Dragons over england, p.27
Dragons Over England, page 27
That night, the Night Walker flew alone.
CHAPTER 3 Full Moon
There was a new full moon out. It was my lucky night as I knew I'd have three or four days of perfect hunting time.
The easiest place to start was the docks. Just like the Demon Queen, another ship from Orrorsh must have docked there a few days ago. One of the passengers was the Ghost, and it shouldn't be too hard to figure out which.
I used to break into the Harbor Master's offices almost nightly. We had a game we played. By this time, everyone in town should have known I was back in action and I wanted to see if he remembered.
The lock I picked in three seconds. I grabbed a long stick, and ran it through the handle of the door. As I stood to the side, I pulled the stick in just the right way to unlatch the door.
With a spring-loaded crash, a very sharp iron spike shot through the glass. Head height and rusty, it was very nasty indeed. I had won the game again. My advantage was brains, guts, and experience. His was that he only had to win once.
Inside the filthy office was the usual collection of old smut magazines and empty whiskey bottles. The files were organized in the same crazy manner, and the whole place smelled of rotten fruit. A trash can overflowing with apple cores finished the picture. Some things never change.
The only ship that fit the bill arrived three days ago. After eliminating all the women, I was left with twenty-two men. Normally, I wouldn't have skipped the ladies, except for the fact that the Ghost is notoriously chauvinistic and most decidedly male. Fourteen of the passengers were using their return tickets, leaving only eight one-way tickets from Orrorsh. Three of those tickets were "under 18" special fares, their holders far too young to have made the kind of reputation the Ghost had. This left me with five good leads. It was time to head downtown to visit my friend the Chief Inspector.
Old Smiley's office was the third one from the right, two stories down. His light was on, as always. Making my usual entrance, I leapt in through the open window and somersaulted into the center of the room. This time, however, I didn't get any laughing applause. This time, someone was pointing a gun at me. Someone big, fat, and Egyptian.
"So, Mr. Hot Shot," he wheezed sickeningly, "I see you've decided to drop in and welcome London's new Chief Inspector personally. Well, thank you very much. But next time you do that, I'll shoot first, introduce myself second."
"Cut the crap." I decided to play it tough. "I need some information, and I'll offer you the same deal as I had with Smiley. You help me out, and I'll help you out. You let me collect what I'm looking for, and you get to keep the criminal in your jail and take the credit."
"I like those terms, alright, but right now you've got nothing to offer. I'll need something before you get your information, Night Walker."
He put down the gun and sat back in his chair. It groaned in dismay.
I played my card. "What would you say if I offered you the Ghost?"
The cigar he had just placed in his mouth never got lit. It was drooping slightly from his fat lip.
"The Ghost, huh?" His cigar dropped into his lap. "You mean the thief from Orrorsh?"
"He's in town, and I've got five names for him." I showed him the list.
He looked over the names and reached for a pen. He started scratching out one of the names.
I reached over and grabbed the paper before he was finished. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?"
"You only need four names, Mister Gentleman Detective. Number Five's downstairs. Want to see him?"
"I certainly would. What's he charged with?"
The chief laughed evilly. "Oh, nothing yet. We're just holding him ... for questioning."
We headed downstairs, into the wretched dungeon they called a jail. The rats ruled this place, not the town guard. I drew all sorts of stares as I moved through the building. Hell, half of these men weren't even born when I was in my prime.
The chamber we arrived in was cold, wet, and smelled of death. The chief pointed to a dimly lit room ahead.
"He's in there. Let me know if you learn anything from him."
When I entered the room, I realized with horror what "downstairs" had meant. Lying on a slimy stone slab was the dismembered remains of my suspect number five. Even from yards away, it was obvious that the poor man had been ripped to shreds by some horrible beast or beasts.
Even worse, behind me I heard a half-dozen men draw their swords. As I turned, I saw the chief standing behind his newly-arrived guards. I had been double-crossed.
"Night Walker," the chief began, "you're under arrest on suspicion of murder. Surrender or die. You have five seconds to lay down your arms."
I had been set up in the worst way. He didn't really suspect me of murder, but just holding me for a while, without bail, was certain to be my death sentence. If the prisoners didn't get me, the guards would. Guess somebody lost the difference between the good guys and the bad guys during the past few years.
I wasn't sure why he wanted me dead, but I suspected that his replacement of Smiley hadn't been a friendly one. Maybe he thought I was partial to the old fool, or maybe he wanted to hold a kangaroo court for the sake of his political career. Maybe he thought I was going to start cutting in on his action in the area. Maybe he was up to something crooked he didn't want me to find out about. In any case, he had something to prove, and this was the way he wanted to do it.
So what did I do? Went on the offensive, of course. I threw down a couple of smoke bombs and ditched back into the morgue room. I reintroduced myself to my dead friend and got an idea.
When the guards arrived, they got an eyeful of terror. A mangled arm and a rather chewed up head were flying towards them, seemingly with a life of their own. As I tossed the parts, the men scattered, and I cut through the middle.
"You asses," yelled out the chief of the asses, "he's invisible again! Get out here and cut him off before he gets away."
I whispered "Too late, lard ass," in his ear as I grabbed his smoking cigar. He spun around and swung wildly as I dropped the cigar down his pants.
The guards were still readjusting their undergarments as I headed up the stairs. On my way out the door, I heard the scream of a man whose biscuits were burning.
Revenge is sweet.
CHAPTER 4
Suspicion
On my way back home, I had a lot of time to think. The death on the ship might have been sheer coincidence. After all, someone had done a much nastier number on that guy in the morgue. But the fact that the poor guy was also on my list was certainly nothing I could ignore. Someone — or more likely something — else was after that necklace. And whoever or whatever it was played for keeps. When I reached home, I had some new questions for Miss Sylvia Selene.
She was sleeping in my bed.
I had asked Dongo to put her there just in case the murder on the boat wasn't a coincidence. Not only was the highest part of the tower the safest part from the outside, it was also a sneaky way of keeping my clients where I, or my trusty sidekick, could watch them. She was radiant in the light of the full moon. Her perfect complexion glowed a soft pale blue.
As I stood in front of the open window, my shadow crossed her face, and she stirred. She must have recognized my silhouette, for she showed no sign of fear.
Smiling, she asked, "So, do you want your bed back, or can we share?"
Normally, I wouldn't have said a word, but there were some things I wasn't quite clear about, and the lady had some of the answers.
"We'll see, Miss Selene. I need to ask you some things about the murder tonight."
She seemed hurt. "Now it's 'Miss Selene' is it? Well, I'm not hiding anything. What do you want?"
She straightened up in the bed, pulling the thin sheets around her. I moved to the other side of the room and pulled up a chair. With the help of the full moon outside, her words were made true: she was hiding very little. I paused for too long a moment.
"Well?" She asked petulantly. I recovered my composure quickly as I remembered the evening's events.
"Tell me more about Mr. Van Cliven."
"Is that it? Jealousy? Please. The trip was long. I was bored. He felt good. That fat inspector who came on board when we docked wouldn't get off my case about Michael either."
"That's it?"
"He was murdered in my cabin, for crying out loud! I was the one who ... who found him. I was on deck the whole time. I swear. I swear."
She broke down and started crying. Something in the pit of my stomach started to relax. With a flash of insight, I understood the connection. I moved over to the side of the bed and put my arm around her.
"I'm sorry, Sylvia," I began feebly. "Another man was murdered tonight, just like Mr. Van Cliven. He came in on the boat with the Ghost. I didn't see the connection."
She stopped crying for a second, "What . connection?"
"Van Cliven. His death wasn't a random stroke of chance. For some mysterious reason—something to do with your necklace I would guess — that monster was looking for you in that cabin."
She started to cry again. "But I didn't even have the necklace! Why did Michael have to die? You see? Every time I love somebody, they end up going away."
She wrapped her arms around me and I tried to undo the damage I had wrought. It would serve me right if she chose to hire someone else.
Instead, she looked up at me with those big blue eyes and said only "Help me."
As she gently lifted my mask, I did not resist. When she saw the shade of my skin, and how it glistened in the moonlight, she did not stop. And when she planted those ruby red lips upon my own, I succumbed.
As we made love like two demons possessed, all I could keep thinking about was Michael Van Cliven, and what always happened to anyone who chose to love Miss Sylvia Selene.
CHAPTER 5
Modus Operandi
I always wake up long before my women. After you've woken up even once with a dagger at your throat, you learn to sleep light. While Sylvia slept off one hell of a long night, I headed downstairs to begin a new day's work.
Dongo gave me that "not again" look, and I snarled convincingly back at him. He never liked anyone coming between the two of us, and he knew what kind of effect women have on me. He says I lose my edge. I say I just lose some sleep. This time he had no grounds to worry — I hadn't felt this good in years.
"Dongo, make a copy of this list. Just the four remaining names — the last guy was eaten last night."
"Eaten?" gulped Dongo.
"Yeah. Jugular slashed. Guts devoured. Flesh shredded like grated cheese. You know, eaten."
I love the look on Dongo's face when I gross him out. He had seen worse in his many years of faithful service, but to him, hearing it said was always worse than light Walker seeing it first hand. An overactive imagination, I suppose. As he walked out of the room, I could not help but love that silly little dwarf.
Sylvia surprised me by coming down the stairs seconds later. She was wearing only the black shirt from my costume. It was barely long enough to cover her. As she planted a soft kiss on my cheek, Dongo returned, threw my copy of the list on the table and started heading for the stairs down.
"Dongo. You take the first two. I'll get the second. Report to me at midnight, okay?"
He was out of sight by the time I finished giving him his orders, but I heard an affirmative grunt nonetheless.
As Sylvia straddled me in my chair and lowered herself on my lap, we decided to make a late morning of the day.
I left Sylvia cleaning up in the kitchen, as I headed out to check the street gossip about the murder. I locked the door behind me, just in a case the monster didn't only hunt at night.
The street always has the best information. The guys who are too scared to work over during the night in my Night Walker guise are always easy to talk to during the day, when I am disguised as a mild-mannered elf with a little too much curiosity. I always keep myself armed and wear my non-trademark magical items for safety, however. The thieves trust me completely, a relationship I have maintained for decades.
I needed to find out about the Ghost and whether or not he had a monster or two on his payroll. Naturally, the place to start was London.
It didn't take long to find what I was looking for. The monster apparently made quite a lot of noise, and a nasty mess as well, placing that body I ran into on the slab in the morgue. The attack had taken place right out in the open. Dozens of ogres, trolls, humans, — even town guardsmen — stood by while a huge wolf ripped a man to shreds in the heart of Hyde Park. The wolf was over six feet long and five feet at the shoulder, if the witnesses had exaggerated by the usual amounts.
Apparently, the beast appeared at the entrance to a pub across the street, and moved in quickly on its intended victim. Even when the man escaped into the street, and the town guard attempted to step in, the beast had only one thing in mind. The supernatural wolf effortlessly knocked down creatures five times larger than itself during the hunt. When it finally caught the poor devil, he was mercilessly torn limb from limb. Curiously, unlike most canines, the wolf tore out his groin first, then ripped off his arms. Only after the man's screams had mercifully ended did the beast tear out his throat and chew off his head. Surely, there was calculated method in this madness.
So now I had a better idea of what I was up against, but I still knew nothing about the Ghost.
One of the four remaining men on my list was this beast's master, and Dongo was already out watching two of them. I had a fifty-fifty chance of nailing the bastard myself tonight.
By asking around, I learned that one of the men, a mercenary by the name of Milo Grethan, was entirely too young to have established himself as a major criminal figure. In fact, his home base was here in London, and he had only just returned from a prolonged vacation, having purchased a one-way ticket for both his trips to and from London. On the other hand, my remaining suspect showed much more promise.
Nobody knew much about Mr. J. P. Stogh, as he was certainly not from around London. A graying merchant in his late 50s, J.P. was a man who was not only old enough, but rich enough to have been a successful thief for the past few decades. Better yet, he made quite a point of establishing the fact that he had "magic" for sale at his rooms. While that is certainly a profitable trade, it is also a shady and dangerous one. Changing into my costume, I decided to pay Mr. Stogh a visit.
The Great Griffin Hotel was both ritzy and expensive. Invisible, I needed but one glance at the register to know where to go. As I proceeded up the stairs, I noticed that every floor was appointed with linen closets, standing coat racks, and individual request boxes next to each and every door. A quality establishment to be sure.
As I reached the third floor, the cleaning lady was moving from room to room, but she was moving in the opposite direction. Lucky for me, she must have already finished, which meant J. P. wasn't home this fine afternoon.
The magically protected lock took all of four seconds to crack. As the maid entered the last room at the end of the hall, I slipped inside. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark and colors are not represented well in dim light, so the gory scene had an almost psychedelic air to it. In all my years, I hadn't seen anything worse than this.
The walls were splattered with blood and brains, as if some horrible game of stickball had been played with the poor man's head. Mr. Stogh's memories and dreams were staining wallpaper traced with crushed red velvet. The monster was ahead 3-0 now.
I kept down my breakfast by sheer will alone, and found the rest of J.P. in the bedroom. He had been caught sleeping, of course, but there was no sign of forced entry. This puzzled me for many minutes, as I searched through the apartment. Even stranger, the place had been searched, methodically and professionally. Pillows had been slashed, chairs were overturned, and desk drawers had been emptied of their contents. Even stranger still was the fact that a number of relatively valuable items, including rubies, gems, and magical potions, were lying about untouched.
The beast had an accomplice, or more likely a master, at its side during the crime. However, because the blood was on the pillows but had not entered through the gashes in the material, I determined that the search had taken place after the murder, not during, or before. And the gashes were made by a blade, not by claws. I was beginning to get a handle on the Ghost's modus operandi.
Suddenly, a scream echoed behind me. As I turned, I saw the maid collapsing in the hallway. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. However, I wasn't invisible at the time, and I was pawing through the place like I belonged there. Also, I'm pretty easy to identify in a line-up — always a drawback of having a costume.
In the old days, I could have talked my way out of it. But I no longer had friends among the town guards, and now I even had enemies.
A criminal would have killed the woman while she was lying down. A criminal would have escaped and left no witnesses. A criminal would have been able to get out of this easier than a good guy. Shame I'm one of the good guys.
I ran out of the door as half a dozen rent-a-cops came charging up the stairs. Where were these overpaid pencil pushers when one of their guests was being ripped to shreds? I knew the roof exit would be locked, and to pick it would require precious seconds I did not have. I am not immune to bullets, despite all legends to the contrary.
The guards must have heard their now-invisible quarry come crashing down the stairs. They were not nearly as pencil-pushing as I had first believed. They all fired their guns and stabbed with their swords mercilessly.
Three of them were shot or wounded by each other, and my invisibility cloak was surely ruined; the coat rack lurking underneath fared no better.
Those precious seconds of confusion and friendly fire gave me the time I needed to pick the lock to the roof exit and don my spare invisibility cloak. Once on the roof, I leaped off, and glided down unseen amidst a gathering crowd of curiosity seekers.
As I passed among them, I realized I'd better check on Milo Grethan the mercenary — not to ask him questions about last night, or to find the missing necklace, but to warn him of his impending doom.
