by Dan Knight
~~~~~~
When Jack and Shotgun returned to Babel Tower, they found the remains of dinner on his dining table.
Shotgun cleared the table, “I’ll make us some breakfast.” He walked into the kitchen, and called out, “I’ve got a message, boss. Jazz, Goldie and my girls reached Iron Mountain.”
“Great! All the girls are safe. That’s a relief.”
“Yeah, you’ll love this next bit.”
“What? Is it good? Let me see.”
“Somebody tried diverting all the biots to a tent city in the salt mines.”
“What? There’s plenty of room in the barracks there. That place was built to hold three times the population of Nodlon!”
“Wait for it, boss. Jazz moved Goldie and the girls into her place, and some pinhead with the Evacuation Coordination Office turned them in. Jazz called Princess Virginia, and the Princess called Marshall Arnold.”
“That’s my girl; taking charge and pulling strings.”
Butter knives and forks, and spoons appeared.
“It worked. Nodlon Memorial picked up Goldie’s contract. The hospital gave them an apartment, and Goldie’s enrolled Faith and Hope in a daycare. So they won’t even have to stay in the barracks.
“It’s good to have friends in high places.”
“Yeah, and it gets better. Look.” Shotgun twisted the screen.
“Ha! Virginia shut down those nuts in the E. C. O. All the biots get the same rooms in the barracks. Biots are people too!”
“Are the barracks better than the mines?” Shotgun covered plates with toast, jelly and pats of butter.
“It’s not exactly home, but millions lived in those barracks during the Regressive Wars. I don’t know how anyone can live in the mines.”
“They did good then?” Shotgun filled two bowls with oatmeal.
“Yes, they all did. I’m glad Goldie went with Jazz. I’m proud of Jazz for putting up a fuss, and I’m impressed with Virginia. It’s good to see real leadership out of a teenager. She’s not some wimp going to a conference to listen to some dried up old witches.”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to meeting her. She seems special. If I were in her shoes, I think I’d spend all my time partying in Bermuda.”
“We all would. We’re very lucky to have Virginia as our Princess. We might have been stuck with a dumb fluke.”
“Perhaps, and perhaps our higher power has graced us.”
“I don’t know about that, but I hope it’s true.” Jack shrugged, “Any news from Korman? I want to know if my road show has arrived.”
“No,” Shotgun tapped the screen. “Jazz sent the message. Only priority communication’s relays are allowed. So she used the hospital’s line.”
“Sneaky,” Jack said. “But I’m glad for any news. We’d better catch a nap before Gumshoe calls again. Thank you for breakfast.”
“It’s what you pay me for.”
Port of Moab
Traffic was heavy for a Thursday morning. Gumshoe’s emergency lights parted the traffic. Most people had fled to Iron Mountain. Still, many remained in the city and most of those were in the streets trying to evacuate. Weaving through the frightened crowds, they descended to the level-way, and turned east towards the port of Moab.
As the cruiser ramped up to speed, the Inspector brought them up to date. “A longshoreman found the body of a dwarf girl in the Great River about an hour ago. He called the Moab Surete, and they’re searching the port now. So it’s back to Moab we go.”
Gumshoe checked the autopilot, and let the cruiser slip into the fast lanes. “They’ve recovered three bodies so far.” The autopilot changed lanes. “Lord knows what else they’re going to find. Constable Wiggles is in charge of the investigation. We’re going to meet him at the upper docks.”
“Are they related to our other cases?” asked Jack. “Mercury News is on the warpath. They seem to think these are part of the Zodiac case, but you haven’t said anything.”
“Can’t say over an open channel,” the Inspector grumbled. “The hysteria level is too high. All of the police feeds are being monitored. Even the secure feeds are streaming on the net.”
“How are they connected?”
“By their microchips, the killer ripped their chips out and drained their blood somehow. It’s not much to go on, but at the moment, the only killer on the loose with that M.O. is the Black Dwarf.”
Shotgun said something inaudible, and Jack bit his lip.
“Could they have been killed at the Ritz?” asked Shotgun. “The ballroom was a mess, and they must have killed, what, two people? Maybe there were more?”
“If both of the girls were murdered there,” Jack asked, “why was one disposed of in the sewer, and another in Blueberry Lake?”
“No, I don’t think so, gentlemen.” Gumshoe held up a finger. “We found the blood of two victims in the ballroom. The blood in the Capricorn on the wall was Anna McCarthy’s. Anna was probably murdered there. We haven’t identified the other victim, but he was a human male.”
“Was he murdered?” asked Jack.
“Maybe, but we can’t be sure. We found only traces of his blood to be sure.” Gumshoe tapped the wheel. “Angela must have been killed elsewhere. Maybe she was killed in the fiend’s lair.”
“What about the business manager, Jezebel Steele?” Jack pushed the bloody scene to the back of his mind. “She was slaughtered where she stood and her body left where they killed her. They didn’t take her blood.”
“She didn’t have a microchip,” said Gumshoe. “She was human and they couldn’t use her in their army of mesmerized dwarves.”
“Why didn’t they want her blood?” asked Shotgun. “Nothing was wrong with it.”
“Don’t try to be too rational,” Jack shook his head. “We’re dealing with a sociopath. The Black Dwarf performed some kind of bizarre ritual in the ballroom. He used a dwarf maiden and a man. Maybe it was some sort of bizarre human sacrifice.”
“Why sacrifice Anna, then?” asked Shotgun, “And not Jezebel.”
“Maybe they wanted a virgin. Anna probably was, and Jezebel almost certainly wasn’t. Who knows? But if Angela was murdered as a virgin sacrifice, my theory of a pagan cult trying to summon an ancient demon may be panning out.”
“Maybe, Jack,” Gumshoe said. “It’s still only a theory. They may have murdered Jezebel when they realized she knew too much. She was a loose end they had forgotten.”
Shotgun leaned forward and added his two cents, “I disagree, Inspector. She wasn’t forgotten. The Black Dwarf is pretty brazen. Anyone who will blow up an interplanetary supertanker isn’t going to have a hard time murdering someone in broad daylight.”
“Go ahead Shotgun, butter up the old man,” said Jack. “But you’ve got a point. The Black Dwarf flaunts his power. He enjoys our inability to stop him. I don’t think this guy is planning to retire on Bora Bora.” Jack thought a moment. “Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way. Maybe he wants us to know what he’s doing. He walked into Jezebel’s office with his pet monster and ripped her apart. No one noticed and we caught nothing on camera. Then, he ambushed us on a city street with a military grade lightning cannon. He controls what we know and what we don’t know about his crimes. Maybe he’s only sneaky to throw us off track or waste our time while he sows fear and panic.”
“If you’re right, Jack, he’s doing a good job.”
“All of the missing dwarves sought gene therapy at New Gem,” Shotgun chimed in. “They all worked for the Crown, the Octagon, and the Ministry of Manna. What does it add up to?”
“Not sure yet,” Gumshoe sighed. “Maybe we’ll find some answers in Moab.”
Leaving the level-way, the cruiser slid through the Halls of Industry and into the Strand district. Halls of industry: No great mystery there. When Thornmocker ran out of names he liked, he simply named places for what they were. The Strand separated the Halls from the Harbor of Industry by a few blocks.
/> Here on the Strand, Moab stirred with life. Shops, mills, and wholesale houses bustled. Shipping still flowed up the Great River from the Great Lakes, the Appalachian Mountains, and from the old kingdoms across the sea.
Molemen, goblins, and dwarves pushed carts full of rags, bolts of cloth, and pallets of handicrafts. The cruiser yielded the right of way to tourists and workmen alike. Jack watched a pair of dwarves struggle with a rack of carpet. It’s nothing like the empty halls of broken dreams and shattered illusions in Deep Nodlon.
The cruiser turned off the Strand. A sign welcomed them to the Harbor of Industry. How original? A security guard waved them through.
Gumshoe disengaged the autopilot, and drove carefully down the boardwalk. He turned upriver, and headed towards a collection of emergency vehicles parked in a semi-circle at the end of the boardwalk.
Overhead hoses vacuumed up rice and barley. The hoses rocked and swayed as the bulk cargo flowed into the grain elevators. High above the harbor, a stevedore conducted the activity on the docks from a control room mounted on the dome.
Heavily laden barges rode low in the dark waters. Longshoremen offloaded pallets. Forklifts and levi-trucks choked the piers. They stacked the pallets on the dock in a rough order.
Gumshoe wove through the longshoremen and the chaos. He dodged forklifts and pallets. A motley group of green and blue ambulances, police cruisers, and fire trucks clogged nearly every available space. “We’ll just have to park out here and hope they don’t drop a pallet on my cruiser.”
The Inspector squeezed the cruiser in to a space next to a police cruiser marked with the seal of the Moab Surete. “We’re in luck, Wiggles is here.”
They stepped out of the cruiser and into the cool, crisp air. Jack drew his cloak and followed Gumshoe towards a knot of investigators at the end of the boardwalk.
A longshoreman broke away from his co-workers and turned his forklift at the mage, the Inspector, and the dwarf. The forklift bore down on the trio.
Gumshoe held up a hand. “Halt police!”
The driver waved and turned aside. He stopped the forklift and jumped off. His heavy boots slapped the pavement. Grease and oil blackened his coveralls. He was shorter than the other molemen, but broader.
Gumshoe rubbed his hands, and cracked his knuckles in the cool air. “What can I do you for, sir?”
The longshoreman saluted. “Hello, Inspector. My name’s Hoffer.” Hoffer took in the mage and the dwarf and straightened his careworn coveralls. “How do ya’ do, Mr. Clay? And you must be Mr. Shotgun. I’ve seen y’all on the vid.”
Drawing a dirty rag from his back pocket, he shook it out. Briefly, he wiped his hands in a vain attempt to clean them. He made a decision, and clutched the rag, “Forgive me, Inspector Lestrayed, I’d like to shake your hand, but uh...” he broke off.
“Well, sir, how can we help you?”
“Aye, you’re a gentleman, Inspector, but I ain’t no sir. A workin’ man am I, and a workin’ man I’ll be.” The longshoreman’s eyes searched the dock. “Ah, you’re time is valuable, I understand, so I’ll say my piece quick.
“I found the first girl, just a child really. She was on the boat ramp at the end of the dock. After we found her, we scoured the piers. Call it a hunch, but we had a feeling there would be more. The second one washed up against Pier Six. Then, we found another and then another.” He waved at the emergency vehicles. “Horrible, I’ve never seen anything like that. A cave crab was riding on one of them girls, and I tossed him back. The little bugger wasn’t gonna get a ride here.”
“Have you made a statement, my good man?” asked Gumshoe.
“Aye, I gave a full account to Constable Wiggles, a full account.” He swayed side to side, and flexed his toes. “Yeah, ya’ can read it if ya’ like, though, it’ll do ya’ little good. I pulled the child from the river and laid her mortal remains upon the stones at the end of the boardwalk. Me mates watched over her to keep off the birds, and we called for the cops.
“We were back at work when Crazy Martin found another one on the fisherman’s wharf side.” Hoffer hooked his thumb at the piers on the opposite shore. “One was bad enough, but so many.” His eye grew misty. The honest lug paused for a moment to regain his composure. “Nothin’ else for me to tell; nothin’ that is for your report.”
Gumshoe sighed deeply, took off his fedora, and pinched the brow before setting it back on his head. “So, is there something else you want to tell us? Something you’d rather not have on the record? Some speculation or a hunch, you’d like to share, which may help?” He frowned, and his jowls stiffened.
“Go ahead, Mr. Hoffer. If it’s material, we will have to add it to our report. If it’s speculation, I’ll hear what you have to say, but you must understand I cannot rely on it officially.”
The moleman thought a moment, sizing up the Inspector. His face tried to work out a conclusion. Was the pressure to speak worth the risk of rejection or ridicule? He rubbed his chin, and then made a decision. “Yes sir, I understand. Chalk it up to speculation or a hunch if ya’ will, but I tell ya’ I’ve a powerful intuition all is not right here in Nodlon tonight.”
Hoffer focused his gaze on the faraway, and he recited a verse from a poem. “When the Moon rises and Capricorn is high, the old wives say a dragon will fall from heaven. He will send out his beast, and the world will end.” His gaze fell on Jack, and he mopped his hair to console an inner demon. “They will take away the true believers. The rest of us they leave to ruin.
“A dragon? Do you mean Noddie?”
“Nay, sir,” he said. He cleared his throat, and added a bit of gloom. “No, it ain’t Noddie of whom I speak. It’s a dragon of a kind less physical than myth, and yet as real as my fist. The dragon and his servants will come on the cusp of Capricorn.”
“Why Capricorn, Hoffer?” asked Jack. “Do you have any ideas?”
“It’s the time,” said Hoffer. “All the signs have passed. Nothing is left for the prophecies to fulfill. We are out of time. If you don’t defeat this enemy, we are all doomed.”
“Come on, you old gaffer,” said Jack. “What prophecy are you talking about? Dozens of prophecies fit your story.”
“Mock me if you wish, Mr. Clay. The dragon will con the dwarves. They will place their hope in a paradise on Earth. He’ll mesmerize his followers, and he’ll demand they put their faith in him. Once ensnared, the true believers will obey like zombies. They will live as if undead until someone breaks the spell and releases their souls. Unless that happens, they will die rather than give up their faith.”
“Rather gloomy prophecy, Hoffer,” said Gumshoe. “How do you know all this?”
“I’ve read all the old books.”
“Uh, huh,” Gumshoe shot a glance at Jack.
“Don’t look at me.” Jack held up his palms. “I’ve heard a dozen variations of the same prophecy. He could mean any one of them.”
“All right,“ said Gumshoe. “Hoffer, tell it to me straight without the mumbo jumbo. Are you a true believer?”
Hoffer cocked his head, and his brow crinkled. “Do I look like a zombie?” Holding his hands out palms down, he opened his mouth slack jaw and addled side to side. He mimed a movie version of the undead. “True believers are dupes. I said, he’ll mesmerize them he will.”
“Enough of the histrionics, Hoffer, do you have anything else to offer?”
“Scoff, if ya’ like, Inspector.” The longshoreman examined his boot. “The signs are in the heavens. While he marks the innocent, Nodlon will ignore the warnings as others have. The Zodiac turns while you dither. It’s been thirty years since the last killings, and this isn’t going to stop until you close the gate.”
“Hoffer, there was a series of murders thirty years ago, but we kept it hush-hush. What do know about those murders?”
“I’m not blind Inspector. It’s happening the same way it did then. One of the victims washed out of the river and into the port. Somehow
it stopped, but there were rumors of more victims.”
“Dumping a victim in the river doesn’t require a supernatural explanation, Hoffer. What makes you think those murders thirty years ago are linked to these?”
“I’ve studied the prophecies.” He touched one eye, and he waved towards the knot gathered round the victims at the end of the boardwalk. “He consumes these children to further his purposes. They’re expendable. Besides, you just told me they’re linked.”
“Hoffer,” Gumshoe reddened.
The old geezer grinned and gave him a wink. “Aye, Inspector, you’d not have admitted to knowing about the murders if you hadn’t been thinking the same thing yourself. In those days, I was no older than the boys that went missing. Black dwarves they was then too. Nary a word since then. Like some kind of superstition. Everyone acting as if not talking about it will keep him away. The only way to stop him is to keep the faith. Nodlon has to remain true to Colonel Justin’s promises.”
“Biots are people too, Hoffer,” said Jack. “I believe it, but Colonel Justin promised freedom to the molemen and they have it.”
“Aye, Mr. Clay, Moab is free. Any green man can hold his head up just like a human, but that’s only if he hasn’t got a contract on his head to begin with.”
“True, Hoffer,” said Gumshoe. “And it’s a darned shame too. But the House of Justin has done far more than most politicians; I don’t see that they could do much more than they are. What’s that got to do with the murders?”
A faraway gleam appeared in the longshoreman’s eye, and he straightened his stocky frame. Slowly, he took in each of them. The man, the elf, and the dwarf pondered the moleman for a split second.
“Happiness, Inspector. As long as a man’s got a soul, he’s gotta dream. And as long as he dreams, the dragon can press his advantage. That’s his window. That’s how he poisons men’s hearts, and how he traps his victims. If a man’s soul can’t find its way, he can’t be happy. If a man is trapped, he can be tempted to believe lies. If his soul is dark, he’ll join the dragon willingly. If not, he’ll become a victim.”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Hoffer,” said Gumshoe. “And we really must be going. If we don’t catch these monsters, the whole city will explode.”
“Nodlon will explode anyway, Inspector. Biots have souls too. As long as the biots live hopeless lives of unfulfilled dreams, the dragon will find many followers and many victims.
“Poppycock, Hoffer,” said Jack. “Biots dream. I know, I’m half-biot and I dream all the time. Biots are people too. I agree with you there, man. Few of us have a family, and even fewer have a home. I know I’m one of the lucky few, but I grew up in an agency’s dorm and I know what every biot in the city faces. It’s not fair, and it isn’t pretty. I’ll grant you that. But if your theory was correct, Nodlon would be burning now.”
“To be sure, Mr. Clay very few biots would willingly give the dragon their lives. Very few would kill for him. But they don’t know any better. No man knows what he’ll do when he’s at the end of his rope. He panics. He sees things. Maybe, he goes mad. He knows no more what he does than a stag in the woods.” Hoffer’s tone dropped, “Nevertheless, Nodlon will pay for what happens to the biots. As long as their dreams are squashed, there will be some who answer the dragon’s call. That’s why they say it takes faith. Nodlon has to let the biots go or face the consequences. You can destroy a man’s dreams, but you can’t destroy his soul. That’s the source of the dragon’s power.”
“No one in Nodlon has a soul.” Jack scoffed, “No one has a soul because there’s no such thing as souls. If biots runaway and fall prey to the Black Dwarf, it’s because of discontent. It certainly has nothing to do with souls. Of all the people in Nodlon, I don’t blame them. I’m a biot too, and Princess Virginia has tasked me to help her free them. I will do everything I can as soon as I get a chance. If we can stop this Black Dwarf fiend, maybe I will get that chance. But there’s no such thing as souls, Hoffer, and if all of the biots in Nodlon were freed tomorrow, there would still be malcontents. If the dragon gets his jollies murdering malcontents, we will have to learn to live it. Life isn’t fair, and yet life goes on. What else can anyone do about it?”
Hoffer pursed his lips, and looked down at his boots. “I don’t blame ya’ at all for thinking that. Right ya’ are not only by your lights but by the facts plain as day. You’re right that the dragon can always count on the malcontents. There’s always exceptions too when the wrong people cross his path. What I’m saying is this: Nodlon is under attack! Nodlon’s forgotten what it owes the biots! Oh, I don’t mean Nodlon’s people individually. I mean the power Nodlon has collectively to take the lives of biots and grind them into dust.” Hoffer shook his head sadly, “Oh, many will not cave in to the dragon. They will accept their lot and go on against all odds, and they’ll hope there’s some reason for it. Somehow, they will do what’s right. They can’t explain why. They only know a flame burns in their own hearts. Still many will go into the dark. The dragon has that power over their minds.”
“Hoffer, I’m sorry,” said Jack. “I’m sure you mean well, and generally I agree with you. Nodlon owes it to the biots to treat them like they’re human beings. I just don’t think this has anything to do with the murders or catching the Black Dwarf.”
Hoffer grabbed a rail on his forklift, and climbed up its side with surprising grace and agility for one so large. “Good day to ya’ sirs, then,” He put two fingers to his temple, and saluted in his odd way. “I can see you’ll not be needing any more of my advice. Got to be goin’ about my work.”
“If I have any questions,” Gumshoe asked, “where can I find you?”
“Always here, Inspector, and if I’m not, Lucky will know how to reach me. He’s the foreman.” Hoffer drove his forklift away.
Jack and Shotgun huddled around Gumshoe. “What was that about?” asked Jack.
“All is not right here in Nodlon tonight,” mocked Shotgun. “Go figure, dozens of dead black dwarves, and five murdered girls? Where does he think we’ve been, under a rock?”
“Keep an open mind,” said Gumshoe. “Either he’s a crackpot, or he’s letting on more than he’s telling.”
“Another crackpot,” Shotgun asked. “How many will we run into on this case?”
“Crackpots follow me wherever I go,” said Jack. “They’re a paranormal phenomenon common to a supernatural life. Happily, they’re mostly harmless.”
“Every case has its share of crackpots baying at the moon,” added Gumshoe. “With the vid coverage of the murders, it’s no surprise we’ve had more than our share. Bound to be more of them trying to read our palms or divine our future before we’re through.”
“And don’t forget that detail about snaring them with temptation and then mesmerizing them.” Shotgun sniffed, “Yeah that made sense.”
“The ambush was all over the news,” said Jack. “Bet he saw it all on the net. All the black dwarves were zombies before we restored them.”
“All the victims were tempted by hope,” said Shotgun. “That part makes sense. The hope of a better life tempted them to go to New Gem. There they were shanghaied. The rest of his story sounds like gibberish. It’s got nothing to do with the heavens.”
“What of the inane babble about prophecy?” Jack said, “A dragon will destroy the world, signs in the heavens, the Zodiac turns, and the undead walk. Sounds like mumbo-jumbo out of a cheap, horror flick.”
“Who is the dragon he kept on about?” asked Shotgun. “We’re looking for a black dwarf aren’t we?”
“Could be any of a dozen myths,” said Jack. “Around the world since the dawn of the time, dragons are always villains. It wasn’t until recently they became sensitive, friendly creatures in our popular culture.”
“Shotgun, check the net.” Gumshoe threw back his trench coat, and scratched his chin. “Have there been any leaks? No one should know about New Gem.”
“I can look into it.” S
hotgun tapped his laptop.
“Thanks, Shotgun. Please do.”
“Somehow he knows a lot about the old murders,” said Jack. “How did he know about those murders thirty years ago?”
“Intuition perhaps,” said Gumshoe. “Can’t be sure, I was a greenhorn on traffic. All I heard was rumors, but I think the bodies were dumped here too. Maybe he found one and he’s trying to make sense of it.”
“Intuition?” asked Jack. “Finding the girls may have jogged his memory. Maybe he can’t remember the full story, but he can fill in the blanks with rumor and an overactive imagination.”
“Whatever he remembers,” said Gumshoe. “He’s conflated what he’s read, and what he’s seen in the news. He may be on to something, if not for solving the case, then certainly for his peace of mind. He wasn’t as upset as most of us because he has a theory that makes sense to him.”
“Do you think he’s involved?”
“No,” snorted the Inspector. “He just has a hunch.” Gumshoe struck the pose of an ever-vigilant watch dog. “We’ll have to keep an eye on Hoffer now, though.”
“Inspector,” said Shotgun. “There’s nothing on New Gem. The ambush is all over the net, but there’s nothing about the dwarves being mesmerized or the stunned dwarves recovering. I’m sure our secret isn’t out there unless it’s on the rumor mill no one’s posted the gossip.”
“Rather hard to believe,” said Jack. “The Surete knows and the hospital staff. Yet no one has leaked it? Incredible.”
“Miracles never cease,” said Gumshoe.