In the last chapter, I mentioned how politicians are frequently the targets of conspiracy theories, and one popular one I mentioned was accusations of being "the antichrist".
What IS the antichrist? Well, it's supposed to be the evil counterpart to the Messiah, an offspring of Satan and a mortal woman, who hides among humanity, eventually gaining an influential position, until he can plunge the world into sin and evil, eventually bringing about the apocalypse. And not to demonize one religion over any other, but such accusations are usually made by a member of a branch of Christianity, as other faiths don't accept Jesus as the Messiah.
So, if you're a member of a fundamentalist Christian group and there's a politician or other celebrity who you absolutely hate because he promotes ideas that you think are evil because they defy the laws of God, well, just call him "a candidate for the antichrist" (make sure you leave it indefinite) and maybe someone will listen. It's pretty common these days.
Trouble is, there's no such thing.
The Bible makes no mention of such a being. The word "antichrist" is indeed mentioned in 1 John 2, as someone who either denies that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, or both, OR abandons Christian teachings and becomes an apostate. The Book of Revelations makes no reference to one; in addition to Satan (who appears as a seven-headed dragon) the demons include the Beast, Apollyon, the False Prophet, and the Whore of Babylon. No anti-Christ.
In truth, while the idea has been used for centuries, it likely became popular in modern times because of Hollywood. The horror movie The Omen probably cemented the image in the public's head with the evil child Damien Thorn. (And very few people know that "Damien" is the name of a Saint, but seems to have been irrevocably stained by the movie and associated with evil ever since.)
There are half-fiends, of course, but the rare times one is born to a high-ranking member of Lower Planar hierarchy, he or she prefers the much more promising job opportunities in his fiendish parent's realm. Probably the closest thing to a real anti-Christ. The son of Graz'zt and a mortal sorceress, Iuz is an iron-fisted tyrant who ruled an empire on another world. But he doesn't intend to stay there; his goal, much like Squarefoot, is to achieve godhood, and he's already partially divine as it is.
In short, conspiracy theories like this start out as lies meant to fool the gullible. After all, if the son of the Overlord of Hell were to have such a motive, he wouldn't want to become such a public figure. A devil's usual MO is to do things covertly and in secret, out of the public eye.
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Chapter Twenty-Three
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Murder by the Numbers
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"Think faster Emily!" urged Ferdinand.
"I'm trying!" replied Emily. "This is a hard one!"
What does man love more than life,
Hate more than death or mortal strife,
That which contented men desire,
The poor have, the rich require,
The miser spends, the spendthrift saves,
And all men carry to their graves?
"Drawing a blank here… Nothing comes to m…"
Then she stopped, suddenly. She took the pen, and wrote the word "NOTHING" on the parchment.
To her delight, the door started to lift. She and Ferd ducked under and started running, down a marble hallway.
"Yes!" she said, as he high fived her.
"And I think they gave up," he replied. "We're home free!"
They ran about two hundred feet to the end, where a stone door blocked their way. A metal plaque was in the center.
"Hmm…" said Emily. Again, she started to read.
"Should you come to pay your respects to the honorable rulers of the Shantari Empire who rest here in peace for all time, the Keepers of Maagardium bid you welcome.
"But should you come to rob and defile their graves, you will find only death and damnation here, for grave robbers will pay with their lives and their very souls."
"Heh, heh…" Ferd laughed nervously. "We aren't grave robbers… Are we?"
Then the door slowly lifted with a loud creek.
Slowly and carefully, they walked inside.
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Now we must rewind the clock several hours, and return to that yard in Paris, where Cattivo Fanciullo had arrived, last he was mentioned here.
It was strange the way the mind tended to wander at the strangest moments, but as Fanciullo looked down at Tranello, face-down in a puddle of his own blood, a memory suddenly popped into his head.
A year after he had hired him, Tranello had somehow convinced him to go with him to see a movie. He couldn't remember the name of the movie or even what it had been about, only that halfway through Tranello had burst out laughing and it had been the most ridiculous noise Fanciullo had ever heard, like a congested donkey.
It hadn't taken long before he had started to laugh as well, which had caused Tranello to laugh even harder, until the two of them had been thrown out of the theater. But now, all he could think of was how he was never going to hear that laugh again.
Dimly, as everything started to go red, a small voice in the back of Fanciullo's mind tried to tell him that he had a gun trained on him, and this was no time to be rash.
The rest of him simply didn't give a shit.
"You... fucking... CUNT!" he screamed. He had ducked into a roll before Hood's finger had even tightened around the trigger, dodging the initial spray and came up with a Glock pistol in each hand. There was no time for accuracy, he simply emptied both clips with an inarticulate roar, the sound mixing with Hood's own shriek as she was riddled with bullets and slammed against the wall.
As she hit the ground, the sound of spent shells hitting the ground snapped him from his bloodlust. Forcing himself to rein back the urge to reload and keep firing until Hood was a bullet ridden grease stain, he approached her slowly as he reloaded.
But when he was there, she wasn't. Her clothes were lying on the ground, full of bullet holes, but there was no-one inside them.
"Nice shooting," said her voice from behind, accompanied by a loud click. "Drop em, by the way."
He turned around quickly, and Hood was farther away now, apparently having replaced her set of clothes with a new one and gotten another assault rifle. She tossed something at his feet; it was an ivory statuette shaped like herself, but crumbling and soiled.
He recognized it… The focus of Contingency magic. Shooting her must have triggered something. Or some things…
He took a deep breath and dropped the two pistols and lifted his hands slightly. This wasn't over yet, but… As much as he hated this young woman, now that he'd calmed down, maybe he could learn something.
"Why?" he demanded,
"Why what?" asked Bonnie. "Why'd I kill him?" She shrugged. "That's what I do."
Good, good, you're talking… he thought. Keep talking until you let your guard down so I can strangle you… Maybe let something slip too…
"Keep your hands where I can see them," she warned, lifting the weapon threateningly. He complied, and she smiled again. Seeing the odd look he gave, she went on.
"You ever go to a hardware store Mr. Fanciullo?" she asked. "Ever see how so many products have the word 'professional' on them?"
"WHAT?" he shouted.
"Seriously," she continued. "You've got your 'professional safety goggles', 'professional strength rust remover', 'professional grade car polish'…"
Then she laughed a little.
"I was in one house and garden place the other day, and saw one that really made me laugh. It was called 'Farmer Phil's Professional Fertilizer'! Professional dung that's what it was! If you don't want to use amateur-grade manure in your garden, just pick up the some of the professional cow turd.
"You see, the companies that make this stuff want you to think that professionals use them, and that if you use them, you'll get the same results as professionals. Tends to bring to mind the old story about a guy who tries to fix something by himself to save money, and only makes it worse. If he's lucky. People often end up in the hospital after trying do-it-yourself plumbing jobs.
"Uh, you listening?"
"Hanging on to every word…" replied Fanciullo. It was clear now that someone had paid off the police somehow or done something else to prevent them from coming. Why else would they not have responded to gunfire by now? Not that he really wanted them to be here.
"Long story short," continued Bonnie, "if you really want professional work, you have to call a professional. And you have to make sure it's the right professional.
"You wouldn't go to a butcher to buy flowers any more than you would go to a florist to buy hamburger. And the same goes with killing. You have someone you want gotten rid of… Get a professional."
"You're a hired gun?" he asked. "Tell me, do you like your job?"
"Love it," she replied with a nod. "It's like my mom always said, 'Bonnie, if you want to put bread on the table you gotta do the job that fits you best'. And this is what I do best."
"Does your mom know you're doing this?" asked Fanciullo, who was angrier than ever.
"Are you kidding?" asked Bonnie. She lifted the weapon slightly. "Who do you think taught me to do it in the first place?"
Fanciullo might have been dead a minute later, had he not recognized the look that appeared in her eyes when she said "kidding". It wasn't widely known, but when one sentient being is about to assault another with murderous intent, a unique look appears in the potential killer's eyes, a primal and feral look that likely dates back to primitive times when humans were still savage. In any case, it meant, "I'm done talking; now I'm going to kill you."
Of course, word hadn't gotten out for the simple fact that most of those who saw the look didn't survive. He didn't doubt Tranello had seen it… He saw it right before she killed him. But Fanciullo had led his own syndicate so long that he'd had numerous attempts on his life and survived them all, and to have seen the look enough times to recognize it quickly.
Which is why he had about a four second running start by the time she opened fire, running towards the stone wall that marked the border to the yard and managing to leap over it as rounds of hot lead started to fire from the weapon.
But he wasn't running away. Not for a second. As he landed on his behind, he drew a third Glock 17 from his coat (like the Boy Scouts, he believed in being prepared) and crouched behind the wall as the firing continued… Then stopped.
There was dead silence for a minute. She was either waiting for him to stand up or coming for a closer shot. His finger tensed on the trigger. She had the more powerful weapon, it would all depend on who was a better shot…
Then he heard a loud clicking noise. He recognized it… The assault rifle's magazine…
She's reloading… he thought. Now's my chance…
He stood up and spun around in one motion, firing three rounds. But to his surprise, Bonnie was running in the opposite direction now, down the avenue away from the Arc.
"Oh, you don't get away that easily…" threatened Fanciullo.
Of course, he knew that she was likely leading him into something, but he'd worry about that later.
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Apparently, Emily's previous statement that they were looking for a vault and not a tomb was a little premature.
The two of them were in a large, gothic crypt, a carved stone relief in front of them before an altar with two headstones. To each side of the large chamber were five niches, ten in all, each with a plot and two headstones. A pedestal with a plaque was in the center.
Ferdinand turned on his flashlight and shined it on the pedestal, reading the Supernal text: "Here in this hallowed ground under the watchful eyes of the Ancients, the mortal remains of eleven rulers of the great Shantari Empire and their consorts are interred for eternity."
Below that was an odd insignia, a shield with a golden fleur-de-lis in the center.
Emily shivered. "I kinda feel like a grave robber just being here."
Ferdinand read the text on the map that Addams had given him slowly. "Here we go… The boss says that the folks who came back reported the entrance to the vault being among many 'decoy' entrances, the decoys rigged with traps."
He looked around. "Maybe it's like that movie, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly," he mused. "One of these graves is a fake with no body."
He carefully walked to the altar and shone the light on the two headstones. The one on the left had Ronan the Great inscribed on it below that same odd crest. The other headstone had Treva of House Gryphon on it, below a different crest, one with a golden eagle's head.
He dug into the satchel and looked for the book again.
"This guy was the founder of this Shantari Empire, it seems," he said. "And this was his consort…
"Questions about cemeteries can be tricky," muttered Emily. She looked to the ones to one side. "You know the old 'Who is buried in Grant's tomb?' one?"
"Ulysses S. Grant, I'd assume," said Ferdinand, with a sigh. He moved to the other side, the left of the room. The first set of graves belonged the Ambar the Blessed and his consort, Brietta of House Peryton. Again, the crest with the fleur-de-lis was over his name, while a crest with a stag's head was over hers.
"Actually, no," replied Emily. "Most people think that's the answer, and you're supposed to question it because it seems so obvious. The true answer is 'nobody'."
"I don't get it," replied Ferd.
"Ulysses S. Grant and his wife may be interred in Grant's Tomb," explained Emily, "but in above-ground sarcophagi. Thus, nobody is buried there."
"Just tell me what those ones over there say while I check these," he replied. "I think I see what these crests mean. The one with the fleur-de-lis was the symbol of the united clans of the Shantari Empire, but the individual clans had crests, which go on the consort's headstone.
"Okay, let's see here," said Emily, peering at the headstones on the right-hand wall. "Terrance the Builder and Lucinda of house Minatauros …" She moved to the next one. "Ambar II the Merry and Morgana of House Phoenix… Ronan III the Patient and Alice of House Unicorn…"
She moved to the second to last one.
"Pentar the Terrible and Victoria of House Unicorn…" she said. She stopped. "FERD!"
"WHAT?" he shouted. He ran over to her, thinking she might have tripped something.
"Calm down, calm down," she said. "This House of Unicorn crest… Well, look at it, then look at Alice's over there…"
He bent down and looked, and saw that the crest on Victoria's grave didn't appear to have a unicorn on it… Just a regular horse's head. Then he looked at Alice's… That was a true unicorn, no doubt.
"Hold on a minute…" he said. He skimmed the pages in the book. "No wonder..." he said. "Victoria was executed for adultery. I think back then something like that meant annulment. And he remarried…"
"Then why…" started Ferd.
Ferd slowly put his foot on the stone slab in front of that tombstone, and put pressure on it. As he expected, it was loose.
"This is a fake grave!" he said with a grin. "It was all a matter of finding out which one didn't belong…"
He got down on his knees, felt for the edges, and sure enough, there were two spots where his hands could fit under. He lifted the slab up, slowly…
"HA!" he laughed, as he pushed it aside, showing a vertical shaft underneath with a ladder. "Piece of cake! And to think Addams thought a bunch of things that couldn't even see were dangerous."
That's when the alarm went off.
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Meanwhile, at Shadowchaser Headquarters, Judy was snoring on the couch in Jalal's den in his manor house, a pizza box with two crusts left on the coffee table in front of her. Jalal himself was trying to type again out of a need to keep his mind occupied, but he had barely written a paragraph since the crisis started.
"Mr. Stormbringer?" said Dolores' voice from the computer.
He hit a few keys, and a second screen came up with her face. "Go ahead."
"Well, we've managed to analyze Domino as much as we could, and it was difficult," she started. "At first we didn't know whether to bring him to the morgue or the evidence locker.
"Anyway, he was actually the easier one to figure out. Do you know what a clockwork swordsman is?"
Jalal rubbed his chin for a minute. "Rings a bell somewhere…" he said.
"Well, it was sort of a fad back in the Renaissance," continued Dolores. "Especially France and Spain. Back then, some wizards were experimenting with alternatives to golems, and came up with these very human-like constructs were made using clockwork technology, gemstones, magic, and the skill required of s Swiss watchmaker."
"Ah, yes…" replied Jalal. "The old mechanical swashbuckler… As skilled – and as melodramatic – in a swordfight as Errol Flynn."
"Indeed," replied Dolores. "You might say this was the ancestor of artificial intelligence. They weren't as strong or durable as a golem, but not as stupid or clumsy either. Clockwork swordsmen had human intelligence and personality, plus the ability to fight and make decisions on its own.
"Most importantly, they had manual dexterity. Some could even learn to play musical instruments, like the harpsichord or lute."
"An elegant type of construct," muttered Jalal, "from a more civilized age…"
"Ah, yes," said Dolores, adjusting her glasses. "Anyway, this was why Domino was able to use a pair of revolvers, pilot a D-Wheel, use playing cards… A standard golem would lack the motor skills for such tasks even if they were intelligent. Domino was more or less a clockwork swordsman with a modernized look and style."
"So no-one else has tried to build them since the Renaissance?" asked Jalal.
"Well, some wizards in the modern age have tried to build them," she responded, "but as you saw, even one requires a fortune in gemstones and precious metals to build. These days, standard golems are more economically sound. Even the warforged are easier to mass-produce. Then there was the same reason that plate armor became obsolete."
"Firearms…" mumbled Jalal. "Armor was too expensive and bulky for something that offered no protection from guns…"
Dolores nodded. "And a clockwork swordsman would be destroyed by them pretty quickly," she added. "Not worth the expense…"
"Meaning we're dealing with someone with pretty serious resources…" sighed Jalal. "Lovely…"
"Well, the big surprise was his D-Wheel," continued Dolores. "This I've never seen before. It not only had no Momentum-powered engine, it had no engine at all."
Jalal stopped typing and looked at her. "So it… it was a clockwork device too?" he asked.
Dolores nodded. "Jabels asked if it could be powered by being 'wound-up'… It isn't even that. It's magical, but I think the enchantment was just something that made controlling it require Domino's presence. I can't understand how it works myself or even how it starts, but… If I didn't know better, I'd say whoever built this this thing was capable of creating a perpetual motion machine."
"Stranger things have happened…" replied Jalal. "Let's just be grateful that, for all the work that went into Domino and his D-Wheel, he wasn't the best of duelists…"
But I'd be a fool to think there aren't others… he thought to himself. One does not waste a fortune in gems and such a miraculous device on this sort of thing, unless one considers them easy to make…
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It took all the willpower Fanciullo had to keep his patience as he pursued the assassin through the winding back alleys of Paris. That and the fact that she obviously wanted to make him angry. Angry and careless. His suspicion that she was leading him into something had turned into a near-certainty.
Every few minutes, she slowed down, then darted around a corner. Fanciullo had to slow down himself, wary that she was waiting to ambush him each time. Each time, however, she was far down the lane or alley, either looking at him plainly, or giving him that sweet smile again. He had gotten a shot off once, but he hadn't even come close to hitting her.
Eventually, as he turned the corner, he saw her rush towards a manhole – that was oddly enough, left open – and leap down below.
Oh, very clever, Red, he thought, but I can be cleverer…
He reached inside his jacket, pulled a pair of fancy, gold-rimmed sunglasses out of an interior pocket, and put them on. Then he leapt into the manhole after her.
He landed with a splash in water up to his calves as a foul smell hit him. But he had smelled worse. He spun around…
And as he expected, Bonnie, wearing night-vision goggles, was aiming her weapon at him.
He was faster. She shrieked and dropped the weapon as he fired four rounds, hitting her in the chest four times and knocking her over…
He lifted the gun and looked at her. She was down.
Contrary to what you see in movies, the inside of these sewers were dark. So dark you wouldn't be able to see your hand in front of your face. Bonnie obviously knew that, but was counting on him not to. But he did. And the sunglasses were enchanted with a simple abjuration that made them even better than the night-vision goggles she was wearing.
Fanciullo pointed the gun and slowly approached her. He realized there was no way she could have two Contingencies cast on her at one time; those spells weren't that powerful. At least he had never heard of such. This time, he was almost certain it was really her lying there.
And as much as he didn't want to do this to a lady, he had to finish it the proper way, and make sure she was dead with a bullet to the skull; a lot of amateurs had made the mistake of not doing that after shooting someone from a distance. He had no doubt that she knew that was the right way…
Slowly, he looked at her, moved her face-up with his foot, and then held his foot against her chest. He aimed…
Then he noticed something…
No blood? he thought.
Then he shouted "OOF!" as her fist slammed into his groin as she shoved him off, knocking him on his back into the filthy water.
"Think that hurts?" she said with a snarl, as she got up, holding her torso. "Fifty euros says my gut hurts worse…"
"You're on…" he groaned. He looked up as she got to her feet and ran in the other direction.
Shit, he thought. Figures… Bitch must be wearing Kevlar…
He picked up his gun and stood up, then dropped the old magazine and slammed a new one into it.
I'll just go for the head shot right away next time…
Then he heard a snickering sound echo through the tunnel.
…just hope there is a next time…
He looked around.
"Game of hide and seek, eh?" he called to her. "Seeing as you like fairy tales so much, Bonnie, I should tell you, I've read the originals…"
"Yeah, yeah," said Bonnie's voice, echoing through the tunnels. "I discussed that with your friend Tranello already."
He turned quickly, pointing his gun at the shadows.
"Not just Little Red Riding Hood," he responded. "Frau Trude is one of the lesser known Grimm Brothers stories, and it ends with the witch turning the protagonist into a piece of wood and throwing her into a fire. I suppose that's why it's 'one of the lesser known' ones."
He stopped and listened for a minute.
"The Robber Bridegroom had a happy ending, but it had more in common with slasher movies than Disney ones. Jack and the Beanstalk seemed to have a happy ending, until you realize that Jack was a thief and then a murderer before the modern versions gave him a valid reason to oppose the giant, which he never had in the original.
"You know, I remember one pleasant little tale…"
He turned again, aiming the weapon. Where the hell are you? he thought. Then he continued talking.
"See, there's a beautiful, but very cruel princess who offers a challenge; she'll marry any man who can best her in a three-day game of hide-and-seek. The catch is, if a man challenges her and she finds him even once…" He made a slashing gesture across his throat."…off with his head."
He smiled as he turned around, listened again for a minute, and then went on.
"Of course, she cheats, using divination magic to find her opponent… Rather useful, wouldn't you say? She's the type of person who likes building up someone's hopes only to crush them.
"So, one guy is actually able to find a genie who can help him, so he challenges the princess. The first day, the genie turns himself into a fish, and hides the guy in his mouth. The princess can't find him. The second day, the genie turns himself into a bird, and hides the guy under his wing. Again, the princess can't find him.
"On the third day, this guy is feeling pretty confident, and the princess is getting frustrated. She really doesn't want to lose and have to marry him. The genie digs a hole under the floorboards of the princess' lounge and hides the man there. Again, the princess' spells can't do the job, and the guy can hear her growing increasingly angry as the third day is nearly up.
"Then, out of frustration, she throws a tantrum, and stomps her foot down, breaking through the floorboard over where he's hiding, and…"
"Olly, olly, oxen free!" screamed Bonnie's voice.
He could have sworn she dropped from the ceiling. Before he could get a shot off, the gun flew from his hand, landing in the water behind him, but he was able to grab hold of her wrists, keeping the Bowie knife she was holding away from his face…
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Compared to the rest of Maagardium, the corridor that Emily and Ferd were running down now was rather straightforward. Stone, lit by torches, and they could clearly see their goal up ahead, a decorated circular bronze door. Still, they could hear the clicks and chattering of those things as they came down the steps from the tomb behind them.
"How… How do we open this?" shouted Emily.
"Don't panic…" said Ferd. He looked to both sides. The he saw a switch on the wall to the right, in the up position.
He threw it down, and sure enough, the door rolled open, sliding to the side rather than swinging outwards or inwards.
How convenient, he thought. As Emily ran inside the vault, Ferd waited, looking back and forth as it rolled open.
"Hurry up!" urged Emily. "They're…"
"Right behind us, I know!" he replied. He slowly counted down from three to one, and when the door was just over halfway open, pulled the switch down again. The door started to close, and he gave a strong pull on the switch, snapping it off. Then ran for it, slipping inside the opening...
He made it in, just in time to hear a scream of pain. They looked at the door and saw that the door had slammed on a xill's arm.
"We should be fine for a while," he said. He leaned against the wall. "They probably have another way to open it, but I doubt they can get to it for a while…"
This was certainly a vault. Precious things were all around, almost all of them art and antiques, many of them made of precious metals and inlaid with gemstones. There was also armor, weapons, and musical instruments, along with strange items that were clearly magical, but with purposes that could only be guessed at.
But there was one thing that was out of place, which made Emily give a small shriek of surprise. In the middle of the floor was a khaki shirt and jeans, a pair of shoes, and a pair of sunglasses. Around it was what looked like the contents of a dozen tubes of Elmer's glue that had long since dried out.
"What…" said Emily.
"Stay away from it…" replied Ferd. "Let's just get what we came for… Should be in there…"
He was pointing to a cabinet with doors made of the same bronze metal, but was otherwise rather plain-looking.
"No problem," said Ferd. He opened the cabinet.
Inside were several valuable looking items that resembled expensive paperweights and conservation pieces. A small silver orb in a stand, a golden pyramid, a sparkling gemstone shaped like a teardrop, and other curiosities…
On the top shelf were five small pegs. Four of them held gears that were about eight inches in diameter, made of a white metal, each with a different rune on it. The peg in the middle was empty.
"Small problem…"
Emily bent down over those clothes and started to search them while Ferd quickly took those four gears. He fished a mobile out of his pocket.
"No luck, Ferdinand," she said.
"Unbelievable…" he said, as he started to dial. "I think this is an emergency, right?"
He quickly took drew a cord from the map device and plugged it into the mobile, then punched in a code. He put his ear to it and waited. "Come on, pick up, pick up…
"Boss? It's me. Yeah, we're fine, but there's a problem. Only four of them are here…" He looked at the odd remains. "I think someone's been here before… Somehow…" He listened. "Uh, yeah, remains of sort, clothes and some goo. Dried goo. Uh huh… Yeah, Emily just did…"
Emily looked up as he continued to listen. Then he made a tired sigh.
"Right, okay…" He hung up, and then stuffed the four gears in his satchel followed by the device. Then he started digging in his pocket again.
"Good news first, Emily. We get to blow this taco stand."
"And the bad?" she asked.
Ferd looked at the second half of the Maagardium Pass. "I'll get to that later…"
He crushed it in his fist, and the portal started to open again.
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"You're pretty strong, fellah," said Bonnie, her cute smile never wavering as the struggle continued. "What are you under that disguise anyway? A troglodyte? An illithid? A scaly, smelly, disgusting thing like The Creature from the Black Lagoon?"
Fanciullo let out a scream of pure rage as he delivered a kick to her mid-section, and she flew backwards.
"I really liked that movie…" he muttered under his breath.
Bonnie looked up, and a light appeared overhead as a scraping noise indicated that a manhole cover was being pushed to the side. She picked herself up and dashed towards it.
"Oh no you don't!" yelled Fanciullo. He reached for his weapon, only to remember he had dropped it.
No matter… he thought. He ran after her, determined to use his bare hands if he couldn't do it any other way…
But then, a rope was dropped from above, and she grabbed it, as what was clearly a mechanical device pulled her up.
"I'd love to stay and play some more," she called after him. "Still, you've been a real good sport..."
"Bitch…" he cursed.
"Back at ya, hotshot," she said, as something was tossed down the manhole.
What… he thought as it landed in the water with a small splash. Oh… crap…
Five seconds later, the street above shook from an explosion as three other manholes were blasted off…
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Six hours later, it was midnight, Florence time.
In Fanciullo's manor, in Tranello's rather unkempt office, Nitro was looking through files on the internet while Uomo was talking to someone on the phone. Vincenzo was snoring on a couch nearby, Amare was disassembling a rifle, then reassembling it, then assembling it again (it helped him think) while Drago was reading something he had taken off the shelf. (Well, pretending to read it; it was in Russian, which he couldn't read.)
They had no idea what to do right now except wait, seeing as Tranello was in charge when the boss was gone.
"Well, fellahs," said Nitro, "neither of them have been arrested or admitted to any hospitals, at least not under any pseudonyms I know of…"
"Maybe we should…" started Uomo.
There was a loud slam as the whole manor shook from the front door closing. Vincenzo woke up suddenly, and everyone froze.
Amare slowly opened the door to the office. "Uh, boss…" he said.
It was indeed him, wet, disheveled, his clothes torn, and a terrible smell following him. He looked up and briefly, Amare saw his true eyes. They made him shudder.
"B-boss… are you…" stuttered Amare.
Fanciullo motioned with his hand. Amare slowly walked out, and the other henchmen looked on.
"Amare, bend over…" said Fanciullo, quietly.
"Boss?" asked Amare, leaning over.
Then the much smaller Shadow belted him in the face, and he crashed against the wall, leaving a large crack in it.
"AGH! What was that for?" he shouted.
"Nothing, I just needed to punch someone…" replied Fanciullo. "I feel better now, thank you…"
"Uh… You're welcome?" said Amare, as Fanciullo walked past. The other henchmen shrank back shivering, only for him to motion again, this time to Nitro.
"Don't please…" begged Nitro.
"Get on the computer and hack into Interpol," ordered the mobster. "One of you other goons go find someone who can make coffee. I'll be showering and changing while you do that. We have a hired gun to find."
"Boss, are you hurt?" asked Uomo.
"I'm in much better shape than Tranello is," he replied with a long, tired breath.
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At around the same time, in the Copek main office.
Emily was leaning against Ferd, trying to stay awake, while Addams was glaring at the man who had called himself Mack, his clothing completely unchanged from the way it was when Philip and Sofia confronted him in Darkspine. He was holding and examining the four gears, a frown on his face. Not that he ever smiled.
"This is troublesome," he said. "The device won't work without all five…"
"Yeah, well, someone stole it before they could, fellah," said Addams, sounding more than a little sarcastic. "Now it's been a long day, my employees are kind of tired after doing what you wanted, so can we call it a night?"
Mack didn't answer, but put the gears down and looked at Emily. "Ms. Cynder, come here."
Emily groaned, and stood up.
"Listen, you, I've never liked this," said Addams, angrily standing up. "The human memory isn't something you can just copy and paste! How do I know a mistake won't fry her brain?"
"I am not going to 'fry her brain'," said Mack, in a slightly annoyed tone.
"Look, if you're going to scan someone's memory, can't you at least scan mine instead?" protested Ferd. "I was…"
"You were there, true," interrupted Mack, "but she touched the remains."
He touched Emily's temples and she closed her eyes.
"It will take but a few minutes…"
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"You gotta be fucking kidding me," said Vince, his voice starting to waver. "Tranello is dead?"
"Afraid so, Vince," sighed Fanciullo. The mob boss had showered and changed into a clean suit – he'd eventually have to burn the old one – but it would be a long time before he'd truly feel better.
"Well, I have the Interpol universal suspect database," said Nitro. "Can you describe this 'Bonnie' character?"
"Female, Caucasian, blond, with ringlets, blue eyes," started Fanciullo.
"Ringlets?" said Drago, with a funny look.
"…I'd say about five-foot-one, seventeen years old or maybe a little older, and she was dressed like Little Red Riding Hood."
"Little Red Riding Hood?" said Drago, again with the funny look.
"Oh, and she had a basket with her," added Fanciullo, "which is probably the same deal as a Bag of Holding."
"Huh…" said Nitro. "This her?"
He turned the monitor, and it was her all right. It was a mug shot showing that same cheery smile, even though she seemed a little younger.
"That's her!" shouted Fanciullo. "I'll never forget that smile."
"She looks pretty happy for someone who's in jail," said Amare.
"Hmm, B.B. Hood…" said Nitro. "Real name unknown, age unknown (estimated late teens), place of birth unknown (presumed Europe, likely Germany), no known relatives.
"Good lord, look at this… Primary suspect in eighteen murders, person of interest in twelve others, wanted for questioning in ten others… Motive in all cases believed to be gun for hire. Most are in Europe, but a few are in the States and Asia, and some of these go back four years…"
"Four years?" shouted Uomo. "She's been doing this since she was thirteen?"
"Uomo, you killed a man when you were twelve," replied Drago.
"Well yeah, but I didn't do it professionally then," replied Uomo. "Who in the world would hire a kid?"
"Lots of folks, apparently," interrupted Nitro. "The victims in these cases aren't typical. Look at this, we've got CEOs, government power players, a few people in show biz… Oh mio Dio! She killed Gordon LeBec?"
He cleared his throat.
"Easy to see why too. Says here she's skilled in the use of high caliber handguns and rifles, explosives, archaic weapons, martial arts, guerilla combat, is known to speak eight languages without an accent…"
"Okay, we get the idea, Nitro," interrupted Fanciullo. "Any idea who she works for?"
"Not a clue," replied Nitro. "It says here she doesn't even have a criminal record."
"Wait…" said Drago. "What about this mug shot?"
"Hmm…" said Nitro, as he started to type. "Says here she was taken in two years ago in Zurich on a trespassing charge, under the name Sally Hynes. A man claiming to be her father came in, and…"
"Let me guess," said Fanciullo, "he scolded her, threatened to spank her, she broke down into tears and apologized, the judge gave them a desk appearance ticket, and she was hundreds of miles away before they realized it was all an act and they had let a murderer go?"
He shook his head, but it wasn't like he could talk… He had often used the same strategy.
"A wolf in sheep's clothing," sighed Nitro. He leaned on his arm. "A cute and adorable face that hides the soul of a cold-blooded killer."
"Yeah, she's cute," growled Vince. He cracked his knuckles. "But that cute face ain't gonna look so nice when my cute fists get done with it…"
He started for the door, only to stop when Fanciullo shouted, "VINCE!"
"B-boss?" The devil swine turned around.
"You will do no such thing, Vincenzo," said Fanciullo. He sat down on the couch. "You, and your cute fists, are staying right here."
"But," started Vince.
"That's staying here too!" snapped his employer.
The much smaller Shadow stared at the larger one for a minute or two.
"That bitch murdered Tranello…" growled Vince.
"And she will pay dearly, as will whoever hired her," replied Fanciullo. "But you're too involved…"
He leaned back on the couch, and put his hands behind his head.
"You haven't been here long enough to know about the fall of the Rigolletto Syndicate," he said. "They controlled the underworld of Rome for years, and for a while, they were the ones who were telling the rest of Cosa Nostra how it was done.
"But then things went bad. One of Dominic Rigolleto's lieutenants, who will go nameless, ratted on another one of them, the usually competent Angelo Vitti.
"Angelo was released on bail, but looking at ten to thirty, and he wanted nothing more than to stomp a certain rat. His boss warned him not to try it, to leave it to someone who wouldn't be so impulsive.
"Angelo didn't listen. He tried to go after the rat himself. What happened?
"Well, now Dominic is the one doing time. Angelo, on the other hand, checked into the wooden Waldorf. Dominic's son took over the gang, and turned it into a living joke. No-one takes them seriously anymore. And as for the rat? He's somewhere growing fat on the best cheese the government witness protection program can provide."
He got up.
"I'll decide what to do after I sleep on it, but you're staying out of this, Vincenzo. That's an order."
They all watched as he left the room. Then the devil swine roared, and slammed his fist into the wall, making a dent in it.
"You know, Vince, the boss is right," said Drago.
"Shut up," said Vince. "All I know is, my gut tells me…"
"That's you're problem, big guy," interrupted Uomo. "You think too much with this…"
He hit the lycanthrope in the stomach.
"…when you should be thinking with this."
He pointed at Vince's forehead.
"I suggest you learn start thinking with what you're supposed to think with, fast!"
Nitro shut down the computer, and then yawned. He and everyone but Vince, who leaned against the wall, shambled away…
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Mack finally released Emily, and she groaned a little, holding her head.
"Interesting…" said Mack. "A Keeper…"
"Wha…" said Emily.
"You and Ferdinand may leave now, Ms. Cynder…" said Mack.
Emily rubbed her eyes, not knowing what to make of this. Ferd held her by the shoulders.
"Come on, let's go before he changes his mind…" he said.
"Come on, I'll drive," said Ferd. He put his arm around Emily and she leaned on him a little. Her poisonous cocktail had worn off a while ago, which was the equivalent of coming off a very big sugar rush. That, combined with Mack's 'scan', had made her ready to collapse."
"And take tomorrow off," called Addams, after them. "I insist."
"Yes sir, boss," grumbled Ferd.
Addams waited to hear the front door close before he turned to Mack. He so much wanted to tell the guy "Thanking them for risking their lives to get the Sector Cogs would have been nice."
But he knew better.
"So…" he muttered, "did that accomplish anything?"
"I don't like your attitude, Mr. Addams," said Mack. "The ichor and clothes were clearly the remains of a Keeper. We can assume that the Origin Cog was taken by a group of them who lost one member in the process. "
He placed the four gears on the desk.
"Keeps those safe. Pinpointing where the rest of the dead one's company went shouldn't take long."
Addams picked up the four gears, and when he looked up, he was alone. Mack was gone.
"Maybe you'd like me to have them polished?" he growled.
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Three AM, Eastern Standard Time. Tuesday was over, and it was early Wednesday.
Sofia stumbled out of the kitchen, still unable to sleep. Even worse, someone had taken the last donut. Still, she made sure to get the actual milk this time.
Not knowing what else to do, she sat by the computer and logged on to her account.
"You've got mail!" said the familiar voice.
Sofia smirked a little, and clicked on the mailbox icon.
"Huh?" she said. "Mr. Jabels?"
She clicked on the message and read:
Dear Ms. Witt,
When you asked for help in finding Mr. Lupin, I said I'd do my best, and I intend to follow through. By the time you get this message, a package should be at your door. It contains something that we acquired, and an explanation as to what it is.
Mr. Stormbringer suggested using it to negotiate with Mr. Lupin should he try to contact you again. But off the record, well…
The oath I took as a Hand of Pelor is very much a formality these days, but traditionally, one of the tenants in it was to defend the bond of pure love at all costs.
Such an oath may be nonbinding these days, but I still took it.
- M.J.
Sofia was actually holding the package as she read the last sentence, having run to the door and grabbed it after reading the second. Then she reread the whole letter.
She thought about that restaurant in Atlantic City. Then she read the letter again.
Wasn't that what Friar Lawrence was thinking? she thought.
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Jemorille: Tuesday was over, but it was questionable whether most of the parties involved in the terrible day could sleep soundly. Sunrise would bring a new day, and both the Fanciullo Syndicate and the Shadowchasers knew that an enemy was at hand… But they would try to prepare to find and face that enemy as best they could.
Next chapter:
That strange girl who gave Fanciullo that journal hadn't disappeared, but where was she? She was still a target of some mysterious enemy, possibly the same one, and there was more to discover. And just who was Ferdinand? Where did he come from and what was his role in this?
"Only the Good Die Young" is coming soon.
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Shadowchaser Files
Meenlocks: Predators Cursed by the Lord of Lies
Shadows often frighten their children with stories about meenlocks, and ones who explore the outdoors often tell scary stories about them around campfires. Ugly man-shaped creatures, thin to the point of anorexic, with horrid splotches covering their skin, these nighttime predators are said to hunt, kill, and devour intelligent beings purely out of a malicious nature.
Indeed, the meenlocks are an actual race, and it would seem that they are truly wicked creatures. While one meenlock isn't much of a threat – although they are stronger than they appear – they tend to hunt in packs, and usually by ambush, targeting lone victims, rather than groups. Their most common tactic is to attack from behind by strangulation, using a garrote or knotted cord.
Some believe that meenlocks are cowards who would never stand and fight someone face to face. They're only half-right. They can fight, but they are cowards, always ganging up on one foe, using knives that are envenomed, and using dirty tricks whenever they can, like flanking an opponent or attacking him from behind when he's engaged with a group in the front. They're also known for rigging traps like deadfalls and snares; indeed, making use of minimal resources is one of their strengths.
The most horrid thing about them is, it is rumored that they don't kill some victims right away, but keep them alive as long as possible, because they lack any means to store leftovers. Those who have tried to hunt down the meenlocks often find that the pack has moved on, but the remains of their victims are left behind, and usually suggest that the fiends prefer intelligent prey above all else. Animal bones are almost never found with what they leave behind.
It's rare for meenlocks to speak to other beings, much less explain their history, but a tome in the Library Arcanum sheds some light on it, and reveals that as horrid an ordeal it may be for one of their victims, the meenlocks themselves are descendants of a wretched folk who were tricked into a pact with an archdevil, and whom now detest their own existence.
In ages past, or so the story goes, possibly on the homeworld of Shadow, possibly our world, a dangerous plague broke out within an isolated human community. The terrible ailment wracked the mind as well as the body, causing panic and rage to erupt among the citizens, causing arguments to erupt into fights, then brawls, and then riots that caused houses to burn. When all seemed lost, they all heard a soothing, gentle voice in their minds.
"Your gods have abandoned you," said the voice. "The spirits of nature now shun your town. In your hour of need, I alone hear. I alone heed your pleas." This apparition proposed a bargain to the suffering town: In exchange for their fealty, they'd have access to an unlimited supply of food, and the plague would cause no more deaths.
Whether they even had the means or the desire to discover the true nature of the would-be savior is unknown; even if they knew that it was Beelzebul, the Lord of the Flies, they might have been too desperate to care. In any event, they agreed to his terms, and became the first of the meenlocks. They did not die from the plague, as he had promised, but were instead cursed with leprous boils and lesions, plus a gnawing, endless hunger that made them gaunt; living symbols of a the devil lord who embodies decay.
Worst of all, they found that the food they ate before tasted like sand. In search of the endless supplies that Beelzebul had promised, they found that only the flesh of sentient beings could sustain them.
Story Ideas: Shadowkind and humans who know about them think the meenlocks are little more than nasty, dumber versions of goblins who happen to be cannibals. For the most part, that's true, but a few meenlocks can be awfully clever. They hate their former "patron" with a passion, and the rare times they might ally themselves with another villain is when said villain also has a reason to hate Beelzebub. (And there are more than you might imagine.) Some villains might promise to undo their curse or even help them gain revenge on the archdevil, but such promises are usually empty.
Meenlocks are a reminder that bigger isn't always better, and they exist as small reminders of just what the repercussions can be from mortals foolish enough to make deals with such creatures. They make great foes in dark forests, sewers, ghost towns, large basements; take a scenario like Predator, just make it a pack of small hunters instead of one big one, and if you can convert it into part of a story, you'll get the feel right.
Lastly, while not likely to duel themselves, it's not a stretch that some cards might be made with them as a theme.