by Peter Glenn
The sedan sped off before he could even close the door, running over Half-Naked Guy again. His body flailed for a moment, then went still once more.
Meanwhile, the remaining people around me all dashed off in different directions. In mere seconds, the busy street and alleyway were once again dark and empty, save for me and my would-be attacker.
I winced again, thinking of the pain Half-Naked Guy must be in, if he were even still alive, when the disparate dots in my head finally connected themselves.
“Damn it!” I swore.
It all made sense now. The guy from before, the group of half-dressed people, the human-shaped bundle. That had been Mei they were stuffing into the car!
Now they were all gone, and I was alone without a clue as to how to find her again. Sure, I knew they’d sped off in a long black sedan, but those weren’t exactly uncommon, especially in Washington where everyone and their brother had a big car so they could tow their boats around.
I used Grax’thor to help push me back up onto my feet and placed a hand on my side. There was a slight bruise there where one of Lanky Guy’s ruffians had pushed me over the second time. I could already tell it was going to sting come morning.
And without Mei and her amazing herbal supplements to help me out, I was going to feel the full effect of it this time.
I groaned and slumped against the wall, clutching my side as I slid Grax’thor back into its sheath after wiping the blood off on my jeans.
What? They were ruined now. Might as well put them to good use. They’d cost me a pretty penny, too - about a hundred bucks. But good jeans were worth every penny when you found them.
“You all right, little man?” a voice beckoned from the alleyway I’d come out of earlier.
I smiled a little at the sound. “Just peachy,” I lied, trying my best to put on a big grin.
Yuri came into view then as he piled out of the alleyway with Sevin in tow. Both their eyes went wide as they took in the scene and my harried look.
I couldn’t blame them, I was sweating pretty hard by this point, my hair matted against my face, with a fresh tear in my jeans, blood staining them, and one hand cradling my stomach. It must look like I’d lost a fight.
How little they knew.
Yuri looked around, spying Half-Naked Guy lying in a heap not far away.
“Why no leave some for us?” he asked. He had a big frown on his face, and suddenly there was a big knife in his left hand that hadn’t been there before. At least, I was pretty sure it hadn’t been there. I guess I wasn’t paying that much attention.
I shrugged and walked over, patting the big man on the shoulder. “Sorry, big guy,” I told him, “you’ll just have to be faster next time.”
Sevin looked at me then, his eyes beady and small in the dim light of the alley. His face looked a little green, and I wondered if he was going to puke.
“Never seen a dead guy before?” I asked him, pointing toward Half-Naked Guy with my good hand.
He shook his head and put his hand over his mouth. “No,” he muttered, not even bothering to use his French accent this time.
I grimaced and put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you sit over here,” I offered, holding out my other hand and pointing toward a low windowsill sticking about a foot off the ground. Some buildings in Seattle had very low windows like that. I never did understand why, but supposedly it had something to do with the town burning down and being rebuilt. For now, it would serve as a surrogate bench.
Sevin nodded and he took a seat, his eyes still half-staring at my dead opponent. I let him be, not sure what else to do, and checked on Yuri.
The big Russian was making his way over to my old foe by this point, so I went over to check on him as well before he could spoil the crime scene. If there were any clues left to be found, I wanted them to be fresh and untouched.
Don’t get me wrong. Yuri was strong and likely good in a fight. I’d seen him lay a normal person out in one swift punch once when they got a bit unruly at the bar. But he didn’t have a good eye for details and had never worked a crime scene. In my line of work, I’d seen more than my fair share.
I limped forward as fast as I could to where Half-Naked Guy lay in the street, broken and bleeding from multiple spots, my side aching and begging me to sit all the while. I managed to reach him at about the same as Yuri, and I put a hand on his forearm to hold him back.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
Yuri had a pained expression in his face. “Why he no wear shirt?” He pointed at the dead guy.
In spite of my resolve, I belted out a high-pitched laugh. “I don’t know, big man. I didn’t stop to ask him who his tailor was as he tried to run me through.”
The big Russian shook his head a few times. “You Americans are weird people,” he muttered, throwing his hands up in defeat. Then he went back to go comfort Sevin while I took in the rest of the scene.
Half-Naked Guy hadn’t looked all that great before when I’d been fighting him, but he looked even worse now. There were multiple lacerations on his face, a flap of skin hanging off one cheek and the skin on the other side of his face was missing entirely. The tire marks across his chest had crushed several ribs, and I could see white bone sticking out in several spots. In addition, his intestines were starting to spill out of the hole I’d made in his stomach, leaving behind an awful stench.
“Well, that’s going to make it hard to identify you,” I told him, tsking once for good measure. Dental records or DNA would do it, but from the look of his mouth, he didn’t have the former, and I didn’t really have money with which to do the latter.
I shook my head and let out a sigh. “Guess it’s back to rifling your pockets, then.”
I turned his body over with a massive shove. Blood oozed out of his multitude of wounds, mixing with the blue ink that covered most of his bare upper body. It was then that I realized the blue ink was some sort of war paint, undoubtedly one that would help me recognize the clan he belonged to, if I knew about such things. But I’d never been much of a historian.
“Ugh,” I said, and not from the smell. My hopes of identifying the guy were going from bad to worse, and fast. I was really striking out on this one.
My hands moved down to his pants, and I felt around the top part, hoping to find something in his pockets I could finally use to identify him.
There was a slight bulge in his right front pocket, so I dipped my hand in there, smearing it with fresh, warm blood in the process. It was kind of thick and kind of gooey at the same time, reminding me of rubbing my hands in a dense oil, only a thousand times worse. With great effort, I managed to retrieve the object and keep from throwing up at the same time.
I looked down at my gory find. It was a bi-fold wallet.
“Eureka!” I shouted. Finally something I could use.
I opened the wallet slowly, hoping for some sort of identification to fall out, but there was none. Not even a credit card. Seriously, how anyone lives without a credit card in this day and age, I have no idea.
Anyway, there were some small bills in there, maybe fifty bucks in total, which I quietly pocketed. What? He didn’t need them anymore, and I was convinced he’d once been an ally with the guy that took Mei, so he deserved it.
I rifled through the rest of the compartments in the wallet, fanning it out and turning it upside down.
Two small objects fell out, clinking onto the ground. The first looked decidedly like an old gold piece. Like something out of a museum that would have been used in ancient Rome or something. An odd keepsake, but I’d seen weirder. It didn’t look to be anything overly special, but I pocketed it, too. Maybe I could sell it for a spot of cash.
The other object was a small bit of purplish cloth with some strange markings on both sides. The whole thing was maybe two inches tall by three inches wide, and it looked like it had been torn off a much larger piece of fabric. The small, intricate markings had been done in black ink, and they covered the en
tire piece.
Remarkably, the cloth looked to be mostly untouched by the blood and the car crash, unlike everything else on his body, including the bills I’d pocketed earlier.
I smiled at my good fortune, but that feeling quickly faded as I took a closer look at the writing. Something about it looked altogether familiar, even though I couldn’t quite make any of it out, at least not in the dim light of the alley.
My eyesight was good, but the markings were miniscule and intensely detailed.
Even so, a sinking feeling in my gut told me I should know just what those markings were. They were more than just random etchings; I was certain of it. In fact, they looked like little runes laid out in some sort of quote or inscription.
And not just any runes, either, but ancient ones. Ones from a long-dead culture. I couldn’t be certain, because I was no expert, but they weren’t far off from the runes on my trusty new sword.
4
My fingers drummed on the armrest of my chair as I frittered away the hours, wasting my life away in the dimly-lit waiting room, hoping to catch the eye of the fair-haired secretary as she babbled away on her phone.
Okay, it probably wasn’t hours. It was probably more like five minutes. But with Mei missing and every minute being of crucial importance, it sure felt like hours. And boy could that secretary talk someone’s ear off. Of course, that kind of was her job, so I couldn’t really be mad at her for it.
Besides, I hadn’t actually made an appointment, so I kind of had to stay on her good side. At least for now.
The secretary’s head bobbed slightly as she spoke to whoever was on the other line. It was slightly mesmerizing in a way. I watched her for another moment or two before turning my attention back to my drumming fingers.
At my side lay Grax’thor. Having it in a back sheath while sitting in an office chair wouldn’t have been that comfortable, so side carry it was. It looked happy there, for what it was worth.
I know what you’re thinking. How could a sword have feelings? Well, it probably doesn’t, but that didn’t stop me from ascribing them to it.
As for why I brought a sword with me to an appointment with a professor? Well, why not? In the past twenty-four hours, my best friend had been kidnapped in front of my eyes and I’d done battle with a strange painted dude in the middle of 5th Avenue. Best not to take any chances when weird stuff like that was going on.
Besides, who knew? Maybe it would come in handy in helping me convince this professor dude that I meant business. Something told me I would need all the help I could get on that one.
“Mr. Xiang?” a sweet voice said a moment later, rousing me from my own thoughts.
I shook my head slightly and raised it to look at the speaker. It was the secretary. Apparently, her call had finally ended.
“Yes?”
“What can I help you with today?” There was a tinge of annoyance in her tone, barely perceptible.
“Umm, I was hoping to see Mr. Veinne sometime today.” I flashed her a big, toothy grin. “That is, if he has a spot available.”
She gave me a weak smile - one of those obviously fake ones you put on for people you don’t like - and glanced down at something on her desk.
“Let’s see.” She tapped a notebook on her desk with the end of a pen she was holding. “It looks like he’s available an hour from now, if that will work. Can you come back at two o’clock?”
I gently bit my lip. I really didn’t want to wait at all if I could avoid it, but what choice did I have, really? “Yeah, that’ll work,” I replied, flashing her another grin.
“Great.” She scribbled something on her notebook. “We’ll see you then.” With that, she turned to look at her computer screen, ignoring me.
My expression soured a bit. It looked like my attempts to charm her were completely ineffective. I’d have to work on that later. But at least I had my appointment window.
I pushed open the wide office door at exactly two o’clock. The secretary must have been out for a break or something, since I didn’t see her at her desk when I came back, so I just headed on in. In hindsight, I probably should have knocked.
A rather distracted-looking man looked up from a big stack of papers, looking a little bewildered.
“Can I help you?” the man asked.
“Mr. Richard Veinne, I presume?” I said, pronouncing it like vain. I smiled at him.
The man shook his head slightly and blinked a few times. “It’s pronounced ‘ven’, like ‘pen’,” he said, sounding rather annoyed.
I gave him a once-over. He was wearing an off-white button up shirt with thin, vertical blue lines running up and down it, and brown slacks. Not a great color combo, but I’m not sure what I expected. His face was pale, like he barely got any sunlight, and his eyes had a slightly sunken look to them, as though he didn’t sleep well at night, or he’d spent hours reading tiny words. Probably it was a mixture of both.
“Oh, I’m sorry. My mistake.” Some people could be so picky about how you said their names. “Mr. Richard Veinne, then?” I used the “pen” pronunciation this time.
He nodded. “Yes. And you are?”
“Li Xiang,” I replied, using my given name. I wasn’t fond of it, but that’s the name I’d given the secretary. “I’m here for my two o’clock appointment?”
Richard looked a little flustered, and he gazed back down at his stack of papers. “She did it to me again,” he muttered.
“Did what now?”
Richard’s head shot up and he glared at me. I was a little taken aback, seeing as I’d been nice to him up to this point. “My secretary, she, umm… did it again.” He flashed me a slight smile. “Made an appointment for me without telling me, that is.”
I felt a wave of heat rush to my cheeks. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Is this a bad time? I could come back later?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. It happens all the time.” He beckoned me forward, pointing at a plush chair across from him. “Come on in. Take a seat.”
I nodded and entered the room fully. I extended my hand to him, and he took it. His hands were soft and smooth to the touch, and his handshake weak. This was not a man that saw a lot of hard labor. But I hadn’t come here for that, so it was of little consequence.
“What did you say your name was?” He asked.
“Li Xiang,” I replied, smiling at him again. “But my friends call me Damian.”
“Damian?” He looked slightly confused.
I nodded. “Mm-hm.”
“Well, Mr. Damian, what can I do for you today?” He sat back in his chair and put his hands in front of him, fingers intertwined.
I took my seat and kind of sunk into it. The cushions were really nice. Especially for an office chair. This guy must be doing well for himself. “Well, Rick - can I call you Rick?”
“To be frank, I’d prefer it if you didn’t-”
“Great!” I cut him off. “Well, Rick, I heard you were the foremost expert in ancient cultures and languages.” I cut right to the chase. “Best in the whole world, I hear.” It never hurt to lay in a little flattery when you could, in my experience.
Rick nodded slowly. He looked a little embarrassed, which meant it was working. “Well… I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been called that before, yes.” A wry smile crept onto his face.
“Good. I have an inscription I’d like you to decipher for me.”
“An inscription?” He furrowed his brow. “That’s a little vague. What language?”
“I’m not really sure.” I started rummaging around in the pocket of my pants. I’d put on a decent pair of khakis and a polo shirt just for this experience, but the pockets of khaki pants could be notoriously difficult to operate when sitting.
“You don’t know?” He glared at me. “How am I supposed to help you decipher something if you don’t even know what language it is?”
“That’s the thing, Rick. You see, I figured with you being the expert and all, you could tell me that answe
r.” It made sense in my head.
He let out a sharp laugh. “Ancient languages aren’t as easy as you make them out to be. There’s a lot of nuance, even in dead languages.”
Based on his overall tone, it sounded like he gave this speech a lot.
Rick let out a small sigh and held out a hand. “But never mind that. You’re not the first person to assume such. Very well, let me see this piece you want translated.”
I flashed him another toothy grin. This was going to be easier than I’d thought. Finally, a little spot of luck in this whole sordid mess.
“It’s in here somewhere,“ I assured him. With a little more finagling, my fingers finally closed on the small scrap of cloth in my pocket and pulled. I produced the bit of purplish cloth with markings on it and handed it over to him.
Rick frowned and squinted at the bit of fabric. At my urging, he took the cloth from me with two of his fingers, picking at it as gingerly as he could and touching only the tiniest of corners.
He studied it for several minutes. “What’s this dark spot here?” he asked, his expression souring even more.
“Uh, oil I think,” I lied. It was blood. The cloth had gotten a little bloody in the aftermath of the alley battle, but I didn’t want to scare him or anything.
“Oil? On an old piece of cloth?” He shot me a knowing glare, his eyes trailing down to Grax’thor, which I’d placed down beside me.
I detected a tinge of fear in his eyes as he looked over the blade, his eyes snapping back to look at my face a moment later.
“Yeah, I think so. Like I said, I don’t really know.”
“Uh huh,” he replied. It didn’t sound very convincing.
Rick squinted again and took out a pair of reading glasses, slapping them on his face and pushing them toward his nose with his free hand. It was all done in one swift motion. It was kind of fun to watch.
“Well, it’s an old inscription, all right. These markings are definitely runes of some sort.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’d figured as much.”
