Crusader

by Andrew Smith

  The Nightlight was only a half-century from Fernando Tarrega’s apartment building. The sun moved out of view for Mary. She looked around, but spotted no horizon with a sun resting on it. As she stepped into the small patch of upstate New York, she saw the violet color of the lower sky. It was almost dawn here.

  Inside, there was a bored-looking young man in the corner, replenishing the light and smoke effects that occurred when a person entered. Mary couldn’t tell whether it was the same one as before. “Couldn’t you just make the lights permanent and get a better job?”

  “Dunno,” he replied, rather dully.

  Mary gave an exasperated look. No ambition, she thought and continued, up the stairs to the twentieth floor. There was a mere scattering of people, but then it was early yet. Inside, she saw a gaping hole in the bar. Two men were there, tinkering with measurements for a replacement section. Mary scrutinized the room. There were a few tables in the middle that didn’t match the others. The floor below them was a clutter of random tiles, and the roof above was patched with boards.

  She walked up to the bar. The bartender was busily polishing a glass. He must keep a stack of glasses in front of him to polish every second he wasn’t serving drinks. It was all Mary ever saw him do. “What happened here?”

  “Clash of the Titans,” said the bartender, a scruffy Danish man with fine, unwashed blond hair and the strange proclivity of always wearing the same shirt, with its wide stripes in many shades of tan.

  “Titans?” Mary repeated

  “Well, not actual Titans, but pretty damned close. There was a fight up on the roof, and I didn’t recognize the second person was, but whoever it was is powerful enough to knock Ruin through two floors. The nineteenth is still a mess.”

  “Ruin?”

  “Oh yes. Trust me. A lot of interesting people come through here, and I wouldn’t last long without knowing when to duck when one of them walks in. Or in this case, crashes in from the rooftop.”

  “Really? Who’s higher on this list,” Mary inquired, “me or Ruin?”

  “Ruin, but only because necromancers aren’t trustworthy.”

  Mary smiled. “I don’t suppose you have glasses to go?”

  “Take it,” he said, setting the glass he had been polishing down and filling it with Irish whiskey.

  “Good memory. I’ll be sure to bring this back.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s got an self-summoning spell on it. It’ll return here in half an hour by itself.”

  Mary nodded appreciatively and took a sip of her drink. “That’s the way to hold on to glassware,” she said, tossing the bartender a small cube of silver before exiting.

  Mary descended the stairwell. The bartender had filled her glass to brimming. Probably because he knew her history with Ruin, she decided. She exited the dawning sky of the Nightlight, and into the patchwork twilight of the rest of the city. She headed outwise, to the eighteenth century and Mme. Rumella’s. She would want to know there was another piece on the chessboard.

  Mary had a fondness for chess. She found a fabulous marble chessboard at a shop in that airport in Denver. She found it odd that men could fly without magic, but had heard from younger people, Leila in particular, that flying in one of those ‘airplanes’ was not a particularly pleasant experience. Especially waiting around in an airport for hours at a time only to find that your luggage never made it on to the plane. Mary wondered about the point of normal-world air travel. It was fast, sure enough, but there must be more agreeable forms of travel. People from the past few decades were always in such a rush that they never noticed that it doesn’t matter how fast a person is going if they don’t know where they’re headed.

  Mary was so distracted by her thoughts that she didn’t hear the footsteps in the alley behind her.

  “Mary, Queen of Scots?” The voice was low, grainy, and distorted

  Mary pivoted to look behind her. Standing there was a strange creature, with six eyes and as many legs. Long, black, multi-jointed legs covered in tiny serrated bits that stuck out at intervals. It was only four feet high, but at least seven in length.

  “I don’t suppose you’re some sort of giant ant,” said Mary

  “Not exactly,” said the creature in its strange voice.

  “It doesn’t much matter though, does it? You’re not here to answer questions, you’re just here to kill me,” she added

  “I suppose not,” the creature replied.

  “Still, for courtesy’s sake, would you mind telling me who sent you?”

  “I’m not really supposed to say,” the creature said, almost apologetically. “Only that you should not have interfered.”

  “Hm. Dont’ know what I was thinking with that interfering. I’ve got to break the habit,” said Mary caustically

  “I don’t write the lines, I just deliver them.”

  Mary’s Focus was tucked up her sleeve, touching her arm. She cast the feather spell and leapt into the air. As she flew, she removed her gloves and flicked her Focus into her hand.

  The alley was barely wide enough for the creature to turn around in. It had only gotten half way round when she landed across from where she had been. She turned her Focus just the right way and it became a spear, which dripped with liquid fire as she threw it. The spear pierced the creature’s side, but didn’t go as far as she had hoped. She leapt into the air again as the insectoid form reared up, squealing in pain. Her spear dislodged itself. Mary landed on its back. The middle legs immediately flew up to grab her.

  “Double jointed! You cheat!”

  The legs had attached themselves to each arm. Mary was thankful for her coat, which kept the barbs from sinking into her flesh. But then one leg started to pull. The other held tight and she could feel her shoulder coming out of its socket. She winced, but didn’t cry out. She brought her knee up and landed a side kick on the pulling leg, which made a satisfying crack. After what seemed like an eternity, her spear returned itself to her hand, and she brought the spear over her back. As she pulled it back, it become her favorite claymore, and she sank it into the creature’s neck. The creature screamed, but kept pulling on her arm. Deep crimson ichor ran out on to the ground.

  Mary only just managed to dislodge her sword. She shouted the Gaelic words to spell she herself had invented, and swung the sword down in an arc. It made contact with the side of the creature’s neck. Mary heard a muffled pop and felt a surge of pain as her shoulder was dislocated.

  But the clever sorcery she had cast on the claymore was working. It made whatever object the sword struck pull itself to the sword just as hard as the sword hit it. Neck pushed on sword, pushed on neck, pushed on sword till the head was severed and fell to the ground. Mary brought her sword around, and removed the grappling legs. She leapt off and touched down a few feet away.

  The creature turned to follow her. Mary heard the shuffling, looked behind her, and sighed heavily. The lifeless head still sat on the ground, but the body was advancing on her with its four remaining legs. She flicked her left wrist outward, as her right arm was useless at the moment, and her sword became an unlit torch. She held it in front of her mouth and said Gaelic words that translated roughly as ‘fire which soars’, and exhaled on the torch.

  It roared to life, a monstrous, meter-high pillar of flame, which then leapt outward at the creature. It reared up as the flames enveloped it. It tried to rush her, but its legs were quickly consumed by the fire. Mary hoped she wouldn’t run out of breath before it was sufficiently killed. The hulking creature began shrivel and Mary finally ran out of air. Luckily I’m in good shape, she thought.

  Then the odor hit her. “Oh! This is horrific,” she couldn’t help but say aloud. She turned and walked away, muttering, “Why can’t they make an evil assassin-creature that smells like vanilla when you kill it? Or cinnamon maybe. Sandlewood would do.” She passed a familiar looking young tree and found herself in the street before the British Museum. “Oh,” she said in surprise. She hadn’t realized how clos
e she was.

  She returned her Focus to cartridge form and entered the tea shop to find Mme. Rumella and Benny sitting on the comfortable chairs. Leila Lanstrom was asleep on the couch.

  “Evening,” she said.

  “Hello dear,” said Mme. Rumella.

  “Oy,” said Benny.

  “Doesn’t she have a home anymore?” Mary asked, indicating the slumbering archaeologist with a nod.

  “She’s worried about walking home alone,” Mme. Rumella explained. She looked Mary over. “Dear, what have you been doing?”

  “Assassination attempt. You?”

  “Bad news, I’m afraid,” Mme. Rumella said.

  “Got some of that too,” Mary rejoined.

  “Ruin is back,” they both said.

  “You knew?” Mme. Rumella inquired.

  “I found out earlier. There was a fight at the Nightlight between him and someone. Nobody saw whom, sadly. How did you know?”

  “Apparently he is up to something, and tried to recruit Voz to his cause.”

  “How very... Suicidal. Don’t suppose she killed him?”

  Mme. Rumella shook her head.

  “Ah well,” said Mary and attempted to shrug. The motion set her right arm swinging limply and caused a terrible pain. “That,” she commented, “hurts.”

  Mme. Rumella looked concerned. “Do you need a vial?”

  “No, I’ve got a couple, they’re just in my right-hand pocket. I don’t suppose...?”

  “Of course, dear,” said Mme. Rumella as she rose form her chair. She reached into Mary’s coat and produced one of the vials, opening it and holding it up for Mary to breathe in

  Even sorcerous healing of a dislocated shoulder is unpleasant, but Mary cringed only slightly before thanking Mme. Rumella for her help. She sank gratefully into one of the comfortable chairs, even as she pined for her chaise

  “Irish coffee dear?”

  Mary nodded mutely, suddenly wondering where her glass from the Nightlight had gotten itself to. Had it been half an hour, or had she simply dropped it in the skirmish and not noticed?

  “Do you know who it was?” Mme. Rumella inquired as she brought Mary her cup and saucer.

  “An Irish cappuccino? You are a brilliant, brilliant woman.” Mme. Rumella smiled as Mary pondered her question. “I doubt it was McLenen,” she said. “But other than that, it could have been Delilah, though I don’t know much about her particular fighting style.” She paused and took a sip. “Best idea the Irish ever had,” she commented. “Possibly it was Lionel, as payback for our fight. But then the creature said I was interfering in something I shouldn’t, and I haven’t with Lionel, that I’m aware of at any rate. Ruin hates me, but then he has the same problem. I had no idea he was even around until I went to the Nightlight, and then this giant ant thing attacks me minutes later?”

  “Maybe he’s just real on top of things,” Benny suggested helpfully

  “I’m certain,” said Mary. “I hate this. Not knowing what’s happening out there, I mean.”

  “I always think that the middle of the mystery is the most fun,” said Mme. Rumella.

  “Yes, but you’re strange.” said Mary.

  “Perhaps,” said Mme. Rumella, aloof.

  Mary glowered. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking that perhaps Leila here is on to something.”

  “What d’you mean?” Benny asked.

  “With so many of the dark ones at work, especially Ruin, perhaps it would be best if we all stuck together for now.”

  Mme. Rumella nodded thoughtfully. “It would probably be safest,” she agreed. “I’ll make up a bed for you.”

  “I don’t mean to sound stupid, but who’s this Ruin bloke you’re all up in arms about?” Benny interjected.

  “He’s a necromancer,” said Mme. Rumella. “Possibly even worse than Lionel at his height.”

  “Alright...” Benny said, questing for more.

  “He’s obsessed with death, as necromancers tend to be,” Mary expounded. “About 1900, he went to the edges of the city, and raised the bodies of over a thousand of the oldest citizens.”

  “A zombie army? How, er, frightening?” Benny was obviously unimpressed.

  “Many of them he managed to restore to partial consciousness,” Mary said.

  “Umbras? Jesus bloody merciful Christ,” said Benny.

  “Benny!”

  “Sorry, auntie.”

  “It’s ‘umbrae’, not ‘umbras’, I believe,” Mary continued. “And not just umbrae, but umbrae with the knowledge, well, partial knowledge anyway, of the ancient sorceries. It was... It was very bad.”

  “Masterful understatement,” Benny remarked.

  “But thanks to our friend Mary here,” Mme. Rumella chimed in, “he was put down.”

  “And hard,” Mary added.

  “You fought a necromancer and army of umbrae by yourself?” Benny asked, awed.

  “Oh no,” Mary demurred. “I had help.”

  “Who?”

  “The Life Squad,” said Mary, a little embarrassed.

  “Oh. Well, that makes sense,” said Benny, looking away.

  “The who?” Leila asked drowsily

  “Good evening, pet,” Mme. Rumella chuckled. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Since your nephew blasphemed really loudly,” she responded

  “Sorry,” Benny muttered

  “So who are these Life Squad people?”

  “Calling them people is a bit kind,” Benny said bitterly.

  “They’re pro-life fanatics,” Mme. Rumella said.

  After a moment’s pause, Leila came out with, “Alright, that must mean something way different here.”

  “I’ll put it another way then,” said Mme. Rumella, slightly puzzled. “They’re anti-necromancer. Life is life and death is death they say, and anyone who tries to blur the lines is corrupt.”

  “I would tend to agree,” said Leila, pushing herself up onto her elbows

  “Yes, but they tend to clarify their position to anyone who asks by, er...”

  “Showing them the difference personally with a hammer to the skull,” Mary finished.

  “Oh. And you worked with them?”

  “There wasn’t much choice. Half the city was cowering.”

  “And half of them in my shop,” said Mme. Rumella.

  “I couldn’t have done it alone, and the Life Squad’s version of tactics and strategy is, well, a hammer to the skull. They would have gotten themselves killed in a blink without someone to tell them what to do,” Mary told her, trying not to be defensive. They were all quiet for a minute.

  “I wish that detective would get back to me,” Mary worried to the room

  Mme. Rumella rose and moved for the staircase.

  “Where are you going?” Leila asked.

  “I’ve got a plan,” she replied.

  “What does it entail?” Mary questioned.

  “Cookies,” said Mme. Rumella, and ascended the stair.

  Cookies

  Mary looked down on the street from the fourth story of Mme. Rumella’s building. Mme. Rumella herself had produced linens for her guest beds, and promptly disappeared into the depths of her kitchen, apparently never to return. Mary had asked her to clarify, but all Mme. Rumella would say about her plan was ‘cookies’. It was past midnight, city time, and Mary had risen fairly early. Still, she was too on edge to sleep. The attempt on her life, while not as threatening as someone probably hoped, had nonetheless set her on guard.

  She knew they had no evidence to connect Ruin to the Standard of Uruk, the only going-on in which Mary considered herself involved at the moment, but still the attempt made her think of Ruin. It was an ugly ant thing rather than an umbra, but it was very like Ruin to use some sort of sorcerous agent to fight for him. Would he be coming for her after over a century? That’s the thing about living for millennia. Some people use every available minute of time to plot.

  “Go to bed,” a voice ordered.

 
; Mary turned calmly to the doorway to see Benny leaning on the door frame with a youthful smirk on his face.

  “If auntie doesn’t want someone in this building, they won’t be in it for long.”

  “I know,” Mary sighed. It was true, but didn’t slow the theories spinning in her mind. “I’m going out. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Benny’s smile faded. “Are you sure you want to that, considering?” he asked, concerned..

  “It’s alright. I can handle myself,” Mary reassuringly replied.

  Benny’s smile returned. “Yeah, awright,” he said. “But be careful, okay?”

  Mary exited, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. Leila was asleep across the hallway. She had neglected to close her door, so Mary went to do it for her.

  “Er, Mary, do you know how old Leila is?”

  “Twenty-eight, I believe,” Mary replied, a little suspiciously.

  “Really? How odd.”

  “How do you mean?” Mary asked.

  “Well, she looks about twenty-eight.”

  “She only arrived here last year,” Mary explained.

  “Oh. So she really is only ten years older than me?”

  Mary couldn’t control her smile. “That’s right.”

  “I was just wondering,” said a defensive Benny.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Mary hummed as she left. She went downstairs, pausing on the third floor to enjoy the wafting scent of fresh baked cookies. She was certain Mme. Rumella was headed somewhere with this whole cookie thing. She just had no idea where.

  Mary exited the shop and strolled down the street. She placed her hands in the pockets of her knee-length coat. Her left hand was on her Focus at all time. The night air was cool around her. She didn’t mind, but thought she may as well head for somewhere warmer. Mme. Rumella’s supplier was just around the corner, and Mary found herself wondering what the weather was like in India this time of year. She walked up the curving block and took a right. Vijay’s small house was quiet as Mary passed it by. She continued down the radial road for another few blocks. Walking always seems to take longer when you don’t know where you’re going, Mary noted.