Lex Trent versus the Gods Page 8

  In actual fact, Lex had very few of the vices that most teenage boys had. He stayed well away from drink and drugs and, indeed, was rather horrified just at the very thought of using them. For Lex liked to be sharp and quick - sharper and quicker than everyone else where possible - and intentionally dimming his mind and his wits was not something he was ever likely to do. Nor had he ever had much time for girls. They were something nice to look at when Heetha’s sun was out and they were sunbathing, not wearing an awful lot; but he certainly didn’t want to date. Growing up without a mother and no women in the house, the fairer sex was a bit of an enigma to Lex. He had the feeling that a girlfriend would probably spend most of her time complaining at him, whining at him, demanding that he spend all his free time with her, asking if she looked good in this dress or that dress when the truth was that he simply didn’t care . . . But Mrs Humphrey wasn’t to know all that, so when Lex told her he was working out to impress some girl, she believed him completely.

  Lex’s past experiences had taught him very well about playing a part and playing it faultlessly, even when no one was looking. He knew he hadn’t faltered the whole time he’d been working at Lucas, Jones and Schmidt. He had kept up the charade, he had worn the mask and played the role, so what had Mr Montgomery Schmidt seen in his performance that had given him away? What hairline crack in the otherwise perfect jewel had his gimlet eyes picked up that no one else had been bright enough to spot?

  ‘What was it?’ Lex said again.

  ‘Perhaps it was that time I caught you scamming the clients that tipped me off,’ the lawyer said. ‘Honest students do not skim a little off the top for their own usage, Mr Trent. So tell me, have you always been this way or did you fall in with a bad crowd, or have you just been consumed with greed all your life? What is it? What made you this way?’

  Lex looked him right in the eye and said, ‘My parents died when I was five.’

  This was, in fact, perfectly true, but it was not what had made Lex the way he was. He had been born like this. Born for adventure and excitement and misbehaving, and he would probably have been exactly the same even if he hadn’t been orphaned at a young age. Still, no sense in admitting that to the old lawyer. Lex could tell from the expression on Schmidt’s face that he was struggling with himself, trying to work out whether Lex was even telling the truth, and if he was, whether dead parents constituted a valid excuse for theft, lies and fraud.

  ‘You disliked me before that thing with the clients or you wouldn’t have bothered checking on me to begin with,’ Lex went on. ‘Tell me, Mr Schmidt, what did I ever do to deserve such hostility?’

  ‘Did you know about Mr Lucas’s wife?’ the lawyer said with sudden sharpness. ‘You who knows everything about everything; did you know about her, Lex?’

  ‘Of course. She’s ill,’ Lex replied promptly.

  As an actor, he knew the value of playing to an audience. And he understood the importance of knowing that audience. It was crucial. So he always took in any information that any of his audience unwittingly gave out about themselves. Mr Lucas rarely said anything about his personal life, but Lex knew from what he’d heard other people saying that Mr Lucas’s wife was in a bad way and that he was increasingly withdrawing from the time-consuming responsibilities of the law firm to care for her himself.

  ‘Do you know what illness? Do you care?’ Mr Schmidt asked, in that same unnaturally calm voice.

  Lex shrugged. What did it matter? All old people became ill, sooner or later. It was the natural way of things—

  ‘She has the soulless wake.’

  The caustic remark that Lex had been preparing died in his throat. The soulless wake. Old people became ill and died. It was nature; it was inevitable; it was something that everyone accepted. Sooner or later, everyone died. No arguments there. But to die before death . . . that was surely cheating, wasn’t it? The soulless wake was no illness. It was a curse from the Gods of the very worst kind. It could not be fought or beaten. It could only be endured.

  The soulless wake caused people to forget their loved ones, forget life, forget themselves. It stripped them of everything they were inside. It was said to be the result of the Gods prematurely taking away a person’s soul whilst they were still living, leaving nothing but an empty, wandering shell-of-a-person. This wasn’t true, Lex knew. If it were, then you wouldn’t be able to catch those occasional glimpses, those tiny little moments, of the person they had been before. But it was certainly true that the disease carried a stigma. For the condition was a rare one and it was said that the Gods would surely not curse anyone in such a way unless that person was immensely vile and despicable.

  ‘You wouldn’t think it to look at him, would you?’ Schmidt said softly. ‘The kind manner he has with the clients and . . . the interns.’ He gave Lex an evil look. ‘The way he left her to rush out of his home in the middle of the night to assist you and vouch for your character. You would never have guessed, Lex, would you?’

  ‘Of course I knew about her condition,’ Lex lied. ‘As you rightly pointed out, I know everything about everything. A conman has to, you know. I didn’t see how the issue could benefit me personally but I consigned it to the back of my mind, just in case.’

  He almost wanted the lawyer to strike him. Mr Schmidt didn’t raise a finger, although, if looks could kill, someone would have had to use a bucket and shovel to scrape Lex off the floor.

  ‘You know, Lex, I think I’m going to go have a lie down in the wagon,’ Schmidt said, with exaggerated courtesy. ‘I’m not as young as I once was, after all, and you seem to be handling the mantha so expertly.’

  Lex frowned as the lawyer swung his long legs round, pulled back the curtain and clambered into the warmth of the wagon. Lex caught a glimpse of the interior before the curtain fell back. There were blankets back there, piled up on flat wooden beds. Gods, it looked tempting! Lex hadn’t slept properly since fleeing the Wither City. The gypsy ship had been moving too much on the restless waves and he had kept jerking awake.

  Now that the lawyer had gone, Lex realised that he had been left outside to drive the mantha alone through Gertha’s savage gales. It hadn’t seemed so bad when they were plodding through the winding streets with tall, crooked buildings piled up on top of one another on each side of them to block the wind. But out here in the open, the gales were painfully chafing.

  Lex pulled back the curtain of the wagon slightly and turned his head to yell inside, ‘Pass me a blanket would you, Monty? It’s a little chilly out here.’

  ‘Here,’ Mr Schmidt said, throwing out the thinnest, most moth-eaten blanket there was.

  Really it was more a bit of rag than a blanket. Lex stared at the thing in disgust but let the curtain drop. He wasn’t going to beg, if that was what the lawyer wanted. He would rather die before asking any favours of the man. Well . . . okay, perhaps not actually die but . . . well, he would rather be really quite uncomfortable, anyway.

  Lex was a hoarder when it came to money, so he had quite happily stood by and let Schmidt purchase the wagon and the blankets. Now it didn’t seem like such a good idea. He had no right to the blankets now and the lawyer had made it quite clear that he was not in a sharing mood.

  ‘Selfish sod,’ Lex muttered.

  As is a common characteristic with the selfish, Lex simply couldn’t stand selfishness in others. The mantha beast plodded solidly on as the sky began to dim to twilight and Lex tried not to think about the soulless wake. When they at last arrived on the outskirts of Gandylow, the boats were all moored in the docks for the night, so they took a couple of rooms at a boarding house with the idea of seeking passage on a ship in the morning.

  They ignored each other over dinner and went to their separate rooms afterwards. As he fell asleep, Lex vowed not to think about the soulless wake any more, or the person he had left behind at the farm back home, and promised himself that all his energy would be put into playing the Game.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE EN
CHANTERS’ BOATS

  Lex’s definition of a boat was something that travelled on water. The magical boats of the enchanters then, strictly speaking, were not in fact boats, for they hovered above the sea rather than floating on its surface. They were quite different from the gypsy ships. Being propelled by magic instead of wind they could sail against the currents. They could glide above the treacherous coral reefs. And they could keep right on travelling once they hit dry land if they wanted to.

  When they reached the docks that morning Schmidt again voiced concerns as to whether they would be able to find an enchanter willing to take them. They rarely took passengers since they had no need for paying customers and it was unheard of for an enchanter to allow non-magical people on board his boat.

  ‘You’d be amazed at the endless supply of luck I seem to have,’ Lex had said with his most insolent smile.

  Schmidt had simply shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘Then I will leave you to it, Mr Trent. You’ll find out it’s hopeless quickly enough.’

  There were always enchanted boats at Gandylow as it was the nearest port to the Island of Algathon - the native land of the enchanters and their crones. Khestrii was situated on the western shore of the island and, although there were some humans living there, on the whole people preferred not to live so close to enchanters. There were five enchanted boats in the harbour that day - great, silver monstrosities with black runes painted across their metallic exteriors. Even the sails were thin sheets of metal, being there solely for decoration since the wind certainly didn’t dictate the places these ships went.

  Lex stood looking at the five great ships, wondering how best to go about stealing one. For Schmidt was quite right in saying that buying passage would be hopeless. There was no way an enchanter was simply going to allow them to come aboard his precious ship. It was strictly forbidden for any non-magical person to board the boats. Lex had always wanted to steal something from an enchanter. Some little trinket, just for the dangerous thrill of brushing so close to something so powerful. But this wasn’t some little trinket. It was a huge, hulking monster of a ship and stealing it would not be so easy.

  Lex eyed the staff of a nearby enchanter warily. It was as tall as the wizard himself, made out of twisted metal and set with a blue star-crystal at the top. The staffs were the centre of all the enchanters’ powers and it was said that they could turn a man inside out if they wanted to, just by pointing at him with their horrible sticks. Lex grinned as Schmidt caught sight of the enchanter and hurriedly turned away, pretending to inspect a shut-up stall to avoid having to look directly at the magician.

  But Lex wasn’t afraid and remained where he was. As divine luck would have it, his dilemma was solved for him, for whilst he stood musing over the problem of the boats, he happened to overhear the conversation that took place between the nearby enchanter and his crone.

  ‘It will be your responsibility to guard the ship until I return,’ the enchanter said.

  Lex’s ears pricked up at that. He eyed the old crone with dubious glee. She hardly looked capable of guarding anything. She was hunched over the usual pair of sticks, her gnarled old hands shaking on them slightly, and she was bent almost double under the weight of the slim grey cat that was draped languidly about her shoulders.

  ‘I will be gone for seven days and nights. You will stay on the ship. Do not leave it for anything. Not for anything, you understand?’ he snapped, leaning a little closer to the old woman. ‘Do not fail me again, Bessa. If anyone inquires as to the ship’s prolonged presence here, you may tell them that I will return shortly and that the boat is not to be touched by anybody until then, not even the maritime authorities. I won’t have any non-magical people on board my ship.’

  The crone nodded and grovelled to the wizard, assuring him all the while of her eternal and undying devotion. Lex chuckled with glee. It really was too easy. The old woman would go over like a house of cards.

  ‘What are you sniggering at?’ Schmidt said sharply, without looking away from the stall.

  Lex ignored him. Of course, the crones were often left behind to look after the ships. It wasn’t as if anyone was actually going to try and steal them. Such an action would have been reckless beyond words. Lex watched the old crone hobble painfully up the gangplank back on board the huge, gleaming silver ship. It was not touching the water, even here in the harbour. It hovered unnaturally, just above the sea, secured by ropes to the docks, drifting ever so slightly in the force of the wind from the ocean.

  ‘Voilà!’ Lex exclaimed as soon as the enchanter had left for the town. ‘And here we have our transportation, Mr Schmidt.’

  ‘Where?’ the lawyer asked, gazing round stupidly.

  Lex pointed at the ship. ‘There.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Didn’t you hear that enchanter say he was going away for a week? I won’t wait here for a week; I want to be off today so we can get this whole sorry mess over and done with. You’ll have to go and bargain with one of the other enchanters.’

  ‘Bargain? My dear Monty, who ever said anything about bargaining?’

  Schmidt frowned at him. ‘But you said you were going to get us passage on board one of the enchanters’—’

  ‘They’ll never take us!’

  ‘Then how are you going to—?’

  ‘I’m going to pinch it!’ Lex declared gleefully.

  He allowed himself a moment to take in the expression of utter horror on his employer’s face and then ducked smoothly under his arm as the old lawyer made a grab for him. In another moment, he had fled lightly up the gangplank and was staring down over the side of the ship, grinning at Mr Schmidt.

  ‘Get back down here,’ the lawyer hissed.

  Or something of that sort. He was too far away for Lex to be able to hear him but the body language was quite plain.

  ‘Make me,’ Lex laughed and then disappeared into the ship in search of the defenceless old crone.

  The thrill at finally being on an enchanter’s ship was immense. It was dangerous. Of course it was dangerous. The enchanter would be furious, incensed when he found out. But it was irresistible at times - that urge to plummet recklessly into something that all sane men would shrink from. And after a year of stealing nothing more thrilling than trinkets from museums, an enchanter’s ship would be a fine prize indeed. What better way to begin the Game against the Gods?

  Lex walked over to a door on the deck, trying to find a way into the ship. Schmidt would follow him. After all, he had no choice. If they didn’t eat together then he would only find himself stranded in Lex’s body anyway.

  Lex opened the door and stopped dead. He was standing at the foot of an immensely long corridor. But he was not alone. There were hundreds and hundreds of other Lex’s on either side of him, above him and below him, each looking as disoriented as he was. The hallway was entirely mirrored. The walls, the floor and the ceiling, reflected back at each other into infinity. Lex shuddered.

  He was only allowed a moment of discomfort however, since the sounds of labouring coming from outside told him that his employer was making his way up the long gangplank and it was important that they got under way before the old lawyer tried to bodily drag him from the ship. Lex started to walk carefully down the corridor, both arms stretched out so that his fingers brushed against each wall in an attempt to keep himself oriented.

  It reminded him of the fayre his grandfather, Alistair Trent, had taken him to when he’d been little. It had all been fun and games until he had scared himself by getting lost in the Maze of Mirrors. When he had at last caught sight of his grandfather, he had made a grateful dash towards him, not realising it was only his reflection he was chasing, and had crashed straight into a mirror, smacking his head and splitting his lip. He had started bawling then and his grandfather had had to buy him a big stick of blue candyfloss to shut him up. You don’t run in mirror mazes, although many children, it seemed, were destined to find that out the hard way.

  The mirrored walls were
so flawless that it was only the feel of a hinge beneath his fingers that alerted Lex to the fact that there was a door. There was no doorknob or handle but when he pushed the mirrored glass, it swung open easily and silently into a room that, he noted with relief, was not lined with mirrors.

  It was a tiny little white box-of-a-room because the walls, floors and ceiling were made entirely out of white marble. It was completely bare but for one basket in the corner, in which the old crone was hunched, her sticks leaning against the wall, the grey cat about her shoulders, staring into space.

  ‘It’s Bessa, isn’t it?’ Lex asked pleasantly.

  At the sound of his voice, the crone flinched as if she had been struck and was on her feet at a speed that was remarkable for a woman so obviously crippled.

  ‘Get out!’ she shrieked, grabbing her sticks and hobbling out of the basket. ‘Out!’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Bessa,’ Lex drawled. ‘Wherever are your manners—?’

  He broke off rather suddenly as she whacked him across the chest with one of her sticks. For such an infirm old lady, there was certainly a lot of force behind that stick. He grunted in surprise and staggered back into the mirrored hallway, wincing because she had struck the tender bruises he had acquired just three nights ago falling from the roof of the museum. He ducked sharply, barely missing the stick that whipped past his head, and then jumped back with equal speed to avoid a vicious blow from the second stick.