘You came here and then my property went missing. I’m not sorry for sending them.’
‘Gargoyles?’
Peacock became angry again. ‘Yes, yes, gargoyles. You are a child in all this, aren’t you? They’ve gone to Welby’s and they will look for the book.’
Alex pointed to the desk. ‘It’s there.’
Peacock shrugged. ‘That won’t stop them looking. They’re rather dumb and single-minded.’
‘Call them back!’
‘I can’t. They’ll come when the job is done.’
Alex’s mind spun. He simply could not get any control however hard he tried. He imagined Welby fighting against ugly stone, winged creatures. ‘Can Welby cope with gargoyles?’ he asked, the words sounding ridiculous to his ears.
Peacock walked around his desk, sat heavily in his oversize chair. He stared at the book on his desk with trepidation. ‘I doubt it. That’s why I sent them.’