by Edward Cox
Almost immediately, he regretted his sharpness. Through so many years of living and working alone he had grown used to the isolation of his life. Was that part of the reason why Clara’s youth and naivety irritated him so much? Had he grown intolerant of company of any kind? Or perhaps he was acknowledging a sense of guilt and shame from the strange circumstances that had brought them together. Maybe it was neither; maybe it was something else that was bothering the old bounty hunter.
I never remember the wolf, Clara had said.
She had no control over her magic …
Samuel swore as he again failed with the lock. Just as he decided that kicking the door open was a much more preferable option, Clara reached down and took the lock-picking tools from his hands.
‘Here,’ she said softly. ‘Let me try.’
Grudgingly, Samuel moved out of the way, and Clara crouched before the door.
‘Maybe the only advantage of being a whore is that you meet people from all walks of life,’ she said, toying with the lock. ‘And it’s a smart woman who takes the time to learn a new trick or two. Or so my mothers used to say.’
There was a small click, and Clara stood up to open the door into Briar’s Boutique. A bell jingled lightly. Clara smiled at Samuel, clearly pleased with her lock-picking skills and anticipating some kind of praise. But he simply retrieved his tools, and then drew his revolver.
‘Stay behind me,’ he ordered as he walked through the doorway. He heard Clara mutter, ‘You’re welcome,’ but paid her sarcasm no mind.
The antiques shop was a scene of devastation. Shelving and racks, along with the antiques they had once displayed, lay in pieces, strewn across a floor of thick carpet. Wall mounted glow lamps had been smashed. The air felt charged, as it did before a lightning storm, and it prickled upon Samuel’s skin.
‘Whoa,’ Clara said. ‘Do you feel that?’
‘It’s magic,’ Samuel explained. ‘It sometimes clings to the air. What you’re feeling now is what Van Bam saw from the Nightshade.’
He stared down at the floor, where a pair of feet in expensive slippers protruded from beneath the smashed wood of some racking. Holstering his revolver, Samuel moved forwards and cleared away the debris until he revealed a figure wearing a nightshirt and gown, lying flat on its back.
Samuel stared at it for a moment, and his gut tightened.
‘Well,’ he said sourly, ‘at least we can be sure Moor’s been here.’
Clara stood beside him and gulped. ‘Is that the shop owner?’
‘What’s left of him.’
In truth, it was impossible to tell if it was man or woman lying there. All flesh and bone had turned to dry and cracked grey stone. The head was bald and lumpy, and the disfigured face had no more than ragged holes for eyes, nostrils and its gaping mouth.
‘Fabian Moor did this to him?’ Clara asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Samuel nodded. ‘It’s the end result of a virus he spreads when he feeds.’
‘Feeds?’ Clara’s tone had risen in pitch.
‘Fabian Moor did terrible things to himself to gain access to the Labyrinth, Clara. Feeding on the blood of denizens is the only way he can sustain his life.’
Clara licked her lips nervously. ‘The old stories said that he tried to spread a plague. Is this how he did it – by drinking blood?’
Samuel shook his head. ‘The virus is only a by-product of Moor’s condition. But if allowed to take its full course, it will turn a person into stone, into a golem.’
Clara stared down at the ruins of the shop owner. ‘Last night,’ she said, ‘out in the Great Labyrinth, I think things like this were with Hemlock, dressed as priests. Carrying guns.’
‘Yes,’ Samuel said. ‘Golems are stupid but loyal to their creator. This shopkeeper must have been too weak to survive the process.’
He tapped the golem’s head with the toe of his boot. It crumbled to fine powder.
Samuel looked around the wreckage on the floor. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Why would Moor come somewhere as public as a shop to feed? There are more secluded places in the Labrys Town.’
‘Hemlock said that he was looking for something,’ Clara said, and she gestured to the smashed wares around her. ‘An antique, maybe?’
Before anything further could be said, Samuel heard someone calling his name. Looking through the boutique’s open door, he saw a ghostly figure holding a cane of green glass.
‘Is … is that Van Bam?’ Clara asked in surprise.
Samuel didn’t answer and walked outside with the changeling hot on his heels.
Van Bam gave a small smile as they approached. Samuel noted that Clara seemed perturbed by the Resident’s presence, as though she wanted to reach out a hand to touch him, to see if he was real. Again, her naivety irritated him. Surely, after all she had witnessed already, Clara could fathom that this was nothing but an image projected from the Nightshade through the eyes in the plaza.
Van Bam turned his metal eyes to Samuel. ‘What have you found?’ he asked, his voice crackling slightly.
‘Moor’s definitely been here,’ Samuel replied. ‘One of his golems is inside. It’s dead.’
‘Any indication of why he came to this boutique?’
Samuel shook his head. ‘He might’ve been looking for a relic, but even if so, there’s no way of telling if he found it, or where he went to next.’
‘Ah, but there is, Samuel,’ said Van Bam. ‘Captain Jeter has contacted the Nightshade. He reports another disturbance, at the asylum in the eastern district.’
‘I know East Side Asylum,’ Clara said. ‘It’s a grim place.’
‘Reports so far have been vague,’ Van Bam’s image continued. ‘Something has disrupted the asylum’s eye devices and I cannot see inside it, but what I have managed to learn sounds suspiciously like the symptoms of Moor’s virus. And the disturbance is continuing even as we speak.’
‘We’re on our way,’ Samuel said.
‘A word of caution, Samuel. The police have been advised that the Relic Guild is active once again, and will be present at the asylum. As far as they are concerned, we are tracking a wild demon.’
Samuel snorted. ‘That sounds familiar.’
‘Be mindful around them, Samuel.’
He sighed. ‘Understood.’
‘Good. There is a police tram outside the Nightshade. I will ride it to the asylum and meet you there.’
As Van Bam’s image disappeared, Clara said, ‘What did that mean? Be mindful of what?’
But Samuel was already heading for the Resident’s black tram, which waited outside the plaza. ‘It means you keep your face hidden and your mouth shut,’ he called back. ‘Now, come on!’
The old bounty hunter was his usual reticent self as the tram headed into the eastern district. Clara was glad of his silence now. She didn’t want to hear any more answers to her questions. Samuel had pulled none of his punches when explaining exactly what they might be facing when they reached East Side Asylum. Clara fidgeted in her seat, wringing her hands as she tried not to think about it.
Animals, Samuel had called the victims of Fabian Moor’s virus. The Genii’s bite caused madness and a violent thirst for blood that rivalled that of the wild demons of the Retrospective. The infected lost all sense of reason, gave no regard to personal safety. There was no cure for their condition. Only a bullet to the head could end their insane lusts, unless the virus ran its full course and turned flesh and blood into the stone of a golem. But while Fabian Moor’s victims remained bestial, they too could spread the virus with a single bite.
Clara watched the buildings of the eastern district passing the tram’s windows. She recognised the area. East Side Asylum wasn’t very far away.
Clara’s skin itched. Finally she looked across the carriage into Samuel’s pale blue eyes. ‘I want a gun,�
�� she said.
‘Pardon me?’
‘I won’t get bitten, Samuel. I want something to protect myself with.’
‘Clara, have you even held a gun before?’
‘Well, no, but—’
‘Then you have your answer.’ Samuel stopped her before she could argue further. ‘You don’t need a gun while I’m with you. Put it from your mind.’
His arrogance needled her. ‘Easy for you to say,’ she grumbled, ‘you’ve got two already,’ and she turned back to the window.
Golems. In part, Clara could understand what it felt like to lose yourself, to forget who you were and everything you had done – she had experienced it herself, briefly, during her childhood, on those rare occasions when she had been unable to hold back the metamorphosis into the wolf – but to lose yourself forever? To become a mindless servant, unable to make even the simplest decisions, to be stripped of all conscience? Becoming a golem didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Now listen to me, Clara,’ Samuel said as they neared the asylum. ‘The police believe the Relic Guild is hunting down a wild demon. It’s the same cover story we used the last time Fabian Moor was around. He and the Genii must not be mentioned to anyone, understand?’
Turning from the window, Clara gave him a miserable glare. ‘I’m not an idiot.’
‘All the same,’ Samuel said in a slow, deliberate tone, ‘it’s best if you let me do the talking until Van Bam arrives. Agreed?’
Clara shrugged.
Samuel opened his coat and pulled from an inside pocket what Clara at first mistook for a roll of dark grey material. But when Samuel shook it out, it proved to be a rumpled, wide-brimmed hat.
‘It’s been forty years since the Relic Guild was last active,’ he said. ‘There’ll be a lot of curious people at the asylum, but we always keep our true identities secret.’
Samuel put the hat on. The wide brim cast a shadow so dense it was as if his face had been shrouded in a thick, black cloth. No matter how Clara adjusted her position, or how close she peered, not one of his features was discernible.
‘This hat’s made from an Aelfirian material,’ Samuel explained. ‘It’s charmed. Even Van Bam can’t see through the effect. The hood of your jumper is made from the same stuff.’
‘Really?’ Clara pulled the hood over her head, but didn’t feel any different beneath the charmed material. However, when she looked at Samuel he confirmed with a nod that the predicted effect had taken place.
Samuel looked out the window. ‘We’re here,’ he said. ‘Remember – let me do the talking.’
Outside, the wall surrounding East Side Asylum loomed broad and solid. The tram stopped, waiting as two street patrolmen opened a set of tall, black iron gates, and then it trundled forwards slowly along the tracks into the asylum’s forecourt. A cluster of police officers parted as it went through. Clara could see many of them trying to peer through the tinted windows, undoubtedly hoping to catch a glimpse of the passengers inside, the agents of a guild only known from old stories.
The tram stopped behind a blue and white striped police tram already parked before the asylum.
Samuel stood up. Clara looked at his veiled face, her mind racing with thoughts of what they might find inside the building.
‘I’m frightened,’ she said, and then felt embarrassed by the admission.
To her surprise, Samuel didn’t react with cold intolerance; instead he offered his hand and helped Clara to her feet. ‘I never knew an agent who wasn’t,’ he said, and then opened the tram’s door. ‘Stay close and follow my lead.’
East Side Asylum was situated on the very outskirts of the eastern district: a grim building that sat in the shadow of the boundary wall. It rose three storeys high, and denizens could be seen milling around inside through tall windows. Activity within the asylum was agitated, much more than in the forecourt, where spectators generally displayed only calm curiosity. The police officers kept their distance as the two Relic Guild agents headed for the door. They stood in clusters, pointing and whispering. Although Clara knew her face was veiled by the charmed hood of her jumper she felt conspicuous and, for some reason, guilty.
‘Where’s Van Bam?’ she whispered to Samuel.
He didn’t reply.
As they climbed the stone steps that led up to the asylum’s entrance, a young and clean-cut policeman emerged from the tall double doors and headed down the steps to meet them.
His face was lined with worry and, Clara could tell, he wasn’t much impressed by who he was approaching.
‘I’m Sergeant Ennis,’ he said, less by way of introduction, than to affirm his authority. ‘The Resident told us to expect you.’ He frowned, more irritated than perturbed that he couldn’t see the faces of the people he addressed. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered.
Clara sensed Samuel bristle as Ennis turned abruptly, and climbed the stone steps. The old bounty hunter followed him with the changeling in tow.
‘No one’s certain as to what actually occurred here,’ the sergeant said stiffly as they entered the reception foyer. ‘The trouble seems to be located below, in the sublevels. We’ve sealed them off, but we don’t know if the demon’s still down there.’
The foyer was a large open plan room. A reception desk sat at the centre, around which couches and chairs formed a square. In the plain walls, doors led to consultation rooms and offices, and at the far end a wide staircase led to the upper levels. Clara had been to East Side Asylum a few times in the past, to visit her friend Willow while she recuperated from a narcotics addiction. During those visits Clara had found the reception foyer a quiet place, peaceful almost, but now it was chaotic.
Doctors and orderlies tried to calm agitated patients; police officers took statements from therapists and tried to instil some order in the room. The atmosphere seemed close to hysteria, and no one paid much notice to the Relic Guild agents.
‘Some staff and patients are trapped down in the sublevels,’ Ennis said, and he gestured to the left side of the room and the closed doors of an elevator. ‘I was told to wait for your arrival before attempting rescue.’
Samuel didn’t appear to be listening, or to have picked up on the rancour in the sergeant’s voice. He looked over the denizens in the room with an almost clinical gaze. ‘Have any of these people been in contact with the demon?’ he asked.
Ennis shrugged. ‘I can’t say,’ he said, as if the question was as superfluous as the presence of the Relic Guild. ‘Most of them were already here when we arrived.’
‘Then maybe you can find me someone who can say,’ Samuel said levelly.
‘Why?’ The tone was contemptuous. ‘We’ve handled wild demons before.’
‘Sergeant,’ Samuel’s voice was full of warning now. ‘I have neither the time nor patience to wait while you try to piss on your territory.’
Ennis bridled. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You’re embarrassing yourself.’
The policeman squared up to the old bounty hunter. ‘What authority do you have here?’
‘The Resident’s authority,’ Samuel replied, bringing his shadowed face within an inch of the sergeant’s. ‘Which is to say, the authority to shoot you dead if I thought for one second you were standing in the Relic Guild’s way.’
Ennis flinched when he noticed the revolver that had magically appeared in Samuel’s hand. Even Clara hadn’t seen him draw it from his leg holster.
‘Remember who you’re talking to, Sergeant,’ Samuel growled, his thumb hovering over the weapon’s power stone. ‘Find me someone who can answer my questions – right now – or maybe I’ll spare you a bullet and just take you to the Nightshade.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Ennis said, rather more timidly, and he skipped over to a cluster of doctors.
‘You certainly know how to make a point,’ Clara said. ‘I’m assuming you weren’t the Relic Guild�
�s diplomat in the old days?’
Samuel holstered his gun with a grunt. ‘Focus, Clara,’ he told her. ‘Can you smell anything out of the ordinary?’
She could. She had noticed it when she first entered the foyer. It was like an underlying smell of rotten vegetables, and she told Samuel so.
‘That’s the virus,’ he said. ‘You’ll never forget its stink.’
‘I don’t think it’s coming from anyone here, though. It’s too vague.’
‘Well, let’s be sure before we proceed.’
Clara’s stomach flipped. ‘Where’s Van Bam?’ she asked again, and once more Samuel didn’t reply.
Sergeant Ennis returned with a woman in tow. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, and wore the white coat of a doctor. Her expression was pinched behind thick spectacles, and she did not seem pleased to have been diverted from her patients.
‘This is Doctor Symes,’ Ennis said respectfully. ‘She’s the chief of medicine here.’
Before Samuel could ask her any questions, Symes jumped in with a verbal attack.
‘You say there’s a wild demon in my asylum,’ she snapped, ‘and you’re just leaving my staff and patients down there with it?’
‘Doctor Symes,’ Samuel said, and Clara could hear his teeth were already clenched. ‘I need some information.’
‘Information? What more information do you need? People have been reduced to animals. They’re attacking each other!’
‘And perhaps they’re already dead.’ Samuel’s tone was quiet, but implied gathering storm clouds. ‘Now tell me – do you know if any person who escaped the sublevels carries a bite wound? Because if they do—’
Symes interrupted with an impatient, angry sound. ‘You need to act, not waste time asking stupid questions.’
‘If they do—’
‘Are you listening?
‘If they do!’ Samuel roared, and his voice brought a sudden hush in the foyer, along with many sudden stares, ‘then Sergeant Ennis and his officers will need to isolate them,’ he added with less volume.