The Relic Guild

by Edward Cox

  Samuel strode into the bedroom, grabbed his rifle and revolver from the table and holstered them. Back in the living area, as he buckled up his utility belt, his prescient awareness flared, but more gently this time. More noise was coming from the roof. Someone was trying to open the hatchway again.

  It was time to run.

  Samuel bolted into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. As he did so, there was a dull thud from out in the lounge. The sound was followed by shattering glass, and Samuel knew that more bounty hunters had entered the apartment through the window. Without thinking, he dived to the hard, cold floor, just before a hail of bullets ripped through the bathroom door, cracking wall tiles, chipping the sink, and smashing the toilet cistern. A rush of cold water poured down onto Samuel’s prone body.

  It was impossible to count how many guns had spat their bullets at him … but his prescient awareness told Samuel there were four more assailants out there trying to kill him. He didn’t hang around for the visual evidence.

  Samuel dragged himself across the wet floor to the shower cubical. With a grunt, he hefted up the porcelain shower tray to expose a water-stained and slimy metal chute that was round enough to fit a full-grown man. A foul stench rose from the opening.

  As a second hail of bullets smashed tiles around him, he threw the shower tray to one side. Without further pause, he slid headfirst down into the darkness of the foul smelling chute.

  She was the wolf.

  She howled and struggled, bit and clawed, with all her might, but she could not escape the challenger’s embrace. Blinded by blue light, dizzied by the whirlwind that swept her up and spirited her away, she could no longer smell her forest, and the baying of her family faded to lonely wind.

  When the light dulled, and all motion stopped, she found herself in a place of stone. A distant voice, long forgotten now, sang from the back of her mind. It told her that the huge cube of a building beside her was called the Nightshade, and the stone archway in the forecourt was a portal.

  The challenger stood within the archway. No longer in the form of a wolf, it appeared now with an altogether different shape. It was surrounded by an aura of sky blue that licked out with wavering tendrils of light like strips of cloth drifting in water. At its core, the blueness deepened to the colour of twilight, and held a vaguely human shape. Its void-like eyes leaked tears of vaporous black.

  Good to see you again, its soft voice said in her mind.

  She growled in reply.

  There is a long way to go from here, Clara, it continued. A long, long way.

  She wanted to attack it, to force it to return her to her forest and her family. But the truth was, she felt right here, in this place of stone, as though she belonged, and the fight had all but left her – because, she realised, there was no fight to win.

  I’d like to show you something, the blue ghost said. Something you must never forget.

  She sat on the cold cobbles, attentive. She wanted to ask the challenger who it was, but the memory of speech was just beyond her grasp.

  If I ask you to remember three things, Clara, will you do that for me?

  She showed willing by bowing her head.

  With tendrils of blue, wavering light licking at the stone archway surrounding it, the challenger said, The first is this portal. The second is the Resident. The third is the necromancer. The portal, the Resident, the necromancer – understand?

  She did, and she knew that pleased the challenger. Something about its ghostly aura was giving her an enormous sense of inner peace.

  These three things are connected, Clara. The Resident and the necromancer don’t realise it, but I’m going to show you how, and you must not forget. When the time is right, it will be very important.

  The challenger disappeared, its blue radiance nothing more than an afterglow in her eyes. She whined, immediately yearning for the light, but her senses became alert as a sheet of glassy darkness appeared within the stone archway.

  Like thick water, it rippled. A low drone filled the air as it began swirling, faster and faster, until she felt a vacuum tugging at her silver pelt. She braced herself against the forecourt floor, but it was in vain. Sharp nails scraped over cobbles as the swirling darkness pulled her forward. She growled and barked, fearful and angry, but the voice of the challenger soothed her concerns.

  Don’t be frightened, Clara, it said from somewhere distant. You must remember.

  She howled as the portal sucked her into its glassy whirlpool.

  She was the wolf …

  … Icy water splashed her face, and she gasped awake. Spluttering, disorientated, she looked up through bleary eyes and saw Captain Jeter standing over her with an empty cup in his hands and two patrolmen in dark receptor helmets standing either side of him. He dropped the cup and made fists as if ready and eager to strike her again.

  Clara could feel swelling under her right eye, taste blood in her mouth. Her wrists and ankles were secured with heavy manacles, connected to the cell floor by a thick chain. Feeling sick and unsteady, she met the police captain’s stare as evenly as she could.

  ‘Let’s try this again,’ Jeter growled. ‘Where is he?’

  Clara made no reply. She wasn’t frightened; she was angry. The wolf was stirring inside her, and she welcomed the feeling. It gave her courage.

  Jeter pushed his dark glasses further up his nose. He had removed the jacket of his uniform, and on his white shirt were spots of Clara’s blood.

  ‘I know you brought Van Bam with you,’ he said. ‘Where is he now?’

  Clara shrugged, and the chains rattled.

  ‘Did he abandon you?’ Jeter whispered cruelly. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘You have no idea of the trouble you’re in, Jeter.’

  A sneer came to his angular face.

  ‘You should let me go,’ she continued.

  Jeter gave a lopsided smile and snorted. ‘What I should have done was recognise you for what you are the first time I arrested you. I should’ve known that your aim was to get to the Nightshade and possess the Resident. I should never have let you go. But I won’t make the same mistake twice.’

  ‘You’re an idiot.’

  Jeter slapped her face.

  Clara relished the sting.

  The patrolmen flanking the police captain aimed short rifles at their captive. The violet glow of power stones set behind the barrels of the rifles reflected off the black glass of their receptor helmets. They hadn’t spoken once during the interrogation and they gave off no scent. But their body language spoke volumes.

  Earlier, when they had entered the grey security cell, they had stuck so close to their captain it suggested they were afraid to be in the room with Clara. They had done nothing but watch as Jeter beat her, and the cowardice of them all disgusted her.

  ‘You’ve run out of options, demon-lover,’ Jeter said. He tapped a square object in his breast pocket. Clara’s tablets rattled inside her medicine tin. ‘Your magic won’t work on me.’

  She looked down at her clenched fists, at her chains. Was she really so expendable? Would Van Bam really abandon her so easily, so quickly?

  The whole situation seemed to have been turned upside down. Van Bam was the Resident, and Jeter had no choice but to remain subservient to him. But the police captain’s belief that Clara had somehow possessed Van Bam and converted him to demon-worship, was gripping the man almost to the point of madness. What could have persuaded him of this?

  ‘You think one of your followers will rescue you?’ Jeter said. ‘That Van Bam will return? Or are you hoping that Old Man Sam will storm the building to save you?’

  Clara looked up sharply at Jeter, and he shook his head as if pitying her.

  ‘I think you’ve outlived your usefulness, Miss Clara. As for Old Man Sam – well, I should think by now he’s quite dead.’

  Clar
a looked down at her hands again. She could feel Marney’s presence in her head, but wasn’t surprised that it offered no advice. Clara opened and closed her fingers. She felt so strong, but frustrated by the chains. If she could only get free … she wouldn’t bother with her medicine.

  ‘Look at me,’ Jeter said.

  When Clara didn’t look up, the police captain grabbed her under the chin and forced her head back. His fingers dug into her skin painfully.

  ‘Your plan to bring the Retrospective to Labrys Town will not succeed. So I ask you again – where is Van Bam, whore?’

  Clara spat in his face.

  To her surprise, Jeter didn’t react with violence. Instead, he stepped back, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and calmly wiped the blood and spittle from his face and glasses. The two patrolmen, almost identical in their appearance, remained still, holding their rifles with cold, unwavering aims.

  Jeter said, ‘Your attempt to spread disease did not work at the asylum, and it won’t work anywhere else.’ He dropped the soiled handkerchief to the floor. ‘You will never bring down the boundary wall and unleash the Retrospective. We have stopped you, demon-lover. You have failed.’

  Clara laughed then, a dry, huffing sound that was full of scorn for this absurd change in events.

  Jeter frowned at her. ‘Feigning insanity won’t save you.’ His voice was low, loaded with menace. ‘If it was up to me, I’d simply give you to the Retrospective, and then we’d see how far your love of demons gets you.’ His teeth clenched as Clara’s laughing deepened. ‘But, unfortunately your fate isn’t up to me. That’s to be decided by the new Resident.’

  Clara’s laughing stopped abruptly. She looked at the two patrolmen, and then back at their captain. Anxiety stirred her blood as Jeter’s strange pronouncements made less and less sense to her. ‘The new Resident?’

  Jeter raised a supercilious eyebrow, his smile triumphant. ‘There’s fear in your eyes, and rightly so. Hagi Tabet is stronger than that blind fool Van Bam, and she will ensure your end is as bad as it gets.’

  ‘Jeter …’ Clara’s thoughts were suddenly dominated by the image of a terracotta jar clutched in the hands of a skeleton. ‘What are you talking about? Who’s Hagi Tabet?’

  To Clara’s surprise, it was the patrolman standing to Jeter’s right who answered. ‘It is no use, Clara,’ he said, his voice low, clear, and strangely unmuffled by the receptor helmet. ‘He will not listen to anything you say.’

  Jeter looked at the patrolman with a frown, but then turned sharply to his left as there was an audible pop and the other patrolman turned to fine green smoke that swirled and faded and disappeared entirely.

  Mouth hanging slack, Jeter turned back to his right. As he did so, the remaining patrolman rammed the butt of his rifle into his face. There was a light chime and a soft flash of green as the police captain fell to the floor. His nose was bloodied, his glasses broken in half, and he lay still and unconscious.

  With no small amount of surprise, Clara watched as the patrolman’s image shimmered. The heavy, thick uniform became loose fitting clothing made from a fine material so dark it was like the night sky; the black glass of the receptor helmet shrank and moulded into a smoothly-shaven head of dark brown skin and a strong face with metal plates covering the eyes. Lastly, the rifle morphed to a cane of green glass.

  Clara cocked her head to one side. ‘You know, for a minute there, I really thought you’d left me behind.’

  ‘I am sorry, Clara,’ Van Bam said. He found a key about Jeter’s person and used it to unlock Clara’s manacles. He reached out to her face and inspected the swelling under her eye. ‘Are you all right?’

  Clara nodded, and Van Bam helped her to her feet. His metallic eyes scrutinised her face. He seemed troubled by what he saw there.

  ‘It is time to leave,’ he said. He retrieved the small, dented tin from Jeter’s shirt pocket and passed it to her. ‘But perhaps you should take your medicine first.’

  ‘Believe me, Clara,’ Van Bam whispered, ‘I had no wish to witness your mistreatment.’

  His apology sounded hollow to Clara.

  The security cells were situated in the lower levels of the police headquarters. Taking Clara by the hand Van Bam led her up two flights of stairs, along a corridor, through a security door and into reception. In spite of the high number of angry denizens and police officers congregated, they passed unnoticed as Van Bam had rendered them both invisible.

  ‘I needed time to find out what could have provoked Jeter to act so incongruously,’ Van Bam continued as they headed for the exit.

  ‘He said we have a new Resident,’ Clara replied.

  ‘Indeed, Clara. I have been unable to contact Hamir. It would seem the Genii have infiltrated the Nightshade.’

  ‘You told me that wasn’t possible.’

  ‘Obviously I was wrong.’ His tone was frustrated, laced with confusion. ‘This Hagi Tabet now controls every aspect of Labrys Town, including the police force. When Captain Jeter regains consciousness, I have no doubt he will deploy every officer at his disposal to hunt us down. Fabian Moor has made us the enemy.’

  A denizen, complaining loudly that he had been made to wait in reception far too long, stepped in front of Clara, gesticulating wildly. With quick feet, she dodged around him, but had to fight a sudden urge to punch him in the back of the head. Taking her medicine had done little to check her anger, and she gritted her teeth as Van Bam led her across the reception area and out into Watchers’ Gallery.

  The plaza bustled with people, but Van Bam hauled Clara along at speed.

  ‘What about Samuel?’ Clara’s tone was flat, and she realised her anger was lingering because of Van Bam and the way he had used her suffering to gain information. ‘Jeter thinks he’s dead already.’

  ‘I am hoping not everything is as Jeter believes,’ Van Bam replied. ‘Old Man Sam has a bounty on his head, but Samuel has more than one trick up his sleeve, Clara. For now, let us focus on reaching a safer location.’

  As she was pulled along through Watchers’ Gallery, Clara glanced back at the police headquarters. When she faced forwards again, she shoulder-checked a businessman, and lost her grip on the Resident’s hand. The businessman’s folder of papers went fluttering into the air. He rubbed his shoulder and looked around, utterly bemused at being hit by apparently nothing.

  Clara stepped away from him, and anxiety fluttered in her stomach.

  ‘Van Bam?’ she whispered hoarsely. Her head spun as she dodged the denizens passing by, searching frantically for her guide. But he was invisible … and so was she—

  A large, strong hand curled around Clara’s, and Van Bam’s low tones whispered in her ear. ‘Do not worry, Clara. You cannot see me, but I can see you. Now quickly …’

  Having crossed the plaza, they ran through the archway, between the two statues and out onto the street beyond, where the press of denizens was thicker than ever. However, they hadn’t got far before Van Bam slowed and drew Clara to a halt.

  ‘I think Jeter has regained consciousness,’ he said.

  Up ahead, four patrolmen were cutting through the crowd towards them. Sunlight glinted from their black receptor helmets as they stopped in a line with their rifles drawn and aimed. Several denizens around Clara and Van Bam froze and put their hands in the air; others stopped and stared, intrigued by the aggressive posture of the police officers, wondering who it was they were about to arrest and why.

  One of the patrolmen ordered the denizens to stand aside. The people with their hands in the air frowned and gave each other confused looks. More spectators began to gather. They appeared confused. Who were the police officers aiming their rifles at?

  ‘Can they see us?’ Clara whispered.

  One of the patrolmen shouted, ‘You are under arrest, demon-worshippers. On your knees! Put your hands behind your heads!’

 
Van Bam let go of Clara’s hand. She heard a soft chime and a whispering as the Resident summoned his illusionist magic.

  ‘Stop him!’ the patrolman shouted.

  But the crowd of denizens between the Relic Guild agents and the rifles had grown so large that no one dared fire a shot.

  The crowd flinched as one as a loud crack sounded from behind Clara; it was followed by cries of alarm.

  The statues guarding the entrance to Watchers’ Gallery had come alive.

  Their spherical heads turned left and right, their white eyes glowed as they broke free of their pedestals with the sound of ripping stone. One threw its anvil to the ground as if in a temper; the other did the same with its scales. Both objects shattered on impact. In unison, the statues stepped onto the street and came stamping towards the patrolmen, long arms raised, massive fists clenched and ready to smash.

  The denizens panicked.

  Screams filled the air, bodies fled in all directions, and the patrolmen were lost in a wave of chaos.

  Van Bam took Clara’s hand again. ‘The illusion will not last long,’ he said, and pulled her through the confusion.

  The sound of rifles spitting out bullets came from behind the magickers as they ran from the main street, ducking down a deserted alley between a medical centre and an employment agency.

  ‘We’re invisible!’ Clara said angrily. ‘How could they see us?’

  ‘The Genii are directing the street patrols via the Nightshade,’ Van Bam replied. ‘They must have tuned the receptor helmets to see magic. We must get off the streets.’

  Reaching the end of the alley, they came to another busy street which slowed their pace as they picked their way carefully through unsuspecting denizens. Van Bam led Clara straight to a textiles merchant’s shop. It was a small, unremarkable place with rolls of fabrics lining one wall. Behind a desk sat a middle-aged woman, who waited to take orders from haberdashers. The woman frowned at the door that had apparently come open by itself. As she rose and closed the door with a grumble of annoyance, Van Bam led Clara to the back of the shop and down to a cellar where packing crates and more rolls of fabric were stored.