Paradigms Lost (45 page)

“Very good. I was in fact
the
person behind it all, and have been for several decades now.”

I thought about that for a moment. “That would mean you were working on this stuff while the OSR was still active.”

“Correct.”

“Now, just what would a werewolf want with a human genetic engineering project, Mr. Carruthers?”

He waved a finger in a “no-no” gesture. “Ah-ah, Mr. Wood, we are getting sidetracked again. The answers to such questions should remain mysteries; all the better to intrigue you. We are here to discuss your employment.”

I smiled back with an easy laziness I didn’t feel; I was in a room with one of the most lethal creatures on Earth, and knew all too well what it would do to me if circumstances changed. “No,
you
are here to discuss my employment. So far, I’m here to listen to whatever interesting facts you let slip and otherwise laugh at the very idea of helping you.”

Carruthers gave a heavy sigh. “Yes, I rather thought so. Let me make you a more concrete proposal. Your interference in the Project cost us immensely. There are a number of people—human, my kind, and, well,
other
—who feel that you would make an ideal target as an example. The game of international intelligence, on this level, is not played in the standard way, since, if we are being honest, neither side admits of this level’s existence. More grim and direct methods tend to be used in our realm of business. Your termination, despite certain allies who present formidable obstacles, would serve as a clear warning to others who have begun to gain an annoying brashness in their intrusions.

“I am willing to offer you amnesty—we shall write off the cost of the operation with respect to you and your lovely wife. Since the King’s decree protects you from my kind, this will essentially place you back at where you were before ever you were involved in such affairs; only mortal concerns to worry you.”

I nodded, considering. I hadn’t forgotten the possibility that the Project would take my interference amiss, but Carruthers had now made it a concrete threat, one that I couldn’t afford to ignore, especially now that I had a wife and, potentially, one day, a family of my own.

“What’s your angle, Carruthers?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re a bright guy. You have the Project for resources, plus the gods only know what else. Why the hell do you want me in on this? What is it that prevents you and your furry family from solving the murders?”

“A matter of symmetry, you might say,” Carruthers responded. “You ruined one project, now you present yourself in a perfect position to rectify another.”

“Bullpuckey.” I glanced at Syl, who nodded, glaring at our visitor. “Don’t
even
try lying to me, Carruthers, or you can go sit on a silver spike and spin. Try again, the truth this time, or you can kiss any chance for a deal good-bye.”

Carruthers’ eyes narrowed, and for an instant, the wolf looked out, hungry, furious at being balked by this lesser creature; then the urbane mask was back. “As you will, Mr. Wood.

“Certain . . . features of this case are disquieting to my people. There are a few possible reasons for the . . . particular condition of the corpses, but all of them imply a form of death which our people fear above all others. At least one of the possible causes would make us more, rather than less, vulnerable to this attacker than human beings, and in most cases, the attacker will grow stronger with each kill. None of my people want to be involved—not only is the type of death truly hideous, especially to a race that is by all rights immortal, but if the one explanation proves correct, those investigating would be potentially supplying our enemy with ever greater power. A human being will be less vulnerable and, if he fails, will not provide much of a boost to our adversary.”

I snorted. “So you need an intelligent but dispensable agent who won’t prove to be a battery for this bozo.”

“Succinctly put.”

“You’re being awfully low on the details here. If you expect me to look into anything, you’d have to be a bit more forthcoming on them.”

A nod acknowledged my point. “Indeed, but you have not yet agreed to the position, Mr. Wood. The more you learn, the more dangerous you could become to us, true?”

“True enough.” I thought for a moment. “I’ll make you a counteroffer, Mr. Carruthers. You will arrange the same immunity for
all
those associated with me—specifically, you give up on Tai Lee Xiang and all his relatives. If his wife or daughter are still in your possession, or in that of anyone you have influence over, you’ll hand them back. Verne Domingo, Sylvie, myself, and, to be blunt, my whole damn hometown is off-limits to you and your gene-twiddled friends.”

“Have you completely taken leave of your senses, Wood?” Carruthers stared at me. I couldn’t completely blame him, I had upped the ante a bit, specifically in his own project’s area.

“Hey, you’re the one who came here. Take it or leave it. I’m not interested in only personal immunity—that’s not enough to make it worth playing this game with you. I’ll trust in Verne and Tai Lee to whip the crap out of any of your assassins who happen to wander through.” I turned my back on him and got myself a ginger beer out of the fridge and congratulated myself that my hands hardly shook at all.

I turned back to face Carruthers’ silent glare. I returned it with a raised eyebrow and sat back down.

Silence. None of us moved.

After what seemed an hour but was probably only a minute, Carruthers broke into a smile and spread his hands. “You have my measure, Mr. Wood. It is, indeed, that important to me. I accept your terms, with a single exception: Jeri Winthrope. While she is not, at present, high on our list of targets, she is connected to an organization that is in an adversarial position to us; I will not agree to something which would potentially leave me bound to permit an enemy to strike without my own freedom to strike them as I saw fit.”

I didn’t like the exception, but I also knew what “organization” he had to be referring to, and whoever they were, they played their own brand of deadly hardball. A warning to the Jammer should suffice to make sure they kept their eyes open.

“Agreed.”

“Excellent!” Carruthers stood to go.

“Whoa, there,” I said. “I want you to swear to this agreement.”

“Certainly,” he began, but I held up my hand.

“In the name of the King himself.”

His mouth tightened, then relaxed. “Yes, I suppose you would guess that one. So be it. I, Virigan, one of the Eldest Five, swear, by the name of our Father and King, the Final Devourer, Virigar, that from this day forth no forces under my control, or under the control of any I influence, involved with the Project or of our people, shall seek to harm, kill, interfere with, or otherwise inconvenience Jason Wood or any of the people associated with him as follows: V’ierna Dhomienkha, known as Verne Domingo; Tai Lee Xiang and any of his family; Sylvia Stake; and any and all residents of the community of Morgantown, New York, current or future, with the sole exception of Agent Jeri Winthrope and any that she recruits or imports to the area, aside from those already mentioned. In addition, I swear that if any of the family of the previously mentioned Tai Lee Xiang remain in the custody of any I control or influence, they will be returned to Tai Lee Xiang and will enjoy the same status of protection.

“In return, Jason Wood, you swear that you will undertake the investigation of these killings in Venice and environs, and will devote the same ingenuity and effort that you have to prior investigations, ignoring considerations of our races’ differences in the pursuit of the perpetrator. Have I your word?”

“You have my word of honor, yes. I’ll do the best I can.”

Carruthers bowed. “Then it is agreed and sworn to. I would suggest you call the Sh’ekatha; he will be able to tell you many things about what you may be facing. In the meantime, I will be instructing my people to cooperate with you fully—including giving you information on ourselves and our enemies which we would otherwise never reveal. I shall not be available; I must return to my own duties elsewhere.” He extended his hand, which I shook reflexively, a shiver going up my spine. “Good-bye, Mr. Wood. I doubt we shall meet again.”

The door closed behind him. I looked at Sylvie. “Why do I have a feeling that despite having him over a barrel, I
still
got the short end of the stick on this one?”

CHAPTER 64

Set in Stone

“You may have been tricked, Master Jason.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. “Why, thank you, Morgan. Just what I needed to hear.”

Sylvie and I had just finished filling Morgan in on the details. After I had called Verne to tell him the situation, he cut me off, not wanting to discuss things by phone, and sent Morgan down by chartered jet. Another peculiarity of Verne’s existence that I hadn’t known until now was that he could not travel a great distance from home, or stay away for any length of time, without significant preparations. Therefore, he had sent Morgan—his oldest living friend and retainer—as his right-hand man.

“Would you mind explaining?” Sylvie asked. “Exactly how we were tricked, I mean?”

Morgan smiled slightly. “Perhaps ‘tricked’ is too harsh a word, but slightly misled, certainly. While it is, technically, true that there are several ways to produce the effects that you have described, only one seems to me and Master Verne at all likely—and even that one is so unlikely that only the very existence of these crimes would make us consider the possibility at all.”

“I see,” I said. “What you mean is that he made it look like the thing they were afraid of wasn’t necessarily here, while in fact he was pretty darn sure that it was, right?”

“Essentially true, yes, sir. In our opinion, you are dealing with a
Maelkodan
.”

I typed the word into my laptop and frowned. “That word does
not
come up in the little database I made a while ago, Morgan.”

“Master Verne realizes this and sends his apologies, sir. The creatures were rare even before the disaster, and usually not found on Earth in any case; it did not occur to him that any such could have survived until now.”

I noted the word. “And just what is a . . . Maelkodan?”

“As the werewolf is the origin of several legends—that of the lycanthrope, several demons, and so on—the Maelkodan is the original source from which the legends of Medusa, the basilisk, the catoblepas, and so on have derived. They are monstrous creatures, intelligent and devious, of vast mystical potential.

“As were so many monsters, they were created by sorcerous experimentation. In the case of the Maelkodan, a misguided attempt to create a creature capable of hunting down werewolves produced a monster with the requisite abilities, but with its own agenda. As nearly as Master Verne can determine, this was due either to a genuine mistake by the wizards creating the design, or to deliberate interference by someone—perhaps Virigar, perhaps one of the magicians themselves playing a deeper game. The Maelkodan was created from a combination of werewolf, human, and Teranahm souls and bodies.”

“So,” I said, “a group of powerful but possibly not very forward-thinking wizards went ahead and made this weird crossbreed. Um, what was that last species? Tera . . .”

“Teranahm,” Morgan repeated. “The translation would be ‘Great Dragon.’”

“Ooog.” It wasn’t the brightest-sounding rejoinder, but I wasn’t able to think of an appropriate word.

“Indeed, sir. The resulting creature lacked the fluid shapeshifting ability of the wolf, but as both wolf and Teranahm have this as an inherent ability, a Maelkodan nonetheless has three forms. The first is its true form, which from the fragmentary descriptions available would be something akin to a slender lizardlike body with a vaguely humanoid torso rising, centaurlike, in the front. It has wolflike claws and teeth, and the scales are excellent armor. Unlike the werewolf, it is in fact not vulnerable to silver, but on a much brighter side is vulnerable to ordinary weapons, as a general rule, though if they become powerful enough their armor will withstand blows from swords and so on wielded by mortal strength. Master Verne and I are of the opinion that bullets will remain effective.”

“Well, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition, will wonders never cease; a horror from beyond time that I really can just shoot dead,” I said. “By the fact that the wolves are scared of this thing, though, I guess it must have something to make up for the fact that it can be killed conventionally.”

“Indeed, sir. Several.” Morgan paused, knowing I liked to work things out myself if possible.

I considered what he’d said so far. “Okay. Given what you say it originated in the way of legends, it has a death gaze. If it looks at you, you die. I’d guess that you would have to also be looking back at it—not only is that what the legends say, but if it could just kill by looking around, the thing would be virtually impossible to defeat, and I’d guess the things did get killed on occasion.”

“Scoring pretty well so far, Wood,” Baker said from the doorway, carrying a box of papers, presumably the records I needed.

“What I don’t get is the different methodologies. Why did Mansfield end up just plain dead and Karl playing statue?”

Baker shook his head. “Not different methods, Wood. Different kinds of beings are affected by the Mirrorkiller differently.”

“Um, ‘Mirrorkiller’?”

“It’s what we call the things. For what it’s worth, the damn things fulfilled their design purpose. They like hunting us. They just like hunting everything else, too.”

“Quite so,” Morgan said. “They were supposed to inherit some human behavioral traits, but instead apparently became mostly wolfish in their outlook.”

“Enough,” I said, as I realized Baker was taking it personally as a snipe—which it may have been, but with Morgan’s English-butler reserve, there was no way to tell. “Three forms, you said. What are the others?”

“One is human,” Baker said after a moment. “A secondary shape it can assume while hunting. The third shape is the shape of the last person it killed. So when first hatched, it’s only got two forms until it succeeds at killing.”