Authors: Michael Pryor
George shook a fist at the wild-haired, cackling figures
leaning out over the edge of the roof. 'I say!' he began,
but Aubrey tugged his sleeve.
'Walk on, George.'
'What?'
'Look around. No-one else has even noticed. If you get
angry, our friends up there will feel they've scored a
victory. And don't even think of charging up there to
berate them. They'll have clubs, sticks and hard fists and
will be happy to relieve you of any valuables.'
George snorted, but Aubrey was pleased to see that
his friend kept an eye on the rooflines as they pushed
through the chattering throng.
They passed a gap in a row of houses where one
dwelling had sagged even more than its neighbours and
had collapsed. Opportunities like this were never missed
in the Mire, and a wrestling tent had been erected on the
ruins. Oil lamps blazed outside and a line of excited
customers snaked into the entrance, while an organ-grinder
entertained them with sounds that were
somewhat like music, just not as tuneful. The tout at the
front of the tent took one look at Oscar and shook his
head. He was a small, bald-headed man with narrow eyes
and a voice that could saw through glass. 'Sorry, friend.
I know the sign says "£10 If You Stay In The Ring For
One Round With Our Champion" but you're not what
we were expecting.'
Oscar just smiled. 'Righto,' he said and sailed onwards,
the others with him.
The Mire invigorated Aubrey. He loved its diversity, its
life and the sheer unexpectedness that lay around every
corner. It let him see another aspect of life in Albion.
Rogues and saints rubbed shoulders in the Mire, as did
honour and disgrace, charity and theft, hope and despair,
all in a single square mile.
They went on until the crowds dwindled and the lights
began to grow fewer. Aubrey noticed more and more
deserted buildings, more actual ruins, not as many places
of music and light. The rain began to fall heavily again
and he held his coat closed as best he could. Water
dripped from the frayed brim of his bowler hat.
The street ended with two mounds of rubble, one on
either side. It then gave out onto a large open space, a
hundred yards or more across, sloping upwards. In the
darkness Aubrey could see the familiar maze of stone,
stunted trees, and mounds of shattered masonry, the
wilderness that surrounded the ruins that had once been
St Agnes' Cathedral.
Once upon a time, the cathedral must have been a
proud sight, crowning the top of the hill, looking over the
city towards the other high points – Stoweside, Royal
Park, Calmia. It would have been majestic.
Now, all he could see was the shell of the cathedral
dark against the night, standing alone on the top of the
hill like an abandoned sentinel. One wall was almost
intact, reaching skywards, arched gaps that were once
stained-glass windows. The other walls had fallen in the
fire. Two pillars had miraculously survived, while the rest
were mere stubs in what had been the nave.
Aubrey knew the cathedral graveyard was still there. It
was a jumble of fallen headstones and the remains of
tombs on the far side of the hill. He was glad they didn't
have to go through it. Despite the rain and the years, the
smell of ash and burnt wood was heavy in the air. He
frowned as his magical awareness came across traces of
magic everywhere he looked. It was blurred and indistinct
and he couldn't tell if the magic was recent or the
remnants from years of foul experiments.
'Righto, then,' Oscar announced. 'Burnt church.'
Rain sluiced down the gutters and poured off the
rooftops around them. Aubrey was wet through. Caroline
and George were both sodden. George looked irritated,
but Caroline was calm, gazing towards their destination.
'Lights,' she said.
Aubrey turned and saw glimmers of light in the wilderness,
small pinpricks of red, orange and yellow. 'We
oughtn't run into anyone out there,' he said, thinking of
the experimental outcasts, 'but we must be on our guard.
We don't know how many Holmlanders will be appearing.'
Jack moved until he was standing with his back against
the remains of a wall. 'What are you going to do now?'
'A meeting is going to take place here at midnight.
What time is it now?'
Jack consulted a battered pocket watch. 'Half past
eleven.'
'Plenty of time.' Aubrey looked at Oscar. 'Can he
remain behind? He's a little conspicuous.'
Jack frowned. 'He can, but is it safe without him?'
'We'll move more quickly alone.'
'Oscar,' Caroline said. He looked down at her and
smiled. 'Will you be all right if you stay here?'
'Yes.' He reached out with a meaty hand and – very
gently – patted Caroline on the head.
'What about you, Jack?' Aubrey asked. 'Will you come
or would you prefer to stay?'
'I should stay with Oscar. He's not used to being out
alone at night.'
'Keep well hidden,' Aubrey said.
'I will.' Jack stopped, staring over Aubrey's shoulder.
'Someone's out there.'
Aubrey looked in the direction of his gaze and saw
someone flitting from shadow to shadow.
'Damn him,' George said through gritted teeth. 'It
looks like von Stralick. He has a rifle.'
'Are you sure?' Caroline asked. The rain was getting
harder.
Aubrey reached into his pouch and pulled out a rough
circle of enchanted glass. He closed one eye and held it
to the other. 'It's definitely von Stralick. He has a bandage
on the side of his head. He seems to be alone.'
'Why does he have a rifle?' Caroline wondered. 'What's
he after?'
'Protection?' Jack suggested. 'We brought Oscar, he
brought a rifle.'
'But why a rifle?' George said. 'That's a marksman's
tool, not for self-defence.'
'There's one way to find out,' Aubrey said. 'Let's see what
he's up to.' He gazed towards the ruins. 'George, you take
point position. Stay fifteen, twenty yards in front. Caroline,
you next. I shall come last, slightly off to your left.'
It was by the book. Or, at least, by the teachings of the
Scholar Tan.
But I have something good old Scholar Tan
didn't
, Aubrey thought. He took a pouch out of an inner
pocket of his jacket.
'Before we set off,' Aubrey said to Caroline and
George, 'there's something I need to do.'
After the incident at the shooting weekend, Aubrey
had devoted some research time to the magic behind the
clay golem assassin. He hadn't been able to determine
exactly how to animate and control such an intricate
creature, but he had established a spell for making a less
sophisticated version.
'I thought we might need some scouts,' he said, and
took a lump of clay out of a pouch in his pocket.
Caroline and George watched, fascinated, as Aubrey
took the fist of clay and worked it between his hands.
Muttering the spell he had rehearsed, Aubrey broke off
a piece the size of a pea. With deft movements, he
fashioned it into a rough human shape – two arms, two
legs, a featureless head. Then, with care, he used his
fingernail to inscribe a symbol on its blank forehead. He
pronounced a short, sharp spell over it.
When Aubrey placed the mannikin on the wet
ground, it quivered.
'Good Lord,' George whispered.
The mannikin swelled, its rough arms and legs
becoming smoother, growing larger until it was the size
of a thumb. It bent in the middle, sitting up. Then it
popped to its feet and stood, swaying slightly.
While this was happening, Aubrey had fashioned
another. He continued to work the lump of clay, breaking
pieces off, making figures, inscribing symbols, repeating
the spell. He was applying a number of laws – Symmetry,
Contiguity, Action at a Distance, Sympathy – in a novel
way. It was challenging.
In a short space of time, a dozen mannikins were
standing in a line, arms outstretched like faceless gingerbread
men.
Aubrey took a deep breath. 'Go. Observe. Report back
to me.'
The three-inch-tall mannikins trembled, then dispersed,
running stiff-legged into the darkness, splashing
through puddles and wading through mud.
Caroline nodded. 'Clever.'
Aubrey was aware enough to be amused at how much
he appreciated the comment. Then he simply enjoyed it,
even though the magical effort had sapped him. 'It's an
experiment. They're simple things, and their vocabulary
is very limited. Let's see what happens. If they bring back
some intelligence, it may be invaluable. If they don't . . .'
He shrugged.
Caroline pointed. 'Look.' Von Stralick was darting up
the slope, veering from side to side as he sprinted towards
the ruined cathedral.
'He's making use of cover,' Aubrey commented, 'not
running in a direct line, in case someone is watching him.
He's experienced.'
'We can catch him,' Caroline said.
Aubrey glanced at her. Eyes bright, she looked eager,
unafraid.
No-one could mistake her for a beggar
, Aubrey
thought.
What was I thinking?
George squinted and scanned the terrain ahead. 'I can't
see him. He must have entered the cathedral.'
Caroline frowned. 'Making for a rendezvous?'
'No doubt.'
Aubrey glanced at George. 'Forward, then.'
George, as point man, went first. He disappeared into
the darkness.
Caroline went next, then Aubrey. The ground underfoot
was wet but hard, which made the going slippery. He
angled towards a clump of bushes, edged around them,
then ran from tree to tree, hunched over, until he reached
a mound of broken bricks. Panting, he sat with his back
to the rubble. His stomach felt hollow and he paused,
gathering himself. While he consolidated his strength,
he looked at the view.
From this vantage point, the city was laid out around
him, glittering like a million stars, each light the result of
ingenuity and application, meant for holding back the
night, but without realising what a fairyland they would
create. Incidental beauty, unmarred by forced design. He
shook his head in wonder.
Movement in the wilderness caught his eye. At first, he
assumed it was Caroline or George, but he realised that
this movement was some distance away. For a moment he
wondered if he'd leap-frogged von Stralick and moved
ahead of him, but he discarded this idea. He could see
that, whoever it was, he was making his way through the
graveyard on the other side of the hill.
Aubrey took out his enchanted-glass viewer and
peered through it.
The stranger flitted from tombstone to tombstone,
keeping low to the ground. Aubrey found it hard to fix
on him. His gaze shifted and slipped, sliding off the blurry
form, after which it took him some effort to find him
again. The intruder was indistinct, almost as if he were
wrapped up in a cloud of shadows. It was like searching
for hidden figures in one of the pictures he'd enjoyed as
a child.
Interesting
, Aubrey thought, and he felt the distant tang
of magic. Now he was aware of the phenomenon, he
scanned as much of the slope as he could. He felt chill
when his gaze lighted on three other shadowed figures.
He jumped as someone emerged from the night.
'Aubrey,' Caroline whispered and she glided to his side.
A moment later, George joined them. 'I scouted ahead.
The way is clear, right up to the ruins.'
Aubrey pointed, doing his best to track one of the
ghostly visitors as it darted towards the remains of a tomb.
George whistled soundlessly. 'Quite a popular place,
St Agnes', tonight.'
'Who are they?' Caroline whispered.
'No idea,' Aubrey said. 'But there's magic involved.
See if you can follow their progress for more than a
few yards.'
Caroline peered towards the church grounds. After a
moment, she frowned. 'How odd. It's hard to keep my eye
on them.'
'That's high-level magic, providing such stealthy
masking,' Aubrey said.
'Who could it be?' George asked.
'A fine question,' Aubrey said, frowning as he considered
the possibilites. 'Are these the Holmlanders? Or
someone else . . .'
A rough voice cut through the night. 'All right, you
three. Don't move.'
Aubrey started to get to his feet, but before he could
move the ominous sound of a revolver being cocked
came from the darkness.
'Don't try it.'
Two men scrambled over the broken masonry. One
was tall and wearing a dark cutaway jacket and a bowler
hat. Water dripped from every hem, edge and cuff and
his scowl seemed as much directed at the rain as at what
he'd found. The other wore a heavy overcoat and cloth
cap. He was the one wielding the revolver, which he kept
moving, unsure of where to aim.
'Damn! I thought they were beggars, but they're not,'
the taller man said. 'It's youngsters.'
'What do we do now?' the other man said. The pistol
jiggled as he sought guidance from his partner. Aubrey
tried to lean away.
'Damn, damn, damn!' The taller man spat on the ground
and looked around.' We can't stay here. Bring them.'
'Get up,' the pistol-wielder snapped.
Aubrey rose. They didn't sound like Holmlanders.
What were they doing here?
'Move it. That way.'
They were herded towards the burnt church and urged
through a gap in the broken wall.
It was an immense space. St Agnes' had been enormous,
large enough to hold a coronation. The hard stone
floor was empty except for rubble and the few burnt
timbers that were either too large or too ruined to be
scavenged.
They were marched along the length of the nave,
towards the apse where the altar would once have been.
The two side wings of the transept, intersecting the nave,
extended to either side. Aubrey could almost see the
worshippers filling the great space, the priests leading
the procession.
'Stop there,' pistol-wielder said and Aubrey's vision of
the cathedral of long ago vanished. 'Turn around.'