Nobility

by Mason Dakota

  I looked back at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. Do they even make headwear big enough for your skull?”

  “Well, you’re full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?” replied Chamberlain, who clearly regretted starting the conversation.

  “No, I like the idea. You could be my little sidekick. We could get you some tights and you could wear your underwear on the outside. Then we could go skipping through town together as a dynamic duo fighting crime,” I said. That got Alison giggling.

  “Just forget it then,” grumbled Chamberlain, but not before I saw him smile.

  Should Gabriel have chosen Chamberlain over me?

  I was ashamed to admit that part of me not only feared that, but also resented the idea that Chamberlain probably deserved it more than I did…and I instantly felt guilty for such selfish thoughts about my best friend.

  We moved in silence from there as we bobbed and weaved through the shipping yard sticking to the shadow. We made our way closer to the pier. Fewer than ten minutes of a grueling, slow progress, we found what we were looking for. It was a wide-open spot near the pier where a large, unmarked commercial-size truck was parked near a commonplace boat. A large crane was lifting a large crate off the boat and onto the truck. All around, men stood holding automatic weapons, looking ready to fire at anything. The crane creaked and stopped its progress for a moment; I watched its operator move the controls with frustrated body language.

  “Hey what’s the hold up? Get that crate on the truck already! And don’t drop it or YOU will answer for it!” shouted a man amongst the crowd. I looked for the voice and a mix of both shock and excitement went through me.

  It was Agent Murray of the NPFC Special Division Force.

  So much for trusting the authorities on this one.

  The cold wind of Lake Michigan aggressively blew against the crane, causing it to creak again loudly. It rocked lightly back and forth, and I heard the contents of the crate slide around and bang against its walls.

  “Hey! Get that thing under control! If you don’t, we’re all dead men!” shouted Murray again. His face was red. I saw beads of sweat dot his forehead and a fear of Armageddon proportion in his eyes.

  What is in that crate that’s got Murray so worried?

  Another man appeared next to Murray and whispered into his ear. I recognized the man as the bald guy who had attacked me that morning. I’d also seen him on the train with Ziavir.

  So Ziavir does have a part to play in whatever is going on here tonight. And Agent Murray is working with him. Interesting.

  “Well, it looks like the odds are about forty to three here,” whispered Chamberlain, confirming what we already knew.

  “I’m sure that’s no problem for two strong gentlemen such as you,” teased Alison.

  I eyed her carefully from behind my mask and made a smug smile she never could see.

  I pointed to Murray and whispered, “That man works for the NPFC. He was one of the two detectives that interrogated me after the heist.”

  “So much for calling in the authorities,” said Chamberlain.

  “Unless it’s just him acting alone as some sort of dirty cop. In any case, a man of his stature ought to be photographed, don’t you think?”

  Alison’s eyes lit up as she pulled out a small digital camera. She winked at Chamberlain and said, “I’ll be back, boys. Try not to get into any trouble without me.” She disappeared to get a better angle for the shot.

  I turned my attention back toward the crane and whispered, “Okay, now we need to find a way to see what’s inside that crate. Michael, do you think you can hack into the crane?”

  “Um…Griffon…you do realize it is operated by a man…not a computer…right? Sheesh, I thought you considered yourself intelligent. I am good, but I am no miracle worker,” replied Michael.

  “A simple no would have sufficed.” I grumbled, “You can’t blame me for trying. Okay, so we’re going to have to get up there ourselves and—” I stopped speaking as my lungs leapt into my throat.

  My heart beat echoed thunderously in my ears, my palms began to sweat, my mouth clammed up, and my fingers shook. Emerging from the crowd like a king amongst peasants, came the devil.

  “Ziavir Yiros,” I whispered.

  Everyone made room for him, as if they were just as terrified of him as I was. His clothes were shades of grays and blacks. An assortment of knives hung on his belt and a pistol hung in a shoulder holster. He strode toward Murray and placed a hand on the cop’s shoulder and whispered something between venomous, smiling lips.

  My fists repeatedly clenched and unclenched. My mind drowned out Michael’s voice in my ear and Gabriel’s instructions not to do anything stupid. It wasn’t like I didn’t hear them or couldn’t predict what they were saying. I just knew their attempts were hopeless.

  “Take this,” I said to Chamberlain as I handed him the small pack that held my tools. I ripped out my earpiece before stepping out of my physical darkness into a much darker emotional space, and approached the devil and his demons.

  I drew my revolver. I didn’t care if Chamberlain followed. I vaguely heard him speaking and trying to talk me out of something. Even I attempted to do the same—to no avail. It was one of those weird moments; I lost control over my own body and allowed it to make stupid decisions on its own—like walking straight into an army of militarized thugs while carrying only an ancient six-cylinder revolver I stole from a historic museum.

  “ZIAVIR YIROS!!” I shouted into the air.

  Yup, getting dumber by the second.

  Every eye turned to me and the air crackled with the sound of weapons being primed and aimed directly at me. To my gratitude, none were military issued blaster rifles and none dared fire without exact order from their master.

  Well there’s no going back now.

  I knew if I showed no hostility, they would wait to fire.

  “You and I have business to settle!” I shouted as I pointed my finger directly at him, ignoring the army of barrels trained on me.

  What are you doing Griffon?

  “It’s time you answered for your sins! Judgment day has come!”

  Where is this coming from?

  I wondered how my face looked. I imagined a wide-eyed, terrified fool sweating like a scared pig and was thankful for the mask once again.

  “No…no that day is coming, but it’s not tonight,” he whispered without looking my way.

  Not once did he turn to look at me, like he’d already known I was there and felt unimpressed and unthreatened—like a lion feels about a fly. He stood there…humming…as he glanced over paperwork. I felt wounded by his lack of interest, like a part of me wanted to see him afraid or at least shocked to see me.

  Finally he looked at me and smiled.

  “Shaman…right? You’re the new one? I met the real one once…or twice before. He wasn’t quite as…dramatic as you. But I admire the change in personality… and the change in philosophies. Normally, I would view tonight as a great opportunity to establish a partnership in business. But, I’m afraid you’re interfering with private matters and that comes with consequences.”

  He turned to Baldy and said, “If you would do the honors, Mr. Rupert.”

  So, Baldy’s real name is Rupert.

  Rupert smiled and nodded. Then he came at me, limping slightly from the bullet I had put in his leg earlier today. He drew a long machete from his side and I saw in his eyes just how much he wanted me dead. He would kill me—slow and painfully—out of revenge for the pain I had inflicted upon him once already. He was an embarrassed killer who wanted blood, and in his eyes, I saw the determination of a man who would see it fulfilled even if it meant his own death in the process. I knew right then only one of us would be walking away here alive, and I had the gut feeling it was going to be him.

  “So, you wish to dance again, Princess? Then come and get it!” I shouted. I lifted the revolver and intended to fire. I think I honestly was planning to kill him on the spot.
But the opportunity quickly vanished from me before I could pull the trigger.

  A thug moved to my left and lifted his automatic weapon at me. I did not hesitate, did not think. I just turned and fired. The bullet left the revolver and entered the thug’s left knee cap. He collapsed screaming and held his knee cap in his hands as blood poured out. It was a permanently crippling wound. I stared in shock, grateful that everyone else couldn’t see my face behind the mask. I did not remember Rupert’s advance until it was too late.

  I turned just in time to see his machete blade coming down toward my collar bone. Even though I knew he was wounded, you could not tell by the speed and the ferocity that he moved. Adrenaline had kicked into his system, erasing all muscle memory of his injury and giving him just enough time to kill me with expert ease. I pulled back and the blade tip ripped across my shirt and left a thin red streak across my chest. It stung like a scalding shower, but I was lucky it was not too deep.

  I hopped back and tried again with the revolver, but Rupert was quicker and running on adrenaline and training. He swung again, and this time connected against my gun. I’m not sure how damaged the gun was as it went flying away, all I knew was that it was gone now.

  Clearly bringing a gun to a knife fight was a mistake here.

  Rupert moved in to slice at my exposed chest with an overarm strike and suddenly time froze so that my mind could analyze every detail available to me, to find a way out of this. In times of great danger my mind will seem to slow everything down to near milliseconds, so I could think carefully on my next action. It had saved my life more than once in life but, like all cool superpowers, always took a lot out of me later.

  My mind began working a million miles an hour, planning out several courses of action with every source of knowledge and observation given to me weighed on the scales of probability. Every scenario proposed and rejected proved only fatal and I was lost in watching the blade inch closer to striking me without me deciding on a next course of action. Each response I could think of seemed too expected and too easy for such a trained killer to stop.

  So, I did the unexpected.

  I dove forward, coming just under Rupert’s swing, and taking him in the chest. He lost his balance and my momentum drove both of us to the ground. Immediately I rolled forward off him into a crouched position where I drew my retractable metal bo staff and clicked it to its full length. Rupert was a little slower than me getting up on his hurt leg, but he was still quick enough to continue the fight.

  “You did not think this would be easy now did you, Sweetheart?” I mocked hoping to agitate him into making a mistake. This time I advanced. I twirled my bo staff around me like a pro and Rupert watched it carefully to see where it would come from. The beautiful thing about a bo staff is that the attack can come from anywhere. Blows can come from either end, and in the hands of an expert it can look like it’s coming from one end only to hit you from the other end. It was a perfect weapon of deception in my opinion.

  I swung a strong uppercut swing aimed for the underside of Rupert’s jaw. I figured going for his leg would be too expected. But the man had cat like reflexes and dodged it so easy that it stung my pride a bit. Behind a wince of pain, he came in fast and viciously swinging the machete left then right and then back left again trying to take away the space I needed to use my own weapon. I twisted the other end of bo staff around just in time to deflect the first strike. But the second swing sliced across my left arm just above the elbow while the third thankfully missed entirely.

  I fell back a few steps holding my wounded arm tightly. Blood seeped from the wound to cover my hand and clothing. A cold sensation creeped up my arm from the burning wound. I only prayed that an artery in my arm was not cut. I could still move it, though it acted stiffly and caused me considerable pain, so I took that to mean something good.

  I guess this makes our playing field a little more equal.

  Rupert licked his lips with complete ignorance of his wounded leg and brandished his machete to taunt me. He reminded me of a shark smelling blood in the water. I didn’t take that too kindly. I came at him twirling my bo staff as fast and as strong as I could. I came in high then low and then from one side to the next. My body, still sore from last night, screamed in protest and begged for rest even if it meant death. But I couldn’t allow such respite as I kept the offensive with every bit of energy in me.

  My efforts were rewarded just barely. He blocked the first two blows, but I caught him in his wounded knee with the third. He fell back a step and tried not to drop to his knees in suffering pain, but I did not let up. I whipped the bo staff up and connected against his exposed forehead. He snapped back to a full stance from the blow and I swung again for his head a second time.

  But Rupert was expecting it. Once again, with cat like reflexes his hand moved up faster than I could perceive and caught the bo staff in his hand. There was what sounded like a painful snapping pop, and I might have broken some of the bones in his hand, but still he held my weapon fast. Before I could react, he ripped my staff free from my hands like apparent ripping a toy out of a child’s hands. It clattered to the ground nearby.

  I stared at him in horror as he came at me swinging. His machete sliced across my right thigh. I cried out in pain as I fell to my knees before my executioner. I had lost I knew it. My body pulsed with white hot pain all over and no longer could I draw in breath easily. Every movement became a screaming testimony to my existence. Rupert was too fast and too good to beat in simple combat, even when he was wounded already from earlier today. I should have thought this plan out better. I should have struck from afar instead of stepping into the lion’s den. I should have known that only those who cheat in a fight ever win one to begin with.

  Rupert stood before me breathing in slow, deep breaths. He knew he had won, but he didn’t have to look so smug about it. Then again I had not lasted that long before this monster. I spotted my gun laying close-by just out of my reach. I half thought to make a dive for it, but the cold kiss of steel pressing against my exposed neck stopped that thought immediately.

  I didn’t have the courage to see it happen, to see this life end…and I was ashamed of that fact. To think I had accomplished nothing I had set out to do, nor were any of my questions answered. I had failed again. Maybe that is all that I really was. It was a sad thought to be one’s last.

  “Not yet,” I heard Ziavir say just before Rupert was about to slit my throat.

  Did he just spare my life?

  “I wish to see his face before he dies,” he said.

  Scratch that last thought.

  Rupert grabbed my mask with his free hand, making sure he did not let the pressure off with the machete in his other hand, and ripped my mask away exposing my face. Then I heard Agent Murray laugh.

  “Griffon Nightlock!” he shouted with his laughter, “You’re the Mayor’s newest puppet! I can’t believe my luck tonight!”

  “That is enough, Murray,” hissed Ziavir. Murray went silent and obediently nodded.

  “Murray is right,” said Ziavir, “I’m surprised to see you here tonight. Once again, your presence changes the course of my plans. All day I’ve had my men out scouring the city for you and here you are throwing yourself in my path. You intervened once and walked away hailed as a hero—even received a fancy new job title. Likely the most praised acceptance of slavery I’ve ever witnessed. Have you come now to test what more you can get out of these little intrusions? A rather selfish notion if you ask me.”

  He slowly walked closer to me. His hands rested at his hips, close to his knives. All I could think about was what Michael said, that Ziavir’s M.O. was to make his victims suffer and die slowly with blood loss from precise strikes with a blade. As if he read my thoughts, he pulled out his knife and casually twirled it between his fingertips. He did so with impressive intricacy.

  “It’s sad that you’ll never get to see your first day on the job. A shame, really. Believe it or not, I would have voted for y
ou…if there had been an election. I even thought maybe we could work as allies. I saw a lot of myself in you. Sadly, you’ve stumbled upon a matter tonight which I cannot allow you to witness. Simply knowing our presence tonight means someone ratted us out. That someone has to die. Their blood is on your hands, and believe me, I don’t want to do what I have to do. But, betrayal comes at a cost no matter who is the betrayer.”

  The amazing thing is that I felt a spark of fear for Alexandra, knowing that I’d put her in more danger, both from the NPFC and Ziavir when she was innocent of offending both.

  “Consider this last mercy; that I won’t kill your friends hiding close by after I kill you. I’ll give you that much grace.”

  “Oh, just get on with it! Your persistent chatter is like scraping nails across a chalkboard. You really just love to hear yourself talk!” I said.

  He smirked and said, “Believe it or not, there was much I wished to discuss with you. I’m sure you have questions about your past and what happened when you were just a boy. I can see in your eyes that you blame me, that you think I am the villain here. If you knew the truth…what’s really going on here…maybe things would be different.”

  He crouched down before me. We were at eye level and he held the knife steady at my gut. His expression sobered, and he looked to be in pain. He licked his lips and whispered, “Maybe I’m saving you from a worse fate. Continuing down this path offers no good end for anyone. There’s no peace if you persist in this quest. Killing you now while you are ignorant would be merciful.”

  “You really expect me to believe all that?” I shouted.

  He chuckled with a single breath, stood back up to his full height and said, “You still don’t get it. I’m not the bad guy here—I’m what you would call, in your black and white world, the good guy. But I guess you just don’t listen, do you? Like I’ve said before, I’m here to save Chicago.”

  He looked out toward the city and its tall buildings and breathed in the sight. Behind him I saw the truck, with the large metal crate now loaded drive away. Whatever was in there was lost from me then.