Lex Trent versus the Gods lt-1 Read online

  The crone barely came up to Lex’s shoulder and walked with the aid of two sticks. Various drably-coloured shawls were draped around her hunched form and the tiniest movement made her jingle softly with the many charms and amulets that hung about her. She was a crooked old woman, from the hunch of her back to the uneven lengths of her knobbly fingers.

  ‘Maybe some other time,’ Lex said, making another attempt to free his wrist from her surprisingly tight grip.

  At that point, the crone started to get agitated; her voice rose and took on a cackle-like edge and she dropped her walking sticks to grip Lex’s collar and pull his head down closer to her level.

  ‘He knows! He watches everyone! You must come with me, little boy-’

  ‘Hey, I’m not a little boy, all right? I’m seventeen! I’m just small for my age, that’s all.’

  ‘Come. Come with me,’ the old witch insisted, still tugging doggedly at his collar.

  ‘Enough, Jabitha. Release him.’

  The old crone let go of Lex with all the instinctive panic as if he had suddenly burnt her and slowly bent to retrieve her sticks, hobbling back to return to the enchanter’s side. It was too dark for Lex to see him properly. The glow of light from within the tent silhouetted him where he stood in the entrance.

  ‘What is your name?’ the enchanter asked after a moment.

  ‘Harold Gibbons,’ Lex lied smoothly.

  He would never have been stupid enough to give his true name to one of the enchanters, for then they would hold his soul in the palms of their hands.

  They were unusual, even in the Wither City. Lex had been seven the first time he’d seen one. He’d been fascinated then and he was fascinated now. These men had real power. They talked to the stars and the stars talked back!

  ‘Just what exactly are you selling?’ Lex asked, taking a step closer to the tent.

  ‘Nothing you would be able to afford, boy. My apologies for the behaviour of my crone.’

  And then, without another word, the enchanter steered Jabitha into the tent, drawing the flap closed behind him. The danger had passed and Lex was free to go on his way. And yet he hesitated. There was a pull, a hunger inside him to know what was inside that tent. It was what he lived for — balancing on the edge. Lex was not, in fact, a stupid person. He knew that tangling with enchanters was dangerous. But there was this thing that sometimes came over him; this urge that silenced reason and filled his mind with shrill shrieks of longing for something that was never meant to be his. And he always gave in to it because he enjoyed it so much.

  Making up his mind, Lex strode to the tent entrance, drew back the flap and stepped inside, letting it fall back down behind him. The crone was now huddled in a corner of the tent, a cat curled about her shoulders. Lex had heard stories that the crones favoured animal familiars to aid them in the performance of their magics. The faint, guttering light from the green lamp that stood on the table in the centre reflected from the cat’s eyes in eerie flashes that sent shivers down Lex’s spine.

  Charm strings hung from the ceiling — threaded with beads, feathers and the skulls of small animals. There were masks too, grinning down from the coarse, canvas walls and an altar in one corner to Thaddeus, the God of Illusion and Waking Dreams. Thaddeus was the patron deity of the crones and the enchanters and had been worshipped loyally by them for many hundreds of years. There was a vase on the altar, holding purple sticks of burning incense that filled the tent with twisting ribbons of purple smoke.

  The enchanter was seated at the table, gazing down at the lamp. The green light played shadows across his lined face and gave his long silver hair and beard a greenish tint. Lex cleared his throat. ‘I am wealthier than my appearance would suggest,’ he said. ‘Please, what goods are you offering for sale?’

  The enchanter gazed up at him through a mist of the purple incense smoke, the tips of his curiously long fingers resting together.

  ‘Very well, Mr Harold Gibbons,’ he said at last. ‘Be seated.’

  Lex took the seat indicated on the other side of the table.

  The enchanter put a hand in his pocket and drew out a small velvet pouch. From this he withdrew a small, sculptured swan carved out of black obelisk, no more than an inch tall and the same across, and placed it on the table. Two more of the exact same sculpture followed — one made from pale ivory, the other from dusky bloodstone. Lex could see each intricately-carved feather, the indentation of their slanting eyes, the graceful curve of their long necks.

  The three identical swans gleamed in the light of the lamp and a familiar sensation of selfish greed rushed through Lex. They were beautiful, they were perfect, they were his. Of course he knew that they could not be mere sculptures — if there was nothing darker about them then they would be with the other arts and crafts in the main collection of stalls, rather than hidden away in the pocket of an enchanter in this dark corner of the market.

  Lex had always had an eye for beauty. Of course, he was unprincipled and without scruples when it came to thieving for he enjoyed the act for the simple thrill of it. But he had always been moved to steal beautiful, precious things from museums and art collections and it would often be some time before he could bring himself to sell them on. He liked owning these masterpieces, even if it was for a short while, for he felt sure that he appreciated them far more than the gawping sightseers that traipsed through the museums. These things belonged to him in every sense of the word (excluding the legal sense, of course).

  ‘What are they?’ Lex breathed.

  ‘They are the Wishing Swanns of Desareth,’ the enchanter replied. ‘They have touched the lives of many men. Beautiful, aren’t they?’

  ‘They certainly are. How much are you asking for them?’

  The enchanter smiled. ‘One million pieces of m-gold.’

  ‘One million?’ Lex repeated incredulously. ‘There’s probably no one left on the Globe with that kind of money any more. Perhaps the Golden Valley where the last kings live but you’ll certainly find no buyer in the Wither City.’

  ‘Is that so?’ the enchanter drawled, slowly replacing the exquisite Swanns in their velvet pouch. ‘Then I suppose I must keep hold of them a little longer.’

  Lex watched helplessly as the enchanter put the beautiful things away. In ordinary circumstances, he would have simply stolen them. But he knew that this would be no easy feat and that only a fool would attempt such a task without extremely careful preparation. If he was going to get the Swanns, he would have to do so honestly.

  ‘I have a few hundred pieces of m-gold,’ Lex said. ‘But I also have some artefacts, some precious artefacts that I have collected over the years and I would be happy to trade them all. Please, let me show you what I-’

  ‘I am not interested in a trade,’ the enchanter replied firmly. ‘But there is another way of purchasing them that might make the price more amenable to you.’

  ‘Which is?’

  The enchanter reached into his robes once again and placed a bracelet on the table between them. It was a simple piece and looked like two bracelets moulded together — one an ivory white colour and the other an obelisk black. Engravings in ancient runes ran round the edge.

  ‘The bracelet’s price is fifty pieces of m-gold,’ the enchanter said. ‘If you buy the bracelet, you can take the Swanns for free.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Lex asked, staring at him.

  ‘Yes, they’re part of a set and I would hate to see them broken up. So, if you buy the bracelet, I would have no choice but to give you the Swanns.’

  Lex hesitated, forcing himself to think the thing through and not just snatch the Swanns away greedily. Of course, enchanters were known for their eccentricity and occasionally hazy logic and the Swanns were being offered for a fraction of their value…

  ‘On the condition that you promise to wear it until the time comes to take it off,’ the enchanter said.

  Alarm bells sounded in Lex’s head. Few people would be fool enough to wear a piece of qui
te-possibly-enchanted jewellery they knew nothing about. Suddenly, he regretted his rash action in entering the tent. This wasn’t fun any more. He was aware of the old crone muttering to herself in the corner, and the unnaturally loud purring of the cat draped across her shoulders, blocking out the everyday sounds of the market outside. The masks and strings of grinning skulls clicking together softly were beginning to unnerve him and the cloying purple incense smoke was making the tent tiny and hot. He was very aware of the blueness of the enchanter’s eyes, the lines on his face and the slightly hypnotic quality of his voice. Lex got to his feet quickly, feeling slightly alarmed.

  ‘No, thank you. I think I’d better be going now.’

  ‘A pity,’ the enchanter said, standing up just as abruptly and sticking out his hand. Lex shook it, thanked him for his hospitality and turned to go.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, Lex?’ the enchanter asked sharply.

  Lex turned back to inquire what that might be and instinctively caught the velvet pouch the enchanter threw to him. He could feel the three Swanns clicking lightly together through the fabric.

  ‘But… I thought you said… one million pieces of-’

  ‘I changed my mind,’ the enchanter said brusquely. ‘Now please go. My crone requires rest.’

  Lex was eager enough to comply with the request. He still had quite a lot of stolen goods in his backpack but he’d had enough of the midnight markets for one night, and had enough cash to be going on with now at any rate, so he decided to head back to the docks. He was almost there before he realised he was wearing the black and white bracelet, which was odd because he distinctly remembered seeing the enchanter replace it in his pocket. And the alarming thing of it was that he didn’t seem to be able to take it off.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE BINDING BRACELETS

  Lex managed to snatch two hours of sleep in one of the brightly-painted gypsy wagons stationed down by the harbour before Cara was knocking on the door, waking him up and telling him it was time to go. With an effort, Lex forced himself reluctantly from the cosy warmth of the wagon into the cool early-morning mist outside. The stalls of the midnight market had been shuttered up for the day and a temporary peace lay over the harbour, the bright flags from the gypsy ship fluttering softly in the early-morning breeze.

  Lex had always loved ships, but for a long while his favourite had been the gypsy ships for they were painted bright colours and were adorned with bright sails and flags and Cara’s family’s ship — the Breathless — was no exception. Painted sea monsters danced across the hull and a sculptured wooden mermaid rose up along the prow.

  Lex stood at the hull as they set sail, and gazed back at the roofline of the Wither City, not knowing when he would ever be able to go back. It didn’t bother him overly. He had enjoyed the city with its books and its museums and law courts, but in some ways the Wither City had been too civilised for him. Thieving from the museums had been a passing amusement but few things compared to the thrill of travelling.

  The one faint pang of regret Lex felt was for Mr Lucas since he knew that his employer would suffer the consequences of Lex’s flight. But even this did not overly prey on his mind for it was not in Lex’s nature to give much thought to the plight of others. It served the old lawyer right, really, for trusting him. Selfishness was part of human nature. And at least Lex was honest about his dishonesty. He didn’t hide behind a screen of pious hypocrisy like the rest of the world.

  The gypsies had not said much to him but had merely quietly accepted that he was to be accompanying them on their voyage. Lex had been careful to conceal the bracelet on his arm. The gypsies were a superstitious lot and it would not do for them to discover that an enchanter had put it there. Still, the thing itself seemed to be harmless. It was just a bracelet, after all. It wasn’t tight to the point of being uncomfortable, but it followed the curve of Lex’s wrist exactly and no matter how he fiddled with the thing it would not come loose.

  The enchanter had called Lex by his name before he left. His real name. Lex had been too preoccupied to notice at the time. But it came back to him later with a small thrill of unease… But, after all, nothing dreadful had happened and it was a small price to pay for the beautiful Wishing Swanns of Desareth. Lex took them out of his pocket and balanced them in his palm, examining them in the glimmering half-light of the morning. He felt a great pride in owning these utterly priceless things and felt glad now that he had ventured into the enchanter’s tent.

  ‘My name is Lex Trent,’ Lex muttered smugly to himself. ‘And I always get what I want.’

  Then he turned from the railings and walked straight into Mr Schmidt.

  ‘You’re actually going to have a heart attack if you carry on like that,’ Lex said eventually, eyeing the elderly lawyer warily.

  As someone who had studied the laws on murder, manslaughter and causation, Lex was feeling distinctly uneasy about the state that the lawyer was winding himself into. It would be just like the spiteful old man to land Lex with a manslaughter conviction. Apparently he had decided to give chase and had paid for his way on the gypsy ship as the only vessel leaving the harbour that morning. Of course, he had believed Lex to be on the ship that had left the harbour some hours earlier, having witnessed the cabin boy scampering aboard wearing Lex’s coat.

  ‘How is it possible?’ he had spluttered, on running into Lex. ‘I saw you board that other-’

  ‘Lost sumfing, guv?’ Lex asked with a grin, holding up the coin that the lawyer had given him the previous night, believing him to be a cabin boy.

  A look of startled comprehension crossed Mr Schmidt’s face and that was when he got really angry and started shouting and a couple of nearby gypsies became aware of the dispute and came to watch. Entertainment was scarce when you were at sea.

  ‘I’m flattered, Mr Schmidt, I never realised you hated me quite that much,’ Lex drawled. ‘But surely you must realise that you have no jurisdiction over me now that we are outside the province of the Wither City.’

  ‘You contemptible villain!’ the lawyer snarled. ‘Are you not even going to show any remorse for what you’ve done?’

  ‘What, the thieving or the lying?’

  ‘Both!’

  ‘No. Why should I? I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.’

  The nearby gypsies laughed. One of them smacked Lex on the back.

  ‘This is not a laughing matter!’ Mr Schmidt snapped. ‘I am placing this boy under a citizen’s arrest. Fetch whoever’s in charge at once. I demand to be taken back to the mainland.’

  Lex winced involuntarily. Only a very stupid person would attempt to order a sea-gypsy to do anything. Lex knew his employer to be a clever man and could therefore only assume that it was the sheer extent of his anger clouding his judgement that made him do such a foolish thing. The gypsies glared sullenly at Mr Schmidt.

  ‘We take orders from no one, lawyer.’

  ‘Then I will pay for a life-raft and the two of us will row back to the shore-’ Schmidt began, dropping his hand to grip Lex’s wrist.

  It felt more like a mild electric shock than anything as the black and white bracelet split, as if the two halves had suddenly become magnets that were repelling each other. The black half pressed into Lex’s skin as the white half shot from his hand and straight round the wrist of Mr Schmidt. The lawyer withdrew his hand with a yell and the nearby gypsies shrank back in fear.

  Lex glanced at the black bracelet around his wrist, puzzled.

  ‘What have you done?’ Mr Schmidt hissed on finding himself unable to remove the bracelet.

  ‘Where did they come from?’ one of the gypsies asked sharply.

  Lex thought about lying but there seemed little point in attempting to deny that the bracelets were anything other than magical objects.

  ‘Where did you get them?’ the gypsy repeated loudly.

  Lex sighed. ‘From an enchanter.’

  Lex couldn’t help feeling a little resentful. Aft
er all, it wasn’t like the sea-gypsies themselves never meddled in the magical arts. They were all up on deck, near the prow of the ship, as it was one of the only places large enough for everyone to gather. Below deck the ship was a catacomb of tiny rooms, tunnels and hidey-holes and the galley was one of the only places big enough to accommodate everyone inside. Indeed, with his height, Schmidt would probably be forced to keep his head carefully lowered inside the ship if he wanted to avoid getting a concussion.

  Gypsy families tended to be large and always travelled together. All twenty-three of the crew were now clustered up on the deck around Lex and his distinctly unhappy employer. The Globe had four suns, each ruled over by a different God. Weather was an arbitrary affair, very much dependent on whose sun happened to be in the sky that day. Unfortunately, it was Heetha’s sun that morning. As the God of War and Strife, Heetha’s sun was the hottest and the most unrelenting. The wooden boards of the gypsy ship had warmed whilst they had all been gathered there and the steel railings were scalding to the touch.

  A lot of the younger people Lex had known in the Wither City had had a preference for Heetha’s sun since it brought good sunbathing weather, and tanned brown skin had been desirable for several seasons now. But Lex had always keenly disliked Heetha’s sun for the way it turned the air thick and dimmed the mind and brought out insect swarms in hordes. The one saving grace was that there was at least a strong sea breeze on the deck, with the ship slicing swiftly through the broiling waves.

  Cara’s grandmother — a tiny, wizened woman, with a lot of brightly-coloured scarves tied around her waist — had been brought up on deck to examine the twin bracelets. She reported that she had never seen their like before but that the runes around each of them were of the ancient tongue of Khestrii, although she was unable to translate the precise meaning.