Cloak Games: Hammer Break

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Yeah.” I took another spoonful of smoothie. Just how much did I trust Murdo? I liked him, and he made a good smoothie, but I didn’t trust him much. Then again, if Nicholas had some big heist or job planned, Murdo was going to find out about all of this anyway. “I’m good at them, too. Better than any other human wizard I’ve ever met.”

  Murdo grunted. “None of the Gatekeepers can do illusion spells.”

  My spoon paused halfway to my mouth. “You…know about the Gatekeepers.”

  “Connor’s one of them,” said Murdo. “That petulant blond girlfriend of his is another. I think there are fourteen Gatekeepers total. They’re all possessed by Dark Ones, and they all know how to cast the rift way spell to the Shadowlands. The Gatekeepers all carry enchanted medallions or rings or talismans of the Dark Ones. That lets them escape back to Venomhold whenever they need to flee. It’s also why the Rebels have gotten so powerful over the last few years. The Inquisition and the Elven nobles used to be able to crush the Rebels at will. But they can’t chase the Rebels to Venomhold, so the Rebels have become a lot stronger and far better organized.”

  I wondered what he would think if I told him I had spent the last eight months harassing the Gatekeepers.

  “You’re very well informed,” I said.

  Murdo shrugged. “Since I had to join the Rebels, it’s become necessary. They’re…not pleasant people.”

  I snorted. “Understatement. And if you needed more proof, one of them just sent a mob of anthrophages to kill me, and you got in the way.”

  “When it rains, it pours,” said Murdo.

  As if on cue, it started to snow.

  “See?” I said. “You were right.”

  We finished off our smoothies, and Murdo washed out the cups and the blender, which was good since I wasn’t going to do it.

  “Shall I drive?” said Murdo. “You did the last couple hundred miles.”

  I hesitated and then nodded. “Yeah, why not? I could use a break. You know how to drive in snow?”

  “I’ve done it once or twice,” said Murdo. “I’ll try not to slide off the road.”

  “Super,” I said. We traded places, and Murdo started the SUV and got back onto the freeway. I watched the passing traffic for a while, the snowflakes blurring through our headlights, and to my surprise, I fell asleep.

  I slept deeply enough that I had dreams, a tangled mixture of my memories of the Eternity Crucible and things I had done since. In the dream, I ran through the ruins of Chicago, trying to find Riordan and Russell. They were always just around the corner, and I could never quite seem to catch up to them. The undead were chasing me, and I kept running …

  I woke up with a start.

  I must have been asleep for a while because daylight stabbed into my eyes. I also saw a lot of low, wooded mountains in the distance.

  “Sleep well?” said Murdo from the driver’s seat.

  I grimaced and massaged my neck. “Yeah. Swell. Where are we?”

  “Kentucky. Almost to West Virginia. I figured it was best to let you sleep.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I gave Murdo a suspicious look, but he couldn’t have done anything to me without waking me up, and my backpack was undisturbed

  “In another four hours,” said Murdo, his voice hardening, “we’ll be able to ask Connor some questions.”

  “Great.” I grimaced. That wasn’t going to be fun.

  Still, it was a nice drive through the mountains. I had never been in this part of the Appalachians before, and the scenery was beautiful. I watched the green mountains as they rolled past, and there was very little traffic.

  Then we came down the other side of West Virginia and arrived in Washington DC.

  The High Queen and the Elven nobles ruled Earth, but the United States still had a federal government. Granted, the government was limited in what it could do, since the Elves didn’t allow human nations to war among each other. The Elves also required taxes and men-at-arms, and they took slaves and filmed Punishment Day videos instead of maintaining an expensive prison system (I guess the pre-Conquest Presidents had kept millions of people locked up in their very expensive prison systems), but beyond that, they let humans run their own affairs.

  For the most part, anyway.

  Based on what Arvalaeon had told me during our hellish little interview, I suspected the Elves had spent the last three hundred years basically brainwashing humans to rule themselves in the High Queen’s name. Most people regarded the thought of rebelling against the Elves with the same revulsion as a devout Catholic would regard the desecration of a crucifix or a font of holy water.

  Those who didn’t, I suppose, became Rebels.

  Of course, while the High Queen ruled Earth, someone needed to do all the work of gathering taxes and staffing Homeland Security and filing the proper paperwork, and that’s where the federal government came in. We had a President and Congressmen and elections, but basically, all the politicians ran on platforms of who loved the Elves more and who could more efficiently administer the nation.

  In kindergarten, everyone saw that video of the High Queen executing the last pre-Conquest President and Congress, and that made sure everyone knew where the real power resided.

  I didn’t like the Rebels, but I didn’t like politicians, either. There’s something repellent about lying to people for votes. Granted, I’m a thief, so I don’t have a claim to virtue, but I was forced into it, and people went into politics of their own free will. Politicians seemed like teachers’ pets, for lack of a better word. They spent all their time sucking up to the Elves and then screwing over humans whenever they could get away with it. Of course, the Elves didn’t like human politicians all that much either. A Congressman who got caught taking bribes would end up flogged on a Punishment Day video just as quickly as a common citizen.

  But thoughts of the government fled as we drew closer to the northern side of Washington DC.

  Specifically, closer to the ruins of Baltimore.

  I knew about the Reaping and what the High Queen had done to Chicago and St. Louis.

  In Baltimore, the destruction had come in the form of fire.

  And three hundred years later, the city was still burning.

  “There’s a sight I could do without,” said Murdo.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  The northern edge of Washington DC was mostly deserted, filled with warehouses and storage facilities, places people wouldn’t visit all that often. The reason for that was the sight of Baltimore burning with smokeless fire on the horizon. It was like looking at a sea of flames. I saw the skeletons of the city’s high-rise buildings, saw a carpet of fire blazing where the city had once been. Here and there I glimpsed charred buildings rising from the carpet of flames. It was a terrible, impossible sight. The fire should have burned out centuries ago, and the buildings collapsed into ruin long since.

  But still the pyre of Baltimore burned.

  I laughed at myself a little.

  “Is something funny?” said Murdo.

  “No,” I said. I waved a hand at the distant inferno. “But looking at that…I can understand why someone would join the Rebels.”

  Murdo gave me a sharp look. “Do you?”

  “I wonder how many people died there,” I said. “Half a million? A million? Maybe more?”

  “Then why not join the Rebels?” said Murdo. His voice was calm, but the question seemed important to him. Maybe he was trying to recruit me. Maybe he had his own doubts about the Rebels.

  “Because if the Rebels take over, they’ll do the exact same thing,” I said. “I’ve seen them do it on a smaller scale. I hate the Elves, but I hate the Rebels more. I don’t…”

  I fell silent. I couldn’t quite articulate it, and I didn’t want to tell too much to Murdo. I hated Arvalaeon. He had taken the young woman I had been and turned me into the powerful, unstable madwoman I was now. He had inflicted the kind of agony on me that the human mind hadn’t been designed to process. Hell, my mind
couldn’t process it, which was why I was such a mess.

  And yet…

  We have saved forty million lives that day. The central third of the United States would have looked like the pyre of Baltimore if Arvalaeon and I had not done what we had done. Russell and the Marneys and the Valborgs and everyone else I had ever met would have died.

  “You find yourself caught between two mortal enemies,” said Murdo in a quiet voice. “You hate both, but one is worse than the other.”

  “Yes,” I said, looking at him. “Life is complicated, isn’t it? No, wait, it isn’t.” I pointed at Baltimore. “People shouldn’t kill children. And that’s what Nicholas wants to do. Kill a lot of people to make his new damned world.”

  I sighed and leaned back in my seat.

  “I think,” said Murdo, “that right and wrong are really black and white.”

  I looked at him. “Sucks to be me, then.”

  “I also think,” said Murdo, “that human nature means we have to live our lives in shades of gray. Every choice has consequences. Maybe the trick is to get to the lightest shade of gray that we can manage, and trust to God for the rest.”

  “Hmm.” I thought that over. He had a point. Maybe that was what I had been doing. I could have just slaughtered everyone in my path, but I hadn’t. “That’s actually kind of profound.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And surprising,” I said. “You look so thuggish.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Thuggish? This is a nice suit.”

  I laughed. “A thug in a nice suit, then.”

  “A compliment, then. A man would rather be told he looks thuggish than helpless.”

  I laughed again, surprised that I found it funny. But Murdo kept surprising me.

  “And here we are,” said Murdo, his voice quiet.

  My amusement faded.

  It was time to talk to Nicholas and his goons.

  We pulled up to a big building that looked sort of like a distribution center for a grocery or retail chain – an enormous cinder-block rectangle with dozens of truck docks. A chain link fence topped with barbed wire encircled the yard, and there was a security booth with a gate blocking the driveway in. Three men in gray coveralls occupied the booth, and…

  “Aw, hell,” I muttered.

  I recognized one of the men. It was my old buddy Swathe, Nicholas’s chief of security.

  “Mitchell’s a friend of yours?” said Murdo.

  I frowned. “Mitchell?”

  “Mitchell Swathe,” said Murdo. “Former Homeland Security. Does Connor’s dirty jobs.”

  “Huh,” I said as Murdo turned the SUV towards the gate. “Guess I never found out his first name.”

  Swathe walked towards us, left hand held out, right hand resting on a holstered pistol at his hip. Murdo brought the SUV to a halt, and I got a good look at Swathe. He was a middle-aged man in fit condition, with the thick build of someone who had spent a lot of time lifting weights. There were old scars on his hands and face, and he had the flat, cold eyes of a reptile.

  Murdo rolled down the window as Swathe stepped closer.

  “You’re back,” said Swathe in a flat voice. “Did you…”

  He stopped as he saw me, his perpetual scowl deepening.

  I grinned my mirthless grin at him and offered him a cheery wave. “Hey, Mitch. Long time, no see. Bet you poisoned, like, a dozen doctors since last year.”

  Murdo blinked.

  “Miss Stoker,” said Swathe, making no effort to hide his hostility. “I would just like to say, for the record, that I completely disagree with Nicholas’s decision to bring you here, and in my opinion, we should kill you immediately.”

  “Well, in my opinion, that coverall makes you look stupid,” I said. “Just for the record, you know.”

  “Park over there and wait for me,” said Swathe, jabbing his finger at the gate as the arm rose. Murdo steered his SUV into the yard and parked by one of the emergency doors to the warehouse. Swathe closed the gate behind us, spoke to the two other men in the guard booth for a moment, and then walked back to us.

  “All right,” he said. “You’re going to come with me.”

  “Why?” I said.

  Swathe grimaced. “Nicholas wants to talk to you both. You’ll speak with him, and then there’s a meeting. We have a job to plan.”

  “Why?” I said again in a sing-song voice.

  “Ask Nicholas,” snapped Swathe. “Let’s move.”

  I got out of the SUV, as did Murdo, and the three of us walked into the warehouse.

  Chapter 6: Rebels

  The last time I had visited Nicholas, he and his gang of Rebels had been operating out of a warehouse owned by an actual shipping company, though I suspected the company was just a money-laundering front for the Rebels’ organization, kind of like that diner I had robbed back in Wyoming.

  This place, though, looked like it had been abandoned for a long time.

  We walked through a dusty front office and then into a cavernous warehouse area. Stacks of pallets stood here and there, along with rusting forklifts and pallet jacks. Water dripped from the ceiling, and large puddles covered portions of the cracked floor. The only light came from the half-open truck doors lining the walls.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” I said.

  Swathe smirked. “All the comforts of home.”

  “Yeah, your home must suck.”

  Swathe did not answer. Guess he wasn’t in the mood to enjoy my wit, such as it was.

  We crossed the warehouse area and came to a locked metal door. Swathe opened it, and we stepped into a large room that looked as if it had once been a machine shop or maybe a maintenance garage for truck cabs. Metal cabinets lined the walls, and there were engine parts heaped in one corner. Two wooden tables had been set up in the center of the room, holding a variety of electronic components and several computers with flat-panel monitors.

  Nicholas Connor sat at one of the computers, frowning as he typed.

  He hadn’t changed in the last year. He was still tall and strong, with thick black hair and deep blue eyes. Today he wore gray cargo pants, a black T-shirt, and a heavy green jacket with a lot of pockets. Somehow, he made that look good, though he made almost anything look good. He looked up as the three of us approached, and that slow, lazy smile spread across his face as he saw me.

  I had loved that man once, and now I hated him more than anyone. Even Morvilind.

  Even Arvalaeon, come think of it.

  “Sir,” said Swathe. “Murdo has returned with Miss Stoker.”

  “So I see,” said Nicholas, getting to his feet. “Thank you, Swathe. Tell the others to meet in the planning room in fifteen minutes. I’ll want a word with Murdo and Stoker first.”

  Swathe nodded and crossed the room to another door. It opened into a stairwell, and he disappeared up the stairs.

  The clang of the door closing behind him was loud.

  I stared at Nicholas. He was still smiling.

  “Well, Kat,” he said. “Here we are again.”

  I opened my mouth to snap at him, but to my surprise, Murdo spoke first.

  “Connor,” he said, “what the hell is this?”

  Nicholas blinked, his smile vanishing. “What are you talking about?”

  “Why did you double-cross me?”

  Nicholas’s hard eyes turned to Murdo. “Explain.”

  “I did exactly as you asked,” said Murdo. “I drove to Denver and picked up Miss Stoker at the Rocky Mountain Mile. And while I was talking with her, six vans full of heavily armed anthrophages pulled up and attacked us.”

  Nicholas frowned. “What?”

  “Six white vans,” said Murdo. “Nearly ninety anthrophages, all of them armed to the teeth. They had come to kill us.”

  “Then how are you still alive?” said Nicholas. He glanced at me and snorted. “No, never mind. I assume you and Miss Stoker went on the warpath?”

  I gave him a thin smile. “We made a mess.”

>   Murdo pointed a thick finger at Connor. “Was this a double-cross, Connor? Did you set me up to get me killed? Because if it was, I have a problem. I said I would work for you. I said I would fight for you. Everyone said Nicholas Connor was a man of his word.” I made a show my rolling my eyes at that. “But if you double-crossed me, then our deal is off.”

  “I see,” said Nicholas, his voice cold. “Would you believe me if I told you that I had no idea why those anthrophages were there?”

  “Maybe,” said Murdo. “Persuade me.”

  “Most probably it wasn’t about you at all,” said Nicholas. “Those anthrophages were almost certainly there to kill Miss Stoker.”

  “Oh, sure,” I said. “See, Murdo, Nicky didn’t betray you. He was just going to kill you because he wanted to get at me.”

  “Really, Kat?” said Nicholas. “You’re smarter than that, at least when your mouth doesn’t run away with your brain.” He started ticking off points on his fingers. “First, your patron’s deal with the Forerunner isn’t finished yet.” Murdo frowned at me. “You’re still of use to me. Second, when I do kill you, it won’t be in such a public and wasteful manner. The last thing I want right now is an incident that would draw the attention of both Homeland Security and the Inquisition.”

  “Then where did those anthrophages come from?” said Murdo.

  “Most probably,” said Nicholas, “either one of the Dark Ones cults allied with the Revolution sent them after Miss Stoker, or one of the Gatekeepers used a spell to bind them.” He offered me a thin smile. “After two days in the car with Miss Stoker, I’m sure you can appreciate she has such a way of winning friends.”

  “But you’re the one in charge,” I said. “They wouldn’t have done it without your orders.”

  Nicholas let out an exasperated sigh, which seemed odd, but then I realized it hadn’t been aimed at me.

  It was aimed at his underlings.

  “You’ve never overseen a large organization, have you, Kat?” he said.

  “No.”

  “There are two problems with managing a large organization,” said Nicholas. He leaned against one of the computer tables and put his hands in his jacket pockets, perfectly at ease. “One is that people refuse to take the initiative and wait for orders from above. The other is that people take too much initiative and overstep their bounds. I suspect that is what happened here.” His thin smile returned. “Not everyone in the Revolution agreed with my decision to employ your talents in pursuit of our goals. They see you as a threat, and might have decided to take preemptive action to get rid of you.”