Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  A humming sound came from the far end of the hallway. It was the buzz of steam turbines. The main volume of the building was made up of space for the machinery. The space I was in was for personnel, however. At the threshold between the two spaces stood the control center. Walls of status monitors and digital gauges showed scads of information about the current state of the entire facility. It was all shiny and new. Lost in perusing the information on display, I almost didn’t notice the two men seated in the space.

  “You... you’re not supposed to be in here,” one of them stammered. He was a skinny man with a smattering of gray in his brown hair and a weatherworn face.

  “You really should lock the door. Those protesters might try to barge in here.”

  “You’re still not supposed to be here.” He was trying to sound resolute, and failing.

  “I thought this plant wasn’t open yet.”

  “We... we’re doing a systems test prior to start of operations,” he lied.

  “That says you’re running at nearly full power. Where’s all the juice going?”

  “Some facility up by the old reservoir. I don’t know what they’re doing, just that they’re paying double overtime to run the plant early.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Do either of you know whose van is blocking the road back there, I can’t get past it.”

  “I’ll move it,” he said, casting a sheepish gaze at the floor.

  Part 24

  I finally reached the small store whose front window Masquerade had smashed. It was not terribly enlightening. Rather than pester the shopkeep, I stayed in the car and phoned the Fund.

  “Morning Shiva,” I said.

  “Do you have an inquiry?” Shiva asked.

  “Can I get a public records search on Rainbow Energy?”

  “A limited liability corporation founded to provide offshore wind turbines. No operational facilities. Recently entered into a venture involving the construction of a gas-fired plant in Brooksville. Has never reported a profitable quarter.”

  “Who owns it?” I asked.

  “The owner of record is a trust fund, beneficiary is one Jill Castel.”

  “Castel? Any relation to Edward?”

  “Jill Castel is related to two Edward Castels, though I presume you want to know about any connection to the original Lord Death.”

  “Yes, Shiva.”

  “Jill Castel is directly descended from him.”

  “Does Rainbow Energy have any properties near the Old Kenwood Reservoir?”

  “They have an industrial storage facility on Mill Pond Road. It is adjacent to the Reservoir proper,” Shiva said.

  “Industrial storage does not require the full output of a brand new power plant,” I said.

  “While true, that statement does not follow from the conversation.”

  “The Rainbow Energy Plant in Brooksville is running at full capacity. The staff says it’s being fed to the facility by the Reservoir. I’m going to check out what they’re keeping in storage.”

  “Copy,” Shiva said.

  “Ending call.” I hung up and set the GPS to find Mill Pond Road.

  “Why is it called the ‘Old’ Reservoir?” Xiv asked.

  “Because they built a new one a few decades ago,” I said. With the machine’s voice giving me a route, I started driving. Fortunately, I did not have to get around the protest again, as the old Reservoir and Mill Pond Road were on this side of the river. The GPS was declaring that I had reached my destination when I was in front of an ancient scrapyard. Heaps of old metal in the form of various formerly functioning consumer hardware were enclosed in a barbed-wire topped chain link fence. A sign that itself was older than dirt read ‘Shine and Sons Scrap and Salvage’. Another, smaller sign added, ‘Closed for Fishing’. My confusion vanished as I remembered I’d merely told the machine to find Mill Pond Road. I hadn’t asked Shiva for the exact address. We’d stopped because the road ran next to the scrap yard.

  A power pylon for high tension wires caught my attention. Normally, my gaze drifts right past such details, as power lines were ubiquitous. But the amount of electricity we were following would require heavy duty lines to carry it. Turning down Mill Pond Road, I kept one eye on the power lines and one on the road. The road itself was deserted, and the power lines ran for half a mile before linking down to a transformer substation. No lines went out of the substation. It sat on the corner of a neatly mowed lot containing a squat, concrete and brick structure no older than the power plant. I parked along the fence of the scrap yard and got out. Stationary, I ran my gaze along the wiring within the transformer station. They all converged on a stout junction box sitting on the ground. Doubtlessly feeding through a buried conduit.

  “This is the place,” I said.

  “How do you know?” Xiv asked.

  “Follow the power lines.”

  A flash of realization came over the dragon boy’s features. He nodded an assent to my assessment. The transformer station had a fence protecting it, but the brick and concrete building did not. I didn’t see any cameras, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. There was a driveway that led to a loading dock on the side of the building. There were no windows anywhere I could see, and the only visible door looked to be next to the loading dock. I advanced across the neat grass to the side of the structure. Creeping along the brickwork, I eased around the corner and approached the loading dock. A half flight of stairs brought me level with the door. Unlike the power plant, this one was locked. It did not take terribly long to overcome, and I was inside shortly thereafter.

  A teeth-jarring electrical hum permeated the air. I had a sense of deja vu looking at the white cinderblock hallway with unlabeled gray doors smelling of fresh paint. I pushed open the nearest double doors and peered through. The space beyond was packed with bank after bank of hardware that looked like it belonged in the electrical substation outside. Signs warning of high voltage and the danger of electrical shock hung from everything. Though the way it made my hair stand on end from proximity was more than enough to tell me not to mess with it. The doors across the hall opened on a space that was the mirror image of the first. I advanced down the hall to a single door on the left and found an office kitchen.

  That left the doors at the end of the hall. Cursing my previous lack of caution, I decided to use the fiber optic probe to see what was on the far side. The room beyond was not as large as those loaded with electrical equipment, but it was far less crowded. Stairs climbed either side of the room to a windowed control room overlooking the center of the space. Reaching down from the ceiling were hydraulically powered arms tipped in emitters eerily like those we found under Promontory Cathedral. There were people in the control rooms, calibrating banks of equipment. I couldn’t see much in the way of detail. Most of them were in blue, but one was in bright red.

  I retracted the probe and eased the door open. With all of the attention on the controls along the outer walls, I was not immediately noticed. That state lasted for about ten seconds. The red attire was indeed a corseted dress with multiple layers of petticoats. The gaze of her horned skull mask fixed on me. I smirked and gave a coy wave. Almost as soon as she pointed at me with her furled parasol, I heard the tortured groan of a gas alarm. The clank of metal and the hiss of pneumatics made me throw myself to the side before Adamantaphrax’s glaive crashed through the space I’d occupied. Chips of concrete sprayed across me as it gouged a rent in the floor.

  The blue-uniformed workers yelped as they looked towards the noise and caught sight of the spirit. They started to rise before a more strident voice called out, “Stay at your posts.” She had a rather posh accent that put me in mind of England. As Adamantaphrax took aim at me with his rifle, the Red Death rounded on him. “No guns, no gas, just kick his ass.”

  An infuriated noise rose f
rom the spirit, inarticulate, but clear in its pent-up frustration. As I side-stepped a bayonet thrust, I was confused as to why she’d restrict her heavy hitter like that. Dodging another slice of the glaive, it dawned on me. This place was full of her people and a lot of expensive hardware. I backpedaled to avoid a swipe of the bayonet, and backed right into the rip in the world. Before I knew what was happening, there was no ground underfoot, and I was falling away from a blue sky. He’d missed on purpose with the glaive and carved open a hole for me to fall through. Fortunately, the ground was close enough that the crunch of my landing was only bone-shaking and not bone-shattering.

  I rolled aside along the ruddy dirt to avoid being crushed under Adamantaphrax’s bulk as he jumped down after me. I have no idea how much the mass of steel in the spirit weighed, but it hit the ground like a hammerblow. It would have made a mess of me had I been under it. Taking half a moment, I glanced around to get my bearings. We were outside, amidst heaps of old, battered hardware - the scrap yard across the road. I vaulted to my feet as I leapt over a stab of the bayonet. As he brought the glaive around, I took off running. I almost didn’t notice the clatter of chains. It was only when I saw one slither across the ground that I actually paid attention to the noise. The chain disappeared behind a heap of flattened cars as I cast about for sign of where Adamantaphrax was. I couldn’t see him, and that was more worrying than having him almost on top of me.

  And then there was the shambling heap of chains.

  Lurching out from behind the cars, the knot of metal was made from links of myriad sizes and hues. From delicate threads to hulking rackles suited for holding ship anchors. Most were iron, or one of its alloys, many corroded to some degree. A few brass, silver, or gold links glimmered within the writhing mass. Withing the shadows, a few flashes of orange that were not rust could be seen. An oval of riveted metal bearing two eye slots turned to regard me. A nervous smile came to my lips even before Masquerade spoke.

  “It’s been a while, demon boy.”

  “Masquerade,” I said.

  “Chain Gang,” he insisted.

  “Ah, I should have realized.” A nervous chuckle forced its way out of me as I cast about for sign of Adamantaphrax.

  “You really were not nice to my friends,” he said, his gait improving from a shamble to a swagger. I began backing away, vivid memories of a hardware store without a front wall forcing their way to the fore of my brain.

  “They did horrible things to people,” I said, dredging up what I could remember about Masquerade’s delusions.

  “You have them locked up somewhere.”

  The clank of metal not born of chain prompted me to dive aside. Adamantaphrax’s glaive rove the Earth, gouging a deep furrow in the soil.

  “Who are you?” Masquerade snarled.

  Adamantaphrax ignored him and swung at me again. Chains wrapped about the spirit’s arm. A braid of galvanized links slapped across Adamantaphrax’s helmet with a resounding clang.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you-” Slam. The chains struck moving in the opposite direction. “-it is rude-” Smash. Another bundle came down upon the spirit’s head. “-to interrupt-” Another slap. “-a conversation!” The final punctuating blow was cut off as Adamantaphrax cleaved through the braid of chains and the length gripping his arm. He swiftly aimed his rifle and fired. Masquerade staggered back from the blast, shrapnel and severed links flying to patter amongst the junk. An inchoate snarl built in Masquerade’s throat as he hurled all of the chain forward at once. The strands entwined about Adamantaphrax, forming a tightly wound skein. Even the remnants of manacles binding his wrists and waist tried to join it, but they could not detach from the shackles holding them in place. Masquerade still wore his prison orange, stained with weeks of filth and the dirt of his journey.

  The skein began to unwind in the grinding of steel and a wild spray of sparks. The impotent howl of a gas alarm accompanied the grinding, shearing unraveling of chains. The sparks were replaced with a spray of ichor and shreds of necrotic flesh, silencing the groan. When the skein finished parting, what was left of Adamantaphrax melted away in a pall of oily smoke.

  I blinked in surprise and horror through the hovering metallic tendrils. The expressionless iron mask stared through the space the spirit once occupied. While I wasn’t quite sure what he intended, I did know I did not want to go toe to toe with Masquerade alone at this moment.

  I ran.

  Snatching up my phone, I pressed the speed dial for the Fund’s emergency line. As soon as it connected, I began babbling, my voice given alacrity by fright. “Masquerade sighted at Shine and Sons Salvage, I need-” A whip-crack crashed against my shoulder blades and knocked me into the fence. Pain jolted through me almost as quickly. The phone bounced out of my hands and out of sight. I barely managed to raise a force bubble before the next strike sent me through the fence and skidding across the road. The gong sound it made reverberated through my bones as the bubble scraped along the parking lot to stop by the corner of the Rainbow Energy building.

  Perched atop his chains, Masquerade glided out of the scrap yard through the hole I’d made in the fence. A thousand metal tendrils walked with almost delicate steps to carry him forward. Dropping the force bubble, I ran to the loading dock and yanked the door open. At the end of the hall, Xiv was trying to keep the iridescent, insectoid claws of Bluebottle from ripping his face off. He was being bent backward by the spirit’s superior strength. I accelerated to my fastest sprint down the hall. Both Xiv and Bluebottle glanced towards me as I leapt into a flying kick.

  Xiv rolled out from under us as my feet collided with Bluebottle’s chitinous thorax and sent him staggering back. I crashed to the floor, but hopped to a crouch in almost the same instant. A flash of searing white light made me flinch away from the room. My right eye adjusted to the glare, but my left was blotted out by a green smear of a retinal afterimage. A crackling roar filled the room, pulsating with the torrent of energy being dumped out of the emitters. In a thunderclap and a second flash, it became a low rumble. A simmering white tear flickered in the middle of the room, turning the insectile form of Bluebottle into an ominous silhouette. The irritated snap of his wings competed with the thrum of the active device. I hammered a force bubble into the pestilential spirit, knocking him into the rippling column of light.

  He vanished.

  The swarm of miniature Bluebottles did not produce a replacement. Instead, they flowed after him, chasing the creature into the light.

  “Well, that didn’t kill him,” the Red Death said.

  “I suppose that is one way to test the device,” a sultry voice I’d only heard once before said. Helen Dietrich strolled casually down the stairs from the command center. Her attire was the same blue uniform as the general staff, stiff and starched, yet cinched to accent her shape. She cast her gaze over me with that same subtle smirk. I didn’t like the look any more than the last time I’d received it. “Do you even know what’s go-”

  Dietrich was interrupted as the doors behind me were torn from their hinges and tossed aside. Chains reached through the gap like a thousand metallic tentacles, feeling along the walls, floor, and ceiling as Masquerade pulled himself inside. Sadly, I couldn’t draw much satisfaction from the way Dietrich’s smirk disappeared. There was a noise amidst the cascade of chain and strum of the emitters. I almost wasn’t sure I heard it. After a moment, I realized it was Masquerade singing to himself.

  “I’ve been working on the... chain gang...”

  Dietrich turned and jumped into the column of light. The regular staff ran for a set of emergency exits opposite the loading dock. Red Death did not attempt to stop their flight. She was too fixated with the approaching mass of metal. Xiv scurried over to my side.

  “Do we have a plan?” he whispered.

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Masque
rade reached the end of the hall and the riveted mask peered from within the bundle of links blocking the passage.

  “Ooo, shiny,” he said.

  “Stop and turn back!” Red said, more stridently than I expected. But then again, she hadn’t seen what had happened to Adamantaphrax.

  Masquerade cocked his head at the girl. After a second, he began giggling.

  “Stop laughing!”

  “Is this better?” Masquerade let out an ear-splitting shriek.

  “You think you’re funny?”

  “Make up your mind, Little Riding Hood.”

  “I am the Red Death!”

  The semi-jovial tone in Masquerade’s voice vanished. “You are not the Red Death,” he said, advancing out of the hall towards her. As she took half a step back, I heard the first ominous harmony of the Litany of Dread. A swirl of red velveteen wrapped about empty air, a blue glowing skeleton forming within. The hundred voices of the spectral choir reverberated in the chamber, gripping my heart and freezing my limbs. Xiv curled into a ball with a whimper, his wings wrapped about his head. An equally spectral scythe leapt into bony, outstretched fingers. The Litany of Dread gave way to the Litany of Despair. Every iota of will went into simply standing my ground as the sound reverberated through my frame.

  Seemingly unfazed by the sonic assault, Masquerade sidestepped the swinging scythe. The spectral weapon carved a gouge in the concrete as it sliced into the floor. A braid of chain smashed down on the spectre. The only thing it caught was the velveteen cloth. That was enough, as I’d seen before, dragging the spirit to the concrete. A pulse of blue energy swept out from the point of impact. The Litany fell silent. The cloth squirmed and wriggled, but Masquerade pinned it in place. He turned his gaze back upon the Red Death.