The Second Siege

by Henry H. Neff

  In the shadow beneath the archway, something moved.

  The thick coil of a snake bulged out into the hallway. Cooper emerged a moment later, dragging the bloated body of the lamia down the steps, where it lay in a limp mound of flesh, hair, and scales. Turning, the Agent stepped back to the doorway, which he sealed with a swirling nebula of energy that stretched across the opening like a thin film of oily water. He paused briefly to study the computer before he was gone, dashing down the steps and out of sight.

  “Thank God,” muttered Dr. Rasmussen, reaching for a bottle of water.

  “Where is he going now?” Dr. Bhargava asked, searching the screens.

  “To find that afrit, I think,” whispered Miss Boon, sitting very straight and staring at the golem’s primitive features.

  “Well, he’s certainly a brave man,” remarked Dr. Rasmussen. “I’ll grant him that. Although I don’t see what good that knife will do him against that afrit. I’ve never quite understood why you people favor them so.”

  “That’s easy,” Max replied, glaring at the man. “Anyone can shoot a gun or push a button, Dr. Rasmussen. But a knife? You’ve got to get close to use a knife. It takes real skill and courage. You wouldn’t know anything about it.”

  “Don’t lecture me, boy.”

  “Cooper was right,” snapped Max, surveying the assembled engineers and soldiers. “Bram’s Key belongs to us, and we’re not leaving without it. He’s risking his life to clean up your mess while you sit here. I don’t even know why we’re bargaining with you. I could take it right now.”

  Twenty guns were leveled at Max.

  “You tell them to point those somewhere else,” said Max quietly.

  “Max!” exclaimed Mr. McDaniels, lurching to his feet.

  “Stay right there, Dad,” said Max evenly. Slowly, he reached back for the gae bolga and drew it from beneath his sweater. It was warm at his touch and hummed like a tuning fork. “The brave doctor’s going to tell them to lower their guns. Otherwise, there’s going to be serious trouble.”

  Dr. Rasmussen looked at Max with very real fear stamped on his taut features. He glanced at his colleagues and cleared his throat.

  “Put them away,” he croaked to his guards.

  The guns were lowered.

  “We have a deal then,” said Max, walking toward Dr. Rasmussen. The Workshop leader winced and several of the guards shifted uneasily as Max raised the gae bolga level with his chest. Drawing the razor-sharp blade across his forearm, Max let three drops of blood patter onto the table. Rasmussen watched them spread for a moment, before snarling to his neighbor.

  “Don’t just sit there! Get it in a container!”

  Max lifted Bram’s Key and stalked back to his end of the table, setting it before Miss Boon like a trophy. Taking his seat, he scooped Nick back into his lap and sucked at the cut on his forearm.

  “What about the lymrill?” asked the other engineer, stoppering a small vial containing the blood.

  Max glared at the man before returning his attention to the monitors. There was no sign of Cooper. Suddenly, the main lights turned back on; the pervasive hum of white noise returned. Three beeps sounded on Rasmussen’s phone.

  “Yes?” he responded. “Good, good. We’ll have to look for her later—something probably happened at the museum. Double-check the golem exhibit. Things are looking up, however.”

  He placed the phone back on the table and took a deep gulp of water.

  “Power’s been restored,” he said with a contented sigh. “Several escaped specimens have been destroyed, and the situation is coming under control. I believe it’s now safe to proceed to Central Command.”

  “What about Agent Cooper?” asked Miss Boon softly. “Did they say anything about him?”

  Dr. Rasmussen opened his mouth and clamped it shut again.

  “I, eh, didn’t think to ask,” he said with a sheepish glance at Miss Boon.

  “Just extraordinary,” snapped Miss Boon, standing up abruptly. She slid the sphere back down the table toward Max. “I’m going to look for William,” she said. “If I’m not back within the hour, the rest of you are to leave this hellhole immediately and proceed to the Berlin field office. If that reptile hinders you in any way, Max, you do whatever is necessary to get your father, David, and Mum out. Understood?”

  “Yes, Miss Boon,” said Max.

  “Hazel, be careful, love,” pleaded Mum, clutching Miss Boon’s arm.

  “I’ll be fine, Mum,” said Miss Boon, kissing the hag’s topknot. With a farewell smile to David and the McDanielses, Miss Boon strode to the door. Flinging it open, she stopped dead in her tracks. Cooper stood on the threshold, frozen in the act of knocking. Smoke rose in lazy curls from his singed boots; dried blood streaked his chin. He blinked at Miss Boon.

  “I—I was coming to find you,” she stammered.

  “Mission accomplished.”

  Cooper staggered as Miss Boon embraced him. For a moment, the Agent looked utterly bewildered; his scarred cheeks flushed pink. His gloved hand patted Miss Boon’s back hesitantly while the teacher’s shoulders shook with muffled sobs. A second later, Mum nearly tackled the pair.

  “Did you manage to contain that thing? That afrit?” asked Dr. Rasmussen.

  “I did,” said Cooper, stepping inside amidst Mum’s cries and triumphant whoops.

  “Well, we’re very grateful, of course,” muttered Dr. Rasmussen.

  Cooper nodded, while a number of the engineers hurried around the table to shake his hand and thank him for protecting their children. The attention seemed to make the Agent profoundly uncomfortable.

  “We can leave now,” said Miss Boon, straightening and wiping her face with a handkerchief. “We have the Key. We’ll fill you in later.”

  Cooper’s eyes flicked to the sphere and then to the burning talisman.

  “Good,” he said, crossing over to stow the sphere in David’s pack. “I’m assuming we can hitch a ride out of here?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Dr. Rasmussen said, glancing once more at Bram’s Key before the flap was closed and buckled. “It’s the least we can do. Where would you like to go? We have a variety of options via tunnel.”

  “What are they?” asked Cooper, wiping the dried blood from his chin.

  Dr. Rasmussen ticked them off on his fingers.

  “Immediate options are Prague, Venice, Budapest, Amsterdam, Brussels, London, and Berlin.”

  “Which are still resisting?”

  “Most are conquered; Brussels and Prague are still being difficult.”

  “Amsterdam, then,” said Cooper, swinging David’s pack over his shoulder. “The Enemy attention will be stronger where there’s active resistance.”

  The Agent turned and jabbed a finger at Dr. Rasmussen.

  “And I want that homing contraption out of Mr. McDaniels,” added the Agent. “Right now.”

  Max glanced at his father as Dr. Rasmussen frowned.

  “Oh, very well,” he said, punching several more buttons on the keypad of his computer.

  Mr. McDaniels burped, a prolonged, rumbling expulsion that apparently took him by surprise.

  “Excuse me,” he muttered, massaging his belly. He blinked several times and suddenly retched, clutching the edge of the table.

  “Dad!” said Max, running to his father’s side.

  “He’ll be fine,” said Dr. Rasmussen. “Extrication is a bit unpleasant but harmless.”

  Mr. McDaniels grimaced like a toddler sipping cough syrup.

  “It’s crawling,” he gasped. “It’s crawling up my stomach!”

  A formidable bloop-bloop-bloop sounded within his belly. David inched away. Mr. McDaniels gave a monstrous belch and promptly launched a silver ball on an impressive trajectory until it plunked unceremoniously on the golem’s head. Tiny hooks retracted back into the device and its small green light slowly extinguished.

  “Whew!” said Mr. McDaniels, loosening his belt. “I could use a beer.”

&n
bsp; “If you weren’t in such a hurry, we’d accommodate you,” said Dr. Rasmussen, swiveling to face the monitors. He eliminated the multiple views so that one image dominated the screen—that of a middle-aged man sitting in an enormous room filled with computers. Many engineers were busily occupied in the background.

  “Hello, Sunil,” said Dr. Rasmussen. “Thank you for taking post in my absence. I’d like to know casualty numbers if we have them.”

  The man nodded, his face grave.

  “Ninety-seven dead, fifty-two injured, and one missing.”

  “Dr. Braden, I presume?”

  “Yes, sir. May I ask why you’ve elected to open the main gates, sir?”

  The thin smile on Dr. Rasmussen’s face evaporated.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The main gates, sir. They’re opening as we speak.”

  “Well, close them!” commanded Rasmussen.

  “Sir, you know as well as I do that they must open fully before they can be closed again.”

  Rasmussen swore and split the screen to include another view. From a camera in the main entry hall, Max watched the pyramid’s great gates swinging outward. Each of the interlocking doors was over a hundred feet tall, sliding open on tracks that glistened with gears and machine oil. Max marveled at how smoothly they operated—each door must have weighed a million pounds, and yet they were opening without a sound.

  “What are those?” asked Dr. Rasmussen, squinting at a bobbing field of lights beyond the gates.

  Max drew a sharp intake of breath.

  “Torches,” said Cooper. “Thousands of them.”

  “Oh my God,” muttered Rasmussen. “Sunil, broadcast Emergency Code Ten. Workshop is to be put on total lockdown—all residents are to proceed to nearest seismic shelters without delay.”

  The man nodded, and his image disappeared from the screen.

  “Our defensive cordons have been disabled,” Rasmussen whispered. “We’re wide open.”

  Max gaped at the churning sea of torches that extended beyond sight. Horns blared and drums thundered as countless needle-fanged imps and winged homunculi and long-armed goblins chattered and shrieked in a semicircle outside the yawning gates. Behind them were thousands of vyes, some in trench coats, some in soldier’s fatigues, all terrifying silhouettes of wolfish, matted fur. Beyond the vyes, huge shapes moved in the dim reaches outside the range of spotlights that now swept frantically across the jeering throng.

  When the gates ground to a halt, two dozen gray-bellied ogres in horned helmets lumbered past the smaller creatures, lugging steel spikes larger than a man. Great mauls rose and fell in a jolting symphony of sparks. Moments later, the gates were wedged open with dozens of thick spikes pinning the doors back like crude metal stitches. The din from the monstrous rabble grew so great, the cameras shook.

  Dr. Rasmussen had slunk so far down in his chair as to be nearly invisible.

  “Why aren’t they rushing in?” he gibbered. “What are they waiting for?”

  The screams and roars and drums reached a fevered pitch. Torches began to part as the motley assemblage formed a corridor in their center. Something made its way slowly toward the gate. Max ran up to the screen as the lead figure came into view.

  It was Marley Augur.

  The traitorous blacksmith rode forward astride an enormous horse that had been barded for war. Swinging casually from a strap at his saddle was the same black hammer that had crippled Peter Varga and nearly killed Max. A cruel-looking crown of iron had been fitted to his skull; a fine mesh of black mail was draped over long, gaunt limbs whose flesh had eroded over the centuries. The revenant’s head was held high, thin braids of white hair hanging at his temples. Hollow eyes danced with the flicker of corpse candles.

  He surveyed the towering entryway, stopping his horse before the threshold. The image steadied as the din died away. A familiar voice, deep and terrible, called out.

  “Come forth and pay tribute!”

  All eyes in the room turned toward Dr. Rasmussen. He looked wildly from face to face.

  “You can’t possibly think I’m going down there!”

  “Someone is,” said Max, spying a lone shadow lengthening toward the open gates.

  Dr. Braden emerged into view, appearing no bigger than a child as she stepped gingerly past the hunched, helmeted ogres leaning on their mauls. Augur watched her come, sitting patiently astride his restless horse. He acknowledged her with a solemn bow and let her pass. She disappeared into the silent horde, which closed around her as though she had been swallowed. Augur’s voice rang out again.

  “In the name of Astaroth the Wise, I do hereby demand Jesper Rasmussen to come forth and to bring with him Rowan’s sons and daughters.”

  Dr. Rasmussen moaned and hid his face as Augur continued.

  “If you arrive quickly, my lord shall be merciful—not one among us shall cross this threshold and we will leave you be. If you delay, we shall claim each firstborn among you. Cower and we will grind every last soul and stone to dust.”

  The effect was nearly instantaneous. Rasmussen was jerked to his feet by the engineers and soldiers, whom terror had transformed into a roiling, hysterical mob that kicked and beat him toward the door. Cooper swam through the mob and pulled Rasmussen away, shielding the man.

  “Get out!” shrieked one of the wild-eyed engineers. “Get out before they kill us all!”

  Max shooed Nick toward the door, ducking a hurled computer in the process. It shattered above his head. His father shielded David and Miss Boon as they stumbled out. Max yanked Mum along as the hag screamed obscenities and strained to throttle Dr. Bhargava, who had struck her with a briefcase. They spilled out into the hallway. The man Sunil, to whom Rasmussen had spoken, whirred around the corner in one of the gleaming pods.

  “Take this and leave,” he said, jumping out.

  “Sunil, help me,” pleaded Rasmussen, clutching his colleague.

  The man’s expression remained strong and fixed as he stepped past Dr. Rasmussen into the control room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Rasmussen merely blinked in shock until Cooper pushed him into the transport. Max tugged his father’s elbow as they all piled in behind.

  “Dad, maybe you don’t have to go,” whispered Max, squeezing his father’s arm.

  Mr. McDaniels turned to his son and smiled with eyes as bright as sapphires.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Main gate,” muttered Cooper, tapping a white touch screen. His command made no difference. Someone else was steering. The pod careened down the passageway, merging abruptly onto a main tube that sped them toward the gate.

  A funereal silence filled the transport pod. Cooper seemed preternaturally calm as he placed the kris across his lap and methodically double-checked his bootlaces and the fastenings on David’s backpack. Cinching the straps a bit tighter, he handed the bag to Max.

  “Keep this with you,” he said quietly. “Don’t give it up.”

  “What are you planning to do?” asked Mr. McDaniels hoarsely.

  “I don’t know,” replied the Agent, looking out the window and breathing deeply.

  The pod glided down the tube’s moderate decline before banking smoothly around a turn that deposited them into the enormous entry hall. Redwoods stretched toward shafts of artificial sunlight as the pod skimmed past abandoned tables and chairs and the café, whose espresso machine sputtered plumes of steam. Far ahead were the gates—a tall rectangle of swimming torchlight where distant ogres seemed no more than matchsticks propped against the great silver doors.

  The ogres appeared considerably larger as the pod approached. The monsters loomed twelve feet tall, with gnarled limbs, swollen bellies, and wet eyes that leered with piggish cunning from under gladiatorial helmets. Two dozen of them stood lining the open doors, careful not to extend even a toe over the gate’s threshold. Beyond them, Augur waited astride a horse that Max now saw was no living thing at all but an undead construct of pale bone and sine
w beneath its ornate plating.

  The skeletal horse’s teeth champed and ground together; bone slid smoothly over bone while the horse pranced restlessly from side to side in a jingle of plates and straps and stirrups. Nick took one look at the hollow eyes and made an agitated hissing noise Max had never heard before. Grizzly-like claws extended from between the lymrill’s toes, and he scratched frantically against the windows.

  “Don’t look at them,” said Max, squeezing his father’s hand as the pod slowed to a halt.

  Mr. McDaniels made a sound in his throat but did not respond.

  Max began to sense the same terrible coldness he’d experienced in Marley Augur’s crypt the previous year. It was an unnatural feeling, a cadaverous chill of icy bogs and frostbitten graves that crept up the fingernails and slid under the skin to tunnel deep within the marrow.

  “I can’t breathe,” his father croaked.

  Max was confident his father would persevere; he was more worried about David. His roommate looked like a small lump of uncooked dough that had been wedged into a corner of the pod. For all of David’s uncanny knowledge and power, Max knew he had never experienced anything like this before. Marley Augur was a far cry from the lonely spirit they’d encountered during their Acclimation.

  Cooper exited the pod, keeping his wary eyes on the ogres as the rest clambered out. The blacksmith was a terrible figure indeed as he looked down upon them, proud and grim as an ancient king. Beyond the horseman was a sea of sputtering torches and glinting teeth that waited in breathless silence.

  “We’ve done as you’ve asked,” Cooper said. “Remove those barricades so they can close the gates.”

  “You do not command here,” said Marley Augur in a voice deep and cold. “These are the terms. You will lay down your arms and surrender the Key of Elias Bram, which we know you keep. The two sons of the Sidh shall depart with the witches, as was promised. The rest shall leave here and return to Rowan in order to arrange for its peaceful submission.”

  Mr. McDaniels looked past Augur at the assembled horde. “The witches don’t sound half bad,” he whispered, glancing at Max and David.