by Tim Waggoner
"I'd, uh, really rather not," I said.
Way to sound terrified, Devona thought. I ignored her.
"Too bad," Ferdinand said. He put the cup of steaming liquid to my lips and poured it in.
I could've swallowed it easily since I couldn't feel the heat or taste the flavor but that wasn't what a living man would do, so I sputtered and thrashed my head back and forth, causing some of the Sprawlicano to spill down my chin. The minotaur continued to grin as he poured the rest of the cup's contents down my throat, then he let go of me and I allowed myself to fall back on my ass, making sure to let out a whoof! of air as if I felt the impact.
As I rose slowly to my feet I doubled over and made a face as if I was going to throw up the noxious brew, but Ferdinand said, "You barf and I'll make you drink two more."
I made a show of fighting to keep the Sprawlicano down and Ferdinand nodded, satisfied. "Now tell Sandy how good it was."
I tried to speak, coughed once, then tried again.
"Smooth," I croaked.
The minotaur turned to his girlfriend. "There you go, baby. He'll think twice before giving you anymore attitude."
Baristastein ignored the minotaur as she looked at me, as blank eyed and expressionless as ever.
"Thank you and come again," she said and then went off in search of someone else to serve.
The minotaur watched her go, his gaze softening.
"Isn't she something?" he said.
I wisely kept any opinions I had about that to myself and Ferdinand wandered off to rejoin the group of people he'd been talking with before Devona and I arrived. There was laughter and congratulatory backslaps from his friends and I found myself reaching for the flea bomb again.
Devona put a hand on my arm to restrain me. "Forget him. We have work to do."
I looked at the minotaur for a moment longer before nodding and letting Devona lead me toward Nosferatomes.
"What did you think of my performance?" I asked her.
She smiled gently. "Let's just say it's a good thing you chose a career in criminal justice."
"Everyone's a critic," I muttered.
Devona and I walked up to Nosferatomes' front door, keeping an eye out for possible attack the entire time and staying in low level telepathic contact. We couldn't read one another's minds this way but we could sense the other's feelings. If one of us spotted danger, the other would be instantly aware of it. But again, there was no sign of any bounty hunters, and we entered the store.
THIRTEEN
A bell tinkled as we opened the door and again when we closed it. The front room was filled with wooden shelves crammed with books, signs hanging down from the ceiling with section names painted on them to direct customers to the areas they were interested in. Self Help was directly next to Self Mutilation, and Dark Arts was followed by Darker, Darkest and Pitch Black Arts. As we walked up to the counter some of the titles that leaped out at me were The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Necronomicon, Stabbing for Dummies, The Beginner's Book of Bodysnatching, A Child's Garden of Curses, Shapeshifting for Fun and Profit, and Death: A Life.
There were a couple customers browsing the stacks. One was an elderly Arcane woman who, judging by the pile of books in her arms, was big into the culinary arts, especially cooking with children. The other was a small rotund man without eyelids who I recognized as the Insomnimaniac. I'd seen him in here before and out on the street a few times, but we'd never formally met, so I wasn't too worried he'd recognize me, but I made sure to keep my face turned away from him as we walked by, just in case. I felt a certain kinship with the man. I hadn't slept since I died and I'd often come here to buy books to give me something to read to pass the time when I wasn't working.
The counter held an old fashioned cash register and a desk bell to ring for service. Behind the counter was a closed door leading to a back room of some sort. A stock room or maybe a private office, I guessed. Since no one manned the counter I tapped the bell, received a clear ding for my effort, and then Devona and I waited. It didn't take long.
Scuttling sounds came from numerous directions as small sleek black shapes rushed toward the counter from throughout the store. The rats – or rather pieces of darkness shaped like rats – scurried behind the counter and merged to form a single shadowy mass that grew as it reshaped itself into humanoid form. A second later a grotesque looking Bloodborn male stood before us. Cadaverously thin, bald, with pointed ears, narrow rat-like features and a pair of needle-sharp incisors jutting down from his upper jaw. He was dressed in a black great coat that hung awkwardly on his spindly frame. He rested long talon-like fingers on top of the counter and gave us what I assumed was supposed to be a welcoming smile, but which looked more like a grimace of pain.
"How may I serve you?" His voice was little more than a whisper and his accent was thick. It was clearly of eastern European origin, but it contained hints of other regions I couldn't place. That wasn't uncommon among the Bloodborn since so many of them were at least centuries old and had lived in many countries on Earth before relocating to Nekropolis, but there was something about this vampire's voice that spoke of great age, almost as if he were speaking with the voice of Time itself.
As I said, Devona and I had both bought books here before and we'd been waited on by Orlock every time. If he had any employees I'd never seen them. But the vampire gave no sign that he recognized us. He just stood there behind the counter, smiling that unsettling smile of his, patiently waiting for us to tell him what we wanted.
"We're interested in learning about rare magical artifacts," I said.
"I see. I have a section on magic items that contains a number of thorough examinations of the subject. If you come with me, I'll be happy to take you there."
A shadowy cast came over Orlock's features and I knew he was about to separate into the components of his travel form to escort us to the section in question. I held up a hand to stop him and the shadowy aspect vanished, leaving his features clear once more.
"Is there something more?" he asked. His tone remained professionally pleasant, but his beady rat eyes narrowed with the first hint of suspicion.
"We're not so much interested in reading about artifacts," I said, "as much as we are in selling them."
Orlock hesitated a few seconds before responding, his eyes narrowing even further, as if appraising us.
"I have several books in stock that deal with the basic fundamentals of buying and selling, but none that specifically focuses on trading in magical objects per se."
I held Orlock's gaze with my own as I spoke. "As I said we're not interested in reading about the subject."
Orlock arched a thin eyebrow at this.
"Pardon my presumptuousness," he said, "but why come to a bookstore if you're not interested in reading?"
I felt a pressure begin to build behind my eyes and I realized that Orlock was trying to probe my mind. I was surprised since usually half-vampires like Devona are the more psychically gifted among the Bloodborn. But almost as soon as it started I felt the pressure ease and I knew that Devona was running interference for me, blocking Orlock's mental probe with her own psychic powers.
Orlock realized it too, for his gaze flicked to Devona and he pursed his lips in irritation. He then turned his attention back to me.
"I'm sorry but I'm afraid I can't help you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a great deal of cataloguing to do in the back room."
He began to go shadowy on us again and this time I reached across the counter and grabbed hold of his right wrist to stop him.
"Let's cut the crap, Orlock," I said softly, so none of the other customers would overhear. "We know what your real business is, and unless you agree to talk with us in private, we'll tell the Adjudicators everything we know."
Orlock looked at me for a long moment, and though I no longer possessed the sensory apparatus to feel temperature, I swear the room seemed to get colder by several degrees.
"An empty threat coming from someone th
e Adjudicators would dearly love to find," Orlock said through gritted teeth.
So the vampire had recognized me. I wasn't worried that he'd turn us over to the authorities, though. If what David had told us about Orlock was true he had his own reasons for not wanting anything to do with the Adjudicators.
Without another word Orlock gestured for us to come around the counter. Then he turned, removed a key from his coat pocket, unlocked the door and – moving with an awkward, jerking motions that put me in mind of a scuttling crab – he entered the room beyond.
Devona and I exchanged glances.
A trap? she asked telepathically.
In Nekropolis? What are the odds?
She grinned at me and we followed after Orlock. Once we were inside the vampire closed and locked the door behind us.
The back room turned out to be a private office and a cozy one at that. A trio of comfortable chairs, Persian rug over a wooden floor, round table with a teacup and saucer resting on top of it, though instead of tea, the cup held a bit of reddish liquid at the bottom. And bookshelves, of course, though these were made of highly polished oak and contained one leather bound volume after another. Orlock's private stock, I assumed.
Orlock sat at the table and gestured for Devona and I to sit in the two remaining chairs. I preferred to stand – easier to fight that way – but Bloodborn, especially older ones, can be rigid when it comes to matters of etiquette, so we did as Orlock wanted and sat.
At first Orlock didn't say anything. He just folded his spiderish fingers together over his skeletally thin chest and looked at us. When he did finally speak his voice held a hint of amusement.
"Did you really think your pathetic disguises would fool me? Even if you weren't a well known personality around town, I'd have recognized you, Matthew Richter. You too, Devona Kanti. I remember the names and faces of everyone I've ever done business with, even if it was only a single transaction."
He reached out to pick up his teacup then and drained the remaining dregs of liquid.
Devona licked her lips as we watched Orlock finish his drink and I realized it had been a while since she'd fed on real blood instead of settling for aqua sanguis. I sometimes forget that while she's only half-vampire, that half needs nourishment the same as any other Bloodborn. I try not to let her dietary needs bother me, though. After all, we monsters need to stick together.
Orlock put his empty cup down on the saucer then sat back in his chair, hands once more interlocked on his chest.
"So tell me why you're here," he said. "I admit that I'm extremely curious why a fugitive from justice would choose to interrupt his flight from the authorities to visit a used bookstore."
"I suppose I could tell you that even fugitives need something to read, but the truth is I need your help. Are you aware of the reward the First Adjudicator is offering for my capture?"
Orlock looked at me as if I'd just insulted him.
I went on. "All right then. In that case, then you know the basics of the crime I was arrested for."
"Yes. You stole something from Lord Edrigu." He suddenly brightened. "Don't tell me you've come here looking to sell the object!"
"I'm not going to tell you that because I didn't steal it." I paused. "Well, my head didn't."
Orlock just looked at me.
"It's complicated. The point is I didn't steal the object, so I don't have it. The reason we've come to see you is that I intend to discover who actually committed the crime so I can clear my name. But to do that I need to know more about the object that was stolen from Lord Edrigu. It was a flute carved from bone that he wore around his neck."
Orlock's only reaction to the object's description was a slight narrowing of his gaze.
"Interesting," he said softly. But he added no more.
"We came to you because you have a reputation for being a collector," Devona said. "We know you sometimes hire people to acquire certain items for you. Supposedly you're not too fussy about how you obtain them, either."
"And you believe I may be able to provide information on this flute for you?" Orlock asked. "Or is it more than that? Do you suspect me of engineering the theft?"
"The thought had occurred to me," I admitted. "But to be honest at this point we have no more reason to suspect you than anyone else in town. And since you're the only lead we have at the moment, I suppose we'll just have to trust that you had nothing to do with the theft."
"Because you have no choice," Orlock said.
"That's about the size of it."
The vampire looked thoughtful for a moment.
"I'm a businessman, not an altruist. If I agree to help you, how will I be compensated?"
"It depends," Devona said. "What would you want?"
Orlock considered. "Your services in the future, free of charge. There are a number of artifacts that I haven't been able to acquire over the years for one reason or another. The two of you might be able to succeed in obtaining them for me where others have failed."
"One artifact," I said. "And we'll reserve the right to choose which one we'll go after."
Orlock smiled. "Done!" He briskly rubbed his talons together in satisfaction. "Now, down to business." He grinned. "And I do mean down."
He reached beneath the table, pushed a hidden switch, and the floor began to descend. Devona and I gripped the arms of our chairs out of reflex but the descent was slow and smooth. A wooden panel slid into place above us to seal off Orlock's office and fluorescent lights affixed to its underside turned on to provide illumination as we continued dropping.
The floor descended about thirty feet before coming to a gentle stop. Devona and I looked around and saw only darkness. I remembered Devona's concern that we might be walking into some kind of trap and I steeled myself for an attack. But a moment later Orlock said, "Forgive me. I tend to forget that not all my visitors can see as well in the dark as I can."
He gestured with one of his clawed hands and more fluorescent light panels activated, revealing a corridor that extended off to the left.
"Please follow me."
Orlock rose and, moving with his crab-like walk, started down the corridor. Devona and I of course followed. It was why we'd come here, after all.
The corridor wasn't a long one and we soon found ourselves standing in a large open chamber I estimated to be at least the size of a football field, ceiling thirty feet above us, covered in fluorescent light panels that clearly illuminated every part of the chamber. Devona and I stood there for a moment, staring in amazement. For most of her adult life, Devona had served as caretaker of Lord Galm's collection of magical artifacts. I'd seen his collection and I'd been impressed, but Galm had nothing on Orlock. His chamber was packed full of items ranging in size from the three-masted sailing ship with the name Flying Dutchman painted on the side in faded letters to a round crystalline pedestal with a seemingly empty clear dome on top. A metal plate affixed to the pedestal proclaimed the dome as containing the Incredible Shrinking Man. There were hundreds of items surrounding us, from large to small, each more exotic and bizarre than the last. Rosemary's Baby's crib, the Darkwand of Manticore, Dr. Jekyll's first chemistry set, the Ark of Desecration, the Phantom of the Opera's original score for Don Juan Triumphant, two of the Headless Horseman's spare heads, a half dozen dried and preserved triffids and so many more.
While many of Orlock's displays were physical objects a number of his displays resembled exhibits that seemed more appropriate for a wax museum: men, women and creatures in frozen poses sealed within large domes of clear crystal, like that containing the Incredible Shrinking man, but on a larger scale. According to their plaques the domes nearest us contained the Seven Golden Vampires, Grendel and his mother, the Aztec Mummy, several devil bats and a pack of killer shrews. I knew without asking that these weren't wax recreations bur rather the real thing, held in stasis by some sort of enchantment or advanced technology and there were a lot of them in Orlock's collection and when I gave Devona a look and thought We'd bett
er watch ourselves, she gave me a look back which said she agreed.
Devona turned to Orlock then, and though I knew like me she felt misgivings about the collection, she concealed them well as she said, "This is amazing! It puts my father's collection to shame! In fact, if all the Darklords' combined their separate collections, I'd doubt the result would rival yours."
Orlock bowed. "Your words do me great honor. Thank you."
As the ancient Bloodborn straightened, I said, "You know this makes you look even more like a suspect than you did before."
Orlock waved my comment aside. "If I was responsible for the theft of Edrigu's flute, I'd never have admitted the truth about what I do, let alone brought you both down here. Now let us have no more of such talk, yes?"
"What do you do exactly?" I asked. "I mean, we can see you collect things, but you seem to imply there's more to it than just that."