by Alex P. Berg
Well, sat on my thumbs was a bit of an exaggeration. Following my trip to the Grant Street Precinct, I’d headed home and tried to sleep, but nerves had kept me up longer than I’d intended. Luckily, a second stretch of literary molasses in Six Feet Under sprinkled me with fairy dust and sent me crashing into the realm of dreams.
When I woke, I made myself a strong cup of coffee and a hearty breakfast, all thanks to my well-stocked pantry. After wolfing it down, I sat in my easy chair and turned my mind to the obvious question: what now? Lazarus had said he’d pass word to the Wyverns about me and that they worked quickly, but how quickly? Would they send word for me today? At what time? And how? Via note? Letter? Runner? And then what? What would the crucible entail, exactly?
That last part occupied my mind the most. It might’ve consumed my whole day if not for the strike of my grandfather clock hitting nine thirty and the subsequent mental jolt it triggered. After all, it was Sunday.
I’d grabbed my coat and raced out the door, making it to Nicole’s with minutes to spare. She’d sported an incredulous look on her face at the sight of me—and I didn’t blame her given my prior record—but the disbelief was mixed with satisfaction. She’d shot me a warm, approving glance and nod that a part of me missed but I’d mostly grown past.
It was nothing compared to the look on Tommy’s face, though. We played all day, and I left with no regrets, except for the fact that I’d been too busy, stupid, and scared to have done it all before.
When I finally got home as the day’s light faded around me, I found another note on the floor of my apartment, just inside the door. This time the instructions weren’t in the Captain’s measured script, but in an entirely foreign hand:
E. 73rd & Wheatley. Back of the dirt lot. 10 P.M.
I pulled the note from my pocket and double checked it in the dim light of the brownstone’s shadow. I was in the right place, and though I couldn’t be entirely sure of the hour, I’d planned it well enough that I was confident I’d made it with time to spare.
I shivered in the cold. I took a deep breath and tried to force myself forward, but my legs wouldn’t move. They weren’t frozen in place. Rather, I hesitated. Thoughts of Tommy and Shay, of Rodgers and Quinto, all flashed through my mind. None of them knew my plans. I’d lied to them, if not directly then by omission. If they’d known what I was up to, and the risks involved, would they have approved?
Luckily for me, or perhaps not, thoughts of the Captain and Griggs also lurked in the dark recesses of my skull. I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I knew what I had to do. I’d just have to be careful about it.
I uprooted my legs and headed across the street into the lot. The note’s vague instructions sent me wandering into the back portions, where I spotted a few dilapidated multi-story buildings—little more than half-open mounds of cracked stone and mortar. Frosted earth crunched under the heel of my boots as I walked, and though I stretched my ears, I didn’t pick up on any telltale sounds of life. No chatting or laughing, yells or whispers, just the ever-present hum of the city.
I rounded a crumbling wall of brick and stared into a dark crevasse that might’ve once been a living room. Given the miniscule amount of light descending from the heavens, I could barely see into the space. Should I go in? For the umpteenth time, I wished the note had been more specific.
A rumbling, hair-raising voice like death warmed over sounded behind me. “Lookie here. Fresh meat.”
I spun in the direction of the voice, my hand shooting into my coat. At first I didn’t see anything, but then a massive form rose from underneath a decaying overhang. A full blood ogre, and a massive one at that, bald and with skin the color of charcoal. Though the shadows played with my eyes, I guessed he had at least four inches and a hundred and fifty pounds on me. His gums stretched and his teeth flashed, but unlike Quinto’s friendly square chompers, this guy’s smile was full of plaque and spoiled food and malice.
I took a step back toward the erstwhile living room with the missing wall. I pulled Daisy from my coat, all while I glanced at the open lot and wondered how fast the goliath could run. “Who are you?”
The ogre chuckled, or at least that’s what I assumed he was doing. He sounded too chipper to have suddenly come down with a case of black lung.
“They call me…Bonesaw.”
“Oh, please,” said an airy, sensual voice from behind me. “No one’s ever called you that in your life, Dugrok.”
I spun again, trying to keep the gigantic ogre in my field of view while assessing the newest threat, but it came from within the darkness.
“Well maybe they should,” rumbled the ogre. “Startin’ today, it’s Bonesaw. For you and everybody else. And there’ll be hell to pay if you forget.”
A lithe form appeared from within the ruins, materializing from toe up thanks to the shadows. Legs, long and lean and clad in skin-tight brown leather. A slim waist, encircled by a narrow belt and a bright, golden buckle. Above that, faint curves, but impeccably formed and perfectly placed. Atop it all, a face out of a virtuoso’s sketchbook, framed by an inverted bob of honey and amber, with bangs swept across her forehead and out of her eyes. Sharp ears pointed through her hair at the sides.
“Don’t mind him,” said the gorgeous she-elf. “He likes to act tough. Or so I’ve gathered from what I’ve heard about him. I’m Kyra. You are?”
I wanted to narrow an eye in suspicion, but despite my best efforts, my eyes were a fair bit wider than normal. They had to take in the sights. “Drake. But my friends call me Baggers.”
“And you let them?” Kyra smiled, and I melted a little.
I shrugged. “What can I say? It’s my last name. Beats Drake the Snake or the Bag Man.”
The ogre snorted, like a horse on steroids. “Who is this clown?”
“Baggers. Drake,” I said again. “Kyra seems cool, so she can call me Baggers. As for you? Well, I suppose you can call me whatever the hell you want, big fella.”
Kyra snickered. “So far, I’m liking you a lot better than Bonesaw over there. His idea of a joke is telling you he’s going to kill your family and then reneging. You can loosen up your grip on that head knocker, though.”
Daisy bit into the meat of my palm with an icy chill. I probably should’ve worn gloves, but it interfered with my tough guy persona. Then again, so did my actual persona.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I still can’t tell if Bonesaw wants to eat me or not. I might be able to prop his mouth open with this sucker if he comes at me. You know, like an alligator.”
Bonesaw growled and Kyra smiled, but I put Daisy away regardless. The aura hanging over our impromptu trio didn’t quite have an air of cannibalism.
I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the pair, but I was fairly sure they weren’t my designated contact. I played it close to the vest. “So…what brings the two of you here on this fine winter’s night? Don’t tell me you’re on a date.”
“Why? You jealous?” Kyra shot me a sultry glance.
For a moment I was. Then I tore the pink-lipped, slim-figured veil from my eyes and recalled Griggs’ death, my clandestine meeting with the Captain, and the incredible danger I was still in. Besides, I already had one hot elf girl in my life—in a sense, anyway.
“We’re here for the same reason you are, blockhead,” said Bonesaw. “The crucible.”
“No offense,” I said, “but I thought that was going to be a more solitary affair. Not that I mind the company. Half of it anyway.” I gave Kyra a wink.
She didn’t seem repulsed, amazingly enough. “Likewise.”
“Fat chance, blockhead,” said Bonesaw. “You’ve gotta share the stage. And I’ll let you in on a little secret. You ain’t gonna be the star in the show.”
“You know, I did say you could call me whatever you wanted,” I said. “But I’d appreciate it if your mixed up your insults. I mean, I don’t even have a flattop.”
“Unfortunately, Bo
nesaw’s right,” said Kyra, “if not necessarily the way he intended. Everyone knows my light shines the brightest. Although…I thought there were supposed to be four.”
The newest voice startled me and Bonesaw, but not Kyra. “There are.”
25
A man, perhaps my age but with a clean-shaven face free of scars or wrinkles, emerged from between a gap in the brick and mortar. He was lean and good-looking, with a wavy mop of barely coifed hair atop his head, and he walked with a light, firm step that made me think he was a former gymnast or dancer. Slick, dark boots reached up to just under his knee, and he wore a waist-length fur coat that shimmered in the dim light.
“Nice jacket,” I said. “Fox?”
“Beaver,” he replied, in a voice that mirrored his gait.
Bonesaw cracked his knuckles. It sounded like breaking bones. “So…you’re number four then.”
“No. I’m your liaison.” The man snapped his fingers. “You can come down from there now.”
I heard the scrape of leather on stone, followed by a rush of air and a hearty thump—not to mention I swear I felt a shimmer. I turned to find a dwarf crouched in the dirt not five feet behind me. Black draped him from neck to toe, but not in weird robes or vestments. Simply a button-up shirt, pants, and work boots. A trio of dark, hardwood bands held his beard in a tight braid, and a ponytail pulled back his long hair—what was left of it anyway. Perhaps that was why the fellow had hidden and spied on us from above. The shine of his head might’ve ruined his otherwise perfect disguise.
“I take it you’re number four,” I said. “Care to introduce yourself, seeing as you’ve already heard us do so?”
The dwarf looked at me impassively and rose to his feet.
“No?” I said. “I’m going to call you Ted, then. He looks like a Ted, doesn’t he?”
I looked to Kyra for affirmation, mostly because I’d rather look at her than Bonesaw.
“You must be Baggers,” said the man in the beaver jacket.
I turned. “That’s right. How’d you figure it? You spying on us, same as Ted?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “But it’s not hard to distinguish between the four of you, even if you weren’t the only one spouting jokes and yakking it up.”
“I don’t think you introduced yourself,” I said.
“I’m Sebastian Cobb,” he said. “Or at least to the four of you I am. Tell me, Mr. Baggers, how is it someone of your disposition manages to put on such a jovial face?”
“Disposition?” said Kyra.
“I see you didn’t get much past the name stage of your introductions,” said Cobb. “Go on then, Baggers. Why don’t you tell her a bit about yourself?”
I didn’t know if this was a test, but I’d made sure to commit the entire falsified personnel file to memory before planting it. I let my face fall and canned the humor. “I, uh…got fired from my last position. For excessive violence, among other things.”
“And that job was?” said Sebastian.
“I’d rather not say,” I replied. “Given the company.”
Kyra raised an eyebrow. “So you’re got a hidden dark side? You and Bonesaw have more in common than you let on.”
“Nothing about my dark side is hidden, elf,” said the ogre.
Kyra’s eyebrow seemed to have gotten stuck. “The question is, Drake, on the inside, are you cold and black…or fiery and hot?”
“Depends on what I last ate,” I said.
Kyra snickered again.
“Enough pillow talk,” said Cobb. “Miss Feldspar. I’m glad to see you came. I’ve heard interesting rumors about you.”
Kyra gave a small curtsey. “When it comes to rumors surrounding me, I assure you they’re all true.”
“I hope so,” said Cobb. “And Dugrok. I do hope the rumors about you aren’t all true.”
“It’s Bonesaw now,” said Dugrok. “And don’t forget it.”
“Noted,” said Cobb. “Although I should point out that while professional courtesy isn’t required for admission into our little…club, shall we say, it’s strongly encouraged.”
Bonesaw grunted in response—either that or he was birthing a calf.
“Which leads us to the last member of our quartet,” said Cobb. “Mr.—”
The dwarf glared at him.
“—well, let’s stick with Ted, why don’t we? I’m sure you’re all familiar with his body of work.”
I wasn’t—I had no idea who the guy was—but I wasn’t sure voicing that fact would endear me in any way. Rather it might paint a target on my back.
“So,” said Cobb. “It’s cold. Might as well get to it. You’re all here for the same reason. To take part in our…admissions exam, lovingly known as the crucible.” He smiled joylessly. “And while I’m sure all of you possess skills that could be of use to our organization, I regret to inform you there’s been a change of plans. We only have room for three applicants at the moment. One of you, at least, won’t make it.”
I noticed how Cobb never mentioned the Wyverns by name. Neither had the note I’d received under my door. Smart. I followed suit.
“So, what?” I asked. “Is this crucible a four-way fight to the death? Because if so, I think you’re giving Bonesaw there an unfair advantage.”
It was a joke, and as such I expected a reaction from Cobb. A snort of derision, a shake of his head, a roll of his eyes. He gave me nothing. The guy was cold as ice. “No. That wouldn’t showcase the sorts of talents we’re interested in acquiring.”
“What, then?” asked Kyra.
Cobb leaned against the crumbling wall through which he’d stepped. He pretended to inspect his fingernails. “It’s simple, really. Are you all familiar with the Metropolitan?”
“The museum or the opera house?” asked Kyra.
“The former,” said Cobb. “Have you been recently? There’s an exhibition at the moment featuring several pieces on loan from the Proteco overseas. It’s quite marvelous, and the jewel of the exhibit, so to speak, is a trio of precious stone-encrusted brooches, forged by the famed master Gustav Trogeré. If memory serves me correctly, there’s a hummingbird, an octopus, and a hydra.”
“What are the rules?” asked Bonesaw.
Cobb ticked them off on his fingers. “No fair harming your fellow competitors, either before arrival at the destination or after possession has been established. No fair preventing them from taking part in the contest, either by kidnapping, disabling, or any other means. And no mention of this to anyone—win, lose, or otherwise.”
A squeaky, too-high voice sounded behind me, and I realized it was Ted. No wonder he kept his mouth shut. “What about prize redistribution prior to the drop?”
Ted was getting technical. I wasn’t even sure what I was getting myself into, yet.
“I stated the rules of the contest in their entirety,” said Cobb.
That seemed to satisfy Ted.
“And the drop?” asked Kyra.
Cobb found a patch of flat debris and sat down. He folded his arms. “Why do you think I wore the beaver? I’ll be here.”
My new acquaintances took one quick look at each other and scattered, leaving me in the dust. It took me a few seconds before I figured out I should get moving, too.
26
I figured Kyra and Ted would disappear into the night in short order, but I didn’t anticipate Bonesaw’s transformation into a ghost. To be fair, his skin gave him a natural advantage, but unfortunately for him, his size would work against him. No rickshaw driver in the world would take him, and if they tried they would’ve collapsed in a heap after a bare half mile.
I, on the other hand, found a spry looking driver after running west for a mile or two, and with the promise of multiple silver eagles for his best efforts, we set off toward the Pearl district and the Metro at breakneck speed.
Compared to the desolate lot of our meeting, the Pearl hopped like a young bunny. Rich revelers were
out in force, braving the winter cold in their heavy coats. Knowing there was a show at Magister Hall—because when wasn’t there—I told my driver to skirt south and take 3rd, otherwise we might’ve gotten snarled in traffic and I’d have been doomed.
As it was, he dropped me off down the street from the Metro with me feeling good about my chances. I took a quick loop around the block, partly to see if I spotted any of my competitors but also to case the building. On the first count I did well. Kyra, Ted, and Bonesaw were nowhere to be seen, and I couldn’t imagine all three had beat me and infiltrated the building already. On the second count, however…
Despite being situated on the edge of the Pearl, The Metro was old town New Welwic: a hulking stone building held up as much by tenacity and force of will as by the granite columns that encircled it. You’d think a building that old would have cracks and crevices galore, but the piles of stone were as tight as an angry schoolmarm’s lips. I doubt an anorexic rat could’ve sneaked in unless someone left a window open overnight, and those were covered by lattices of steel bars over an inch thick each. Lacking a blueprint of the museum, my only route inside would be through the front doors, but the problem with that strategy was the museum closed at ten.
The curators of the museum weren’t fools. They knew as well as Cobb and I did that the Metro held all sorts of delectable delights behind its impenetrable walls, from jewels to arms and armor to ancient decorative vases, which was why they’d parked a small army of hired goons outside of each entrance. I regarded them for a few minutes from the shadow of a building across the street, but their broad foreheads and tight jaws didn’t give me much reason for hope.
I racked my brain. I needed a strategy, and I needed one fast. Despite the guards, I didn’t for a minute think they’d stop the others I competed against. I had a sneaking suspicion Kyra and Tim, at least, had extensive experience in repossessions, as it were, and while I didn’t know the extent of Bonesaw’s mental faculties, I got the impression he wasn’t as dumb as he looked. But how could I get in? I had no hands-on experience with heists. Heck, I barely had any hands-off experience. I worked in homicide.
