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Entry tags:
"The Scroll of Ultimate Truth"
"The Scroll of Final Truth"
4/28/1988
I.
"Professor Mercedes? Really? I've heard so much of you."
The white-haired old man smiled, showing the perfection of expensive dentures, and tilted his wide-brimmed fedora back on his head. His baggy tweed suit was old but still fit him well, and he stood as straight and at ease as a teenager. The slim ebony cane he carried seemed unnecessary. "I'm flattered, Oskar. I was referred to you by a mutual acquaintance, Daniel Wassermann. He suggested you might be holding something of interest to me."
Coming out from behind the glass-fronted counter, Oskar Jonescu was not an imposing sight. Only a bit over five feet tall with a fifty-inch waist, the scrub of curly hair only around his ears and thick-lensed glasses low on a beaky nose added nothing to his looks. His antique shop was also unimpressive at first, but closer inspection showed it had many unusual items. Genuine swords and daggers, small bronze statuettes of mythical creatures, an actual shrunken head in a leather display case, fossil bones that were hard to identify... it was a curio shop that was curious.
Mostly the shelves and cases were jammed with musty old books. It was these that Professor Ben Mercedes scrutinized as he sauntered around the gloomy interior. "You have some gems here," he announced. "The unauthorized biography of Mark Drum from 1954. All copies were supposed to have been destroyed. Kenneth Dred's guide to Fanedral. THE SKULL BENEATH THE SKIN. WHAT NIGHTFALL BRINGS. Oh, look... even Garrison Nebel's BLIND ILLUSIONS. Nice selection."
"And yet... nothing like this." Jonescu had opened a cabinet near the cash register and taken out a long cylinder wrapped in white leather. "One of the few items that survived when Malekoda's house burned down."
"Pity. Malekoda was a vile warlock but he had quite a collection. This is the Scroll I have heard of?" Mercedes leaned forward to get a better look as the antiquarian unrolled the leather covering on the scroll. The relic was only in fair condition, a tattered tube of yellowed papyrus three feet long. Each end was capped with a globe of red metal that had a hot shimmer to it.
"Gremthom," Professor Mercedes observed. "This is a Darthan artifact."
"The scroll is fastened shut by those caps and I have not been able to open it. I'm afraid of damaging it, to be honest." Jonescu handed the relic to Professor Mercedes, who inspected it dubiously.
"This is Darthan script, quite old," he said as if to himself. 'The Scroll of Final Truth.' And beneath it is the three-bladed knife that means 'danger' in Darthan. I believe this was crafted by Tollinor Kje himself." He popped the gremthom caps off the ends quite easily, as if they consciously wanted to be removed, and gently unrolled the scroll a bare inch or two.
"Amazing. And yet I should have expected no less from Tollinor Kje. The future revealed... tomorrow's news today. Astonishing. It takes my breath away."
Jonescu chortled happily. "You realize everything you have just said is only increasing the price I should ask for this?"
Professor Mercedes placed the scroll on the counter and sighed. He twisted the gold handle of his ebony cane and slid it back to reveal a hint of gleaming stainless steel. "Ah, Oskar. That would only matter," he said evenly, "if I intended to pay for it."
II.
Making sure the body was well concealed beneath a rug, the Professor went around the antiques shop but could not concentrate on which of the rare books would be worth stealing. The Darthan scroll preyed on his mind, it seemed to be demanding to be examined immediately. He frowned at his own imagination getting out of hand this way. Now was the time to be cool and precise. Seeing no one in the street at the moment, Professor Mercedes hung the CLOSED sign in the front door of the shop, stepped outside and locked it. In the same motion, he was walked smoothly up Liberty Street toward where he had left his car.
Telford was a college town. The State University was located at the northern edge, and the main strip of Telford was a series of inexpensive apartments, laundromats, pizza joints, delis, clothing boutiques and mostly bars. There were seven bars within walking distance and another two ten minutes away by car, along with a strip club and auto repair shop. As Mercedes strode briskly along, the scroll tucked unobtrusively under one arm, he watched the co-eds in their minimal clothing appreciatively but with a certain melancholy. You were only young for such a brief moment, he thought, but you're old for a long time. Ah well. He got into his Audi and started it up, eased out into traffic and drove along the main strip to the supermarket on the outskirts of town.
Parking well away from other cars under a lamppost, Mercedes wound down both front windows. It was a warm night in late June and there was no breeze. Watching the area suspiciously, the Professor unrolled the ancient scroll and unfolded his reading glasses from an inner pocket. He expected a tedious process of deciphering before he could even get a vague idea of what the scroll said, but to his surprise the meaning was immediately clear. The scroll was not written in English nor any other modern language. The Darthan symbols looked like elaborate knots with double bars beneath to separate them into words but somehow their meaning was obvious. He could read them without effort.
But their meaning...! He felt cold fear clutch at his chest and and he couldn't breathe at the revelation. The first sentence said, "Murder gave you possession of this and now murder shall be your fate too, at the hands of the woman behind you." Professor Mercedes swung his head up to look out the car window in sudden panic and had only the briefest glimpse of a beautiful face smiling at him before the silenced Walther P22 coughed with its barrel pressed against his chest. From arm's length away, nothing could have been heard. The Professor twitched convulsively, his breath left him its final time and he fell over against the passenger seat.
Taking the scroll in one gloved hand, Rook pocketed the Walther under her jacket. Well above average height, slim and elegant, she had the delicate features and long glossy black hair of her mixed heritage. A French father and a Japanese mother had produced a beautiful woman but her eyes were detached and unaffected by what she had just done. She walked swiftly over to where her own car was parked next to that of her aide. Both were unremarkable American autos chosen to draw as little attention as possible.
Seated in his own Ford, Lupari watched her approached. In almost exact contrast, he was short, squat and homely. The curly black hair had a bald spot on top, the prognathous jaw was sullen and the face seemed sullen to the point of stupidity. Immense strength was in the gnarled hands which gripped the wheel. "Orders, princess?"
"Take this. Go to our apartment and wait for me. Stay away from your little girlfriend for once. I know Bane is on his way. Go now." As the Ford wheeled around and left the parking lot, Rook slid into the driver's seat of her own Chevrolet and immediately headed out in the other direction. To her dismay but not her surprise, she saw a dark green Mustang swing around to cut her off. She stopped and watched as the Dire Wolf leaped out to loom up in front of her car.
Jeremy Bane had not changed in the time since she had seen him last. He was still tall and gaunt, still dressed all in black, still glaring at her with those damnable clear grey eyes. Almost unique among the adventurers she clashed with, the Dire Wolf had no response to her looks or her guile and this enraged her beyond all reason. As he swung around to yank her door open, Rook flashed her most winning smile. "Why, Jeremy, are you stalking me? You are far from Manhattan, my boy."
Neither his voice nor his eyes showed any amusement. "You heard the rumors the same time I did, Rook. When Malekoda's house burned, I hoped everything he collected would be destroyed but that would be asking too much." He gestured with one hand for her to get out.
"It looks like you're trying to kidnap me," she purred as she stood up and stretched to emphasize the sleek lines of her body. "Aren't you worried a policeman will stop and ask what your intentions are?"
"I was delayed getting hold of a Darthan blasting wand. Some fool knew just enough that he thought he could use it to crack open bank vaults." Bane met her gaze coldly. "By the time I took care of him, I found you were already up here chasing the Scroll. So is Professor Mercedes. I don't suppose you've run across him?"
Rook shrugged. "Should I have? I have only been in this rather mundane American village an hour or less. I haven't even had time to eat. Say, Jeremy. This Scroll we are both supposed to be tracking down... surely it's just another historical artifact?"
The Dire Wolf studied her face with a clinical detachment. "You've changed in two years, Rook. I can see it in your body language. You used to be an upper level thief who harmed no one but wealthy criminals. But now you're hard." His grey eyes stabbed at her and she flinched despite herself. "You've killed, haven't you? I can tell."
The beautiful brunette allowed herself a sad smile. "It's a harsh world, my dear. Are you going to search my car for this supposed scroll? Perhaps frisk my body with your hands?" She placed her palms on his hard chest and he gently took her wrists and disengaged.
"You don't have it," Bane said without hesitation. "You wouldn't have let me block your exit. I suppose I have to let you go and any speech I give you would be wasted."
"All too true, my dear." She took this as an invitation to get back in her car. "Ah, do not look so wistful, we will meet again. Both our stories are far from over." She buckled her seat belt, gave him a flippant salute and headed out onto the highway. Bane watched her go with deeply mixed reactions. She was going bad, he saw it. Once he had thought she would make a good ally but now... The Dire Wolf turned to get back into his Mustang when he froze. There, across the parking lot, a black Audi sat far away from all the other cars. There was no legitimate reason for a civilian to park that far from the store entrance. Turning off his own car and closing the door, Bane loosened the 38 Smith & Wesson behind his left hip under the sport jacket and began walking slowly toward the Audi. Now he could see the driver's head hanging at an unnatural angle.
III.
Antonio Lupari seldom questioned any of Rook's orders. He was too afraid of her sudden cold rages to do so. When he had first hired on as her strongarm, lust for her slim body and lovely face had motivated him but he quickly lost all hope of that. She was addressed as "princess" and meant it. Still, the money was good and she mostly needed him as a courier to pick items up or to provide a little back-up when dealing with thieves. Just now, though, curiosity about this mysterious scroll was gnawing at him.
What was that about the scroll foretelling the immediate future? Was it possible? He had seen strange things indeed while working for Rook. What if the scroll had a warning for him? Perhaps he was heading for a fatal car accident which he could avoid. Perhaps Rook herself planned to double-cross him and pin that Professor's murder on him, he had no illusions about her loyalty. Pulling over by a convenient mart, he unrolled the parchment with fingers that suddenly trembled.
Somehow, Lupari found he could read the strange esoteric symbols as if they were English. This was a mystery but he could not stop to wonder about it because the message struck him in the heart like a blow. "The woman you love is in the arms of another man," it said. Flinging the scroll aside in his fury, Lupari peeled out and sped through the night along the highway outside of Telford. There was the side road with the street sign TIOGA LANE, and there was the little bungalow where Andrea lived on the money he provided her. And there, parked by the front door, was a vehicle he did not recognize. A shiny black Dodge Ram...
Slamming the driver's door as he leaped out, unaware he was clutching the scroll in one hand even as he drew his fighting knife, Antonio Lupari ran across the tiny front yard and slammed the unlocked front door open with a crash that broke one of its glass panes. In the living room, in front of a TV babbling its nonsense, a half-naked man yelped and got up off the couch where he had been embracing Andrea. Her own upper body was naked, she was wearing only a pair of khaki shorts and she screamed as the front door crashed inward and Lupari was hurtling at them.
The man barely had time to shout something about "Wait, stop" before Lupari's wide-bladed knife was plunging into his chest. The two men hit the floor, knocking over a coffee table and sending a lamp over on its side. There was no fight to speak of. Lupari was immensely strong and in a killing rage. His thickly muscled arm rose and fell as he hacked at his hated rival.
Then a flash of white light exploded in his head, followed by the ultimate darkness and Antonio Lupari knew nothing more. His body drooped limply over the bloody corpse of the other man, and both were still. Standing behind them, shaking with emotion, Andrea dropped the heavy glass ash tray and struggled to understand what had just happened. In just a few seconds, everything had turned upside down. She had been entwined with Paul on the couch, about to suggest they go in the bedroom and get more comfortable. Then that fool Antonio had barged in. It all began to sink into her dazed mind. Antonio had just killed Paul. Stabbed him to death right there on the rug in front of her, and she- she had just murdered Antonio in turn by hitting him in the back of the head. She had struck as hard as she possibly could.
Andrea wandered aimlessly around the living room, not thinking clearly. She went to close the front door and absently noticed the broken pane. What was she going to do? Call the police? No. She would go to prison if the police came here. Maybe not. She would explain that this madman was killing her boyfriend and she tried to stop him the only way she could. Maybe that would be in her favor, surely. Yes. She had been afraid for her own life. If the maniac had gone after her next, she would not have had a chance.
Going to an easy chair, Andrea fell into it rather than sat. She needed to think. Before she called anyone, she had to get her story straight. Poor Paul, lying there like that with his eyes open. But she felt she must not touch him. So far, no tears had come and part of her wondered if she was in shock. Then she saw the strange brown cylinder of stiff paper that Antonio had dropped. What could that be? Not fully realizing what she was doing, Andrea got to her feet, bent and picked up the odd thing. It was a scroll, she had seen them in movies but never in real life. With unsteady fingers, she began to unroll the parchment but stopped as she heard a car pull up outside with a deep throaty roar.
IV.
Outside, car headlights shone in through the living room window and Andrea dazedly went to see who it was. Somehow she expected the police but instead a handsome young man in a charcoal grey suit and white topcoat opened the door without knocking and stood there taking in the scene. Even in her emotional stupor, she noticed how impeccably groomed he was, how well his clothes fit. Every jet black hair was in place, the strong-jawed face was shaven absolutely clean and the teeth when he smiled gleamed white as chalk. He left the door open as he entered.
As he surveyed the scene and seemed satisfied there was no immediate danger, his scrutiny ranged over Andrea. She had tugged her blouse back on and quickly buttoned it, suddenly ashamed of the extra pounds she had put on lately and how her hair was a mess. The stranger smiled reassuringly and held up a leather wallet that held a laminated ID card. He brought it for her to examine.
DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE, SPECIAL INVESTIGATORY BRANCH, it said with an official looking seal of a stylized eagle in front of a shield of vertical red and white stripes. His name was Christopher Wakely, according to the card. She glanced up at his self-assured face and suddenly her tears started to pour.
"That's okay, that's okay," he told her in a smooth baritone. "Take your time. I'm from the Mandate, we're a government agency specialized in the unexplained. Call me Kit, only my mother called me Christopher." He stroked his shoulder as she gave way to full body sobbing. Looking over her shoulder, Kit Wakely shook his head disapprovingly. "Well, this is an obvious scenario. You were cuddling with the guy who has been perforated there, the other bloke burst in and objected to the situation. As he was putting holes in the first chap, you decided to intervene. That ashtray looks quite heavy. I can see how it sent the second fellow to chat with his ancestors."
Despite herself, Andrea looked at the scene and nodded. "Yes. You figured it out right away."
"As it happens, I know the man you saluted with the ashtray," Wakely said. "He is the hired hand of an international thief known as Rook. I was looking for her when I spotted his car and decided he would lead me to her." The Mandate agent stepped away from Andrea and stared down at the two dead men. "Poor Antonio Lupari. He never made decisions from reason, always from emotion. Let me guess. You had two boyfriends on the string at the same time?"
"Tony only came to see me on weekends, he said he was always busy." Wiping her face so the mascara made streaks across her cheeks, she turned back to Wakely. "What was that about a thief called Rook?"
Kit Wakely took her by the shoulders and pushed her to sit down in a plain wooden chair by the door to the kitchen. "Take a few deep breaths. Yes, Rook is after a magic talisman, something called the Scroll of Final Truth. It seems to be a dangerous item to possess. As far as I can reconstruct today's events, two men have already died soon after taking it, and now here are two more. That's the scroll there were Lupari dropped it, I believe."
"Yes," she mumbled as she started to sniffle again. In one part of her mind, the thought sank in that the casual way this government man reacted to her braining Antonio, maybe she would not go to prison. Maybe this guy would be on her side. She watched as the well-dressed agent bent over and carefully picked up the brown cylinder from where it lay almost within Antonio's reach. He straightened up and regarded it thoughtfully.
"You know, even after what I've seen working for the Mandate, I'm still skeptical," he told her. "So much nonsense and mumbo-jumbo and people pretending to be magicians." Kit Wakely gave her a smirk and opened the scroll a few inches. " 'Look behind you while you can?' " he blurted out and immediately spun around with his hand going to a shoulder holster but a pistol cracked twice in the doorway and he fell straight down to the floor.
Andrea screamed louder and longer than she ever had in her life as her nerves broke. This was too much. She bent over in the chair, hugging herself and shaking violently, unable to process this latest horrifying event in her life. She watched Wakely trying to sit up, still alive but weak and obviously dying as bright red stains spread across his white shirt. "Look behind you..." he repeated.
Standing in the doorway was a tall slim woman in a simple white blouse and black skirt with a short bolero jacket. Keeping a wary eye on the wounded Mandate agent, she made a tsk-tsk noise as she saw Lupari and and the other corpse. "I knew he would come to see you. Poor Antonio, he was owned by his hormones. Andrea, right? I suppose you're a loose end I should tie up before leaving." Rook raised her small silenced pistol and gave Andrea a critical stare. "Although you seem about ready to lose your mind in any case. Not used to the life of sudden death and abrupt reversals. Hold still. I might as well see what all the fuss is about. Professor Mercedes murdered someone to get this scroll, and I did the same for him. Then Antonion had it for a short time and look at his poor carcass there. And now this government thug has possessed it and he's bleeding his life out on your shabby carpet."
"Don't read it!" Andrea screamed. "Listen to me, please don't read it!"
"Your advice is duly ignored," Rook answered. "Quiet. Let's see." The slender fingers unrolled the parchment just a few inches. "What quaint symbols. And yet..somehow... 'A good job is worth finishing.' What on Earth?" Her voice broke off as a gun fired from the floor behind her and a heavy .357 slug tore through her abdomen. Rook grunted and dropped to her knees, pressing one hand to her middle and felt hot wetness on her fingers. It hurt worse than she could have imagined.
Turning her head, still clutching the Walther, Rook saw Kit Wakely lying with glassy unseeing eyes but his Smith & Wesson revolver in his dead hand. He had hung on long enough to get off one shot. "A good job is worth finishing," Rook snarled as she lurched to her feet.
"Oh my God, I'll call an ambulance!" Andrea cried but Rook smacked her across the face with the gun.
"I'll make it to a hospital," the adventuress said in a firm voice. "I'm made of sterner stuff than you weak American bimbos." With the scroll tucked under one arm, pressing her hand to her wound, Rook walked slowly but determinedly outside to where her Alfa Romeo sat. Working on will power, she tossed the scroll and the Walther to the floor in front of the passenger seat and got behind the wheel. She was not bleeding as freely as she had feared but the pain was overwhelming. Rook started the powerful sports car and tore out onto the highway without looking either way and slamming the gas pedal down.
Left behind, Andrea walked over to the phone on the wall just inside the kitchen. It took her three attempts to get the operator and she had to repeat herself twice to be understood as her voice cracked. "Get me the police. Hurry, please."
V.
Wearing black latex gloves, Bane had inspected the body of Professor Ben Mercedes, using a pencil flashlight. He found little beside the obvious. The man had been shot once in the chest at point blank range by a small caliber pistol, a 22 in his judgement. The notorious Scroll of Final Truth was not in the car. The Dire Wolf stepped back, furious at the thought that he had spoken with the killer not twenty minutes earlier and had let her blithely drive away. No wonder her body language was so suspicious. The barrel on her pistol had still been hot.
Well, he knew something Rook did not. His childhood years as a pickpocket and petty thief had left him with deft hands and a neat sense of timing. When Rook had touched his chest and he had disengaged her hands, he had tucked a device the size of a button on the inside of the rolled up cuff of her jacket. It was adhesive on one side. If he had been able to distract her, he would have preferred to stick the tracer somewhere on her car but that was the best he could do.
On the back seat of his Mutang was a knapsack he always kept stocked with a change of clothes and personal items, but underneath them was a flat metal case. Bane put the case on his lap, opened the hidden lock and lifted the lid. Various Trom devices were packed neatly in white cardboard boxes. With Leonard Slade dead, Bane had access to technology decades ahead of Human knowledge, He took out a metal gimmick the size of a pack of cigarettes and thumbed its ON switch. One side lit up with a screen showing a small green blip over a grid. The Dire Wolf made a few adjustments. The tracer he had planted on Morgan's SUV indicated that the vehicle was heading west at just over the speed limit. Keeping the monitor in one hand, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed west himself.
The past three days had been busy tracking down surviving artifacts from the fire which had burned down Malekoda's house. With the rest of the KDF tied up on various assignments or on personal leave or training at Tel Shai, Bane had been working alone. He enjoyed this. Even when his six partners were all available, he sometimes took on a solo case for his Dire Wolf agency just to keep in practice.
Once he hit the outskirts of Telford, it was twelve miles to the next town. Along the highway were scattered gas stations and convenient marts, a dance club called SHADOWS, a used car dealer and a few other small businesses. But mostly it was just the road with trees and scrub lining it. Bane was eager to catch up with Rook, mostly to capture her and see she got punished for her crimes but also because he had the unsettling feeling that the scroll carried a Darthan curse on it that stirred murderous impulses. Leave it to the Darthim! Everything that Race created had its dark side. Bane glanced at the tracking monitor in his hand and saw the green blip was blinking. He was almost on top of her.
Pulled off on an unmarked dirt road was a white Alfa Romeo. The Dire Wolf swung over behind it, switched off the tracking monitor and got out with his hand on the butt of his long-barrelled 38 behind his left hip. A few years earlier, he would not have thought that necessary when dealing with Rook but she had changed somehow from a nonviolent grift artist and cat burglar to a killer. He approached slowly. Under his clothes he wore the flexible Trom armor of course, but his head was still exposed.
Glancing in the opened driver's window, his heart sank. Rook had bled all over the seat, her lap and legs were sticky with it. The beautiful pale face turned up to recognize him. "Ah, my dear. So good of you to come and see me off."
Bane flipped open his Link and said, "You'll make it. I'm calling an ambulance now, Rook. You'll be all right."
"Ah, you can't con a con artist," she breathed weakly. "Jeremy, listen. I want you to know. Tonight was the first I shot anyone. The professor and that government agent, I never ever did anything like that before."
"I believe you," the Dire Wolf said. "I thought it wasn't like you."
"I'm glad you believe me. It was that scroll. I'm really.. not that bad a person." She stopped breathing and Bane knew she was dead. He was inexplicably saddened to see her go. They had never been allies, she had always been a nuisance and a troublemaker but seeing her die touched him unexpectedly. Maybe it was just because she had been a beautiful woman and he had it hardwired in his brain that her death was a shame for that reason.
Reaching past her, careful not to get any blood on his sleeve, Bane snatched up the scroll and turned to walk back to his Mustang. He could feel the silver daggers sheathed beneath his sleeves grow warm at the nearness of the evil inherent in a Darthan artifact. Holding it as if it was covered with plague germs, he threw it in the back seat of his car and drove past the Alfa Romeo to roll a few more miles up the dirt road before pulling over under an ancient oak tree.
The whole situation was an unholy mess. So many murders in a few hours. The owner of the artifact shop, Professor Mercedes, the government agent Rook had mentioned, Rook herself. Four corpses, all homicide victims. He knew that Rook usually had an aide working with her, he would have to find out what had happened to the man. Maybe he was dead, too. Everyone associated with that scroll seemed to meet a quick and permanent end.
Bane had decided to notify the Mandate and turn the situation over to them. The government agent Rook had shot would be one of theirs and that meant they had a field team in the area. He hated and distrusted the Mandate, but they were sometimes as useful to him as he was to them.
Getting out of the car, the Dire Wolf placed the Scroll of Final Truth on a dirt patch free of grass. Popping open the cap of the Mustang's gas tank, he got a clean rag from the trunk and dipped it in until it was soaked in gasoline, then wrapped the rag around the ancient parchment. Using one of the lighters he always carried, he soon had the scroll burning furiously. He took his time making sure the dry parchment had been reduced to blackened scraps which could not possibly be reconstituted, scattered the scraps and stood back with the first satisfaction he had felt in four days. He had not had the slightest urge to unroll that parchment and see what it had to say to him.
3/5/2015
4/28/1988
I.
"Professor Mercedes? Really? I've heard so much of you."
The white-haired old man smiled, showing the perfection of expensive dentures, and tilted his wide-brimmed fedora back on his head. His baggy tweed suit was old but still fit him well, and he stood as straight and at ease as a teenager. The slim ebony cane he carried seemed unnecessary. "I'm flattered, Oskar. I was referred to you by a mutual acquaintance, Daniel Wassermann. He suggested you might be holding something of interest to me."
Coming out from behind the glass-fronted counter, Oskar Jonescu was not an imposing sight. Only a bit over five feet tall with a fifty-inch waist, the scrub of curly hair only around his ears and thick-lensed glasses low on a beaky nose added nothing to his looks. His antique shop was also unimpressive at first, but closer inspection showed it had many unusual items. Genuine swords and daggers, small bronze statuettes of mythical creatures, an actual shrunken head in a leather display case, fossil bones that were hard to identify... it was a curio shop that was curious.
Mostly the shelves and cases were jammed with musty old books. It was these that Professor Ben Mercedes scrutinized as he sauntered around the gloomy interior. "You have some gems here," he announced. "The unauthorized biography of Mark Drum from 1954. All copies were supposed to have been destroyed. Kenneth Dred's guide to Fanedral. THE SKULL BENEATH THE SKIN. WHAT NIGHTFALL BRINGS. Oh, look... even Garrison Nebel's BLIND ILLUSIONS. Nice selection."
"And yet... nothing like this." Jonescu had opened a cabinet near the cash register and taken out a long cylinder wrapped in white leather. "One of the few items that survived when Malekoda's house burned down."
"Pity. Malekoda was a vile warlock but he had quite a collection. This is the Scroll I have heard of?" Mercedes leaned forward to get a better look as the antiquarian unrolled the leather covering on the scroll. The relic was only in fair condition, a tattered tube of yellowed papyrus three feet long. Each end was capped with a globe of red metal that had a hot shimmer to it.
"Gremthom," Professor Mercedes observed. "This is a Darthan artifact."
"The scroll is fastened shut by those caps and I have not been able to open it. I'm afraid of damaging it, to be honest." Jonescu handed the relic to Professor Mercedes, who inspected it dubiously.
"This is Darthan script, quite old," he said as if to himself. 'The Scroll of Final Truth.' And beneath it is the three-bladed knife that means 'danger' in Darthan. I believe this was crafted by Tollinor Kje himself." He popped the gremthom caps off the ends quite easily, as if they consciously wanted to be removed, and gently unrolled the scroll a bare inch or two.
"Amazing. And yet I should have expected no less from Tollinor Kje. The future revealed... tomorrow's news today. Astonishing. It takes my breath away."
Jonescu chortled happily. "You realize everything you have just said is only increasing the price I should ask for this?"
Professor Mercedes placed the scroll on the counter and sighed. He twisted the gold handle of his ebony cane and slid it back to reveal a hint of gleaming stainless steel. "Ah, Oskar. That would only matter," he said evenly, "if I intended to pay for it."
II.
Making sure the body was well concealed beneath a rug, the Professor went around the antiques shop but could not concentrate on which of the rare books would be worth stealing. The Darthan scroll preyed on his mind, it seemed to be demanding to be examined immediately. He frowned at his own imagination getting out of hand this way. Now was the time to be cool and precise. Seeing no one in the street at the moment, Professor Mercedes hung the CLOSED sign in the front door of the shop, stepped outside and locked it. In the same motion, he was walked smoothly up Liberty Street toward where he had left his car.
Telford was a college town. The State University was located at the northern edge, and the main strip of Telford was a series of inexpensive apartments, laundromats, pizza joints, delis, clothing boutiques and mostly bars. There were seven bars within walking distance and another two ten minutes away by car, along with a strip club and auto repair shop. As Mercedes strode briskly along, the scroll tucked unobtrusively under one arm, he watched the co-eds in their minimal clothing appreciatively but with a certain melancholy. You were only young for such a brief moment, he thought, but you're old for a long time. Ah well. He got into his Audi and started it up, eased out into traffic and drove along the main strip to the supermarket on the outskirts of town.
Parking well away from other cars under a lamppost, Mercedes wound down both front windows. It was a warm night in late June and there was no breeze. Watching the area suspiciously, the Professor unrolled the ancient scroll and unfolded his reading glasses from an inner pocket. He expected a tedious process of deciphering before he could even get a vague idea of what the scroll said, but to his surprise the meaning was immediately clear. The scroll was not written in English nor any other modern language. The Darthan symbols looked like elaborate knots with double bars beneath to separate them into words but somehow their meaning was obvious. He could read them without effort.
But their meaning...! He felt cold fear clutch at his chest and and he couldn't breathe at the revelation. The first sentence said, "Murder gave you possession of this and now murder shall be your fate too, at the hands of the woman behind you." Professor Mercedes swung his head up to look out the car window in sudden panic and had only the briefest glimpse of a beautiful face smiling at him before the silenced Walther P22 coughed with its barrel pressed against his chest. From arm's length away, nothing could have been heard. The Professor twitched convulsively, his breath left him its final time and he fell over against the passenger seat.
Taking the scroll in one gloved hand, Rook pocketed the Walther under her jacket. Well above average height, slim and elegant, she had the delicate features and long glossy black hair of her mixed heritage. A French father and a Japanese mother had produced a beautiful woman but her eyes were detached and unaffected by what she had just done. She walked swiftly over to where her own car was parked next to that of her aide. Both were unremarkable American autos chosen to draw as little attention as possible.
Seated in his own Ford, Lupari watched her approached. In almost exact contrast, he was short, squat and homely. The curly black hair had a bald spot on top, the prognathous jaw was sullen and the face seemed sullen to the point of stupidity. Immense strength was in the gnarled hands which gripped the wheel. "Orders, princess?"
"Take this. Go to our apartment and wait for me. Stay away from your little girlfriend for once. I know Bane is on his way. Go now." As the Ford wheeled around and left the parking lot, Rook slid into the driver's seat of her own Chevrolet and immediately headed out in the other direction. To her dismay but not her surprise, she saw a dark green Mustang swing around to cut her off. She stopped and watched as the Dire Wolf leaped out to loom up in front of her car.
Jeremy Bane had not changed in the time since she had seen him last. He was still tall and gaunt, still dressed all in black, still glaring at her with those damnable clear grey eyes. Almost unique among the adventurers she clashed with, the Dire Wolf had no response to her looks or her guile and this enraged her beyond all reason. As he swung around to yank her door open, Rook flashed her most winning smile. "Why, Jeremy, are you stalking me? You are far from Manhattan, my boy."
Neither his voice nor his eyes showed any amusement. "You heard the rumors the same time I did, Rook. When Malekoda's house burned, I hoped everything he collected would be destroyed but that would be asking too much." He gestured with one hand for her to get out.
"It looks like you're trying to kidnap me," she purred as she stood up and stretched to emphasize the sleek lines of her body. "Aren't you worried a policeman will stop and ask what your intentions are?"
"I was delayed getting hold of a Darthan blasting wand. Some fool knew just enough that he thought he could use it to crack open bank vaults." Bane met her gaze coldly. "By the time I took care of him, I found you were already up here chasing the Scroll. So is Professor Mercedes. I don't suppose you've run across him?"
Rook shrugged. "Should I have? I have only been in this rather mundane American village an hour or less. I haven't even had time to eat. Say, Jeremy. This Scroll we are both supposed to be tracking down... surely it's just another historical artifact?"
The Dire Wolf studied her face with a clinical detachment. "You've changed in two years, Rook. I can see it in your body language. You used to be an upper level thief who harmed no one but wealthy criminals. But now you're hard." His grey eyes stabbed at her and she flinched despite herself. "You've killed, haven't you? I can tell."
The beautiful brunette allowed herself a sad smile. "It's a harsh world, my dear. Are you going to search my car for this supposed scroll? Perhaps frisk my body with your hands?" She placed her palms on his hard chest and he gently took her wrists and disengaged.
"You don't have it," Bane said without hesitation. "You wouldn't have let me block your exit. I suppose I have to let you go and any speech I give you would be wasted."
"All too true, my dear." She took this as an invitation to get back in her car. "Ah, do not look so wistful, we will meet again. Both our stories are far from over." She buckled her seat belt, gave him a flippant salute and headed out onto the highway. Bane watched her go with deeply mixed reactions. She was going bad, he saw it. Once he had thought she would make a good ally but now... The Dire Wolf turned to get back into his Mustang when he froze. There, across the parking lot, a black Audi sat far away from all the other cars. There was no legitimate reason for a civilian to park that far from the store entrance. Turning off his own car and closing the door, Bane loosened the 38 Smith & Wesson behind his left hip under the sport jacket and began walking slowly toward the Audi. Now he could see the driver's head hanging at an unnatural angle.
III.
Antonio Lupari seldom questioned any of Rook's orders. He was too afraid of her sudden cold rages to do so. When he had first hired on as her strongarm, lust for her slim body and lovely face had motivated him but he quickly lost all hope of that. She was addressed as "princess" and meant it. Still, the money was good and she mostly needed him as a courier to pick items up or to provide a little back-up when dealing with thieves. Just now, though, curiosity about this mysterious scroll was gnawing at him.
What was that about the scroll foretelling the immediate future? Was it possible? He had seen strange things indeed while working for Rook. What if the scroll had a warning for him? Perhaps he was heading for a fatal car accident which he could avoid. Perhaps Rook herself planned to double-cross him and pin that Professor's murder on him, he had no illusions about her loyalty. Pulling over by a convenient mart, he unrolled the parchment with fingers that suddenly trembled.
Somehow, Lupari found he could read the strange esoteric symbols as if they were English. This was a mystery but he could not stop to wonder about it because the message struck him in the heart like a blow. "The woman you love is in the arms of another man," it said. Flinging the scroll aside in his fury, Lupari peeled out and sped through the night along the highway outside of Telford. There was the side road with the street sign TIOGA LANE, and there was the little bungalow where Andrea lived on the money he provided her. And there, parked by the front door, was a vehicle he did not recognize. A shiny black Dodge Ram...
Slamming the driver's door as he leaped out, unaware he was clutching the scroll in one hand even as he drew his fighting knife, Antonio Lupari ran across the tiny front yard and slammed the unlocked front door open with a crash that broke one of its glass panes. In the living room, in front of a TV babbling its nonsense, a half-naked man yelped and got up off the couch where he had been embracing Andrea. Her own upper body was naked, she was wearing only a pair of khaki shorts and she screamed as the front door crashed inward and Lupari was hurtling at them.
The man barely had time to shout something about "Wait, stop" before Lupari's wide-bladed knife was plunging into his chest. The two men hit the floor, knocking over a coffee table and sending a lamp over on its side. There was no fight to speak of. Lupari was immensely strong and in a killing rage. His thickly muscled arm rose and fell as he hacked at his hated rival.
Then a flash of white light exploded in his head, followed by the ultimate darkness and Antonio Lupari knew nothing more. His body drooped limply over the bloody corpse of the other man, and both were still. Standing behind them, shaking with emotion, Andrea dropped the heavy glass ash tray and struggled to understand what had just happened. In just a few seconds, everything had turned upside down. She had been entwined with Paul on the couch, about to suggest they go in the bedroom and get more comfortable. Then that fool Antonio had barged in. It all began to sink into her dazed mind. Antonio had just killed Paul. Stabbed him to death right there on the rug in front of her, and she- she had just murdered Antonio in turn by hitting him in the back of the head. She had struck as hard as she possibly could.
Andrea wandered aimlessly around the living room, not thinking clearly. She went to close the front door and absently noticed the broken pane. What was she going to do? Call the police? No. She would go to prison if the police came here. Maybe not. She would explain that this madman was killing her boyfriend and she tried to stop him the only way she could. Maybe that would be in her favor, surely. Yes. She had been afraid for her own life. If the maniac had gone after her next, she would not have had a chance.
Going to an easy chair, Andrea fell into it rather than sat. She needed to think. Before she called anyone, she had to get her story straight. Poor Paul, lying there like that with his eyes open. But she felt she must not touch him. So far, no tears had come and part of her wondered if she was in shock. Then she saw the strange brown cylinder of stiff paper that Antonio had dropped. What could that be? Not fully realizing what she was doing, Andrea got to her feet, bent and picked up the odd thing. It was a scroll, she had seen them in movies but never in real life. With unsteady fingers, she began to unroll the parchment but stopped as she heard a car pull up outside with a deep throaty roar.
IV.
Outside, car headlights shone in through the living room window and Andrea dazedly went to see who it was. Somehow she expected the police but instead a handsome young man in a charcoal grey suit and white topcoat opened the door without knocking and stood there taking in the scene. Even in her emotional stupor, she noticed how impeccably groomed he was, how well his clothes fit. Every jet black hair was in place, the strong-jawed face was shaven absolutely clean and the teeth when he smiled gleamed white as chalk. He left the door open as he entered.
As he surveyed the scene and seemed satisfied there was no immediate danger, his scrutiny ranged over Andrea. She had tugged her blouse back on and quickly buttoned it, suddenly ashamed of the extra pounds she had put on lately and how her hair was a mess. The stranger smiled reassuringly and held up a leather wallet that held a laminated ID card. He brought it for her to examine.
DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE, SPECIAL INVESTIGATORY BRANCH, it said with an official looking seal of a stylized eagle in front of a shield of vertical red and white stripes. His name was Christopher Wakely, according to the card. She glanced up at his self-assured face and suddenly her tears started to pour.
"That's okay, that's okay," he told her in a smooth baritone. "Take your time. I'm from the Mandate, we're a government agency specialized in the unexplained. Call me Kit, only my mother called me Christopher." He stroked his shoulder as she gave way to full body sobbing. Looking over her shoulder, Kit Wakely shook his head disapprovingly. "Well, this is an obvious scenario. You were cuddling with the guy who has been perforated there, the other bloke burst in and objected to the situation. As he was putting holes in the first chap, you decided to intervene. That ashtray looks quite heavy. I can see how it sent the second fellow to chat with his ancestors."
Despite herself, Andrea looked at the scene and nodded. "Yes. You figured it out right away."
"As it happens, I know the man you saluted with the ashtray," Wakely said. "He is the hired hand of an international thief known as Rook. I was looking for her when I spotted his car and decided he would lead me to her." The Mandate agent stepped away from Andrea and stared down at the two dead men. "Poor Antonio Lupari. He never made decisions from reason, always from emotion. Let me guess. You had two boyfriends on the string at the same time?"
"Tony only came to see me on weekends, he said he was always busy." Wiping her face so the mascara made streaks across her cheeks, she turned back to Wakely. "What was that about a thief called Rook?"
Kit Wakely took her by the shoulders and pushed her to sit down in a plain wooden chair by the door to the kitchen. "Take a few deep breaths. Yes, Rook is after a magic talisman, something called the Scroll of Final Truth. It seems to be a dangerous item to possess. As far as I can reconstruct today's events, two men have already died soon after taking it, and now here are two more. That's the scroll there were Lupari dropped it, I believe."
"Yes," she mumbled as she started to sniffle again. In one part of her mind, the thought sank in that the casual way this government man reacted to her braining Antonio, maybe she would not go to prison. Maybe this guy would be on her side. She watched as the well-dressed agent bent over and carefully picked up the brown cylinder from where it lay almost within Antonio's reach. He straightened up and regarded it thoughtfully.
"You know, even after what I've seen working for the Mandate, I'm still skeptical," he told her. "So much nonsense and mumbo-jumbo and people pretending to be magicians." Kit Wakely gave her a smirk and opened the scroll a few inches. " 'Look behind you while you can?' " he blurted out and immediately spun around with his hand going to a shoulder holster but a pistol cracked twice in the doorway and he fell straight down to the floor.
Andrea screamed louder and longer than she ever had in her life as her nerves broke. This was too much. She bent over in the chair, hugging herself and shaking violently, unable to process this latest horrifying event in her life. She watched Wakely trying to sit up, still alive but weak and obviously dying as bright red stains spread across his white shirt. "Look behind you..." he repeated.
Standing in the doorway was a tall slim woman in a simple white blouse and black skirt with a short bolero jacket. Keeping a wary eye on the wounded Mandate agent, she made a tsk-tsk noise as she saw Lupari and and the other corpse. "I knew he would come to see you. Poor Antonio, he was owned by his hormones. Andrea, right? I suppose you're a loose end I should tie up before leaving." Rook raised her small silenced pistol and gave Andrea a critical stare. "Although you seem about ready to lose your mind in any case. Not used to the life of sudden death and abrupt reversals. Hold still. I might as well see what all the fuss is about. Professor Mercedes murdered someone to get this scroll, and I did the same for him. Then Antonion had it for a short time and look at his poor carcass there. And now this government thug has possessed it and he's bleeding his life out on your shabby carpet."
"Don't read it!" Andrea screamed. "Listen to me, please don't read it!"
"Your advice is duly ignored," Rook answered. "Quiet. Let's see." The slender fingers unrolled the parchment just a few inches. "What quaint symbols. And yet..somehow... 'A good job is worth finishing.' What on Earth?" Her voice broke off as a gun fired from the floor behind her and a heavy .357 slug tore through her abdomen. Rook grunted and dropped to her knees, pressing one hand to her middle and felt hot wetness on her fingers. It hurt worse than she could have imagined.
Turning her head, still clutching the Walther, Rook saw Kit Wakely lying with glassy unseeing eyes but his Smith & Wesson revolver in his dead hand. He had hung on long enough to get off one shot. "A good job is worth finishing," Rook snarled as she lurched to her feet.
"Oh my God, I'll call an ambulance!" Andrea cried but Rook smacked her across the face with the gun.
"I'll make it to a hospital," the adventuress said in a firm voice. "I'm made of sterner stuff than you weak American bimbos." With the scroll tucked under one arm, pressing her hand to her wound, Rook walked slowly but determinedly outside to where her Alfa Romeo sat. Working on will power, she tossed the scroll and the Walther to the floor in front of the passenger seat and got behind the wheel. She was not bleeding as freely as she had feared but the pain was overwhelming. Rook started the powerful sports car and tore out onto the highway without looking either way and slamming the gas pedal down.
Left behind, Andrea walked over to the phone on the wall just inside the kitchen. It took her three attempts to get the operator and she had to repeat herself twice to be understood as her voice cracked. "Get me the police. Hurry, please."
V.
Wearing black latex gloves, Bane had inspected the body of Professor Ben Mercedes, using a pencil flashlight. He found little beside the obvious. The man had been shot once in the chest at point blank range by a small caliber pistol, a 22 in his judgement. The notorious Scroll of Final Truth was not in the car. The Dire Wolf stepped back, furious at the thought that he had spoken with the killer not twenty minutes earlier and had let her blithely drive away. No wonder her body language was so suspicious. The barrel on her pistol had still been hot.
Well, he knew something Rook did not. His childhood years as a pickpocket and petty thief had left him with deft hands and a neat sense of timing. When Rook had touched his chest and he had disengaged her hands, he had tucked a device the size of a button on the inside of the rolled up cuff of her jacket. It was adhesive on one side. If he had been able to distract her, he would have preferred to stick the tracer somewhere on her car but that was the best he could do.
On the back seat of his Mutang was a knapsack he always kept stocked with a change of clothes and personal items, but underneath them was a flat metal case. Bane put the case on his lap, opened the hidden lock and lifted the lid. Various Trom devices were packed neatly in white cardboard boxes. With Leonard Slade dead, Bane had access to technology decades ahead of Human knowledge, He took out a metal gimmick the size of a pack of cigarettes and thumbed its ON switch. One side lit up with a screen showing a small green blip over a grid. The Dire Wolf made a few adjustments. The tracer he had planted on Morgan's SUV indicated that the vehicle was heading west at just over the speed limit. Keeping the monitor in one hand, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed west himself.
The past three days had been busy tracking down surviving artifacts from the fire which had burned down Malekoda's house. With the rest of the KDF tied up on various assignments or on personal leave or training at Tel Shai, Bane had been working alone. He enjoyed this. Even when his six partners were all available, he sometimes took on a solo case for his Dire Wolf agency just to keep in practice.
Once he hit the outskirts of Telford, it was twelve miles to the next town. Along the highway were scattered gas stations and convenient marts, a dance club called SHADOWS, a used car dealer and a few other small businesses. But mostly it was just the road with trees and scrub lining it. Bane was eager to catch up with Rook, mostly to capture her and see she got punished for her crimes but also because he had the unsettling feeling that the scroll carried a Darthan curse on it that stirred murderous impulses. Leave it to the Darthim! Everything that Race created had its dark side. Bane glanced at the tracking monitor in his hand and saw the green blip was blinking. He was almost on top of her.
Pulled off on an unmarked dirt road was a white Alfa Romeo. The Dire Wolf swung over behind it, switched off the tracking monitor and got out with his hand on the butt of his long-barrelled 38 behind his left hip. A few years earlier, he would not have thought that necessary when dealing with Rook but she had changed somehow from a nonviolent grift artist and cat burglar to a killer. He approached slowly. Under his clothes he wore the flexible Trom armor of course, but his head was still exposed.
Glancing in the opened driver's window, his heart sank. Rook had bled all over the seat, her lap and legs were sticky with it. The beautiful pale face turned up to recognize him. "Ah, my dear. So good of you to come and see me off."
Bane flipped open his Link and said, "You'll make it. I'm calling an ambulance now, Rook. You'll be all right."
"Ah, you can't con a con artist," she breathed weakly. "Jeremy, listen. I want you to know. Tonight was the first I shot anyone. The professor and that government agent, I never ever did anything like that before."
"I believe you," the Dire Wolf said. "I thought it wasn't like you."
"I'm glad you believe me. It was that scroll. I'm really.. not that bad a person." She stopped breathing and Bane knew she was dead. He was inexplicably saddened to see her go. They had never been allies, she had always been a nuisance and a troublemaker but seeing her die touched him unexpectedly. Maybe it was just because she had been a beautiful woman and he had it hardwired in his brain that her death was a shame for that reason.
Reaching past her, careful not to get any blood on his sleeve, Bane snatched up the scroll and turned to walk back to his Mustang. He could feel the silver daggers sheathed beneath his sleeves grow warm at the nearness of the evil inherent in a Darthan artifact. Holding it as if it was covered with plague germs, he threw it in the back seat of his car and drove past the Alfa Romeo to roll a few more miles up the dirt road before pulling over under an ancient oak tree.
The whole situation was an unholy mess. So many murders in a few hours. The owner of the artifact shop, Professor Mercedes, the government agent Rook had mentioned, Rook herself. Four corpses, all homicide victims. He knew that Rook usually had an aide working with her, he would have to find out what had happened to the man. Maybe he was dead, too. Everyone associated with that scroll seemed to meet a quick and permanent end.
Bane had decided to notify the Mandate and turn the situation over to them. The government agent Rook had shot would be one of theirs and that meant they had a field team in the area. He hated and distrusted the Mandate, but they were sometimes as useful to him as he was to them.
Getting out of the car, the Dire Wolf placed the Scroll of Final Truth on a dirt patch free of grass. Popping open the cap of the Mustang's gas tank, he got a clean rag from the trunk and dipped it in until it was soaked in gasoline, then wrapped the rag around the ancient parchment. Using one of the lighters he always carried, he soon had the scroll burning furiously. He took his time making sure the dry parchment had been reduced to blackened scraps which could not possibly be reconstituted, scattered the scraps and stood back with the first satisfaction he had felt in four days. He had not had the slightest urge to unroll that parchment and see what it had to say to him.
3/5/2015