The Necromancer's Gambit: Fork
Nicolas Wilson
I’m heading north, back home, when I see something in my rearview. I call Rook. “Maybe you can help me out, here. I’ve got a tail: three fucking morons in a Mercedes.”
“Busted?” she asks.
“Yeah. Pull over.” I find a stretch of shoulder long enough for both of us.
She parks, right behind me. “If you’re going to yell, you might want to do it over the phone, cause it’s kind of loud from the cars on the freeway.”
“I wasn’t going to yell. I just figured there’s no reason I should drive all the way back alone. Send King up.”
“You picked me just so you could make the gunshot old man move around, didn’t you?” he asks as he gets out. He limps, milking it for all he can, and as soon as he opens my passenger door says, “Sadist.”
“You usually see the humor in my sadism.” He groans as he sits down.
“Only when it isn’t pointed in my direction.” He takes his time buckling in, like everything hurts now that he’s got a gunshot wound. At first he doesn’t seem interested in talking, and I wonder if maybe I should have plucked Queen out of the follow car instead, when he says, “You shouldn’t be too hard on the girl. I thought it was clever, following you down to Salem. You make a big show of going, we follow quietly behind.”
“It was.”
“But you aren’t going to tell Rook, are you?”
“Course not. But you do realize, if you, Queen, and Rook are all here, who you left in charge, right?”
“Well there’s Bishop”
“She and Harry are in Clackamas.”
“Good lord. There may not be any Gambit left to come home to.”
“Relax.” I dial up Pawn. It takes even more rings than I was anticipating, and when he does answer, it’s slurred.
“Suuup?”
“How long did it take you to realize the rest of the Gambit was gone, leaving you, de facto, in charge.”
“Ten minutes.”
“And how much of the King’s liquor have you drank since then?”
“As much as would fit.”
“In what?” King asks, naively hoping the damage is only as big as his largest flagon.
“In my belly.”
“Sounds about right,” I say. “But if you feel like you’re going to black out, try to call an ambulance before you do. So you don’t die. Because I’m sure King will want to kill you himself when he gets back.” I hang up.
“Well,” King says, “I suppose I should take solace that he neutralized himself at the cost of a little booze. Unless he drank my Rhemberg. Then I’ll feed him the bottle, by hand, one broken shard at a time.”
I call Rook back. “We’ll drop the royals in Clackamas. You can take the first shift, there. I’ll take care of a few things in the city, then join you.”
“You think Bishop’s wrapped things up there?”
“Doesn’t matter. Time’s thin. And I don’t want to chance any of us getting caught outside of the bunker she’s built.”
Ten minutes south of Clackamas, King speaks up. “Thinking on Pawn, and things left behind at the Centre, we need to go back. You, and I. The armory is unsecured.”
“I doubt that. Bishop was the last one in there and she’s about the most cautious person we know, present company included.”
“I’m sure it’s locked up tight. But the master keys aren’t; they’re in my personal safe. They’ll open any establishment the Gambit has been granted access to. The armory is perhaps the worst, but if Baldur were to get hold of it, it would be disastrous for us, politically. There could be no more emphatic way for us to fail the public.”
“Why didn’t you get them earlier?”
“I was busy bleeding.”
“But before we left, Queen could have”
“Queen doesn’t have the code for the safe, and I wasn’t expecting to abandon the building.”
“Fine. I’ll drop you off, and go get your damn keys. And maybe Pawn, if he doesn’t seem too certain to vomit in my car.”
“I’m not giving you the code, either.”
“Then your keys can stay put.”
“If the only thing between Baldur and our armory is a nonmagical safe and a nonsober Pawn, exactly how disastrous might that be?”
“Fuck. But it’s an unnecessary risk.”
“It’s actually very necessary. You have your role in the Gambit, and I have mine. Those keys are my responsibility. And I’m yours.”
“By now Baldur’s men will know you’ve left the hospital. They’ll have the Centre staked out. At best, we lead them back to the cabin.”
“Where you wanted the confrontation to take place.”
“It’s supposed to be calculated; I don’t want it to turn into an Alamo. And at worst, they simply kill us at the Centre, and attack the cabin at their leisure.”
“We’re going. Unless you’re challenging my authority.”
“Fuck you,” I tell him, and dial Rook back. “Slight change of plans. Continue on to the cabin. King and I are going to go Butch and Sundance ourselves.”
“You’re going to get old and leathery?”
“That’s mostly just Sundance. Though with a moustache King might make for a decent Paul Newman. But it’s a long story. Involving a stupid excursion to the Centre.”
“That’s suicide,” Queen says.
“I’m calling it a murder/suicide. If King somehow survives and I don’t, I want him tried,” I say, then hang up.
“Don’t pout,” King says. “Pawn’s there, and nothing horrible’s happened to him.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Blackout drinking for two days in your office. His underpants are probably a war crime.”
“But that’s something he’s visited upon the rest of us, not something that happened to him.”
“I’d say it’s more along the lines of mutually assured destruction, because if we go there, it’ll have happened to us, too.”
“Lord,” King says, rubbing his eyes, “the things I do for democracy.”
We spend the rest of the trip in silence. I’m nervous, and more than once contemplate hitting the old man over the head with something heavy then taking him back to the cabin.
But I don’t, and by the time I can actually see the Centre, I realize it’s too late. There are more cars parked along the street than usual, which only makes me more nervous. But if we’re going to be attacked, I’d rather it happen while we’re within running distance of the building and the armory, rather than in the middle of the street. “Go directly to the front doors. Don’t look around, don’t slow down. Whatever happens, get inside.”
“Trouble?” he asks me.
“Maybe. Just go.” I slump in my seat and adjust the mirrors to be able to see as many of the cars as possible. The fact that we’ve split up must cause some confusion, because I see movement in a gray SUV behind me, a door starts to open, then it’s shut quick.
I glance over, and King’s at the front door, fumbling with his keys. It’s their last chance for surprise, if they’re going to go for it.
I kick open my door, and pull the back seat door open to shield me, and aim up a shot right through the SUV’s windshield. There’s movement, as the King gets the door open, one of them pops up, and I fire.
King slams the door behind himself, and gets away from the glass. Then it’s quiet. I wonder for a moment if maybe I just put a bullet through a car full of horny teenagers.
Then the driver’s side window rolls down, and out comes an MP5K. It doesn’t aim directly at me, just in my direction, and fires. The K at the end of the name is for ‘kurtz,’ German for short, and at that size it weighs less than five pounds. An MP5 fires at up to 900 rounds a minute, 15 rounds a second; at full auto it kicks around like a firehouse held too far from the nozzle. It only takes three seconds to empty because I’m lucky and they’re using a box magazine instead of a drum; I pray it’s because they’re cheap, and not because they’re smart enough to know drums jam up like clockwork.
I leap into the car, and because he’s blind-firing, the shots don’t follow, which is the only thing that saves me, because my poor little car wasn’t designed to stop that many bullets.
I reach for my glove compartment, hoping it’s still there. Duct tape, papers, first aid kit. Goddamnit, I think maybe it fell out until my fingers recoil from its cold surface. I fish it out and look at it, to make sure it’s I need. The phlogiston looks like a marble, feels like one, too, one of the old ones actually hand-blown out of glass. But it isn’t. It’s smoke, condensed, solidified and crystallized.
I know I have exactly one shot at this. I take a deep breath, and stand up. The ass with the MP5K is still trying to reload it in the dark of the car, and his buddies aren’t responding fast enough. I put four rounds into the windshield, grouped as close as I’m able with my left hand, then I fling the phlogiston at the weakened part of the windshield as hard as I can. If it bounces off I die in a hail of automatic gunfire.
It breaks through. “Terra pinguis,” I whisper, and the phlogiston changes back to a gaseous state and, because of the pressure differential inside its sphere, disperses throughout the car almost instantly.
I hesitate, at the point where I need to decide to try and grab the guys in the car while they’re choking, or get myself to the safety of the Centre. They’re never going to be more vulnerable than they are in this moment.
But what I feared happens, and another car down the block kicks on its lights as armed men sit up in their seats. I put a few shots into it as it picks up speed towards me, but I’m running. I know before my hammer clacks on an empty chamber that the next bullets I hear aren’t going to be coming from my gun.
King grabs me and slams me inside the door and locks it. Several bullets impact the glass on the door on a trajectory for his chest. “And this glass will hold?”
“Presuming they haven’t brought any heavier artillery. The guns, maybe they won’t end up with police called. But they pull out an RPG or anything with some real flash, and the cops will have to show. But on that note.”
I march on over to the lobby desk and dial 911. “Yeah, there’s some kids outside, playing with fireworks and cap guns.”
“Sir, is there an emergency?”
“I’m afraid they’re going to trample my begonias. And it’s not the 4th of July or New Years, so fireworks are illegal, right?” She doesn’t respond to that. “About how long do you think it’s going to take to get an officer out here?”
“Unless there are injuries, or the youths are acting in an aggressive manner to you or someone else, it may have to wait until we have an officer available.”
“This is what I get for paying taxes. Thanks, anyway.” I hang up.
“The Oscar goes to somebody else,” King says. “But it might buy us time. Speaking of which, I should hurry.”
I follow him back to his office, but where he goes in, I go the executive bathroom he shares with Queen. Pawn’s there, hanging off the toilet like he’s Skywalker at the end of Empire. “Don’t touch my, woo,” he starts, then dry-heaves menacingly at the toilet.
“Wookie?”
“Wallet. When you’re puking, in public, that’s when they get your wallet.”
“Well get up. There are asses with guns outside.”
“I like asses,” he mutters as I stand him up.
King pokes his head in. “You found us,” I say.
“As usual, with Pawn, I simply followed the horrendous smells.”
“You got your goddamn doohickeys?”
“Minus the doohic-ing.”
“You’re going to go with Pawn; obviously you’re driving.”
“He’s drunk.”
“Yes, that’s why you’re driving.”
“How the hell is he keeping me alive when he can hardly stand up straight.”
“He’s actually exceptionally high functioning, particularly in regards to violence. He also has a reputation, and looks like a round mound of ass-pound, uh, the kicking kind, not the”
“Dicking kind?” Pawn asks, through chortling snorts, and tries to pelvic thrust, but the momentum throws him off balance and he collapses into the wall, which only makes him giggle more.
“I was going to say the kind that got you banned from social functions, but I think you’ve covered it.” I haul him back to his feet. “With any luck, you peel off enough Kindred that I mop up whoever stays behind. With less luck, I’ve got the armory, Bishop’s security upgrades”
“And is that a murder boner I feel?” Pawn guffaws, then follows his arm with his eyes, “no, wait, that’s mine. That’s an excellent portent.”
We bump into the Arbiter coming out of the hallway to the more public restrooms. “He can’t handle his liquor,” he says, grinning.
“You can’t handle yours; swear, it goes right through him. I bet I could get loaded off his pee.”
“We never did settle that bet.” Pawn stares, and unconsciously licks his lips.
“You’re not drinking urine right now,” I tell him. “You’re working. Escort duty. You’re getting the King to your Jeep, and then your Jeep to the cabin.”
Pawn still doesn’t look very spry on his feet. “Should we perhaps call for reinforcements?” King asks wearily.
“We don’t have anybody in the rolodex who does this kind of thing. Magical militia men, about the only people equipped for that are too busy arbitrating to help,” I try to glare at the Arbiter, but he’s too happily drunk to either notice or care. “But we can handle this. And after you got shot, we need to. Tonight has to become a cautionary tale, either for those who would attack us”
“Or fools just like us someplace else,” King finishes.
“I like your fool,” the Arbiter says, clapping Pawn on the back. “I’ve been drinking with him. I hope when the Black King kills the rest of you, he doesn’t kill Pawn. I like him. I’ve been drinking with him. And if he’s going, I’m going with him,” the Arbiter says.
“You’re probably safer here,” I tell him.
“They wouldn’t dare attack an official Arbiter.”
“The Kindred don’t usually play by the rules.”
“It will cost them, if they cross me.”
“How many demerits is it to shoot you, because I’ve been contemplating it myself.” He glares at me, but then follows Pawn to the front door. “King? Either of these dainty flowers wilts out there, you keep going. You’re what they’re here for. They don’t make it, they become my problem. Understand?”
“Seems ungentlemanly.”
“Yeah, well, you’re literally carrying the keys to kingdom. You need to get out of here. These two? Honestly, they’re meat-shields.” The Arbiter flips me off; Pawn giggles, and follows suit.
“Pawn will go first, try to draw their fire. I’ll cover you from the entrance.”
“The Arbiter?”
“Hopefully he makes for a good distraction- for their side. Doubt he’d take any orders, anyhow.”
“That would fall under providing aid and comfort, both of which are not allowed, not even after I’ve been drinking. ‘Nein,’ I would have to tell you, ‘strictly verboten.’”
“Thanks;” I say,” the German really helped clear that up. Pawn, you ready?”
“As an out of control freight truck,” he says enthusiastically.
“Okay. I guess that could be a good sign. Whenever you’re ready.”
Pawn draws his Judge and shoves on the front door. Of course, it’s still locked, so it doesn’t open. He stares stupidly at it a moment, until King intervenes and unbolts it.
Then Pawn rushes through the door. He doesn’t seem prepared for the steps, though, because several paces into his charge, he loses his balance, and instead he’s falling quickly forward. The Kindred nearest the curb can’t get out of the way fast enough. Pawn, falls on him, effectively tackling him. But the force of that sudden drop upsets hit little tummy, and he vomits all over the Kindred’s face, then collapses against him, smashing the Kindred’s skull between his own head and the pavement.
There’s stunned silence in the Centre courtyard; I don’t think anyone was expecting that to happen. The King manages to take advantage, and sneaks around one wall of the courtyard. The Arbiter’s following behind him, but seems to be absent-mindedly watching the sidewalk so he doesn’t step on any cracks, and I think I hear him loudly mutter something about his mother being very old and fragile.
Then the rest of the world comes back to life. I fire a shot into the engine block of the truck to keep the passenger from getting out as Pawn struggles to his feet. But a shot comes from somewhere off to my right, and hits the doorway just inches from my head, so I have to duck back inside.
The passenger kicks open the car door, and before I can line up another shot, he fires at the Arbiter. The Arbiter screams something in Greek, and steam comes off the eyes of the Kindred. Then they pop, as molten vitreous humor pours down his cheeks, broiling his skin off his flesh. “Reminds me of Depp in Once Upon a Time in Mexico. And damnit, now I want a boy. Suggestions? Where can I find one at this hour?” I shrug, and put another round into the side of the Kindred’s truck to keep the rest behind cover.
King makes it to the Jeep and turns over the engine. He glances at Pawn and the Arbiter, with still half the distance to cover. I’d leave them behind, because it’s the pragmatic thing to do. But he waits.
I duck back behind cover to reload. I hear Pawn fire four shots from the Judge in fast order, then a volley of return fire. I figure I know what that means, and brace myself as I peak back out.
But Pawn’s fine. In fact, he’s laughing, as the Arbiter tries to feed a bullet to the man who shot him. There’s a lot of blood soaking through the right arm of his cloak; looks like he got shot and then immediately yanked the round out of the hole with his fingers.
A Kindred tries to seize that moment, sneaking around the back of the car with a Ruger; I shoot him in the chest. “Go!” I yell to Pawn. That seems to get him to his senses, because he grabs the Arbiter and shoves him towards the open road, where the King meets them with the Jeep.
I put the other chambers into the truck, keeping the last few Kindred from pursuit. Then I lock myself back in the Centre.
That’s one hurdle down. I dial Rook at the cabin. “Bishop still there?”
“They just left, why?”
“We got hit, and hard. I was going to have her stay there, because we don’t want to be in transit when they” I stop talking, because there’s an explosion that’s nearly deafening over the phone. “What the fuck was that?”
“That was a ballistic Kindred firing his arm and leg bones into other Kindred. Jesus, he was a geyser of fire and blood.”
“Bishop’ll be sad she missed it.”
“No, she won’t, because she didn’t. She set up cameras.”
“But if the party’s starting early, we need to change things up. I’ll keep in touch.”
I dial my phone, and it gets picked up. “Bishop? You aren’t still near the cabin, are you?”
“We just got back on 205 North. Why?”
“The Centre’s surrounded, and it sounds like the fireworks have started at the cabin.”
“Right, well, we’ll hole up in my lab for the time being, then.”
“Not a bad idea. I’ll send the King and Pawn to rendezvous with you there?”
“Is there any chance you could just have Pawn drop the King off, then continue on to the cabin?”
“They might beat you there, but be wary. If there’s anybody else waiting around outside”
“Set their cars on fire, I got it.”
I dial King. “Have I mentioned today I’ve been gunshot?”
“Not in the last ten minutes.”
“Because operating a motor vehicle hurts. Using a cell phone hurts. And doing both at the same damn time hurts even worse.”
“There’s been a change in plans. Cabin’s under siege. You’re going to meet Bishop and Harry back at her lab.”
“You meeting up with us there?”
“I’ve got to get something out of the armory I’ve been saving for a rainy day.”
“I have noticed increased humidity in the air. Either that or Pawn just pissed himself.”
“Damnit,” the Arbiter yells from the back seat, “there’s a slope, it’s pouring back towards me. It’s everywhere, and my boots are suede!”