by Barry Reese
The Iron Maiden stepped away from her husband and began to unsnap her helmet. When she pulled it away, she gave her hair a good shake and wiped at some sweat on her forehead. “What is his real name, this Manchu?”
“No one knows,” Max answered. “I’ve heard rumors that he was a member of the Imperial family but that he backed the wrong side during the Boxer Rebellion. I do know that he served as a thief and an assassin during his younger days but he never revealed anything close to a real identity to me.”
McKenzie looked around, his handsome face growing concerned. “Last time, he kidnapped your son and nearly killed your wife. You want me to put them into protective custody?”
Max shook his head. “No. I’ll hide them myself. No offense, but the Warlike Manchu is too devious to be held off by anything your officers could come up with.” The Peregrine reached out and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “If you don’t mind cleaning up here…”
“Of course not. Go home and tell Evelyn.”
Max nodded and started to turn but he stopped himself. “Will… be careful. He might come after you, too.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself… and besides, I have Kirsten to look out for me.”
The Iron Maiden, a former Nazi agent turned ally, laughed at that. “If this Manchu shows his face, I will batter him to a pulp and then turn him over to you, Max.”
The Peregrine didn’t join in the laughter. He moved with purposeful strides to the door and exited the Hall, his mind clouded with a dozen dire scenarios. Unlike almost all his other enemies, the Warlike Manchu knew practically every secret the Peregrine possessed. How could he be stopped, especially now that it was clear that not even death would be enough?
CHAPTER III
The Mounting Horror
Yue Jian was an old man. He walked with a stooped back and had a shuffling manner with his feet that made it impossible for him to move with any stealth. His long white beard was tied at the end, making it somewhat easier to manage, but it still swayed against his robes as he was led down the torch-lit hallway. Members of the Ten Fingers escorted him, their young faces impassive.
Jian stepped into the Warlike Manchu’s chambers, where the mastermind sat in a massive throne-like chair. Two nude women lay on the floor before him, their bodies ripped and torn. They looked like an animal had taken them, devouring them while they were still kicking and screaming. Jian’s eyes traveled up to the blood-stained robes of the Warlike Manchu and he shivered a bit, marveling at what the man before him had become.
“You summoned me?” Jian asked.
The Warlike Manchu raised a hand to his lips, savoring a drop of flesh that was still caked there. He examined Jian through heavily-lidded eyes. He looked like a man coming down from an opium high but Jian knew that the Manchu’s drug at present was a far more bloody affair. “You have served me for quite some time, Jian. You were but a boy when you entered my service.”
“Yes. I was only seven years old when I snuck into your home, intending to kill you.”
The Manchu leaned forward, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “I forget, Jian… why did you want me dead?”
“You butchered my parents for refusing to work on your behalf. They were chemists.”
“Ah, yes. I remember now. Your mother was very beautiful. I offered to let her live as one of my concubines but she spat in my face. I cut her nose off and forced her to eat it.”
Jian said nothing, having heard this story before. He knew that there were times when the normally quiet and enigmatic Manchu enjoyed verbally torturing his underlings… and Jian was a frequent target of such abuse. He had long ago learned to ignore whatever pain lingered over the death of his parents. “Is there something that I can do for you, o master?”
The Warlike Manchu rose from his seat, his robes rustling against his legs. He stepped over the corpses and places a hand on Jian’s shoulder, leading the older man towards an adjoining room. “Over the years, you have become a trusted advisor to me. You have taken to your tasks well, reading every tome that I have given you and breaking down the information within them, giving me only what I need. I have reason to call upon your skills again.”
“I live to serve,” the old man murmured, allowing himself to be led into the Manchu’s library. The master criminal had set up operations in an old hotel located on Peachtree Street, just a few blocks from the Fabulous Fox Theatre.
The Warlike Manchu gestured to a series of books laid out on a table, each bound in leather with cracking spines. “I have some research I would like you to do for me. Time is of the essence.”
Jian touched one of the books, opening its pages carefully in an attempt to protect the aged papers. The interiors of the books were enough to make him gasp aloud. Stunningly bright color plates had been stitched in here and there, depicting scenes that were intriguing to say the least. “These are masterpieces… priceless gems.”
“It cost many men their lives for me to obtain them,” the Manchu confirmed. He smelled of death and blood, but those close to him had become immune to those things. “I seek nothing less than the ultimate rising of the spirit, Jian, the transfiguration of the soul, as symbolized by the alchemical altering of lead into gold.”
Jian looked up at his master, his eyes widening. “You seek the Philosopher’s Stone?”
The Warlike Manchu smiled coldly. “The Stone is a means to an end, my old friend. I seek the keys to the kingdom… I seek to rule the world. Men like the Peregrine see me as a criminal but the acquisition of wealth has always been merely so that I can better accomplish my true goals. Humanity is like an unruly child… and sometimes it takes a firm hand to keep them in line. I will bring order to a chaotic world.”
Jian paused, trying to picture what the world would be like under this sadistic man’s rule. Aware of the Warlike Manchu’s insistence on having no disagreement from his underlings, Jian kept his doubts to himself. “I will begin work immediately. Am I looking for anything in particular?”
“This first book is the work of Jabir ibn Hayya, an 8th century Arab alchemist… the rest are the works of later researchers, like Albertus Magnus. Try to find out if any of them gave detailed instructions on how to fashion the Stone or any locations where carmot could be found. It’s an essential part of the process but I have never found anyone who can tell me exactly what the substance is or where it is hidden.”
Jian nodded and bowed, accepting his task. The Warlike Manchu turned without further instruction and left, leaving the old man to his work. Within moments, Jian had lost himself in the wonders of these ancient words… and begun to realize just how dangerous his master’s schemes truly were.
* * *
“What you really need is alkahest,” Jian reported, standing before his master’s chair once more. The Warlike Manchu was languidly chewing on a young boy’s leg, which had been severed with a knife moments before. The rest of the youth was currently resting in an icebox, where the Manchu could devour it at his leisure. Jian had heard that the Manchu’s revival was due to a dark ritual and it was one that had left his master with a powerful hunger for human flesh… a disgusting side-effect, to be sure.
“I thought the element I needed was called carmot,” the Warlike Manchu responded, tearing off another hunk of flesh.
“Carmot was an element that many believed was used in the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone… but alkahest is a universal solvent, having the power to dissolve every other substance, including gold. It was much sought after by alchemists who thought that it might have invaluable medicinal qualities. The name itself,” Jian continued, falling into the professorial role that he had come to relish, “was invented by Paracelsus in the 16th century, who modeled it on similar words taken from Arabic, such as ‘alkali.’ Paracelsus’ own recipe for creating alkahest was based on caustic lime, alcohol and carbonate of potash, along with several secret ingredients that he didn’t share in his writings. He came to believe that this element he had created
was, in fact, the Philosopher’s Stone.”
The Warlike Manchu looked thoughtful, stroking his long beard. “If it dissolves anything… then how could it be transported? Any container you place it in would melt into nothingness, would it not?”
Jian nodded, as if proud that his pupil would have thought of the question. “Another philosopher—Philalethe—stated that the compound only dissolved composed materials, so some containers could indeed house it.”
“So we do not need Carmot for the Stone to be made,” the Manchu stated.
“I believe that Carmot is one of the missing ingredients from Paracelsus’ recipe.” Jian clasped his hands behind his back and stood as straight as possible. “I believe I know where you can find a sample of this element.”
The Manchu studied his advisor, continuing to stroke his beard as he did so. “I am listening.”
Jian swallowed hard, girding himself before speaking. He hoped that his understanding of the many papers he’d looked through were correct… for if he was wrong on this, if his master expended valuable resources for what turned out to be a false lead, then Jian’s long life would come to a painful end. “It’s currently housed in the Neues Museum in Berlin, in the Egyptian wing. I believe it’s inside a bust of Nefertiti… the Nazis have no idea that the key to immortality and the true rising of the spirit is in their possession.”
The Warlike Manchu closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the realization that he was about to steal ultimate power right out from under Hitler’s nose. The Fuehrer was a preening fool, not truly worthy of the Manchu’s notice… but his obsession with the occult had led his forces to clash with those of the Manchu’s, occasionally swiping objects away from the Ten Fingers organization.
Jian waited until the Manchu spoke again… and he knew that the next few days would decide his ultimate fate. “Summon the captains of the Ten Fingers. I wish to dispatch them to Germany.”
CHAPTER IV
Family Matters
“I thought he was dead.” Evelyn Gould Davies splashed water on her son’s back, watching as little William giggled in the tub. She had just barely begun to show that she was pregnant again but there was none of the usual happy glow around that was associated with expecting mothers. She wore a shroud of gloom and fear at present. She looked at Max, who stood in the doorway of the bathroom, dressed in his usual Peregrine garb, sans mask. “You told me that he wasn’t coming back again.”
Max shifted uneasily, trying to stop the feeling of defensiveness that was rising up within him. He knew that Evelyn wasn’t really mad at him, that she was just tired of her family being put at risk by people like the Warlike Manchu, but it didn’t make things any easier. Besides, those people only came after them because of Max… so, in a way, it was his fault. “I don’t know how he came back from the dead… but I asked Will to check on his gravesite for me. There was a man found there—the man who owned the property I buried the Manchu’s ashes on. He’d been killed… it looked like someone had actually eaten part of him.” Max saw Evelyn visibly compose herself, not wanting to frighten her son, who continued to splash happily. “And there was something else—an odd pile of ash. I thought maybe it was the ashes of the Manchu but it wasn’t… testing shows it was human, but it’s the remains of a woman.”
“His daughter…?”
“No, she’s in hiding but alive. I called her first, knowing that her father would be looking for her.” Max ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving it looking attractively mussed. “I want you and William to go stay with Leonid for awhile. Kaslov will be able to protect both of you and…”
“I don’t want to leave our house.”
“The last time, we let you stay here and what happened? The Manchu broke in, nearly killed you and stole our son. I won’t let that happen again.”
Evelyn’s eyes blazed and she stood up, moving so that they were very close. Her voice dropped to a cold whisper. “Then this is what you have to do… you have to find him and you have to stop him. For good. You know I don’t like it when you kill, but in his case, I’ll make an exception. I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to ask you to give up being the Peregrine—but I’m not going to let our children be at risk forever. You need to think about that. Somehow, some way, you’ve got to find a way to protect them.”
Max put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “I will. I promise. But please… don’t stay here. Go and see Leo. He’d love to have you.”
Evelyn sighed. She liked Leonid Kaslov, the so-called “Russian Superman” who was a perennial challenger for the coveted “Man of the Year” award in the national press. The son of genius Nikolai Kaslov, Leonid had grown up to become one of the foremost scientists and explorers in the world. He and Max had become friends during the Rasputin affair back in late ’39. “Okay. I’ll have Nettie pack my bags and we’ll take off in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Max kissed her on the forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Max… but I meant what I said. There’s got to be some way we can keep the Peregrine separate from the lives of our children.” Evelyn put a hand over her swelling belly. “Before it’s too late.”
* * *
The next day, Evelyn and William were gone, leaving Max alone in the big house with only their maid, Nettie, to keep him company. Broad-shouldered Josh was still on property, as well, working the fields and staying in the servants’ quarters that were separate from the house.
Max was down in the storm cellar, which had been converted into the Peregrine’s Nest, his private sanctum. Here and there, pieces of weaponry lay on work benches, in various states of repair. Max also had an impressive chemistry lab in the room, though he didn’t use it as often as he once did.
Max sat at one of his desks, feeling unusually melancholy. He was 42 years old and there were days when the weight of his lifetime hung over him like an anvil waiting to fall. Once, a demon had given him a vision of a future in which Max would live to the ripe old age of 108… remaining amazingly spry thanks to decades of exposure to mystic artifacts. In that future, Max had outlived everyone he’d known and loved… Evelyn, McKenzie, Leonid, William… everyone.
Those thoughts frequently nagged at him, especially at night. He’d sit in bed and stare at Evelyn’s sleeping face or he would sneak into William’s room to watch the little boy dreaming. He couldn’t imagine losing either one of them… and now here was the Warlike Manchu, threatening once more to take it all away from him.
A phone rang beside him and Max picked it up quickly, as if he’d been expecting the call. “Yes?”
McKenzie sounded tense but somewhat pleased, which gave Max some hope. “I think we found his base. He’s one step ahead of us, though. He took off with all his men.”
“How did you find it?”
“Your tip was right. We searched through some of the Asian neighborhoods until we found someone who was willing to talk. They told us where they’d seen the Ten Fingers and we hit the place.”
“You should have called me. I would have helped out.”
“I know you would have… but it was pretty clear from when we arrived that they were gone. But someone left us a clue.”
Max was on his feet now, strapping on his pistols and preparing to leave. “Tell me.”
“A scrap of paper was left under the door—it looks like it was written pretty quickly. It says ‘Neues Museum, alkahest.’ Do you have any clue what that last word means?”
Max was out the door, heading towards the modified roadster that he used when working as the Peregrine. “Not a clue. But I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Will.”
“Hey, Max, you know this could be a trap, right?”
The Peregrine smiled. “Of course. But one way or another it takes me closer to the Warlike Manchu… and when I find him, I’m putting a bullet in his brain.”
CHAPTER V
A Clash of Evil
Albert Speiros stood in the silent Egyptian Hall, staring
at the lovely bust of Nefertiti. Despite her mongrel background, the girl must have been quite lovely in life for she had inspired enough depictions of her to keep her visage famous even now. Albert had always loved history, had enjoyed losing himself in the past… growing up, he’d liked to imagine himself as a Teutonic warrior, spreading the glory of the Fatherland far and wide. Unfortunately, a disfiguring accident early in his military career had left him a horrible sight to behold, killing any chance he had of rising in the new German military: the lower half of his face had been blown off in a grenade attack. For a man who had previously used his rugged good looks to bed a bevy of women, the disfigurement was doubly painful.
And then had come a man named Dr. Meer, a short Jewish looking fellow who had somehow managed to become head of something called The Department of Occult Materials, jokingly referred to as D.O.O.M. in military circles. Meer said that Albert fit a certain profile and could still be a vital resource for the Fuehrer. Eager to find a purpose again, Albert had accepted with no questions asked. He had joined a select few in gaining augmentations that made them special top-secret weapons in the Nazi arsenal. Their names had become infamous in time: the Black Zeppelin, the Iron Maiden, the Grim Reaper… and Albert himself, outfitted with a metal jaw that could rip through almost anything, had become Steel Jaw.
Unfortunately, things had not gone well for the elite task force in recent times. The Iron Maiden had turned traitor, abandoning the Reich in favor of an American lawman. The Black Zeppelin and the Grim Reaper had both been defeated by the Peregrine… leaving only Steel Jaw to defend the Fuehrer’s dream. There would be new officers, of course… even now, Dr. Meer was working hard on producing the next generation of occult and super-science soldiers. But Steel Jaw had seen the early warning signs that the war was not going as smoothly as the German leadership had hoped. There were even whispers now that the entrance of America into the war might become a tipping point and that The Reich might actually fall.
