Among the fallen, p.29
Among the Fallen, page 29
By the time dessert arrived the other diners had gradually filtered away and Omar looked around surprised to find they were the only patrons left. He’d already decided his interview with Simon Ryder would happen some other day, an eventuality that discomfited him not the least, and was concentrating on his espresso and fig tart when Jolene looked up suddenly and exclaimed, “Here comes our hunk now.”
Omar followed her gaze, reckoned her epithet was not inaccurate. A very tall, very dark, man approached their table, exuding a luminous presence that rendered previous company a dim and unconvincing approximation of intelligent human life.
“May I join you, Officers?” he inquired with stage politeness, like an actor in a play. His voice, almost two, at once through the ear and in the mind.
Omar detected something unsettlingly familiar about the intonations. Who else do I know who talks like this? But he smiled, pointed to a chair, “Have a seat Mister Ryder, and tell us about yourself.”
“That would be a boring story, Chief,” Ryder said, pulling out a chair and sitting, “I’d rather tell you about Barbara Battle.”
“Barbara Battle isn’t applying for a job in my department,” Omar said.
Ryder laughed a soft little bark, flashing a startling array of gleaming white teeth. His mirth hung in the air around him, more a feeling than a scent, but cloying as incense. “I’m afraid I’m not either, Chief, though the notion is tempting. The application was to get your attention. I can’t stay in your town much longer, but while I am among the Fallen, I want to be helpful.”
Before Omar could inquire about just who the Fallen might be, Jolene asked, “Helpful how?”
Ryder leaned forward, gathered them into his smouldering gaze, and made his pitch. “Barbara Battle presents a grave threat to your community. You will have to deal with her soon rather than late, and I’ve been sent here to assist you in that endeavour.”
“And just who has sent you on this mission of mercy?” Omar demanded.
“For now, let’s just say I’m an agent for another jurisdiction where Battle escaped custody. My job is to get her back where she can do no more harm.” Ryder said
Jolene spoke up, “What jurisdiction? State? National? Another country?”
“Not any country you’ve heard of, certainly,” Ryder said quietly. “The point is, I can help you protect your people from her depredations.”
Omar stared at the stranger across the table, wondering why, contrary to all reason and logic, his gut instinct was telling him to trust this mysterious stranger. “I think Barbara Battle has murdered at least one person since she’s been here, maybe more,” he said before the silence thickened to uncomfortable, “But I can’t prove any of it. Like my colleague said, just what kind of help are you offering us Mister Ryder, and at what cost?”
Ryder spread his hands suddenly, rippling the air visibly, as if it were liquid. “I’m not here to take anything from you at all, Chief Longshadow, except to rid you of that evil on the mountain out there. She has powers you can’t match. She won’t let you arrest her, even if you find proof of her crimes. You have no idea of the dark force you are dealing with here, Chief. I can make her gone for you.”
Omar regarded his dessert, his cold espresso and his half-eaten, slumped and deflated tart. A lunatic had spoiled what promised to be a rare pleasant evening with a woman he needed to know better. He cleared his throat, tried and failed to match the calm ferocity of Ryder’s gaze, “And you can match Battle’s supposed powers, Ryder? You can just waltz up Ravensbeak Ridge and disappear her for us, is that it? You some kind of assassin, are you? Maybe I should be arresting you.”
“That would be mighty inconvenient for both of us, Chief,” Ryder murmured. Only one of her own kind can deal with her.”
“What kind is that?” Jolene asked.
“She isn’t human,” Simon said. “She isn’t of your world. She was born outside your Stream. Her real name is Badb Catha and she is the oldest of us all. She is the Battle Crow, the First Dragon.”
“I’m glad we had a good meal first, Mister Ryder,” Omar said, “Just so the evening wasn’t wasted, but I’m too old for fairy tales.”
“Every fairytale is real somewhere.” Ryder spoke softly, his voice a subtle rumble down in his throat, “And Badb Catha is your reality here and now. That’s a fact.”
Fairytale or not, Jolene found herself half believing. “How do you know Battle is a dragon?”
“Because I share her lineage,” Ryder said. “I am dragon myself.”
“Show me,” Omar said.
Later, Omar and Jolene would wonder if all they saw next really happened, or if they hallucinated. When Omar voiced his challenge, the lights were suddenly dimmed by a sulfurous haze and Simon Ryder’s eyes flared like livid coals in a face morphing into an elongated reptilian head with a mouth that opened to disclose a fiery maw belching flames like a crematorium. They heard a roar that didn’t tremor the air but rose up from the depths of their terrified souls. Jolene opened her mouth to scream but found no breath within her to push it past her throat. Instinctively, Omar reached for his sidearm, only to recall he’d left his weapon locked in his desk at town hall. “I can’t digest my food properly if I’m weaponized,” He’d joked to Jolene.
The dragon towered over them, impossibly large, more than a room twice the size could contain. The two police officers stared blankly at their death and dismemberment, paralyzed, unvoiced. The terror that filled them left no space in their minds for any prayer or thought or will to flee. They could not summon even the motivation to close their eyes to their impending unbecoming as the dragon’s great taloned claws reached out about to seize and crush their life.
Then it was over. Not a cessation exactly, more an instantaneous shift, like a splice in a videotape. One second they were on the brink of being devoured by an unspeakable horror, and before they could even comprehend what was happening to them, the room was normal, the air clear, their unfinished desserts still on their plates, Simon Ryder sitting opposite them at the table, his apparently human hands folded in front of him as he gazed on them with a sad and cryptic little smile.
When Omar heard his heart still beating behind his ribs and finally remembered to breathe again, He glanced at Jolene, who was staring not at Ryder but toward the kitchen door. Abigail Trammell and Wendl VonTrier were standing there together, Wendl with a towel draped over an arm, striking a waiter’s pose.
“I love it when he does that,” he said.
Forty-Seven
Abigail brought tea made from a blend of herbs harvested from her garden, and poured cups for everyone. “This will calm our nerves and settle our minds,” she said as Wendl brought chairs and they joined the Tischgespräch.
“How did you make us see that just now?” Jolene asked, staring awestruck at Simon, as if she expected any moment he might revert to dragonshape.
He shrugged. “You saw me as I am,” he said. “That was my true form. This human appearance is a mental construct, projected for your peace-of-mind. It requires considerable expenditure of energy to maintain. There is a reason dragon love to hide in caves and forests, away from human eyes.” He gestured toward Wendl, “On the other hand, entities like my púca friend here, are true shape-shifters. With Von Trier, what you see is what you get.”
Wendl laughed, “Would you like me to demonstrate?”
Omar took a sip of his tea, surprised at the tastiness, took another before he said, “I don’t think I’m up to another transformation.” He turned back to Simon, “So you say Barbara Battle is a dragon we just imagine is human.”
“She imagines she is human,” Simon clarified, “And projects her fantasy into your minds. Dragon be telepaths. After all the effort she expended trying to burn down the county, she’s probably hard put to keep up appearances about now.”
“That explains this morning,” Omar said.
“You’ve seen her today?” Abigail asked?
“I tried. I went to ask her about her goons who attacked Dolf Thomas at his store. Priestly told me she was away. Yet I’m pretty sure I overheard the receptionist at the Guardian headquarters talking to ‘Mother Barbara’ on the intercom.”
“That’s good,” Wendl observed. “The old Battle Crow is still weak. We should make our move to remove her now rather than later.”
“We are ready, as well prepared as can be, at any rate,” Simon said
“So what happens next?” Omar asked. “You going to put on your dragon suit and fly up to Ravensbeak and take her out?”
“I would enjoy that enormously,” Simon answered. “Unfortunately, even if I could overcome her, a dragonduel would be terrible, scorching the earth and fouling the air for a hundred miles around. No, your need requires a more subtle magic than I can perform.”
“But you said you were prepared,” Jolene said.
“I so did,” Simon nodded. “The weapon is shaped, charged and in good hands.”
“Who’s hands?” Omar asked.
“Go see your realtor.” Simon said. “Tell him Simon Ryder sent you.”
“Willie Graham?” said Jolene, wanting to laugh but afraid to.
“You’re kidding,” Omar said to a suddenly empty chair. If the dragon Simon Ryder was still in the room, he had blinded the humans to his presence.
Barbara Battle was in a bad mood as she summoned the commander of her Guardians. Dreams and visions had troubled her rest. In her dreams she was imprisoned again beneath the Abbey at Trier. Her visions were of a dragon, old and powerful, not as ancient as she, the First, but old, and possessed of a strength to match her own. There were yet a few of her kind left in the Two Worlds. Most of them slept in the mountains around Trier on Otherworld. The one in her vision was here among the Fallen, near enough to challenge. The rain that extinguished her fire and spared the town could have been dragonwork. The more she considered the possibility, the more likely it seemed.
She cast her presence out into the air, scanning for some scent or sense of another of her kind, but as far as she could reach, she encountered no dragonessence. There were púca about, meddlesome, but no threat to her. A dragon might be cloaked, she supposed. Earthlight was dim among the Fallen. Truelife might be veiled in the unreality of this place. Most of the Fallen never found their life, fed on illusion and deception their entire span of being. It was easy to make them see what you wanted, and to blind them to what you wished concealed. But dragonsight could pierce the fog of unknowing. If there were another dragon on this world, she should know it. Still, the dreams persisted. Something was not right. What had she missed, overlooked? Uncertainty gnawed, a tiny mindmouse, never quite seen, never loud, but never still nor silent.
The intercom on her desk buzzed like a guilty conscience and she heard the voice of her secretary, “Mother Barbara, the Commander is here.”
What a sweet-voiced child she is. Smells delicious. Perhaps I’ll have her culled when I’ve found a better secretary. She’d be a breakfast delight. Aloud, Barbara responded, “Send him in, Helen.”
“Mother Barbara will see you now Commander,” Helen Troy said in her duty voice. As Chuck Priestley followed her to the office door, he leaned close and whispered, “How about tonight?”
“I can’t. I have to attend seminary tonight,” she whispered back.
“Can’t you skip it, say you’re sick?” Chuck murmured as Helen reached to knock.
“You know I can’t,” she hissed back, knocked gently three times, opened the door and addressed the shadows beyond, “Commander Priestly is here, Mother Barbara.”
“Show him through,” responded a voice, resonant, sounding almost feminine, almost human, almost kind.
Chuck stepped past Helen, stood stiffly, hands folded in front of him, speechless, immobile, not even breathing until he heard the door close behind him.
“Sit down and relax, Commander,” Barbara Battle intoned from behind her desk. “I’m not going to eat you. Not today.”
Chuck sat as commanded. He did not relax. He had not considered the possibility of being devoured by his employer, but now that she had planted the notion in his head, he reckoned such an eventuality as more than hypothetical. He’d never actually seen the Greatmother dismember and eat a human being, but he heard rumors from the cleaning crew. Members who were culled from the Body supposedly returned down the mountain among the Fallen, but not all of them were seen to leave. Most were simply no longer seen.
“How are your eyes working?” Mother Barbara inquired, gently, as if he’d been sick.
“My eyes?” Chuck stammered. What is she asking? His vision was fine except when in the Mother’s proximity where he could never be sure precisely what he was seeing, nor later remember exactly what he had seen.
“Your spies in town,” Barbara clarified. “Have they been keeping track of the policeman as I requested?”
“Oh, yes, Mother Barbara. I have their reports here,” Chuck replied, scrolling the notes on his phone. “After he left the Restoration, he returned to Drovers Gap where he went to Vintage Reads and talked to Wendl Von Trier. From there, he went to Town Hall, and stayed at the Police Department until six p.m. when he and Constable Jolene Bear went to Hemlock House where they had dinner and talked with Abigail Trammell, VonTrier, and a man we don’t know, not one of the local residents.”
“How long were they there?” Barbara asked.
Chuck consulted his phone again. “Three hours. Two hours after the dining room service closed.”
“Obviously, they weren’t just savoring their dessert,” Barbara said. “Do we know what this big discussion was about?”
“I’m afraid we don’t, Mother.” Our informant is a dishwasher. He asked their server, Chloe Toibin, what they were talking about so long. She said she didn’t know, but they seemed serious. Toibin left shortly after that. At one point, our guy heard a big commotion in the dining room, but when he looked out, the group was still sitting around the table talking too quietly for him to hear.”
Barbara looked thoughtful, “Is this Toibin one of your informants?”
“Not really.” Chuck shook his head. “But she likes to talk and our dishwasher likes to ask.”
“Cultivate her, however you can,” Barbara said. “We can always use somebody with social access and people skills. What happened after they left Trammell’s place?”
“Longshadow and Bear returned on foot to their office, collected their vehicles and presumably went home for the night.”
“You sure they went straight home?”
Chuck wasn’t sure. “They went in that direction. They weren’t followed, but they were at their homes an hour later when they answered ‘wrong-number’ calls on their land lines.”
“What about the stranger they met at Trammell’s nest? Do we see any more of him?” The stranger stirred a vague sense of alarm far back in Battle’s mind, like a persistent unscratchable itch.
Chuck consulted his phone again. “The stranger left Hemlock House right before Longshadow and Bear, and walked over to Mountain Realty, which was closed, but Willie Graham met him there and they went inside. About thirty minutes later, Graham came out alone and walked to his house about a block away. Our man waited for an hour, but didn’t see the stranger leave. He scoped out the building then and was pretty sure it was empty.”
“Pretty sure is not certain,” Barbara snapped. “I expected better from you, Commander.”
Chuck had better sense than to offer excuses. “Yes, Mother Barbara,” he said. “Understood.”
“When Mister Graham arrives at his office first thing in the morning, I want you there, Commander Priestley, to personally offer him an invitation he can’t refuse, and to provide transportation enabling him to accept immediately.”
Forty-Eight
Willie Graham had a sleepless night full of waking dreams and hallucinations his mind projected against the dark. It all started with the phone call at the end of a near perfect day. Betty had come to his place after work and he had made a supper for them. Asparagus and grilled trout. He thought she might stay the night this time, but her sister called while they were eating and when they finished their meal, Betty left to aid in some family crisis. Willie was still musing about how cell phones hinder one’s social life when he got the other call.
“Willie Graham here,” he answered. He didn’t recognize the caller ID.
“Willie, this is Simon Ryder. You still have my box?”
“Yes, it’s down at my office,”
“You haven’t opened it?” the dragonman queried.
“You told me not to,” Willie said.
“Very important you don’t.” Simon said, “Go down and get it. I’ll meet you there and tell you what to do with it.”
“Now?” Willie had just put on his pajamas and was about to brush his teeth.
“Now or never,” said the dragon.
“I’m on my way,” Willie said. He put on his jeans, tucked his pajama top into the waist and pulled on a sweater. He was out his front door before his feet settled into his new loafers that Betty had bought for him. As he trotted down the street toward Mountain Realty, he could make out the dark figure already waiting for him in the shadows by the door. Willie Graham, small town realtor, stereotypical average guy, had been summoned by a dragon, figured his life was taking one more turn toward interesting and recalled an ancient Chinese curse.
Willie wasn’t surprised when he stepped out his door to go to work next morning and saw the black SUV with the Restoration Crusade logo on the door sitting in his drive with the motor running. In his pocket, Willie carried the mysterious wooden box Ryder had sent him.
“She will want this,” Ryder said. “And you are going to give it to her.”
“Why can’t you just take it to her then?” Willie asked. “It’s your box after all.”
“Because she would know what I am,” Ryder’s tone sounded like it was obvious. “There can’t be but one dragon in the room.”
