He turned and started walking toward a nearby alleyway. And, like baby ducks following their mother, the children all trooped after him. Inside the alley, the "old man" turned and faced them, only he was no longer an old man. He stood before them, dressed in a long, hooded black robe, his coppery-hued features framed by flame red hair. He held his arms out wide, as if to hug them, and the children all clustered together.
"Come," he said with a smile. "Come and meet your other playmates. We have new games to show you."
There was a brief flash of bright green light, and the alleyway was empty.
It was almost morning by the time they got back to the hotel. Their limo driver, who had fallen asleep waiting for them, stared at them with chagrin when he saw the state they were in, especially Wyrdrune, who was wet from head to toe from his immersion in the stinking sewer water. The reaction of the hotel staff was not much different, but since the Ritz was, after all, a world-class hotel and they were staying in one of its most expensive suites, after their initial shocked reaction, they immediately became solicitous, asking if they'd had some sort of accident and if there was anything they could do to be of help. Modred thanked them politely and explained that there had, indeed, been an unfortunate accident, that someone had left a sewer grating open and Wyrdrune had fallen through it, but miraculously escaped serious injury and they had gotten wet helping him out. It was, perhaps, an improbable-sounding story, but the hotel staff asked no questions. They merely inquired if a doctor was required or if they should call anyone to report the incident. Modred thanked them once again and declined, saying that after such a harrowing experience, all they wanted was to go upstairs and shower, have their clothes thrown out, then go to sleep. But the moment they walked through the door, they saw that they had company. Jacqueline and Billy had returned. Raven and Piccard were with them.
"Good God, what happened?" Jacqueline asked on seeing them.
"That can wait," said Modred, looking at the two strangers standing with her. He frowned slightly as he gazed at them. "Adepts," he said.
"These people are agents of the I.T.C.," Jacqueline said.
"I had surmised that," Modred said tensely, keeping his eyes on them. "Before we begin our explanations, perhaps you'd better give us yours."
"It's all right," said Merlin. "Allow me to present agents Raven and Piccard. Raven was once one of my students. They know everything."
"Do they, indeed?" said Modred softly. "I think that may have been a very serious mistake. I hope you can convince me otherwise, or there's a good chance that neither of them will leave this room alive."
"Your threats don't impress me, Morpheus," Piccard said. "It is Morpheus, is it not?"
"His name is Modred," Jacqueline said.
"Whatever he calls himself, we've been looking for him for a very long time," Piccard said.
"Well, it appears you've found me," Modred said. "What are you going to do about it?"
"Stop it!" said Raven. "You've both got your feathers ruffled like a pair of fighting roosters. We didn't come here for a confrontation or to place anyone under arrest."
"We didn't come here to be threatened, either," said Piccard.
"Enough," said Merlin. "Modred, these people can be trusted. The decision to tell them everything was mine. It's my responsibility."
"It was not your choice to make," said Modred. "You presume a great deal, Ambrosius. But then you always did."
"Talk, talk, talk," the broom said, shuffling into the room with its red nightcap perched atop its broomstick. "Doesn't anyone believe in sleeping anymore? Honestly, it's enough to make your bristles fall out. You're all making me crazy!" It stopped suddenly in front of Wyrdrune. "Gevalt! What happened to you? Just look at you! And that smell! Feh! You smell like a public toilet!"
"Close," said Kira.
"I'll never understand how the hell you can smell anything without a nose," said Wyrdrune.
"A stench like that, believe me, you don't need a nose to smell," the broom said. "And you two aren't much better," it said to Modred and Kira. "What on earth have you been doing? No, better yet, don't tell me, I'm sure it was disgusting. Look at you! What kind of way is this to entertain your guests? Go take your clothes off and get into a shower, for God's sake. I'm going to have to open ail die windows."
"In a minute, Broom," said Wyrdrune. "First we have to—"
"In a minute, nothing," said the broom, pushing him toward the bathroom with its spindly arms. "You get out of those stinking, sopping clothes right now before you catch your death of cold! I'll see if room service can send up some steaming chicken broth. Come on now, get."
"Broom, for cryin' out loud—"
"And don't give me any of your backtalk," said the broom, cutting him off. "You march right into that bathroom, Mister Wizard, and get out of those wet clothes. I promised your mother I'd take care of you, God rest her soul, and I'm not going to put up with any nonsense, so off you go."
The others couldn't help themselves. They burst out laughing as the broom shoved a protesting Wyrdrune into the bathroom and the tension broke.
"I've never seen anything like that in my entire life," said Raven. "It's positively charming! Is it your familiar?"
"No," said Modred, amused in spite of himself. "It's his."
"And it bosses him around like that?" Piccard said, grinning. "What sort of spell did he use to animate it?"
"That's part of the problem," Modred replied. "He doesn't remember. He couldn't reproduce it if he tried."
"Oh, dear," said Raven. "For a wizard, that's not very responsible, is it?"
"That's just the point," said Merlin. "He's not a wizard. He's only a warlock, as Kira is so fond of reminding him. He never stood for certification. He was kicked out of school before he could complete his studies."
"So that's why we've never been able to find any record of him," said Piccard. "We naturally assumed that it must have taken a wizard to spirit those gems out of a roomful of sorcerers. To think it was accomplished by a mere student!"
"Not quite a mere student," Merlin said. "Wyrdrune was the most talented natural adept I've taught since Al'Hassan. The problem in Wyrdrune's case has always been that he has no discipline. He was forever overrreaching himself, like an infant trying to walk before it's learned to crawl. The broom is a perfect example. I haven't the faintest idea what sort of spell he used, but knowing him, he undoubtedly attempted something very complicated and involved, with all sorts of strange embellishments and no real understanding of what in God's name he was doing. You see the result. He animated it to help his ailing mother around the house while he was away at school and it somehow became impressed with her personality. / can't even figure out how it manages to speak, much less reason, but its sophistication should give you some idea of Wyrdrune's natural abilities."
"And yet he was expelled from thaumaturgy school?" Piccard said. "What on earth did he do?"
"He burned down a concert hall in Boston," Kira said.
"Seriously?" asked Raven.
"He didn't mean to," Merlin explained. "He was trying to earn some extra money and he took a part-time job as a special effects adept with a band that wasn't too particular about whether or not he was actually certified, especially since he was willing to work cheaply. He cast a fire spell for one of their effects and it got out of his control."
"As I recall, a fire was used as a diversion in the theft of the runestones," said Piccard.
"He tries to learn from his mistakes," said Kira wryly. "He's got the fire spell down pat now. It's his teleportation that's a little shaky."
Raven raised her eyebrows. "He's only a warlock and he can teleport?" she said.
"Well, sort of," Kira replied. "He's like a shaky student pilot-adept. His takeoffs are okay, but his landings need a little work. To some extent, the runestones augment his natural power," she added, "as they do with me. Genetically, I suppose I have the talent to become an adept, but I've never studied, thaumaturgy. Still, I am c
apable of hurling bolts of thaumaturgic energy, but not just anytime I want. It's not really my doing. It's the runestone." She stripped off her black leather glove and opened her hand.
Raven and Piccard both came closer, to look at it. "Fascinating," said Piccard. "I have a thousand questions and I am not sure where to start."
"Why don't we begin by letting them get out of their wet clothes?" said Raven. "I'll call room service and order some more coffee."
A short while later, they were all sitting around the coffee table in the main room of the suite. Wyrdrune, all washed up, was wearing a terry cloth robe. Kira had changed into a cotton caftan and was sitting barefoot with her feet tucked under her on the couch. Modred had put on one of his silk brocade dressings gowns, a pair of slacks and slippers.
"For the sake of honesty," Piccard said, "perhaps we should begin by making sure we understand each other." He glanced at Modred. "I'm sure that neither of us is very comfortable with the prospect of working together. I cannot ignore the fact that you are a wanted criminal and I believe I speak for my partner, as well. There can be no clean slates between us, nor would you believe me if I suggested otherwise. However, due to the unique circumstances of the current situation, I believe that we must have a sort of truce. That, in and of itself, makes Raven and me lawbreakers, but it is a question of priorities. Merlin has convinced us that the Dark Ones pose a far greater threat than you do. I understand that you have given up your former, uh, 'occupation,' though that still does not absolve you of past crimes. However, that is a question that must, of necessity, be postponed indefinitely. We also understand that the nature of this situation is such that we cannot communicate what we have learned to our superiors. When it comes to that, I have to agree with Merlin. The knowledge of the Dark Ones' existence must be kept secret from the general public in order to prevent a widespread panic and we cannot vouch for the entire agency. So that leaves us all involved in a situation that, while it may be moral, is nevertheless clandestine and decidedly illegal. I suppose we shall have to live with that as best we can, but we will not be able to support you in your efforts to defeat the Dark Ones if there is not an element of trust between us. So I will tell you frankly that the moment you betray that trust, all bets are off. And the moment the threat of the Dark Ones is eliminated, I'm coming after you."
"A fine and noble little speech," said Modred with a wry smile. "All right, Piccard. I can accept those terms, so long as you understand that it must work both ways. The moment either you or Raven betray our trust, I'll be coming after you."
"Fine," said Raven with a grimace. "If we're all done flexing our muscles now, perhaps we can get down to the matter at hand."
Briefly, Modred told them about the events of that night, of how Pascal had fled down to the sewers and of how he died without revealing anything except the name of the Dark One whom he served, which was of little use to them at the moment. Then Raven told them about the latest murder, that of the prostitute who was found with her throat torn open, claw marks on her body and mutilated with the telltale thaumaturgic runes.
"For the time being," she finished, "we can run interference for Renaud. We can report that we are still pursuing our investigation, functioning in an advisory capacity to the police. That way, anyone else in the agency will be officially kept out of the case and it will remain in Renaud's jurisdiction, so long as we're in charge."
"What about Max Siegal?" Kira asked.
"He has already been released," said Raven. "Needless to say, he will be told that it was due to lack of hard evidence and to the fact that a similar crime was committed while he was in custody. The attorney that Jacqueline retained for him will make the customary outraged noises to the media, the police department will apologize profusely and there will be talk of a lawsuit for false arrest, but it will all be purely for show and the purpose of Siegal's exoneration in the public eye. Nothing will come of it."
Kira nodded. "That seems like the best way to handle it," she said.
"The question is, where do we go from here?" Piccard said. "One of the acolytes is dead, but another remains on the loose and there can be others still. For all we know, the Dark Ones could be amassing an entire army of acolytes to murder for them."
"That there will be others, I have no doubt," said Modred, "but dozens, not hundreds or thousands. Not an entire army, by any means."
"What's to prevent them?" asked Piccard.
"The laws of thaumaturgic energy," said Wyrdrune. "The more people they have under their control, the more power they'd have to expend and the Dark Ones are trying to build up their power, not deplete it."
"But the more acolytes they have under their control, committing murders for them, the more life energy they can absorb," Piccard said. "Isn't that true?"
"To some extent, it is," said Modred. "However, to use a rather peculiar, though perhaps not entirely inappropriate analogy, that would be a lot like the process of investing. To use money as the analogy for thaumaturgic power, imagine that you invest funds in a small business in order to increase your capital. It takes a certain initial expenditure to infuse capital into that business so that you might recoup on your investment and make a profit. If the business then becomes very successful and you consistently bank the profits, eventually, you will accumulate a fortune. However, if instead of banking the profits, you decide to reinvest them back into the business in order to increase its size, or, more appropriately in this case, invest the profits in another business and continue to follow that practice, then eventually you will have a large number of businesses in operation, but in terms of the money that you have ready to hand, you won't be much better off than when you started."
"Only you would be worth a great deal more on paper," said Piccard. "To follow your analogy, wouldn't the Dark Ones benefit from such a situation? At some point, they could decide to stop reinvesting in new acolytes, at which time they could then draw on all of that potential profit, as you put it. And in the meantime, we'd be kept busy trying to track down a large number of killers."
"Except that isn't the way the Dark Ones think," said Merlin. "If they did, in fact, think that way, they would have had no objection to white magic. But they were greedy for the quick accumulation of power that necromancy gave them, instead of the steady, but considerably slower methods offered by white magic. They went to war rather than give up necromancy. And when they escaped from their confinement, instead of uniting together to fight the runestones, they scattered throughout the world, seeking sanctuary in the hope that others among them would be the first to fall while they built up their strength in safety. Remember how they used Al'Hassan. They will try to do the same thing here. They will function through a small number of acolytes, hoping to increase their power as quickly as possible so that they might then attempt the sort of spell that would bring about the deaths of large numbers of people all at once, thereby releasing a massive amount of life energy that they could absorb. And if that gave them the power to defeat the runestones, they could then absorb that energy as well and become preeminent among the others of their kind."
"But what's to stop them from leaving Paris and starting over someplace else now that they know you're on to them?" asked Raven.
"Absolutely nothing," Wyrdrune said. "Only they won't do that."
"Why not? she asked.
"Because they're greedy," Wyrdrune replied. "To use Modred's terms, they have an investment to protect. They've used up thaumaturgic energy in order to possess their acolytes and keep them under control. If they left now, they'd lose whatever they had gained by starting-over someplace else. They'll cut and run only as a last resort."
"But you don't know that for sure," Piccard said.
"No, we don't," Wyrdrune admitted, "but they've followed the same pattern each time we've encountered them. They'll continue trying to accumulate as much power as they can in the hope that it will enable them to defeat us. Keep one thing in mind—we're more than just a threat to them. We're also th
e carrot on a stick. If they can kill us and destroy the runestones, it would give them an incredible amount of power, because then they'd be able to absorb the life energies of the Council of the White and after that, nothing on earth could stop them."
"And if they could manage to kill even one of us," Modred added, "it would effectively break the spell of the Living Triangle. Then the two survivors would be only as strong as the spirits of the individual runestones they possess, and that would make them far more vulnerable. The Dark Ones know we represent a threat to them, but their greed for power won't let them run. There is too much at stake. They'll play the game out to the very end."
"What happens if they win?" asked Raven.
For a moment, they all sat in silence until, finally, Merlin spoke. "Then it would usher in the Third Thaumaturgic Age," he said. "The Dark Age. The Age of Necromancy."
"Only none of us would have to worry," Wyrdrune said, "because in that event, we wouldn't be alive to see it."
"Is the power of the runestones the only thing that can destroy the Dark Ones?" Raven asked.
"Fortunately, no," said Wyrdrune. "In London, Billy killed one with his knife. An immortal can be killed, but it has to be an immediately fatal wound. If the necromancer has the strength and the time to use a spell to heal himself, he can easily survive a wound that would kill an ordinary man."
"And immortals also have natural, regenerative powers that are far greater than any human's," Merlin said. "Which means that you cannot hope to incapacitate them, at least not for long. Trying to arrest them is simply out of the question. Any attempt to do so would result in death for the arresting officers and even if they could successfully be captured, there is no way that you could ever hope to hold them. You must remember, above all, that we are not dealing with a human enemy. The only way to stop them is to kill them."
"Well, at least they can be killed by conventional means. That's something hopeful, anyway," Piccard said.
[Wizard of 4th Street 04] - The Wizard of Rue Morgue Page 14
