The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set

by William David Ellis

  Finally, he came to a side exit and began to walk up the stairs that led from it. He thought he could see a faint light up ahead and, although he knew he was in a safe place, decided to move forward cautiously. He had been told to meet with his team at this place. But hidden passageways and dimly lit tunnels just begged for stealth. He reached the top of the stairs and saw the faint outline of a doorway. He paused on the stairway landing. Should I knock or just open it?

  A low growl answered his question. Something waited on the other side. Something big. Harry felt the wooden door move against its hinges. Whatever was on the other side was pressing against it. Then he heard, “Harry man! Why you hide from Raleigh? Come out and play!”

  Harry breathed a big sigh of relief and opened the door. A huge white German shepherd, four and a half feet tall at the shoulder, looked him square in the eyes. A big toothy grin lit the dog’s face. Then quicker than Harry could react, the dog’s paws were on his shoulders and its sloppy wet tongue was smearing slobber all over his face.

  “Raleigh! Come on! Man, quit that. You’re getting dog spit all over me, my clothes, the floor!” He half-heartedly pushed the dog back. The action only encouraged the animal. He knew Harry was as glad to see him as he was Harry. Harry tried to move away from his furry friend, but Raleigh moved with him, sliding across the floor like two old people who had forgotten how to dance and were doing the best they could. The dance lasted only a couple of feet.

  “Okay, okay, boy, now get down and behave!” This time Harry meant it and the dog understood. He understood very well actually because Harry had the gift of speaking to animals. That didn’t mean he could speak to goldfish, or a turtle, but higher-level mammals such as dogs, bears, and horses could understand him.

  “He missed you and so did I,” said a deep, rumbling voice that sounded like a cross between a gravel truck and a chain smoker.

  “Brady Huslu. It is so good to see you!” Harry grabbed the outstretched hand and was hauled in for a literal bear hug. Brady Huslu was an eight-foot-tall Sasquatch of the First River Watchers. His people lived in the Big Thicket, an isolated forest in the middle of East Texas. Harry disappeared into the hairy man’s embrace and pretended to be coughing and unable to breathe.

  The Sasquatch was not fooled.

  “You know I bathe daily. My wife wouldn’t let me in the house if I didn’t. Says she doesn’t want me tracking up her home and getting hair all over the carpet.”

  Harry laughed and then watched, amazed, as the woolly man’s flesh began to ripple. Brady’s image seemed to go out of focus for several seconds. Harry was tempted to rub his eyes but refrained; this was not the first time he had seen the First River Watcher shift into his human form. But it never lost its ability to fascinate him.

  As Brady’s image rippled and shrank, a fog descended over the large man for a few seconds and was replaced by thousands of fireflies. At least that’s what Harry called them for lack of a better word. John Timothy had tried to explain that they were nanites with preprogrammed transformer technology attuned to an individual’s DNA. But Harry got lost in the lecture and decided magical fireflies sounded better. In seconds, the cloud of fiery glitter faded and Brady stood in his human form. He was still very tall, probably about six foot six in his stocking feet, which wasn’t an accurate description because he was barefoot and wore a pair of very used blue denim overalls and no T-shirt. Harry took one look and laughed.

  “I am going to tell your wife you got out in public wearing those clothes. She is going to slap a knot on your bald head!”

  Brady was as hairy a man as Harry had ever laid eyes on, everywhere except his noggin. He claimed it was because Danya, his wife, had griped it off. They both knew Brady adored his gentle wife, but they also knew that like her name’s meaning she could bring down the wrath of God on her enemies and occasionally her husband.

  Laughing, Brady explained, “Well, you were in such a hurry to get me over here that I came like I was. Truthfully, though, it is a lot easier to shift without clothes than with, and this was as close to neked as I could get and still maintain my modesty.”

  Harry snickered at Brady’s “neked” expression, shaking his head. Dr. Huslu, professor of organic chemistry at the University of Texas Tyler, sure plays redneck well!

  Between dancing with Raleigh and laughing with Brady, Harry had not paid any attention to the other person in the cobblestoned room until he stood up and cleared his throat, loudly and repeatedly. John Timothy was of moderate height and indistinct features. Nothing really stood out about him to make him noticeable, and that was by design. He was an ageless servant of the Hunters, the organization known by many names through the centuries whose mission was to guard the time streams. John Timothy was Harry’s handler, assistant, trainer, whatever the mission required.

  Brady and Harry and even Raleigh looked at John Timothy like they didn’t know he was trying to get their attention. Brady said, “Got a hairball there, John Timothy? Sorry if it were some of mine. Probably from Raleigh though; shepherds are bad about shedding.”

  Raleigh growled, “Not me… some cat… always hocking up hair they do.”

  John Timothy smirked and pointed at the chairs around the table. “We have to talk, guys. Your ship sails in a few hours and you need to be ready to go.”

  Without a further word the trio sat and leaned in. On the table were papers and a map.

  John Timothy began. “You know a few of the details, and in the last few hours we have had confirmation of what we feared. Here is the bottom line. The Nazis’ occult teams led by Hermann Göring are going to attempt to call up a very powerful demon. So powerful she is known as the nameless one. They have called their project Starker Mann, or in English, Strongman. We believe that they intend to transfer the demon’s strength to a group of their elite soldiers, transforming already powerful men into supercharged ones.”

  “That is madness! Don’t they know they are trying to manipulate the beast that invented deception?” Brady said.

  “Good Lord have mercy,” Harry instinctively prayed. Then he looked John Timothy in the eye. “Seeing as who you are and what you know, what can you or what are you willing to tell us about this nameless one?”

  John Timothy grimaced, looking as though he were weighing his answer, and then slowly began.

  Harry’s other gift, the discernment gift, kicked in. “The truth, John. Not to say you would ever withhold information that you thought might discourage us, or give us insight into a future that we would be tempted to change. Far be it from you to ever do that. Just the truth. You know this creature, don’t you?”

  John Timothy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “The gifts the sword gave you are getting sharper, Harry. To answer your question, yes, I know her. At one time, we served together. She was a strong right arm. A servant of the North Star. And then she changed. Her power went to her head. It took ages, thousands of years, but eventually she grew tired of right, of honor, of obeying. She wanted something more. So, she began to practice deception.”

  He pushed his chair back and stared at the wall, recalling memories from a past he had tried to forget. “She did things that were cruel, just to watch creatures suffer. She became angry with the King, said he was boring, and weak. She joined Lucifer’s war on the King and even convinced a few of us to follow him. The King struck hard. And chained them in Tartarus.”

  John Timothy’s voice changed, lined with curiosity. “But the King also did something I did not understand at the time. He gave the keys of the nameless one to humanity. And occasionally some fool figures out how to use them, thinks he can control the strongman, unleashes her, and it starts all over again.”

  Harry was trying to listen. But his mouth hung open and his eyes blinked like windshield wipers. Brady wasn’t doing much better, but he did have the good sense not to drool on the floor.

  John Timothy, caught up in his own memories, failed to notice his companions’ shock and continued.

 
“There have been others before you. Whole races have been wiped out; large portions of the earth devastated. Some of the deserts that span vast areas of the earth today were once beautiful gardens.” John Timothy halted, wandering in ageless memories. “Millions of people died horrible deaths because some human unleashed this creature. So here we are once again.” His eyes refocused on Harry and Brady. “Will you ever learn?”

  “I have no idea,” Harry whispered.

  “If the angels failed, how can you expect creatures made from river clay to prevail?” Brady defended.

  Raleigh just whimpered.

  “Well, I asked. Thank you for being honest with us.” Harry continued, sobered, “Now what is it we have to do?”

  John Timothy shook himself and answered, “There is little hope of stopping the nameless one if she is released. So, the mission is to stop the Nazis from freeing her.”

  Harry sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “And what part does Belle Rodum play in this?”

  John’s face gave away his concern. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowed, and he sighed. “Harry, she seems to be the one overseeing the ritual. I know you had hoped she was turning. But we have no information to confirm that. I’m sorry.”

  Harry’s chin dropped to his chest. His eyes closed as he gently exhaled several small breaths. Oh, Belle, what am I going to do now? For several moments he stared at the floor, lost in disappointment.

  Then he looked up, nodded to Brady, and scratched Raleigh behind the ears. “Well, I tried. Kinda like a raccoon washing away a sugar cube. When he gets through washing, there’s nothing left. Damn. I really thought I got through to her.”

  Brady put his massive hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Raleigh moved in closer and nuzzled his friend.

  Brady leaned back and grabbed the straps holding his loose-fitting overalls. “Harry, you don’t know that you didn’t get through. We don’t know what’s really going on. You were the first person to ever show her a different way. I know that made a difference.”

  “Not much, apparently,” Harry grumbled.

  “Harry, look at me.” Harry lifted his eyes and saw the fire in his large companion’s face. “You do not know what good you did. But I know this, Harry Ferguson. I know it in my spirit. Your efforts will not return void. They will not, they cannot. So do not let hope deferred devour you! Or else I will set Danya loose on you.”

  Harry laughed until he saw the look on his friend’s face. His laughter died a quick death. “You mean that, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely I do!”

  Raleigh whimpered, dropped to the floor, and folded both paws over his head.

  Chapter 5

  Belle paused at the door. That was an unusual thing for her to do. Usually she knocked, then walked in, not even waiting on a response. But nothing was as it had been. Not since Harry. She had been stripped of her escorts and at first suffered abandonment issues. Then as the weeks passed and she had access to her own mind, she’d become conscious of a freedom she had never known. Now she didn’t want to give it back, and she was aware that what waited behind that door had no intention of allowing her to keep her independence.

  After leaving the crazed Dr. Oberheust, Belle had taken a deep breath and trudged down the halls of the headquarters of the Gestapo EL-DE Haus, deliberately taking a few wrong turns to buy time to build up her defenses and hide her new sense of autonomy behind strong walls of anger, anger that would be felt by anyone of discernment. Anger she hoped would be misinterpreted.

  Dr. Oberheust’s disclosure of the Strongman project was an eye-opener. Belle knew she shouldn’t have been surprised at the insanity of the project, and even though it troubled her greatly, she was from a bloodline that had called up the ancient ones for centuries. Her own gifts and abilities were the result of very similar projects. What bothered Belle was that those same invocations had set free beings that ravaged the earth. Plagues, wars, natural disasters caused by unnatural creatures. Millions of lives had been lost every time one of those ancient ones was freed.

  But what made her heart quake was not the loss of a million lives but the plan for Harry Ferguson to be the sacrifice that opened the portal for the beast to come forth. And the person waiting beyond the threshold was the one who would wield the knife.

  She had met the individual behind the door, briefly in Göring’s office. She had not had time to speak with him long. She had been introduced, told he would play a major role in the upcoming project, and then dismissed so Göring could huddle with the man and work out the details of the Strongman project. Her assignment now was to get to know the man and develop the lure that would bring Harry into the role assigned for him.

  Releasing a slow, deep breath, Belle raised her hand to knock. The door opened before her hand reached the panels. A tall dark-haired man with a black Van Dyke goatee striped with grey glared down on her and, in a voice mired in contempt, said, “I wondered how long you were going to stand behind that door before you knocked.”

  His eyes were grey and cold. He was well framed and, in another context, Belle would have thought him a very handsome man. But the cruelty and dominance radiating from him combined with the cleric collar that he wore was revolting. It registered with Belle as unclean, defiled. Her ability to discern motives and character in people often expressed itself in odors, and this one was sickly sweet intertwined with the nauseous reek of old death. Belle’s impulse was to pull back and maintain a safe distance, but before her self-preservation moved her body, her warrior instincts caught her. The predator in her responded to the dark presence coiled in the reverend. She stepped closer to the man holding the door; her eyes met his in a silent duel.

  With a watery smile as artificial as the one that had greeted her, she responded, “Reverend Long. What great hearing you have. May I come in or would you prefer to have our conversation here in the hall?” She broke her stare and looked down the hall, gesturing at the people walking through it.

  The reverend’s lip curled as he backed into the office and motioned toward an empty chair in front of a large dark wooden desk.

  Belle expected the man to sit behind the desk and create a space between himself and her, but instead he sat opposite her in another chair on the same side of the desk. In any other environment, the gesture would have been an act of hospitality; in this one it was an attempt to intimidate, up close and personal like an assassin with a dagger who enjoyed glaring into the eyes of the people he murdered. Belle had played the games so often she was a master. She scooted her chair toward the dark clergy and leaned in, elbows on her knees, hands folded, eyes riveted on her opponent.

  Laden Long exhaled a slow breath. Belle smelled what was supposed to be the rich, fragrant aroma of a virile man. Her discernment registered it as a toxic nerve agent, its purpose to lull the victim into a false sense of euphoria. It would be analyzed and used in truth serums a decade hence. As soon as her nose caught a whiff, she pulled back and fanned herself. Deliberately wincing, she covered her mouth and said, “The food here in Cologne takes some getting used to. May I offer you a breath mint?”

  The dark clergy laughed. “Belle Rodum, you are a very astute and discerning witch. And I am glad. I had heard you had been stripped of your powers. I see no evidence of that. Just the opposite, and I look forward to getting to know you better… much better.” He smiled, this time, not forced but very real. Belle shoved back the river of cold that ran through her body.

  The reverend continued, “Individuals like ourselves need to foster relationships to ensure the continuity and strength of our lines. Lest the impurities of the common-bred infest our progeny and corrupt our descendants. Don’t you agree, Belle?”

  Belle Rodum was tempted to shake her head furiously while screaming, “Absolutely not!” But answered with the shrewdness of an unrepentant snake. “Most definitely, Laden. I mean, you above all people can appreciate the struggle diminished blood can cause, and any help you can give in finding suitable candi
dates would be a reasonable service.”

  The counterfeit clergy’s eyes narrowed and his face reddened. He paused pondering his next volley, but Belle gave no quarter.

  “Now Reverend Long, do you want to keep this game going or can we get down to work? I mean, if you like this kind of pretense we can waste as much time as you want. But I really have a lot of work to do and would like to make good use of my time.” Belle had slipped into her dangerous mode. Her senses were feeding her information and she knew the false clergy was frustrated at his failure to bully her.

  “For the time being, Belle Rodum… For the time being. We can move on. We do need to discuss our roles in this matter. I know what you are. You are a witch. You have a minor role in Herr Göring’s Strongman project. You are the cheese for the rat. From what I have been told, this dragon rider,” Long spit the term out like a piece of indigestible fat, “has a crush on you.”

  Belle’s lip curled in her best imitation of a sneer. A month before it would not have been an imitation; now it was simple façade. Her heart was as far from her face as it could be.

  Hardly… Harry’s heart belongs to another. I am just a means to an end. If he had his way, he would be a thousand miles and as many years away.

  The wolf in shepherd’s clothing raised an eyebrow and studied Belle’s face.

  Behind her shields Belle squirmed. Her heart skipped a beat. Was Long aware that Harry Ferguson was more than an adversary to her?

  Chapter 6

  Sarah’s breath failed her. She stepped toward a large boulder and fell rather than sat. She looked back at Kusaila. Her breath caught back up as a brittle smile marred her face. A question hovered close to her heart but embarrassment kept a tight rein on it. Kusaila answered what she did not ask.

  “Sarah, I am not jealous, or angry. Quite the opposite, really. If you could walk away from that intimate a bond with your dragon rider and never wonder or wish, then I would be concerned, for it would mean you were more beast than dragon. You would be heartless and only live for the moment. And love would not mean anything to you, not then… and not now.”