by null
More important …
People were also human beings, he knew, not robots. They had to stretch, had to get an occasional drink of water, had to go to where they could relieve themselves of all their drinks of water—
Who are you?
But, the fact had caught his attention, prompting the professor to turn all his senses up to their full capacity. When he had done so, Knight instantly realized that he was hearing none of the usual background sounds of the nighttime museum. The tread of security rounds being made, the soft noise of the cleaning crew’s plastic wheels, the electric clatter of their radios, chatter of any other late-night employees—
And most important of all, just what in hell are you doing in my museum?
Of course, he realized, security could be in another part of the vast museum complex simply making their rounds. The cleaning crew might already be finished for the evening and on their way home. As for additional staff, perhaps no one other than himself had need to be in the building quite so late. Any of these explanations were possibilities. But not each and every one of them. In all its days as far as he knew, at no time had the Brooklyn Museum ever been completely empty.
And, thought the professor as a sound finally came to his highly sensitive ears, it seems it’s not all that empty tonight, either.
Listening intently, he quickly identified the sounds he was hearing. Gum-soled shoes—quiet, nearly completely silent. Four sets of them. Moving together.
No, he thought. Not quite in unison. Two sets of two. One scouting—the first clearing the way, opening doors. The last one following, watching the group’s back. And the central two, their attention is focused on something else. Those two, they’re going slower, moving with caution— And then he snapped his fingers, suddenly not caring about the noise as he muttered;
“They’re carrying something—something heavy.”
Knight’s brow wrinkled at the thought—there were thieves in his museum. Focusing on the sounds he was sensing more than hearing, the professor determined that the quartet for whom he was searching were making their way up from the basement area. Checking his pockets, making certain he had at least one of the objects he was hoping would make the task before him easier, he headed directly for the back corridor that would take him to the stairs leading upward from Antiquities Storage.
Where everyone was, he had no idea.
How these intruders had managed to get inside the museum without setting off any alarms, or being noticed by either some member of the institution’s personnel, or any of the building’s hundreds of cameras and motion sensors, he also had no idea. Nor did he care.
At that moment, Professor Piers Knight had only two concerns. What was it that was being stolen and, could he stop the thieves without damaging their prize?
If he had known what they were taking, and why, however, instead of trying to stop the intruders, he would have done everything in his power to make certain that they got away with it.
CHAPTER FIVE
The first person Knight discovered was Jerome Dribben, a fifty-three-year-old security guard who had performed that function for the museum for twenty-two of his fifty-plus years. The professor liked Jerome, for the man had proved countless times that he knew three things—every inch of the building complex, the contents of all of its vast collections, and, most important, his job. When the professor came across the guard, however, the man was crumpled in an awkward heap, sprawled out on the floor, sleeping peacefully.
There was no doubt in Knight’s mind the man was uninjured. Not only could the professor neither see nor smell any traces of blood, but also Jerome was snoring too loudly and too contentedly to be in any way damaged. Kneeling at the guard’s side, Knight first shook the man to see if he could be awakened. When he could not, the professor bent close to Jerome’s face, sniffing around his nostrils. Catching a distinctive scent Knight had not noted in the air anywhere in the building so far, he began piecing together what must have happened.
Chloroform, he thought as he arranged the guard’s body a bit more comfortably. Too light a dose to have been forced on him. Besides, his clothing shows no signs of a struggle. His hair’s still combed.
Remaining at Jerome’s side for the moment, Knight puzzled over exactly how the man had been rendered unconscious. Thinking for a moment that the intruders might have employed something on the order of a water gun, Knight felt the guard’s face. There was no moisture to be found there, none trapped in the man’s less-than-well-trimmed moustache. Rubbing his fingers together, the professor felt not even a trace of residue. An uncomfortable look crossing his face, Knight bent low over Jerome once more, taking a second set of sniffs around the man’s nostrils.
Damn, he thought grimly, feeling the fool for not having noticed the faint trace before.
Ozone… .
The slight burning scent, he knew, one ever so minutely different from any most people would ever encounter within their lifetimes, had come from an electrical spark generated in only one damnable fashion—magic.
Ozone. Oh, damn all the fools who plague me so… .
A thin chill ran the length of the professor’s spine. It was not the gelid fingers of fear; Piers Knight knew too much of the beyond realms to find terror in the news that some unknown force was toying with the arcane arts, aiming them toward his person, if even indirectly. He had studied both the white and black disciplines of hundreds of cultures. Indeed, when he had checked his pockets earlier, it was to make certain several of the various magical items he sometimes made use of were on his person.
His only discomfort came from the realization that those he was hunting might be as familiar with such disciplines as himself. He had been counting on that knowledge as his edge. Now he felt somewhat less confident about confronting the intruders—uncertain.
What damn bunch of idiots is it this time, he wondered, that think they’ve got the goods to confront me in my own fortress?
Knight was not actually as confident as the confrontational thoughts flashing through his mind might have suggested, however. His rapidly growing problem resided in the fact that the professor had been assuming the few items he was carrying would make his task of stopping the intruders a simple one. His sending of Bridget to summon the police had merely been his way of not only getting her to safety but also of removing her from the premises where her continued presence would have hindered his freedom to use his abilities.
That, however, had been before our little discovery that our opponents are magic users themselves.
And, if his guess was correct, fairly competent ones. The ease of their entrance, the fact that they had most assuredly taken out everyone in the building with a hunter spell—an incantation designed to track down each individual within an area and render them unconscious without polluting the atmosphere its casters themselves were about to enter—these were people who knew what they were doing.
Then again, he wondered, do these fellows use magic themselves, or did they simply purchase their entrance?
Knight sighed in frustration, knowing he had no actual way of gauging what kind of power levels he would soon be facing. Assault spells or assault weapons? Maybe both. Sighing once more, knowing there was nothing more he could do for the security guard, and that his own time was running out as well, the professor stood once more, his eyes lifted slightly upward as he muttered quietly;
“For once, Lord, couldn’t things be easy? Just once?”
Not waiting for an answer, Knight pulled a round metal disc from the inside breast pocket of his suit coat and began making his way once more toward the sounds of the intruders. He could tell the quartet was drawing closer, their footsteps almost to the top of the stairwell from which he knew they would soon emerge. As the professor continued moving to intercept the foursome, he found himself silently applauding their professionalism. Despite the apparent weight of their prize, they had taken the stairs rather than risk the cameras in the elevators. Judging the amount of time he had t
o prepare for the arrival of the thieves, Knight gave himself no more than thirty-five seconds before the door at the end of the hall would open.
No idea of their power levels, he thought. Any one of them, possibly all of them, could be full-fledged practitioners. Then, he dismissed his cautious approach, the other side of his brain snapping, Doubtful. For one thing, top-drawer talent doesn’t lug booty. They don’t do scout work, either. They don’t creep—their kind stride. The four walking up the stairs, they might be competent, and they certainly might be dangerous, but ultimately they’re just somebody else’s muscle.
And then, as the doorknob began to turn, Knight’s mind focused on the one word he had thought, but of which he had not recognized the true significance—
Walking—
As the door opened, the first of the scouts exited the stairwell and moved cautiously out into the dark hall beyond. If the professor was correct, everyone within the museum had been rendered unconscious by a casting—one that would have targeted every living being, surrounding their heads with a cloud of chloroform. This would have dropped any-and everyone who could have been of any interference, acted as a witness, called the police, et cetera. If this was timed correctly, Knight was assuming the intruders made their move at the evening security change. That meant they could have entered with any of the night shift, which meant no breaking and entering. No assault charges.
They didn’t avoid the elevators because of the cameras, thought the professor as he watched the first man make his way out into the shadows of the hallway. They’ve dampened the building’s electrical systems. The elevators aren’t working, because they wanted to take out all the cameras. The motion detectors, the laser alarms …
And yet, the designer of the invasion had known the museum’s systems well enough to not interfere with the few lights for which any passing patrol car would be looking. That told Knight volumes about the magical abilities of his opponents. With the museum’s security routed through both the city’s primary electrical utility and the building’s own backup generators, if select lights controlled by both power sources had been dampened while others were still functioning, those moving into the hall had to possess controlling abilities of things not only natural but mechanical as well.
This, old man, both sides of his mind warned the professor, is not going to be easy.
In the handful of seconds it took for the first thief to ascertain that the hallway was clear and to signal his compatriots to follow him, Knight had realized he was up against something far more than any simple band of brigands. Holding back, he continued to study them from a distance. As he did, his respect for the intruders he had listened to for the last few minutes as they made their way up from the basement continued to grow. No matter who they were, or what they were after, they were part of something extraordinarily sophisticated. Their assault was well planned and certainly seemed to be working thus far without a hitch.
Looking the scout over, the professor noted his garb—soft boots, pant legs tucked in, pants and pullovers loose enough to allow movement but tight enough to minimize snagging or noise. His hands gloved, head masked, even his eyes covered by goggles. Impossible to identify if seen, equally unlikely he would be leaving behind much in the way of forensic evidence, either.
More disturbing than any of that, however, was the filled holster the professor could see hanging from the man’s belt. He also spotted fitted pouches for spare ammunition, and what he thought might be others for grenades. As the two thieves carrying the quartet’s prize began to emerge from the stairwell, Knight’s anger grew exponentially. That his museum was being robbed was enough to anger him by itself. But, the men doing so had brought both guns and explosives with them.
That they would risk any of the irreplaceable artifacts within his museum—his museum—among all of its priceless statues, the paintings, the ancient cups and pieces of jewelry, the tapestries, the tablets, all of it, any of it …
The thought of bullets streaming through his beloved corridors was upsetting enough. The added notion that those looting his museum might be willing to hurl about shrapnel weapons within range of any of its treasures was more than he could tolerate. As the fourth man, the one watching their retreat, emerged into the hallway, the professor admitted to himself that he had the quartet in the best possible place to contain them. They were in a hallway where no art, no curios or trinkets of any kind, was on display.
“I do believe it’s now or never, Piers.”
And, so saying, the professor returned the disc of levitation he had extracted a moment earlier to its place within his suit jacket’s inside pocket. With the disc removed from the atmosphere, its effects began to dissipate, and Knight drifted from his vantage point on the ceiling down toward the rear guard. His plan was simple. With surprise on his side, he would take down the last man, he hoped quietly enough that he would be able to also take out one of the pair carrying off their prize before the others were alerted. Only two yards away from his intended target, the professor was preparing himself for his assault when suddenly the hallway was filled with a blinding light as a voice from the stairwell shouted;
“Four—above you!”
Below him, Knight could just make out the barest outline of the rear guard pulling his automatic free. Then, the overwhelming illumination stole what little was left of the professor’s vision, leaving him helpless.
CHAPTER SIX
“Kill him!”
Once more the order came from behind the blinded Knight. Not wasting time with worrying over how anyone else could possibly be present, the professor instead hurriedly jammed his hand back inside his suit coat, once more pulling free his disc of levitation. The mental commands needed to activate it screaming through his brain, Knight shot toward the ceiling even as the invader identified simply as “Four” opened fire. The man emptied his weapon, laying down a blanket pattern in a crisscrossing direction, then ejected his spent clip. As he pulled free a fresh replacement with professional detachment, slipping the empty inside his belt, the voice from the stairwell screamed at him;
“Did you get the son of a bitch?”
“Can’t tell.”
“And why not?!” The voice roared once more, demanding its answer, screaming to be heard over the still-echoing ring of the previous gunfire. Uncowed, Four bellowed in return;
“Because I’m half-blind despite the goggles, you moron. You’re supposed to warn people before you illuminate. Before you—”
“Enough.” The stairwell voice screamed the single word. Continuing as loudly as possible, it commanded, “Four, One, find that bastard and eliminate him. Two, Three—keep going. We’ve got to get that damn hunk of rock out of here!”
“Relax,” growled the man designated as “Two.” Hefting his end of their prize, he added reassuringly, “This thing’s no problem. It’s actually lighter than it looks.”
As the no-longer-shining fifth member of the band of thieves finally entered the hallway, from his vantage point in the shadows high above Professor Knight cursed himself, thinking;
And so much for your “knowing more about everything than anyone else” crap. Miserable fool, I’ve warned you about your damned arrogant lack of caution—
Not so busy castigating himself was the professor, however, that he was not able to also continue paying attention to those below. His eyes finally readjusting to the gloom, he suddenly discovered why he had not taken note of the fifth man earlier when he had heard the others. As he exited the stairwell, the new figure did not walk as did the rest of the thieves. Instead, he glided forth. The same as Knight, the intruder was levitating. Finding his foes to be possessed of further extraordinary abilities did not so much fill the professor with fear, but it did make him wonder;
So he wasn’t giving off any footfalls for me to hear. Still, he has to breathe; his body had to rub against the passing air; everyone burps or farts sooner or later. Why— And then, suddenly all was revealed. As the fifth intruder continued
floating forward, he passed too close to Four. There was no collision of the pair, however, except in the most technical sense of the word, for the levitating man’s arm passed through Four’s shoulder without making actual contact.
Well, now there’s a news flash, marveled Knight. My new playmate’s not physically, not really here.
The professor grimaced at the knowledge. Realistically, he knew he had but seconds in which to act—but what actions should he take? The leader of the intruders was untouchable. Whether holographic or some form of astral projection, Knight was well aware he himself was armed with absolutely nothing that could affect a phantasm. Yes, there were certain relics within the museum that might afford him some ability to combat the intruder he had designated within his own mind as “Five,” but such pieces were all locked away on other levels. And with the thieves less than a hundred yards from their chosen exit, he could reach none of those other pieces quickly enough to utilize them in any helpful fashion.
More to the point, two armed professionals were actively searching for him, men who had no compunction over using brute force, nor who seemed surprised by his own use of magic in the slightest. They might not be magicians themselves, but they were obviously no strangers to the arts—were comfortable around their use, and evidently not frightened by them. Hidden within the shadow-draped folds of a ceiling tapestry large enough to envelop his entire body, the various sections of Knight’s mind went to war once more.
He could easily ascertain that Four and One below were not hunting him actively, despite Five’s rabid bellowing. With the cold calculation of longtime mercenaries, they were certainly watching for him, both with guns drawn and ready. But the pair were backing their way to the door, more covering the team’s escape than worrying overly about murdering Knight.
