"Bah," said the Crouching One, and it flicked one hand in an angry gesture of dismissal. On the other side of the moat, several of the lions growled loudly. "I refuse to let this mortal worry me any longer. He is a thinker, not a fighter. His allies are few and relatively powerless. They are helpless against the Huntsman and his Border Redcaps. That they have avoided death is a tribute more to their luck than any special skills.
"Tonight, if they dare try to stop the sacrifice, they will have to confront von Bern in his den. The German has recruited nearly a hundred more Redcaps to his banner. What can a handful of do-gooders manage against von Bern and his legions? Science is no match for sorcery. And, do not forget the presence of the Great Beast. Mr. Collins has been a persistent nuisance, but after tonight, he will be a dead nuisance."
"I hope you're right," said Roger, not hoping that at all.
Unlike the Crouching One, he possessed a healthy respect for the miracles of modern technology. After all, it was his own scientific expertise that had gotten him in this mess. From what the wire service reported, Collins only stole a few items from the laboratories. Evidently, the mathematics student had some very specific ideas how to deal with von Bern. Without thinking, he spoke aloud the question that had troubled him for weeks. "Why him? What makes him so special?"
"Nothing," declared the Crouching One, with a sneer. But there was a bare trace of doubt in its voice. "The magician you named Merlin made a mistake. This pesky student is not the champion I feared."
Behind them, the lions roared in approval of their patron's words. Roger kept silent. He felt sure Merlin had not erred; that Jack Collins was the right choice. But he had no idea why.
Chapter 36
"WHAT DO YOU mean, I'm not going?" demanded Simon angrily. The changeling's face was a brilliant shade of purple, and he appeared ready to explode. "Why not?"
"I just finished explaining that, Simon," said Jack apologetically.
He had put off this confrontation as long as possible, but now he had run out of time and destinations. It was time for the final confrontation between good and evil, between Jack and his friends and Dietrich von Bern and the forces of darkness. But Simon could not participate.
"Though you're oriented towards the light, you are still partially a creation of chaos," said Jack. "All faeries are. It's the mischievous, trickster part of you. There's no changing that. As you've said many times, it's built into your basic character. YOU can't alter it. And, like it or not, that's the reason you can't come with us."
"You mean you don't trust me?" asked Simon, the purple changing to blue. "Just because I'm chaos-born."
"Of course not," said Jack, feeling exasperated. Arguing logic with supernaturals was like trying to build sand castles with a thimble. It was possible, but barely so. "Trust has nothing to do with it.
"I selected my weapons very carefully. I dared not use anything that might harm Megan or her father. Everything in the backpacks I've prepared should cause maximum damage against the servants of the dark, the followers of chaos. But, that's the problem. There's no way I can protect you from their effect. If you accompany us into the tunnels, the inventions I use to destroy the Border Redcaps will have the same effect on you."
Jack put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I value you too much, Simon, to be the one who murders you." He grinned, breaking the solemnity of the moment. "Even if sometimes you deserve it."
"All right," grumbled the changeling, resuming his normal shading. Several people in the Field Museum who had been watching his color changes from a safe distance shook their heads in disappointment and wandered off. Jack suspected the onlookers thought that his party consisted of visiting aliens from space. Which, considering Simon's various facial hues and Fritz Grondark's size, didn't seem far off the mark.
"Besides," said Jack, "if we don't succeed, at least you and Witch Hazel can continue the fight. I left a notebook filled with my deductions back at the trailer camp. If you take it to a major science fiction convention, I'm sure you can recruit a new champion. Several of them, probably, if Hazel performs a bit of real magic as a convincer. Just don't show the papers to any editor there. They're much too practical to believe in faeries and trolls and ancient gods returned to life."
"Enough chattering," said Cassandra impatiently. "It's time we got started. Nighttime isn't that far off. I'll bet von Bern is practicing lighting bonfires with his Zippo while we speak."
"The tunnel entrance is located in that small glade of trees by the bandshell," said Jack, pointing across Lake Shore Drive
. "According to the book describing the system that I found at the library, there's a metal grating covering the passage leading down. We'll have to move it before we can descend to the underground railway."
Grunting, Fritz Grondark effortlessly hauled two backpacks filled with supplies onto his massive shoulders. He patted the handle of his monkey wrench with one huge hand. "I'm ready. No more talking. Let's do some serious troll-busting."
"Agreed," said Cassandra. She twirled her wooden staff about in a semicircle. "I'm itching for a nice squabble."
Jack shook his head. He was the only sane one of the bunch. Though, considering he was about to challenge a hundred or more supernatural villains with a hodgepodge of scientific knick-knacks, he didn't feel particularly stable himself.
Around his waist he wore the battery power pack stolen from the photo lab. It was connected by wires to the black rectangular tube from the chemistry department. Along with the items he had purchased that morning from a local electronics shop and now packed in the bags on Fritz's back, it was all he had to stop the human sacrifice scheduled to take place in a few hours. Hard, cold logic told him that he had made the right choices. Quite illogically, he prayed that he was correct.
For the dozenth time, he wished he had been able to contact Megan in the dream world. But, as had been the case two nights ago, he had been unable to locate her in his sleep. Only Hazel's reassurances had kept him from assuming the worst. The dead obviously didn't dream. The witch swore that the presence of the Great Beast so near made psychic communication impossible, and that Megan was still safe. Jack could only hope Hazel was right. He would find out the truth soon enough.
The light on Lake Shore Drive
turned red, halting traffic. "Come on," declared Jack, pushing away all thoughts of despair. "We're off to save the world."
"About time," grumbled Grondark. "Damn humans and faeries talk too much. Dwarfs know better."
"Don't worry, Simon," Jack said to his changeling friend. "We'll be back."
Waving goodbye to the despondent faerie, they ran across the street. The CD boom box Jack insisted they bring with them clattered noisily against Cassandra's walking stick. None of his companions had questioned his odd selection of weapons, though Cassandra had balked a little at his choice in music.
They found the entrance to the tunnel network without much trouble. It resembled a giant raised manhole cover some eight feet across. A massive rusted metal grate covered the opening.
Reaching into a backpack, Jack pulled out three miniature flashlights. After giving one to each of his companions, he shone his into the darkness. After a second, he spotted a ladder leading downward. It started two feet below the grate.
"Out of the way," commanded Fritz Grondark, removing the pack from his shoulders. He pulled the monkey wrench from his belt. "This is dwarf work."
Six bolts fastened the cover to the cement. Six times Fritz raised his wrench and slammed it into the concrete. By the time he finished, it looked like someone had used sticks of dynamite on the opening.
Tucking the tool back into his belt, Grondark bent over and grasped the grate with both hands. His fingers tightened on the rusted metal. Muscles like steel bands rippled in his gigantic shoulders. Groaning, the dwarf slowly straightened up, pulling the immense cap with him. Balancing it like a giant steel waffle, he turned and walked to an open section of the glade. Carefully, he laid the grate to rest on
the grass.
"I don't like damaging city property," he explained, brushing flakes of rust off his palms. "I'll put it back where it belongs when we return."
"We'll probably use another exit," said Jack, still not sure he believed his eyes. "The Park District can take care of the grate. Assuming they have a crane handy."
Cassandra leaned over the edge of the pit and shone her flashlight into the depths. "The ladder descends about thirty feet to the floor. There's a big block of wood there. And a tunnel leading towards the city."
"It's the end of one of the rail lines," said Jack. He drew in a deep breath. "According to the maps, this passage should take us on a direct route to von Bern's headquarters. It's several miles away, but we have plenty of time before nightfall. Let's go."
Descending the ladder into the blackness of the pit, Jack gazed up at the bright blue sky. Silently, he prayed it wasn't going to be the last time he saw the sunshine.
"Order over chaos," he whispered softly. "Good over evil."
Smiling faintly, he patted the odd weapon that bounced against his chest. "Logic over superstition." He drew in a deep breath as he recited the final line of his mantra. "Light over darkness."
Chapter 37
USING HIS POCKET flash, Jack peered into the concrete passage. It was nine feet high, six feet wide, oval-shaped with a flat floor. A railway track stretched out into the darkness. The air, while stale and somewhat musky, was cool and breathable.
"Anyone claustrophobic other than yours truly?" he asked his two companions nervously.
"My folk lived in tunnels like these for hundreds of years," said Grondark. "They don't scare dwarfs."
"Nothing frightens me," said Cassandra unnecessarily.
Jack shook his head in disgust. At least Simon provided a little comic relief. Shrugging his shoulders, he reached into one of the two backpacks.
"Take these," he said to Cassandra, handing her two plastic containers, each filled with ten thin, black plastic, rectangular discs. "Hopefully, you can use these like throwing stars."
"Of course," said Cassandra, balancing one of the rectangles in her hand. "I've used toothpicks as darts when necessary. But these things don't have sharp edges. They won't cause any damage."
"Yes, they will," said Jack. "I'm not sure exactly how they'll affect the Border Redcaps, but I think the results should be spectacular. When we're attacked, use these first before resorting to your staff."
Rummaging through the bag, he pulled out nearly a dozen small plastic boxes. "Stuff these into your pockets," he told Fritz. "Keep them handy. We'll need them if we encounter the Gabble Ratchets."
"These things?" asked the dwarf, doing as he was told. "You can buy them in any electronics store in the country. Even some supermarkets handle them."
"It's not how rare they are that makes them powerful," said Jack, grinning. "It's what they symbolize. Trust me. I know what I'm saying."
"You're acting very mysterious, Jack," said Cassandra.
"My privilege," replied Jack. "I'm the hero. Besides, who knows what powers von Bern controls in these tunnels? He could be eavesdropping on our every conversation. The one thing I've learned the past few days is that anything's possible. The less I tell you, the less he knows. And the more he worries."
"Makes sense to me," said Fritz. "If you're finished handing out surprises, I'll lead. Dwarfs have perfect underground vision. We don't need flashlights to see in the dark. You two keep your lights focused on the ground. That way, we won't warn anyone we're coming."
They started off at a brisk clip. Fritz was first, with Jack second, and Cassandra third. The tunnel sloped gently downward, making walking easy. Within minutes, they had left the dim light of the opening to the surface far behind. While occasional vents dotted the walls and ceiling, providing a steady flow of air, none of them offered a hint of light. Except for their two flashlights, the passage was oppressively and totally dark.
Jack had been joking about claustrophobia, but within a few minutes he was painfully aware of the tons of earth over his head. That the concrete tunnels had lasted nearly a hundred years without collapse seemed relatively unimportant. The one-in-a-million chance that the passage might suddenly buckle beneath the pressure had Jack walking very gingerly.
After twenty minutes, the tunnel leveled out. "We're beneath the city streets," whispered Jack. His voice echoed and re-echoed through the silent passage. "No sign that anyone's used this branch in years. Hopefully, we'll catch von Bern by surprise. So far, so good."
"Maybe," rumbled Fritz Grondark. "Maybe not." He waved a massive hand in the direction they were going. "Something's up ahead blocking our way. I can't make out what it is. Shine your flashlights on it."
Jack and Cassandra both raised their beams. Fifty feet away, a railroad handcar rested on the track. Filling it nearly to the ceiling were a dozen big wooden crates.
"I thought you said they removed the handcarts from the tunnels fifty years ago," said Cassandra as they slowly walked forward.
"They did," said Jack. "Unfortunately, they stored them in the roundhouse station von Bern is using as his base. Much as I hate to say it, I'm willing to bet those boxes are filled with finishing bricks kept there as well. The German probably blocked all the direct routes to his hideout with obstacles like this. Not that we have the time to find out otherwise. Somehow we've got to unload enough of those boxes off that damned thing so that we can pass through, or we're finished."
Fritz leaned on the handcar. "Too heavy to push ahead of us. And whoever left it here probably wedged the wheels on the other side."
Cassandra reached for one of the boxes. As predicted, it was filled to the top with bricks. Even Fritz couldn't move one by himself. It would take hours to clear enough room for them to wiggle over the top of the blockade.
Jack paused. If not over, why not under? Crouching, he checked the bottom of the handcar. There wasn't much room, but it looked like enough. For two of them, at least
As he expected, the dwarf did not like the idea.
"Crawl under the car? My shoulders are too wide. I'll never fit."
"I know, Fritz. That's why you'll have to stay behind. Cassandra and I are slender enough to wiggle through. We have to go on without you."
Grondark scowled. He reached out and grabbed one of the wood boxes. Angrily, he jerked the container forward. Decaying old wood collapsed beneath his fingers, leaving a pile of finishing bricks in its place. Furious, Fritz kicked the handcar. It didn't budge.
The dwarf's huge hands knotted into fists. "You're right," he said. "I understand. There is no time for delay. Do what you must. It is the only way. But that doesn't mean I like it."
Reaching into his pockets, Fritz pulled out the plastic boxes Jack had given him earlier. "Don't forget these gadgets. Now, go. I'll remove these boxes as quickly as possible and follow. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, there'll still be a few trolls to smash when I arrive."
"We'll save some just for you," promised Jack.
Cassandra, ever cautious, went first. It was a tight squeeze, but after a few curses and kicks, the Amazon made it to the other side. Using her staff, she pulled the two backpacks through. Then it was Jack's turn.
"Goodbye, my friend," said Grondark as Jack knelt on the concrete. "And good luck."
"Thanks," said Jack. "Like I told Simon, we'll be back."
Hurriedly, Jack scrambled through the space beneath the flatcar. If his feelings of claustrophobia had been bad a few minutes ago, now they were overwhelming. Especially when he was beneath an old wooden handcar filled with bricks. He sighed with relief when Cassandra finally grabbed his shoulders and pulled him through.
Before proceeding, Jack carefully checked the wires leading from his power pack to the rectangular box he called his secret weapon. All connections remained intact. If he was going to fail in his quest, it wouldn't be because he was careless.
Once he was convinced everything was functional, he shouldered one of the two backpacks. Cassa
ndra took the other. Walking stick in one hand, CD boom box in the other, she took the lead. Without the dwarf to guide them, they were forced to use their flashlights to point the way.
Behind them, for a long time after they left the handcar, they could hear Fritz Grondark cursing as he heaved brick after brick to the concrete floor.
Chapter 38
FIVE HUNDRED FEET further, the tunnel curved to the right.
"It's heading towards the Loop," commented Jack.
"Stay alert," said Cassandra, stuffing a handful of black discs into her pockets. "This spot would be a wonderful location for an ambush."
"I don't think..." began Jack, only to have the rest of his sentence drowned out by the shouts of a pack of Border Redcaps charging out of the darkness.
There were seven of the fiends, dressed as always in black leather jackets, dirty old jeans, and bright red baseball caps. They were armed with chains, knives and lead pipes. None of them carried guns, worried perhaps by possible ricocheting in the narrow passageway. Except for the sameness of their expression and a certain indefinite inhuman tinge to their features, they could have been members of any of a dozen street gangs roaming the streets of Chicago.
Calmly, Cassandra dropped the CD boom box and her staff and retrieved the discs she had just put in her jeans. The nearest Redcap was less than ten feet away when, with a quick flick of the wrist, she sent one of the hard plastic rectangles flying into his face. Not one to waste an effort, Cassandra aimed it for the fiend's open mouth. The black disc hit the astonished attacker in the teeth.
Even Jack, expecting the unexpected, was surprised by the results. With a flash of light so brilliant that it lit up the entire tunnel, the Border Redcap disappeared. All that remained of the monster was a slightly singed plastic disc and his red cap.
Unable to stop running, two more of the Redcaps met the same fate, as Cassandra flung the black rectangles with incredible speed and accuracy. Both of the fiends vanished in identical explosions of light, leaving only their baseball hats behind as evidence of their passing.
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