"Moth, Bat, Owl"
May. 19th, 2022 11:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Moth, Bat, Owl"
12/3/1977
I.
The freezing wind stung Bane's face but he had been walking briskly for fifteen blocks and his muscles were fully warmed up. As always, he was dressed all in black - turtleneck and sports jacket and slacks, but he had made a concession to winter and put on a long cloth coat and thin leather gloves. No hat, though. His fine black hair was stirred by the wind. At the corner of 23rd Street, he swung left and raced across the avenue to the building he had been looking for. Yes, 89 W 23rd, a white brick building five stories high. There was a mail drop on the door, with the tag FARROW RESTORATIONS- "By Appointment Only." Bane's pale grey eyes always looked sullen and unfriendly but now they narrowed even more with open suspicion. This was definitely the address Kenneth Dred had given him.
The young man who called himself Dire Wolf stepped up to that door and raised a finger to the bell. In the second before he could press the button, there was a loud crash inside and a scream. Bane had no intervals between thought and action. As soon as he heard those noises, he hopped back a step and threw a straight side kick that slammed the door inward with its lock broken loose and he rushed in. There was a tiny foyer, with a bench and coat rack and magazine table, with a door open to the show room beyond. Bane hurtled through into a huge open room lined with glass-fronted display cases, statues on pedestals and bizarre artifacts on the walls. In that instant, he had taken in the situation.
An elderly man was on the floor, being kicked in the ribs by a big guy in a suit. Another man and a woman were standing close at hand. All three of them were wearing full masks of dark cloth that covered the entire head except for eye holes. This was all he needed to see. Taking two quick steps forward, the Dire Wolf leaped in a flying tackle that slammed him right into the assailant. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, crashing into the second man and bringing him down as well. Bane rolled free and was back up on his feet instantly, fingers digging into the man's coat and hauling him up as well. In the same motion, the young Wolf snapped a hooking punch to the side of the man's head. This early in his career, Bane had no martial arts instruction at all, but he had been a street fighter since he could walk. His inborn enhanced speed would have made him dangerous in any case. That punch made a noise like a whip cracking and the hooded man's head swung around so he was looking over his own shoulder. As the thug staggered and fell, Bane swung to face the other two.
"Surprised?" he snarled. He saw now each of these attackers had a stylized emblem on the brow of the mask, stylized outlines of a bat, an owl and a moth. The woman had the Moth symbol. He had just slugged Bat and he saw the second man, Owl, was raising a handgun and extending it. Fast as he was, Bane barely dodged enough as the revolver fired and a bullet zinged past to smack into the wall behind him. The Owl took aim, and in that split-second, the Dire Wolf whipped out his own weapon. Silver glittered in the subdued lighting and a slim throwing dagger sliced across the man's forearm, leaving a deep trough. Owl yelped at the unexpected pain and dropped his pistol and grabbed at his wound. Bane had his other dagger in hand, drawing back his arm for the throw when the woman Moth took a shot at him. It was just luck he wasn't killed. The bullet passed so close to his head it sounded like a bee. The Dire Wolf dropped to the floor and rolled behind a heavy wooden stand which supported a stone head three times life size.
"We've got what we came for!" shouted Moth. "Owl's hurt, let's get out of here."
Bane started to peer out from behind the wooden stand but the woman fired again. That shot tore a corner off the stand and sent a big chip flying past his cheek. The door slammed. Silver dagger in hand, the Dire Wolf leaped up furiously but the three hooded people were gone. He rushed to the door and was just in time to see a dark blue Mercury Marquis roar away. Bane was shaking with anger. Deliberately starting to take deeper, slower breaths, he closed the door and went back into the shop. He wasn't proud of his handling of that situation. He felt he should have been able to handle any three normal humans, guns or not. Getting ahold of himself, calming down a little, he went over to the man who had been attacked.
Sitting up now, leaning back against a display case, the balding man groaned and rubbed his side. Going past him, Bane retrieved the dagger he had thrown, wiped its silver blade on a handkerchief and returned both weapons to their sheaths under his sleeves, hilts facing out near his wrists. He turned back to the moaning man. "Hey! You Wilson Farrow?"
The old man took a breath and managed to say, "Yes- yes. You stopped them from beating me, young man, and I'm grateful. I just need a minute..."
Bane helped Farrow up by pulling on the man's arm. "Here you go. Listen, you phoned Kenneth Dred an hour ago. You said you thought people had been following you, right? Mr Dred sent me here to check it out."
"Do I know you?"
"Nah. My name is Jeremy Bane, I've been working for Mr Dred for a couple of months now as his investigator. Sure looks like I got here just in time. Who were those three nuts in the masks?"
Farrow got over to a chair by the door and lowered himself down gingerly. "My God, my ribs hurt. No, I don't know who those people are. This was the first good look I got at them and as you saw, their faces are hidden."
"The masks had drawings on them," Bane said. "An owl, bat and moth. Really cute stuff."
"The symbols don't mean anything special to me. I need to see a doctor. I think that brute cracked a rib."
"An X-ray's a good idea," Bane said with a noticeable lack of empathy. "All right then. So you don't have a clue who these freaks are or what they want from you? Do you know what they took? The Moth lady said they got what they came for."
Farrowed glanced around the shop. "Oh. Oh, yes, that case. They took a Darthan wand, incredibly old and quite valuable to those who know about these matters."
"Fine," replied Bane with obviously no comprehension. "What does it look like?"
"Um, about a foot long. Maybe as thick as your thumb. Round knobs at both ends. It's carved with arcane designs along its length. It seems that's all they took."
Bane rubbed his chin and went over to stare down at the open case. "I guess. Well, it looks like you might want to go the emergency room. You gonna call the cops?"
"Oh, my no. I'd be here all day answering questions. I will call a taxi and get my ribs looked at."
The Dire Wolf headed for the door. "Fine. Listen, I'm going to report back to Mr Dred and see what he thinks. If I meet these fools in the masks again, I'll get your Darthan wand whatever back after slapping them around a little."
Farrow smiled. "You're an interesting young fellow. Not five minutes ago, two people shot at you at close range. You don't seem shaken up at all."
This seemed to surprise Bane. He glanced back as he went out the door. "I'm used to it, that's all."
II.
Back on the street, he headed north at a trot that was faster than most people could run. His long legs worked tirelessly and anyone trying to shadow him would have had their hands full. This was his normal mode. Bane had a constant excess of energy that he had to find ways to use up. He normally only slept four hours out of twenty-four, usually in the morning, and his enhanced metabolism burns calories ruthlessly. At 33rd Street, he bought two hot dogs with mustard and a can of rot beer from a pushcart vendor, devoured the hot dogs and drained the soda in a gulp, dropping the garbage in a bin at the next corner. In a shorter time than he would have made by hailing a taxi, the Dire Wolf was hurrying up the steps in front of an old nine-story building on East 38th Street. Here, Kenneth Dred had lived for more than forty years, writing books on the supernatural and investigating the Midnight War that few humans knew about.
Bane unlocked the front door and breezed in, tossing his overcoat on the mahogany rack that stood just inside. He moved down awide hall lined with shelves crammed with thousands of old books. Ahead of him was the staircase and coming slowly down it, hand on the rail, was Kenneth Dred.
Never a big or imposing man, at seventy-seven Dred had withered into a slight, wiry figure that still stood straight. He descended the stairs carefully but without a cane. It was close to noon, and the old scholar was fasidiously dressed in a suit and tie, with a vest and with polished shoes. The narrow, gnomelike face was cleanly shaven, the dark hair had receded far back on the high forehead. Dred regarded his protege with affection he didn't try to conceal.
"You've come back quickly, Jeremy. Did you see Farrow?"
"You bet," Bane answered. "I have a real report to give today, sir."
"Well, come into the kitchen then. After that walk, you must be hungry. You can grab a snack while you fill me in."
Despite his lean, almost gaunt physique, Bane burned enough calories every day for three men and Dred made sure the refrigerator and cupboards were always stocked. As the Dire Wolf assembled two roast beef sandwiches, gathering tomatoes, cheese and mayonnaise, he started his report. Dred listened, as usual, without interruptions. After the sandwiches had been devoured and his young assistant was gulping a big glass of apple juice, the old man asked for a few further details. Finally, going over to make a cup of tea for himself, Dred said, "I think there will be another robbery by these people soon. The Darthan wand doesn't have that much power in itself but the gremthom metal is well suited for gralic magick. My suspicion is that the thieves intend to steal a gem to fasten to that wand and create a new Sceptre."
Washing his hands and drying them on a dishcloth, Bane made no comment. It was clear he had no idea what that statement meant.
"Jeremy, back during the Second World War, there was an adventuress who called herself the Sceptre. I worked with her a number of times. Her weapon was made of a wand like the one stolen by those thieves in the masks. The wand was capped by an Eldar crystal and the interaction between these two forms of gralic magick gave the talisman tremendous power. In time, the Sceptre passed into other hands and has long been lost. No one has ever been able to duplicate it."
The Dire Wolf frowned and thought for a second. "I get it. Eldar and Darthan magick don't mix. If these guys in the masks get an Eldar stone and do manage to fix it onto the stolen wand, they'll have a powerful weapon. So. Seems to me our next step should be to find where some of these Eldar rocks are and get to them before these fancy crooks do. Right?"
"Exactly right. Jeremy, Eldar gems are exceedingly rare. I have a few but then this building has strong defenses. There are two in North Carolina in the Cahill collection. The other one I know about is much closer, though, in the Deswick section of Brooklyn. Most likely it is there that the thieves will go next."
"I'm on it!" Bane snapped eagerly. "All I need is the address and let me at 'em."
Rising from the kitchen chair with some stiffness, Dred smiled. "Very good. Let me phone George Norton about the situaton and tell him you will be coming to help. He lives at Richmond Lane, let me think 1167 Richmond Lane if memory serves. A two story frame house identical to nearly every other house in that neighborhood. George worked at the Museum of Natural History until his retirement and his collection of occult artifacts is quite impressive." The old man picked up the wall phone.
With no more patience than usual for him, Bane said, "I'm on my way," and rushed from the kitchen.
III.
In the front hall, the Dire Wolf shrugged into his coat and stepped into the walk-in closet by the door. He went through its concealed panel and down steep concrete steps, past the vault and along a narrow passage which ended in a rough wooden door. Going through into the garage, Bane headed for Dred's dark grey Chevrolet and jumped in. Getting up the ramp to street level meant a tight turn that had to be taken slowly, but in a moment he was past the automatically raising panel and pulling out onto Lexington Avenue. Bane sped off. The fact that he did not have a real driver's license never troubled him. For all his life, he had been a street orphan without documentation, stealing and fighting and hiring out as bodyguard or courier when he got big enough. He did not know his real name and didn't remember where "Jeremy Bane" came from, he had used it as far back as he could remember.
As he headed for Brooklyn, he thought about Dred's efforts to get him some legal cover. Bane himself had bought a fake ID and driver's license and gun permit from a shady character called Deaf Jimmy, but Dred wanted something more solid for his protege. Since Dred knew people like Michael Hawk and Andrew Steel, he was confident he could documents for his assistant as least as valid as those used by spies. Good enough to stand up to inspection. It had also been discussed that Bane might work part-time for Hawk's agency and get a Private Investigator license, which would be a big asset in the sort of work he was now doing unofficially.
Being an outlaw did not trouble the Dire Wolf to any extent. It was all he knew. Still, being able to deal with police openly instead of having to evade them and out-manuever at crime scenes, would certainly make his job easier. He was beginning to accept that the idea that working for Kenneth Dred might not be the short gig he had thought, that perhaps here he had found a life's work he had not realized he wanted.
Brooklyn was out of his normal territory, so he stopped for gas and to get his bearing for a second. The Deswick section seemed to be an endless array of white wooden houses, side by side for miles, all with tiny neat front yards. He found Desmond Lane, at the end of which was a house which had not only a front and a back yard but an above-ground swimming pool now covered over with canvas. Parking on the street in front was that blue Mercury. The same car. Bane pulled over and was out of Dred's car at a full run, heading for where he had glimpsed movement behind the house. He had not yet learned strategy or planning, all his instincts were for direct confrontation. There was no sign of any retired museum guy, he thought, George Whatever-his-name-was. Instead, in a yard encircled by six-foot wooden plank fencing, stood two men and a woman wearing dark cloth masks.
The one with the Owl outline on his hood saw Bane wheel around the corner of the house and speeding straight toward him. "You again!" the man managed to yell in the second before the Dire Wolf leaped at him faster than a real wolf. Bane blasted a right backfist followed instantly by a left cross and the rapid combination of blows rattled the man's brain inside his skull. Owl went up on his toes and collapsed straight down in a heap. Bane stood over the huddled mass and whirled to see the Moth pointing a small .32 chrome-plated revolver at him with both hands. He froze in position, barely breathing.
"Good boy," said a husky female voice from beneath the mask. "My God, you ARE fast. But we both know a bullet has to be faster. Don't move. There is too much at stake here and I'll put a hole in you if you blink."
As Bane watched fuming, the third man came down the three steps at the rear of the house. In one hand, the Bat masked thief held the gremthom rod they had stolen earlier that day, and in his other hand was a jewel just a bit smaller than a fist. The gem was a delicate light blue and resembled tourmaline. "This is it, Moth. Let's drag poor Owl to the car and get away from here."
"No," said the woman. "This guy keeps turning up. He's going to be a problem. I don't want him following us any more. Get the Sceptre assembled."
"What, here? Now?"
"Absolutely," Moth ordered. "Of course. We'll test it on this cop."
Bane instinctively started to protest he was not a police officer but dedided to let it pass. If the Moth woman's attention wandered, even for a second..
On one end of the Darthan wand, the thieves had fastened a metal cup and now the man in the Bat mask firmly inserted the Eldar stone into it. White light exploded as if lightning had struck him, a deafening peal of thunder rolled at close range and the man charred into a black husk that fell with smoke rising from it into the winter air. Since he had kept his eyes on Moth and her gun, Bane had no been looking toward the detonation and so was spared being blinded. As it was, white spots floated in his vision and his ears rang. As the Bat had connected the stone to the wand, the woman in the Moth mask had quickly looked the other way. Now she strode over and snatched up the steaming-hot copper-colored rod, pocketing her pistol as she did so.
Shaking his head in an effort to clear it, the Dire Wolf said, "You looked away when he put that thing together!"
"That's right."
"You knew it was going to explode?" His own voice sounded hollow to his numbed ears.
Moth chuckled. "I've done my research. The original Sceptre almost killed its crafter in 1932, and he lost a hand."
"You sacrificed your partner, eh?" Bane took a half-step closer. "No honor among thieves."
"Please. Spare me. Bat had served his function. We would end up fighting over the Sceptre sooner or later. But there's no time to talk. I'm sure some citizen has already called the police and fire department after that blast." Moth pointed the talisman at Bane and visible light crackled around it in a white halo. In another instant, he knew, a killing blast would shoot into him. He saw her turn her eyes away. That was the sign. The Dire Wolf lunged in close like a fencer, seizing the Moth's arm and slamming it back against her chest. Another stunning detonation went off like a stick of dynamite in her hand, right against her body. Bane was thrown violently back, tumbling to the ground and hitting face down. He forced himself to his hands and knees and shakily got up. Blood was streaming from his noise. Just on determination, he got to his feet and lurched a few steps toward Moth.
It wasn't a neat, presentable death. Much of the woman's torso had been vaporized and her skin was burnt. Bane painfully reached down and tugged the Sceptre from unresisting fingers. It was hot enough to sting his fingers. The Dire Wolf's head began to clear and he knew he had to get out of there. He walked to the house and peered through the open doorway. A middle-aged man with a huge belly was lying face up with the hilt of a knife stickingup from the center of his chest. That had to be Norton. Bane turned away and made it to Dred's car, not without a few seconds where he wasn't sure if he would get there. As he started the engine, he saw three people coming out of a neighboring house and starting not at him, but that the crisped bodies in Norton's yard. They hadn't seemed to have noticed him. Bane eased into the street and drove for a few blocks before pulling over. He was surprised to see his hands were trembling. That wasn't like him. The Dire Wolf forced himself to breathe slowly, to calm down as his hearing and vision returned. Maybe he would take up that offer to work with the Michael Hawk Agency that Mr Dred had offered. Some professional training would have been handy this day, that was for sure.
______10/14/2013
12/3/1977
I.
The freezing wind stung Bane's face but he had been walking briskly for fifteen blocks and his muscles were fully warmed up. As always, he was dressed all in black - turtleneck and sports jacket and slacks, but he had made a concession to winter and put on a long cloth coat and thin leather gloves. No hat, though. His fine black hair was stirred by the wind. At the corner of 23rd Street, he swung left and raced across the avenue to the building he had been looking for. Yes, 89 W 23rd, a white brick building five stories high. There was a mail drop on the door, with the tag FARROW RESTORATIONS- "By Appointment Only." Bane's pale grey eyes always looked sullen and unfriendly but now they narrowed even more with open suspicion. This was definitely the address Kenneth Dred had given him.
The young man who called himself Dire Wolf stepped up to that door and raised a finger to the bell. In the second before he could press the button, there was a loud crash inside and a scream. Bane had no intervals between thought and action. As soon as he heard those noises, he hopped back a step and threw a straight side kick that slammed the door inward with its lock broken loose and he rushed in. There was a tiny foyer, with a bench and coat rack and magazine table, with a door open to the show room beyond. Bane hurtled through into a huge open room lined with glass-fronted display cases, statues on pedestals and bizarre artifacts on the walls. In that instant, he had taken in the situation.
An elderly man was on the floor, being kicked in the ribs by a big guy in a suit. Another man and a woman were standing close at hand. All three of them were wearing full masks of dark cloth that covered the entire head except for eye holes. This was all he needed to see. Taking two quick steps forward, the Dire Wolf leaped in a flying tackle that slammed him right into the assailant. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, crashing into the second man and bringing him down as well. Bane rolled free and was back up on his feet instantly, fingers digging into the man's coat and hauling him up as well. In the same motion, the young Wolf snapped a hooking punch to the side of the man's head. This early in his career, Bane had no martial arts instruction at all, but he had been a street fighter since he could walk. His inborn enhanced speed would have made him dangerous in any case. That punch made a noise like a whip cracking and the hooded man's head swung around so he was looking over his own shoulder. As the thug staggered and fell, Bane swung to face the other two.
"Surprised?" he snarled. He saw now each of these attackers had a stylized emblem on the brow of the mask, stylized outlines of a bat, an owl and a moth. The woman had the Moth symbol. He had just slugged Bat and he saw the second man, Owl, was raising a handgun and extending it. Fast as he was, Bane barely dodged enough as the revolver fired and a bullet zinged past to smack into the wall behind him. The Owl took aim, and in that split-second, the Dire Wolf whipped out his own weapon. Silver glittered in the subdued lighting and a slim throwing dagger sliced across the man's forearm, leaving a deep trough. Owl yelped at the unexpected pain and dropped his pistol and grabbed at his wound. Bane had his other dagger in hand, drawing back his arm for the throw when the woman Moth took a shot at him. It was just luck he wasn't killed. The bullet passed so close to his head it sounded like a bee. The Dire Wolf dropped to the floor and rolled behind a heavy wooden stand which supported a stone head three times life size.
"We've got what we came for!" shouted Moth. "Owl's hurt, let's get out of here."
Bane started to peer out from behind the wooden stand but the woman fired again. That shot tore a corner off the stand and sent a big chip flying past his cheek. The door slammed. Silver dagger in hand, the Dire Wolf leaped up furiously but the three hooded people were gone. He rushed to the door and was just in time to see a dark blue Mercury Marquis roar away. Bane was shaking with anger. Deliberately starting to take deeper, slower breaths, he closed the door and went back into the shop. He wasn't proud of his handling of that situation. He felt he should have been able to handle any three normal humans, guns or not. Getting ahold of himself, calming down a little, he went over to the man who had been attacked.
Sitting up now, leaning back against a display case, the balding man groaned and rubbed his side. Going past him, Bane retrieved the dagger he had thrown, wiped its silver blade on a handkerchief and returned both weapons to their sheaths under his sleeves, hilts facing out near his wrists. He turned back to the moaning man. "Hey! You Wilson Farrow?"
The old man took a breath and managed to say, "Yes- yes. You stopped them from beating me, young man, and I'm grateful. I just need a minute..."
Bane helped Farrow up by pulling on the man's arm. "Here you go. Listen, you phoned Kenneth Dred an hour ago. You said you thought people had been following you, right? Mr Dred sent me here to check it out."
"Do I know you?"
"Nah. My name is Jeremy Bane, I've been working for Mr Dred for a couple of months now as his investigator. Sure looks like I got here just in time. Who were those three nuts in the masks?"
Farrow got over to a chair by the door and lowered himself down gingerly. "My God, my ribs hurt. No, I don't know who those people are. This was the first good look I got at them and as you saw, their faces are hidden."
"The masks had drawings on them," Bane said. "An owl, bat and moth. Really cute stuff."
"The symbols don't mean anything special to me. I need to see a doctor. I think that brute cracked a rib."
"An X-ray's a good idea," Bane said with a noticeable lack of empathy. "All right then. So you don't have a clue who these freaks are or what they want from you? Do you know what they took? The Moth lady said they got what they came for."
Farrowed glanced around the shop. "Oh. Oh, yes, that case. They took a Darthan wand, incredibly old and quite valuable to those who know about these matters."
"Fine," replied Bane with obviously no comprehension. "What does it look like?"
"Um, about a foot long. Maybe as thick as your thumb. Round knobs at both ends. It's carved with arcane designs along its length. It seems that's all they took."
Bane rubbed his chin and went over to stare down at the open case. "I guess. Well, it looks like you might want to go the emergency room. You gonna call the cops?"
"Oh, my no. I'd be here all day answering questions. I will call a taxi and get my ribs looked at."
The Dire Wolf headed for the door. "Fine. Listen, I'm going to report back to Mr Dred and see what he thinks. If I meet these fools in the masks again, I'll get your Darthan wand whatever back after slapping them around a little."
Farrow smiled. "You're an interesting young fellow. Not five minutes ago, two people shot at you at close range. You don't seem shaken up at all."
This seemed to surprise Bane. He glanced back as he went out the door. "I'm used to it, that's all."
II.
Back on the street, he headed north at a trot that was faster than most people could run. His long legs worked tirelessly and anyone trying to shadow him would have had their hands full. This was his normal mode. Bane had a constant excess of energy that he had to find ways to use up. He normally only slept four hours out of twenty-four, usually in the morning, and his enhanced metabolism burns calories ruthlessly. At 33rd Street, he bought two hot dogs with mustard and a can of rot beer from a pushcart vendor, devoured the hot dogs and drained the soda in a gulp, dropping the garbage in a bin at the next corner. In a shorter time than he would have made by hailing a taxi, the Dire Wolf was hurrying up the steps in front of an old nine-story building on East 38th Street. Here, Kenneth Dred had lived for more than forty years, writing books on the supernatural and investigating the Midnight War that few humans knew about.
Bane unlocked the front door and breezed in, tossing his overcoat on the mahogany rack that stood just inside. He moved down awide hall lined with shelves crammed with thousands of old books. Ahead of him was the staircase and coming slowly down it, hand on the rail, was Kenneth Dred.
Never a big or imposing man, at seventy-seven Dred had withered into a slight, wiry figure that still stood straight. He descended the stairs carefully but without a cane. It was close to noon, and the old scholar was fasidiously dressed in a suit and tie, with a vest and with polished shoes. The narrow, gnomelike face was cleanly shaven, the dark hair had receded far back on the high forehead. Dred regarded his protege with affection he didn't try to conceal.
"You've come back quickly, Jeremy. Did you see Farrow?"
"You bet," Bane answered. "I have a real report to give today, sir."
"Well, come into the kitchen then. After that walk, you must be hungry. You can grab a snack while you fill me in."
Despite his lean, almost gaunt physique, Bane burned enough calories every day for three men and Dred made sure the refrigerator and cupboards were always stocked. As the Dire Wolf assembled two roast beef sandwiches, gathering tomatoes, cheese and mayonnaise, he started his report. Dred listened, as usual, without interruptions. After the sandwiches had been devoured and his young assistant was gulping a big glass of apple juice, the old man asked for a few further details. Finally, going over to make a cup of tea for himself, Dred said, "I think there will be another robbery by these people soon. The Darthan wand doesn't have that much power in itself but the gremthom metal is well suited for gralic magick. My suspicion is that the thieves intend to steal a gem to fasten to that wand and create a new Sceptre."
Washing his hands and drying them on a dishcloth, Bane made no comment. It was clear he had no idea what that statement meant.
"Jeremy, back during the Second World War, there was an adventuress who called herself the Sceptre. I worked with her a number of times. Her weapon was made of a wand like the one stolen by those thieves in the masks. The wand was capped by an Eldar crystal and the interaction between these two forms of gralic magick gave the talisman tremendous power. In time, the Sceptre passed into other hands and has long been lost. No one has ever been able to duplicate it."
The Dire Wolf frowned and thought for a second. "I get it. Eldar and Darthan magick don't mix. If these guys in the masks get an Eldar stone and do manage to fix it onto the stolen wand, they'll have a powerful weapon. So. Seems to me our next step should be to find where some of these Eldar rocks are and get to them before these fancy crooks do. Right?"
"Exactly right. Jeremy, Eldar gems are exceedingly rare. I have a few but then this building has strong defenses. There are two in North Carolina in the Cahill collection. The other one I know about is much closer, though, in the Deswick section of Brooklyn. Most likely it is there that the thieves will go next."
"I'm on it!" Bane snapped eagerly. "All I need is the address and let me at 'em."
Rising from the kitchen chair with some stiffness, Dred smiled. "Very good. Let me phone George Norton about the situaton and tell him you will be coming to help. He lives at Richmond Lane, let me think 1167 Richmond Lane if memory serves. A two story frame house identical to nearly every other house in that neighborhood. George worked at the Museum of Natural History until his retirement and his collection of occult artifacts is quite impressive." The old man picked up the wall phone.
With no more patience than usual for him, Bane said, "I'm on my way," and rushed from the kitchen.
III.
In the front hall, the Dire Wolf shrugged into his coat and stepped into the walk-in closet by the door. He went through its concealed panel and down steep concrete steps, past the vault and along a narrow passage which ended in a rough wooden door. Going through into the garage, Bane headed for Dred's dark grey Chevrolet and jumped in. Getting up the ramp to street level meant a tight turn that had to be taken slowly, but in a moment he was past the automatically raising panel and pulling out onto Lexington Avenue. Bane sped off. The fact that he did not have a real driver's license never troubled him. For all his life, he had been a street orphan without documentation, stealing and fighting and hiring out as bodyguard or courier when he got big enough. He did not know his real name and didn't remember where "Jeremy Bane" came from, he had used it as far back as he could remember.
As he headed for Brooklyn, he thought about Dred's efforts to get him some legal cover. Bane himself had bought a fake ID and driver's license and gun permit from a shady character called Deaf Jimmy, but Dred wanted something more solid for his protege. Since Dred knew people like Michael Hawk and Andrew Steel, he was confident he could documents for his assistant as least as valid as those used by spies. Good enough to stand up to inspection. It had also been discussed that Bane might work part-time for Hawk's agency and get a Private Investigator license, which would be a big asset in the sort of work he was now doing unofficially.
Being an outlaw did not trouble the Dire Wolf to any extent. It was all he knew. Still, being able to deal with police openly instead of having to evade them and out-manuever at crime scenes, would certainly make his job easier. He was beginning to accept that the idea that working for Kenneth Dred might not be the short gig he had thought, that perhaps here he had found a life's work he had not realized he wanted.
Brooklyn was out of his normal territory, so he stopped for gas and to get his bearing for a second. The Deswick section seemed to be an endless array of white wooden houses, side by side for miles, all with tiny neat front yards. He found Desmond Lane, at the end of which was a house which had not only a front and a back yard but an above-ground swimming pool now covered over with canvas. Parking on the street in front was that blue Mercury. The same car. Bane pulled over and was out of Dred's car at a full run, heading for where he had glimpsed movement behind the house. He had not yet learned strategy or planning, all his instincts were for direct confrontation. There was no sign of any retired museum guy, he thought, George Whatever-his-name-was. Instead, in a yard encircled by six-foot wooden plank fencing, stood two men and a woman wearing dark cloth masks.
The one with the Owl outline on his hood saw Bane wheel around the corner of the house and speeding straight toward him. "You again!" the man managed to yell in the second before the Dire Wolf leaped at him faster than a real wolf. Bane blasted a right backfist followed instantly by a left cross and the rapid combination of blows rattled the man's brain inside his skull. Owl went up on his toes and collapsed straight down in a heap. Bane stood over the huddled mass and whirled to see the Moth pointing a small .32 chrome-plated revolver at him with both hands. He froze in position, barely breathing.
"Good boy," said a husky female voice from beneath the mask. "My God, you ARE fast. But we both know a bullet has to be faster. Don't move. There is too much at stake here and I'll put a hole in you if you blink."
As Bane watched fuming, the third man came down the three steps at the rear of the house. In one hand, the Bat masked thief held the gremthom rod they had stolen earlier that day, and in his other hand was a jewel just a bit smaller than a fist. The gem was a delicate light blue and resembled tourmaline. "This is it, Moth. Let's drag poor Owl to the car and get away from here."
"No," said the woman. "This guy keeps turning up. He's going to be a problem. I don't want him following us any more. Get the Sceptre assembled."
"What, here? Now?"
"Absolutely," Moth ordered. "Of course. We'll test it on this cop."
Bane instinctively started to protest he was not a police officer but dedided to let it pass. If the Moth woman's attention wandered, even for a second..
On one end of the Darthan wand, the thieves had fastened a metal cup and now the man in the Bat mask firmly inserted the Eldar stone into it. White light exploded as if lightning had struck him, a deafening peal of thunder rolled at close range and the man charred into a black husk that fell with smoke rising from it into the winter air. Since he had kept his eyes on Moth and her gun, Bane had no been looking toward the detonation and so was spared being blinded. As it was, white spots floated in his vision and his ears rang. As the Bat had connected the stone to the wand, the woman in the Moth mask had quickly looked the other way. Now she strode over and snatched up the steaming-hot copper-colored rod, pocketing her pistol as she did so.
Shaking his head in an effort to clear it, the Dire Wolf said, "You looked away when he put that thing together!"
"That's right."
"You knew it was going to explode?" His own voice sounded hollow to his numbed ears.
Moth chuckled. "I've done my research. The original Sceptre almost killed its crafter in 1932, and he lost a hand."
"You sacrificed your partner, eh?" Bane took a half-step closer. "No honor among thieves."
"Please. Spare me. Bat had served his function. We would end up fighting over the Sceptre sooner or later. But there's no time to talk. I'm sure some citizen has already called the police and fire department after that blast." Moth pointed the talisman at Bane and visible light crackled around it in a white halo. In another instant, he knew, a killing blast would shoot into him. He saw her turn her eyes away. That was the sign. The Dire Wolf lunged in close like a fencer, seizing the Moth's arm and slamming it back against her chest. Another stunning detonation went off like a stick of dynamite in her hand, right against her body. Bane was thrown violently back, tumbling to the ground and hitting face down. He forced himself to his hands and knees and shakily got up. Blood was streaming from his noise. Just on determination, he got to his feet and lurched a few steps toward Moth.
It wasn't a neat, presentable death. Much of the woman's torso had been vaporized and her skin was burnt. Bane painfully reached down and tugged the Sceptre from unresisting fingers. It was hot enough to sting his fingers. The Dire Wolf's head began to clear and he knew he had to get out of there. He walked to the house and peered through the open doorway. A middle-aged man with a huge belly was lying face up with the hilt of a knife stickingup from the center of his chest. That had to be Norton. Bane turned away and made it to Dred's car, not without a few seconds where he wasn't sure if he would get there. As he started the engine, he saw three people coming out of a neighboring house and starting not at him, but that the crisped bodies in Norton's yard. They hadn't seemed to have noticed him. Bane eased into the street and drove for a few blocks before pulling over. He was surprised to see his hands were trembling. That wasn't like him. The Dire Wolf forced himself to breathe slowly, to calm down as his hearing and vision returned. Maybe he would take up that offer to work with the Michael Hawk Agency that Mr Dred had offered. Some professional training would have been handy this day, that was for sure.
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