"Funny Little Kid Named Benny"
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dochermes"Funny Little Kid Named Bennie"
4/19/1997
I.
At full speed, Jeremy Bane raced headlong at the seven-foot-high stone fence, leaped straight up and caught the top with both hands, swung his legs up to one side and cleared the fence entirely. He landed lightly on toes and fingertips on the other side without a hint of noise. Bane froze, slowing his breathing until his enhanced hearing kicked in. Nothing. He rose smoothly to his feet and stood in the gloom of a sultry April night, still staying alert and probing the night with his senses.
The Dire Wolf was almost invisible in the darkness with his usual all-black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. He stared up the gentle hill to the three-story run-down mansion where lights burned in only three windows on the ground floor. Bane hated acting without enough information, without even a little research on the enemy or time to set strategy. But the tip had come from his most trusted observer, Bleak, and if the Goons were going out tonight, it meant more deaths. If he could prevent a Goon rampage, he had to try.
Stalking up the hill toward the mansion, Bane figured where he would place a guard to watch the grounds. That cluster of silver birch trees on a little rise. Keeping low and moving quickly, the Dire Wolf circled around to approach any sentry from behind and he was not disappointed. Sitting on the ground between the trees was a man in a down-filled coat, holding a pair of binoculars and with a Marlin 30-30 propped up within reach. Perfect. Bane became a blur of perfect motion, lunging in to crack the edge of his stiff open hand to the joining of the guard's neck and shoulder. The man grunted and fell over sideways and Bane caught the rifle before it would make a noise.
In the distance, feet padded softly on the grass, coming closer. They sounded heavier and clumsier than what normal Humans would make. Bane stepped away from the clump of trees and waited. In a few seconds, he could make out the hulking silhouettes of a half dozen Goons lumbering toward him. Even in the murk, he could how much longer their arms were than normal, how much wider their shoulders and shorter their legs. Running, they were bent far forward with their hands touching the ground almost as apes would run.
The Goons were much quicker than he had expected. Fast as tigers. They were rushing on top of him within a few seconds. Bane swerved to one side, giving an elbow to the back of the head of a Goon as it dove past him, then meet the next one with a straight short punch to the face that stopped the monster dead in its tracks and flipped it over backwards.
Four of the creatures tackled him from all directions. Bane crouched and spun, throwing one off but the Goons were too strong for normal tactics. Even as they brought him down to the cold grass, the Dire Wolf got his left hand on the hilt of the silver dagger sheathed under the sleeve on his left arm. In another second, he could slice his way free....
There were three sharp thumping noises and the Goons fell away from him. For once, even Bane was taken by surprise. As he leaped back up onto his feet, he found himself standing next to a strange little boy.
Maybe eleven years old at the most, well under five feet tall, the boy was immensely fat. His body looked like a beach ball in khaki slacks and a white long-sleeved dress shirt with a black necktie. Bane was confounded for a second. The boy stared at him blankly through thick-lensed eyeglasses over a snub nose in a round moonface. The black hair looked as if it had been cut by placing a bowl over his head and shearing away everything outside the bowl.
Slowly, the strange kid reached up and stuck the end of a candy cane in his mouth. "Might thank me," he mumbled.
"You... YOU knocked these Goons out?" Bane demanded, glancing around but seeing no one else in sight.
"Wasn't Sugar Ray Robinson," answered the kid. "Watch yourself. Could get hurt." With that, he turned and started waddling away. Over one shoulder, he muttered, "Name's Bennie."
"I could get hurt? Wait. Come back here, I can't let a minor wander around this place." Bane took a step forward and paused. The boy was gone, just like that.
For a long moment, the Dire Wolf stood motionless, unable to digest what he had just seen. How could it be possible? Was he hallucinating? Maybe that was the answer, maybe someone like Indigo the Illusionist had made him think he saw a fat little boy rescue him from four Goons. Bane bent and examined the snoring monsters. They were stunned, all right. One was bleeding from a scalp cut on the bald cone-shaped skull. If not that kid, then someone had definitely bludgeoned these brutes hard.
Not having had a good look at Goons before, the Dire Wolf examined them. They all seemed identical. A little under six feet tall, maybe two hundred and forty pounds, with those long arms and short legs that gave them simian proportions. They were wearing simple flannel trousers and white T-shirts, and were barefoot. Bane saw with interest that their big toes stuck out at an angle that suggested they were prehensile.
Stepping back, he admitted he still wasn't sure what these Goons were. They had been reported three times in the metropolitan area and each time seemingly random people had been roughed up but not killed. Nothing was stolen. There was no connection between the victims that the NYPD could see, and in desperation Lt Montez had come to the Dire Wolf Agency and unofficially asked for help.
Bane had gone through his network of observers and gotten a tip from Bleak to check out this house on the east coast of Staten Island. With a jolt, he took off into the direction the strange little boy had been heading. He spotted the kid standing almost at the rear of the mansion, where a shiny black Mercedes was parking on a paved turnaround. As Bane neared, he saw the boy - Bennie?- was next to a black and white housecat.
The strange little boy said in his laconic way, "Boots. Long time no see."
And Bane froze in disbelief as the cat answered him in a teenage girl's voice, "Hiya, Bennie. I suppose you want to face down Belaric?"
"Don't wanna. Have to."
Bane stared, watching as the cat's mouth moved when she spoke. The girl voice went on, "Well, if anyone can stop his nonsense, it's you. He has Shy Anne the Hag with him, as well as a bunch of those stupid Goons she makes from his stooges. Listen. Go in the front door. Shy Anne let me out and I didn't hear her lock it. I have to go now." And the cat stretched, tilted her head quizzically at the dumbfounded Bane and sauntered off.
The boy turned his head as if it were an imposition, saw Bane and showed no reaction at all.
"You... you were talking to a cat? And the cat talked back?" the Dire Wolf managed to get out in a voice that sounded very unsteady to himself.
"Sure. Known Boots for years." He started trudging toward the front of the house. "Tag along if you like."
II.
The Dire Wolf watched as the fat little boy waddled up the hill with that gait. For a long moment, Bane struggled to accept what he had seen. Had he been drugged somehow? Was he hallucinating? He felt normal. Everything seemed sharp and clear, his mind was not foggy or confused, but this Bennie was something hard to accept. Finally, he shrugged and trotted up the hill toward the house himself. The Midnight War was full of surprises, after all.
The front door had been left wide open, and a long rectangle of yellow light spilled out onto the patio. As Bane approached, he decided to just go along with the situation. Maybe he had an ally here in this kid with unexplained abilities. He had certainly fought alongside other strange beings. As he swung around the front of the decrepit old house, a tall figure filled the door opening to block his way.
This guy has zombie written all over him, Bane thought. The man was maybe three inches over six feet tall but starved-looking with long thin arms and legs. He wearing an old-fashioned butler uniform that hung loosely on his frame. The pale bony face had sunken cheeks and dark circles under staring pale blue eyes that watched Bane approach.
"All right, step aside," the Dire Wolf snapped. "Let's skip the usual games."
The butler made a rumbling noise that sounded like deep agony. One big hand came down like an anvil on Bane's shoulder and a normal man would have been brought to his knees by the impact but Bane gave with the contact. He seized wrist and forearm, swivelled and twisted that arm in an aikido-based throw that should have flung the butler over and out into the night. But the big man did not budge, it was as if he was rooted to the floor. His other open hand swung in a slap that would have had fatal results if it had connected squarely. Bane crouched below it and drove an elbow up into the center of that bloodless face with a noise like an axe chopping wood.
The butler didn't seem to be harmed or even feel pain but he was driven back a step. The Dire Wolf swung sideways and blasted a high side kick to the the chest, giving it more impact than he normally would. As the tall man staggered, Bane closed in and connected with a left hook that had every bit of speed and precision he had. The butler fell sideways, catching himself against the wall to his side and had started to straighten up when a follow-up backfist spun him the other way. Finally, the butler dropped to the floor but he was still not unconscious. He remained on hands and knees.
"You're not cooperating," Bane muttered. As the butler started to rise, the Dire Wolf gave him a front snap kick to the side of the head that hurled the man up against the wall with a thump. That did it. The butler rolled over onto his back and began to breathe loudly. At least that showed he was a living creature. Watching him suspiciously for a second, Bane swung around to take in his surroundings.
He was in a short hallway with a narrow door on either side and two high doors in the wall facing him. The house was in bad repair, with mildew in the air and cobwebs everywhere. The deacon's bench and coatrack and cabinet had once been elegant but were not cracked. On one wall hung an oil painting of a glum-faced man in a black judge's robe, scowling down at the world. Sitting on top of the cabinet was a small mounted animal.. a two-headed turtle. Bane decided it was real. There was no sign of that strange little kid named Bennie.
One of the side doors opened a crack, and a round bald head peered out. There was a high-pitched giggle. "Oh, Gulch deserved that. The big creep."
Bane lunged and seized the edge of that door with one hand, yanking the bald man forcibly out into the hall. "Let's talk," he told the man quietly.
The old man was short and pudgy, wearing some sort of monk's robe of coarse thick material, with the cowl down. He was grinning maniacally and started to laugh. "Of course, of course. What can I do for you?"
"Start with your name."
"Me? I'm Dickens, like the author. Everett Dickens, glad to be at your service. Gulch has been bullying me for ages. I'm so glad to see him get a thrashing." The round moonface thrust closer. "Ah, but I think I recognize who you are."
"Fine. I want you to take me to Belaric."
"Oh, the Children of the Night know you. The Dire Wolf." He tittered happily. "Oh, this should be good. Yes indeed. Right this way." The old man turned and led him toward the high double doors with their brass handles. "Good, good," he chuckled to himself. Dickens swung the doors inward and ushered Bane into a huge reception room.
A blazing crystal chandelier hung overhead, there was a wide curving staircase at the far end of the room. Again, the furnishings had once been luxurious but had long since deteriorated. The solid overstuffed chairs with their footrests, the round inlaid table covered with yellowed newspapers and empty champagne goblets... all were dusty and there was mold high up on the walls. A bookcase of crumbling tomes filled one wall, and a baby grand piano stood on a raised area under a picture window that was curtained. High up on one wall was a bison skull with a round hole in its forehead.
Standing facing him, thumbs in the vest of an expensive tailored suit, stood Anton Belaric. "Ah, thank Providence it's only you," laughed the warlock. "I was afraid it would be Bennie."
III.
By this point, the Dire Wolf had decided to expect weirder events than usual. He glanced back but the man Dickens was no longer in sight. The double doors clicked shut behind him.
"I'm surprised our paths haven't crossed before, old man," Belaric went on. He gestured with an unlit cigar in an expansive way. The sorcerer was below average height, impreccably groomed with short black hair and a thick mustache under a rather prominent nose. What made his gaze unsettling was that his mouth was smiling but his eyes remained cold and watchful. "You seem to have rather a grudge against, shall we say, dabblers in the mystic arts."
Bane stepped forward, arms down and hands open. "I thought you had retired, to be honest. If you were minding your own business, why not leave you alone?"
"Fair enough, old fellow. And yet here you are tonight. Uninvited, if I dare mention it." Belaric pointed with the cigar and the smile dropped. "What brings you here then?"
"Goons," Bane answered. "You know about them. I've tracked them here from their last sighting. Eleven victims, no apparent motive. I guess our unstated truce has ended."
Belaric lowered his head and looked away. "Goons.. I was hoping I was wrong. I hoped I was misunderstanding what I guessed at. Mr Bane, I did not create those Goons. I give you my word on that."
The Dire Wolf took another few steps around the huge room, picked up a knight from a carved ivory chess set that stood on its own little table and then put it down in the same spot. That was misdirection, to get him closer to the warlock. "But you know who did, of course."
"I say. Let me straighten this out, old man." Belaric's smooth voice had lost some of its mocking edge. "Give me until tomorrow night. I promise by the Dread One that there will be no more Goons."
"How do I know what your word is worth?" replied Bane. "No. It's either me resolving the problem now or a dozen heavily armed and pugnacious NYPD officers in an hour. Give me the truth now, Belaric."
Before the warlock could speak, a woman's low voice purred from the other side of the reception. "I have all the answers you could ever want, sir."
Surprised that he had not sensed her entrance and annoyed at himself, Bane snapped his attention to where she stood, holding back beads that curtained the doorway. The woman was tall and thin, almost too thin, with a narrow face that was almost too pale to be attractive. Lank glossy black hair hung down to her waist, and with the solid black floor-length dress she wore, she seemed like a pillar of night with a white face floating above it. Her full lips were curved in a sly smile.
Anton Belaric sighed. "Mr Bane, allow me to present my wife. Shy Anne, this is Jeremy Bane.."
"The Dire Wolf. Oh yes. He is quite notorious in our circles. You know, you have thoughtlessly ended the lives of some our best friends over the years. Boys, come out! The enemy is here!"
As she called, the double doors behind Bane crashed open and five of the Goons loomed up within it. More lurched into sight behind Shy Anne and she stepped aside to let them in. The misshapen faces grinned as they saw the Dire Wolf caught between the two groups. "Well, my lads, tonight is a gala occasion for you," the sorceress said. "Each of you will be allowed to keep a piece as a trophy."
Not seeming alarmed at all, the Wolf folded his arms in front of him. Anyone who knew Jeremy Bane would recognized this as a danger signal as acute as a rattlesnake shaking its tail or a tiger snarling. In an instant, the Goons would attack and Bane would whip out both silver daggers to slice them apart as fast as they came at him. He slid one foot further to the side and shifted his weight, ready for the slaughter.
"Knock it off," mumbled a flat unemotional voice. "Enough already."
Even though he had felt he was ready for any inexplicable event tonight, Bane was still taken offguard by the sudden appearance of a fat little boy in tan slacks and a white dress shirt with a black tie. The moonface was as blank and unexpressive as before, the eyes behind those thick lenses could hardly be seen. And how the hell did he get into the room and climb up on that inlaid table without being seen by everyone? He certainly wasn't built for stealth.
Even more startling, every Goon in that room shrank back in extreme terror. "Bennie!" "Bennie! Oh no!" The huge brutes flattened back against the walls and some fell to their knees in submission.
Taking the candy cane from his mouth, Bennie gestured with the sticky red and white stick. "You guys. Knock it off. Back to the dungeon."
"Yes!" "Yes, Bennie!" shouted the Goons as they hurried from the room. "Thank you for not hitting us with that candy cane!"
Left alone with the three odd humans, Jeremy Bane slowly let go of the hilts of the daggers beneath his sleeves. He knew he wasn't hallucinating or dreaming, everything was so sharp and tactile. He could smell the must in the air, he felt the thick carpeting give way beneath his boots. This was real but so strange.. suddenly he knew how it felt for civilians who accidentally stumbled onto the Midnight War.
"This is the thanks we get," sighed Anton Belaric in a hurt tone. "After all we've done for you..."
"How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child," quoted Shy Anne.
"Nuff. You swore to behave." The obese boy waggled the candy cane at the two adults and they actually cringed. "Guess I can't go away for vacation any more." He stepped down from the inlaid as lightly as a dancer despite his ungainly appearance.
"Wait. Do I understand this right?" asked Bane. "You're... their son?"
"Sure. What you think?" Bennie stuck the candy cane back in his mouth and plopped unceremonious into an easy chair, raising some dust. "Make 'em behave."
Belaric seemed extremely sheepish as he caught the Dire Wolf staring at him for explanation. "Bennie is our boy," he admitted. "He inherited more innate gralic force than anyone expected. Amazing lad. But he simply wants a quiet life."
"Behave," repeated Bennie from the chair, where he seemed to have dug up a tattered comic book. "Start no trouble."
Bane's head ached wickedly. He took a few steps over to stand in front of the strange little boy. "So... I can go now and you will keep the peace here? There won't be any more Goons going out on prowl?"
"Right." The boy blinked as if he didn't expect Bane to still be there. "Go now."
"All right, I guess." The Dire Wolf looked over at Anton and Shy Anne, who evidently were too embarrassed by the whole situation to meet his eyes. He walked over to the double doors, calming inside as his adrenalin levels dropped to normal after ramping up for a battle that hadn't come.
Taking one last look at Bennie, Bane stood with his hand on one doorknob. "So I guess I won't be encountering you folks again then?"
"Could still be trouble," Bennie muttered. "Haven't met my sister October yet."
5/19/2015
4/19/1997
I.
At full speed, Jeremy Bane raced headlong at the seven-foot-high stone fence, leaped straight up and caught the top with both hands, swung his legs up to one side and cleared the fence entirely. He landed lightly on toes and fingertips on the other side without a hint of noise. Bane froze, slowing his breathing until his enhanced hearing kicked in. Nothing. He rose smoothly to his feet and stood in the gloom of a sultry April night, still staying alert and probing the night with his senses.
The Dire Wolf was almost invisible in the darkness with his usual all-black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. He stared up the gentle hill to the three-story run-down mansion where lights burned in only three windows on the ground floor. Bane hated acting without enough information, without even a little research on the enemy or time to set strategy. But the tip had come from his most trusted observer, Bleak, and if the Goons were going out tonight, it meant more deaths. If he could prevent a Goon rampage, he had to try.
Stalking up the hill toward the mansion, Bane figured where he would place a guard to watch the grounds. That cluster of silver birch trees on a little rise. Keeping low and moving quickly, the Dire Wolf circled around to approach any sentry from behind and he was not disappointed. Sitting on the ground between the trees was a man in a down-filled coat, holding a pair of binoculars and with a Marlin 30-30 propped up within reach. Perfect. Bane became a blur of perfect motion, lunging in to crack the edge of his stiff open hand to the joining of the guard's neck and shoulder. The man grunted and fell over sideways and Bane caught the rifle before it would make a noise.
In the distance, feet padded softly on the grass, coming closer. They sounded heavier and clumsier than what normal Humans would make. Bane stepped away from the clump of trees and waited. In a few seconds, he could make out the hulking silhouettes of a half dozen Goons lumbering toward him. Even in the murk, he could how much longer their arms were than normal, how much wider their shoulders and shorter their legs. Running, they were bent far forward with their hands touching the ground almost as apes would run.
The Goons were much quicker than he had expected. Fast as tigers. They were rushing on top of him within a few seconds. Bane swerved to one side, giving an elbow to the back of the head of a Goon as it dove past him, then meet the next one with a straight short punch to the face that stopped the monster dead in its tracks and flipped it over backwards.
Four of the creatures tackled him from all directions. Bane crouched and spun, throwing one off but the Goons were too strong for normal tactics. Even as they brought him down to the cold grass, the Dire Wolf got his left hand on the hilt of the silver dagger sheathed under the sleeve on his left arm. In another second, he could slice his way free....
There were three sharp thumping noises and the Goons fell away from him. For once, even Bane was taken by surprise. As he leaped back up onto his feet, he found himself standing next to a strange little boy.
Maybe eleven years old at the most, well under five feet tall, the boy was immensely fat. His body looked like a beach ball in khaki slacks and a white long-sleeved dress shirt with a black necktie. Bane was confounded for a second. The boy stared at him blankly through thick-lensed eyeglasses over a snub nose in a round moonface. The black hair looked as if it had been cut by placing a bowl over his head and shearing away everything outside the bowl.
Slowly, the strange kid reached up and stuck the end of a candy cane in his mouth. "Might thank me," he mumbled.
"You... YOU knocked these Goons out?" Bane demanded, glancing around but seeing no one else in sight.
"Wasn't Sugar Ray Robinson," answered the kid. "Watch yourself. Could get hurt." With that, he turned and started waddling away. Over one shoulder, he muttered, "Name's Bennie."
"I could get hurt? Wait. Come back here, I can't let a minor wander around this place." Bane took a step forward and paused. The boy was gone, just like that.
For a long moment, the Dire Wolf stood motionless, unable to digest what he had just seen. How could it be possible? Was he hallucinating? Maybe that was the answer, maybe someone like Indigo the Illusionist had made him think he saw a fat little boy rescue him from four Goons. Bane bent and examined the snoring monsters. They were stunned, all right. One was bleeding from a scalp cut on the bald cone-shaped skull. If not that kid, then someone had definitely bludgeoned these brutes hard.
Not having had a good look at Goons before, the Dire Wolf examined them. They all seemed identical. A little under six feet tall, maybe two hundred and forty pounds, with those long arms and short legs that gave them simian proportions. They were wearing simple flannel trousers and white T-shirts, and were barefoot. Bane saw with interest that their big toes stuck out at an angle that suggested they were prehensile.
Stepping back, he admitted he still wasn't sure what these Goons were. They had been reported three times in the metropolitan area and each time seemingly random people had been roughed up but not killed. Nothing was stolen. There was no connection between the victims that the NYPD could see, and in desperation Lt Montez had come to the Dire Wolf Agency and unofficially asked for help.
Bane had gone through his network of observers and gotten a tip from Bleak to check out this house on the east coast of Staten Island. With a jolt, he took off into the direction the strange little boy had been heading. He spotted the kid standing almost at the rear of the mansion, where a shiny black Mercedes was parking on a paved turnaround. As Bane neared, he saw the boy - Bennie?- was next to a black and white housecat.
The strange little boy said in his laconic way, "Boots. Long time no see."
And Bane froze in disbelief as the cat answered him in a teenage girl's voice, "Hiya, Bennie. I suppose you want to face down Belaric?"
"Don't wanna. Have to."
Bane stared, watching as the cat's mouth moved when she spoke. The girl voice went on, "Well, if anyone can stop his nonsense, it's you. He has Shy Anne the Hag with him, as well as a bunch of those stupid Goons she makes from his stooges. Listen. Go in the front door. Shy Anne let me out and I didn't hear her lock it. I have to go now." And the cat stretched, tilted her head quizzically at the dumbfounded Bane and sauntered off.
The boy turned his head as if it were an imposition, saw Bane and showed no reaction at all.
"You... you were talking to a cat? And the cat talked back?" the Dire Wolf managed to get out in a voice that sounded very unsteady to himself.
"Sure. Known Boots for years." He started trudging toward the front of the house. "Tag along if you like."
II.
The Dire Wolf watched as the fat little boy waddled up the hill with that gait. For a long moment, Bane struggled to accept what he had seen. Had he been drugged somehow? Was he hallucinating? He felt normal. Everything seemed sharp and clear, his mind was not foggy or confused, but this Bennie was something hard to accept. Finally, he shrugged and trotted up the hill toward the house himself. The Midnight War was full of surprises, after all.
The front door had been left wide open, and a long rectangle of yellow light spilled out onto the patio. As Bane approached, he decided to just go along with the situation. Maybe he had an ally here in this kid with unexplained abilities. He had certainly fought alongside other strange beings. As he swung around the front of the decrepit old house, a tall figure filled the door opening to block his way.
This guy has zombie written all over him, Bane thought. The man was maybe three inches over six feet tall but starved-looking with long thin arms and legs. He wearing an old-fashioned butler uniform that hung loosely on his frame. The pale bony face had sunken cheeks and dark circles under staring pale blue eyes that watched Bane approach.
"All right, step aside," the Dire Wolf snapped. "Let's skip the usual games."
The butler made a rumbling noise that sounded like deep agony. One big hand came down like an anvil on Bane's shoulder and a normal man would have been brought to his knees by the impact but Bane gave with the contact. He seized wrist and forearm, swivelled and twisted that arm in an aikido-based throw that should have flung the butler over and out into the night. But the big man did not budge, it was as if he was rooted to the floor. His other open hand swung in a slap that would have had fatal results if it had connected squarely. Bane crouched below it and drove an elbow up into the center of that bloodless face with a noise like an axe chopping wood.
The butler didn't seem to be harmed or even feel pain but he was driven back a step. The Dire Wolf swung sideways and blasted a high side kick to the the chest, giving it more impact than he normally would. As the tall man staggered, Bane closed in and connected with a left hook that had every bit of speed and precision he had. The butler fell sideways, catching himself against the wall to his side and had started to straighten up when a follow-up backfist spun him the other way. Finally, the butler dropped to the floor but he was still not unconscious. He remained on hands and knees.
"You're not cooperating," Bane muttered. As the butler started to rise, the Dire Wolf gave him a front snap kick to the side of the head that hurled the man up against the wall with a thump. That did it. The butler rolled over onto his back and began to breathe loudly. At least that showed he was a living creature. Watching him suspiciously for a second, Bane swung around to take in his surroundings.
He was in a short hallway with a narrow door on either side and two high doors in the wall facing him. The house was in bad repair, with mildew in the air and cobwebs everywhere. The deacon's bench and coatrack and cabinet had once been elegant but were not cracked. On one wall hung an oil painting of a glum-faced man in a black judge's robe, scowling down at the world. Sitting on top of the cabinet was a small mounted animal.. a two-headed turtle. Bane decided it was real. There was no sign of that strange little kid named Bennie.
One of the side doors opened a crack, and a round bald head peered out. There was a high-pitched giggle. "Oh, Gulch deserved that. The big creep."
Bane lunged and seized the edge of that door with one hand, yanking the bald man forcibly out into the hall. "Let's talk," he told the man quietly.
The old man was short and pudgy, wearing some sort of monk's robe of coarse thick material, with the cowl down. He was grinning maniacally and started to laugh. "Of course, of course. What can I do for you?"
"Start with your name."
"Me? I'm Dickens, like the author. Everett Dickens, glad to be at your service. Gulch has been bullying me for ages. I'm so glad to see him get a thrashing." The round moonface thrust closer. "Ah, but I think I recognize who you are."
"Fine. I want you to take me to Belaric."
"Oh, the Children of the Night know you. The Dire Wolf." He tittered happily. "Oh, this should be good. Yes indeed. Right this way." The old man turned and led him toward the high double doors with their brass handles. "Good, good," he chuckled to himself. Dickens swung the doors inward and ushered Bane into a huge reception room.
A blazing crystal chandelier hung overhead, there was a wide curving staircase at the far end of the room. Again, the furnishings had once been luxurious but had long since deteriorated. The solid overstuffed chairs with their footrests, the round inlaid table covered with yellowed newspapers and empty champagne goblets... all were dusty and there was mold high up on the walls. A bookcase of crumbling tomes filled one wall, and a baby grand piano stood on a raised area under a picture window that was curtained. High up on one wall was a bison skull with a round hole in its forehead.
Standing facing him, thumbs in the vest of an expensive tailored suit, stood Anton Belaric. "Ah, thank Providence it's only you," laughed the warlock. "I was afraid it would be Bennie."
III.
By this point, the Dire Wolf had decided to expect weirder events than usual. He glanced back but the man Dickens was no longer in sight. The double doors clicked shut behind him.
"I'm surprised our paths haven't crossed before, old man," Belaric went on. He gestured with an unlit cigar in an expansive way. The sorcerer was below average height, impreccably groomed with short black hair and a thick mustache under a rather prominent nose. What made his gaze unsettling was that his mouth was smiling but his eyes remained cold and watchful. "You seem to have rather a grudge against, shall we say, dabblers in the mystic arts."
Bane stepped forward, arms down and hands open. "I thought you had retired, to be honest. If you were minding your own business, why not leave you alone?"
"Fair enough, old fellow. And yet here you are tonight. Uninvited, if I dare mention it." Belaric pointed with the cigar and the smile dropped. "What brings you here then?"
"Goons," Bane answered. "You know about them. I've tracked them here from their last sighting. Eleven victims, no apparent motive. I guess our unstated truce has ended."
Belaric lowered his head and looked away. "Goons.. I was hoping I was wrong. I hoped I was misunderstanding what I guessed at. Mr Bane, I did not create those Goons. I give you my word on that."
The Dire Wolf took another few steps around the huge room, picked up a knight from a carved ivory chess set that stood on its own little table and then put it down in the same spot. That was misdirection, to get him closer to the warlock. "But you know who did, of course."
"I say. Let me straighten this out, old man." Belaric's smooth voice had lost some of its mocking edge. "Give me until tomorrow night. I promise by the Dread One that there will be no more Goons."
"How do I know what your word is worth?" replied Bane. "No. It's either me resolving the problem now or a dozen heavily armed and pugnacious NYPD officers in an hour. Give me the truth now, Belaric."
Before the warlock could speak, a woman's low voice purred from the other side of the reception. "I have all the answers you could ever want, sir."
Surprised that he had not sensed her entrance and annoyed at himself, Bane snapped his attention to where she stood, holding back beads that curtained the doorway. The woman was tall and thin, almost too thin, with a narrow face that was almost too pale to be attractive. Lank glossy black hair hung down to her waist, and with the solid black floor-length dress she wore, she seemed like a pillar of night with a white face floating above it. Her full lips were curved in a sly smile.
Anton Belaric sighed. "Mr Bane, allow me to present my wife. Shy Anne, this is Jeremy Bane.."
"The Dire Wolf. Oh yes. He is quite notorious in our circles. You know, you have thoughtlessly ended the lives of some our best friends over the years. Boys, come out! The enemy is here!"
As she called, the double doors behind Bane crashed open and five of the Goons loomed up within it. More lurched into sight behind Shy Anne and she stepped aside to let them in. The misshapen faces grinned as they saw the Dire Wolf caught between the two groups. "Well, my lads, tonight is a gala occasion for you," the sorceress said. "Each of you will be allowed to keep a piece as a trophy."
Not seeming alarmed at all, the Wolf folded his arms in front of him. Anyone who knew Jeremy Bane would recognized this as a danger signal as acute as a rattlesnake shaking its tail or a tiger snarling. In an instant, the Goons would attack and Bane would whip out both silver daggers to slice them apart as fast as they came at him. He slid one foot further to the side and shifted his weight, ready for the slaughter.
"Knock it off," mumbled a flat unemotional voice. "Enough already."
Even though he had felt he was ready for any inexplicable event tonight, Bane was still taken offguard by the sudden appearance of a fat little boy in tan slacks and a white dress shirt with a black tie. The moonface was as blank and unexpressive as before, the eyes behind those thick lenses could hardly be seen. And how the hell did he get into the room and climb up on that inlaid table without being seen by everyone? He certainly wasn't built for stealth.
Even more startling, every Goon in that room shrank back in extreme terror. "Bennie!" "Bennie! Oh no!" The huge brutes flattened back against the walls and some fell to their knees in submission.
Taking the candy cane from his mouth, Bennie gestured with the sticky red and white stick. "You guys. Knock it off. Back to the dungeon."
"Yes!" "Yes, Bennie!" shouted the Goons as they hurried from the room. "Thank you for not hitting us with that candy cane!"
Left alone with the three odd humans, Jeremy Bane slowly let go of the hilts of the daggers beneath his sleeves. He knew he wasn't hallucinating or dreaming, everything was so sharp and tactile. He could smell the must in the air, he felt the thick carpeting give way beneath his boots. This was real but so strange.. suddenly he knew how it felt for civilians who accidentally stumbled onto the Midnight War.
"This is the thanks we get," sighed Anton Belaric in a hurt tone. "After all we've done for you..."
"How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child," quoted Shy Anne.
"Nuff. You swore to behave." The obese boy waggled the candy cane at the two adults and they actually cringed. "Guess I can't go away for vacation any more." He stepped down from the inlaid as lightly as a dancer despite his ungainly appearance.
"Wait. Do I understand this right?" asked Bane. "You're... their son?"
"Sure. What you think?" Bennie stuck the candy cane back in his mouth and plopped unceremonious into an easy chair, raising some dust. "Make 'em behave."
Belaric seemed extremely sheepish as he caught the Dire Wolf staring at him for explanation. "Bennie is our boy," he admitted. "He inherited more innate gralic force than anyone expected. Amazing lad. But he simply wants a quiet life."
"Behave," repeated Bennie from the chair, where he seemed to have dug up a tattered comic book. "Start no trouble."
Bane's head ached wickedly. He took a few steps over to stand in front of the strange little boy. "So... I can go now and you will keep the peace here? There won't be any more Goons going out on prowl?"
"Right." The boy blinked as if he didn't expect Bane to still be there. "Go now."
"All right, I guess." The Dire Wolf looked over at Anton and Shy Anne, who evidently were too embarrassed by the whole situation to meet his eyes. He walked over to the double doors, calming inside as his adrenalin levels dropped to normal after ramping up for a battle that hadn't come.
Taking one last look at Bennie, Bane stood with his hand on one doorknob. "So I guess I won't be encountering you folks again then?"
"Could still be trouble," Bennie muttered. "Haven't met my sister October yet."
5/19/2015
