Chapter 1

A forgotten suburb of London August 1914 AD

Thick muck squelched beneath his boots as Stephen Horn strode down the alley, his nose twitching and his mouth downturned all the while. In the back of his mind, it registered that he wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion, but then again, was he ever? He risked a glance at his feet and the slop that was now splattered upon both legs.  He did not like what he saw. His new suit was ruined, his favourite shoes destroyed — it was a poor choice for the back streets of Olde London upon reflection.  

Stephen readjusted his cloth cap and tucked his cane beneath the crook of his elbow.  It was probably foolish to bring the weapon with him to the shop, however, it was a necessary precaution when travelling the Semita Mortuis, and he was not going to leave it in his automobile where any idiot could find it. Stephen rounded a corner and stopped in his tracks.  Empty crates and shipping containers were stacked in towering piles with only a narrow path in between.  The Old Man’s been busyStephen thought, as he turned sideways and slipped between the precariously placed boxes.  Ahead he could see his goal, the shop.  It was a long squat warehouse firmly nestled between two vacant factories.  Made of red brick walls and capped with a dark tile roof, it could be mistaken for any mundane workhouse or storeroom like the other hundred similar buildings in the area.  Its only discerning feature was a wooden sign that stretched the width of its enormous iron door.  Painted in red on a field of pale yellow was a jumble of symbols.  To the untrained eye it would appear to be gibberish or the writings of a mad child.  To those in Stephen’s particular trade it read ‘The Dragon’s Hoard: Purveyors of the exotic and rare goods’.

Stephen wormed his way clear of the crates and clambered up some low stairs.  At the top he struck the foot of his cane against the iron door.  It boomed loudly with each blow, fine rust falling where the cane struck.  Stephen didn’t care if he woke the whole neighbourhood, so long as it included the guard.  He stepped back, neck craning up to the viewing portal.  From inside he could hear the faint mutterings and heavy footsteps of the doorkeeper.  With a screech, the rusted portal slid open.  Through a haze of tobacco smoke Stephen could see red eyes the size of grapefruits swivel around lazily until they finally rested on him.

“You.” a gravelly voice rumbled from beyond the door.

“Me,” replied Stephen, his cane resting at an angle and a hand on one hip.

The red orbs regarded him closely, their penetrating stare broken only by the excruciatingly slow movement of the eyelids.  Finally, the doorkeeper spoke.  “What do you want?” Stephen sighed.  It should be rather obvious, shouldn’t it? “I would like to come in.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean? No?”

“We’re closed.”

“Closed for what? Spring cleaning? Let me in. I demand an audience!”

“He said no-one was to bother him.”

Stephen stole a glance at the multitude of boxes and crates around him.  His mind making the connection — of course, he’s busy itemising and cataloguing all his new finds!  All the more reason he needed to get in.

 “We won’t be letting no-one bother him, will we?  No nobodies will cross this threshold.  Not with your brilliant post to prevent them.  But I will be admitted.  Yes.  Because as you can quite clearly see, I am most certainly a someone.  Not a no-one.  Now open the door.”

As always, it was a chore gaining entrance to the shop, no matter which entrance you tried, no matter the hour.  The Old Man didn’t hire the smartest of gatekeepers, but they were diligent in their duty. The red eyes behind the portal glared back at Stephen suspiciously.  Without another word the doorkeeper slammed shut the cover with a loud clang.  Stephen nervously twisted the grip on his cane.  All of his plans hinged on being admitted tonight.  There was a steam ship leaving tomorrow for Ireland and he intended to be on it.  It pained Stephen to think it all rested on a creature with hair for brains.  If he failed here, there was nowhere else in Britain that could possibly help him with the equipment he needed.

Beyond the door came the sound of heavy iron cogs turning, though whether the noise meant locking or unlocking, Stephen couldn’t say.  As he was about to turn and leave, the doors groaned open and the pungent scent of dirt, tobacco, herbs and burnt hair buffeted him.  Then, through a miasma of smoke the portly visage of the doorkeeper appeared.

At seven feet tall, Dogsbody was a giant compared to Stephen, but a dwarf compared to his brothers.  Dry, flaking clay clung to him like skin over the matted hair and herb mixture he was woven from.  Dogsbody held a cigar tightly between his motley brown teeth that filled his bucket of a mouth.  His enchanted eyes swivelled around, assessing Stephen up and down and looking along the passage behind him.  “You had better be alone. He won’t like it if you bring no-one with you.”

Stephen smiled and, doffing his hat, bent in an elegant bow. “I wouldn’t dare dream of it.”

Dogsbody’s jaw worked soundlessly as he chewed over the words in his head.  With a lurch he turned from Stephen and pulled a large lever on the wall.  The iron doors swung closed to the chorus of clanking machinations. “Follow me,” Dogsbody mouthed[HTG1]  pronounced over the giant cigar as he shambled down a dark corridor. With a quickening heart, Stephen followed.  

The path Dogsbody took led down a slight incline which spiralled deeper into the ground.  Gas lamps hung suspended from chains to light the way. Dogsbody’s enormous head struck one every so often, causing the lamp to bob or spin.  The dancing, manic light frayed Stephen’s taut nerves. His feet sliding on the moist brick, he followed behind his silent guide.

Before long, the ramp levelled off and became a long, arched corridor.  Side corridors split off left and right at regular intervals leading to specialised storage areas.  The Old Man’s minions were busy at work shifting boxes, crates, curios and oddities.  Curses, shouts, and commands rang out from every nook whilst a dozen different odours vied for supremacy in Stephen’s nose.  Some of the creatures stopped to stare at him as he passed.  Stephen grimaced and kept his eyes forward, wary of drawing any more of their attention.

“We’re here,” said Dogsbody as he puffed on his ridiculous cigar.  

The corridor ended, opening up to a vast circular room with a ceiling that seemed to stretch up and up for ever.  Stephen forgot himself and gawked slack-jawed around him.  Look at all the new merchandise! Stephen thought, astounded, I could get lost in here.

It took Stephen a moment to realise that he was alone.  With Dogsbody’s hulking frame disappearing behind a tower of books, Stephen quickened his pace to catch up, giving the marvels around him, only a minor glance.  They journeyed to the centre of the room, passing displays of weapons, armour and curios, everything stacked in orderly rows of head-high shelves.  In front of Stephen, a circular wooden dais was raised up from the ground, rough stone blocks of different sizes and colour forming stairs to its top.  An ornately crafted desk stood in its centre, behind which sat a large wing-backed chair.  As Stephen drew closer the chair’s occupant could be seen.

The Old Man wore a black suit with a silk shirt beneath, unbuttoned to show a heavy gold amulet resting on milk white skin. Stephen was hoping to catch him in a congenial mood. The anger plainly written across his hard face caused Stephen to falter a step.

The man seated before Stephen did not look like the sobriquet that had been invented for him by his clientele. The Old Man’s true name had been forgotten but his deeds stretched back for as long as any could recall.  To the casual observer he appeared to be a lean, attractive man in his thirties.  His eyes, though, were the telling feature, as old and weathered as the mountains and worn and tired by the centuries.

Dogsbody stopped at the foot of the stone steps and removed the cigar from his mouth, hiding it behind his back as though no-one could smell it.  Stephen stopped beside him, never presuming for a second to ascend the steps, for if the gossip was true, the last one who tried was incinerated on the spot.  The Old Man had his customs and rules, which had been learnt the hard way by his customers over the centuries. Chief of which was that nobody was to approach him without consent, especially when he was perched on his dais. The Old Man spat in the face of the conventional practices of trade. The customer certainly was not always right, and their feelings could be damned. He didn’t need your money – but you certainly needed him. So he waited, his heart beating faster with every moment’s pause, while those cold grey eyes weighed him silently.  Please don’t turn me back, not now.  Stephen thought desperately to himself.

“Mister Horn.  My, it has been a long time since our last meeting.  Too long for apparently you’ve forgotten all etiquette.” The Old Man said, his eyes fixed on Stephens cap.

Stephen smiled apologetically and swept the hat from his head.  The Old Man’s eyes lowered to the cane under Stephen’s elbow.  Still smiling, Stephen hid the cane behind his back.  Dogsbody growled beside him.

The Old Man raised an eyebrow, prompting him to speak.

“Ah… business in the East has kept me from these shining shores for some time. Please forgive my rudeness.  I forgot myself in my haste.” said Stephen through his teeth.

The Old Man waved a hand dismissively at Stephen’s apology.  “Yes. I’m sure.  It was Ireland before that.  Was it not?  You’re quite the traveller aren’t you.”

Trying not to show how startled he was, Stephen wondered how the Old Man knew that information.

 “It runs in the family.”

A humourless smile crept along The Old Man’s face.  “This is true.” He glared at Stephen over interlocked fingers as he slouched back into his chair.  Dogsbody shuffled nervously, ill at ease in his master’s presence.  The Old Man turned from Stephen to the bugbear.

“You may leave.  But mark my words, creature.  Nobody else is to disturb me again tonight or I’ll fill you with lice.  Do you understand me?”

The giant nodded nervously in answer before giving Stephen an ugly look that promised retribution.  He lumbered off with heavy footsteps, his pungent aroma trailing after him.  

The Old Man sighed and looked to the heavens.  Shaking his head, he said “I need to grow some better help.  I’m surrounded by morons.”

Stephen coughed into his fist.  The Old Man rounded back onto Stephen with a sly grin.  “Present company excluded of course.”

“Of course,” replied Stephen through a forced smile.

“So, Mr Horn, what brings you to town? Business I assume?”

“Isn’t it always?”

The Old Man leapt from his chair and strode to the edge of the dais.  “Let’s not waste another moment, shall we?”  He hopped down the irregular stone steps with ease to stand before Stephen. “We have many new acquisitions.  Some that will benefit a man in your line of work most handsomely.”  The Old Man swept his arm in a wide arc to encompass his magnificent store. “So, what will it be, the usual order?”  He pointed to the northern side of the dome where row upon row sat bottles, jars and boxes filled with rare and exotic ingredients from around the globe.  “Or something slightly strange?”  The Old Man searched Stephen’s face for a clue.

Starting to sweat Stephen tried to not give anything away, knowing that if he did, The Old Man would charge him double.

The Old Man suddenly smiled.  “Follow me,”

Stephen trailed behind as a dark feeling of foreboding came over him.

“What do you make of this war going on?”  The Old Man spoke over his shoulder as he entered an aisle filled with toys and ancient figurines.

Stephen bit his lip. Why was The Old Man making small talk? What was he playing at?

 “A horrible thing… they are calling it a ‘World War’ now.  Imagine that.  It’s hard to see what the purpose is or what they will achieve out of it.” 

The Old Man stopped and ran a long sinewy finger over a dusty music box. “Oh, I wouldn’t say it lacked purpose. Originality maybe… nobody starts a war like they did in our day.” The Old Man quickly glanced at Stephen and sighed. “Or rather I should say my day.” Turning, he continued on, eyes searching everywhere along the cluttered shelves.  

Stephen followed one step behind.  

“Nothing good will come of this feud” The Old Man said in a hushed voice, “its outcome will have severe repercussions for us all. This I have seen. It would be best to find a quiet corner of the world and let it pass you by.”

“I have a place in mind,” Stephen replied.

“Good,” said The Old Man with a knowing wink.

They meandered together down several aisles, The Old Man turning left or right at various junctions, his eyes inspecting every item on every shelf.  Stephen was growing impatient.  He wanted to buy something that would fool the Sidhe and then leave the shop, not walk around gossiping.

The Old Man spoke as they walked. “There is nothing on this earth more detestable than murdering one’s own kin.  This war in the west is a doomed affair, and I swear the victor will reap terrible rewards.  I just pray that they don’t focus their intentions eastwards too soon.”

Stephen shook his head as he mulled over The Old Man’s strange words.

“The war is in the east sir.  Germany, France, Russia.  It’s already quite convoluted. Almost all of Europe is involved or soon will be.  At least they should not find their way into Olde Rome…”

“I’m talking about the real war, you fool boy!” The Old Man snapped at him, an elegant finger jabbing at Stephen’s chest with every word.

“That pathetic pissing contest in Europe is nothing compared to the bloodshed sweeping through the western worlds.  The descendants of vile Remus are locked in civil war, his two favourites vying for the Twisted Crown.  But no matter who mounts the throne, I can tell you for certain, it will only be a matter of time till they march on Rome and all that stands in their way.”

Stephen stepped back from the onslaught, bumping into a shelf and causing several objects to wobble precariously.  He felt the blood drain from his face and sweat began to bead on his forehead.  The Old Man loomed over him, mouth turned down and cold eyes boring into his.  

“Remus is dead…” was all Stephen could stammer.

“And his wolves will march,” snarled The Old Man.

“Life beyond!  And you’re certain they will attack Rome?  What about the Porta Caeli?” asked Stephen, his voice rising.

“It has always been their intention to seek revenge on Quirinus.  Remus was far too feeble in his old age.  His sons, however, have supped on his poisonous words for centuries.  As for the Porta Caeli, I have no idea.  The Novus Ordo have made no friends this side of Paradise.  With Quirinus gone, it would be easy pickings,” replied The Old Man, shrugging.

“This is not good.  This is not good at all,” said Stephen. “We need to do something about it!”

“We? What do you propose we do, Mr Horn?” replied The Old Man.

Stephen clicked his fingers as he thought. “We should assemble an army of our own, one to rival the wolves!” he blurted.

“Think before you speak, Stephen,” replied The Old Man snidely.  “An army to rival the Western Hordes, you say?  Who would fight for Rome and the Novus Ordo?  The magical races are dying if you hadn’t noticed.  They will not flock to defend the very order which has doomed them.”

“But surely they must see it affects us all?  Without the Porta Caeli, mortal life is threatened,” declared Stephen.

“And that matters to the likes of the Dökkálfar or the Ljósálfar?  The Sidhe or the Fomori?  The goblins, sprites and spirits of the earthly realms?  The immortals are angry, Horn.  Don’t you see it? How can they fight for Life, when Life has betrayed them?” replied The Old Man.   

Stephen wilted. The implications of a sacked Rome spelled disaster for all.  With the Porta Caeli destroyed, there would be no new Life on the mortal plane.  No Life…

Stephen thought of his pregnant wife, lost to him within the Sidhe mounds.  Could he bring a child into the world with such a bleak future?  Yes.  He could and he would.  It was too late to back out now.  Stephen would find a way.  He just had to rescue them first.  Stephen was roused from his thoughts.  

The Old Man was smiling back at him knowingly. “Of course, I cannot speak for everyone, Horn.  There may be another way, I hear the Sidhe plan to leave this plane for good, setting sail over their twilight ocean for the realms beyond.  Maybe if a union was created between the Sidhe and Hordes, they would abandon their vendetta and leave us all alone,” droned The Old Man, his eyes glowing.

Stephen stared at the pale man, transfixed.  The idea of a joining of Remus’s lot with the Sidhe branded itself in his mind. A union, yes, that could work.

The Old Man snapped his fingers and Stephen blinked, bringing his attention back.

“I was talking about the Sidhe.  I guess you would know all about them though, wouldn’t you?” said The Old Man.

“What? That little thing? It was a couple of churches… Nobody was hurt,” replied Stephen as his pulse started to race.

“Oh, I know all about you, Horn.  I know what you have done.  More importantly, I know what you want.”  The Old Man spread his arms wide, gesturing to the dark dome above and the laden shelves around them.  “I have many things that you desire.  All but one.”  With a wolfish grin and a nasty gleam to his eye, The Old Man leaned in closer. “And you shall never have her.”

Ice gripped at Stephen’s heart as The Old Man’s words sank in.  Distraught Stephen could only thinkof his wife and baby.

Muadhnait is lost to me, he thought, they both are.

With numb hands he fretted feebly with his cane, turning and clasping at the ivory ornament. “How… How do you know?” Stephen asked hoarsely.

“I trade in more than just the material, Mr Horn. To some, information is just as important.”

Stephen felt the stirrings of anger as he noticed the man in front of him smiling at his misfortune. “But how? What do you know? Tell me!”

The Old Man casually picked up a wooden box and blew on the lid sending up a cloud of dust.  He inspected the lid before answering.  “No mortal can enter the realms of the Sidhe uninvited, and you, Stephen, are most certainly unwelcome.”

Stephen shook his head and wiped away the perspiration.  The Old Man hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know but hearing it aloud brought back bad memories and roused old feelings.  Images ran through Stephen’s mind of a cold, unforgiving night lashed with rain.  The hillside slick with mud and his own blood.  Broken fingernails scrabbling through the rocky ground.  Laughter ringing through the trees.

Stephen licked his lips nervously as he tried to push the images out of his mind. “But there must be a way in.  There must.  A back door or something.”

“Better men than you have tried and failed,” said The Old Man through a sneer.  “Give up this foolish quest for love. Fight for Rome if it distracts you.”

“And abandon the woman I love?  The child too?  What would you know of love anyway?” Stephen said in a rasped voice.  “A love of money and dust?”

The Old Man took his eyes off Stephen and regarded the floor, jaw working as he ground his teeth.  “I know more about love and heart break than you think, Mr Horn.  I have lived a long life.  I’ve seen it all and lived it all, centuries of betrayal, scorn, tortured pride and unrequited desire.  You are just learning what I’m trying to forget.”

Stephen’s hands balled into fists.  He wanted to rage.  He wanted blood and broken bones and singed flesh.  He wanted to tear the vaulted ceiling down with his hands, right on top of the petty creature in front of him.

But most of all he wanted her.

Stephen would sell his soul to have her back.  “So, if you understand my predicament wholly, surely you must see that I will do anything to be reunited with her.  Anything.”

A dangerous gleam flashed across The Old Man’s eyes too fast for Stephen to notice. “Anything, you say?”

“Anything,” Stephen said evenly, without hesitation. 

The room went dark. Stephen felt a weight pressing at him from all sides, holding him in place.  Desperate, and confined in the one spot, he tried to wiggle free.  The weight increased steadily until he thought he would burst.  He fell to his knees, the force of the impact magnified by the crushing pressure.  Stephen cried out.  A cold hand gripped his chin, jerking it upwards.

The Old Man stood over Stephen, his eyes blazing in the darkness. “Three times you agreed to the exchange without stipulating payment.  Three times you will be cursed if you should break the agreement.  Do you deny this?”

Stephen shook his head slowly in reply, his horror rising as he understood his error. He had walked into the trap headlong, his emotions getting the better of him.  The Old Man had him right where he wanted him.

“Good.  In return for my services, I set the following payment.  After the birth of the third generation of your kin I will take my due.  Know that it shall be very important to you.  You will be greatly saddened by the loss.  You must not hinder me in any way.”

Stephen sobbed loudly in a confusion of pain and regret.  

The Old Man snarled and, grabbing a fistful of hair, pulled Stephen painfully to his feet. “Lastly, you are banned for life from my establishment.  Set foot in here again and I will destroy you.  Utterly.  Do you understand me?”

Tears streamed down Stephen’s face. He looked into the cold, penetrating eyes of The Old Man.  “I… I…” Stephen stammered, unsure of the course he was plotting.  On one hand, he would receive an object that would guarantee the return of his family, on the other, if he took the item, he would be in debt to The Old Man for an undisclosed price.

“Answer me, man. Yes or no?”

Stephen was transfixed, he couldn’t give up now.

“I agree to your terms,” Stephen whispered.  

The Old Man clapped his hands and laughed manically.  Sparks flew when his hands met.  The pressure relented and Stephen collapsed on the ground.

“You really are an idiot, Horn!  I thought you would have learned to stay clear of magic after that debacle in Ireland!  In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say,” laughed The Old Man.  He threw the wooden box he had been holding at Stephen.  It landed inches from his nose.  

From where Stephen lay, he could read the crude Ogham script which had been chiselled on its outside.  His eyes widened with each word deciphered.

“That was far too easy.” said The Old Man as he turned to leave.  “Escort him out will you?”  Still chuckling, he started to walk away.  He stopped after a few paces. “And say hello to Bodb for me!”

Stephen stared daggers at The Old Man’s back.  For a moment he entertained the thought of chasing him down and spitting him on the end of his cane.  Two burly guards appeared from behind a row of shelving however, dashing his dreams of revenge.  Stephen groaned and gathered his belongings from where he had dropped them, carefully cradling the wooden box to his chest.

“Move it,” hissed a serpentine guard as he nudged Stephen in the ribs.

Stephen plodded forwards as more laughter sprung up from the shadows.  Clenching his jaw, he tried to piece together what had just happened. He had bargained for what he wanted, but at what cost?  The Old Man had tricked him that was for certain.  The talk of war had distracted Stephen, The Old Man touching on nerves he knew would disarm him.  Then he had changed the topic so quickly back to himself, baiting Stephen with the Sidhe.  The Old Man knew far too much about him than was reasonable. He had obviously planned this exchange.

After the birth of the third generation of your kin, I will take my due…

Stephen felt sick.

The Old Man had planned on giving away the object from the beginning.  It was all a ploy to make Stephen give away something in the future without putting up a fight.  And what did that comment about Bodb mean? Did The Old Man tell the fairy king where to find Stephen and Muadhnait? Was he responsible for this whole mess? Numb and emotionally drained, Stephen stumbled through the shop towards the exit. Hideous monsters jeered and catcalled at him as he passed.  He had the seed of a plan to save his wife and child.  Now he needed one to safeguard against The Old Man and the impending war.