The Labyrinth of the Dead (4 page)

"You sure ask a lot of questions! I
don’t know how it gets here, only that it stays. I think things fall through
the ether, you know? Like when you are missing just one stocking? Or just one
earbob? You never find it again, even though you had it just a minute ago and
now it’s just gone. It ends up here. And some things get sent here or brought
here. Mostly by the necromancer and demonomancer
types."

Portia gazed at the assemblage of
books, knick-knacks and bits of familiar technology like a typewriter and an
electric tea kettle. "How do you come by it? Do you pay for it?"

The girl nodded. "With this." She held
out her hand, and sitting on her palm was a small, rusty grey disk. It looked
like a very old, very weathered copper penny. "This is shadow-gold. And in case
you were wondering, it isn’t gold at all! Go on, feel it!"

She dumped the coin into Portia’s hand
and it scalded as it touched her flesh. It fell to the floorboards with a
leaden sound, and Portia backed away. "What is that?"

"In the shadow-side, it is the only
thing of any real value. It is made with the scraps and remnants of souls, all
bonded and compressed into a single, perfect coin. Everything else here is just
frivolous dross." Kanika fetched her coin back and cradled it in her hand. She
ran a finger along its edge and cooed, "Imogen? Are you in there? Im-o-gen?" Then bent her ear over as if to listen for a
reply.

Portia was disgusted. "If you don’t
mind, my dear, I think I must be going. I will take my chances with the storm."

"No, no, don’t go! I’m sorry. That was
awful of me, wasn’t it?" Kanika stashed the coin away and looked up at Portia
with eyes gone wide and weeping. "I get so lonely, and sometimes, well,
sometimes my mind thinks things are funny when they really aren’t. I oughtn’t
have said that; it was cruel. Please forgive me? Besides, you promised you’d
help me!"

A peal of thunder rocked the building
and was answered by a chorus of hungry-sounding howls. "Just don’t do it again.
Don’t say anything like that again. Imogen is whole and she is somewhere safe,
just like we are."

"That’s a nice thing to think, there,
Portia." Kanika yawned and her misty eyes drifted closed. "Very nice. You are
so optimistic to think that."

"I don’t think, Kanika, I know." Portia
absently touched her hand to her breastbone, feeling the throb of the glyph
etched there and sensing a far-off echo somewhere in the vastness of this
shadow-side world.

"You are quite optimistic," Kanika
repeated as she dozed.

Portia watched her until she was sure
the girl would not easily waken. "And you, dear girl, are quite trusting."

* * * *

The dream lingered, haunting Portia’s memory with
Nigel’s face. Nigel Aldias, her power-hungry foster brother, looked like he did
in life, with steely eyes and jet black hair and a hungry smile. He held Imogen
by the hand and pulled her, struggling, down a dim city street. Portia took a
step toward them but was caught up short. Her heavy legs would not respond to
her commands. She fought to free herself of the dream, shaking the sleepy
paralysis that clung to her limbs.

Portia jerked
awake, realizing as she blinked in the dim light that she had dozed off in the
corner between the wall and the steamer trunk. Kanika slept soundly with her
head pillowed on Portia’s lap, her arms wrapped possessively around Portia’s
thigh. She was both touched and repulsed by the girl’s display of affection.
She pulled her legs free and laid Kanika’s head
gently down onto the feather mattress.

The shadow-gold coin sat on the steamer
trunk, as carelessly laid there as a penny. Gingerly, Portia turned it over in
her hands. It was heavy for its size, with deeply grooved edges, an image of chains
embossed on one side and a sunburst on the other. It still felt prickly and
unsettling to the touch, an aching cold that crept steadily up her arm. She put
it back onto the trunk and collected her satchel, checking the contents
carefully. Nothing was amiss.

Portia crept downstairs. The village
square was silent with no sign of the violent storm, nor of the shadow
creatures that had menaced her. She skirted the fetid pond and headed toward
the hulking ruins that loomed above her. The dilapidated shell of the chapter
house seemed so hauntingly familiar, yet so very alien.

The roundabout was pitted and overgrown
with weeds. Portia stumbled on the loose cobblestones as she made her way to
the front doors, which hung wide open. Inside the foyer she came up short, not
expecting to see the interior of the chapter house as she had left it in the
living realm. The smooth hardwood floors stretched out before her, and the
richly colored stained glass windows flanking the front hall gleamed in the
waxed surface. The scent of gaslights and beeswax candles hovered over the
smell of books coming from the library. The nostalgia of it struck her with
almost physical pain. It made sense, Portia thought, that there could be a
conduit between the worlds here, although she was not sure exactly how to cross
back over into the Penemue of the living.

Lord Emile Edulica
bustled through, his tawny hair falling unkempt into his eyes. Two of the Bene ‘elim children followed close
on his heels, their scrawny arms wrapped around a stack of books each. One of
them paused as she passed through the foyer, her eyes seemingly drawn to
Portia’s position. Radinka, one of the eldest of the
little ones who had been rescued from the convent. Her seawater-pale gaze
narrowed and her lips moved.

I know you,
Radinka mouthed. But
before Portia could reply, the girl turned her head and answered an unheard
summons, quickly leaving the foyer to follow Emile. Portia watched them go up
the stairs, toward the students’ quarters. Emile, recently promoted to his full
entitlement, was the master of the chapter house in the wake of Lady Hester’s
untimely death. He was the quintessential Edulica and
poured himself into his duties now that there was a new generation of children
needing his guidance and care. She watched them go, wanting very much to step
out of the shadows and back into her childhood.

"What are you doing here?" The voice
disturbed her thoughts. A broad-shouldered shape coalesced out of the darkness
of the main hall. "You are on the wrong side of the world, Mistress Portia
Gyony."

"Who are you?"

He bowed gracefully, sending his nut
brown queue falling over his impressive shoulders. "Lord Solomon Aldias, at
your service."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know everything about every child
who has ever lived here. I was appointed guardian of this place many years ago,
before even Lady Hester was born."

"Then you ought to know why I’m here."

"Following Imogen, are you not?" He
shook his head. "This was not a well thought out plan, my dear."

"Your Lady Claire seemed to think it
was feasible."

He pressed his lips together. "Lady
Claire thinks a lot of things; a few are worthy of mention. Let me explain,
then, what she did not. You are fully here, body and soul. Dangerous. Our kind
do not pass through here when we die. Imogen’s body
still lives while her soul is severed from it, and now she wanders lost far
from here. I cannot even tell you if she remembers who she is or if she might
ever recover that knowledge. It was a traumatic severing, that much I know, the
breaking of an old bond. Older even than what Nigel and the others put upon her
the night she died at your side. I do not know if she can be retrieved, or if
there is even anything left of her worth the search. The passage she has made
would be difficult for Nephilim, most particularly her."

"So, I won’t see Lady Hester here."

"No. She never came here. Her soul
drifted through the doors and vanished into whatever fate awaited her." He
glanced through the elegant foyer. "It is a journey I will never take."

Portia followed his gaze, wishing she
could catch a glimpse of her foster mother.

"She told me to keep an eye on you and
what little good it would do me to try. She half expected you to come and see
me on this side of the living, either to try to find her or Imogen. She begged
me to dissuade you should our paths cross like this. And so here I am to try."

"I see. If it is so difficult, so
dangerous for Nephilim to abide in this place, how, then, did you come to be
here?"

His smile was not
inviting. "I chose to be here. I was…a sacrifice."

Portia took a step away from him.

"Oh no, I am not about to trick you
into taking my place." His chuckle was wry. "On the contrary, it is my pleasure
to serve here. I am content in my position. The Aldias have quite a
reputation."

"They certainly do."

He ignored her tone. "Imogen, if she
still lingers, will most likely be found beyond the labyrinth. Getting to her
will be treacherous. Given your unusual nature and abilities, you might be able
to succeed, but I have my reservations."

"Of course you do. Why am I not
surprised?"

Solomon’s form darkened. "Fool girl, do
you want my help or not?"

"I’d rather do without any further
dealings with the Aldias, if you please. Unless, of course, you mean to be my
guide through this place so that I may accomplish what I need to do all the
much faster and safer and therefore be assured of success?"

"I cannot do that."

"Also not surprising."

"Mind your tone, child! Strong as you
are in this place, I am just as powerful, and I will not be spoken to in such a
manner. Had I the ability to set one foot from these premises, I would gladly
accompany you."

Portia bit back a reply. She schooled
her features into a calm mask over the storm of her temper and spoke politely.
"Would that I had such strong company as yourself to assist me."

"I am bound to this place, inexorably,
by my blood and by my soul." Lord Solomon paced the foyer on eerily silent feet.
"I cannot leave, no matter how much I might want to, especially in this case.
But I can tell you how to get to where I think she is. The way will be far from
easy, but I have the feeling that you might be up to the challenge."

"I would do anything for Imogen."

"That is as I suspected. Portia, were
it anyone else here before me, I would be far more concerned. But you, you are
different."

"And it was the Aldias who made me so."

"You were different before that and you
know it. You know it well." He pivoted and gazed down at her, his eyes as hard
and cold as flint, until Portia looked away. He touched her shoulder,
softening. "The willow is the gateway."

"The willow? The one in the center of
town?"

"The very same."

Portia sighed, grinding her teeth. "I
assume I’ll know what to do when I get there?"

"You had better, or all of this will
have been for naught." He squeezed her with a surprisingly solid grip. "Take
care whom you trust here. Nothing is as it seems."

"Don’t you worry." She shrugged away
from Solomon’s hold on her. "I trust no one, my lord, not even you."

He seemed to weigh her words a moment
before speaking. "I understand. Godspeed, then, Mistress Portia Gyony."

She nodded and sketched the formal bow
due his rank and age, then backed slowly out of the foyer. As her feet found
cobblestones instead of tiles, something snaked around her arm.

"I was wondering where you’d got to!"
Kanika twined her small fingers into Portia’s hand. "Where are we off to now?"

"We?"

"Portia, we need each other. You need
information and I need your help."

"What I need is a guide."

"I can do that. Where do you need to
go?"

Portia glanced over toward the brackish
pond and the grotesque willow that grew from its center.

"No kidding?" Kanika whistled through
her teeth. "You are either the bravest or the stupidest person who has ever
come through here! I am not putting my neck out to take a field trip into the
under-side! No one has ever gone through and come back, you know."

"No, I didn’t. And I never said you had
to come along. In fact, I don’t recall inviting you, or even asking your
opinion. I only said that I needed a guide."

Kanika pulled her hands away, stung.
"Well then, you’re gonna put it like that, are you?"
There were tears in her voice. "Then I s’pose you
deserve to go alone and never, never come back again. Even though everyone
would miss you, especially me."

"That’s quite sweet of you, Kanika. But
I just couldn’t risk bringing you along. If anything happened to you, I would
be responsible."

She nodded, glossy black ringlets
bouncing. "No, I get what you’re trying to say. You’re responsible for enough
as it is, really." She dabbed at her eyes with her thumbs. "But maybe I can
still help you. Maybe we can still help each other."

"How’s that, then?"

"I make sure you come back. After I
tell you where to find Imogen, you’d have to come back and help me. You’d be
honor bound to help me."

"Besides information, what do you have
to offer, Kanika?"

"A map." She grinned widely, showing
all of her very small, very white teeth. "And a weapon."

"Show me."

"Promise me, first."

"I already have."

"Be more specific! I didn’t like your
last promise. You make promises like a gypsy, they sound good but they don’t
actually guarantee anything."

"And like the gypsies, I take such things
very seriously and I don’t like to make promises that I can’t keep."

"I’ll make sure you keep this one. Now,
promise me you’ll come back here."

"That I can do. This is my way home."

"Good. And promise me that you’ll help
me."

"Kanika, sweetling,
I will do what I can."

She pouted. "I want to know I can trust
you."

"Have I given you reason to doubt me?"