The Dagger Men: A Novel of the Clay Shamus Read online

  Rabbi Geist bowed his head respectfully. “Of course, master—but we have many enemies in the city. The golem—”

  “The golem is a lump of earth.” Rabbi Eisendrath snapped out the words. His tattooed face contorted in rage. “He is nothing! I will destroy him, and build a garden from his body.” He rattled the chains, striking them against the stone floor of the ancient church. “Our people have outlasted empires. We are the goat—eaten by the cat which is bit by the dog and in turn hit by the stick, which is then burned in fire, doused in water, drunk by an ox, that is slaughtered by a butcher, who withers before the Angel of Death. And still we live.”

  “Yes, master.” Rabbi Geist didn’t look up. His hair drooped over his eyes.

  Rabbi Eisendrath turned back to the altar. “A golem is nothing compared to the foes I have faced.”

  Clay’s mind raced. The Dagger Men wanted something called the Founding Stone, which would be the key to unlock some ancient spell left by the Puritan founders of Sickle City. But what did they hope to accomplish with that sort of power, which lay buried under the earth? And why did they need Asmodeus, the King of the Demons? Clay listened closely, hoping to find out more. He agreed with Harvey. The Dagger Men’s plan would mean nothing good for Sickle City.

  “Shall we summon Asmodai, master?” Rabbi Geist gestured to the altar.

  “Let it happen at night. It is the domain of Naamah and Lilith, Asmodeus’s mother, and he will be at home.” He gripped the chain. “These will hold him, no matter his confidence. Now, we merely need to—”

  A burst of submachine gunfire ripped through the air, echoing over the forest. A flight of birds left the nearby trees and flapped their way into the gray sky, calling in panic. Clay's stones creaked as he gazed at the source of the gunshots. The Tidewater Rats hadn’t learned their lesson. Instead, they had followed Clay and his friends, and now strode into Barebone’s Town in a clump, with Turk Brownstein at their head. He fired his Thompson at the ground, kicking up leaves and dust. The Dagger Men noticed as well. Rabbi Geist hissed curses in Yiddish. Rabbi Eisendrath’s eyes flashed darkly. He gently set the chains down.

  “More criminals,” he muttered. “This Babylon overflows with them.”

  Brownstein walked down the main thoroughfare of Barebone’s Town. “Where you hiding, Clay?” He aimed his Tommy gun at the ruined buildings. “That was slick, what you did—grabbing my heater and pasting me like that. Don’t matter. I’m gonna put some bullets into you, Clay, and enough times to be sure. Don’t matter how big you are. You got that? I’m Turk Brownstein! Ain’t no one bigger than me!” He gave the Thompson another burst, blasting into a ruined storehouse. Chunks of wood and stone fell from the shots.

  The Roman legionaries noticed their approach and charged down the street, their shields raised. The Tidewater Rats opened fire, their bullets ripping through shields and skeletal bodies. The legionaries dropped, but more emerged from the alleys and raced out to attack. The Tidewater Rats stared in amazement at the legionaries, then leaned on the triggers of their guns. Clay guessed that they had decided to gun everything down first, and figure out why they were being attacked by ancient Romans later. Rabbi Geist walked out of the church to meet them, snapping his fingers and summoning more the legionaries. Bullets and shattered, dusty bones filled the street. They needed to leave.

  While the battle raged, Clay turned away from the window and glanced at Zipporah and Harvey. The boy hadn’t been able to see inside the church, but he must have heard what was going on. “We need to go.” Clay kept his voice low. “Let the Rats and the Romans have each other.”

  “Amen to that,” Zipporah agreed. “We’ll slip back to the docks and skedaddle.”

  They turned away, staying low as they moved down the alley to flee—but Rabbi Eisendrath stood in their way, neatly blocking their path.

  It didn’t make sense. How could he be in the church one moment, and appear outside the next? Clay groaned. He hated magic. He walked quickly in front of Harvey and Zipporah, his fists swinging at his sides. When they met before, Rabbi Eisendrath had thrown Clay out of a window and down to the street. What would be the outcome now?

  Rabbi Eisendrath folded his arms. “The golem. How much did you hear?”

  “Enough,” Zipporah said. “We’ll stop you, Rabbi—whatever you’re planning.”

  “How come you wear tattoos?” Harvey asked the question suddenly. Rabbi Eisendrath stared at him. The boy stepped back, moving closer to Clay. “Y-you’re not supposed to have tattoos if you’re Jewish, Mr. Eisendrath. If you have tattoos, you can’t be b-buried in a Jewish cemetery.”

  “Well, boy, I find that acceptable.” Rabbi Eisendrath ran his finger down his cheek, tracing the outline of an occult symbol. “I will never die. Of course, I cannot say the same for you.” His eyes flashed. Fire split the air behind him, and two of the giant ravens swooped down from the air with sparks trailing from their burning wings. They were the A’arab Zaraq, the Fiery Ravens of Dispersion, and they swooped down on Clay and ZIpporah. But this time, they were ready.

  Zipporah pulled both her swords and drove them upwards. The tips of the blades plunged into the chest of the raven, spilling sparks and dripping flame on the grass. Clay lunged for his, striking the bird with a rapid fist to the beak. He grabbed the raven’s neck and hauled it out of the sky, then slammed his boot down on the bird’s head. It was like kicking a dying campfire. Chunks of burning feathers and sparks filled the air. The raven’s wings flapped, and Clay pulled back his feet before his trousers caught fire. Then he grabbed Harvey’s hand and ran back to the street. Zipporah joined him. More ravens soared past them, shrieking and trailing sparks.

  They scrambled across the street, just ahead of the battle between the Tidewater Rats and the legionaries. The Rats had fallen back, and now stood at the edge of Barebone’s Town. Brownstein raked the legionaries with automatic fire, but the skeletons continued to attack. Clay ignored them. He dragged Harvey into the cover of the forest and they hurried away from the town. They raced into the shadow, their shoes crunching on fallen leaves and pine needles as they hurried through the tall trunks of the trees and neared the rocky hills.

  “Golem!” Rabbi Eisendrath’s voice came from the trees. “You know what we are doing.” Clay stopped and spun around, his fists raised. He looked at the shadowed trees, but couldn’t see Eisendrath. His voice seemed to come from the air itself. “But if you were what your creator intended you to be—a defender of the Jewish people—then you would not stand against the Dagger Men. Instead, you would join us. But you resist and that truly makes you an abomination.”

  “That’s not true!” Harvey shouted into the woods. “It’s not true at all!” But they had stopped running for just a moment, and that was what Rabbi Eisendrath wanted. A weighted net hurtled down from the forest and fell on top of Harvey. The folds of the net wrapped around the boy. He hit the ground, wincing as the fabric pulled him down.

  More nets hurtled through the air. One wrapped around Zipporah and she sank down next to Harvey. Two hit Clay, and he grabbed the nets and started to rip them free, even as they clung to his arms and slowed him. He stared through the holes in the net, as more Roman skeletons marched out to attack—but these weren’t legionaries. Instead, their bones bore the sparse armor and elaborate, round helmets of ancient gladiators.

  Rabbi Eisendrath walked out from behind a stout tree, just ahead of them. Once again, he had managed to travel in an instant, thanks to his magic. He walked calmly toward them, his hands in his pockets. Two gladiators flanked him, both armed with steel tridents. They aimed them like spears, preparing to strike the nets. More gladiators slipped out from behind other trees. These bore round helmets that hid their skulls, and carried short, lethal stabbing swords. Clay tore at the net, tugging at the bonds. They ripped slightly, and a gladiator approached him and stabbed him with its trident. The tr
ident aimed for his face, the three points reaching for his forehead. If they scratched the words on his forehead, he was finished. He fell back and landed heavily on the ground. The three points hovered above his face, ready to stab again.

  Zipporah pressed her scimitar against the net, slicing it open—until another trident stabbed down and pinned her sword to the dirt. She froze; her hand still on the sword. Harvey lay on his side, whimpering slightly. In the distance, the gunshots had faded. Maybe the Tidewater Rats had made the smart play and escaped. Clay wished that he and his friends could do the same.

  “Gladiators.” Rabbi Eisendrath moved between the two trident-wielding skeletons. “They used to make them battle in the arena—shedding blood for the entertainment of crowds. Truly, they were a debased and wicked people.” He pointed to Clay. “And can you truly say that your Americans are much better?”

  “We’re not the ones animating skeletons,” Zipporah replied. Evidently, she had lost all sympathy for the Dagger Men.

  “It is a necessity,” Rabbi Eisendrath explained. “Noah regretted the flood. Lot regretted the fate of his wife. And yet, in their hearts, they knew it had to be done. So do I.” He crouched in front of Clay, as the gladiators surrounded them with blades drawn. “I detest my long life. I detest what I have had to do. But I think of what Christians and Apikorsim and all the other villains of the world have done to me, and I regret nothing at all.” He reached out, his hands moving to Clay’s head. Clay recoiled and tried to crawl back. His limbs rubbed dirt as he tried to escape Rabbi Eisendrath’s hands. “Sometimes, I think it would be better to never have been born, and face a peaceful oblivion. Perhaps it’s best that I give that gift to you, golem.”

  “No!” Harvey managed to come to his feet. He charged to Clay, only for a gladiator to casually spin around and bash him with the handle of his sword. The gladius’s handle rammed into Harvey’s face and he crumpled. Rabbi Eisendrath’s fingers drew closer.

  A rock smacked into the rabbi’s head, banging against his ear. He hissed and pulled back, his hands flying to his forehead as if that was what needed the most protection. He stumbled back, gritting his teeth and sucking air through his teeth. Clay stared at the woods as Ava Silver, the flapper reporter, raced out from between the trees. She had her purse in her hand and the wind ruffled her dark flapper bob as her boots pounded over the dust.

  “Well, speak of the devil.” She raced over and withdrew a pearl-handled, snub-nosed revolver from her purse. “What a marvelous coincidence, running into you here.” The gladiators surged toward her, raising their weapons. Silver’s pistol flashed, punching bullets into their skulls. She fired quickly, the revolver’s shots popping and echoing against the trees. Fragments of ancient steel and bone spun to the ground. “A gat does come in handy.” Silver returned the pistol her purse. “How you been, Mr. Clay?” She knelt down next to him, and pulled a silver-bladed switchblade from the purse.

  “I’ve been better,” Clay said.

  “There it is.” Silver sawed the cords of the rope with her knife. “A sense of humor.”

  The net snapped and Clay’s strong arms did the rest. He pushed it aside and came to his feet. Silver went to work on Zipporah’s net next, while Clay faced the remaining gladiators. A short sword swung at his chest. Clay took the blow and rammed his fist into the gladiator’s ridged helmet. Metal broke under the blow and the gladiator collapsed in a rustle of bone and rusted armor.

  Zipporah came free. She and Silver both hurried to Harvey. Their blades moved down together, and sliced through the net. Harvey rolled over and came shakily to his feet. He had gained a bloody nose, and held his hand over his face. Blood welled between his fingers and his eyes were pained beneath his spectacles. Zipporah offered him a handkerchief and he accepted it, then quickly cleaned up the spilled blood. Clay saw the wound and shuddered. He had one job—to protect Rabbi Holtz’s son—and he hadn’t been able to do that.

  Behind them, Rabbi Eisendrath groaned. He stood back, moaning. His hand came away from his head, shaking. Why was he so concerned about a thrown rock bashing him? His face had gone pale, making the dark lines of his tattoos stand out even more. He pointed to Silver. “You will pay for this. Whoever you are, I will see you weep because you—”

  “Threats? I’ve heard plenty of those before, from plenty of mugs like you.” She fired into the ground next to him, kicking up dust. Rabbi Eisendrath stumbled back, somehow still frightened from the blow to his head. “I covered the Great War in France, buddy. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you can do that’ll scare me.” She turned to Clay. “I bet I can get what I need from an interview with you. No need for an exclusive with Nosferatu here.” She pointed past the trees, to the rocky hills overlooking the ocean. “Come on, Mr. Clay. I’ll give you and your pals a ride home.”

  “Fine by me.” Zipporah patted Harvey’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  They hurried through the trees, running past Rabbi Eisendrath. He glared at Clay as they passed. For a second, their eyes met—and something about the rabbi’s face caught Clay’s attention. His eyes seemed far too gray and far too round. He pulled away, refusing to look at Clay, and then they had left him behind as they scrambled through the trees. A couple weighted nets flew after them, wrapping around branches and trunks and rustling as they hit the dirt. Zipporah kept Harvey moving, and they avoided the nets. The gladiators didn’t give chase. Clay would have to remember to go for the head the next time he and Rabbi Eisendrath battled.

  The forest gave way to a few rocky hills. They scaled them easily enough, though Harvey slid down the gravel and had to crawl up on his hands and knees before stumbling to his feet. Clay helped him down the hill, and then they neared a gravel beach when Silver’s vessel waited for them. She had a sleek speedboat of cherry-colored wood floating in the water, with Sophie behind the wheel. Lucky, her pet panda, sat on his haunches on the side seat, watching the waves hit the beach uneasily. Sophie waved to them, and Silver waved back.

  “A little runabout, darling.” Silver pointed to the boat. “Quite expensive—but then again, I can afford it. Would you care to go for a spin?”

  Skeletal feet stepped on the rocks behind them. Roman legionaries emerged, followed by a squad of archers with arrows already notched to their bows. The Dagger Men seemed determined not to let Clay and his friends escape alive.

  “We’d be delighted, ma’am. Thank you,” Harvey replied politely.

  They ran down the rocky slope and crossed the beach, as skeletal legionaries fired a salvo of arrows into the air. The arrows fell down, striking the gravel. One settled in Clay’s back, but he ignored it and kept running. They reached the surf next. Clay grabbed Harvey, hauled him out of the water, and set him over the railing and inside the speedboat. Zipporah pulled herself over and Sophie helped her mother into the boat. Clay stepped into the speedboat next. The vessel shook under his weight and he settled in the stern. Sophie had already gotten the engine going. She spun the vessel around as legionaries hurried to the beach. Silver gave them the last shots of her revolver, and then the motor purred to life.

  The speedboat zoomed away from the beach and flew into the open sea. Lucky lost his footing and slid across his chair, making forlorn yips as he neared the edge. Harvey grabbed a fistful of fur and pulled the panda back from the edge. He gingerly handed Lucky to Sophie, and the cub whimpered as she held him. The motorboat sped away, trailing a white wake.

  “Are you okay, Harvey?” Sophie pointed to Harvey’s nose.

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. It’s already s-stopped bleeding, Miss Silver.” He settled into his seat and looked back at Bone Island as it slid away into the mist. “Rabbi Eisendrath is a terrible person,” he said. “He has too much hate. Far too much.”

  Silver looked up from the controls. “What was with those Roman skeletons of his? I recognized the armor from my time in Italy, covering Blackshirts and
Fascists. Mussolini’s boys love all that Roman crap. I didn’t expect to see ancient armor up and walking around.” She stared at the turf. “I came over here because I learned that a recently formed corporation, Dagger Limited, purchased a plot of land on Bone Island, intending to do some excavations. They apparently paid with ancient Roman coins. I figured I’d come over, snoop around, and ask a few questions. I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “They’re Dagger Men,” Zipporah explained. “Lunatic fanatics with access to powerful magic.”

  “They want to conquer the city.” Clay decided he could tell Silver the truth—she had already seen walking skeletons and God only knew what else during her visit to Bone Island. Lying wouldn’t get him anywhere. “They mentioned that they need the Founding Stone, but can’t find it on Bone Island.” He paused. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “I do.” Harvey brightened up. “It’s this big stone that was the center of Barebone’s Town, back when Sinner Barebone founded it. He carved the Barebone name in this big stone, and it represented the new colony. He left it in Barebone’s Town when he founded Sickle City, and Bathsheba Barebone had it. But in the Victorian Age, they moved it from Bone Island and into the city.”

  “Where, child?” Zipporah asked.

  “City Hall,” Harvey explained. “We saw it on a field trip.” He smiled shyly at Sophie. “Have you ever been to the City Hall?”

  “I have tutors. I don’t really go to school,” Sophie explained. “I have seen the pyramids, though. And the Great Wall of China, and the Tower of London, and some other places.”