Black City Dragon

by Richard A. Knaak

  “It’s the group, as you guessed, Nick. I remember each and every one of that band, including this David Bowman. Only—”

  “Only what?”

  “You’ve got an extra name in there. The last one. Sebastian. I don’t know his name. Never heard it before.”

  It was as I’d thought. I just hadn’t been sure which of the names had been the extra one. “Any way of finding out more?”

  “I know a few possibilities. I’ll look into it once Joseph’s home.”

  I hung up after that. The area had remained empty besides the receptionist and us, another trick of the dragon’s influence. Anyone wanting to pass by had unconsciously changed their route, thus avoiding us being noticed. I was again reminded just how powerful the dragon was . . . and yet none of that had saved him in the end when we’d battled so long ago.

  Eye did not have the hand of saints to shield me, he abruptly remarked with much bitterness.

  I’d done a lot of praying before and during that struggle, ironically much of it to Michael. Apparently, he’d listened a lot more than I’d thought.

  I had no inclination to ever thank him, not after the centuries of repercussions of that help.

  We left Dunning with a very docile Joseph and headed to Barn-aby’s. Fetch kept an eye on Joseph the entire way, but all Joseph did was stare out the window to his side. Initially, I wondered what went through his mind, then decided maybe I was glad I didn’t know.

  Out of habit, I kept an eye out for tails, but no one followed us. I was certain that the triplets couldn’t have pulled their appearing and disappearing acts from very far away. On this side of the Gate magic required more effort unless you were the dragon or had one of the Clothos cards. Had Oberon had his way, all that would’ve changed for the worst. Magic was abused enough in Feirie; I didn’t even want to consider how it would be used by the likes of Moran, Weiss, or Capone.

  Barnaby greeted us the moment we parked. He ushered Joseph inside while Claryce and I followed. We stood in the entrance as Barnaby arranged for his son upstairs.

  When he returned, Barnaby had the papers in question. I immediately recognized Joseph’s tight script and well-crafted diagrams. Once, Barnaby had let slip that he and Emma had hoped that Joseph, with his clear intelligence, might have eventually earned a PhD in mathematics at the prestigious University of Chicago. That’d all changed when Emma had died young and Joseph had found his way into the magic arts that Barnaby had earlier dabbled in.

  To say that Joseph had been a mathematical genius was an understatement. I could see from the papers that he had brought to the arts a calculated reasoning that put him near da Vinci in some categories.

  The diagram especially caught my eye. There was something familiar about it. It almost looked like a pentagram, but something else had been added. I’d seen part of the final results elsewhere, but at first I couldn’t say when.

  Then it struck me. “This part here.” I frowned. “Get me a map of the city.”

  Barnaby returned with one a moment later, spreading it on a table in the room nearest the entrance. I positioned the diagram over the map, then located what I wanted.

  “This was Holmes’s address,” I pointed out. “Over here on Jackson and LaSalle is where the Wingfoot Express crashed.” I frowned. “Crashed, so not the exact location . . .”

  Claryce leaned over, spotting something more. She adjusted the diagram in my hand. “I remember they said the dirigible was coming from this direction, so it might make sense if we look at it this way.” Tapping another spot on the diagram near the first, Claryce asked, “On Adams and LaSalle. Isn’t that the Home Insurance Building?”

  I’d been here when Chicago had introduced the world to what was now acknowledged to be the first skyscraper. Topping off at twelve floors, the Home Insurance Building had been built back in the 1880s. It’d quickly been overtaken, but it’d been the first, and that mattered to many.

  I held the diagram so the two spots were in the correct position, then studied where that placed the others. One on North Michigan Avenue did not surprise me. “The water tower.”

  As one of the few things in the area to survive the Great Fire, the water tower had become an iconic landmark. I was beginning to see a pattern, and it wasn’t one I liked.

  “This one goes deep into Lake Michigan,” Claryce said, tapping the spot in question. “There’s nothing out there but water.”

  I only half paid attention, my gaze on another, very familiar location on West Randolph. “That would be the Schiller Building there.”

  “‘Schiller Building’?”

  “The Garrick Theater,” Barnaby corrected for me. “It used to be called the Schiller Theater a little while back.”

  “Yeah, back in ‘91. That ‘little while back,’” I admitted.

  “It’s beautiful place,” Claryce commented. “I was there a couple of years ago with—” She stopped, no doubt realizing that she’d been about to mention “William.” Oberon had kept her close to him as part of his plan to eventually deal with me. I’d not pressed her on what that might’ve meant, although I doubted it had gotten too personal between them. Still, her having been played by a man she had once seen as a mentor was as sore a subject to Claryce as my constant reminders of just how long I’d lived before she’d met me. “Although those German terra-cotta figures gave me a little bit of the heebie-jeebies.”

  Her last comment reminded me that Fetch was still waiting for us. I was also interested in moving on. “Barnaby, see if you can match up the rest of these spots with real places and find out if any one of them seems more significant to the arts than another.”

  “The Garrick might just be that,” he replied, as he took the diagram back from me. “Are you going there?”

  “Yeah.” As an afterthought, I gave him the address of the theater where I’d been confronted by both the pale men and one of Galerius’s illusions. “Double-check that, too. I suspect it’s one of those around there.”

  “As you wish. May I ask, does the overall pattern mean anything to you?”

  “No, and I gather it doesn’t you. Think it might help to show Joseph? I assume he’s sleeping now.”

  “Yes. The moment he saw his old bed, he went straight to it and settled in as if ten years old again.” Barnaby sighed. “It truly was as if it was that time . . . excluding dear Emma’s absence, naturally.”

  I only nodded. “I’ll call you after we look over the Garrick. Is that fine?”

  “Of course.”

  “Stay safe,” Claryce told Barnaby before giving him a hug. He brightened.

  Despite the cold weather, Fetch hung his head out the window as he waited for us.

  “All copacetic, Master Nicholas?” he asked as we climbed inside. “No trouble with him?”

  “Joseph was no trouble. We’ve got a destination. The Garrick Theater.”

  His ears straightened. “Truly? Never cared for that place. Something about it reminds me of Her Court.”

  That interested me. “How so?”

  “Cannot truly say. Mayhaps it still has to do with Malfis.”

  “Oh, yeah. Forgot that was near there.” I couldn’t help a slight edge in my tone. There were things Fetch should have known better than to bring up.

  Claryce looked at both of us. “‘Malfis’?”

  “Old business,” I answered, cutting it off there. Fetch wisely turned his attention to the scenery outside as I started the Packard and pulled out. Claryce didn’t pursue the subject, at least for now. There were incidents I hadn’t told her about, incidents I wasn’t too proud of. Malfis was one of those.

  One of too many.

  We headed toward West Randolph. The weather was acting up, which meant slower going. I could feel the dragon’s growing impatience. He’d been pretty docile for a while, but now that familiar envy he radiated touched my own emotions. He could do nothing, see nothing, without my cooperation, and even after 1,600 years, it grated heavily on him.

  At le
ast with Malfis there was fire and fury . . .

  Quiet! I didn’t like him bringing up Malfis anymore than I did Fetch doing it. More so even. That’d been one of those times when he’d almost tricked me into letting him take over completely.

  “Master Nicholas . . . we’ve got a tail. I cannot see his face. There’s a scarf over most of it. Human, though, I be thinking. A big palooka.”

  “Car?”

  “A jalopy. An old T.”

  That meant that if I wanted to lose him, it wouldn’t be a problem. Of course, I was more interested in finding out who was following us this time. It might’ve been one of Laertes’s boys keeping an eye out for him, or it could’ve been a thug working for Galerius.

  “Do we let him follow us, Nick?”

  I was tired of being tailed. “No. Let’s pull over and see what he does.”

  At the next intersection, I turned, then pulled close to the curb.

  My mistake.

  I’d not paid much attention to the traffic in front of me. It wasn’t until we were at the curb that I noticed the dark green and black Nash doing the same. Too late I realized what that meant, but by then a blue Auburn 6-63 had cut us off on my side.

  “No gun!” I warned Claryce. “Anything happens, let Fetch and I take care of it!”

  Eye can do this! Eye will burn them all!

  I ignored the dragon’s lust for destruction as I quickly did an estimate of how many adversaries we had and which were the immediate danger. I had little fear for me or even Fetch, but with Galerius a part of the equation my worries over Claryce’s safety had multiplied.

  Before I could do anything, the Model T Fetch had spotted rear-ended the Auburn with such force that it shoved the gangsters’ vehicle a full body length forward and prevented those inside from climbing out.

  From the Nash, three hoods with their hands deep in the pockets of their overcoats quickly started to draw their guns. A shot rang out, and one of the hoods’ hats went flying.

  As the trio took cover, the driver of the Model T jumped out and, gun in hand, raced up to the Auburn.

  “Fetch! The Nash!”

  “Aye, Master Nicholas!” There was no sound of the door opening, but I knew that he’d slipped out immediately after responding.

  Our would-be rescuer took an elbow to the Auburn’s driver side window, smashing it in. Without missing a beat, he seized the hood and struck him on the temple with the grip of his gun.

  I leaped out and grabbed the barrel of an automatic thrusting out of the side nearest us. I barely managed to shove the barrel up before the gunman fired.

  So close, the shot sounded like thunder. I suppose my hand should’ve been singed, but the dragon kept my skin from burning. That enabled me to pull the gunner to me and then punch him hard enough to send his limp body into the thug next to him.

  Shouts of consternation rose from ahead. I couldn’t see Fetch, but I had faith in his ability to evade the hoods as he eliminated them as threats.

  I heard a man’s pained grunt from Claryce’s direction. Fearing the worst, I abandoned my attack and spun around in time to see Claryce pulling her stiff fingers from the throat of a gagging hood who’d tried to climb into the Packard. Barely had she done that then she drew her revolver and started to aim it at the stricken gunman. He took one look at the Smith & Wesson and made a hasty retreat.

  A bullet ricocheted off the Auburn as one of the hoods from the other car took a shot. The shot made me glance at the figure who’d come to our aid. His scarf had been torn off and his cap knocked at an angle, making it easy to finally identify none other than Quiet Ford. I shoved aside the irony of him driving a Model T as another shot brought my attention back to our other foes.

  I wondered where Fetch had gotten to that the one hood could keep firing. Whatever the reason, I knew it was up to me to stop him from shooting again. The dragon’s magic gave me some protection, but neither Claryce nor Quiet had that good fortune.

  Taking one last glimpse to make certain Claryce was safe, I started for the gunner—

  The world shimmered.

  The Nash abruptly changed color, then shape. I found myself staring at another Packard, to the side of which stood a thug who was clearly taller than the one I’d been about to go after.

  “Nick? What’s happening?”

  I forgot all about anything but Claryce. Leaning into our car, I was grateful to see no apparent change in her. Still, “Do you feel any different? Any way at all?”

  “No . . . I don’t think so . . . Nick! What’s happening?”

  I thought I knew, but I prayed I was wrong. It couldn’t be what I feared—

  Deny a truth as great as denying that we are condemned to be together! Eye know and you know . . . say it!

  “No . . . it can’t be the card . . .”

  “‘The card’?” The color on her face drained. “The Clothos—Nick!”

  Her gaze darted past my right shoulder. I knew from Claryce’s reaction that this was no simple hood with an automatic.

  There was no time nor enough room to draw Her Lady’s gift. I had no choice but to rely on the dragon’s power.

  The eagerness with which he passed it on almost made me regret taking it, at least until I saw who—or rather what—stood behind me.

  I knew that even though it had no features, somehow it still wore Galerius’s smile.

  It stabbed me in the gut with something. I looked down and saw an odd dagger with a blade that looked more like a large tooth half buried in me.

  Inside me, the dragon roared . . . and then he roared on the outside.

  We were changing.

  I seized the faceless fiend and flew into the air as quickly as my sprouting wings could take us. Through the haze of our mutual agony, I forced the dragon to shield our presence the way he had at Dunning. The magnitude of the magic’s reach had to be nearly as great as the time of the Fire, despite our current struggle. The dragon didn’t want to expend the strength, but I still had enough sway over him.

  I could think of only one direction to go. It wasn’t a choice I cared for and neither did the dragon, but with our form out of control, I saw no other option.

  We headed toward the lake. Out in the middle of Lake Michigan in this winter weather, there would be few eyes should the magic fail. If we fell, there would also be little risk of hurting others.

  I thought of nothing else but getting us from the sight others. The choppy shoreline beckoned, and beyond it the wild, dark waters. Something nagged me at that moment, something about the lake.

  “Georgius!”

  The voice sounded like that of Diocles and yet not. I marked it down as a figment of my tortured mind and concentrated on veering toward the lake—

  Then, another voice cut through my pain. A soft female voice muttering something in another language. I knew that language, but for the moment I didn’t have enough concentration left to understand it. Still, something about its constant rhythm soothed me. Hoping for more relief, I turned toward it.

  “Down here, Georgius . . . down here.”

  The first voice no longer sounded like Diocles. I knew it, but, like the words spoken by the female voice, couldn’t place it. Still, if it had even the slightest tie to the relief she brought not only me but the dragon, I was willing to listen.

  “Right down here . . . stay off the water and you’ll be fine. You can’t go out on the water like this. I can’t let you . . .”

  I didn’t understand or care about what the voice meant. I just knew that the woman’s voice grew stronger with each beat of my wings.

  It finally occurred to me just what her rhythmic words were, even if I still didn’t know their meaning. She was saying a prayer. A prayer for me. A prayer for both—

  We collided with the ground. Fortunately, it was much softer than our last, much too recent collision with the forest of Feirie. The dragon and I plowed into it, skidding for some distance.

  When we at last came to a stop, I rolled onto my
back. Only then did I realize that we’d reverted to my form. The dragon was a weary point receding into my subconscious. The woman’s voice continued to pray.

  Soft footsteps warned me someone was approaching, but I couldn’t have done a damned thing to stop anyone just then.

  “Not a good night,” the figure whispered near my left. “Wish I could do more, but I’ve used up my good fortune. Still, got a little something left. She’s a strong believer, Nick. Best I could muster. It doesn’t make up for this or everything else I’ve done, but I hope it helps enough for now.”

  Somehow, I finally managed to force my eyes open. Grit and tears made it hard to see, but a figure half coalesced despite that. I saw a Nubian, about thirty years old with the build suitable for a farmer or a fighter. I’d seen that face at least once before, in a graveyard of all places.

  I took an angry swipe at him . . . or at least a pathetic little wave.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  With that, he reached down to me. I screamed as he pulled something from my torso.

  With another shake of his head, he held up the bloody knife.

  “It’s his tooth,” he informed me. “That’s why it worked. That’s why it was painful. I’m sorry. It had to be. I couldn’t change that.”

  The sound of a car’s engine made him look past me. I tried to do the same, but the strain left my head spinning. I looked back at my companion . . . and found myself alone.

  Somehow, I found the energy to swear at Michael.

  The car drew closer, then stopped. The driver shut off the engine and stepped out. Unlike Michael, the newcomer walked with impatience and a clear frustration with the weather, punctuated twice by oaths in Spanish.

  “Ay ay ay!” The newcomer gripped me by the shoulders. “Nick Medea! What’ve you got yourself into, Bo?”

  I might’ve answered the good detective Cortez if I hadn’t the next moment blacked out.

  CHAPTER 12

  I woke to a woman’s pleasant humming. I didn’t know the tune, but it was catchy, especially with her clear musical ability.

  The humming soothed me enough to take notice of the dragon. He was with me, as always, but as little more than a shadow lurking in the shadows of my thoughts. The attack had taken as much out of him as it had me.