If there is one lesson which I could pass down it is this: It does not matter what situation the adventurer finds himself in, from stalking lions in the tall grass, to living among cannibal tribes in New Guinea, or riding a raft over a giant waterfall. If you expect to survive, you must keep your wits about you. You must keep your firearms clean, your knives sharp, and—if you are lucky enough to have it—your magic ready, but no amount of Power or equipment or fancy kit will make up for a lack of brains and guts. When danger looms, don’t hesitate, commit.
That reminds me of a story about this one time I was mountaineering in Tibet . . .
—Lance S. Talon,
Journey Into Danger, 1923
Free City of Shanghai
It would be the last time the commanders would meet before the attack. The main floor of the rotting safe house was absolutely packed. It was dangerous to put them all here, as a single Japanese artillery shell could cut the head right off their conspiracy and end their hastily laid plans in one ugly strike, but it was necessary. Sullivan would trust any of these men with his life, but he hadn’t been able to brief them on all the details before leaving the Traveler, partly because they’d been worried about somebody getting rolled up by the secret police, but mostly because at that point he hadn’t really worked out all the details.
The seventeenth was the date of the riot they’d paid for, and it was coming up fast.
Luckily, a coded message had arrived from Buckminster Fuller, and it had contained the last thing he’d been hoping for. The note had read: It works. Mostly. And then there had been a handful of doodles and numbers which would have seemed like gibberish to anybody else, but Sullivan had gotten the idea. It wasn’t perfect. Not even close, but it might give them a shot.
Sullivan had sent for the others. It had taken another two days to move everyone out of sight of the stepped up patrols and army of snitches, but he’d gotten them all here. It was good to see them. Luckily they hadn’t lost a knight to the city yet. Shanghai was such a large, busy, crime-ridden city that even though the Imperium had the local government under their thumb, they couldn’t possibly watch everything.
The senior members of the expedition were still committed as ever. A week hiding in Shanghai’s slums hadn’t dulled the knights’ enthusiasm. Barns had come representing the Traveler. Sullivan had hoped to leave the ship out of the assassination attempt, but that wasn’t looking likely, considering how Fuller’s gizmo worked. Fuller’s plan sounded nuts, but Barns swore up and down the Marauders could pull it off.
So far they’d covered the basics, assigned duties and decided who would best serve in which element of the assault, determined their areas of responsibilities, and planned their potential escape routes. If the Grimnoir were going to succeed in exposing the false Chairman, then they would need to execute the plan flawlessly, and that meant that they needed to go over every last detail with painstaking care.
Lance whistled at a particularly bad detail. “The hell you say. How many Iron Guards?”
“I did not misspeak. For a ceremony such as this, there will be at least forty, perhaps as many as one hundred,” Zhao answered. “Our spy at the last event counted sixty Iron Guards that he could see. Plus he suspected there were more hidden in the crowd, dressed as regular soldiers or administrators.”
“Those were not Iron Guard,” Toru interjected. “Any of my former order would be proudly wearing his best uniform at such an event. It would be shameful and dishonorable to do otherwise . . . But the Shadow Guard, on the other hand . . . I would expect at least a squad of Fades and Travelers to be present and most likely in disguise.”
There were five thousand Imperium soldiers garrisoned around the “Free City” of Shanghai, but the only ones he was really worried about were the ones who would be at the ceremony. If Big Eared Du’s Yuesheng Greens did their job, the majority of the Imperium military and police would be too busy to interfere. Twenty thousand criminals throwing a riot was pretty hard to ignore, even in Shanghai. “And how many regular Imperium troops will there be at the estate?” Sullivan asked. “Just because somebody isn’t a magical heavy hitter don’t mean they can’t still put a bullet into one of us. What’re we talking about?”
“There are five platoons of Imperium scum . . .” Zhao caught himself and looked over at Toru. Luckily, Toru didn’t seem to be paying attention, or he was working on his diplomacy and had simply let it pass. “Five platoons of Imperium soldiers have been taken from the front, and are now traveling with the Chairman. Normally there are two such groups stationed at the Imperium Section in New City.”
Sullivan walked slowly around the map of Shanghai. It was a big map, stolen from the British bank’s offices, and they’d had to bring in every table in the place to set it up. He took in the various coins, bottle caps, cigarette butts, baseball cards, and even a couple of toy soldiers, which represented his forces, and the wooden blocks, which represented the Imperium. His own icon was a rock, and it was sitting smack dab in the middle of the Imperium Section, right in the Chairman’s face. He figured since their air power was now involved and at risk, he might as well make the best use out of it. Sullivan was going to take the fast way down.
“What’s an Imperium platoon run at, Toru?” Lance asked.
“It depends on its mission and its operational status. A fully reinforced Imperium weapons platoon would have a maximum of sixty-four men each.”
“Japs run their units bigger than the AEF did. That’s . . . four hundred and forty-eight soldiers.”
“I did not know Beasties could do multiplication,” Toru said flatly. “Keep in mind, these are troops recently brought from the front, so it is only because their unit has demonstrated considerable martial prowess, and many of them will have been summoned in order to receive high commendations. It is an incredible honor to serve as military escorts for a visit from the Chairman. They will all be experienced warriors.”
“Oh good. So if any villages full of defenseless Chinamen show up needing to be massacred, they’ll be ready,” Lance said. Most of the room laughed. It helped break the tension.
Toru scowled, but didn’t respond. Which was good, because Lady Origami was quietly standing in the back of the room, and Sullivan knew she was just itching for an excuse to make Toru spontaneously combust. “There are other complications as well. I know that there were two gakutensuko stationed at the palace, previously. They may be present.”
“Mechanical men?” Diamond asked. His team had fought them at Mason Island.
“Similar to those American . . . robots. But the gakutensuko are superior in virtually every way. Speed, durability, decision making . . .”
“You once said their guns are smaller,” Sullivan pointed out.
“Size is not everything,” Toru declared. Several of the American knights snickered, and this time Toru didn’t seem to have any clue why.
“Those could be a problem, if we get in, but before that I see a few problems with our approach.” Diamond was leading one of the three assault elements. As a Mover, he didn’t even need to approach the map to move the baseball card which represented his group. Sullivan noticed it was a Ruth card. The Babe simply floated off the paper and down the blue line of the Whangpoo River. “This bridge into the section is wide open. How are we supposed to make it past this checkpoint without being seen?”
“You don’t,” Sullivan answered. “Wait until I make my move, then hit it hard and push through. Hopefully they’ll all be focused on me, so it’ll buy you a minute.”
Diamond let the baseball card float back down. “You’ll probably get killed during that minute.”
“Eh.” Sullivan shrugged. “I ain’t planning on it.” He reached over and thumped the map. “Important thing is that both routes out of the neighborhood are cut off. We can’t let the Imposter get away.”
There was the polite clearing of a throat. Sullivan looked up to see Dr. Wells shouldering his way through the assorted Grimnoir. The way the thin man so easily bumped aside the robust young men suggested he was using just a bit of his Power. “The Imposter will not try to escape. He knows it is vital that he act as the Chairman would during this attack. To do otherwise would invite suspicion.”
“The Chairman would never flee from battle,” Toru agreed. “Never. In his own writings, he taught retreat is only acceptable when it is from a superior foe in order to save your forces for future conflict. For the Chairman to retreat would suggest that he had a superior foe. That is impossible.”
“I reckon Faye would disagree with that,” Lance said. Their Beastie was really looking for trouble today, but it was probably because he was distracted with keeping a bird in the air on the look out for incoming trouble.
“Regardless, he’s not really the Chairman,” Heinrich said. “So what the Chairman would do is irrelevant.”
“Quite the contrary.” Wells smiled like the broken predator he was. “He is not the Chairman, which means that he will feel insecure and thus go out of his way to act in the manner which he perceives would be correct. You saw how quickly Toru decided that the Chairman would never flee. This is an immediate assumption shared by all of the Iron Guard. The Chairman, being himself, would have far more agency in his decision making. Dosan Saito does not. His deceptions have become his own trap. No, he’s not going anywhere.”
Ian Wright wasn’t convinced. “Assuming he isn’t the real Chairman, because then he could just Travel right out of there whenever he felt like.”
“Travel?” Lance cut the Summoner off. “Hell, that’s the least of our worries. If he’s still the real deal, you’d better hope he leaves. Otherwise we’re all dead as soon as we piss him off.”
“Fair point . . . But whoever he is, he knows we’re in Shanghai, or at least he knows our Iron Guard is—”
“I am not your Iron Guard,” Toru corrected.
“Whatever you are, he knows you’re here because you’ve been murdering secret policemen in public all week! They’re going to be on high alert because of your personal blood feud, or whatever the hell it is you’ve got going on here.”
“It is true,” Zhao said. “The Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu have stepped up their campaign against us. They are offering a huge amount of gold for information. This meeting was very difficult to arrange. They are watching everything now.”
Ian pointed an accusatory finger at Toru. “You didn’t even attempt to hide your identity.”
Wells seemed rather pleased with himself. “That was my idea.”
“What?”
Sullivan stepped in before too many of the knights got worked up. “Toru’s famous in the Imperium now. We’re using that to our advantage.”
“My continued existence is a personal insult to the Imperium,” Toru stated without inflection. “Backing down from such an insult would be dishonorable. My presence ensures the Imposter’s visit will continue as planned. To do otherwise would be to lose face.”
“Absolutely,” said Wells. “If it was only you Grimnoir, then Saito could easily make some excuse and avoid the city entirely. He’d simply leave us to be dealt with by his minions. Toru, however, is a slap in the face. He cannot be overlooked. His presence here practically demands a response from Saito. In reality, it is unlikely that anyone would question the Chairman changing his mind, yet Saito’s insecurities will not allow him to make the reasonable choice. He will take this risk and come to Shanghai. He will continue on his scheduled business, because Toru is present.”
The Grimnoir were thinking about it. Sullivan could see the wheels turning. They were a crafty bunch. “It increases our exposure and makes us all more vulnerable. You know he’ll try to root us out before then, but this is the only way we can guarantee this son of a bitch shows his mug. He can’t back down.”
There were some murmurs, but most of the Grimnoir seemed to like the idea. Maybe a frontal assault against a numerically superior foe made up of the most elite military in the world wasn’t totally bad. Which was good, because now came the part where Sullivan told them about the crazy part of his plan.
After the meeting had broken up, most of the Grimnoir had skulked off back to their own hiding places to brief their men, while the others had found places to sleep amidst the wreckage of the hovel. Toru had gone back to his sacred work. He knelt among the armored bits in a room filled with peeling wallpaper and spreading water stains and concentrated on doing the impossible.
There were only a few days left until his appointment with destiny. Toru knew he would more than likely die fulfilling the final commandments of his father, but he accepted, even embraced that fate. The discovery of the Nishimura armor was a great blessing, a sure sign that his father was still watching over his mission and providing the tools necessary for success.
Working with his hands was a welcome distraction. He had been feeling ill at ease ever since his conversation with the newspaper man, Xiang. He had spoken of things which he had thought forgotten. Toru did not relish picking at scabs.
The suit was in better shape than expected. It had obviously seen combat, most likely at the front. Judging from the dents left by large, low-velocity bullets and the claw marks of a bear, it had been used in Siberia. Cossacks were worthy adversaries, but nothing like it would be facing shortly. Would the great Cog Nishimura ever have imagined one of his magnificent works would be turned against the Imperium? Toru did not know the answer, so he merely went back to testing each individual kanji.
The fit was tight. Ideally he would have time to adjust the armored chest piece. Normally the Iron Guard using such armor would have a few assistants to help him get into it, but he would not ask the Grimnoir for their help. To them, this was simply a device, a mix of machinery and magic. They would not understand the spiritual nature that came with preparation for war. They were simply incapable of understanding the connection between a true warrior and his tools.
He’d already tested the lower pieces. It took nearly an hour to get his legs and pelvis fully encased in steel and laminate, and then tied into the torso pieces. It was especially difficult to attach the hoses on his back. The floor creaked as he lifted one armored boot, but it seemed like it would hold.
He placed his hand against the design on the suit’s shoulder and let his Power free. He could feel the energy collecting in his muscles, and he concentrated and guided it down into the spell. It flared briefly with magical light as the connection was formed. Another kanji was ready. Toru estimated the armor was functioning at about eighty percent effectiveness. He was certainly no Fixer, but he hoped that over the next few days he might be able to get that up to ninety.
Though Toru had heard the stomping of huge boots against the damp wood a floor away, his visitor was polite enough to knock. “Come in, Sullivan.”
The Heavy entered, looked over the armor which was spread out across the floor, and then took a seat on an overstuffed and slightly moldy chair. “You getting the hang of this thing?”
“I was trained in its use many years ago, though I never had to privilege of using one in combat . . .” He realized that did not actually answer Sullivan’s question, and he had too much on his mind to be obtuse out of spite. “I am “getting the hang” of it.”
“Will it be ready in time?”
“It is ready now.” Toru slid his arm inside the steel sleeve, carefully guiding each finger into the gauntlet. He willed the gauntlet to curl into a fist. “It still requires some adjustment and fine tuning. I would like to test it more, but I believe it to be combat effective.”
“You need a hand putting it together?” Sullivan reached down for the mempo.
“No! Do not touch that.”
Sullivan removed his hand. “Easy there.”
The armor made a slight grinding noise as he willed the legs to work. The boards beneath his steel boots popped as he took a step over. Bending at the waist was difficult without all of the parts attached for balance, but Toru managed to scoop up the face mask. “You are not to touch it.”
Sullivan seemed more curious than offended. “Why not?”
“It is . . .” Toru sighed. “It is difficult to explain. This armor is meant only to be used by the greatest amongst my . . . amongst the Iron Guard. Bearing it is a sacred responsibility.”
“Never knew you were the religious type, Toru.” Sullivan leaned back in the chair and produced a pack of cigarettes from his coat.
“I do not subscribe to your superstitions, but I know what I believe. Just . . . just do not touch the armor again.”
Sullivan lit the cigarette. “So it’s a worthiness thing?”
Toru thought it over for a moment. In normal times, the Iron Guard would ritually prepare himself before donning the armor, cleansing both mind and body. “Yes.”
“Fair enough . . . Did my brother have one of these?”
“He had been promoted to First before his death, so yes. He would have been given one if he had lived.”
“If that was considered worthy, then I suppose I wouldn’t want one anyway.” Sullivan shrugged. “I’ll be heading back to the Traveler soon with Barns and Lady Origami. Lance will be in charge here. Before that, though, I wanted to talk to you about the plan. You know what we’re facing better than anyone, but you were awfully quiet tonight.”
“You ordered me earlier not to destroy the hope of your men.” Toru turned away and went back to tying in the arm to the shoulder piece. “You are willing to lie, dishonor yourself, and bring eternal shame to your name—”
“I think Wells is right about the man. Whatever Saito’s real Power is, or whatever deal he’s got with the creature, I think this is the only hope we’ve got of exposing the Pathfinder. The only thing that matters is beating it.”
“So you intend to expose deceit through deceit . . . Despite the dishonor inherent in this, your plan is bold. Provided your assumptions are correct, your Cog’s assumptions are correct, and your alienist is not a madman sending us to our doom in order to amuse himself, there is a small possibility of success . . .”
“That ain’t so bad.”
“Success is possible. Survival is not. We will surely die.”
“That’s what I figured.” Sullivan took a long drag off of the cigarette. “Me and you, I figure we’re done for no matter what, but I was hoping to get as many of the others out alive as possible.”
“That will be entirely dependent upon how well we die.”
“If that’s what it takes, then I suppose that’s what it takes.”
Sullivan did not have the true code of the warrior, but he did have a code nonetheless. It was a remarkable achievement for a man raised in a culture with no concept of true strength or honor to follow such a path. Toru looked down at the Nishimura face mask he had set on the floor. Even such a weapon had been carefully carved in the style of their ancestors. It was a perfect melding of art and death. Only a true warrior was worthy of wielding the sacred weapons of the Imperium, but if there had ever been anyone among the Chairman’s enemies who might have been worthy, it was Jake Sullivan.
My father was a wise man to choose his champion so well.
“We fought once, Sullivan, and we were unable to decide which of us was the stronger. I have vowed to finish that fight. I am unable to take back that vow . . . However, the idea that we will die together now, fighting against my brothers and restoring my father’s stolen honor . . . It makes me glad that we will be unable to finish our duel.” Toru gave Sullivan a small bow of respect. “Let them speak of our deaths with reverence for generations to come.”
The two of them stayed there in silence for a time, Toru putting on his armor, and Sullivan thinking about the fate of his volunteers with a heavy heart.
Major Matsuoka of the Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu used his binoculars to scan down the docks. There were no lights visible in the abandoned apartment building indicated by the informant. The patrol boat rocked from a strong wave, and Matsuoka had to lower the binoculars, as the added movement made him a little nauseous. It would not look good to get motion sick in front of his distinguished visitor. “Are you certain this is their hideout?”
The translator conveyed the question to the worthless Grimnoir traitor. They’d said his name was Pang, and that he was supposedly a Brute. He rambled on for far too long with his answer.
“He says this is the place. Toru is here as well as several foreign Grimnoir. He says that Toru insulted him, and that he is a terrible person, and that is why Pang is willing to give him to us. He says that their leader is very young, and he is tired of being bossed around by a kid.”
Of course. It had nothing to do with the staggering amounts of gold promised for information. Those who would betray a trust were always the same, and when caught would inevitably try to justify themselves by saying that they’d been somehow wronged, and were thus justified in their actions. Matsuoka had been a police officer for a very long time and had dealt with many such men. “I do not care what his reasons are. His information was reliable last time.” He turned toward the slight figure standing to his side, dressed entirely in dark, unassuming colors. “Does this please you, Shadow Guard?”
The terrifying little man simply nodded. He had been introduced as Hayate, a very senior, very experienced warrior, whose reputation for effectiveness preceded him. Hayate’s Shadow Guard would be the ones to handle Toru.
“Radio the other units. Summon all of the men and surround the sites. No closer than a block. Avoid being spotted at all costs. If anyone comes or goes, tail them discreetly. Use disembodied spirits if available. I would rather lose one than alert the majority.” He checked his watch. Raids always worked the best in the still hours before dawn. “We strike in one hour. We will hit all of the safe houses simultaneously. Standard procedures. Kill any who resist. If possible, take captives for interrogation.”
The message was relayed. The operation was in motion.
Pang spoke in Mandarin, asking again for his traitor’s blood money. Matsuoka spoke some of the language, but would not lower himself to talking to a dishonorable informant. He snapped his fingers, and two of his men came forward carrying a wooden chest. They placed it in front of Pang, who greedily knelt down and opened the lid. The gold bars had been neatly stacked in straw. Pang’s fat face split into a wide smile.
“It is too bad,” the Shadow Guard said. “They are normally so loyal. It is rare that a Grimnoir would break his oath.”
“True,” Matsuoka agreed.
“Nearly as rare as an Imperium warrior breaking his. Not completely unheard of, I am afraid . . . Oh, foolish Toru. What shame you have brought. Were you aware I knew him, Major Matsuoka?”
“No, Shadow Guard. I was unaware.”
“We served together during the offensive in Manchuko, and then again during the Thai insurgency. Despite his poor judgment, he is one of the finest combatants I have ever seen. He deserves to be felled by an equal. Is that understood?”
“Of course, Shadow Guard,” the major agreed. He had no intentions of stealing the Shadow Guard’s glory. Matsuoka was a policeman. Hayate was a legendary killer of men, a ruthless magical assassin who came in the darkness, like a ghost from nightmares, leaving no trace of his passage, other than the corpses. Matsuoka was certainly not an idiot. “My troops are merely here to facilitate your needs against the Grimnoir.”
“The Grimnoir are different than us . . . But in some ways, they are similar. They have oaths as well. I have fought them all over the world. They are stubborn and courageous, and seldom will one surrender. They are one of the few foes I truly appreciate fighting. I am thankful for the challenge they present.” The Shadow Guard looked over at Pang as he reached into his voluminous shirt. “Thus, I find this one disappointing.” And then he disappeared.
Matsuoka turned when he heard the gurgling noise. Shadow Guard Hayate had reappeared right next to Pang. The hilt of a dagger was protruding from the intersection of Pang’s jaw and throat. Blood gushed out of the obviously fatal wound. Pang was surprised and couldn’t even make a noise, but the traitor did have some fight in him after all. He surged his Brute magic and took a wild swing at Hayate, who simply Traveled out of the way, appeared on the other side of the Brute, raised one foot, kicked Pang in the ass, and sent him over the side. He fell over the railing with a splash, where he thrashed for a moment before sinking into the dark water.
“Save your gold.” Hayate went to the chest and carefully closed the lid. He walked back to Matsuoka and leaned against the rail. “We are fighting Grimnoir tonight, so expect casualties. You may divide this gold between the families of your men who perish.”
Matsuoka bowed. “That is very kind of you, Shadow Guard.”
Hayate looked at him with heavy-lidded grey eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. “That is because I am a very kind man.”
They kept a few boats stashed in the flooded first floor. Crumbling holes where the windows had been made for great hidden docks. Sullivan had been impressed by the Shanghai Grimnoir’s creativity.
Zhao was driving their little boat. He was the only one in view, standing in back, steering the small outboard motor. Lady Origami, Barns, and Sullivan were under the lifted tarp which served as a sort of tent-cabin. If they were accosted, Lady Origami was closest to the flap, because hopefully if anybody saw that there was a Nipponese passenger, the rest of them would be left alone.
Their little boat practically disappeared into the shadows of the massive freighters. It would take them a day to make it back to where the Traveler was hidden at this rate. It wasn’t going to be a fun trip, all crammed up beneath a tarp, especially since Barns had pulled his fedora down over his eyes and gone right to sleep. He hadn’t started yet, but Sullivan knew it was only a matter of time before Barns started talking in his sleep. Bunking together in the officers’ quarters had taught him that, but the sleep talking would be extra annoying on a tiny boat stuck under a tarp.
“It will be good to get back to the ship,” Lady Origami said. “I prefer to be in the air.”
“Not me. I’m all about being on the ground.”
“You are a Heavy.” She smiled. “Of course you like ground. I am a Torch. I am of fire and live in the sky, but now we are on water. However can we cope?” She gave him a wink, and when he returned it, she laughed.
Was she flirting with him again? He really wasn’t used to that. What a strange—
There was a thump. Zhao had just stamped on the boards to get their attention. “Quiet.”
Lady Origami put her ear next to the tarp. Sullivan did the same. There was a noise growing on the river. Engines. Big engines.
“Patrol boats,” Zhao hissed. “Many patrol boats.”
The Grimnoir had posted guards. They were not sufficient.
Hayate appeared behind the sentry. He was a local man. Young. Strong. Fit. With the build of a farmer or a worker. He had a Mauser rifle, slung over one shoulder, that he would never have the opportunity to use. Hayate struck so quickly that no reaction was possible. One hand over the mouth, other hand driving the blade into the spinal column and twisting until it was severed from the base of the brain. Near-instantaneous death. Hayate had lost track of how many times he had performed such a maneuver.
The Shadow Guard silently lowered the corpse to the floor. He had timed his attack for the exact moment when the sentry was passing through the deepest night. He scanned across the rooftops, noting a few brief flashes of movement as his men took down other sentries. Hayate scowled. He would reprimand the men for such sloppiness. Even though he could see in the dark with his grey eyes, the fact that he’d witnessed their sloppy takedowns meant that the act of seeing them at all had been briefly possible. Such a failure was unacceptable. He would personally reprimand them for such carelessness on such a vital assignment. And a Shadow Guard’s reprimand was usually extremely painful.
Waterboarding built character.
Hayate drew his short sword and waited. It was the preferred weapon of the Shadow Guard, small enough for close quarters, but sharp enough to remove a limb. It was not a fighting weapon. It was a killing weapon. Fighting was for the Iron Guard. Victory belonged to the Shadows.
The final rooftop sentry was visible for a moment, silhouetted against the city lights. He walked around a corner and simply did not reappear. There had been no sound. No sign of struggle. That pleased Hayate. That was how it should be done.
With the guards eliminated, now the real test began. They would take their time and search for inscribed spells of warning. The Grimnoir excelled at such things. Then the Shadow Guard would enter the apartment and begin killing. It would be a race to see how many lives they could end before the alarm was raised.
Hayate froze. The sound of a motor began far below, and a small boat appeared from beneath one of the rusting overhangs, leaving a white wake through the muck floating on top of the water. The timing was unfortunate, as that meant someone had just slipped his grasp.
Major Matsuoka would have to pick them up with his patrol boats. The small boat did not matter, as long as it wasn’t Toru. The life of Tokugawa Toru belonged to one of his thousand brothers. Tokugawa Hayate intended to take that life tonight.
Lance Talon had been having a hard time going to sleep. He’d taken his boots off, but was still dressed, lying on a shitty mat in a shitty apartment building, wired from too much coffee and too much dwelling on the insurmountable task before them to even begin feeling tired. Maybe it was the excitement of being in a foreign city again. After all, he had been an accomplished world traveler in his youth. Maybe it was the idea of striking such a wild blow against the Imperium, which had murdered his family. Maybe it was because deep back in the recesses of his mind, he knew that this time they’d bitten off more than they could chew, and they probably wouldn’t make it out of crashing this particular party. Whatever it was, Lance couldn’t sleep.
Neither could Diamond, apparently. The Mover was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the big room, reading a skinny paperback book. Since they were in the middle of the building and the windows had been covered, it was safe to have a little light, and Diamond had opened the shutters on an oil lamp just a crack.
“Hey, Diamond.”
The Mover looked up and pushed his glasses back on his nose. “Am I keeping you up? I can kill the light.”
“Naw . . . Can’t sleep. What’re you reading?”
Diamond chuckled and held it up. “Believe it or not, it’s one of your adventure books.”
Lance immediately recognized the cover. It was a hunter about to get run down by an elephant stampede, and even though that had never actually happened to him, and the scene wasn’t even in the book at all, that exciting cover sure had helped sell a lot of copies when it had first come out. “No shit? How about that?”
“I found it on the Traveler.”
Somebody must have brought it along as a joke. That often happened when Lance ended up working with unfamiliar Grimnoir. At some point, usually over dinner, with a big crowd, somebody would make a big deal about getting his autograph, and everybody would have a good laugh. It wasn’t like any of the knights ever actually read it. “What do you think of it?”
“I’m a bit of a critic. I used to write reviews for the local paper even, but it’s pretty good . . .” Diamond grinned. “Maybe a little far-fetched, though.”
“Far-fetched?” Sure, he embellished his life a bit, what writer didn’t? But for the most part, that was how it had really happened. He’d always had the wanderlust. Ironically enough, the only thing that had ever got him to settle down was meeting the right woman, and it just so happened she’d turned out to be a member of a magical secret society. “Says a guy who’s about to fight the whole Imperium in order to defend the world from a magic-eating outer-space monster.”
“Oh, not the adventure parts, or the cattle drive, or the auto racing, or the bare-knuckle boxing, or the logging, or the panning for gold in Alaska, or the big-game hunting on the savannah. Those I can buy. It’s the chapter where you went looking for sunken treasure wrecks around the South Pacific that tests my suspension of disbelief.”
“Nope. All true.” Lance smiled, thinking back, good times. He’d learned how to use an atmospheric diving suit and had walked on the bottom of the sea. He’d even used his Power to play with the sharks. “Every last word of it, completely truthful.”
“The ladies really don’t wear any clothes there?”
“Hardly a bit. Just little skirts made out of grass.”
Diamond went back to the book. “Well, how about that? And all these years I’ve been working for the society in boring old America, I’ve been missing out.”
Lance rolled over on the hard mat which served as his bed. “You Pittsburgh boys lost a man back at the North Pole, didn’t you?”
“Our Healer. Heck of a thing . . .” Diamond sighed. “You know how it goes.”
“Sure do . . .” Lance muttered. “Damn sure do.”
A piece of paper floated up from the ground and landed in the book. Page marked, the book closed itself, and then drifted to the ground. Diamond took off his glasses and rubbed his face. “You know what? You’ve inspired me, Lance. When this job is done, I’m moving to someplace warm and filled with beautiful, young dancing girls who don’t wear hardly any clothes.”
“Fiji was pretty nice.”
“Fiji? Naw . . . I’m moving to Las Vegas. They made gambling legal there a couple years back. Just imagine how much money a telekinetic can make playing suckers at the roulette tables. I’ll build a casino and social club with the winnings.” Diamond waved one hand through the air as if he was taking in the majesty of it all. “I’ll call it ‘Diamond Steve’s.’”
“License to print money,” Lance agreed.
“Beats being a book reviewer.”
Lance laughed. “Hell, it beats being whatever it is I am now.”
And then a ninja appeared in front of Lance and stabbed him in the chest with a sword.
