torg 03- The Nightmare Dream (12 page)

She looked at the package in her lap. It was wrapped in brown paper, tied off with ordinary string. It was about the size of a large dictionary. No other markings were upon it.

"It's from Thratchen," she said. "It could be a trap."

"We won't know until you open it."

Tentatively, she pulled the slip knot tied into the string and the wrapping fell open, revealing a small wooden box. With a deep breath, she lifted the lid. A gasp escaped her lips and Mara tossed the box out of her lap.

Djil followed its flight across the deck, watching as it spilled its contents. There, gleaming brightly in the sunlight, was a clawed, metal hand.

31

The young woman hurried through the crowded streets of Singapore, carrying a sack of groceries. The world had changed so much, she thought. The days and nights lasted longer than ever before, and sometimes none of the technological items worked. Worse, there were rumors of monsters and other evil things stalking the city. She didn't believe in such things, but she was

concerned about the safety of her family.

She turned a corner, pushing through a group of shoppers waiting on line to enter a store. Everything was in short supply these days, and very expensive. She was lucky to have purchased the things she did. She continued through the narrow street, getting farther from the crowds. Her apartment was in the business district, and since the problems began her neighborhood was becoming less and less crowded. Few people had any desire to do office work when there was no electricity to run calculators and computers, and much of their contact with the outside world had been cut off by mysterious storms raging along the shore.

Footsteps echoed through the close street, and the woman paused. The footfalls were heavy, like work boots, she imagined. They stopped a moment after she did, and she started to get nervous. She looked around, but she saw no one behind her or ahead of her.

"Is anyone there?" she called.

No answer.

She started walking again, quickening her pace. All she wanted to do was get home to her family.. But before she took a dozen steps, the echoing footsteps returned.

"Who is it?" she called, fear making her voice crack.

A man stepped out of the shadows ahead of her. He was tall, with blond hair, and he had a tattoo on his right forearm. The picture was that of a coiled cobra with dripping fangs, captured forever as if poised to strike. On his feet he wore heavy, metal-tipped work boots.

"Calm down, miss," the man said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He was American — at least she thought he was. He had an American accent, full of bravado and arrogance. Regardless of his words, he frightened her. He wasn't a monster, not the kind with claws and fangs that the people whispered about. But there was something about him, something that reminded her of the cobra tattooed to his flesh. She backed away.

"Now, don't try to run," he said, leaping forward with a speed his size never suggested, catching her wrist, engulfing it in one huge hand.

Groceries fell in slow motion, scattering across the street. She tried to scream, but he twisted her hand hard, nearly breaking it. She held in the shout, but the tears came unbidden to her eyes.

"I need to show you something," the man said, excitement filling his voice. He produced a large hunting knife, twirling it before her face so that she could see its sharp, serrated edge. "I want to show you my art."

As the knife plunged into her chest, as her life splattered hotly onto the ground to join the spilled groceries, she realized that not all monsters had claws and fangs.

Some were just ordinary people.

Those, she decided as death began to blacken her vision, were the worst monsters of all.

32

The command tent was crowded with the smell of coffee and sweat. Decker and Sebastian had been talking for the last two hours. Covent had been in and out, making sure that the defenses were back in place after the last battle. Julie, Paragon and Tal Tu alternately sat listening or slept fitfully. Only Kurst sat with them throughout, listening but offering no words of his own. When the conversation finally concluded, both men came away knowing more about the world they were now involved with.

Sebastian, for his part, believed that Decker had been set up. He didn't know why, but for some reason the Delphi Council wanted to pin the assassination on Decker, and then eliminate him to wrap up the matter completely.

Decker, on the other hand, trusted the soldier of fortune and believed that he was not sent to kill him as the other agent had been. If Wells trusted him, then that was good enough for Decker. An idea hit the congressman as Covent walked back into the tent.

"Charlie, I think I know who should go with Tal Tu to find the stelae," Decker said. He noticed that Tal Tu had awakened as was looking at him intensely.

"Oh yeah?" Covent asked. "Who?"

"Quin Sebastian."

"Me?" Quin exclaimed. "What ever gave you that idea?"

"Because you can do it," Decker stated, "and because it's important. Now, more than ever, it would be impossible for me to return to more civilized areas. If the Delphi Council sent one agent, then they're sure to send a second and a third. I'll never reach the stelae if I have to dodge both edeinos and government agents looking to kill me."

Sebastian looked at the edeinos named Tal Tu. Then he looked at Decker and the others. "Okay," he said at last, "but tell me one thing. What the hell is a stelae?"

33

In the town that surrounded Salisbury Manor, in the shadows of a dingy alley, a group of young roughs joked among themselves. Their leader, an older teen, punched one of the boys in the stomach, then laughed uproariously as the boy doubled over in pain.

"Good one, Cutter!" another boy proclaimed, clapping the leader on the shoulder.

"Look at Snipe cough!" still another observed. "Look, he's turning blue!"

"If you thought that was funny, watch this," interrupted a new voice.

Cutter, the roughs' leader, didn't recognize the voice. He spun to see who had dared disturb their hideout. He barely made it all the way around when a fist caught him in the jaw and sent him flying into the wall of the alley.

The rough slid down the wall, barely conscious. No laughs accompanied this sight, however. Instead, the boys fell deathly silent. They all turned to see who had dared strike Cutter. They gasped.

Standing at the mouth of the alley was a large demonkind. He looked something like a ravagon, but more man-like. However, he wore a black leather tunic, and metal made up parts of his body. In particular, the boys could see that the demon's right arm was metal, as were large sections of his wings.

"You'll die for that," Cutter said through lips that were already swelling. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

"Obviously," the techno-demon said, "neither do you."

The roughs started to shift then, revealing their werecreature natures. The leader transformed into a werewolf, exposing sharp claws and pointed teeth. The other boys took on the shape of wererats. They chattered excitedly at the prospect of feasting on the demonkind. One, a little more impatient than the others, leaped across the alley, his fangs bared to deliver a deadly strike.

He never made it.

The techno-demon splayed his metal hand and claws shot out of each finger. He slashed at the wererat, cutting the creature almost completely in half. Both portions thudded to the ground, forming a steaming mess.

"Silver," the demon assured them, shaking blood and flesh from his claws.

The werewolf roared at the sight of his pack member so easily dispatched. He launched himself at the demon, coming at him from the left in order to avoid the silver claws. But the demon was fast, and very strong. He gripped the werewolf around the neck with his natural hand, pinning him to the wall.

"Unless you want to watch me gut your entire pack, Cutter, I suggest you listen to me," the demon said, waving his silver claws before the werewolf's eyes. "I am Thratchen, and I am Lord Salisbury's regent. That makes my word law in Orrorsh. Do you understand?"

The werewolf nodded, never taking his eyes off of the claws.

"You met another werewolf a few days ago," Thratchen continued. "You called him something else though, and refused to battle him. Tell me about that."

"You mean the dire wolf," Cutter said.' "I never saw a dire wolf before, but I remember the legends."

"Tell me about the legends," Thratchen urged, squeezing the werewolf's neck a little harder.

"Not much to tell. Dire wolves are big werebeasts, very powerful. They used to lead the other werecreatures, keeping peace between the races. That's all I know."

Thratchen stared at the rough, finally deciding that he was too afraid not to be honest. If there was more to learn, he would have to look elsewhere. He released the werewolf, turning away before the beast even hit the floor.

"Behave yourself, Cutter," Thratchen warned as he departed. "And keep your pack in line. You wouldn't want me to come back here."

Cutter shifted back into human form, rubbing his sore neck to ease the pain. "That's for sure," he muttered, watching the demonkind exit the alley. When he was certain the one called Thratchen had left, he slapped one of the younger boys hard across the face.

"Don't just stand there," Cutter growled, motioning toward the dead wererat, "clean up that mess."

34

Teth-Net entered the newly-completed Royal Palace, making his way through the pillared corridors toward the throne room. He was the Royal Marshall of the Nile Empire, military advisor of Pharaoh Mobius. He was a quiet man, more comfortable on the battlefield than in the richly-appointed chambers of the Pharaoh. There were times, however, when his own comfort had to take a back seat to the needs of the empire.

Music greeted the Royal Marshall as the court guards opened the great stone doors to the throne room. It was a sensuous tune, reminding Teth-Net of the pleasure houses run by the gangsters in Cairo.

"Come in, Teth-Net," a muffled voice ordered. It was a voice that the Royal Marshall knew well. It was the voice of Mobius.

The Pharaoh was seated upon his ornate throne, wearing the brown hood that obscured his features and marked his origin as a villain in their home cosm of Terra. Here, though, his other heritage took center stage. Here Mobius was Pharaoh of the Tenth Empire of Egypt, ruler of all he surveyed.

Teth-Net entered, taking in the details of the room as he strode toward the throne. There was no band playing; instead the music issued forth from a record player. The Pharaoh's Royal Escort, the lovely Clemeta, danced provocatively before Mobius, mixing an ancient ceremonial dance with the modern movements associated with jazz. The effect, he had to admit, was breathtaking.

"Isn't she exquisite, Teth-Net?" Mobius asked. "I especially like the way she moves her hands."

The Royal Marshall agreed. He stood and watched the woman dance for long minutes before Mobius broke the spell she weaved out of sound and motion.

"She is hard to resist, Teth, but I'm sure you came here for some other reason," Mobius said, the barest hint of amusement in his tone.

"Of course, Pharaoh. I didn't want to disturb your relaxation."

"Speak," Mobius commanded. "I can listen to you while I watch Clemeta."

The Royal Marshall nodded, then began to update the Pharaoh on the course of the wars of conquest. Ethiopia, Israel, Libya, Sudan — these were the spots of major conflict. Teth-Net described the situation in each area.

"To conclude, Pharaoh, we are making marked progress on all of our fronts," Teth-Net finished.

"Very good, Teth, but not good enough," Mobius declared. "I can't worry about these wars when so many other matters require my attention. Go back to your soldiers and end these battles. That is all."

Dismissed, Teth-Net bowed and started across the room. The woman danced around him as he walked, trailing her silken scarf over his naked chest. He ignored her, continuing forward to carry out the Pharaoh's

orders. But while he showed no visible signs of discomfort, his mind plagued him with images of her curves, and the touch of her silk.

Even after he had exited, the smell of her perfume stayed with him for a long, long time.