The Relic Guild Read Free Page B

Evidently, the spirit compass was also undecided. Its needle spun and shivered as it remained locked onto the whore’s spirit and adjusted navigation inconclusively.
    As Samuel waited, the drizzle turned to full rain, and he let it splash against his upturned face. In the humid glow of Ruby Moon, the raindrops felt refreshing against his skin.
    In the distance, Samuel could see a ghostly glow hanging over the Great Labyrinth, as though the lights of a far away land shone through the mist. It was only a trick of the night, he knew; for there was nothing out there except the alleyways that continued on forever, or so it was thought. But there was a place, a fabled haven that all the Labyrinth’s denizens wondered about, dreamed of reaching. Far beyond the mists, in the deepest regions of the maze, there was a doorway that led to a paradise named Mother Earth. And there, the Timewatcher waited with open arms to welcome all lost souls. Every denizen dreamed of Mother Earth …
    Samuel felt a sudden pang of weariness.
    Old Man Sam they called him. He was a legend among bounty hunters; the deadliest man alive, some said. In truth, Old Man Sam was one of the last vestiges of a past generation. It was difficult for him to remember the strength of his youth, to remember a time when his actions had carried a sense of duty. He imagined the whore, out in the alleys, praying she could somehow escape this mess, find her way back to Labrys Town at the centre of the Great Labyrinth. Did she dream of returning to the sanctuary of her whorehouse, surrounded by the comforting glow of streetlamps and the protection of friends?
    Samuel gritted his teeth and closed his eyes against the rain.
    His prey tonight would never see Labrys Town again. Even if she survived Old Man Sam’s gun, she was utterly lost. Sooner or later, she would stumble upon the Retrospective, and then the wild demons would have their fun with her. Better to be shot. Better to die a quick death than face the Retrospective. At least then her soul would reach Mother Earth.
    The compass gave a solid click in Samuel’s hand, and the needle shivered on a definite north-westerly direction. In the distance the glow of the mist, the promise of a far away paradise, somehow seemed to mock the bounty hunter.
    Old Man Sam they called him …
    He took the left turn at the T-junction. After a short distance, he crossed a bridge to a new rampart. From there, a quick series of bridges and walkways followed. Head down against the rain, Samuel zigzagged across the Great Labyrinth, and the chase continued.
    By the time he caught up with the whore, some amateur assassins already had her trapped in a courtyard. Samuel crouched behind the rampart wall and furtively peered down at them through the crenellations.
    The mark was clearly exhausted. She was dressed in clothes so oversized they barely stayed on her waiflike frame. Her large eyes were round with fear, and her short hair, streaked with red dye, was lank from rain. Fatigue and panic creased the pointed features of her gawky face.
    Down to Samuel’s left was the mouth of an alley. It was the only way in or out of the courtyard, and an assassin guarded it. He wore a priest’s cassock and a wide-brimmed hat covered his face. His body was clearly deformed beneath his dress; his arms were so spindly they barely looked strong enough to carry the silver pistol in his hand. Away from the assassin, closer to the girl, stood a short, grubby man whose clothes were scarcely better than rags. Samuel recognised him and a twinge of anger flared in his chest.
    Charlie Hemlock: perhaps the most venal, untrustworthy bastard in Labrys Town. More than once this snake had crossed Samuel, but lived to tell the tale. His involvement came as no surprise.
    Samuel slipped his short rifle from the holster on his back, its power stone covered for stealth.
    Down in the courtyard, Hemlock made a grab for the girl, but, despite her obvious exhaustion, she clearly