“How capable are we talking about here?” Sullivan asked. “Because, no offense, Zhao. If that ashtray can help fight the Pathfinder, I’ll buy Pang a new ashtray.”
“Let me phrase this diplomatically,” Toru said, which meant he was about to do nothing of the sort. “I have seen that glorified heavy suit which John Browning and Buckminster Fuller built for you in preparation for our mission. Compared to Nishimura Combat Armor, it is archaic junk, as if fashioned by monkeys using bones and rocks as tools. So you can see why I must claim this helmet—”
Pang shouted something.
“Ashtray,” Zhao corrected.
“Helmet,” Toru growled. “I will claim this and hope that it salvageable. If these barbarians did not do too much damage to it, perhaps I can still put it to some use.”
Zhao translated all of that, and from the reactions of the Shanghai Grimnoir, Zhao had done so in a much nicer way than Toru had. They still seemed either angry or ready to fight, but whatever he said did take it down a notch. Zhao and Pang began debating back and forth, but at least it wasn’t so heated anymore that somebody was likely to get hacked to bits.
Something brushed his sleeve. He hadn’t even heard Lady Origami approach. Everybody else was still paying attention to the loud, dangerous ones. She stood on her tippy-toes, and he still had to bend a bit so she could whisper in his ear. “I understand some. I know some Mandarin.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Many Marauders from China. These men are trying to save face. Pang did not battle Iron Guards. These men are brave, but not stupid. He stole a crate from an Imperium train. The armor was inside. They did not know what it was.”
“There’s more of it?”
“The Icebox child is saying they could not make the magic work, and it was too heavy to wear. Only Pang was strong enough to carry it all, but he was too fat to fit, so it was left in the crate and hidden.”
Zhao made eye contact with Sullivan. He didn’t need to be a Reader to know they were on the same wavelength. “I would suggest that our guest apologizes to Mr. Pang, and perhaps an arrangement can be worked out.”
“Hey, Toru. You heard the man. Apologize.”
Toru’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Are you deliberately trying to provoke me, Sullivan?”
“Well, I ought to let you suffer for insulting John Browning’s craftsmanship, but if you want the rest of this armor, then you’ll apologize to Pang.”
“What?”
“The whole suit.”
That obviously got him. Sullivan had no idea if this Nishimura stuff was as great as Toru made it out to be, or if it was more of his usual smug superiority about all things Japanese, but either way, it was enough to make him swallow his pride. He turned to face the fat Brute and gave a small bow. “I apologize for insulting you.” Toru had to pause to lick his teeth, like the words left a nasty taste. “I acted impulsively.”
Zhao translated. While he thought it over Pang stroked his pointy little beard, which was the only thing on his entire body which could be described as thin. Pang answered. Zhao turned back to Toru. “And?”
Surely the Iron Guard had to call upon his Diplomatic Corps training to utter the next bit without laughing in Pang’s face. “I am certain now that you defeated an Iron Guard in battle. You are obviously a great warrior.”
“That must be some damn impressive armor,” Heinrich whispered.
Zhao translated. Pang responded in the affirmative and then it was smiles all around, except for Toru, who immediately ripped the helmet out of the floor and dumped the cigarette butts everywhere. He ran a hand down one horn, almost reverentially. “Take me to the remainder immediately.”
Pang just stared at him for a second, and then said something to Zhao, who didn’t even need to translate.
Toru sighed. “Please.”
Zhao was grinning. It wasn’t every day you got to humiliate an Imperium killing machine. “It is stored downstairs. There are dry pockets on the first floor where no one would ever think to look. Come. We will show you.” Several of the Shanghai Grimnoir filed out for the stairs, Toru right behind them, cradling his precious helmet. He would probably hold a grudge and plot their deaths, but as long as they held it together until the Pathfinder was dead, Sullivan could deal with it.
Lady Origami waited for the others to leave before addressing Sullivan. “Earlier, I made a mistake.”
“What about?”
“Toru’s apology. I was wrong. He can lie.”
Wannsee, Germany
“I thought you said you were leaving after one day?”
Jacques jumped. He had not heard Faye enter the hotel room. But then again, Faye didn’t enter anything in the normal sense. She simply willed herself into existence wherever she felt like and scared the hell out of whoever was there.
The elder made a big show of putting one hand over his heart. “I’m an old man. Don’t do that to me.”
Faye was bone-tired weary, and coated in the grey dust of Dead City. She wasn’t in the mood for Jacques’ banter, so she merely walked past him and flopped into the nearest chair. It knocked a choking cloud of dirt off of her clothing, but she was too tired to care. She’d spent days studying and thinking about the drawings, and then another day collecting them after she gave up on the studying. The satchel which had been filled with art supplies was now filled with Zachary’s drawings, and it made a loud thump as it hit the hotel room’s floor.
“I . . . I was going to take the train, but I decided to give you more time. I am glad I did. Are you alright, dear? Can I get you anything?”
Like she’d ever drink or eat anything from him again, what with all those pictures of him thinking about poisoning her. “I found Zachary.”
“You did?” Jacques pulled out the other chair, sat down on it, and leaned way forward, curious and eager. “Is he all right?”
She shook her head. “He’s dead. Not alive dead, but dead dead. Zombies are so complicated. Real forever dead, I mean.”
“Did you . . .”
“Oh, Jacques,” Faye gave a tired smile. “I’m still not the monster you think I am.”
“I did not mean to imply—”
“Naw. He stuck himself in a furnace when we were done talking. He was just plain worn out and didn’t want to hurt no more. Can’t rightly blame him.”
His expression was unreadable. “Zachary was a good man.”
“I could tell.”
Jacques leaned forward in his chair until his elbows rested on his knees. “What did he show you?”
“All sorts of stuff. Things that have happened, will happen, might could, maybe, heck, I don’t know. I’m still sorting it out. I gathered them all up.” She touched the satchel with one foot. “But I do know one thing for sure.”
“That is?”
“Me and you? We’re done.” Faye kept her voice even, and though it was hard, she was exhausted, starving, and trying not to be emotional. She didn’t deal well with betrayal. “You were aiming to kill me.”
“No.” Jacques looked her in the eye. “I have kept my word. You are aware of how I voted. I explained to you my reasons. That was never a secret, but I have stayed my hand since we first met.”
“I know it’s been hard for you. You can’t shake your doubts. You’ve seen too much of what it means to be the Spellbound. I know about the poison in your pocket,” Faye stated. “Surprised you didn’t poison all those cookies, but then you’d likely have gotten yourself by accident too. I bet you never met a cookie you didn’t eat eventually.”
To his credit, Jacques didn’t flinch or try to lie his way out it. The elder played the vapid man of leisure really well, but Faye knew he was just as hard as any Grimnoir. He reached for his shirt pocket and removed a small vial. “It is a lethal neurotoxin. The effects are immediate and painless. Of course, I thought about using it many times since we met, believe me. Yet, I have refrained. I would ask you to show me the same courtesy now. Since you did not immediately take
my head upon your return, then I can only assume Zachary showed you the future, and perhaps now you understand my dilemma. Was it the same one I saw?”
“You saw a future, but it ain’t the only one.”
“So there are more possible outcomes now? That is certainly better than before.” There was a glimmer of hope in Jacques’ voice.
And then Faye took that hope and squashed it. “More, sure, but most are still evil. So darn many evil ones that I couldn’t even guess which one it was you saw that got you spun up enough to have Whisper murder me in the first place. You’re still more than likely right, and I’m more than likely going to meet a bad end. So today’s your lucky day, Jacques. I get it. I know why you’re willing to do what you’re willing to do.”
“I am so very sorry.” And she knew he was totally sincere.
“So yeah, you’re right. One day the society will probably have to turn on me, and the only real question is, do you do it now while you can maybe still handle me, or do you wait to see, hope against hope, that maybe I get lucky and master this thing, but if you have mercy, and wait, and get it wrong, then you know I’ll beat you all. You didn’t say that before, but you know I’m already stronger than Sivaram ever was. Hard as he was, you know I’m better. If the Power is experimenting on Actives, you know I’ll show it better than Sivaram ever could manage. I scare you now. You give me time and you know you’ll never be able to take me.”
Jacques nodded slowly. “You are correct, Faye. We have taken an oath to protect man from magic. You understand now what your magic is truly capable of. That is the quandary I find myself in. You are not yet, but may well be, the greatest threat to innocent life we have ever seen.”
“Only I’ve got a bigger problem for you.” Faye reached down and opened the satchel. The pictures she wanted had been left right on top of the stack. They were easy to find, all crumpled up by Zachary’s frustrated hands. “There’s something bigger coming. Something Zachary couldn’t even draw, and as scary as the Spellbound curse is, the Enemy is worse.”
Jacques took the picture and looked at the ragged, blood-smeared hole torn in the page. “What manner of madness is this?” But much as when Faye had studied it before, the longer you started at the chaotic patterns, the more the Enemy took shape. Jacques gasped and dropped it almost as if it burned.
“You can feel it looking back, can’t you?”
“It is real, then.” Jacques unconsciously rubbed his hands on his pants, as if he’d touched something icky and wanted it off his skin. “Sweet, merciful God, it is real.”
“Told you so. I was right. Mr. Sullivan was right. Even the Chairman was right. Most of all, the Power was right. And all the bad endings you can imagine from the Spellbound curse won’t make a lick of difference, because if we don’t stop that first, then there won’t be any future at all. So evil as you think I may become, that thing is evil now. I ain’t got nothing on it.”
The picture of the Enemy had fallen on the rug. Jacques was still staring at it, like it wanted to crawl out of the ink and eat their souls. “What do you intend to do?”
“I don’t know yet. Win . . . Somehow.”
He was shaken, but he found his spine. “What do you want from me? What can I do to help?”
“Tell the elders I’m still alive, and then tell them to stay out of my way. Convince them that we’re about to get attacked, everywhere, and that we’ll need to be ready. Convince everybody. The pictures show men that ain’t really men, and they’re hiding, waiting, all over the whole wide world, ready to start collecting Actives. I need to find my friends before it’s too late. They don’t know what they’re getting into against this old samurai with the shadow living inside his head. They’re in the pictures, in a city with funny buildings and oriental writing on the signs.”
Jacques was still distracted by the idea that he’d been wrong, that magic was about to be chased from the world, and all life on Earth was about to be extinguished. “Shanghai. Jake Sullivan’s expedition is in Shanghai,” he mumbled.
Faye got up and gathered her meager belongings. “Power made me the Spellbound for a reason. Some of the other folks it picked before weren’t good enough, so I need to set things straight, take back things that have been done wrong. I’ve got some things I need to do first, then I’m going to Shanghai to beat this thing once and for all,” she stated with grim determination before she Traveled away.
Then she nearly scared Jacques to death for a second time when she reappeared a moment later. “Wait . . . Where is Shanghai, anyway?”
Art to come
Evil Fay
Chapter 15
If there is one lesson which I could pass down it is this: It does not matter what situation the adventurer finds himself in, from stalking lions in the tall grass, to living among cannibal tribes in New Guinea, or riding a raft over a giant waterfall. If you expect to survive, you must keep your wits about you. You must keep your firearms clean, your knives sharp, and—if you are lucky enough to have it—your magic ready, but no amount of Power or equipment or fancy kit will make up for a lack of brains and guts. When danger looms, don’t hesitate, commit.
That reminds me of a story about this one time I was mountaineering in Tibet . . .
—Lance S. Talon,
Journey Into Danger, 1923
Free City of Shanghai
It would be the last time the commanders would meet before the attack. The main floor of the rotting safe house was absolutely packed. It was dangerous to put them all here, as a single Japanese artillery shell could cut the head right off their conspiracy and end their hastily laid plans in one ugly strike, but it was necessary. Sullivan would trust any of these men with his life, but he hadn’t been able to brief them on all the details before leaving the Traveler, partly because they’d been worried about somebody getting rolled up by the secret police, but mostly because at that point he hadn’t really worked out all the details.
The seventeenth was the date of the riot they’d paid for, and it was coming up fast.
Luckily, a coded message had arrived from Buckminster Fuller, and it had contained the last thing he’d been hoping for. The note had read: It works. Mostly. And then there had been a handful of doodles and numbers which would have seemed like gibberish to anybody else, but Sullivan had gotten the idea. It wasn’t perfect. Not even close, but it might give them a shot.
Sullivan had sent for the others. It had taken another two days to move everyone out of sight of the stepped up patrols and army of snitches, but he’d gotten them all here. It was good to see them. Luckily they hadn’t lost a knight to the city yet. Shanghai was such a large, busy, crime-ridden city that even though the Imperium had the local government under their thumb, they couldn’t possibly watch everything.
The senior members of the expedition were still committed as ever. A week hiding in Shanghai’s slums hadn’t dulled the knights’ enthusiasm. Barns had come representing the Traveler. Sullivan had hoped to leave the ship out of the assassination attempt, but that wasn’t looking likely, considering how Fuller’s gizmo worked. Fuller’s plan sounded nuts, but Barns swore up and down the Marauders could pull it off.
So far they’d covered the basics, assigned duties and decided who would best serve in which element of the assault, determined their areas of responsibilities, and planned their potential escape routes. If the Grimnoir were going to succeed in exposing the false Chairman, then they would need to execute the plan flawlessly, and that meant that they needed to go over every last detail with painstaking care.
Lance whistled at a particularly bad detail. “The hell you say. How many Iron Guards?”
“I did not misspeak. For a ceremony such as this, there will be at least forty, perhaps as many as one hundred,” Zhao answered. “Our spy at the last event counted sixty Iron Guards that he could see. Plus he suspected there were more hidden in the crowd, dressed as regular soldiers or administrators.”
“Those were not Iron Guard,” Toru inte
rjected. “Any of my former order would be proudly wearing his best uniform at such an event. It would be shameful and dishonorable to do otherwise . . . But the Shadow Guard, on the other hand . . . I would expect at least a squad of Fades and Travelers to be present and most likely in disguise.”
There were five thousand Imperium soldiers garrisoned around the “Free City” of Shanghai, but the only ones he was really worried about were the ones who would be at the ceremony. If Big Eared Du’s Yuesheng Greens did their job, the majority of the Imperium military and police would be too busy to interfere. Twenty thousand criminals throwing a riot was pretty hard to ignore, even in Shanghai. “And how many regular Imperium troops will there be at the estate?” Sullivan asked. “Just because somebody isn’t a magical heavy hitter don’t mean they can’t still put a bullet into one of us. What’re we talking about?”
“There are five platoons of Imperium scum . . .” Zhao caught himself and looked over at Toru. Luckily, Toru didn’t seem to be paying attention, or he was working on his diplomacy and had simply let it pass. “Five platoons of Imperium soldiers have been taken from the front, and are now traveling with the Chairman. Normally there are two such groups stationed at the Imperium Section in New City.”
Sullivan walked slowly around the map of Shanghai. It was a big map, stolen from the British bank’s offices, and they’d had to bring in every table in the place to set it up. He took in the various coins, bottle caps, cigarette butts, baseball cards, and even a couple of toy soldiers, which represented his forces, and the wooden blocks, which represented the Imperium. His own icon was a rock, and it was sitting smack dab in the middle of the Imperium Section, right in the Chairman’s face. He figured since their air power was now involved and at risk, he might as well make the best use out of it. Sullivan was going to take the fast way down.
Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles Page 28
