And save Elfine. And avenge her mother. And save her boyfriend. And not get caught, tortured, or killed.
But she realized the problem was larger, deeper, weightier. For apparently her ring held the key to breaking the Black Spell, which held all mankind in thrall. It robbed mortal men of the sight of the glories of the world in which they lived, hid whole continents, and disguised the elfish thefts and abductions. It blinded men’s eyes and erased memories.
A new thought struck her. Perhaps this same Black Spell had wounded her memory also. It seemed to be a spell as wide as the sky, covering the whole globe and having many parts, many aspects.
Why was she thinking only of finding her own memories or her own cousin kidnapped by elfs? Yumiko did not remember her mission. But now she hoped, for the first time, that she was meant to fight this Black Spell and to aid in the effort to save mankind.
Yumiko closed her eyes against the pulse of anxiety that passed through her heart and lungs. At the moment, her only clue to anything was two tracers downstairs in his building she had to make an opportunity to go to see.
It was so slender a thread to follow. It might lead nowhere. More than her own life depended on it. Perhaps much more.
She snapped her eyes open, smiled, and tried to look pretty, just in case one of them looked up and wanted a drink or something. Because her only clue was so slender, and was here in this building, she also had to avoid getting fired.
2. A Test of Spirit
Matthias said, “You naturally want to know if Winged Vengeance is working with us against the Anarchists. Or you want our help tracking him down so that we can get the ring and trade it to you in return for breaking the Black Spell?”
Wilcolac shook his head. “Not quite. I more want to know what you will do if you become convinced that the Anarchists do not have the young inventor? You know the youth of whom I speak, do you not?”
Gil said harshly, “We do.”
Matthias drew off his eyeglasses and polished the large lenses with the tail of his tunic. He said blandly, “We have all heard remarkable things of young Tom Moth, the famous son of the famous Dr. Rocket. Reason suggests that if he, and not Rotwang, were driving the Iron Mole when it raided the Tower of Glass, then the ring you seek is in his possession, or was. But I confess I am a little confused about the thrust of this conversation.” He perched the glasses back on his nose and stared at Wilcolac. “Mr. Cobweb, are you offering to free the young inventor in return for the Ring of Mists?”
Wilcolac raised both eyebrows. “Free him? My principal is seeking the Ring of Mists. I was merely eliminating the possibilities. If the Anarchists do not have the ring, and you do not have it, then who has it? The vigilante? Or the boy inventor?”
Gilberec said, “Tomorrow Rocket Moth is a member of the Last Crusade, as you very well know. And the Anarchists are the ones who have him. Who else?”
Wilcolac raised both eyebrows. Perhaps forcing this admission from Gil has been his intent. Wilcolac said, “There are many dangers in the world, many strange quarters and corners where an overbold lad might go. Places which would not make him welcome.”
Hearing this, the young knight grew stern. His voice grew dangerous as it grew softer.
“We will avenge the harm done to him,” said Gil. “Tell your principal that. Do you think your hoodoo and hocus-pocus and pretend puppy-men mean anything to a Knight of the Table Round? I have been to the Green Chapel and returned alive!”
Wilcolac winced at the mention of the Green Chapel. Yumiko heard a voice in the distance utter a scream: she thought it was Joan the Wad’s voice.
Wilcolac now stood, his round face red with emotion, and he raising his walking stick over his head. “You would dare threaten a Master of the Black Art in his own sanctum?”
As he spoke, the many candles in the chamber now blew and flickered, as if a wind that could be neither seen nor felt roared through the space. The shadow Wilcolac cast seemed to crawl up the wall behind him and swell and darken. As the candles flickered, the magician’s shadow danced like vast bat wings flapping. Frost began to collect on the mirrors.
The collie dog, his hair bristling, stood on stiff legs, his ears flat, barking furiously. Gil made no move to draw his sword. He merely crossed his muscular arms on his broad chest, smiling slightly and looking unimpressed.
Matthias, who was still seated, touched his brow, belly, and both shoulders and kissed a medallion on his necklace. He folded his hands in his lap and spoke softly in Latin. She understood his words. “Save me, O God, by thy name, and judge me by thy strength.”
And now Matthias stood and drew out of his coat pocket what seemed like a small phial with a perforated top. From its tip he flicked a small drop of water, first to one side of him, then to the other, and then before him.
“I beheld Satan as lightning falling from Heaven. Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you.”
And the wind stopped. The candles grew as still and steady in their light as stars and seemed to grow brighter and brighter. The warm scent of springtide entered the room. The walking stick was jerked from Wilcolac’s hand. It flew away from Matthias and across the room. It clattered against the mirror and fell to the carpet.
Wilcolac staggered and sat down in his chair again, panting heavily.
Matthias spread his arms. The bright candlelight reflected in the gold of his crucifix now blazed. “Notwithstanding in this, rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice because your names are written in Heaven.”
Matthias now stepped over toward the fireplace. Yumiko saw a playing card, the joker card, was in his hand. She could not understand how he came to have it. Had Wilcolac planted it on him secretly during the conversation? But they had not been within arm’s length of each other.
Matthias held the card in one of the too-bright, too-clear, oddly unwavering candle flames until it ignited. The burning card gave off a truly vile smell. Wrinkling his nose, the young novice tossed the burning card into the midst of the logs of the fire, where it was consumed.
“Go to your reward for weal or woe, and trouble no more the earthly sphere,” said Matthias in English. He continued in Latin: “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”
Matthias crossed himself. He returned to his seat, smiled, sipped his water, and helped himself to another cracker. “May I? This is delicious.”
The candlelight, the shadows, and the scent in the chamber all returned to normal as suddenly as a dream ends in waking. Yumiko blinked, wondering what she had just seen.
Wilcolac wiped his face with a handkerchief. “…You will have to pardon me if I allowed a momentary burst of anger to…”
Gilberec was still standing and still had his arms crossed. “You do not fool me, Magician. You were not angry. You were afraid.”
Wilcolac looked up, startled.
Gilberec continued in a cold, remorseless voice, “You are afraid because you were ordered to test us to see if any power was behind us.”
Wilcolac wiped his face again, hiding his expression behind his handkerchief.
Gil said, “You did not want to do it because it would ruin your reputation. You betrayed your guarantee of hospitality. So whoever told you to do this has some hold on you, something you fear more than you love your club, your people, and everything you’ve built. Am I right? Just say yes or no, and I will hear the truth or falsehood in your voice. If you do not answer, that is also an answer.”
Wilcolac put his handkerchief away, as apparently he was not perspiring in the slightest. He picked up his cigar, inspected it thoughtfully, and drew on it. It had not gone out: the tip turned red. Wilcolac sighed with pleasure, took the cigar out from his mouth, watching the smoke trickle upward, and spoke in a slow and even voice. “You are a very dangerous man, in your own way, Swan Knight.”
“Arthur, the lord I serve, is more dange
rous than I. The Lord my lord serves is more dangerous still. Fear Him. Your Anarchists raise their mutinous arms not only against unjust and just kings of earth and elfland but against the power and majesty of the almighty throne of high Heaven! You are mad. Who can fight omnipotence?”
Matthias said softly, “A clever man like yourself should not back the side sure to lose, should he? Where will you flee to escape the wrath to come?”
Wilcolac said, “The world is dangerous. None can be trusted. Mothers abandon their children; close kin will sell you to settle their debts and to save themselves. Cops are crooked, priests are phonies, and only racketeers keep their word! What would you have me do? Defy them? Defy the Anarchists? They are terrible! They are dread and fell as deadly serpents! Numberless as hailstones! They are as subtle and unseen as the night-breeze from some cursed swap where witches gather that carries the silent influence of pestilence to a sleeping village, until a passing peddler, days later, allured by the stench, finds all the houses and barns heaped with corpses black and bloated! Who can oppose such power?”
Gilberec said, “We can. We do. Leave them. Join us.”
Wilcolac stared at him a moment, eyes wide. “I am bound by oath to the elfs, as are all of the Twilight Folk. You may hate the Anarchists, but who else, aside from them, dares opposes the elfs?” asked Wilcolac bitterly.
Gilberec said solemnly, “We dare. Arthur’s sword is Excalibur, the Iron-cleaver. The iron it cuts are chains that enslave.”
Wilcolac said, “Let Arthur come out from under the mountain and speak to me in flesh, and let me look in his eyes and hear his words, and let me touch him with my hand and know I see no phantom. Then, I will serve.”
“Arthur’s man stands before you!” said Gil in a low and even voice. “You know the words I speak are true. You know right from wrong. If you will not hear me, you would not hear Arthur Pendragon, not if he stood before you in the flesh.”
3. Last Words
Wilcolac sat, eyes downcast, sipping his whiskey sour. Finally, he shook his head. “My fate is not what we met here to discuss. What shall I tell my principals? They promise much, but you know I speak truly. I believe they can break the Black Spell and free mankind from the King of Elfs and Shadows. The Ring of Mists is needed to accomplish it.”
Gilberec looked to Matthias, who had been feeding more caviar to the dog. Matthias straightened up, wiped his fingers on his tunic, cleared his throat, and said, “Tell him the Last Crusade is eager to see the end of the Black Spell, but we are skeptical that this can be accomplished. More to the point, tell him that the safe return of Tomorrow Moth is a necessary step toward the discovery of the fate of the Ring of Mists. Gil, please tell Mr. Cobweb here that we do not have this ring so that the wolves the Anarchists have hunting it will cease dogging our footsteps.”
The collie barked and looked doubtful.
Gil said to the collie, “It is just an expression.” To the magician, he said, “Hear me. The Ring of Mists is not in the possession of the Last Crusade, nor is the knowledge of its whereabouts, unless perhaps our missing member knows. If you do not have him, find him. If you have him, turn him over to us unharmed and uncursed. Then, we can discuss the Black Spell. Tell your principals that I bear white-hilted Dyrnwen, which slew the giants of Cornwall. Tell them not one of them will survive the stroke of this blade of fire should they work ill unto Tomorrow Moth.”
Wilcolac did not reply, but frowned in thought.
Yumiko understood his frown. She often had people telling her to carry dire messages as well.
4. Leave-taking
Matthias said, “I am told elfs do not forget, nor their memories fade. Not all Moths retain this gift, as we are half human, and some are more so.”
Wilcolac smiled. “You are very politely asking if I need to have your message written down, but without bringing up the awkward question of how impure my blood is. Where do novices in cloisters learn such delicate diplomacy?”
“Wheedling a second bowl of gruel from Brother Cook during Lent,” said Matthias.
“A bowl!” muttered Gilberec. “Some people get to eat from a bowl during Lent?”
Wilcolac smiled again. “An elf once told me—these are his words, not mine—that the sadism of Heaven makes sure that the memories of the lost joys and glories carried within the elder elfs will never lose their sharp and bitter edge. While I think he was being a bit blasphemous, his comment comforts me whenever I forget something. Do not fret! All you have said will be passed faithfully along.”
Matthias said, “Any letter sent to this address will find me.” And he presented a card across the table to Wilcolac. Yumiko, moving quietly and quickly, picked up an ashtray and stepped up behind Wilcolac, as if to be ready in case his cigar dropped ash.
But she was too slow, or he was too cunning, or both. Wilcolac palmed the card and spirited it up his sleeve without pausing to look at it.
Wilcolac stood up and crossed the room behind them, moving to the door. He put one hand on the doorknob, turned, and intoned. “Gentlemen, I must see to my other guests. Order what you like from the kitchen or the bar. On the house, of course. And if I may…? Meaning no disrespect, it might prove convenient for us all if you depart discretely from the delivery entrance. Sorry!”
Wilcolac looked at her. “Wait on the gentlemen until they are ready to leave. If they need a room overnight, have Boginki put them in the Royal Suite. If they need a limo, have Licho call the service and put it on our tab. Otherwise, show them out by the back way.”
Yumiko smiled and silently performed the skirtless curtsy she had been told to perform when acknowledging an order: putting her left foot behind her right and bending both knees very slightly. “If they stay overnight, do I ask Jarnik to put the dog in our kennel?”
Wilcolac scowled. “Don’t ask silly questions. Of course the dog sleeps in the same bed with him! What did I tell you about Cobbler Courtesy?” He turned to the boys. “Sorry about Sorry. She’s new. It has been an interesting and informative evening, gentlemen. You were not quite what I had expected.” He tipped his hat with a theatrical flourish and exited.
5. A Clever Ploy
Both the young men were standing.
Matthias said, “I wonder why he apologized.”
Gil frowned and said in a low voice, “For the insult to us.”
“When? What insult?”
“Winged Vengeance leaves the corpses of his victims hanging from trees in Central Park, with confessions written in their own blood pinned through their hearts with an arrow,” said Gil. “Does this magician think Arthur’s true knight would condone such bloody barbarism? That we torture captives and exact confessions under duress or kill unarmed men? How dare he!”
Matthias said, “Don’t worry. You insulted him back without meaning to. Plenty!”
“How’s that?”
“Your trick with Randolph Carter’s cat. You do naturally and easily what this necromancer can only do by disgusting and unnatural acts with corpses and bargains made with furies and psychopompoi. And this guy is no novice at his art: he has a ghost trapped here on the grounds, unburied, and in torment. A poltergeist, one who can touch physical objects. It put that playing card written with runes of finding in my pocket. When I burned it, I burned the fingers of the ghost holding it, but he did not let go. Some powerful curse binds him. The ghost threw the mage’s charming wand across the room before I could snap it in two. This ghost is cleverer than most.” They both looked toward that corner of the room, but the walking stick was not there.
“Runes of finding?” asked Gil.
“They want to find out where you sleep at night and invade your dreams. No more goons are going to be bold enough to face you fully armored and on your horse.”
Gil said, “Maybe he was apologizing for wasting our time. This whole thing was a show. The Anarchists are blackmailing him. And they ordered him to convince us that Winged Vengeance took Tom.”
Matthias said, “Well, it i
s a clever ploy. We still must explore the possibility, mustn’t we? It does three things for them: First, it means we spend less time hunting werewolves; second, if we hunt him, we might accidentally flush him out into the open; and third, we at least distract him from hunting them.”
“Why must we? Explore the possibility, I mean.”
“Because the magician was telling the truth about breaking the Black Spell and needing the ring to do it. Which means either they don’t have Tom, or Tom never had the ring.”
“Which contradicts what we know,” Gil said. “It is an impossible puzzle.”
Matthias shrugged. “Maybe we should hire a detective.”
Yumiko thought sadly that she knew just who to hire. A pang of sorrow went through her. She missed Elfine.
Gil said, “I am just glad the cat said Tom is not in Hell. I wonder where he is?”
“He could be downstairs in this building for all we know.”
Gil looked down at his hip, where his sword was tied in its scabbard. “I would be happy to tear this den of vice to bits. But I gave my word this time. This time. We need more than suspicion to act on. King’s law and all that.”
“I wish Tom had your caution. What it is about working with atomic piles and superconductors that makes a boy reckless? Lord, forgive him for a thoughtless fool. Why did he go off by himself? What got into him?”
Gil said, “There is no answer to that. We’ll keep searching. I had a very promising talk with Rat the Rat King, son of Rat the Rat King. Dick Wittington’s cat is wrong about him: I think Rat will help us. There are lots of places rats can get into in a city like this.”
“If he is in this city. Or on this planet. This is Tom we are talking about,” Matthias said wearily. “Well, I think we learned several things that might interest the Man in the Black Room. We should report in tonight? Or are you tired? We can just head back to…”
6. Sorry You Know Me
City of Corpses: The Dark Avenger's Sidekick Book Two (Moth & Cobweb 5) Page 7