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

  Harvey stared at everything as they walked through the empty set of rooms—a kitchen, a pair of bedrooms no bigger than closets, and a small living room transformed into another place for beds. Pictures of the occupants hung from the wall, while a mezuzah rested in the doorframe. “It’s so small,” Harvey said, almost to himself. “How does a whole family live here?” He turned to Clay, who opened the door and led them into the hallway. “How does everyone fit?”

  “They manage it, child,” Zipporah said. “They have little choice.”

  They stepped into the hallway. The scuffed wooden floor overlooked a set of encircling stairs leading to the first floor, and Haven Street. But a set of windows occupied the end of the hall, overlooking the street. Clay wanted to get a better look. He needed to know what Haven Street had become.

  “The window.” He crossed the hall, motioning for his friends to join him, and they peered down through the casement. “Let’s have a look.” Below them, the tenement street lay as empty as it had during the height of the riots—but the Dagger Men had changed everything considerably. They had remade Haven Street in their own image, transforming it into the biblical paradise of their imagination.

  The detritus and rubble had mostly been cleared away, pushed aside into the alley or gutters. The paving stones had been torn up, wrenched away to reveal gray earth underneath. Sickle City itself might have removed the paving stones, like a snake shedding dead skin. The stones lay on the sidewalk, arranged in gray pyramids. The dirt had been cut into furrows, plowed and ready for planting. Draft and cart horses had done the plowing, and they stood on the sidewalk, tied up to streetlights which now gained their gleam by candles instead of electric lights. The horses weren’t alone. Large bulls, with powerful horns and blunt, rectangular snouts, had been tied to some of the lamp posts. They snorted and thrashed the air with their horns, seemingly eager for a fight. Skeletal legionaries stood at the corner, silently holding their lances and staring into the darkness.

  Clay looked over what had once been home; almost unable to believe how it had changed. He finally settled on a simple question. “What are those bulls?”

  “I think they’re aurochs, sir,” Harvey explained. “These extinct cow creatures that used to live in Europe and Mesopotamia during Roman times. The Dagger Men brought them back somehow.” He pushed up his spectacles. “I guess anything’s possible with magic.” Fear returned to his voice. “But where are all the people? And where’s my father and Uncle Herbert? Do y-you think the Dagger Men—”

  “You said it yourself, Harvey,” Zipporah said. “Your father wouldn’t let them.” She pointed down to the street. “Let’s head to Haven Street and see if we can find out anything more about what those Dagger Men bums have done to our home.”

  That sounded reasonable. They left the tenement building, heading down the stairwell and slipping through the front doors. They left Neptune Row and approached Haven Street, sticking to the alley to avoid the staring, empty sockets of the Roman sentries. A few more steps brought them to the main length of Haven Street, where the Dagger Men had also been at work. If they wanted Neptune Row to be their farming fields, then they had decreed that this place would be their Biblical village. The city had created a mass of cottages from paving stones and cement, built to arcane rules from the Torah, and they sprawled out in the center of the street. Torches flickered in the awnings of the cabins, where the residents of Haven Street now lived. Banners bearing Jewish stars hung limply from the walls of the larger buildings, and nobody but stone golems and skeletons walked the street. Without lights, the stars seemed to shine brighter. The moon glowed as well, matching the flickering torches. Clay and his friends watched everything, hidden in the shadows.

  Harvey looked over the village from his place in the alley. “They just keep everyone here?” he asked. “And make them work in the farms?” He sighed. “They won’t grow anything—not in this climate. But I guess the Dagger Men don’t care. They just want everything to be like it was in Ancient Judea, and so everyone’s got to live in ancient stone houses and farm.”

  “Bunch of nuts,” Zipporah muttered. “You were right, Harvey—these kooks don’t deserve power.”

  “They’ve got it, though.” Clay stared down the empty street. “Let’s check on the King Solomon Temple. Maybe we can find out what happened to the rabbi.” He patted Harvey’s shoulder. “Would you like to stay here, maybe?” If they found out the worst had happened, he didn’t want Harvey along.

  “No, sir.” The boy remained adamant. “He’s my papa—my f-father, I mean. I owe it to him to be brave.” He stepped out of the alley, pressed himself to the wall, and began creeping to the sidewalk. “Come on. Atlas Avenue is this way. We can stop by my house as well.”

  Clay and Zipporah followed Harvey. They left Haven Street, crossed through another empty side street, and reached Atlas Avenue. They passed the Holtz house first, dark and empty, and Harvey had them wait outside while he dashed in to fetch his books. The home hadn’t been looted or destroyed by the Dagger Men. Evidently, the citizens of Haven Street remained loyal to Rabbi Holtz. They hadn’t ratted out where he lived. Clay and Zipporah stood in the doorway, ready to move if they were discovered, until Harvey returned, straining under the weight of his satchel. Zipporah offered him a comforting grin, and then they moved further down Atlas Avenue and reached the King Solomon Synagogue.

  The Dagger Men had left their mark here and it saddened Clay to see the results. The large trees which once provided welcome shade over the sidewalk and the grassy lawn had been hacked down. They lay on the street, their branches jabbing out in broken angles. The large windows had been shattered, and the sign for the synagogue had been broken by a golem’s punch. Smashed bones and several lumps of brick, stone, and dirt that had once been golems lay sprawled on the lawn. A line of barbed wire crossed the lawn, preventing anyone from reaching the entrance. Clay stared inside the shadowed synagogue, wondering if there was anyone inside. He started to the door, followed by Harvey and Zipporah.

  They crossed the lawn, moving carefully around the rusted armor and broken bones of Roman legionaries, and stepped over the barbed wire. Clay walked closer to the doorway, and paused. A thin cord, translucent and almost invisible in the shadows, stretched across the door. Harvey heedlessly approached. Clay grabbed the boy and tugged him back. Harvey gasped, and Clay motioned for him to be silent. They knelt down and looked at the cord. One end had been tied to a nail driven into the doorway. The other went to a stick of dynamite, resting in the dirt. Clay knelt down to take care of the trap, when he heard a gun racking in the shadows.

  “I thought the rabbi told you not to come here.” Monk Moss stepped closer to the doorway, carrying his trench gun. He wore vest and shirtsleeves, one bandage brown with dried blood wrapped his arm and another knotted over his leg. A trench club and knife swung from his belt. “You get back to the main group, quickly, before they find you here.”

  “Mr. Moss?” Harvey asked.

  Cohen hurried to the doorway next, carrying her rifle. She beamed when she saw Harvey. “Oh, thank God.” She ran to Monk’s side. “The niño—he’s all right!” She knelt next to the dynamite and quickly withdrew it. “Monk, put that trench gun of yours away and welcome our friends to what’s left of the King Solomon Synagogue.”

  “Little Harvey.” Monk slung his trench gun over his shoulder. “It’s good to see you.” He held out his hand to Clay and Zipporah. “Good to see you as well.” They stepped into the doorway after Cohen removed the dynamite, and stood together in the shadows. Cohen and Monk looked older in the low light, the lines of their faces deeper.

  “How have you been faring?” Clay asked.

  “I’ve been better.” Monk shrugged. “Mrs. Cohen found some Passover grub in a pantry. We’ve been living off Matzo and horseradish for the past day, but it’s been better than the slop they used to serve in the Gre
at War. Synagogue provides more cover as well, and the rabbi kept a good stash of guns and ammunition for his businesses.” He looked at Harvey. “I don’t know if I should’ve mentioned that.”

  “It’s okay, sir. I sort of knew about it already,” Harvey replied.

  “And what happened here?” Zipporah asked. “Did the Dagger Men just take over?”

  “Exactly,” Monk agreed. “They muscled their way in, first thing after Rabbi Eisendrath made his kooky sermon to the whole city.” He pointed down the street. “You should’ve seen it, Miss Sarfati. An army of dead Romans came, along with countless golems. The whole city shook, and spat bricks at any automobile trying to drive away. Most of the folks were still in the synagogue, and then Rabbi Eisendrath came over with his army and ordered them out. Nobody wanted to go, but Rabbi Holtz made them—he knew what would happen otherwise.” Monk smiled. “Your pop’s a good man, Harvey. He surrendered himself to buy time for his younger brother and me to escape.”

  “So he’s a prisoner?” Harvey asked. “Did the Dagger Men hurt him? And did my uncle make it away? And what about all the people camping in the street, and where is my father, and—” The questions poured out of him, fueled by fear.

  Cohen raised a finger. “One question at a time, Harvey.” Her eyes went sad. “We tried to get your brother to safety, but the Dagger Men stopped us. Monk and I made it back here, but they got Herbert and dragged him away. He’s with your father now.” She paused. “As far as I know, they are both still alive.”

  “Well, that’s good, then,” Harvey said. “We can rescue them, right?”

  “We’ll see, child,” Zipporah said. “Monk, Mrs. Cohen—what about you?”

  “We escaped and made it back here.” Monk pointed out the door. “As you can see, we’ve done okay for ourselves. The Dagger Men tried to get in. We didn’t let them. Now, they’re not even keeping an eye on us. They know we’re not going anywhere—not as long as they got our boss—and they’re trying to starve us out.” He licked his lips. “If Mrs. Cohen didn’t discover that pantry, they might have succeeded. We ain’t got enough ammunition to hold out for long either. The machine gun ran dry during the afternoon. We figure they’ll come again in the morning, and then we’ll be finished.”

  “No.” Clay didn’t like the idea of Cohen and Monk trapped here—not when they were needed elsewhere. “We’re gathering our strength in Chinatown, preparing to take back the city. A witch doctor joined us, a Negro named Dr. Cutte. He’s set up some kind of magical boundary around the Benevolent Merchantman’s Association. Keeps the golems out.”

  “I know the place,” Monk said. “A Tong front. Them Chinamen got a swell casino there.”

  “So we’re to go there and wait for you? Abandon the rabbi?” Cohen spat on the ground. “I abandoned Villa. He made me leave his service, just as the Revolution ended. Now he is dead, murdered by coward assassins who gunned him down in his own car.” She clasped the handle of her machete. “My husband is dead, killed by Federales in the dust of a nameless canyon. My general is gone too. I will not let it happen again.”

  “You’re in no shape to help rescue the rabbi,” Clay said. “You need to get some rest, heal up, and then help us take back the city, with Rabbi Holtz at your side.” He pointed to the rear of the synagogue. “Use the secret entrance in the basement that connects to the Garden of Eden Speakeasy and get back to Chinatown. We’ll return soon, with Rabbi Holtz, and then we’ll fight the Dagger Men.” He gripped her arm. “You won’t fail your leader. You have my word.”

  “Go, Mrs. Cohen,” Zipporah urged. “We’ll join you soon.”

  “It’s what my father would want,” Harvey said. “Please.” His voice cracked as he pleaded.

  Cohen opened her mouth to protest and then sighed deeply. She leaned against the doorway, suddenly looking very tired. “Very well,” she muttered. “But you will not turn me away from the final battle.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zipporah turned to Monk. “Where’d they take the rabbi and his brother?”

  Monk shivered. “That’d be Palisade Park—though it’s not called that anymore.” He leaned closer. “They call it Sheol. That’s the land of the dead for you Jewish people, right? And it’s lived up to that name. The place is guarded with a squad of Roman skeletons, and beyond that, they got a bunch of golems lurking around and watching things. They said that all the pagan gods get to go there, living in exile and shame. They did the same to your father, Harvey, and your uncle, and poor Professor West. I think they’re gonna turn Palisade Park into some kind of prison. They’ll just throw whatever they don’t like into the park, and bring people by to gawk at them.”

  “Oh.” Harvey stared at his Buster Browns. “Why is Professor West there?” he asked suddenly. “I guess they think my father is a hypocrite, and Herbert’s obviously against them, but why the professor? He always seemed like such a nice man.”

  Clay knew, and so did Zipporah. “Professor West is a certain sort of man who has... predilections that the Bible disagrees with,” Clay said. “That’s why he’s there.”

  “He won’t be there much longer,” Harvey announced. “We’re gonna rescue them all.”

  “My general is gone too. I will not let it happen again.”

  Zipporah couldn’t help smiling. “You think we can sneak past those Roman guards? Palisade Park has only one real entrance, you know.”

  “So we’ll make a distraction.” A plan appeared in Clay’s hard head. “Mrs. Cohen, Monk—about ten minutes after we leave, you start firing at some of the legionary sentries posted at the borders of Neptune Row. Keep the firing light. A couple rifle rounds should do the job, and then double back here. Put up a few traps like the one we nearly triggered, and they should be kept busy for a long time.” He hated the idea of using the synagogue as a trap that would be the end of Roman skeletons and golems, but there was no way around it. “The legionaries guarding the entrance will start chasing after you, and then we’ll go in. Harvey has a spell that will keep the golems—and the city—from seeing us. We’ll rescue Rabbi Holtz and Herbert and depart.”

  “And we better skedaddle quickly,” Zipporah said. “I don’t know how long Harvey’s spell will hold.”

  “It should keep us safe, unless we’re directly spotted,” Harvey said. “Or at least, I hope it will.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Cohen sounded skeptical.

  “It’s the only way.” Clay held out his hand. “I’ll see you in Chinatown, and then we’ll put a stop to this Dagger Men nonsense for good.”

  “Well, hallelujah.” Monk shook Clay’s hand. Cohen did the same.

  Then, they split up. Clay, Zipporah, and Harvey doubled back and returned to Haven Street. They hastened into the nearest alley, took a side street a few blocks further, and approached the darkened mass of Palisade Park. It towered above the docks. Usually, the park blossomed with colorful strings of neon light as soon as the sun set, making it look like some strange fairyland eager to receive visitors. That had changed now. Shadows covered the amusement park, and the struts of the roller coaster looked pale in the starlight so that they resembled pillars of bone. Enchanted green flames flickered in a few places in the park, making the air look sickly and strange. The Elephantine Hotel had no lights at all, and resembled a great elephantine shadow. The archway above the entrance had not been destroyed, though the colorful letters had been smashed and broken so that only jagged edges remained. A plank dangled below on a pair of chains, with ‘Sheol’ burned into the wood.

  The park was guarded too. Below the archway, two columns of Roman infantry and centurions waited to attack any potential invaders. A pair of ballistae sat further back on the dock, like modern machine gun posts. Clay could make out mobile, dark shapes inside Sheol itself. Those had to be the golem guardians of the Dagger Men’s prisoners.

 
Harvey started to leave the alley, but Zipporah took hold of his arm. “We need to wait.”

  “But my father—” Harvey started.

  “Just wait. Just a little more.” Zipporah glanced at her wristwatch. “Monk and Mrs. Cohen won’t take long.”

  A flash of sudden light proved her words true. The flare whistled into the air from the direction of the synagogue and snaked into the sky, rocketing up on a thin tendril of smoke, and then arcing downwards with a deep rush. It bathed the street ahead of them in brilliant light, illuminating the empty tenements, the destroyed streets, and the snorting aurochs. Gunfire followed—the crack of rifle rounds echoing through Haven Street. Clay couldn’t see much, but he heard the rustle of skeletal feet as the Romans raced to attack Cohen and Monk. He turned back across the street.

  The legionaries guarding Sheol formed up. More seconds ticked past, and the rifle shots increased. Would the legionaries abandon their posts? Clay didn’t know how much intelligence or discipline these skeletons had. They had been some of the greatest fighters in the world, but that was when they had meat on their bones. Now, they were empty shells—carrying out their orders without a care. He balled his hands into fists and waited. A second more, and the legionaries moved. Their column marched into the street and hurried away, leaving the entrance to the docks open. Clay held Harvey’s shoulder and waited until they turned the corner, and they made their move.

  They dashed from the alley, ran across the street, and hurried under the swaying sign welcoming them to Sheol. The two skeletons manning the ballistae remained. They swiveled the oversized crossbows at Clay and Zipporah—but didn’t get a chance to fire. Zipporah hurled her scimitar at one skeleton, and the blade plunged between his ribs and stabbed out through his back. Clay reached the other before he could fire, grabbed the ballista, and ripped it from the ground. He smashed it against the skeleton. Bone and wood shattered, and Clay dropped what was left of the ballista onto the dock. Harvey hurried to join them.