The Golem of Solomon's Way

by Jon Messenger

  His voice echoed up the shaft, but he knew he’d been heard when shadowy figures suddenly blocked the light from view. Luthor felt a momentary panic as he was cast into utter darkness, no longer having his faint refuge from the manhole overhead. He calmed himself with the knowledge that he could create light at will, should it become necessary.

  As the first figure grew nearer, their form grew more pronounced. The lantern was balanced in one of Mattie’s hands, and she used the other for balance as she descended the ladder. Luthor looked upward but immediately blushed and turned away. Though dressed in leather riding pants and a loose blouse, Luthor still found himself looking upward at a very obscene angle toward the climbing woman.

  Mattie stepped into the cold current but seemed oblivious to the temperature. She held the lantern aloft, and its light filled the sewer passages nearby. The tunnel was rounded, curving in a half-moon overhead before disappearing into the water. Tapping her foot forward, Mattie felt the edge of the ledge on which they stood.

  “We’re standing on a narrow ledge,” she said, confirming Luthor’s suspicions. “I wouldn’t step in either direction, were I you.”

  “I have no intention of drowning in such putrescent water, thank you, though.”

  The water level was clearly swollen from the recent rains. Though rank and foul, it remained clearer than Luthor would have assumed, in large part due to the flooding. While it saved the group from having to move through concentrated filth, it also washed away any hopes the apothecary had harbored of finding more clues.

  Doctor Casan finished his climb, a lantern in hand as well, and glanced around the rounded passage. Unlike Luthor and Mattie, the tall, lanky doctor had to stoop slightly once he stepped out of the shaft.

  “The low ceiling would make moving about in the sewers difficult for so tall a creature, but not impossible,” the doctor remarked.

  They turned the lanterns this way and that, examining both directions. They appeared nondescript, rounded sewer passages that led away in both directions. In the distance, they could see side passages merging with the main tunnel in which they stood. The side tunnels were slightly raised and their filth cascaded from the mouths of the tunnels to mix with the swollen waters. The light glinted off metal in the distance, marking another ladder leading up to the streets of Solomon’s Way. Glancing the other direction, Luthor saw the doctor’s light reflecting off yet another ladder.

  “If the giant came this way,” the apothecary explained, “then he would have limitless access to the streets above through the multitude of ladders and manhole covers.”

  “It hardly helps our investigation,” Casan replied. “He could just as easily have accessed the sewers through any of those openings.”

  Mattie slid past Luthor gingerly, careful to remain on the narrow ledge. Though concealed from the doctor’s prying eyes, Luthor could see the redhead sniffing the air cautiously before shaking her head and turning an unhealthy shade of white.

  “Can you smell anything?” Luthor asked quietly, the sound of his voice concealed by the rushing waters.

  Mattie shook her head. “Even once I managed my way past the overwhelming scent of refuse, the smells of the sewer are too foreign. Everything has a faint ting of spoilt meat. I’m sorry.”

  Luthor shook his head before turning toward the doctor. “I had hoped to find more of the footprints or, at the very least, markings indicating the giant had passed one way or the other. I had thought the mud might have been from the sewer itself, though even if it had been, it’s all been washed away in the deluge. I fear I’ve led us all on a fool’s errand.”

  “I hardly blame you,” Casan replied. “You have the fine instincts of an Inquisitor. Clearly, Simon has worn off on you over the years.”

  Luthor smiled. Mattie tapped him insistently on the shoulder at that moment, drawing his attention. Both men turned toward the woman.

  “I don’t think you’re wrong at all, Luthor,” she said. “I just think that the rains have hindered our search, but hardly stopped it. You said you thought you might find the same mud here in the sewers, but what if the mud didn’t come from the sewers? What if it came, instead, from where the beast originated? It hadn’t rained either the night of Veronica’s attack nor any of the nights previous. That means that if the giant carried mud on its shoe from whence it came, nothing would have washed it away as it’s doing now to us.”

  “You have a location in mind?” Luthor asked.

  “Only generally,” she replied. “These sewers have to drain somewhere, and I would venture a guess that the ground nearby would be saturated and muddy.”

  Luthor smiled broadly. “Miss Hawke, you are a genius,” he proclaimed. “Were the situation different and I not standing nearly knee deep in human excrement, I might consider kissing you right now.”

  “You know where we can find the beast?” the doctor dubiously asked.

  “All these sewers drain into the river,” Luthor explained. “It’s just like the experience with the troll and his home, which he created by breaking through the wall between a basement and the sewers. The outlets drain onto the river bank, which would be coated with mud.”

  Casan smiled as well. “Combined with our knowledge that the perpetrator has a working knowledge of medicine—”

  “Or even veterinary medicine,” Mattie added.

  Both men nodded their agreement. “Or veterinary medicine,” Casan continued, “we should be able to identify any doctor or veterinary practices along the banks of the river, specifically near one of the sewer outlets.”

  “Excellent,” Mattie replied. “Now that we have a way ahead, would it be too much to ask that we leave the sewers at once?”

  Both men nodded agreement once more, and the doctor began climbing.

  When they arrived back at the townhouse, Mattie immediately excused herself to go bathe the foul stench of the sewers from her body. Luthor appreciated the duress she must be under, suffering the indignity of not just smelling like human waste but having it coupled with an acute sense of smell.

  As Mattie climbed the stairs, the two men entered the study. Luthor pulled a map of Callifax from a shelf and laid it upon the table. With wax pencil in hand, Luthor marked the boundary of Solomon’s Way, bordered as it was on its northern edge by the Oreck River. A good number of the businesses within Callifax were already marked. The castle stood atop the rising hill. The Grand Hall and Callifax Abbey were noted within the Upper Reaches. Eden’s Grove claimed the debtor’s prison and Saint Midridge’s Asylum for the Mentally Impaired. The docks of the Gaslight District were clearly marked as well. Solomon’s Way was mostly barren, with only the Ace of Spades and, more recently, the police station labeled.

  “Most of these are warehouses,” Casan explained, motioning toward rows of larger square buildings. “They give way to some businesses closer to the bridge, though I can’t recall any medical practices in the area.”

  “Everything now is conjecture, at this point,” Luthor said. “Without walking the area, we’ll have to rely solely on our memory of the water’s edge.”

  “Agreed. We should plan to walk the businesses soon, so that we might find the identity of our killer before he strikes again.”

  Luthor suppressed a yawn. “Would you think less of me if I begged off the search today? The events of the past few days have left me both physically and mentally drained.”

  Casan shook his head as he looked up from the map. “Not at all. You and Mattie have been both inviting to me, a practical stranger, and instrumental to the investigation thus far. Why don’t the both of you rest and clean yourselves as best you can. I will conduct the search as part of my duties as coroner, though I’d be derelict if I gave you the impression it would all be completed tonight. Searching the river’s edge of Solomon’s Way will be a taxing journey and will probably take… would you think less of me if I said a week or more?”

  “I would be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped for sooner, but I completely under
stand. That would be exceptional. I’ll continue my own investigation and hopefully when we reconvene we’ll be sharing similar notes and conclusions. Thank you, Youke.”

  The doctor nodded and turned toward the door. “I should be off, then.”

  Luthor opened the door for the young doctor and saw him out. The rain had stopped, though the sky remained dark and cloudy. They stopped on the landing before the front door and shook hands.

  “We’re getting close, Doctor,” Luthor said. “I can feel it as surely as it were one of my five senses.”

  “We’ll reconvene as soon as I have completed my reconnaissance,” the doctor said, with a broad and confident smile. “We will have our killer in cuffs soon enough.”

  Simon sat at his windowsill, the window slightly open, letting in the cool breeze and airing out the stale air of the house. He overhead Luthor and the doctor’s conversation and watched the young doctor depart, a knowing smile spread across his face. The Inquisitor felt an ache in his chest at the thought that so much of the investigation had been conducted without him. Moreover, he hadn’t fully realized until that moment that he was expendable in his and Luthor’s working and personal relationships. If their conversation was to be believed, they were close to solving Veronica’s murder.

  Veronica’s murder, Simon thought. It should have been him investigating, he knew. While his friends were solving the murder of his fiancée, he was holed up within his home, barely seeing the sunlight, much less actually leaving the house. His inaction had made him obsolete.

  No, he realized, not his inaction. He turned away from the window, the ache in his chest growing stronger until it became a physical pain that lanced through his heart. Simon picked up his nearly empty tumbler and the likewise nearly emptied bottle of scotch, holding them in his hands and staring at them. His mouth felt parched once more, a type of thirst that would never be truly satiated. It would always be a gnawing ache in the back of his throat, as though he were a man walking through the desert, never finding the water to satisfy his needs.

  Wobbling on his feet, Simon took a few tentative steps toward the mantle. As he reached the fireplace, he drew back his hand and threw the glass into the hearth. It shattered, spilling what liquor remained onto the cold, gray ashes.

  Simon tilted the bottle, watching the scotch slosh along the walls of the glass as it ran toward his lips. Instead of pouring it into his mouth, he turned the bottle’s neck and added the remainder of the liquor to the exhausted fireplace. Absently, he set the empty bottle down on his table before turning away.

  Staggering away from the smoking fireplace, Simon stumbled into his study. Rolled parchments stood from a barrel near the door. He pulled one from the barrel and unrolled it in his hands. Frustrated at not finding what he sought, he tossed it aside and pulled another free. Scowling at another failed attempt, the Inquisitor dumped the contents onto the study’s table and fumbled through them. As he unrolled a thick map, he unsteadily smiled. Pausing before the overladen bookshelf, Simon ran his fingers over the spines of the novels. He blinked heavily as the words blurred in his vision.

  “Oafish men of superhuman strength,” he mumbled to himself. “Large, brutish, ogre-ish, I dare say.” His hand paused on one of his research books. He pulled it from the shelf and balanced it in his hand as he flipped through the pages. Smiling, he snapped the book closed, though he flinched at the loud noise and the pounding it caused behind his eyes.

  Stumbling back into the sitting room, book and map in hand, he paused as he realized an empty bottle of scotch blocked his workspace.

  Dropping the empty bottle to the ground, Simon staggered back to his high-backed chair and collapsed into it, map in hand. His eyes glanced over the top as he watched the fireplace, as though he expected it to suddenly roar to life in protest.

  Luthor sat heavily in the cushioned chair, sipping his tea as his mind wandered. The events in the sewers weighed heavily on his mind, as did hopes that Doctor Casan would find the surgeon or veterinarian in question during his search. The morning was bright, the sun having burned away the storm clouds that had lingered for nearly a week, and sun streamed through the front windows.

  “You smell a fair bit better than you have in a while,” Mattie remarked as she entered the room.

  Her hair was still damp from her innumerable baths since their return. Though Luthor knew they reeked of the sewer’s filth, he lacked her sensitive lupine nose. He could only imagine how malodorous they had seemed to her. Luthor had similarly bathed, though only once each night. Admittedly, he remained in the bath for long after the water in the porcelain tub had grown cold and the kettle of replacement hot water had been tapped dry. Scrubbing seemed hardly good enough to remove the stench from his skin. His clothing had been discarded as a loss. No amount of washing would return the fibers of his outfit to a suitable level of cleanliness.

  “I made sure to wash thoroughly,” he replied. “I enjoy your company immensely and would hate to lose even a moment with you due to a lingering putrescence.”

  “Always the thoughtful gentleman,” she said as she leaned forward and kissed him upon the forehead. “Has Youke not yet shown? I would have expected him by now.”

  Luthor frowned and glanced at the clock resting atop the mantle. The morning was growing late, already past breakfast, but the doctor had not shown nor had he sent word of a delay. It had been a full week since their impromptu meeting in Luthor’s home, and the promise of the doctor’s reconnaissance weighed heavily on the apothecary’s mind. “I certainly hope nothing ill has befallen him,” the apothecary said, removing his glasses absently to clean the lenses once more. “I would blame myself if somehow the killer caught wind of our investigation.”

  “You must forgive yourself, Luthor. I know that during this past week you had hoped to reveal some great truth behind the murders. Perhaps the good doctor will have something more definitive.”

  Mattie walked past him and into the kitchen. Luthor could hear the clink of china as she removed a teacup from the cupboard. “Did you read the paper this morning?”

  “I thought the same thing.” He rested his hand on the folded paper, sitting on the table beside him. “There was no mention of our young doctor.”

  “Then we assume the best and that he’s just delayed.”

  Mattie poured herself some tea before adding her sugar and milk. She stirred it gently with a spoon before returning to the sitting room, glancing at Luthor as she sat across from him. His shoulders were tight, and she could see the vein in his neck throbbing with each pulse of his heartbeat.

  “You need to relax before you require the doctor for a much different reason,” she said.

  His shoulders dropped as he took a deep breath. “Forgive me. I’m just worried about our investigation. As far as the Grand Inquisitor is concerned, Simon is conducting a thorough investigation as we speak.”

  “You sent the other letter?” Mattie asked, referring to another forgery Luthor concocted to appease the Grand Inquisitor.

  Luthor nodded. “With Simon otherwise indisposed, it falls on the two of us—with Youke’s obvious assistance—to solve this string of murders. The Grand Hall will remain none the wiser only if we succeed.”

  Mattie opened her mouth to reply but she was interrupted by a knock at the door. She smiled. “You see, Luthor, there’s our doctor now.”

  The apothecary stood and made his way into the foyer. A smile had returned to his face. Though they still had much to do, he was eager to continue their investigation. He drew back the lock on the door and opened it but immediately paused, his mouth slightly agape in a friendly welcome that never came. It wasn’t Doctor Casan on the other side of the door. Standing there, in full regalia but leaning heavily against the doorframe, stood Simon.

  The Inquisitor looked refreshed; a much different man than the one who had been so curt during their last encounter. He was dressed once more in his suit, the top hat canted on his head and the chain of his pocket watch hanging
across the front of his vest. A rolled map was tucked neatly under one arm. Though the brim of his hat blocked the bright sunlight, his eyes were wide and enthusiastic as he stared at the apothecary.

  “Sir?” Luthor breathlessly asked. “I’m surprised to see you. You’ll have to forgive me for being dumbfounded, but I was expecting someone else.”

  “Yes, the good doctor,” Simon replied. The Inquisitor gestured toward the cooler and darker interior. “Would you care to invite me in?”

  Luthor regained his composure and stepped aside. “Of course.”

  “For some God awful reason, it’s abysmally bright this morning.”

  Simon moved to step over the threshold, but his gait was unsteady and he had to lean once more against the doorframe for support.

  Luthor frowned. “Sir, you’re still drunk.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Luthor,” Simon said as he pushed himself upright once more. “I just haven’t slept much lately. There has been so much to do on the investigation. I just seem to have regained my faculties far quicker than I’ve regained my equilibrium. I promise you I’ve been stone sober since some time earlier this week.”

  The Inquisitor stepped inside, and Luthor closed the door behind him. Mattie rose at the sight of Simon and smiled. “We’ve missed you, Simon.”

  “Finally someone who offers an appropriate welcome after my unforeseen leave of absence.” Mattie walked over to him, in lieu of waiting for him to walk unsteadily toward her, and tightly hugged him. “I’ve missed you both as well, Matilda.”

  “You’ll forgive my asking, sir, but what are you doing here?” Luthor asked. “I hardly expected to see you again, especially during the course of my investigation.”

  “Our investigation,” Simon corrected. “You were right. I’ve been remiss in my duties, not just as a Royal Inquisitor but more importantly as a widower.”

  Luthor furrowed his brow. “I believe you have to be married for that term to apply.”