A Mage's Gambit: New York Falling (A Malachi English book)

by Andy Hyland

  ‘Bloody right you weren’t,’ he muttered as we walked away.

  The keycard, it turned out, was the golden ticket. It called the elevator, and when we entered, it sent the elevator rocketing skywards. Zack checked his pistol on the way up. He was armed and dangerous. I was packing some minor-league magic. If Liberty was screwing with us, if we were about to trigger some serious fatal hexes, then there wasn’t a hell of a lot we could do about it. Even the gun was more of a security blanket than real protection. Still, it kept Zack happy – that time between tattoos when his skin was recuperating was always a difficult period for him.

  The elevator chimed softly and opened directly into a spacious and bare lounge. Larger than Julie’s, but with no homely touches whatsoever. No care, no style had gone into its construction. An expensive but utilitarian office chair sat across from a small table that held a laptop and a small notebook. The only ornamentation on the walls was a family portrait, years old. Edwin Monk in his prime, which was to say he wasn’t looking like he was teetering on the edge of the grave. Black hair and a crisp suit. But his eyes – empty and cold. Simply nothing there. I had to wonder whether this was before he got infected, before he got caught up in the Carafax lust for power. Because if it was, if this was the genuine, original Edwin Monk, the guy had the eyes of a psychopath. Whatever psychic malware the Aleph used had found fertile ground in this man. And then the power had eaten him up and left an aged husk.

  Seated next to him in the picture was a woman in a pastel green jacket and skirt. Prim, proper, knees closed and all that. On her lap were seated two young boys – a year old at most? Cute as anything from the neck down – matching blue dungarees, white socks and black bootees. From the neck up they suffered the same problem as their mother. Someone had taken a pen and scratched the faces off them. Of that picture-perfect family, only the dead face of Edwin now stared out.

  ‘How long ago?’ I wondered out loud. ‘How long ago did he stop being human in any real sense?’

  Zack was over at the laptop, flicking through the notepad as he booted it up. ‘A while ago, I’d say. This notepad – it’s gibberish. I don’t mean hidden code stuff, I mean real gibberish. The laptop – hold on – yeah, it’s what I thought. The thing’s been unpacked but never turned on. It’s asking me to set up Windows Vista for the first time. He can’t have lived in this place.’

  ‘He didn’t. I think his whole life has been a show for some time now. I wonder how much of him is actually left. He wanted power and he got it, but he gave up so much else. Damn. I’ll try through here.’

  The first door led off to a kitchen diner. The cupboards did have some boxes and cans in – cereal, beans, soup. Enough to sustain, but it would depress you if you had to live off the bland stuff every day. Maybe he ate out a lot. I doubted it. A second door led off to a bathroom. Basic toiletries and a cupboard full of medication. Only the bedroom contained anything of real interest – anything that spoke of a human being who thought and lived.

  The single bed was cheap and unmade. There were two surprises. The first was the bookshelf against the far wall. Thick biographies, for the most part. Napoleon, Alexander the Great, Caesar. Disturbing, but not particularly unusual.

  ‘So he likes the great men,’ said Zack, coming up behind me. ‘The conquerors, the takers, the makers of history.’

  ‘Give me Lord of the Rings and I’m happy,’ I replied. ‘Or anything else where the little guys come out on top and the wizards are cool. Look at the second shelf down, though.’ The biographies gave way to engineering books, all devoted to the Channel Tunnel – that miracle of British-French cooperation that ran from Dover to Calais. I went on it once. Bored me to tears. Much prefer a ferry crossing any day.

  The second surprise was a small model, set on a table in the corner. At first glance it looked like something out of the Warhammer games. Somewhere between a fortress and a palace, a gleaming black structure, rectangular with four twisting, ornate towers at each corner that dominated the structure. I knelt down to get a better view. It was, as models go, amazingly intricate. You could almost see every…

  ‘It’s not quite to scale, but you get the idea,’ said a rasping voice from the corner. We spun round to see Edwin Monk standing in the corner, leering and leaning on his cane. He flickered slightly in the light. Zack pulled his pistol and dropped into a firing stance, levelling his aim straight at the old guy’s head.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ I told him. ‘He’s projecting.’

  ‘Correct’ Monk agreed. ‘And even if I were actually here, pulling that trigger would only result in your own death. Not that there’s too much longer to wait for that anyway. But please, if you want to fire off some shots then go ahead. I’ve never liked the place anyway.’

  I stood up, facing him. Projections as a rule weren’t capable of any significant magics, but we’d seen enough from Monk in our previous encounter to be very cautious. ‘If you know we’re here then why aren’t there guards busting down the door and ending us?’

  He considered this for a moment. ‘Our efforts are elsewhere at the moment. You and your friend aren’t that significant. You’re minor problems at worst. You do, however, have an innate talent for survival, which I find myself having to admire. I would invite you to join us, but that would be a waste of time.’

  ‘And yet you’re here.’

  ‘Yes, I am, aren’t I? What can I say? An old man with time on his hands. I so rarely get to talk to anyone these days who’s not bowing and scraping on the ground before me. That’s one of the reasons I miss Frank so very much. So many years together, and you still barely know a man.’

  I held my tongue. He gazed into the middle distance, before his focus snapped back to us.

  ‘Do you like it? The fortress of the Aleph? So ancient its own name was forgotten millennia ago.’

  ‘And you’re what, going to build your own copy here on earth?’

  A wide smile broke his face at this, and he laughed so hard that it turned into a coughing fit, doubling him over. For one glorious moment I thought that he was going to keel over right then and there. No such luck.

  ‘No, we’re not going to build it, you fool. How could something of such magnificence be copied here without it being an insult? No, we’re moving it here. The seat of the Aleph will be in New York.’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ said Zack. ‘You can’t move something that big. And the loss of power for the Aleph when they came…’

  ‘All true,’ Monk agreed. ‘And something that vexed my masters for generations, while empires rose and fell on this plane. Moving through the Fades has always been the issue. What needed to be done, they discovered, was for them to exist in the netherworld and here simultaneously. No travel would be necessary.’

  ‘Are we talking about a portal?’ I asked, trying to keep him talking. Nothing was making sense so far.

  ‘Part portal, part bridge, part something else, something that has never been done before. The great north tower of the fortress will simply be both here and there. No crossing. No reduction in power. The Lords will step foot out of the black palace and stand in our city. Then all will bow before them, all lie prostrate at their feet. We call it the Manhattan Transfer.’

  ‘Hell on earth,’ I said.

  ‘These terms,’ he said, dismissing me with a wave of his hand, ‘these absolutes you use – no wonder your kind scuttle about in your pointlessness.’

  ‘It’s not possible,’ said Zack. ‘Can’t be possible, or it would have been done by now.’

  ‘You think it was easy?’ Monk spat. ‘You think it doesn’t require preparation, and time, and the price paid in blood again and again and again?’

  ‘The channel tunnel books,’ I said as it clicked. ‘The way they built that thing – not starting at one end and going through to the other. They started at each end and worked inward. You built the foundations here and worked back, meeting them in the middle.’

  ‘Oh, very good. Perhaps you could ha
ve joined us after all. It would have made life interesting. But,’ he gave a shrug of his shoulders, ‘perhaps too interesting.’ He leaned forward with a glint in his eyes. ‘Would you like to see? Come?’

  The apparition moved through the apartment and we followed him to the main room where he stood looking out the tall windows to Ascension House. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘So much time, so many years. Generations of lives toiling away to lead to this moment. And I am the one who will finally see the consummation.’

  ‘Bit over the top,’ I said. ‘Nice building and all, but I wouldn’t call it beautiful.’

  ‘You’ve not seen all of it. Not seen the majesty.’

  ‘I was there for that big party. Pleasant enough as far as offices go, but all the corporate buildings look the same to me after a while.’

  Monk chuckled. ‘You don’t understand. You haven’t truly seen. Frank knew the value of a well-cast glamour. Can you imagine the power, the resources it would take to cast a glamour over a building of that size?’

  I was caught, my mind now in two places at once, furiously connecting all the dots.

  ‘Let me show you,’ he said. ‘Truth be told, I’ve not seen it in all its glory myself, and I’ll be leaving soon. Let’s take in the majesty of it together. Let’s see what’s really been growing in New York City all this time.’

  As we stared at Ascension House it was as if a cloud, a haze, was being pulled away from it. The tower grew, twisted, and darkened. Bricks and stones became scales and iron. Sleek black windows became gaping pits from which flames belched. The thing was enormous – twice the size of the Empire State Building, at least. The footprint had doubled, tripled.

  And yet. Ascension House was still there, still flickering into view. The two towers were competing with each other, neither winning the fight. Not yet.

  ‘It’s not complete,’ I said. ‘It’s not fully here.’

  ‘No,’ Monk agreed, ‘not completely. And for now only the Aware can see what you see. When everything is finished, when the work is complete, all mortals will see the great tower, and the Aleph will walk upon the earth once more.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ asked Zack. ‘The whole gloating, showing-us-your-big-plan routine? It’s really second-rate villain stuff.’

  ‘Such bravado,’ said Monk, clapping his spectral hands. ‘But you’re right of course. Massive delaying tactic, that’s all. You’re best out of the way, and some runes take time to activate. But…ah, there we are. All done. Goodbye, Malachi English, Zachary Preston. I wish I could say you’ve been worthy opponents, but truth be told you were simply minor impediments. Not even footnotes in the great tales of our times. You can die now.’

  Monk vanished. Zach looked at me. ‘This is bad, right?’

  He didn’t need an answer. We ran for the elevator door and I jabbed at the button to call it. Nothing. Power was dead. ‘Is there a staircase?’ I asked. ‘Look for another door.’

  The floor shook, throwing us backwards. The view out the windows shifted, tilted, as the skyscraper wavered. Loud, dull thuds sounded from far below us. The floor lurched the other way, sending the table and chair falling and sliding towards the wall.

  ‘What the hell?’ said Zack.

  ‘As a guess, I’d say he’s blown the foundations. The git didn’t have the apartment booby-trapped, he had the whole building stitched up. We need to get out. Now.’

  ‘And the award for stating the bloody obvious goes once again to you. How? How?’

  We were shouting now. The tortured framework of the building was screaming as it twisted in ways it was never designed for. The plaster fell from the walls, and the windows cracked and shattered. We tilted again and the view from the windows pointed down to Battery Park. ‘There’s only one way we’re getting out of here. How much have you got?’

  ‘I’m well-rested, but I’ve got nothing that’s going to -’

  ‘I don’t need you to cast anything. Give me everything you’ve got. Everything.’

  It was a lot to ask, even in the direst of circumstances, and it could leave you completely helpless – the last thing you wanted to be in a crisis. Mages hoarded their power, expending only what was necessary, keeping as much of a full tank as possible. Very rarely would you surrender your power to another mage, even a friend. We were all basically loners and as much as we trusted each other - well, that only went so far. I could count the number of people I’d normally help in this way on, oh, one finger. And he was lying underground with a stake in his heart.

  Zack looked carefully at me. ‘You can really get us out of this?’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know. But if I don’t try in the next ten seconds, then it’s not going to matter what I can or can’t do.’

  ‘Damn it. Get this wrong and I’ll find you in hell and kick the crap out of you. Take it.’ He reached out and grabbed my arm, hard. Then I felt it, the channelling, a power familiar yet distinct, flowing in, melding with mine.

  The rush was almost intoxicating – suddenly I was packing twice the power I’d normally carry, and for a second I stood there. ‘Malachi!’ Zack screamed in my ear, bringing me down with a bump. ‘If you’re going to do it, do it now.’

  ‘Run,’ I told him, and, taking his arm, set off at a sprint towards the window. The pane was long since gone, and together we flew out of the penthouse apartment as the ceiling crashed down on where we were standing.

  When I say ‘flew’, what I actually mean is plummeted. Even carrying Zack’s power I still had nowhere near enough to fly. I’d only ever seen one mage pull that off, and he he only did it once. Crashed and burned on the second attempt. No, we tumbled out of the Kreslaw Building penthouse and commenced our rapid journey towards the street below. I threw as much power into a ward as I’ve ever done and pushed outwards. It was a balancing act – create the protective ward around us, but keep enough back to stay conscious and casting. If I blacked out, the ward would weaken or fail. Zack gripped my arm again, and I felt him push even more power my way, before his body went limp. He’d gone over the edge and burned out. All down to me now.

  The ward impacted the street when the two of us were still five feet up, taking the brunt of the collision, slowing us. It felt like we were suddenly falling through jelly. My shoulder struck the sidewalk and we rolled and skidded fifty yards before stopping. ‘Bloody hell,’ I said out loud. ‘Bloody hell, it worked. Zack?’

  I looked over. He lay there unmoving, barely breathing. Above us the building shifted again. We weren’t out of it yet. I tried dragging Zack by the arms but it was too slow, so I hoisted him onto my shoulder and took off at a lolloping run. I was nearly out on my feet but kept pushing forward, promising my legs I’d only ask them for another ten steps, then another ten.

  I collapsed to the ground the same time the Kreslaw did. A roar filled my ears and a billowing dust cloud poured out towards us. I covered Zack as best I could, closing my eyes, trying not to breathe in too hard. For long minutes we stayed like that while the world shook around us. When my hearing came back there were sirens wailing close nearby. I shakily got to my feet, dislodging the lumps of debris on my back. Zack was still there, still breathing, still away with the fairies.

  ‘Sir? Sir?’ came a call to my right. A paramedic was running towards me, a young girl carrying a holdall. Young, far too young to have to be here dealing with this. Across the park the Ascension building still flickered into view between snatches of the black tower. It was more regular now – a pulse rather than a flicker. If I concentrated I could make out large, dark forms moving slowly inside. I grabbed the paramedic and pointed. ‘What do you see there?’

  ‘Are you okay sir? Are you injured anywhere?’

  ‘Please. Tell me.’

  She looked warily at me before deciding to play along. ‘A building, sir. It’s some bank, isn’t it?’

  Still time then. No idea how much, but still time. ‘Please, look after my friend. He collapsed. No injuries, I think.’ No p
oint trying to explain what soul-shock was to a girl who already thought I was skirting on the edge of madness. She knelt over him, and I made my escape, stumbling across the dust and the rubble, skirting the paramedics and the fire crews. People were crying, wailing. I saw at least five bodies, broken and useless, their previous inhabitants now winging their way to the light or the darkness. And still the black tower loomed over it all. A taste of things to come.

  I’d have preferred to leave Zack with his own kind, mages who at least knew what he was going through, knew that the only cure was extended rest and peace. Still, the New York paramedics were the next best option. He’d be well cared for, and if they left well enough alone he’d be up and about in a couple of days.

  The immediate problem was getting to Simeon’s library. Monk knew that Frank had used a glamour – a taunting, off-the-cuff remark designed to let me know that he knew Julie was still alive. And if his entire show-and-tell routine was a way to keep me occupied, then…I pushed on, refusing to think about it. Just as worrying as the fact that he knew, was the question of who had told him. Deep in my gut I knew the answer.

  The closest two entrances to Simeon’s underground labyrinth were out of the question – the streets were filled with either gawkers or cops. I must have looked a state, because every half a block someone tried to help me, or drag me into a café or get me a drink. I was polite at first, but after the first few I simply pushed them away.

  In the end up I wound up round the back of St Paul’s chapel again, with its set-back metal door. I pushed it, half-fearing the result. It opened without resistance, swinging wide. Nobody but Simeon knew exactly how his security worked, but I was willing to bet it all tied together. If this door was unlocked, then what of the others? What of the wards, the hexes, the confuscations?

  There was no option but to press on. I moved as quietly as I could without sacrificing speed. The maze of corridors seemed smaller than before. Perhaps it had always been smaller, Simeon’s magic making it seem more extensive than it actually was. Before too long the red door stood before me, a few meters away, ajar.