The Steel Ring

by R. A. Jones

  It might have been better if it had.

  Instead, before he knew it or could brace himself, the runaway subway train rammed full speed into the back of the train ahead of it, which was stopped at the next station.

  Time seemed to start behaving erratically around the Ferret. The initial impact caused him to rise straight up off the floor. There he seemed to hover for a pregnant moment, long enough to witness the stunned expressions on the faces of those passengers in the car behind him.

  Then he flew forward, smashing through the glass front of his car and then the rear of the lead car.

  There, time seemed to again stop completely, just long enough for him to take note of the face of the slain driver, still slumped over the throttle. The man’s eyes were open, but they saw nothing.

  That second fled and time resumed. Ferret’s body began to somersault even as it was flying through the glass front of the car.

  In a spray of shards of glass and droplets of blood, he sailed between the two subway cars, stopping this time only when he crashed backward against the rear of the stopped car. There was a roar of pain he knew had to be his own, and then he dropped limply to the tracks.

  As soon as he hit, he tried to push himself back up. But his arms held no strength and slid out from under him. His head banged against one of the rails and he flipped over onto his back.

  He saw nothing but red, as blood washed into his eyes and nausea swept over his stomach.

  Then he saw nothing but black.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  A man of faith might have thought he had died and gone to heaven when he swam out of the darkness and opened his eyes to see the smiling face of a beautiful angel hovering above him.

  Cal Denton thought only of possible danger and tried to spring upright. The dizziness that resulted rendered him helpless as the woman placed a hand to his chest and firmly pushed him back into the bed where he had been lying.

  He closed his eyes and lay still until the weakness holding him down had subsided. When he reopened them, he made no effort to rise. Better, he thought, to first survey the situation in which he found himself.

  With his senses back, he found that he recognized the woman sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. She was the haunting vision he had spied that day down in the subway.

  “Just lie still,” Natalia Nastrova told him. “You’re in no danger here.”

  “Yeah? Well, just where is ‘here’?” he asked.

  “You’re in my flat,” she replied. No need to tell him it was a domicile paid for with money she had stolen.

  “And how did I get here?”

  “I was down in the subway, just like the other day, only on the opposite platform when those hooligans lured you onto the train.”

  He noted that she was dressed in the same distinctive raiment she had been wearing the first time he had seen her. Up close, she was even more a vision of loveliness. Yet beauty couldn’t outweigh his suspicion of strangers.

  “Yer just a little slip of a thing, doll,” he observed dryly, “and I had ta be dead weight. How’d you get me up here?”

  She frowned as she thought of the scene in the subway tunnel. There was smoke and fire and screams of agony. Bodies had been thrown around like chaff in the wind. People with limbs hanging broken and useless staggered about; the smell of blood was pervasive. By the time she could make her way to where he had fallen, panic had become if anything more pervasive.

  All this, too, she felt it better that he not know for now. Bad enough that she knew it.

  “I had help,” she replied breezily. “Two gentlemen I encountered in the tunnel were kind enough to carry you up here for me. And not to worry: I told them to forget what they had seen and done.”

  “And you think they will? Just ‘cause you asked ‘em to?”

  “I think so, yes,” she said, smiling beguilingly. “Men usually do what I ask.”

  Part of Natalia wanted to tell Denton why this was so. But like him, she had learned from life it was best to be wary of strangers. Even though she was feeling herself attracted to him even more so than she had been in their first, fleeting encounter, she felt it best he not know too much about either her or her unique abilities.

  “Dog!”

  The exclamation had sprung from Cal’s lips when he heard a chittering sound and then saw his tiny pet peek out from beneath Natalia’s thick locks. The ferret slithered out onto her left shoulder, where he curled up and lay down.

  “He’d tried his best to follow you,” the Witch explained, “so I scooped him up and brought him along with us.”

  She said this as though it was the easiest thing on Earth, but Cal knew otherwise. Usually, Dog would not let anyone but his owner even touch him. Apparently, even animals were susceptible to the evident charms of this raven-haired angel.

  Denton again sat up, more slowly this time. The dizziness did not return, nor did he feel any other ill effects from his travails. The Witch didn’t fail to notice this.

  “After what happened to you in the subway,” she said, “I was surprised to find you were still breathing. But now you seem almost good as new.”

  “Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve always been a quick healer.”

  “As have I. But not to that extent.”

  “Maybe you don’t need to be,” he commented, smiling slyly, “given your own special talents.”

  “Still,” she replied, ignoring his innuendo, “you’d best take it easy.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  He started to lie back down, then snapped back up. The thin blanket covering him slid down to reveal his bare chest.

  Hey!” he exclaimed. “I’m naked!”

  “Yes?” she replied innocently, batting her eyelashes.

  “How did that happen?”

  “How do you suppose?”

  Ferret glared at her for a moment, and she worried she had crossed some immutable line. But then the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, the edges of his mouth turned up and he began to laugh softly.

  “Y’know, when I spotted you down in the subway the other day, I told Dog, ‘That’s some snappy piece o’ work.’ Now, seein’ ya up close like this – I’m sure yer a choice piece o’ calico.”

  “Oh. Is that good?” she asked, puzzled by his vernacular.

  “It’s real good,” he assured her, and was rewarded with another of her dazzling smiles.

  “I have something else for you,” she declared, hopping up and moving to retrieve an object from atop her dresser.

  When she turned back, Ferret could see she was carrying his old hat in both hands. The soft clinking sound coming from it told him his money was still there as well, even before she handed it over to him.

  “Wow,” he whistled. “You really are the bee’s knees!”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, tossing her hair lightly. “Before I ran to help you, I cornered the filthy little rat who had robbed you.”

  “And then what? He just handed it over to ya outta the goodness of his heart?”

  “I don’t suppose goodness had much to do with it, no. But it wasn’t hard to convince him to do the right thing.”

  Ferret reached out to take one of her hands in his. Raising it closer to his face, he inhaled. The swarming pheromones swirling from her every pore washed over him so strongly that he could even taste them on the tip of his tongue.

  “What you say is probably true,” he commented. “The hoodoo you got pourin’ outta you is enough to make most any man fall at yer feet.”

  “Is it working now?” she asked sweetly. Cal found he even liked the cuteness of her eastern European accent.

  “Sweetheart … you didn’t need it to win me over.”

  Smiling, he began to lean toward her. She closed her eyes in anticipation.

  Then an explosion blew her front door completely off its hinges.

  CHAPTER XXV

  As Ferret leapt to his feet and in front of the Witch, his eyes narrowed in wonder as the m
ost hideous creature imaginable came walking out of the swirling smoke of the explosion and into plain view.

  It looked like nothing so much as a large, muscular and completely naked man. But more – or less – than that. If a man had had every inch of his skin carefully and completely peeled away, revealing nothing but the bare musculature, and if he had then been spray painted with a thin, flexible coat of silvery metallic paint – that would describe him.

  “You’ve got to get out of here,” the creature said. Even his voice had a hollow, metallic ring to it, as if it was coming out over an intercom.

  “What is that?” the Witch hissed. She was pressed close against Ferret’s back, her hands on his shoulders.

  “Looks and sounds like some kinda … robot,” he replied.

  “I’m Iron Skull,” the metal man answered, walking toward them. Each step produced a muffled clanking sound.

  He stopped well in front of them and extended his right hand. One glimpse was all Ferret needed to see that the steel ring encircling the automaton’s finger was identical to his own, the one he had been given before parting company with the Clock.

  Natalia averted her eyes. She had of course spied the ring on Ferret’s finger when she was ministering to him. But she wondered if he had seen the matching ring she herself wore, and if any of them knew its true significance.

  “What’s this about, big guy?” Ferret asked the new arrival.

  His reply came with the sound of breaking glass.

  A Japanese warrior dressed all in black burst through, swinging on a nylon rope. He sailed into the room, landing lightly on his feet. With one, swift, seamless move, he withdrew a menacing sword from the scabbard he wore strapped to his back. Behind him, other similarly clad and armed men were swooping through the shattered window.

  The first warrior, sword held over his head in both hands, was already leaping forward, screeching at the top of his lungs.

  The scream died in his throat, cut off when Iron Skull’s hand grabbed him by the neck. Skull lifted the warrior from his feet, then flipped and slammed him headfirst to the floor. The man died without making a sound.

  Given that action, Ferret decided it was safe for the moment to assume the Skull was indeed on their side, so he turned his attention to the newest interlopers. He sprang forward, over the swinging arc of a blade and atop its wielder. Driving the swordsman to the floor, Ferret smashed his fist into the warrior’s jaw with enough force to fell a bull.

  The Witch took two of the attackers by surprise when she launched herself straight toward them rather than cowering or running away in fear. Before they could fully react, while their swords were still being drawn back, she was between them, with an open hand on each man’s chest.

  The energy force that was hers to command shot from her into them. Both flew back as if fired from twin cannons, slamming into opposite walls and sliding to heaps on the floor.

  Yet another silent killer had gotten behind Iron Skull and now swung his sword at the base of the automaton’s exposed spine. On impact, the sword snapped like a dry stick. So fierce was the vibration that the hilt tore itself out of the warrior’s hand.

  A backhanded slap from Iron Skull connected with the side of the stunned killer’s face. The breaking of his neck as his head snapped around was accompanied by a sound nearly as loud as that made when his sword had splintered.

  A final killer was clinging to the edges of the windowsill, feet braced on its lower ledge as he began to pull himself into the room.

  Ferret leaped at him feet first, kicking him away from the window. Momentum carried Ferret through the window as well, but he was able to twist and grab at the bottom of the pane.

  Dangling by one hand, he glanced down as the dark warrior he had dislodged banged savagely off the roof of a parked car and bounced into the street. The yowl of brakes came too late, and a long roadster ran over the swordsman.

  With his bare toes managing to find purchase against the rough bricks of the building wall, Ferret got a firm grip on the windowsill with both hands. Like a gymnast, he flipped up and through the window, landing on his feet. He felt broken glass slice little nicks in his soles, but he paid them no mind.

  “There will be more,” Iron Skull declared. “We still need to leave.”

  “Hold yer horses, chief,” Ferret growled. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere like this,” he said, motioning to indicate his nakedness.

  “Of course,” Skull said. “But hurry.”

  Ferret only took time to wiggle back into his pants and boots – and to shove the coins from his cap into a pocket. He then made a nickering sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as one might when calling a horse, and Dog responded by scampering up his arm to his shoulder.

  “Now we can go.”

  The three of them raced from the flat, with Ferret and the Witch slightly ahead as they made for the stairway leading down to street level.

  “Stop!” Skull barked. His head tipped to one side as if listening for signs of danger, which indeed he was.

  “More attackers are on the way up,” he said.

  Ferret leaned out over the banister. His enhanced eyesight told him Iron Skull was right. Far below, more black-clad killers were racing up the stairs. Less tradition bound than their earlier brethren, these were carrying guns.

  “We need to go up,” Skull declared.

  “Are you nuts?” Ferret demanded. “Once we get to the roof – we’ll be trapped for sure!”

  But Iron Skull was already racing up the stairs at a speed that would have seemed impossible given his mechanical physiology. Ferret turned to see the Witch staring at him in puzzlement. He smiled reassuringly at her and shrugged his bare shoulders.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound, darlin’.”

  So saying, he ran after the Skull, with the Witch close on his heels. At the top of the stairs, the Skull was waiting for them, holding open the door to the roof.

  When they passed safely through, he slammed the door shut, then snapped off the knob with his left hand. Turning, he wrapped both arms around the waists of his two companions.

  “Hey!” Ferret protested, trying in vain to pull away from the automaton’s grasp.

  He grew silent as a humming sound began to rise from deep within Iron Skull. Ferret could feel faint vibrations that seemed to originate in the automaton’s midsection before rapidly radiating down his legs.

  With a muted roar, twin jets of flame shot out from the bottoms of Skull’s feet. Like a missile from a launching pad, he slowly rose up off the roof.

  His metallic brow furrowed in concentration and an even greater burst of energy sent him and his human cargo flashing skyward.

  As they quickly rose upward and outward, Ferret looked back at the rooftop they had just vacated. Half a dozen men in black, having broken down the door, were scurrying toward the edge of the building, firing as they came. But the semi-human rocket that was Iron Skull was already beyond the range of their weapons and still climbing through the night.

  Tilting his head, Ferret looked at the Witch. Her eyes were wide with fear and wonder.

  “What have we gotten ourselves into, doll?” he shouted above the roaring air currents.

  “I was hoping you could tell me!” she replied.

  Unseen by either, Iron Skull smiled ever so slightly.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  Less than thirty minutes later, Ferret and the Witch, still shaken by all that had transpired in the last few hours, found themselves following Iron Skull down a dark underground tunnel illuminated by soft blue beams of light generated by his eyes. Delighted simply to have their feet back on solid ground, they asked their silent guide no questions.

  In truth, neither of them would have turned back now even if the opportunity presented itself.

  “Be ready for anything,” Ferret whispered to the Witch as they came into sight of a light indicating an end to the tunnel they had been traversing.

  “What?” she laughed. “You
think this night can get any more strange?”

  “Good point,” he conceded.

  Moments later, they stepped out into the space of the underground compound’s central chamber. Several other people were already there, perhaps most notably the skeletal figure seated on a death’s head throne in the center of the room.

  “Come in, friends,” the Fantom said, motioning with his right hand. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  To the left of the Fantom’s throne stood the mystical master known as the Eye. His head was lowered and he appeared to be deep in thought.

  To the right stood John Aman and Zona Henderson. Aman was now dressed in a form-fitting, double-breasted tunic. Metal gauntlets encircled each wrist, while brushed leather jodhpurs were tucked into high riding boots.

  From yet another ancillary tunnel a light now appeared, bobbing slightly up and down as it drew closer. The source of the light floated out of the tunnel, and the Witch gasped softly at the sight of what appeared to be a large, disembodied eye.

  A few steps behind the floating eye came Man of War. A hearty smile lit his face as he stepped forth and surveyed the scene.

  “Looks like the gang’s all here!” he said brightly.

  The floating eye continued to glide forward, growing increasingly smaller is size as it did. When it had shrunk to a size no larger than that of a normal eye, it turned in the air and came to rest on the forehead of its namesake master. Once lodged in place, it blinked once, then once again before vanishing from sight.

  As it did, the Eye himself inhaled deeply, emerging from his trance. A smile turned the corners of his mouth as he looked at those around him, though it was a smile worn by age and laced with sorrow. The silence that had descended now upon the chamber was like that of a tomb.

  “Does anybody here know what this is all about?” Aman said at last, his deep voice dispersing the silence with ease.