Cloak Games: Tomb Howl

by Jonathan Moeller

  “In Italy, it was the parliament and the prime minister,” said Morelli.

  “Precisely,” said Nicholas. “We are taught as children that the Elves arrived from their homeworld, overthrew the corrupt governments that had oppressed mankind for generations, and installed the benevolent rule of the High Queen. The truth is far more complicated.”

  “Duh,” I said.

  Nicholas gave me a thin smile. “Obviously, but right now I am speaking about the Conquest. Based on what the textbooks and the official history websites say, you would think the Conquest took a weekend to complete. In fact, it took the High Queen nearly thirty years to completely consolidate control over Earth, and twice she was almost killed by Archon attacks and once by insurgent groups. During the peak of the insurgency, Chicago, St. Louis, and Baltimore all revolted against the High Queen simultaneously.”

  “Which is when she destroyed them,” I said.

  “It was an object lesson, and it did a great deal to prevent further uprisings,” said Nicholas. “Unfortunately for her, the High Queen outsmarted herself. She used a weapon called the Reaping to destroy Chicago, St. Louis and Baltimore, but from what I have discovered the Elves didn’t completely understand how the Reaping worked. The weapon successfully destroyed the cities…but in the process, it also created a permanent gate to the Shadowlands within each of those cities.”

  “What?” I said

  “In the center of each of the ruined cities, in the exact spot where the Reaping was activated,” said Nicholas, “is a permanent gate to the Shadowlands.”

  “Then why haven’t the Archons or the frost giants swarmed through the gate to conquer Earth?” I said.

  “Because even if the gates are stable,” said Nicholas, “they are still gates to the Shadowlands, and all the usual dangers and difficulties of getting an army across the Shadowlands still apply. Additionally, what happens if you enter Chicago?”

  “You get attacked by the undead and rise as an undead yourself,” I said.

  I had a sudden sinking feeling that I knew where this conversation was going.

  “And what happens if you enter the ruins of Baltimore?” said Nicholas.

  “You burn alive if you cross the boundary,” I said.

  “And St. Louis?”

  “You choke to death.”

  Nicholas nodded. “None of those are effects of the Reaping weapon. The High Queen arranged guardians to defend each of the ruined cities and claimed those guardians were a result of her lingering wrath against her rebellious subjects. The guardians of Baltimore and St. Louis are of no concern to us. The guardian of Chicago is of far more relevance.”

  “Oh, hell,” I said, rubbing my temples.

  Nicholas smirked. “Figured it out, did you?”

  “There’s something in the ruins of Chicago,” I said. “Something left over from before the Conquest, and you want me to get it for you.”

  “More or less,” said Nicholas.

  “Oh, hell,” I said again. “All right. So, what do you want from the undead-infested ruins of Chicago?”

  “Think back, Miss Stoker,” said Nicholas. He leaned forward a few inches, his blue eyes lit with intensity. “That video you saw in school where the High Queen forced the President and Congress to kill themselves on national television.”

  “Kind of a hard thing to forget,” I said.

  “What was missing from the video?” said Nicholas.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” I said. “I’m not going to guess, and you like making speeches. So why don’t you make a speech and tell me?”

  Corbisher chuckled at that, and then a sour look went over his face as he realized he had laughed at a joke I made.

  “Every member of Congress killed themselves,” said Nicholas. “The President killed himself. The Supreme Court justices killed themselves. Everyone in the President’s Cabinet killed themselves…except for one member. The Secretary of Defense wasn’t there.”

  “Who was the Secretary of Defense?” I said.

  “A man named Jeremy Shane,” said Nicholas.

  “No, I mean, what was a Secretary of Defense?” I said.

  “The United States used to maintain its own military,” said Nicholas, “as did all the nation-states of the pre-Conquest era. Nowadays all we have is the Department of Homeland Security, and that is just a tool of oppression employed by the High Queen. But before the Conquest, the Pentagon controlled the United States military.”

  “Pentagon?” I said. “What’s a pentagon got to do with anything?”

  “That was the name of the building that housed the Department of Defense,” said Nicholas, “which was overseen by the Secretary of Defense. But we digress. The Secretary of Defense at the time of the Conquest was a former Army general named Jeremy Shane. The pre-Conquest Presidents fought several wars against the insurgencies that eventually created the modern Caliphate in the Middle East, and Shane was a veteran of those wars.”

  “Okay,” I said. “What’s the point?”

  “The point is that the wars in the Middle East made Shane into an expert in insurgency warfare…and he was not in Washington DC when the High Queen killed the American government,” said Nicholas. “Based on what I have discovered during my research, Shane went underground and led an effective insurgency against the High Queen and the Elves. He was essentially the ruler of Chicago for several years.”

  “But he failed, obviously,” I said.

  Nicholas only smiled. Something about that expression unsettled me. He had smiled the exact same smile when he had been plotting the stadium bombing with Rogomil and his goons.

  “Chicago’s been ruined for three hundred years,” I said. “The High Queen has been ruling Earth that entire time. Clearly, Shane failed.”

  “In point of fact,” said Nicholas, “Shane was assassinated before he could bring his last plan to fruition. Political strife within the organization that he founded. Something I have taken great pains to avoid in the structure of the Revolution.”

  He smiled at Corbisher as he said this, who looked back with a flat stare. No doubt Corbisher thought he should have been in charge. He had been the top dog of the Rebels and the Dark One cultists in Minneapolis, but then he had screwed up.

  “All right,” I said. “This Shane guy had a plan for defeating the High Queen, but he got killed first, and the High Queen used the Reaping on Chicago. Why does this matter to you now?”

  “Secretary Shane was something of a hero in Chicago when he was killed,” said Nicholas, “and he was buried within the city. He was also buried with a specific item, and the idiots who assassinated him failed to recognize the value of that item, and then the Reaping killed them all. It has been forgotten until now.”

  I sighed. “And you want me to Cloak, go into Chicago, and get this item for you.”

  “Exactly,” said Nicholas. “Of the three items you will steal for me, this is the first.”

  “Well, great,” I said, thinking hard. There were dozens of different things I needed to find out. Would the Cloak spell work on the undead things? Where was Shane buried in the ruins? What controlled the undead in the ruins?

  I said the first question that popped into my head.

  “What is Shane buried with that you want so much?” I said.

  “A briefcase,” said Nicholas.

  “A briefcase?” I said, incredulous. “A briefcase would have rotted or rusted away centuries ago.”

  “This particular briefcase,” said Nicholas, “was made of titanium and reinforced ceramic. It could quite possibly outlast human civilization. The Department of Defense built the briefcase to very exacting specifications since they expected it would have to survive the most extreme battlefield conditions in the event of global war. Remaining undisturbed for three hundred years in a tomb would be no challenge at all.”

  “Right,” I said. Obviously, Nicholas didn’t want the briefcase. He wanted whatever was inside it. “Okay. Do you know where this tomb i
s, or am I going to have to search the city for it?”

  “Fortunately, no,” said Nicholas. “I know exactly where Shane was buried. His tomb is in the basement of the tallest skyscraper in the ruins, a building named the Willis Tower. Evidently, the insurgents planned to build him a proper tomb once the war was won, but the city was destroyed first. I was unable to locate a floor plan of the building, but Shane is buried somewhere within the basement levels.”

  “All right,” I said. “Now, the most important question. Tell me about the guardian of the city. You said the High Queen put a guardian there. I assume the undead aren’t an effect of the Reaping device?”

  “They are not,” said Nicholas. “They are created and controlled by the myothar.”

  I frowned. “What’s a myothar?”

  Swathe spoke first. “Nasty squid thing. Hated them when I was still a man-at-arms.” His perpetual grimace sharpened, and then he smirked at me. “You’re about to find that out the hard way, little girl.”

  “Swathe, be quiet. The grownups are talking,” I said. Swathe glared, and Vass snickered, but I ignored them. “Nicholas, explain. What is a myothar?”

  “The myothars,” said Nicholas, “are a race from another world, much like the orcs and the dwarves and the frost giants and the Elves themselves. The Elves are our oppressors, but we do have much in common with them as a race – five fingers, five toes, bipedal locomotion, and so forth. The same thing applies to the dwarves and the orcs and several others. The myothars, however, are completely alien. They look vaguely like humanoid squids.”

  “Damned things,” muttered Swathe, scowling at the table.

  “The Elves warred against them repeatedly in the millennia before the Conquest,” said Nicholas, “and the myothars almost conquered the Elves on several occasions. Individually, they are all powerful wizards, and they have a strong talent for necromancy. When they conquer a world, their usual practice is to enslave the population for use as food and slaves, and they raise the dead as undead shells.”

  “Charming,” I said. “So, what is a myothar doing in Chicago?”

  “This particular myothar,” said Nicholas, “had a falling-out with its government and was sentenced to death. It fled to Earth, and the High Queen struck a bargain with the creature. She granted it sanctuary in the ruins of Chicago, and permission to kill anyone, human, Elf, or otherwise, that entered the city. In exchange, the myothar kills and eats anything emerging from the Shadowlands gate.”

  “Ugh,” I said.

  “Damned squids,” muttered Swathe.

  “Yes,” said Nicholas. He smiled. “You see why we required the services of a wizard capable of casting the Cloak spell?”

  Yeah. That was just great.

  “You have a hard deadline for this?” I said.

  “Not as such,” said Nicholas. “However, we shouldn’t drag our feet. History waits for no man.”

  “I thought you were going to change history,” I said.

  Nicholas smiled again. “Which is why I’m not going to wait for it.”

  I laughed and then was immediately annoyed with myself for laughing at his joke. “Fine. Let’s get started. If you want to change history, I’m going to need a map.”

  Chapter 8: The Riddling Dead

  The next morning, I returned to Nicholas’s compound, got into a van with Morelli, Vass, and Swathe, and we set off for Interstate 90.

  It was only six in the morning, but it was already oppressively hot and humid, and it was going to get worse. Both Morelli and Swathe wore khaki pants and polo shirts, and they were sweating through the armpits. Vass wore hiking sandals, cargo shorts, and a bright blue shirt adorned with designs of palm trees.

  They were hot, but I was cold, so I dressed as I had yesterday, with a gray sweater, black jeans, running shoes, and my long black navy coat. All three men gave me odd looks as I arrived with the coat wrapped tight around me, but they didn’t ask questions. Maybe they were worried I would do to them what I had done to Hailey.

  “We ready?” I said.

  “Yup,” said Morelli, calm as ever.

  All three men wore shoulder holsters with semiautomatics. I wondered why they bothered. If the Elves went after us, the bullets wouldn’t do any good, and normal bullets also wouldn’t work on the undead. Maybe Nicholas had given them instructions to shoot me if this went bad.

  Well, if they tried, they would regret it.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s go to Chicago.”

  Vass got into the driver’s seat, and Swathe took shotgun. He was also holding an actual shotgun, so I suppose that was appropriate. Morelli put himself in the middle seat, and I took the back so I could keep an eye on all of them at once. From the pockets of my coat I produced a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap, and once I had them on, I flipped up the broad collar of my coat to hide my face.

  The fewer people who saw me here, the better.

  Probably because of all the firepower we were carrying, Vass made sure to stay well below the speed limit on the freeway.

  It didn’t take us long to leave Indiana and return to Illinois, and the ruined towers of Chicago appeared on the horizon, stark beneath the burning clouds that covered the dead city. After my time with Nicholas’s books and maps yesterday, I could recognize the crumbling shapes of the ancient towers – the John Hancock Center, the Aon Tower, the Franklin Center, the Prudential Plaza building, and the others.

  The tallest was the blocky, dark shape of Willis Tower. According to Nicholas’s old books, it had been one of the tallest buildings in the world. Nicholas had said that it was still the second-tallest building in the United States after One World Trade Center in New York, which was used by the High Queen when she came to North America. Looking at the ragged shell of the tower, I could believe it, and I wondered what the skyscraper had looked like in its glory days. Nicholas’s books had pictures, but they couldn’t compare to the reality of the building.

  I couldn’t identify the emotion that went through me. Regret, maybe? Loss? I was a city girl. I had grown up in Milwaukee, and I was comfortable in large cities. I wondered what Chicago must have been like at its height, and I regretted that it had died so long ago. Riordan and I had been talking about going to New York when we could find the time, and…

  I swallowed, grateful that none of the Rebels were looking at me.

  Just as I would never see Chicago at its height, I would never walk down the streets of Manhattan with Riordan.

  Then Vass took us off the freeway at the last exit before the roadblock, and my mind turned cold and focused.

  It was time to go to work.

  At the end of the exit, the road went in two directions. A right-hand turn would have taken us back to Gary eventually. The left turn went to Chicago, and there was a roadblock there. It was unmanned, and a weather-beaten sign warned that anyone entering Chicago was in danger, and that entry into the city was strictly forbidden by the High Queen and Duke Maurwyn of Springfield.

  Whistling to himself, Vass steered the van around the roadblock and eased down the street. The street beyond the roadblock was in bad repair, lined by brick buildings that were collapsing into ruin. We weren’t yet within the official boundaries of the Reaping, but we were close enough that no one wanted to live here. I couldn’t blame them. Who would want to live with that burning sky and the dead skyscrapers rising over the horizon?

  I had spent a hundred and fifty years staring at a burning sky. I didn’t particularly want to repeat the experience even for five minutes.

  “Vass,” said Swathe. “There’s the boundary up ahead.”

  “I’m not blind, old man,” said Vass with good cheer. Swathe scowled at him but said nothing.

  That was something I had noticed about Nicholas’s team – they all seemed to hate each other. They were personally loyal to Nicholas, but they all detested one another. Corbisher and Swathe got on well but disliked Vass and Morelli. Vass disliked everyone but hid it under his jovial demeanor. M
orelli kept his thoughts to himself, but I had been around enough assassins to tell that he was constantly working out ways to kill everyone else in the room. I gathered that Nicholas liked his lieutenants to compete for his favor, and he had certainly trained them well.

  All of them, though, were united in their dislike for Hailey Adams.

  Oddly, none of them disliked Dr. Tocci. I suspected that Tocci was enough of a doormat that she didn’t pose a threat to anyone else in Nicholas’s organization.

  Anyway, I observed as much about all of them as I could. If I survived the Forerunner’s three jobs for Nicholas, then Nicholas and his crew would do their best to kill me. I would have to be ready for that.

  Right now, I had to first survive Chicago.

  Swathe was right. We had indeed reached the boundary.

  I could tell because I saw the undead shuffling along the street.

  It was, in fact, the first time I had ever seen an undead creature.

  I didn’t know much about necromancy. The High Queen banned it, and the Elves, in general, refused to use it. Even the Archons and the Dark Ones cultists, comfortable as they were with dark magic, rarely used necromancy. The few times that Morvilind had ever mentioned the topic to me, he had expressed the opinion that necromancers were “contemptible necrophiliacs” who ought to be killed for their own good.

  So, I didn’t know what to expect, though I thought the undead would be rotting corpses, or maybe skeletons, or perhaps spectral wraiths.

  I did not expect them to look so…normal.

  A dozen undead wandered through the street, and they looked like normal men and women. Evidently, the necromantic magic preserved both their flesh and their clothing, which was reasonable since a rotting corpse wouldn’t be very useful to a necromancer. From a distance, they looked like a bunch of people milling around.

  As the van drew closer, I noticed the two main differences.

  First, they were pale. Not just pale, but grayish, like all the blood had been drained from their flesh. Even the undead with darker skin colors had that grayish, corpse-like look.