Francis’s hands curled into fists and he went after the doctor, still demanding to be heard. “When I buy this place, the first thing I’ll do is fire you!” He disappeared into the mob.
Faye sighed. It had been a very tiring day. Mr. Rawls patted her gently on the knee. Harkeness had sulked away as soon as there was a crowd. “Your friend isn’t very nice,” Faye said.
“Kristopher is having a difficult time, I’m afraid. The loss of his granddaughter is weighing on him greatly. We have no idea which way they went and they have a long head start on us.”
She could understand. She couldn’t bear to think of what that bully Mr. Madi would do to poor delicate Jane. “Mr. Harkeness said he’s something like a Healer, but he couldn’t help Mr. Browning or Mr. Garrett. What good is he?”
“He has some minor Power where he can stop the spread of disease. He kept their wounds from becoming infected. There are degrees of Healers, and in that family, I’m afraid that his descendents inherited far more Power than he has,” he sighed.
“You sound really tired, Mr. Rawls.”
“I am, dear. The elders sent me to secure the Geo-Tel”—he gestured around the dazed and ashen crowd.—“and none of you know about it, so I’ve failed. Pershing took it to his grave, but I think he underestimated the Chairman. He will find it unless we can destroy it. You see this, Faye? Imagine this a thousand times worse. Why, a single firing of the Geo-Tel could destroy all of California. America would fall, Europe would fall, and the whole world would surrender to the Imperium’s horrible ways.”
“That’s terrible.” Her heart ached at the sight of the people suffering. A little boy was crying, tears cutting paths through the dirt on his cheeks, and it reminded her of how her brothers had looked, tears tracking mud through the dust that had caked onto their faces when the soil had gotten all dry and the wind had blown it all away. Only this time it wouldn’t be big clouds of dirt covering the sky, it would be ashes from all the beautiful cities burning. “I promised to kill the Chairman.”
He shook his head. “Poor child. You don’t realize, but we’ve tried, many times. He simply will not die. We’ve burned him, shot him, stabbed him, blown him up with bombs on many occasions. The Grimnoir have sent men to poison him, but he doesn’t need to eat or drink, we’ve tried to capture him in his sleep, but he doesn’t sleep. We once had a Torch scorch his flesh away in a pillar of fire, and he walked out, his clothes burned off, but he was fine. A Grimnoir knight once blew up a bridge while a train he was riding in was passing over it. The whole thing fell five hundred feet into a ravine and the Chairman walked out without so much as a scratch.”
“But there has to be a way!” Faye insisted. “I could Travel right next to him.”
“Others have tried. Basically you can’t get close unless he lets you and that only happens while he’s killing you. He has a strange Power that lets him pull all the knowledge and life right out of someone, just by laying his hands on them. The elders discussed how to destroy him with our smartest Cogs. Perhaps a direct hit with a Tesla weapon could do it, but other than that . . .” Isaiah shrugged.
So if you can’t kill him, that’s why the Grimnoir put so much effort into messing up his plans . . . She had promised General Pershing not to share his memories with anyone else, but Mr. Rawls was right. The Chairman was too smart. He’d find the piece on his own, just like he’d somehow tracked down Grandpa. She’d barely known the General. Maybe his sickness had made it so he wasn’t making the best decisions . . . and she felt like she could trust Mr. Rawls. He wasn’t just Grimnoir, he was like a boss Grimnoir, and if she couldn’t trust them, then she’d never be a proper knight like her Grandpa had been.
Faye looked around to make sure no one was listening in. She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “I know where it is.”
Mr. Rawls smiled.
Mar Pacifica, California
The Tempest made excellent time and he was in California before the smoke had even settled. Cornelius had commandeered one of the UBF Weathermen stationed at the Empire State Building and put him to work making sure that they’d had the wind at their back the entire way. It had left the Active exhausted, and it would probably cause erratic weather patterns across the entire nation in their wake, but it was a small price to pay.
They’d flown over the impact area and he couldn’t believe his eyes. His son had insisted on building an estate on the rocky finger of land that had jutted into the ocean because it was so green and beautiful. Now it was wiped bare, under ash as thick as Michigan snow. The mansion was simply gone, timber and brick burned or hurled into the sea.
His hopes had been dashed. Nobody could have lived through that. Not even a Stuyvesant, and they had a talent for surviving anything. His once favorite heir was surely dead.
Oh, the way they’d fought. The boy had always been a rascal. While Cornelius could barely stand most of his heirs, brownnosers and sycophants the lot of them, young Francis had not been afraid to say what was on his mind, and he’d loved him for it. He was as much a contrarian at heart as the eldest Stuyvesant, and it did Cornelius proud to see that Stuyvesant fire in another generation.
Francis’s father, Cornelius’s least disliked son, had been a congressman and then ambassador to Japan. It was during that time that he had met John Pershing, and young Francis had taken a liking to the soldier. His father was too busy womanizing and collecting bribes to have given the boy a proper upbringing, so of course Francis had gravitated toward the manly activities of horsemanship and shooting. Cornelius had approved at first.
It wasn’t until after they got back to Japan that he realized how much nonsense Pershing had put into his grandson’s head. Francis was preoccupied with frivolous things, like right and wrong. Apparently he’d seen some atrocity or another at an Imperium school and that had soured his outlook on profiting from the Chairman’s wild spending. His son had no such qualms, and had arranged many lucrative deals, but Francis would have none of it.
Then his son had died. It had been right after an argument with Francis, where the young man had stormed out, vowing to have nothing to do with his family. They said that it was a suicide, but Cornelius knew that was a filthy lie. No Stuyvesant would ever lower himself to such a fate. He knew that it had to be the work of that vile Pershing. No, it wasn’t enough to turn his favorite heir, the boy who was his spitting image of his own youthful vigor, against him. Pershing and his mysterious Society had surely killed his son as well.
So he’d sought out a Pale Horse. With Pershing’s foul influence gone then surely Francis would see reason and come back to the family, but as he looked out the windows at the wreckage, he knew in his heart that he’d been wrong, terribly wrong, and he could never take it back.
There was a polite cough behind him, and he turned to see a surgical mask. It took him a moment to remember why everyone was wearing masks. “What? Can’t you see I’m mourning, idiot?”
“Sir, we have received a message. There were some survivors. Someone claiming to be a Stuyvesant is at a hospital north of here.”
He looked back at the house. Impossible. But it was hard to keep a Stuyvesant down. Could it be? “What are you waiting for? Fire up the engines!” he shouted. “Full speed ahead!”
Chapter 20
Gott in Himmel. Lassen Sie uns bitte sterben.
Translated: God in Heaven, please let us die.
—Graffiti seen in Dead City, 1925
San Francisco, California
Harkeness was smoking a cigarette on the hospital roof when Isaiah found him. The Pale Horse had wanted to be alone with his dark thoughts. In a foul mood, he tossed the butt over the side and watched it fall.
“Good news,” Isaiah said. Pershing told the Traveler girl where to find Southunder.
“Really? Her?” The old man had been getting desperate.
She’s stronger than you realize. Pershing saw that. Isaiah joined him at the railing. “It is done. I’ve already made the call.”
The Chairman will have possession of the complete Geo-Tel in a matter of hours. Pershing hid it right under his nose.
If Isaiah felt any guilt for taking advantage of such an innocent, he did not let it show. The Reader had suffered so much at the hands of the willfully ignorant and evil that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to accomplish their mission. “So that’s it . . . All we can do now is wait.”
And pray.
Harkeness nodded thoughtfully. There was no turning back now. But there never was, not after so many sacrifices . . . Jane had merely been the latest, an innocent girl swept up into their grand scheme, but if this worked, then her sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. The years of lies, the oaths broken, and the hundreds of lives he had taken would have meant something.
“I would join you in prayer, old friend, but I’m afraid that God will not listen to the likes of me.”
Francis grimaced as the doctor ran the needle back and forth through the skin of his forehead, stitching the nasty gash back together. He’d bashed his head on a rock in the cave while thrashing back and forth trying to squeeze into the ocean. It had been the most frightening thing he’d ever done and he knew that he was lucky to be alive.
But he didn’t feel lucky.
“No Healers, huh?” Lance asked from the other table. He’d broken at least one rib, and they were guessing that he might have cracked his hip. Lance looked like Francis felt.
“Once I convinced them who I am, it didn’t matter anyway,” he muttered. The one the hospital had on call was away in Hollywood tending to some starlet’s sprained ankle and it was unknown when he would get back. “We can’t wait around.”
“I’m mobile,” Lance said, trying to sit up.
“Hold still,” the nurse ordered him.
He sighed and lay back down. They had to be careful what they said in front of witnesses. “John and Dan are out, but we’ve got Rawls and his man.”
“Where do we start?” Francis asked, already knowing that it would be futile. Madi was long gone by now, which meant that Jane was as good as dead.
“We split up, probably groups of two, start chasing down leads.”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” the young doctor working on Francis’s head said. “Neither of you is in any shape and there are some government men outside waiting to speak with you.”
“I already explained everything,” Francis complained. He’d told the state police about how he’d been giving his guests a tour of his mansion’s basement when there had been a bright light and a cave in. Lance and John were both officially dead. They had fake identities, but he knew that as soon as word got to the police that both Browning and Garrett had bullet wounds, then their story was out the window. Right now they were victims, but they needed to get out before the authorities decided that they were somehow involved with the Peace Ray attack.
“One of them is from the Army,” the nurse cleaning up Lance added helpfully. “He said he had a message for the survivors, but I told him he’d have to wait.”
“What kind of message?” Lance asked suspiciously.
She shrugged. “Beats me, something about Imperial blimps. He was talking to that white-haired negro.”
Francis was off the table, pushing past the doctor before she had even finished speaking. The iodine-soaked thread swung back and forth in front of his eye as he shoved the doors open.
In the hallway, a young man in an Army aviator’s uniform was walking away. Isaiah Rawls was reading a typed note. He saw Francis coming. “Now stay calm, I—” Francis tore the note from his hand and scanned it quickly.
“Sullivan, you son of a bitch,” Francis said, grinning. The Chairman’s personal airship! This had to be it. The timing was too perfect. That had to be where Madi had taken Jane. “We can go after them right now.” His pocket watch had been smashed on the rocks, but there was a clock on the waiting room wall. They had one hell of a head start, but if they hurried—
“No,” Isaiah said sternly. He leaned in close so the other people in the area couldn’t listen in. “It is too dangerous.”
“What?” Francis couldn’t believe his ears. “Are you daft, man? They’ve got my friend.”
“Even if you could catch them, you expect to board the Tokugawa, defeat its whole crew, and get away? You don’t even know that’s where they are. All you have is the word of one untrustworthy Heavy that he saw it docked with a ship off the coast.”
“It’s more than we’ve got now,” Francis spat.
“No wonder the elders sent me out here. Pershing’s lack of caution has trickled down. You think it’s wise to throw away the lives of an entire cadre of knights on a hunch? Listen to me carefully, Francis. We will get your Healer back, but we need to be smart. An overt attack on the Imperium’s flagship would be war.”
Francis didn’t care who heard. He threw his hands wide and shouted. “Look around you, Rawls. This is war!” Dozens of eyes turned toward them. “Yes, it was the Imperium who did this!” The other patients and hospital staff began to mutter.
The senior Grimnoir appeared ready to explode. His voice was a barely audible hiss. “Calm. Down,” Isaiah ordered, and Francis could feel the matching thoughts inside his head. “You will not go after that ship. That is an order. You took an oath, and part of that is that you’ll follow the elders. There are plans within plans, and your half-cocked actions will have repercussions.”
Francis was seething. “What are you so scared of?”
“The Tokugawa must not be harmed. There are bigger things afoot than you understand, young man. You need to trust me.”
Before Francis could respond there was a commotion at the main desk. A group of men in suits and surgical masks were pouring into the waiting area, and in their midst appeared a fat, bellowing, bull of a man, sputtering and swearing. “Who’s in charge of this fiasco? I demand to speak with the head!” He pulled down his surgical mask revealing a face that was red and sweating and shouted at the top of his considerable lungs. “Bring me my grandson!”
“Grandfather?” Francis asked in bewilderment. He turned back to Isaiah, but the Grimnoir elder had his head down and was retreating down the hall. “Grandfather Cornelius?”
“Francis!” Cornelius Gould Stuyvesant lumbered down the hall, past startled onlookers, and engulfed Francis in a hug. His belly was so large that his arms wouldn’t close around Francis’s back. “You’re alive! Thank God, boy.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked in disbelief, taking in the wall of surgical masks that were watching him. “I don’t—”
“I’ve come to take you home, Francis,” he said. “Oh my, look at that awful wound. What are you doing, getting stitches like a commoner? Howard!” He snapped his fingers. “Heal this man!” One of the masks stepped forward.
Francis grabbed Cornelius by the lapels and jerked him forward. Francis was much taller and stronger, and he swung the fat man around so hard that the security men reached into their coats for their pistols. “You’ve brought a Healer?”
His Grandfather was shocked by the rough treatment. “Of course. When I’d heard of the tragedy, I gathered all of my staff into my fastest prototype airship and came straightaway.”
“Fastest . . .” he let go of Cornelius. “You have this ship here?”
“The Tempest is docked at the city terminal. It will need to be serviced but we could be on our way back to New York within a few hours. I—”
Francis pointed at the Healer. “Howard, right?” The man nodded. “Follow me. Grandfather, I’m going to need to borrow that dirigible.”
Faye found Heinrich Koenig in the morgue. The room was empty of live people except for him, sitting the wrong way on a chair with his arms folded on the backrest, though there were plenty of dead people lying around. She was a little taken back by the number of shapes under white sheets.
Heinrich had heard the boots hit the floor when she’d Traveled in. He turned to regard her. The young man appeared very tired, with dark circles under hi
s eyes. “Hello, Faye.”
“Everybody else is getting patched up . . . I . . .” She hadn’t wanted to be alone with a bunch of strangers, so she’d found the man who’d shot her in the heart instead, because at least she kind of knew him, but saying that out loud seemed silly. “Whatdoing?” she blurted.
Heinrich turned back to the sheet-covered body. Long dark hair hung loose from one end. “One last vigil, I suppose . . . I promised Sullivan I would see to her.” He gestured at Delilah. “I know that there are more pressing matters, but there is something I must do.”
Faye was confused. “Like what? We’ve got to start looking for Jane, so we don’t really have time for a funeral or nothing.” The arrangements for Grandpa’s funeral had seemed to take forever, and that was even after he’d been burned to near nothing with the haystack.
He gave a sad little shake of his head. “Nothing like that. We must see to the living first, though I’m afraid that it is too late for Jane. No, afterward, I will dig Delilah’s grave myself. I have much practice at digging graves.”
She leaned on a big porcelain sink and waited for him to continue. There was a rusty drain hole in the floor and the idea of what it was for made her uncomfortable. Heinrich rubbed one hand over his face and she saw that he had his Luger sitting in his lap. “Why the gun?”
“Because sometimes when a Lazarus creates undead the effect can linger for awhile. Sometimes if the Active is strong enough, it can last for hours, and anyone who dies in that place could have their spirit trapped . . . When I followed the orderlies down here with her body, I thought that I felt a tingle of magic.”
“You think Delilah could be a . . . zombie?” she asked, incredulous.
He shrugged. “Probably not, but if she is, I will deal with it on my own and spare her dignity. It is a terrible fate, and one that I would never willingly have fall on another. I have known of people waking up as much as twenty-four hours after their death, and they do not even realize it.”
Hard Magic: Book I of the Grimnoir Chronicles-ARC Page 32
