"Of course." The old man smiled. "Take your time. Taras and I shall arrange the viewing while you do."
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Cabinets lined one wall of the windowless viewing room. The pristine coldness of the white and ash gray aroused memories of a hospital, the so many visits while his mother wasted away, becoming frailer and frailer each time. Gerhard ran his fingers along the rubbery edge of the laminate table, trying not to shift in his chair. The urge to stand, to pace, to burn off the anxious energy was overwhelming. Soon, he assured himself. Soon we will be together.
Taras leaned against a side counter, his gaze following the lines where the ceiling joined the wall. He met Gerhard's eyes and smiled. "Are you originally from Stuttgart?"
"Yes."
"What do you do?"
"Accounting. My office is about a kilometer from the museum."
Taras nodded.
"And yourself?" Gerhard asked. He didn't really care for small talk at the moment but conversation might help pass the time.
The Russian seemed to think about this. "Crisis Management."
Gerhard nodded, but had no idea what that could mean. Aid relief after a natural disaster, he guessed. Maybe something military. He carried himself like a soldier. What would a rich collector like Alexander be doing with a soldier?
He drew a breath to ask, but then the door opened.
"Here we are," Alexander said, stepping inside. A suited man in white gloves followed, carrying the sheathed keris is upturned palms, like a nurse with an infant.
Gerhard straightened in his seat, eyes fixed on the carved and polished scabbard, seeing them joined for the first time. His heart thumped so fiercely he was sure the beats were visible beneath his shirt.
The museum man removed several white cotton gloves from one of the cabinets and set them on the table. Still holding the keris he nodded toward them, his demeanor telling that he had no intention of releasing the artifact until precautions had been taken.
A pang of disappointment prodded Gerhard's stomach that he wouldn't be allowed to actually touch the keris, but if the oils or salt of his skin were to damage it, he'd never forgive himself. Swallowing, he picked the gloves up and pulled them on, the sweat of his palms making it difficult.
The museum man's lips tightened into a satisfied smile. He offered the weapon across the table like some holy vestment presented before the Pope.
Hands trembling, Gerhard reached out and accepted it. A faint shudder trembled through him as he wrapped his fingers around the scabbard.
"Thank you," Alexander said to the museum man. His voice seemed a thousand kilometers away. "I'll call once we are done."
Gerhard caressed one hand toward the handle, slow, savoring the way the light reflected off the polished wood. In the distance, he heard the door close as the suited man left. His fingers found the rounded grip. They tightened around it, fitting perfectly as if centuries ago some prophetic craftsman had fashioned it specifically for his hand. Gerhard closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the feel of it. Then carefully drew the blade, seeing the gold, that hidden secret emerge, one wave at a time, thirteen there were. Thirteen waves.
Tears welled in Gerhard's eyes. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. A warmth blossomed in his chest, spreading out through his veins. Euphoria. Was this love? He'd felt this before, his mother, lovers, friends, and family, but this was different, more intense, a combination of those and so much more. Yes, this was love.
Gerhard set the scabbard down onto the table and touched the blade, imagining its history, the men who carried, the men…no…monsters who died along it. Normally such fancies as monsters might cause him to laugh but that is what Gerhard imagined, and it made him smile.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Gerhard blinked, now embarrassed to be caught in such an intimate moment. He'd forgotten the men were even with him. "He is."
"He?" Alexander asked, seemingly amused.
"Yes…it feels like a he." Gerhard smiled shyly. "I'm sure you find that funny."
The old man shook his head. "Not at all. He has a name." A teasing glint shone in Alexander's eye. "Would you like to know it?"
"Really? Yes. Very much so."
"Umatri."
"Umatri," he repeated, the word sounding like something he'd heard in a dream. Umatri. Of course it was. Somehow he'd always known that, like a deaf man finally hearing his own name for the first time. "Thank you."
"It's my pleasure, Mister Entz. It's fortuitous to have met you and let you see Umatri like this. I'm sure his new owner feels the same."
Gerhard's fingers flinched at the words, tightening around the handle. "New owner?" he asked, trying to hide his shock.
Alexander nodded. "Yes. My reason for coming to Stuttgart was to pick it up."
Gerhard's mind reeled, unable to fathom it. He'd finally touched him, learned his name. Now they were coming to take him away like thieves. "I…I see." He licked his lips. "Mister Turgen…"
"Please, call me Alex."
He nodded absently, his head swimming in a torrent of grief, panic, and anger. "Alex, is… can you tell me who purchased it?"
Alex's lips tightened and he shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm not yet able to say who the new protector is."
"Is it a museum? Please tell me that."
"No, it is a private party."
A weight pressed against Gerhard's lungs, cold and inert. He struggled to breathe. "Would they sell it?" His savings was healthy, six month's salary, but probably not enough. Definitely not enough. How could you put a price on such a treasure? But someone had. Alexander had! A hot coal of anger ignited in his guts. How could he put a price on Umatri?
"I can inquire." Alex touched his fingertips to the table. "But…it will be expensive."
Gerhard's gaze returned to Umatri. "Let me worry about that."
Chapter Four
Allan slowed and peered out the side window as the van crested the narrow bridge. Stone and wood embankments lined the River Somme as it stretched out, curving away behind enormous willows, their feathery branches brushing the water's surface. The only boats were the small flat-bottoms tied and stowed for the night, their hulls lightly bobbing against the banks' sheer walls. In the distance, the faint glow of Amiens' light shone through the trees. "Not much longer," he said, continuing on. "You ready for this, Chaya?"
"Definitely."
He eyed her through the rearview. "You sound pretty sure. You want me and Luc to take this one off? Let you handle it by yourself?"
The young knight grinned. She shared a look with Samantha, the Australian redhead on the bench beside her. "Why not?"
Luc snorted from the passenger seat, the big man's head nearly brushing the ceiling. He scratched his sharp-chiseled jaw with the back of his fingers as if considering the offer. "I'd be willing to let her," he rumbled in his deep bass voice, his first words in over half an hour. The knight's humor was so dry that Allan couldn't always tell when he was kidding, which only seemed to encourage him more. "But Master Sonu would have our heads if we did."
Chaya shrugged. "Maybe next time, then."
"Don't get too eager," Allan said. "These things are deadly."
"I know," she said. "This isn't my first hunt."
"True," Allan said. "But it's your first one since Master Sonu…cut the cord, we'll say. You know he'll be watching the videos after so we better be by the numbers."
Chaya nodded. At twenty-six, the lean Israeli wasn't the Valducan's youngest knight, a title Allan owned by a full year, but she was the newest. "Then, how's this for an idea?" she said. "You and Luc go in with me, but if I get it without help we get a dog."
Sam perked up. "I'm in favor of this."
Luc growled a harrumph. "Dog? Dogs are noisy. So needy."
"Yeah," Allan agreed. "Besides, you know how Orlovski would pop his top if we brought a dog home."
"That's just big dogs," Sam offered. "If we go
t a little one, like a corgi, maybe he'd get over his issues. Serves him right for missing this. Out of commission for a year and first job that comes along he's off in Germany with a nice hotel."
"We all have our responsibilities." Allan turned the van onto a narrow road. The lights swung past white reward posters, emblazoned with images of animals, adorning nearly every post like paper scales. "I'm sure he'd rather be here than recruiting."
"Little dogs are worse," Luc said. "They have no idea they're little. Just mean. Yip, yip, yip."
Sam rolled her eyes.
"Why not a cat?" Luc asked.
"A cat?" Allan turned his eyes from the road to stare at him.
The big man shrugged. "I like cats."
"No," Allan said.
"Cats are little bastards," Chaya said. "Ungrateful things."
"A cat can hunt," Luc said. "Dog can't rid the mansion of mice."
"I'm good with a cat," Sam said.
Chaya shook her head. "No. You're not getting a cat on my big debut."
"I didn't get a cat on my first hunt," Luc said. "So I deserve it more."
"Why not both," Sam offered.
"No one's getting a cat!" Allan blurted.
Sam leaned forward, between Allan and Luc. "What about a ferret?"
"Seriously?" Allan snapped. "Can we focus on the job?"
Luc chuckled, then roared in laughter. Chaya and Sam joined in, laughing at Allan's expense.
Allan sighed and shook his head. "Just get it out. We're almost there." He'd gotten used to Sam's dumb humor before a hunt, but having Chaya to play off of made it exponentially worse. Although, and he'd never admit it, her jokes did alleviate the pre-hunt anxiety. Luc joining in on them was the biggest surprise. Normally the Frenchman had served as Team Leader, but now that the Valducans had begun replenishing their ranks, he and Allan had been swapping that duty. Soon they would have their own teams to manage, and Allan tried not to dwell on the fact that this might very well be their last assignment together. It felt like the band was breaking up.
They crossed a pair of narrow canals leading to the river. High hedges lined either side of the road. Allan flipped off the headlights before turning onto an earthen drive. By the pale glow of a half-moon above, he guided the van to a shaded spot between a tree and the hedge.
He killed the engine and turned the police scanner up. "Let's go to work, people."
The dome lights didn't come on as the vehicle's doors opened. Allan stepped out into tall grass and made his way to the back where Chaya had already begun pulling out their gear. The air was sticky. It smelled like a swamp, that combination of vibrant plant life undercut with wet rot. Frogs and insects chirped and hummed from every direction, mingling into a single, rolling wall of noise.
Allan flexed his hands, fighting off the pre-game jitters. Chaya handed him a ballistic vest and he strapped it on. He pulled out a sturdy web belt, weighted by several pouches and a long scabbard, and clicked it on. He then attached his throat mic and earpiece before keying up the radio near his hip.
"Testing. Testing."
"I got you," Luc's voice rumbled through the ear bud.
"Okay," Allan said. "Sam, you got me?"
"Gimme a second, boss," she said from inside the vehicle, wrestling with something in her lap. "All right, you hear me?" came through the radio.
"Loud and clear." As the others continued to check their radios, Allan wriggled his fingers and opened the flat case from the back. A golden bronze khopesh rested inside, glinting in the faint light. Carefully, almost reverently, Allan tore the Velcro straps apart and pulled Ibenus free. As always, the jitters vanished the moment he felt her smooth ebony grip. Miss me, Love?
Allan slipped Ibenus into her scabbard, designed to accept the bowed blade. Leaves shuddered in the trees as a sudden breeze swept through, washing the humidity away and cooling his sweat-beaded forehead.
"Check your ammo," he said, drawing a silenced Walther pistol from its holster and verifying it was loaded. The bullets themselves wouldn't harm the tengu but the cherry wood tips could. Even then, they'd only hurt the demon's host body. But better than nothing, providing Allan could even hit it. He'd never been a good shot.
"You really need to upgrade that sidearm," Chaya said, never passing a chance to bring up the old argument.
"I like it just fine."
"Have you even tried the pistol I selected?"
"Not my style. We can discuss it later."
"Promise?"
"Promise." Holstering the gun, he plucked a pair of black latex gloves from a bag Luc had set in the van door and pulled them on.
"Here." Sam thrust out a small plastic box, dangling from a bead chain necklace.
Allan nodded a thanks, accepting it. He put it on and wedged the GPS unit under the snug vest so that it wouldn't bounce. "All right, we ready?" he asked, sliding a thin balaclava over his face.
"Ready," Luc said, pulling on his own tracker. His black iron mace, Velnepo, hung from his side, its flanged head protruding up through a ring at his belt.
Chaya pulled her curly hair back as she slipped on her mask. She set her hand on her scimitar's crescent moon pommel. "Ready."
Allan still wasn't used to Khirzoor on the girl's belt. The holy sword had belonged to Ben…before he’d died, forcing the weapon to choose a new protector.
"All right," Allan said. "Luc, you take the north side. Set eyes on a good vantage of the front. Chaya and I will move around behind. It'll make a break for the water the instant it feels threatened, so stay quiet."
"No problem for me," Chaya said with a smirk.
Allan turned back to the van. "Sam."
The young woman looked dutifully up from her station of monitors. The slender microphone curved down from her headset to the flat line of her mouth. All trace of Sam's usual joviality was gone. It was all business now.
"You know what to do."
She gave a nod.
Allan pursed his lips. Am I forgetting anything? He fought the urge to look at Luc, maybe see the answer in his eyes. No. That's everything. He closed the van door. The dim light of Sam's screens glowed faintly through the tinted glass. He drew Ibenus. "Let's do it."
Keeping to the shadows, the knights hurried through the open field, Luc moving to the right while Allan and Chaya took the other side. Allan kept close to Chaya, sharing the bubble of silence emanating from her unsheathed scimitar. While he could hear the leaves crunching beneath their feet, no sound of it would carry beyond two meters of her blade.
Tengu were among the least aggressive demons, usually satisfying their appetite with fish, small animals, maybe splurging on a family pet. Opportunistic killers, they struck humans fast and without warning, usually drowning them. But most often they blended in society, holed up in their dens. Hermit hoarders living below humanity's radar. No telling how long this one had lived here but someone had seen it.
Not long ago, tabloid newspapers would have carried the story, then cheap mail-order magazines brimming with questionable bigfoot and Nessie photographs. Now, with streaming videos and worldwide chat rooms, all populated with self-proclaimed cryptozoologists, finding these elusive species was easy. But in many ways it was even more dangerous. People were becoming bolder. Would-be hunters, desperate for fame or vindication of their beliefs, were actively seeking these monsters, potentially making themselves prey, or inadvertently spotting the real hunters. Once, masks were only needed for urban environments. Now, in a world of inexpensive micro hi-res cameras, they were becoming standard procedure. That morning, on a scouting run, Chaya had found and disabled a game camera.
They crossed a narrow concrete footbridge over one of the small canals that separated each property into private islands and crouched at the gate on the opposite side. Allan peered through the wrought iron bars at a small house. A yellow light shone above the front door, but the rest of the home was dark. A line of small trees ran along one side of the
property against the canal, coming to an abrupt end where it met the river. The gate handle was on the opposite side, its access blocked by a wire mesh stretched across the bars. Lifting Ibenus, he stepped back, then swung at the air as he stepped forward. An instant sensation of weightlessness accompanied a whoosh in his ears and Allan's descending foot came down on grass and not the worn concrete.
He turned to see Chaya still at the gate, now four feet behind him. Allan moved back and opened the now accessible latch, and pulled it open. The grating squeak of the hinges sent shivers down his back, but thanks to Khirzoor's bubble, only he and Chaya could hear it.
"That's a cool trick," she said.
Allan nodded. "It is rather nice."
"What is?" Sam asked through the radio.
"Nothing." Allan replied. "Sorry about the chatter. We're in the yard."
He motioned his head for Chaya to follow and, maintaining a crouch, followed the tree line toward the rear of the property. Across the river stood a single-floor house. Shrubs and trees revealed only a partial view of the yard. Tengu liked their privacy. Pale light glowed through its open windows but Allan saw no one inside.
"Camera one is up," Luc's voice whispered through the radio.
"Got it," Sam replied.
Allan stopped about twenty feet from the riverbank and approached a metal bird feeder, standing about five feet high. He peeled the Velcro flap from a pouch at his belt and removed a tubular camera. Kneeling, he unfolded a trio of rubberized legs from its underside and wrapped them around the post before extending an antenna out the back. He clicked it on. "Camera two is up." Allan peered along the top, aiming it at the right rear of the home.
"Little higher," Sam said. "Perfect."
Allan motioned across the yard and Chaya hurried to the other corner of the property. She crept to a flat rock and set her own camera atop it, its legs forming a tripod. "Three is on."
"I see it," Sam replied. "No movement inside."
"All right." Allan tightened his grip on Ibenus. "Let's shake the nest. Luc, give the front door a little knock, please."
"Moving in," Luc whispered through the radio. "Three. Two. One." A terrible crash sounded on the opposite side of the house.
Ibenus (Valducan series) Page 3