by Edward Cox
The further he travelled, the more concerned Van Bam became. The atmosphere felt wrong. The warehouses were vital for storing the food stocks and materials that ensured the denizens survived in their isolated home. Normally, there were security guards patrolling the area at all hours, and there was always a nightshift of yard workers. Yet the group passed no one on their journey, and not one light shone from a warehouse window. Van Bam could not even hear the sound of machinery, or the rumble of cargo trams. The southern district was too quiet. It seemed deserted.
Coming to the end of an alley, Van Bam brought the small group to a halt. Samuel moved up alongside the ex-Resident.
‘We are close,’ Van Bam told him, gesturing to the other side of the tramlines. ‘The warehouse is on the next street.’
‘Yes, I remember,’ Samuel replied. ‘You know, this place feels awfully quiet to me. Do you think something’s happened to the denizens?’
‘I would guess Captain Jeter has enforced a curfew.’
‘Jeter,’ Samuel growled. ‘If we live through this, I think I’ll have a little word with him.’
‘Jeter might be easily fooled, but he cannot be blamed, Samuel. He is, and always will be, the Resident’s man. There is no compromise in his devotion to the Nightshade.’
Samuel pulled a sour expression. ‘So, the Genii get Jeter to clear the districts, and it’s easier for everyone to search for us.’ He scoffed. ‘Nice to know we’re still considered a threat.’
Samuel paused before speaking again, his face alive with remorse. ‘Van Bam, if the Genii are already in the Nightshade—’
‘Then Marney is dead,’ Van Bam concluded.
Samuel nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’ He took a breath. ‘We probably shouldn’t be hanging around.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Wait,’ Clara said. The young changeling’s face was turned up toward Silver Moon. Her eyes were closed. ‘I can hear something. A tram. It’s coming this way.’
Both men stepped back into the alley.
‘Stay in the light,’ Van Bam reminded, holding his cane aloft.
A moment later, he too heard the sound: a distant rumble that was growing louder and closer. It wasn’t long before the power lines began swaying overhead, and the sleek, blue and white striped body of a police tram trundled along the street. As it crept past the alley mouth, a police officer could be seen standing at the window staring out. Luckily, he was not wearing a receptor helmet and could not see through Van Bam’s magic to the three agents hiding in the cane’s light.
As the tram slipped from view, Samuel exhaled with relief. ‘After you,’ he said to Van Bam.
The group crossed the street and headed down an alley into a deserted street, flanked by terraced lines of warehouses. Innocuous looking, each shutter door was painted white, signifying the storage of metal ores. The Relic Guild headed straight towards the last warehouse on the right.
Samuel peered through the darkened window, checking for signs of life. Clara remained close by, still looking lost and contemplative. Van Bam faced the white shutter door and thought back to the last time he had been here.
The warehouse looked as rundown and abandoned as it had decades ago, somehow lonely sitting at the end of the terrace. Painfully, it reminded Van Bam of Marney. The last time he had come here was on the same day he had surprised her with a little attic apartment of their own. He almost smiled at the memory.
‘Seems deserted enough,’ Samuel said, turning from the window. ‘I can’t sense any danger, either.’
Van Bam nodded. ‘Clara?’
Clara concentrated. ‘I can’t hear anyone,’ she said. ‘Or smell anything,’ she added.
Van Bam stepped forwards and laid a hand against the shutter door. He felt the reassuring vibrations of mechanisms turning as it unlocked. As he raised it, the shutter made an obscene amount of noise in the stillness. The three agents stepped into the warehouse.
Van Bam experienced another jolt of nostalgia. The centre of the warehouse floor was etched with the faint outline of thaumaturgic symbols. Created by Hamir during the war, the engraving had become embedded with dirt over the years, and it must be scarcely discernible to normal eyes. But Van Bam’s vision saw it clearly enough – the swirls and symbols of an impossible language. Whatever magic it had once generated had long since dissipated.
Apart from the engraving, the warehouse was as empty as it had always been. Behind a door on the far wall were the stairs that led down to the cellar. Near it was a large elevator platform that also descended there.
‘Look at the eye,’ Clara whispered. ‘Something’s wrong with it.’
Van Bam followed the line of her pointing finger.
There was a single eye device, positioned where it could observe the entire space. But the usually milky-white fluid inside was altered; it was now a distinct shade of pink – like milk powder mixed with blood – which rolled and swirled within the glass casing.
‘I’ve seen this before,’ Samuel said, ‘back at my hideout.’ He faced Van Bam. ‘Why have the eyes changed?’
‘Perhaps a reaction to the Genii,’ Van Bam said. ‘Let us hope it is a sign the Nightshade is fighting their influence. If not, Hagi Tabet could be watching us right now.’
Samuel looked to Clara. ‘Underneath the warehouse, the avatar said, right? Something in the cellar?’
Clara nodded, but didn’t seem sure. Samuel stepped quickly over to the stairwell door and rattled the handle. It was locked.
Extinguishing the light from his cane, Van Bam moved to the back wall and stood upon the elevator platform. He reached for the control box, and Clara and Samuel joined him.
The ex-Resident’s thumb hovered over the down button. ‘For what it is worth,’ he said, ‘be ready to defend yourselves.’
He pressed the button, and the elevator began its descent.
In the police headquarters, Captain Jeter stood in his office, gazing down onto the plaza of Watchers’ Gallery, shadow-streaked in the light of Silver Moon. It was deserted, as were the streets of the entire town. Not even the trams were running tonight. The denizens were under curfew.
Jeter remembered how proud he had been the day he was made Captain of the Police Force. The Resident himself had bestowed the position upon him, and Jeter had sworn to uphold the laws of the Nightshade rigorously. Now he felt a fool. He had allowed a demon-worshipping whore to corrupt the old Resident. Under his very nose she had wormed her way into the Nightshade to spread her poison. And Jeter had let her slip from his grasp. Twice. She was still out there, somewhere, and she and her fellow demon-worshippers threatened the life of every denizen.
At the sound of a knock, Jeter turned, and Sergeant Ennis entered the office. There were dark rings around his eyes, and he looked dishevelled in his usually smart, dark blue uniform. At this moment, rest was an unaffordable luxury for the entire police force.
‘Report,’ Jeter said.
Ennis rubbed a hand over his ashen face. ‘There was some trouble down Green Glass Row, sir – denizens breaking curfew.’
‘It is dealt with?’
‘Yes, sir. There was some violent protesting – three denizens were killed. But the deaths brought the crowd to order. As soon as we started shooting, most of them dispersed to their homes, though we still had to make several arrests.’
‘Very good,’ Jeter said and motioned for his sergeant to take a seat.
Ennis slumped into the chair wearily, and then frowned at his captain. ‘Should I get you a doctor, sir?’
Jeter shook his head. He knew what he looked like, but he didn’t care. His nose was broken, and the blood in his nostrils had dried to hard, sharp lumps. Bruises had manifested under his eyes, and the swelling gave him a deep ache, a constant reminder of his failure. He deserved the pain.
‘How goes the search for Van Bam and Peppercorn Clara?’
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‘We’re still looking for them,’ Ennis said and he sighed. ‘A patrol unit contained a small outbreak of the virus in the northern district, but they were long gone from the scene.’
‘To be expected, I suppose,’ Jeter grumbled. ‘They feed and they disappear.’ He stared down at his broken spectacles lying on his desk.
Van Bam had stood right next to him in the interrogation room, mimicking an officer, and Jeter had suspected nothing until it was too late. He should have known the possessed Resident would be able to use magic. Back at the very moment Van Bam had announced the revival of the Relic Guild, Jeter’s suspicions should have been aroused. Everyone knew there were no magickers left, and the Relic Guild had died out years ago. If not through his newfound love of demon-worshipping, through the rituals of blood-taking, how else could Van Bam have come to possess such power? It all seemed so obvious now.
‘Sir,’ Ennis said, ‘our resources are stretched. We have as many officers as possible out combing the districts, going door-to-door, trying to flush out the Relic Guild – but people are disappearing, and these random outbreaks of the virus …’ He took a breath and looked down. ‘Sir, the denizens know what we’re up against. They’re frightened.’
‘With good reason,’ Jeter said. ‘Five bounty hunters I sent after Old Man Sam, Ennis. I’m yet to hear word from any one of them.’ He shook his head. ‘I should imagine he is reunited with his friends by now.’
He turned and stared out of the window again. ‘I was only a child when the real Relic Guild walked our streets – and you, Ennis, were not even born. From the shadows, they watched over this town, protected us from the unseen. Now, these bastards are a perversion of everything the Relic Guild once stood for. They are an insult to the name, even if no less powerful.’
‘Could they do it, sir?’ Ennis said in a tight voice. ‘Could they really bring the Retrospective to Labrys Town?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Jeter.
Behind him, Ennis swore softly. It was a hopeless sound, lost, resigned. Jeter turned to face his sergeant again.
‘We have a duty to perform,’ he said sternly. ‘We will not fail the denizens, no matter how desperate our situation seems.’
‘With all due respect, sir, what chance do we stand against the Relic Guild? I saw the aftermath of their virus at the asylum. I saw what they had done to people.’ Ennis opened his hands helplessly. ‘We’re fighting with bullets against magic. The Relic Guild can hide within plain sight. They move without being seen—’
‘Hagi Tabet can see,’ Jeter snapped. ‘Or perhaps you have forgotten, Sergeant?’
‘No, sir,’ Ennis replied quickly.
‘Then calm yourself!’
Jeter tried not to groan as he lowered himself into the chair at his desk. He wasn’t really that angry with Ennis; the man was only expressing the doubt felt by all the officers. Fear had spread through the ranks like the virus of the demon-worshippers. But Ennis needed to accept, here and now, that even though, in his corruption, Van Bam had been displaced, the Nightshade remained strong. Its eyes were on their side.
Adopting a calmer tone of voice, Jeter said, ‘Hagi Tabet is watching over Labrys Town, and she does not sleep. She will not rest until her denizens are safe. And you, Ennis, will trust in our new Resident as I do. Understood?’
Ennis nodded and some resolve came back to his weary face.
‘Then back to business,’ Jeter said crisply, and he leant back in his chair. ‘What of the homeless? They have been rounded up?’
‘For the most part, sir,’ Ennis said. ‘We’re using the jails and shelters to keep them off the streets, but we can’t be sure how many are left out there.’
‘Keep looking, Sergeant. Vagrants are easy pickings, and if they’re infected with the virus, we could have an epidemic on our hands before—’
‘Captain Jeter.’
The soft, lilting voice of a woman filled the office and interrupted the conversation. With a flurry of motion, Jeter jumped to his feet and saluted the eye device on the back wall. The action was quickly copied by his sergeant.
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Rest easy, Captain,’ Hagi Tabet said. ‘There is some good news in these dark times.’ She paused before giving a long, breathy sigh. ‘I have located our enemies.’
She paused again, and the fluid within the eye swirled pinkly. Jeter frowned and lowered his hand. Had he detected amusement in the Resident’s voice?
‘Ma’am?’ he said.
‘They are hidden in a warehouse in the southern district,’ she said. ‘I have given the precise location to your Watchers. Now, go and kill the Relic Guild for me, won’t you, Captain Jeter?’
‘Of-Of course, Ma’am.’
‘And, Captain … please don’t let me down.’
The eye clicked and the fluid inside settled. The Resident had gone.
In the ensuing silence, Ennis turned to face his captain, his mouth open, speechless.
Jeter swallowed. ‘Tell the Watchers to send that location to all patrol units, Sergeant. Gather everyone.’ He clenched his teeth. ‘The Relic Guild does not leave that warehouse alive.’
The elevator descended into the cellar. Immediately, the atmosphere felt eerily still, the air stale, as if undisturbed for a very long time. With his rifle in hand, its power stone primed, Samuel was quick to scan the area for enemies, but he detected nothing. The elevator platform touched base, but no one moved or spoke.
The cellar was deserted. Two glow lamps shed weak light; one was positioned at head height to the right of the elevator platform, and faced the other positioned on the opposite wall. Between the glow lamps, a rod of dull grey metal, no thicker than Van Bam’s cane, rose up from the smooth stone of the floor.
Van Bam was the first to act. He strode over to the metal rod and studied it. Clara joined him, while Samuel went to check an open archway cut into the end of the left-hand wall. Through the archway was the dark empty stairwell that led back up to the warehouse. Samuel took comfort from knowing the door at the top was locked.
‘Samuel, look at this,’ Van Bam said.
There was an uncharacteristic edge of awe in his voice. Samuel holstered his rifle as he moved to see what they had found.
Van Bam was studying the tip of the metal rod, which was at eye level. It ended with a hollow diamond shape, giving the rod the appearance of a spear.
‘The mark of the Thaumaturgists,’ Van Bam whispered.
The diamond was positioned in line with the glow lamps, and their light met through its hollow centre. The thaumaturgic symbol served as a frame for what looked to be clear glass, but when prodded by Samuel, it proved to be flexible, gelatinous.
‘It is perhaps best not to touch it, Samuel,’ Van Bam warned. ‘I have no idea what purpose this device serves –’ he studied the length of the spear’s shaft – ‘but I do recognise the metal it is made of. It is neither solid nor liquid, and its colours …’ He seemed in awe again. ‘I observed Hamir use material like this a very long time ago, Samuel. You recall the automaton spider?’
‘I’m not likely to forget it,’ Samuel replied. ‘But what’s this thing doing here? Did Hamir make it?’
It was Clara who responded. ‘No,’ she said, ‘but you’re on the right lines.’ Judging by the changeling’s expression, she was once again on the edge of something just beyond the reach of her memory. ‘Hamir didn’t make this thing. But he did show Van Bam how to use it.’
Samuel looked at Van Bam, but the ex-Resident was fixed on the rod and made no response.
Clara’s expression became wistful, and the ghost of a smile played on her lips. ‘Thaumaturgy has memory, Van Bam. And it remembers its teachers.’
Samuel screwed his face up. ‘What’s she talking about, Van Bam?’
But his old friend didn’t reply. Instead he passed Samuel his cane, and
then reached out for the metal rod with a tentative hand. With almost dream-like slowness, Van Bam gripped the shaft. He gasped, his grip tightening as though the metal was charged with some intense energy.
‘Van Bam!’ Samuel shouted, but the ex-Resident raised his free hand to stop him from acting.
Van Bam exhaled a long breath, and smiled. ‘I once helped Hamir do something extraordinary, Samuel.’ His voice was distant. ‘The magic in this metal remembers that help. It has been waiting for me.’
Samuel had never felt more bemused, and his anger rose. ‘For love of the Timewatcher,’ he growled, ‘what’s going on, Van Bam?’
‘We shall find out. Perhaps the two of you should stand back.’
Clara showed no sign of moving, so Samuel took her by the arm and dragged her away from the diamond-tipped rod. As he did so, Van Bam withdrew his hand and joined them.
Samuel barely noticed Van Bam taking his cane back; he was watching, disconcerted and fascinated, as the spear of dull grey metal began to radiate light. It started as a faint glow that soon brightened to a rich purple flare. Samuel raised a hand against the light as it began flickering with rapid, blinding flashes. Through his fingers, he saw darker rings of purple shooting up the shaft to the top where it gathered, soaked almost, into the gelatinous substance within the diamond-shaped frame. More and more of the rings added light to the thaumaturgic symbol until the shaft was drained of the coloured light and the diamond blazed like the brightest star in the night sky.
Static charged the atmosphere, and the hairs on Samuel’s arms stood erect.
At the sound of a sharp crack, the three agents flinched as one. It was followed by the low hum of energy building up. Two thin beams of purple light shot from the diamond and hit the glow lamps with a second loud noise. The lamps fizzed and buzzed before redirecting the light to the wall opposite the stairwell. Fractured into a multitude of searing, purple streaks that filled the cellar with a nauseating strobe effect, each beam focused on the centre of the wall. Wherever one hit, a patch of brickwork disappeared in a puff of dust as fine as tobacco smoke. Quick and fleeting, the beams continued to burn away stone until they had fashioned a neat rectangular area that resembled a dark doorway.