CRESCENT OF STEEL AND DARKNESS

Chapter 6

As the white-draped figure swept into the basement prison, a black-draped one, smaller and less erect, followed silently. Martin was bewildered: Why has he brought Lexi Duhaine here? If this had something to do with her drawing of him…if some sort of punishment was coming up, would it be possible to talk their way out of it? Not likely…

The old man came up to his captive, inclining slightly to address him. Martin saw the beginnings of a smile – a cold, triumphant one, no more inviting than the earlier scowl. "Prepare to see something that will astound you!" he promised. "You Westerners are always boasting about your powerful communications technology; now I will show you the ancient powers of my people. Next to this, all your televisions and cell phones and satellites are mere toys!" He waited for a response; with none forthcoming, the smile turned downward, and he switched attention to Lexi. "Prepare the mirror!"

She didn't look at either man as she knelt at Martin's side. In her right hand she held a tiny bottle; as both watched, she unstoppered it, cupped her left, and poured a puddle of ink into its hollow. As Martin wondered what this could possibly mean, he heard the order: "Now look. Look well, and believe what you see!"

There wasn't much else he could do. Sitting up and positioning himself as best he could, Martin fixed his gaze on the tiny black pool soiling the young woman's hand and tried to imagine why. Above their heads the master of the place had opened the old book and began to read the Arabic in a low, rapid monotone.

Just as the prisoner was ready to defy the ridiculous command in a spasm of bored exasperation, something happened – what, he couldn't exactly say. But the smooth black surface, while still black, was something more; there was an image in it, some sort of reflection forming. As he watched, it resolved into the reflection of a room – and not this room. Clear as print, he saw a warren of cubicles, desks, men and women seated at computers or striding on errands; in a space barely an inch across, somehow he could discern scale and detail worthy of a movie screen. "My God," he couldn't help exclaiming, "that's the FBI office!"

"Quite right," came the gloating answer. Without looking at him, Martin could tell the triumphant smile was back and wider than before. "Can you see your team there? Desperately searching for a way to find you – and failing?"

He peered closer, still more curious than afraid, and scanned the tiny image for tinier faces. He recognized them: colleagues from the Fraud and Organized Crime units, over there the Special Agent in Charge hurrying toward something, all utterly unaware they were watched…but four faces in particular were missing. "Uh…no. They're not there." His sudden sense of relief was only partial.

"What!" The old man glared down into Lexi's hand, and was not at all pleased to agree with his prisoner. "Hmm…" He consulted the book out loud again. The image shimmered and was replaced with another, a room full of white tile and shining steel surfaces. It took Martin a moment to identify it as a crime lab. Two young people in lab coats conferred earnestly at the heart of the image: an intense blond man in glasses and a striking young woman, her long dark hair even darker against the white of her coat. Martin wondered why he was being shown this.

From the old man's irritated glare at this new surveillance, he might have been wondering the same thing. When he recited again, his voice was noticeably sharper. This third view was of a tall iron gate, behind it a forbidding brick building and in front a few parked cars. Nothing moved. In answer to a fourth command, the last image only faded away, leaving the flat black surface of a tiny puddle of ink in a woman's hand.

"What is the meaning of this? Where are they?" The book shook in his hands; sunken black eyes flared with anger at Lexi Duhaine.

"How the hell should I know?" she snarled back, matching him rage for rage. "You're the great and terrible wizard. I'm nothing but a goddamn pedestal here!" She flung the ink in a black splash to soil the floor and climbed to her feet slowly, the folds of her abaya impeding her. "Can I go wash my hands, already?"

Her blast of anger seemed to help him control his. He considered for a moment, then dismissed her with a nod. "Go." A cold dark gaze turned on the chained man. "I have something far greater to show him."

XXXX

Thick steel bolts slid back on the vault door; it swung open on near-darkness rich with a mix of domestic aromas. Before the new arrivals could see any details, they smelled beef and tomato sauce, rich cigar smoke, an acrid note of litter-box…then their eyes began to catch up with their noses. On the table near the middle of the room, the half-empty bowl, or vat, of spaghetti bolognese had to be about two feet across; a quart-sized water goblet was next to it. Someone – or rather, something – was sitting beside the table, pushed away as if just finished. Its – his? – left hand held a freshly lit cigar; resting in his lap was a right hand easily twice as big, with room in it for a litter of kittens to tumble and play. All talk ceased; the loudest sound in the vault was the soft mewing coming from between the immense fingers. The seven strangers stared in utter bewilderment; Manning and John were content for now to let them stare.

He looked up from the kittens to his speechless audience. Was that a shifting of shadows on somewhat humanoid features, or was the being smiling? Still silent, he stuck the cigar in the corner of his mouth and gently lowered the kittens to the floor, letting them roll happily onto the carpet. Once they were safely clear of his immense booted feet, he stood up.

It was hard not to recoil at the sight. Looming up before them was some sort of thing that stood almost seven feet tall and must have weighed well over three hundred pounds. Where loose, well-worn khaki shirt and trousers did not cover the huge and muscular form, the skin was a ruby-deep red, from the flat stumps that must have once been horns on the forehead to the end of a long, twitching tail. As if to tease them by showing off his hands, he rested them on his hips: on the left one of red-skinned flesh, of a size fitting the rest of him; the right hand seemingly surfaced with crimson stone and far, far too big even for such a giant body. Golden eyes, small and probing in deep sockets, seemed to take the measure of each of them. He basked in their incredulous stares for close to a full minute, and finally was the one to break the silence. "Well?"

There was another brief, astonished interval as they realized the unprecedented being before them had spoken. Somehow, Don Flack was the first to respond. With a nervous catch in his voice, which was much quieter than usual, he managed to ask, "Are – are you…what you look like?"

He took the cigar from his mouth; the thin smile widened in the crimson face. "A federal employee? Yeah, I am."

A wave of answering smiles and even chuckles spread over them as the tension of first contact was broken. And now Jack Malone, who had been paralyzed in place with wide eyes and frozen tongue, stepped forward to the front line of the group and entered the unearthly thing's private territory. He didn't sound fearful or tentative at all. "I've been hearing the rumors and stories for years, but never thought that one day I would be privileged to learn the truth about the Bureau's oldest and most intriguing legend." He strode right up to the creature and extended his hand. "It is truly an honor to meet you, Special Agent Hellboy."

The great stone hand reached forth and enveloped Malone's fragile one of flesh – but with a gentleness that could have balanced an egg. "Nice of you to say so. And you can call me Red, if you like that better."

All the visitors were all coming closer, eager to meet and even touch him themselves, as his BPRD colleagues stayed back to watch with a certain satisfaction. Agent Danny Taylor almost stepped on a kitten in his eagerness, but caught himself in time. "So all those wild stories were true after all." Eyes now wide with wonder instead of fear, he reached tentatively toward Hellboy's head, aiming at the flat remains of the horns. "May I?"

To the surprise of all seven of them, the great scarlet other drew back a step. "I'd rather you didn't." He presented the stone right hand to Danny. "You're gonna have to settle for this."

"Be glad to." The young agent accepted his handshake. "But I have to ask: Those horns must have been really something. Why'd you cut them off?"

Behind the group, Tom Manning winced and John Myers looked very worried, but Hellboy responded calmly and with his own rough grace. "If old Joe Stalin had fondled part of your body when you were only a little kid, you'd have cut it off too."

"Depends on the part," Danny answered with a grin.

Hellboy grinned back. "You're all right, kid. What's your name?"

"Yes, we really should introduce ourselves." Vivian Johnson stepped forward to do so for the Missing Persons team. Hellboy seemed especially intrigued by the fourth one presented to him. "Agent Sam Spade?"

"That's right," Sam replied proudly. "You could say my mom was quite a judge of aptitude. Can I pick up one of your kittens?"

"Sure, as long as you're gentle. I can tell that won't be a problem for you." She smiled at him as she raised a tiny tabby bundle, and he turned his attention to the three remaining strangers. "You guys aren't with the Bureau, are you?"

"No, sir. NYPD." Stella Bonasera did the honors. "Detectives Stella Bonasera and Mac Taylor, CSIs, and Detective Don Flack."

"Nice to meet you. You guys do great work. With the way you dissect every crime scene in town, I'm amazed you haven't caught me yet."

"Thank you, sir," Taylor replied. "I for one won't be so quick to dismiss the Weekly World News from now on!"

"The New York Times, on the other hand…" Flack added waggishly.

They all got to laugh again before Manning stepped in. "It's good to see everyone getting along so well, but we've got to get to that briefing and there's someone else to meet before we do…" Hellboy joined the group as they left his vault and headed farther along the corridor after Manning.

The next room they entered had a less forbidding door, but an even more bewildering occupant. The main furniture they saw was a vast aquarium, of a size to hold a large porpoise or small whale. It held neither. Inside the tank was something disturbingly like a man, with the proportions and limbs of a man, but otherwise unique. Its skin gleamed, sky blue striped with softer, darker blue. Spine, calves, and upper arms were trimmed with low fins, and unmistakable gills flanked the neck. Before the tank were placed four lecterns and four books; a young woman was reaching quickly among them, turning pages with practiced speed as the piscine being read them with immense ink-black, liquid-looking eyes. The page-turner looked around as the group entered, and a moment later the reader looked up from his books. The black-pool eyes, already bright with a devastating intelligence, flashed with surprise and pleasure. Below those eyes were two slim slits where a nose should be, and a stiff, lipless moue of a mouth.

Sam almost dropped the kitten she had brought with her. "Oh…my…God," she gasped.

The deep dark gaze touched on her. A slightly electronic voice came from a speaker mounted near the top of the tank as the little mouth moved. "I must admit to being almost as surprised as you, miss, but thoroughly pleased as well. I so rarely get to meet new people."

"Today's going to make up for a long stretch, Abe," Hellboy said heartily.

"So I see." He swam back a stroke from the tank wall, the better to take in the whole gathering. Manning had dismissed the young agent with a nod (Sam handed her the kitten to be returned to its litter), and only the lecterns obscured the piscine's view. He looked across their faces, taking in detail as if memorizing them, but when he noticed one in particular, he raised his webbed fingers in astonishment. If the awesome eyes could have widened, they would have. "My goodness! It's really him – really you!"

It took a moment before Malone realized just who was meant. "What – me?"

"Indeed! This is certainly an honor, sir." Obviously delighted, the creature Hellboy had addressed as "Abe" began to recite: "'Did ye see John Malone, wid' his shinin' brand-new hat/ Did ye see how he walked like a grand aristocrat/ There was flags an' banners wavin' high, an' dress an' style were shown/ But the best of all the company was Mr. John Malone!'"

Malone's face went almost as red as Hellboy's, but he recovered his poise quickly and tried to divert the subject. "That's got to be Kipling."

"Indeed, sir; the epigraph from 'The Solid Muldoon,' from the seminal collection Soldiers Three. And if I may be so bold, you've got to be the remarkable Special Agent whose Missing Persons unit has the highest case-closure rate of any such in the FBI!"

Behind said Special Agent, Detective Taylor was smiling. "Looks like there's more than one legend in the Bureau."

Johnson briefly switched her attention from the fish-humanoid to the criminalist. "And it's about time Jack admitted it."

Now John Myers stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Special Agent Abraham Sapien. He has some unique talents that we think will help us crack this case wide open."

"I've got a feeling," said Danny, looking at the four lecterns with their open books, "that one of them is a photographic memory."

"You got some smart feelings," Hellboy confirmed.

"Which implies that another of Agent Sapien's talents is encyclopedic knowledge," said Detective Taylor as he came closer and started reading the titles of Sapien's books. "Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology by Alfred North Whitehead; The Idea of Decline in Western History by Arthur Herman; not a clue as to what this is…"

His partner leaned in closer; her eyebrows arched up at the sight of the third title. "That's the Anabasis of Xenophon, in the original Greek! Cool. And this is…" The eyebrows went up farther as she addressed the thing in the tank directly. "The Jane Austen Book Club?"

"A delight, particularly once one is familiar with Miss Austen's complete oeuvre," Agent Sapien replied unflappably.

"Really." Bonasera looked again at the fourth book. "Maybe I should check it out."

"I recommend that in both senses of the word," Sapien said. "In his capacity of pick-up and delivery for me, Agent Myers has made himself famous at the Mid-Manhattan branch of the New York Public Library."

"Famous isn't the half of it," John agreed wryly. "The circulation clerks duck behind the desk when they see me coming with my handcart."

The director of the BPRD took that as his cue. "All right, John, we'll finish the introductions in the briefing room once Abe is out of his tank and dried off." He paused to wipe his wide brow with a handkerchief, and the others could notice that he alone did not seem relaxed or intrigued during these proceedings. "It's about time we get down to business…and a high-stakes business it is."

TO BE CONTINUED