"The Mad Baron of Signarm"
May. 24th, 2022 08:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"The Mad Baron of Signarm"
(8/11-8/12/1993)
-
Even before he glanced at the monitor screen, Bane was sure it was Inspector Klein outside. What he had been reading in the papers had led him to expect a visit. Yes, there was the short stocky figure in a beige raincoat, the curly greying hair, the chewed-up unlit cigar. Despite recognizing the man, Bane still let him in only as far as the foyer. Through the intercom, he said, "I'll be right with you," and activated the Trom sensors. More detailed than any MRI, the sensors probed the man in less than a second and confirmed his ID. Bane opened the inner door and stood aside, "Good morning, inspector, come on in."
"After you X-rayed my fillings and my glass eye, you mean. I can feel the tingle. Ah, morning, Bane. Howaya?"
"I was hoping you'd stop by," the Dire Wolf said, leading Klein to the office. As always, Bane was dressed all in black- slacks, turtleneck, sport jacket. At thirty-seven, he was gaunt as ever, a lean six feet of muscle and bone. Beneath dark feral brows, the pale grey eyes stood out dramatically. He ushered Klein to the usual leatherbound chair at one side of the desk, going around to sit down behind it himself. He made a pile of three different newspapers he had been studying and put them to one side.
"Where's your little telepathic partner?" asked Klein as he got settled.
"Probably reading your dirty thoughts about her right now."
"Eh, I'm an old man, we're entitled. You know, every time there's something weird or seemingly supernatural in the five boroughs, my superiors dump it on my desk without instructions. They don't even say, 'hey Klein, take this to that Dire Wolf guy you know and see if he'll clean it up for us.' We're both taken for granted."
"It's a set-up that works for me," Bane said. "Does it bother you?"
"Yeah, maybe a little. I like things on the square, out in the open. But you do get the job done and you save lives when you bring in the likes of Samhain or Seth Petrov or Dos Manos. So I guess it's for the best. See, today, I don't even have a file for you to read and then burn, and both of us would swear that I never gave you in the first place. All I got is autopsy results."
"I'm listening," said Bane. The grey eyes narrowed.
"And of course, this is unofficial and off the record and the NYPD never gave you this information... BUT yesterday, two men died in a strange and horrible way out in Queens. Thomas Houck, 58, and Henry Bracklow, 61. One guy's a writer, the other a chemist at Sunrise Pharmaceuticals. They had lunch at a pizza joint off Mandy Street and went out to get in Bracklow's car. The waitress happened to be watching them and she said she say a white cloud explode inside the car as they got in. Naturally, she thought there was a fire and she yelled for her boss. He went out there, saw the inside of the car had cleared except for a few bits of white vapor, and yanked the door open. The handle wasn't even hot."
At this point, Cindy Brunner stuck her blonde head in the doorway. "A-Ha! I knew I sensed grouchy brain waves. Hey there, inspector."
"Hiya. You gonna help Mr Dire Wolf here on a new case?"
"Sorry, I'm off to Tel Shai today. The training never stops." She brought in a tray with a mug of steaming coffee, a glass of ice water and a pile of pretzels. "Wish I could hang out here, but Teacher Chael says I'm slacking." She turned and marched out. Cindy was wearing a pale blue cotton tunic with long sleeves, baggy trousers of the same material and black slippers. Klein had no way of knowing this was the uniform of a Tel Shai student, nor that Cindy would spend the next day honing her martial arts skills of Kumundu.
"Anyway, you were saying..." prompted Bane.
"Yeah. Both men were dead. Not a mark on them. We got the autopsy results and it seems their red blood cells stopped carrying oxygen. Funny thing, their lungs were good, there was air enough but their bodies stopped getting oxygen. You can't even say they suffocated, technically. Awful way to die." Klein took a good sip of the coffee.
"I don't know anything that works that way," Bane said. "The pharmaceutical guy... did he maybe have something on him from the lab, something he was working on?"
"Not as far as we could find. He was only doing work on preservatives to keep vitamin supplements fresh, anyway. But there was one odd detail. He had a mat on the driver's seat, the interior is leather and gets hot in the summer, and under the mat were a few pieces of broken glass. Put together, about the size of a tube of lipstick. Some unidentified substance on the glass, the lab is trying to identify it now."
The Dire Wolf scowled more than usual. "That's quite a chemical, if a little bit like that can expand to fill the interior of a car. A new government weapon, maybe? It sounds like something the Mandate would use."
"We don't know anything about that. But here's the kicker, why I think you'd be interested. These boys both dabbled in Alchemy. Houck wrote books and articles about it, and Bracklow fooled around with it in his free time. A tiny tube of something that expands into a cloud that kills two men instantly, and they're both into Alchemy... I figured this was up your alley."
"Yes," said Bane. "I think it is. What else can you tell me? Did they have any enemies?"
"Nah, two boring middle-aged guys with a hobby in common. I figured you'd have some ideas." He got to his feet with just a touch of effort. Nearing retirement age was starting to show. "And of course, I wasn't here just now. All this time, I been stuck in traffic on the George Washington."
Bane rose to show the inspector out, "I know, I know. Off the record, never happened, the NYPD will deny everything."
At the door, Klein gave his crooked grin. "I'm not sure we even know each other. See ya later."
II.
The Dire Wolf watched the inspector get into his personal car and ease out into traffic. Closing the door and resetting the alarms, he went back into his office and started to pace restlessly. In the Midnight War, Alchemy was called Velkandu. Its practitioners could indeed create powerful potions with amazing effects because they infused gralic force into the substances. The main drawback was that the effects never lasted long. Bane had tangled with a few Alchemists and he didn't take them lightly. Pulling out his Link from its holder on his belt, he patched into the phone system and called Dr Vitarius up in Poughkeepsie. No answer. Not even an offer to leave a message. Bane sat down behind his desk and tried to remember a friendly Alchemist. Most of the ones he had encountered were madmen or greedy opportunists. Megistus. The Sphinx. Lee Hutchins. Then he remembered something vaguely and dug through old address books in one drawer of his desk. There. Dr Grace Lemister. It was worth a try, he dialed the faded number and a woman answered instantly, "Hello?"
"Dr Lemister? This is Jeremy Bane, we met years ago when you were working on a book with Kenneth Dred."
"What? Oh heavens, that was ages ago," her voice was mature but strong and energetic. "Yes, I do remember you, a way too serious young man. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to Kenneth's funeral, I was in Europe and couldn't get back in time. What makes you call me now?"
"You co-authored a history of Velkandu with Mr Dred," Bane said. "I remembered you were a professor of organic chemistry at Stonybrook but alchemy was your real interest. I need to talk to you. Two alchemists in this area have been killed."
"Yes," came the single word and then a pause. "I heard. We are a small community, news travels fast. What do you want from me, Mr Bane?"
"I am carrying on Kenneth Dred's work. I have been since his death. I intend to find out who murdered those men and bring the killer to justice of one form or another. Maybe you have information that can help."
Again, Lemister hesitated. "Maybe. I've heard rumours. Supposedly an Alchemist from Signarm has been in this world, meeting with some of us. Sinister sort of fellow. That's what I've heard."
"When we meet? I want to move fast on this."
"I still have the same apartment on 12th Street. I retired from Stonybrook years ago. 186 12th Street, apartment 3B."
Bane stood up behind his desk. "I'm on my way now. I should be there in a few minutes."
"Good. I'll be here." She hung up.
The Dire Wolf already had the matched silver daggers in sheaths on his forearms. He was seldom without them. Holstered behind his left hip was one of the anesthetic dart guns, and the usual gadgets and devices were concealed in his jacket. But considering the deaths from that gas, he made sure one of the Trom oxygen membranes was in his right inside jacket pocket and then got a second one from a cabinet by the door before heading out. Bane stepped into a walk-in closet by the front door, went through a panel and down steep concrete steps to the corridor which ended at a plain wooden door. Here was the underground garage just large enough to hold two cars. He chose the dark green Mustang and started it up, rolling up the ramp which had a sharp turn at its top. The steel panel rose automatically and closed behind him as he pulled out onto Lexington Avenue.
It was a cool breezy morning for August, there had been rain the night before and the streets were busy. He gave up on finding a parking spot and went to the municipal lot. Paying for the day, Bane hurried three blocks over and found Lemister's address in an old four-story brick building that had been well kept. In the foyer, there were the rows of buzzer buttons over small mailboxes and sure enough, 3B said LEMISTER. He pressed the button and her distorted voice said, "Yes?"
"It's me, Jeremy Bane. We spoke a little while ago."
"Come right up." The inner door unlocked with a buzz and a click, and he stepped through. There was no elevator, he trotted up the stairs and stopped at the third floor landing. A bench under a lace-curtained window had a potted plant on the floor next to it. To his right were two doors, and the nearer one said 3B. He rapped sharply with his knuckles but got no answer. All his instincts jumped up to combat levels. He knocked again, saying, "Dr Lemister?"
Bane slowed his breathing, standing absolutely still with his ear next to the door. As he drew on his Tel Shai training, he could hear no movement in the apartment at all. Not even breathing. The Dire Wolf took the oxygen membrane from his jacket and tugged the straps over his ears so the clear film device covered his nose and mouth. He planted his feet, drew back his elbow and smacked the palm of one hand sharply just above the doorknob. The lock broke with a snapping noise and he opened the door to peer inside.
The apartment was crammed with books and papers, and there was a table against one wall filled with glass bottles and jars. Lying in front of a couch was a stout middle-aged woman in sweatpants and a cardigan. Bane yanked the Link from his belt and pressed the preset button. "Klein? Bane here. Send an ambulance to 186 12th Street. Third floor. Looks like another victim. I'm starting CPR." With that, he hung up and knelt over the woman. It had been fifteen-odd years but he recognized Grace Lemister. No pulse. He pressed both hands to her chest and started CPR. He kept at it until two EMTs came through the open door and took over.
Standing up, Bane answered questions from one of the paramedics and stepped back. He took the oxygen membrane off and stowed it. A minute later, Inspector Klein came in with a uniformed officer behind him and the questions started in earnest. After half an hour, one EMT brought up a stretcher and the body was carried down the stairs without haste. Klein kept Bane another hour while the crime scene investigators arrived to take photos and measured and inspected everything.
"I'm not taking you down to 20th Street, but you need to sign a statement within twenty-four hours," Klein said. Under his breath, he added, "Someone doesn't like these alchemy people. Get on it."
The Dire Wolf glanced around. "I spoke with her from her lobby not more than two or three minutes before I found the body. My guess is that someone planted one of those devices here that released the gas. That's some invention. A tiny tube that fills a car or an apartment with deadly gas, then then dissipates in a minute."
"Makes me nervous thinking about it." Klein shook his head. "You can go now. Keep us posted what you find."
"I'm on it," Bane said and headed down the stairs. Out on the street, he walked quickly to the municipal lot to claim his car. A slight case of nerves hit him as he realized he had come within a minute or two of being killed himself. If he had been in that apartment when the gas was released, there would have not been time to put on the Trom membrane before he died. Getting in the Mustang, he headed back up to 38th Street and returned to the old KDF building. Bane pulled down into the underground garage and went back upstairs. He felt a sad twinge at how empty the building was. It was going to waste. Ten stories of equipment including the CORBY, with only himself and Cindy living here. Maybe she was right, maybe gathering a new KDF team was the best thing to do.
Going to his rooms on the third floor, he had decided on his course of action. He would not race from one alchemist to another, even assuming if he could locate some, hoping to catch the killer before he struck again. He would go to the source. Lemister had mentioned Signarm. Bane stripped down and threw his clothing on the bed. Wearing the silk-thin Trom armor which covered him except for head and forearms, the Dire Wolf took his field suit out of the closet and got into it. The tough leatherlike pants, long-sleeved shirt and waist-length jacket were all black. The jacket had its own inner layer of Trom armor. Bane tugged on heavy hiking boots and adjusted them. From a shelf in the closet, he lowered the helmet over his head and slid the visor down. All functions checked out from light enhancers to tracking systems. He took the helmet off and clipped a metal tube the size of a marker to its back. This only provided air for six minutes when activated but it could be a vital six minutes considering what he was dealing with.
Holding the helmet in the crook of one arm, he went up to the tenth floor. Riding the elevator only reminded him again how big this building was. When the KDF had been operating, there were always members coming and going. Now it was like a museum after hours. Bane entered the top floor, the hangar where the stealth copter CORBY took up most of the floor space. He glanced at it but decided he would not take it on this case. Bane slid open a wooden panel just inside the door to reveal a pale blue gem in a silver setting. This would take concentration. He lowered the helmet over his head and placed his hand on the Eldar travel crystal. He had to visualize Signarm vividly to go there, and he had to put enough will power into the thought to send himself there for twelve hours. Bane got no results the first time. This wasn't easy. He pictured the hills of Signarm, willed himself to go there now. Blue light flared up and when it faded, he was gone from the hangar.
III.
The early afternoon sun shone down on a meadow that stretched for miles toward a forest, and beyond that were gentle rounded mountains. Bane dropped to one knee and caught himself on fingertips as he appeared. For some reason, the Eldar travel crystals left you a few inches off the ground when you appeared in another realm. He rose and tried to get his bearings. Four years earlier, he had led his KDF team here to help put down an infestation of Ghouls from Nekropolis, but he had only seen a small part of this realm. Those mountains looked familiar, though. He had seen them from a different angle...
The sound of hooves on the grass caught his attention long before he saw the horsemen. Bane stood where he was and watched them approach. Seven of them, armored men in mail bearing lances, riding on heavy chargers. One bore a pennant on the end of his lance, a blue flag with a gold crown. As Bane saw that, he felt he was on familiar territory and had a chance to make some progress. He waited until the squad pulled up, reining in their horses, before holding out empty hands.
"Greetings, valiant men of Signarm. Does not Baron Eodord still sit on his throne?"
"He does, and glad we are he does," said the lead rider. "We have not met, you and I, but I believe I have heard of you. Will you tell me your name, sir?"
"I am called the Dire Wolf. My name is Jeremy Bane. Not long ago I brought my team of fighting men here to the aid of your lord. And I am here again when danger is in the air."
"Indeed?" said the squad leader. "Know me as Bulibart, chief of this patrol. Those grey eyes mark you well, Dire Wolf. Will you come with us to the castle of our lord to speak your piece?"
"I will indeed," said Bane.
Bulibart raised a mailed hand. "Who will ride double with this man?"
"That I will do," said a Signarmite with a drooping mustache, "for my steed is the largest and can bear us both easily." He stretched down a hand and helped Bane vault up behind him. Bulibart signaled, the seven men wheeled their mounts around and galloped off toward a road just visible in the distance. Now the Dire Wolf knew where he was. He held on and waited for the ride to be over. Signarm was basically a feudal culture, with a handful of barons in castles ruling vast farmland worked by serfs. He had gotten along well with Baron Eodord when they had fought side by side against the Ghouls, but the other barons had no love for Eodord or his allies. There were constant making and breaking of alliances.
Soon, as they passed through villages of huts with thatched roofs and cultivated fields, where serfs in rough garb glanced up and bent their knees in subservience. The road became wider, then paved, and suddenly there were taverns and homes made of stone. Then the castle could be seen and the squad galloped through an open gate to dismount. Pages in red tights took the horses to be fed and rubbed down, and the soldiers of Signarm surrendered their lances to be mounted on racks. Bulibart took Bane by the arm, saying, "Best you walk in with me. Our lord is expecting my report on the border skirmish with Baron Drogan, so you will be granted audience."
"Sounds good to me," Bane answered, dropping the formal speech. They proceeded down a long high-ceilinged hallway crowded with minor nobles and servants and children all chatting and arguing. Armed sentries stood at intervals, next to life-size statues of heroes from legend. Finally, they were ushered through two huge wooden doors into the throne room itself. This was less crowded, with only a handful of advisors and valets, and one gigantic bodyguard leaning on a double-handled axe. Five stone steps led up to a raised platform and on a throne of black wood sat the Baron.
He has not aged well in the past few years, thought Bane. Baron Eodord was still a large, brawny man but his face was weary and his eyes sad. He rested his chin on a fist propped on the arm of the throne and regarded his visitor with apprehension. "Dire Wolf! Well did you come to our aid with your Tel Shai knights when your help was sore needed. Welcome. We still owe you a great debt. Come, sit before me and speak your mind."
"My lord," Bane began, then paused as a page brought a stool for him. To be allowed to sit before the Baron was a mark of honor, he knew. "I have come again because again there is menace afoot. An Alchemist from this realm has been seen in my real world, and three of our own Alchemists have died suddenly and horribly. I have come here seeking knowledge, but I do not know whether you may know anything of this matter."
Eodord raised a hand. "All of you, leave us until summoned. Only you, Hedric, stay by my side." As the chamber emptied, the Baron lowered his voice. "It is the work of that dog Drogan the One-Eye. I am sure of it. He has been hiring Alchemists and warlocks and astrologers of every sort for years. No one knows what he seeks. In these past two years, he has had workers toiling on his castle, sealing every window and crack and opening, no matter how tiny. It is like a tomb."
"That IS strange," Bane said, "and I don't like the sound of it. I take you and he are still rivals, along with the other warlords?"
"Hah? Was it ever not so? Drogan and I have been bitter enemies since birth. It was I who took his eye with an arrow that was meant to slay him. He has been of unsound mind ever since. The Mad Baron, even his own men call him. Even his servants are made into brutes. His cooks have killed prisoners, his chambermaids have poisoned visitors. No one in his employ has clean hands free of blood. Yet, oddly enough, he has lately been making overtures of peace toward me and the other lords. He has sent men with gifts and I grudgingly have returned the act. Just this day, his party arrived with a clockwork raven, most ingenious, and I am now obliged to return the grace. I intend to send him something of a like nature. A rare portrait of a comely maiden, perhaps."
The Dire Wolf felt a chill. "A clockwork raven...? May I see it, my lord?"
"Of a certainty. There it sits upon that pillar. Go and take a good look, if you would."
Bane rose and walked over to a chest-high pillar on which stood a metal construct. It was a raven in black iron, larger than life size. The head turned slowly from side to side, the wings opened and closed. As he studied it, Bane suddenly thought he understood. He went back to the throne. "My lord, does that device have a key which needs to be turned?"
"No. It runs on Alchemy, I dare say," the Baron said. "Drogan's wise man told me it will perform these motions for years on its own. And he promised me that at every midnight the iron raven will sing a rare song."
"Oh, I bet it will. Hear me if you would, my lord. Drogan is not trying to make peaceful overtures. He is setting a clever and heartless trap for you and everyone in your castle." Bane raised a single finger. "But if you will lend me an ear, I have a plan..."
IV.
It was not short of midnight when Bane rode up to the castle of the Mad Baron, accompanied by Bulibart and another soldier. He dismounted lightly and unstrapped a package wrapped in gold cloth. The gift was large enough that it took strong arms to carry it. As he approached the castle, the Dire Wolf observed how well sealed the structure was. Tar and pitch plugged every opening. The windows had been bricked over, the chimney was covered with stone. How they breathed in there would be a problem, but if the huge front doors were open during the day, enough air would circulate. Bane walked up to the tall sentries who held poleaxes and calmly announced, "I bring a gift from my lord to yours, in hopes of better days to come."
"It is late for a visitor," said one guard.
"Is that merriment I hear from within?" asked Bane. "The sounds of feasting and tales being told. The castle is awake. I tell you, allow me to enter and your lord will be pleased. He has been waiting for this present, he has earned it well."
Finally, one of the guards summoned a page to escort Bane inside, but the two soldiers from Eodord had to remain outside. The Dire Wolf was led down a twisting hallway to a huge open chamber in which tables piled with food and wine were surrounded by gluttons. The minor nobles chewed on legs of mutton and guzzled wine as if they had just crawled out of a desert. The loud joking and coarse debates echoed. Seated at the head of that table, watching in silence, was a morbidly obese man dressed in fine cloth and wearing a silver crown on a head of red curls. One eye was covered by a leather patch. As Bane entered, the Mad Baron lifted an apple and took a single small bite.
"My lord," sang out the teenage page, "May I present an envoy from the honorable Baron Eodord. He is an outsider, bringing you the Baron's gift in return for your own generosity."
Dorgan half-rose with a growl. "Dire Wolf! I had no thought to see you in this realm again."
"Ah, well, I go where I'm needed," Bane replied. He had difficulty maintaining the formal speech of Signarm. "You should be happier than that to see me, my lord, after all I did rid your land of the Ghouls."
"And a friendship you struck up with Eodord in doing so," said the one-eyed man. "No matter. He has sent me a gift, has he? His manners are better than his aim with a bow, if I dare say so. Bring it here. What is it?"
"He didn't say," Bane answered, placing the heavy package on the table next to a platter of steamed potatoes. "I'm just a messenger."
"Strange that you should be in Signarm this night," said the Baron. "You are like a harbinger of doom. Wherever you go, there is destruction and death."
The Dire Wolf glanced around. Everyone in the hall had become still, watching and listening. He said quietly, "I understand you are interested in the Great Art, my lord. Velkandu, known to most as Alchemy. Oddly enough, three Alchemists in my world have been murdered in the past few days. Some new potion, a deadly mist that expands in an instant and takes breath away. Perhaps you have heard of such a potion?"
"I cannot swear to it," said Baron Dorgan with a smile. "But it sounds like it would be a potent weapon."
"Indeed. A few drops may fill a room with a killing fog. A larger amount, say a flagon full, might well kill everyone in a castle. I would hate to see such slaughter. Well, I must be going. Shall I give Baron Eodord any message, my lord?"
"No. Wait. I saw you in the battle with the Eaters of the Dead. You are a great warrior, there could be a place for you as a bodyguard or assassin. Stay here tonight, where you will be safe." The Mad Baron smirked. "You will thank me in the morning."
"Safe," said Bane grimly. "In a castle made as airtight as you can get it. In a few minutes, that front gate will be closed and sealed so not even a breath can get in. Won't it?"
"You know much, Dire Wolf. Stay, I tell you."
"No, thanks! I'll take my chances outside. Good night, my lord." Bane turned on his heel and strode from the feast. An excited murmur of voices broke out behind him. He heard one woman call out, "But then should we leave a present unopened?" The Dire Wolf quickened his pace and sprinted outside just as the guards were drawing the gates shut and lowering leather covering over them. He leaped on the horse that had been held for him by Bulibart and sent it galloping, with the two soldiers of Baron Eodred following. They raced to the top of a hill fify yards away before Bane reined in his horse.
"Listen," he said. The screams from inside the castle were clearly audible from that distance. Bane sighed. "When I was a kid, someone read me a line from the Bible that has stuck with me ever since. 'The schemer falls into the pit he digs for another.'"
"I don't understand, Dire Wolf," Bulibart shouted. "What has just happened?"
"The Mad Baron intended to kill everyone in your lord's castle," Bane said. "I turned his weapon back upon him. The iron raven was well wrapped, so it would take a while to get it in the open. You could hear the screams, but they stopped right away. I bet they uncovered the raven just at midnight, when it released a burst of poison gas that filled the castle. Funny that Dorgan went to such lengths to make the castle airtight so he would be safe when the gas drifted over the countryside. And instead, he sealed himself inside with the poison while everyone out here is fine." Bane exhaled sharply. "I love a little irony once in a while."
3/4/2014
(8/11-8/12/1993)
-
Even before he glanced at the monitor screen, Bane was sure it was Inspector Klein outside. What he had been reading in the papers had led him to expect a visit. Yes, there was the short stocky figure in a beige raincoat, the curly greying hair, the chewed-up unlit cigar. Despite recognizing the man, Bane still let him in only as far as the foyer. Through the intercom, he said, "I'll be right with you," and activated the Trom sensors. More detailed than any MRI, the sensors probed the man in less than a second and confirmed his ID. Bane opened the inner door and stood aside, "Good morning, inspector, come on in."
"After you X-rayed my fillings and my glass eye, you mean. I can feel the tingle. Ah, morning, Bane. Howaya?"
"I was hoping you'd stop by," the Dire Wolf said, leading Klein to the office. As always, Bane was dressed all in black- slacks, turtleneck, sport jacket. At thirty-seven, he was gaunt as ever, a lean six feet of muscle and bone. Beneath dark feral brows, the pale grey eyes stood out dramatically. He ushered Klein to the usual leatherbound chair at one side of the desk, going around to sit down behind it himself. He made a pile of three different newspapers he had been studying and put them to one side.
"Where's your little telepathic partner?" asked Klein as he got settled.
"Probably reading your dirty thoughts about her right now."
"Eh, I'm an old man, we're entitled. You know, every time there's something weird or seemingly supernatural in the five boroughs, my superiors dump it on my desk without instructions. They don't even say, 'hey Klein, take this to that Dire Wolf guy you know and see if he'll clean it up for us.' We're both taken for granted."
"It's a set-up that works for me," Bane said. "Does it bother you?"
"Yeah, maybe a little. I like things on the square, out in the open. But you do get the job done and you save lives when you bring in the likes of Samhain or Seth Petrov or Dos Manos. So I guess it's for the best. See, today, I don't even have a file for you to read and then burn, and both of us would swear that I never gave you in the first place. All I got is autopsy results."
"I'm listening," said Bane. The grey eyes narrowed.
"And of course, this is unofficial and off the record and the NYPD never gave you this information... BUT yesterday, two men died in a strange and horrible way out in Queens. Thomas Houck, 58, and Henry Bracklow, 61. One guy's a writer, the other a chemist at Sunrise Pharmaceuticals. They had lunch at a pizza joint off Mandy Street and went out to get in Bracklow's car. The waitress happened to be watching them and she said she say a white cloud explode inside the car as they got in. Naturally, she thought there was a fire and she yelled for her boss. He went out there, saw the inside of the car had cleared except for a few bits of white vapor, and yanked the door open. The handle wasn't even hot."
At this point, Cindy Brunner stuck her blonde head in the doorway. "A-Ha! I knew I sensed grouchy brain waves. Hey there, inspector."
"Hiya. You gonna help Mr Dire Wolf here on a new case?"
"Sorry, I'm off to Tel Shai today. The training never stops." She brought in a tray with a mug of steaming coffee, a glass of ice water and a pile of pretzels. "Wish I could hang out here, but Teacher Chael says I'm slacking." She turned and marched out. Cindy was wearing a pale blue cotton tunic with long sleeves, baggy trousers of the same material and black slippers. Klein had no way of knowing this was the uniform of a Tel Shai student, nor that Cindy would spend the next day honing her martial arts skills of Kumundu.
"Anyway, you were saying..." prompted Bane.
"Yeah. Both men were dead. Not a mark on them. We got the autopsy results and it seems their red blood cells stopped carrying oxygen. Funny thing, their lungs were good, there was air enough but their bodies stopped getting oxygen. You can't even say they suffocated, technically. Awful way to die." Klein took a good sip of the coffee.
"I don't know anything that works that way," Bane said. "The pharmaceutical guy... did he maybe have something on him from the lab, something he was working on?"
"Not as far as we could find. He was only doing work on preservatives to keep vitamin supplements fresh, anyway. But there was one odd detail. He had a mat on the driver's seat, the interior is leather and gets hot in the summer, and under the mat were a few pieces of broken glass. Put together, about the size of a tube of lipstick. Some unidentified substance on the glass, the lab is trying to identify it now."
The Dire Wolf scowled more than usual. "That's quite a chemical, if a little bit like that can expand to fill the interior of a car. A new government weapon, maybe? It sounds like something the Mandate would use."
"We don't know anything about that. But here's the kicker, why I think you'd be interested. These boys both dabbled in Alchemy. Houck wrote books and articles about it, and Bracklow fooled around with it in his free time. A tiny tube of something that expands into a cloud that kills two men instantly, and they're both into Alchemy... I figured this was up your alley."
"Yes," said Bane. "I think it is. What else can you tell me? Did they have any enemies?"
"Nah, two boring middle-aged guys with a hobby in common. I figured you'd have some ideas." He got to his feet with just a touch of effort. Nearing retirement age was starting to show. "And of course, I wasn't here just now. All this time, I been stuck in traffic on the George Washington."
Bane rose to show the inspector out, "I know, I know. Off the record, never happened, the NYPD will deny everything."
At the door, Klein gave his crooked grin. "I'm not sure we even know each other. See ya later."
II.
The Dire Wolf watched the inspector get into his personal car and ease out into traffic. Closing the door and resetting the alarms, he went back into his office and started to pace restlessly. In the Midnight War, Alchemy was called Velkandu. Its practitioners could indeed create powerful potions with amazing effects because they infused gralic force into the substances. The main drawback was that the effects never lasted long. Bane had tangled with a few Alchemists and he didn't take them lightly. Pulling out his Link from its holder on his belt, he patched into the phone system and called Dr Vitarius up in Poughkeepsie. No answer. Not even an offer to leave a message. Bane sat down behind his desk and tried to remember a friendly Alchemist. Most of the ones he had encountered were madmen or greedy opportunists. Megistus. The Sphinx. Lee Hutchins. Then he remembered something vaguely and dug through old address books in one drawer of his desk. There. Dr Grace Lemister. It was worth a try, he dialed the faded number and a woman answered instantly, "Hello?"
"Dr Lemister? This is Jeremy Bane, we met years ago when you were working on a book with Kenneth Dred."
"What? Oh heavens, that was ages ago," her voice was mature but strong and energetic. "Yes, I do remember you, a way too serious young man. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to Kenneth's funeral, I was in Europe and couldn't get back in time. What makes you call me now?"
"You co-authored a history of Velkandu with Mr Dred," Bane said. "I remembered you were a professor of organic chemistry at Stonybrook but alchemy was your real interest. I need to talk to you. Two alchemists in this area have been killed."
"Yes," came the single word and then a pause. "I heard. We are a small community, news travels fast. What do you want from me, Mr Bane?"
"I am carrying on Kenneth Dred's work. I have been since his death. I intend to find out who murdered those men and bring the killer to justice of one form or another. Maybe you have information that can help."
Again, Lemister hesitated. "Maybe. I've heard rumours. Supposedly an Alchemist from Signarm has been in this world, meeting with some of us. Sinister sort of fellow. That's what I've heard."
"When we meet? I want to move fast on this."
"I still have the same apartment on 12th Street. I retired from Stonybrook years ago. 186 12th Street, apartment 3B."
Bane stood up behind his desk. "I'm on my way now. I should be there in a few minutes."
"Good. I'll be here." She hung up.
The Dire Wolf already had the matched silver daggers in sheaths on his forearms. He was seldom without them. Holstered behind his left hip was one of the anesthetic dart guns, and the usual gadgets and devices were concealed in his jacket. But considering the deaths from that gas, he made sure one of the Trom oxygen membranes was in his right inside jacket pocket and then got a second one from a cabinet by the door before heading out. Bane stepped into a walk-in closet by the front door, went through a panel and down steep concrete steps to the corridor which ended at a plain wooden door. Here was the underground garage just large enough to hold two cars. He chose the dark green Mustang and started it up, rolling up the ramp which had a sharp turn at its top. The steel panel rose automatically and closed behind him as he pulled out onto Lexington Avenue.
It was a cool breezy morning for August, there had been rain the night before and the streets were busy. He gave up on finding a parking spot and went to the municipal lot. Paying for the day, Bane hurried three blocks over and found Lemister's address in an old four-story brick building that had been well kept. In the foyer, there were the rows of buzzer buttons over small mailboxes and sure enough, 3B said LEMISTER. He pressed the button and her distorted voice said, "Yes?"
"It's me, Jeremy Bane. We spoke a little while ago."
"Come right up." The inner door unlocked with a buzz and a click, and he stepped through. There was no elevator, he trotted up the stairs and stopped at the third floor landing. A bench under a lace-curtained window had a potted plant on the floor next to it. To his right were two doors, and the nearer one said 3B. He rapped sharply with his knuckles but got no answer. All his instincts jumped up to combat levels. He knocked again, saying, "Dr Lemister?"
Bane slowed his breathing, standing absolutely still with his ear next to the door. As he drew on his Tel Shai training, he could hear no movement in the apartment at all. Not even breathing. The Dire Wolf took the oxygen membrane from his jacket and tugged the straps over his ears so the clear film device covered his nose and mouth. He planted his feet, drew back his elbow and smacked the palm of one hand sharply just above the doorknob. The lock broke with a snapping noise and he opened the door to peer inside.
The apartment was crammed with books and papers, and there was a table against one wall filled with glass bottles and jars. Lying in front of a couch was a stout middle-aged woman in sweatpants and a cardigan. Bane yanked the Link from his belt and pressed the preset button. "Klein? Bane here. Send an ambulance to 186 12th Street. Third floor. Looks like another victim. I'm starting CPR." With that, he hung up and knelt over the woman. It had been fifteen-odd years but he recognized Grace Lemister. No pulse. He pressed both hands to her chest and started CPR. He kept at it until two EMTs came through the open door and took over.
Standing up, Bane answered questions from one of the paramedics and stepped back. He took the oxygen membrane off and stowed it. A minute later, Inspector Klein came in with a uniformed officer behind him and the questions started in earnest. After half an hour, one EMT brought up a stretcher and the body was carried down the stairs without haste. Klein kept Bane another hour while the crime scene investigators arrived to take photos and measured and inspected everything.
"I'm not taking you down to 20th Street, but you need to sign a statement within twenty-four hours," Klein said. Under his breath, he added, "Someone doesn't like these alchemy people. Get on it."
The Dire Wolf glanced around. "I spoke with her from her lobby not more than two or three minutes before I found the body. My guess is that someone planted one of those devices here that released the gas. That's some invention. A tiny tube that fills a car or an apartment with deadly gas, then then dissipates in a minute."
"Makes me nervous thinking about it." Klein shook his head. "You can go now. Keep us posted what you find."
"I'm on it," Bane said and headed down the stairs. Out on the street, he walked quickly to the municipal lot to claim his car. A slight case of nerves hit him as he realized he had come within a minute or two of being killed himself. If he had been in that apartment when the gas was released, there would have not been time to put on the Trom membrane before he died. Getting in the Mustang, he headed back up to 38th Street and returned to the old KDF building. Bane pulled down into the underground garage and went back upstairs. He felt a sad twinge at how empty the building was. It was going to waste. Ten stories of equipment including the CORBY, with only himself and Cindy living here. Maybe she was right, maybe gathering a new KDF team was the best thing to do.
Going to his rooms on the third floor, he had decided on his course of action. He would not race from one alchemist to another, even assuming if he could locate some, hoping to catch the killer before he struck again. He would go to the source. Lemister had mentioned Signarm. Bane stripped down and threw his clothing on the bed. Wearing the silk-thin Trom armor which covered him except for head and forearms, the Dire Wolf took his field suit out of the closet and got into it. The tough leatherlike pants, long-sleeved shirt and waist-length jacket were all black. The jacket had its own inner layer of Trom armor. Bane tugged on heavy hiking boots and adjusted them. From a shelf in the closet, he lowered the helmet over his head and slid the visor down. All functions checked out from light enhancers to tracking systems. He took the helmet off and clipped a metal tube the size of a marker to its back. This only provided air for six minutes when activated but it could be a vital six minutes considering what he was dealing with.
Holding the helmet in the crook of one arm, he went up to the tenth floor. Riding the elevator only reminded him again how big this building was. When the KDF had been operating, there were always members coming and going. Now it was like a museum after hours. Bane entered the top floor, the hangar where the stealth copter CORBY took up most of the floor space. He glanced at it but decided he would not take it on this case. Bane slid open a wooden panel just inside the door to reveal a pale blue gem in a silver setting. This would take concentration. He lowered the helmet over his head and placed his hand on the Eldar travel crystal. He had to visualize Signarm vividly to go there, and he had to put enough will power into the thought to send himself there for twelve hours. Bane got no results the first time. This wasn't easy. He pictured the hills of Signarm, willed himself to go there now. Blue light flared up and when it faded, he was gone from the hangar.
III.
The early afternoon sun shone down on a meadow that stretched for miles toward a forest, and beyond that were gentle rounded mountains. Bane dropped to one knee and caught himself on fingertips as he appeared. For some reason, the Eldar travel crystals left you a few inches off the ground when you appeared in another realm. He rose and tried to get his bearings. Four years earlier, he had led his KDF team here to help put down an infestation of Ghouls from Nekropolis, but he had only seen a small part of this realm. Those mountains looked familiar, though. He had seen them from a different angle...
The sound of hooves on the grass caught his attention long before he saw the horsemen. Bane stood where he was and watched them approach. Seven of them, armored men in mail bearing lances, riding on heavy chargers. One bore a pennant on the end of his lance, a blue flag with a gold crown. As Bane saw that, he felt he was on familiar territory and had a chance to make some progress. He waited until the squad pulled up, reining in their horses, before holding out empty hands.
"Greetings, valiant men of Signarm. Does not Baron Eodord still sit on his throne?"
"He does, and glad we are he does," said the lead rider. "We have not met, you and I, but I believe I have heard of you. Will you tell me your name, sir?"
"I am called the Dire Wolf. My name is Jeremy Bane. Not long ago I brought my team of fighting men here to the aid of your lord. And I am here again when danger is in the air."
"Indeed?" said the squad leader. "Know me as Bulibart, chief of this patrol. Those grey eyes mark you well, Dire Wolf. Will you come with us to the castle of our lord to speak your piece?"
"I will indeed," said Bane.
Bulibart raised a mailed hand. "Who will ride double with this man?"
"That I will do," said a Signarmite with a drooping mustache, "for my steed is the largest and can bear us both easily." He stretched down a hand and helped Bane vault up behind him. Bulibart signaled, the seven men wheeled their mounts around and galloped off toward a road just visible in the distance. Now the Dire Wolf knew where he was. He held on and waited for the ride to be over. Signarm was basically a feudal culture, with a handful of barons in castles ruling vast farmland worked by serfs. He had gotten along well with Baron Eodord when they had fought side by side against the Ghouls, but the other barons had no love for Eodord or his allies. There were constant making and breaking of alliances.
Soon, as they passed through villages of huts with thatched roofs and cultivated fields, where serfs in rough garb glanced up and bent their knees in subservience. The road became wider, then paved, and suddenly there were taverns and homes made of stone. Then the castle could be seen and the squad galloped through an open gate to dismount. Pages in red tights took the horses to be fed and rubbed down, and the soldiers of Signarm surrendered their lances to be mounted on racks. Bulibart took Bane by the arm, saying, "Best you walk in with me. Our lord is expecting my report on the border skirmish with Baron Drogan, so you will be granted audience."
"Sounds good to me," Bane answered, dropping the formal speech. They proceeded down a long high-ceilinged hallway crowded with minor nobles and servants and children all chatting and arguing. Armed sentries stood at intervals, next to life-size statues of heroes from legend. Finally, they were ushered through two huge wooden doors into the throne room itself. This was less crowded, with only a handful of advisors and valets, and one gigantic bodyguard leaning on a double-handled axe. Five stone steps led up to a raised platform and on a throne of black wood sat the Baron.
He has not aged well in the past few years, thought Bane. Baron Eodord was still a large, brawny man but his face was weary and his eyes sad. He rested his chin on a fist propped on the arm of the throne and regarded his visitor with apprehension. "Dire Wolf! Well did you come to our aid with your Tel Shai knights when your help was sore needed. Welcome. We still owe you a great debt. Come, sit before me and speak your mind."
"My lord," Bane began, then paused as a page brought a stool for him. To be allowed to sit before the Baron was a mark of honor, he knew. "I have come again because again there is menace afoot. An Alchemist from this realm has been seen in my real world, and three of our own Alchemists have died suddenly and horribly. I have come here seeking knowledge, but I do not know whether you may know anything of this matter."
Eodord raised a hand. "All of you, leave us until summoned. Only you, Hedric, stay by my side." As the chamber emptied, the Baron lowered his voice. "It is the work of that dog Drogan the One-Eye. I am sure of it. He has been hiring Alchemists and warlocks and astrologers of every sort for years. No one knows what he seeks. In these past two years, he has had workers toiling on his castle, sealing every window and crack and opening, no matter how tiny. It is like a tomb."
"That IS strange," Bane said, "and I don't like the sound of it. I take you and he are still rivals, along with the other warlords?"
"Hah? Was it ever not so? Drogan and I have been bitter enemies since birth. It was I who took his eye with an arrow that was meant to slay him. He has been of unsound mind ever since. The Mad Baron, even his own men call him. Even his servants are made into brutes. His cooks have killed prisoners, his chambermaids have poisoned visitors. No one in his employ has clean hands free of blood. Yet, oddly enough, he has lately been making overtures of peace toward me and the other lords. He has sent men with gifts and I grudgingly have returned the act. Just this day, his party arrived with a clockwork raven, most ingenious, and I am now obliged to return the grace. I intend to send him something of a like nature. A rare portrait of a comely maiden, perhaps."
The Dire Wolf felt a chill. "A clockwork raven...? May I see it, my lord?"
"Of a certainty. There it sits upon that pillar. Go and take a good look, if you would."
Bane rose and walked over to a chest-high pillar on which stood a metal construct. It was a raven in black iron, larger than life size. The head turned slowly from side to side, the wings opened and closed. As he studied it, Bane suddenly thought he understood. He went back to the throne. "My lord, does that device have a key which needs to be turned?"
"No. It runs on Alchemy, I dare say," the Baron said. "Drogan's wise man told me it will perform these motions for years on its own. And he promised me that at every midnight the iron raven will sing a rare song."
"Oh, I bet it will. Hear me if you would, my lord. Drogan is not trying to make peaceful overtures. He is setting a clever and heartless trap for you and everyone in your castle." Bane raised a single finger. "But if you will lend me an ear, I have a plan..."
IV.
It was not short of midnight when Bane rode up to the castle of the Mad Baron, accompanied by Bulibart and another soldier. He dismounted lightly and unstrapped a package wrapped in gold cloth. The gift was large enough that it took strong arms to carry it. As he approached the castle, the Dire Wolf observed how well sealed the structure was. Tar and pitch plugged every opening. The windows had been bricked over, the chimney was covered with stone. How they breathed in there would be a problem, but if the huge front doors were open during the day, enough air would circulate. Bane walked up to the tall sentries who held poleaxes and calmly announced, "I bring a gift from my lord to yours, in hopes of better days to come."
"It is late for a visitor," said one guard.
"Is that merriment I hear from within?" asked Bane. "The sounds of feasting and tales being told. The castle is awake. I tell you, allow me to enter and your lord will be pleased. He has been waiting for this present, he has earned it well."
Finally, one of the guards summoned a page to escort Bane inside, but the two soldiers from Eodord had to remain outside. The Dire Wolf was led down a twisting hallway to a huge open chamber in which tables piled with food and wine were surrounded by gluttons. The minor nobles chewed on legs of mutton and guzzled wine as if they had just crawled out of a desert. The loud joking and coarse debates echoed. Seated at the head of that table, watching in silence, was a morbidly obese man dressed in fine cloth and wearing a silver crown on a head of red curls. One eye was covered by a leather patch. As Bane entered, the Mad Baron lifted an apple and took a single small bite.
"My lord," sang out the teenage page, "May I present an envoy from the honorable Baron Eodord. He is an outsider, bringing you the Baron's gift in return for your own generosity."
Dorgan half-rose with a growl. "Dire Wolf! I had no thought to see you in this realm again."
"Ah, well, I go where I'm needed," Bane replied. He had difficulty maintaining the formal speech of Signarm. "You should be happier than that to see me, my lord, after all I did rid your land of the Ghouls."
"And a friendship you struck up with Eodord in doing so," said the one-eyed man. "No matter. He has sent me a gift, has he? His manners are better than his aim with a bow, if I dare say so. Bring it here. What is it?"
"He didn't say," Bane answered, placing the heavy package on the table next to a platter of steamed potatoes. "I'm just a messenger."
"Strange that you should be in Signarm this night," said the Baron. "You are like a harbinger of doom. Wherever you go, there is destruction and death."
The Dire Wolf glanced around. Everyone in the hall had become still, watching and listening. He said quietly, "I understand you are interested in the Great Art, my lord. Velkandu, known to most as Alchemy. Oddly enough, three Alchemists in my world have been murdered in the past few days. Some new potion, a deadly mist that expands in an instant and takes breath away. Perhaps you have heard of such a potion?"
"I cannot swear to it," said Baron Dorgan with a smile. "But it sounds like it would be a potent weapon."
"Indeed. A few drops may fill a room with a killing fog. A larger amount, say a flagon full, might well kill everyone in a castle. I would hate to see such slaughter. Well, I must be going. Shall I give Baron Eodord any message, my lord?"
"No. Wait. I saw you in the battle with the Eaters of the Dead. You are a great warrior, there could be a place for you as a bodyguard or assassin. Stay here tonight, where you will be safe." The Mad Baron smirked. "You will thank me in the morning."
"Safe," said Bane grimly. "In a castle made as airtight as you can get it. In a few minutes, that front gate will be closed and sealed so not even a breath can get in. Won't it?"
"You know much, Dire Wolf. Stay, I tell you."
"No, thanks! I'll take my chances outside. Good night, my lord." Bane turned on his heel and strode from the feast. An excited murmur of voices broke out behind him. He heard one woman call out, "But then should we leave a present unopened?" The Dire Wolf quickened his pace and sprinted outside just as the guards were drawing the gates shut and lowering leather covering over them. He leaped on the horse that had been held for him by Bulibart and sent it galloping, with the two soldiers of Baron Eodred following. They raced to the top of a hill fify yards away before Bane reined in his horse.
"Listen," he said. The screams from inside the castle were clearly audible from that distance. Bane sighed. "When I was a kid, someone read me a line from the Bible that has stuck with me ever since. 'The schemer falls into the pit he digs for another.'"
"I don't understand, Dire Wolf," Bulibart shouted. "What has just happened?"
"The Mad Baron intended to kill everyone in your lord's castle," Bane said. "I turned his weapon back upon him. The iron raven was well wrapped, so it would take a while to get it in the open. You could hear the screams, but they stopped right away. I bet they uncovered the raven just at midnight, when it released a burst of poison gas that filled the castle. Funny that Dorgan went to such lengths to make the castle airtight so he would be safe when the gas drifted over the countryside. And instead, he sealed himself inside with the poison while everyone out here is fine." Bane exhaled sharply. "I love a little irony once in a while."
3/4/2014
