Black City Dragon

by Richard A. Knaak

  Despite that, it remained where it was and without any occupant as we drove off. I shrugged off the feeling, something I was loathe to do.

  We headed north. This being a weekday, traffic was strong even with the weather. I continued to keep a wary eye out and had faith that Fetch did the same in the back.

  My faith was rewarded, so to speak.

  “Master Nicholas, there’s a flivver tracking us.”

  I quickly translated Fetch’s human slang into the fact that not only was there someone following us, but that, but being a “flivver,” it was a Model T. I had no doubt that it was the same Model T.

  “How many, Fetch?”

  “Two torpedoes and a driver. Cannot make out much else about them.”

  Claryce looked at me. “Would they dare try anything out in the open? It’s not as if it was early in the morning like it was by Holy Name.”

  “I don’t know. Either way, I’m tired of uninvited company.”

  I turned left at the next street, then made an immediate right.

  “He’s trying to catch up,” Fetch informed me.

  They’d probably chosen the Model T for its ability to blend in everywhere, but it also meant they had some limits compared to the Packard. I eyed the streets ahead, then calculated the time left on the traffic light.

  I put my foot down hard.

  Thanks in part to Barnaby’s personal tinkering, the Packard accelerated smoothly and swiftly. I saw the light change just as I reached the intersection.

  Furious honking rose up behind us.

  “They’re stuck, Master Nicholas!” Fetch said, with too much cheer.

  “You don’t seem overly pleased,” Claryce commented.

  “They followed us from near the safe house. It’s possible that they just saw the Packard and waited to follow whoever claimed it, but it’s also very possible they know about us.”

  “You think it’s Galerius?”

  “Very likely. I’ve steered clear of Capone’s gang, and I doubt Moran or Weiss would park some of their hoods in the midst of Outfit territory, even supposing they know where the safe house is.”

  “Why do you think he was having us followed?”

  “There could be a number of reasons, most of which include the card. Another likely one is that, despite what the goons in the car think, Galerius might’ve just had them follow as best they could to let me know he’s everywhere.”

  “How he hates you.” She was silent for a moment, then muttered, “And me, too.”

  I had to keep my eyes on the traffic, so I couldn’t see her expression. “What’re you saying?”

  “What happened to Cleolinda, Nick? You’ve never exactly made that clear. What happened to her after you saved her? Where does the legend veer from the truth?”

  “Claryce—”

  “Don’t ‘Claryce’ me. I’ve tried to find out everything I can about her. I have information on four of my—predecessors—but it gets harder. I’d have thought the one exception would be her. I’d have thought there’d be a coin, a tomb . . . something. There isn’t, though.”

  I made another turn. “After I defeated the dragon—”

  Lies! You tricked me! You did not fight fairly! Eye would have won!

  Clearing my throat, I mentally dismissed him. “As I was saying, after I defeated the dragon, I returned Cleolinda to her father. He insisted on at least rewarding me by making me his guest and announcing me as champion of the land. All of it for political reasons. I was still Diocles’s favored then, though that was coming to a quick end.”

  “And that’s when you and Cleolinda . . .”

  I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “It got just far enough. Her father hadn’t minded a little public display of the champion and the princess, but word began to spread about a new displeasure with the growing Christian faith. He wanted no part of that trouble and was glad when I was summoned back. That was the last I saw of her.”

  “The last.”

  I gave her a quick rundown of what she already knew about me. A return to the emperor, the discovery of Galerius’s success in convincing Diocles of the “threat” the new faith represented, and my arrest. Diocles had given me the opportunity to renounce my faith and return to that of the empire, but I’d refused.

  I could still feel the edge of the blade on my neck.

  When I’d come back from the dead, I’d been drawn without choice to the Gate, which had already begun to slip away from Silene. At that time, not sure myself exactly what had happened to me, I didn’t even dare approach or contact anyone who’d known me before.

  And then, years later, I’d learned she’d died only a few years after me.

  Claryce and I sat silent for a while after I told her the last. I’d never gone into such detail before, and I’d always stopped just before this point. I knew from past conversations that she’d come to believe something dire had happened to her original incarnation and, truth be told, it was pretty close to what I’d suspected from what little I’d learned. It’d been a lot harder to get information in those days, and as the Gate had journeyed farther and farther away, virtually impossible.

  “She’d never have killed herself because of your death,” Claryce declared. “Not if she was anything like me. She would’ve tried to do something about it.”

  “We’re not talking about 1926. We’re talking about the early 300s. We’re talking about an empire in flux. The choices for a woman, even one of status, were often pretty nonexistent.”

  “I don’t care.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “I wouldn’t have let it rest and I know she wouldn’t have either.” Claryce looked out the window. “Maybe that’s another thing you should ask Diocles.”

  I didn’t respond, in great part because there and then I realized that, in all the centuries, I never had asked him if he knew what had happened to Cleolinda.

  I didn’t notice it at first, but the nearer we got to Old Town, the quieter Fetch got. I’d first chalked it up to him not wanting to become embroiled in our conversation about Cleolinda, but then I noticed he kept peering out the window.

  Finally . . .

  “Master Nicholas! Do ye need me for this? We’re near some good rummaging spots!”

  “I promised you a fresh meal.”

  “Ah, fresh or aged, it’s all ducky to me! I can get out here!”

  He sounded pretty determined. I pulled over.

  Fetch had the passenger door open before I could come to a complete stop. With a strong swish of his tail, he shut the door after him. Claryce and I watched him bound off. The farther away he got, the more blurry he became. In Feirie, Fetch would’ve been able to completely blend into any environment. While much reduced, that ability still remained useful. Combined with his natural stealth, Fetch could move through a crowd and not be noticed . . . which he did now.

  “What got into him?” Claryce asked.

  I eyed the direction we’d last seen him heading. The answer came to me. The last time I’d seen him so interested in getting back to the alleys and backstreets had been when I’d discovered he was watching over a small refugee from Her Lady’s “cleansing” of Feirie. I’d let that pass against my better judgment. Now, I was reminded that it might be wise to see how that was progressing.

  But first, I had to worry about Galerius.

  We found a small diner not far from St. Michael’s. Father Jonathan, the young priest in charge of the church, would’ve done all he could to see us fed, but I hoped not to bother him at all. It would be easier to get things over with Diocles if the good father remained ignorant of my presence.

  In truth, I could’ve gone to any church and confronted Diocles. All that mattered was for me to be there. I’d chosen St. Michael for a couple of reasons, the foremost being I hoped to stir up its namesake. I’d been commissioned a saint after services rendered; he’d become one by simple divine right like any archangel.

  We’d never actually met face-to-face as far as I knew. I’d had h
ints of his involvement, though, always from people whose name just happened to be Michael.

  I parked just off Cleveland Avenue in Old Town. While far smaller than Holy Name Cathedral, St. Michael’s, with its Romanesque exterior design, had its own striking qualities and history. It was one of the few buildings here to survive the Great Fire. True, the interior had been completely destroyed, but the red sandstone brick walls and the foundation had come through and allowed for quick rebuilding. A few years later, they’d even added the nearly 300-foot spire looming over us now.

  Thanks to Father Jonathan’s predecessor, I had a key to St. Michael’s. It wouldn’t be too long before things would start getting active, so I needed to speak with Diocles quickly.

  We entered the spacious nave. The baroque-style Five Altars greeted us, but what most caught our eye—especially mine, since I knew what it secretly held—was the High Altar of Angels. Michael himself greeted us from the middle of the set, with the also-divine Gabriel and Raphael flanking him. As a secret contributor to St. Michael, I had to admit they’d done a fine job of redoing the interior. I was sure Michael himself was quite pleased.

  Barely had we entered when St. Michael greeted us again, this time in the tremendous mosaic on the floor. Despite some past misgivings with what I believed were his intrusions into my life, I still walked solemnly and respectfully through the church.

  “Georgius.”

  Like Barnaby, he was supposed to call me “Nick.” In his case, though, it was a punishment to forever remind him where I’d been executed by his order. Perhaps because of that, Diocles had a tendency to fall back on my true name even after a thousand reprimands.

  Death had done him some favors. Other than a degree of transparency, he looked every inch the Roman emperor I’d both served and called friend. If not for the obvious fact that he was dead, he looked quite fit. Diocles—once Gaius Aurelius Valerius Diocletianus Augustus or just Diocletian—seemed able to materialize in one of two ways, either in the regal robes of his imperial position or in a monk’s simple robes. I assumed the latter had to do with his late conversion to Christianity, but I’d never bothered to ask. I didn’t really care. All that mattered was that he’d betrayed me.

  I must’ve reflexively glared, for his rough-hewed, eastern European features shifted into an apologetic expression, and he quickly said, “Nick. You’ve avoided this or any other church for some time. I had begun to worry about you.”

  “How sweet,” I growled, only afterward thinking how much I’d just sounded like the dragon.

  We are of one mind so often, are we not?

  You be quiet.

  Diocles looked past me at Claryce. “And her, too. If you will not think of yourself, you need to think of her safety.”

  “Don’t lecture me, Diocles. Of all people, you’ve no right to lecture me.”

  “Nick?” Claryce whispered.

  “Nothing to be concerned about. Diocles is just being his usual annoying self.”

  The emperor gave me a pained look. “Nick,” she repeated with more urgency.

  “She has an unsettled look on her fair face,” Diocles remarked. “If you—”

  “Shut up, Diocles.” I looked at Claryce. He was right; she looked shocked at something. “Claryce! What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer immediately, instead pointing. I followed where she pointed. “The altar?”

  “No, Nick. Him.” She took a step forward and this time pointed directly at Diocles’s chest. “I can see him, Nick. I can see and hear Diocles . . .”

  CHAPTER 6

  I don’t know who looked more stunned, Diocles or me. It was probably one of the few times since he’d started haunting me that I’d had some sympathy. He was used to being seen by only me. Yeah, there’d been a few others over that time, but for the most part they’d been dabblers in the arts or beings of Feirie with enhanced abilities.

  A couple of months ago, the legacy of the Frost Moon and its wake had magnified magic and Feirie influence. It’d even made Diocles somewhat more noticeable, but that situation had faded away along with the last of the wake.

  This . . . this was definitely different. Claryce had made some comments that made it clear that she, at least on occasion, sensed the emperor’s presence, but now she stared right at him. When Diocles shifted position slightly, her gaze followed.

  This was not good.

  And, naturally, to make things worse, from a door on the side emerged Father Jonathan.

  “Oh! I wasn’t aware anyone was out here!” The young priest adjusted his round glasses. “Nick . . . and Miss Claryce. How are you?”

  “We’re . . . fine. We won’t be long, Father.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve got much to do. I just came out to see if there was anything needed to be straightened up here, but I see all is in order as it should be. I’ll leave the two of you be.”

  “Good to see you, Father,” Claryce added.

  “And you also.”

  The priest turned and exited again. We waited in silence until the door shut.

  “Well, that answers one question,” I finally muttered. “And adds several more.”

  “Why didn’t he see Diocles?”

  “Why do you?” I eyed him. “Anything you want to tell us?”

  “I am as in the dark as you, although I will say that I am not sorry for this.” He gave Claryce a royal bow. “My lady Claryce.”

  “Claryce is fine,” she responded.

  “Nothing at all is even better,” I countered, my anger rising. “I don’t like this.”

  “Nick, I assure you again that I had nothing to do with her now being able to see me.”

  Claryce stepped between us. “Nick. It’s all right. I’m happy with this. I was tired of being on the outside of any conversation with him.”

  “I’d like to be outside of any conversation with Diocles!” I thrust a hand toward him, a hand suddenly not quite human. “This is the man who had me beheaded after years of loyalty and friendship!”

  “And I have apologized in every way I can for the past sixteen centuries!” Diocles countered. “If you hate me so much, send me to my rest so that you will never have to see my face again!”

  It was an argument I’d heard from the beginning of our intertwined curse and an argument that made a lot of sense. I just couldn’t bring myself to do as he asked, though.

  “Nick!” Claryce looked me straight in the eye. “Nick. You need to calm. You’re getting loud and you’re beginning to show more than a trace of him.”

  She didn’t mean Diocles. I stared at my hand and then finally paid attention to the pounding of my heart. Sure, I hated him with all my soul, but this went beyond just Diocles. This was a danger to everything around me, especially Claryce.

  “Stop it!” I growled. “Nice try, but it’s not going to happen! Stop it now!”

  Claryce looked ready to say more, but Diocles put up a warning hand. In this rare case, he was right. This had to be between me and the dragon.

  I finally felt his presence recede. There was no smart remark, no falsely placating words. He just returned to that darkest part of my mind.

  No. I was wrong. Just before he faded from my notice, he said, You will invite me again soon enough.

  The bad thing was, I couldn’t argue with him.

  “It’s all right now,” I whispered. “He’ll behave for a while.”

  “I thought he was under control again after Holmes and the wake,” Claryce pointed out, sounding not at all relieved by my triumph.

  “He is never completely under control, my lady,” Diocles interjected. “He can never be.”

  I’d had enough of this particular conversation. I didn’t want Claryce thinking too much about the balance I had to maintain with my unseen companion. “But he is for now . . . and we’ve got another matter to discuss with you. Galerius.”

  He rippled. “What about him? Why bring him up after all this time?”

  “Galerius is alive. I’
ve seen him, so to speak.” I quickly told him about the incident in the theater.

  By the time I was finished, Diocles looked every bit as shocked as he had when discovering Claryce could now see him.

  “It is not possible,” the ghost insisted. “I was sent word of his death by the most reliable of sources, my own daughter! Valeria would not have led me astray!”

  “She probably didn’t,” I assured him. I’d known Valeria, a kinder person than either her father or her husband. Her marriage had been one of politics, not love, another black mark for Diocles. Fortunately, there’d been no issue, as kings and emperors called their offspring.

  “Valeria.” Diocles looked wistful. “I hope she found a better life after Galerius.”

  I bit back a reply. For all the anger I felt concerning Diocles, I’d never told him what I’d found out. Restricted as he was by his curse, he’d never discovered the terrible truth. Both Valeria and her mother, Prisca, had been forced to escape their supposed protector—Galerius’s co-emperor Licinius—only to be recaptured by him a few years later.

  Valeria managed to temporarily escape again, only to be found and, like me, beheaded. For her, there’d been no coming back, although she had become another saint along with Prisca. Meanwhile, Licinius fell prey to the even craftier Constantine, who eventually had him hanged on trumped-up charges of treason.

  Roman emperors . . . you just had to admire the depths of their integrity and virtue.

  “Galerius alive.” Diocles shook his head. “I must admit some jealousy, not to mention some confusion. How do you think he managed to do such a thing?”

  “Well, it wasn’t by slaying a dragon who happened to be the eternal guardian of the Gate between our world and Feirie,” I couldn’t help remarking sarcastically. “You were both ill then. What did you do to try to keep from dying?”

  “Summoned every supposed healer, tracked every rumored potion or artifact, and most of all prayed.”

  I rubbed my jaw. “We can rule out the last for Galerius. Any conversion he made to Christianity would’ve been lip service. While he demanded that Christians pray for him, I guarantee he was also giving offerings to Jupiter and any other of that bunch.”