The eccentrics knight wa.., p.15
The Eccentrics (Knight Watch Book 3), page 15
“He’s good in a fight,” Chesa said. When I stared at her, she shrugged. “You are. Own it. There’s no reason to always take other people’s abuse.”
“I . . . uh. Okay.”
Ida was watching us with bemusement. Evelyn looked like she was stifling a laugh.
I gave my attention to the mechanic. “So, do you get many field assignments?” I asked.
“Never. They keep me in the pipes. Even when the ship’s docked, I stay onboard. Too much sunlight.” She glared up at the sky. “And, you know, the engine is there. Gotta keep it humming.”
“You were able to repair her, after Skyhook’s emergency landing?”
“The crash? Yeah. Chunks of chicken soup in the main boiler. But that was your fault, so I don’t feel too bad. Had to flush the whole system.” She snorted. “I thought Honor was going to have a fit when Tesla brought you aboard. Insisted we were going to crash and die. Which, I mean, he was half right.”
“Not my fault you don’t believe in magic. You’d have probably made a pretty good rogue, all that climbing around in pipes and picking locks. If you ever get tired of the Gestalt—”
“I will never get tired of the Gestalt,” Ida insisted. “Besides, our food is better.”
“Yeah, you’ve got me there. But we get dragons.”
“I can make a dragon, if I want,” Ida said.
“Well, then you’d need someone to slay it. Either way, you need us.”
“If the two of you will stop chattering, we have arrived,” Evelyn declared. She had stopped about ten feet behind us, beside a wrought iron gate. The hellhounds were sitting at her side, wagging their scaled tails back and forth. Sparks flew from the concrete with each pass. We strolled back.
“Garden of the Dead,” I read. “Y’all really know how to name stuff.”
“It’s a cemetery,” Evelyn said. “We try to wrap such things in artifice.”
“You can get buried in the Gestalt? If we tried that, our corpses would end up rotting in a Ren faire somewhere,” Chesa said. “Neat trick.”
“It’s all thanks to the aetheric dampener,” Evelyn said proudly. “Even the dead can dream.”
The Garden of the Dead was a quiet, tree-lined plot of land. Grass lanes led between closely set stone memorials, most of them decorated with statues, plaques, and other memorials. Even while on the hunt for vampires, it was a pleasant place to stroll. Except we were here on business.
“Map says the crematorium is near the back of the cemetery,” I said, nodding. Despite the odd looks from the other passersby, I drew my sword and shield. “This is prime vampire territory, so be careful.”
“But it’s the middle of the day,” Ida pointed out. “Don’t vampires come out at night?”
“We don’t know the rules for these guys,” I said. “They’re not real vampires. Maybe daylight doesn’t stop them.”
“Or maybe you just like walking around with your sword out,” Chesa said.
“I’m just . . . I’m careful! Never mind. It’s this way.”
“You know, if you added some hydraulics to that sword”—Ida pulled my sword arm to the side, examining the forte and hilt of my blade—“it could really—”
“I don’t need hydraulics!” I yelled, storming off. “What I need is for you to stop trying to fix everything!”
“Touchy,” Evelyn said before I was out of earshot.
The columbarium sat slightly higher than the rest of the cemetery, a white marble neoclassical building with a golden dome that would have looked perfectly comfortable masquerading as a personal estate in the countryside, surrounded by formal gardens and stables and more money than you could overthrow a king for. Two wings led off the main building, with hallways open to the elements. The walls were lined with small doors for urns. Each door had a shelf in front of it, where mourners could leave flowers and other mementos. Most of the plaques had some kind of memorial by them.
“Kind of a strange place for a scientific device,” I said.
“The aether follows the spirit of the age,” Evelyn answered. “This place is a cornerstone of the Gestalt—figuratively speaking. The dampener’s downstairs.”
“Of course it is,” I said. “So it’s a dungeon crawl?”
“They’re crypts,” Ida said. “Not the same thing at all.”
A terraced staircase led to a second set of hallways, and more walls containing urns. The air here was damp, almost fetid, and the walls were draped in vines that tumbled over the terrace like a green, glistening waterfall. Evelyn walked at our fore with purpose, but my attention was drawn by the memorials. The dates were all over the board. 1887. 1482. 2058. 58 BC.
“Okay, wait a second. BC? 2058? How are these even possible?” I asked.
“We get some time travelers. The Wellsian types. Nik thinks they’re creating their own Gestalts, maybe, or just alternate versions of ours,” Ida said, pausing to examine the plaques. “A couple go back to your timeline.”
“I’m starting to see the appeal of the Gestalt,” Chesa muttered.
“Hey, don’t abandon me with Greg,” I said.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said with a smile that was actually a smile and not a bitten-off retort. She patted me on the arm, then hurried to catch up with Evelyn, who was marching with the determination of an army general.
I took a second longer to peruse the plaques. All these names, all these people, had lived and died and were buried inside the Gestalt. I shook my head.
“That’s so weird.” Despite my numerous brushes with death, I hadn’t given a lot of thought to where I would be buried. Part of me assumed I’d go back home, to be mourned by my confused parents and planted by the presbytery. Could I be buried in my domain? Or would the World Dog just dig me up? I didn’t relish the idea of my skull being a chew toy for all eternity.
“It’s over here. The old section,” Evelyn called over her shoulder, pointing to the far side of the hall. An arched doorway engraved with gothic-style carvings led to an underground chamber. Ida and Chesa were right behind her. I strolled toward them, my sword mostly forgotten at my side.
“You know, I think I’ve figured out one difference between us,” I said.
“Besides hygiene?” Evelyn asked icily.
“Your citizens are mostly normal people who have entered the Gestalt. You have very few native denizens. But the Unreal is entirely mythic, with the exception of Knight Watch and our allies.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right,” Chesa said. “The Gestalt is created by folks like Nik and Evelyn’s dad. When you meet someone in here, they’re just regular people dreaming out loud. But in the Unreal, dragons really are dragons, and valkyries really are valkyries.”
“Don’t sound so proud of that,” Ida said. “It’s a sticking point for Tesla. He doesn’t agree with the way Esther restricts access to your timeline. Thinks it’s too authoritarian. Here, anyone can be what they dream.”
“We could probably have used a little more restriction,” Evelyn said quietly. She craned her neck up at the entrance to a hallway. “Here we are. Come.”
“It also means anyone could be the villain,” I said. “You don’t have demons and angels. Just people. And people can be bloody terrible.” We reached the archway. I looked up, my gaze tracing the gargoyles that hunched overhead. There was a plaque at the center of the archway. “Creepy.”
“This was a family crypt before the columbarium was built,” Ida said, ignoring the archway. “Family’s long gone, so it was the perfect place for the dampener.”
“Enough history. We need to check on the dampener,” Evelyn snapped.
“Yes, yes. Cool your boilers,” Ida said. She got a few steps into the room before fishing around in her tool belt and producing an extremely complicated-looking torch. The thing apparently ran on butane and friction, because it took her a couple pulls on a cord to get it lit, and when she succeeded it blossomed into a cloud of blue flame before she was able to tamp it down to a simple light source. Once that was sorted, she motioned us forward. Evelyn was already charging into the darkness, one hand resting comfortably on her accompanying hellhound.
But I was still staring at the archway. Because in that brief blast of forge-hot light, I had seen the words on the plaque embedded into the peak of the entrance. Not a family, nor a place name. It was an address.
La Rue de Mort.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I fumbled the leather box out of my satchel and squinted at it in the light of Ida’s receding torch. The grimacing gargoyle on the front of the box glinted in the light. Below it, the silver plaque: 1066 Rue de Mort. The hidden home of the vampires.
“Damn it,” I muttered. “Damn it, damn it, damn it all to hell.”
“What’s the matter, John? Scared of the dark?” Chesa called over her shoulder.
“Ches, come here for a second.” I answered. When she furrowed her brows at me, I waved her back furiously. “I’m serious!”
While Chesa ambled back, I took a second look around. This chamber certainly looked like the kind of place you’d meet a vampire. Spiderwebs draped gothic statues guarding crypts that were straight out of the darkest part of the Dark Ages. Tall, imperious-looking warriors stared down at me, pointing stone swords in accusation, as if they knew the secret I was about to reveal. Even with Ida’s torch, the shadows here were ink-dark, clinging to every surface.
“Seriously, John, I don’t want to get too far behind. What’s your deal?” Chesa asked.
“This. This is my deal.” I produced the box, tapping the plaque before pointing at the inscription over the door. “We’re heading right to Esther’s hidden cabal.”
“Ah.” She scanned the space in front of us, seeing it in a new light. “Yeah, I think you’re right. You did see that vampire at the bakery. Maybe the bloodsuckers really are behind all this.”
“Feels weird. Why would they use a machine to turn the bakers? Why not just . . .” I mimed biting a neck. “You know?”
“Covering their tracks? Looking for a new way to harvest human flesh?” She shrugged. “What am I supposed to know about the motivations of thousand-year-old undead bloodsuckers?”
“Why would they want to draw attention to themselves, though? I can believe they might be looking for another way—”
“Are the two of you done flirting?” Evelyn reappeared at the mouth of the tunnel, hellhounds at her side. The beasts’ glowing eyes were bright red pinpricks of light in the gloom. “We have vampires to kill!”
“Sorry! Just arguing about, um . . .” I stumbled into silence.
“Take your pick,” Chesa said. “Plenty to argue about with Rast.”
“Well, get a move on,” Evelyn said, then turned back and disappeared into the tunnel. Ida’s light was a distant glimmer.
“So what do we do?” Chesa asked, whispering.
“I’m not sure yet. Maybe it’s just bad luck that the dampener is near their refuge,” I said. “Just keep your eyes peeled. We may have to improvise.”
“Sounds terrible,” Chesa said. We hurried to catch up with the other two.
Ida and Evelyn had gotten ahead of us. Ida was sticking her head into every nook and cranny with no consideration for the distinct possibility that the shadows may conceal all manner of vile creatures, while Evelyn strolled placidly down the middle of the chamber, one hellhound on either side, examining the surrounding tombs like a tourist. I sheathed my sword and slung my shield over my shoulder, then pulled Ida out from behind a dusty monument. She yelped and dropped her torch, leaving it sizzling in the dust of the stone floor. Once we were in the middle of the room, Ida just stood there, staring at my hand around her wrist for a few moments, then looked around curiously.
“Is there something over here that I’m supposed to be looking at? Because I don’t think the dampener is here, in the middle of the room,” she asked.
“I’m just trying to watch out for you,” I said. “There’s no telling what’s lurking in here.”
“Dead people. Obviously,” Evelyn said. “Dead for a very long time.”
“John’s just the nervous type,” Chesa said. She gave me a stern look. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, you still can’t be too careful,” I said, grimacing at the darkness. “Dead doesn’t mean not dangerous.”
“My father liked to hide things,” Evelyn said. “We are going to need to poke around a little if we’re going to find it.”
“Yeah. So do you want to help, or would you rather stare meaningfully at the shadows while I do all the work?” Ida asked.
“I’m . . . I’m guarding.”
“Great. You continue guarding.” Ida slipped her wrist free of my grasp, shaking her fingers out. “Odds are you’d break the dampener if you looked at it funny, anyway.”
I gave Chesa a nervous look. She shrugged, and started walking around the perimeter of the room, right at the edge of the light thrown by Ida’s torch. Evelyn simply stood imperiously in the middle of the room, regarding the whole operation with amused disdain. The hounds lay at her feet.
“This does look familiar,” Evelyn said. “I believe I saw that statue in my father’s notes.”
“Hold this,” Ida said, shoving the torch at me. I sheathed my sword and took the torch. Even through my gauntlets, the device was hot to the touch, especially around the coupling that spouted blue flame. I held it away from my face. Ida unfolded her tool kit at the base of the tomb that Evelyn had indicated. That girl carried more tools than a dwarven rogue. “This is going to take a minute.”
The statue was of a beheaded knight, carrying its own head in its hands. The moment of decapitation was still captured in the horrified features of the statue’s face. I suppressed a shiver. The mechanical torch flickered and dimmed.
“Maybe not the best idea for me to be holding this,” I said. “Complicated stuff tends to break in my hands.”
“Not just in your hands. My car used to stall every time I drove past you,” Chesa said. “You thought I was flirting.”
“You were flirting. That’s how we ended up dating, remember? Your car died, and I walked you home.” I sniffed indignantly. “In the rain, I might add.”
“I should have seen the signs,” Chesa muttered. “If only I’d kept driving . . .”
“Will the two of you shut up for a minute?” Ida asked. She had some sort of device, which she was slapping enthusiastically into the palm of her hand.
“Hm. My pneumohydralizer isn’t working. And the readings on the aetheratic are flat.” She looked around curiously. “It’s like my technology doesn’t work here.”
“The Unreal,” Evelyn whispered. “The two of you must carry it with you. Fascinating.”
“This happened at the bakery as well,” I said. “The vampire thing was spreading the Unreal like a fog bank. Be careful.”
“Well, I’m going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.” Ida produced a screwdriver as long as her arm and started tapping at the base of the statue. “Surely there’s an access panel around here somewhere.”
After a few moments, Ida found what she was looking for and began to tinker. From the other side of the statue, all I could see was her face light up with a green glow.
“Huh,” she said. “That’s weird.”
We huddled behind her, Chesa and I directly over Ida’s shoulders, Evelyn behind us. The statue had a panel built into its base. What I at first took for the glow of a circuit board turned out to be something much more in line with the Gestalt. A long glass cylinder ran horizontally in the space beneath the statue, its ends capped with whirling metal arms that supported brass orbs. Thick glass windows in the cylinder revealed a sloshing reservoir of glowing blue liquid. Pistons and gauges regulated the cylinder, while a series of valves hooked up to automated bellows huffed and hummed at the base of the device. But that’s not what caught my attention.
The aetheric dampener was crawling with beetles. Dime-sized scarabs clung in thick clumps to the cylinder, or scrabbled over the spinning arms of the generator caps. They had chewed holes in the bellows, and were swarming in and out of the cylinder like angry bees. And at the center of the dampener sat the largest scarab I had seen yet. Its abdomen was swollen and shiny, and its carapace glistened with ethereal light. The lesser beetles nestled beneath its thorax.
“Well. I think we found the problem,” I said softly. “Do you think we should—”
“Destroy it!” Evelyn shouted. She shouldered us aside and struck the beetle with the haft of her surveying rod. The metal tip went through the scarab’s body with a loud crunch. She ground the base back and forth, cracking off limbs and shattering metallic wings. The beetle burst, sending out a shimmering wave of iridescent baby beetles. They flowed over the dampener, out of the compartment, and washed over us in a wave of clicking, scuttling shadows. Chesa shrieked, Ida gasped, and I let out a manly yelp. We all hopped back, all except for Evelyn, who continued to smash the mother scarab to pieces with her stick. The wave of beetles spread out into the darkness, scuttling into cracks in the wall or disappearing into the shadows.
Once they were gone, I composed myself and held the sputtering torch closer to the beetle’s corpse. All that was left were broken cogs, fragments of iridescent carapace, and a smear of green-and-black liquid.
Ida sighed. “I was really hoping to examine that,” she said. “I could learn a lot by studying it. But you guys keep breaking them.”
“Well, this is probably for the better,” I said, straightening. “Wouldn’t want those baby beetles loose on the Silverhawk, anyway. Imagine the trouble they could—”
One of the shadows moved in the corner of the room. I caught a glimpse of red eyes and a dark cloak, crouching on top of a broken pillar at the other end of the corridor. As soon as I saw it, the figure leapt into the air, disappearing behind a crypt with a flutter of black cloth.
I dropped the torch, which hit the stone floor with a crack, and drew my sword. A violent hissing sound erupted from the device. Ida swore and grabbed at it, yelping in pain before cranking the flame into a bare flicker. Chesa and Evelyn spun to face me, and the hellhounds leapt to their feet and started to growl.
