The Relic Guild (44 page)

‘Nice,’ Clara said with disgust.

‘Acid,’ Van Bam explained. ‘At certain spots the sewage water creates such high levels that it is potent enough to strip flesh from bone.’

‘Stinks of eggs,’ Clara muttered, unimpressed, and she led the way to another tunnel.

At the other end, she stopped again as they came to a spacious chamber where rats clambered over each other, and where mounds of filth had gathered here and there. The river continued flowing through the chamber, but it was covered by a rusty grille. From the darkness above, water and waste matter fell like foul rain, splashing and slapping upon the floor.

Clara pointed to a tunnel mouth on the other side of the chamber. ‘We need to go that way.’ She snorted. ‘Should’ve brought an umbrella.’

As she made to step out into the falling filth, Van Bam gently took her arm and held her back. He whispered to his magic, and the light from his glass cane flared, sending rats scurrying and squealing to the edges of the chamber.

‘My magic depends on belief to exist, Clara,’ he said. ‘It is easy for me to fool a mind so profoundly that it will
believe
my illusions into reality where they can cause real harm – or protection.’ Van Bam lifted the cane higher. Its light cast a dome of tangible light around them both. ‘
Now
we have an umbrella,’ he said.

Treading carefully, Van Bam led the way across. Water and waste matter fizzed and dissolved upon the enhanced light shining from the cane, and not one drop touched the magickers.

Once they had traversed the tunnel on the opposite side, they headed along a slippery walkway that was well lit by glow lamps, and Clara halted for a third time before yet another bridge.

She sniffed the air. ‘I can smell blood,’ she said and walked on.

Halfway across the bridge, she touched the dark stone of its wall. She showed Van Bam her hand. In the light of the cane, he saw her fingertips were wet.

She wiped her hand on her leggings and sniffed the air again. ‘Samuel was here,’ she growled. ‘Not long ago.’

‘Which way did he head, Clara?’

She waved in the vague direction of the opposite bank, and then turned a sour expression to Van Bam. The wolf’s presence had returned to her yellow eyes.

‘Should we catch up with him, or wait until he kills everyone?’

Van Bam could almost hear Gideon laughing as the changeling glared at him defiantly. The sound of metal striking stone echoed through the sewers once more.

Chapter Eighteen

Ghosts & Monsters

When Samuel had reached the source of the hammering sound, he hid in the shadows of a tunnel mouth and peered out onto the walkway furtively. On his right hand side, the river continued on and curved around to the right. He had a good view down into the murky water from his position. A little way ahead, the river widened and became shallow; and there, he saw a problem he hadn’t anticipated: dressed in priest cassocks, ankle-deep in sewage, two of Fabian Moor’s golems worked with slow and tireless automation, striking the river floor with pickaxes.

A man stood upon the walkway, watching proceedings. He wrung his hands nervously as the golems paused and knelt in the filth to remove pieces of loose stone. In the pale light of a glow lamp, Samuel could see that the man’s face was careworn and unshaven; his hair was straggly and thinning. He wore old and tatty clothes, and stepped from foot to foot with anticipation. Samuel did not recognise this denizen, but knew he was no bounty hunter.

Movement caught the magicker’s eye.

A little way ahead, someone was inching towards the man, creeping along the wall, stooped in the shadows beneath the glow lamps. The light caught the figure briefly, enabling Samuel to see that it was a woman. She carried a rifle in her hands. Her head was shaved smooth to the scalp, except for a shock of hair running down the middle. Although Samuel could not see her face, the uncommon hairstyle identified her immediately: her name was Aga, and she most definitely was a killer for hire.

It was an easy shot from Samuel’s position. Once he’d killed Aga, the golems and the man would quickly follow. But even if his prescient awareness was not telling him to remain hidden, Samuel still wouldn’t have taken the shot.

Aga never worked alone. She had a sister, a ruthless bitch called Nim. One never picked up a bounty contract without the other, and they had a bad reputation in Labrys Town. If Aga was out prowling in the open, then it was damn certain that Nim was hiding somewhere close by, covering her sister, waiting for Old Man Sam to make his move.

For the time being, with his magic pulsing warmly, sweat trickling down his back, Samuel remained concealed, letting events unfold however they would.

Aga approached the man watching the golems. He was oblivious to her presence and the rifle aimed at the back of his head. When she had stepped close enough to her target to make him out clearly, she paused and lowered her weapon.

‘Dumb Boy?’ she said in an incredulous tone.

The man wheeled around. Shocked and mute, he stared open-mouthed at the bounty hunter and the rifle in her hands.

The golems began striking stone again.

Aga looked back along the walkway. ‘It’s Dumb Boy Clover,’ she called, her voice echoing softly among the
chinks
.

Although Nim didn’t reply to her sister, she did reveal her position to Samuel. In the mouth of another tunnel several paces ahead, he saw shadowy movement. Nim was signalling to her sister with short, sharp hand gestures, clearly telling her to focus. From his location, Samuel could not get a clear shot at her.

As Aga rested her rifle upon her shoulder, the man – Dumb Boy – pressed his hands to his chest, and his voice drifted back to Samuel.

‘Oh, it’s you, Aga – you scared me to death.’ He chuckled like a simpleton. ‘You ain’t got my money, have you?’

‘What?’

‘My money. The boss said someone would bring it to me. Have you got it?’

‘
No
.’ Aga looked around the sewers with a perplexed expression. ‘Dumb Boy, what are you doing down here?’

He shrugged. ‘Working.’

‘Working? How can you stand the smell? It’s making my eyes water.’

‘Sewer gas,’ Dumb Boy explained. ‘It gets bad sometimes.’ He pointed a finger at her. ‘If you’re here to help, I’m in charge, right? And—’

‘Shut up,’ Aga snapped. ‘Who are you working for?’

‘Don’t know his name. I ain’t allowed to talk to him, see? Charlie Hemlock got me the job.’ He seemed surprised by the fact his finger was still in the air, and then used it to scratch his head. ‘Has Charlie got my money?’

Again, Aga seemed utterly perplexed. ‘Where have you been, Dumb Boy? No one’s seen Hemlock for days, and he’s not the only one who’s disappeared.’

‘Oh … who’s got it then?’

‘I don’t care about your bloody money,’ Aga hissed.

She pushed past Dumb Boy and peered over the walkway, down into the river. She saw the golems hefting their pickaxes and took a step back.

In a cold and flat tone, she said, ‘What are they?’

Dumb Boy looked over the edge too. ‘Not sure. Funny looking, ain’t they?’

Laying their pickaxes aside, the golems began shifting more loose stone.

Aga looked back down the walkway. ‘Nim, you really have to see this.’

Nim replied with another sharp wave of her hand, and her sister’s gaze returned to the river.

One golem waited while the other remained kneeling in the filth. It submerged itself, clearly reaching down into the hole dug into the river floor.

Samuel’s magic remained warm.

‘When’s the boss coming back?’ Dumb Boy asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Aga replied, her voice distant. ‘What are they doing, Dumb Boy?’

‘Don’t know. They don’t talk.’

The golem stood up, dripping waste water, and passed an object to its companion. By the time Samuel realised what the object was, it was already too late.

While one golem held the terracotta jar in its misshapen hands, the other scratched away the wax seal. In their ignorance, Aga and Dumb Boy bent forwards for a closer look as the lid came loose and splashed down into the river.

The smallest of moments passed, giving Samuel just enough time to wonder why his prescient awareness hadn’t gone berserk, and then a scream echoed through the sewers. A hot sandstorm blasted from the terracotta jar.

Like a cloud of locusts the storm rose, whirling angrily. Aga jumped back, but Dumb Boy’s reflexes were not so quick. The storm engulfed him and whipped so fast and fiery, he did not even get the chance to shout in surprise or pain. His clothes were shredded in a second; his skin disappeared in even less time. The storm blossomed to an angry shade of red as it drank Dumb Boy’s blood and devoured his flesh.

In her surprise, Aga fell into a sitting position. Her rifle clattered along the walkway and joined the golems down in the river of waste. As she tried to scurry away from the storm like a crab, a tentacle of burning crimson lashed out and coiled around her legs, flipping her over. As she was dragged towards the body of the storm, Aga clawed at the walkway, calling desperately for her sister.

‘Nim! Help me!’

Nim broke cover, marching forwards with a handgun raised and aimed. Her weapon spat two quick shots into the storm, but the bullets did nothing to disturb its hunger.

Aga reached out a hand. ‘Please …’ she whimpered.

Nim fired again, but could not prevent her sister being swallowed by the storm, stripped of flesh, drained of blood, devoured by its rage.

Nim screamed murderously as she unloaded her gun at the swirling mass. Unaffected, the storm tapered and began to coalesce into a humanoid shape. Hurriedly, Nim reloaded her weapon.

Samuel’s revolver was heavy in his hand. He looked at the violet glow of its power stone. Frozen to inaction, he felt lost without his magic’s guidance.

By the time Nim readied her weapon once more, the storm had gained the solid form of a man, obese and naked. His head was bald; his shoulders and arms were powerfully built. Two skeletons lay at his bare feet. Nim fired at him again, and continued to release bursts of thaumaturgy until the power stone was flashing on an empty chamber. The man recoiled as each bullet struck him, but he seemed more surprised than hurt, and not one wound appeared on his flabby, pale skin.

Nim’s glowing gun dropped to her side. She flinched and skipped back as the man faced upward and bellowed at the sewer ceiling with all the fury of the storm that had birthed him. Nim turned and ran away down the tunnel she had emerged from.

Samuel swallowed as the reanimated Genii finished his bestial cry. He grinned and pointed a finger directly at him.

‘I see you, little magicker,’ he shouted. ‘I am hungry!’ and he came stamping forward.

Some part of Samuel’s body remembered his hunting instincts. Holstering his revolver, he reached over his shoulder and drew his rifle. He primed the power stone and fired one single shot.

The fire-bullet struck the Genii’s chest with a soft
whump
, and he staggered back
.
Red flame bloomed, hissing and intense. It caused the air to crackle and spark, finally igniting the sewer gas to a rich golden fire that engulfed the Genii.

Only when the fireball began spilling liquidly down the walkway did Samuel’s prescient awareness activate. And it told him to most definitely run.

Followed by a blistering roar, Samuel fled down the tunnel. Searing light chased after him, heat upon heat caught up with him, fast. Flames burned at his back, licked about his shoulders, crackling his hair, singeing the flesh of his ears. And in that moment, Samuel knew he was too slow; he could not outrun the fireball, could not prevent the blaze overtaking him, roasting him to death. But his prescient awareness was urging his body to keep his ageing legs pumping as fast as they could go, onward – always onward – until they finally brought him to salvation.

His coat and hair smoking, Samuel reached the end of the tunnel and dived headfirst into the murky filth of a deep flood pool.

Cool waste dampened the heat and filled his mouth, bitter and foul. Somehow, Samuel resisted the urge to swallow or gag as he sank. He opened his eyes, fighting the sudden sharp stinging that wanted to close them again, and he looked up. Through the cloudy, thick water, he saw golden light illuminate the flood chamber. Fire roiled in a blistering storm that seemed without end.

Samuel was already fighting for breath. Clenching his teeth against the foul matter in his mouth, gripping his rifle hard, he obeyed the prescient awareness that forbade him to kick and rise and fill his desperate lungs with air. Fire continued to blossom above the pool, roll after roll of burning clouds, almost fluid and graceful to Samuel’s stinging eyes. And then, thankfully, the golden glare diminished, the blaze receded, and Samuel was able to break for the surface.

He spat filth from his mouth and filled his lungs with gasping breaths.

The air tasted of soot and ash. Smoke hung like thick fog.

A voice bellowed.

‘Little magicker!’

It came from somewhere not too distant.

Gagging and spluttering, Samuel looked around the flood chamber frantically. On the wall opposite the mouth of the tunnel, a rusty metal ladder led up to a drain opening, easily wide enough for him to squeeze into. It was his only chance of escape.

But as Samuel holstered his rifle and made to swim towards the ladder, he felt his body gripped by something. It was as though the stagnant water was pressing in on him, becoming solid. He yelled in surprise as the waters lifted him, as though he were caught in a sudden wave. It rushed him across the pool, and threw him back out into the tunnel.

Samuel skidded to halt on his rump and raised a protective arm. But the wave didn’t follow and crash down onto him. Instead, it hung in the entrance to the flood chamber, hovering across its width and height like a veil of filth. With a sudden snapping sound, it froze to a wall of dirty ice.

Samuel jumped to his feet and kicked at the barrier. But it was too thick and hard to break through.

A low chuckle came from behind him. He turned slowly.

Directly in front of him, the Genii materialised in the tunnel. This close, Samuel could see his true, imposing size. The Genii’s pallid obesity made his nakedness seem all the more grotesque. The flab of his stomach hung over his genitals. His left eye was missing, and the socket was covered with smooth skin as pale as the rest of him. He had not a single wound or scorch mark.

Samuel’s prescient awareness had deserted him yet again. But that was a small matter now. With cold resignation, with filth and water dripping from him, the old bounty hunter clenched his jaw and drew his rifle.

The Genii chuckled again at the small man aiming his insignificant weapon at him.

‘Pray to your Timewatcher if you must, little magicker.’ His voice was deep; his teeth were white and long. ‘But your soul won’t reach Her now.’

Hamir was on the move again. Of course, the moment he stepped from his laboratory Hagi Tabet had detected him, and the new Resident was quick to send her servants after the necromancer. But Hamir was not unprotected as he made his way through the never-ending corridors of the Nightshade. The time he had spent experimenting in his laboratory over the years easily amounted to the lifespan of several denizens, and he did so enjoy creating his little
toys
. The seriousness of the situation now demanded he travel with a bodyguard.

The thing that had once been called Fat Jacob stamped alongside Hamir. A perverse mannequin with a body of metal and a head of flesh, Jacob carried in one wire-frame hand a long and sharp surgical knife; in the other he held a cleaver. The first wave of servants came at them when they reached a crossroads in the corridors.

Stooped and leading with spherical heads on the ends of long necks, the aspects of Hagi Tabet glared at Hamir with protruding eyes, pink and watery. One headed down each of the corridors to the left, right and straight ahead. Looking over his shoulder Hamir saw that a fourth had materialised in the corridor behind him. Reaching out with meaty hands connected to stick-thin arms, the aspects sought to pen in the necromancer and his bodyguard.

‘Kill them, Jacob.’

Hamir remained statue still as the mannequin danced around him. With a blur of razor-keen silver, Jacob set about the servants, slicing through folds of pink blubber, hacking at necks and heads, like a seasoned killer. In utter silence, the fight lasted seconds, and as each servant fell it slipped from existence. In the aftermath of the quick slaughter, Jacob awaited further orders.