Weatherby’s flashlight lit the way ahead of us. The stairwell leveled out, leading to a long vaulted hallway. More statues squatted or were frozen in profane dances next to the walls. Rotting tapestries and dusty pictures joined them, giving us a good idea of what Viscount Stein’s reign had been like. It involved lots of blood, screaming women and children, and death. Weatherby looked at them in disgust, shaking his head as we continued along.
“So, kiddo, how many of your relatives were completely nuts?” I asked the kid, as we moved down the long passage. “And were any as bad as this?”
“I don’t believe so. Johan Stein allegedly created artificial life, building a monster out of pieces of corpses, which rampaged through the Swiss countryside. Legend has it that Barnabas Stein set the blaze which started the great London fire of sixteen sixty-six. But no — I don’t think any of them were as monstrous as Viscount Wagner Stein.”
We reached a tall archway, leading to the next chamber. Two suits of polished black armor, both armed with long halberds, stood as silent guardians on both sides of the arch. Their visors were lowered, but I could feel their gaze on me as we approached. I tightened my grip on the gun. Weatherby kept walking, and too late I noticed the fingers of the metal gauntlet fastening on the wooden handle of the halberd. The ancient steel was moving on its own accord.
“Weatherby!” I cried, as the knights sprang to life. One swung his halberd towards Weatherby. The boy ducked, but caught the wooden handle – instead of the blade – against his chest. He went down without a sound, and I raised the gun to face the two knights. They charged. I gave them half of the clip.
The tomb rang with gunshots. My ears ached, and light blazed sudden and full in my face, but I didn’t stop. The tommy gun blared in my hand, pumping round after round through the knights. The first suit of armor stopped its charge, sinking down with a dozen fat holes in the breastplate and helmet. It hit the ground, its halberd clanging to the flagstone after it. But the fallen knight’s buddy was right behind it, and I didn’t have time to fire on him.
The suit of armor stabbed at me, nearly driving that big chunk of sharpened metal between my nose and my mouth. I stepped out of the way, and the jagged blade touched my cheek and drew blood. I winced, then shouldered my gun and slugged the knight right in his metal face. It hurt my hand more than it hurt him. He cracked the handle of his spear against my chest and I went down, feeling like my ribs had been set on fire and my lungs would follow.
My ears wouldn’t stop ringing. I saw the knight above me, raising his halberd. He was going to cut my head in half. I told my body to roll out of the way, but it wasn’t happening. My finger felt useless as it struggled to close around the trigger of my tommy gun. The knight started swinging. The halberd neared my forehead. That’s where it stopped.
The suit of armor was frozen, as immobile as it had been a minute ago. Weatherby’s dark-haired head poked out from behind the knight’s shoulder. He gave me a grin and offered me his hand. I took it and he helped me up. I saw a long bladed golden dagger, sticking up from the knight’s back. Weatherby grabbed it with both hands and pulled it out, and the knight collapsed in a boneless rattle to the ground.
“Enchanted?” I asked, as Weatherby carefully slid the blade into a leather sheath inside his coat.
“Solid gold, etched with runes. Enchanted by Merlin himself, I believe,” Weatherby said. He touched his chest. “I suppose I’ll be quite bruised tomorrow.”
“If we live that long,” I muttered. “Come on.” I reloaded the Thompson and we walked deeper into the tomb. I wondered what other guardians Viscount Stein had around, to ensure that he rested in peace. I wondered if the next batch we encountered would cause us to join him.
The long hallway opened up into a wide chamber of dark marble. It was a like ballroom, taken out of some baroque castle and slammed underground in Wagner Stein’s tomb. The floor was checkered, and a set of dancers stood there, frozen in mid-waltz. I thought they were statues at first, but as we got a little closer, I saw that the truth was much worse. They were corpses, skeletal figures draped in the fine gowns and capes of a bygone age.
The baubles and jewels on their clothes still shone, but the corpses were nothing but fleshless bones. I had the feeling that Stein had arranged for his noble pals to be skinned – before he had them posed. At the rear of the ballroom, past the crowd of frozen dancers, was a set of double-doors. We had to go through the dancers to reach it.
I looked to Weatherby and he nodded. His father’s revolver was in his hands. I raised the tommy gun and started walking. Weatherby followed. Our footfalls sounded on the marble floor, ringing through the empty chamber louder than thunder. We walked to the center of the crowd of dancers. I saw the thin rapiers and daggers on the belts of the gentlemen. Weatherby’s flashlight made the jewels on their feathered cavalier caps glow.
We stayed quiet the whole time, and I listened to the silence of the room. I knew exactly when a noise came that didn’t belong. It was creaking whine, a high-pitched groan that made a shudder run through me. I turned around. The skeleton behind me had changed his position. His sword was in the air, the blade held high and shining. It was as sharp as the day it was forged.
“Weatherby?” I said. He hadn’t noticed it, and was still walking forward carefully.
“Yes, Mort?”
“Run.” That was all I could say before the skeleton lunged for me. I raised the tommy gun and opened fire, the fat slugs punching through bone and sending fragments of the skeleton tumbling through the air.
The other skeletons came to life and moved against us. Weatherby and I started running to the door. I swung the tommy gun around, my finger never leaving the trigger. I rattled away at the bones, blasting them back as they drew closer. The skeletal hands of some noblewoman in a fat round dress neared my throat. I blasted her skull to pieces, but she still grabbed the barrel of the tommy gun and pulled. I let it go. I’d rather lose that than be dragged down and torn to pieces by her pals.
Weatherby reached the door, and I heard all six of his revolver shots blasting off. His bullets did as much good out of his gun as they would have if he hadn’t fired. I kept on going running, reaching into my pocket for a weapon to give those skeletons a brand new dance partner, even as they tried to claw my eyes out. Thin claws of bone wrapped around my wrists and legs, but I kept pulling away, trying to get to the door. I felt Weatherby’s hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. I got my hand out of my pocket – and I had the grenade with it.
“Get behind those doors and close them, as quick as you can!”
“What?” Weatherby asked. “Why?”
I popped the pin on the grenade. I let it fall from my hand, rolling under the feet of the skeletal courtiers. “That’s why.” I turned around. Weatherby got the doors open and we ran inside. I slammed the door shut, pulled the crossbar down and held it. I braced my body against the doors. The explosion rocked the whole tomb. I felt sudden heat behind the door, and dust fell from the ceiling.
When my ears stopped ringing, I opened my eyes and looked around. Weatherby had recovered a little quicker than I had. He was already eyeballing our surroundings. We were in a small room, with stacks of treasure and jewels lying carelessly scattered next to the walls. The whole reason we had gone into this godforsaken hole in the ground was lying right in front of us, between the crimson silk sheets of a king-sized bed.
The Viscount Wagner Stein’s body was impossibly well-persevered. It looked like he was taking a catnap, and could wake up without a moment’s warning. I walked to the foot of the bed and looked him over. He had a thin nose and a wide forehead, sharing Weatherby’s pale skin and dark hair. He had a neat moustache, swooping down to twin points that came just to the end of his lips. He wore a dark purple suit, with a cavalier’s hat adorned with peacock feathers, and held a jewel-hilted long sword between his hands. A fat medallion bearing a pentagram gleamed on his chest, and he had more rings than I could count on his fingers.
<
br /> Weatherby and I exchanged a glance. “Do you…” Weatherby coughed. “Do you think he looks like me?”
“Not a bit, kiddo,” I said. “Not a bit.” I pulled the automatics from my twin shoulder-holsters, and motioned for the boy to stand back. I cocked them and prepared to fire.
Soon as I had both heaters pointed in Viscount Stein’s direction, those damned eyes of his flashed open. I wasn’t even surprised. He looked at the pistols and then up at me. He smiled, slowly and calmly. “Yes,” he said. “Finally, I breathe the air of the living once more! Tell me, boy, what year is it?” He had a thin voice, with a hint of nasal severity.
I looked down and figured it couldn’t hurt, so I told him.
His smile widened and he sat up. Weatherby stumbled back, sticking to the shadows and watching the whole thing. “Yes…” Wagner said. “This shall be the first year of my eternal reign.”
“Afraid not, pal.” I pushed the pistol into Viscount Stein’s chest.
“You are right to be afraid, sir,” Viscount Stein said, his hands fastening around the grip of his sword. “For I will soon teach you the meaning of terror!” When he moved, he moved liked liquid. He seemed to pour out of the bed, swinging his long sword around in a shimmering silver arc. I started firing, and my bullets blasted through the air where he had just been.
He slammed a foot into my chest, and knocked me back, then cracked the pommel of his sword against my forehead. I felt a bomb going off between my eyes, and hit the ground. I tried to raise the pistols, but he kicked them away. Wagner Stein laughed as he held the point of his blade at my throat. I looked up at him. He smiled down at me.
“What strange weapons of the future!” Stein laughed. “Miniature cannons! I have much to learn about this new world of mine, and I shall begin my education soon. But first – your demise.” Viscount Wagner pulled back his sword. He was going to take my head off.
I looked over his shoulder. Weatherby was creeping towards us, the pistol in one hand, and the golden dagger in the other. “You will do no such thing!” he cried, and stabbed forward with all of his might. Wagner Stein seemed like he had expected it. He swung his sword around, crashing its heavy blade against the dagger. Weatherby’s dagger cracked. Sparks flew. Wagner Stein’s sword had hacked Weatherby’s knife into pieces.
“Fool!” Wagner grabbed Weatherby’s throat and slammed him against the wall. He held his sword back. “I have dueled with angels and sung songs that blackened cities!” He paused, his lips curling back. “Your face…” he said. “It is familiar.”
“I am Weatherby Stein. We are distantly related,” Weatherby replied bitterly. “The last male descendant of the Stein line, from the German branch of the family.” He glared at Wagner Stein. If looks could kill, he would have ended the battle right there. “And I am much ashamed to know that I share a name with someone of such low character.”
Wagner Stein just smiled. “And I am surprised to know that the last heir of our line is little more than a sniveling runt.” He grabbed Weatherby’s arm and twisted. I lay there on the ground, my skull aching and my limbs feeling like useless pieces of meat. Weatherby’s scream grew and grew, and then there was a terrible clear crack. Weatherby sank to the ground, his arm neatly broken.
Viscount Stein stepped back. He gave me a kick to the chest that flipped me onto my back. “I’ll leave you here, my friends,” Wagner said. “I am impatient and you will soon be dead. But for me, the world is waiting.” A sudden pounding knock came at the double doors. The wood bulged. It wouldn’t hold long. “And so are my friends.” Stein ran his fingers over the pentagram on his chest.
“Enjoy every breath…” I hissed. “Cause I’m gonna put you down for good.”
He didn’t even look at me. “Goodbye. There is much for me to do.”
Viscount Stein’s features blurred and twisted. He seemed to seep away, stretching out and becoming thinner and translucent. He left as a cloud of smoke, and floated away through the cracks in the ceiling of his tomb. He was gone in seconds. The pounding on the doors was getting louder and I turned around, trying to suck back as much strength as I could.
I rolled over and grabbed for my automatics. “Kiddo!” I cried. “You… you okay?”
“I b-believe so,” Weatherby muttered. He was leaning against the foot of the bed, cradling his busted arm. His face was red and tear-stained. I remembered that he was still a child. “Great God, M-Mort,” he whispered. “He was like me – all of my skill, my knowledge, my arrogance – all turned to absolute sadism.”
“Nix on that.” I turned both automatics to face the door. The wood was splintering, and it shook in its frame. “He’s nothing like you.” It started to fall, and saw glimmers of steel from blades in skeletal hands. These weren’t courtiers armed with ceremonial swords and daggers. They were soldiers, in armor and helmets, swinging broadswords and heavy axes, which tore chunks from the wood and weakened the door with each strike. They’d be dropping in soon, and unless I had the strength to give them a proper welcome, Weatherby and I would join them in death.
The door came crashing down and the skeletal soldiers charged, blades poised to hack us into bits. I started shooting, blasting dusty skulls and shattering ribcages. I didn’t stop, blazing away with both automatics until bones were strewn before me, and the narrow chamber ran with the clatter of fallen weapons and the endless crackling fire of my automatics. Before I knew it, the pistols clicked empty.
I looked to Weatherby as I went for the Ka-Bar knife in my boot. “Run, Weatherby!” I cried. “I’ll deal with them. You get the hell out of here!”
“No. I w-won’t leave you.”
I stared at him. “Someone has to get out. Someone has to stop Viscount Stein. And it sure as hell won’t be a dumb mug like me.”
Weatherby closed his eyes and stood up, still holding his busted arm. I pointed my knife in the direction of the skeletons and struggled to stand. I waited as they got closer and closer, until I could see the constant grins on their fleshless faces. They didn’t stop smiling, like they were mocking me with each step, each movement a taunt and a dare. I’d make them sorry that they ever came back from the grave – even if it killed me.
I felt a blast of heat from further down the hall, and turned away. I thought it was another one of the Viscount’s black magic spells, a final bit of insurance that we wouldn’t survive. I saw the flame come closer, a blooming red cloud that swept into the skeletons and roasted their bones.
But when I looked behind the burning skeletons, as they collapsed into smoldering piles, I saw Doc Dearborn’s face, looking grim and angry over the roaring muzzle of a flamethrower. He kept on the heat, burning all of those skeletons until they stopped moving and collapsed to the ground. With smoke and fire still in the tomb, he walked forward. He said something I couldn’t hear, and I saw Evelyn follow him, carrying a revolver. She pocketed it and ran to Weatherby — as soon as she saw him.
I nodded to Doc Dearborn. “A flamethrower?” I asked weakly. “You archaeologists don’t screw around.”
He smiled, looking sad, old and tired. “Experience has taught me not to.” He took my hand and helped me up. I gathered up my automatics and turned to Weatherby. Evelyn was gently helping him up, already using some spare bandages to give him a makeshift sling for his arm. “I had a bit of a desire to leave you here, you know,” Doc Dearborn told me. “But Evelyn wouldn’t hear of it. And I don’t mean to offend, but I doubt it was for your sake.”
“No offense taken,” I said. “I wouldn’t come back for my sake either.” I felt a little of the strength returning, and walked over to Weatherby and Evelyn. The kid hung his head, looking weaker than a deflating balloon. He was hurt badly, both in his body and his spirit. “I guess you can guess what happened,” I told Evelyn—”
She nodded. “I can. Viscount Wagner Stein returned to life, incapacitated you, grievously wounded poor Weatherby and departed. Now his evil is unleashed on the world.”
“Good guess
,” I said. “But he won’t be living long.” I helped Weatherby stand, looking at his arm. It seemed like a clean break. It wouldn’t be hard to set. But I didn’t think his pride would heal as soon as his arm.
Weatherby sighed. “God,” he muttered. “You were right, Miss Dearborn. You were absolutely right. I am the biggest fool on earth, and I may have doomed everything because of my stupidity. I’ve let everyone down. Including you.”
But Evelyn just shook her head. She put her arm around his shoulder. His face went red, and it wasn’t all from the pain. “That’s quite enough of that,” she said. “You did what you thought was right. You can’t be faulted for that. You wouldn’t be the nice, determined boy you are if you didn’t obey your conscience.” She smiled. “And please, call me Evelyn. You don’t have to be so polite. Come along now, Weatherby. We’ll get you out of here.”
“Then we’ll go after him.” Weatherby wiped the tears from his face. I guess his pain had settled to a dull agony, and determination got rid of that. “We’ll hunt that monster down and destroy him.”
“Nonsense, my boy,” Doc Dearborn told him, as we started to leave the tomb. “You’ve been injured. You need your rest.”
“I’m afraid I won’t have the opportunity,” Weatherby said. “I have simply too much to do.”
We walked out of that damned tomb, helping Weatherby along, and me with my strength coming back, piece by piece. There weren’t any more skeletons, or any guardians of any kind. When we finally reached the top, we saw that Boris Brellnev and all of Moratia had come out to watch us.
Maybe it was their fault that Viscount Stein was loose in the world. But I didn’t blame them. I blamed myself and I blamed Wagner Stein. He had played the whole village for chumps, and me and Weatherby alongside them. I knew the type – content to suck the life from the world, do anything, and become anyone, all in the name of making sure their life was enjoyable. I was looking forward to making the bastard wish that he stayed dead.
The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2) Page 20