Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds, many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea, fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.
– Homer, THE ODYSSEY
~~~~~Chapter 1~~~~~
Will took each step up the stairway with a calm and daunting crawl. The cold of the spaces in between gave way to a slight shiver through his bones. Winter had returned its freezing temperatures and white snow clouds once again. This was his favorite season of the year though the cold was a constant gnaw on his soul. For Will it was a quiet aching reminder – evoking a deep sense of humanity's limits – that he was mortal.
Years of technology had been advanced since the day Magnus initiated plans for the Old City Sanctuary, yet the warmth of invention could never bleed this far up. The only small remembrance of light surrounding Will was the stained glass window, embossed with illumination from the full moon, rising under the starry heavens above. Under the sky's dark and unobstructed view it almost warranted a slight lapse in reality, making every watchful eye believe such distant suns were in tangible reach.
Some nights Will swears he could extend just far enough to pluck a star from the sky and nurture its existence like one of the small helpless abnormals in his care. How strange, he often thought, of how the night's sky inhabitants could seem so close enough to touch some nights – as if their incomprehensible distances were just an illusion from the near drunken wonder of space.
This was his sanctuary within the life of the Sanctuary. This vast dark conundrum of space and distant time was where Will would rest his mind or let it wonder. At any given time under its hypnotic call, the night sky whispers that many, too, stare up finding a sense of feeling more alive. As long as Will had his stars – he would feel alive.
Thin beams of moonlight eased through the small stained glass window nearing the top of the right turn ahead. The detailed iron work of the glass pane sketched a picture dull but recognizable of the sea. The teal colors of the bottom pane revealed a fin protruding from the white wash along the horizon's crashing waves. A pod of Merfolk were splashing above and swimming beneath the folding crests of the waters. A more light blue hue painted the sky above. A perfectly circled yellow sun weaved its place at the top. Three rays thick and wavy extended each to the water line halfway down the length of the pane. Two bordered the sides and one came down centered, touching the horizon. White billowy clouds framed the corners of the window's art. How old is this? It looks so faded. The small intricate and delicate glass pieces are hazy and dimmed. Who made this? Will imagined how much effort the blacksmith must have spent on the frame and what he must have thought of the mermaids. Will could never resist the awe of the work. The craftsmanship was so detailed begging him to run his fingers over the ripples that made up the ironed worked paths.
Each time Will took this staircase up towards the small rooftop terrace he analyzed the etching. The scales on the mermaids' tails, each like microscopic leaves, were embedded precisely in unison. The artist even had the directional flow of each scale in the right direction. He must have been given direction or knew exactly what he was doing. Will had never asked Magnus the how and why she came upon this piece of art. Was it a gift? A simplistic glass homage to the species? But all he knew is that it was a magnificent Di Vinci-like glimpse into the anatomy of their world. The silence of the moment birthed an idea in Zimmerman's head. His left hand still sliding across the window following each silvery time aged line prompted a smile. "Ahhhh". Will gave a whispered sigh and closed his eyes in thought. Could Leonardo have been an abnormal like Watson? Could art have been his gift? With one last look at the moon-glowed window he turned to continue his journey up the stairs.
Every spiral turn of the staircase eased into shoulder high antediluvian spaces for a primitive light source. Will could almost imagine every one of these little open rectangular spaces lit aflame with a little glowing wax candle or glass oil lamp. How archaic he thought. He sometimes imagined he was not working in a Sanctuary but some medieval castle and himself, the fellow savoir of goodwill, Robin Hood. The heavy wooden door ahead was latched by an old iron handle. Will believes it is vintage like the one placed at the entrance to the Sanctuary. Perhaps a relative to the lion's face that guards the front door. Green color like a melted paint gave proof of its age. Simple enough. It was merely a latch you raised like one does a loading truck. A vertical iron pin placed on the left, put through both the end of the horizontal latch itself and the bolted piece it rests on, keeping it locked.
Will released the dense pin, placed it on a gray stone brick protruding to his left, and raised the latch out of the bolted rest and turned it all the way to the right. The sword-like latch conducted a half circle arch to the other side. A loud creek boasted the presence of the door opening and the cold air rushed full force upon Will's face. He blinked his eyes. Since the short time he stood at his bedroom window looking out across the Sanctuary grounds at this rooftop terrace, it had begun to snow. Little snowflakes whirled around him as the waterside breeze blew across Old City. Will felt like he was standing in the middle of a giant snow globe. Short wisps of wind slanted the fall line of the snow as if these little frozen pieces of atmosphere were sliding down an invisible slanting roof. Will reached out his hands to catch them in his palm as his black jacket became a white spotted second skin.
The small terrace was one that he adopted himself. It was much smaller than Magnus' perch overlooking the water. The old stone covered in scattered moss patches clung to the cracks and breaks in the façade. The grassy ruin revealed a tale of abandonment of human presence here. The other balconies spaced across the Sanctuary are much cleaner than this one. Oddly he never knew why. Will walked to the edge, placed his hands on the cold stone, and looked skyward. He leaned just over the wall. With wings as a safety net, he could lean much farther without the fear of falling. Like Leonardo, Will too had the solemn inner wish that he could fly.
The stars welcomed him it seemed. Little pulses of starlight danced as if to say hello again. Will smiled as if to acknowledge a hello in return. His view also looked over the water and the rest of the city across the bay. The buildings across the water shined like lights on a Christmas tree. It is a Mary Poppins world up here. The only thing missing was the chimney tops of old London.
A sudden static of Will's radio startled him into a jump. "Ahhhh, geez". His startled voice echoed over the roof tops.
"Will come in. It's Henry."
Will pulled the walkie from his back pocket and pressed the receiver button. "Yeah, Henry. What's up?" The cold air left a fog cloud around Will's face. It slowly lingered then faded as it crept away from his body.
"We got a call from Magnus in Crete. Mission time. Plane is booked. We leave in three hours. I'll meet you in the armory in ten."
Henry's voiced echoed across the air. It almost sounded as if Henry was below at the bottom of the wall. Will was a master in behavior and voice patterns that accompanied speech, but it was the sound waves of echoes that were unique all their own. The echoes never did feel organic in some wicked way. Will couldn't understand the origins of this interpretation but wished one day perhaps some kind of abnormal may have the insight to explain it. "Gotcha. On my way." His companion of stars would have to wait for his soul's wonder for another night.
The armory was like something out of the CIA. Four walls, each of which could pull out into secondary areas holding much bigger weapons of "things that go boom" as Henry likes to put it. High power rifles and hand guns graced the walls from ceiling to floor; both automatics and self-loaders. Black Kevlar vests and jackets, too, hung on little hangers between the rows of guns. One wall was cattycorner exposing another room filled with more mission accessories. Will felt like OO7 every time he came in here. No other occupation could beat it. Will was sure of it. Then again, if wishes were horses, he'd definitely take up a mission from his favorite television series Wormhole Extreme. Will entered the hallway with his usual focused and steady gaze. Henry looked up from his work bench as he entered.
"Hey Will. I've got the MOLES all primed and ready. I even upgraded the charger to power up twice as fast between each shot." Henry's proud grin and smile reminded Will of how he must have looked as a little boy when Magnus revealed new abnormals to him.
Will nodded in approval as he walked over to take a closer look. "So Magnus hasn't told us the exactly what we are needed for has she?"
Henry handed a MOLE to Will and turned away to reach down, grabbing his black weapons bag to place on the table. "Nah, you know the Boss. At times it's complete info upon arrival. At least with this one. No chatter over the airways or communication lines were the specifics."
Will raised his arm, holding it steady as he pointed the MOLE at the doorway just as Biggie walked in. "What sort of protocol is that? We've always had good secure lines for communications. Henry, we were able to send a message to Hollow Earth?" Will keeps his stance, smiles at Biggie, and waits for a direct answer.
Yet the room is a loss for words. Henry glances at Biggie standing in the doorway then looks back at Will. As if Henry knew what the big guy was going to say, he refused an answer and continued to place his Kevlar vest and a few shiny gadgets into his bag. On cue Henry awaits for the Big Guy's charm to fill the room. Will was still learning things even after four years together with his new family.
Biggie grunted as he began to walk through the entrance of the armory. He tilted his head towards Will, a quiet reminder to lower the weapon away from his position. Will lowers the gun, smiles again, and opens the charger tab and analyzes the mechanism inside. "Magnus and her protocols are what they are. Whatever she feels comfortable with, she'll do it that way. And she had her reasons for going alone. It is not our place to question why." Biggie grunts again then continues speaking. The scruff of his voice adding power to each word. "Magnus was informed about some sensitive information before she left for Crete concerning the Russians."
"The Russians?" Will gave a confused frown and placed down the MOLE onto the table in front of him. "How do the Russians fit into this?"
Biggie, standing next to Will, points at Henry for added information. Henry zipped closed his bag and walked across the room to grab some knives off the wall. "Magnus has been watching a shipping freight for the last few months. Her contacts have some intel that may prove useful as this may be related to an old colleague she used to work with. A Russian, who once turned traitor during a rare species bag'em and tag'em years ago with Magnus, surfaced recently with ties to that very shipping freight. Intel leads had that shipping vessel headed to the Greek Island of Crete."
Will raised his eyes.
Biggie grunted, tilted his head up and down, and deepened his voice. "Magnus doesn't talk much about that mission. Remember she's been through countless missions in her life. She doesn't always share each of them with us."
Henry chimed in again from across the room. "That is why she left for Crete two days ago. I bet she just wanted to see if this guy on the ship was actually him. This transport ship was scheduled to dock today. But, in fact, it docked five days ago so she wasn't able to ID the guy."
Will closed the tab to the charging port and placed the MOLE on the work bench in front of him, shaking his head as if to summon a call to logic. "Well, it's not beyond Magnus to do things on her own. For her to call us means there may be something more she's not telling. And she wouldn't do anything rash in the meantime." Will and Henry both raised their eyebrows at each other.
"Without cause." Will added. Will was briefly reminded of the song and dance below the Bermuda Triangle and Magnus' bold phrase 'be creative'. Rash words indeed but in life and death situations those times were warranted. Will's lapse to the past was broken my Henry's voice again.
"Magnus just said she needs us there. And who knows why this person of interest is accompanying that freighter? Magnus also suspects ATs (Abnormal Trafficking's) with this one. Abnormals trade routes are just as secret behind borders as they are ports."
Will folded his arms and leaned back on the table. "Okay, so what kind of trafficked Abnormals do you think we may be going after? Small? Big? Bertha Big?"
"Don't know buddy. But I got a feeling this could get messy. Hey, Big Guy…" Biggie had walked back into the secondary room. After a moment of metal clanking on metal he walked out holding the electrical net. "…whoa man, do you really think we need that too?" Henry's voice went a little high pitch.
"It's always a safe bet Henry. Just take it. You never know, arh arh."
Will could always tell when the Big Guy went to Father mode around Henry. His voice had that soft care but not overly protective rhythm to it. Henry complied and took the electric netting, rolled in its tubing case, and placed it on his work bench. As Biggie walked out, he knocked on the inside of the door frame. "Remember, this is personal for Magnus. Keep a close eye on her. When you both are done here let me know. I'll help load the van and drive you to the airport. Magnus' private jet has you guys flying to Australia. Next flight after puts you into Crete in five hours."
Both men nodded and went about packing for another battle – a battle inside their secret world of things that go bump in the night. Because defending the weak of the Abnormal world and fighting alongside Magnus, the most incredible person they knew, was indeed, war.