The Complete Adversary Cycle: The Keep, the Tomb, the Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack)

by F. Paul Wilson

  “There,” she whispered. “There’s a true rakosh!”

  Even though he knew he was invisible to the rakosh, Jack took an involuntary step backward. This one was huge, fully a foot taller and darker than the rest, moving with greater ease, greater determination.

  “It’s a female,” Kolabati said. “That must be the one that hatched from our egg! The Mother rakosh! Control her and you control the nest!”

  She seemed almost as awed and excited as she was terrified. Jack guessed it was part of her heritage. Hadn’t she been raised to be what she called a “Keeper of the Rakoshi”?

  Jack looked again at the Mother. He found it hard to call her a female—there was nothing feminine about her, not even breasts—which probably meant that rakoshi did not suckle their young. She looked like a huge body-builder whose arms, legs, and torso had been stretched to grotesque lengths. There was not an ounce of fat on her; each cord of her musculature could be seen rippling under her inky skin. Her face was the most alien, however, as if someone had taken a shark’s head, shortened the snout, and moved the eyes slightly forward, leaving the fanged slash of a mouth almost unchanged. But the cold, remote gaze of the shark had been replaced by a soft pale glow of pure malevolence.

  She even moved like a shark, gracefully, sinuously. The other rakoshi made way for the Mother, parting before her like mackerel before a great white. She headed directly for the two fighters, and when she reached them, she tore them apart and hurled them aside as if they weighed nothing. Her children accepted the rough treatment meekly.

  He watched the Mother make a circuit of the chamber and return to the passage leading to the forward hold.

  How do we get out of here?

  Jack looked up toward the ceiling of the hold—actually the underside of the hatch cover, invisible in the dark. He had to get up there, to the deck. How?

  He poked his head into the hold and scanned the slick walls for a ladder. There was none. But there, at the top of the starboard aft corner of the hold—the elevator! If he could bring that down…

  Buf to do that he would have to enter the hold and cross its width.

  The thought was paralyzing. To walk among them…

  Every minute he delayed in getting off this ship increased his danger, yet a primal revulsion held him back. Something within him preferred to crouch here and wait for death rather than venture into the hold.

  He fought against it, not with reason but with anger. He was in charge here, not some mindless loathing. Jack finally mastered himself, although with greater effort than he could ever remember.

  “Hold on!” he whispered to Kolabati. Then he stepped out of the corridor and into the hold.

  He moved slowly, with the utmost care and caution. Most of the rakoshi were caliginous lumps scattered over the floor. He had to step over some of the sleeping ones and wind his way between the alert ones. Although his sneakered feet made no sound, occasionally a head would lift and look around as they passed. Jack could barely make out the details of their faces and would not know a puzzled rakoshi expression if he saw one, but they had to be confused. They sensed a presence, yet their eyes told them nothing was there.

  He could sense their pure, naked aggression, their immaculate evil. There was no pretense about their savagery—it was all on the surface, surrounding them like an aura.

  Jack still felt his heart trip and fumble a beat every time one of the creatures looked his way with its yellow eyes. His mind still resisted complete acceptance of the fact that he was invisible to them.

  The reek of the things thickened to a nauseating level as he wound his way across the floor. They must have looked a comical pair, tip-toeing piggy-back through the dark. Laughable unless it was remembered how precarious their position was: one wrong move and they would be torn to shreds.

  If negotiating a path through the recumbent rakoshi was harrowing, dodging the wandering ones was utterly nerve-wracking. Jack had little or no warning as to when they would appear. They would loom out of the shadows and pass within inches, some pausing, some even stopping to look around, sensing humans but not seeing them.

  He was three-quarters of the way across the floor of the hold when a seven-foot shadow suddenly rose from the floor and stepped toward him. Jack had nowhere to go. Dark forms reclined on either side and the space where he stood between them would not allow a rakosh to pass. Instinctively he jerked back—and began to lose his balance. Kolabati must have sensed this for she pressed her weight rigidly against his spine.

  In a desperate move to keep from toppling over, Jack lifted his left leg and pivoted on his right foot. He swiveled in a semicircle to wind up facing the way he had come, straddling a sleeping rakosh. As it shuffled past, the creature brushed Jack’s arm.

  With a sound somewhere between a growl and a hiss, the rakosh whirled with raised talons, baring its fangs. Jack didn’t think he had ever seen anything move so fast. He clenched his jaw, not daring to move or breathe. The creature asleep between and beneath his legs stirred. He prayed it would not awaken. He could feel a scream building within Kolabati; he tightened his grip around her legs—silent encouragement to hold on.

  The rakosh facing him rotated its head back and forth quickly, warily at first, then more slowly. Soon it calmed itself and lowered its talons. Finally it moved off, but not without a long, searching look over its shoulder in their direction.

  Jack allowed himself to breathe again. He swung back into the path of clear floor between the rakoshi and continued the endless trek toward the starboard wall of the hold. As he neared the aft corner, he spotted an electrical conduit leading upward from a small box on the wall. He headed for that, and smiled to himself when he saw the three buttons on the box.

  The shallow well directly under the elevator was clear of rakoshi. Perhaps they had learned during the time they had been here that this was not a good place to rest—sleep too deeply and too long and you might be crushed.

  Jack didn’t hesitate. As soon as he was close enough, he reached out and jabbed the DOWN button.

  There came a loud clank—almost deafening as it echoed through the gloomy, enclosed hold—followed by a high-pitched hum. The rakoshi—all of them—were instantly alert and on their feet, their glowing yellow eyes fixed as one on the descending platform.

  Movement at the far side of the hold caught Jack’s eye: The Mother rakosh was heading their way. All the rakoshi began to shuffle forward to stand in a rough semi-circle less than a dozen feet from where Jack stood with Kolabati on his back. He had backed up as far as he could without actually stepping into the foot-deep elevator well.

  The Mother pushed her way to the front and stood there with the rest, eyes upward. When the descending platform reached the level of ten feet or so from the floor, the rakoshi began a low chant, barely audible above the steadily growing whine of the elevator.

  “They’re speaking!” Kolabati whispered in his ear. “Rakoshi can’t speak!”

  With all the other noise around them, Jack felt it safe to turn his head and answer her.

  “You should have seen it last night—like a political rally. They were all shouting something like, ’Kaka-ji! Kaka-ji!’ It was—”

  Kolabati’s fingernails dug into his shoulders like claws, her voice rising in pitch and volume that he feared would alert the rakoshi.

  “What? What did you say?”

  “’Kaka-ji.’ They were saying, ’Kaka-ji.’ What’s—?”

  Kolabati let out a small cry that sounded like a word, but not an English word. And suddenly the chant stopped.

  The rakoshi had heard her.

  12

  Kusum stood at the curb with his arm outstretched. All the taxis on Fifth Avenue seemed to be taken tonight. He tapped his foot impatiently. He wanted to get back to the ship. Night was here and there was work to be done. There was work to be done at the Consulate, too, but he had found it impossible to stay there a minute longer, emergency meeting or no. He had excused himself amid frowns fr
om the senior diplomats, but he could afford their displeasure now. After tonight he would no longer need the shield of diplomatic immunity. The last Westphalen would be dead and he would be at sea, on his way back to India with his rakoshi to take up where he had left off.

  There was still the matter of Jack to contend with. He had already decided how to deal with him. He would allow Jack to swim ashore later tonight after he had put to sea. Killing him would serve no purpose at that point.

  He still had not figured out how Jack had found the ship. That question had nagged him for hours, distracting him throughout the meeting at the Consulate. No doubt Kolabati had told him about it, but he wanted to know for sure.

  An empty taxi finally pulled up before him. Kusum swung into the back seat.

  “Where to, Mac?”

  “West on Fifty-seventh Street. I will tell you when to stop.”

  “Gotcha.”

  He was on his way. Soon the Mother and a youngling would be on their way to bring him the last Westphalen, and then he would be rid of this land. His followers awaited. A new era was about to dawn for India.

  13

  Jack froze as the creatures began milling around, searching for the source of the cry. Behind him he could feel Kolabati’s body bucking gently against him as if she were sobbing soundlessly into the nape of his neck.

  What had he said to shock her so? It had to be “Kaka-ji. ” What did it mean?

  The top of the elevator’s wooden platform had descended to chest level by now. With his left arm still hooked around one of Kolabati’s knees, Jack freed his right and hauled himself and his burden onto the platform. He struggled to his knees and staggered to the control panel next to one of the propane torches, punching the UP button as soon as he reached it.

  With an abrupt lurch and a metallic screech, the elevator reversed direction. The attention of all the rakoshi was once again focused on the elevator. With Kolabati still clinging to him, Jack sagged to his knees at the edge of the platform and stared back at them.

  When they were a dozen feet off the floor, he let go of Kolabati’s legs. Without a word she released her grip on his neck and slid away toward the inner corner of the platform. As soon as she broke contact with him, a chorus of enraged growls and hisses broke from the floor. The rakoshi could see him now.

  They surged forward like a Stygian wave, slashing the air with their talons. Jack watched them in mute fascination, stunned by the intensity of their fury. Suddenly three of them lunged into the air, long arms stretched to the limit, talons extended. Jack’s first impulse was to laugh at the futility of the attempt—the platform was easily fifteen feet from the floor now. But as the rakoshi hurtled up at him, he realized to his horror that they weren’t going to fall short. He rolled back and sprang to his feet as their talons caught the edge of the platform. Their strength had to be enormous!

  The rakosh in the middle fell short of the other two. Its yellow talons had hooked into the very edge of the platform; the ends of the wooden planks cracked and splintered under its weight. As jagged pieces broke loose, the middle rakosh dropped back to the floor.

  The other two had a better grip and were pulling themselves up onto the platform. Jack leaped to his left where the rakosh was raising its face above the level of the platform. He saw gnashing fangs, a snouted, earless head. Loathing surged up in him as he aimed a flying kick at its face. The impact of the blow vibrated up his leg. Yet the creature hadn’t even flinched. It was like kicking a brick wall!

  Then he remembered the lighters in his hands. He thumbed the flame regulator on each to maximum and flicked the switches. As two thin wavering pencils of flame shot up, he shoved both lighters at the rakosh’s face, aiming for the eyes. It hissed in rage and jerked its head back. The sudden movement caused a backward shift in its center of gravity. Its talons raked inch-deep gouges in the wood but to no avail. It was over-balanced. Like the first rakosh. its weight caused the wood to crack and give way. It toppled back to the shadows below.

  Jack swung toward the last rakosh and saw that it had pulled its body waist-high to the platform, just then lifting a knee over the edge. It was almost up! He leaped toward it with his lighters outstretched. Without warning, the rakosh leaned forward and slashed at him with extended talons that brushed Jack’s right hand. He had underestimated both the length of the creature’s arm and its agility. Pain lanced up his arm from his palm as the Cricket went flying and Jack fell back out of reach.

  The rakosh had slipped back after its attempt at Jack, almost losing its grip entirely. It had to use both hands to keep itself from falling off, but it held on and began to pull itself up to the platform again.

  Jack’s mind raced. The rakosh would be up on the platform in a second or two. The elevator had been rising continuously but would never make it to the top in time. He could rush back to where Kolabati crouched in a daze by the propane tank and take her in his arms. The necklace would hide him from the rakosh, but the elevator platform was too small to keep it from finding them eventually—sooner or later it would bump into them and that would be the end.

  He was trapped.

  Desperately, his eyes ranged the platform looking for a weapon. They came to rest on the propane torches Kusum used for his foul ceremony with the rakoshi. He remembered how the flames had roared six feet into the air last night. There was a fire to reckon with!

  The rakosh had both knees up on the platform now.

  “Turn on the gas!” he shouted to Kolabati.

  She looked at him blank-eyed. She seemed to be in a state of shock.

  “The gas!” He flung his second Cricket lighter at her, striking her in the shoulder. “Turn it on!”

  Kolabati shook herself and reached slowly for the handle atop the tank. Come on! He wanted to scream at her. He turned to the torch. It was a hollow metal cylinder, six inches across, supported by four slender metal legs. As he wrapped an arm around it and tilted it toward the oncoming rakosh, he heard the propane rushing through the gasport at the lower end of the cylinder, filling it, smelled the gas seeping into the air around him.

  The rakosh had reared up to its full height and was leaping toward him, seven feet of bared fangs, outstretched arms, and fully extended talons. Jack almost quailed at the sight. His third Cricket was slippery with blood from the gash on his palm, but he found the touch hole at the base of the torch, flicked the lighter, and jammed it in.

  The gas exploded with a near deafening roar, shooting a devastating column of flame directly into the face of the oncoming rakosh.

  The creature reeled back, its arms outflung, its head ablaze. It spun, lurched crazily to the edge of the platform, and fell off.

  “Yes!” Jack shouted, raising his fists in the air, exultant and amazed at his victory. “Yes!”

  Down below he saw the Mother rakosh, darker, taller than her young, staring upward, her cold yellow eyes never leaving him as he rose farther and farther from the floor. The intensity of the hatred in those eyes made him turn away.

  He coughed as smoke began to fill the air around him. He looked down and saw the wood of the platform blackening and catching fire where the flame of the fallen torch seared it. He quickly stepped over to the propane tank and shut off the flow. Kolabati crouched next to the tank, her expression still dazed.

  The elevator came to an automatic halt at the top of its run. The hold hatch cover sat six feet above them. Jack guided Kolabati over to the ladder that led up to a small trapdoor in the cover. He went up first, half expecting it to be locked. Why not? Every other escape route was blocked. Why should this one be any different? He pushed, wincing with pain as his bloody right palm slipped on the wood. But the door moved up, letting in a puff of fresh air. Momentarily weak with relief, Jack rested his head on his arm.

  Made it!

  Then he threw open the trapdoor, and thrust his head through.

  It was dark. The sun had set, stars were out, the moon was rising. The humid air and the normal stink of Manhattan�
��s waterfront was like ambrosia after being in the hold with the rakoshi.

  He looked across the deck. Nothing moved. The gangway was up. There was no sign that Kusum had returned.

  Jack turned and looked down at Kolabati. “It’s clear. Let’s go.”

  He pulled himself up onto the deck and turned to help her out. But she was still standing on the elevator platform.

  “Kolabati!” He yelled her name and she jumped, looked at him, and started up the ladder.

  When they were both on deck he led her by the hand to the gangway.

  “Kusum operates it electronically,” she told him.

  He searched the top of the gangway with his hands until he found the motor, then followed the wires back to a small control box. On the undersurface of that he found a button.

  “This should do it.”

  He pressed: A click, a hum, and the gangway began its slow descent. Too slow. An overwhelming sense of urgency possessed him. He had to be off this ship!

  He didn’t wait for the gangway to reach the dock. As soon as it passed the three-quarter mark in its descent he was on the treads, heading down, pulling Kolabati behind him. They jumped the last three feet and began to run. Some of his urgency must have transferred to her—she was running right beside him.

  They stayed away from Fifty-seventh Street on the chance that they might run into Kusum coming back to the docks. Instead they ran up Fifty-eighth. Three taxis passed them by despite Jack’s shouts. Perhaps the cabbies didn’t want to get involved with two haggard-looking people—a shirtless man with a bloody right hand and a woman in a rumpled sari—looking as if they were running for their lives. Jack couldn’t say he blamed them. But he wanted to get off the street. He felt vulnerable out here.

  A fourth taxi stopped and Jack leaped in, dragging Kolabati after him. He gave the address of his apartment. The driver wrinkled his nose at the stench that clung to them and floored his gas peddle. He seemed to want to be rid of this fare as soon as possible.