Empire State

by Adam Christopher

  The drink was foul, a mix of hot water and something which Rad had thought was loose leaf tea in the back of another cupboard, but which he really wasn't sure of now he was actually drinking the stuff. But it was warming, and if he stopped breathing through his nose as he swallowed, he could pretend it was tea. He sat on the edge of the bed, and regarded his wardrobe through the haze of steam from his mug. Double doors, which opened out and folded back almost completely. Good. He set the mug down on the bedside table, flicked the side light on and then stood and killed the main light. The room went from hard white to soft yellow, the overhead strip light giving way to the shaded incandescent bulb of the table lamp. That was the first part. Minimise reflections. Rad checked this off on his mental list as he skipped over the single bed and closed the curtain over the large window that looked out over the night outside. Another reflection quenched.

  Rad didn't have much stuff. Well, actually he did, but until he signed Claudia's papers they were held "in trust" by the Empire State. A nice insurance policy, or perhaps outright bribery. Rad had given up worrying about it, happy that he had his grandfather clock at least. For the moment he was also pleased he didn't have to rearrange things in the small room so much as he rolled the thin rectangular rug up to reveal old, worn, and quite wonderful floorboards. Rad paused, smiling, and thought perhaps the boards were much nicer than the rug itself.

  Step three. He clomped over to the wardrobe, his footsteps percussive in the small room and reminding him why he had the rug down. He unlatched the doors, and swung them open. A few minutes later he'd cleared the items – ties, suspenders, belts; all old and ratty – that hung from racks affixed to the backs of the doors and dumped them on the bed. The doors, and their two mirrors, were clear.

  Rad walked backwards and sat on the bed as soon as he felt its edge against the back of his knees. He picked up his mug, checked his watch, and waited. There were twenty minutes to go.

  Rad woke up with a jerk, and knew at once the biggest mistake he had made was the eight hours of sleep he'd treated himself to yesterday. They were sheer bliss, and when he'd gotten up he felt revived and invigorated and very happy. But sleep was like a drug. It was a physical addiction, and now Rad had fallen off the wagon. Now his body wanted it more than ever, and at every opportunity it would tug his consciousness down under the blankets to where it was soft and warm and dark.

  And now he had a stiff neck from lying awkwardly on the bed. His legs were still bent at the knee, hanging off the edge of the bed from where he had been sitting, what, ten minutes ago? Rad didn't remember falling asleep. He sat up slowly and painfully, his body made of lead and his head made, conversely, of something approaching sponge. His fingers dragged his eyelids around as he rubbed them dry. He sighed, and looked at his watch.

  "Hell in a handbasket!" He came to his feet even as he drew breath to curse, and looked wildly around the room. The wardrobe doors, so carefully cleared of random, musty business attire, were closed. Rad had slept for an hour. He had missed Nimrod's appointment.

  Rad swore again, and paced the room looking for something to kick. With the few items of furniture neatly tucked away according to Nimrod's instructions, there was nothing within reach, so after a few seconds Rad settled for throwing the bent roll of rug down onto the floorboards. It hit them with a satisfying woof, sending a surprisingly large cloud of dust up into the middle of the room. Rad coughed; his eyes closed as he waved the stale particles away.

  "Good evening, detective."

  Rad opened his eyes and almost sneezed. Framed in the doorway connecting the back room to the main office stood a black shape with shining white eyes. The intruder filled the doorway almost entirely, shoulders rubbing on the jamb and the tall helmet leaving just half an inch to spare. When the figure turned his head, there was a creak of thick leather and a rattle, something metallic like chain mail. His cloak pooled across the floor like a small, dark lake.

  The Skyguard. Rad's shoulders tensed. He'd tried to forget about his rescue in the alleyway, now knowing that the two goons were in the employ of Nimrod. Maybe there hadn't been any connection between his mysterious caller and the city's deceased protector. Maybe someone had just taken up the Skyguard's mantle and arty mask thing and had just interrupted Rad's mugging by chance.

  But having slept an hour, having missed Nimrod, and with the wardrobe's twin doors shut (and it sure wasn't Rad who had shut them), and with the Skyguard as large as life in his office, Rad knew there had to be a link. Nimrod and the Skyguard, with Rad in the middle. This complicated things.

  "Detective?" The Skyguard took a step forward, cloak swimming silently across the floorboards. "You don't seem surprised to see me. I apologise if I interrupted your plans. But you don't want anything to do with Nimrod, trust me." His voice was a hoarse, metallic whisper.

  Rad laughed. It was an unhappy sound, and as he sat back on the bed he was shaking his head.

  "What is this? The 'Second Appearance'? You gonna pop up three times and grant me a wish? Or is there some mystic prophecy to fulfil?"

  The Skyguard didn't react, but maybe there was a hiss of impatience from behind the front grille of his helmet.

  Rad's mouth was dry, but he was well used to that sensation. He looked up at the uninvited guest. The Skyguard was just a black outline in the long shadow cast by the table lamp.

  "Y'see," said Rad, talking more to himself than the Skyguard, "dead people tend to stay dead. And if dead people turn up not dead, then they're not dead. By definition, if you see what I mean. But when that happens – and believe me, it happens – it means that the person who didn't die wanted to make everyone else think they had. There are a variety of reasons for that, all of them nefarious. Which gets me thinking: The Skyguard – the State's most notorious felon, no less… well, after the Pastor of Lost Souls, but let's not go there – has been in the clink since the beginning of time, and then finally meets his maker in a State-assisted manner. So we've got three options. The Skyguard wasn't executed and it was all a big cover cooked up by the Chairman of the City Commissioners. And I wouldn't put it past him. Number two: the Skyguard, being all fancy with his gadgets and gizmos and amazing powers, can survive death and/or come back from the grave. Until this week I wouldn't even have thought of that option, but it's been a strange few days, so I'm not putting that past him. Third, the sensible, sane option, is that the Skyguard is dead as advertised, and someone collected his costume in an everything-must-go, two-for-one offer."

  Rad finished and rubbed his scalp. The room was silent, until the Skyguard or the floorboards, or both, creaked. When the Skyguard spoke, his low voice made Rad jump. It was unidentifiable, disguised by something fancy. Rad wondered who was inside the suit.

  "Are you finished?"

  "Huh," said Rad, and then after a second, "Yes, I've finished."

  The Skyguard folded his tree trunk arms and in the low light Rad's eye caught the glint of metal and chain, and creases in the otherwise tight leather. He pouted. The design and material was familiar to him somehow.

  "The truth, detective, is that this is the second appearance of the Skyguard, if you want to call it that. I've been watching you, just to be sure I had the right man. If Nimrod has been in contact, then I definitely have."

  "Friend of yours?"

  The Skyguard ignored the interjection. "You may not remember, or know it at all, but I'm the city's sworn protector. The City Commissioners will have you think otherwise. Nimrod as well. But I'm not in the habit of lying, and I haven't come into the open without good reason."

  Rad was looking at the floor. He rubbed his chin. "Enemy then. Commissioners too."

  The Skyguard paused, which made Rad smile. Rad might be mostly floundering in the dark, without much of a clue, but the Skyguard was... nervous? Maybe not. He was trying to impress Rad. So what did the Skyguard want with an average, mostly unemployed private dick like him? And what would make a hardened criminal – sorry, the city's protector – so nervous? R
ad knew that if he kept pushing, maybe something would give. It was worth the risk.

  Rad stood up, and walked towards the Skyguard. The Skyguard didn't move, but his costume creaked again as he straightened his back. Standing at just a few feet's distance, Rad saw that the man was actually about his height, maybe just a little shorter. It was the helmet, armour and cloak that made him look so bulky. Like a cat that puffs up to scare other cats in a territorial war.

  "What do you want, Mr Skyguard? I've got a murder case to solve, and I'm pretty busy really. I'm just a private detective trying to earn a crust, and quite frankly I can do without your brand of mystery."

  Another sound came from the armoured man, and with the distortion introduced by the winged helmet, it took Rad a few seconds to work out what it was. The Skyguard was laughing. Rad felt his face flush hotly as his temper rose.

  "This some kind of joke?"

  The Skyguard shook his great head, the white eyes embedded in the helmet shining brightly.

  "Mr Bradley, you are more important than you think. That's why Nimrod wants you. That's why I want you. I can help solve your murder case and I can stop Nimrod and his men from skinning you alive in the process. He's dangerous, Mr Bradley. If I hadn't been here, we wouldn't be having this conversation now, let me assure you."

  Rad frowned and motioned towards the closed wardrobe. "You knew about all this?"

  "Like I said, I've been watching you," said the Skyguard as he slowly walked around the room. Rad backed off a little, keeping a certain distance from the intruder as he moved about. "When I overheard your conversation with Nimrod, I had to step in. I apologise for the sleep gas, but it seemed to be the easiest option."

  Rad had been saved for a second time, and he hadn't realised. He laughed, and shook his head, and rubbed his scalp, and went back to sit on the bed.

  "And the information from Nimrod? Nineteen fifty?"

  The Skyguard stopped, and if his face hadn't been hidden behind the front of the helmet Rad could have sworn he was looking wistfully into the middle distance.

  "Lies," said the Skyguard, quickly. "All lies. Nimrod himself is a lie. He is not who he says he is."

  "Well, he hasn't exactly been clear on that matter." Rad nodded towards the wardrobe. "What about the instructions? They were a little kooky, to say the least."

  The Skyguard went over the wardrobe and opened one of the doors. He leaned in, checking something, then closed it and repeated the motion with the other door.

  "They were. You followed them to the letter. You didn't know they would lead to your death."

  The Skyguard yanked the second door back. Rad shot up from the bed and balled his fists, ready for whatever the Skyguard had found. Instead, the Skyguard pushed a gauntleted fist into the back of the door. The mirror shattered and dropped from its frame in a rain of shards. The Skyguard flung the first door open, and did the same. He stood back, surveyed the broken glass on the floor, then picked at the remaining triangular fragments that were still stuck to the inside of the wardrobe doors. When they were free of any trace of mirror, he looked at his feet and began grinding the larger fragments into dust with his armoured boots.

  Rad whistled. "I get the picture."

  "Avoid mirrors. Avoid all reflections, if you can."

  "Yeah, I got it." Rad relaxed a little. The need for drink and for sleep rose again, but he gulped down a trickle of saliva and focussed to clear his head.

  "So, what, you're my personal protector now? What does Nimrod want? Hell, what do you want? How do I know I can trust you?"

  "Nimrod and I want the same thing, although for different, opposing reasons." The Skyguard's helmet turned to Rad and the hero walked up to the detective. Rad stood, and barely an inch remained between his nose and the Skyguard's slanted, wickedly sharp mask.

  "I need your help, Mr Bradley, to save the world. The Empire State may not be perfect, but it's in more danger than you can possibly comprehend. The city has only days left."

  Rad's breath condensed on the front of the Skyguard's mask, throwing up a dull grey mist on the black metal that ebbed and flowed like the tide. "Days left until what?"

  "You misunderstand, detective. The Empire State has days left to exist."

  Rad drank the water gratefully. He wanted – needed – something stronger, but that would have to wait. Water would do, lukewarm and sharp with rust from his building's decrepit plumbing.

  The Skyguard hadn't moved for a while. Beneath his boots the pulverised mirror fragments crackled like frost as the Skyguard shifted his weight from one foot to another. Arms folded, he stood with legs astride the mess like the triumphant hero he claimed to be.

  "An attack? Here?" Rad's question broke the silence. The Skyguard didn't reply but inclined his head to look at his host. Even the slightest movement was exaggerated by the elaborate shaping of the winged helmet.

  "Yes," said the Skyguard finally. Rad sighed and gulped another mouthful of water.

  "What do you need me for? Can't the city defend itself? Can't you help the city defend itself?"

  "Your role will be revealed when it is safe to do so. Nimrod is still after you, probably more so now he knows that I've intervened again. For the moment, you should know that this is no ordinary act of war. An attack is coming, one that will end Wartime once and for all, but not to our benefit. The Empire State will, literally, cease to exist."

  Rad nodded. "OK, fine, need to know."

  "I'm glad you understand, Mr Bradley. You are connected. That's enough information for now. As for the attack, it will be subtle. The Enemy strike could be detected and prevented if only the city defences were looking. But they're not. Nimrod is not the only traitor here."

  "Wait," said Rad, letting the empty mug hang from his hand. "The City Commissioners?"

  The Skyguard nodded once. "They have helped plan the attack. They have betrayed us all."

  "I must be dreaming."

  "This is no dream, detective."

  Rad closed his eyes and rubbed his scalp. He needed to shave his head again. Three days of growth had left it as rough as sandpaper.

  "You said a subtle attack, under the city's defences? How can that destroy us?"

  The Skyguard held up a hand. He turned and looked through the connecting door, then strode briskly to the window behind Rad's single bed. Careful to avoid reflections, he pulled the edge of the curtain back, covering as much of his mask as possible as he peered out into the street like an old nosy neighbour. He stood like this for a minute, looking at something on the dark street below.

  "I have to go," he said at last, pulling the curtain closed. "I'll be in touch again. The city is against us, but we are its only hope, you and I."

  Rad stood up from the bed and walked over to the Skyguard, his face set.

  "Now look here. This better be the real deal. I don't have time for games." Rad flicked his hand at the Skyguard's chest, the back of his fingers slapping at the breastplate. It was leather and metal, and had a waxy texture. Rad frowned, his fingertips stinging from the hit.

  The Skyguard and Rad Bradley stood together for a moment in silence. Then the Skyguard brushed Rad aside, and strode from the room. Rad stood still, listening to his heavy footfalls in the office.

  "I'll be in touch, Mr Bradley." And then the office door closed.

  Nine o'clock. Rad needed a drink, and he needed to find Kane and squeeze him about the ironclad, Sam Saturn, and Captain Carson.

  And Captain Carson's mysterious equipment, including underwater suits made of waxed leather and metal.

  NINETEEN

  KANE WAS HOLDING UP THE BAR, several spent teacups before him. Rad wasn't sure if he was surprised to see him or not, but was just thankful he'd been spared a trek around the city. The yellow of the streetlights gave him a headache, and the constant drizzle gave him backache, and the two combined did wonders for his temperament. With the Skyguard putting in a second appearance, Rad desperately needed to put his friend in the loop and enrol his
help. He was in too deep to go it alone now. He should have gone to Kane earlier.

  Rad caught Jerry's eye. The barman nodded and poured him a drink even as Rad was walking across the floor, but as he rattled the cup and saucer on the bar he rubbed the fingers and thumb of his right hand together, holding them out for Rad to see.

  Rad nodded briskly. "Yeah, Friday, got it." The barman turned his back, apparently satisfied. "Thanks, Jerry," Rad added. Jerry grunted and cleaned teacups.

  "Been lookin' for you, kid," said Rad, picking his cup up and turning to Kane. Kane's eyes were closed and he was leaning against the bar heavily. "I got developments..." He paused and counted the number of cups in front of his friend, and wondered why Jerry hadn't cleared so many of them away. "Everything OK? How's the newspaper?"

  Kane snorted, a sound Rad hadn't heard from him before. The reporter leaned back on his barstool and smiled lopsidedly at Rad. His big eyes were red and he stank of Jerry's rough liquor.