The Artifact of Foex (39 page)

“I did no such thing. Nor, to my knowledge,
did any of my people.” Clementina shrugged, unconcerned. It was
clear the death of a Flame was of no interest to her. She certainly
seemed to lack the passion of cold-blooded killing.

“Do you also deny murdering Professor
Tibbets?”

This time Clementina looked deeply affronted.
“You think I killed Veyaon? I did no such thing! You must believe
me. Veyaon was harmless—even for a Literati—and he was one of my
favorite colleagues. Chet Baikson, you are a horrible person to
believe I could ever harm him!”

Her reaction seemed genuine. “Sorry,
Professor.”

She harrumphed and settled back into her
seat, still scowling.

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.

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.