Authors: C.B. Ash
"See? At other doors, they be careful, but here, they be stoppin' short and steppin' ta either side a'fore doin' a thing." The quartermaster shrugged. "Then they wander about a bit, then make their way around the outside. Didna seem interested ta go in."
Moira looked over both Krumer and O'Fallon's shoulder through what open space there was. "Or the door would na budge fer them."
"More importantly, are they close by now?" Krumer asked quietly.
O'Fallon shook his head. "Na here, that be for sure. Where they be now, Ah couldna say."
Krumer frowned and looked out the door again. "It bothers me they are so careless with their trail. It's like they wanted us to know."
"They may na have cared." Moira said. "If'n they be in a hurry. Why waste the time?"
The first mate nodded. "True. Is the other door unlatched?"
O'Fallon carefully looked out into the alley, wary for any surprises. When nothing emerged, he stepped out and walked across the open alleyway to the other door. This door, just as weathered, was unlike the others they had encountered so far. On a relay station, any door that lead into the giant steam engines, fan blades and man-sized gears was a thick steel, secured with steel rivets and kept closed with a heavy metal lock.
Usually this door opened into a small room, a chamber only five foot square, with a similar door on the far side from the entrance. The inner door often, but not always, was rigged to never open so long as the outer door was open. In this way, no one could accidentally enter the engine rooms and fall through the fans to the ground miles below them. The quartermaster grasped the 'L'-shaped handle, pushed down and tugged on it. The door lock gave easily and O'Fallon slowly pulled the door open an inch. A strong odor, sharp and foul smelling, wafted from the opening.
"Door's open. Na sure it be a good idea. Smell's like a rat crawled up inta an air duct and passed on. Ye be sure and certain ye want ta head that way?" O'Fallon said, making a sour face.
Thorias shook his head slightly at the quartermaster. "Smell or no, that's where Miss Salgado said to meet her. We need to go that way."
"Well, hold ye breath. It be ripe." O'Fallon hauled the heavy door open the rest of the way. Metal hinges gave a slight groan of protest before the figure of a broad-shouldered man loomed out of the darkness. He was taller than the quartermaster by a good foot, his tight yellow shirt stained with grease and grime and his boots were broken at the seams. The quartermaster stumbled back and reached for his pistol. It had only partway cleared leather when the man from the doorway crashed into him. Krumer lunged forward and grabbed the stranger by the scruff of the neck, pulling him off O'Fallon.
The moment Krumer lifted the man away, he immediately dropped him again. "Another dead crewman."
Panting from the shock, O'Fallon scrambled to his feet. "Like the others, then?"
"No, not like the others. He wasn't laid to rest like those others." the orc said solemnly while he knelt by the body. "He died fighting. Look at those bruises. Those come from a hand to hand fight."
Thorias moved in a bit closer to see the dead man for himself, and knelt next to Krumer. O'Fallon wiped his hands nervously on his vest, then backed away from the dead man. A long breath later, he steadied his nerves and returned to the open door. Moira walked over with him.
She stopped at the doorway while O'Fallon stepped carefully inside. "Four more in here." Moira said over his shoulder. "They all look 'bout as bad as that one."
"This fellow's only recently deceased by a half hour." Thorias said after a moment's examination of the dead man. "No more than that."
"What?" Krumer instinctively looked around, as if the killer would somehow suddenly materialize behind them. "Who is doing this?"
A woman's voice, colored with a light Portuguese accent, echoed from within the chamber towards the steam engines. "I can't speak to the 'who', my dear Krumer, but perhaps I can speak to the 'why'."
From the gloom, a woman wearing a navy wool long coat, stained blue shirt, tan trousers, and brown knee-high boots stepped into the half-light that permeated the small ante-chamber. She stood no taller than average for a human, or in her case a charybdian that resembled humans in shape and appearance. Although, the resemblance stopped there. In place of skin, she had a collection of fine, interlocking brownish-green scales, not unlike those found on an alligator. These were present on every visible part of her. Her face was human enough, save for the canary-yellow eyes with light brown irises and the head full of shoulder-length, thick tendrils that strongly resembled snakes. Most noticeably, they did move very slightly of their own accord, not unlike a snake slowly moving through grass.
A half-smile spread across Krumer's face. "Adonia Maria Ricalde Salgado. It's been a long time."
She inclined her head, the jumble of snake-like tendrils that made up her hair writhed slightly with the motion. "Yes, Krumer, too long."
"Well," the first mate asked. "Just what is going on?"
She shook her head. "Not here. We're too exposed. It's too hard to defend. Quickly, come inside. Put the dead man back in the ante-chamber and shut the door behind you."
Adonia turned quickly on her heel and walked inside. Behind her Moira frowned at the charybdian's retreating form. She had never met a charybdian before, but she had heard many of the stories. Some rumors said they could turn a person to stone with just a glance. Others said that their hair were real snakes with a poisonous venom. Still other stories claimed they were the long-lost descendants of the original inhabitants of legendary Thule, also called Atlantis. In general, most of the stories, as with any tall tales, tended to conflict. Moira had never been to Portugal, but had heard enough of these tales that she was automatically suspicious. She glanced over at Krumer. "Can we trust her?"
Krumer sighed and looked around at the grime-stained walls of the buildings, and then the clouded sky in search of a simple answer to help explain a complex person such as Adonia. Unfortunately, the walls, buildings and clouds above chose to be of little help. "Often she has her own goals, no matter what venture she's engaged in ... but she's honorable. I trust her."
Moira thought on that a moment, then nodded. "Well ... all right, then. Sounds like we need ta hear her out."
O'Fallon reached down and grabbed the dead man by one shoulder. Thorias grabbed the opposite one. They lifted the man to his feet and dragged him inside the ante-chamber of the building. "What 'ere it be. Ah'm thinkin' it be a good story in general. She na gets herself involved in somethin' small."
Krumer chuckled dryly. "Indeed."
B
eyond the ante-chamber and through the inner steel door, a short tunnel led from the outer doors to the main collection of steam engines and suspended catwalks over the main fans that helped to keep the station aloft. Between the door and the catwalks, the massive pipes for the steam engines curved down from the two-story tall scaffolding that held the large boilers. These pipes continued along beyond where the tunnel walls stopped. The space between the pipes narrowed over the next five feet before they spread out again to deliver the high-pressure steam on to the giant piston-driven engines themselves.
Krumer followed Adonia down the tight hallway. He paused when she stopped at a small, barely noticeable break between the walls and the tangle of grime-covered steel pipes. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Through there?" The orc asked suspiciously.
The young woman grinned. "Given all that's happening, sitting out in the open having tea just wouldn't be prudent." With that, Adonia turned sideways, then side-stepped around a particularly large high-pressure steam pipe to emerge into a small make-shift room that had once been used as a maintenance shed.
Thorias and Moira exchanged a glance. Krumer sighed, shook his head slightly at Adonia's comment then moved around the pipes after her. The rest followed thereafter.
Beyond the narrow entrance, the room formed by the steam pipes was roughly ten foot square, just large enough for a good-sized tool locker or parts storeroom. Pipes ran overhead and to either side. These fashioned three of the four 'walls' of the small room. The fourth wall was the solid steel of the building itself. A table and some crates that had lined one wall now served as a makeshift cot for a figure huddled under a threadbare woolen blanket. A pair of mud-stained boots and a tangle of chestnut-colored hair showed from under the blanket. Next to the cot stood a rough-looking man with a scraggly brown beard, worn coveralls and an elaborate knot work tattoo running the length of his exposed right arm.
Once past the pipes, Krumer eased away from the opening to allow room for the others. The bearded man watched them all enter warily.
"It's alright Carlos, I know them." Adonia said evenly. The bearded man cast another glance over the group that entered, then nodded in a solemn reply. Adonia knelt next to the figure in the cot.
"How is he? Has he improved any?" She asked while she adjusted the blanket.
Carlos shook his head slightly. "No, senőra, the senőr still raves out of his mind. He still speaks of things only he can see." He replied in a rich Castillian accent.
Adonia glanced over at Carlos. "Where is Andrew?"
"Out on watch, senőra." The Spaniard answered with a weary sigh. "He left only a moment ago."
She nodded with a momentary frown then looked over at Krumer, Thorias, Moira and O'Fallon while they eased in and around the outer edges of the makeshift room. Arcady, who had never laid eyes on even parts of a steam engine this large, tore himself away from his exploration to circle the group once and land on his customary perch, Thorias' shoulder. She patted the figure on the cot and stood.
"I mentioned something of an explanation," she began hesitantly. "You all know Dr. James Von Patterson, I believe." Adonia said with a small, but gracious gesture towards the cot. "He is, as best as I understand it, the 'why' behind it all. The 'who' would be the people chasing him since I found him stumbling around in the forests near his campsite. Last few sensible things he said were then, and they were not much. Just that he found something and there are some very unpleasant people who desire it. Unfortunately, he's been ranting and mumbling since then and not been able to explain a thing. I doubt he knows where he is."
"He taken with a fever?" Moira asked in concern. "An where'd his family get off ta? When last we were there, they seemed right as rain."
"He sent them off on a supply ship to get some specific supplies from Paris. Lucky stroke, given that from what I could see, his entire camp was overrun. He's the only survivor. So, fortunately his wife and children were safe from harm, even if his own assistants, weren't. It is a good thing I believe. Miles and Angela shouldn't see more unpleasantries than they've had to live through." Adonia explained.
"Ya sure know a bit about his family." Moira commented suspiciously.
Adonia's yellow eyes widened in mild surprise at the tone, and her tendril-hair shifted slowly. "Well, of course. I've known James for many a year through the British Museum. You, however, seem to know quite a bit about him as well. Strange, he's never mentioned you before. You are ... ?"
Moira own eyes narrowed with a stern, fiery look. She started to reply but Thorias put a hand on her shoulder and interrupted. "Whatever has taken hold of Dr. Von Patterson, I might could still deduce a way to help him. Moira, would you assist please? If he tosses about, I'll need your help in holding him still."
The young woman paused. She started to finish her thought, but decided against it. Whatever help she could provide to Thorias, would in turn help Dr. Von Patterson. That was more important than her intense curiosity and the near-interrogation of the Charybdian woman. "All right Doc, tell me what ta do."
Thorias smiled, with just a very faint air of relief. "Ah, just smashing. Come, lets see just what ails him, first."
While Thorias and Moira walked across the small room to where Dr. Von Patterson lay, the ever-present Carlos watched them both, most specifically Moira, warily. Adonia stepped closer to Krumer and O'Fallon.
Adonia glanced back at Moira and Thorias, then lowered her voice so only Krumer and O'Fallon could hear. "She's a touchy one. Where did you boys find her?"
O'Fallon chuckled. "Moira? Ah, that'd be the wee pub brawl with that Spaniard crew in San Sebastian. She'd na more'n three tied up. Two under a chair, an one she be havin' by the ear with a set a' iron tongs."
Adonia smiled and shook her head slightly in amazement. "No small wonder you kept her around."
Krumer folded his arms over his chest. "Adonia, you wouldn't hole up in such a place if you didn't have an idea of what chased you. Nor would you post a hidden watch, given we never laid eyes upon him coming here. You may not know what Dr. Von Patterson found, but you know more than you're admitting to."
Adonia grinned at the orc. "Ah, Krumer dear, direct as always. My, how I've missed working with all of you. You are quite correct. I have some idea. I don't know who they are exactly, but once we had made it back to the
La Paloma
, we thought we had left his assassins behind. We made preparations but our captain was not careful enough. They made it aboard. Shortly before we arrived here, they emerged and attacked. Caught the officers and crew unaware. We made it to port, but the captain abandoned ship. He told me he'd send someone back, but we've not heard from them."
"
La Paloma
?" Krumer asked curiously.
"The ship I was on." Adonia explained. "What's left of her is still tied at the dock."
"Well then, that explains what her name was." The orc replied.
O'Fallon frowned while he compared her story with the tracks he had been following for most of the day. "That be fittin' the tracks here and yon. Save fer the cat."
"Cat?" Adonia asked, confused.
Krumer nodded. "A large cat. Cougar or mountain lion. Odd thing is that it has an owner, or at least a keeper."