Darkwalker: A Tale of the Urban Shaman

by Duncan Eagleson

  I had to agree. Nothing about Dr. Cordoba suggested he was our Beast, whatever Hanover Dobbs might think. Auden’s communicator buzzed. He pulled it out, listened for a minute. “Who’s on call?” he asked. Listened again. “Okay, send ’em to the Allworld Temple. I’ll swing by Tyburn’s place and then meet them there.” He signed off and stowed the radio.

  “They haven’t been able to locate Tyburn,” he said. “He’s not at his office, not answering his page. He’s supposed to be conducting services at his temple about now, but they haven’t heard from him either.” Guards had been assigned to all five of the people we considered the Beast’s next most likely targets, but Tyburn’s guards hadn’t found him yet.

  “Byer leave, I’ll come along,” I said. “The Beast is about. I think I saw him briefly a few blocks from here.”

  “And you didn’t nab him?”

  “Like you did?” Auden nodded, a wry look on his face. I gestured to his runabout. “I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  He signaled two of the uniforms to join us, and I followed him to his transport.

  Tyburn’s home was a large townhouse in Thornhill, which he shared with four other Allworlders. One of his roommates had arrived home moments before we got there, so we didn’t have to break in. The roommate, a sharp-faced, petite woman in jeans and a synthleather jacket, opened the door for us and stood back. The house was impressive, lots of synthwood paneling and antique carpets, fancy home theater and an office full of computer equipment. No signs of violence, but no sign of Tyburn, either.

  The roommate didn’t seem too concerned. “He’s been having runabout trouble,” she said. “He’s probably broke down somewhere.” When Auden raised a skeptical eyebrow, she added, “His runabout’s a piece of crap. He doesn’t maintain it. He could afford to fix it, or get a newer one, but he never gets around to doing anything about it. Procrastination’s his middle name.”

  We left one of the patrol guards on watch there and headed for the Allworld Temple, keeping an eye out for a broken down runabout on the way.

  About halfway between Thornhill and City Center, the Allworld Temple wasn’t as big as some of the old Christer cathedrals, but it was bigger than most churches and temples. The outside was all granite and marble pillars, wide stone steps leading up to the massive brassbound doors.

  The service had apparently just ended. Allworlders of every race and station were filing out and down the steps. We made our way up the steps against the current. For all their apparent weight and size, the doors swung open easily.

  Inside, the granite and marble gave way to synthwood paneling and wall-to-wall carpet. The vestibule looked more like an expensive club than a temple. We stepped into the Circle Chamber. It was a large, circular room, several levels leading down to a central platform upon which stood a round, silk-draped altar. On the altar were a large crystal bowl of water and several silver goblets for the Watersharing. The carpeted levels leading down to the altar featured scattered cushions and pillows. Here and there Allworlders were still sharing water, some in quiet conversation, a few in even more intimate activities. The Allworlders are a cuddly, touchy-feely bunch.

  Tyburn stood at the altar, wiping down the goblets and putting them into one of several velvet-lined wooden cases. Another Allworld priest gathered up goblets from around the room. Just inside the entrance to the Circle Chamber stood two more guards, the on-calls Auden had sent here earlier: a black fellow whose name tag read Calder and a plump white guy I’d earlier been introduced to as Hamblin.

  “They said he wasn’t here?” Auden said.

  Calder shrugged. “He was here when we got here.”

  “You talk with him yet?”

  “The service just ended,” said Calder. “We figured better not to interrupt.”

  The four of us approached the altar. Auden and I stepped up onto the dais; Hamblin and Calder stopped at the edge of it. Calder just stood there, thumbs in his belt, but Hamblin struck a parade rest pose, hands behind his back. It was more formal than necessary, but maybe he wanted to earn back some credit, seeing how Czernoff had been killed practically under his nose.

  “Brother Tyburn,” I said. “We need to talk.”

  “Certainly.” The Allworlder smiled. “I just have to finish up here.”

  “We have reason to believe,” said Auden, “that you’re the killer’s next target.”

  “Me?” Tyburn paused in his wiping and packing. “I don’t understand. Is it because I found Phillip’s body?”

  “We’re not at liberty to explain why,” I told him. “But please trust us. We have our reasons.”

  Auden nodded over his shoulder. “These are Guardsman Calder and Guardsman Hamblin. They, or others who’ll relieve them later, will be with you at all times over the next few days, until we determine that you’re out of danger.”

  “Excuse me,” Tyburn said. “I just have to put these away, and I’ll be right with you.” He picked up several of the wooden cases.

  “I’ll help you with that,” said Hamblin. He grabbed up the remaining two cases, then followed Tyburn to a door at the back of the chamber.

  “You going to try to get him into the security suite at the Tower?” I asked Auden. Gage had spoken of moving all the potential victims into the VIP guest suites in the CA Tower for the next two days.

  “I’ll offer him the option,” Auden said. “Shaw’s there, but Carter refused.” Weldt already lived in a suite in the City Administration Tower.

  Tyburn’s scream sent all three of us tearing across the room. Auden was first, I was close behind him, with Calder taking up the rear. Just outside the door Tyburn and Hamblin had stepped through was a short hall. A cupboard stood open at the near end, the wooden boxes of goblets piled in it, one smashed open on the floor. At the far end of the hall lay Tyburn. The wall above him was splashed with his blood. Hamblin was nowhere to be seen. We raced to Tyburn’s side. Auden slid to his knees as he reached him, groping for a pulse. At that end the hall turned right and led to an exit door. There was a smear of blood on the crash bar. I headed for it.

  “Tyburn’s dead,” Auden said to Calder. “Hamblin is MIA. We’re in pursuit. Call it in!”

  I was already out the door. In the alley I caught a flash of movement as Hamblin went over the fence at the far end. Hamblin was not MIA, I thought as I raced down the alley. He’s probably dead, and we’re in pursuit of a shapeshifter who’s assumed his appearance. I sprang up, catching the top of the fence and hauling myself over it. I found myself in a sort of courtyard with multiple alleys running off it. Hamblin—or the Beast—was already at the other end, vanishing into an alley. I followed. Out of the alley, across the street, runabout horns blaring. The Beast actually cat-vaulted over one runabout and slipped into another alleyway. He was shifting as he ran. He’d shifted his hands to claws earlier; that was why he’d kept his hands behind him in the parade rest position. Even now he was already larger in the torso and shoulders than Hamblin, his tunic unbuttoned or torn loose and flapping behind him.

  It would still be a while before he could shift completely to the form Auden had seen. Shifting while you’re running, that would take a lot of concentration, I thought, as I pounded down the alley to find an even taller board fence. I made it three steps up the fence with a dash jump, caught the top with my hands, and reverse-vaulted over. I came off sideways to rebound off a mound of dirt, roll, and come up running. I was in a construction site, and the Beast had already reached the other side. Some of the framework of the building had started to go up, but there was no floor as yet, just the gaping pit of the basement, divided by retaining walls like a rat maze seen from above. I ran out on the top of one of the basement walls.

  The trick of running on top of a wall is you don’t slow down, and you don’t look down. Keep your eye on the way ahead, trust your peripheral vision to place your feet. I had to change direction twice, but still made it across in half the time I would have by going around.

  The Beast had
already climbed the fence on the other side, jumped from the top of it to a fire escape on the next building, and was climbing upwards. There was a crane parked on that side of the lot. Its top end looked to be only five feet or so from the roof of the building the Beast was climbing. I didn’t stop to think. I didn’t dare, or I’d never do it; I just clambered up the crane’s arm as quickly as I could, eyes forward. At the top I checked my footing, then spotted for the jump. From there it looked closer to ten feet to the top fire escape. The Beast was already there, scrambling from the fire escape onto the roof. I gathered my will as well as my strength with a deep breath and put everything I could into the leap.

  I was airborne and weightless for long moments before I realized I wasn’t going to make it across. My hands didn’t even brush the edge of the railing. From below, the next level of the fire escape leaped up to meet me, catching me in the midsection. The wind knocked out of me, I grabbed desperately, upper arms over the rail, body hanging down, swinging, feet scrambling for purchase. I hauled myself over the rail, let myself exult for just a split second as my diaphragm opened up so I could breathe again. I was on the next to last level of the fire escape. I headed up the last flight of metal stairs to the roof.

  Damn! All that, and I’d hardly gained on him at all. He was already going off the other side of the roof. I ran after. At the other side there was a gap of only six feet or so, and a drop of closer to eight to the next roof. Below and beyond, the Beast was weaving his way through the maze of air vents, Tesla receivers, and solar collectors. I leaped, hit the roof and rolled, came up running.

  The next building, slightly higher, was further away. The alley was eight or ten feet across, and I wasn’t sure if I could make the jump even with a running start. The Beast made it fairly easily, catching on with his hands and monkey-vaulting up and onto the higher roof. I veered, jumping onto a solar collector near the edge to gain a little more height, sped up as I approached, leaped again, managed to catch the cornice of the next roof.

  I didn’t quite translate my forward momentum the way the Beast had. I had to muscle myself up, but I was gaining now. This was a flat roof, covered by gardens.

  I couldn’t see the next building until I reached the next ledge. It was much lower, and closer. I saw him hit and roll. I did a reverse vault, hanging from the cornice again to minimize the height before I dropped. The move might cost me what little ground I’d gained, but I couldn’t stay in the chase if I broke an ankle landing.

  This would be the last building on the block. There was nowhere to go now but down into the street. He went over at the corner. I raced after him, and looked down. We were now three stories up. He was clambering down a vertical sign mounted on the corner of the building. A perfect target, and for a second I considered using my gun. But Auden’s shots had barely phased him, and if mine had no more effect, he’d lengthen his lead. Over I went.

  As I shifted from building to sign and began scrambling down, I could hear guard sirens approaching. How they knew where we were was beyond me, but I couldn’t worry about that now. The sign, not made for climbing on, was vibrating, and the metal supports cut at my hands. I kept glancing down to keep track of him. He reached the street and tore off westward.

  A runabout braked to avoid hitting him, and the truck behind it couldn’t brake fast enough. It swerved over the curb and I chose my moment, jump-falling the last ten or twelve feet to the truck’s roof. The force of the impact drove me to hands and knees, and the truck’s brakes chose that moment to bring the thing to a shuddering halt. With no traction or purchase, I went tumbling over the truck’s cab, bounced off the hood. Pavement rushing up, a flash of lightning as I tucked and rolled. I barely managed to come up running. It had been too many sharp impacts now; my head was throbbing. This wasn’t good. When your one rule is keep moving, you can ignore a whole lot until later. Keep moving, Railwalker. Take care o’ business. The truck driver was shouting behind me. I probably left a serious dent in the hood, but the city could afford it. I wasn’t about to stop and give him a number to call to lodge his claim.

  I dodged more runabouts, made the other sidewalk of the cross street. We were on Alameda. The Beast was halfway down the next block, vanishing into another alley. I was on him, I was right there... But the dead end alley was empty except for a bulkhead with the city crest on the door. Yeah, unless the sucker could fly, he was in there.

  I jerked the door open to find a flight of steps leading down. I plunged down the steps. At the bottom, straight ahead, a blank plascrete wall. Tunnels led away left and right. I chose right. That was west, toward the water, the direction he’d been heading all along. Ten steps along I hit a cross tunnel. I stood in the tunnel, my eyes closed. Faint sounds, yes, receding footsteps, to my left. Within just a few paces, I had to slow. The faint glow from the bulkhead door I’d left open didn’t travel far once the corner was turned, and this new tunnel quickly became pitch black. I could hear only the faintest scuffling further down the tunnel as I edged forward. Ahead, a slightly rectangular gray blur against the black. A shadow moved across it. It could have been something else interrupting the light source. The Beast could be lying in wait for me in the darkness somewhere between here and there, but my gut told me not. That was him, the shadow I’d seen. I hurried my pace.

  The gray blur resolved into a much bigger cross tunnel as I reached it. It was a tramway line, two sets of tracks, a faint green dot to my right. That would be back uphill, toward City Center. To my left there was a definite glow. I went left, toward the water again. The green light behind me told me no trams would come from that direction. Anything rolling on this track I’d see coming.

  I could see well enough to run again, and set off down the plascrete walkway beside the gravel track bed. The air was damp and smelled of the ocean. This tunnel had to date way back; the big I-beams between the tracks and along the walls were not plasteel or graphcomp, but actual steel, studded with large rivets, multiple layers of paint peeling to reveal blackened metal and rust. The rails were gleaming silver lines running between them.

  As I got closer to the bright glow ahead it resolved in-to the tunnel’s mouth, an arched opening showing a view of the docks and the bay beyond. In the center of the picture was the silhouette of a running figure, veering left. I leaped from the walkway, crossing the tracks, following his lead.

  Outside, the tracks curved sharply to parallel Water Street, one going left, one right. He broke into sunlight, crossing the left-hand track. I put on a burst of speed and hit sunlight, heard the train. I wasn’t even close to making it across as the tram cut off my sight of him. I slowed my run, counting cars, seven of ’em, and then I was across the tracks. He was still in sight, pelting across Water Street and down the quay between a docked cargo vessel to one side and the open water on the other. Crossing Water Street, dodging another runabout, with the tram and its noise vanishing into the tunnel, I could hear the sirens again. Yep, he did just what I was afraid he’d do, dammit. When I reached the end of the dock, I dove in right after him.

  The water wasn’t as cold as I’d expected, but it was still a shock. Under the surface, treading water, I looked desperately around. The water was pretty clear. No sign of him.

  When I came up for air I realized I was done here. I had blown it. In the time it would take to get an organized search of the area going, he’d be long gone. For all I knew he was growing gills and swimming away underwater at that very moment.

  There was no convenient ladder at this end of the dock, so I had to swim the length of the ship back toward land to find one. When I reached it the thing was slick and hard to get a purchase. I reached the street level to find several guard runabouts parked at the entrance to the dock, and Auden approaching across the tarmac. I sat down on the asphalt, catching my breath, still seeing an occasional white flash. Seawater running from my clothes formed a puddle around me.

  Auden stopped a couple of feet away. “Lost him?” he asked.

  “Looks l
ike.”

  “Probably no point in searching, but I’ll put a few men on it anyway.” He barked orders at the uniforms coming up behind him. They hurried away.

  I looked at Auden. “How’d you get here?” I asked.

  “I kept you in sight from the street until you went into the tunnels. That bulkhead accesses a maintenance tunnel for the Water Street line. Unless he doubled back on himself, he was going to end up here.” He took a case from his pocket, took out a cigar.

  “And if he did double back?” I asked.

  “I sent men to Point Street Station, just in case. But my bet was here.”

  “Your bet paid off. For whatever that’s worth.”

  “Yeah,” he said, lighting the cigar. “I’ll be sure to put my winnings in my retirement fund.” He fished in his overcoat pocket, pulled out a small package. Looked like a paper-wrapped sandwich. “They found John Hamblin, you know. His dead body was stuffed in a dumpster over on fifth.” He looked down again at the package in his hand. “Fuck,” he muttered, and threw the package hard at a nearby trash can. It hit the side, and the contents splattered over the pavement. I was right, it had been a gyro. He sighed, walked over and picked up the paper, dropped it in the can. The gulls would take care of the rest. I could see one eyeing the remains of the sandwich already.

  “Lost my appetite anyway,” Auden growled. “What I really want is a drink. Four years without a drop, and the goddamn Beast drives me back to it. You want a drink, Railwalker?”

  “Yeah. But it doesn’t sound like a healthy choice for you,” I said.

  “Fuck that,” he grunted. “I’ll worry about healthy when the Beast is in the ground.”

  I couldn’t tell the guy how to live his life. But an alcoholic is not the man you want at your back. Not when he’s drinking, anyway. I stood. The lightning flashes had backed off, and my head was pounding a little more softly. I really did want a drink, but it probably wouldn’t help the headache. The hell with it, I thought. The Beast has killed Tyburn and gotten away; there’s little enough more we can do tonight.