Rory looked back and forth between them, apparently amused. “Now that we have that all straightened around, I believe we can focus on the most important subject: defending ourselves against the Raptus and taking it back. My Cluster is ready to call Aiena as soon as we have it secured. We have this time to plan, and I suggest we use it well. As we’re about to face off against a mind-altering magical relic designed to rule the world, we need all the brainpower we can get.”
Chet shot her a pointed smile and gestured at her bracelet. “Sounds good. I can’t wait to learn about your secret defense against the Raptus.”
Rory gave him an unsettled look, and he couldn’t help but feel vindicated. She may be a spy who’d been pursuing a magical relic and tracking atheists the whole time they’d been dating, but he was up to speed now. He was asking the right questions, which might very well lead to the correct responses. Hopefully.
Chapter 26
Into the Breach
Chet’s mouth was dry as he hammered the knocker on Knife’s front door. The house was in a shady, well-established neighborhood of the city-state of Allistair, surrounded by ornate residences at least a few centuries old. Knife’s house, too, appeared to be well aged: tall and thin like its owner, it had a dingy presence that might be easily overlooked.
There was no answer. Chet glanced over his shoulder at Rory and Clementina. “Maybe they stopped for breakfast at the train station, then went shopping.” Nevertheless, he double checked the address on the slip of paper Doyen Quor had given him.
Rory raised her eyebrows. “Feel for the magical cords that bind you together.”
What an elegant idea. Why hadn’t Chet thought of that? He closed his eyes and concentrated: sure enough, he could feel the bonds. “They—they’re close. All three of them. But it’s weird, like two of them are muffled, somehow.” It was the same feeling, Chet realized, as when Knife and Fenimore had been in the steam tunnels at Semaphore. “The other one is kind of faint. I think that person is upstairs in the house.”
“Let’s try the backdoor,” Clementina said, already heading in that direction.
Chet followed the women. It was a strange sort of commando team they’d formed out of necessity. Rory was convinced she was in charge, and Chet was content to let her believe it. Her Cluster was apparently on the way, though when she had contacted them—and how they would find her—remained a mystery. Then there was Clementina. She’d had them stop the cab from the airport at a small house; she’d knocked on the door and been admitted, appearing a while later with a long, bulky bag. Clementina had shaken her head when they’d asked what it contained. Back when they’d been making plans on the airplane, she’d volunteered to distract Fenimore while Rory snuck up from behind. Chet could only assume the contents of the bag were part of her strategy.
As for Chet, he was no longer an ordinary guy, but he wasn’t exactly special. He couldn’t turn himself invisible and pass through solid matter. Nor did he have a mysterious bag. What he had was untapped but latent memories—buried under many lifetimes—of how magic really worked, and the determination to overcome Fenimore. For whatever it was worth.
At least he now matched the others: he wore the same type of bracelet, too. It looked like a feminine accessory, but according to Rory, the bracelets had been created by Shadow Dancers specifically to withstand the mind-altering influence of the Raptus. Chet felt far more secure with the band upon his wrist.
“Look,” Clementina hissed as they made their way through the garden gate. The backdoor was hanging open.
“I should reconnoiter,” Rory said, mouth set at a determined angle. Chet could see her outline thinning even as he watched.
“Wait, I don’t think the person upstairs is Fenimore,” he said swiftly before she turned invisible altogether. “In fact... the other two seem to be headed away from us in that direction.” He pointed away from the house. “But the one in the house isn’t moving at all. The bond feels... fluttery.”
“Like the person is injured?”
“I don’t know.” Chet stared up at the house, wishing he could see through walls. “We go together or not at all.”
Someone had made a mess in the back hallway. There was an overturned chair, crooked paintings and a smashed glass vase with silk flowers scattered on the floor. There were also puddles of water underfoot. That can’t have come from the vase, Chet thought.
After a quick survey of the first floor—which seemed untouched, apart from the chaos on the stairs—they made their way to the second landing. The women followed Chet’s lead, while Chet followed the tugging of the magical bond. The house was quiet despite the wreckage. Anuros were peeping outside the windows and someone was raking leaves next door. A faucet was on in the second-story bathroom, gushing water. Chet shut it off, frowning. There was water on the floor here, too. Why does a Flame need a water tap in the first place? he wondered absently. A propane torch had been installed in a homemade fix above the toilet; perhaps the sink was just for visitors.
Rory poked into the two rooms on the opposite side of the hall, and shook her head. Clementina looked uncomfortable but alert, jumping at the slightest sounds. Her hand rested inside her bag—there had to be a weapon, or weapons, inside. Heart racing, Chet led the way upstairs to the third floor. A noise stopped him on the landing. It sounded like... heavy breathing? It came from an open doorway off the hall. Chet looked inside.
He froze.
The room was furnished as a study: an enormous wooden desk, filing cabinets and an open safe in the corner. A familiar figure sat in a chair, clutching at his stomach. Knife’s hands and button-down shirt were covered with blood. Gore also soaked his trousers and the upholstery of the chair he sat in. The priceless antique carpet, too.
He opened his eyes and focused on Chet. “Abyss, but I wish... you’d gotten here sooner,” he rasped. His breathing sounded bubbly as if there was blood in his lungs.
Chet rushed to his side. Why hadn’t he asked Doyen Quor to come? She would have known what to do! “Knife, do you have a first-aid kit in the house? Should we call an ambulance? Or, um, light a fire or something?”
Knife simply sat. Chet noticed he had a modern rotary phone on his desk, and none of the cords had been cut. “Fen found a way... around Aiena’s safety measures,” Knife said, each word labored. “He’s better than I anticipated. He must have... gained ascendency while we were mourning Aureate. I was ordered to sit here... until time ran out.”
How cruel. Fenimore could have slit his throat, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d cut Knife’s belly open and—by the sound of it—nicked a lung in the process. Chet looked around and saw Knife’s gun on the floor across the room, as if someone had kicked it there. He wondered whether Knife had gotten a shot off first, or if Journey...
“Journey,” Chet said urgently. “What about Journey?”
“He has Journey. Journey fought. Still fighting, I assume. Hope. Fenimore was subtle until... last minute. Don’t think he has... a full hold on her. She hasn’t said her piece yet,” Knife’s eyes flickered behind Chet, and his lip twitched upward. “Meeting old friends, I see. Shadow Dancers... are finally coming, eh? Good.”
“Knife, we need to get you to a hospital,” Rory said from behind Chet.
“Too late.” Knife coughed up blood. It ran down his chin, soaking his shirt. “Abyss.”
Chet sat back on his heels. “You will live again,” he said, his voice distant in his own ears as if he were reciting an ancient poem he didn’t quite understand.
The statement seemed out-of-place, inappropriate given the context. Yet Knife grinned, blood staining his teeth. “That’s exactly right. Chet... go underground. Underground!”
That made sense, given what he’d been feeling from the magical bond. “How do we get there, Knife? Where’s the entrance?”
Knife’s gaze focused inward. His hand on Chet’s arm slumped and went limp. Chet waited for the next bubbling breath, but it didn’t come. Knife grew still, a subtle
but palpable process. An odd noise emerged from him. Chet wondered whether it was some sort of Flame thing—the holy hand of Pelin?—then realized what it had to be. A death rattle.
Chet stood. “Shit,” he said in a detached, oddly calm voice. His shirt was bloody where Knife had grabbed him.
Rory stepped forward and closed Knife’s eyes, her attitude respectful, even reverent. “Now we know why the other bonds were muffled. Underground indeed. Must be sewage tunnels under the city-state.”
“Let’s go,” Clementina said from the doorway.
Viewed in the context of Knife’s words, the mess on the stairwell was actually comforting. Journey had fought Fenimore. The fog hadn’t taken her completely, so Fenimore had used water to distract and secure her. But why not just stay in the bathroom where he could torture her to his heart’s content? Even if Fenimore had felt Chet coming through the magical bond, he wouldn’t have been afraid of Chet. He’d already dominated Chet into a fugue state.
Which meant that Fenimore was acting on a plan of some sort. And that, Chet decided, was a far less comforting thought.
The women were already fanning out across the back garden. It was a surprisingly large plot for a city-state: at least three acres, Chet estimated. The garden was overgrown, almost a wilderness of vines and shrubs at points, though someone had been keeping the grass trimmed and the grounds clear of fallen branches.
“Which way?” Rory asked.
Chet pointed, then realized he was pointing in the general direction of a shed. It was in the most sheltered, overgrown region of the garden. Inside the shed were the usual shelves with garden tools, but there was also an open trapdoor. A spiral staircase led down into darkness. There were several flashlights lined up on the shed shelves alongside other tools, batteries sitting beside them in neat rows. Knife had clearly used this underground... sewage pipe? Cave? The Abyss itself?
Rory handed flashlights to Chet and Clementina but didn’t take one for herself. “Chet, how far away are they?”
“Maybe three hundred yards.”
“Are they still moving?”
“No... well, I’m not sure. One of the bonds feels weak.” What was Fenimore doing to Journey?
“It’s time I got out of sight,” Rory said.
Chet watched as Rory grew invisible, but Clementina did not. She knelt and pulled items out of her bag, two pistols with belt sheaths, and a hefty rifle which she assembled and strapped to her chest. Next came a string of—those weren’t grenades, were they?
“Professor, I trust you’re not going to set off explosives in a closed space. Please?”
“They’re flash bangs. In terms of being an explosive, they’re about as strong as cherry bombs, mostly designed to distract and disarm. Shouldn’t trigger a cave in or anything.”
“You do realize we’re just going after one guy.” Chet felt nervous at the sight of so many firearms.
“One man, yes, but also a powerful relic with shielding properties. Have you not researched the very treasure we are up against, Baikson? The Raptus isn’t just a mind-control device. When it is either fully or nearly unlocked, it’s designed to defend itself—and its owner—from physical assault.”
Oh, yeah. Hadn’t Journey said something about shielding powers back in the prostitute’s van in Wetshul? “I hope you won’t shoot me by accident.”
“LaDaven caught me unprepared before,” she said grimly. “He will not do so again. I believe it’s my turn to... what’s the newfangled phrase? Kick his behind?”
“His ass,” a disembodied voice said just beside Chet. He jumped before he realized it was Rory.
“This is so strange.” He tried to touch the air in front of him. He didn’t feel anything. Not even a crackle of energy like he’d felt back in Wetshul.
He heard a chuckle. “You’re cute when you’re spooked,” she said in his ear. “I’ll go first and you trail behind me, okay?”
Chet waited the obligatory moment before starting down the stairs. Luckily, he wasn’t claustrophobic. Clementina followed behind, bristling with weaponry. The staircase spiraled downward for a long time. Chet shone his flashlight around; there were natural rock formations on all sides. The place didn’t look like it had been drilled by human hands.
“I wonder how LaDaven knew this was here?” said Rory’s disembodied voice.
“Maybe Knife managed to hold onto this property a long time. Over several lifetimes, say?” All the furnishings and pictures in the house had been old, Chet realized. The only evidence of progress in the last eighty years had been plumbing, the telephone and electricity. Plus there was the surprising amount of land that came with the house. Journey would know for certain.
The stairs ended in a tunnel. It was lined with locked wooden drawers, built directly into the walls. It looked as if Knife were in the process of installing electricity: there were industrial rods and cords piled to one side of the tunnel. A folding table held a brand-new circuit box and a series of wrenches, tri-squares and nut drivers. A long-term project, Chet suspected.
An arched door gaped open at the end of the hall. By all signs, the old-fashioned door had been recently kicked in. The floor began winding downwards, broadening and curving. There were square nooks carved into the walls. Tombs. Chet caught his breath. Skeletal remains lay within the nooks, whole and carefully laid out, their hands folded neatly over their chests. Knife hadn’t touched them, it seemed.
Chet paused beside one, curious despite their hurry—the archeologist part of him couldn’t help it. The consistency of the arrangements was troubling, especially since there was a decided lack of identity markers. Despite this, the bones had been laid out in careful, ritualistic manner. There were no visible artifacts left for the dead soul; no metal items, ceramics or stone markers that might yield clues as to the person’s station in life. Had the bones belonged to peasants? They didn’t show signs of having been malnourished in life, nor were there the usual markers of poverty. No pitting, no missing or ground-down teeth. All the skeletons were faintly purple in color, but that was probably just a trick of the light.
“I wonder... I wonder if these are Knife’s bodies," Rory's voice whispered in his ear. “Not people she’s killed, but her own bodies. From past lives.”
Chet jerked back from a skeleton he’d been studying. “No!” he said, barely remembering to keep his voice down. “Knife couldn’t—she wouldn’t. Would she?” It seemed obscene. Would she have kept her own bodies, preserved under her property? Ew. He started down the tunnel again, his eyes directly forward.
He blinked. There was a light ahead: it seemed to be an indistinct, ambient light, not a flashlight or even electrical. He crept closer, turning off his flashlight, Clementina following suit beside him. Chet heard noise, a bubbling, churning sound. The light grew brighter, and the wall of the tunnel opened abruptly on one side. They stopped, clinging instinctively to the edge, poking their heads out just a little to see what lay beyond. There was an enormous body of... not water. Lucid mud, Chet realized, gaping. The ambient light seemed to emerge from the lucid mud itself.
What had Journey said, back at the dig site? “There’s still an active system beneath Allistair, you know. Quite the churning river of lucid mud.”
A lone figure stood beside the river of mud, reeling in a length of rope. It was Fenimore. The Raptus wasn’t visible, though he did have the duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Was he fishing in the lucid mud? Something was being pulled in at the other end of the rope. A hand... an arm. It was Journey! Chet gasped, then touched his mouth, hoping Fenimore hadn’t heard him. She—her tits were vivid through her muddy shirt—was breathing heavily, eyes closed as Fen reeled her in.
Fenimore knelt beside her. “You ready to sing your little song, Journey?”
“Never.” Though her voice was low, Chet could hear her clearly through the churning of the river.
“Then back you go. Crawl into the mud; you have my permission to hold onto the rope again. This time. Thoug
h I might just grow weary of holding it myself.”
“Then... you’ll never unlock... the Raptus.”
“Mmm. You’re growing weak, Journey. I think next time you surface, I’ll dance a jig with your diddly pout. You should still have enough energy to shape your ass to suit me, but not enough to be tiresome. I grow weary of being rejected by you.”
“Abyss... to that.”
She was crying, Chet saw, as she crawled backwards into the roiling mud. Journey was under the thrall of the Raptus, or very nearly under its thrall. How long was Fenimore planning to keep this up? Hours? Days? Journey couldn’t hold out forever, especially if Fenimore raped and abused her. Chet watched as she vanished beneath the surface. Hadn’t Journey said sleeping in lucid mud would be a horrible fate? Fenimore clearly remembered, too. He must have taken note of her words, patiently mapping out her fate even as they walked to Othnielia’s farm.
Asshole, Chet thought fiercely.
“Professor, you go first and distract him just like we planned,” Rory’s voice whispered. “Chet, you’re in charge of rescuing Journey.”
“Right.”
They hadn’t known in advance what kind of situation they might face, but Chet had been clear that if Fenimore took Flame hostages, he should be the one to save them. Rory was focused entirely on the Raptus, and Clementina just didn’t care. Chet wasn’t a fighter, and he had no knowledge of weaponry, but he could help Journey.
“I’ll get him from behind, Professor after you stop shooting,” Rory continued. “The bullets won’t matter while I’m invisible, but I don’t want to get shot once I’m corporeal again.”
“Certainly.” Clementina unslung her rifle. “I’m going in.”
Chet wanted to call her back. He wasn’t ready! He didn’t feel up to facing Fenimore, even with Journey in danger. Chet realized it was because Fen had been dominating him all week. His strength of will was stupendous, exponentially more powerful than anything Chet could summon. The protective bracelet around his wrist seemed thin, flimsy, barely anything at all, but Clementina was already striding out to into the cavern.
The Artifact of Foex Page 28