"CORONET I: Falling into the Sky"
"Coronet I: Falling Into the Sky"
6/22/2022
I.
Two uniformed officers were waiting on the scene when the cherry-red Jeep Cherokee pulled up to a stop at the farther edge of the parking lot. Yellow warning tape formed an open rectangle ten feet on its longer sides but the body it had surrounded had already been taken away. Cars going by on the side street slowed slightly as drivers caught sight of the cops and the tape, but there was nothing visible to keep their attention. On a muggy overcast day where a thunderstorm seemed imminent, people were focused mostly on getting home.
Two wildly mismatched men climbed out of the Jeep. Straightening up from behind the wheel, Archie McAllister was a massive bearlike figure in rough work boots, trousers and red flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled up. Six inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter was Timothy Limbo. In his biker boots, well-worn jeans and black leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt, he might as well have been wearing a uniform of sorts.
"Hi, Morrissey," Timothy called as they approached. "Thanks for calling us in on this one."
"Tim! Yeah, Detective Beckert had to go, he's juggling more than one mess right now, but he knew you'd be interested in this." The officer nodded at Archie. "Seems I recollect meeting you as well, sir."
Archie McAllister grumbled something unintelligible but polite enough sounding. Big and imposing as he was, in the round, unshaven face the gentle blue eyes belied his true nature.
"Right off the bat, one question comes to mind," Timothy began, circling the taped-off area. "This is where the body of Lionel Groeters was found, face down, arms and legs full extended, right?"
"Yep. After the forensics boys scraped up as much residue as they could, the asphalt was water blasted but that stain is gonna be there for a while," the cop volunteered.
"From what I was told on the way over, Groeters looked as if he had fallen from a minimum height of one hundred and fifty feet. Impact deformation was classic, your CSI team said. But the buildings in this clinic are only two stories high. At the most, he couldn't have fallen more than twenty feet if he had dived off a roof after a running start." Timothy scratched at the back of his neck beneath the lank yellow hair. "Hard to figure, you know?"
Archie turned slowly around, scanning the nearby buildings. "If it wasn't for the blood on the ground, I'd suggest that he fell somewhere else and was brought here after he was already dead. But that's out. You say your experts think he fell a hundred and fifty feet at the most, so he wasn't pushed out of an airplane or helicopter, you'd have a hundred witnesses."
"Puzzling, right?" asked the cop. "Sounds like some of that Midnight War craziness you guys handle." He handed a tablet to Timothy. "You realize we can not show any crime scene photos to civilians, not even KDF members who have been helping out for years and years."
With Archie looming up behind him, Timothy Limbo studied the gruesome images before handing the Ipad back. "Unofficially and off the record, denying everything, I see only one suggestive item. The victim was dressed for the office. Polished shoes, pressed slacks, neat white shirt and you can see the end of a necktie up by his shoulder. But no jacket. It may not mean anything but I've seen murder cases solved by smaller clues."
"Could be. Well, me and Tompkins are supposed to report back now. Good seeing you guys again. I know lots of men wearing a shield resent you KDF as vigilantes and loose cannons, but personally I've seen you clear up some awful atrocities. Good luck."
"Thanks again," Timothy said, watching as the officers eased out into traffic.
Archie McAllister was pacing around the taped off area, big hands jammed into his trouser pockets. "Honestly, I'm going to be completely useless on this. Megan was the genius. On all those 'Trom Girl mysteries,' I listened to her rattle off solutions and maybe once in a while I threw a punch."
"Heck, I don't claim to be nearly as smart as she was, Archie. Who is? But you've had ten years experience on those cases, so any suggestions you come up with are welcome. Besides, you're good company and I hate driving in rush hour traffic." The KDF member stared up at the sky again. "You know, I can't quite remember the details but I think Sheng fought a crook who might be connected with this, maybe a year ago. It's far fetched but worth checking out. We never found out his real name, he was known as the Flying Fool."
"That's goofy. And you think maybe he was the one who dropped that poor guy out of the sky?"
"Worse than that," Timothy said, "I think first he made Lionel Groeters fall up INTO the sky."
II.
The steel gate swung closed behind Woodley's mustard-yellow MG as he drove up the paved driveway toward that posh three-story mansion. The electronic signal from the little gadget mounted under the dashboard had disabled the alarms and opened the way for the few seconds necessary. Woodley had installed it himself, as he had for the cars the others on the Coronet team drove, and he felt unreasonably smug about his expertise. If the world were a fairer place, his skills would mean he'd get a bigger cut of the profits than some of the dim bruisers he had to work with.
Hunnicut House was one hundred and forty-three years old, erected in the days before robber barons had to grudgingly pay which income tax they couldn't wriggle out of. It was a rectangular block of granite with a belfrey on the roof, a livery stable conerted into a ten car garage connected by a covered walkway and an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Seventy-five acres of carefully planted woods gave the estate sufficient privacy. In the distance toward the rear, a silvery glint of the Hudson could be glimpsed in the afternoon sunlight.
Parking in front of the portico with its Corinthian arches and marble steps, Woodley laughed to himself. Generations of the wealthy elite had lived here, tended by small armies of butlers, maids, groundskeepers, chefs and stable boys. And today? Only five crooks were in residence, himself being one of them. The chief did keep two flunkies on hand, a middle-aged couple who did the shopping and cooking, but no one was polishing the silverware or keeping the linen immaculate as in the old days. The Coronet gang was busy enough with their heists.
As he got out, Dave Woodley stood for a second gazing at the mansion. He was not an imposing figure, maybe five feet eight and one hundred and sixty pounds in unremarkable slacks, green polo shirt and sneakers. The round-rimmed glasses over a pug nose and the mop of untidy reddish hair didn't add to the lame impression he made.
"There you are," boomed a resonant baritone as the front door opened. This man made a dramatic contrast to Woodley. Jorge Vargas stood a bit over six feet tall but had the wide shoulders and narrow waist of an athlete, his rounded muscles standing out under a snug white dress shirt and black slacks. In his early fifties, Vargas' square hard face was lined and his dark eyes surly. The short black hair was speckled with white flecks.
"Hiya, Repel," Woodley replied without being noticeably intimidated. "I got here right when I said I would. It's a real drag having to keep my car on the road when there's a faster way if you know what I mean."
"Never mind about showing off with those gravity shield gimmicks," the man called Repel snapped. "Keeping a low profile is just common sense. Let's get in, everybody's waiting."
Passing through a foyer and across a cavernous ballroom with a genuine crystal chandelier hanging fifteen feet above them, Woodley and Vargas went into a snug old-fashioned den with plush carpeting, overstuffed easy chairs and walls lined with bookshelves which also held model ships and small iron statuary. In the center of this room, two people sat around a round mahogany table and looked up at the newcomers without warmth or welcome.
Amelia Mancuso hardly noticed Vargas and Woodley. Slouched back in her chair, huddled inside an oversized hooded sweatshirt, the Calveron stared down at the table surface as if wishing she could fall into it. Without a trace of make-up, with the dark blonde hair pulled back into a careless bun, she was still a beautiful young woman in her late twenties. But the blue eyes were distant and she might as well have not even been there.
Seated to her left, though, Indigo straightened up and gave the newcomers a sour glare that was made less threatening by his decrepit physical state. Nearing seventy, thin and bent in a dark brown business suit that no longer fit well, the Illusionist looked awful. Lank greying hair barely reached up to the crown on his head, and the sunken cheeks and beaked nose didn't make him any more imposing. An unlit cigarette drooped from one corner of the thin-lipped mouth.
"Hah, the Coronet team is ready for action!" Woodley cheered as he yanked a chair out for himself. "Amelia, we need some dramatic war name for you. We've got Vagas as Repel, Indigo the Illusionist and me of course, the Flying Fool. A colorful nickname would give you some flair in this Midnight War game."
"I don't care," she grumbled. "Call me whatever you like."
Dropping down heavily into a chair, Jorge Vargas clapped a meaty palm down on the table. "So where's the chief? She said she had a big project lined up for us, I want to get going."
"You never did have much patience, Repel," Indigo said, taking the cigarette from his mouth and gesturing with it as he spoke. "With the pay we're getting, I don't mind sitting comfortably all day."
"Yeah, well maybe you're tired and worn out. But I have some ambition left. I want to remind people who Repel is, I want cops to get nervous when they hear I'm around, I want to be a name that people afraid to say too loudly."
"You've been out of circulation for a long time," Indigo scoffed. "Who even remembers you at this point?"
Vargas' heavy black eyebrows lowered and the voice got deeper. "Twenty-two years taken away from me. Almost half of my life in a cage. I don't care if the chief wants a low profile, I intend to find those KDF bastards and make them beg for death. Especially Bane. The Dire Wolf! Oh, I want to meet up with him again, that's a fact."
"Come on, come on," interrupted Woodley in a lighter tone. "Ease up there, buddy. For the moment, we're working for the chief and you gotta admit she knows what she's doing. Having a bank account in the Caribbean that Uncle Sam can't touch gives me a warm satisfied feeling. How about you, Amelia? Got a million socked away yet?"
The Calveron barely shrugged. "Money? Yes, I have money for what that's worth. It doesn't help. My people are intent on killing me and you Humans are not any better. Burning witches at the stake is a bad habit of yours."
"Aw, you need to lighten up, too," the Flying Fool teased. "Listen, if you don't go around broadcasting your witchness, no one will know. You look like any another tall beautiful blonde with great legs. People aren't going to hate you, you're too good-looking."
For the first time, Amelia raised her eyes with the distant, preoccupied expression in them. "Maybe I should have told you. Maybe not. I'm a fugitive. My mortal husband died when I made his heart stop while we were arguing. The police can't prove anything but I know they're suspicious and now I'm missing so they really want to nail me. If they don't find a way to put me in jail, my own kind will murder me sooner or later."
"Hell, knock it off with that kind of talk," Vargas snapped. "You're on this team and we look out for each other. Face it, you're protected by the three of us and we're dangerous men."
Indigo finally lit his crumpled cigarette and shook the match out. "More than that, the chief makes us all look like harmless little puppies."
III.
They left the Jeep Cherokee in its assigned space in the lower level of the IMPERIAL GARAGE on 40th Street. This was also where Sheng kept his Italia when he was not down by his Mott Street office and where Tim stored his Harley. Even though he was officially retired, even Jeremy Bane still paid for a permanent slot in this garage as a convenience when he was in Manhattan. The garage had conscientiously watched security cameras and the KDF members' vehicles were fitted with Trom proximity alarms that would send a signal if any physical contact was made.
Walking up the concrete ramp to the street, Timothy said, "I was meaning to ask about your Jeep. Did Megan make any modifications to it that you're having trouble handling?"
"Not so far," Archie replied. "She explained most of her tinkering during the process. But to be honest, I bet there are some functions to its computer systems that I don't know about or wouldn't know how to use anyway."
That got a good-natured chuckle from Tim. "Tell me about it. Every time she got her hands on my Harley, she brought it a decade or two further ahead of anything commercially available. But how could I complain? The old beast gets three times better gas mileage than normal, it handles perfectly on icy roads and its WiFi signal to my helmet is great."
"Tim, isn't it strange that the Trom haven't brought a new liaison in?"
"We're all wondering about that." Timothy turned left at 38th Street and skirted the crowds deftly enough that he did not seem to be as intensely alert as he was. Like all the KDF members, he acted as if an ambush was always imminent. "I don't know if I could handle the Trom sending a replacement for Megan, to be honest. I think I'd resent him or her, I think we all would. It would be like, 'how dare you?'"
"Hmm. She never mentioned another Human being raised the way she was, and she would have told me if there was one. To the Trom, Megan was basically an experiment. They're so damn cold and logical and pragmatic. I can't stand them."
"They're not BAD exactly, just unemotional," Tim said. "I guess we should be glad they value Human life and work with us. The Trom would be the worst enemies possible. Hey, here we are." Tim came to a halt in front of the ten story granite building at 28 East 38th Street, with a simple bronze plaque on the front door which read KENNETH DRED FOUNDATION. A second later, a buzzer sounded as the door unlocked for them. Timothy hopped up the steps and swung the door open. "Hey, Sable, is that you on the monitors?"
"She is not here," answered the low surly voice of Demrak Jin. Even when happy and relaxed, she sounded angry. "I am on watch duty. Come in, you two."
Even though they had been identified, Archie and Tim had to wait in the foyer while sensors more advanced than any MRI scanned them down to a cellular level. The inner door unlocked and they stepped into the front hall. Standing at the base of the central staircase was the small taut figure of Demrak Jin.
Not much over five feet tall, wiry and lean, the Gelydra woman was wearing simple jeans,m sneakers and a black T-shirt. Jin's wide flat face with its cloudy blue eyes and stiff shock of white hair was not pretty by conventional standards but she had an intensity that gave her great presence. When she was nearby, it was hard to look away.
"No one else is here right now," she said. "Galvan is home with our son, it's his turn to watch him. Pol will be three years old soon and I understand the surface custom of birthday parties. Other children should attend to wear foolish hats and eat ice cream."
"We can swing an appropriate party in our rec room," Timothy laughed. "But Unicorn's kid is ten already. Our team doesn't have a lot of children to work wih. Anyway. We saw the death scene and it's weird, all right." Timothy started toward the open door of the office on their left. "I remembered the name of the crook Sheng tangled with. He called himself the Flying Fool. Let's pull up Sheng's report."
Opening the laptop of Sable's desk, Timothy pulled up a detailed document from two years earlier, April 2020. The three of them put their heads close together as they read in silence. Finally, Timothy closed the file and put the laptop to one side again. "Well. That was just the sort of wild oddball adventure Sheng seems to fall into. He gets into the craziest situations. He last saw the Flying Fool out of control, rushing up in the sky and out of sight. Apparently he went to his death where the air would be too thin to keep him alive."
"Bah!" Jin scoffed. "We know by now not to believe an enemy is dead until we have examined his corpse. Sometimes not even then. I have no problem believing this thief managed to repair his gravty shield in time and descended safely."
"Nobody's mentioned this Flying Fool to me before," Archie said. "So, he's a Human who's managed to cobble up shoddy versions of the Trom gravity shields? And he uses them to steal expensive antique cars and yachts and ?"
Timothy straightened up and moved away from the desk."That's what Sheng reports. It's too bad he's in Chujir with the team or we could ask him for more details. My guess, and it's only a guess, is that the Fool slapped a gravity shield on Lionel Groeters' back and sent him soaring straight up. Maybe a kidnaping? But then Groeters panicked and wriggled out of his jacket and plummeted back down again, obviously from some height. Poor guy. The police are never going to get anywhere, it's up to us to bring some justice to the situation."
"Yes. I see in the report that the victim was married, with two daughters." Demrak Jin raised a small hard fist to chest level and even her friends felt a twinge of uneasiness, knowing what she was capable of. "Those who make widows and orphans earn the edge of the blade!"
IV.
"I have to sit down for a moment or my back will break," muttered Indigo as he dropped onto one of the green metal benches facing Schuylerkill Creek. "That's better."
Staying on his feet, Jorge Vargas surveyed the array of vessels moored up along the stone embankment. Most were small, trim cruisers with sails but one stood out. Forty-three feet in length, it was a sleek new yacht in dark blue with gold trims. The main salon and the foreward stateroom were streamlined in their backward sweep and the prow jutted forward sharply. Gold cursive lettering on the hull identified the craft with the unusual name, ABSENT FRIENDS.
"It's an okay-looking boat," Repel admitted. "Not that I claim to know much about them, but I don't see where this one is anything special."
Rummaging for a lighter that must be in some pocket somewhere on him, Indigo the Illusionist snorted. "Hah. I read up on it. The owner is someone named Ned Essex, a crackpot YouTube millionaire and he has added ridiculously decadent luxuries to that tub. It's a pleasure cruiser mostly preoccupied with accomodating the use of drugs and prostitutes of the best quality. Don't let the small size fool you. That damn thing is valued at six million, five hundred thousand as is."
"Yeah, that's not chump change," Vargas agreed. "I'm sure the chief has a buyer lined up. I guess swiping boats is like stealing antique cars, either a collector keeps it hidden and gloats over it or he makes enough changes to pass it off as a different vehicle. Whatever. Time to get this over with. See the crew on the deck?"
"Of course I see them, I'm not blind."
"You're gonna get a dope slap to the back of the head if you keep talking to me like that," came a growl from the massive chest. "Watch your step. Your illusions don't work that well when someone knows about them and is on guard."
Indigo flicked the butt into the water of the creek nearly within arm's reach. "You think so? Wait until you take a good swig of bleach that looks like a glass of beer. Or you step right in front of a Greyhound bus you can't see."
"And how would the chief feel about that?" remarked Repel. "You've seen her Alchemical serums at work. The bone-softening one would get rid of your arthritis but of course you'd be a greasy blob spread out on the ground."
Indigo sputtered and straightened up. "All right, all right. Woodly is standing by?"
"He's ready. It's your job to get those deck hands away from the boat."
"Easy enough, stand back and watch the master at work." Indigo leaned far forward on the bench, bony hands clasping bony knees, and lowered his head. Stretched out on the embankment near the prow of the ABSENT FRIENDS yacht, the prone body of a nearly naked young woman shimmered into existence. Her glossy black hair covered her face better than the flimsy white negligee covered her body. She showed no signs of life.
"Al, look! Is she okay?" Both of the yacht's crew hustled down the short gangplank. The instant they left the vacht, a figure in a light blue jumpsuit plunged straight down from directly overhead to alight on the deck. Dave Woodley was holding a dull metal disc four inches across and he slapped it down onto the deck where a potent adhesive on its underside held it fast. The Flying Fool tapped two buttons on the stiff metal cuff of his flightsuit. Surrounded by an unseeing lifting field created by an application of physics that no Human theory had even considered as yet, the UNSEEN FRIENDS rose smoothly up out of the water and accelerated as it went. The mooring line snapped off from the irresitable power of the gravity shield which could not be stopped.
A roar of dozen voices crying out in complete confusion from the passersby in the area. The surreal sight was so unexpected and so inconceivable that absolutely no one on that embankment had the quickness of mind to record it with their phones. Then the blue and gold yacht became only a black dot against the sky, and then it was gone completely.
Gone also was the deceptively real-seeming form of the supine young woman. When the deck hands reached her, she blinked out of existence more thoroughly than a soap bubble popping. Even as this happened, the crowd's commotion alerted the crewmen and they wheeled around just in time to see their livelihood sail off, not further down the creek but toward the clouds.
Jorge Vargas tried to stifle a laugh but could not succeed and ended up with a coughing fit. He thumped his chest with a meaty fist. "Man oh man, I enjoyed that," he roared. "Damn, I give the Fool proper respect when he pulls off something like that."
"No shooting, no running, nice and civilized," Indigo agreed. "If there had been any complications, you're here with your fists and your automatic to handle rough stuff. But I like it better when things go neatly this way."
The man called Repel shrugged. "I wouldn't mind some action. Watching bullets ricochet away without touching me is always the biggest kick. Come on, back to the house and we can see if the chief finally has a kind word for us."
Heading back to where the Coronet team's dark red Nissan stood in the parking lot, neither man was aware that one hundred yards away, three people were as gleeful about developments as they were. "They took the bait and snapped the trap!" Timothy Limbo said, holding up his Link. "Look at the blip. The boat is now five thousand feet above usand moving south by southwest. You did a good job planting the transmitter, Jin."
"No one saw me. I was completely underwater."
At the steering wheel of the Jeep Cherokee, Archie grinned as he seldom had since Megan's death. "I'll be hanged. We put four transmitters on four likely cruisers and those crooks picked the one we thought they were most likely to. I figured we might spend weeks trying to get after the Flying Fool and here we are, first try."
"That newspaper story about the ABSENT FRIENDS was what gave me the idea," Timothy said. "Ned Sussex is a vile crackpot but his podcast makes him rich and he's always in the news. The Fool must have heard about Sussex' luxury boat. Get yer motor running, Archie, let's follow the signal."
Swinging the Jeep around to exit the lot, Archie sighed. "This may not be as smooth going as we would like. That boat won't be following roads OR waterways. We'll have to chase it from the ground as best we can and keep moving in its general direction."
"Might as well make the best of it. It's a beautiful day to track down flying yachts," Timothy said.
V.
In the main kitchen of the mansion, Repel was making a second cup from a ridiculously complicated mass of chrome and glass that took forever to brew coffee. "Chief leave yet?"
Sprawled back in a handcarved wooden chair at the round table, Woodley looked up. "Yeah. She got in the chopper with Quando at the stick. Indigo went with her for some reason, I don't know why."
Vargas took an experimental sip and grunted. "That's decent. Twenty minutes to make, but damn good coffee. So it's you and me and Amelia here?"
"And old Dunham, out there trimming hedges and searching for weeds. Poor old fool thought he saw a muskrat the other day, you'd think he saw the Red Chinese Army invading!"
"Heh. So, Fool. Did the chief yell at you because Groeters died?"
Woodley took a long moment to answer. "Nah. You know her. When she's not happy with us, her voice gets real silky and polite. That's when you know you're in danger. She warned me not to stick a gravity shield on someone's clothing where the clothes could come off. And she reminded me that she wants to avoid victim deaths. Blackmail, extortion, even trafficking are okay but no stiffs."
"I say to hell with that. Major felonies like we pull aren't child's play. If a few suckers have to cash in, it's their hard luck. And I bet that big animal Quando has left a few corpses behind him."
"Not saying you're wrong," Woodley remarked, sitting up as Repel came over with a fresh cup of coffee. "But I'll go along with the chief for now. She made up a new adhesive for my shields that's strong as hell, great stuff. It gets sticky ten seconds after being exposed to air. And honestly, I was sick of living in El Cheapo motels and renting rooms in the bad part of towns. Staying here is something I could get used to."
Sipping in silence for a moment, Repel let his heavy-featured face relax into its basic surly, brooding lines. Woodley left him alone. Almost two decades in Federal prison had given the man plenty of time in the weights room. Vargas wasn't overdeveloped in a showy way, he had the rounded hard muscles of a lumberjack. Visible calluses on his knuckles added to the intimidating effect.
Finally, the Flying Fool stifled a yawn and stood up. "I guess I'll go watch some movies in my rooms. The satellite dish gives us so many choices I have to pick something at random. Maybe Amelia would like to join me."
"Don't waste your time, buddy. I'm saying that to be helpful. That girl is messed up in the head. Accidentally killing her husband and having her own people trying to track her down has wrecked her brain. And you know what you don't do with crazy?"
"Oh, sure, sure." Woodley gave his cockeyed grin before heading for the hall. "But hell, I'm called the Flying Fool for a good reason."
VI.
Sitting in the Jeep by the side of Vanderkyl Drive, Timothy Limbo held his hand outside the rolled-down window. Over his upturned palm, a barely visible little tornado swirled and danced. "Yeah. Thanks, buddy," he said as the whirlwind popped out of existence.
"What do your friendly ghosts tell you?" asked Archie.
"I see what they see, and that mansion is epic. Damn. I know Hyde Park has some rich people, the Roosevelts lived here after all, but still...the closets in that place are bigger than some of the apartments I've rented. It's the kind of place where the bathrooms are real marble and there are oil paintings of grandfathers over the fireplaces. Plush."
"Never mind that!" snapped Demrak Jin from the back seat. "Is the enemy there, that's what important."
Timothy did not bristle at the tone of her voice. He was used to her impatience and the fact they had been riding around back roads for six hours didn't make her any sweeter. "Yeah. I saw three possible Midnight War types in there. A blonde woman sitting staring out a window, all depressed and mopey. A regular guy on his bed watching some goofy Hong Kong movie. And the only one I recognized from his file in our records. Jorge Vargas, Repel, big bruiser. He was grilling some pork chops and taking a swig from a Johnny Walker bottle every now and then."
"Who's he? You have to remember I haven't read all the KDF records," Archie said.
"Before my time. I think, around 2000? 2001? When the Second Team was getting started. Repel was a burglar and hold-up guy with a gralic power. Any attack on his body was instantly driven back without harming him. Bullets, fists, whatever... if you tried to hit him with a two by four by example, the board would bounce back just as hard and most likely whack you instead. He was a real problem to fight."
"He has yet to meet ME," growled Jin. The absolute conviction in her voice eliminated any possible humor in threats coming from a thin young woman not much over five feet tall. Jin was not playing being tough or trying to sound cool. She was only speaking the truth.
"He's been captured and locked away. There are ways to handle anyone." Staring across the acres of lawn toward the mansion, Timothy said, "Presumably the guy watching TV is the Flying Fool. I just can't figure out who the woman might be. The KDF has dealt with way too many bad guys over the years for me to remember them all. Jeremy by himself has brought down hundreds of threats, and our teams have put away their share."
"Is the yacht there?" asked Archie.
"You bet. It's in a pool! I mean, it's a huge pool admittedly but that boat needs deeper clearance. I'd bet my bike that there's going to be some damage to the hull."
Hopping out of the rear of the Jeep and slamming the door, Demrak Jin strapped the three foot long sheath across her back so that the hilt of her bone-bladed long knife protruded up behind her left shoulder for instant draw. She wore her grey outfit of long-sleeved tunic and pants of sharkhide with the rough denticles on the outside. Anyone brushing up against that abrasive material would lose some skin. "We have talked enough. That boat is proof we have found the flying man who creates widows and orphans. I will not let him walk free an hour longer!"
"When you're right, you're right," Tim agreed, stepping out of the Jeep himself. He had not changed into a KDF field suit but was still wearing his usual biker boots, jeans and black leather outfit. He buckled a leather gunbelt which held a half dozen pouches and one of the anesthetic dart guns in a flap holster. "Archie, I think you should stay here. If you see us running this way, start her up and get ready to peel out. It'll mean we canme up against something we can't handle."
Archie stuck his head out of the open window and drummed the steering wheel with his fingertips. "You never really know what you might find, huh?"
"Nope," said Timothy, seeing Demrak Jin already moving across the vast expanse of the estate toward the mansion. "That's the way the Midnight War is."
V.
Woodley gave a violent start and nearly fell off the double bed at the imperative pounding on the door. He had dozed off without realizing it. "Huh? What? What is it?" he yelled.
Sticking her head in through the doorway, Amelia Mancuso showed genuine emotion for nearly the first time since she had joined the Coronet team. Anger. "I sense enemies heading this way. They have gralic energy, we'll be under attack in a few minutes."
"Like what? A SWAT team, Navy SEALS, what?" The Flying Fool was still fully dressed, having only kicked off his shoes. "Are we going to be shot at?"
"Worse than that," the Calveron retorted. "I can feel real danger. These are knights of Tel Shai. What our chief warned us we might have to face. Come on, get into your flying suit and hurry downstairs!"
"You wanna help me change..?" Woodley began hopefully but she had already slammed the door shut again so hard it made him jump again. That girl is not right, he thought to himself. Good looking or not, she was a ticking time bomb ready to go off. Then it sank in what she had warned him about.
The rooms he was occupying had a definite feminine aspect in the furnishings from previous occupants but he didn't mind. The giant projection TV and huge soft bed had been the deciding factors in his choosing these rooms for himself. In one corner, he had hung all his Flying Fool gear and now he hustled to tug it on. The lightweight blue cotton flightsuit was loose-fitting enough to pull on over his street clothes. He zipped it up and then fastened a stiff metal cuff to each forearm. These had the dials and buttons which controlled the discs. A web harness held the six-inch gravity shield up between his shoulder blades. Dave Woodley picked up a canvas belt which held three more of the gravity shields in deep pouches, as well as an open holster. He kept his loaded Glock 19 within reach at all times and now he checked the weapon again before holstering it.
All this took only a few seconds. Before being approached to join the new Coronet team, Woodley had spent two years operating on his own and he had had to quickley get ready for trouble many times before. Where the hell was his crash helmet? Had he left it out by the pool? Wishing he had thought to buy a spare, he ran of the room toward the staircase in the hall. Tel Shai knights! He had only met one, that Chinese dude Sheng Whatever-his name was, and their encounter had ended with Woodley getting rocketed up in the sky, totally out of control. Meeting more like Sheng didn't appeal to him.
Out in the hallway, he tapped the buttons on his cuff and lifted clear of the floor. It felt like floating in water since his sense of weight became so muted. Woodley's father had worked for mastermind John Grim decades earlier, when Grim had stolen some secrets of Trom technology. The gravity shield principles were beyond full Human comprehension but some people could replicate the devices at a reduced level of effectiveness. Woodley himself was able to fabricate new shields with a few weeks work required on each device but he had no idea how they functioned. Good enough for his purposes.
Staying in a vertical posture, the Flying Fool drifted down the staircase to the first floor of the mansion. Amelia and Vargas were waiting for him. The tension in their faces alarmed him because he had never seen either of them so worked up before. "I'm ready!" he told them. "What's the situation?"
The Calveron was peering out between the heavy brocade curtains on one of the high narrow windows. "I feel three minds out there. One is fueled with duty and dedication, one is less strongly motivated. But the third is raging! The third mind wants to spill blood, our blood! She wants to kill us."
"Let her try," Repel snorted. "We'll be burying her before dark. I don't see anyone, Amelia."
"They have separated. One is going to the pool. One is going around the back, the last one is holding back by the pine trees and keeping out of sight." The Calveron pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over the dark blonde hair to shadow her face. It was so rare for Amelia to show any emotion other than a withdrawn ennui that both men realized thdey were facing a genuine threat. "May the Dread Ones aid us," she continued in a strangely hollow tone. "Draldros! Grelok! Margoth! I call on thee now."
"You give me the creeps when you get all Witchy," Repel muttered.
Her baleful expression shot through him. "You are right to be uneasy," she said. "Dread Ones, hear your humble servant. Rich lifeforce shall you drink this day."
"Enough of that crazy crap. Let's get out there. Come on, Woodley."
"I'm with you," the Fool said. He still hovered an inch above the floor, but he had dropped his right hand to brush against the butt of his pistol. "When the chief gets back, she'll see we can handle ourselves just fine without her. Maybe she'll treat us with a little respect for a change."
"You take the front," Repel said, turning on one heel. "I'll get the one sneaking around the back of this shack. Come on, Amelia, now is when you get the chance to show what you can do."
"It may be a sight you cannot unsee," the Calveron whispered back.
VII.
He had never been given one of the Links or any other KDF eqipment. Sable had decided that although he was a close friend and valuable helper, Archie was not even close to applying at Tel Shai or to being considered for KDF membership. Very few people were. So he had no way to follow what was going on with Timothy or Jin, and naturally this worried him as minutes dragged by.
The loss of Megan Salenger still ached, of course. It had only been four months since the Trom Girl's sudden death and Archie thought about her all the time. But working for her team had helped deal with the grief immensely. Nearly every day, for anywhere from five to eight hours, Archie could be found in the small garage beneath KDF headquarters, working on Tim's Harley or Sheng's Italia or Jeremy's Toyota Matrix. Even Unicorn had come to appreciate his tinkering with her little sports car. He searched for worn parts and possible future problems, changed fluids, cleaned and detailed the interiors. Archie knew enough about car computer systems to do some tweaking and updating, too. When the KDF members rushed off to some urgent mission, they knew their vehicles were absolutely ready.
Being useful was important to him. Right now, he had a fierce urge to run toward that mansion and help his friends. Getting out from behind the wheel, he dug around in one of the equipment boxes and came up with a pair of heavy binoculars. Even if he saw nothing going on, he'd feel better checking. He turned toward the mansion that sat two hundred yards away across that pristine lawn and began adjusting the binoculars.
Ironically, it was because he was using the binoculars that he didn't see the blue flightsuited figure hurtling directly at him at head level. Archie was concentrating on getting the mansion into focus when he was taken completely off-guard as the Flying Fool smashed into him and knocked him back against the Jeep. Archie was a big guy, six feet three and two hundred and fifty pounds but he had not been braced and the impact knocked the wind out of him completely.
Woodley pulled one of the gravity shield discs from his belt and slapped it high up on Archie's back, where its Alchemical adhesive held it fast. Then he hopped back a few steps and tapped the control buttons on his right cuff. The codes he had programmed into the disc activated. Archie rose up clear off the ground and floated steady with his feet two feet above the grass. It had only taken a few seconds for the big mechanic to catch his breath and he knew instantly what was going on.
"I don't know why you jokers can't mind your own business," Woodley yelled. "Who apppointed you amateur crimefighters? You realize vigilante activity is criminal in itself, right?"
Archie didn't say anything. He shot out his long left arm, clenched his fingers in the material of the Flying Fool's suit and yanked the man directly into a short right jab that connected beautifully. Woodley sagged at the unexpected jolt. Archie began pounding on the Fool, one straight piston blow after another that rocked the man's head back and forth. Woodley fumbled desperately at his cuff and suddenly he was released because Archie was rocketing straight up into the sky.
Dropping to his hands and knees, then falling over onto his side, Dave Woodley wasn't sure if he could stay conscious or not. He had never taken punches from someone who was both strong and skilled. Blood filled his mouth and he spat it out, then remained lying on his side and waited to see if the pain would ease up.
VIII.
Closing the massive oak door of the mansion behind her, Amelia Mancuso realized she was standing fully upright, shoulders back, head high, for the first time in ages. A stimulating tingle coursed through her body, waking her up and clearing her head. The Halarim were answering her supplications.
Throwing back the hood of her sweatshirt, the Calveron tugged her hair free of its scungi and brushed it out with her fingers. She fought down joyful laughter at the sudden sensation of potency and purpose. "Dread Ones, I will serve you always!" she cried out loud. "See how I repay your faith in me."
Striding quickly toward her was a young man she had never seen before. Not very tall, slightly built, wearing worn-out jeans and a black leather motorcycle jacket. He had butter-yellow hair and a face which was trying to seem scary but which was too good-natured for that to really work. In his right hand, the intruder gripped an odd pistol with an extended needle-thin barrel, nothing she recognized.
Amelia could not keep a wicked grin from her face. All around her body, unseen gralic force crackling and whirled. She was the eye of a withchly hurricane. "Whatever you seek here, you will not get it," she called toward the approaching man. "Turn back. Turn back and live to grow old."
"I notice there's a stolen yacht in your pool, miss," Timothy Limbo said as he came to a halt twenty feet away. The asphalt driveway ended in a rectangular area where a dozen cars could easily be parked and he planted himself in its center. "The owner isn't happy about that. You're going to have to give it back."
"As if life weren't short enough..." she muttered, then screamed "Claws of Efriko, rend my foe!"
Lurid crimson flashes of light whipped from nowhere to tear at Timothy, slashing his jacket open and spinning him around. Beneath his ruined outer clothing, the dark grey sheen of his flexible Trom armor showed clearly. The otherwordly talons faded as quickly as they had appeared. Timothy had kept his footing and even retained his grip on the anesthetic dart gun, but those gralic Claws had left deep bruises.
"Damn. That's a neat trick!" he said with remarkable calm under the circumstances. "And my favorite jacket, too, I had just broken it in."
Somehow, Amelia feltt reluctant to kill this young man with his insolen attitude. Despite the Claws of Efriko, he remained confident. There was no fear in his voice. "I'm telling you for your own sake, go back and never return."
"Can't do that, sorry. So. You're a Calveron, right? One of the 'Hidden Ones?' All the Calveron I've met have been shriveled little hags but I have to say you're not hard to take. You don't see violet eyes like yours too often."
Amelia whipped up her hands and thrust them forward in a hostile gesture. "Flames of Margoth, sear my foe!" Instantly, glaring yellow flame roared through the air in brilliant streams from her hands. But Timothy had nimbly leaped three feet to one side, still close enough that his skin flushed from the heat, and he extended his gunarm. The CO2 gun coughed twice. Both of the needle-thin darts jabbed into Amelia's neck.
As was invariable, she clapped one hand to the sharp stinging pain where the darts had hit, then became dazed within a second as the Trom-derived anesthetic entered her bloodstream. The instant lethargy was immediately followed by complete dreamless unconsciousness. Amelia dropped backward on the portico and the back of her head hit the stone with a clunk that made Timothy wince in sympathy.
Holstering his dart gun, Tim checked to ensure that her breathing was easy and her pulse steady. Allergic reactions to the anesthetic in the darts were rare but not impossible. No effective weapon could be one hundred per cent safe or harmless. What was that twinge he felt when he studied her sleeping face? Knock it off, he told himself. The world is full of good-looking women who don't try to cook you with a superntural flamethrower. Tim took two tough plastic zipties from his belt and fastened both her wrists to part of the railing around the portico. Unless someone brought her shears, she wasn't going anywhere for a while.
Looking aound for suitable gag material, Timothy reluctantly used the woman's belt and cotton socks for the job. He had seen her do her magick by Invokation, and the drawback to that was that she had to speak out loud for each effect. Tim satisfied that the gag was good and proper. Then he checked again to assure himself that she was breathing easily through her nose. He didn't want to make her suffocate.
Straightening up again, Timothy scowled at the way he enjoyed looking at her. She reminded him of a folk singer he had seen in concert, Courtney McKenzie. Same lips. Then he wheeled around and trotted off to see what Demrak Jin was up to. Pretty soon, he'd have been thinking of asking this murderous Witch out to dinner. He definitely had to meet some nice girls.
IX.
Seeing how fast this strange little blonde was closing in on him, Vargas stopped short where he had been watching the intruders from near the tile border of the pool. Damn, she was coming at him quick. He barely had time to whip up his pistol and snap off two shots. Both missed the small swerving figure rushing at him, and an instant later that bone-bladed machete whipped down against the forearm of his gunhand. But the weapon rebounded harmlessly, throwing Demrak Jin off balance at the unexpected recoil. Completely unharmed, Repel raised his gun again. He was distracted by a furious barrage of slashes coming at him left and right. The blade could not penetrate his gralic shield but instinctively he was compelled to raise his hands defensively.
Demrak Jin gave a short barking laugh. The clouded blue eyes were mere angry slits. "I know you. Repel! You can't be harmed by any blow."
"That's right, sweetheart, you're helpless against me..."
His words were cut off as the Gelydran seized him by both arms and dove headlong into the pool with a geyser of warm water from their entrance. She could touch him but not strike him. After a second, Vargas broke free and took a gasping breath when his face broke the surface. A small pale hand gripped him by the nape and Jin pulled him under again. Half his size but twice as strong as any Human, the Gelydra wrapped her legs around his torso from behind and tightened them in an effort to force the air from his lungs.
Vargas struggled desperately, tugging the combat knife from his belt and sliding it back across Demrak Jin's ribs. The tough sharkskin outfit was sliced open and blood gushed out into the water but she did not release him. One huge bubble erupted from Repel's mouth, he inhaled a full breath of water and convulsed once. Then he went limp. Despite her wound, Jin did not release him immediately. She shook him violently, saw the gaping mouth and staring eyes and only then was satisfied.
Letting the body sink, Jin rose to the surface with one kick of both legs and gripped the edge of the pool to yank herself up. Behind her jaw, three gill slits on either side of her neck closed tightly again. Of all the possible places to fight with a Gelydra, next to the body of water was the worst. She coughed up a bit of water she had inadvertently swallowed and pressed her fingers to the slash high on her right side. Dark blood seeped out but did not spurt, so she did not think any artery had been severed.
Battered and bruised, Timothy limped up and dropped to his knees beside her. "Hang on, Jin, let me get these gauze pads out. I've got some surgical tape too in this kit." He pressed two of the sterile pads over her injury and deftly wound water-resistant tape along the edges. "We'll get you back to the medical ward at base in a minute."
"I am fine!" she snapped, then caught herself. "Sorry, sorry, we are brought up to never show pain or to need help. It's our way."
"I know, you're a Gelydra of Ulgor. Born with the spirit of a shark."
"Human I am not and never was," Jin said, trying to soften her tone. "You have always been a good friend, Timothy."
"You deserve a few friends. I guess Repel isn't going to be back for any rematch, huh?"
Demrak Jin got to her feet with a barely a twinge of pain at the effort. She hobbled over to retrieve her machete, noting with relief it was undamaged. "You seem to have been in a fight yourself."
"Yeah. All right, what we have to do now is locate Archie and close this Coronet gang down for keeps. I didn't get a chance to hide a transmitter disc on his clothing, I guess working with Megan all those years made him hip to that trick."
"Archie will be fine," Jin said in her most certain tone. "There is no warrior more dangerous than a man of peace who has made up his mind to fight."
X.
The tops of the trees far below had become a vague fuzzy expanse as he shot upwards. Archie could feel his heart pounding dangerously hard in his chest. He was panting in short rapid breaths and raw panic paralyzed him. But then he got hold of himself. He had been in so many nightmarish situations for more than a decade that his attitude soon became settling down and trying to think rationally even when death was seconds away.
Calm down. Calm down. There's a way out of every mess. Forcing himself to take deeper slower breaths, Archie unbuttoned his sleeves and tugged off his flannel shirt with infinite care to keep a ferocious grip on the material. There was the round disc six inches across, stuck to his shirt with some sort of superglue. Archie didn't feel like he was hanging down with his weight supported by the device, because the gravity shields created a field less than an inch thick around the objects they were lifting.
How the damn things created their lifting fields was way beyond him. Megan had tried patiently several times to explain that it was a function of contracting space at a sub-quantum level, which still made no sense to him. That didn't matter. He wasn't interested in theory right now. He remembered once that Megan had used the manual tabs on the gravity shields when her cuff controls had been damaged.
So cold. His fingers were getting numb. A lifetime mechanic by trade and by nature, Archie's reaction to problems was always how to fix them. There. Around the outer ridge of the disc were five short tabs protruding. Time to take a chance, he thought. The first one he pressed cut power completely and he hung motionless for a fraction of a second before dropping straight down again. No, no, no...! Clicking the tab again made him dangle stationary hundreds of feet above the forest. Archie closed his eyes in relief and was amazed he hadn't wet himself.
The cold wind was punishing his body as if it was conscious and hostile. Soon he wouldn't be able to use his hands with any dexterity. The vaguest memory of having watched Megan manipulate her shield this way flashed in his thoughts. Yes, press two tabs at the same time. There, he felt himself lowering back down. Was he imagining it in his desperation? No, he definitely was descending. He gasped a genuine prayer of gratitude. Thank you, Blessed Mary. Once a good Catholic boy, always a good Catholic boy it seemed. He was going to live. He would survive this.
Now he could see the mansion clearly. He had apparently gone directly upward and not deviated to either side. Was he coming down too fast? It was hard to tell, and he didn't know if there was any way to change the rate of descent. Oh God, there was that damn yacht in the pool. There were Tim and Jin standing next to it. Their upturned faces were pale blurs as he plummeted down, unable to slow his descent. The green lawn hurtled up toward him fast as a car trying to run him over, Archie went limp before the impact drove the air from his lungs completely. His attempt to roll on hitting the ground failed.
In another instant, Timothy was helped him sit up. "Oh my God, oh my God. Archie, are you hurt? Is anything broken?"
Shaking visibly, unable to speak, Archie McAllister tried to prop himself up but couldn't. He made incoherent stammering noises when he tried to speak.
"Easy, easy, you're on solid ground now. Perfectly safe. Wow, I have to say you can keep a cool head better than I can. It's amazing. You figured out how to come back down, even under those conditions."
"Heh. I don't feel so brave. Look at my hands, I can't stop them from shaking. What if they never stop shaking?" he mumbled.
"Eh, you'll be fine," Timothy said. "I bet you're going to be too bruised to feel like going for any hikes the next week, though."
Crouching nearby, Demrak Jin said, "For a Human, you have courage, Archie. I think even a Gelydra warrior would respect you." This compliment was so out of character for her that both Archie and Tim grinned in unexpected delight. No one saw the approach small object spinning close overhead until it detonated with a dull deep thump not ten feet above them. Noxious pale yellow fumes expanded into a cloud around them before they could react and as their skin burned with acidic peeling, all three wheezed and gasped before sagging limply to the grass. The oily vapors clung to them, only slowly dissipating.
Striding across the lawn came a excessively muscular Asian man carrying a stovepipe launcher over one shoulder. His deeply scarred face was lit with wicked glee at the situation. "The scum are subdued, my Lady."
"Well done, Quando," came an elegant cultured voice. A tall woman in a gorgeous ivory-hued silk dress stepped up to loom over the motionless forms. Her glossy black hair hung down absolutely straight to the small of her back. "Ah. Tel Shai knights. We have met before, my friends. Do not fear, you are not going to die immediately. My Alchemical preparation has weakened you too much for you to even raise your heads. Yet your hearts still beat and your lungs still draw breath. Even such as you may be useful to my purposes, but give up any thoughts of somehow escaping or resisting my wishes. You are dealing with the Spinner of Webs now."
CORONET I: Falling Into the Sky
8/26/2022
6/22/2022
I.
Two uniformed officers were waiting on the scene when the cherry-red Jeep Cherokee pulled up to a stop at the farther edge of the parking lot. Yellow warning tape formed an open rectangle ten feet on its longer sides but the body it had surrounded had already been taken away. Cars going by on the side street slowed slightly as drivers caught sight of the cops and the tape, but there was nothing visible to keep their attention. On a muggy overcast day where a thunderstorm seemed imminent, people were focused mostly on getting home.
Two wildly mismatched men climbed out of the Jeep. Straightening up from behind the wheel, Archie McAllister was a massive bearlike figure in rough work boots, trousers and red flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled up. Six inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter was Timothy Limbo. In his biker boots, well-worn jeans and black leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt, he might as well have been wearing a uniform of sorts.
"Hi, Morrissey," Timothy called as they approached. "Thanks for calling us in on this one."
"Tim! Yeah, Detective Beckert had to go, he's juggling more than one mess right now, but he knew you'd be interested in this." The officer nodded at Archie. "Seems I recollect meeting you as well, sir."
Archie McAllister grumbled something unintelligible but polite enough sounding. Big and imposing as he was, in the round, unshaven face the gentle blue eyes belied his true nature.
"Right off the bat, one question comes to mind," Timothy began, circling the taped-off area. "This is where the body of Lionel Groeters was found, face down, arms and legs full extended, right?"
"Yep. After the forensics boys scraped up as much residue as they could, the asphalt was water blasted but that stain is gonna be there for a while," the cop volunteered.
"From what I was told on the way over, Groeters looked as if he had fallen from a minimum height of one hundred and fifty feet. Impact deformation was classic, your CSI team said. But the buildings in this clinic are only two stories high. At the most, he couldn't have fallen more than twenty feet if he had dived off a roof after a running start." Timothy scratched at the back of his neck beneath the lank yellow hair. "Hard to figure, you know?"
Archie turned slowly around, scanning the nearby buildings. "If it wasn't for the blood on the ground, I'd suggest that he fell somewhere else and was brought here after he was already dead. But that's out. You say your experts think he fell a hundred and fifty feet at the most, so he wasn't pushed out of an airplane or helicopter, you'd have a hundred witnesses."
"Puzzling, right?" asked the cop. "Sounds like some of that Midnight War craziness you guys handle." He handed a tablet to Timothy. "You realize we can not show any crime scene photos to civilians, not even KDF members who have been helping out for years and years."
With Archie looming up behind him, Timothy Limbo studied the gruesome images before handing the Ipad back. "Unofficially and off the record, denying everything, I see only one suggestive item. The victim was dressed for the office. Polished shoes, pressed slacks, neat white shirt and you can see the end of a necktie up by his shoulder. But no jacket. It may not mean anything but I've seen murder cases solved by smaller clues."
"Could be. Well, me and Tompkins are supposed to report back now. Good seeing you guys again. I know lots of men wearing a shield resent you KDF as vigilantes and loose cannons, but personally I've seen you clear up some awful atrocities. Good luck."
"Thanks again," Timothy said, watching as the officers eased out into traffic.
Archie McAllister was pacing around the taped off area, big hands jammed into his trouser pockets. "Honestly, I'm going to be completely useless on this. Megan was the genius. On all those 'Trom Girl mysteries,' I listened to her rattle off solutions and maybe once in a while I threw a punch."
"Heck, I don't claim to be nearly as smart as she was, Archie. Who is? But you've had ten years experience on those cases, so any suggestions you come up with are welcome. Besides, you're good company and I hate driving in rush hour traffic." The KDF member stared up at the sky again. "You know, I can't quite remember the details but I think Sheng fought a crook who might be connected with this, maybe a year ago. It's far fetched but worth checking out. We never found out his real name, he was known as the Flying Fool."
"That's goofy. And you think maybe he was the one who dropped that poor guy out of the sky?"
"Worse than that," Timothy said, "I think first he made Lionel Groeters fall up INTO the sky."
II.
The steel gate swung closed behind Woodley's mustard-yellow MG as he drove up the paved driveway toward that posh three-story mansion. The electronic signal from the little gadget mounted under the dashboard had disabled the alarms and opened the way for the few seconds necessary. Woodley had installed it himself, as he had for the cars the others on the Coronet team drove, and he felt unreasonably smug about his expertise. If the world were a fairer place, his skills would mean he'd get a bigger cut of the profits than some of the dim bruisers he had to work with.
Hunnicut House was one hundred and forty-three years old, erected in the days before robber barons had to grudgingly pay which income tax they couldn't wriggle out of. It was a rectangular block of granite with a belfrey on the roof, a livery stable conerted into a ten car garage connected by a covered walkway and an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Seventy-five acres of carefully planted woods gave the estate sufficient privacy. In the distance toward the rear, a silvery glint of the Hudson could be glimpsed in the afternoon sunlight.
Parking in front of the portico with its Corinthian arches and marble steps, Woodley laughed to himself. Generations of the wealthy elite had lived here, tended by small armies of butlers, maids, groundskeepers, chefs and stable boys. And today? Only five crooks were in residence, himself being one of them. The chief did keep two flunkies on hand, a middle-aged couple who did the shopping and cooking, but no one was polishing the silverware or keeping the linen immaculate as in the old days. The Coronet gang was busy enough with their heists.
As he got out, Dave Woodley stood for a second gazing at the mansion. He was not an imposing figure, maybe five feet eight and one hundred and sixty pounds in unremarkable slacks, green polo shirt and sneakers. The round-rimmed glasses over a pug nose and the mop of untidy reddish hair didn't add to the lame impression he made.
"There you are," boomed a resonant baritone as the front door opened. This man made a dramatic contrast to Woodley. Jorge Vargas stood a bit over six feet tall but had the wide shoulders and narrow waist of an athlete, his rounded muscles standing out under a snug white dress shirt and black slacks. In his early fifties, Vargas' square hard face was lined and his dark eyes surly. The short black hair was speckled with white flecks.
"Hiya, Repel," Woodley replied without being noticeably intimidated. "I got here right when I said I would. It's a real drag having to keep my car on the road when there's a faster way if you know what I mean."
"Never mind about showing off with those gravity shield gimmicks," the man called Repel snapped. "Keeping a low profile is just common sense. Let's get in, everybody's waiting."
Passing through a foyer and across a cavernous ballroom with a genuine crystal chandelier hanging fifteen feet above them, Woodley and Vargas went into a snug old-fashioned den with plush carpeting, overstuffed easy chairs and walls lined with bookshelves which also held model ships and small iron statuary. In the center of this room, two people sat around a round mahogany table and looked up at the newcomers without warmth or welcome.
Amelia Mancuso hardly noticed Vargas and Woodley. Slouched back in her chair, huddled inside an oversized hooded sweatshirt, the Calveron stared down at the table surface as if wishing she could fall into it. Without a trace of make-up, with the dark blonde hair pulled back into a careless bun, she was still a beautiful young woman in her late twenties. But the blue eyes were distant and she might as well have not even been there.
Seated to her left, though, Indigo straightened up and gave the newcomers a sour glare that was made less threatening by his decrepit physical state. Nearing seventy, thin and bent in a dark brown business suit that no longer fit well, the Illusionist looked awful. Lank greying hair barely reached up to the crown on his head, and the sunken cheeks and beaked nose didn't make him any more imposing. An unlit cigarette drooped from one corner of the thin-lipped mouth.
"Hah, the Coronet team is ready for action!" Woodley cheered as he yanked a chair out for himself. "Amelia, we need some dramatic war name for you. We've got Vagas as Repel, Indigo the Illusionist and me of course, the Flying Fool. A colorful nickname would give you some flair in this Midnight War game."
"I don't care," she grumbled. "Call me whatever you like."
Dropping down heavily into a chair, Jorge Vargas clapped a meaty palm down on the table. "So where's the chief? She said she had a big project lined up for us, I want to get going."
"You never did have much patience, Repel," Indigo said, taking the cigarette from his mouth and gesturing with it as he spoke. "With the pay we're getting, I don't mind sitting comfortably all day."
"Yeah, well maybe you're tired and worn out. But I have some ambition left. I want to remind people who Repel is, I want cops to get nervous when they hear I'm around, I want to be a name that people afraid to say too loudly."
"You've been out of circulation for a long time," Indigo scoffed. "Who even remembers you at this point?"
Vargas' heavy black eyebrows lowered and the voice got deeper. "Twenty-two years taken away from me. Almost half of my life in a cage. I don't care if the chief wants a low profile, I intend to find those KDF bastards and make them beg for death. Especially Bane. The Dire Wolf! Oh, I want to meet up with him again, that's a fact."
"Come on, come on," interrupted Woodley in a lighter tone. "Ease up there, buddy. For the moment, we're working for the chief and you gotta admit she knows what she's doing. Having a bank account in the Caribbean that Uncle Sam can't touch gives me a warm satisfied feeling. How about you, Amelia? Got a million socked away yet?"
The Calveron barely shrugged. "Money? Yes, I have money for what that's worth. It doesn't help. My people are intent on killing me and you Humans are not any better. Burning witches at the stake is a bad habit of yours."
"Aw, you need to lighten up, too," the Flying Fool teased. "Listen, if you don't go around broadcasting your witchness, no one will know. You look like any another tall beautiful blonde with great legs. People aren't going to hate you, you're too good-looking."
For the first time, Amelia raised her eyes with the distant, preoccupied expression in them. "Maybe I should have told you. Maybe not. I'm a fugitive. My mortal husband died when I made his heart stop while we were arguing. The police can't prove anything but I know they're suspicious and now I'm missing so they really want to nail me. If they don't find a way to put me in jail, my own kind will murder me sooner or later."
"Hell, knock it off with that kind of talk," Vargas snapped. "You're on this team and we look out for each other. Face it, you're protected by the three of us and we're dangerous men."
Indigo finally lit his crumpled cigarette and shook the match out. "More than that, the chief makes us all look like harmless little puppies."
III.
They left the Jeep Cherokee in its assigned space in the lower level of the IMPERIAL GARAGE on 40th Street. This was also where Sheng kept his Italia when he was not down by his Mott Street office and where Tim stored his Harley. Even though he was officially retired, even Jeremy Bane still paid for a permanent slot in this garage as a convenience when he was in Manhattan. The garage had conscientiously watched security cameras and the KDF members' vehicles were fitted with Trom proximity alarms that would send a signal if any physical contact was made.
Walking up the concrete ramp to the street, Timothy said, "I was meaning to ask about your Jeep. Did Megan make any modifications to it that you're having trouble handling?"
"Not so far," Archie replied. "She explained most of her tinkering during the process. But to be honest, I bet there are some functions to its computer systems that I don't know about or wouldn't know how to use anyway."
That got a good-natured chuckle from Tim. "Tell me about it. Every time she got her hands on my Harley, she brought it a decade or two further ahead of anything commercially available. But how could I complain? The old beast gets three times better gas mileage than normal, it handles perfectly on icy roads and its WiFi signal to my helmet is great."
"Tim, isn't it strange that the Trom haven't brought a new liaison in?"
"We're all wondering about that." Timothy turned left at 38th Street and skirted the crowds deftly enough that he did not seem to be as intensely alert as he was. Like all the KDF members, he acted as if an ambush was always imminent. "I don't know if I could handle the Trom sending a replacement for Megan, to be honest. I think I'd resent him or her, I think we all would. It would be like, 'how dare you?'"
"Hmm. She never mentioned another Human being raised the way she was, and she would have told me if there was one. To the Trom, Megan was basically an experiment. They're so damn cold and logical and pragmatic. I can't stand them."
"They're not BAD exactly, just unemotional," Tim said. "I guess we should be glad they value Human life and work with us. The Trom would be the worst enemies possible. Hey, here we are." Tim came to a halt in front of the ten story granite building at 28 East 38th Street, with a simple bronze plaque on the front door which read KENNETH DRED FOUNDATION. A second later, a buzzer sounded as the door unlocked for them. Timothy hopped up the steps and swung the door open. "Hey, Sable, is that you on the monitors?"
"She is not here," answered the low surly voice of Demrak Jin. Even when happy and relaxed, she sounded angry. "I am on watch duty. Come in, you two."
Even though they had been identified, Archie and Tim had to wait in the foyer while sensors more advanced than any MRI scanned them down to a cellular level. The inner door unlocked and they stepped into the front hall. Standing at the base of the central staircase was the small taut figure of Demrak Jin.
Not much over five feet tall, wiry and lean, the Gelydra woman was wearing simple jeans,m sneakers and a black T-shirt. Jin's wide flat face with its cloudy blue eyes and stiff shock of white hair was not pretty by conventional standards but she had an intensity that gave her great presence. When she was nearby, it was hard to look away.
"No one else is here right now," she said. "Galvan is home with our son, it's his turn to watch him. Pol will be three years old soon and I understand the surface custom of birthday parties. Other children should attend to wear foolish hats and eat ice cream."
"We can swing an appropriate party in our rec room," Timothy laughed. "But Unicorn's kid is ten already. Our team doesn't have a lot of children to work wih. Anyway. We saw the death scene and it's weird, all right." Timothy started toward the open door of the office on their left. "I remembered the name of the crook Sheng tangled with. He called himself the Flying Fool. Let's pull up Sheng's report."
Opening the laptop of Sable's desk, Timothy pulled up a detailed document from two years earlier, April 2020. The three of them put their heads close together as they read in silence. Finally, Timothy closed the file and put the laptop to one side again. "Well. That was just the sort of wild oddball adventure Sheng seems to fall into. He gets into the craziest situations. He last saw the Flying Fool out of control, rushing up in the sky and out of sight. Apparently he went to his death where the air would be too thin to keep him alive."
"Bah!" Jin scoffed. "We know by now not to believe an enemy is dead until we have examined his corpse. Sometimes not even then. I have no problem believing this thief managed to repair his gravty shield in time and descended safely."
"Nobody's mentioned this Flying Fool to me before," Archie said. "So, he's a Human who's managed to cobble up shoddy versions of the Trom gravity shields? And he uses them to steal expensive antique cars and yachts and ?"
Timothy straightened up and moved away from the desk."That's what Sheng reports. It's too bad he's in Chujir with the team or we could ask him for more details. My guess, and it's only a guess, is that the Fool slapped a gravity shield on Lionel Groeters' back and sent him soaring straight up. Maybe a kidnaping? But then Groeters panicked and wriggled out of his jacket and plummeted back down again, obviously from some height. Poor guy. The police are never going to get anywhere, it's up to us to bring some justice to the situation."
"Yes. I see in the report that the victim was married, with two daughters." Demrak Jin raised a small hard fist to chest level and even her friends felt a twinge of uneasiness, knowing what she was capable of. "Those who make widows and orphans earn the edge of the blade!"
IV.
"I have to sit down for a moment or my back will break," muttered Indigo as he dropped onto one of the green metal benches facing Schuylerkill Creek. "That's better."
Staying on his feet, Jorge Vargas surveyed the array of vessels moored up along the stone embankment. Most were small, trim cruisers with sails but one stood out. Forty-three feet in length, it was a sleek new yacht in dark blue with gold trims. The main salon and the foreward stateroom were streamlined in their backward sweep and the prow jutted forward sharply. Gold cursive lettering on the hull identified the craft with the unusual name, ABSENT FRIENDS.
"It's an okay-looking boat," Repel admitted. "Not that I claim to know much about them, but I don't see where this one is anything special."
Rummaging for a lighter that must be in some pocket somewhere on him, Indigo the Illusionist snorted. "Hah. I read up on it. The owner is someone named Ned Essex, a crackpot YouTube millionaire and he has added ridiculously decadent luxuries to that tub. It's a pleasure cruiser mostly preoccupied with accomodating the use of drugs and prostitutes of the best quality. Don't let the small size fool you. That damn thing is valued at six million, five hundred thousand as is."
"Yeah, that's not chump change," Vargas agreed. "I'm sure the chief has a buyer lined up. I guess swiping boats is like stealing antique cars, either a collector keeps it hidden and gloats over it or he makes enough changes to pass it off as a different vehicle. Whatever. Time to get this over with. See the crew on the deck?"
"Of course I see them, I'm not blind."
"You're gonna get a dope slap to the back of the head if you keep talking to me like that," came a growl from the massive chest. "Watch your step. Your illusions don't work that well when someone knows about them and is on guard."
Indigo flicked the butt into the water of the creek nearly within arm's reach. "You think so? Wait until you take a good swig of bleach that looks like a glass of beer. Or you step right in front of a Greyhound bus you can't see."
"And how would the chief feel about that?" remarked Repel. "You've seen her Alchemical serums at work. The bone-softening one would get rid of your arthritis but of course you'd be a greasy blob spread out on the ground."
Indigo sputtered and straightened up. "All right, all right. Woodly is standing by?"
"He's ready. It's your job to get those deck hands away from the boat."
"Easy enough, stand back and watch the master at work." Indigo leaned far forward on the bench, bony hands clasping bony knees, and lowered his head. Stretched out on the embankment near the prow of the ABSENT FRIENDS yacht, the prone body of a nearly naked young woman shimmered into existence. Her glossy black hair covered her face better than the flimsy white negligee covered her body. She showed no signs of life.
"Al, look! Is she okay?" Both of the yacht's crew hustled down the short gangplank. The instant they left the vacht, a figure in a light blue jumpsuit plunged straight down from directly overhead to alight on the deck. Dave Woodley was holding a dull metal disc four inches across and he slapped it down onto the deck where a potent adhesive on its underside held it fast. The Flying Fool tapped two buttons on the stiff metal cuff of his flightsuit. Surrounded by an unseeing lifting field created by an application of physics that no Human theory had even considered as yet, the UNSEEN FRIENDS rose smoothly up out of the water and accelerated as it went. The mooring line snapped off from the irresitable power of the gravity shield which could not be stopped.
A roar of dozen voices crying out in complete confusion from the passersby in the area. The surreal sight was so unexpected and so inconceivable that absolutely no one on that embankment had the quickness of mind to record it with their phones. Then the blue and gold yacht became only a black dot against the sky, and then it was gone completely.
Gone also was the deceptively real-seeming form of the supine young woman. When the deck hands reached her, she blinked out of existence more thoroughly than a soap bubble popping. Even as this happened, the crowd's commotion alerted the crewmen and they wheeled around just in time to see their livelihood sail off, not further down the creek but toward the clouds.
Jorge Vargas tried to stifle a laugh but could not succeed and ended up with a coughing fit. He thumped his chest with a meaty fist. "Man oh man, I enjoyed that," he roared. "Damn, I give the Fool proper respect when he pulls off something like that."
"No shooting, no running, nice and civilized," Indigo agreed. "If there had been any complications, you're here with your fists and your automatic to handle rough stuff. But I like it better when things go neatly this way."
The man called Repel shrugged. "I wouldn't mind some action. Watching bullets ricochet away without touching me is always the biggest kick. Come on, back to the house and we can see if the chief finally has a kind word for us."
Heading back to where the Coronet team's dark red Nissan stood in the parking lot, neither man was aware that one hundred yards away, three people were as gleeful about developments as they were. "They took the bait and snapped the trap!" Timothy Limbo said, holding up his Link. "Look at the blip. The boat is now five thousand feet above usand moving south by southwest. You did a good job planting the transmitter, Jin."
"No one saw me. I was completely underwater."
At the steering wheel of the Jeep Cherokee, Archie grinned as he seldom had since Megan's death. "I'll be hanged. We put four transmitters on four likely cruisers and those crooks picked the one we thought they were most likely to. I figured we might spend weeks trying to get after the Flying Fool and here we are, first try."
"That newspaper story about the ABSENT FRIENDS was what gave me the idea," Timothy said. "Ned Sussex is a vile crackpot but his podcast makes him rich and he's always in the news. The Fool must have heard about Sussex' luxury boat. Get yer motor running, Archie, let's follow the signal."
Swinging the Jeep around to exit the lot, Archie sighed. "This may not be as smooth going as we would like. That boat won't be following roads OR waterways. We'll have to chase it from the ground as best we can and keep moving in its general direction."
"Might as well make the best of it. It's a beautiful day to track down flying yachts," Timothy said.
V.
In the main kitchen of the mansion, Repel was making a second cup from a ridiculously complicated mass of chrome and glass that took forever to brew coffee. "Chief leave yet?"
Sprawled back in a handcarved wooden chair at the round table, Woodley looked up. "Yeah. She got in the chopper with Quando at the stick. Indigo went with her for some reason, I don't know why."
Vargas took an experimental sip and grunted. "That's decent. Twenty minutes to make, but damn good coffee. So it's you and me and Amelia here?"
"And old Dunham, out there trimming hedges and searching for weeds. Poor old fool thought he saw a muskrat the other day, you'd think he saw the Red Chinese Army invading!"
"Heh. So, Fool. Did the chief yell at you because Groeters died?"
Woodley took a long moment to answer. "Nah. You know her. When she's not happy with us, her voice gets real silky and polite. That's when you know you're in danger. She warned me not to stick a gravity shield on someone's clothing where the clothes could come off. And she reminded me that she wants to avoid victim deaths. Blackmail, extortion, even trafficking are okay but no stiffs."
"I say to hell with that. Major felonies like we pull aren't child's play. If a few suckers have to cash in, it's their hard luck. And I bet that big animal Quando has left a few corpses behind him."
"Not saying you're wrong," Woodley remarked, sitting up as Repel came over with a fresh cup of coffee. "But I'll go along with the chief for now. She made up a new adhesive for my shields that's strong as hell, great stuff. It gets sticky ten seconds after being exposed to air. And honestly, I was sick of living in El Cheapo motels and renting rooms in the bad part of towns. Staying here is something I could get used to."
Sipping in silence for a moment, Repel let his heavy-featured face relax into its basic surly, brooding lines. Woodley left him alone. Almost two decades in Federal prison had given the man plenty of time in the weights room. Vargas wasn't overdeveloped in a showy way, he had the rounded hard muscles of a lumberjack. Visible calluses on his knuckles added to the intimidating effect.
Finally, the Flying Fool stifled a yawn and stood up. "I guess I'll go watch some movies in my rooms. The satellite dish gives us so many choices I have to pick something at random. Maybe Amelia would like to join me."
"Don't waste your time, buddy. I'm saying that to be helpful. That girl is messed up in the head. Accidentally killing her husband and having her own people trying to track her down has wrecked her brain. And you know what you don't do with crazy?"
"Oh, sure, sure." Woodley gave his cockeyed grin before heading for the hall. "But hell, I'm called the Flying Fool for a good reason."
VI.
Sitting in the Jeep by the side of Vanderkyl Drive, Timothy Limbo held his hand outside the rolled-down window. Over his upturned palm, a barely visible little tornado swirled and danced. "Yeah. Thanks, buddy," he said as the whirlwind popped out of existence.
"What do your friendly ghosts tell you?" asked Archie.
"I see what they see, and that mansion is epic. Damn. I know Hyde Park has some rich people, the Roosevelts lived here after all, but still...the closets in that place are bigger than some of the apartments I've rented. It's the kind of place where the bathrooms are real marble and there are oil paintings of grandfathers over the fireplaces. Plush."
"Never mind that!" snapped Demrak Jin from the back seat. "Is the enemy there, that's what important."
Timothy did not bristle at the tone of her voice. He was used to her impatience and the fact they had been riding around back roads for six hours didn't make her any sweeter. "Yeah. I saw three possible Midnight War types in there. A blonde woman sitting staring out a window, all depressed and mopey. A regular guy on his bed watching some goofy Hong Kong movie. And the only one I recognized from his file in our records. Jorge Vargas, Repel, big bruiser. He was grilling some pork chops and taking a swig from a Johnny Walker bottle every now and then."
"Who's he? You have to remember I haven't read all the KDF records," Archie said.
"Before my time. I think, around 2000? 2001? When the Second Team was getting started. Repel was a burglar and hold-up guy with a gralic power. Any attack on his body was instantly driven back without harming him. Bullets, fists, whatever... if you tried to hit him with a two by four by example, the board would bounce back just as hard and most likely whack you instead. He was a real problem to fight."
"He has yet to meet ME," growled Jin. The absolute conviction in her voice eliminated any possible humor in threats coming from a thin young woman not much over five feet tall. Jin was not playing being tough or trying to sound cool. She was only speaking the truth.
"He's been captured and locked away. There are ways to handle anyone." Staring across the acres of lawn toward the mansion, Timothy said, "Presumably the guy watching TV is the Flying Fool. I just can't figure out who the woman might be. The KDF has dealt with way too many bad guys over the years for me to remember them all. Jeremy by himself has brought down hundreds of threats, and our teams have put away their share."
"Is the yacht there?" asked Archie.
"You bet. It's in a pool! I mean, it's a huge pool admittedly but that boat needs deeper clearance. I'd bet my bike that there's going to be some damage to the hull."
Hopping out of the rear of the Jeep and slamming the door, Demrak Jin strapped the three foot long sheath across her back so that the hilt of her bone-bladed long knife protruded up behind her left shoulder for instant draw. She wore her grey outfit of long-sleeved tunic and pants of sharkhide with the rough denticles on the outside. Anyone brushing up against that abrasive material would lose some skin. "We have talked enough. That boat is proof we have found the flying man who creates widows and orphans. I will not let him walk free an hour longer!"
"When you're right, you're right," Tim agreed, stepping out of the Jeep himself. He had not changed into a KDF field suit but was still wearing his usual biker boots, jeans and black leather outfit. He buckled a leather gunbelt which held a half dozen pouches and one of the anesthetic dart guns in a flap holster. "Archie, I think you should stay here. If you see us running this way, start her up and get ready to peel out. It'll mean we canme up against something we can't handle."
Archie stuck his head out of the open window and drummed the steering wheel with his fingertips. "You never really know what you might find, huh?"
"Nope," said Timothy, seeing Demrak Jin already moving across the vast expanse of the estate toward the mansion. "That's the way the Midnight War is."
V.
Woodley gave a violent start and nearly fell off the double bed at the imperative pounding on the door. He had dozed off without realizing it. "Huh? What? What is it?" he yelled.
Sticking her head in through the doorway, Amelia Mancuso showed genuine emotion for nearly the first time since she had joined the Coronet team. Anger. "I sense enemies heading this way. They have gralic energy, we'll be under attack in a few minutes."
"Like what? A SWAT team, Navy SEALS, what?" The Flying Fool was still fully dressed, having only kicked off his shoes. "Are we going to be shot at?"
"Worse than that," the Calveron retorted. "I can feel real danger. These are knights of Tel Shai. What our chief warned us we might have to face. Come on, get into your flying suit and hurry downstairs!"
"You wanna help me change..?" Woodley began hopefully but she had already slammed the door shut again so hard it made him jump again. That girl is not right, he thought to himself. Good looking or not, she was a ticking time bomb ready to go off. Then it sank in what she had warned him about.
The rooms he was occupying had a definite feminine aspect in the furnishings from previous occupants but he didn't mind. The giant projection TV and huge soft bed had been the deciding factors in his choosing these rooms for himself. In one corner, he had hung all his Flying Fool gear and now he hustled to tug it on. The lightweight blue cotton flightsuit was loose-fitting enough to pull on over his street clothes. He zipped it up and then fastened a stiff metal cuff to each forearm. These had the dials and buttons which controlled the discs. A web harness held the six-inch gravity shield up between his shoulder blades. Dave Woodley picked up a canvas belt which held three more of the gravity shields in deep pouches, as well as an open holster. He kept his loaded Glock 19 within reach at all times and now he checked the weapon again before holstering it.
All this took only a few seconds. Before being approached to join the new Coronet team, Woodley had spent two years operating on his own and he had had to quickley get ready for trouble many times before. Where the hell was his crash helmet? Had he left it out by the pool? Wishing he had thought to buy a spare, he ran of the room toward the staircase in the hall. Tel Shai knights! He had only met one, that Chinese dude Sheng Whatever-his name was, and their encounter had ended with Woodley getting rocketed up in the sky, totally out of control. Meeting more like Sheng didn't appeal to him.
Out in the hallway, he tapped the buttons on his cuff and lifted clear of the floor. It felt like floating in water since his sense of weight became so muted. Woodley's father had worked for mastermind John Grim decades earlier, when Grim had stolen some secrets of Trom technology. The gravity shield principles were beyond full Human comprehension but some people could replicate the devices at a reduced level of effectiveness. Woodley himself was able to fabricate new shields with a few weeks work required on each device but he had no idea how they functioned. Good enough for his purposes.
Staying in a vertical posture, the Flying Fool drifted down the staircase to the first floor of the mansion. Amelia and Vargas were waiting for him. The tension in their faces alarmed him because he had never seen either of them so worked up before. "I'm ready!" he told them. "What's the situation?"
The Calveron was peering out between the heavy brocade curtains on one of the high narrow windows. "I feel three minds out there. One is fueled with duty and dedication, one is less strongly motivated. But the third is raging! The third mind wants to spill blood, our blood! She wants to kill us."
"Let her try," Repel snorted. "We'll be burying her before dark. I don't see anyone, Amelia."
"They have separated. One is going to the pool. One is going around the back, the last one is holding back by the pine trees and keeping out of sight." The Calveron pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over the dark blonde hair to shadow her face. It was so rare for Amelia to show any emotion other than a withdrawn ennui that both men realized thdey were facing a genuine threat. "May the Dread Ones aid us," she continued in a strangely hollow tone. "Draldros! Grelok! Margoth! I call on thee now."
"You give me the creeps when you get all Witchy," Repel muttered.
Her baleful expression shot through him. "You are right to be uneasy," she said. "Dread Ones, hear your humble servant. Rich lifeforce shall you drink this day."
"Enough of that crazy crap. Let's get out there. Come on, Woodley."
"I'm with you," the Fool said. He still hovered an inch above the floor, but he had dropped his right hand to brush against the butt of his pistol. "When the chief gets back, she'll see we can handle ourselves just fine without her. Maybe she'll treat us with a little respect for a change."
"You take the front," Repel said, turning on one heel. "I'll get the one sneaking around the back of this shack. Come on, Amelia, now is when you get the chance to show what you can do."
"It may be a sight you cannot unsee," the Calveron whispered back.
VII.
He had never been given one of the Links or any other KDF eqipment. Sable had decided that although he was a close friend and valuable helper, Archie was not even close to applying at Tel Shai or to being considered for KDF membership. Very few people were. So he had no way to follow what was going on with Timothy or Jin, and naturally this worried him as minutes dragged by.
The loss of Megan Salenger still ached, of course. It had only been four months since the Trom Girl's sudden death and Archie thought about her all the time. But working for her team had helped deal with the grief immensely. Nearly every day, for anywhere from five to eight hours, Archie could be found in the small garage beneath KDF headquarters, working on Tim's Harley or Sheng's Italia or Jeremy's Toyota Matrix. Even Unicorn had come to appreciate his tinkering with her little sports car. He searched for worn parts and possible future problems, changed fluids, cleaned and detailed the interiors. Archie knew enough about car computer systems to do some tweaking and updating, too. When the KDF members rushed off to some urgent mission, they knew their vehicles were absolutely ready.
Being useful was important to him. Right now, he had a fierce urge to run toward that mansion and help his friends. Getting out from behind the wheel, he dug around in one of the equipment boxes and came up with a pair of heavy binoculars. Even if he saw nothing going on, he'd feel better checking. He turned toward the mansion that sat two hundred yards away across that pristine lawn and began adjusting the binoculars.
Ironically, it was because he was using the binoculars that he didn't see the blue flightsuited figure hurtling directly at him at head level. Archie was concentrating on getting the mansion into focus when he was taken completely off-guard as the Flying Fool smashed into him and knocked him back against the Jeep. Archie was a big guy, six feet three and two hundred and fifty pounds but he had not been braced and the impact knocked the wind out of him completely.
Woodley pulled one of the gravity shield discs from his belt and slapped it high up on Archie's back, where its Alchemical adhesive held it fast. Then he hopped back a few steps and tapped the control buttons on his right cuff. The codes he had programmed into the disc activated. Archie rose up clear off the ground and floated steady with his feet two feet above the grass. It had only taken a few seconds for the big mechanic to catch his breath and he knew instantly what was going on.
"I don't know why you jokers can't mind your own business," Woodley yelled. "Who apppointed you amateur crimefighters? You realize vigilante activity is criminal in itself, right?"
Archie didn't say anything. He shot out his long left arm, clenched his fingers in the material of the Flying Fool's suit and yanked the man directly into a short right jab that connected beautifully. Woodley sagged at the unexpected jolt. Archie began pounding on the Fool, one straight piston blow after another that rocked the man's head back and forth. Woodley fumbled desperately at his cuff and suddenly he was released because Archie was rocketing straight up into the sky.
Dropping to his hands and knees, then falling over onto his side, Dave Woodley wasn't sure if he could stay conscious or not. He had never taken punches from someone who was both strong and skilled. Blood filled his mouth and he spat it out, then remained lying on his side and waited to see if the pain would ease up.
VIII.
Closing the massive oak door of the mansion behind her, Amelia Mancuso realized she was standing fully upright, shoulders back, head high, for the first time in ages. A stimulating tingle coursed through her body, waking her up and clearing her head. The Halarim were answering her supplications.
Throwing back the hood of her sweatshirt, the Calveron tugged her hair free of its scungi and brushed it out with her fingers. She fought down joyful laughter at the sudden sensation of potency and purpose. "Dread Ones, I will serve you always!" she cried out loud. "See how I repay your faith in me."
Striding quickly toward her was a young man she had never seen before. Not very tall, slightly built, wearing worn-out jeans and a black leather motorcycle jacket. He had butter-yellow hair and a face which was trying to seem scary but which was too good-natured for that to really work. In his right hand, the intruder gripped an odd pistol with an extended needle-thin barrel, nothing she recognized.
Amelia could not keep a wicked grin from her face. All around her body, unseen gralic force crackling and whirled. She was the eye of a withchly hurricane. "Whatever you seek here, you will not get it," she called toward the approaching man. "Turn back. Turn back and live to grow old."
"I notice there's a stolen yacht in your pool, miss," Timothy Limbo said as he came to a halt twenty feet away. The asphalt driveway ended in a rectangular area where a dozen cars could easily be parked and he planted himself in its center. "The owner isn't happy about that. You're going to have to give it back."
"As if life weren't short enough..." she muttered, then screamed "Claws of Efriko, rend my foe!"
Lurid crimson flashes of light whipped from nowhere to tear at Timothy, slashing his jacket open and spinning him around. Beneath his ruined outer clothing, the dark grey sheen of his flexible Trom armor showed clearly. The otherwordly talons faded as quickly as they had appeared. Timothy had kept his footing and even retained his grip on the anesthetic dart gun, but those gralic Claws had left deep bruises.
"Damn. That's a neat trick!" he said with remarkable calm under the circumstances. "And my favorite jacket, too, I had just broken it in."
Somehow, Amelia feltt reluctant to kill this young man with his insolen attitude. Despite the Claws of Efriko, he remained confident. There was no fear in his voice. "I'm telling you for your own sake, go back and never return."
"Can't do that, sorry. So. You're a Calveron, right? One of the 'Hidden Ones?' All the Calveron I've met have been shriveled little hags but I have to say you're not hard to take. You don't see violet eyes like yours too often."
Amelia whipped up her hands and thrust them forward in a hostile gesture. "Flames of Margoth, sear my foe!" Instantly, glaring yellow flame roared through the air in brilliant streams from her hands. But Timothy had nimbly leaped three feet to one side, still close enough that his skin flushed from the heat, and he extended his gunarm. The CO2 gun coughed twice. Both of the needle-thin darts jabbed into Amelia's neck.
As was invariable, she clapped one hand to the sharp stinging pain where the darts had hit, then became dazed within a second as the Trom-derived anesthetic entered her bloodstream. The instant lethargy was immediately followed by complete dreamless unconsciousness. Amelia dropped backward on the portico and the back of her head hit the stone with a clunk that made Timothy wince in sympathy.
Holstering his dart gun, Tim checked to ensure that her breathing was easy and her pulse steady. Allergic reactions to the anesthetic in the darts were rare but not impossible. No effective weapon could be one hundred per cent safe or harmless. What was that twinge he felt when he studied her sleeping face? Knock it off, he told himself. The world is full of good-looking women who don't try to cook you with a superntural flamethrower. Tim took two tough plastic zipties from his belt and fastened both her wrists to part of the railing around the portico. Unless someone brought her shears, she wasn't going anywhere for a while.
Looking aound for suitable gag material, Timothy reluctantly used the woman's belt and cotton socks for the job. He had seen her do her magick by Invokation, and the drawback to that was that she had to speak out loud for each effect. Tim satisfied that the gag was good and proper. Then he checked again to assure himself that she was breathing easily through her nose. He didn't want to make her suffocate.
Straightening up again, Timothy scowled at the way he enjoyed looking at her. She reminded him of a folk singer he had seen in concert, Courtney McKenzie. Same lips. Then he wheeled around and trotted off to see what Demrak Jin was up to. Pretty soon, he'd have been thinking of asking this murderous Witch out to dinner. He definitely had to meet some nice girls.
IX.
Seeing how fast this strange little blonde was closing in on him, Vargas stopped short where he had been watching the intruders from near the tile border of the pool. Damn, she was coming at him quick. He barely had time to whip up his pistol and snap off two shots. Both missed the small swerving figure rushing at him, and an instant later that bone-bladed machete whipped down against the forearm of his gunhand. But the weapon rebounded harmlessly, throwing Demrak Jin off balance at the unexpected recoil. Completely unharmed, Repel raised his gun again. He was distracted by a furious barrage of slashes coming at him left and right. The blade could not penetrate his gralic shield but instinctively he was compelled to raise his hands defensively.
Demrak Jin gave a short barking laugh. The clouded blue eyes were mere angry slits. "I know you. Repel! You can't be harmed by any blow."
"That's right, sweetheart, you're helpless against me..."
His words were cut off as the Gelydran seized him by both arms and dove headlong into the pool with a geyser of warm water from their entrance. She could touch him but not strike him. After a second, Vargas broke free and took a gasping breath when his face broke the surface. A small pale hand gripped him by the nape and Jin pulled him under again. Half his size but twice as strong as any Human, the Gelydra wrapped her legs around his torso from behind and tightened them in an effort to force the air from his lungs.
Vargas struggled desperately, tugging the combat knife from his belt and sliding it back across Demrak Jin's ribs. The tough sharkskin outfit was sliced open and blood gushed out into the water but she did not release him. One huge bubble erupted from Repel's mouth, he inhaled a full breath of water and convulsed once. Then he went limp. Despite her wound, Jin did not release him immediately. She shook him violently, saw the gaping mouth and staring eyes and only then was satisfied.
Letting the body sink, Jin rose to the surface with one kick of both legs and gripped the edge of the pool to yank herself up. Behind her jaw, three gill slits on either side of her neck closed tightly again. Of all the possible places to fight with a Gelydra, next to the body of water was the worst. She coughed up a bit of water she had inadvertently swallowed and pressed her fingers to the slash high on her right side. Dark blood seeped out but did not spurt, so she did not think any artery had been severed.
Battered and bruised, Timothy limped up and dropped to his knees beside her. "Hang on, Jin, let me get these gauze pads out. I've got some surgical tape too in this kit." He pressed two of the sterile pads over her injury and deftly wound water-resistant tape along the edges. "We'll get you back to the medical ward at base in a minute."
"I am fine!" she snapped, then caught herself. "Sorry, sorry, we are brought up to never show pain or to need help. It's our way."
"I know, you're a Gelydra of Ulgor. Born with the spirit of a shark."
"Human I am not and never was," Jin said, trying to soften her tone. "You have always been a good friend, Timothy."
"You deserve a few friends. I guess Repel isn't going to be back for any rematch, huh?"
Demrak Jin got to her feet with a barely a twinge of pain at the effort. She hobbled over to retrieve her machete, noting with relief it was undamaged. "You seem to have been in a fight yourself."
"Yeah. All right, what we have to do now is locate Archie and close this Coronet gang down for keeps. I didn't get a chance to hide a transmitter disc on his clothing, I guess working with Megan all those years made him hip to that trick."
"Archie will be fine," Jin said in her most certain tone. "There is no warrior more dangerous than a man of peace who has made up his mind to fight."
X.
The tops of the trees far below had become a vague fuzzy expanse as he shot upwards. Archie could feel his heart pounding dangerously hard in his chest. He was panting in short rapid breaths and raw panic paralyzed him. But then he got hold of himself. He had been in so many nightmarish situations for more than a decade that his attitude soon became settling down and trying to think rationally even when death was seconds away.
Calm down. Calm down. There's a way out of every mess. Forcing himself to take deeper slower breaths, Archie unbuttoned his sleeves and tugged off his flannel shirt with infinite care to keep a ferocious grip on the material. There was the round disc six inches across, stuck to his shirt with some sort of superglue. Archie didn't feel like he was hanging down with his weight supported by the device, because the gravity shields created a field less than an inch thick around the objects they were lifting.
How the damn things created their lifting fields was way beyond him. Megan had tried patiently several times to explain that it was a function of contracting space at a sub-quantum level, which still made no sense to him. That didn't matter. He wasn't interested in theory right now. He remembered once that Megan had used the manual tabs on the gravity shields when her cuff controls had been damaged.
So cold. His fingers were getting numb. A lifetime mechanic by trade and by nature, Archie's reaction to problems was always how to fix them. There. Around the outer ridge of the disc were five short tabs protruding. Time to take a chance, he thought. The first one he pressed cut power completely and he hung motionless for a fraction of a second before dropping straight down again. No, no, no...! Clicking the tab again made him dangle stationary hundreds of feet above the forest. Archie closed his eyes in relief and was amazed he hadn't wet himself.
The cold wind was punishing his body as if it was conscious and hostile. Soon he wouldn't be able to use his hands with any dexterity. The vaguest memory of having watched Megan manipulate her shield this way flashed in his thoughts. Yes, press two tabs at the same time. There, he felt himself lowering back down. Was he imagining it in his desperation? No, he definitely was descending. He gasped a genuine prayer of gratitude. Thank you, Blessed Mary. Once a good Catholic boy, always a good Catholic boy it seemed. He was going to live. He would survive this.
Now he could see the mansion clearly. He had apparently gone directly upward and not deviated to either side. Was he coming down too fast? It was hard to tell, and he didn't know if there was any way to change the rate of descent. Oh God, there was that damn yacht in the pool. There were Tim and Jin standing next to it. Their upturned faces were pale blurs as he plummeted down, unable to slow his descent. The green lawn hurtled up toward him fast as a car trying to run him over, Archie went limp before the impact drove the air from his lungs completely. His attempt to roll on hitting the ground failed.
In another instant, Timothy was helped him sit up. "Oh my God, oh my God. Archie, are you hurt? Is anything broken?"
Shaking visibly, unable to speak, Archie McAllister tried to prop himself up but couldn't. He made incoherent stammering noises when he tried to speak.
"Easy, easy, you're on solid ground now. Perfectly safe. Wow, I have to say you can keep a cool head better than I can. It's amazing. You figured out how to come back down, even under those conditions."
"Heh. I don't feel so brave. Look at my hands, I can't stop them from shaking. What if they never stop shaking?" he mumbled.
"Eh, you'll be fine," Timothy said. "I bet you're going to be too bruised to feel like going for any hikes the next week, though."
Crouching nearby, Demrak Jin said, "For a Human, you have courage, Archie. I think even a Gelydra warrior would respect you." This compliment was so out of character for her that both Archie and Tim grinned in unexpected delight. No one saw the approach small object spinning close overhead until it detonated with a dull deep thump not ten feet above them. Noxious pale yellow fumes expanded into a cloud around them before they could react and as their skin burned with acidic peeling, all three wheezed and gasped before sagging limply to the grass. The oily vapors clung to them, only slowly dissipating.
Striding across the lawn came a excessively muscular Asian man carrying a stovepipe launcher over one shoulder. His deeply scarred face was lit with wicked glee at the situation. "The scum are subdued, my Lady."
"Well done, Quando," came an elegant cultured voice. A tall woman in a gorgeous ivory-hued silk dress stepped up to loom over the motionless forms. Her glossy black hair hung down absolutely straight to the small of her back. "Ah. Tel Shai knights. We have met before, my friends. Do not fear, you are not going to die immediately. My Alchemical preparation has weakened you too much for you to even raise your heads. Yet your hearts still beat and your lungs still draw breath. Even such as you may be useful to my purposes, but give up any thoughts of somehow escaping or resisting my wishes. You are dealing with the Spinner of Webs now."
CORONET I: Falling Into the Sky
8/26/2022