by Tim Waggoner
Lazlo glanced out the window at the ruins surrounding us. "Man, Edrigu really isn't into urban renewal, is he?"
"He's the King of the Dead, not the King of Architecture," I said. I wondered if the ruined condition of this neighborhood wasn't the reason Victor Baron had chosen to locate the Foundry here. Baron began his life as the original Frankenstein monster, a creature made from the assembled parts of dead bodies and for this reason it made sense that he lived and worked in the Boneyard, a realm of the dead, and this unnamed blight of a neighborhood was among the most desolate of locations in this Dominion. Perfect for a being who was, essentially, a scientific version of a zombie.
Because it was the only intact structure for several miles in all directions, the Foundry loomed large against the surrounding landscape, a dark mass of gray stone that resembled a cross between a medieval keep and a factory built during the height of the Industrial Revolution. Towering smokestacks rose into the sky, fouling the air with black clouds of pollutants. But considering the inhabitants of this Dominion were already dead, the environmental impact was negligible. Perhaps another reason Baron had set up shop here: no need to worry about where and how he dumped his plant's waste products. Rising from the roof of the Foundry and stretching between the smokestacks was an intricate metal lattice containing thick tangled coils of rubber coated cable. Blue-white bolts of electrical energy coruscated across the lattice in a constant ebb and flow like ocean waves. I couldn't smell the sharp tang of ozone in the air, but Devona later told me it permeated the whole area, but even through the cab's closed windows I could hear the constant crackle, pop and hiss of the lattice's electrical discharge, as well as the deep thrumming sound of power so massive it could barely be contained, like the perpetual rushing of a huge waterfall.
Now that I was this close to the Foundry I wondered if Lord Edrigu – or maybe even Father Dis – had insisted Baron build his factory here because of the desolation, since it wouldn't matter if Baron's facility experienced an "industrial accident" that might affect the surrounding area. This was immediately followed by a more disturbing thought: considering that the Foundry had been there for over two centuries maybe Baron's facility had somehow been the cause of the surrounding devastation.
As you might imagine this thought did little to inspire confidence in the man's ability to help me get my head on straight, so to speak.
As we drew closer to the Foundry we began seeing vehicles in the road – not ghost vehicles, but physical, three dimensional ones. Dark semi trucks with the stylized VB of the Victor Baron logo on their trailers passed by, hulking creatures with patchwork faces behind the wheel, carrying the latest shipments of Baron's creations to customers throughout the city. Vehicles resembling hearses glided through the street as well, also bearing Baron's logo on their doors. They belonged to the Bonegetters, employees of Baron's who traveled throughout Nekropolis on an endless quest to locate dead bodies – or cast-off body parts – and bring them to the Foundry to be used as raw material for Baron's work. Considering the savage nature of the Darkfolk, violence occurs on an all-too-regular basis, and when deadly mayhem results, the Bonegetters do their best to make sure they're on the scene to recover any useful bits and pieces when the bloodshed is over.
The Foundry grounds were surrounded by a twentyfive foot wrought iron fence and Lazlo sniffed when he saw it.
"That thing might look impressive to tourists," he said, "but it wouldn't keep out a fly, let alone a…"
Lazlo trailed off as a large black gorecrow approached the fence. The bird flew high enough to pass over the bars, but the instant it crossed the fence's perimeter, there was a blue flash and the bird burst into flames and plummeted to the ground.
"Like I said, Baron's got himself a hell of a security system," Lazlo said, his voice sounding a bit weak. "Good thing we're expected."
"A force field of some kind," Devona said. "Impressive. I wonder if it only prevents physical objects from entering or if it can stop magical intrusions as well."
"If we don't get flashfried trying to get inside, you can ask Baron yourself," I said.
"I'd love to pick his brain," Devona said. "No pun intended. Along with everything else his factory produces, Baron manufactures a number of security products. Reanimated guards, both canine and humanoid, as well as living, organic alarm systems. The Midnight Watch is just small potatoes to someone like him, but if we can learn something from him, or better yet, enter into some kind of partnership, even if only on a small scale…"
Even though I knew it was childish of me, I was irritated by Devona's words.
"We didn't come here to network. We came to get me put back together, remember?"
Devona's eyes narrowed, an expression I knew meant she was struggling to contain her anger.
"Of course," she said, trying to sound as if she weren't upset and succeeding for the most part. "I was just thinking out loud."
If my head had been attached to my body right then I'd have kicked myself for being such an idiot. What was it with me and Devona's business? I'd criticized her employees earlier in the evening and now I'd complained when she recognized a potential opportunity in talking with Victor Baron. Why was I finding it so hard to be supportive? I had no answer, and not wishing to make matters worse, for a change I did the smart thing and kept my mouth shut as Lazlo turned off the road and stopped before the Foundry's main gate.
A metallic skull with organic eyes was mounted on a pole to the left of the gate and it swiveled to look at us. Lazlo rolled his window down and leaned out, but before he could say anything, the skull spoke.
"Damn! You're hideous! No wonder you couldn't wait until morning to see Mr. Baron. But I have to warn you: he may be a genius, but I'm not sure even he's going to be able to pretty up that ugly mug of yours!"
"I'm not the one with the appointment," Lazlo growled. "It's my friend Matt. He's in the back."
The skull sentry turned to face the back window. Devona rolled it down and held me outside so the skull could get a good look at me. The sentry skull's living eyes moved back and forth as it regarded me and I knew there was a living brain encased in that metal cranium. If I'd ever had any doubts that Victor Baron was who and what he claimed to be, they vanished at that moment.
"Just a head, huh?" the skull said. "Believe me, I share your pain."
The gate began to open with a soft hum, and when it had opened wide enough, Lazlo drove slowly through.
The intensity of the power thrum increased the closer we got to the main entrance until I could feel my teeth vibrating. The sensation was merely annoying for me, but when I looked up at Devona, I saw that she was grimacing, jaw clenched tight, lips drawn back to reveal her fangs, which were more prominent than usual, and I knew she was in pain. I heard a low moaning sound then that I first took to be coming from Lazlo, although I'd never known the demon to suffer discomfort of any sort. But I quickly realized the moaning wasn't coming from the front seat; instead, it seemed to be coming from all around us. I understood then that the sounds of distress were emanating not from Lazlo, but rather from his cab.
Lazlo patted the dashboard. "Don't worry, sweetie. It'll be OK."
There was something about the softness in Lazlo's voice that for the first time made me think that maybe the cab was more than simply a vehicle to him and he more than a driver to it. I've become a lot more broad minded since moving to Nekropolis, but even so, the images that went through my mind at the thought of Lazlo and his cab as a couple were more than a little sickening. But lots of people react to Devona and me the same way, so I told myself to be more tolerant.
A light above the entrance flared to blue-white life as we approached a pair of huge iron doors. Lazlo pulled up and the doors started to swing open before he finished parking.
A being cloaked in a hooded brown robe and pushing a wheelchair stepped outside. The being's movements were slow and it lurched from side to side as it walked. One shoulder was higher than the other and the left arm w
as considerably longer than the right. The flesh of the hands appeared almost bone white in the fluorescent light, and the skin was covered with thick, ugly scars.
The figure opened Devona's door and gestured for her to step out. She did so, carrying me beneath her arm.
"Welcome to the Foundry, Ms. Kanti, Mr. Richter." The voice was a rough whisper and I had to strain to hear it over the loud thrumming issuing from the Foundry. Though it was difficult to tell, I thought it belonged to a man – or at least something that had once been a man. He went on. "I take it the body is still in the cab?"
"I got it," Lazlo said. He left the cab's engine running, walked around to the rear passenger side and retrieved my headless body. He carried it with ease as if it weighed no more than a straw filled scarecrow. He placed my body in the chair gently and the robed man secured it with leather straps around the chest, wrists and ankles. Despite his obvious deformities he performed this operation deftly and within moments my body was ready to travel again.
Devona turned so that I could face Lazlo.
"Thanks for the help," I said.
Lazlo grinned, a sight that would make even the most vicious serial killer wet himself in terror. "You never have to thank me, Matt. You know that. Still, you're welcome."
Just then the cab's hood opened a crack and a mournful wail came out. Lazlo placed his hand on the roof and gently rubbed its surface.
"I'm afraid we can't stay and wait for you," he said. "The sound's getting to her. But we'll stay in the neighborhood and come back to pick you up when you're finished, OK?"
I almost asked Lazlo how he'd know when Devona and I were done – I'd never known him to carry a vox – but there was no point. One way or another Lazlo always knew when I needed a ride.
"Sounds good," I said.
Lazlo gave us a parting wave before climbing back into his cab and roaring away from the main entrance as fast as possible. For an instant I thought he would ram the now closed gate on his way out, but the sentry skull was able to open it in time, if just barely, and Lazlo zoomed off into the darkness, the skull's obscenityladed shouts of angry protest following him.
The robed man turned to us and for the first time I caught a glimpse of the face hidden within the hood's shadow. Its features were misshapen and twisted, like a wax figure that had melted partway before cooling and becoming solid once more.
"Let's go," he said. "Victor is expecting you."
He gripped the wheelchair's handles and began pushing my body toward the open entrance, walking with that strange lurching gait of his. Devona followed, carrying me, and we entered the lair of Victor Baron.
SIX
Once we were inside the metal doors swung shut of their own accord. Given their size, I expected them to slam closed with a heavy clang, but they made no sound as they shut. What's more, the moment they closed, the power thrum that had been so intense outside disappeared and it became almost eerily quiet.
As if reading my thoughts the brown robed man said, "The Foundry is completely sound-proofed on the inside."
I don't know what I'd expected the interior of the Foundry to be like, but it certainly didn't reflect its gothic-industrial exterior. The floor was covered with clay-colored tile and polished oak paneling covered the walls. Stylish lights hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, providing soft, warm, soothing illumination. Classical music played at a low volume from hidden speakers, completing an effect that Devona later told me was somewhat spoiled by the faint odor of formaldehyde in the air.
The brown robed man pushed my body down a long hallway, moving in a lurching side-to-side motion and Devona had to slow her pace to keep from outdistancing him. The robed man wasn't much for small talk, it seemed, and after a few moments of our walking in silence, Devona tried to draw him out.
"Thank you again for agreeing to see us despite the lateness of hour, Mr…?"
"You may call me Henry. And think nothing of it. We don't keep regular hours around her. Victor has no need for sleep and his supply of energy is inexhaustible." He let out a snuffling laugh. "A little joke, there. As you might guess, Victor can recharge himself from the Foundry's machines whenever necessary."
As if in response to Henry's words, the hall lights dimmed for a moment before returning to full strength.
"Pay no mind to that," he said. "Happens all the time around here."
It was hard to tell given the state of the man's voice, but I thought I detected a hint of an accent that I couldn't quite place. European, certainly. German or maybe Russian. But such accents are common in Nekropolis given the amount of Darkfolk who had made their home in Europe before the Descension and I thought no more of it.
"Victor would've come to meet you himself, but he's caught up in his latest project. He's something of a workaholic."
Henry's words were spoken plainly enough, but there was a slight edge to them, as if he were making a criticism of his employer that he intended to only partially conceal.
Devona and I exchanged a glance at this, but neither of us responded. Disgruntled employees are the same no matter what dimension you live in.
We passed a series of paintings on the walls depicting various scenes of a castle nestled among forestland with picturesque mountains in the background. The paintings weren't sinister at all. The sky was a gentle blue dotted with white clouds, the grass and trees were painted in mild greens, as if the sun was shining down brightly upon them.
Henry noticed Devona and I admiring the paintings.
"You like them? They depict Frankenstein Castle and the family's ancestral lands."
"They're beautiful," Devona said with more than a trace of wistfulness. Though her mother had come from Earth, Devona had been born and raised in Nekropolis and had never visited her mother's home. She'd had the chance once, but she'd given it up to remain in Nekropolis with me. She'd assured me that she didn't regret her decision, but at times like these I couldn't help wondering if on some level she wished she'd chosen differently.
"Have you read Mary Shelley's novel?" Henry asked. He went on before either of us could reply. "Some things she got right, other things she got wrong or simply invented." He nodded toward a painting of the castle. "That's the monst- I mean Victor's birthplace."
Devona and I caught his verbal slip of course, but as with his earlier comment, we let it go without remark. Besides, it's not as if monster is a pejorative term in Nekropolis.
The three of us – or four if you count my body on its own – reached the end of the hall. It branched off to the right and left and Henry turned in the latter direction. This hallway resembled a hospital corridor, everything white with bright fluorescent light panels in the ceiling. We passed a number of office doors with name plates on them: DR. X, DR. HEIDEGGER, RAPPACCINI, DR. PRETORIUS,
ROSSUM, HERBERT WEST, ROTWANG, DR. GOLDFOOT
…
"Victor keeps a number of the city's most prominent scientists on his payroll," Henry said. "He likes to maintain a healthy supply of high quality brains, you know." He chuckled at his own joke, which was good since neither Devona nor I were so inclined.
Henry escorted us deeper into the Foundry and before long we began encountering other employees. Some were merely odd – like the wild-haired, wildeyed man in a white lab coat who kept telling a pop-eyed hunchback in a black cloak that his name was supposed to be pronounced "Fronk-en-steen," along with the handsome young man with curly black hair wearing a corset, fishnet stockings, 70s glam-rock boots, and far too much make-up.
"A distant family cousin," Henry explained about the latter. "To be honest he's a mediocre scientist, but he's great fun at office parties."
Others were downright bizarre, even for Nekropolis, such as the fly headed man garbed in a stained lab coat who carried a tiny human headed fly perched on his shoulder. The tiny creature kept saying, "Help meeeee!" in a plaintive, high-pitched voice. Henry told us to ignore him.
"The lazy thing's always trying to con someone else into doing his work
." He shouted after the departing duo, "You get paid for a full day's work, and we expect a full day's work!"
The fly lifted a foreleg that terminated in a miniature human hand and flipped Henry the bird.
And of course there were the monsters. Frankenstein ones, I mean. What Victor Baron's publicity refers to as the "repurposed dead." Some seemed benign enough, like the slightly silly and bumbling creature carrying a box of lab supplies who, when he attempted to wave hello to us, dropped the box to the floor with a shattering crash.
"That's going to come out of your salary, Herman," Henry said as we passed. "As usual."
Herman just sighed deeply and bent down to clean up his mess.
Other monsters were decidedly more sinister like the shambling mass of arms and legs that didn't appear to have a face and which left a slime trail behind as it traveled or the pack of upside-down human heads that scuttled past on what looked like crab legs growing out of their skulls.
"You know," Devona said thoughtfully, "if Baron isn't able to reattach you to your body…"
"Don't even think it," I said.
"One of Victor's more innovative designs," Henry said. "He's always trying to develop new uses for leftover parts."
Eventually Henry brought us to a set of double doors labeled LABORATORY 17. A sign above the door warned AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
"Victor should be waiting for us inside," Henry said.
There was a hand scanner on the wall and Henry pressed his right palm flat against it. The scanner hummed, a line of reddish light passed over Henry's hand, and a moment later the door swung inward.
