Nightlord: Orb

by Garon Whited

  I also need to find a way to destroy the Thing in the Black Ball. Since this world doesn’t yet have commercial garbage disposal via rocket into the Sun, that might have to wait. For the moment, it’s contained in multiple layers of protection. It seems pretty safe.

  Bronze is disguised and has a cover story; she gets to run whenever she feels like it and she seems to be entertained by the Fabulous Four.

  Hmm. Maybe I should get a television for the barn. I could rig something for channel controls she could work with hooves—switches she can step on, maybe, for channel and volume. She might like that. I’m not sure she’s ever seen a television. Come to that, she’s a golem; I’m not sure how her sensory equipment works. Can she watch television? I might have to work on that.

  I think about taking things easier and I come up with new projects. This is why I don’t relax. Well, demon attacks, assassins, and a variety of other nastiness might have something to do with it, too.

  Thursday, October 29th

  I was glad to get home. Nobody broke in, nobody left any irate letters or bills, and nobody blew it up. Everything seemed exactly as I left it. Bronze reported a complete lack of adventure on the property, aside from the usual hayloft invasions by the Four.

  I’m still not sure if I’m surprised or suspicious. I don’t know what I was expecting, but quiet wasn’t it.

  She didn’t know what happened down the street, though, so I had to go ask. I got the story from Myrna, of course, but Susan and Larry contributed to my understanding, as well as Luke’s father, Brandon, and most of the rest of my street.

  On Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, a fire broke out at Gary’s house. The building went up in nothing flat. Mark and Gary survived it, though. Mark was burned rather badly getting Gary out; Gary wasn’t unscathed, either. Both of them were in the hospital. The police thought it was arson.

  How much of that is my fault? Is any of it? Did I prompt it by persuading Mark to quit his crime business, whatever it was? Was this someone’s way of saying it was a bad career choice? Or did someone simply assume the factory fire was arson and reciprocate, after a little detective work? Or am I dealing with something supernatural? There was a vampiress at the party; I never did find out what relationship, if any, she had to the management.

  Since the authorities took down the plastic ribbons that marked the ruins of the house as off-limits, I did some snooping that night. The house was ruined, but a few blackened walls remained. That was enough to conceal me from prying eyes.

  Pyromancy is the magical art of divination by using fire. I spent some time in a magic circle, put a spell on a candle, and brought the magic compass box. The candle gave me a fire for visions at the site of the previous fire; the magic compass box gave something to link the visions to for directions.

  At least, such was theory. While it did work—I clearly saw two men firebomb the house—they didn’t leave enough of an imprint on the area to grab. I couldn’t impress either of them on the compass needle; they didn’t leave behind enough of a psychic fingerprint. I think they lacked any strong feelings about the matter. That, in itself, was information—a professional might regard it as just another job. The imprint was strong enough if I saw them again, I would recognize them, but I needed something more to locate them. Since I didn’t have that, I’d have to go do legwork.

  While I was staring into the heart of the candle, trying to wring a little more clarity from the vision, the flame went up like a road flare and turned white. I jerked back from it and raised a hand to shield my eyes from the sudden glare.

  I felt a presence. A moment later, I heard a voice as though from far away.

  “There you are,” it said. I recognized it. “You’re quite far afield.”

  “Keep your observations to yourself, Sparky,” I advised. “I didn’t ask you to interfere with my spell.”

  “True, but my daughters have asked Me of you. They miss you.”

  “You can tell them I’m fine. Is that all?”

  “Are you still upset with Me?”

  “That works both ways,” I pointed out.

  “I merely chastised you for your temerity. True, I was startled when you nipped My finger, but I have never been angry with you.”

  “Nip on the finger, huh? If you say so. Now that you’ve found me, are we done?”

  “Not in this life,” she told me. “I have something to say.”

  “Be quick about it, because I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  “I still love you.”

  “Amber mentioned it. I don’t believe it. Now scram.”

  “Why do you not believe?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

  “You cursed a whole city for allowing its citizens to worship other gods. You ordered Tamara to kill our son in sacrifice to you. You tried to kill me twice—because you were startled, or annoyed, or whatever. I could go on.”

  “I have reasons for everything I have done. But to correct your statement, I did not try to kill you. I merely chastised you.”

  “So you’ve said. I don’t care. You’re an untrustworthy, traitorous thing and I want nothing to do with you.”

  “You do not understand.”

  “Possibly, but there’s nothing you can say to change my mind,” I told the goddess.

  “I apologize.”

  That, I did not expect.

  I opened my mouth to say something, probably some snap answer, but the unnatural burning of the candle finally expended it. The light vanished, leaving behind only a hot spot and the smell of smoke.

  I’ve gotten an apology from a goddess. Will wonders never cease?

  That’s not enough, though. An apology isn’t going to do it. I’m sitting on a lot of repressed anger and a simple statement isn’t going to fix it. I still want to punch her in the face and take another bite or twelve out of her—even if my best chomp is merely a little “nip” to her.

  Still, getting an apology… at least it’s something. I didn’t think the so-called gods did that sort of thing.

  This will bear some thinking about.

  On the plus side, at least I’ve heard from someone on that side of the interdimensional void. Can I contact Amber or Tianna through a fire? I’m not sure how that would work. It might be a property of an energy-state being rather than a spell. I know Sparky can do it, and through her, Amber can probably do it, but I still have no idea how. Knowing it can be done is a good first step. I’ll figure it out eventually.

  I don’t think I’m going to try to get Sparky to show me, either.

  In the meantime, maybe I can do something for Gary and Mark. I can use the charge in my Ascension Sphere and Ascension Stall—that name still amuses me—to prepare a pair of regenerative spells. It’ll delay my gate testing, but... well, it’ll delay my gate testing.

  Maybe I should cast more Ascension Spheres. There are six stalls in the barn; Bronze only uses one. The other five could be charging zones. Heck, I could put two in the spare bedrooms and a couple of smaller ones in the attic space. The ones in the house could even have the magic-blower spells; those spells seem to attract all the attention. I’m trying to keep the barn relatively unnoticed.

  Come to think of it, I could use the power in one of the current Ascension Stalls to charge a crystal. That would provide a lot of conveniently-packaged power to make everything else go faster.

  What the hell. I’ve got time before the sunrise.

  While working in the attic, I had an idea. I grew diamonds in Karvalen by starting with a seed crystal and making carbon available. If I set up an Ascension Sphere to help provide power and link a crystal-growing spell to it, balanced to run at a slightly lower power than the Sphere, it should gradually grow a diamond. It’s not going to be fast, obviously, but here I have technology to help me. If I include an electrical source—maybe a DC source, like a battery charger—to provide free electrons, as well as a heater, possibly a pressure cooker, can I make an environment more congenial to diamond crystal formati
on? Will that help speed the spell along?

  I’ll get back to you.

  Yep, got that set up. A DC source provides electrons, facilitating the movement of carbon atoms from one molecular bond and to another one. It’s kind of like growing a crystal in a solution, only the solution has carbon atoms floating in an electron soup.

  Again, that’s mostly wrong, but I think it’s a cool visual.

  Added to that is a radiant heater, further encouraging the charcoal to come apart into elemental carbon and enhancing the chicken-to-broth ratio of my carbon soup. The spell keeps telling the crystal structure in the middle to replicate using those free carbon atoms, while another spell helps with the initial combustion difficulties.

  Highly-reactive free carbon in an oxygen atmosphere? The typical result is left as an exercise for the student.

  The Ascension Sphere, of course, keeps pulling in power for the spells inside. I have a blower at either end of the attic to help that out. It seems to be working properly, but it’s an open question as to how quickly.

  If this does work at a moderately-decent rate, maybe I can branch out into other gemstones. What goes into making sapphires, emeralds, and rubies? I should read up on that. There’s an immense amount of technology and reference material I wanted while I was in Karvalen, gemstone formation included. I should get Diogenes to start building a reference library. The more you know…

  Friday, October 30th

  Carrying a four-foot blade into a hospital generally causes comment. Firebrand, on the other hand, has a beautiful case—it’s black, has shiny trim and latches, and is filled with wavy foam stuff. People don’t know what’s in the case, so it doesn’t excite nearly as much interest or suspicion as a big piece of sharpened steel. For all they know, I’m lugging an electric contrabassoon to music therapy.

  I walked right up to Mark’s room and slipped inside. He had extensive burns and quite a selection of medication, but he was expected to live. I was counting on the medication to help him stay unconscious while Firebrand and I quizzed him.

  I never like doing things this way. A man should have a right to privacy inside his own head. His free will should not be abridged by altering his thoughts. I react badly to it being done to me; I take great offense to it. Therefore, I don’t like doing it to anyone else. But what could I do? I couldn’t ask Mark who did it, or quiz him on how to find his friend, Ortiz. The events that followed would make Mark look long and hard at me, add two and two, and maybe three and four, and get a number that would seriously jeopardize my secret identity.

  Oh, hell. I’m a vigilante superhero, secret identity and all. If this keeps up, I’ll be swinging from rooftops and driving the Vampmobile. I really need to nip this in the bud.

  Although, come to think of it, the Vampmobile does sound kind of cool….

  Again, shut up, me.

  With Firebrand’s case resting across two hard, unpleasant chairs, I unlatched the lid and opened it.

  Wow. He’s really out of it, Boss.

  Pain meds, I replied, silently. Drugs to keep him from screaming from the burns.

  Yeah, he needs them. Humans scream a lot until they inhale the flames. That quiets them right down.

  Right.

  So, talk to him. Give me something to work with, Firebrand instructed. Talk about something you want him thinking about. I need a way to get hold of some concepts and steer.

  I stood by the bed and talked. Ortiz, business, the night he was tied to a chair, the other two names I knew—Henderson and Carlo. Firebrand rummaged around in Mark’s head, following chains of associations. Occasionally it told me to repeat something in order to follow multiple association branches, or gave me something new to say, to spark new associations.

  It was about twenty minutes later when Firebrand reported it had everything Mark knew or suspected—at least, everything Firebrand could get. I brought out a crystal with a healing spell contained in it and touched it to Mark’s forehead. The spell sank into him, spread out, and immediately started telling his system to shut up and get with the program. It would run for at least a week; his recovery would have considerably less scarring than expected. Judging by the extent of the dressings, they did indeed expect major scarring. He might get out of the hospital without skin grafts.

  With the case closed and latched again, we walked out of the room. There followed a stop at Gary’s room. He was doing better than Mark. Gary’s burns were mostly first and second degree, while Mark’s were mostly second with a few third. Gary was still on pain medication, though. He seemed to recognize me and was glad to see me. I handed him another crystal—this one had the stronger spell in it; I like Gary more than I like Mark. This one should also run for a week, but at a much higher intensity. Gary would recover remarkably quickly and probably get away from this without any scars at all. External ones, anyway.

  Yeah, yeah—miraculous. I don’t care.

  He put the crystal where he could see it, next to three get-well cards on his bedside table. Before I left the hospital, I stopped by the newsstand/gift shop thing and made sure Mark got one. I may like Gary more, but I’m forced to respect Mark. He suffered serious injuries in rescuing Gary. He’s earned at least an anonymous sympathy card.

  Firebrand and I reviewed what it discovered.

  Mark wasn’t sure which way things went wrong. Either Carlo, a big boss bucking to be a bigger boss, was trying to say something and picked Mark as a target, or Henderson, another big boss, was unhappy with Mark’s attempt to quit the organization. Either way, the actual bosses wouldn’t be involved. A simple firebombing might ultimately be their decision, but the actual work would be farmed out at a lower level. It was a question of which organization was responsible.

  I wanted to find out who was responsible. True, it isn’t my job—as a vampire—to mete out justice or vengeance. That’s not what my kind are for. Personally, I’m more than just a monster. I’ve been a king, a knight, a wizard, a hero, and a man. None of those will stand idly by.

  Yeah, maybe that doesn’t make me any better, really, than the people I planned to kill. On that great, grand day of which the prophets speak, when all the evils of the world, or worlds, finally are thrown down and destroyed, I’ll be going with them. In the meantime, I’ll do what I think is right, or as close as I can come to it.

  Which meant, first off, I needed to find Ortiz. Fortunately, Mark knew where Ortiz lived.

  I got into darker clothes, donned the belt and baldric, put Firebrand in its case, and went into town.

  Ortiz was home, surprisingly. I sort of expected him to work at night. Shows what I know about being a professional criminal. I knocked on the door to his apartment and waited. There was some grumbling and some feminine squealing, but footsteps approached the door.

  He opened the door, opened his eyes and mouth, and nearly opened his sphincters.

  Should I mention I wasn’t wearing makeup? I was in monster mode and wearing Firebrand at my hip. Judging by his reaction, I thought Ortiz remembered me.

  “Good evening,” I said, almost nicely. I didn’t bother to ask to come in; that’s not one of my limitations. I gave the living area a quick once-over and gestured his girlfriends toward the door. “Everybody out; the party is over.”

  The two ladies were obviously on drugs; the paraphernalia was everywhere and the smoke in the air wasn’t from tobacco. They focused on me and eyed me with speculative interest.

  “Cool costume. What are you supposed to be?”

  “I’m the Dark. Are you afraid of the dark?” I asked. Ortiz’ eyes went even wider and he backed away from me.

  “No, I like it dark, sweetie. What a big sword you have!”

  Some people. I stabbed them with tendrils, draining the vital essence out of them. They faded off to exhausted unconsciousness. Then, without distractions, I closed the door and guided the unresisting and trembling Ortiz to a chair. Oh, yes; he remembered me.

  “Please tell me everything you know about the fireb
ombing of Mark’s house,” I requested. See how nicely I asked?

  He talked. I didn’t even have to threaten him. I wonder if he saw me pull that guy’s heart out, or if Mark told him about it. On the other hand, it’s possible that when the dark-grey, fanged guy with the black, featureless orbs for eyes asks you politely for information, you simply give it to him without arguing. It’s not an unreasonable response.

  Ortiz believed Henderson’s organization was responsible. A man about two steps down from Henderson probably ordered it, a man named Jerome Powers. Jerome was about four steps above Ortiz. Ortiz knew where Jerome kept his offices; he occasionally got called in to assist other people.

  Got what he looks like? I asked Firebrand. In reply, a mental image came into my head. Tallish, thin, lots of scowl lines, dark hair heavily salted, fluffy white moustache, possibly a mix of Caucasian and Asian ancestry.

  “Ortiz, do I have to tell you what’s going to happen to you if—”

  “No sir!”

  I believed him. He didn’t even know what I was about to say. He agreed doing anything at all that might annoy me was a profoundly bad idea. I was willing to leave it at that.

  “Good. Now, answer me another question. What did Mark do for this organization?”

  “Uh, a little everything. He did a little muscle, but he was most being a courier and bagman. He take messages to people and deliver goods.”

  “He didn’t sell anything?”

  “No, he make delivery, most. Sometimes he ’scort for visit vip, or backup for someone making sale, a hang-around with a boomer to make our side look all hard.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “More of the same, I guess. More enforcing. People owe money and need to pay. I talk to them. Sometime Mark do the talks and I look hard.”