Man of Steele

by Alex P. Berg

  The creature growled, pushing its hot, fetid snout into my face, still refusing to let go of my hand. My face boiled, and yet I kept my eyes shut.

  One last try. I flipped the blade over and plunged it with all the strength I could muster into the beast’s belly, right at the side where it lay atop me.

  The creature’s skin ripped, and I felt the blade drive to the hilt. The creature hissed and roared, letting go of my hand, causing a fresh wave of agony to ripple down my arm.

  I took advantage of the moment, pushing off with my free arm and pulling down on the knife with the other. Flesh tore. Hot blood slicked my knife hand. The beast reared. I rolled, and my knife pulled free of the wound.

  I stumbled to my feet, my eyes still closed but suddenly free of their supernatural burning, back instead to their more mundane pepper-induced anguish. I didn’t dare open then, and I’d lost all sense of direction as soon as the beast had latched onto me.

  Apparently, it could still see, despite the darkness. It could also still move, despite its wound. It slammed into me low. I toppled backwards, stumbling into a taut rope. I burned my mangled hand as I scrambled for purchase before tumbling into a soft pile—the sand-filled canvas bags I’d sent crashing down on their pulleys.

  I heard another clack-clack-clack, followed by a drag like before, this time right in front of me. I scrambled back and tucked my legs. A whoosh of air and a snap of jaws nearly ensnared my foot, catching me instead on the pant leg, but I ripped them free.

  Grunting, I flipped over backward, rolling over the bags, using the one taut rope to steady myself. The sand bags shook as the creature slammed into them a fraction of a second later, hissing and growling in anger.

  My heart pounded, my hands were slick with blood, and I could hear concerned shouts in the distance. I needed to kill the beast and get out while I could, but how? The creature’s belly was its weakness, not its back. It would take a blow greater than I could deliver to damage it.

  My musings on the nature of physics came back to me in a rush. What comes up must come down. The only question was, on which side of the sand bags?

  Oh, well. A fifty-fifty chance was better than none at all. I fumbled for the rope with my wounded hand, found it, then delivered a sweeping slash at it with my knife.

  It sliced through with barely a hitch. I heard a whirr of a pulley, and I threw myself backward in desperation.

  I managed to crack my head against something in the process, but it was worth it. A bone-crunching crash and an inhuman cry rewarded me in recompense.

  I tried to steady my breathing, counting to ten before opening my eyes. In front of me, shrouded in darkness but visible against the smoky background, lay Pipehands’ broken body, twisted at an unnatural angle. Underneath him was a creature unlike any I’d ever seen, an enormous lizard, covered in dark gray scales, with powerful legs and three inch claws. Its eyes lay closed, but it appeared to be breathing shallowly.

  I closed the distance in a long stride, pulled up on its head, and drove my knife into the underside of its jaw, averting my eyes as I did so. It whined and gurgled weakly, its life force mostly spent by my slash to its stomach and Pipehands' dying blow.

  I stood and looked around, trying to orient myself in the lingering smoke and the darkness. Footsteps approached, and I needed to get out. I had nothing left to fight with, no weapons, no energy, no desire.

  I stumbled around the edge of the crates through which the ogre had tossed me, hoping it led to the sewer entrance.

  I guessed both right and wrong. The sewer hatch materialized out of the smoke in front of me as I ran, lit by the flickering glow of the lantern in the subbasement, but another form appeared alongside it. A huge one. Six feet eight inches tall and four hundred pounds, with a glistening shaved head, tattoos staining his chocolatey skin, and a menacing grin stretching his face.

  “Well, well,” he said, stepping forth. “If it isn’t Jake Daggers. I should’ve known this was all ’cause of you.”

  My heart sank and I took a deep breath. “Bonesaw. I was hoping to find you, just not right now.”

  The oily voice cried out behind me. “No! NO! You killed her! HOW?”

  “Over here, boss,” called Bonesaw.

  I glanced at the smoke. It was rapidly dissipating. I could try to run, but I couldn’t hide. Also Bonesaw was quicker than his four hundred pounds would suggest, if memory served me right.

  “Nice job at Coldgate,” I said, stalling for time. “You fooled the guards there, if not me. Winds of Change, eh? How’re you liking your new home?”

  “I’m loving it,” he said. “Though it’s not as new as you think.”

  The befuddlement must’ve been evident on my face, but I didn’t get a chance to ask him about it. I heard footsteps behind me, and saw the glow of a lantern.

  “You,” said the oily voice. “You murdered my pet.”

  I turned and blinked as I took stock of the man who stood there, a lean, wiry sort with medium length wavy brown hair and the limber, agile stance of a dancer. An aura of menace surrounded him, but the air of indifference I remembered was gone.

  “Sebastian Cobb?” I said.

  Suddenly, it made sense. The leader of the Wyverns, the gang Steele and I had busted at the start of winter for dragon trafficking. We’d taken down Bonesaw, not to mention a gang-bought electromancer by the name of Left-Eye Lazarus, but Cobb had escaped. I’d always suspected he was more than the gang’s recruiter, and I still suspected him in the murder of my ex-partner’s friend, Randall Barrett.

  “You,” I said. “So the Winds of Change...you’re the Wyverns? That’s how you got the basilisk?”

  Cobb panted and snarled, like a rabid dog testing the edge of his leash. “Daggers. You think you’ve won? You think I can’t get another basilisk? She served her purpose. You’re too late. All you’ve succeeded in doing is making me angry, and I have plenty of other tricks up my sleeve, believe me.” He looked up at the sounds of distant fighting, and a sudden gust of wind rattled the windows high above in the rafters. “The Wyverns… Please. The Winds of Change have arrived. And they’re blowing.”

  He served me up a retort on a silver platter, but before I was able to explain who exactly was doing the blowing, pain blossomed at the base of my skull and my world went dark.

  28

  When I awoke, it was to comparable bliss. Don’t get me wrong. My back ached, my hand throbbed, my eyes itched, a dull ache pounded at the back of my skull, and I desperately needed a throat lozenge and a dozen glasses of water, but on the bright side, I wasn’t immersed in smoke, surrounded by weasel stink, or actively being punched, kicked, beaten, bitten, clawed, or bored into with petrification-strength demon eyes by a monster out of legend. And I was alive, so overall, it was a win.

  I winced as I sat up, taking stock of my surroundings. I was in a small room, dark but with an outward facing window that let in a smidgen of moonlight. I sat on a steel-framed bed—not an uncomfortable one, to be honest—but other than that, my furnishings were limited to a narrow washbasin pushed against the far wall.

  I stood, my legs complaining but working as intended, and crossed over to it. I plunged my hand into the basin, but no cool water met my touch. I sighed.

  I moved to the window, or as close to it as I could get. The glass panes were recessed, kept out of reach by a thick iron grating. I tested them, but they didn’t budge.

  I gazed through the glass. Clouds covered the majority of the sky, but enough moonlight got through for me to get a gist of where I was.

  Wind whistled through trees two stories below me. I spotted a gravel path, dark vegetation, snippets of tile and carved stone. It reminded me of the view from the vast expanse of the Aldermont, the luxurious estate belonging to the Vanderfellers where Shay and I had been tasked with the mysterious disappearance of the home’s matron. It wasn’t as big as the Vanderfellers’ place, or didn’t appear to be in the darkness, but it was a man
or nonetheless, not an underground dungeon. That surprised me.

  I held my left hand to the window, trying to inspect it in the moon’s dim glow. Dried blood coated most of it, and I could vaguely make out puncture wounds set in a neat curve. I couldn’t have been lucky enough to avoid breaking any bones, could I? I flexed my hand and stopped halfway, the pain nearly crippling me. Guess not… I’d need to sterilize it. Who knew what germs resided in a basilisk's mouth?

  I looked around, once again wishing for water in the basin. Or even better, a drink of the alcoholic variety. Not that I was lapsing to a darker period in my life, but the alcohol would dull the pain and help clean my hand.

  I crossed to the door at the front of the room and tested the handle. It rattled, but didn’t budge.

  I tried knocking. “Hello? Anyone there?”

  A not-too-nice voice responded, muffled by the wall. “Best be quiet lest you want a beating.”

  I heard another voice, this one quieter, then a chuckle from the first voice. Two guards, it would appear?

  I checked my belt only to find it gone. Surprisingly enough, Cobb and Bonesaw had left me my jacket, though they’d cleaned that out, too. I thought back to Daisy, lying in the back of the King’s Theater, cold and alone.

  I blinked the thought away. I enjoyed anthropomorphism as much as the next guy, but now wasn’t the time to be worried about a truncheon.

  “You with the Winds of Change?” I called.

  “Told you to shut it.”

  I lifted the corner of my mattress, but there wasn’t anything of use down there, either. I couldn’t pull the bed apart in search of a makeshift weapon. It was welded steel and brass.

  I glanced at the washbasin. It was mostly wooden, but I wouldn’t be able to pry it apart with my bare fingers, not with my left hand in its current state. I’d be defenseless if I antagonized my jailers into coming in after me, but what choice did I have? I needed to get out, and I couldn’t do so through the window. Besides, they wouldn’t kill me, would they? They hadn’t so far.

  “Could I at least get some water?” I said. “My throat’s killing me.”

  I heard a grunt. “You asked for it, pal.”

  I heard the scrape of a chair and a rattle of keys. That was followed by a whack and a thump, then a series of thuds interspersed with a faint grunt or two, all while the keys continued to jingle.

  I took a step back from the door, suddenly nervous. “You know, on second thought, I don’t need—”

  A latch clacked, and the door opened. Someone slipped into the darkness, closing the door behind them. Someone wearing a familiar pair of boots and tight leather pants.

  “Kyra?”

  She stepped into the wan moonlight, her body tense and her face drawn. “Good to see you’re awake, and mobile. I wasn’t sure you’d be after everything you’ve been through.”

  “Everything I’ve been through?”

  “Come on, Jake. You’re quicker on the uptake than this. How do you think I found you?”

  “You were following me?” I said. “The whole time?”

  “Not the whole time,” she said. “I hid at the King’s Theater. I mean, I’m the one who told you where the meeting would be, if you remember. Hell of a scene you made. I knew you were a badass, but you took down a basilisk.”

  I pictured our second meeting. Kyra teasing me, coming onto me, spurning me. Had I missed something? “Why are you here?”

  “I owe you my life. I’m paying back the debt.”

  “A point I made to you multiple times already. Didn’t seem to sway you at the time.”

  “I changed my mind.” She looked away. “As it turns out, maybe you are able to bring out the good in people. Even me.”

  I wasn’t totally sure I bought it. “What happened after I got knocked out?”

  “Bonesaw grabbed you, slung you over his shoulder, and followed Cobb out of the theater, them and a few of the remaining thugs. I followed the lot of you here. I was trying to figure out a good way to spring you when you distracted the guards.”

  “And where is here?”

  “A mansion in Brentwood. Not sure whose.”

  “And my friends?” I asked. “Rodgers, Quinto. The Captain. The rest of the police strike teams?”

  “Not sure,” said Kyra. “I was focused on you, not them. I imagine they’re still at the theater. Not sure if you noticed, but all hell broke loose after Cobb sicced that creature on the gang leaders. He timed it so several of his hidden teams of goons attacked the remaining gang troops right after it went down.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Then you know as much as I do. Could’ve been worse for your friends, I guess. I can’t imagine there were many of the bad guys left once your pals went in.” Kyra glanced toward the door. “Either way, it’s time to go. I haven’t scouted this place as well as I should’ve, certainly not as much as I would’ve if I were breaking in. There could be more guards here any minute.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I said.

  “What?”

  “Shay. Where is she?”

  “How would I know? I followed you, not her.”

  “Kyra…”

  She sighed. “I overheard the guards mention another prisoner on the ground floor. I don’t know if it’s her. That’s all I have.”

  “You’re a life-saver.”

  “Technically true, but not if you keep up your current pace. Daggers, I was at the theater. I saw what you pulled off—or not, exactly. Those smoke bombs were a nice trick. But you can’t keep it up. Look at you. You’re a mess. I’m surprised you’re still standing. You need to get out while you can.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” I said. “I have to save Shay. I have to stop Cobb.”

  “Oh, now you’ve upped your ambitions? You won’t stop until the whole city is safe?”

  “It’s my job, Kyra. I know I may be in homicide, and most of the citizens I work with tend to be of the formerly living variety, but I do what I do to protect people. To save people. To make a difference.”

  Kyra snorted. “Gods, you really are a golden boy.”

  “Good thing you like golden boys. I mean…that is why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  Kyra stepped closer to me. “You think I’d come between you and your partner? After you told me you loved her?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe you came back for proof.”

  “Proof of what?”

  “Proof that guys like me exist. Guys that would do anything for the people they love. Guys that would stand up for what’s right, even if it means putting their own necks on the line. Maybe you came back for validation. For a glimmer of hope.”

  “You know, you’re not just a golden boy,” said Kyra, moving even closer. “You’re a hopeless romantic. Don’t worry. I like those, too.”

  She leaned in and kissed me. Not on the cheek, either. On the lips. Soft and tender, yet strong at the same time. It didn’t last forever. Maybe a few seconds, but when Kyra pulled back, she was out of breath all the same.

  “Sorry. Needed something else to remember you by. Go and get her, champ. And don’t forget about me, okay?”

  “How could I forget you?” I said.

  Kyra smiled. “Oh, I don’t mean in general. I meant when you send out the wedding invitations.”

  I snorted. “And where would I send them?”

  “I’ll be back—assuming you save the city from Cobb, that is.” She opened the door. “Take care, Jake. And watch out for guards. I didn’t clear them all out for you.”

  29

  When I stepped into the hallway, Kyra had already disappeared. A couple of thugs lay on the floor, barely distinguishable in the darkness. I heard their slow breathing, though, so they weren’t dead. A thread of smoke tickled my nose, which I traced to a lantern set atop a small table outside my room. Kyra must’ve extinguished it before coming in to save me.

  I peered in
to the darkness around me, but other than the small table and chairs, the hallway seemed empty. Certainly, I didn’t catch sign of my belt and other assorted personal effects, or a piece of furniture to contain them. No matter.

  I knelt next to the first of the gently sleeping thugs and emptied his pockets. I didn’t find much. Loose change, a package of chewing tobacco, and a pair of brass knuckles. I slipped the latter into my pocket, thanking Kyra once again for sparing me the beating I would’ve suffered at the wrong end of those, and moved on to the second thug. He didn’t carry much more of significance, but he did have the set of keys I’d heard clinking before, not to mention a wicked looking blade, fourteen inches in length with an inwardly curved edge, all in an intricate sheath.

  The keys I wasn’t sure I’d need, but given there were a half dozen on the ring, I’d be stupid not to take them. Using the knife, I hacked a piece of the thug’s shirt off, wrapped it around the keys, and tied it, shaking the bundle to make sure it wouldn’t jingle. It didn’t. Then I sheathed the knife and slipped it into my jacket’s interior coat pocket. It didn’t have the same weight or presence as Daisy, but I’d use it in a pinch.

  I stood, ready to set off, but it occurred to me I shouldn’t leave thugs lying around in the middle of hallways. Knocking folks unconscious was a permanent solution in penny dreadfuls, but in the real world, people woke up at inopportune times. Luckily for me, I had a perfect solution to the problem.

  After dumping the thugs in my cell and locking the door with my newly commandeered keys, I set off down the hallway. I walked slowly, quietly, thankful I hadn’t been stripped of the specialized boots I’d donned for trekking through the King’s Theater. Not that feet wouldn’t have been as quiet, but they weren’t tailored for traversing gravel or the city’s muck-filled streets or small stone paths set inside centuries old sewers.

  I crossed a set of windows, these without heavy bars or shutters. Outside, trees swayed to and fro. Wind whistled, and rain rattled across the glass. Other than that? Silence. Where was I, exactly? Kyra had mentioned Brentwood, which explained the presence of vegetation instead of miles of brick and mortar as far as the eye could see, but why Brentwood? In whose manor? An abandoned one? The association of homeowners didn’t look kindly upon those.