Lex Trent versus the Gods Page 4

  ‘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 seem 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.

  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 quite-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 t
o 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.