All the while, the High Priest stood impassively, as more and more acolytes were suddenly afflicted, some screaming, others falling silently in violent spasms.
Some acolytes fled in panic, others backed away from their writhing fellows, knocking over candlesticks and grasping their brethren in fear. As Castor watched, wondering if he would be next, he realised he was standing in the centre of the sign of Legion.
The blood had congealed within the furrows and he could feel it beneath the thin soles of his sandals. He looked down and saw a faint glow, as the outline of the sigil seemed to reverberate with unnatural power. A strange sensation was beginning to consume Castor, a feeling of inculpable elation and blood curdling terror all at once. He looked up, and saw that the High Priest’s steely gaze was upon him.
‘Accept the gift of Legion,’ he said, his voice but a whisper. Despite the noise in the hall, Castor heard the words clearly; they reverberated in his head like the sounding of a bell. And then he felt the pain.
Searing heat, or was it freezing cold, wracked his body in an instant from the tips of his extremities to his very core. Castor wanted to fall, to land on the ground in a heap, curl up into a ball and moan and whine and weep. But he could not. The sigil of Legion on which he stood seemed to hold him in place, filling him with an eldritch light, consuming him and nourishing him, changing him but reaffirming his very being. He felt sinew strengthen and grow, felt his senses heighten. Knowledge forbidden to mortal men flooded into him, and in an instant Castor Cage was one with Legion. He was all of them, and only himself at the same time.
In the end there were a mere dozen acolytes who had been granted the boon of Legion. The rest of the congregation stood at the fringes of the sanctum, those who had not fled anyway. The High Priest looked at his chosen few from within a sunburst mask of bronze. He did not need to speak. The Legion knew their task as one mind, and with their boon they could now accomplish it with ease.
This was just a taste of things to come; Castor knew it instinctively. Soon the Legion would be free to spread its power throughout the Manufactory, and beyond.
CHAPTER FOUR
Thaddeus knew the quickest way to get the information he needed. It might not be the easiest, or indeed the cleanest way, but it was by far the quickest.
The estate of Lord Julius was set a ways from the Spires of the Manufactory, where most of the Highborn dwelt in their sequestered towers. Not the sky-borne grandeur for Lord Julius, oh no. He demanded something even more exclusive.
To an outsider, a visiting dignitary or a travelling merchant-baron, the Manufactory might seem like a huge stinking machine, constantly moving, perpetually churning and writhing within itself. But there were places – secret and cloistered places – that were a world apart from the filthy streets and slime encrusted alleyways of the city. Walled off from the bustle and rancour of the Manufactory were sanctuaries of green, lined with bright blooms and home to fauna other than the usual scurrying vermin.
It was within one of these cloistral retreats that Thaddeus Blaklok would find his answers.
Obviously the grounds had security. Lean hounds patrolled the gardens, snuffling at the foliage, docile until they sighted an intruder. But Thaddeus had always had a way with animals. At first ferocious, the guard hounds had soon been licking his chin and rolling on the ground, whimpering for their bellies to be scratched.
When their play had ended, Thaddeus stole away from his new found canine friends, clinging to the shadows as he approached the great manor. He was all in black, neck to foot. A thigh length greatcoat covered his torso, while the black trousers and boots that he always wore finished his attire. Despite his size, Blaklok moved with the grace of a skulking cat. He had never considered housebreaking as a career, but as he made his way silently towards the well-lit estate, he suddenly considered that he would make a quite excellent second-storey man.
The porch light shone brightly, and Thaddeus moved round to the side where the light was dimmest. There was a door to the cellar, sealed with a simple latch and it took no effort to prise it apart. As he entered the building, Blaklok could only wonder at the naivety of the rich. Did they really think that hounds and reputation alone would keep out a determined intruder? It was true, that for most ordinary footpads, the repercussions of encroaching on the domains of the rich were dire indeed, but Blaklok feared none of that. Let them try and take him if they could. Besides, this Lord Julius was of no named House. He had few friends in high places. His reputation, and consequent deterrent to intruders, was built from what he knew of the dark arts and the occult. For many, that would be reason enough to give him a wide berth, but not for Thaddeus Blaklok. That was the whole reason for him being here.
He crept from the cellar as silent as death, stealing through the house like the reaper himself stalking a centenarian. The floors were carpeted with a lush shag, something Thaddeus was thankful for with his big boots and the heavy feet within them. He had no time to admire the décor; he was here on business. There was little time to stop and marvel at the portraits and stuffed, glassy-eyed animal heads that stared down from the gaudily papered walls. They certainly wouldn’t help him find his quarry. But then, that didn’t take long in the end.
Lord Julius sat reclining in a paisley patterned armchair. Through the crack in the door Thaddeus could see him, nursing a copy of some doubtlessly tedious book, whilst puffing away on some doubtlessly expensive cigarillo. To his credit, Julius did not seem surprised as Thaddeus walked in, the door creaking as he pushed it open. Most men at least showed a flash of fear as Blaklok loomed over them, but no such indignity from Lord Julius.
‘And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’ crooned Julius, taking a slow pull of his thin, brown cigar. The air was fusty with thick smoke and Blaklok found his eyes were beginning to well. Nevertheless, he kept Lord Julius locked in his algid stare. Even Julius could not hold it for long.
‘Care for a cigarillo?’ asked Julius, reaching for a silver cigarette case that sat on a nearby chess table.
‘Cut the shit,’ said Blaklok. ‘You know I don’t smoke.’
‘Indeed,’ Julius replied, a languid smile crossing his face. ‘Pure as the driven, Thaddeus. That’s you all over. Well, let’s get down to business then. And by the way, you really should have knocked.’
‘Balls to that. It’s better when you don’t know I’m coming. The Key of Lunos. What is it? Why is it important?’
Lord Julius snorted, almost dropping the stub of his cigar on his lounge pants. ‘This is a joke, yes? You took the trouble of breaking into my house to ask me about some useless extra-terrestrial trinket?’
Blaklok stared hard at Julius, looking deep behind the self-satisfied grin and overconfident air. There was something he was hiding; something in the way he sat, still squirming under Blaklok’s gaze.
‘You don’t believe it’s worthless any more than I do.’
‘Au contraire, my indefatigable friend. It is indeed worthless, despite what Duke Darian and those overzealous curators at the Repository would have you believe. Why the interest anyway?’
‘Mind your own fucking business,’ said Thaddeus, taking a threatening step forward.
‘Now, now! Don’t bother with any of the rough stuff; you know it’ll only end in tears. Besides, what possible reason would I have to lie to you?’
‘Let’s find out, shall we.’
Before Blaklok could take another step he heard the creaking of a loose floorboard behind him. He spun in time to see the barrel of a blunderbuss come poking through the door, aimed at his back. His jackbooted foot rose quickly, the powerful leg striking out like a piston to impact against the door. There was a deafening explosion as the blunderbuss went off, spraying the room with iron shot and destroying a four-foot vase that took pride of place in one corner. Before the echo of the blast had subsided, Thaddeus was moving, wrenching the door open to face the gun wielder. He was big, even bigger than Blaklok but that didn’t matter, he wou
ld still go down; they all did in the end.
Grasping the man’s shirt front, Thaddeus struck in with a head butt, feeling the crunch of nose and teeth, the sharp pain in his forehead… good pain. The man stumbled, but it was not enough, he was still on his feet. As the empty blunderbuss slipped from his fingers, Thaddeus pulled him into the room and clocked him with a right. It was a solid blow, straight to the cheek, and the thug fell back heavily into a table, knocking it over and sprawling on his back.
Good on him though, he was still conscious, obviously a tough one. But before Thaddeus could move in to finish him off, something smacked him hard around the back of the head.
Bloody stupid! Of course there were two of them.
Blaklok fell to one knee, the periphery of his vision blurring, like looking through snowfall. He tried to get back up but his legs wouldn’t move.
Bloody stupid!
‘As I said,’ crooned Julius, ‘you really should have knocked.’
Through his blizzard vision, Thaddeus could see the second man standing tall, a banded cudgel in his hand. Just lucky it hadn’t been another gun.
The one he had sat on his arse stood unsteadily, nothing but ill will drawn across his bloody face.
‘I would rather have avoided all this unpleasantness, but you’ve really left me with no choice, Thaddeus.’ Lord Julius was now standing in one corner, away from the hulking brutes. There was no way he would want to get blood on him, after all. ‘Make it quick,’ he said to his men. ‘And painful.’
Blaklok was glad of the chatter; it gave his vision a chance to clear.
The one with the cudgel raised his arm to strike again, but he was slow and ungainly. Thaddeus’s piston leg struck out, this time into the cudgel wielder’s knee. It snapped back, pointing the wrong way, and the brute screamed like a girl. His bloody-faced accomplice ran in with a vicious kick, but not vicious enough. It hit Blaklok in the face. There would be a bruise later but nothing to cry about, and it didn’t stop him rising and snatching the cudgel from the one with the broken knee.
And then he set about them. It wasn’t pretty or graceful. In fact it was brutal and fairly ugly, but it got the job done. In the end he was panting like a lion after the hunt and his head was starting to throb, but the two big ones were down, and they weren’t moving.
‘Now, now, remember who started this,’ blurted Julius. He was backed into a corner and suddenly took on a frightened-rabbit demeanour. ‘I have a right to defend myself.’
‘Shush,’ said Thaddeus, dropping the cudgel to the floor; this he wanted to do with his hands. ‘No fucking talking until I say so.’
‘All right! I’ll tell you what you want to know.’ Julius’s voice had grown shrill, and his arrogance seemed to have fled.
‘I know you will,’ Thaddeus replied, reaching forward with those big, grasping hands.
‘Not the face!’ Julius covered his head with his arms. A balled fist hit him right in the guts, punching every ounce of wind from his lungs. Immediately his arms dropped and Blaklok wasted no time, driving a fist into his victim’s pinched and imperious features. Blood immediately spread from a bust nose and lip. Another fist to the face and Julius was beginning to redden around the eyes.
‘It opens gates,’ blurted Julius.
Blaklok paused, his fist still raised. ‘Gates to where?’
‘Dangerous places. It’s forbidden. Just leave it well alone.’ Blaklok reached back once more, his knuckles itching to strike. ‘The Nine Gates! The Nine Gates!’ screeched Julius. ‘It can open any of the gates to Hell!’
Blaklok loosed his grip on Julius and took a step back. ‘So it would be extremely valuable to anyone wanting to open one of those gates? Someone mad enough to let loose the joys of the Pit?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Julius, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the blood on his face. ‘But for the moment it’s quite safe within the Repository. Security on that place is tighter than a fish’s fanny. You’d have more chance of robbing the Bank of the Houses than stealing an exhibit from the Repository. And less chance of dying in the attempt. Take my advice, Thaddeus, leave well alone.’
‘When I need advice from a stuck up outcast with more money than the sense to hire good bodyguards, I’ll be sure to check with you.’
‘I’ll have you know these men came with perfectly splendid references,’ Julius replied, starting to regain some of his former composure. ‘So what is it? You want the Key of Lunos for the money? Someone hired you to procure it?’
‘I told you once, mind your own fucking business.’
‘Well, suit yourself, but you did come to me. I do have a right to know.’
‘I came to you because you know everything concerning the Houses, and most things about our ‘business’. Not because you’re a great conversationalist. And no, you don’t have the right to know anything. Speaking of which, this Darian of House Hopplite. Does he know what the Key’s for?’
‘I very much doubt it. And even if he did, it wouldn’t interest him. All Darian is concerned with is his own prestige and how much tipple and tit he can secure for himself.’
Blaklok had heard enough. He left Julius bleeding in his drawing room and exited the manor, this time by the front door.
As he crossed the grounds towards the cloying confines of the Manufactory, he thought of poor unwitting Duke Darian and his unlucky find. It was clear the Duke might be about to get a rather nasty surprise. If Blaklok’s ‘benefactors’ wanted this item, you could be damn sure there would be other interested parties. And if this Key could open the gates of Hell, it was damn sure that things would heat up in the Manufactory in the very near future.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Repository of Unnatural History, like most prominent edifices of the Manufactory, stood on an innocuous street, in a nondescript part of the city. Gull Road was a quite ordinary byway, and followed the Cutter’s River most of the way through the city. It was largely residential, with some parts set aside for warehousing and others strictly commercial. The Repository stood in a busy part of one such commercial section, sandwiched between an exotic meat emporium and a workshop dedicated to the construction of combustion engines. However, the grandeur of the Repository did make it stand out somewhat on this otherwise plain thoroughfare. It was taller than any other building on Gull Road for as far as the eye could see in either direction. It towered upwards, a full eight storeys of blank grey stone, weather worn and blackening from the constant downpour of smog and pigeon shit. The sign bearing its name stared out starkly, leaving little doubt as to the building’s purpose. The bold script in which the legend was written seemed the only part of the building that was not a drab and dreary mess, wrought from brass that shone brightly even in the dimness of the Manufactory.
Thaddeus stood at the gap in the wrought iron fence that passed for an entrance. Well worn stone steps led up to an open doorway, and the huge building seemed to be doing a roaring trade, with dozens coming and going at once, squeezing in and out of the wide entryway with expectant smiles and bewildered looks of satisfaction. Two custodians stood flanking the doorway, one with a heavy carbine, the other a thick baton. Their faces were hidden behind helmets and they wore padded leather on shoulders, knees and elbows. It was puissant security, especially for what was, to all intents and purposes, a museum. Thaddeus could not wait to see inside.
Just within the doorway was a rusted turnstile, and after Blaklok deposited the requisite three shills, he was in. Easy enough. Perhaps the Repository wasn’t quite the fortress it was reputed to be. Then again, he hadn’t tried to get out yet.
He was swept along with the crowd at first as they moved into the wide reception hall. Blaklok could hear the gasps of delight ahead and wondered what could be evoking such a reaction. When he reached the main reception hall he had a hard time stifling a gasp of his own. The first thing to greet the Repository’s visitors was a huge metal cage, reaching fifty feet up to the ceiling, with a sign displaying the legen
d Lacerta Ferociatus. Inside was the largest reptile Thaddeus had ever laid eyes on, though it didn’t seem particularly ferocious. It sat sullenly in one corner of its cage, eyeing the passers by with disinterest, through black slitted pupils. The creature’s leathery bulk was immense, and Blaklok doubted it would have been so cumbersome looking in the wild, where it had to fend for itself and find its own food. A leaner, liberated version of this creature might indeed deserve the title ‘ferocious’, but not this pitiful creature. ‘Languid’ was a much better description.
A bunch of schoolboys were leering at the beast, jeering and pulling faces, safe beyond the reinforced cage bars. One, his face covered in a rage of freckles, went so far as to spit a gob of chewed paper through a straw. It spattered on the reptile’s long snout, but the monster gave scant reaction, merely turning its head in wan indignation. Thaddeus walked by, feeling a pang of pity, reassuring himself that he would die before allowing himself to be caged like that.
Moving through the Repository was like being assaulted by the mad musings of some crazed naturalist. There were chimeras of all kinds, creatures that should not exist, even in a drug addict’s nightmare. There were horses with horns and human hands, winged monkeys with pig’s heads and a sulky mermaid sat in a humid pool combing her tangled hair. Spiny tigers and scaly bears. Trees with faces that laughed and cried, and venus flytraps that could consume a man, sat behind reinforced railings. In the huge aviary, hideous harpies sat alongside beaked birdmen, aiming their shit at the paying customers to break the monotony of their day.
Once beyond the madness of the zoological section, the Repository displayed ancient artefacts from bygone cultures and mechanized works of wonderment. It was here that Thaddeus hoped to find the Key of Lunos.