It took about two hours for Natasha and Ethan to get to the outskirts of the nearby trading town of Rivendell. Like many areas of the planet, Rivendell was fast becoming a center for trade as well as a stopping point for tourists and prospectors on their way to the more remote regions of the planet. As the jeep approached the outskirts of the town, Natasha noticed a massively walled cluster of buildings that seemed to have been recently constructed.
The Black Widow stopped the jeep so that she could observe the structure. The numerous buildings themselves seemed to have been recently built and they were elaborate pieces of architecture, their style mimicked medieval European monasteries. However, Natasha did notice a few refinements that made her feel that there was more to the compound than met the eye.
"What is this place? It seems to have the size and functionality of a government palace." Natasha observed.
"You're looking at the official headquarters of the Covenant of the Void." Ethan answered.
The Black Widow stared at several guard posts that ringed the walls. "Looks like the whole compound is more than just a big temple; some buildings that I can see from this vantage point look like barracks and hangars."
"You may be right. I think there is more to this Covenant than meets the eye."
"We shall soon see." Natasha shifted gears and drove on.
As they finally got to the town proper, Natasha could see that Rivendell was nothing more than a collection of rustic shacks and refurbished buildings. It was in stark contrast to the more elaborate citadel of the Covenant. The first stop they made was to the local marshal's office. As Natasha pulled up in front, she noticed that it seemed to be nothing more than a one-room log cabin. She could barely hide her disappointment.
As Natasha and Ethan strode through the door, they were greeted by a most ridiculous sight as a man wearing a red and yellow clown suit got up from a front desk and said hi. Natasha gave a quizzical glance at Ethan's direction.
"Hello. I'm Marshall Mathers, Rivendell police. Can I help you?" The man in the clown suit asked.
"I'm Natasha and this is my friend Ethan. We'd like to report a murder." The Black Widow replied.
"A murder? On Hallow's Eve? Gosh, that's definitely a first!" The Marshal said.
"Excuse me Marshal, can I ask why are you wearing a clown suit?" Ethan asked.
"It's going to be a Halloween celebration tonight. The whole town is set for a party." The Marshal answered.
"Well this might change your personal plans somewhat." Natasha added.
After the body was placed in the doctor's clinic next door, Natasha gave a disappointed look at Ethan who nodded in assent. It didn't look like the law was going to be doing anything about this crime. In fact, Natasha hoped that it wouldn't be covered up for the sake of the tourist industry. The Marshal thanked them for reporting the crime and said that they would handle the investigation.
"Well, we did our best, might as well leave it to them for now." Natasha sighed as she and Ethan walked out of the police office.
"Yeah, well its not our job anyway. Now what do we do?" Ethan asked.
Natasha smiled as she handed the parchment over to Ethan. "I'll drop you off at the archaeological society so you can decipher this. I'll pick you up in an hour."
"Nasty, we were supposed to turn all the evidence over to the authorities."
"Do you honestly think they will do anything about it? Check it out. Then we make our decision on whether to tell the authorities everything or not." Natasha said as she pocketed the now empty scarab.
Ethan pursed his lips. "Okay, I agree. What are you planning to do?"
"Grab some supplies and buy Duncan his root beer." The Black Widow answered.
After loading up on some supplies from the general store, Natasha was disappointed that the storekeeper had run out of root beer. Not wishing to let down her little ward, she strode in next door to the local cantina. As she came through the waist high doors, she immediately regretted it.
The cantina was full of rowdy prospectors and drunken tourists eager to bring on the holiday spirit and revelry of Halloween. The smoke filled haze of tobacco smoke and alcohol was staggering. As she threaded her way towards the bar hoping she could get a can of root beer and depart quickly, someone placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. Natasha turned.
The hand belonged to tall man with slick black hair and a pencil-thin mustache. He was dressed in a long black trench coat that partially hid his flamboyant red tunic and knee-high boots. He seemed to be dressed rather extravagantly to be a prospector. Nevertheless, Natasha looked at his hand as if there was a bird dropping on her shoulder. The man removed it and smiled.
"My my. You are a sight for sore eyes lady. I haven't seen a good looking woman in these parts in a long, long time." The man said in a soothing baritone.
"I guess you don't go out much." Natasha answered as she kept walking towards the bar.
"But I do. No woman has ever stood up to my charms. My name is Jimmy but all the girls who see me once call me Casanova. By tonight I'm sure you will call me that too." The man gave a wicked grin.
"That has got to be the worst pickup line I ever heard. Now please get lost." Natasha kept walking. She didn't want trouble but she also did not want to look weak. Already there were others that were taking a notice to her.
"Unless you've got a man with you in this cantina sweetheart, I'd leave ASAP." Casanova said in response as she turned her back on him.
As Natasha finally got to the edge of the bar, she called out to the bartender. "Excuse me."
A scruffy-looking old man came over and leaned over the bar to hear her. "Yeah, what ya want?"
"A can of root beer please." Natasha said as another, rougher-looking hand placed itself on her shoulder. She turned and ended up face to face with a drunken prospector.
"Hey lady, you are beautiful. How about coming over to my place tonight?" The smell of alcohol was clearly in his breath.
"No. Now take your hand off before you lose it." Natasha said.
"Lady, it wasn't a request." The drunken prospector's eyes flashed an impulse of violence that the Black Widow instantly detected.
Natasha knew that the drunk was primed for a confrontation and if she faltered, his friends that were leering beside him might overwhelm her. With blinding speed, she twisted the man's arm away with such force that he cried out and quickly threw him over her shoulder. The drunk smashed into a wooden table that was occupied by four gamblers who got up in a fit of rage over their ruined game. The music stopped and so did the revelry. All eyes were on her now.
"Nobody does that to my friend." Another drunk took a menacing step forward towards Natasha.
The Black Widow reacted just as she was conditioned to; she quickly made a kick to the man's forward kneecap and quickly followed with a hail of devastating blows from her fists and elbows to his shocked face as she closed in. A split second later, the second man dropped to the ground, bleeding and unconscious. A few gasps and some cheers came from the crowd.
A series of loud claps came from Casanova. "Bravo! Tough and beautiful. Now here is a woman after my own heart."
Natasha did not want to take on the entire crowd so she began to make her way out. The drunk who fell on the table got up and ran towards her while unsheathing his knife. His rage and drunkenness fueled a murderous desire as he lunged at her with the blade. Natasha leaped back, feeling the knife snick across her lapel. Heat rushed through her body. Her nerve ends quickened in response to a scalding spurt of adrenaline. It seemed that the drunk knew how to handle a knife as he danced around, hoping to catch her in a vulnerable position. In a blur, he slashed again.
The Black Widow slammed the knife away and plowed the heel of her palm against the man's nostrils, feeling the cartilage crack. Although the blow was wicked, it wasn't fatal; it would be so excruciatingly painful that it would stun him for a few seconds at least. Natasha took advantage, delivering a rapid sequence of forceful punches and hammer blows- to the diaphragm, under the jaw and across the bridge of the man's nose.
The drunk went down.
Casanova watched in amazement. He almost intervened on the woman's behalf, but a strange feeling came over him and from watching her precise movements he knew instantly that here was a lady that should not be trifled with. She had an uncanny resemblance to the legendary Black Widow but he wasn't so sure. Whatever the case, she intrigued him.
Just as Natasha got to the exit, one of the gamblers whose table she had wrecked pulled out a pistol to shoot her from behind. Natasha whirled when she heard the click of the hammer, hoping she could make the first shot miss while bringing her own pistol into play. But as she scanned in that direction she was surprised to see the gambler dangle his gun in surrender as the massive barrel of a Sternsnacht heavy pistol embedded itself on her adversary's neck.
It was Casanova who aimed the huge pistol at the gambler's neck. "I like her. So do me a favor. If you want to stay alive tonight, drop your gun."
The gambler did. Casanova laughed as he drunkenly staggered forward and blew a kiss at Natasha with his free hand.
"Thanks." The Black Widow said.
"Don't forget this." Casanova leaned over the bar and threw a can of root beer that she instantly caught.
"Thanks again. I guess you'd better get going as well." Natasha added as she walked out.
"Don't you worry about me babe, I can handle myself." Casanova burped out an alcohol-filled haze.
"You're so drunk I bet you're even seeing me double." The enraged gambler snarled as he drew his own knife.
But the gambler was horrified as Casanova pulled out a second Sternsnacht heavy pistol from the folds of his coat. "That's why I've got two guns. One for each of you."
The gambler dropped the knife as well. Natasha suppressed a grin as she got back to her jeep and started the ignition. The Black Widow had a feeling that she was going to see that Casanova character again.
Meanwhile, Several hundred kilometers away, along Erebor's many coastlines, little Duncan stared at the waning sun as he waded along the warm surf. A few hours had passed since Ethan and Natasha took off to deliver the body of the woman to the authorities. He had hoped that Natasha would come back soon and that the situation would be resolved so that they could get back with their holiday. Duncan's school term would start again in a few weeks and he had hoped to be here awhile longer to enjoy the sun and the warm waters. But then he discovered the body and now they might have to go back home again. The little boy frowned as he thought that it would be such a waste to have to go home now.
As he started wading back towards the campsite to where his older brother Kieran was, he noticed something on the water's horizon. It seemed to be a black speedboat and there were men with black robes riding on it. They were apparently trawling for something out on the surf. Duncan stopped and placed his hand over his green eyes as he squinted passed the dying rays of the sun in order to get a closer look.
"Duncan, Come on back!" Kieran called out from the campsite, waving at his younger brother to get back there.
As Duncan turned around to acknowledge his older brother, two black-clad divers surfaced from beneath the water beside him and grabbed the little boy. Duncan cried out for help as the divers began to haul him towards the approaching speedboat.
"Duncan!" Kieran screamed. The little boy was several hundred meters away and he would not get to him in time to stop those men from taking the boy.
Kieran quickly ran into the tent and grabbed a rifle that he had prepared earlier on in the afternoon in case there would be trouble. As he leapt out of the tent hoping he could get a clear shot at the men who were kidnapping his brother, Kieran was immediately tripped over by a short oriental man dressed in black who then kicked his rifle away and thrust an open palm onto his exposed throat.
Kieran wheezed as he fell onto the sand. The oriental man towered over him as the pain in his throat became even more intense. He began to choke.
"The boy is ours, you tell your friends that we will exchange him for the scarab." The oriental man said, placing a hand-held communicator beside him. "We know you have it. Either return what was ours or you will never see him again."
As Kieran finally blacked out from the pain, the only other thing he could remember was the bone-white death's head pin on the side of the oriental man's collar.
