The Relic Guild

by Edward Cox

  Van Bam sighed. ‘No. I am just trying to decide why Gideon wanted me here at all.’

  ‘So am I, to be frank,’ Hamir replied. ‘But the Resident’s wish is our command, yes?’ A strange expression came to his face then, something the illusionist couldn’t decipher. ‘And to think,’ Hamir said, almost to himself, ‘one day a new Resident will have to tolerate Gideon’s voice in his head.’

  Van Bam shivered. ‘It does not bear thinking about.’

  ‘No, it really doesn’t, does it?’

  Van Bam tried to chuckle, but the way the necromancer looked him up and down checked it in his throat.

  Hamir was quiet, contemplative, for a moment. ‘There might be something you can help me with – but until I think of what it could be, please let me concentrate.’ And he returned to the book.

  Frowning deeply, Van Bam reclined on the packing crate and leant his back against the warehouse wall. For some reason Hamir’s words concerning Gideon disturbed him, and made him recall a conversation he had once had with Gene, some years before.

  Van Bam had been curious to know what Gideon had been like before he became Resident, when he was just another agent of the Relic Guild. Back then, the Resident had been a telepath called Sophia. She had been a tough governor, by all accounts, harsh but fair in her rule of Labrys Town. But as tough as Sophia was, even she had difficulty controlling Gideon. He was, according to Gene, the most powerful magicker ever known to join the Relic Guild … and the most unstable.

  Magic had given Gideon a terrible gift that left a strain on his mental condition. It was reckoned that one of his relatives – probably a great-grandfather or grandmother – had belonged to a mysterious race known as the Nephilim. The Nephilim were unique among the Aelfir, nomadic giants with no House as such to call their own. They roamed wherever they would across the realms. Nobody knew where they came from. According to rumours, they had simply appeared around the time of the Labyrinth’s creation. The other Aelfirian Houses left them well alone, and no one dared stand in their way. Although the Nephilim had no interest in commerce or sharing cultures, and they were not known for their aggression, they were greatly feared. For they were blood-magickers.

  Gideon’s physical appearance gave no sign of his heritage, but his magic was in every way connected with the Nephilim, or so Gene claimed. Van Bam had pressed the old apothecary for more details, but he had refused to relate what he had seen Gideon do with his magic. However, he had revealed that Gideon’s body and limbs were covered with hundreds of scars; that he liked to cut himself – to use his own blood to do terrible things to criminals and treasure hunters. Sophia had been forced to watch him closely at all times.

  Van Bam and Marney were the only two Relic Guild agents who hadn’t served under Sophia. She had remained the Resident until the day she died of old age in her nineties. Gene told Van Bam that he would never understand why the magic of the Nightshade chose Gideon to replace her, especially when Denton would have been a much more logical choice. It had been hoped by all the agents that when Sophia became Gideon’s spirit guide, her ghost would temper his sociopathic ways. But, if anything, the presence of Sophia’s voice in his head had made Gideon more intolerant and hard to fathom.

  The Resident orchestrated the movements of the Relic Guild, but was very rarely seen outside the Nightshade. Gene said that the only good thing to come from Gideon attaining the Residency was that it kept him off the streets. However, Van Bam could understand why the Nightshade had chosen him over someone like Denton to replace Sophia. Although Denton never shied from the grittier side of the Relic Guild’s work, he was at heart a kind man whose strength lay in his wisdom. Van Bam was loath to admit it, but the old empath did not have the bite or harshness of character to be a good governor of Labrys Town. Perhaps Gideon had too much.

  Either way, Hamir was right; the next Resident would have no easy time with their spirit guide.

  His musings were disturbed as Hamir closed the thin leather-bound book with a thump. Holding it to his chest, the necromancer stared off into the middle distance for a while.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said eventually, and turned to Van Bam. ‘Are you frightened?’

  ‘Frightened?’

  ‘Yes. Of Fabian Moor.’

  Van Bam was taken aback by the question. ‘Most certainly.’ He gestured to the book and the metal box. ‘But I trust we are in good hands.’

  Hamir studied the book’s blank cover for a moment and nodded slowly. ‘Tell me something, Van Bam – do you know the key difference between thaumaturgy and magic?’

  Van Bam couldn’t stop a smile; it was most unlike the necromancer to be forthcoming with conversation. ‘I have occasionally wondered, but … please, enlighten me.’

  Clutching the book to his chest again, Hamir got to his feet and began to pace. ‘Let us push aside mundane magic-users, with their spells and tricks, and consider a magicker of the Relic Guild – an illusionist, for example. You are born with a gift, which gives you a prescribed ability. Oh, you can be as inventive as you like with your gift. You can alter perceptions. You can manipulate a person’s belief so profoundly that your illusions can protect them, or cause harm to them. You can convince others that you are something you are not, but you can no more use your magic to change form than a changeling could cast an illusion. You are what you are, Van Bam.’

  ‘Yes, I understand that.’

  Hamir stopped and looked up at the rafters above. ‘Thaumaturgy, on the other hand, is limited only by the imagination of its user. There are ethical codes, of course – rights and wrongs by which all societies must be divided – but, in reality, there are no limits to what a Thaumaturgist with a strong enough imagination can achieve.’

  At first, Van Bam wasn’t sure how to respond. Denton claimed that he had occasionally shared long and fascinating conversations with Hamir, but Van Bam had never heard of any other agent doing so. It was an odd experience.

  ‘So … you are saying what, Hamir? The key difference between thaumaturgy and magic is creativity?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hamir. ‘Yes, that’s it – or close enough, I suppose.’

  Van Bam wasn’t convinced. ‘Forgive me, Hamir – I appreciate that thaumaturgy is a higher science beyond my understanding, but I do not see creative artistry in what Fabian Moor has done to himself.’

  ‘Perceptions and opinions, Van Bam.’ He began pacing again. ‘Where you see a dark desire to cause pain at any cost, I see dedication to an art form.’

  ‘A dedication that has turned a man into a ghoul,’ Van Bam replied. ‘Moor requires blood to sustain a life that will never be as full as it once was.’

  The necromancer nodded. ‘Vampire, some cultures would call him.’

  ‘The word monster seems to serve better.’

  The slightest of laughs escaped Hamir’s lips. ‘Please, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting that the ends are anything less than terrible. But the means …? Fabian Moor could have survived in that terracotta jar for decades, maybe centuries, like powdered milk waiting to be hydrated.’ He gave Van Bam a meaningful look. ‘I am asking if you can appreciate the level of skill and imagination it takes to safely capture the essence of a life force within such a small and simple thing.’

  ‘I—’ Van Bam shrugged. ‘I cannot. It is hard for me to comprehend, Hamir.’

  ‘Your lack of comprehension in no way exposes a lesser mind, Van Bam. You are conditioned by a confined existence where all things have boundaries. Thaumaturgy is a great and wild science that has no shape or size or walls. And in the hands of the Genii …’ He trailed off as he came to stand before the sealed metal box on the floor and stared down at it. ‘Fortunately for us, one of the most creative thaumaturgic minds belongs to Lady Amilee. Come. See for yourself.’

  Van Bam rose from the crate and approached the necromancer. As he came alongside him, Hamir laid a hand on the bo
x. Immediately a lid sprang up on hinges, as though recognising his touch – like a door in the Nightshade. Hamir drew Van Bam back a couple of steps, and together they watched as an orb of dull grey slowly rose from inside.

  The orb was easily three times the size of any man’s head. To Van Bam it looked to be a metallic substance, at once appearing both solid and liquid. It continued to rise until it stopped to hover five feet from the floor. Hamir stepped closer to it. He reached out and touched it lightly. The surface rippled. For a moment, its dullness became smooth and clear like a mirror. The necromancer’s reflection was bulbous.

  ‘What is it?’ Van Bam said with an awed whisper.

  ‘Something I haven’t seen for a very long time,’ Hamir replied, and Van Bam detected the vaguest hint of excitement in his voice. ‘My skills in metallurgy are found a little wanting, but with the help of this –’ he held up the book – ‘I should be able to muddle through.’

  He turned to a random page and allowed Van Bam to see the script inside. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Sprawling symbols decorated the pages in such intricate designs and shapes that they looked more like artwork than words.

  ‘The language of the Thaumaturgists,’ Hamir said. ‘Graceful, complicated … without boundaries.’

  Not for the first time since joining the Relic Guild, Van Bam found himself staring at Hamir, wondering what mysteries lay in the necromancer’s past.

  ‘You … You can understand this language?’

  In reply, Hamir closed the book and gave Van Bam what might have been the smallest of smiles. ‘If you are willing,’ he said, ‘I’ve just thought of something you can help me with.’

  A little under six months before, when Marney had been an agent of the Relic Guild for only a couple of weeks, Angel had decided that they should get to know each other better. At that time Marney’s world had been turned upside down, and she grasped at Angel’s easy offer of friendship, eager to fit in. Little did she know that Angel had actually planned to give her an initiation ceremony – of sorts – a proper induction into the Relic Guild. She treated Marney to a night out down Green Glass Row. The memory of it was blurred now, but the hangover had left Marney sick to the stomach for three days.

  Denton hadn’t been best pleased, of course. Ever protective of his protégé, he made sure Angel understood she wasn’t to treat Marney to a night out like that again. And he cautioned Marney to be more wary around the healer. Angel might have mellowed somewhat with age but had not completely shrugged off the wildcat of her youth. Probably never would.

  Even so, Marney remained fond of Angel. She wasn’t like the other agents. Unlike Denton and Van Bam she didn’t treat Marney as if she was delicate glass; she wasn’t ignorant and unapproachable like Gideon and Samuel. Gene and the twins were always pleasant enough to her, but they rarely showed a real interest in her life. Angel was different; she treated Marney like an equal, for all the pros and cons that implied.

  It was late morning by the time she reached the address for the doctor’s surgery Gideon had given her. In the heart of the northern district, halfway along Carver’s Road, she came to a small house that didn’t look much like a surgery at all. She was happy to see Angel approaching from the opposite end of the road. She was dressed formally in a skirt suit and blouse. Her long black-and-grey hair was fixed into a neat bun, and she carried a black medicine bag.

  She smiled as she approached the empath. She looked tired.

  ‘Hello, Marney.’ The slight sense of surprise she radiated was easy to detect. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Gideon sent me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He said you wanted my help.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Well – yes. You didn’t ask for me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why am I here?’

  Angel snorted a laugh and shrugged her shoulders. ‘You tell me. I’ve been up all night, warning the hospitals and surgeries about this virus – not that I needed to, by the way. Have you seen the bloody paper this morning?’

  Marney nodded, and Angel shook her head, disgruntled.

  ‘I was just about ready to crawl into bed,’ she grumbled, ‘but then Gideon tells me to come here.’ She motioned to the small house. ‘I wasn’t going to bother with this place. I’m not even sure it qualifies as a surgery.’

  ‘Oh …’ Marney wasn’t sure what else to say. ‘I guess I’ll get going then.’

  With another smile, Angel patted Marney’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t you stay? I’ll introduce you to Doctor Wilf. He’s a nice old boy, and his wife makes the best cakes. Come on – we’ll say you’re my nurse.’

  The house fitted unpretentiously into the other residential homes along Carver’s Road. Angel led the way through the garden gate, and then down a stone path that cut along a small patch of overgrown grass where no flowers grew. Halfway down the path, Angel looked back over her shoulder.

  ‘So, what did Gideon do about House Mirage?’

  ‘He sent me and Denton to see Ambassador Ebril this morning.’

  ‘Oh really? How did that go?’

  Marney’s expression darkened. ‘Long story,’ she said.

  ‘It usually is with Ebril. Tricky bastard, isn’t he?’

  ‘To be honest with you, Angel, I’m not really sure what happened. Denton spoke with Ebril privately, but he wouldn’t tell me much of what was said.’

  ‘That’s empaths for you,’ Angel quipped. ‘They’re a funny bunch, you know.’

  They reached the house. A plaque on the wall announced that it was the abode of Doctor Wilfred West. Angel raised a fist to knock on the front door but paused to look at Marney.

  ‘So, Van Bam didn’t go with you?’

  ‘No. He’s helping Hamir,’ Marney replied, adding pointedly, ‘As you’re fully aware.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. You’re here, and he’s there.’ She turned her head to one side and gave a full-toothed grin. ‘I remember now.’

  Marney sighed as she felt the amusement radiating from the healer. ‘You know, Denton is just as smug and ham-fisted when he’s trying to make a point, Angel. It’s very annoying.’

  Angel chuckled. ‘Don’t get uppity with me. I’m not the one keeping you away from your lover.’

  ‘What? I-I don’t—’

  Angel rolled her eyes and knocked on the door. ‘Give it a rest, Marney. You and Van Bam must be the worst kept secret I’ve ever known.’ She rocked her head from side to side. ‘Well, maybe not the worst, but certainly a contender.’

  Marney was about to protest her innocence some more, but Angel cut her off.

  ‘Seriously, woman, did you really think it was a secret?’

  ‘Well …’ Marney’s shoulders sagged and she shook her head. ‘I know Denton knows, but we’ve never talked about it.’ She gave a resigned sigh. ‘I suppose it must be obvious to the rest of you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ Angel said quickly. ‘I’m happy for you and Van Bam. And what you get up to is really nothing to do with any of us … except Gideon, maybe.’

  ‘Gideon?’

  ‘If we know, he knows, Marney. And, trust me, the Resident isn’t keen on his agents having anything other than a professional relationship.’

  Marney stared at Angel ‘You think he’s keeping me and Van Bam apart?’ she said dubiously.

  Angel knocked on the door a second time. ‘Think about it. I didn’t ask for help, I don’t need help, yet here you are all the same, on the orders of Gideon. And I very much doubt Hamir needs Van Bam’s help, either.’

  Marney shook her head. ‘No. If Gideon didn’t like our relationship, he’d just tell us to stop seeing each other. It’s not as if he’s shy about confrontation.’

  ‘Really? If you ask me, complicating your situation is exactly Gideon’s style.’ She knock
ed on the door for a third time. ‘As for my unwitting part in this scenario, I’ll just be glad to finish up here and get to bed – and I don’t care whose bed it is, Marney. I need to sleep.’

  With a fourth and final thump on the door, Angel stepped back and looked up at the house. ‘Come on, Wilf,’ she muttered. ‘Open the bloody door.’

  She noticed Marney’s troubled expression and pursed her lips.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you want my advice, don’t let Gideon grind you down. Take whatever moments you can share with Van Bam and be grateful for them. But no matter what you do, don’t ever put your relationship before the Relic Guild, and never bring your problems to work – and I say that for all our sakes, Marney, not just because of Gideon. Okay?’

  Her tone was kind, not harsh, and Marney experienced a sudden, unexpected feeling of warmth from the healer. She knew that some of her fellow agents had careers outside the Relic Guild; Gene had his apothecary shop, Macy and Bryant worked as bouncers, and Angel was a doctor. But Marney had never seen the healer at work in her second career, and she realised in that moment that being a doctor, helping others, made Angel feel complete. It was easy to picture her using that same kindly tone of voice for her patients.

  ‘I’m in love with him,’ Marney blurted before she could stop herself.

  Angel’s eyes widened.

  ‘Van Bam, I mean,’ Marney added quickly. ‘I’m in love with Van Bam.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t think you meant Gideon.’

  Marney quashed a flustered feeling that threatened to turn her cheeks red.

  ‘Have you told him?’ Angel asked.

  Marney shook her head.

  ‘Maybe you should.’ The healer gave a quirky smile. ‘I hope it works out for you, Marney, I really do.’

  ‘So do I.’

  Angel squeezed her shoulder, and then looked at the house again with a sigh. ‘He’s probably taking a nap or just can’t hear us,’ she said. ‘Let’s check around the back.’

  Angel led the way down the side of the house. Marney followed, feeling relieved and happy after her admission. She realised she had known for weeks her true feelings for Van Bam, but had pushed the emotion deep down inside her – hiding from it, perhaps. Now, Marney had been transformed, strengthened by her experiences at Lady Amilee’s tower. It seemed pointless to continue hiding from something so true and pure. She loved him.