[Wizard of 4th Street 04] - The Wizard of Rue Morgue

by Simon Hawke - (ebook by Undead)

  "If we run into the Dark Ones, they'd only wind up getting in the way," said Wyrdrune. "It's more important to have them out patrolling the streets, so we can try to keep the Dark Ones from claiming any more victims and increasing their strength. If they're down there, we'll find them. And with any luck, we'll be able to finish it down there, and not up in the streets where people might get hurt."

  "Good luck," Renaud had said.

  "Thanks," Kira said. "You, too."

  They still had a few more hours before it grew dark, so they took the opportunity to catch some much-needed sleep. When they awoke, it was to discover that Sebastian Makepeace had arrived. Not wanting to disturb them, he had set his carpetbag down by the closet and had room service send up a tremendous meal to nourish his six-foot-six-inch, three-hundred-pound frame. There was enough food to feed four very hungry people and wine for at least half a dozen.

  Flamboyantly dressed, as usual, in a loud, checkered coat, brown velvet trousers, gold-buckled shoes and silk shirt with a flowing Flemish neckcloth, his long white hair topped by a black beret set at a jaunty angle, he was sitting at the table, playing cards with four of the hotel's animated vacuum cleaners.

  "Sebastian! Good. You made it just in time," Modred said.

  "Ah, the sleepers awake!" Makepeace boomed, a large Jamaican cigar clamped between his teeth. The vacuum cleaners made whirring noises as they held their cards. "We're playing for attachments," Makepeace explained. "A modified form of strip poker, I suppose. You might say I'm taking the cleaners to the cleaners, though what I'm going to do with an assortment of brushes and carpet beaters is beyond me. I suppose I might be able to ransom them back to the hotel cleaning staff." He glanced around at the machines. "Or are you the hotel cleaning staff?"

  "Same old Makepeace," said Wyrdrune wryly. "World's biggest and weirdest fairy."

  "And I'm pleased as punch to see you, too, Melvin," Makepeace said. He took the cigar out of his mouth and sniffed the air. "Do I detect a peculiar odor?" he said.

  "Must be that rope you're smoking," Wyrdrune said sourly.

  "No, it's a decidedly biological odor," Makepeace said, "faint, but rather pungent. And it seems to be coming from you." He frowned. "You didn't wet your bed, did you?"

  "No, I didn't wet my bed," Wyrdrune replied in an irritated tone.

  "He took a dip in the sewer," Kira said with a chuckle. "You should've used more soap."

  "I used plenty of soap," Wyrdrune retorted, "but Sebastian's got a nose like a bloodhound."

  "Please," said Makepeace in an offended tone. "The physical senses of faeries are far superior to those of mere domestic animals."

  "Apparently, so are their appetites," said Merlin, glancing at the remains of the meal.

  "Greetings, Ambrosius," Makepeace said cheerfully. "You're looking well. Have you gone through puberty yet?"

  '"Allo, yourself, you bloody great whale," Billy replied. "'Ave ya busted any chairs lately?"

  "Only in a rather animated discussion in an East Village taproom, my boy," Makepeace said. "A minor disagreement over the virtues of domestic versus imported beer. The other party was foolish enough to maintain that the mineral water laughingly referred to as 'light beer' was superior to—"

  "Gin," one of the vacuum cleaners said in a metallic voice, laying down its cards.

  "What do you mean, gin, you infernal contraption?" Makepeace said. "We're playing poker!"

  The vacuum cleaner whirred and clicked.

  "Fullhouse."

  "Full house, my Aunt Martha's buttocks! How do you get a full house with two threes, a deuce and a pair of jacks? You've got two pair!"

  Click, whirr.

  "Two pair."

  "Straight flush," said Makepeace, laying down his cards. "That'll cost you your hose and your drape cleaning attachment. Oh, never mind, here, take it all back. You need it more than I do. Go on, game's over, go suck up a hairball or something."

  The canisters picked up their attachments and clanked and whirred out of the room.

  "I've been attempting to deduce what you're planning to do with all this rather bizarre paraphernalia," Makepeace said, pointing to the equipment laid out on the couch. "It's been something of a challenge. Wet suits, flashlights and firearms with laser sighting systems. You're either planning to assault a barge upon the Seine or you're going after some sort of mutant, killer snipe."

  "We're going down into the sewers to confront the Dark Ones and their acolytes," said Modred. "And you've arrived just in time to come along."

  "Into the sewers?" Makepeace said, aghast. "My dear boy, I'll have you know that these are three-hundred-dollar, crushed velvet trousers. I have absolutely no intention of ruining them by wading through French sewage, to say nothing of my silk socks and Cabretta leather shoes. Can't you convince them to come up and have it out like gentlemen in a somewhat more congenial location?"

  "I'm afraid not," Wyrdrune said. "And we have only four wet suits, sized for us. Besides, there isn't enough rubber in all of Paris to make one up for you. Looks like you'll have to get your feet wet."

  Makepeace pushed his chair back from the table and stood, indignantly drawing himself up to his full height, which was considerable. "Well, if you think I'm going to ruin my clothes by sloshing about like Jean Valjean through the Parisian plumbing, you're very much mistaken."

  "We need your help, Sebastian," Modred said. "This is serious."

  "Ruining a pair of five-hundred-dollar shoes is serious," said Makepeace. He sighed. "Oh, well, if I must go wading through rat-infested sewage, I suppose style must, of necessity, make some concessions to practicality." He threw his hands up in the air and said, "Voila!"

  In an instant, his flamboyant clothes were gone and he stood attired from head to toe in a one-piece, black-trimmed, white rubber suit with a close-fitting hood and matching boots.

  Wyrdrune snorted. "You look like a damn dirigible."

  "Keep it up, Melvin," Makepeace said, "and I'll perform my impression of the Hindenburg disaster."

  "That was a hydrogen-filled blimp, wasn't it?" said Wyrdrune, suiting up with the others. "I always had you figured for hot air. Anyway, try not to explode until we've taken care of the Dark Ones."

  "How would like fire ants in your wet suit?" Makepeace said.

  "That's the least of my worries," Wyrdrune said. "I'm still trying to figure out what they're going to think when we go through the lobby dressed this way."

  "This hotel has catered to American tourists for centuries," said Modred. "By now, I doubt that anything would surprise them."

  Half an hour later, they stood in the alley over the sewer entrance where Pascal had fled when he was shot. It was growing dark. Wyrdrune levitated the lid, moving it back out of the way to expose the ladder leading down.

  "Are you ready?" Modred asked Billy.

  "Right," said Billy. "Ole' Merlin's tellin' Raven that we're goin' in."

  Wyrdrune grimaced. "I wish there was some other way of doing this," he said.

  "There isn't," Kira said. "Go on. You first."

  "Thanks," he said wryly, and started to lower himself down through the opening. He paused. "Hey, Sebastian. Think you'll fit through here? We might have a problem if you get yourself stuck."

  "I have no intention of crawling down a hole like some sort of woodchuck," Makepeace said indignantly. "I'll meet you down there."

  He made a flourishing gesture with his arm and vanished, teleporting down below. Once they all reached the bottom, they snapped on their flashlights to conserve their thaumaturgic energy and checked their weapons.

  "All right," said Modred. "We'll retrace the route we took before, when we were following Pascal. Let's keep together. If I'm not wrong, somewhere down here is an entrance to the Catacombs. If we get close, the runestones will let us know, but keep in mind that the Dark Ones will be able to sense our presence just as we'll be able to sense theirs, so there's not much chance of our gaining the advantage of surprise. Keep the talking do
wn and stay alert. All right, let's go."

  Piccard missed Max Siegal by only a few moments. The police unit Renaud had dispatched to the scene was already waiting for him by the time that he arrived in the second unit and they had secured the premises.

  "Piccard, I.T.C., " he said, showing his I.D. to the officers on the scene. "What have we got here? Have you seen Siegal?"

  "They've already been and gone," the uniformed officer told him. "We took a quick look upstairs in Rienzi's apartment. We couldn't tell much. There seems to have been a struggle on the premises, but there was no sign of blood. Merely a few pieces of furniture knocked over, several items broken, as if they'd been thrown . . . could have been a domestic argument for all we know."

  "Did you question the neighbors?" asked Piccard.

  "The neighbors are all elderly. No one saw or heard anything," the officer replied. He consulted his notepad. "Siegal and Rienzi, accompanied by several men, showed up about ten or fifteen minutes ago. There was a young woman with them. She had apparently been waiting at the apartment when they arrived. We have only a first name for her, Colette. According to the neighbors, who were briefly questioned by Siegal and his friends before they left, the young woman was a dancer who claimed to be a friend of the missing girl. She's described as being blond, leggy and extremely attractive. The neighbors said she was in a very agitated state over the disappearance of Suzanne Muset. Two of the people with Siegal and Rienzi identified themselves as reporters. One of them might have been with the Tribune. As I said, the neighbors weren't particularly helpful. We secured the scene and waited for you to arrive, as per Inspector Renaud's instructions. Other than that, I'm afraid we haven't got much."

  "All right," Piccard said. "I'm going to go take a look upstairs. Which apartment is it?"

  "Three-B," the officer said.

  Piccard nodded. "I'll take charge of this," he said. "I want you and your partner to cruise the neighborhood and see if you can locate Siegal and the others. I want them detained. Use restraint, but if they resist, place them under arrests."

  "On what charge?"

  "Interfering with a homicide investigation," said Piccard. "There's reason to believe that at least one of them may have a gun, so exercise caution. I don't expect they'll give you any trouble, but you can never tell. If you find them, search them carefully, relieve them of any weapons they may have and call in. I want those people off the streets."

  "Yes, sir. We'll get right on it."

  As the officer and his partner got back into their unit and pulled away, Piccard went upstairs with the two policemen he had arrived with. When they got to the apartment, he told them to wait outside and went in by himself.

  There was no sign of entry having been forced. He stood inside the entryway and looked around the small apartment. A lamp had been knocked over. The coffee table was at a peculiar angle, as if someone had knocked into it and shoved it aside. There were some broken bits and pieces on the floor, ceramics of some sort that had been thrown and shattered. The carpet was rumpled, but other than that, the officer was right. There was not much that could be ascertained by a quick glance at the scene. Piccard closed his eyes and concentrated, stretching out his hands, palms out. Almost at once, he staggered and threw his arm out to steady himself against the wall. The thaumaturgic trace emanations were so strong, he was overcome by dizziness and he shook his head to clear it. He had never encountered anything so powerful before. He quickly left the apartment.

  "I want this place sealed," he said. "No one goes in without my personal authorization, is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You stay here and see to it," he said to one of the officers. He turned to the second one. "You come with me."

  They hurried back downstairs and to the patrol unit. Piccard picked up the handset and radioed in. He was patched through to Renaud.

  "Piccard here," he said. "I'm at the scene on the Rue Morgue."

  "Did you find Siegal and the others?" Renaud asked.

  "No, we just missed them. They couldn't have gone far. I've sent one of the units out to cruise the neighborhood and look for them, with orders to detain them and call in the moment they are found. Do you know anything about a young woman named Colette, last name unknown, a dancer, apparently an acquaintance of Suzanne Muset?"

  "No, the name means nothing to me," said Renaud. "Why?"

  "It seems she was waiting at the apartment when Siegal and the others arrived. Apparently, she's with them now. They questioned the neighbors, then left. I'm not sure if it means anything or not. However, I took a look at the apartment and made a quick scan. Definite presence, stronger than anything I've ever encountered before. It almost made me black out. I'm still a little dizzy."

  "What do you make of it?" Renaud asked.

  "I can only guess," Piccard said, "but I'd say it seems highly probable that the victim was literally spirited away. I'm inclined to think that the disarray in the apartment was merely a blind. Given such power, she couldn't have had a chance to struggle or resist in any way. Has Raven had any contact yet?"

  "Yes, she's in contact now," Renaud said, careful not to be specific over the police band. "Are you heading back in?"

  "Not yet. I'm going to look around, see if I can pick up anything else. There's something bothering me about all this, something I can't quite put my finger on. We've had two murders and now an apparent kidnapping, all in the same building. There has to be a reason."

  "Are there any sewer access points near you?" asked Renaud.

  "Of course!" Piccard said. "I'll check."

  "Get back to me as soon as you can," Renaud said.

  "Right," said Piccard. "Out."

  He replaced the handset and got out of the unit. "Stay here," he told the officer. "Sound the horn if they call us back."

  He walked around outside the building. There was a small antique shop on the first floor, run by the old man who lived above it. Another building abutted it on the left, but on the right there was a narrow alleyway. Piccard entered it. There was a side entrance to the antique shop. The door was bolted. Just beyond it was a metal dumpster. The alley ended in a cul de sac, with wooden crates stacked up against the back wall. He closed his eyes again and extended his awareness. Once more, the sensation hit him so strongly that his head reeled. Slowly, he walked down the alley until he came to the point where the emanations were the strongest. He looked down.

  "Voila," he said softly. He was standing above a sewer access cover. It was open. As he bent down over it, something caught his eye. He reached out and picked up a torn scrap of white material. He hurried back to the patrol car.

  "Give me your flashlight," he said to the officer. He radioed in again.

  "Renaud? Piccard here. You were right. Definite trace emanations, leading directly to a sewer entrance in the alleyway beside the building. The grate was open and I found a torn scrap of cloth caught on the opening of the access shaft. It looks like a piece of a woman's blouse. Tell Raven I'm going down."

  "You want some backup?"

  "No, I'm going in alone. I'm leaving the unit stationed outside, at the entrance to the alley. If you don't hear from me in half an hour, tell Raven to inform the others."

  "Be careful, Piccard."

  "I fully intend to be. Over and out."

  He hung up the handset, instructed the officer to remain with his unit outside the alley and let no one in, under any circumstances. Then he took the flashlight, checked his sidearm, and went down into the access shaft.

  As he got off the ladder, he snapped on the flashlight and played the beam around him. He was in one of the smaller tunnels running underneath the street, standing on a narrow concrete walkway that was buckled and veined with cracks. Sewage water ran sluggishly in the channel to his right and the tunnel wall opposite him had a large fissure running the length of it. It looked about ready to collapse. It had been years since any real maintenance was done on the ancient sewer tunnels and large sections of them were structur
ally unsound. If the city didn't find the money to start fixing up the tunnels, they were bound to start collapsing before long. He swallowed nervously and hoped the tunnel would not collapse while he was down there. The crack looked very wide and water was seeping through it.

  Once again, he felt the powerful trace emanations of thaumaturgic energy, almost as if it were a trail left for him to follow. He didn't even have to concentrate very hard to sense it. It was all around him. The entire tunnel seemed to be throbbing with it. He momentarily debated going back up and calling in, having Raven direct the others to this section of the tunnel system, but he decided to look around a little more, just to be sure. He followed the damaged concrete walkway to a point about thirty or forty yards down, where a large branch pipe joined the tunnel. He followed the trace emanations inside. They seemed even stronger now.

  He bent down low, crouching over with the roof of the pipe just above his head. Scummy water eddied around his calves. He shined the flashlight beam ahead of him. He could see the far end of the branch pipe, where it connected with another tunnel about twenty-five yards ahead. He moved along the pipe and stepped out into the other tunnel, into a sewer channel mat was about knee-deep. It was a junction point, where several branch tunnels met. He played his flashlight beam around the entire area. There was structural damage here, as well. A portion of the tunnel's ceiling had collapsed and there was rubble piled up in the channel. The wall beside him was veined with fissures. Water dripped. He recoiled with disgust as the slick brown bodies of several rats wriggled past him through the slime. And then he heard it. A soft whimpering. The sound of someone crying.

  He moved the flashlight beam in the direction of the sound and saw a spot where a large section of the tunnel wall had collapsed, leaving a pile of debris sticking up out of the water and beyond it, a dark opening, like the entrance to a cave. And huddled inside that opening, curled up into a little ball, was a young girl.