Lex Trent versus the Gods lt-1 Read online

  The lawyer could have been no more than a dozen paces away but as Lex was wearing the cabin boy’s grubby old cap and jacket, Mr Schmidt would have had no reason to pay him any heed. Lex could have just sidled away into the shadows without any risk of discovery. But then a piece of paper fell from the lawyer’s hand and, because Lex was Lex, he picked it up as Mr Schmidt turned away and hurried after him to tug at his sleeve, raising the tone of his voice and being careful to keep his face hidden beneath the cap.

  ‘Lost sumfing, guv?’

  Mr Schmidt glanced down at the abandoned, useless warrant and snatched it from Lex’s hand with a bad-natured word of thanks. Although, to his credit, he rummaged in his pocket for the customary coin and tossed it to Lex, even if it was with the same lack of grace.

  ‘Thanks, guv’nor!’ Lex called after him as the lawyer strode off into the throng.

  It really was too easy. It was on the tip of his tongue to call out some other parting comment that would give away his identity — just for the pure deliciousness of seeing the look on Schmidt’s already anger-flushed face. But it would be reckless to start the chase off again and Lex forced himself to accept that this one at least would have to remain a private victory.

  Lex had always loved the midnight markets. They were a way of life on the Globe and could be found in most western towns and cities in the Lands Above. But, as the centre of all trade, the markets in the Wither City were the largest and the most impressive, with the widest array of goods and services on offer.

  Lex had often wandered down late at night to talk to the merchants, partly to keep abreast of all the goings on across the Azure Sea and partly because it never hurt to be on friendly terms with the local salesmen — they were much less likely to rip you off if they knew you to be a local and not simply one of the many travellers that passed through the Wither City each year.

  ‘Hello Cara,’ Lex said, stepping up to one of the sea-gypsy stalls.

  ‘Hi, Lex,’ the girl behind the wooden stall said.

  She was about Lex’s age and had the typical black hair, dark eyes and olive skin of the sea-gypsies she sailed with. And she was sweet on Lex. Which helped him enormously whenever he wanted to get any information out of her. Not that he was a ladies’ man in general — in an era where teenage girls all seemed to be for the ‘treat ’em mean to keep ’em keen’ school of male wooing, Lex’s honest face (even if it was as false as he was) did not earn him many points where the fairer sex were concerned.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Cara asked, eyeing the bruises and cuts on Lex’s face and arms in the flickering light from the torches and fires. ‘And why are you wearing those old sailor clothes?’

  ‘Because I’m going sailing,’ Lex replied, glancing at the black outline of the ships in the harbour. ‘I’m leaving the Wither City.’

  ‘Why?’ Cara asked. ‘How long for?’

  ‘Did you hear about the Shadowman? He struck again today.’

  Cara nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve heard people talking about it in the market. They said they arrested some kid… ’ She trailed off, staring at Lex, who nodded sadly. ‘But… surely… surely they can’t really think that you are the Shadowman?’

  The way she said it was like she couldn’t think of a more absurd suggestion, and Lex had to bite his tongue to keep himself from asking defensively: why not?

  ‘I was framed,’ he said, making his eyes go all big and scared. ‘I never stole whatever it was. I tried to tell them, but they won’t listen.’

  ‘You must come with us,’ Cara said at once.

  Sea-gypsies had been badly stigmatised over the years for thieving, double-crossing and casting spells over people — a reputation the facts suggested they did not deserve. But Lex had known that mention of an unwarranted accusation would strike a chord with Cara and might get him passage on board her family’s ship.

  ‘When do you leave?’ Lex asked. ‘They’re looking for me. I must get out of the Wither City as soon as I can.’

  ‘In the morning,’ Cara said. ‘But you can stay in one of the wagons until then if you want. They’ll be empty now because everyone else is out on the stalls.’

  She took a key from one of the pockets on her dress and handed it to him.

  ‘Are you sure it’s all right?’ Lex asked. ‘Your family won’t mind me coming along? I can pay my way.’

  ‘You’re more than welcome, Lex.’ She shook her head and added, ‘You, the Shadowman! Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything more ridiculous in my life! Everyone knows what a hard-working, upstanding citizen you are. I mean you don’t even drink or smoke or anything.’

  Lex nodded and looked pathetic. ‘I’ll go back to the wagon later. I have some things I need to get in the market first.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE WISHING SWANNS OF DESARETH

  It was straight to the seedy, less respectable area of the markets that Lex went, away from all the gimmicky, tourist stalls. This was for several reasons, one of which being that the more dangerous and unique goods could be found at that end. But mostly it was for pragmatic purposes because Lex needed buyers who were not going to ask any inconvenient questions about where exactly his goods had come from. He had plenty of money tucked away in his money belt with which he could have made his purchases but he didn’t want to tap into that if he could help it. The belt was his nest egg, his backup — light, easy to carry, easy to grab in a hurry and easy to run with if necessary. The goods he carried, on the other hand, were heavy, bulky and likely to slow him down. Besides which, a bulging bag would make him a target for thieves. He needed to lighten the load a little whilst he still could and the markets were the perfect place in which to do it.

  There is always a dark area of any town and it was the same with the midnight markets all over the Globe. There was the bright, bustling part next to the docks, filled with merchants and sailors and tourists and honest men. And then there was the dark area on the outskirts frequented by enchanters and criminals. Decent people stayed away from these stalls, not wanting to know what things were being traded in the squalid dimness or what whispered words were pouring poison into ears and minds.

  Lex was not afraid to move among such company. In the clothes of a mere cabin boy, no one was likely to pay him much attention anyway. From the look of him he certainly had nothing to steal. He always had his mouth, which had never let him down yet. And of course, Lady Luck was on his side. She always had been, really, even before he joined her church. It was just that, as an honest farm boy, Lex had not had the opportunity to discover his talents for fast-talking, quick-dealing and pick- pocketing before he left home two years ago. He had always had the capacity for it — always been ambitious with a strong craving for adventure and a disgruntled discontentment with his mediocre life on the farm. He’d known that he was destined for something more.

  It had all started when, one fateful day just a week after running away, he had gone to one of the Games to bet his last penny out of sheer desperation. He’d never been to a Game before because his grandfather did not think they were suitable for children — what with the fact that at least one player usually came to a sticky end or lost a hand or a foot or some other limb before the Game was over. After all, it was a Game of the Gods so it was bound to be dangerous. But Lex found it all thoroughly exhilarating. He loved the huge circular stadium with the bustling noise and the activity of hundreds of spectators placing bets before taking their seats to watch the next round being broadcast in the gigantic crystal ball in the centre. The Box of the Gods, suspended high above it all and commanding the best view, was where deities could lounge about eating grapes and watching the Game.

  There were always three Gods who each had one human player who would be put through three dangerous, exciting rounds. The winning God would experience an increase in popularity — oftentimes gaining a few more followers from other churches. For, once you made an oath of allegiance to a God, that oath was not for life and you were free
to pick another God whenever you liked. The Gods were flexible and realistic about such things. As for the winning human… they got glory, fame, adoration… everything they’d ever wanted in fact. The only problem was that this only tended to last for a few minutes before everything more or less went back to normal. They’d sign a few autographs, pose for a few pictures. And then everyone would forget them. For the Games simply occurred too frequently for everyone who played in them to be some sort of superstar.

  Lex handed over his penultimate penny to get admittance to the stadium — although it was standing room only by that time, which was just as well for Lex could not have afforded a seat anyway. The Game that day was between Haarii, God of Abundance, Jessope, Goddess of Fertility, and Manneron, God of Hunting. Each Game consisted of three rounds that each lasted for an hour or two, spread across a period of about three weeks. This Game was only just beginning and people had gathered that day to watch the first round. As Lex walked through he stopped to look at the souvenir carts selling t-shirts, lollies and lunch boxes, each emblazoned with the face of one of the competing Gods. There were flags for the kids too, Lex noticed, for — despite his grandfather’s feelings on the matter — there were quite a lot of children in the audience.

  Lex bet his last penny on Haarii. As it happened, Jessope won that round and Lex lost the bet, but he strolled out of the stadium with three fat wallets in his pocket. He hadn’t meant to do it. He’d turned up fully expecting just to stand there and watch the Game with everyone else. But then he’d noticed a wallet sticking out of the pocket of the man in the top hat in front of him. Really it would have been stupid not to take it. It slid out as though it had been greased and soon it was buried away in Lex’s coat. And that was when he first discovered that he had light fingers.

  With the money he stole on that first occasion he went straight out and purchased a set of fine clothes for himself. He had noticed a few people shoot him suspicious looks that first time in the stadium because he looked exactly like what he was — a farm boy and a poor, dirty, hungry, desperate one at that. So he bought himself a ridiculous-looking waistcoat and top hat and gloves and a shiny black stick with a golden knob at the end. Dressed like that no one would imagine for a moment that he was really a pickpocket in disguise. They wouldn’t be on guard around him and — if someone were to discover that their wallet had gone and raise the alarm (as, in fact, happened on more than one occasion) — then Lex could simply stroll out of the stadium, twirling his stick between his gloved fingers without any worry that the guards would try to stop him.

  But, of course, there was more to it than clothes. There was another week to go before the second round so Lex bought himself a mirror and then rented a small, basic room in a local inn where he spent hours practising various different facial expressions ranging from haughty to superior to smug to self-righteous — basically any expression that a young toff might wear depending on how he was feeling. After only a few days he had it down pat. He was quite delighted to discover that he was a born natural at this sort of thing and he didn’t even have a mentor telling him what to do and showing him the ropes. Lex did not fall in with a bad crowd who were a corrupting influence on him — seducing him to the dark side. Nor did a more experienced criminal take him under his wing and teach him all he knew. Rather it all came from within himself as if the predisposition had been there all along just waiting to come out. He instinctively knew what to do and he was good at it.

  Lex also practised the posh accent to go with the clothes, which came in very handy when he went back to the stadium a week later for the second round, and a lah-didah lady in a ridiculous hat towering with waxed fruit turned round to catch Lex with his hand practically in her handbag.

  ‘Just what do you think you’re doing, young man?’ she demanded, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. If he’d been scruffily dressed she would have been shrieking accusations of theft at him already but his posh clothes and the way he held his chin so haughtily high threw her temporarily.

  ‘Oh ai say, ai’m most dreadfully sorry but ai fear you have just been robbed by some miscreant,’ Lex said, adapting a nasal drawl as he discreetly slipped her purse into his pocket. He gazed round until he found what he was looking for — a young, scruffy-looking boy with big, helpless eyes and wearing dirty clothes who was apparently there on his own — probably from the local orphanage — looking rather like a lost puppy and just a few aisles away from them. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. ‘Yaas, it was him over thereyah.’ Lex pointed with his gloved hand. ‘Ai just saw him with his hand in your bag and thought ai’d better do mey duty and come and inform you at once, you know-’

  The frightening woman with the obscene hat was already storming towards the unfortunate young boy before Lex had even finished his sentence. Deeming it wise not to linger in case her suspicions should return to him once she discovered that the scruffy boy did not have her wallet after all, Lex slipped out of the stadium, sniggering to himself in satisfaction at his effortless escape from what could have been a most unpleasant situation. He was utterly gifted, there was no doubt at all about that. And to think how much time he had wasted embroiled in the toils of honest work… Slaving away on his grandfather’s farm like a sucker! His older, wiser, more experienced self practically shuddered at the recollection.

  The third and final round of the Game was on a week after the second. The gaps between the Games varied but they tended to be at least a week apart for the simple reason that each round took place in a different location and the players needed time to get there. Besides which, the delay gave the spectators time to book days off work, obtain babysitters and so on, so that they could attend the stadiums.

  Lex went to every round of that first Game, as well as the Winner’s Ceremony where the winning human was given a cup and some prize money before being able to escape gratefully home. By the time it was over, Lex had accumulated quite a respectable amount of cash and fine, leather-lined wallets. Then the stadium was empty during the day but Lex was bored with pickpocketing by that time anyway. It kept him in money well enough but it wasn’t exciting. He wanted an element of human interaction. Something to make it fun. Something to make him feel exhilarated and alive. Something to make it dangerous and risky. So he moved on to the next town, found another inn to stay at and started devising scams. They required careful planning and preparation but they were glorious fun and Lex enjoyed himself immensely, even when he was caught out and had to flee with what he had on him. Perhaps even especially then…

  Lex walked through the midnight market and approached a few stalls until he found people who were looking to buy as well as sell. Over the next hour he purchased all the provisions he would need and sold some of the antiques and works of art he had stolen, insisting on a fair price and payment in mirror-gold rather than Withian dollars. M-gold was a universal currency that could be used anywhere on the Globe and Lex wasn’t sure how far he would have to go before he would find a town that would suit him. He was careful never to sell more than one or two pieces at each stall before moving on as he didn’t want anyone to see just how much wealth he was carrying in the grubby pack on his back.

  Most of the traders in the dark part of the market carefully kept themselves to themselves but there were some who were decidedly pushy. The magical people, for instance, were, by nature, predators, moving among their non-magical prey. Which wasn’t to say that the entire magical population on the Globe was evil. But those frequenting this kind of place had to be at least a little unsavoury and Lex would have done well to stay away from them. But the enchanters fascinated him.

  They were very tall men and they always seemed to be old. Lex had often wondered where all the young enchanters were. Was there even such a thing? For all the ones Lex had seen had been very tall, silver haired with long silver beards and bushy eyebrows. Most of them had dark blue robes stitched with silver stars and grand pointed hats although Lex was sure that this was just for effect and to make the magical men se
em even taller than they really were. As a conman himself, Lex could recognise showmanship when he saw it.

  He was bothered by crones a couple of times but when he protested that he had no money they lost interest pretty fast. But there was one old witch who wouldn’t be dissuaded. She appeared out of nowhere and gripped Lex’s wrist with a gnarled, crooked hand. ‘H’s waiting f ’r us!’ she hissed in Lex’s ear.

  ‘Pardon?’ Lex asked.

  The crone gestured over her shoulder to the black velvet tent that stood sullenly behind her. It was so cloaked in shadows that Lex hadn’t noticed it.

  ‘He ’as great magics in there. We will sell them to you.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Lex said politely, tugging at his wrist. ‘I don’t need any magics at the moment.’

  It was well known that magical people very rarely allowed anything of real supernatural significance to fall into the hands of laypeople. Giving such powers to the unskilled was the last thing they wanted and was frowned on by the magical community. But it did happen on occasion and Lex was always on the lookout for such an opportunity. Enchanters were dangerous people. What greater thrill could there be than to steal something from one of them? But tonight was not the night for such recklessness. Lex was on the run and there was enough danger already.

  Crones served the enchanters and didn’t tend to be dangerous in themselves but, if she did become violent, Lex was sure he would be able to knock her over and run for it. In the markets they were sent out to find customers and bring them back to the stall or tent at which their master was waiting. A lot of traders in the dark area had tents rather than stalls in order that business could be conducted more privately. Crones had some magical powers of their own but they tended to be unbalanced or, at the very least, dim-witted, with child-like minds that made them virtually powerless without the protection of an enchanter.