Black City Dragon

by Richard A. Knaak

  “Is it him?” asked that same quiet voice who’d spoken just after I’d run Her Lady’s gift through his torso.

  “Who else could it be?” came his voice from elsewhere.

  “It must be,” answered the voice from a third direction.

  They suddenly stood throughout the seating area. Three, just like Laertes had said. The dragon’s eyes gave me a good look at each, which turned out to be like looking just at one. There were differences, but very small. Still, something told me they weren’t triplets. I’d almost have sworn that I was looking at variations of the same man.

  They just stood there, waiting. I took a quick look at the crowd. They all stared at the screen, where Bow’s picture continued to play. I wondered for a moment what things were like in the projection room. Did they see what was going on or were they like the rest here?

  A vision of the Iroquois Theater stirred in my memory, a vision of the horror that’d taken place there. It’d been a fancier place than this, located down on Randolph where all the rich and the tourists would be sure to find it. It’d been one of the places to see some twenty-plus years ago.

  And it’d been a place of horror, too. We’d not been responsible for that fire, but I’d felt responsible for every one of the more than six hundred deaths because of it. The Wyld who’d been the cause of it had died appropriately and painfully, but he’d managed to achieve half his goal. The wanton destruction and the terrible deaths had given him the dark power he’d wanted. Fortunately, I’d been able put an end to his ambitions before he’d completed the rest of his plan, whatever it’d been. I’d never learned just what he’d planned out there in Lake Michigan. What mattered was that what was left of him had gone to give the fish indigestion for some time to come.

  I wasn’t about to have another Iroquois Theater. It only took one easy movement to draw Her Lady’s gift.

  “Is that it, then?” murmured the one nearest to the back of the room.

  “Will that do it?” asked the second, located by the side opposite of where I stood.

  “It should,” replied the third, who stood just under Clara Bow’s chin at that moment. It didn’t matter how far away he or the others were from me; I could hear them as if they were only inches away.

  And then, to my horror, the very thing I’d feared happened. Fire burst to life everywhere. The theater became an inferno. Screams echoed in my ears. I heard the trample of feet—

  No one is burning! the dragon abruptly roared. No one is burning!

  I couldn’t understand why he was lying so baldly to me when I could see through his very eyes that they were. People rushed past in a panic, trampling those that had tripped and fallen. Flames engulfed the screen, turning Clara Bow and Donald Keith into two blackened skeletons.

  No one is burning! he insisted. See for yourself!

  The dragon had always thrived on chaos and always sought for a chance to seize control. Now, what he proposed sounded like just the opposite.

  Conniving and cunning as the dragon was, I couldn’t find a reason not to trust him in this regard. I dismissed his eyes—

  —and once more the frozen crowd sat around me watching as Bow and Keith continued their scene with their own flesh intact.

  “Why did it not hold?” asked the first, a slight frown spreading across his face.

  “How did he alter it back?” demanded the second.

  “The bond is fading,” answered the third. “and faster than he promised.”

  Charging past a row of motionless audience members, I swung at the first questioner. Unlike the last time, I saw some reaction, a slight widening of the eyes, as if he knew he was actually in danger.

  The next second, he faded away in the same manner as last time. I spun to face the second, but he’d already vanished. I knew it would be a waste of time, yet I still turned my attention to the third and final figure.

  To my surprise, he was still there. Then, with a brooding look, he, too, faded.

  But it wasn’t over. Something drew my attention to the screen. Donald Keith had gone through another transformation and was now staring out at the audience . . . and me in particular.

  Galerius, dressed like the character in the movie, bowed.

  “Aaah, Georgius, it has been a long time, hasn’t it?” he asked with that malicious grin I recalled so well even after sixteen centuries. His voice was just as I remembered it and even more jarring coming as it did from an image deprived of sound. “So good of you to find me here. I’ve been growing impatient with you, really . . . you damned traitor!”

  The grin vanished, replaced by that abrupt flood of anger with which I was also too familiar. I refrained from responding, aware that Galerius had never been able to accept silence in his presence for very long.

  I was right.

  “But you’re too late, Georgius! It takes off tomorrow, and before you find out where it will all be done . . . and then even that thing in you won’t be enough for the Gate!”

  He laughed. I nearly used that moment to charge the screen, but managed to hold back at the last moment. If I wanted to stop whatever plan Galerius had in motion, I had to hear more.

  “Not as impetuous after so long, eh?” Behind Galerius, Clara Bow and the rest of the scene faded away. Now it was the emperor himself, but dressed in a different suit. He held up something that looked like a coin, then flipped it my direction.

  It flew out of the screen and directly toward me. I took a risk that Galerius wanted me alive for the moment and caught it.

  As I did, the entire scene around me shifted. Piano music echoed in the room. The screen flickered as Clara Bow and Donald Keith resumed their soundless interchange. Coughs and murmurs rose from around me.

  I’d had the presence of mind to realize what was happening even as the change occurred. Her Lady’s gift went into its hiding place before anyone could notice a sword in the darkened theater.

  I backed out into the lobby. There, planting myself against one wall, I put aside any consideration over what had just taken place in order to inspect the coin.

  Not at all to my surprise, one side looked like an imperial coin with Galerius’s ancient profile on it. I doubted he’d given me the coin to remind me what he accomplished thanks to his manipulation of Diocles, so I turned the coin over.

  I nearly dropped it. The reverse side was a Three of Cups with the same hand holding each goblet.

  The exact design both on Claryce’s building and the Clothos card hidden in Holy Name.

  CHAPTER 5

  Barnaby picked me up in his old black Whiting Runabout only a few minutes later. As we drove off, I took a look inside the auto. The Whiting’s squared-off cowl made it distinctive, and Barnaby’s loving care had kept the vehicle itself in great shape. I knew that he could’ve had his pick of half a dozen much newer, more stylish vehicles at his service garage. I had a suspicion that his fondness for the Whiting had to do with memories, but I’d never asked. Barnaby’s memories were a mix of good and bad—the good focusing on his beloved wife, Emma, dead long before I’d met him, and the bad encompassing his son, Joseph.

  I had my own bad memories concerning Joseph. If I’d had my choice, I’d have left him to perish with his cohorts. Barnaby’d begged me to save him, though. There hadn’t been much left of Joseph’s mind at that point, but for a while I’d considered that an improvement.

  Now, though, I was worried I might have to rely on Barnaby’s son . . . or at least his written memories.

  If Barnaby was even five feet tall, then I was Cap Anson. Since my only tie to the Chicago Cubs was as someone who’d suffered through more and more bad years than good of late, it wasn’t surprising that some might’ve called him a dwarf. He was taller than that implied, though, but it didn’t help that he was also fairly round in shape and had a face that would’ve done a bulldog proud. A shock of ice-white hair, probably bleached so by Joseph’s earlier misdeeds, sprouted from his head.

  I hadn’t made mention of my encounter in
the theater and didn’t plan to, figuring the knowledge would only complicate matters I needed to discuss before we reached Claryce. Barnaby wasn’t going to like it, but I needed to find out some things.

  “Planning on seeing Joseph soon?”

  He kept his eyes on the slick street. “Seeing him as usual.”

  I decided to skip any more small talk and be blunt. “Did you keep any of his papers, Barnaby?”

  I had to give him credit. He didn’t flinch, didn’t drive us onto the sidewalk. “I swore I’d burn anything I found.”

  “So what’d you keep?”

  “Master—Nick—”

  I pressed. “Anything concerning the Wingfoot?”

  This time, we swerved slightly. I wasn’t concerned for myself— it’d take far more to harm me—but I didn’t want to end up killing Barnaby. “It’s all right, Barnaby. We never figured out exactly how the spell Joseph and his friends set up was supposed to work. Holmes answered a lot of that, but there’s still some questions. I think you kept some papers in the hopes of finding out the full truth.”

  Barnaby exhaled. “Yes. I’ve done what you said. It’s a relief to finally have it out.”

  “I need to see those papers. Can you get them to me?”

  “Of course.” He looked at me. “You sound a bit urgent, if I may say so.”

  I owed him now. “The Wingfoot take any special flights? Or Joseph on a different airship, for that matter?”

  “I can find out. Let you know if there is anything. Will that be good enough?”

  “I’ll call you. Make it your first priority. We can arrange where to bring the papers then.”

  “As you say.” Barnaby concentrated on the street again. I could see that he wanted to ask more, but I’d kept him ignorant of Galerius thus far and hoped it would provide him a little more safety.

  We headed deep into Capone territory on the South Side. I’d purposely set the safe house some distance away from Old Town. The neighborhood was a nondescript one, its only drawback being recent bootlegging activity nearby. That made me think of Lon, whose predecessor had been hunting around for signs of Oberon the last time we’d used the abandoned millinery shop. I still didn’t know where the Feir’hr Sein had gotten the first clasp, but I wanted to find out quickly. If Galerius had something happening tomorrow, I needed to find out quickly.

  Barnaby dropped me off two blocks from the safe house. With a promise to immediately deal with what I’d asked of him, he drove off.

  The weather guaranteed little normal activity around the safe house. As for Capone’s goons, they were a nocturnal bunch here. Still, it didn’t surprise me when, just before I reached the millinery shop, I felt like I was being stalked.

  “Come out of the shadows, Fetch,” I muttered.

  He slunk up next to me as if he’d been trailing me all the time. In a low voice, he said, “So relieved to see ye, Master Nicholas!”

  “Why? Did something happen?”

  “Nay, not actually, but Mistress Claryce is beside herself from waiting and me without a voice to calm her with, ye know.”

  I’d regretted that situation, naturally. With Fetch generally unable to speak while in the mortal world unless he was near me, it’d left Claryce with no one to discuss our problems with. Yeah, he could obediently listen, but that could only go so far.

  “She upstairs?”

  “Aye.”

  “Any sign of Capone’s outfit?”

  “All’s copacetic. Trotted over once to see if they were making any of that coffin varnish, but only saw one palooka.”

  I nodded. As I expected. Then, something occurred to me. “He wasn’t acting odd in any way, was he?”

  “Master Nicholas?”

  “Think Lon.”

  His ears straightened. “Oh! Aye! Nay, the goon didn’t look like he’d been turned into one of the Feir’hr Sein’s suits.”

  That was good to hear. I’d forgotten for a short while that Lon could possess a body. Didn’t matter whether alive or dead, and if it’d started alive it was dead the moment he took it over. Generally, the body lasted for a few days before decay finally took over.

  We slipped inside the building and headed upstairs. Claryce met me with a less than pleasant expression when I entered the apartment.

  “What happened? I can tell. Something bad happened?”

  Knowing she wouldn’t let it rest, I told her everything. Claryce and Fetch listened in stunned silence until I was finished.

  “Do you think the elf had anything to do with the theater?”

  “No. This looks to have been set up by the trio and Galerius.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “But how would they know you’d end up right there?”

  It was a question I’d asked myself, without a good answer.

  I thought of the coin. I reached into the pocket I’d quickly stuck it into . . . only to find nothing.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “That coin. It should be in my pocket.” I began searching through my coat, but found nothing.

  Fetch thrust his nose close to me and sniffed. He suddenly bared his teeth.

  “Something in your right pants pocket, Master Nicholas.”

  I reached in . . . and felt the coin where it shouldn’t have been. “That’s impossible.”

  “Maybe you were so caught up in everything else that you just forgot exactly where you put it,” Claryce suggested. “Maybe you meant to put it in the coat, but something made you decide at the last moment that the other pocket was safer.”

  “Maybe . . .” I wasn’t convinced. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I could generally trust my senses.

  “When’s the last time you really slept? Besides in the car? Or food! When’s the last time you ate a full meal? You hadn’t eaten anything when I found you in the Packard, had you?”

  Truth be told, I couldn’t remember. As with sleep, I wasn’t as driven as others by what should’ve been necessities. I supposed it was a blessing, but right now it sounded fairly inhuman.

  Of course . . . the dragon interjected with dark amusement.

  As I did so often, I tried to ignore him. I showed the coin to Claryce.

  “Does he look anything like this?”

  “Not quite.” I described Galerius as he’d looked in the theater, finishing with, “He seems to have recovered from his illness.”

  She lingered over the other side of the coin, then handed it back. “How? I’ve read about that. It sounded like agony. How did he survive . . . and keep living?”

  “I don’t know, but when we get back to Old Town, I’m going to ask the one person who might be able to tell me.”

  She nodded. “Diocles.”

  “He actually outlived Galerius by a few months. Word might’ve reached him in Dalmatia—sorry, Yugoslavia—before his own passing.”

  “It’s certainly worth a try. I wish I could see him.”

  “I’d gladly trade.”

  “Nick . . . he’s tried to make amends—”

  It was all I could do to keep from glaring at the thought of him. “I’ve learned to tolerate him. Don’t ask me to forgive him for executing me.”

  “But you’d be free of him!” She put a hand on my arm. “Think of that!”

  “I have. I’ve tried. It has to be meant.”

  “I understand . . . I suppose.” Claryce handed the coin back to me. This time, I made a show of putting it in my coat pocket.

  I suddenly realized that I’d smelled coffee all this time. Pointing at the pot on the stove, I said, “Thanks for making that. I’ll definitely have some of it now.”

  “It was made over an hour ago. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She managed a smile. “Of course, you’ll probably enjoy it even more now.”

  I poured some of the thick liquid into a cup and took a swallow. Claryce was actually right, but I wasn’t going to admit that.

  “Anything happen here?” I asked her.

  “No
and I’m not planning on staying here any longer. I can’t stand around like this, Nick. I know you’re trying to keep me safe, but this is stifling!”

  “Claryce—”

  She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “We’ve been through this before. I won’t argue about it. I can’t be any help to you otherwise—”

  We were interrupted by a rattling sound behind us. Despite having no hands, Fetch had no trouble opening the Kelvinator and checking on the cold food inside. He pulled his head out and gave us a guilty look.

  “This isn’t the back of Berghoff’s,” I reprimanded.

  “Very sorry, Master Nicholas! Stomach’s been rumbling like an old jalopy! Haven’t had a chance to feed. This neighborhood’s not got much to show . . . uh . . . since ye said to not go hunting cats.”

  From his tone, he’d come pretty close to breaking that rule. Still, I realized then that I’d made some pretty big assumptions about both of them. I’d gone centuries relying mostly on myself and my uneasy existence with the dragon. Sometimes, years would pass by without me even truly interacting with others on more than a very brief basis.

  “You’re not going to find much in there.” I pointed at a wooden cabinet above the Kelvinator. “There’s some tins of beans up there.”

  “‘Beans’?”

  “I’d sympathize more with that expression if I hadn’t seen you rummage through trash cans with gusto.” Shrugging, I added, “We’ll head back to the house. It should be safe. That way, we’ll be close to your apartment, too, Claryce.”

  “I like that much better.”

  By the steady beat of Fetch’s tail, I assumed he agreed. To Claryce, I asked, “Where’d you park the Packard?”

  “Around the corner as we come out front. Was that all right?”

  “That’s good.” It wasn’t near the direction of Capone’s facilities, which was all that mattered.

  We left immediately and reached the Packard a couple of minutes later. However, as I started to climb into the driver’s seat, I noticed a nondescript black Model T parked far off to the side. There was nothing about the auto that was out of the ordinary, and there was not even a driver, but for some reason I had a feeling about it.