‘Let him live?’ Caesar growled. ‘Impossible.’
‘Is it?’ Eli said. ‘Why? Did you ever think that maybe even the gangsters are tired of the bloodshed? Why do you think everyone wants to unite?’
The glow of Caesar’s eyes flared. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I know things like you know things.’ Eli deflected the question. ‘And something else I know is that our whole existence is about to crumble if we don’t stop the Skreaf. They’re going to raise their master, the Morsmalus.’
Caesar took this in. ‘How?’
‘I’m not exactly sure, but they have a machine they stole from the Galleria and we know they’re hunting for an Androt named Kry.’
‘Kry,’ Caesar’s voice registered recognition.
‘You know him?’ Eli said.
‘He’s the leader of the Androt uprising.’
‘The Androts are uprising?’ Eli asked with no small degree of shock.
‘Kry is a maniac,’ Caesar said.
‘Well, Ev’r Keets has gone to talk to him now. Hopefully she will be able to reason in a way he understands.’
‘The blind leading the blind,’ Caesar snarled. ‘You said this creature Morsmalus could destroy us?’
‘To put it nicely.’
Caesar studied Eli for a long moment. His expression remained cool, but a storm raged in his eyes.
‘Then I’ll get Kry,’ the gangster finally offered. ‘You find Shawe – and I haven’t forgotten our deal.’
Caesar stood up and leapt from the parking level. Eli ran to the edge and saw the gangster boss landing comfortably on an awning far below. He jumped down onto the street and vanished from sight.
‘Time to fly,’ Eli whispered to Nelly. He vaulted over the railing and took off into the dark sky.
*****
The beaded curtains swish-clink-clanked as Eli pushed them aside and entered the basement shop. He blinked through the haze of musk incense mingling with the sweet smoke of illegal fungi. Particles of matter danced beneath the faded globes hanging from the low ceiling. He moved into the entrance of the shop, laid out like a waiting room with a few tattered chairs along both walls. The wooden floor was scratched and scuffed, the polish long gone.
He stopped at the front desk and knocked on it. A reply sounded somewhere past the black sheet hanging behind the desk, obscuring the innards of the shop. Tapping footsteps made their way towards him, gradually growing louder until a face pushed out of the blackness. Purple eyes fixed on Eli and his old Greer friend, Swifty, gave a clearly wicked, sharp-toothed grin.
‘Please tell me that’s not how I look when I smile,’ Eli said.
‘Eli!’ Swifty rushed out and smothered him in hugs and kisses.
‘Okay, okay.’ Eli untangled himself.
‘Haven’t seen you in ages, man,’ Swifty said, speaking in Impish. His eyes roamed over Eli’s jacket, sizing up the pockets. ‘What? You’re too good for your peoples now you’re a big-shot military soldier?’
‘You heard, then, did you?’ Eli said, realising the United Regiment must have released his profile to the media to aid in hunting him. ‘How much does silence cost?’
‘
Lai Lai
, Eli man . . . you think so little of me. I know I’m not tall but I’m not that small, you catch me?’
‘How much?’ Eli repeated, patiently. Being imp-breed, especially half-Greer, half-Glee, made him well aware of the general weaknesses of his race. They were addicted to causing havoc and couldn’t keep a secret to save themselves, but he hoped money would be enough at least to buy him some time.
Swifty stroked the little purple beard on his chin and said, ‘What’s coin between brothers, Eli?’
‘Swift – how much?’
The Greer rolled his eyes. ‘You’re no fun anymore. Must be the Glee in you.’
‘Low blow,’ Eli said. He pulled a fat coin bag from his pocket and handed it to his friend. ‘That’s all I have. Frisk me if you doubt it, but trust me on this – the only result you’ll get from calling the Regiment is a smashed-up shop and jail time for all the contraband you’ve got here. They won’t give you a cent of any reward. You know I’m right.’
Swift took the coin bag with light-speed stealth and shoved it into his pocket. ‘Speaking of contraband . . .’ He flashed his grin.
‘No,’ Eli said.
‘I have Blue-Ten, I have Estle Thistle, I have red, orange
and
pink fungi.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘We could set up a few rounds – just like old times.’
‘I just gave you all my coin,’ Eli said. ‘How do you think I’m going to pay for it?’
Swifty considered it for a moment. He took a sovereign out of his pocket and gave it to Eli. He said with a grin, ‘Now you can pay.’
Eli slapped the coin back into Swifty’s hand and said, ‘No. I want to see Mr Bellbeater.’
‘Books?’ Swifty yawned. ‘You bore the life out of me, man, you’re no fun at all. Fine though, come through.’
He led Eli behind the counter and through the black sheet. Swifty made a few gestures in the darkness and a chain appeared in the air. He dragged down on it and the dusty floor peeled back to expose a set of stairs.
‘All yours, man,’ Swifty said.
Eli headed down the steps, grasping the rickety rail and blinking his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He reached the last step and stopped, breathing in the dry, musty scent of old papers. The room was crowded with bookcases stuffed to bursting with written word of all shapes and sizes. Eli spotted an ancient, crooked-back Greer, Mr Beatlebee Bellbeater, sitting at the back of the room at a low desk reading from a book by candlelight.
As he stepped down off the last step Mr Bellbeater spoke.
‘Eli Anklebiter,’ the old man said without turning, his voice very high and quavering. ‘Enter.’
Eli walked over to the man and stood beside him. The Greer looked up under bushy purple eyebrows, his glasses perched on the end of an extremely crooked nose.
‘How is your gran’ma?’ Mr Bellbeater started the conversation the same way he always did.
‘Fine,’ Eli gave the standard answer.
‘You never visit her – how do you know she’s fine?’
‘I don’t visit her because she always tells me what’s wrong with me.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Beatlebee squeaked. ‘She’s your gran’ma – it’s her right to point out all your many faults. You should be grateful. Your gran’ma is a fine woman – a very fine woman if you know what I mean.’ The old imp winked and gave a gap-toothed grin.
‘Ewww.’ Eli recoiled at the horrendous images of Mr Bellbeater and his gran’ma that popped into his head.
‘Did you kill those soldiers, Eli?’ Bellbeater’s face snapped instantly to seriousness.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Pity,’ the old Greer turned back to his book, ‘that you have to lie to me. Must be the Glee in you.’
Eli sighed. ‘They weren’t really soldiers. They were Skreaf.’
Mr Bellbeater raised his eyes, searching for a lie in Eli’s face, but finding only truth. ‘Well then, the apocalypse is on us,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘And there is no point trying to fight it. It is already written in the future history, the present past. It has and will happen – no matter what you do.’
‘I don’t happen to share that belief,’ Eli said.
‘No you don’t. I hear you’ve abandoned all your beliefs.’
‘No, just the ones fabricated by people.’
‘Their faith led them, boy.’
‘And my faith leads me!’ Eli yelled, reaching a point of sheer exhaustion. ‘Why don’t you just help me? Can’t you see I’m trying to save our world?’
The ancient Greer stared at him for several moments, eyes wide behind his thick glasses. Then, with effort and grunting, he slid off his chair and hobbled, leaning on a knobbly walking stick, to one of the bookcases. He tapped the shelf with the stick and a book shot out. With incredible agility, he leapt up and snatched the book down. He blew a storm of dust off its front cover and handed it to Eli. Eli read the title: ‘
Bellbeater’s Complete Encyclopaedia of Dark Magical Sects
by Beatlebee Bellbeater.’ He glanced at the old man. ‘You wrote this?’
‘Of course I wrote it,’ he snapped. ‘You didn’t think I got this old doing nothing, did you?’ The ancient Greer put his hand over the cover of the book and said, ‘Knowledge is power, Eli.’
‘Only if you use it,’ Eli replied. He slipped the book into his jacket. ‘And I need something on the Ravien.’
Bellbeater’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What kind of something?’
‘Anything – information about the way they live, what’s in their poison . . . how to stop someone from turning after being bitten.’
Mr Bellbeater shook his head. ‘Once bitten, nothing stops a person from turning.’
‘Do you have any information or not?’ Eli asked.
The old Greer hobbled back to the shelves. muttering to himself. He produced another book and handed it over.
‘That’s everything I have on them, which isn’t much.’
‘I have no money to pay for these,’ Eli admitted.
‘And you have no time either – the soldiers are above us,’ Bellbeater said, as dust rained down on their heads.
‘Trutt!’ Eli cursed. ‘Swifty ratted. What’s wrong with you people?’
‘Go down the corridor into the bathroom and climb through the window, take the fire escape up to the street,’ Bellbeater instructed.
‘Come with me. They’re not soldiers, they’re Skreaf. They’ll kill you!’
‘I can take care of myself, thank you very much,’ the old Greer said indignantly. ‘Unlike my useless, brain-dead great-great-great grandson, who I can hear clearly needs my help.’ Mr Bellbeater’s big ears twitched. He shuffled for the stairs, muttering.
Eli took off in the opposite direction. He ran down the corridor and barged through the door into the bathroom. There he wrenched up the window frame, stubborn with dampness and age, and dragged himself through onto the subterranean fire escape. He clutched the books to his chest with one arm and used the other to climb up the rails. They took him up through a hole in the side street beside the building. Eli ducked low in the shadows as United Regiment soldiers swarmed the front of the shop. How many of them were Skreaf he couldn’t tell – maybe even all of them. It was a terrible thought. He took off running, unsure if the Skreaf were behind him or if his imagination was supplying the sound of pounding boots. Whirring his wings, he lifted up into the air, flying until he recognised the open space and grand mansions of Elio D’An Square, home of the Galleria Majora. He dived down above the giant domed building and landed on one of the ledges, where he squatted down beside a gargoyle hoping to blend in. The lantern lights surrounding the square cut eerie shapes in the darkness. Eli held his breath and surveyed the square and the air for any twitch of movement, but didn’t see anything. Boots marching in unison sounded directly beneath him and he gazed down at the entrance landing of the Galleria. A group of red-cloaked enforcers were patrolling the area. He shrank further into the shadows and whispered a prayer not to be seen or smelt. His stomach rumbled deeply and he grabbed at his skin and pinched hard. Now was not the right time to get gas. When the tapping boots headed in the opposite direction and faded Eli released a shaky breath.
He lowered the heavy books onto the ledge and Bellbeater’s encyclopaedia of dark magics flipped open by itself to the chapter on the Skreaf demons. Eli gulped and stared, nerves prickling along his skin. Nelly slipped out of his pocket and scurried up his arm. She peeked over his shoulder and chattered in his ear. He forced himself to lean forward and read.
The Skreaf is the most ancient and unarguably dangerous of the dark sects. Members of the sect allow their bodies to be inhabited by Skreaf demons, who gain control over their actions and thoughts. The Skreaf pay homage to a mythical figure, the Morsmalus, who was imprisoned in the Envirious Realm by a band of brother warriors – believed to be
machine-breeds
. . .
Eli felt a murmur of surprise inside him. He re-read the line to make sure he was seeing it correctly, then continued.
Their resistance to the dark magics of the Skreaf gave them victory over the demon-god. Though the Morsmalus had been banished, his followers continued to haunt Aquais, trying many times to resurrect their leader. In order to rid the land of the ever-living demons, the machine-breed warriors summoned from their sister realm, Omar Montanya, Skreaf hunters known as Omarians. Only the male of this race was equipped with skill to fight the Skreaf, and the demons’ one weakness was their secret alone. Though the Omarian numbers were few, their skills were powerful and they spread out into the land, culling the Skreaf.
Eli flipped the page and stared at the picture of a great dragon exhaling a blast of fire.
But even they could not destroy all the demons, who will never rest until they have succeeded in freeing their banished god from his prison. It is believed that portals can be forged into the gateway land that lies between our realm and the Envirious Realm where the Morsmalus is imprisoned. This gateway land is known as Woulghast. It is a miscreation fallen from the afterlife, a grey hell-land where pain was first discovered and let loose on mortality like a disease without a cure. It is a place of fears where nightmares come to life.
Memories filled Eli’s mind of childhood horror stories of a place with blacked-out canvases, gateways into lands of nothing, where people could enter but never escape. He shivered and continued reading.
To pass through the gateway land one must survive a number of challenges. Firstly, the Carnival of the Damned and then the three chambers of the sorcerer Megotenor – the chamber of dead dreams, the chamber of hate and the chamber of lust. If one makes it through these tests alive they will find the sealed entrance to the Envirious Realm.
The book snapped shut. Eli tried to prise it open again, and when he finally succeeded, the pages were blank. He lifted the book up to his face. The encyclopaedia squirmed, stretched and morphed into a crow. The black bird pecked him on the nose, flapped free and flew away. Nelly scolded it in her squeaky chattering voice from her place on his shoulder. Eli held his nose and stared at the vanishing shadow.
‘Well, now we know where they are – but not how to get there,’ he said. He had never heard of any portals leading out of their realm, nor of how to make them.