Black City Saint

by Richard A. Knaak

  He also had a very good chance of creating even more chaos.

  First Cortez and now Her Lady’s creature. I was growing more and more wary again about keeping Claryce in the house as opposed to the quarters over the old hat shop. It’d been a mistake. I had to convince her to leave.

  I entered through the back, just in case. Claryce was waiting for me in the kitchen. There was no sign of Fetch, but music rose from the room beyond. Either Claryce had gone into the other room and turned on the radio for Fetch, or he’d somehow used his paws or his muzzle to do it, something not out of the question.

  Claryce rose as soon as I entered. She looked as if she’d just woken up. “What was it out there?”

  “Who. Detective Cortez. He had a couple of questions.”

  “Oh.” She accepted the answer easier than I’d expected. “That’s all right, then. Detective Cortez.”

  I thought once more that she looked as if she’d been sleeping before my arrival. As much as I wanted to move her yet again, her exhaustion made me finally surrender. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep?”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve a few things to deal with.”

  Claryce gave me a sad smile. “How much do you sleep?”

  “Enough.”

  “Nightmares?”

  She startled me with that question. I thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve got nightmares. Nothing to concern you.”

  “I doubt that.” Claryce leaned close, then suddenly kissed me on the cheek much too close to my lips.

  Without thinking, I turned my head to better look at her . . . and this time it wasn’t the cheek she kissed.

  “Say, Master Nicholas—”

  I couldn’t say which was worse. Fetch’s timing or my sudden pulling away from Claryce because of it. All I knew was that she gave me a look filled with both surprise and disappointment.

  “Good night,” she whispered, rushing past Fetch.

  His ears flattened. “Did I do something wrong?”

  I expected the dragon to laugh at my situation, but he remained quiet and subdued. I was grateful enough for this latest show of unexpected support to be calmer toward Fetch. “No. Nothing.”

  “It’s just that I—”

  “Was there something you wanted?”

  “A side of beef, maybe?”

  I didn’t have anything on that scale, naturally, and suddenly wondered if there was any food at all. Like the safe house, this place had a sturdy Kelvinator . . . or at least it had before being burned to the ground. What looked like a Kelvinator stood in the right place. I rose and checked.

  If I hadn’t been certain that the house had burned down and been rebuilt by some servant of Her Lady, the contents inside the Kelvinator would’ve erased any doubt. Feiriefolk enjoyed their little jokes, and whoever had gone through all the trouble to recreate this place had stopped at the cold contents inside. I don’t think I’d purchased a leg of mutton in maybe eighty years, nor kept a couple of tankards of what I assumed were ale in the back.

  Not all the food was obviously to Feirie tastes, at least on the surface. I tried to assume that the eggs were from chickens and the milk from cows.

  Fetch’d nosed his way by me and eyed the mutton with tremendous interest. Rather than have to mop up after his drooling tongue, I let him have the meat. I doubted that there was anything sinister about it, and he needed sustenance after all his troubles.

  My own appetite remained untouched by the fare before me. I left Fetch by the Kelvinator gnawing away at the mutton leg. As I shut the door, though, the piece of paper Cortez had given me slipped free and dropped to the floor.

  Mildly curious, I sat down and unfolded it. Instead of an official police report, I saw that everything’d been copied down by Cortez. He had a distinctive, sharp style of print, certainly better than I’d have done if I’d written all this down.

  I read the first item on the list of things stolen, then the next . . .

  At the third one, I nearly bolted out of the chair.

  Fetch looked up from his meal. “Something not copacetic, Master Nicholas?”

  I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t answer him. I was too busy running my gaze down the list just to verify my fears.

  Bits of armor. A breastplate. A helmet. A shin guard. A broken spear.

  Armor, according to the good detective’s notes, said by experts to be roughly sixteen centuries old and of Roman issue. Armor discovered on an expedition in part of Italian northern Africa.

  And unless it was just too tremendous a coincidence . . . my armor.

  CHAPTER 18

  When I’d been buried, after my execution, it’d been with my armor, of course. Even though I’d been condemned for refusing to denounce my faith and accept the gods of Rome, Diocles had granted me that much of an honor.

  However, Galerius Armentarius—later called Gaius Galerius Valerius Maximianus Augustus when his dear father-in-law Diocletian had raised him up to be coemperor—had unfortunately had other ideas. He’d been the one to push for the Christian purge in the first place, so leaving any sort of honor to a dead tribune who happened to believe in the One God just wouldn’t do. Galerius had been the one to order my tomb secretly ransacked and my armor and everything else taken. He’d commanded they leave my body be, though, probably savoring the fact that I’d lie abandoned and in two parts for the rest of eternity.

  I could imagine the look on his broad, Thracian-descended face if I’d come to him four nights after the desecration and demanded my property back. I’d risen a week after my death, but not, of course, in the biblical manner, although Heaven’d no doubt played a big part in my revival. Whatever the truth, I’d been in no shape even then to go after what was mine and, by the time I was, my duties to the Gate had already been thrust upon me.

  Where the armor and the spear—that spear—had gone was something I’d wondered for a while, then forgotten. The Gate didn’t leave me that much time to concern myself about the past.

  But now I was wondering if I’d made a terrible, terrible mistake in not pursuing the matter. Galerius might be long dead—from some suitably horrific disease maybe involving gangrene, too, I’d heard—but someone had inherited his stolen treasures, and they’d obviously passed them along to someone else until the centuries had buried them for a time.

  I crumpled up the paper. Fetch still eyed me, but I paid no attention. I wasn’t being nostalgic about what had once been mine; I was growing more and more concerned. I’d guarded the Gate long enough to know that things that were bound to someone by former ownership could affect them as little else could. These antiques were as much a part of the “legend” as I was myself.

  And not for a moment did I think that anyone other than Oberon had set their theft in motion.

  I was stirred from my worries by a thump upstairs. Even Fetch couldn’t move as fast as I managed. I wasn’t sure if Claryce had just moved something, but I couldn’t take the chance.

  At the top of the stairs, I called her name. When she didn’t answer, I drew Her Lady’s gift and ran to her door.

  I probably should’ve tried the knob, but I couldn’t be sure that doing so would waste precious time. My kick sent the door flying open.

  Claryce stood by the closet door. One hand rested on the knob. She looked at me as if I’d grown an extra eye, then focused on the weapon I wielded.

  “Nick,” she said quietly. “What are you doing . . . and why do you have that?”

  Feeling very foolish, I lowered Her Lady’s gift. “I heard a noise. A heavy thump. When I came up to investigate, I called to you. You didn’t answer.”

  A slight smile crossed her face. “And you worried about me . . . How touching.”

  I felt even more foolish. With one swift movement, I returned the Feirie blade to its hidden place.

  “I am so sorry,” Claryce went on as she neared me. “I was still upset when I entered. I tried to keep from showing it, but I guess I shut th
e closet door harder than I intended.” She exhaled, then added, “And I did hear you call. I just still felt too upset to answer. I guess I should have.”

  She reached up and caressed my cheek. Her hand was cooler than I expected, but very soft. It was more difficult than ever to pull away, but I did, this time with an appropriately apologetic look in turn.

  With a giggle, Claryce indicated the door. “Will that still work, or do I need to find something to lean against it now?”

  I took the hint, first testing the door to make certain that it did shut properly, then, after discovering that the power of Feirie had already repaired what I’d broken, stepped out into the hall. Claryce came to the door and, with another slight smile, shut it before me.

  “All clear?” asked Fetch from the top of the stairs.

  Instead of answering, I asked him a question of my own. “Have you almost finished with that mutton?”

  “Aye. There’s a bit more, but I’ll be having that done soon, Master Nicholas.”

  “Finish it, then take up a place in the front room. You can use the couch, but leave the radio off.”

  “I can sleep outside and guard the perimeter—”

  “No. Stay inside, this time. I might need your help.”

  He wagged his tail. “Thank ye. The couch’ll be ritzy compared to my usual haunts . . .”

  “You know you could stay here whenever you need, Fetch.”

  The lycanthrope looked as embarrassed as I’d felt upstairs. His tail drooped. “Ye’ve been good to me. I don’t deserve it. Not after what I’ve—what I tried to do to ye back then.”

  I wanted to say more, but he scurried downstairs as best he could with the stiff back. Rather than make him feel worse, I headed for the other bedroom. Most times, I ended up sleeping on the couch myself, as much in the bedroom. It was generally safer that way. Tonight, though, I wanted to be near, just in case there actually was some threat to Claryce.

  For the first time in a while, the dragon chuckled in my head. It wasn’t the mocking chuckle to which I’d grown so accustomed over the centuries, but rather a softer one. He knew as well as I that I didn’t just want to stay near to Claryce for her safety . . . I also just wanted to stay near.

  I slept . . . and that meant I dreamed.

  The nightmare.

  I was charging the dragon . . . only I was also riding the dragon, and we were suddenly charging a giant. The giant became Oberon, with hands big enough to engulf both of us. One hand held Claryce, who tried to call to me but had a voice I could barely make out.

  I raised the spear for throwing, but it transformed into Her Lady’s gift. The Feirie blade stretched for miles, but it still couldn’t quite reach Oberon.

  The other hand stretched toward us, every finger a hulking Doolin. I cut off two Doolins at the waist, but they grew back in the blink of an eye. Each one pulled out an automatic and began firing.

  From behind me, I heard Fetch’s howl. Big as the dragon, he bounded past me. I wanted to warn him back, but he kept going.

  But as he kept going, he started to dwindle. Halfway to the giant Oberon, Fetch’d shrunken to nearly his true size. A little farther, and he was even a bit smaller.

  A few more paces, and Fetch just ceased to be.

  There is only you and Eye, the dragon said in my head, even though I sat upon his back. He looked up at me with a wide reptilian grin. Only you and Eye . . .

  And then his head rose up and twisted around like a snake and swallowed me whole—

  At that point, I awoke with a gasp. I lay on top of the bed, fully clothed as usual. Instead of sweat, a chill coursed through me.

  From outside the room, I heard a brief creak. Without a sound, I rose and headed to the door. There was another slight creak, this one farther away.

  I opened the door just enough to give me a glimpse of the hall. When I saw nothing, I carefully opened the way farther.

  The hall and the stairway were empty. I quietly walked to the steps, then descended.

  Snores rose from the front room. Fetch lay on his side, his paws dangling and his tongue lolling. If not for the obvious stiffness in his back, he would have looked quite comfortable.

  I started for the kitchen, then paused to look at the telephone. The receiver hung on the side as it should’ve, and there was nothing out of the ordinary that I could see, but for some reason I was drawn to it.

  With some trepidation, I plucked up the receiver.

  What sounded like the wind echoed from the other end of the line. I thought I heard a voice—

  “I didn’t hear ye come down, Master Nicholas!” Fetch bounded over to me, in his enthusiasm disturbing the table where the telephone stood. I grabbed for the candlestick base before the device could fall.

  The wind—and the possible voice—faded. A moment later, an operator’s voice asked me what number I wished to call. Rather than answer, I hung up and frowned at Fetch.

  “Very sorry, very sorry . . .”

  “Did you touch the telephone earlier, Fetch?” It was an odd question to ask him, but I needed to know.

  Ears high and head cocked, Fetch answered, “Now who would I be calling?”

  “Yeah, you’ve got a point.” I looked at the ceiling toward where Claryce’s room was. “Did she come down at all?”

  “I was sleeping, but I don’t think so.”

  While I could understand him not hearing me, I doubted that Claryce could’ve been so silent that his acute senses wouldn’t have noticed her walking by.

  Again, I had my doubts as to the good sense of having brought Claryce back here. More and more, I felt the presence of Feirie around me. This might look like the house I’d chosen, but it was now a thing of Her Lady’s Court.

  “All right. Go back to sleep.”

  With a wag, Fetch returned to the couch. If he smelled the presence of Feirie in the house, he said nothing about it.

  I hesitated, then returned upstairs. As I reached the top, Claryce’s door opened.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

  “No. I just had to get something from downstairs.” There was no sense telling her more. I didn’t even know if anything had happened.

  “All right.” Claryce smiled. “Pleasant dreams.”

  I refrained from reminding her what my sleep was like. Better that at least she got rest.

  My mind drifted to the Art Institute theft and the suspicion that not only were the items my ancient armor and spear, but that Oberon had some particular use for them. The logical conclusion was that he needed them to rid himself of me, but Oberon was never as straightforward as that. There was at least a second layer to this, one that I was still missing.

  Somewhere along the way, I drifted off after all. Another variation of the dream took over, but thankfully I woke before it was over. To my surprise, a hint of light through the window indicated I’d slept until dawn.

  I washed up quickly and stepped out of the bedroom. The house was silent, but with Claryce’s door still shut, I had to assume that she at least was in bed. As quietly as I could, I descended.

  Fetch was no longer on the couch, but I figured it was safe to assume he was in the kitchen gnawing on something he’d struggled out of the Kelvinator. I couldn’t hear him in there, but if he’d done as I thought, he’d be trying to go as unnoticed as possible.

  “Just relax, Fetch,” I called as I entered. “You can eat whatever—”

  The kitchen was empty. The back door was shut, but that didn’t mean much. Even without proper hands, the lycanthrope could get most doors open.

  I peered out the nearest window. I hadn’t exactly left the Packard where it was by chance. I knew I could get a glimpse of it from here.

  The only trouble was, the Packard was gone.

  I shouted for Claryce. When she didn’t answer, or even make some sound above, I ran from the kitchen up to her room. This time, I doubted she wasn’t answering because she was still annoyed with me.

&nbs
p; The room was empty, just as I’d feared. I thought about the telephone, and the odd sensation I’d felt about it. There was a connection there, but it eluded me as usual.

  I suddenly thought of the paper Cortez had left me. There’d been some other info on it, but I’d been too caught up with the discovery about my lost armor to pay attention to the rest. Yet, something nagged at my mind.

  I pulled the ragged sheet from my pocket and looked further down. Sure enough, there was something I’d seen and that I’d absorbed but hadn’t really read. Information about the original donor, now dead some years. There was an address listed from the original donation papers, one that shouldn’t have meant much after all this time.

  Somehow, I knew that Oberon was using that address.

  While I needed to get moving on the one clue I had, I couldn’t rely on myself alone. I had no choice but to take a page from Oberon and Her Lady and use the one possible pawn I had.

  Taking up the telephone, I told the operator the number to Cortez’s home precinct.

  The voice that answered wasn’t the same one as last time. He was much more polite, even when I asked for Cortez. Unfortunately, his answer wasn’t much help. The good detective had rushed out on some urgent call.

  Silently cursing, I hung up. Without Cortez, I was now back to having only the old address as a possible clue to where Claryce and Fetch had vanished to.

  I started for the front door . . . and stumbled back as it opened to admit Claryce.

  “Nick! Hurry! I think I know which way they went, but we have follow quickly!”

  She had her hand in mine before I could answer. Despite Claryce obviously having run back from wherever she’d been, she was still cool to the touch. That and her paler skin made me worry about her even as I followed her outside.

  The Packard awaited us by the curb. I let Claryce guide me to the auto, then, as I took over in the driver’s seat, asked, “What happened?”

  “I came downstairs for some water and saw . . . saw a shadow drape over Fetch! It stole him away. One moment he was on the couch, the next he was outside, still asleep.”