The Dagger Men had fortified it well. Skeletal legionaries formed in long columns before the temple, guarded by their ballistae. Golems moved around in patrol, their thick arms swaying. These golems had been made from brick, cement, earth, sharp, jagged glass, and dozens of other substances. Their prisoners lay on the other side of the temple, their hands bound. They must not have started work just yet. Clay couldn’t see Rabbi Geist or Rabbi Eisendrath, but he was certain the Dagger Men were out there, protecting the Third Temple.
Monk dropped to a crouch. He turned to the rabbi. “What do you think, boss? If I was back in France, I’d say we send a pigeon or a runner back to the artillery boys and have them pound the stuffing out all those skeletons and golems. Can’t do that now, though.”
“Nope,” Rabbi Holtz agreed. “But we got Mrs. Cohen. She can use her grenades to—”
The barking of hounds drowned out his words. Clay stared down the gravel path. Past the gazebo, a number of skeletal Roman dogs raced through the trees. Their handlers, skeleton legionaries with cracking whips, short swords, and shields lashed to their backs, followed. The fleshless hounds had no lips and no lungs, but they still released loud, terrible barks. These dogs could take down a small horse, and their teeth remained sharp in their dusty skulls. Somehow, these long dead dogs had sniffed them out.
“Back!” Zipporah cried. “Up the trail!”
That seemed their only option. They hurried from the dogs and ran up the winding gravel trail, past the soggy trees. Clay’s boots squelched on mud, but he still kept running. The dogs followed, breaking into barking runs. Cohen fired her rifle, picking off a pair of hounds as they approached. They collapsed into piles of bones, clicking and breaking as they struck the dirt. More dogs raced through the trees, baying as if Clay and his friends were rabbits to be run down. Clay certainly felt that way. The forest trail curved, and brought them to a familiar clearing. The decorative Grecian ruins rested in the grass, next to a picturesque gazebo. Rabbi Geist stood there, waiting for them. Two massive golems of living stone, rain dripping on their gray features, flanked him.
Rabbi Geist held up his hand. The barking of the dogs ceased. The skeletal canines sat on their haunches, their hollow eyes watching Clay and his friends. The legionaries moved closer, their swords, spears, and bows prepared. The rock golems stood stiffly, each like a boulder with stubby arms and legs jammed on their sides. Rabbi Geist’s beard and hair clung to him wetly. He smiled. “Rabbi Holtz—though you do not deserve that title. You came to see the temple?”
“We came to destroy you,” Rabbi Holtz replied.
“And you have failed. You sought to creep into our camp.” Rabbi Geist waved his two fingers. “You’re a fool. The eyes of every statue in Sickle City belong to the Dagger Men. There is nothing about this city—and about Arcadia Park—that we do not know.”
Clay stared into the underbrush behind him. Something moved amongst the pines—a different shade of green than the pine needles, brushing past the branches. It could have been wind stirring the trees, but Clay knew it was something else entirely. He remembered the scuffle he and Zipporah had with the residents of this wood, and the peace treaty they had established. Would that treaty hold now, and give them some much needed help? Clay had to hope it would.
He faced Rabbi Geist. “Not everything.”
Dark green shapes burst from the trees surrounding the clearing. The Men of the Fields—the Adnei Hasadeh as Harvey had called them—came to the aid of Zipporah and Clay, who had arranged to protect them. The Tree Men had grown in number since Clay had seen them. Now a score of the botanical creatures raced from the forest to attack. Thorny knuckles, wooden hands, and twisting vines lashed down as they struck the legionaries and skeletal dogs. The Tree Man with the mossy beard led them, swinging around a long, thorny vine that smashed into several dogs and their skeletal handlers. The vines wrapped around bones and broke them, scattering pieces of the Romans into the underbrush. More Tree Men fell upon the legionaries, driving club-like wooden limbs or fists spiked with thorns into their chests. Chunks of bone flew. The skeletons tried to fight back with slashes of their swords, but the Tree Men finished them quickly.
“There is nothing…about Arcadia Park we do not know.”
Monk and Cohen brought up their guns as the two stone golems closed in. The trench gun and rifle thundered together, both aiming straight for the head. Chunks of rock rained down. The golems collapsed, falling on their backs and rolling as their limbs struck the dirt. Dust rose, then sank down in the rain. Rabbi Geist hadn’t moved. He had been master of the clearing one moment, and now his entire force had been wiped out. He tried to run, but the leader of the Tree Men waved a branch hand in the air and two of his men sent out their vines. One tendril coiled around Rabbi Geist’s leg and another reached his chest. He struggled and cursed, but couldn’t move. He was trapped.
Silence filled the clearing, apart from the rustling speech of the Tree Men. The bearded Tree Man approached Clay. Once again, he held out a wooden hand. Clay took it. “Thank you.” The Tree Men had made Arcadia Park their home and they must not like the Dagger Men’s incursion. “We may have need of you again. Help us take the temple, and we’ll get rid of the Dagger Men forever. The woods will be yours again.” He waited for the Tree Man to nod, and approached Rabbi Geist. Rabbi Holtz and Zipporah joined him.
Zipporah jabbed the muzzle of her rifle under his chin, the barrel poking past his beard. “Want to say a quick prayer, Rabbi?”
“Kill him.” Kid Twist clutched his Thompson. “I got an ice pick. I’ll keep it quiet.”
“He’s more useful alive.” Rabbi Holtz pointed to the pillar of the gazebo. “Put him there.” The Tree Men assented. They hauled Rabbi Geist to the side of the pillar and their vines snapped around his body and held him in place. Rabbi Geist didn’t bother struggling. Rabbi Holtz kept his shotgun casually trained on Rabbi Geist’s chest. “Where’s the Founding Stone?”
“Right before the temple, apikoros.” Rabbi Geist hissed out the final word. “You won’t take it. My master stands guard before the Third Temple. God himself protects my master, and he will—”
“You didn’t seem too keen on your boss back in Chinatown, pal,” Zipporah said. “Back when he opened up that poor Sinclair fellow’s throat. Killed him in cold blood. You didn’t like that, Rabbi.” She gripped his beard and gave it a tug. “You’ve seen cruelty before and your master’s reminding you more and more of the nasty goyim who you seek to fight. Ain’t that right?”
“I am l-loyal to Rabbi Eisendrath,” Rabbi Geist murmured.
“What is he, exactly?” Clay asked. “He’s taken blows that should kill men. He’s lived for years—or so he claimed. What is he?”
“I am loyal to Rabbi Eisendrath,” Rabbi Geist repeated.
“Let me kill him.” Kid Twist sounded almost bored. He withdrew a handkerchief and tightened it into a makeshift garrote. “I can strangle him, if you’re worried about the noise.”
Rabbi Holtz yanked the handkerchief from Kid Twist’s hand. He stuffed into Rabbi Geist’s mouth. Rabbi Geist made muffled protests. “Men of the Field.” Rabbi Holtz faced the leader of the Tree Men. “Keep two of your people here to look after him. Maybe the rest of you could come with us.” He pointed past the line of trees bordering the clearing, out into the meadow. “We’ve wasted enough time in the woods. It’s time to take the temple.”
“Bully!” Monk said, racking his trench gun. “Off we go.”
They left Rabbi Geist tied to the pillar of the gazebo with vines, shaking and growling around the handkerchief in his mouth. A few more paces and they reached the edge of the forest. Clay and his friends crouched under the cover of the branches and stared at the meadow, and the temple at its center. The Tree Men joined them, led by their moss-bearded king. The Roman legionaries in the meadow marched about, while the golems swa
yed in place.
There was still no sign of Rabbi Eisendrath. He had certainly left enough of his strength here to guard the temple. Even with the Tree Men, would they be able to take down that many skeletons and golems? They would have to have a plan. Clay thought quickly. “We should split up,” he suggested. “Rabbi, take Monk and Cohen and the Men of the Field and see to the prisoners. Zipporah and I will go with Kid Twist. We’ll get their attention, take cover in the temple, and finish them as they try to get us out. Get the prisoners out of here and then come back and help. Between us, they’ll be finished.”
“You want me?” Kid Twist gave Clay a humorless smile.
“I want your firepower.” Clay rested his finger on the trigger. “Now let’s go.”
He and Zipporah broke from cover, charging for the temple. Their rifles cracked together, shooting the Roman skeletons. They fired and reloaded with rapid speed, their shots tearing through rusted armor and ancient bones. Skeletons dropped. A tall steel golem hurried in their direction and Clay took time in his aiming. His shot took the golem in the forehead and it smashed down in a heap of metal, burying and destroying several skeletons. Kid Twist followed them, and gave the Roman Legionaries a rattling salvo with the Thompson. The heavy bullets of the sub-gun ripped skeletons apart, tossing bones into the air. They moved quickly, firing as they ran, and scrambled to the steps leading into the temple. The Founding Stone lay in the dirt, next to the steps—but only Harvey and the Serpent Yad could change those Hebrew letters etched by the Shamir.
While the golems and skeletons massed around the temple, Rabbi Holtz, his enforcers, and the Tree Men moved in to rescue the prisoners. The Tree Men slammed straight into the flank of the skeletons, and battle raged in the meadow, above slick grass and mud. Branches and vines slammed and smashed against Roman armor. Short swords and pila stabbed into green bodies, spilling pulp and cutting through wood. Rabbi Holtz, Monk, and Cohen raced through the battle, adding blasts from their guns as they hurried to the line of prisoners. Cohen used her machete to cut their bonds while Monk and Rabbi Holtz unloaded their shotguns on the golems coming their way.
Clay tore his eyes away from the meadow and focused on his own part of the battle. He ran up the stone steps of the temple, followed by Zipporah. Kid Twist walked backwards, giving bursts from his Thompson to pursuing skeletons. An arrow sliced his elbow and a spear grazed his shoulder, but he didn’t stop. They made it up the stairs and ducked into the doorway, using the gray stone for cover. Behind them, the temple extended in a square hall. Evidently, the Dagger Men hadn’t gotten around to putting in the decorations.
“What should be the holiest site in Judaism.” Zipporah worked the bolt on her rifle and fired at the Romans trying to make it up the stairs. “Hell of a place for a gunfight.” Next to her, Kid Twist spent the last rounds from his Thompson. He cut down the skeletons trying to take the steps, shell casings clinking across the stone floor until the Tommy gun went silent.
“You heard Harvey.” Clay’s rifle cracked, dropping a centurion trying to lead his legionaries in a charge. His bullet took the centurion through the forehead, passing through steel and skull. The helmet came free, the plumes ruffling as it bounced down the steps. “Judaism’s changed since Jerusalem fell to the Romans. It will never go back to the way it was. This isn’t the holiest site in Judaism.” The bolt clicked as he made the familiar motion. He fired again. “It’s just another battlefield.” He cut down another legionary before the skeleton could hurl a pilum.
Kid Twist pulled another drum magazine from his overcoat. “A lesson I learned a long time ago—nothing’s truly sacred.” He reloaded and fired again.
All around them, battle raged. The Tree Men had made a good first strike against the Romans, but now the skeletal legions’ numbers began to take effect. Chopping gladius blades and striking spears forced the Tree Men back, cutting into plant bodies. The legion forced the Tree Men closer to the woods. Golems waded into battle with the Tree Men as well, smashing their wooden bodies with rapid swings of their heavy fists. Across from the temple, Cohen had finished freeing the prisoners. They scrambled away, running for the safety of the streets. Cohen tossed grenades into the skeletons, while Monk and Rabbi Holtz held them off with their shotguns. Bone, stone, and steel broke under the onslaughts, but the Dagger Men had endless numbers of troops to call on. They pushed Rabbi Holtz and the others back to the side of the temple, even as grenades tossed up gouts of earth and flame. The rain poured down, growing into a rapid downpour.
Zipporah pointed down the steps. “Looks like they don’t like us being so close to the Holy of Holies.” A group of earth golems charged up the steps, smashing aside Roman legionaries in their haste to reach the interior. These golems had been formed from compact earth, and bits of dirt crumbled from their bodies and struck the steps. The rain made streams of mud run down their chests, but they didn’t look any less intimidating. They had Clay’s general shape as well, though they stood a bit taller. The Dagger Men must be using all their strength to try to force out the attackers.
Kid Twist leaned out and fired at the first golem, his Thompson spitting lead. He raked the golem’s chest. Mud and dirt burst from the wounds—but Kid Twist didn’t get a chance to destroy the golem’s head. A mud hand slapped him, knocking him across the smooth stone floor. His Tommy gun dangled on its strap, rattling against stone. Clay charged the golem next. He fired, but his bullet missed the golem’s head by inches. Then the golem grabbed him, wrapping one hand around the side of his face and holding his belly with the other. Mud dripped in Clay’s eyes. The golem was going to rip off his head. He thought quickly, judged the best angle, and stabbed up with his rifle.
The bayonet impaled the golem’s face, driving into dirt and mud—but not the fatal letters. Clay twisted the bayonet and jammed it deeper into the mud. Dirt ran over his suit and trench coat and his legs kicked madly. The spike dragged deeper and then the golem crumbled. Clay hit the ground. The earth golem fell to the side, the mud sticking to the stones. It covered Clay as well—just like the mud had in the battlefields of Russia.
More earth golems came up the stairs. “Look to your front!” Zipporah cried.
She ran to Clay, her rifle ready. Clay fired his rifle as well and Kid Twist joined in with the Thompson. The earth golems dropped. They dripped down the steps, turning to mud in the pounding rain. Clay and Zipporah fired until their rifles clicked empty. They reloaded while Kid Twist used the Thompson. The earth golem attack ended—but it had nearly succeeded. The Dagger Men could always summon more. Clay began to wonder how long they would last.
They ducked back behind the temple walls, letting Kid Twist keep the steps clear with his gun. “This was the plan, remember?” Zipporah asked. “Get their attention. Draw them closer and give Harvey a chance to get here and the others an opportunity to assemble.”
“I’m starting to think it was a bad plan,” Clay said.
“It was the only one we had.” Zipporah peered out from behind the wall. A giant arrow from a ballista smashed into the wall, scattering chunks of rock. Zipporah fired at the ballista, picking off the skeletons manning it, and then pointed into the distance. “Oh nuts. Detective Flynn—that goddamn mick idiot.”
“What is it?” Clay asked.
“He’s coming early, damn him. He and Harvey have arrived.”
Clay ran next to Zipporah and looked out over the meadow. She was right. A bulky Black Maria roared down from the street, bounced over the sidewalk and then tore across the open grass. Rain drummed on the windshield and the square back of the car, and mud sprayed from the wheels. Detective Flynn drove, his blue suit visible over the meadow. Harvey sat next to him, his newsboy hat just visible over the dashboard. Clay felt fear stiffen his limbs. The meadows in front of the Black Maria undulated and danced—difficult to see in the rain, but clear on the green grass.
“The ground’
s moving.” Fear filled Clay’s voice. The Dagger Men wouldn’t make the city dance so close to this precious temple—but Detective Flynn and Harvey rode across the meadow far away from the building site. Hills bulged, the grass splitting and flying into the air. The Black Maria bucked and danced, its wheels sliding in the mud. Detective Flynn still tried to keep driving forward, but the ground roiled and swirled under his car. He wasn’t going to make it.
Zipporah saw as well. “Oh no—Harvey—”
A final jab came from below the earth, the ground spiking and stabbing the bottom of the Black Maria. Metal tore. Rubber from the wheels split. The Black Maria careened along, two wheels lifting up from the earth as it slid from the side. It crashed finally, glass from the windows spilling and the door flapping. It slid on for a few moments, dragging a line in the mud, and then came to a rest. Nothing stirred inside the car. Legionaries charged it in an organized mass. Their pila hurtled through the air above them, the points driving into the dirt or bouncing and breaking off the armored sides of the automobile. They would reach the crashed Black Maria soon.
“No.” Clay’s vision fixed on the car. He should never have left the side of his creator’s nephew. He should never have let innocents become endangered. Perhaps that was all golems were good for—protecting those that needed protecting, and Clay had failed. Or maybe his only purpose was the destruction of his enemies, and he had been lying to himself all this time.
“Clay?” Zipporah gripped his arm. “Think, man—Detective Flynn’s with him. He’ll get Harvey out and bring him over here. We need to clear this area, get rid of the skeletons and—” She turned as Clay dropped his rifle and faced Kid Twist. “What are you doing, Clay?”
The Dagger Men: A Novel of the Clay Shamus Page 29
