In this Night We Own (The Commander Book 6)

by Randall Farmer

  He picked the carving up with his mouth and gave it to the Duke, who looked it over and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “Thank you, Earl. This will do fine as proof of our quest.”

  “May I comment again, my good Duke, that this rescue went far too easily for my paranoid tastes,” Sellers said. He wondered if the ivory Monster carving was too dangerous to take back to civilization, or if there was another trap here, waiting to spring on them when they let down their guard.

  “Easy?” The Duke laughed. “It’s clear that the Madonna of Montreal was right – the Predecessors did exist, and they did leave behind still-active artifacts. So, put yourself in the place of these ancient Major Transforms. It’s clear they knew how to deal with Monsters and Beast-Men, and that they didn’t have anything like us Nobles, or even partly civilized types like the Hunters. As you said, no Beast-Man could have passed the élan barrier; we already know that Transforms, our Commoners, and our Crow, Master Occum, can’t even approach the place. Plus, from the failed rescue we know that Arms and Focuses can’t pass through the barrier, either. This dross device was proof from harm from anyone those ancients knew about. The only ones who could get in probably had some form of proper dross construct or juice pattern. Keys. Something the ancient makers or guardians possessed, and gave to whoever had permission. As Beast said, to abuse the word ‘said’, the guardian dragon Monster was the real threat.”

  The Duke looked especially proud of himself right now. He smiled, and walked with a large bounce in his step back across the bedrock toward Knox, and to what looked like a now unconscious Sport.

  “So, was that dragon Monster a Predecessor, or was it modern?” Sellers said.

  “I was going to ask you that, oh farsighted Earl.”

  Sellers thought, and remembered.

  “She recognized the Monster rifle as a danger. We can check to see if anyone had run into her before, but I’ve never heard of a Monster so big. Given her absurd size, I suspect the world would have heard if we weren’t the first to encounter her. I think she was modern.”

  The Duke nodded. “Her size, though.” He patted Sellers on the head – not the first to do so, and Sellers didn’t mind. He liked being the world’s friendliest giant magic dog. Knox joined them, the Sport in his arms, and the Duke led them back to Master Occum and their Commoners. If they were lucky, and worked quickly, they might be able to save the Sport’s life, and return her alive to the Madonna of Montreal. “Someday, I fear, the rest of our modern Monsters are going to grow to her size and power. When that happens, the world is really going to need us Noble heroes.”

  Chapter 9

  Crows do not use standard two-valued logic in their thought processes.

  “The Life of Crows”

  Carol Hancock: November 12, 1968 – November 14, 1968

  Lori, grim of voice, was dead on. Focus Caruthers and her crew were indeed in the downtown Philadelphia Wanamaker’s, an old department store that still had the ‘old money’ reek, despite the big ‘Sale!’ signs everywhere. Too much competition from Bloomingdale’s and Macy’s, I guessed.

  Wanamaker’s was a perfect place for a snatch, complete with an old-fashioned set of employee-only passages for moving the merchandise in and out without having to bother the customers and ruin the magic of retail. Sky and I, with my crew, dressed up as customers and made our way in. We hung well back from the Focus, waiting until an appropriate moment. Caruthers supplied the moment when she went into a dressing room to try on some steeply discounted dresses. This late in the day, just past sunset, a dressing room grab would be a perfect scenario.

  I noticed the big complication as soon as we came close. Someone was with Caruthers who didn’t metasense right. I worked on the problem and consulted with Sky until we figured it out: Caruthers had a Biggioni Transform woman with her, wearing a low-end juice pattern disguise.

  Sky and I lurked behind a circular rack of winter coats and tried to look like we belonged there. We were probably more convincing than Tom and my collection of operatives in the lingerie section. “Is Biggioni on to us?” Sky said.

  “I don’t think so. Why did you ask? To me, her metasense disguise makes her look like mush.”

  “To me it’s an almost perfect disguise of Hera herself.” Sky harrumphed. “Which means her disguise was set up to fool Crows. Why would Hera be doing that?”

  “She knows I’ve been using the Crows against her,” I said. This was old intel. “The bad news is she knows enough about Crows to fool them.” Oh, and let’s not forget the real problem – what bit of nastiness was Tonya covering up by this little trick? I was going to be terminally embarrassed if she took out my Houston operation while I was showing Caruthers around Chicago, or something equally noxious. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about Tonya’s games now. Save one: I’m going to show a bit of Arm initiative here and take Tonya’s Transform with us. That’ll put Tonya on edge, no matter what she’s planning.” Sky and I shifted over to keep company with a cluster of mannequins to avoid a heavyset matron with a couple of kids in tow. In a moment of inspiration, I took several of the coats with me.

  “I thought you were doing this to change the game and avoid escalating the fight?”

  “It won’t be escalation after I return her to Tonya.” Until then I hoped hungry bleeding ulcers consumed her twisty lying guts. Repeatedly. My momentary willingness of a few weeks ago to make peace with the bitch was long gone. I gave my people orders and we moved.

  Tom’s crew disarmed the three bodyguards who held the fitting area entrance without attracting attention. I quickly moved into the fitting area and took down the three remaining guards, one of whom would need a hospital visit. Poor man; his leg was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The fitting area was an elegant place with several sets of mirrors as well as cushioned chairs and lamps on tables. A hall led off to the dressing rooms. I signaled and ordered all the captive guards in. This would be amusing once discovered.

  “Focus Caruthers?” I said, yanking open the appropriate dressing room door. She held a lady’s pistol, vaguely pointed in my direction, which I grabbed away from the half-naked Focus before she could do anything stupid. “Get dressed. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

  “You’re making a big mistake. You won’t get away with this,” Caruthers said, uninventive and annoyed. She wasn’t the least bit flustered; on the other hand she wasn’t slinging juice patterns at me, either. “Focus Biggioni…”

  “Shut up.”

  Caruthers shut up.

  I turned to our other problem. “Well, well, well. Delia Vinote, in the flesh.” She was made up to look like Focus Biggioni, complete with a curly black wig and skin-darkening makeup, but she couldn’t come close to fooling an Arm’s senses. She, at least, was dressed. Ricky already had her disarmed. I mentally thanked Wanamaker’s for their oversized dressing rooms. We wouldn’t have all fit into any normal dressing room. She didn’t say anything, just studied me, far too carefully for my taste. “You have a trick,” I said, crowding her close.

  She flushed and didn’t respond. “You’ve studied under Lori’s advanced Transform training technique, but you” I grabbed her arm and lightly shook it “haven’t been trained in athletics, but in perception.” This was new info; in my break-in and in Gilgamesh’s spy mission, neither of us had picked up even a hint of Lori’s training tricks. I wondered what else we had missed.

  Vinote was no problem, despite the fact she had identified me as a Major Transform through my disguise. Deep inside her she hurt, hurt bad, and I quickly figured out the problem. Her husband was one of the fallen bodyguards, visible through the open door. He looked familiar and I thought I should recognize him from somewhere, but I didn’t have time to chase the memory down. I didn’t bother taking him. He was just a normal.

  “Let’s go, people,” I said, after making sure neither Caruthers nor Vinote would be saying anything. We covered our captives with winter coats and hats, walked briskly out of the dressing roo
m, shanghaied a nosy store employee who had seen too much, walked out into the employee-only corridors after I picked the lock, and then out of the department store and into our vehicles. We ditched the nosy store employee a block away.

  “You must be a Transform,” Caruthers said, when we got to my car. Unlike Vinote, she hadn’t figured out I was a Major Transform. I made Caruthers sit in the front seat and Vinote in the back seat as I drove. My people followed in a second vehicle. “Why can’t I metasense you?”

  With the snatch and grab over, I could afford to talk. Sky beat me to the punch.

  “That would be me,” Sky said. He was in the back seat, doing the Crow unnoticed trick, at least until he spoke up. He had been with us the entire time, of course. Neither Vinote nor Caruthers had noticed.

  Both Vinote and Caruthers adrenaline-spiked and backed away from Sky. Vinote nearly had a heart attack from the shock. “You must be Gilgamesh, then,” she said, quivery of voice.

  “For insults such as this I cooperate with you on your crazy scheme?” Sky said, disgusted, to me. “Focus Caruthers and Transform Vinote, may I introduce myself. I am Sky, the Crow.” I had talked Sky out of proclaiming he was the Madonna of Montreal’s pillow, ready to sweep all the false Crows out of the Commander’s bed. Not only was this too obscure to be useful, I really didn’t want my crazy dreams passed on to anyone outside of my immediate circle of allies.

  Their adrenaline spiked again. “What do you Crows want with us?” Vinote said.

  I wore men’s clothing and talked with a male voice. “I’m Arm Hancock,” I said, not half as annoyed about being mistaken for a Crow as Sky was about being mistaken for Gilgamesh. “Geraldine, Delia, you can call me Carol. You’re being taken to see something. Then you’ll be released.”

  Both captives nearly passed out in fear when I said my piece. Reputation is such a delightful thing.

  We drove off into the wonderful night.

  We reached Indianapolis by morning, Sky doing all the entertaining, following my lead and not talking about our plans. I stayed quiet and worried the plan, looking for problems and coming up with contingencies. My plan suffered from one major risk; although Gilgamesh was sure he could mask himself from Wandering Shade, Sky didn’t think his area metasense masking trick would work on Wandering Shade if Wandering Shade concentrated on finding us. This meant we needed to be quick about things.

  I parked us at the Sleepy Traveler Motel, which Gilgamesh had commandeered for us at my orders. Everyone was there whom I wanted, and everyone I didn’t want there – in specific, the ever-curious Hank – wasn’t. I bustled my two captives out of the car and into Focus Laswell’s presence.

  “We’ve never met, but I’m Thelma Laswell,” Thelma said to Geraldine, once I got my charges settled into the hotel’s single meeting room. “It’s time you learned what’s going on.” I had suggested Thelma do the full show, and she did, complete with trigger-happy bodyguards in expensive suits and dark sunglasses, Thelma wearing an opulent dress fit for Windsor Palace, expensive jewelry from my backup loot supply, and professional hairdo and makeup. She sat on an oversized chair, in use as a throne, likely from the motel’s office, and her most intimidating glare covered her face. I stood beside her and exuded angry predator.

  Geraldine choked back an ‘Oh my God’ and fell to her knees. “Ma’am, I haven’t done anything wrong and don’t deserve punishment,” she said, to Thelma. “And although Transform Vinote is a favorite of Focus Biggioni’s, she’s blameless in the conflict going on between Arm Hancock and…”

  “This isn’t punishment,” Thelma said. She looked over Delia, who had also fallen to her knees. Delia hadn’t been part of the plan, but Thelma improvised well. “Y’all are going to take a gander at the fate of Focus Frasier, currently a captive of a Hunter – a Male Arm – who goes by the name of Odin. I’m here as the eyes and ears of Focus Fingleman. I’m also here to educate you about what appears to be a misconception on the part of many East Region Focuses, that this is a conflict between the Arms and the Focus Council. It is not.”

  Focus Fingleman, who wouldn’t meet with us Arms or even talk to us over the phone, was more than willing to participate by proxy in this show. She, as Hank said, passionately despised Focus Biggioni, would listen to reason and would even accept factual evidence concerning the Hunters. Our show targeted her as much as we targeted Biggioni; to change the game as I wanted it changed, I needed to get a few more of the ruling First Focuses on my side than the flighty backstabbing Focus Teas. Focus Fingleman expressed firm demands about what evidence she needed, and I would be doing my level best to provide everything she asked for.

  Thelma gave Caruthers and Vinote the spiel; I stayed quiet, a stern statue. This show wouldn’t work if Thelma came off as no more than my personal flunky. At first, she had been quite reluctant to get involved, but her reluctance vanished after I agreed to her suggestion to use her household as a money laundering operation, for which she would take an appropriate fee. I had already hired her to run the day-to-day operations of my new car dealership, and Gilgamesh already partnered with Thelma on a small oilfield service-aimed pipe and crane operation, where he did the heavy lifting with the engineering and her people (and Hephaestus and his students) ran the business end of things. He had come a long way from his days as a piecework appliance repair specialist, now able to dive back into the sort of large-scale mechanical engineering projects he liked best.

  “Ma’am, isn’t this far too dangerous for us Focuses to be involved with?” Geraldine said. A very good question. I signaled to Thelma, and she referred the question to me.

  “This is dangerous, Geraldine,” I said. “But necessary. The Focus Council refuses to admit how dangerous the Hunters have become. The Hunters won’t go away just because the Council ignores them. We’re going to have to approach Odin’s stronghold, and we don’t have enough firepower or manpower with us to defeat Odin and his pack, or the muscle to defeat Odin’s master, who’s named Wandering Shade. The reason we don’t have the firepower or muscle we need is the Council; none of us can oppose the Hunters alone. We’re taking this risk because we need to convince the Council of the danger the Hunters represent. My part of this job” I lied, as this whole operation was mine “is to ensure you live through this, so you can spread the word. I’ll die before I let the Hunters capture you.”

  The last bit was Thelma’s suggestion. I metasensed Geraldine’s juice shiver at my words, and as Thelma predicted, she began to relax. Focuses were suckers for people willing to protect them. In this instance, I would be more than happy to oblige.

  I left Thelma with our two captives and went to my room down the hall to talk to Gilgamesh and Sky. Gilgamesh looked frazzled, so I gave him a quick hug and a small buoying dose of Tiamat (as he referred to it) to steady him. “When I left last night Odin and his pack were home, as were Joshua and his pack,” he said, pacing restlessly between the beds. “However, Enkidu and his pack weren’t at home.”

  Bad news. “Nowhere in the Chicago area?”

  Gilgamesh shook his head. “I found no obvious sign of Wandering Shade, either, though that’s not unexpected.”

  “I’m worried about Delia,” Sky said, from where he sat cross-legged on the far bed. “You’ll need to watch her, ma’am. This is nearly too much for her. She’s never been involved in anything at this level. She could easily pass out at the first bit of stress, or panic and do something stupid.”

  “Gotcha,” I said. “Anything else?”

  “I had a bit of inspiration,” Gilgamesh said. “I talked the entire Houston Crow contingent into meeting over at the Good Doctor’s place. I believe they’re going to be teaching each other gristle dross tricks and bending the Good Doctor’s ear about the usual Crow craziness.”

  “Heh,” I said. Gilgamesh’s canny idea would stop Tonya if she tried anything with Hank while I was away. I wondered what Hank would make of Sinclair’s latest acquisition, a jaguar he recently picked up during a trip down to
the extreme south end of Texas. Sinclair was practicing his animal mastery so, over time, he would be able to handle Chimeras, Occum style. Nobody would mess with Sinclair now; the jaguar was a mean bitch, at least to everyone except Sinclair.

  “Are you two ready for our big gamble?” I said. Sky and Gilgamesh were both necessary.

  “I’ve got my oversized slingshot and a bag full of rotten eggs,” Gilgamesh said.

  “I’m good to go, too,” Sky said.

  Neither brimmed with confidence. I worked on that while the day got older, perking up myself as well. Two Crows are definitely better than one.

  Long after lunch (catered by my people) I picked up my case of telephoto cameras, got everyone together, and we left.

  Odin’s pack lived on some farmland left to go wild just southwest of the small town of Frankfort, itself 30 miles from downtown Chicago. The farm backed up on a 300 acre forest, just over a mile south of US 30. The place was clearly a compromise, with barely enough cover to keep passersby from noticing the part-Monster pack women, but close enough to Chicago to allow Odin and his two current trainee Hunters hunting access to Chicago. Their security problems had to be impressively nasty.

  Gilgamesh had earlier scouted out a half dozen access points we might use, depending on the wind of the moment. Today the wind blew from the south-southwest, allowing us to use the favored north access point, a low forested hill with good views of the farmhouse 1800 feet farther south and a quick retreat path down a county road and over to the main highway.