Dirge Danorum

Chapter 6

It was a lot to take in. The man – or possibly boy – was strung up several feet off the ground. Wearing only a pair of slightly ridiculous boxer shorts, he was shivering noticeably. His skin was pale. Whoever he was, he was definitely on the small side. A blindfold covered his eyes, and he was gagged. A number of leads attached to his chest fed into a plastic tube that ran to the ceiling, then to a small cage. In the cage was a block of Semtex.

Beneath him was a solidly-constructed metal funnel, and a control panel. Some kind of arm with a blade protruded from the machine.

A door at the far end of the room was closed. It had no handle.

Ever immediately sank to a crouch, scanning the floor carefully. He was right, of course – the bound man drew the eyes, just like in the last room. It would've been easy to miss something with my attention focused on him.

Finding nothing that troubled him, Ever rose to his feet, and I glanced at the ceiling. It was just a ceiling. Dingy, but not concealing any tricks.

"I love a good puzzle," Ever said, moving closer.

"There's nothing good about this."

"True enough."

"You think he's all right?"

"He doesn't appear injured." Ever clasped his hands behind his back and looked on. I needed to follow his lead. Slow and steady would win the race. We didn't need to rush, as much as I wanted to.

The guy in the trap had tensed. He was listening to us talk. "Relax," I said. "We're on your side. Just keep cool."

"Right, then. Looks straightforward enough to me."

"It does?" I looked at the bizarre machinery and the hanging man. "What about this is straightforward?"

"Oh – ladies and gentlemen, I hope you're seeing this! A round of applause for the Goddess, turning all our expectations upside down since ten minutes ago. And the Old Timer too – he's more than just an ugly face, isn't he?"

I tuned Stan out and focused on Ever. "Come on."

Ever tapped the funnel. "There's a scale in here. When there's enough weight, the door will open."

"Weight?"

"Weight."

"But it's a funnel. What do we weight it down with?"

"Fluid."

"Like Die Hard?"

"What?"

"Die Hard."

"I don't follow."

"You know. Bruce Willis and Samuel L. Jackson had to do the thing with the water – they had to get the right water in the thing, so the bomb wouldn't go off? You don't remember? The third movie?"

"Clearly not."

"Where do we get the weight?"

Ever sighed. "I think we have an edge there – no pun intended. The fluid comes from this man. We operate this device, not unlike the games where you're conned out of your money with the promise of being able to pick up a plush toy with a sadistically ineffectual crane."

"Oh, like that – with the knife? I see. We bleed him."

At this, the tied up man started to struggle.

"Oh, do stop it," Ever groaned. "We're not going to do it."

"We're not?" I shook my head. Of course we weren't.

"Think, Mist – we're supposed to be here without equipment. Probably without clothes. That would make either our blood, or his, the only possible options. Even if we had boots or clothing, we wouldn't be able to use them, because the funnel is so narrow."

"But what have we got?"

"Our canteens, for one."

That was a good thought. We both emptied them into the funnel. Nothing happened. "Not enough."

"No." Ever considered the problem. He was patting himself down. "But we're not limited to fluid. There's more – the weight required can't be too substantial. You see that explosive? If his life signs stop, they'll detonate. We're meant to slit him up, but not too much – we can't kill him, or we kill ourselves. And to do it with that robotic blade – you know, I think that'd be quite nerve-wracking. I'd be uncomfortable trying to precision-bleed someone with a scalpel. But with that? Outrageous."

"Uncomfortable?" I said, raising an eyebrow. He didn't hear me. He was holding his CZ 100. I caught on. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yes, I'm wondering why my luck is so poor."

"What do you mean?"

"Look. The diameter of the funnel. Your cartridges won't fit, but mine will. I have to disarm. You don't have the option."

"Oh."

"And why do you carry such a weapon? Freud?"

"You're just jealous."

He ejected the magazine from the CZ and began to thumb out the bullets, feeding them into the funnel. I thought about small things that I had, and didn't come up with much. Just like Ever said, .44 cartridges were too big. We'd both left our bags behind, so all we had was what was in our magazine holders. Or rather, what Ever had. It wasn't much. His last bullet went in, and nothing happened.

"This isn't fair – how much blood could they expect a shrimp like this to have?" I demanded. "What do we do now, spit in it?"

"Let's try to think of something more dignified." Ever paused, turning to look at the door. "We may have gotten ahead of ourselves."

"How do you mean?"

"Suppose we do provide sufficient weight – the door will open. But our young friend will still be trussed up here. Only half of our problem will be solved."

"I see what you mean. Then how does he get out?"

"He doesn't. After we carve him up, obviously he's going to bleed out completely, hanging that way. Presumably we escape the room before he does, because then the explosives go off. If we make a bad cut and he dies, they go off. He dies in every scenario. They don't want him getting out."

"Well, we've got to disarm that bomb."

"Can't get at it. Even with knives, that's solid. They weren't taking chances. They'll have a unique tool that's absolutely necessary to get it down."

"Unique tool?"

"Like – not unlike the principle of a tire key."

"Ah." I nodded. "Okay, well – you want a unique tool? I'll show you a unique tool." I walked over, reached up, and took hold of the cage with my right hand. I squeezed. The metal folded in my hand like it was wax. I tore the entire fixture out and threw it aside. It clanged loudly to the floor, sending up some dust.

Ever gave me a peculiar look. "What's she been feeding you?" he asked finally.

"Can you fix it or not?"

"Of course I can." He flicked out a knife and stepped past me, reaching up. It only took him ten seconds or so, and he had the little bundle in his hand. He eyed it for a moment, then set it down on the floor. "That's one threat eliminated. We can cut him down safely now."

We did so, and took away his blindfold and gag. It was hard to believe, but I was looking at another Asian in the Zone. I can tell you, that's something I didn't expect to do. I mean, you see a black stalker from time to time – but it would've been easy to convince me I was the only guy of oriental descent in the whole Ukraine.

"You got any water?" the little man croaked. Ever and I exchanged glances. We'd just emptied our canteens into the machine.

"No," I replied. "Sorry." We'd wasted our bullets and our water for nothing.

"Don't talk. Just follow us. We'll get you out of here," Ever said. Then he raised an eyebrow. "What are you still doing in the Zone? I thought you were dead or gone."

The little man licked his lips and shrugged. "Yeah," he said.

"Venge, Mist. Mist, Venge."

I took off my upper armor and gave it to him. We were indoors. My thermal would be enough. I wasn't going to give this guy my pants, though. Velvet's spare fatigues would probably fit him pretty well. Actually, they'd be loose on him. I focused. "We still aren't out of this room," I pointed out.

"Indeed." Ever went over to the door and tapped on it. "Solid." He put his ear to it. "Nothing overt."

"Can we try to force it?"

"I doubt it. There are probably countermeasures in any case."

"But you have an idea."

"Of course I do." He stepped to the right, looking at the wall beside the door. Ever rubbed at it with one gloved hand, and dust fell away. "It's crumbling."

"So?"

"So, there will be a trap on the door, but not on the walls, and the walls are crumbling." He pointed at the Desert Eagle. "Use that to put a hole in the wall. We'll use that to blast through." He pointed at the explosive.

I pulled out Lunch Box and hefted it. He was a right. If the wall was as crumbly as it looked, the .44 would be more than enough to put a nice hole in it. Enough to wedge the bomb in there and detonate it without killing ourselves. Venge covered his ears.

I lifted the pistol and fired three shots, feeling no recoil to speak of, but halfway deafening myself.

"My word," Ever said. "I should get one of those. Really puts the fear of God in you."

"…ladies and gentlemen, White Knight and Black Knight going way outside the lines, coloring all over the page, adding people to their party, shooting up the building, doing it big, and we love it, folks. After that little trick, I see Black Knight as the new favorite, beating Goddess by a touchy twelve percent…"