Pagan (MPRD Book 1)

by Andrew Chapman

  Satisfied, I rose to my feet, found my balance, and raised the shorty. I placed the sighting reticule directly over Glavidia’s heart and took in a deep breath. I let half of the breath out and stopped, steadying myself for the shot. I carefully squeezed the trigger, applying constant, even pressure, and the shorty roared.

  Several things happened at once. A hole appeared in Glavidia’s chest and she slammed back into her seat, a look of astonishment on her face. The sound echoed around the room and the orchestra stopped, startled by the sudden noise. The shorty bucked in my hands, the working parts slamming backwards, ejecting the spent cartridge and stripping a fresh round from the magazine. The shorty’s barrel had climbed with the recoil and it took only a minor adjustment to bring it back down to Glavidia’s head.

  As the first shell was tinkling on the stone balcony, the second shot rang out, punching through the vamp’s forehead and blowing a huge chunk out of the back of her head. Blood, hair, brains and fragments of bone splattered the wall behind her.

  I pulled and threw both grenades and stepped back towards the stairway. Then, as if in slow motion, I saw the vamp in the velvet tux. He had reacted to the second shot by performing a prodigious standing jump, aiming for the balcony I stood on. He would have made it but the shorty found him first, blowing through the left side of his chest at point-blank range. Instead of landing gracefully on the balcony he slammed into the stone.

  Strong hands grabbed on and he started to pull himself over as I backed away. Screams and shouts came from the hall as people unfroze.

  Then the grenades detonated. When grenades go off it’s not like in the movies. People aren’t thrown into the air in a cloud of smoke: people die in a hail of shrapnel. Some must have hit the vamp because he arched his spine, screamed in pain, and fell backwards into the hall.

  I turned and ran down the stairs. I fumbled for a remote, like the one you’d use to activate your car alarm, and pressed a button.

  The five Firebugs I’d scattered around received the signal and their tiny nozzles started to rotate, spraying a mist of inflammable liquid in a wide circle around them. Five seconds later a pair of electrodes sparked and fireballs blossomed, quickly spreading and setting off the manor’s fire alarms.

  A human servant ran past the bottom of the stairs, a fire extinguisher clutched in his hands. He was shouldered aside by a pair of burly guards who started up the steps towards me.

  The shorty was deafening in the confined area, and both guards died swiftly.

  I paused to sling the shorty and pull the MP7. What I needed now was speed, not punch. I pulled out the stock and flipped the handgrip down, keeping the weapon aimed as I looked both ways down the corridor. The human servant gaped at me in shock, a black clad apparition emerging from the chaos.

  “Run away,” I hissed menacingly.

  He did.

  I went in the other direction, towards the kitchens, remembering the layout and recognizing the walls. Ahead was a T-junction where the corridor met another. To the left were the kitchens, to the right were the stables, and coming around the corner from the right were vamps. Quite a lot of vamps.

  I sprayed them with the MP7 in short, economical bursts, the armor-piercing rounds making short work of their protection, the silver tips making a mess of their bodies. At the end of the corridor I paused to change the nearly-empty magazine. With a fresh mag halfway to the weapon a vamp stepped around the corner and stopped, staring at me.

  She was no fop. She had made a minimum amount of effort with her outfit, but she still looked like a fighter. Her body armor vaguely resembled a leather corset, accentuating her small breasts, and her skirt looked more like a leather kilt. Practical knee-high boots and a waist-length leather jacket completed her outfit. Her hair, so dark it was almost pure black, was pulled back into a severe ponytail and hung down her back. Startling green eyes peered out of a pale, beautiful face innocent of make-up.

  We stood, staring at each other for a heartbeat. I had one round in the breech of the MP7, which was pointed at the ceiling. She had a pistol, which was pointed at the ground. I could hear booted feet approaching.

  “He went this way!” she yelled, pointing behind her towards the stables. “Move, you bastards!”

  Then she stepped aside, putting her back to me as a half-dozen armed guards clattered past her.

  The vampiress looked over her shoulder and winked at me before taking off after the guards.

  I was so stunned I almost forgot to reload.

  Thanks to my unexpected ally, most of the guards had been drawn away from the kitchen. I cautiously peeked around the corner. There were three figures inside. A human chef in a white apron, a single vampire guard, and the ponce in the velvet suit. His ruffled shirt was red with blood and his jacket was torn across the back.

  The three were talking urgently. I didn’t have time for this. I took out my final grenade and pulled the pin. I held the weapon for a quick count of two and hurled it into the room. The detonation sent a wall of smoke down the corridor and blew out the windows.

  I stepped into the kitchen and hurried across to the far wall. The cook and the guard were dead, their shredded flesh peppered with shrapnel. The fop had survived, somehow, one leg ruined, blood leaking from dozens of wounds.

  I kicked him solidly in the temple, sending him rolling over into unconsciousness.

  A short flight of stairs led down to the cellar door. Inside was a massive collection of rare wines, and hundreds of dusty bottles were lined up on antique racks.

  The rest of the cellar was open and stacked with boxed provisions. I knew where I was going. Through the door ahead was a massive walk-in freezer and, through the freezer was a large room with one final door that led into the passageway. From there it would be either a very long or very short fight.

  It didn’t really matter which, in the balance of things. I had completed my mission and now I was expendable. I had proved that the vamps were vulnerable, even in their seats of power. Important vamps had died, been injured, or scared shitless during the attack. The vamps overseas would have to think twice about throwing any money into this situation.

  If I died, the biggest problem for the Ministry would be the propaganda victory the vamps would get from having killed the Pagan.

  I stepped out of the freezer and my attention was caught by a long, low cage that was set against one wall. Inside was easily the biggest werewolf I had ever seen. It—he, I could see that much—had pure black fur with a white, diamond-shaped patch in the center of his forehead. At the sight of me he sprang up onto hands and knees, snarling and growling.

  “Hey,” I said softly, holding up a hand. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “He iss tryink to varn you,” said someone behind me.

  Something slammed into the back of my head, really hard.

  “Oh bollocks,” I managed to say before the world went black.

  CHAPTER

  20

  I swam back to consciousness with a pounding headache. I was lying on the cellar floor and I was stripped to the waist.

  Across the room stood a huge, muscular vampire. He was examining my kukri, turning the blade over in his hands. He was wearing tight leather trousers, heavy boots, and some sort of studded leather harness that crisscrossed his powerful chest. He looked like an escapee from a catalog of fetish wear for the discerning pervert.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I said with a groan, “but I don’t swing that way.”

  The vamp turned and fixed me with an amused look.

  “It pleases you to joke,” he said in heavily accented English, German would be my guess.

  I rose unsteadily, taking stock and overacting, trying to appear weaker than I was. Both holsters were empty, the guns sitting on a table along with my other kit, but my commando knife was still in its scabbard.

  “I vill record your pain,” said the vamp, gesturing to a video camera in the corner of the room.

  “Look, Fritz ol’ buddy,
if you want to make gay porn that’s your business. Just count me out.”

  “Ah!” he exclaimed. “Ze famous English zense of humor!”

  “Absolutely. Any minute now a score of half-naked women will come running in and we’ll all chase each other around to zany music.”

  “No, you vill die,” said the vamp, brandishing the kukri. “I haf left you your little blade undt ve shall fight, ja? Iff you can kill me, you go free! Very funny joke, ja?”

  “Ja,” I agreed. “Very funny. You know the place is on fire, right?”

  “Ja!” he said with relish. “Only a fool fights in ze burning house. Ve shall be fools togezher, ja?”

  “Okay, Fritz, let’s be fools.”

  “Hans, my name ist Hans. You should know ze name off ze man who vill kill you.”

  “Jack,” I said. “And wouldn’t it be easier just to drop our trousers and see who has the bigger dick?”

  “Ze time for jokes has passed, Herr Jack.”

  “Whatever you say Hans,” I muttered, drawing my commando knife.

  The slim, tapered blade was double-edged, razor sharp and perfectly balanced. Hans circled, waving the kukri in the air in front of him and grinning broadly. I took a deep breath, my knife loose in my hand, and waited for him to make the first move.

  He lunged forward, the heavy blade whistling through the air, missing me by inches as I blocked the stroke with my forearm and slashed him across the shoulder.

  He stumbled back, shocked.

  “For zis,” he snarled, “you die zlowly.”

  I said nothing, measuring the distance and advancing with small steps, keeping my weight centered. Talk or fight. Don’t try to do both.

  He lunged again. This time I blocked with both hands and slammed my boot into the side of his knee, following up with pummeling blows to his stomach and a slash across the face that missed puncturing his eyeball by a fraction of an inch. Blood poured down the side of his face. His eyes flashed with power as he came at me, trying to overwhelm my mind.

  I blocked easily, spinning out of reach of his swipe and stabbing my blade to the hilt through one meaty thigh. My head felt like I had a concussion and the blood pounding in my temples sounded like a thrash metal band were performing in my skull. I had to end this fast.

  He was a step faster than I. As I yanked my knife from his thigh the kukri slid across my side, biting deep.

  I stumbled back, my left hand clamped to the wound, blood flowing down my side.

  “Now,” said Hans, limping toward me, “zis ends.”

  It did. I held my cupped hand under the wound, letting my palm fill with blood. As he neared I flung the liquid at his face, a few drops hitting his eyes. He flinched at the burn and stumbled backwards.

  I took the opportunity and slashed across his abdomen, opening a deep wound. A solid kick to the chest sent him tumbling backwards, causing the wound to tear and gape, allowing all sorts of slimy things to fall out.

  A wave of pain and nausea washed over me and I bent to dry heave until I thought I would pass out again.

  When I straightened up the vamp was screaming incoherently, trying to stuff his slippery intestines back inside his body.

  I ignored him and went over to my kit. I held a field dressing against the wound in my side and tied it as tight as I could, then pulled on my body armor and tightened that as much as I could stand. Hopefully it would stop the bleeding. Once I had everything I stepped around the feebly struggling vampire and up to the cage. The werewolf was grinning as he watched the vampire squirm, then he turned his broad head towards me and intently sniffed my scent.

  “I’m gonna let you out, okay?” I said carefully.

  The werewolf nodded. I took a ring of keys from a nail on the wall and fumbled through them until I found the one that fit the lock.

  “No!” whimpered Hans, then he started gabbling in German.

  The cage door creaked open and the werewolf crawled out. Once standing he towered over me by a clear foot. I looked up into his intelligent eyes, then reached and unlocked the collar.

  “Thank you,” growled the werewolf.

  I blinked. I didn’t know any werewolf that could speak in its wolf form. He stepped around me and stood over the vampire, growling continuously.

  “The place is on fire, okay?” I said.

  The wolf nodded without taking his eyes from the terrified leech.

  I shrugged, sending a bolt of pain through my body that staggered me for a second. I had to get out. As I opened the door the vampire began to scream again. Now I was in the tunnel, possibly concussed, definitely suffering from loss of blood.

  But whatever shape I was in, Hans was having a worse day.

  CHAPTER

  21

  I stumbled down the tunnel, hugging one wall, the shorty pointing the way. Ahead was a square of darkness where the tunnel gave out and the night sky was visible. It seemed like I had been in the manor for hours and the sun should have been rising already, but a glance at the radium dial of my wristwatch told me it was still before 2am.

  Standing at the entrance to the tunnel were four vamp guards. I crouched behind a crate and considered my options. My trousers and shirt were soaked with blood and I was feeling dizzy and nauseous. I wasn’t even sure if I could take out the vamps, let alone make it back to the rendezvous.

  I glanced around the tunnel, looking for any inspiration. My eyes were drawn to the electricity meter on the wall a few yards behind me. Must have been a pain for the guy to have to come down here to read it every month, but it did give me a small idea.

  I fished a block of PE4 and a radio detonator out of a pouch, estimating how much I would need. The meter was a large gray box with thick cables coming out of the top and bottom. Fuck it, never enough firepower. I used the entire block, setting the detonator and returning to the crate.

  One of the four vamps cocked his head, as if listening to something. He spoke to one of his companions and the pair started walking cautiously down the tunnel towards me.

  I had to make a decision, fast. The shorty came up and I had placed the reticule on the first vamp’s chest when the door behind me burst open with a blood-curdling howl.

  The werewolf went past me at a dead run, rounds from the vamps’ guns hitting him repeatedly. He made quick work of the pair, disemboweling the first and slamming the second into the wall, leaving a bloody smear behind.

  At the end of the passage the guards were struggling to switch the magazines on their weapons. Suddenly it became clear. The vamps had been expecting human targets and didn’t have their weapons loaded with silver rounds. Jacketed lead doesn’t bother a werewolf much.

  I drew a bead on the left-hand guard and dropped him with a shot to the chest as the werewolf took out the one on the right. He stopped and beckoned to me. I stood and staggered forward. As I reached him I saw vampire guards hurrying towards us, and the wolf gave me a shove, pushing me in the direction of the perimeter wall.

  “Go,” he rumbled. “Go!”

  I took off running or, at least, the best impression of running I could manage, and slipped through a line of huge pine trees. Across an immaculate lawn was the high brick wall. There was no way I would be able to climb that, but luckily there was a gated opening. It was the manor’s delivery entrance. A single guard stood to one side of the open gates. The shorty would echo around the landscape, giving my position to every leech and human pet in the area, so it went on my back and the SIG came out.

  I paused and pulled out the radio transmitter for the PE4. The explosion rocked the ground, sent debris flying out of the tunnel, and plunged the entire area into darkness. Nice.

  I crept along the pine trees, staying out of sight until I was within spitting distance of the guard. He was young, no more than 18, probably the kind of kid who threw in with the vamps because he thought it would help with the girls that were scared away by the world-class case of acne that littered his face. He was clutching an M-16 like his life depended upon it.<
br />
  Too bad the weapon wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference.

  I carefully picked up a few pieces of gravel and tossed them over the wall. At the sound the guard spun, pointing his weapon into the darkness.

  “Halt!” he called out, trying to make his voice sound gruff. “Who goes there?”

  That’s when I put the barrel of the SIG against the back of his neck.

  “Put the gun down really slowly, young man,” I said quietly.

  He complied and I crashed the butt against the back of his head, sending him to la-la land for a while. I was suspicious of just how easy this was becoming. If it hadn’t been for the Kraut in the cellar I’d be back at Brize by now drinking tea in the mess hall. There had to be more.

  I slid close to the gates and took a look outside. Then I took a second look. I don’t have any kind of unusual night vision but I did know the trick. In near darkness the bit of your eye that works best during the day—the bit right in the center of your vision—barely works at all. You have to unfocus and use the edges of what you can see. It’s something to do with rods and cones and optic nerves. I didn’t care. It worked and that was all I needed to know.

  I spotted movement and cursed under my breath as instinct made me try to focus on it. Again I looked and this time managed to see what was moving. There were three or four vamps, armed by the look of it, moving around and searching the area. It looked like someone had been bright enough to figure out that their psychic powers weren’t working, so they were reduced to eyes and ears. The manor was dark, thanks to the PE4, but it would only be a matter of time before someone managed to get some lights on, even if it was just an emergency generator. I had to move. Then I almost slapped myself in the forehead. Less than a hundred yards along the wall was another gate. This one led into a walled-in cemetery. The designer had included it so that loyal servants could be buried in the manor grounds without doing anything as crass as letting the oiks sleep with the masters. It hadn’t been used in over a century but the gate was kept in use because part of the housecarl’s responsibilities was keeping fresh flowers on the graves. More importantly, there was another entrance on the far side of the cemetery, so that families could visit without going through the grounds. I’d forgotten all about it.