We are not the same. “What do you know of honor?”
Sullivan did not respond. The truck springs creaked as the Heavy shifted his weight. A match was struck and Toru could smell the smoke from Sullivan’s cigarette. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Nothing you do here makes a difference, Sullivan. Your troubles now are insignificant compared to what is coming.”
“I know.”
Curious. Toru opened his eyes. “Then why do you waste your time? We should be preparing for the war against the Pathfinder. We should be building a new Dark Ocean.”
“With who?”
“Any one who is worthy, of course.”
“A bunch of worthy folks are going to die if I don’t help in this fight.”
“Then they should be stronger!” Toru snapped. “Leave me be.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head, feigning disinterest. This was not Toru’s war. Sullivan was a fool to even think that Toru would lower himself to fighting the wretched Grimnoir’s battles.
The cursed Heavy stuck around. “I got a question for you . . . Been nagging me since you got here. Why else did you leave the Iron Guard?”
“I told you. I have an obligation to Okubo Tokugawa.”
“What else?”
“What do you mean ‘what else?’ That is all that matters.”
“Before all this, how’d a Brute like you get put in the diplomatic corps? Strength, speed, damn hard to kill—Brutes are the top tier of combat-capable Actives. Why’d the Imperium take you off the front lines? You’re still young enough, healthy enough, and you act like you’re always looking to fight. The Imperium’s fighting in how many countries right now?”
“Six,” Toru answered sullenly. “If you count the Chinese and Thai rebels.”
“Seems a waste to pull a fighter, with an Active talent that’s practically born for war, off the line and send him to an embassy a couple thousand miles away from where the action is.”
“If you are trying to get me to slip up and admit to knowledge of covert Imperium operations in the United States, I will not do so.”
Sullivan chuckled. “Oh, of course not. I was just wondering how you fucked up bad enough to get kicked out of the meanest army in the world. Maybe you weren’t tough enough . . . You bastards worship strength.” Sullivan made a big show of reasoning it out. “But since you’re a Brute, it couldn’t have been physical toughness you lacked. Cowardice?”
“Go away.”
“Incompetence?”
“I said go away.”
“Had to be something.”
Manchukuo. The competitions, who could collect the most peasants’ heads in an hour? Who could make the biggest pile of ears? He remembered watching the starving prisoners fight for the officers’ amusement, the pleasure women with their blank expressions and eyes where the soul had long since fled, the Cogs and their infernal sculpting of flesh. Manchukuo had been a dark time. It had not been a war befitting the Imperium that he believed in. It had been madness. Toru had disapproved of the troops’ bloodlust. His disgust was taken for weakness. His questions caused dishonor. His hesitation to obey his superior’s orders had brought him shame.
“Maybe you just lacked the stomach for it—”
It was too much. Toru surged to his feet, covered the distance in a split second, and grabbed Sullivan roughly by the collar. “I will not be questioned by the likes of you!”
They stood eye to eye. The Heavy did not so much as blink as he rolled his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other. “You talk about being worthy to fight the Pathfinder. How am I supposed to know that you really are?”
“I was Iron Guard, the finest warriors in history!”
“So you say. Why don’t you prove it?”
“I can do so very easily.” Toru tightened his grip on the Heavy’s coat. It would be so easy to rip his heart out. Sullivan kept on staring him down, surely ready to fire his own Power. It would be such a satisfying fight. “Here and now.”
The sound of an automatic pistol’s slide being racked came from the loft. “Need a hand, Mr. Sullivan?”
The Heavy looked Toru in the eyes. “Naw, Faye. We’re just talking is all.”
“Okay. I’m gonna hang around for a minute if that’s okay, though.”
“Not like this, Toru,” Sullivan lowered his voice. “I know you can fight. We’re not going to brawl with the Pathfinder and we’re sure as hell not going to beat it in a duel. Show me you’re a soldier. You’ve pledged to help me. Prove it. Show me what you’ve got. There’s a fight coming. Show me you can follow orders and function in a unit.” Sullivan spit his cigarette on the ground and smashed it with his boot. “Prove it to me or walk the fuck away.”
The temptation to rend him limb from limb was great, but the obligation was all that mattered. The Chairman’s ghost had asked for this man among the multitude he could have requested among their American foes. He had not asked for a military leader or powerful politician. He had asked for Sullivan for a reason. It was not Toru’s place to judge worthiness, when Okubo Tokugawa had already done so himself.
Fires of purity burn on a Dark Ocean.
Toru let go of Sullivan’s coat. Sullivan shoved him away. The two men glared at each other, nostrils flaring, fists clenched, ready to fight. “I can see now why my father chose you for this mission, though I still do not understand how you could possibly have been strong enough to defeat him. . . .” Toru bowed his head slightly. “I will think about your words.” Then Toru turned, snatched up his tetsubo, and walked quickly from the barn.
“That went well,” Faye said.
Sullivan watched him go.
“About the whole thing with him not getting how come we could beat the Chairman and all . . .” Faye suddenly appeared at Sullivan’s side. “Please don’t mention that was mostly me, okay? He seems mad enough as it is.”
Dan Garrett watched through one of the second-floor farmhouse windows as the Iron Guard stomped away from the barn, red-faced, angry, and with a spiked club in one hand.“What’re you doing?” Jane asked suspiciously.
“Keeping an eye on our friend, the Jap.” The Iron Guard stopped in the middle of a barren field, took a wide stance, raised his club overhead, and then stood as still as a statue. “Right now I think he’s trying to be a scarecrow.”
Jane came over and stood beside him. The Iron Guard wasn’t so much as twitching. “What do you think?” his wife asked nervously.
“About keeping that animal around? I think Jake’s lost his damned mind.”
Suddenly, the Iron Guard moved, striking out at imaginary opponents, moving in a circle, attacking in all directions. “What’s he doing?”
“Practicing how he’s going to cave our heads in when the moment of inevitable betrayal arrives.”
The club came down, back around, and up again. lightning quick. The Iron Guard went through several intricate movements, lashing out, and then leveraging the club as if he was blocking an attack, before returning to the starting position. The constant footwork raised a cloud of dust. It was too far away to hear with the window closed, but from his face it looked as if he was shouting with every swing. Toru was far too graceful for such a muscle-bound hulk and faster than any human ought to be.
Dan was terrified of him, and he had never been kidnapped by an Iron Guard. He could only imagine how his wife was feeling. He reached over and took her hand.
The Iron Guard finished the complicated movements with the club extended in a blow that would pulverize half the bones in a man’s body, and then returned to the same ready position he’d started from. He waited a few seconds and then launched into the exact same series of movements, only faster this time.
“I’m sorry about this, Jane,” Dan muttered. “I know how you must be feeling.”
“I’m fine.”
“With all that happened last year, the very thought—”
“Dan. Look at me.” He complied and stared into her perfect eyes. “What do you see?”
“The beautiful and completely wonderful love of my life?”
“Correct . . .” She gave him a mischievous smile. “And?”
“You’re tougher than you look?”
“Yes. It’s alright. Don’t forget, I’ve been in the Society longer than you have. I grew up with this kind of stress.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “Of course I’m scared of the Imperium elite. Only a fool wouldn’t be.”
“I’m not scared of him.”
Jane cocked her head to the side. “I may not have Hammer’s Power, but your blood pressure is elevated and the muscles around your left eye socket develop a nervous twitch when you’re lying.”
Dan unconsciously put one hand to his eye. “Okay, fine. You got me. I’m scared to death, but not for me. For us. Madi thought you were a valuable commodity, and now Jake is inviting the fox into the henhouse. What happens when Toru makes the same decision? Sure, he might be telling the truth with all that talk about honor and obligations, but what if he changes his mind and decides they’ll take him back if he brings his masters a good enough present? Like maybe a perfectly good Healer and a sack of Grimnoir heads. I’m telling you, no good can come of this. Jake’s lost his damned mind.”
“Jake is afraid, desperate maybe, but not crazy. Judging from the physiological indicators, I’d say that Jake is the most rational one in our group, and you have no idea how much it pains me to say that, since I believe he’s fully willing to throw his life away at the slightest provocation if he thinks it will make a difference. He’s prepared to do whatever he has to in order to win. If that means making a deal with evil incarnate, so be it.”
“Is it worth making a deal with the devil, to beat another, bigger devil?”
“I’m afraid your theological analogy sort of falls apart there, Dan. But if they are even half right about how dangerous the Pathfinder is, can we afford to find out?”
Toru finished yet another set of intricate movements and froze. He held still for what seemed like forever. Unyielding.
“I don’t like it . . . but you’re probably right.”
“I usually am, dear,” she said. Dan just grunted in agreement. Even a man who could magically win any argument wasn’t going to touch that idea with a ten foot pole. One of the cars left the barn and set off down the lane in a cloud of dust. “Who’s leaving?” she asked.
“Jake, Lance, and Ian are going to scout the OCI’s island fortress.”
“And they’re simply leaving the women here alone with that crazy Iron Guard?”
“Hey, I’m here.” To be fair, his Power hadn’t proved the most useful against Iron Guard level willpower, and he knew it. He wasn’t offended. As far as protecting the women folk went, Faye by herself was more than a match for any old Brute, and the French girl was a Torch. It was difficult to be a male chauvinist when women were human flamethrowers or could outfight a platoon of Imperium marines.
“That’s not what I meant.” Jane sniffed. “Of course I know you’ll protect us!”
“It’s okay. I’m not offended. A wise man knows his limitations, though I thought you weren’t worried about him?” He chuckled. “Never mind. I’ll quit while I’m ahead. Don’t worry. I asked for this.” He removed the captured Dymaxion from his pocket. “Mr. Toru doesn’t know this thing exists. If he tries any funny business, he won’t be nearly so tough when he finds out he’s not bulletproof anymore.”
“Oh, Dan. You’re so clever.” She kissed him.
“That’s why you married me, babe.”
OCI Headquarters
FRANCIS TRIED TO REMEMBER exactly how Buckminster Fuller’s drawing had looked before he’d been forced to eat it. A square. A circle. Another circle. Got to get the intersections right. Three triangles stuck together in back. Two squiggly bits that connected all the points. Two? Or was it three? Shit. I haven’t even gotten to the octagon yet.
Frustrated, Francis wiped away the design, smoothed the dust, and tried again. The dim flickering light made it difficult to see and his fingertip wasn’t the most precise instrument, especially when it was attached to a hand that was shackled to a chain.
“What are you doing?” Heinrich asked through the wall.
“Nothing.” I can’t talk about it or they’ll hear us.
“You know, I have been thinking about something.”
Square. Circle. Circle. “Yeah?”
“The one nice thing about them using our bodies as evidence is that they can’t torture us too obviously, plus they have to feed us, and let us use the latrine. To do otherwise would cause suspicion during the investigation.”
Sure, they’d been given water, canned rations, and been unshackled, then handcuffed and taken to the toilet while being watched by five burly guards with clubs and a Dymaxion twice a day, but it wasn’t like they had any opportunity to escape. Heinrich had tried last time, but had only managed to injure two of the guards before being wrestled down, and dragged back to his cell. “Your point?”
“No point. I’m just saying that this could be a lot worse. Starving and wallowing in our own filth before being murdered . . . now that would be unpleasant.”
“Nobody likes annoying optimists,” Francis said.
“And to think that a few days ago you called me a pessimist.”
Francis went back to trying to draw the spell. If only he could get this thing to work, then Heinrich could fade through his chains. Fighting a Fade indoors was suicide. The guards wouldn’t have a chance. All he had to do was perfectly re-create the most complicated spell that he’d ever seen, and then only for a minute, and they could blow up all the Dymaxions and waltz right out of here. Squiggly bits. Octagon . . . Fuck.
Heinrich started to say something but then stopped. The opposite chains rattled for a moment and then his friend was still. Francis could have sworen that he heard whispering. “Heinrich, you okay?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
Heinrich was a strange one, even for a German. Francis shrugged and went back to drawing. A few seconds later he heard a small ticking noise coming from inside the wall. A whisper came through the hole in the bricks. “Shhh, don’t talk. Just listen.”
Lance?
“They’ve got spy holes in the walls. You’re being watched and listened to.” He turned his head enough to see the black head of a rat perched on top of his chain. “Here’s the deal. We’re going to spring you tomorrow.”
Yes! He should have known his friends wouldn’t let him down. He hadn’t given up hope, but he’d been getting close.
Francis urgently tapped his finger in the middle of the spell he was drawing.
“Interesting. What’s that do?”
Francis wrote in the dust. BLOWS UP DYMAXIONS.
“That would be handy,” Lance whispered. “Think you could do that on demand?”
SIGNAL?
“Explosions. Screaming. Gunfire. That kind of thing.”
???
“Well, a maybe is better than nothing. How big do they blow up?”
GRENADE
“I’ll tell Sullivan not to keep his in his pocket then. Anything else you can tell me?”
BRADFORD CARR
“Already know about him.”
Francis smoothed the dust. ATTACK COMING. KILL US. FRAME UP.
The rat made a skittering noise. “Figured as much. Be ready to move quick. If that spell works, great. If not, we’ll come get you boys the hard way.”
FIND BUCKMINSTER FULLER N.Y. HIS SPELL.
“Not much time, but we’ll try . . . Oh, and I can see what you’re doing there. Draw the wavy lines first. Then put the solid shapes on top of them. Easier that way. I’ve been messing with some of the ones Sullivan’s come up with, nothing like that beast, though.”
Francis scowled at the design. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
The rat moved around for a moment. There was a tinkle of metal against the floor. “Here’s some pieces of wire and a nail I found. I did the same thing for Heinrich. Maybe y
ou can pick your lock. I’ll be back with the cavalry tomorrow. You boys hang in there.” And then Lance was gone.
They were going to bust out of here, no matter what. With renewed determination, Francis cleared the dust and started over.
There was only so much he could tell by glassing a dark tree line over and over. The shapes of the buildings could barely be seen and there weren’t very many exterior lights. He couldn’t even pick out the guards. Sullivan finally gave up and lowered the spyglass.
Apparently their Beastie was finished scouting too, and Lance wandered over to join Sullivan on the shore. He had heard Lance’s side of the conversations with Heinrich and Francis. “How bad is it?”
“Exterior wall is solid, and our targets are buttoned up tight in the main building. I counted eighteen heavily-armed men barracked there, our boys, and half a dozen other prisoners in another area. Guards patrol outside, working in pairs. Don’t know how many, but twenty-five bunks in total, though they might sleep in shifts. We could cut the electricity and telephone lines easy enough, but they’ve got a radio transmitter so they’ll still be able to call for help.”
“Only one bridge across. Easy to block our escape, too.”
“Too bad Pirate Bob’s on the other side of the world. Being able to land an armored blimp right on top of them would be mighty convenient.”
Sullivan shook his head. “The Navy’s had their newest carrier tethered over the city since the attack. We come in by air and the Lexington will have fighters on our tail in no time.”
“We’re gonna have to work for this one.”
It was cold on the Virginia side of the river; that humid, pierce-your-clothes kind of misery that made nights like this especially bitter. Sullivan jammed his hands into his pockets and waited for the young Summoner to finish up with his spirits.
Ian was sitting on the lowered tailgate of the truck, talking to thin air. “Good work, Molly. Tell me what’s inside the loud room?” He listened intently as the invisible creature spoke in a way that only Summoners could hear. “You’re so smart. Yes you are. Who’s my good girl? Molly’s my good girl.”
Spellbound: Book II of the Grimnoir Chronicles Page 33